Dominion The Black Summer || THUNDERBRINGER [ ME Dominion of Onderon ]

Beskar · Jul 13, 2025

THUNDERBRINGER
"The Black Summer calls. Mandalorians answer."

ONDERON, INNER RIM

Onderon had screamed.

Not in voice, but in every breath of its air and every quake of its bones. The Planeshift had struck like a myth given form, tearing across reality in ways no chart could predict. Other worlds had seen cracks, rifts, aberrations. Onderon had waited. And when its time came, the rupture did not split the sky but the soul of the world itself.

The planet's magnetic poles flipped violently in the span of hours. Gravity buckled across entire regions. Thunderheads thick as mountains boiled across the skies, collapsing biospheres and setting entire jungles ablaze with erratic lightning. Swaths of land were consumed by seismic chasms that birthed new fault lines and crushed cities beneath their own bedrock. Rain no longer nourished the soil. It stripped paint from steel and carved wounds into armor.

The death toll defied recordkeeping. Local governments were the first to fall, their systems shorting out beneath the sheer violence of the atmosphere. Evacuation plans failed when the skies began to shred any ship not shielded beyond standard regulation. Those who could flee did. Most could not.
In the chaos, a coalition was born. Not of mercy, but of control.

The Stormguard.

Once police, private guards, backwoods militias, and stranded mercenaries. Now, a regime. When communications failed and the storms cut Onderon off from the wider galaxy, they filled the vacuum with brutal certainty. Resources were hoarded. Shelter was rationed only to those deemed “worthy.” Those with power decided who would live and who would be left to the rains.

Their blackened banners now flew over shelters and fallen strongholds alike, marked with a crude storm sigil, half lightning and half eye. They wore stolen armor and ruled with scavenged tech. They called it order. It was survival, nothing more.

Above, the stars offered no comfort. But they did offer presence.

The Mandalorian Empire had arrived in orbit.

Their ships lingered just beyond the storm line, steel gray against the seething clouds. They bore the sigils of clans and the iron authority of the Mand’alor himself. Onderon had always been kin to Mandalore, green of jungle and red of war. To let it fall was unthinkable. To let its people suffer under false rule was unacceptable.

And so the Khar Zuun was proclaimed.

The Black Summer. A season where glory was won through hardship and strength tested by calamity. Mand’alor declared it not merely a campaign of liberation, but a proving ground for the clans. A call to those who sought to be worthy of legend. The storms of Onderon were not a curse. They were a challenge. The kind that shaped Mandalorians into something more.

And the warriors descending now, one drop at a time through fire and tempest, came not as saviors but as heirs. They came not to weather the storm, but to break it.

OBJECTIVE I: STORMBREAKER
Location: Jungle Outskirts, Kalavar Ridge Settlement

The Stormguard made themselves kings in the ashes.

They rule with stolen weapons and rationed mercy, hoarding what remains of Onderon’s medicine, power, and protection. Their leaders claim the storms chose them to survive, and that only the strong deserve shelter. Any who resist are exiled into the lightning and left to rot.

Now, the Mandalorian Empire has come to answer.

This is the Khar Zuun: the Black Summer declared by Mand’alor himself. A season where glory is forged in calamity, where war and nature both become proving grounds. To conquer the wrath of Onderon is to honor it. To break the Stormguard is to restore what was stolen.

Strike teams descend through the maelstrom with a single mission: destroy the regime that strangled Onderon’s breath. Cut through their barricades. Shatter their command. Bring their leaders to heel. At the same time, a second force races to the old Ion Spire to install a stabilization device that may still the magnetic upheaval and quell the worst of the storms. If they fail, Onderon may not live to see the next season.

Steel meets steel in burning streets. Tempest winds scream above. And the world holds its breath.

PvE | Combat and Tactical. Expect vicious urban and jungle combat against entrenched militia fighters, makeshift warlords, and desperate survivors twisted by survivalism. The clock is ticking. Neutralize the threat and stabilize the region before the storms return in full. The storm is the trial. Victory is the offering.

OBJECTIVE II: WRITE YOUR LEGEND
Bring Your Own Objective

Onderon bleeds, and Khar Zuun is not only for warriors of war.

While the Stormguard are being engaged and the effort to stabilize the planet rages on, the rest of Onderon teeters on the edge. Entire settlements are buried under collapsed canopy and stone. Clanless wanderers vanish in lightning-lit forests. Temples of old Mandalorian reverence remain unopened in the storm's shadow. This is the moment to act with purpose: to find meaning in the chaos and carve your story into the bones of the world.

Perhaps you bring medical supplies to an orphaned settlement under siege.
Perhaps you recover the dog tags of a fallen vode left behind during the first descent.
Perhaps you uncover a shard of history buried beneath the mud and ruin.
Perhaps you stand watch over a sacred tree until the last child makes it out alive.

Your mission is yours to choose. Let the storms test you. Let the world remember how you stood beneath their fury.

You bring the mission. Mandalore brings the Storm.

Cerar Vizsla
Kassandra Beskar'ad

Liorra

Conrad

Suleiman Lok
Kyrida Verd

Ladante Mamba
Raef Malstadt

CT-312

Nephthys Nardithi-Verd

Hanna

Vyse de Valorous
@Varuun Rekaal

Zee Caromed · Jul 13, 2025

Objective 1: Baar'ur morut

Onderon screamed. Mandalore answered.

Zee was not the most patriotic Mandalorian to live. But for a cause like this? He'd scarcely had time to send an acknowledgement of the operation before he was in warp with everything and everyone he could muster. He owed his best. Not as a Caromed, not as a Mandalorian, and perhaps not even as a Life-Bearer, but as a person with the ability to help at all. Who could look the other way when the planet itself was being rent asunder by political strife and metaphysics?

It was relatively easy to identify a sutiable location. A building in a centralized location, built sturdy enough to withstand the storm. Somewhere where it'd be easy for people to come and go - not just during the crisis to come, but in the aftermath. After triage would hopefully come recovery. Somewhere built to be defensible in a crisis, but without many defenders.

How fortunate that most civic buildings fit that exact description. How fortunate that the cowardly leaders of Onderon had fled to the hills with their wealth. How fortunate that the Stormguard were more concerend with the tools of power than the symbols of it. A city hall did not have weapons, it did not have medicine. It did not have the allure of a military bunker or a skyskraper that a desperate militia or would-be warlord would crave. Humble, solid, filled with bureacracy. Perfect. The abandoned halls of local government would serve Onderon one final time.

Getting there was another matter entirely.

Zee - along with an attatchment of Caromed troopers and a handful of Life-Bearers - plunged through the storm. Hitting a target accurately was a struggle in such conditions.

