Junction INFO WARS | ME & DIA Junction of Daro Hex

[Laphisto]

The soft chime of comms reports filtered through his helmet, floor by floor, as squads called in their clears. The men Laphisto had detached to secure the lower levels were now working their way back down toward the street, methodically ensuring no floor had been overlooked on the initial climb. Every corridor, every stairwell would be swept twice nothing left to chance, nothing left unsecured.

Laphisto advanced carefully, his LO-18D rifle held steady against his shoulder, barrel cutting across each corner as his visor scanned the dimly lit hallways. The stale air carried the faint tang of burnt circuitry and dust disturbed by the passage of nearly a hundred soldiers. His taloned feet scraped lightly against cracked flooring with each step, the sound almost hidden beneath the distant thud of boots and the low murmur of squad chatter echoing through the building's bones.

As he reached a hallway bend, his visor caught on a single door its steel frame warped and crumpled inward, the panel itself hanging ajar on bent guiding rails. The servomotors in the doorway stuttered, trying in vain to close, the sound a faint metallic scrape that bled into the silence like a warning.A low rumble left Laphisto's chest, more instinct than speech, as he approached.

The tip of his rifle barrel pressed against the edge of the door, steady and deliberate. With his free hand, he slid his sidearm from its holster, the weapon heavy and familiar in his grip. Careful, methodical, he pushed the door open inch by inch, his visor glinting with the dim blue glow leaking through the crack as the room beyond began to reveal itself.

The glow of a screen pulsed faintly in the dim light, its message blinking in steady rhythm: Download Complete.

Laphisto frowned behind his visor, the subtle crease of displeasure hidden beneath the mask. Whatever the Mandalorians had been after, they had finished their work before the Order arrived. That alone meant trouble. His voice carried low across the comms, the edge of command clear. "Captain Varn get Caelen up here. I want him pulling whatever's left in that system. If the Mandalorians dug something out, we'll see it before they can make use of it."

His hand slipped from the grip of his sidearm as he lowered his rifle slightly, though never completely at ease. Around him, the floor echoed with the faint punctuation of combat: the occasional gunshot from squads still sweeping levels below, each sharp report followed by curt confirmations over the channel. Room secure. Floor clear. The rhythm of their progress was steady, methodical, the sound of soldiers trained to carve order out of chaos.

Caelen arrived within moments, his armored frame distinct even among the gathered troops. Laphisto's gaze lingered for an instant on the man's cybernetic arm, the polished steel a grim reminder of the fight on Serenno. The battle where Jacen Breska men had left their mark. Another scar in a war that seemed to leave nothing untouched.

As the soldier moved past to kneel at the terminal, Laphisto reached out with one clawed hand, giving a firm tap against his pauldron. A gesture wordless yet clear acknowledgment, not pity. Respect, not sympathy. The kind of recognition that only soldiers who had stood together under fire could truly understand.Then, turning his visor back to the flickering screen, he rumbled softly, "Let's see what they thought was worth dying for."

Laphisto's taloned steps carried him toward what remained of the window, the durasteel frame twisted and half-sheared, jagged shards of glass clinging stubbornly to the edges. He rumbled low in his chest as he peered out over the ruined cityscape, the guttural sound more instinct than thought. Through the haze of smoke and drifting dust, he caught it flashes in the distance, the faint arcs of fire lancing against the skyline. Artillery, perhaps. Or something heavier. His clawed finger pressed against the side of his helmet, opening the secure channel.

"Tarain, Looks like we were late to the party. Some sort of data's already been pulled. And you've got movement east of your position, two, maybe three klicks. Walkers, or artillery platforms." His visor narrowed as he engaged the helmet's binocular enhancement, the HUD tightening in on the forms lumbering through the distant streets. Heavy machines, unmistakably Mandalorian in design. Their beige colored plating caught the light in brief flashes between the shadows of buildings, their silhouettes bristling with weaponry. Drego Ruus ' walkers.

But there was something else.A faint haze was curling upward from the streets below, seeping through alleys and broken intersections. What looked at first like smoke soon thickened unnaturally, a rolling fog spreading low and deliberate, carrying with it the suggestion of something far worse than dust.Laphisto's grip tightened on his rifle as he keyed the comm again. "Tarain. We've got gas or fogstarting to spread through the streets. Doesn't look natural. See if you can spare a squadron or two to investigate before it's at our throats."

His visor tracked the haze as it slithered further through the broken city, swallowing the rubble and corpses alike, inching its way toward the heart of the district. The pounding of distant artillery only underscored the certainty that the enemy had planned this well in advance.The comms clicked dead, and in the same breath the lights above flickered once then died. The tower was swallowed in instant darkness.

Laphisto's visor adjusted with a faint hum, night vision cutting through the black with a pale emerald glow. He pivoted, scanning the shadows, his taloned grip tightening on the LO-18D. "Status report," he rumbled, voice sharp over the squad channel. "What's going on?" He had his answer before the first reply could come.

Gunfire erupted across the tower in jagged bursts, deafening in the confined halls. The chatter of slugthrowers cracked through the darkness, punctuated by the metallic clamor of something breaking loose. From the walls and ceiling, hidden compartments slammed open, disgorging rusted droids in staggering numbers. More came thundering from the stairwell, their photoreceptors glowing sickly red as they poured upward, clawing and stumbling over each other in their rush to swarm.

The floor trembled with the sudden chaos. Muzzle flashes stuttered like lightning, casting shadows of soldiers and machines locked in brutal combat.A snarl rumbled deep in Laphisto's chest as he snapped his rifle to his shoulder, sighting the nearest droid. The LO-18D roared, a hail of 30-06 slugs punching through steel plating and scattering sparks. He pivoted, firing again, each pull of the trigger deliberate, each shot center mass. The corridor filled with the acrid tang of burnt metal and gunpowder, smoke already curling against the low ceiling.


"Varn!" Laphisto barked, his voice booming above the chaos. "Find us an alternate route down this building—now!" the captain of the ash dogs held his LGM to his shoulder and began firing. the weapon making a buzzzsaw like sound as lead slammed and punched through one droid into the next. The comms flared with reports of contact, gunfire rattling in the background of every transmission. Squads on the lower levels were already engaged, their clipped voices overlapping one another.

"fifteenth floor compromised taking heavy contact!"
"Stairwell sealed! Droids coming through in waves!"
"We're boxed in!"

Laphisto's voice cut through the storm like a blade. "All squads below fight your way groundward. Do not stay pinned. Get out of this building!" As the orders carried through, Laphisto kept his rifle spitting fire into the surge of droids, his talons scraping against the floor as he braced against the recoil. The tower had become a trap, and the enemy meant to bury them inside it.

The comms crackled with panic, a soldier's voice breaking through in a storm of static. "We've got a massive droid ground floor! It's tearing its way up the stairs it's chasing us u " The feed cut out with a sharp hiss. Laphisto's growl rumbled deep, vibrating through his vocoder as his eyes snapped toward the stairwell. "Darhnas! Come in! Blast it!" Silence answered him.

A grunt escaped his chest as he pivoted, rifle bucking against his shoulder in short, controlled bursts. The LO-18D barked its last shots, slugs tearing through a trio of advancing droids before the sharp click rang loud in his ear. Empty. Without hesitation, he slung the rifle across his back and reached for the broad saber at his side. The weapon activated with a snap hiss the glowing teal blade glowing in the dark as He surged forward with a guttural roar, the blade arcing wide as he cut into the first line of machines. Steel met steel with the force of a hammer blow, sparks flaring as severed limbs clattered across the floor.

Around him, the Order followed suit. The percussion of slugthrowers gave way to the sharp hiss of shields snapping into place, hard-light barriers flaring to life on armored forearms. One by one, soldiers drew their swords, slotting in electrical charges or ion pulses into their blades the glint of steel flashing in the muzzle-lit dark. The charge came in unison, disciplined fury turned loose in close quarters. The clash was deafening steel biting into alloy, shields colliding with droid frames, the screams of ruptured hydraulics mixing with the roar of men pressed into melee. The floor became a storm of blades and broken metal, a desperate, grinding battle fought face to face.

Among the company, only two other blades stood out brighter than steel. Two lightsabers, carved through the chaos. One flared to life on the thirty fifth floor, its pale glow washing the stairwell in ghostly light as it cut swathes through the advancing tide. The other ignited beside Laphisto, its wielder's blade a slash of searing energy at his flank, the pair carving a path through the mob like wolves among sheep.Laphisto reached out with the Force, his vision narrowing as the HUD inside his helmet flared to life. Outlines of hostile forms lit up in sickly green, dozens of droids moving through the dark.

