Dominion Operation: Bondfire || Mandalorian Empire Dominion of Ancora

[Incitrix]

TAG: Aether Verd / Ro'talius Emanti / Ladante Mamba / Sari'la Kandosii / Itzhal Volkihar / Hanna / Domina Prime

As the team moved forward, designated sappers within the group rigged the entrance of the tunnel. It would be awhile longer before a boom could be heard and the specialists were back on the heels of the group. First set of explosives seemed to be the right amount. She could only trust them as far as they were useful. They were skilled for what they did. Any more explosives and the entirety of the tunnel could have collapsed in on all of them. They have shown themselves useful so far. Their competence had been noted.

A voice would ring out within the group. Incitrix turned her head to see an armored warrior in beskar, like herself. She also took notice of the emerald green sash that was worn across his chest. To his question concerning their RoE, a fellow field marshal would respond. One that she hadn’t gotten yet. Adres words were solid.

Incitrix followed up, her voice cutting through the weight of silence with clarity and finality.

“For those that don’t know, I’m Field Marshal Incitrix. We shall condone no survivors of our adversaries. They breathe, they die. Keep your eyes peeled.”

The thickness of the air grew quickly as there was no room for interpretation. One mistake could cost you or your teammate’s lives. The weight of their emotions could probably cut it with a fingernail. The air grew heavier. Oppressive. You didn’t need Force sensitivity to feel it. But Incitrix did. The tangle of emotions in the tunnel scraped at her awareness: fear, anticipation, doubt. She didn’t care for it. They were unnecessary distractions. Emotions were liabilities in tight quarters like these. A distraction she filtered out with practiced efficiency. They needed to move forward and complete the mission. HVT’s weren’t going to wait around until they made their move. Incitrix expected that they knew the group was heading deeper in. It made her anticipation of combat more “fun.”
​

 

[Ro'talius Emanti]

​

TAG: Aether Verd / Hanna / Ladante Mamba / Itzhal Volkihar / Domina Prime / Sari'la Kandosii / Incitrix

TK-373 found himself and his fellow Nite Owls pushing through the new borne death and soon to be decay. Eventually, they would move with an all out sprint. Ducking down and getting around smaller buildings. Though, they were rerouted from what he thought would be their primary target. Something he was accustomed to with a constantly changing directive.

They pushed their way along the wall until they reached a medium sized metal door that led downward. He gave the command to continue into the tunnel without a word. Two of the Night Owls pried the door open as two others went through the passage first. He held the rear as he shut the door behind him. From his backpack, a welding torch was quickly removed. TK-373 ignited the gas powered tool and sealed the door shut. He promptly stored it back in his backpack prior as the group moved onward into the tunnels. They would find another way to the surface when the time came.

The group would hold their weapon in whatever ready stance fit them. His rifle was held in the high ready position. They moved as a single unit. Each movement they performed was practiced and almost perfectly replicated. Their pause was when a Field Marshal’s voice pierced their communication line.

On a private channel, a Field Marshal's voice crackled through Ro'talius’ headset:

"Nite Owl Fourteen, be advised. Resistance ahead. Automated emplacements and pressure mines scattered along your vector. Watch your step, soldier. The Keep doesn’t give second chances."

“Good to go, Field Marshal.”

“Concussion grenades.”

His response was direct. The Night Owls knew what to do. Two concussion grenades were thrown forward in the passage. Night Owls with personal energy shields activated them and stood at the tip of their spear. Explosions riddled off one after the other in batches. They waited for the smoke to clear. Thermal vision within their helmet optics were active. The path was mostly clear. An automated turret sparked and malfunctioned, but was permanently disabled by one of the tech specialists.

Blood already stained the ground and it didn’t belong to them. He liked to keep it that way. They would need to keep their heads up. The pace they wanted to move at was slowed. Everyone here he needed to keep alive. There was never only one set of traps. Stealth was still an open option. Even with the explosions, it should be enough to mask their movements.

TK-373 would motion with his hand to follow his lead as the group moved forward. Things seemed like they weren’t getting easier, but his resolve stilled quickly. Training took over where his mind would have faltered to his emotions. Even if he hadn’t been training with them for long. The culmination of all of their experience would eventually, and hopefully, lead them to victory.


​

 

[Verity Suun]

Ally: None | Hostile: None| Engaging: Unknown Fighters
Location: Natural Satellite [Moon] IV
Vessel: Frigate | Transport
Posture: Shields Online, Weapons Charged, No Squadrons Launched
Multiple Targets Designated, Communication Open, Turning to Engage

​

"Enemy?" Suun listened to the orders being given and watched as the helm began to turn their vessel to face the enemy. "We have not identified the enemy, or they would meet the Aether's full fire power. Captain," the Admiral's voice grew fainter as she stepped away from the transmitter, and what followed was in a tongue unrecognized by galactic linguistics databanks. These ships broadside long, she reminded him. Unlike their own vessel, turning to face the enemy would not bring larger batteries to bear; though they did, in a sense, share a favoritism to the sides.

Rather than turn full in to the approaching vessels, they pulled out of close orbit to the moon and brought the turrets to bear on the enemy craft.

"Alor," Suun's voice returned in force, "on your words, we will engage this foe. I will not tolerate the attack by such scum against my people." If there was one thing someone did not do it was attack a ship of the Imperium. Attacking any property or person of the Imperium would earn swift reprisal, but a ship earned instant and overwhelming force. There had been a reason Suun had been on the short list of commanders to be sent.

"Torpedoes in the void!"