Once they breached the hellstorm, the team took a moment to regroup as an urban militia opened fire with a stationary weapon. They did not stick around to fight. They weren't here to earn glory or eliminate enemies. There would be plenty of warriors here momentarily to handle that. Zee's team were here to save lives. There was no time to waste.

The Caromed troopers were from Taris - urban warfare was in their blood. The towering glass monoliths of their home were no less shrouded in toxins than Onderon. Zee led the charge, hitting street with his ether hoverboard. The loud whine of the engine and the blazing light it gave off made him an easy target compared to the jetpacking medics above. That was the point.

"Form up and move on City Hall as discussed." Zalke reported over comms. "Mark holdouts for evacuation or elimination in passing - we keep moving."

Adonis Angelis IV · Jul 14, 2025

Objective II

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Two weeks prior —

Adonis's eyes flicked back and forth beneath closed lids, his body drenched in sweat that soaked the sheets beneath and above him. His fists gripped the frame of his bunk as a scream tore through his throat in his sleep, guttural and strained. He was trapped inside something deeper than a nightmare, his mind seized by the Force, gripped by something older than fear.
____________

Thunder has no sound here. The jungle bends under a sky torn open by inverted lightning, blooming upward like roots clawing through cloud. Rain scours the land in slanted sheets, hissing as it eats through leaves and armor alike. The air is thick with ash, and the scent of scorched iron clings to every breath.

Below the storm, a grave rises- not one, but many. A mound of broken helmets and burned clan sigils crowned by a half-melted Mythosaur crest. Beskar totems jut from the soil like ribs, some weeping oil while others lean at unnatural angles. Sigils once proud now smolder in silence, their shapes dissolving into the storm.

Above it all, the Mythosaur watches. Its body is forged from smoke and shadowed bone, too massive to move, its ribcage hollow and burning with the dim glow of dying stars. The world around it shifts in reverence, trembling with every breath it does not take.

At the base of the mound, a figure climbs. It is wrapped in scavenged armor, its visor reversed and featureless, its gauntlets crafted from stolen limbs, and a chain of shattered creed-rings swings from its throat like a mockery of honor. It reaches the top and stands among the dead, not in mourning but in dominion.

The jungle coils at your legs, its roots dragging at your steps, not to bind you, but to weigh your worth. Every movement grows heavier as the air thickens with forgotten names and oaths left unfulfilled.

Then the Mythosaur speaks, without with sound, but with pressure that grips the spine.

"The blood is unburied. The storm remembers.
Will you rise as thunder...
or sink with the ash?"

The figure atop the mound raises a hand, its silence daring an answer.
____________

Adonis shot upright in bed, gasping like he had surfaced from drowning. His skin was burning with cold, his breath ragged in the silence that followed.

Present Day —

The shuttle's landing struts hit the cracked jungle soil with a low groan as acidic rain danced across its hull. Adonis stared out at the storm-blasted terrain, jaw set beneath his helmet as he prepared himself for what he already knew he would find. When word of Onderon's collapse reached him, the vision returned in full, clear, violent, and exact.

He had taken it straight to command. Not out of pride, but necessity. Something ancient had called to him, and now the real world was catching up. The graves he saw in his dream were here, and whatever had stirred them had done so with purpose.

He wasn't just sent on a hunch. After the Harrow crisis, his name had begun to circulate, still small compared to the giants of the Empire, but not unspoken. Mand'alor himself had heard it. He bore the name of House Verd. To show they trusted him, they had given him command of the mission. He had bled for them, and now the eyes of the clans were watching. If this mission succeeded, it wouldn't just be justice. It would be proof.

As the shuttle doors opened, a wall of caustic wind rushed in, pressing against his armor like an invisible tide. Onderon had been green once, thick with life and fire, but the Planeshift had twisted it into something feral. Now it was a place of storms and scorched stone, where each step forward tested the will.

He moved first, signaling his squad to follow and fan out to his flanks. He carried no repeater today. Only his lightsaber hung at his side. The others could do the shooting. This was not a warzone, it was a reckoning.

They pushed through the undergrowth, the storm crackling through their comms, and Adonis could feel it before he saw it. The pressure in his chest tightened, like a cord pulled taut around his ribs. When the foliage broke, they stepped into silence.

The gravesite was ruined.

Where once stood beskar pillars and sigil-marked totems, now there were only shards and bones, rain-slicked and broken beneath fallen stone. The cremation altar was split in two. Sigils were blackened or burned away entirely, and pieces of armor were scattered across the mud like forgotten trophies. The bones of vod had been crushed beneath collapsed trees or trampled into the earth. Nothing about it looked accidental. Nothing about it looked merciful.

Adonis's stomach turned as he stepped further in, boots sinking slightly into the wet ash. The other Mandalorians were silent behind him, their own rage unspoken but present in every breath. He scanned the ruin, searching for meaning among the devastation, until his eyes caught movement in the wind.

There, above one of the open graves, a banner twisted in the acid breeze. Its fabric was crude, stitched from scavenged parts and blackened with smoke, but the symbol on it was unmistakable.

The Stormguard.

He turned and pointed, voice low but sharp. "There. Above the grave."

"Those bastards," he muttered, more to himself than the others. His voice grew steadier as he keyed his comm. "Adonis to command. Gravesite desecrated. Stormguard sigil confirmed. Beginning pursuit."

He turned back to his unit, his voice rising with each word. "Vod, we are hunting whoever did this."

He slammed a fist into his chestplate twice, then reached up and tore the Stormguard banner from its post. The base snapped in his gauntlets, then fell to the ground as he flung it outside the grave's edge. Even now, their filth wouldn't rest with the honored fallen.

One grave stood open, its contents missing entirely. No bones,no armor, no sigil.

"Someone's wearing it," he said, his tone flat. He keyed the comm once more. "Our prey may wear our armor. Eyes sharp. Not everyone in beskar is vod."

His fingers curled around the hilt of his lightsaber.

The storm had already begun. Now came the thunder.

Kuben Woods · Jul 14, 2025

"When all hope is lost… send me."

OBJECTIVE I
LOCATION: In the first wave - currently heading down
OBJECTIVE: Neutralize primary threat; reinforce Mandalorian line
Tag:

Zee Caromed ,

Adonis Angelis IV , OPEN

Kuben had been skeptical of the pods from the start. He'd ridden Basilisks, dropped from shuttles, even freefallen into a combat zone before, but this? A glorified metal coffin hurtling from orbit?

The new arrivals had loaned them to the Mandalorians, "perfectly built" for environments just like this, where landing ships was a shoddy venture at best, and the enemy fire would make it a nightmare. So he'd lead the advance team, clear a landing zone for pilots to aim for so they didn't have to worry about getting their rides shot out from under them once they cleared the storm, and have maybe a couple minutes before they'd have to tangle with enemy fire.

He couldn't help but glare at the voice in his head chuckling as the pod slowly closed at the sheer folly of this endeavor, before when it sealed, something happened.