He clenched a clawed fist, and the air rippled with pressure metallic frames screeched in protest as they buckled inward, collapsing into twisted balls of sparking scrap. Those that remained standing were cut down in brutal arcs of his broadsaber, the weapon biting through steel with each heavy swing. "Mekail!" he barked, his voice reverberating through the comms as he split another machine in half. "Set charges on the floor blast us a hole to the next level!"

"On it, sir!" came the clipped reply.Three soldiers scrambled from the melee, shields flaring to deflect incoming fire as they rushed to the far side of the chamber. Dropping to their knees, they worked quickly, pulling detonation packs from their belts and planting them in a tight circle. Fingers flew over arming switches as each charge was locked into place, the glowing indicators stabbing faint light into the dark.

It wasn't ideal. Laphisto knew his saber wasn't suited for omnidirectional cutting, nor could he reliably gauge the thickness of each reinforced floor plate in this tower. In the heat of combat, brute efficiency mattered more than finesse. Explosives, however crude, were the fastest way to cut through to the level below.
All the while, the fighting raged. The crash of steel and shields echoed like thunder, slugthrowers firing in desperate bursts before soldiers were forced back into the press of melee. Laphisto pivoted, cleaving through another machine, sparks raining across his armor as his vocoder carried his next command. "Hold the line! Buy them the time!"The Order rallied, forming a shield wall against the advancing tide, their blades flashing as the charges were armed. The countdown began, each second stretched taut against the chaos of the battle.

---

Commander Tarain's gauntleted hand rose to the side of his helmet, the faint crackle of comms in his ear carrying Laphisto's warning. His sharp blue eyes narrowed beneath the visor as he turned toward the looming silhouette of the skyscraper where the Ash Dogs had vanished inside. Smoke curled skyward from fractured rooftops, and the dull thrum of distant detonations echoed across the cityscape.

"Copy that, Commander," he replied, his tone clipped but steady, carrying the discipline of long years spent in the field. He raised one arm and gestured sharply in the direction of the threat. "Wraithline! Ghost Claw! Break formation head east!" At Tarain's command, two full squads -nine soldiers apiece -broke from the column with machine-like precision, their boots hammering against the fractured duracrete as they veered eastward. The rest of the formation pressed on, the rhythmic march of the main line echoing like rolling thunder through the canyon of ruined streets.

"Investigate those artillery platforms," Tarain continued, his voice amplified through the squad net. "I want firing solutions identified, crew strength assessed, and a plan for neutralization. Secondary objective confirm the nature of that gas. If it's a weapon aimed at the civilian population, I want answers before it chokes the entire district." The acknowledgment came in a chorus of affirmatives, the two units splitting and vanishing down adjoining streets.

Ahead, the ground shook as four of the Order's heavy walkers ground to a halt. Servos hissed and pistons locked as the massive machines lowered themselves with deliberate weight, armored ramps unfolding to strike the street with a metallic clang. From within, the scouts deployed. Eight AT-AS MKII walkers two from each transport lurched down the ramps in rapid succession, their bipedal frames slamming into the earth with heavy, mechanical strides. Their armored hulls gleamed dully in the pale light as sensor masts extended, optics glowing a baleful red.

The scout walkers wasted no time, forming into a staggered assault pattern as they accelerated ahead of the column. Hydraulic limbs carried them swiftly over debris and wreckage, claws biting into broken pavement for balance as they picked up speed. Their weapon mounts tracked independently, swiveling with predatory intent as the machines pushed toward the east. Over comms, the clipped voice of a pilot cut through the static. "Light walkers are on the move. Providing cover fire and screening for artillery. If they've got guns dug in out there, we'll tear them out of the ground."

The main line pressed forward behind them, the towering silhouettes of the heavy walkers looming over the infantry below, while the AT-ASMKIIs advanced like a hunting pack. Their task was simple clear the way, neutralize enemy guns, and ensure that nothing struck the heart of the Order's column unchecked. For the citizens of Skysport, it was a sight few would ever forget: the Lilaste Order's machines of war striding through the broken city, their arrival a promise of retribution for whatever resistance dared stand in their path.

Itzhal Volkihar Hanna

 

[Jonah]

OBJECTIVE V - BRING YOUR OWN OBJECTIVE​

The chaos that consumed Daro had unfolded in ways the Warmaster did not expect. Clashes in the streets, rival informants selling secrets to both sides, and the Black Watch unleashing their vengeance had already stretched his attention to breaking. Yet among all the dispatches and signals that demanded his immediate response, one transmission stood apart. It bore the name of Liin Terallo. That she would reach out to him of all people in the midst of this storm was surprising enough, though not nearly as surprising as the fact that he answered. She was an old client, from a time when the Haxion Brood still bent the knee to him. Back then, their reach was considerable, and their word could be trusted to carry some measure of reliability. They had fulfilled their promises with ruthless efficiency, but the underworld is a predator that devours itself as often as its prey. Jonah had tried to hold the leash, had attempted to corral that beast, and the effort had broken the Brood apart from within.

Even so, morbid curiosity gnawed at him and ultimately compelled him to act. The rendezvous was set at a quiet, neutral corner of the planet, well away from Skysport’s madness. His shuttle descended without incident, its presence veiled from those who prowled the skies. The Warmaster gave his orders before stepping aboard: the Nite Owls were to focus on the Diarchy, to press them hard in the streets and secure their foothold in the city. He would join them soon enough. But first he would see what this woman wanted after all these years.

When Jonah emerged, he was not the same figure she might remember. Gone was the trench coat and patched armor of a mercenary commander. Now his frame was clad in beskar of obsidian hue, the metal catching only the faintest traces of light. A cloak, heavy and dark, shrouded his form, its hood drawn up over his helm. The T-visor, faintly crimson beneath the glow of the horizon, gave his approach the look of some phantom born of blood and shadow. He walked without hurry, his steps cautious but deliberate, until he came within distance to regard her clearly.

There was no long preamble, no theatrics. His voice was steady, made strange by the modulation of the helm. “So you have lived.”​

Tag: Liin Terallo

 

[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 and a squad of Tick Droids: Advancing on Drego Ruus to try and take out mortars
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. Those running the FOB taken heavy causalities currently trying to save what droids they can from the rubble

The message that was repeating constantly on the speakers was not coming from Lord Mettallum but instead a terminal located within a building that was converted to a temporary forward operating base nearby. To waste his voice modulator by constantly saying the same message was beneath him when it was far easier to just record a sentence and then have a device play that on loop. If the mortars were using the data flow from the speakers to target Lord Mettallum they will miss their mark but still they would instead be hitting a just as important target.

"INCOMING, ALL UNITS TAKE COVER" Yelled one of the D1s guarding the FOB however this was a bit too late as the mortar rounds pummelled the FOB causing droids to go flying in every direction. The speakers themselves went dead silent as the terminal playing the message was blown to smithereens. Lord Mettallum was furious completely unaware that he was the intended target of the mortars.

"Cohort A-5 head to suspected location of artillery and Execute those responsible" The comms message was seething with rage. Sure Lord Mettallum couldn't give two karks if organics or civilians died but he did care somewhat about his own droids. "High Commander artillery has been detected around the coordinates I Lord Mettallum am about to send you. Please provide assistance if possible" Lord Mettallum didn't like to rely on others but this is war and he needs to learn how to work with people especially with Laphisto.

Cohort A-5 advanced towards the suspected location of the walkers with a squad of Ticks climbing up buildings to try and get a good vantage point. The D1s would split up into smaller squads to clear different sections of the street and cover more ground closing in on the location of Drego Ruus. they were hoping to get the advantage of surprise unaware of the small drones that most likely already reported their positions.

Laphisto Drego Ruus

 

[Drego Ruus]

Direct Engagement: Lord Mettallum
Nearby engagement: Laphisto
​

As the droids approached, the drones above picked them up.

<Sniper droids, incoming. Looks like they're using the rooftops for approach.>

"Tsk. Hammer and Anvil tactics. Men, keep an eye out. Any sane commander would hit us from multiple directions. Tanya, initiate rolling barrage. Thermal Detonators." Drego said with a hint of amusement in his voice. "Walkers, advance on the targets."

The rear mortars adjusted, as they moved forward. This time, they had clear line of sight through the aerial drones. Another round of HE flew through the sky, as Drego pushed forward with the three walkers, pulling his shield off his back, as well as his battle rifle. This was no mere room clearing mission.

If they wanted to approach from the roofs, then Drego would simply remove the roofs entirely.

Level the city.