The transport that had bugged out earlier swept across the bow of the frigate and dropped chaff to detonate several of the hostile ordinance. The Coronus likewise lit up space as nano-flares showered into the path of fire. Turrets started to return fire before the first missile had even detonated resulting in a shower of color and explosions ignited in orbit of Ancora.

The Coronus had ten point-defense laser cannons, which was on-par with the corvette that had intercepted them earlier. In terms of laser armament, they were equal; once ion or torpedoes were accounts for the math got dicier depending on the scenario. The frigate's advantage was in its defensive capabilities or enduring a barrage.

Verity squinted out the viewport at the sight. The urge to take command and crush them personally was strong, but she had assigned another command of the vessel; it would do poorly to crew morale to take it back so quickly.

Manti Wyrvhor

 

[Runi Kuryida]

OBJECTIVE II: IRON BASTION​

Runi's helmet hung from one of the sword grips that stuck out over a shoulder as she moved through the work site. She was not of the Clans that wore their helmet at all times. Were battle joined she was be an anonymous as the next vod, but among the citizens of Ancora she was one of them. A person and not a symbol -- a child of the Manda.

She came to a stop and turned to regard a display extended in her direction. With a nod and a gesture at the layout, she directed where material should be kept and temporary fortifications placed while construction proceeded. Her's was not a place of glory and fame from great deeds in battle, but she was knowledgeable in such things. Manda willing they would not be accosted before their efforts were finished.

"Excuse me, Mandalorian."

The voice caused the Shaman to stop once more and regard the native that called out to her. They were young, but not too young. A crisp uniform. Kallien Academy, as Runi recalled from her reading of the world.

"Could I ask you a few questions?"

Polite. Disciplined. Ancora's Academy had not done this one a disservice. "Ask, and I will answer. I am Runi Kuryida, Shaman of the Manda."

Their brown eyes blinked, words brought up short. With a slight clearing of the throat, they bowed at the waist. "Cadet Davven Ghallor of Kallien, of Ancora."

Runi smiled and bowed her head in acceptance of his greeting. It was best to converse with someone knowing their name. Too many nameless people whose faces passed by too soon in the galaxy.

"Ah," the Cadet straightened up and force himself not to awkward reach up to rub the back of his neck, "forgive me, Shaman Kuryida, I was curious... what a Mandalorian thought of the Force."

Kallien was an Academy for Force Users on Ancora, after all. It was not such a shocking question. More impressive that the young man had found the courage to ask a Mandalorian such a question at all. There were stories of their... less sophisticated forms of discourse. Caused memories of a few negotiations among those of the Enclave to surface. "The Manda." Runi paused for a few seconds. The Cadet was about to prompt her for more when she continued, "Many that believe in the Force see it as Light and Dark, Good and Evil. It is neither."

"Some have spoken of -- what was it? -- a Living Force. Is that what you mean?"

"Yes." He nodded as if clarity had been gained. "And no." Then the furrow of confusion. "The term 'Living Force' carries connotations steeped in Light and Dark. It is an effort to reconcile how a single, all encompassing Force exists and is responsible for sects believing in two disparate sides of the same thing. Mandalorians never believed in the continuum between Light and Dark in the first place. It is the Manda. It is the... collective Soul of all Mandalorian. Where we come from. Where we return. And while we live something that enables us to protect and uplift vod when they are in need. It is a companion. It is life itself."

The Cadet mulled over this for a moment. "What many call the Force, you call the Manda." Runi nodded. "But you view it as... a collective... consciousness?"

She had heard it described that way before. "Not in the way most would believe. It does not instruct us how to live. It expects us to live. To thrive. To grow. Through our growth we strengthen the Manda -- we grow together by returning from that whence we came better than we arrived."

"Then--" whatever question he had was cut off with the sound of something collapsing to one side of the complex.

"Excuse me," Runi said before she moved quickly in the direction of the commotion.
​

OPEN​

 

[Manti Wyrvhor]

Location: Orbit of Nico-ni Natural Satellite IV [Charlie]
Objective: Find Smugglers, Suppress Rebel Supply Lines, Subdue Raiding Fighters
Alert Level: Red: Confirmed Threat

"Red Alert! Wreak havoc! And let slip the dogs of war!" Manti would call through the intercom of her vessel, and almost immediately the mood of the ship would change. The bridge lights up with color as displays manifest on view screens, the gun decks below become a cacophonous hive of activity as spotters, gunners, and AI aim assist work in tandem, and all throughout the ship the crew man their battle stations. Manti, fueled by the energy around her, stands to her full height as she surveys a hologram display of the 'battlefield'. Already her Tactical Officers had marked the encroaching fighters in red and the Imperium's ship in blue, a sign of allyship.

"Fire torpedoes and close the distance! Break their formation!" she would call, the engines of the Oath of Iron roaring to life only a second later as the corvette barrels towards its enemies. From the mid-back section of the ship six Diamond Boron Missiles would ignite and fly from hidden launch tubes, careening towards the enemy fighters ahead of the corvette.

This was what Manti was waiting for, a chance to finally test the capabilities of the corvette her engineers had so pain stakingly designed.

Point-Defense cannons would light up only a second after the torpedoes left their tubes, lighting up the sky in a brilliant confetti of yellow streaks. Most torpedoes coming for the Oath of Iron met their end in the haze of yellow, with a few getting through and impacting against the primary shields. Soon, when all missiles were gone the cannons turned on the encroaching fighters.

Verity Suun

 

[Drego Ruus]

Tag: Aether Verd
The Forward Line​

Clan Ruus had been placed right at the center of the siege. Why? Because Drego had requested it specifically. He wanted his clan to prove it's worth. The men of Ruus had spent the last few days shelling the enemy position. An endless barrage of mortars and artillery, waiting for the moment to strike.