Then came silence. For the first time in years, true silence. No whispers. No claws scratching at the edges of his mind. Only stillness.

Why can't I see anything?

The shadow's voice broke the void at last, confused, disoriented. Kuben smiled beneath the visor. If nothing else, getting one over on the damn thing was worth the anxiety of being entombed in a falling coffin.

Kuben ducked to the side as heavy repeaters opened up on their position. The initial landing had been quiet for all of.. well to be frank nothing. He'd coordinated the squad's initial landing in this area to start getting a perimeter up when the shooting started, and it seemed everyone in this neck of woods who was left, was not happy they'd just had an impromptu meteor shower on their lawn. He signaled to one of the other troopers by pointing up and then smashing his fist into his palm, and the man simply nodded before taking to the sky. Seconds later a pair of rockets smashed down onto the prepared firing position as a more proper response while Kuben simply raised his fist into the air before thrusting his hand forward like a knife. The cue was simple.

Attack.

Kuben's team pushed up the ruined street, blaster fire flashing in chaotic streaks through the storm-drenched air. Every step forward was met with return fire, but the Mandalorians pressed on, methodical and unyielding. As they moved, Kuben got several signals from his communicator, showing the other squads had established their initial perimeter. Contact reports suggested that while it was heavy, they could hold. Kuben would finally pause as he brought his own comlink out, and cycled to the long range to signal to other forces.

"Landing zone 1 is clear, we're in contact but we've established a defensive perimeter. LZ is hot,"

His helmet would rock slightly as a blaster bolt pinged off the beskar alloy, the slight singe mark being the only real damage the shot had made as Kuben slowly turned to look at the man, and before he could do anything else, another round struck the offender directly in the head.

Best not to linger in the open… unless you want to give them a sporting chance. Otherwise these small fry are of little threat to someone like us.

I liked you better in the pod.

Zel Sharratt · Jul 14, 2025

Onderon, Objective I
Tags: Zee Caromed , Kuben Woods

"Onderon is a planet who's history had been defined by turmoil. A legacy of ancient Sith rulers brought them thousands of years of strife, a legacy left behind in their famed beast riders. One doesn't typically bounce back from exile designed to be lethal, but the people of this planet are nothing if not tenacious. With another regime cobbled together to gain total control of the planet, it isn't a shock that all hell was going to break loose..."

Zel sat in his dropship, recording his initial commentary on the event. Thrilling. The effects of the Planeshift had been so polarizing that Onderon had entirely flipped it's orbit. Fascinating, truly, but it was the total effect on the people that he was here to document.

Zee Caromed said:
"Form up and move on City Hall as discussed." Zalke reported over comms. "Mark holdouts for evacuation or elimination in passing - we keep moving."

Kuben Woods said:
"Landing zone 1 is clear, we're in contact but we've established a defensive perimeter. LZ is hot,"

"...and it sounds like the action has already begun," he observed, "I need to get myself down there. I can't miss recording all the action. Lest I leave you all nothing to see, future viewers. Now, lets see..."

Zel moved over to the newest thing he had acquired, a FC-20 Speeder Bike. He wasn't a jetpack user himself. In fact, he was quite poor with one. But a speeder he knew how to use. Zel sat down and revved up the engine, calling up to the pilot.

"Open the door, if you could please!" he called up in a polite tone.

"Cuyir gar dini'la?" the pilot asked. "We can land, you know. LZ 1 is clear."

"I know," Zel stated. "I just need to get a good areal shot for my documentary."

The pilot scoffed, but relented, and the door was opened. The speeder fired off and the historian blasted out of the drop ship, getting the perfect overhead view of the ongoing battle for the fate of Onderon. Breathtaking. He let out a woop, embracing the chaotic thrills that made his vod in Clan Claiborne so happy for a moment, before hitting the ground, the speeder landing right next to

Zee Caromed . Zel shook off the impact and offered the young medic a salute.

"Su cuy'gar, vod," he greeted. "I believe you were present on Ordo, yes? Small world, eh?"

As he spoke a blaster bolt tinked off his helmet, to which he barely reacted.

Athena Faar · Jul 15, 2025

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OBJECTIVE II

Gear: Mobius Steel Armor (borrowed), Mobius Bes'Kad (borrowed), Euk Siha Service Knife, ZV1 Mentor Blaster Carbine, Madrugar Repulsor/Blaster Hybrid Revolver

Tag:

Adonis Angelis IV

Athena had kept an eye on Adonis as they penetrated the treacherous atmosphere of Onderon, or, the 'new' Onderon. Even without seeing his face, the Korun could sense a mysterious tension within him. It might have been the mission, the gravity of their task was weighty enough. But something she could not pinpoint seemed to run deeper in the knight's mind. But she had yet to know Adonis enough to make such assumptions, and her fledgling experience with the Manda apart from her focused skills could not be fully dependable.

As the shuttle settled onto the muddy ground, Athena peered out a port. They said the rain was acidic. She hoped the Mobius armor and bes'kad Red Mobius had leant her would hold up. She would hate to have to pay Red back for the gear she lent Athena while the armorer built her new arms and armor.

Cinching up her gear, Athena lined up behind Adonis. This was his mission, and she was granted the honor of accompanying him. The dragonrider was eager to prove she was as valiant a warrior in her boots as she was astride Miit'alor. The shuttle ramp dropped and the Mandalorians spilled out into the tempest.

As the troop spread out, Athena remained at the knight's right hand, carbine in hand. But as they moved into the dense-but-dying underbrush, she wielded the bes'kad to clear a path, until the jungle opened up into a clearing.

The site caused a painful knot in the pit of Athena's stomach. A sacred place ruined. She peered through her visor at the scene. No, it had not been ruined by storm or tearing of electromagnetic fields, it had been defiled.

She watched with the others as Adonis stalked through the black mud amid the descrated graves. He turned and drew their attention to one feature standing among those broken down. A flag, a declaration.

The silent rage among the vod was louder than the pounding rain against steel and beskar. Each warrior suffering the insult personally, enduring an immediate, hot craving for vengeance. Adonis' voice crackled through the comms. There was never a doubt that the violators would be hunted down to the last one, it burned like a conflagration in the soul of every Mandalorian standing in the defiled place.

Athena slid the bes'kad back onto her back and took up the carbine, moving through the mucky gravesite with reverence. She spared Adonis a quick look, features of each warrior hidden behind blank helmets. But there was no doubt what was in the heart of either of them.

Athena moved on with the others.

Aether Verd · Jul 15, 2025

S T O R M B R E A K E R

Kalavar Ridge, Onderon

From above the roiling thunderheads, another sound cracked through the heavens: a metallic bellow that cut through wind and lightning alike. The war cry of the Mythosaur, beast of legend and sigil of a people who refused to die, boomed through the clouds like a divine trumpet. It did not call for mercy. It did not ask for permission. It declared the arrival of Mand’alor the Iron.