 

[Hetton Vemec]

He put his helmet back on, as soon as Iandre Athlea informed him there was a gas leak. He asked knowing there's more than one type, "Any idea of the gas?" As this information could help his men trace it, or if it was methane, then he need to leave, as fire fight here would be bad. As he spoke a call came in over head mandalorian air traffic, to low for rader, but someone had eyes on it. Damn he thought, that will make getting casualties here harder, and certainly not undetectable. He issued an ordered, "Keep an eye on it, and any hostility try and take it down, or call in for air support. " the reply was "negative it only buzzed us, no idea where it gone, but will keep an eye out for it." He thought to himself damn, this and a gas leak.

He looked at Iandre hoping for clues on the gas, as a squad began to look for it. He looked Saul Whesai as to say any ideas, on this. He was a command officer, not an engineer. He wasn't sure where to start, as this was not shooting at things. He didn't like being out of his depth, but here he was, a medical center leaking poisonous gas. of some sort.

Zet Reav

 

[Liin Terallo]

Objective: BYOO

For a while I thought that maybe this meeting of sorts would not happen at all. More often than not I was ignored by most in the Galaxy. That is except for some. However that is mostly due in part to my research.

A figure appeared and began their approach. The shape it casted was not the familiarity of the Jonah that I once knew. This man is a soldier clad in armor destined for battle against Force Wizards. And that leaves me a little conflicted. If he is aligned with Karlo Kyrr , then it could pose a bit of a problem for me. Or at the very least it could complicate things a little more. And it has nothing to do with politics. I have not been a part of that world since New Cov lost it's independence and neutrality and had it's government replaced.

But that is not why I had asked him here. And for a brief moment I had thought that someone else had come. That is until he spoke. Even while modulated I recognized it. The words that he had uttered caused me to raise my eyebrows in surprise, for it is not a phrase that I had expected to hear. Perhaps he has overheard or encountered more threats on me than I had known about.

"As have you, Jonah. Although with the bounty on my head I am uncertain how long that would last for me. A lot has happened since you had disappeared; and from what I can tell, a lot has happened for you as well." But now is not the time for a casual catching up chat over some wine or drink. Not like we used to. There seemed to be a lot of tension on world and I am not yet privy as to why. "I will skip the pleasantries if your time with me today is short. But I need your help. That is if you still have connections with the Underground. This bounty is linked to my research; it has to be. I created decoy laboratories to thwart their efforts and slow them down. I acquired hidden sanctuary in Diarchy space because everywhere neutral has me exposed. I am not asking for protection, but for help in thwarting their efforts as well. Or at least be aware of any of them getting close." I can only assume that he knows what my research is about. The data breach of my first laboratory put it out there. And it was more than just bounty hunters that came to invade my laboratories. It was Jedi, Sith, Imperials, Mandalorians and more. Every side can be considered a threat to me. It is only individuals themselves that I can trust.

Tag: Jonah

 

[Iandre Athlea]

Iandre heard the ship buzz over their building and land nearby. Not just once but over and over. More people came shuffling through their doors as they found this bastion of peace. A place to get medical aid and take a few moments to recover. As each wave came through the door, they were running out of room. However, there was another floor and maybe additional buildings they could commandeer.

It didn't matter to her which side the wounded were on. She helped them all to the best of her ability. It was quite clear that she needed more training as a field medic. But they were making do and getting by.

"They are coming in with the gas in their systems. It's not a leak in here, thank the Force. Look after them, and if you can make them more comfortable, please do."

A familiar presence wasn't far off, and Iandre turned her attention to her acquaintance. Saul wasn't little more than that, but they had chatted over dinner and spent a few hours together. So his being nearby was a comforting feeling. As he guided the wounded in their direction, all they could do was make room and prepare for more.

Iandre did her best not to display her stress, but she was starting to feel it.

Saul Whesai Hetton Vemec Zet Reav

 

[Jonah]

OBJECTIVE V - BYOO

The Warmaster simply nodded as Liin began to speak. He did not interrupt, for her words carried their own urgency, and in his mind circumstances must have been dire indeed for her to seek him out after so long. Yet as the story unfolded, as she spoke of bounties and research, of sanctuaries and laboratories, he found one brow rising behind the helm. That she had survived this long was remarkable enough. That she had chosen him of all people to hear her plight was something else entirely.

Bounty. Research. Exposure. The words formed a litany that guided his hands without her notice. His visor darkened subtly as his eyes directed the systems within, silent commands summoning the truth she had only alluded to. From her perspective, he was still and watchful, the crimson glow unmoving, but in the confines of the helm, information unfolded line by line. Her name. Her face. Her crime. The price.

A low whistle escaped him, muffled though it was, when the full scope revealed itself. The Black Suns had marked her, and worse still, not for debts or betrayals but for invention. She had sought to force the hand of fate itself, to recreate power that nature and bloodlines hoarded jealously. Artificial command of the Force, whispered of in laboratories and proven enough to draw predators from every shadow. Empires. Jedi. All had dipped their hands into this hunt. Jonah folded his arms across his chestplate and regarded her in silence for a long moment before speaking.

“I still have contacts in the underworld,” he said at last, the modulation of his helm carrying no more than a flat certainty. “But my reach is different now. I keep Mandalore informed, to put it simply.” He shifted slightly, cloak brushing the floor, helm tilting faintly as he considered her. “I will be realistic with you, Liin. The Diarchy cannot protect you. If the Jedi or one of these Empires decide you are worth the effort, the Diarchy will not stop them. They can barely hold their own against mercenaries, let alone powers that claim entire star systems.”

He let that truth linger, heavy though it was, before he continued. “You do have options. The Black Suns are criminals, and criminals respect credits above all else. If you have the means, if your research is worth what I suspect it is worth, you may yet silence their pursuit by paying the bounty outright. It would not erase the Jedi, nor the Imperials, but it might buy you the space to breathe.” His arms tightened against his chest as his visor locked with her gaze.

“As for what you ask of me, awareness alone is a fool’s bargain. If you want word each time another hunter draws near, you will be dead before you can act. The only real answer is to come under my protection, to let Mandalore's shadow be the one they see before they reach you. That is not something I offer lightly, and it is not something you are bound to accept. But it is the best I can give you.”

The visor caught the last glimmer of the horizon, crimson light cutting across the lines of his armor as he stood unmoving. “Decide for yourself, Liin. What you risk is yours to measure. What you gain depends on how far you are willing to trust me again.”​

Tag: Liin Terallo

 

[Liin Terallo]

Objective: BYOO

It took a little bit of time for him to speak after I did. No doubt he was thinking and calculating a proper response. The way that he had folded his arms across his chest spoke volumes to me. I was about to hear things that I did not want to hear. And he knew that.

I listened to him while he spoke. The first was on him now answering to Mandalore instead of the Underground. That in and of itself surprised me; yet also explained the change in his attire. Secondly he spoke of the Diarchy being unable to protect me. However that may be true; I have the feeling that she same could be said with any government or group offering their protection or sanctuary. For even within that sanctuary could be people that are against my research entirely and will come after me from within. That is something that I have to be wary of.

Next he spoke of paying off the bounty. That is something that I had thought of before. It is not too many credits for me to gather for it. But I do not see it eradicating the bounty. Afterall it is my research that they are after. And putting in a low amount is a strategic move, given that they would not want too much competition. Or perhaps they would turn around and sell me and my research to the highest bidder? Could that be their plan? I am uncertain.

His other offer seemed logical at the surface. But there are underlaying concerns for me with it too. Do I trust him? For the most part, I do trust Jonah. He has proven his merit to me in the past. Yet I do not know of his stance on my research. Nor on how he would feel if he was to find out that it is more or less successful. I need those answers first before I can make my choice.

"Thank you for your honesty, as well as your insight. Your offer for protection is something that I might lean towards, however it gives me concern as well. I was approached by my old Mandalorian bodyguards and they threatened to kill me because of my research. They want it ended. That is until I was able to negotiate myself out of it. So what are your thoughts on my research? Do you see it as something to be prevented or to as something to exploit? Or would it be that you would just have no position on it at all and would leave alone? I do not exactly want to see this protection of me become being put into some cage or at worse; a casket."

I cannot even show him any of my abilities or where the full extent of my research plans to lead. At least not until I can consider it safe to do so. And right now I am not certain of just how safe his protection could be if he is against what I am doing. That has me worried. I can feel the biostatic building up as my anxiety rises, yet I do my very best to regulate my breathing into counts of four to keep it down.