Now that came.

"OYA!" Drego called, the signal to attack. A call to arms.

And in that moment, the walkers of Ruus, the Stone Jaws of the Clan, moved forward with the infantry. Blaster bolts lit up the air, pinging off armor plates, as Drego himself led the tip of the spear.

It's what he had always wanted during his days as a Protector. A chance to prove his own ideology about what it meant to be a Mandalorian.

That if you wear the armor, you should rely on the armor. Not on gadgets, not on jetii spells, not on lightsabers or gimmicks to 'level the playing field'.

No, to be Mandalorian means charging the enemy, knowing they will shoot at you. Knowing they will hit you with everything they have, and that you'll just have to take it. That's what the armor is for. Take the pain, and give it back tenfold.

Unloading an HE grenade into a window, Drego rushed forward. A rocket exploded on his right side, shrapnel pinging off his plates, and rather than fire back, he jumped. Using his repulsor boots, he leapt right at where the rocket had come from, three stories up, before mag dumping his shotgun into the poor bastard.

"Clan Ruus, reporting in. The forward assault has begun."

 

[Itzhal Volkihar]

| Location | Ancora, Outer Rim
| Objective | Break the Chains

Step by step, the Mandalorian Empire advanced with unwavering determination in its relentless quest to wrest control of Camp Liberta from those who cowered deep within its walls and tunnels. Their final stand an inevitable tragedy, a sombre testament to the countless lives that would be sacrificed to a dispute that should have never ended in bloodshed. They should have known their people's fate was sealed the moment they turned to violence, satisfying as it was in the moment, Itzhal's people had never been one for gentle responses. Nor would the ancient Mandalorian begrudge his people their response, not after he'd been free to access the casualty lists.

There was a time for mercy. The weak would deny it, clinging desperately to whatever strength they could find. The helpless would cry out for it, seeking a promise of safety wrapped in the hope that it would save them as it had saved others. However, the strong understood when to wield mercy, recognising it as a tool as sharp as any blade.

Itzhal wished to assess whether this Mand'alor of Iron knew how, even if he did not know how, he would respond to the answer he received.

All he could do in the moment was observe as the first defences were shattered, unprepared for the relentless barrage that tore through the mountain defenders. Their line was shattered by the arrival of a mechanical beast, a figure of myth, returned to once again stand beside he who would lead the Mandalorians, as told in those ancient tales. The Mand'alor's companions tore through what defences Itzhal could see with similar displays of power, champions amongst their people, a blur of light spitting deadly slugs across the battlefield and a monstrous berserker tearing people apart limb from limb with an ease that dismissed the failure of their marksmanship, then there was what looked to be Drego jumping into the frey; his shotgun punching through at least one unfortunate foe, to name only a few of those who made their mark on the battlefield ahead.

With his focus on the chaotic and messy battlefield ahead, where anything could change on a whim. Itzhal tilted his helm to acknowledge the new arrival, spotted on one of the display screens splattered across his HuD. Anything else would have been a courtesy he was unwilling to extend, not with the battle so close, practically touching distance if the enemy possessed even one nasty surprise. Talking at least meant he didn't have to take his eyes off the battlefield as the fighting continued.

"I agree. If you're willing to watch mine, I shall watch yours," lowering his rangefinder with a tap against his helmet. Itzhal's vision extended once again, enhanced further as he gazed across the horizon, over the champions and their warriors' push, in search of those who struggled against the fortress's harsh exterior. "Point Dorn looks secure, at least for now. I assume they're referring to Cherek."

The point in question wasn't particularly special, at least from what Itzhal could see. It was a simple matter of fewer soldiers or poor timing slowing their push, where the other forces had pushed onwards.

If he'd trusted the focusing crystal on his rifle, a piece of scrap, cheaply bought with what few funds he could accure, then Itzhal might have still pulled the trigger, confident he could claim a head or two even from this distance. Under the circumstances, however, he knew his blaster rifle was as likely to diffuse before impact as it was to drift off target, a risk he was naturally unwilling to make, even if it meant he had to wait in the reserves until a push was called for. Quietly in the comfort of his own head, Itzhal acknowledged that it was probably about time he made an upgrade.

Tags: Aether Verd Sari'la Kandosii Incitrix Domina Prime Hanna Ro'talius Emanti Ladante Mamba Drego Ruus​

 

[Hanna]

Location: Camp Libertia, Mountain Ranges - Ancora
Thread Objective: I - Break the Chains
Mission Objective: Secure the fortress.
Tag: Sari'la Kandosii Incitrix Aether Verd Ro'talius Emanti Ladante Mamba Itzhal Volkihar Drego Ruus

Hold position. Hanna’s nostrils flared as her HUD bloomed with incoming hostile markers—enemy forces maneuvering to retake the position she had captured.

“Copy that. Holding posture,” Hanna replied, her tone calm. The Qilin glanced at her sensor readout, her eyes narrowing as she regarded the information. The enemy had broken off into two groups in an attempt to surround her. She readied one of her thermal seekers explosives, setting it to seek and destroy the targets approaching to her left.

The drone zipped out from her hand, whining death as it raced towards its designated targets.

Zip, then boom.