Aether Verd, astride his Basilisk war droid, plummeted through the atmosphere like a falling star. His HUD danced with alerts and transponder signals, the threads of his people weaving their stories below. He saw Zee Caromed’s descent complete, the medic’s signal pulsing from the heart of the city. Caromed troopers formed a spear of aid among the chaos, and Aether’s eyes lingered on it with a rare sense of comfort. His cousin’s heart had always burned with compassion, and here, on this broken world, that fire would light the path toward recovery.

<“Zee, your landing was clean. If the wounded are many, keep the line open—I’ll send more hands if the storm tries to bury you.”>

The voice of Adonis came next, carried through static and fury. Aether listened as he always did, without interruption, without disbelief. He had given the Verd son charge of his own path on this cursed world, because trust among kin was not merely political. It was sacred. And now, the storm had answered. The grave site was defiled. The armor of the fallen had been looted. The enemy wore beskar not earned, stolen from the honored dead.

<“Adonis. You have done right by the Manda and by our people. Vengeance is yours to claim. All warriors, be advised: Stormguard may be wearing beskar. Check your targets. If they wear our metal but speak not our creed, you do not hesitate.”>

Then came fire.

Aether’s HUD flared as Kuben Woods' signal rang out from the cratered heart of the ruins below. Anti-air fire streaked past his flank, searing through the upper storm shelf, forcing his Basilisk into a dive. Aether swore under his breath and veered hard, guiding the war droid just past a rising shell. He toggled a command and felt the beast beneath him respond, launching twin missiles in reply. The sky lit red as the turret below vanished in a blossom of molten earth and shattered steel.

<“Kuben, I see your signal. Hold the line! Support is inbound now.”>

The Basilisk roared as it tore through the last cloud and slammed into Onderon's shattered ground. It landed just behind Kuben’s perimeter with a force that cracked nearby stone. Aether leapt from the saddle, rotary blaster cannon in hand. It was heavier than his usual weapons, but chosen for today’s grim task. No grace. No speeches. Only fury.

“Forward!” Aether barked, his voice unfiltered over comms and across the field. “Cut them down! Let no Stormguard stand between us and the skies!”

His beast surged forward into the wreckage, shockwave rods crackling as it unleashed sonic devastation into Stormguard positions. Aether walked behind it, weapon roaring, tearing through windows, battlements, and anything that dared move with hostile intent. Duracrete turned to dust beneath his fire. Lives were ended before oaths could be spoken. Mand'alor the Iron did not come to inspire. He came to break.

Behind him, salvation landed.

Drop pods screamed into the soil, and from them emerged beskar-clad engineers bearing crates brimming with hope. The stabilization device had arrived. It would not be fast. It would not be easy. But Onderon would live.

If the Mandalorians had anything to say about it, the storms would not have the final word.

Zee Caromed + Open

Dreidi Xeraic · Jul 15, 2025

Objective: 1
Location: Onderon, Jungle Outskirts.
Outfit: Nightsister Outfit
Equipment: Lightsaber, Ichor Sword, Dathomir Energy Bow
Tag: Open

"Are you a healer, spiritseeker?" A voice called out to Dreidi, her golden eyes shifted over to whoever it was that called her. A Mandalorian who was clutching his side, clearly injured but nothing deathly. She took steps closer to the soldier, studying him intensely with her eyes. Head tilting as she looked over the warrior.

"No." Was all she gave as an answer about healing. Dreidi then turned her head to the jungle, her pointed ears twitch as she tune into the sounds of the jungles around them. "Where were you attacked?"

Her hand reached down to her sword, tapping the hilt of the blade. Dreidi could feel the world raging, burning. There were enemies in the jungles that were not animals, beasts that were simply wild and predators. "I... several clicks in... That way." The soldier pointed in a direction west from them, Dreidi nodded her head. Appreciative that this soldier didn't push or fight for help. He knew what she was here for now. She was not a healer, not someone who took care of others.

She slaughtered those who dared to cross her path. She brought down those who abused their powers to inflict suffering onto others.

"My clan healers are back that way, not far. They will treat the wounds." Dreidi stated and then disappeared in typical Dathomir Witch ways when teleporting. Missing anything he spoke after she informed him where the healers were. It was asked of her, for other witches willing to help the Mandalorians, to be here, to help fight and bring these bandits in line.

Approaching from the ground, the attempts of the lightning strikes on her body seemed to either miss her or she merely teleported before they impacted her presence. The witch was shifting effortlessly, the only time she felt a stumble in her movements was when the Mandalorians landed hard into the ground with their war machines. But Dreidi adjusted more than easily enough, able to get inside the base. Her abilities to teleport allowed her chances to infiltrate or break into bases that took others great war machines. Pulling out her ichor blade, it ignited in a ferocious green flame that cut the blaster bolts sent her way.

The witch of Dathomir was here to liberate the people of Onderon and she would do that. Allowing her sword cut through the armours of the Stormguard soldiers, shooting bolts of fire at others as they dared to move closer to her. Dreidi was fast, deadly fast as she moved from one kill to the next. Not holding a thing back and ensuring as she used a mixture of her fire and blade to bring down those that stood between her and the leaders of this base.

She was not there to lead people forward. Dreidi just paved a path forward with the dead bodies of those who dared to fight against the liberation of a world being held hostage.

Zee Caromed · Jul 15, 2025

Objective 1: Baar'ur morut

Zee swerved and jinked to one side as a speeder dropped out of the sky in spectacular fashion. On it, the knowledgeable fellow from the tour on Ordo - complete with his strange round helmet. As full as surprises as before, too! Zee dipped around the back of the speeder, weaving through ruined cars and debris to get a good look at the FC-20. It appeared to be what it appeared to be, but that was impossible - right? Where would

Zel Sharratt have even found one?!

Zee hopped backwards, curling his board behind the FC-20 to skitch - grabbing on to Zel's rear cargo. "Vod! Good to see you!" The soft-voiced Medic laughed, his astonished cheer quite different from the slightly sullen but mostly polite tones he'd taken on Ordo. "That's a beautiful bike! Are you looking for a museum to put it in after honoring it with one last ride? I could make some suggestions!"

The FC-20 was OBJECTIVELY gorgeous, but man. It had to be almost a millennia old if it weren't a replica! And he'd thought his ether hoverboard was retro! Releasing Zel's bike, Zee gave it one last appreciative pat. He sincerely hoped the old speeder made it through, recreation or not.

The sky was split by the roar of a mythosaur, the heralding of Aether Verd's arrival was fit to rattle the remaining panes of glass in this burning city. It reverberated through the bones like standing beside the speakers at a Sleemo concert. The invigorating effect was similar. Onderon's land was asunder, and now so too were the skies.