Tag: Jonah

 

[Itzhal Volkihar]

| Location | Daro, Outer Rim Territories

| Objective | I - Take The City

Bathed in the gentle, flickering glow of a dozen monitors, Itzhal stood silently, absorbing each relayed update from hot spots throughout the sprawling city. His eyes trailed across the map, past the stretch of dark green that identified areas overtaken by the insidious spread of toxic gas, which even now was flooding the local communications with reports of wide-scale hallucinations and a list of escalating symptoms that ended in the death of anyone unfortunate enough to be caught unguarded. Already, dozens of civilians had died, caught in the crossfire between the Mandalorians and the Diarchy's mechanical legions, the latter led by a zealot whose voice spread across the city, an accompaniment to the gasping chokes of final breaths that ended only in agony.

With an expressive tilt of his helmet, Itzhal withdrew his gaze from the flickering screens, leaving the others to watch over the chaos while he retreated into the labyrinth of his own thoughts. For days now, a battle between the Mandalorian Empire and the Diarchy had been something of a certainty, even if the exact details had been undecided; both sides had been well aware that it was only a matter of time before the retaliations over the events of Vexis Station escalated into something more than skirmishes. In that regard, Daro was the perfect powder keg, situated between both forces and with neither possessing a firm hold of the planet, with the conflict further incited by the opportunists who stood to gain from the profits of war. After determining that, it had only been a matter of figuring out which city was the most likely to be hit, a task that admittedly hadn't taken the Morellian much time to figure out, with every day that seemed to spiral more and more out of control.

It had been mere fortune; they'd arrived in time to prepare, though discreetly acquiring the parts for so many droids had been something of an issue with sales made across a number of markets by different members of the group and even more sent afar to salvage from rumoured ancient imperial facilities and the few scrapheaps that dotted the otherwise naturally flourishing planet. Even then, the numbers acquired were a matter of quantity over quality, which had still only been possible due to the engineering skill of Naal Sorrell, who was currently sitting in an office chair with her legs stretched across the side of the nearest desk, flecks of black oil painted over her crimson armour, her horned buy'ce placed to the side leaving her brown eyes exposed as they jittered from screen to screen, desperate to capture every detail of the fight commencing across the Azlantian Tower.

The results were expected, waves of metal stumbling forward in a tide that faltered with every blow that smashed against them, unequipped on an individual level to handle the sheer amount of firepower that the Lilaste Order brought to bear, though with every droid that fell to the ground, another stepped forward. Retaliating with inferior weapons, many of them unable to even pierce the enemy's armour with their antiquated weaponry, and underpowered energy cells that still, nonetheless, gradually chipped away at the organic lines with a steady trickle of marching cannon fodder undaunted by the fallen scraps of those who had come before.

Alone, they would have been nothing more than a nuisance, wearing away at the enemy until their sheer numbers ran out and the only thing left in the dark was the members of the Lilaste Order. A waste of time and resources, draining soldiers of ammunition and energy alike.

"They've moved to melee," Tella remarked, one hand propping her head up as she leaned her elbow against the desk, not far from Naal and her helmet. "I thought it would take longer. They're not bad in close, either. It might be something to watch out for. Assuming they survive the third phase, anyway."

Quietly, Itzhal found himself in firm agreement, his eyes drawn by the vivid contrast of hardlight shields shimmering against the thick darkness that surrounded their wielders. Arcs of lightning crackled through the air, illuminating the metal forms of their adversaries, knocked back with every flash of sweeping blades that carried the storm in hand, dangerous to anyone who dared to come closer. A threat both afar and near, leaving options for both rather than the clear distinction of one superior option.

He couldn't say he appreciated the variety. Not when it was just another thing he had to watch out for, both on an individual level and with the forces he had at hand, including the mercenary who'd contacted him moments before the Lilaste Order had arrived. With more assets than he expected in the first place, and the enemy somewhat distracted by the sheer chaos they were fighting against. Itzhal activated his comm-link, transferring a sequence of coordinates towards one of the high-rise structures a few blocks away from the Azlantian Tower.

"Mercenary, this is Revenant Actual. Transmitting coordinates to the overwatch position," With a soft click from his gauntlet, the transmission ended, a sharp disruption to the hushed quiet of the waiting room, visors shifting between Itzhal and the screens.

For a moment afterwards, the only sound was the persistent, grating tap of Thevlan Ordo's hands against the hard surface of his greaves. Each rhythmic pulse echoed through the harsh silence, a growing impatience surging with every passing second between the last phase and the next, his visor focused on Itzhal. The chaotic display of battle from the screens flickering over the reflective transpartiseel, vibrant clashes fading into the background, but never entirely forgotten as a gruff voice asked the only thing that mattered, "Are we ready?"

Expressionless visors stared in expectation, the full weight of the squad's attention honed to a single point, the cold intensity of a pack of wolves poised for the hunt. Their weapons gleamed like sharp fangs, glinting in the dim light, awaiting the command to pounce. If only he dared to give them the order.

Itzhal's buy'ce turned slowly, past the mountain of beskar that lay upon Thevlan's shoulders, and over the loyal Mandalorians that had followed him ever since that first hectic battle deep within the bowls of Taris, their armour pitted with scars and scratches that mirrored the individuals beneath, dauntless despite the army that stood between them and victory. Then, they settled not upon them, but instead upon Laphisto, their blue blade a beacon in the darkness, carving through droids without slowing as their hand reached out and crushed another wave.

"Thevlan, initiate phase three."

"It'll be my pleasure," they said, before they pushed down the activator switch on their gauntlet.

Seconds later, the initial explosions cored deep into the foundational pillars detonated, erupting in a violent pulse of searing flame and flying shards of metal that scattered like brimstone bursting from a volcano in the hellish glow that seeped from the cracks and stretched further with every detonation that followed, a symphony of madness and violence, the droids turned to slag in a moment, their purpose to delay and obstruct fulfilled as blow after blow travelled further and further up the structure.

Aftershocks left the ground beneath Itzhal's feet to tremble; his stride unbroken, he left the control room and the array of inactive monitors behind as they travelled further up the structure, the door to the rooftop opening with a swish that released a burst of ash and dust rising into the air and whatever gaps it could reach with its suffocating presence. Protected by the seals of his armour, Itzhal drew his pistols, hands of grey soot already descending upon the frame of the two weapons, before his jetpack flared and launched him into the sky, hovering over the ruins of the Azlantian Tower on wings of fire and wisps of ash.

"Find the survivors, we're on a time limit."

Then, with no further words, the Mandalorian forces descended upon the ruins.

Tags: Laphisto Hanna​

 

[Jonah]

Jonah stayed silent until she finished, visor fixed on her without a flicker. When the last of her words left her lips, he let out a quiet chuckle that rumbled low through the modulation of the helm.

“You think I care about your research?” His voice was plain, without hesitation. “I don’t. Sith have been pulling that trick with their toys for thousands of years. Talismans, relics, rituals. They’ve made people touch the Force who were never born for it. What you’ve done with science is the same thing. Honestly, I’m surprised someone didn’t get there sooner.”

He shifted slightly, arms unfolding as his cloak dragged along the floor. “Others will care. The Jedi and Sith will hate it. Empires will want it. Criminals will bleed for it. That’s your storm to ride. But me? I don’t lose sleep over it.”

His helm tilted faintly in her direction. “As for those guards, I don’t speak for them. I don’t know what they wanted. But under the banner of my brother’s Empire, no one puts a gun to your head. If I say you live, you live. Simple as that. No cages, no coffins, unless you’re stupid enough to earn them.”

The Warmaster folded his arms once more, crimson visor steady. “So there’s your answer. I don’t judge your work. What matters is if you trust me enough to stand behind it. That choice is yours, not mine.”

Tag: Liin Terallo

 

[Liin Terallo]

Objective: BYOO

I was not quite fond of being laughed at. Although I do not believe that he had meant any offence by it. It is just more of my naivety being revealed. Given all of the attention that I have gotten over my research; most people wanted to either end it or to exploit it. For the Diarchy my research did not matter either. Although a couple of my friends were not so sure. I do not have many friends and they have experienced a lot more of the Galaxy than I have. So I must at least give their concerns some consideration.

Other scientists have created a synthetic Force. I am far from the first. The Imperials have done so in the past. I was given a bit of that history not long ago. However I am unsure if their side effects were the same. Or if they had had any side effects at all. Some of the side effects from my synthetic serum has proven to be catastrophic.

"You said that your offer is not given lightly, and I respect that. But please forgive me in that I must also take care in measuring the pros and cons. My situation is different now than it last was when we had had an agreement before. I am no longer a part of any company or any business at all. My quantity of biomolecules of which you have had access to before is limited to small stashes that I had hidden away in neutral space locations. And it is not much. So what I need to know is what will this protection cost me? Would I also be placed under restrictions and lack a freedom of movement?"