The Qilin surged into motion in the immediate wake of the blast, repulsors flaring as she accelerated. Four of the insurgents had been caught in the blast, their bodies partially atomized with what little left reduced to charred skeletons. Her pistols spat death into the remainder, electromagnetically accelerated slugs ripping through flesh and armor in gruesome measure. One of the insurgents took the initiative, shouting an order. However, before he could finish the sentence, his head was torn from his shoulders. A hypersonic slug struck just below his jaw, vaporizing skull, teeth, and brain matter in a microsecond. Blood painted the wall behind him in a fine, misted arc. Another rounded the corner, rifle raised. However, before he could squeeze the trigger, a slug round struck him dead center, punching through his breastplate like it was flimsi. For a fraction of a second, the armor held its shape—then the kinetic energy ripped through him, detonating flesh and bone in a spray of crimson mist. Three more armored insurgents met a similar fate, their armored forms crumpling to the ground with fist-sized exit wounds that steamed in the air.

After scanning the carnage, Hanna zipped ahead, repulsorlift skates screaming to life before she abruptly broke left, cutting a razor-sharp arc across the walls.

In moments, the second group of insurgents was in her sights.

Spoiler: Loadout

• Sparkle Velocity
  
  • Gauntlets and Vambraces
    
    • Modular Weapon Mount (3) - R
      
      • PC-05V Plasma Caster
        
        • Ammunition
          
          • Medium Plasma Gas Canister
      • NML-02VTB Nano Missile Launcher
        
        • Ammunition
          
          • Depleted Baradium-tipped Baradium Nano Missiles (12)
    • Modular Weapon Mount (3) - L
      
      • IceJet Miniaturized CryoBan Projector
        
        • Ammunition
          
          • CryoBan Canister
      • Repulsor Projector
• Hanna’s HB-42 Disruptor Pistols (2)
  
  • Ammunition
    
    • FAE/AM-01-S2 Energy Weapon Cartridge - Ethaerium X Gas and CryoBan Coolant (4)
    • FAE/AM-01-S2 Energy Weapon Cartridge - Ethaerium Gas and CryoBan Coolant (8)
  • Attachments
    
    • 1-5x FAE/S-08 Electro-Sight
• Glitter Roses (2)
  
  • Ammunition
    
    • Extended Magazine - Standard Penetrator (6)
    • Standard Magazine - Seismic Implosive-Explosive (2)
  • Attachments
    
    • 1-5x FAE/S-08 Electro-Sight
• FAE/MDE-01-S2 Semiautonomous Seeker Thermal Explosive (1)
• Infrared Smoke Grenade (2)

 

[Laphisto]

Objective II​

Laphisto had heard whispers of a Mandalorian Empire rising from the ashes of the Crusaders. Scattered by the Planeshift, their leadership fractured and their purpose diluted, the old order had fallen into silence. In its place, something new had begun to take shape something claiming strength, unity… and balance.

He didn’t know what to expect. A part of him feared this new regime would mirror the old driven by dogma, intolerant of difference. He had seen what followed the fall of the Protectors. He had felt the sting of rejection when the Neo-Crusaders declared war not just on outsiders, but on those like him Force-wielders who refused to deny their nature. Back then, joining their cause had felt like a betrayal of everything he had once fought for. And so, he walked away. Into exile. Into silence.

But now he had heard rumors. Quiet ones, buried beneath layers of intercepted communiques and intelligence passed along through Diarch Rellik network. Whispers of Mandalorian Knights. Of Force-wielders wearing beskar without shame. Of old traditions stirring again ones that remembered honor, not just conquest.

And deep within, a sliver of hope flickered. Perhaps there was still a place for him among them. Even now. Even after so long. His taloned feet crunched softly against the weathered rooftop as he walked, arms crossed over his chest, gaze sweeping across the city below. He had never stepped foot on Ancora before. But there was recognition in the way the mandalorians walked.

The Force flowed through the streets like a living current, weaving through every heartbeat, every motion, every soul. It danced across his senses like strands of light and breath, wrapping around civilians and warriors alike. Ancorans and Mandalorians, entwined in a tenuous, growing rhythm.

His lone ear flicked as he listened snippets of speech, the hum of construction equipment, laughter stifled by fatigue, the barked commands of a drill instructor. All part of the same living tapestry. A world in transition.

A low rumble built in his chest half thought, half instinct and he reached up, gently stroking his chin in contemplation. His eyes narrowed. Were these truly his kin? Was this the rebirth of what had been lost?

He did not move to descend. Not yet. Instead, he remained still, letting the Force wash over him, studying the flow of life with the patience of a soul who had seen empires rise and fall like tides. His breath was steady. Measured.

Somewhere down there, perhaps, walked someone who wore the name Ordo. And maybe, just maybe… someone who would remember him.

 

[Malachi Vokat]

ANCORA
Adean Castor , Runi Kuryida , Cordelia Malkavian

Malachi Vokat preferred the battlefield.

Not for the glory. Not even for the thrill. But because, on the frontlines, things made sense. The enemy pointed their rifles one way. You pointed yours the other. Purpose was as clear as a blaster’s muzzle flash.

But here—among scaffolding and half-welded walls, surrounded by supply crates and fresh recruits—he served at the pleasure of the Mand’alor.

So he watched. Guarded. Waited.

The fortress’s western approach buzzed with the motion of laborers and security details alike, durasteel panels grating against repulsors and the drone of power tools filling the air. Malachi stood near the edge of a reinforced overlook, helm tucked under one arm, the other resting idly against his hip. A slow turn of his head brought Cordelia into view—crimson hair visible even beneath her helmet’s shadow. She was never far. Not when they were assigned together.

He scanned the crowd once more.

Then he saw her.

The survivor from Ketaris.

Her gait was stronger now, but he remembered the weight of rubble above her body. The way she’d sounded through the dust—somehow, yes. He approached without announcement, boots thudding lightly across the temporary flooring. When he stopped beside her, he nodded once.