Rather than clutter up the coms with an acknowledgement, Zee found something to flip off of and flare his hoverboard's engines, allowing the flash of purple to be his reply. He then hit the ground again at flank speed, turning into a wide open road towards city hall with his team at his back. "The Mand'alor has his eyes on us!" Zee informed his team over local tac-bands. "Give him something worth looking at!"

The Life-Bearers responded with enthusiasm. The Caromed warriors, slightly less so.

Zee's strike team zipped down a main road, weaving through traffic and flames, over a plaza with a long-since drained fountain. The abandoned remains of a protest and the ensuing police action still surrounded the sturdy old building - a sign of the unrest Onderon had faced in her final hours as a functioning state. The hall itself had been covered with derisive graffiti, the last spite of a furious populace left to suffer and die by their so-called leadership. It turned his stomach.

Zipping up the grand stairs into the old bureaucratic building, Zee spotted a man in ramshackle police gear carrying a blaster rifle. At his waist, he wore a collection of handcuffs and slave collars. A servant of the dozens of dozens of would-be raider kings and warlords who'd added to the suffering, who'd chosen to try and rule over the ashes and ruins than help anyone but themselves.

Zee didn't hesitate. Baton in hand, he jinked around the now-raider and caught his neck with the steel. A quick death, though far from painless. The arial team behind Zee exploded into city hall at this signal, raining flame and blasters down upon the men-shaped swine within who hadn't had the wisdom to throw down their weapons.

They had to clear the building. Only then could it become a fortress of healing - baar'ur morut.

Delsin Shaw · Jul 15, 2025

OBJECTIVE I: Stormbreaker
TAGS:

Aether Verd |

Zee Caromed |

Zel Sharratt |

Dreidi Xeraic |

Kuben Woods

Oh it was ironic.

Aether Verd bringing about the Black Summer. The very first combatants that would be wasted and brought to heel to the boot of Mandalorian Empire Might. Of course I was being asked to come along. As a member of the Writ of Iron, one had to always show that sometimes, contracts to outside sources were the best way to bring about the enemies of the Empire.

As others began to drop from drop pods, I felt like styling a little.

These Stormguard believed that they were given ultimate righteousness because they survived the Storm. Fought the Lightning and survived the Thunder. Little did they know, that users of the Force, could quite literally be the storm that brings them down. In this case, I was that storm. Like my father before me, I trained and used the power of the Storms. Lightning, and all its forms as my weapon. I commanded it like he did. A conduit of the force in which the very thing that provided life, was now going to be their deaths.

The Ships dropping pods down to secure the front lines and to provide a Forward Landing Zone for our forces. Jungles deeply entrenched in the conflict. I moved closer to the Troop Transport Pilot. Speaking into the system and placing a hand on his shoulder to show I was speaking to him.

"Bring us Closer. Go in as hot as you can."
"You want me to fly in Anti-Air?"
"Trust me."

He shook his head and gave me the go ahead. Smiling underneath the white helmet of the Journeyman-Armor. Activating the magnetic loop boots, I walked out onto the side of the troop Transport. Moving to stand upon the nose of the transport. Getting into position, I looked through the viewport. Nodding my head to say I was ready. In that moment, he threw it into high-gear. Zooming towards the front line.

"Stay high enough to have an escape. But low enough for me to do my work."
"Understood."

The wind whipped past me. Flying over the tree tops. Seeing the blaster bolts lighting up the forest below. As we drew closer, I shook my hands. relaxing my grip for a moment before collecting the force. My hands gripped the air. Held within it, a live lightning bolt. Crackling with energy and a vitriol. Arcing to my armor as it wanted to ground itself. Flying over the top, I let loose.

Throwing the bolts of lightning down upon the front lines of these Stormguard. Seeing their entrenched fortifications, it was easy to see. The bolts lanced down into the ground. Exploding as they hit their mark. Trees were ignited by the energy. First, aiming at the closest AA-guns. Throw after throw of lightning bolts rained down upon them as if their belief in the Storm was now turned against them. The fly by over their front line was littered by pure bolts of Sith Lightning. Slamming down and striking wherever their may have been a group of individuals.

We didn't need no air support when I was in the clouds hurling bolts of lightning like the Gods of Old.

Sanguina Krev · Jul 15, 2025

Objective I - Jungle Outskirts

Tag: OPEN

The jungle was a haunting scene, even without the violence echoing through it. The tainted rain fell, humid mist clung in the air as dying foliage drooped and sagged under the planet's torment. Through the miasma, a figure stalked. Unimposing in size, it was wrapped in a hooded cloak that seemed impervious to the acidic precipitation.

She followed in the path of the Witch

Dreidi Xeraic . The Spiritspeakers came in the wake of the valiant vod. Some to aid them in eliminating the enemy, others, to heal. And some, like Sanguina, to do both.

She heard the wounded warrior calling. Not in desperation, for the Mandalorian did not fear death, but simply seeking aid, surely to return to the fray. Sanguina knelt beside the man. His leg had been wounded, preventing him from keeping up with the others. beneath the hood he saw a woman, her features not unattractive, but seamed with age and a hard life. Thick, black dreadlocks streaked with gray spilled out from the cowl.

"Be still." She commanded the man. Blood oozed from a seam in his armor. Retrieving a small wooden bowl from within her cloak, she held it to the flow. Dark, viscous blood oozed into the small vessel, until a tiny pool gathered. Pulling it back, the woman dipped a finger in it. The pad of the digit touched her bottom lip, leaving a drop of the warrior's blood.

A hand hovered over the wounded leg, Sanguina's light eyes closing in concentration. His blood told her where the breach was, where it was escaping. She murmured cryptic incantations. The blood in the bowl, upon her lip, and at the site of the wound glowed faintly. Eventually, the bleeding was staunched. Sanguina sighed in satisfaction. The bowl was emptied upon the ground with a reverent benediction, and the smear on her lip wiped away.

"You can fight now, but you are not healed in full." She told him with a small smile. She would tell any other soldier to get further help. But this was a Mandalorian. She knew what he would ask before it was spoken. They all asked the same question. "Can I fight?" She learned it did no good to tell them no, unless they physically could not move.

She moved on.

She wandered as an apparition in the jungle, seeking the the tang of flowing blood. Another wounded warrior was found, crying out in pain. Her tone was more desperate. Again, Sanguina knelt beside the fallen warrior, a woman with a shaved head. Her helmet lay aside her. Her armor was dirty, a style no longer current. A scowl furrowed Sanguina's brow. Her wound was more grave, the chest plate breached. It was clear the woman was in pain. "Are you a healer?" The woman asked, wincing.

"Hmmm..." Sanguina hummed in her throat.