I had lost weight while I was living on the run; using most of my credits on my laboratories. Food was always considered last. And without having any employment, my funds are at a minimum. I can hardly expect to have free room and board everywhere that I go. And being limited in where I can go, or having harsh restrictions put upon me might deplete my remaining funds even further.

The work on my serum is not yet fully complete. There are still up to two more phases to go through. I will need to center my remaining credits on that. If that is at all possible.

Tag: Jonah

 

[Maldor Sancetti]

OBJECTIVE II :: COMPROMISE
Trinity Station
_________________________________________​

It was everything Maldor could do not to stiffen and bristle as he was circled by a claw-laden shark and then nettled by the Mandalorian mastermind of these talks.

But- there was hope here. A willingness to discuss terms. He would seize on that.

"I am not here to prattle" Maldor said, "I am here to make sure a disaster does not spiral out of control. To ensure that our two nations are not meat for the predations of others."

That prattling was involved was entirely beside the point.

"Tough meat as we may both prove to be." A small smile. An olive branch of a smile.

He paused, "That having been said, the idea of a joint sporting competition is exactly what we need to grow closer, mend fences, understand one another, and foster a future. Such activities are the foundations of friendship. And far healthier than warfare."

He considered the other terms.

"I think the release of Mandalorians who wish to go to you is something that the Diarchs will agree to, if all Diarchy personnel in your custody are also released. That is only fair.

Any Beskar which has already been mined, and which the Mandalorians are in possession of, should of course go with them. I do not foresee objections on that score. I think arrangements can even be made to allow continued mining within Diarchy territory once tensions die down a bit. The Diarchs have always appreciated how sacred the ore is to your people. They want you to have it."

He took a breath.

"On the issue of those accused of crimes... such individuals exist on both sides of this affair. I propose that there be a joint tribunal with equal numbers of justices from the Diarchy and the Mandalorian nation.

I propose that the accused be brought before this tribunal, with fates decided by the tribunal from available evidence. This would ensure fairness.

And believe me- we have no interest in protecting Diarchy citizens who performed outrages against the Mandalorian people. Such individuals would be traitors to Diarchal interests as much as they are despised criminals to you."

He clenched his teeth, then forced them apart. This was the moment.

"If that can all be agreed, let us declare a formal ceasefire, shall we?"


Domina Prime Runi Kuryida

 

[Jonah]

The Warmaster shook his head slowly, visor catching a dull gleam as he moved. He let her words settle before answering, the faint hum of the helm carrying his voice across the space without rush or hesitation.

“Our last deal didn’t hold,” he said plainly. “The Haxion Brood swore they’d keep you safe, but New Cov still fell. That was on my side of the bargain, and I own it. You won’t owe me anything this time. Call it balance for what didn’t last before.”

His arms folded across the chestplate once more as he considered her other questions. “As for cages, gilded or otherwise, I don’t deal in them. You won’t find yourself locked down or kept on a leash. But I’ll be straight with you. It’s easier to guard you inside Mandalorian space than chasing shadows across the galaxy. Stay close to our walls and you’ll be shielded. If you do need to travel, we’ll work it out. Routes, escorts, safe harbors. Whatever it takes. Your freedom matters, but so does keeping you alive.”

For a moment he let the thought linger, then his helm tilted faintly as if to weigh his next words. “And I’ll put this to you plain. You have a sharp mind, sharper than most, and if there’s anything you can lend to the Empire, I’d ask you do it. Not because it buys your protection, but because every hand that builds makes the whole stronger. You’d be compensated fairly, nothing underhanded, nothing forced. Just my request, not a condition.”

His visor held steady on her, the glow unwavering. “So that’s the shape of it. No cost, no chains, no hidden strings. Just protection, and the chance for you to choose how far you want to stand with us.”

Tag: Liin Terallo

 

[Laphisto]

Itzhal Volkihar

Laphisto reached deep into the currents of the Force, blending both Light and Dark into a volatile knot of energy that burned against his chest. With a guttural rumble, he thrust his clawed hand forward, releasing the combined power in a single violent burst. The air exploded outward in a massive concussive wave that ripped down the hallway, crushing droids into twisted heaps of scrap and slamming the stairwell with such force that entire sections of railing sheared away.

The frontline absorbed the shock with discipline. Their hardlight shields flared brightly as they braced, boots digging into fractured flooring to keep the formation intact against the blast. Though the wave threatened to tear the line apart, the shields held firm. At the order, the LMG teams that had been waiting behind cover snapped into action. Bipods slammed against overturned desks and shattered wall plating, barrels already tracking the advancing tide of machines. On the signal, the front rank crouched low, their shields angled to give the gunners a clear field of fire.

The corridor thundered with the roar of automatic fire. Streams of 30-06 slugs ripped into the oncoming droids, every burst chewing through metal plating and hydraulic lines with merciless efficiency. The sheer power of the rounds often tore through one machine, then over-penetrated into another, sometimes dropping two or three in a single burst. The floor became a graveyard of sparking debris and ruined frames, their smoking limbs twitching uselessly as more advanced to take their place. to keep things clean Laphisto and the other force user occasionally pushed the droid debris into the mass sending parts skittering down the stairway so bodies didnt pile up and give them an advantage

Despite the volume of fire, the droids pressed forward, their return shots hammering against the shield wall. The soldiers absorbed it with steady resolve, the formation shuddering under the impact but never collapsing. When the LMG belts ran dry, a sharp call echoed over the comms and the front rank surged to their feet again, shields locking together to cover the gunners as they reloaded. Seconds later, the rhythm repeated slugs tearing into the droids, shields rising again to hold the line.

As the firefight raged in the darkened corridor, Laphisto's voice carried above the chaos, his vocoder amplifying the sharp edge of command. "Mekail, status! We need that exit now!" His tone left no room for hesitation. A moment later, pain lanced through his head like a spike. He grimaced beneath his helmet, one clawed hand rising instinctively to press against the side of his skull as he shook it off, forcing his vision to steady.

The pressure was fleeting, gone as quickly as it had come, but it left him uneasy, a whisper in the Force that something far worse was about to unfold. The sound came suddenly. A single, thunderous detonation ripped through the building above, followed almost instantly by another. At first, Laphisto believed it to be Mekail's charges completing their work but when he turned, he saw the soldier still crouched over the floor, hands working quickly as the final priming lights blinked on the detonators. Mekail's visor locked with his commander's for the briefest moment, the soldier's silent confirmation clear: not me.

That realization made Laphisto's breath catch in his throat. His ears twitched beneath the helmet as he caught it the rapid, sequential pounding of explosions. One after another, rolling downward like thunder peeling across the sky, each detonation growing closer. Three, perhaps five seconds separated them, but time stretched mercilessly in that instant, drawn out into long, excruciating minutes.

The very walls trembled with each impact. Ceiling panels quaked loose, cables snapped free and lashed against the floor, and the once-sturdy stairwell before them shuddered violently under the unseen barrage. Dust poured in thick clouds from every seam in the duracrete as another blast tore upward through the structure, carrying with it the promise that the next would strike where Laphisto and his men stood.

Reaching into the currents of the Force, Laphisto threw his will outward, attempting to form a protective sphere around himself and the men nearest the blast. For a fleeting instant, the air shimmered as if reality itself strained to bend to his command but the effort was not enough. The charges above ignited in a rolling cascade, and the tower became an instrument of devastation.

The explosion tore through the floor with a deafening roar. Fire and shrapnel surged forward in a blinding wave, hurling slabs of duracrete, steel fragments, and shattered circuitry through the formation. The concussion slammed into Laphisto like a battering ram, shattering his focus and ripping the half-formed shield apart as though it had never existed. He was lifted bodily from his feet, flung across the chamber, and driven into a support pillar with bone-rattling force. Darkness swallowed him before he could even register the pain.

Consciousness returned with a sharp, ragged inhale that scraped his lungs raw. His chest heaved against the crushing weight of rubble, and every breath tasted of ash and burned insulation. Groaning softly, he forced his limbs to respond, his armor scraping against twisted steel as he shifted enough to see.

The world was unrecognizable. Smoke choked the air, flickering orange light leaking through cracks in collapsed walls. Shattered furniture and sundered plating lay scattered in heaps, and among them, the first thing his eyes fell upon was an armored arm, still clutching a rifle but severed cleanly at the shoulder.

