Faction Outlaws

[Karsan Munin]

C O R U S C A N T
LEVEL 1315
2234 LOCAL​

"Don't pretend to understand us – we Mandalorians are a breed apart."

"If by 'apart' you mean scattered, broken, and lost, then yes, you are correct."


Rain.

It gave life. It brought floods. It took it. In that way, Karsan could respect it- for it simply was. There was a simplicity in disasters, in storms. It simply was, and is. There was no morality in it, nothing but the fact that it was there and it would remain. In that way, he thought of the Mandalorians as rain- no matter what, no matter the drought, at some point, it would rain. The Mandalorians- his people, were in a drought. Wrought by weakness, by foolish leaders, by half-minded fools that chose to follow her against the better wishes of all.

And those that chose to rebel. Outcasted. Wayward. Lost.

Outlaws.

No home.

Shattered clans.

The Sons of Mandalore had to make things right. But Karsan wasn't a fool. Wars needed resources. Wars needed exercises. Warriors needed training. Wars needed-

Credits.

Credits that bought weapons. Bought food. Bought wrist rockets. Bought blaster packs.

It was why, that the Sons of Mandalore had descended so far down below to Coruscant's underworld- they were to meet with a local syndicate, eager to remove the competition. Karsan had no qualms about working with anyone. The Mandalorians were at a low point- and these men where paying honest money for dishonest work. They were not Mandalorians- what did it matter? Their petty gang wars were not interesting to Karsan, or their flags, colors, or the disgusting slabs of concrete and metal they wanted to control over.

Their credits and their word was the only thing that interested him.

To that end, the Beskar-clad warriors walked along in the pouring rain, towards a rather grimy establishment- the Outlander Club. The arrival of the Mandalorians inside caused everyone to grow silent. Fractured as they were, everyone in the galaxy- especially those with knowledge first hand of the brutality of the Mandalorians, grow weary as they walked in, sauntering past the bar and up to the upper floor of the club. Inside they were meeting with a Chiss- a representative of the Syndicate. Karsan was the first to cross the threshold through the door. The guards that were with the Chiss, who would've normally frisked each person coming close and to their private room, stepped back from the gathered Sons of Mandalore.

Karsan glanced around, his helmet and eyes doing the scanning for him- the Chiss wasn't hiding any extra guns, not at least, in the room.

Not that it mattered.

There was no scum on Coruscant that could take on even the lowliest grunt the Mandalorians had.

The Chiss turned, normally postured upright, but this time- for once in a long while, spoke quietly, more reserved.

"We have a job for you all- you see, there is a rival-"

Karsan put up a crushgaunt adorned hand to usher him to silence.

"Where. Who. How many. And how much."

The Chiss stopped and cocked his head, looking forward at the gathered, before continuing.

"G19 Slum District- they're all wearing yellow shirts. And they're close to a hundred strong- each of you will receive 2000 credits, plus a bonus if you're able to capture or kill their leader."

Karsan turned to the gathered Mandalorians, waiting for any additional questions- not that there was many to be had. It sounded easy enough.

Sounded.

​

 

[Trajan Fett]

K U R Z E
THE SONS OF MANDALORE
CORUSCANT 1315
Beskar'gam | Main Weapon | Side-Arm | Melee | Grenades
Karsan Munin

It wasn't anything that Trajan classified as 'honest' work. If anything, the credits here didn't matter. They were on the payroll of a Technoid and Trade Fed affiliate for the most part which had channeled credits down into the warfighting materials used by the Sons of Mandalore.

But Coruscant, this far down, was a play ground more than anything else. A play ground to test the mettle of these Mandalorians. They'd all postured themselves to be invincible and Trajan knew damn well they were all capable of being unbreakable.

Now was the time to put hammer to metal, to forge the primordial iron into the unbreakable.

He listened to the Chiss's offer in deadpan silence, a placid, frigid gaze marring his features beneath his Beskar helmet.

To Karsan's appraisal of the group, Trajan nodded once, he'd been through these sorts before. He knew the notes to play, the chorus to sing. Nar Shaddaa, Coruscant, Phaeda it was all the same fucking filth here as it was there.

<"Not going to waste any more time talking to this filth. Two thousand, two million. All the same to me."> Deep down, Kurze just wanted to kill.