She dipped her finger in the blood around the wound. Again, she smeared a small amount on her bottom lip. Then she spoke.

<"If you serve the Mand' alor, tell me his name."> The shaman asked in Mando'a.

"Uh...mmm... yes...sure." The woman nodded, feigning understanding, her face twisted in pain.

Sanguina drew a dagger from her belt, pressing the blade to the heel of her own palm, leaving a small, clean laceration. Blood began to drip from the wound.

"Liar. Thief." She answered in Basic. Sanguina had heard Aether's warning about the enemy.

She held her bleeding hand over the wound, allowing several drops to splash in the gaping hole. Then the shaman rose. A breath later, the enemy began to writhe in discomfort. Her eyes widened, her voice rising to a cry of agony, a horrid gurgling following. As the shape disappeared into the rain, the cries, and the breathing, ceased.

Zel Sharratt · Jul 15, 2025

Onderon
Tags: Zee Caromed , Aether Verd , Delsin Shaw , Dreidi Xeraic , Kuben Woods , Sanguina Krev

Zee Caromed said:
"Vod! Good to see you!" The soft-voiced Medic laughed, his astonished cheer quite different from the slightly sullen but mostly polite tones he'd taken on Ordo. "That's a beautiful bike! Are you looking for a museum to put it in after honoring it with one last ride? I could make some suggestions!"

"Ah, an interest in vehicle history, eh?" Zel remarked, "Well, she may be authentic, but I have yet to confirm it as of present. She has a few components that I've dated to roughly five-hundred years ago. There's a possibility that the FC-20 had a prolonged production time. It isn't uncommon for vehicles to have a lifespan of several hundred years on the market. Of course, technological advancement being so slow is a whole other story-"

Zee Caromed said:
"The Mand'alor has his eyes on us!" Zee informed his team over local tac-bands. "Give him something worth looking at!"

Ah, right. Perhaps now was not the time to go on another one of his infamous rants.

As Zee and his strike team moved on the large wave of enemies, raiders and slavers from the looks of it, Zel withdrew his Junksaber, preparing for combat. Unfortunately the charge up time for activation was slow, so when a raider ran at him he had to resort to alternative methods of combat. He swung the false-lightsaber hilt like a mace, bludgeoning the man with large orb on the end of the weapon. It appeared to be a billiard ball. Then, once his knockout was complete, the golden blade flared to life.

"There you go! Took long enough," Zel laughed. "Alright Heath, this is the perfect vantage-point for combat footage. Are you recording?"

"Yes sir!" the little droid that had been following Zel chirped. "Every little detail."

That was all Zel needed to hear. The Mandalorian Scribe raised his blade and charged into battle, cutting through swathes of raiders for the glory of his kin and history made in the moment.

Suleiman Lok · Jul 15, 2025

AD_4nXeVdUw_pLIWmyMDe5fTn2k8ZbTN7UFleSSJaSMgvPtSzU4Gkmu4derbR4lcNBoDKseXpT4awyWDxoerTt6hV3qBHI8RoJGa-PUFnB61htYM_guEoG-0LNc29FT0xSQjPtf09T0a

THUNDERBRINGER

OBJECTIVE I: STORMBREAKER - Jungle Outskirts

GOAL: Protect Engineers heading to the Ion Spire.

Day Before:

Suleiman and a few squads from Clan Lok’s Warband responded to a distress call sent out by those of their vod branch. They moved out from the Gargon System toward Onderon in their Kom’rk class fighters and Kyr’am’s Teeth gunships. The enclave was in dire straits. Their leadership collapsed due to an internal rivalry. Their stronghold was destroyed. Records of their history hoarded away in stashes placed around the forests. Things weren’t looking on the upside for those that lived on their original ancestral world.

Funerals were held. The warriors were rearmed, fed, and medically evaluated. Old disputes would be quelled and Suleiman would declare that everyone underneath the Lok banner would be given a clean slate. Inspiration that he would adopt from The Iron. Formerly, he rallied them together with speeches of unity and choice. Those not willing to remain would be sent to Gargon. Pilots would drop them off and refuel before making their way back to Onderon. The rest he would await the rival of The Empire and prepare themselves for combat.

Present

Those that remained of Clan Lok would meet with Suleiman’s squad with the Great Heathen Army. Transport and dropships landed into the forest with heavy thuds. Out came Mandalorian and Domarians armed to the teeth. Engineers weren’t too far off either. Suleiman held his rifle (Ori Sidaki "The Big Ripper") in his hand in a low ready position as they all formed up with him on point. It wouldn't be long before the screech of the Mythosaur cracked through the sky from Mand’alor’s basilisk. Excitement would drain them of fear. A renewing of their fighting spirit as they were vindicated in their decision to stay and fight

“Iron’alor! Su cuy’gar! Oya, vod! We’ll guard the engineers. Happy Hunting.” he yelled through his comms as they began moving toward the Ion Spire.

The warriors would integrate the engineers into their formation. They began pushing toward the spire. Each warrior was ready to get down and dirty and prove something of themselves. Suleiman was all for it. This day, they planned to bring honor and glory to their kin and Mandalore.

The fireteams would begin firing hail of bolts as they moved. Pushing their way toward their objective. Precise fire would find their way between the space of their adversaries armor. Their movements were keen and their firepower was planned to be found superior if they had their way.

TAGS:

Aether Verd /

Kuben Woods /

Zee Caromed /

Adonis Angelis IV /

Athena Faar /

Zel Sharratt

Fabula Caromed · Jul 15, 2025

Location: Kalavar Ridge, Kuben's Landing
Currently: Aura-farming
Att:

Aether Verd ,

Zee Caromed ,

Delsin Shaw ,

Kuben Woods ; @Open until I'm engaged with~

Of all of the vechiles she'd used in all of the decades upon decades that Fabula Cavataio/Sachae/Caromed had found herself descending onto war-torn battleground worlds in the midst of fiery conflagrations and mass military action, drop pods were her favorite. She liked them so much that, when they weren't available, she'd sometimes used her old, beaten-up freighter's escape pods as a substitute. Properly aimed, any kind of orbital insertion pod provided her with two conveniences that she very much appreciated:

Immediacy and a very large, heavy bludgeon.

After she felt it break through the upper atmosphere, Fabs waited about one minute before she pulled the hatch to breach the door, then took a deep breath and stoked the fire within her as bright as she had in decades. The Force swirled within her with something of a sputter; she was decidedly out of practice... but even out of practice, the starship-grade durasteel of the pod dented once, twice, then tore off in the torrential stormcloud winds. Finally, she had a decent view of the battlefield below.

The trail of destruction that her darling nephew's droid had left provided a convenient target to aim at. Fabula placed both of her hands on either side of the drop pod as it careened towards Onderon's surface, exhaled, and set her inner forge ablaze. With a mighty, audible, metallic crunch, she tore at her unfortunate but intentionally single-use vehicle to "steer" it a bit closer to all of the gorgeous rubble Aether had managed to create.