His gaze wandered further, and horror clawed at him with every detail. A leg crushed beneath a fallen slab. A torso without its head. A shattered helmet split down the middle, empty save for the blood that streaked its visor. And then he saw it Captain Varn's helmet, cracked through the cheekplate, lifeless eyes staring out from within. Laphisto's breath hitched, a guttural rumble vibrating in his chest. Around him lay the broken remnants of soldiers who had followed him into the tower with unshakable faith. Now their scattered remains bore silent witness to the price of command.

A low rumble of pain escaped Laphisto's throat as he tried to push himself upright, forcing rubble off his chest with shaking claws. His head tilted upward just as the weight above him shifted, the debris pulled away by a gauntleted hand. Light from the fires outside filtered through the smoke, casting the silhouette of a Mandalorian standing over him. The warrior leaned in, helmet angled downward in cold contempt, the sneer behind the beskar as sharp as a blade.

Instinct surged. Laphisto's hand shot upward, reaching through the Force to seize the jagged debris scattered around them. He tried to summon his strength to fling the shards into the enemy looming above, but a savage jolt of pain cut through his body. His chest spasmed as his gaze darted sideways and he saw it.

A length of rebar pierced cruelly through the soft joint of his armor, driven deep into his side. From the wound, raw Force energy bled freely, a shimmering aurora of color that twisted and curled like fire-born mist. Shades of violet, green, and icy blue rippled outward in ghostly waves, bathing the shattered floor in eerie light. Each pulse drained him further, turning his effort into a growl of frustration as his power slipped away.

The Mandalorian stood unmoving, watching him with the poise of a predator studying dying prey. Then, with deliberate calm, the warrior raised their blaster. The barrel lowered not to the visor or chestplate, but to the exposed joint beneath Laphisto's jawline the narrow seam where even the strongest armor could not protect.

There was no hesitation. The shot cracked like thunder in the close space, a searing bolt lancing upward into the unarmored flesh beneath his helmet. The precision was merciless, a marksman's kill shot. Laphisto's body jerked violently as the energy ripped through him, slamming his head back against the fractured stone. The aurora bleeding from his side flared brilliantly for a single heartbeat, cascading across the room in a riot of spectral color then it guttered and dimmed. His breath caught once, a rasping hiss over his vocoder, before fading to silence.

with a sharp inhale laphisto was flung back to the fire fight his hand once again back to his head his lone ear perking upwards.With a sharp inhale, Laphisto jolted as though the vision had left its echo clawing at his mind. His lone ear twitched to the rhythm of gunfire and the grinding shrieks of droid servos pressing the assault. He forced the pain aside and let instinct take hold. His clawed hand shot outward, and with a thunderous blast the windows -what was left of them-were sent flying thout to the ground below, scattering like falling stars.

His other hand swept wide toward the soldiers packed onto the floor around him. The Kov'dra plating of their armor denied him a direct grip, impervious to the Force's usual pull, but Laphisto adapted in a heartbeat. Instead of their bodies, he seized the air around them, bending it into a violent storm.

He turned back toward the gaping windows, muscles tightening beneath his armor as he gathered the Force in his chest and hurled it outward. A pair of concussive shockwaves detonated down the corridor, compressing into air pockets that struck the squads like a battering ram. Men were flung from their footing, ripped backward toward the shattered openings, their hardlight shields flaring instinctively against the sudden surge.

Not yet finished, Laphisto ripped broken desks, shattered terminals, and collapsed wall panels from the floor and hurled them into the armored troops mid-flight. The heavy debris struck with brutal precision, hammering into their backs and shoulders to drive them with even greater force through the open frames and into the chaos outside.
As the soldiers were hurled clear of the collapsing tower by Laphisto's Force push, the LO-ADS activation sequence tripped across every suit of armor. Warning glyphs flared in their HUDs as the auto-activation protocol detected freefall, and within seconds the integrated repulsorlift arrays roared to life, cutting their plummet into a controlled descent.

Those still conscious worked the systems like second nature. Concealed aero-fins snapped open from their shoulders and backplates, catching the rushing air and steadying their fall. Directional micro-thrusters spat white-hot bursts as they guided themselves clear of falling rubble, dodging shattered duracrete slabs that plummeted past. They angled for open streets and rooftops, adjusting course with controlled bursts until they were over safer ground.

Not everyone had the luxury of control. The troopers who had been knocked unconscious when they clipped shattered beams or slammed into jutting pillars dropped limp through the chaos, carried only by the system's fail-safes. At the last moments of descent, inertial dampeners flared in violet haze, and emergency impact cushions burst from their armor with a muffled whump, slamming them to the ground in bone-jarring but survivable crashes.

For the rest, landings were rough but deliberate. Repulsorlifts bucked one final time, flaring blue as boots struck ferrocrete in staggered crashes across a two-block radius. Dust rolled in waves around them as the Azlantian Tower behind collapsed in a thunderous roar of fire and glass, the ground quaking with its death throes.

The conscious soldiers wasted no time. Shaking off the impact, they pulled their fallen comrades out of impact craters and immediately turned back toward the ruins, armor scuffed, weapons raised. Their commander was still inside, and leaving him buried was unthinkable. "Contact! Mandalorians jetpacks, northeast!" Captain Varn's voice crackled through the comms, his tone cutting like steel. Orange-armored figures streaked through the haze on wings of fire, descending fast.Varn jabbed a hand at the nearest buildings. "Get guns in those windows! I want a fire line set pin them when they land! Cut the bastards down before they try to execute our wounded!"

Machine-gunners and rifle squads scattered into doorframes, shoving barrels out of shattered windows. soldiers now hidden in the surrounding buildings. waiting for the most opertune moment to strike. The fleeting moment of silence was shattered by the roar of detonations tearing through the tower below. The floor convulsed, buckling under the sheer force of the blasts. Instinctively, Laphisto threw up a Force barrier around himself, the bubble flaring into being as tons of duracrete and steel gave way. His taloned feet gouged into the floor, claws scraping deep furrows as he braced against the impossible weight.

Then the world came crashing down. The thunder of collapsing stone drowned out all else, a tidal wave of debris and fire swallowing him whole. The shield held, groaning under the relentless assault, until even its strength faltered and the darkness pressed in from every side. For a breathless eternity, there was only silence. A ragged grunt escaped his throat as he drew in a coughing inhale, dust searing his lungs. Vision swam until he realized he was still alive entombed in a pocket of wreckage, the fractured slabs of duracrete forming a jagged cage around him. Every muscle ached, the ringing in his skull a dull reminder of how close he had come to being buried with the tower.

Planting one clawed hand against the debris, he summoned the Force once more. Power surged outward in a violent burst, blasting apart the shattered stone and twisted steel. Rubble cascaded away in a storm of dust and shattered concrete, daylight bleeding through the cracks as he clawed his way up toward the surface. He emerged with a pained wince, one hand gripping at his side as he pulled himself onto the ruins. The once-proud tower was now a mangled graveyard of steel and fire, smoke curling toward the heavens in defiance. Laphisto's golden gaze swept across the devastation, searching desperately for the men he had thrown clear.

---

Drego Ruus Lord Mettallum
The main column of Tarain's Sword advanced westward, boots striking duracrete in disciplined cadence as their armored ranks filled the street. Their route pulled them further from the Azlantian Tower, separating their line from Laphisto and the Ash Dogs. Overhead, the whine of servomotors and the pounding rhythm of armored feet echoed as eight AT-AS Mk II walkers stalked through alleys and side streets, weaving between shattered structures with surprising agility for machines their size. Their silhouettes loomed briefly between high-rises before vanishing again, hunters closing on prey.

By the time Lord Mettallum's comms broke across the shared net, harsh and urgent, it was Commander Tarain who keyed his line in response. His voice carried the firm weight of command, clear even beneath the din of marching men and war machines.

"This is Commander Tarain. The High Commander is engaged elsewhere." He spoke evenly, scanning his HUD as new data rolled across it. "I already have eight walkers advancing toward the suspected artillery platforms. I am re-routing their coordinates to intercept now." A beat passed before his tone sharpened, steel behind the words. "Be advised: we have confirmed reports of gas attacks spreading through this district. I know you're machine, Lord Mettallum, but see what you can do about silencing those responsible. We don't let weapons like that stand."

Around him, the men of Tarain's Sword moved like a single organism, the dark-orange silhouettes of their hardlight shields flickering in the haze as they pushed further west, their commander's words rippling through the net to allies and machines alike.