Not formal. Not stiff.

Just real.

“Didn’t expect to see you here.”

His voice was lower than usual, warmer by degrees. No probing questions. No suspicion. Just acknowledgment.

Then it came.

A loud bang. Steel-on-stone. A cascade of something toppling deeper inside the work zone.

Malachi’s head snapped toward the sound, jaw tightening. No hesitation followed.

He turned on his heel, motioning for Cordelia and the survivor both.

“Come on." His voice hardened back into shape. “If someone’s hurt, they'll need help."

And with that, he made for the noise—duty once more in motion.​

 

[Verity Suun]

Ally: None | Hostile: None | Engaging: Pirate Fighters & Frigate
Location: Natural Satellite [Moon] IV
Vessel: Frigate | Transport
Posture: Shields Online, Weapons Firing, No Squadrons Launched
Multiple Targets Designated, Communication Open, Engaging Hostile Forces

​

One, two starfighters exploded in an inferno. Against a frigate and a corvette, let alone two more in the area, they had no chance. Suun found the entire thing inexplicable. They were out gunned, and had initiated combat regardless. The Mandalorians, at least, appeared to be on their side after all. Between them it wouldn't take long to shred the enemy even if the Aether himself were not present.

The tactical analysis was correct until another frigate dropped out of hyperspace almost on top of the Coronus with its forward guns and torpedoes launched just as soon as it appeared. Impacts registered across the dorsal shield array with the crew inside forced to grab hold of their console or the nearest bulkhead to remain seated or on their feet.

Orders were given to adjust their firing solution for the Pirates' capital ship. The lone squad of starfighters ready for action aboard the Coronus were called to take their vessels in prepared to ward off the advancing pirate fighters. While the corvettes may yet clean them up, they couldn't wait to see how the Alor would react -- their priority could become the capital ship, which would leave defense entirely to the Coronus' crew.

 

[Aether Verd]

ANCORA
"When pressure mounts, lesser men flee."​

THE FRONT — DREGO & HANNA

From the heights of Section Dorn, Aether saw the Stone Jaws of Clan Ruus descend upon the battlefield like falling mountains. Their advance was brutal, unrelenting—iron plates catching fire and flak alike as they surged forward in formation. Drego’s cry—“OYA!”—cut through the storm, an ancestral war call echoed in the bones of Mandalore itself.

Aether raised his rifle toward the sky in salute, voice bellowing through his external amp:

“OYA!”

His Basilisk mount responded as if stirred by the sound of it—shoulder turrets pivoting, rotary cannons whirring. Across the field, Hanna’s second engagement was reaching a critical point. With a sweep of his HUD, Aether designated the insurgents attempting to flank her.

< “Target lock. Suppressive fire.” >

The Basilisk unleashed a hail of plasma bolts, churning the earth and forcing the enemy into sudden, panicked retreat. Hanna would find her opening amid the chaos—and Aether gave her no more time to hesitate.

He turned back toward the Keep.

Heavy ordnance launched from the Iron Mandalor’s gauntlet—a spread of mini-rockets arcing overhead before crashing down in a cascade of detonations. The forward bastion of the fortress shuddered violently, smoke and dust bursting skyward like a volcanic cough.​

REARGUARD — ITZHAL'S VANTAGE

From his perch, Itzhal’s analysis was sharp. Section Dorn remained secure—thanks in part to Hanna and the Iron himself—but Point Cherek was faltering.

Commando droids had emerged in force, using entrenched autocannons and squad-based formations to stall Mandalorian advance. The defenders were well-coordinated, pressing with heavy suppressive fire that pinned allied forces in cover.

Then came the call:

“Rearguard, reinforce Cherek. Move now!"

The young Mandalorian beside Itzhal—barely more than a fresh scar on his shoulder plate—snapped upright. His jetpack roared to life. He offered one last grin through his visor, slapping his shoulder twice.

“Race you there!”

And then he was airborne, trailing smoke and fire as he arced toward the battlefield.​

TUNNELS - INCITRIX

Deep within the tunnels beneath Camp Liberta, pressure mounted.

The assault was having its intended effect. Communications were fractured. Orders were failing. And now—command was fleeing.

A knot of figures broke from a side corridor, bolting deeper into the mountain. An HVT—a pale-faced commander in a dust-stained officer’s coat—was flanked by insurgents and reprogrammed commando droids, their skeletal forms sweeping ahead with military precision. Panic twisted the commander’s features the moment he saw them—Mandalorians, blocking his escape. Incitrix’s strike element had intercepted the path.

Blaster fire lit the narrow passage in crimson and cobalt. The firefight began anew, harsher and more desperate than before.​

TUNNELS - RO'TALIUS

“Nite Owl Fourteen—enemy command’s breaking. We’ve got eyes on HVTs fleeing toward the lower tunnels. Press forward. Help block their escape.”

The alert came from Incitrix’s unit, punctuated by distant gunfire in the background. The time for scalpel strikes had passed. Now was the moment to close the jaws and finish the hunt.​

THE KEEP CRUMBLES - ALL

A tremendous BOOM rolled across the battlefield.

The Keep’s outer walls buckled, cracks spidering outward as stone and durasteel began to give way beneath the relentless Mandalorian siege. Chunks of masonry tumbled, and for a moment—across ramparts and tunnels alike—the world held its breath.

Then, like thunder returning from the mountains, the sound reverberated through every corridor. Dust rained from tunnel ceilings. The floor shook underfoot. The battle was nearing its climax.