Of course, partially-dismantling her drop pod had given it increased wind resistance and made it a bit slower. That was fine, she decided as she broke the lowest stormclouds and found slightly higher visibility on the other side. Urban combat zone, infantry on the ground; if she aimed a bit further up, she wouldn't have as much concern for hitting whatever friendlies were directly below her. It seemed the air was relatively busy, too. Was that gunship shooting lightning?

From her convenient position a few hundred meters above whatever electrical weapon was in that particular assault craft, Fabs made note of a few important facts: it was friendly, it was shooting planetary AA, and judging by the blaster fire it was taking from behind, it was getting collapsed on by a couple of Onderon aircraft. Closing her eyes to focus, Fabula's soul warmed up from heated metal to a phosphorous flare as she wrenched her drop pod one more time.

Seconds before it collided with one of the Onderon attacked craft, the Caromed matriarch kicked off from her position on the mutilated pod's tail into a Force-empowered leap. Wind hurtled deafeningly past her helmet for the seconds it took for her to land on the second. The heartbeat before she made contact, her body twisted to present both beskar boots first, and she used both to kick the LAAV's port wing into scrap. Before the impact sent it into a tailspin, Fabula pulled and ignited her lightsaber, gripped the damaged hull of the atmospheric ship with her free hand, and flipped up on top.

As it started to crash, smoking and sparking, it passed by that friendly, lightning-generating gunship that she'd seen above. She made sure to give the curious, white-haired lightning goblin inside a quick mock salute before the whole mess crashed loudly into the dirt. Fabula lept off slightly before the wreck slid to a dramatic halt, tearing up duracrete in a massive geyser. When she landed and stood, she still had at least a second or two to pull off her helmet and let her hair out before the ship exploded.

It was chaos in Fabs' immediate vicinity. Aether's basilisk was just a dozen or so meters or so away, and her nephew's big shiny gun dominated her immediate soundscape. With her surroundings taken into account, she activated her communicator for two quick messages. First, to

Aether Verd . "I appreciate the enticing landing strip, dear. I'll be hunting armor until I'm given something more interesting to do."

She waited a few seconds for a response, then changed frequencies to contact her darling

Zee Caromed . "Zalk, darling, if you could send one of your cousins to my position with a speeder, I'd appreciate it. I'm afraid I couldn't pack my bike in the pod."

Reshim · Jul 15, 2025

T H U N D E R B R I N G E R

Objective II: Write Your Legend - Onderon: Valan Ti Settlement

Supplying Aid: Ge’tal Enterprises, in its support for the Mandalorian Empire, has acquired resources to assist various settlements with aid and a temporary path of logistical support. Darth Praviah (

Montello Deshra ) has chosen to refrain from combat on Onderon to support the rear lines and support ongoing efforts to help those potentially suffering planetside. Various modes of transportation and security are being provided to help move supplies to and from fleet ships to the surface.

Reshim had brought a small portion of Ge’tal’s company fleet outside of Onderon’s atmosphere to provide supplies and aid to the service. Though, he wouldn’t spend his time resting his laurels on the ship. Things like this needed to be handed a bit more hands on. Though still not a true Mandalorian, he walked the path as a citizen of the Empire. Everything wasn’t just about blasting holes into those that couldn’t pull a trigger fast enough (even if he enjoyed doing such). Other avenues needed to be taken care of, and that’s where he would come in.

Company troops had begun establishing temporary barracks and deployable housing for the settlement. A food kitchen and medical camp were the next things to getting set up. Reshim stood outside of the medical transport ship as acid rain came down from the sky. A cigar firm in his hand as he took a long drag. He watched as massive tents were being set up as people from the settlement assisted where they could.

The Chiss was quite calm considering the situation and the ongoing rush. He wasn’t sure how long he planned to be here, but he figured it was until the medical needs here were situated. There wasn’t any intel he had access to concerning any hospitals in the area. Based on the state of the settlement, it didn’t seem like even any form of care was being provided before their arrival. It was out of his scope as a doctor, but he probably could ask Praviah about leaning in some funds to better fund the situation here. Reshim’s thought process was potentially bringing jobs that wouldn’t otherwise be possible. He figured the Mandalorian Empire would also attempt to recruit those here as well.

His cigar would dwindle down before he flicked the remains from underneath the hanging partition of the transport. Sounds of slow footsteps would come toward his direction as a young Rodian would approach holding their arm. Reshim took a quick look before going back into the ship. A quick motion of his head for the boy to come aboard.

TAGS: Open

Beskar · Jul 15, 2025

THE STORMGUARD STAND

They had expected Jedi. That was the first mistake.

When Onderon’s skies split and the world began to burn, the Stormguard had clung to a single hope: that the Alliance would come. They had spun their narrative well, shaping themselves into necessary tyrants caught in a moment of planetary crisis. If diplomats arrived, they would explain. If Jedi came, they would negotiate. The dead would be buried beneath rhetoric, and the rains would wash the rest away. In their minds, survival was justification enough.

But it was not Jedi who answered. It was not diplomats who descended. It was Mandalore.

No warnings. No parley. Just fire from the sky, thunder on wings of beskar, and warriors who came not to debate, but to decide.

Chief Lukas, once a man of order and public service, had become something else in the aftermath. When the world cracked, he took power. When others scattered, he imposed will. And now, when faced with Mandalorian Empire’s fury, he clung to the only thing he had left: control.

Clambering into the cockpit of a repurposed defense walker, the Chief loomed above the cracked jungle skyline. The machine whirred to life around him, its servos groaning under long-neglected weight. It was never meant to fire upon civilians, never meant to hunt the warriors whose graves they had defiled. But like the Stormguard, it had been twisted by desperation.

From within its armored shell, Lukas issued his commands.

<“Fall back to the city. Abandon all jungle positions. Kill any Mandalorian you see. Do not hesitate.”>

The order echoed across battered frequencies, reaching every scavenged helmet and repurposed blaster still standing. In the jungle, Stormguard patrols turned on their heels and began to sprint. Some took flight with stolen jetpacks, their trajectories erratic and sloppy, spiraling above the canopy in jagged arcs. Others tore through the underbrush on foot, reckless in their haste. They were not tacticians. They were looters dressed in honor they did not earn.

Within the city, Lukas’s final redoubt came into focus. What had once been a courthouse was now a fortress. Walls had been erected around it, scavenged turrets perched along the battlements, and a gate was slamming shut behind fleeing Stormguard survivors. Inside, gun crews scrambled to position. Artillery turned its gaping mouths toward the storm-soaked streets.

Lukas had his view. The Mandalorians were exposed, clustered amid the broken avenues and shattered spires. And so he gave the order.