With the updated grid coordinates flashing across their tactical displays, the eight AT-AS Mk II walkers pivoted sharply, their massive legs digging into the fractured ferrocrete as they turned down a new avenue. Hydraulics hissed and pistons hammered as the machines surged forward, momentum carrying them in a pounding sprint through the ruins of the district. They thundered down narrow streets and back alleys, armored hulls scraping close to leaning walls as they cut toward their new heading the suspected location of Drego Ruus

The lead walker's sensors swept the skyline as it cleared a junction, its mast-mounted optics catching the telltale glint of movement above. Small aerial drones scouts, their electronic signatures unmistakable flitted across the rooftops, relaying everything they saw to the enemy. It was only a matter of time before their advance was blown wide open.

The commander of the lead machine switched channels, his voice crisp and deliberate as it carried across the net. "Commander Mettallum, this is Hammer One. We've got drones overhead, multiple signatures tracking us from the rooftops. We're closing on the artillery coordinates, but unless those eyes in the sky are destroyed or distracted, they'll see us coming a kilometer away. How copy?" Inside the walker, targeting glyphs lit the canopy with red markers, each one pulsing with the cold reminder that stealth was slipping through their fingers. The column pressed on regardless, servos growling and dust kicking up in their wake, every second narrowing the distance to contact.


aThe advance faltered as a deep, grinding roar tore through the city. Tarain's head whipped around in time to see the Azlantian Tower buckle, then collapse like a wounded beast. The skyline vanished in a wall of dust and flame, debris raining down in a storm that turned the horizon into a grave. "High Commander, come in! Captain Varn, do you copy?!" Tarain's voice cut through the comms, but only static and panicked fragments answered him. A low growl rumbled in his throat as his mind snapped to the next priority survival.

His hand snapped to his commlink. "SV-01 Skybreaker, bring that LO-21 AAA online now. I want your sights in the sky anything with wings, thrusters, or a jetpack gets burned down the second it crosses our airspace."The massive walker shuddered to a halt, stabilizers locking into place as its turret swiveled skyward, targeting optics flickering to life in the haze. and the Rottary barrels spinning up in preperation

"SV-02 Dustvein, SV-03 Thunderhead lock down your firing lines with the AC-300s. Anchor the square and prep for artillery counter-barrages. I want your barrels hot and ready. Nothing comes through without getting chewed up." The two artillery walkers shifted their bulk into place, heavy legs stomping into the ferrocrete as their cannons depressed and rotated, lining up along the narrow avenues that fed into the plaza. "All walkers, deploy AT-AS units now. Get them on the ground and spread them into kill zones."

Hydraulics hissed, and ramps slammed into the dust-choked streets. The scout walkers spilled free, legs hissing as they scattered into the alleys like a pack of hunting hounds, moving to cover approaches too narrow for the larger machines. "Infantry into the buildings! MG teams, establish nests on every corner and second story. I want interlocking fire on every street that leads to this square. Shields at the choke points. We turn this place into a fortress."

The square erupted with motion as soldiers fanned out, discipline overriding panic. Slugthrowers were dragged into place, belts fed and chambers racked. Hardlight shields shimmered as troopers sprinted across open ground, diving into windows and hammering barricades into position. Above it all, Tarain's HUD lit with status runes orange designations locking into a tightening grid of overlapping fire arcs.His gaze lingered one heartbeat longer on the plume where Laphisto had been. Then his voice came again, steady and uncompromising. "We hold this square. Nothing passes."

And just like that, the once-steady march of Tarain's column shattered into a flurry of controlled chaos. The square transformed under his orders, every soldier moving with mechanical precision. Doors were kicked in with the thunder of boots, squads sweeping into the abandoned shells of shops and apartments. Windows rattled as heavy weapons were heaved into position, barrels jutting out over the avenues. Ammunition belts rattled and snapped into place while hardlight projectors hummed, shields forming along the main choke points.

What had moments ago been a slow, deliberate advance now became a fortress in motion. The calm rhythm of boots on ferrocrete was replaced by the staccato clatter of barricades, shouted range calls, and the steady mechanical groan of walkers pivoting their guns into overlapping arcs. The column was no more it was a bastion, bristling with steel and firepower.

The commline crackled, Varn's voice cutting through the chaos, heavy with strain. "This is Varn. Building was a trap. Mandalorians are on the way. The Commander's trapped under the rub—" The transmission broke for a heartbeat, static hissing before his voice returned, clipped and urgent. "Negative eyes on High Commander. Mandalorians are close. Will update you shortly. Over and out." and with that The channel went dead.

Tarain stood silent for half a breath, visor fixed on the ruin where the Azlantian Tower had been. His jaw tightened beneath the helmet. Around him, soldiers glanced toward their commander, waiting for the inevitable order, their discipline holding even as unease rippled beneath the surface.

Tarain forced the tension of Varn's report aside. The High Commander was capable, more so than most alive, and if anyone could claw their way out of a Mandalorian ambush, it was him. Tarain's duty was clear hold this sector and turn it into a fortress. His focus narrowed, his voice barking orders as he strode through the streets, pointing and directing with sharp gestures. Squads fanned out, engineers dug in firing lanes, and machine guns were manhandled into shattered windows. Every alley became a choke point, every rooftop a firing position. This square was theirs now, and Tarain would see it held.

His commlink crackled as he switched frequencies. His tone was iron, steady amidst the chaos."Commander Mettalum, brace for impact. Artillery shells inbound on the grids you provided." A low mechanical groan followed as the two LO-AC300 artillery walkers pivoted in unison, their massive barrels thundering as they locked into position. With a bone-rattling WHUMP, the first salvo of LO-FR1 Artillery Shell's roared skyward. A heartbeat later, the square shook as the second volley fired HEAT rounds this time, streaking through the air before slamming down onto the designated coordinates.

The detonations lit the skyline with violent blossoms of flame, the shockwaves rippling down the streets. Chunks of shattered ferrocrete and searing shards of Seigurium casing whistled outward like shrapnel from a volcanic eruption, tearing gouges into walls and streets. The air itself trembled with each impact, and Tarain's visor dimmed against the wash of heat and light. Through it all, his voice cut once more across the net "Adjust fire and maintain barrage. We'll turn this entire grid into glass if we have to."

 

[Liin Terallo]

I dip my head in thanks as I was informed that there would be no price for me to pay for the protection. It was the same that I was afforded by the Diarchy. No questions asked on my research; and no ultimatums given. I recognize the fact that such offers are not common in the Galaxy, for most often everything comes at a price.

The notion of their ability to protect me was greater within their region of space made sense. And having an escort is never a bad thing. I cannot pilot a craft of any kind, so I would need to have it done for me. Most especially when there is the need to gather some of my hidden supplies.

I wanted to burst out laughing when he had said that I had a sharper mind than most, but refrained from doing so. I may have a higher intelligence than others in some things. But in a great many other topics my knowledge is very small. My level of street smarts is so low that it is not wrong to call me naive. My experiences with the greater Galaxy is very limited compared to most. And it is just another thing that causes me to stay within my own shell and not venture far from wherever I am residing if I can help it. Afterall it is never a good thing to have my naivity pointed out all of the time.

"Thank you, Jonah. I will take some time to think upon it. And taking that time has nothing to do with my level of trust in you, for I still trust you with my life. That has not wavered. I will require a few days. There is just much to plan and many items to pack or retrieve. I am also unsure of where I could reside. My funds are not what they used to be. At times I have just lived in the laboratories that I had set up for myself. But if you need me for a task and it is within my capabilities; then I will do my best to complete it, regardless of where I am and what my decision is. I will still uphold that end of our previous deal.

Will that suffice for now, or do you require a more immediate decision?"

Tag: Jonah

 

[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​

"Hmmm..." He grunts to himself. Mandalorians thrive in war because they can adapt better than anyone else. Because they recognize strength and ca overcome any challenges thrown their way. Several might even like going to war. But Zet himself likes a state between peace and war, as life is a chaotic thing and refuses to settle with eternal peace. There's always a struggle here or there. Why not profit from it?

That said... He is not fond of flying blindly looking for wounded soldiers. He does not like to find the dead bodies of his people. And he can get shot at any second if he is detected, or by a lucky strike. Flying low is keeping him safe, but this is not a 100% safety plan. Maybe it's time to return to the base and focus on the groundwork, there are plenty of wounded in need of a medic and-

Wait. A. Second.

He narrows his eyes towards the ground. Movement? Yes. Someone is moving there, trying to hide between the buildings, and failing because of the bodies they are carrying. It seems to be enemy forces, so Zet does the logical thing and moves a finger to the trigger to get rid of them once and for all with a blast of- Wait. Wait wait wait. The button leaves the trigger. His helmet zooms in on the soldiers down there. They are carrying wounded individuals from both sides of the war. But why? Are they foolish/kind doctors, fighting to preserve all life? Or are they just getting spare limbs and lungs for their wounded soldiers, with bio-material to fuel their own creations of war to release some organic weapon to doom the enemy forces forever...