Now was the time to bury the enemy.​

Hanna , Sari'la Kandosii , Incitrix , Ro'talius Emanti , Ladante Mamba , Itzhal Volkihar , Drego Ruus

 

[Adean Castor]

TAG: Malachi Vokat | Cordelia Malkavian | Runi Kuryida

Adean hadn't expected to remain on Ancora long. She never expected to really linger anywhere, not after all her years drifting from one locale to another all under different assumed names and roles. Jutrand had been the first break in the pattern, a fateful encounter with Darth Carnifex had seen her locked into the Zambrano name she'd unwittingly accepted. Korriban had been the next prolonged stay, again by accident. With no intention on her part beyond survival, she'd gone from a wayward drifter to a dedicated student at both Sith Academies.

A part of her wondered if a new pattern had begun.

Surely not. After all, she'd encountered the Mandalorians by unfortunate happenstance. It was by force or by lucky stars that they'd opted for kindness rather than count her amongst their enemies, something Adean still wasn't sure was not without an ulterior motive. She'd been among the Sith too long not to expect one.

She'd planned on making her exit that morning, hopefully sliding into the recesses of memory if not remaining unnoticed by the vast majority of those she encountered. She'd been called a ghost on one occasion, and had begrudgingly come to find the description accurate. There was safety in being able to exist unnoticed.

And yet, right before she could slip back to anonymity, someone needed help carrying supplies. And then someone else discovered the building plans they'd drafted featured miscalculated measurements. And then there was an argument on the division of labor...

When Malachi approached, Adean had just finished inking in the last corrected measurement of the schematic. Redoing the calculations had been a menial task, requiring no physical labor on her part but still making her look like the savior of the day, especially when she'd slid in with suggestions of who would do what. The de facto leader of this particular group of recruits would still get to feel like they were in charge, Adean's influence grew slowly but surely, and the building would still be built (hopefully with fewer headaches in the process). Everyone would win, though some more than others.

"Someone mixed units of measurement midway through calculations. Didn't think you lot wanted this building about 8 meters taller only on one side," she said with a shrug, casting a quick glance his way. There had been no question with his statement, something Adean could acknowledge logically, yet she still felt compelled to explain herself. Acknowledgement for the sake of acknowledgement, with no questions, no expectations, was a foreign concept to her.

The sudden bang drew forth a jump from the Epicanthix, a dagger snapping to her hand as she searched for the threat. The lightsaber that, like just about everything she owned, came to her through less than savory means would remain hidden so long as she could avoid it. Even within Sith space, she preferred to avoid conflict, enough so that the list of people who even knew she had a lightsaber could probably be counted on her hands.

There was no relaxation when it hit her that there was no active threat, nervous energy instead redirecting to keeping pace with Malachi as he bid her and Cordelia follow. "I doubt I can be much help."

 

[Manti Wyrvhor]

Location: Orbit of Nico-ni Natural Satellite IV [Charlie]
Objective: Find Smugglers, Suppress Rebel Supply Lines, Subdue Pirates
Alert Level: Red: Confirmed Threat

"Enemy frigate has just dropped out of hyperspace" the Oath of Iron's tactical officer would bark over the din of the bridge

"Maintain fire on the fighters while directing disruptor torpedoes at the frigate to weaken its shields! Let's assist the Coronus out where we can."
Manti would bark in response, pacing impatiently in front of the captain's chair. At this point Manti almost believed these pirates would have a proper cruiser appearing any minute now.

The bridge would shake as a passing fighter hits the Oath of Iron's shields with a well placed torpedo of its own, Manti would stumble but catch herself on the captain's chair. As Manti would glance out the front view window she's see another fighter be disintegrated in a hail of lasers.

Verity Suun

 

[Cordelia Malkavian]

OBJECTIVE II​

Tags: Malachi Vokat | Adean Castor | Runi Kuryida ​

Time had not been allotted for much of a break, even after such a job well done. The latter thought was wrapped in sarcasm, though it made the first half no less true. Time was cruel and certainly had a sense of humor, but Cordelia found none of this entertaining. Overseeing this level of construction may have been impressive, but the redhead was admittedly ready for a night of drinks and what good company she kept around, though the thought of drinks caused an uncomfortable ache in her throat. Ungloved fingers touched the front of her throat before soothing the skin as if it would assist the ache beneath.​

​

It did not, and it caused Delia to scoff in annoyance at herself before she lifted both hands and pulled her helmet from her head. She took only a moment to shake the cascade of red locks loose and run a now free hand through them to tame any form of helmet hair, and then she dropped her arms to her sides, her helmet clacking against her thigh as her eyes closed and she took the time to just breathe. To breathe past the ache, past the tiredness that pulled at her, past everything that she needed to push back down and ignore.

Her moment of peace was shattered at the loud bang that sounded. The lids flew open over gray eyes and her brow tightened as she scanned the immediate area. And then her other source of irritation sounded. How she kept ending up paired with Vokat was beyond her. Clearly their efforts as a team on Ketaris had impressed someone, somewhere, but she didn't find it amusing either. At the motion and command to follow, Delia's eyes narrowed. She of course had the drive to help where it was needed, but something about being beckoned along had her stubborn side pursing her lips.​

​

Luckily, the familiar face of the survivor they had dug out on the same trip, was following along as well. It meant there would be a buffer between her and he-without-humor. That quelled the stubbornness enough to make Delia sigh, and then pick up the pace to follow.​

​

"I'm sure you'll be plenty of help." she spoke with assurance to the other woman as she caught up. "There's always some way to lend aid, and even if it doesn't seem like much to you? It could mean worlds to someone else." Where the heck such reassurance had come from, Delia didn't know. She'd have to reflect on it later, but right now the words were already out there, and she had meant them.​

​

​

 

[Jaikell Wyrvhor]

OPERATION BONDFIRE
-THE KEEP CRUMBLES
---------------------------
Blaster bolts streak through the air, scorching the sky...
Smoke and dust churn from relentless artillery and mortar fire, swallowing the battlefield in chaos....