<"What matters more to me...is the cohesion. That we can operate and get shit like this done without breaking a sweat. These petty jobs don't mean squat to me any more. Only the crusade."> Trajan said, he'd long been burned by this way of life, the way of the Mandalorian muck dredged expected to make their name doing these odd jobs.

​

 

[Caeos Prahl]

​

// Prahl // SoM // Coruscant 1315
// Beskar'gam // Arm // Main Hand // Melee I // Melee II
Trajan Fett Karsan Munin

“A job..I don’t get much of a say in this do I? I can’t say no to the credits.. but there’s less black holes and Sith involved this time right?” ​

Caeos had gotten a handful of words during the transmission but she had learned quickly Trajan didn’t need to speak to make a point. They weren’t so slim on credits these days but with four mouths to feed, the girl knew better than to remain idle. They had always made due but she wasn't looking to just make due anymore. She had heard stories about Coruscant, but down here..it wasn’t the shiny jewel world she had been told about. Caeos couldn’t shake the bad feeling the further they descended. The steel jungle that made up the lower levels of the core world reminded her far too much of the skulking industrial boxes she had called home a lifetime ago.

The girl had hovered in the shadow of the Kurze pair since they had stepped foot planet side, helm tilted just to the side watching Trajan’s back. The elder had become her source and he didn’t want to say she was scared necessarily. The Chiss was something else and she already didn’t like the looks of the job. but he kept her mouth firmly clamp shut. When the Mandalorian at the head of their company looked back, she realized how little she truly knew about this kind of work. Could they even trust this information? The credits sounded like a lot Caeos looked to Trajan first. Petty? The girl lifted her shoulders in a shrug after the elder had spoken. Her fists balled at her sides, the leather creaking-perhaps her only tell. The only thing different now was she knew what to expect in a fight, not from the enemy but from herself.

 

[Karsan Munin]

​

It yet rained.

Karsan exited first, the group of Mandalorians he brought with him, and those that came, following him as he ascended to their collection of speeders. The easy was to use the lifts, but it was more tactically advantageous to use speeders to descend to the lower levels. Karsan gathered them around the hood of his speeder, bringing up a holographic image, based on the publicly available guides, mixed in with Karsan's underworld connections.

Karsan gestured to an outlying flat, surface.

"Abandoned construction site. That's our insert. From there-"

Karsan gestured about a hundred meters down the street, shifting the map, as if they were walking with a birds-eye-view of the situation. He shifted the projector to be more in the center of the group.

"We silently make our way to this. From what the Chiss told us, this is supposedly where this... militia, gang, whatever you want to call it, is hold up."

Karsan gestured, using both hands, a fanning out motion.

"We spread out, pushing from both directions to cover more ground. We use the streets to our advantage- the streets converge on two sidestreets where they're supposedly hold up. So with enough pressure, we'll be able to box them in, and inflict heavy casualties."

Karsan used a tool on the hologram to paint his idea with yellow lines, indicating their movement. Red lines and arrows were used to indicate firing positions and patterns of attack. It was a fairly straight forward tactic, going back to the days when people used to poke each other with spears instead of doing it with a gun.

"We won't win with numbers. We can get surrounded, cut off, if we're not advancing on both sides together. In this, is an exercise of unity and violence. We cannot win without each other. We haven't worked or fought together before- for those of you that don't know me, I am Karsan Munin. As brothers and sisters, I will not let any of you fall in battle needlessly. If you are to die, die honorably. Take as many as you can with you, if you have to go. I don't want any pathetic gangbanger gallivanting that they managed to kill a Mandalorian."

Karsan paused, putting the hologram away.

"I doubt it'll come to that. They picked the right people for this job- weak as they are, to not be able to contain a threat such as this. This isn't a crusade-"

Karsan paused and looked at the younger man who mentioned only caring about the crusade.

"This is a job. We have been paid to do it, and by our honor and our legacy, and our reputation, we will do it, and we will do it well."

Karsan turned on his heel, making his way to the speeder- the lead, motioning for them to gather what they needed, and prepare to move out. He gave a three fingered gesture- three minutes to exfil, to prepare themselves for the task ahead.

Caeos Prahl l Trajan Fett