Hm. No. It's probably just the first option. Sure, Zet would pick the second option and create something entirely unethical if given the chance, but what are the odds the other side has someone like him? Not very high. There's no one like Zet Reav.

He pilots his basilisk away from the group, giving them some distance so they can keep going. The feeling of being safe will make them move, and then Zet hopes to follow them. It works. It is dangerous work because he needs to keep his eyes on the ground and the skies, but it works. They're probably desperate to reach their safehouse, and then Zet gets ready to do something really, really, REALLY stupid.

He lands. Not too close nor too far. He doesn't want any surprises in case he is wrong, and he can open fire or fly away with minimal damages if things go bad. He leaves his basilisk's shields active but removes his hands from the controls to show he is not about to shoot them. Shooting them all and getting rid of this whole building is tempting, but... they have people from Zet's side. In his head, his logical thinking is taking a serious beating from his instinct and this crazy idea. Well, here it goes.

"I'd like a word with whoever is in charge" He calls out. There are probably several weapons pointed at him, but he keeps his cool. Perks of wearing armor and helmet is that no one knows when you're sweating and praying to whatever mad-creature is out there ruling over mortal life as gods. "Parlay? We can shoot at each other after we speak, if you wish. I like my odds here either way." He tries, hesitantly. Hmmm. This is his first time trying diplomacy, alone, against an enemy group.

On the plus side, if he pulls it off, it'll be a good campfire story.

​

 

[Saul Whesai]

People were starting to clamber over the wire fences and helping each other get over every obstacle to reach safety and get out of harm's way. It would have been impressive if there hadn't been certain death at the other end. Saul was doing the best he could to try to push people, both young and old, forward to try to stop those who were behind from losing their lives.

The Cyborg was one of the last ones to come through the Diarchies' compound's gate, coughing and spluttering as he dragged his feet, trying to dodge ordiles carrying suppilies and helping people get off their feet. He just needs someplace to lean on... to rest his head so the spinning would go away. He was thanking the ones that he didn't have the real eyes. Otherwise, they would be watering right now. When his hands found something to hang onto, something with armor... Looking up, he saw the face of a red mando helmet turning back to glance at him, causing him to think... I just ran into a Death Watch Soldier... Great...

The Red Armor Zet was wearing didn't exactly look like that of Darth Maul's Army, but it looked damn close to someone who wasn't in their right state of mind. He quickly tried to draw his sidearm, only for it to drop onto the pavement as he threw up all over the Mando's backside. Sighting Iandre Athlea running up to the pair, he croaked out a question to the former Jedi. "Who... used the gas...?" before falling over onto the concrete, his whole body shaking as the cyborg had a seizure in front of them all. He clearly had been exposed to long, even with the precautions, even with the meager protection they had available. One thing was for sure: the cyborg needed help fast.

Iandre Athlea , Hetton Vemec , Zet Reav

 

[Hetton Vemec]

I look at Saul Whesai and ask "Can you deal with the gas, I deal with barbarian at the gate I guess."

I give Iandre Athlea a sideward look, knowing me and my men need her skills after that, then again, so might this scum.

I take sharp intake of air, as I send a message to my men, on a closed channel only Diarchy can hear, Guys we have a Mandalorian, calling us out, heavies get eyes on his ship, he can not be allowed to leave. As if he does, this place maybe become a target, and we can't evacuate all the of the wounded, with the battle raging. This is the only safe spot we have till more transports arrive. We need to keep that way, do you hear me, he can not leave. He paused, and then added Unfortunately till we get shields down here, we can't risk a fight either the injured are counting on us. The irony is, it was also the mandalorian scum who was also injured was counting on him.

I head out in full armour, flanked by two men, he would recognise my accent, as it was unmistakably of Serenno.

As head out I see him, on his Basilisk mount, I did not know if he new some heavy weapons where poised to take it down if need be.
That said they were a powerful machine and victory was not certain.

He looked the Mandalorian, he appeared to be alone their weapons did not point at him. As they did not need to initiate this, this was Parly with bantha fodder in front of me. He hated them for conquest of his planet, and attacking two great houses. That said his name can not be mentioned, as his family he still their.

I say to him "So whom do I the honour of addressing?" He kept short, his accent undeniable.

Zet Reav

 

[Itzhal Volkihar]

| Location | Daro, Outer Rim Territories

| Objective | I - Take The City

Thick clouds of dust and debris from the collapse of the Azlantian Tower smothered the light of the overhanging sun, leaving the land shrouded in an oppressive darkness that billowed outwards. Tendrils of smoke snaked through the air, curling and twisting with a malevolent grace, born of the devastation concealed within the expanding realm of terrible ruin.

Covered in a halo of burning light that left a trail of scorched air and fluttering ash behind him, Itzhal Volkihar descended upon the site of his ghastly creation with grim purpose, undeterred by the flicker of lights that reached up towards him. He weaved through blazing bolts of anger and pain, determined to smite him from the air, yet grasping upon nothing but the memory of his presence, a silhouette left in his wake before the clouds swallowed the absence.

A ghost, lost in the mists.

The Mandalorian's jetpack spluttered with a final gasp of smouldering fuel before he landed, his boots kicking up dust that whirled in the air for a heartbeat, before it fell back to earth, meandering slowly on a descent that travelled over shattered glass and the remnants of an office room divider torn in half, a shard of metal from one of the standing frames embedded in what might have once been a wall, now part of the floor beneath his feet.

Outside, the air screeched with the sound of blaster fire from both sides, with the Lilaste Order responding in numbers that were far beyond Itzhal's original hopes, though not as dire as he'd predicted with the confirmation of a Jetii amongst their ranks. He would consider it something of a success that they'd entered in the first place, though the use of indirect methods such as the droids had likely muffled the exact source of danger. In the end, it had allowed them to move to the next phase, only triggering the explosives once the enemy was distracted in their fight across multiple levels.

Even then, Itzhal wondered if a less powerful Jetii would have noticed the threat quickly enough or possessed the ability to send bodies flying like ragdolls into the sky. He knew, at least, if it had been any other army, the sudden ejection of so many soldiers would have probably resulted in bodies splattered across the ground rather than descending limply to the ground. Consideration for next time, the Morellian assured himself as he stalked through a makeshift doorway formed of a crack splintered between two walls.

His target, pulling themselves from the rubble, barely got a moment to turn their head in his direction before he fired a blaster bolt into the gap between plates on their side. A wisp of heat and smoke trailed from the barrel of his blaster pistol, distorted like a heat mirage, before he fired again and confirmed the kill.

The next threat, he was certain, would not be so easy.

With another step forward, Itzhal smothered the guilt that settled in his chest, leaving behind the corpse in his wake, another lost soul in a cemetery of his sins—buried amongst his brothers in arms. Itzhal's steps were little more than a whisper as his stride carried him through the fallen structure, its innards spilt across the ground, and the frame shattered into lesser fragments that dotted the landscape like headpieces of a macabre graveyard.

Silence would have been a fitting companion to the scene, enveloping it in a tranquil embrace that warped the mirror reflection of deep horror and awe unfurling in his heart. The world was not so kind. Muffled by the press of collapsed walls, blaster bolts and slugthrowers wailed in the distance, a banshee cry for the departed and those who would follow soon.

A thunderous roar tore through the air, the faint echo of shifting rubble and debris suddenly interrupted by the shattered fragments of dishevelled dirt that cracked against the wall to Itzhal's left with all the force of a grenade, punching holes in its wake as the Mandalorian dropped into a crouch. One hand lowered to the ground, fingers pressed into the surface as the cracked tarmac trembled and pieces of the temporary ceiling above his head creaked with the threat of collapse.

Wearily, the gunslinger peeked through one of the cracks in the wall as the sensors in his visor provided a garble of information that failed to line up with the figure pulling themselves from their own tomb, the exact same figure that Itzhal recognised from the video footage before the droids had been destroyed in mass.

There was no delay as thoughts turned to precise action, a certainty of purpose forged in the moment of recognition. With a flash of movement, Itzhal unleashed a hailstorm of blaster bolts that tore through the wall between him and Laphisto, honed in on the soldier's centre-mass and where his hand gripped his side. Aware of the danger that came with getting close to a force-user, but also the even more dangerous possibility of giving them a moment to think, Itzhal advanced, his steps carrying him into the ruined clearing scattered with pieces of Azlantian Tower and the embers of flickering flames.

Tags: Laphisto Hanna​