This is War.


And for Jaikell, it's far from his first battle—
And definitely not his last.


Through the haze, he spots a Mandalorian narrowly dodging a rocket. For a moment, it looks like the end—
But then, with a roar from his repulsor boots, the warrior blasts upward into the smoke, soaring toward the source of the attack. A second later, shotgun blasts echo from the enemy's last location.


Jaikell grins beneath his helmet.
"Now that's a Mandalorian," he shouts, half to himself, making a note of that one
"Im gonna have to introduce myself to him after all of this" he says
Drego Ruus



Fueled by adrenaline and fire, Jaikell surges forward—
Only to be rocked by a thunderous explosion.

A massive blast tears through the Keep's outer walls.
The shockwave rolls across the battlefield...


Through swirling dust and flame, he sees it—
The walls have fallen.
He slams his comm on.
"The walls are down!" he yells to anyone still listening.


No time to think.
He charges into the breach—
Through fire, rubble, and smoke, straight toward the Keep's doors.
Blaster in hand.
The HG-88 "Big Iron" Hand Cannon
Music screams through his helmet's speakers,


And as rebels rise to meet him,
He fires.
At every last one of them.

"When one chooses to walk the Way of the Mandalore, you are both hunter and prey.. And I'm not Prey"

 

[Itzhal Volkihar]

| Location | Ancora, Outer Rim
| Objective | Break the Chains

Itzhal's jetpack ignited with a thunderous roar, twin thrusters blazing to life and sending a fierce gust of superheated air billowing behind him as he ascended. The older Mandalorian, his armour tried and tested, soared into the hectic fray of the battlefield, weaving through a frenzy of blaster bolts and jagged shards of debris that exploded around him in a symphony of chaos. A beat and rhythm that all warriors learned, but few mastered, as he tilted his body into a dive that slithered past the bloom of autocannons, dark puffs of air and a horrendous racket following in his wake.

There was little time to slow down his momentum, the traditional method, a lean back that would bleed speed as the thrusters rebelled against the pull of gravity, utterly useless when it would only leave a sitting duck. Instead, the Mandalorian shot past the enemy frontline, a twirl sending him past two of the mountaineers, their rifles spitting fire into the Mandalorian lines, until he drew both pistols and fired in a sequence of shots guided by the 360° sensors on his helmet rather than the limitations of natural sight.

The previous protection the frontline provided Itzhal disintegrated shortly after, as unfeeling Commando Droids weighed the threat of his existence against the potential misfire of a shot into their own forces. It might have been less if one of his first targets hadn't been one of the liberators heroic enough to charge the Mandalorian's push. Either way, he still had to deal with their sudden attention as a trail of shrapnel began to hone in on his position, rapidly adjusting for the twist that brought Itzhal between a crossfire, shoulder-checking one man with a crunch of bone and a rattle that reverberated dully over his armour.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the other Mandalorian, their armour older than the child beneath it, fighting with another soldier, his prowess on display as a duel of old was recreated in time. Itzhal knew not whether they saw the Commando Droid, a skeletal figure like old bones rising from the decrepit mountain, shards of violence held in a screeching blade. An ancient tale of glory tarnished with the reality of war.

He'd made a promise.

Not an oath, for such would be a lie on a chaotic field such as this.

But a lesser commitment, formed of intention and what his actions could deliver upon the conviction of his spirit.

He was still speeding through the air when the Commando Droid leapt into the air, a twirling nightmare, dragged from ancient depths, suddenly yanked out of the air as beskar ploughed through its metal frame, a crunch of the support strut in its spine, hardly hindering the inhuman machine as they slammed into the wall nearby, the pillar shattering in an instant, as even braced for impact, Itzhal felt the sudden force on his shoulders, then through his hips as they continued, another structure crumbling before they hit the ground, an autocannon roaring nearby. Audible over the sound of combat stimulants injected into his bloodstream, a hasty response to the microfractures that must have dotted his body.

"Kid better have appreciated that," Itzhal moaned, voice muffled into a growl.

Not that he had much time to think about the kid or the way the Morellian's body would scream once the adrenaline faded.

Itzhal's right hand dropped his blaster, one more bolt released into the skull of another soldier, before the droid's arm shot out towards his exposed neck and the fragile layers of muscle and connective tissue surrounding his windpipe. Beskar, firm and valiant, stalled the strike even as he was forced to jut his helm to the side, away from an ice-pick stab that would have torn an organic's arm off, instead only bending the Commando Droid's joint as they spun the vibroblade with perfect dexterity.

Another blow was turned asunder in the last moment, scraping along the edge of Itzhal's bodysuit and the muscles of his right arm, before he pulled the trigger and unleashed a volley of blaster bolts at point-blank range as he knocked its other hand aside, his own upraised for a moment in triumph, long enough to spit out the command words that sent a hail of micro-missiles from his gauntlet in the direction of the nearby autocannons.

The fallen foe beneath him, kind enough to offer a grenade, as Itzhal thumbed the activator and threw it towards an approaching squad of soldiers not quite prepared for his arrival in the crumbling structure. He fired a shot at their position, attempting to hit the grenade before they could throw themselves into cover or any form of defensive line that would only leave him pinned down and exposed to a prolonged death, as his own hurried steps carried him towards the detonated remains of the autocannon, surprisingly safer for the lack of munitions remaining.

Tags: Aether Verd Sari'la Kandosii Incitrix Domina Prime Hanna Ro'talius Emanti Ladante Mamba Drego Ruus​

 

[Runi Kuryida]

Runi hurried onto the scene of the collapse. A small crowd had already gathered. Some of them had their hands on the rubble, feet planted and muscles tensed as they strained against the weight. The side of one of the defense towers had crumpled into a heap exposing its internals. A few shouts followed about workers being trapped. Others shouted in askance if anyone had fled the scene.

"Everyone, step back," the Shaman announced as she strode forward.

They turned their helmets and heads to look at her for a moment. Most hesitated until a few others slowly stepped back. They weren't entirely certain what she planned to do, but her gait didn't slow until she stood before the ruin. Her hazel eyes slid from one to the next in silent command they follow her 'request.'

Once the people were clear, her hands circled before her as the Manda gathered. Fallen beams and panels shifted and then began to rise into the air to reveal the bodies of people that'd been trapped underneath. Runi set her feet where she stood. "Get them out of there." It was a construction zone, but there was hardly an opportune place to set down damaged material. At least not without it floating over the heads of people that would gawk or stumble from the sight of it. It'd do more harm than good; she would wait until the people were safe and set the metal down again, she reasoned.

Malachi Vokat | Adean Castor | Cordelia Malkavian | OPEN​

 

[Incitrix]

TAG: Aether Verd / Sari'la Kandosii / Domina Prime / Itzhal Volkihar / Hanna / Ladante Mamba / Ro'talius Emanti / Drego Ruus / Jaikell Wyrvhor

They moved briskly through what felt like an endless cavern, the path winding ever deeper beneath the earth. The group stayed on course, encountering only minor traps. They were rudimentary devices, easily disarmed. Some stretches of the tunnel plunged into near-total darkness, validating Incitrix's long-standing directive: every Mandalorian Knight under her command was to have night or thermal vision integrated into their helmet HUDs. Species blessed with natural night vision could rely on thermal as backup. No exceptions.


Still, the air remained tense. Heavier with each step. A prickling sensation crawled along the back of her neck, a silent alarm that refused to fade. She hated that feeling. There was nothing she could say or do to shake it—only experience could temper such unease. This was the very reason they trained with live ammunition and drilled with precision. War wasn't a spectacle; it was a crucible. And in it, life and death traded hands like currency. They fought so others wouldn't have to.


Then she saw it.


A metallic glint in the shadows. The enemy was here.


Blaster fire and slugthrowers cracked the silence like a thunderclap. Instinct took over. Incitrix's saber ignited with a snap-hiss—its deep crimson blade cutting through the darkness like a warning flare. Dozens of lightsabers lit the cavern in a chaos of color. Her hands gripped the hilt firmly, falling into a defensive stance. The signal officer dove behind her, quickly patching into central command.


She cursed the narrow tunnel. Flanking was impossible. They'd have to weather this storm head-on.


With practiced precision, she redirected blaster bolts with the flat of her blade, keeping her body tight and centered. Fear crept in like smoke, thickening the air around them. The aura of panic was suffocating, palpable even without the Force.

“Hold your ground, show them the might of those that serve Mand'alor!”

But holding wasn't enough. Not here. Not now. They needed to push. They needed to break the enemy's momentum before it broke them.


Time was now the deciding factor. Every second stretched thin, and each breath brought the risk of another name added to the dead. As Field Marshal, it was her duty to keep that number low. The weight of command pressed hard on her shoulders, feeding her irritation.


Failure wasn't an option. She refused to close her eyes at night and see her comrades' names behind her lids—ghosts of those she didn't save. There would be no heroics, only survival. Only victory.

​

 

[Ro'talius Emanti]

​

TAG: Aether Verd / Sari'la Kandosii / Domina Prime / Itzhal Volkihar / Hanna / Ladante Mamba / Drego Ruus / Jaikell Wyrvhor / Incitrix

TK-373 acknowledged the order from command with a subtle nod. No words were needed—his fellow Night Owls pressed forward in silence, their movement swift and deliberate. Each step quickened as the sounds of weapons fire echoed louder, eclipsing everything else. The rumble of distant detonations shook the earth around them, a brutal reminder of the chaos erupting on the surface above.

A rare smile tugged at his lips beneath the helmet, brief and private. He imagined the scale of the battle overhead—surely a clash worthy of Mandalorian war archives. But the fantasy faded just as quickly, replaced by cold focus. There was still work to be done down here. He nearly muttered a thought aloud before stopping himself. Some thoughts were meant to stay sealed behind the visor.

In his line of work, speech wasn’t wasted. Every word carried weight. Every command had consequences. There was no room for empty talk—only calculated orders that moved lives and shaped outcomes.

“Flash grenades for HVTs on contact. Then weapons free. We’ll need to give Wraith time to take control of the situation.”

The squad adjusted seamlessly to the directive, and soon they veered into a side tunnel—tight, damp, and riddled with enemy heat signatures. Without hesitation, TK-373 and another Night Owl tossed a flash grenade apiece. The metal canisters clinked against the tunnel walls before detonating in a burst of searing light. Screams followed. Droids short-circuited, insurgents staggered, blinded and disoriented. The Night Owls struck like a blade through flesh.

A hail of blaster fire thundered through the corridor. Precision and brutality in equal measure. Their enemies collapsed under the withering barrage, their bodies hitting the dirt before they could mount a defense. No mercy. No hesitation.

TK-373 moved with mechanical precision—every movement a product of training, vengeance, and duty. The path ahead was littered with broken enemies, and the squad pressed forward without pause.
​