<“All guns, fire. Bury them.”>

The city roared with violence.

From above, turrets and cannons rained red and orange into the smog-choked sky. Blasterfire lit the battlefield like a second storm, coordinated and merciless. Shells cratered the earth. Buildings shuddered as steel ripped through stone. The Stormguard was not retreating anymore. They were making their stand.

They believed they only had to hold long enough. Long enough to get a signal out. Long enough for the Alliance to arrive. Long enough to hide behind protocol and pretend that graves filled with stripped warriors were a necessity.

They did not understand the Khar Zuun. They did not understand that their folly would be their undoing.

Reshim ,

Kuben Woods + Open

Aiden Wolf · Jul 15, 2025

The Dire Wolf Bares its Fangs

LOCATION: Orbit of Onderon
OBJECTIVE: Support OBJ I and provide support for side objectives
Tag:

Reshim ,

Fabula Caromed ,

Suleiman Lok ,

Zel Sharratt ,

Delsin Shaw ,

Zee Caromed ,

Kuben Woods , + [OPEN]

Aiden paced the bridge again.

His original plan, to gather allies and immediately plunge back into the Rift to retrieve the rest of the poor souls trapped there, was on hold. The Mandalorians they’d encountered were not the same warriors his father had taught him to despise. These were different. Everything was different now.

The course was clear: the Dire Wolves and their remaining support would use this time to rebuild, recruit, and replenish. Years in the Rift, where even the vacuum of space seemed to claw at them, had left his company battered. The men and women under his command… his command.

Aiden almost laughed at the thought. The role still felt alien to him, and knowing Sergei, it was probably the last thing his father would’ve wanted for his adopted son.

And yet, when Aiden had first returned to the Rift, he’d found only the battered remains of a company, fighting for their lives in the shadow of a dying ship that had lost even the name on its hull, Hope. They were dying by the score, fighting not just to survive, but to fulfill the mission that had taken them there in the first place.

A mission they’d paid for in blood.

A mission they had failed.

“Commander.”

Kerensky’s voice pulled him from his thoughts. The grizzled captain stood across the bridge, scarred, tired, but unyielding. In the dark days after Sergei’s death, Kerensky had been a rock for the company, and then to Aiden himself. He was also the one who had placed command in Aiden’s hands.

“The storms aren’t a problem for our ships. They can weather it and set down,” Kerensky said, “but we have two issues.”

“Which are?”

“The only suitable landing zone for the relief cruisers is the main spaceport. Intelligence suggests it’s been reduced to rubble for some time. We’ll need time to clear debris and ensure structural integrity for capital-class support.”

“And the second?”

“The city’s too dense. Streets are wide, but not wide enough to land cruisers. And after years of exposure to this kind of weather, we can’t risk structural collapse.”

“We’ll use the landers, then. The Mandalorians are dropping first to establish their spearhead, they’ll do what they do best. We focus on minimizing collateral damage and begin setting up support infrastructure.”

“Aye, sir. I’ll task two Ghost teams to the spire; they’ll secure it with whatever stabilization tech the Mandos are bringing. While they’re en route, we’ll deploy the Commando Company forward to support the assault, along with whatever else we can get groundside.”

“Do we still have SLDF walkers in storage?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Pack a lance. Multi-role capability.”

“Yes, sir.”

Aiden felt the tremor beneath his boots as the magnetic soles kept him rooted to the deck. Outside, the sound of flak bursts and laser fire echoed faintly through the armored hull of the massive lander as it banked toward the designated drop zone. Three landers advanced in formation, each flanked by a pair of gunships chosen for speed and troop transport. Behind Aiden, two assault droids and a company of soldiers stood silent and unmoving, steady even as the craft jolted violently through turbulence. No words were spoken. None needed to be.

As they neared the LZ, the landers pitched upward, beginning their landing sequence. The giant craft descended with surprising grace, like a massive walrus performing a ballet. The gentleness wasn’t for the men aboard—it was for their cargo: crates of medicine, prefab shelters, and enough supplies to establish a forward base and field hospital. Wind howled through the hatchways as the ramps lowered with a hydraulic hiss. The storm roared its displeasure at the invaders, but Aiden didn’t flinch.

The ramps struck the earth with a resonant thud.

The soldiers pressed forward, moving at a brisk, disciplined pace. Gunships touched down beside the landers, disgorging passengers. Two six-man squads in jet-black armor boarded gunships, weapons glinting in the stormlight. A single tap on the hull signaled the pilots, and the gunships lifted off.

The Ghosts were en route to

Suleiman Lok , bringing engineers and critical equipment to stabilize the spire. Without it, Onderon was lost, Stormguard or no.

Then came a different sound.

The howling whine of engines.

Walkers rumbled to life, their power systems growling as titanic iron feet stepped onto Onderon’s soil. From one lander strode a Gladius, a Helios, and two Sidewinders. Titans of war. Their arrival was marked by the thunder of their footfalls, rivaling even the Basilisks of Mandalore. Aiden regarded the machines with quiet reverence. In the Rift, these walkers had saved them more than once. Each was a relic. Precious beyond measure.

The lance of walkers fanned out to scout the perimeter. The Sidewinders broke into sudden sprints, their lightweight frames moving like predators. Laser cannons cut rubble aside, repeaters forced enemy skirmishers into retreat, and flamethrowers sent flames licking into the storm for any foolhardy enough to stand their ground.

Then, thunder.

But not from the walkers.

Aiden’s eyes snapped skyward. Red light streaked from the heavens as incoming artillery arced toward their position. His voice barked across all comms:

“ALL FORCES, INCOMING! INCOMING! INCOMING!”

Men scattered for cover. Engineers and soldiers dove for safety.

The Helios walker pivoted, targeting reticles flaring as its fire-control radar struggled to prioritize. It opened up with every weapon in its arsenal, cannons, lasers, blasting incoming rounds out of the sky. Explosions lit the storm like lightning made manifest, but the defense wasn’t enough.

Artillery rained down.

Several shells impacted outside the LZ, but others struck home.

The rear-most lander took one, two hits, then a third. Shields failed. Armor split. The ruptured fuel line ignited, and the ship detonated in a plume of fire and shrapnel, taking with it anyone aboard or too close to escape. Moments later the remaining landers merged their shield generators, creating a temporary bubble over the LZ. It wouldn’t hold forever.

Aiden’s visor swept over the wreckage: the burning hulk of the fallen lander, men scrambling to put out fires, medics treating the wounded amidst chaos.

But not everyone moved.

The Commandos stood still.

Their armor gleamed crimson and black in the storm light. Red optics burned like embers in the rain. Weapons ready. Silent. Unmoving. Waiting.

Aiden turned toward the fortress where Mandalore himself directed the assault. He didn’t need words to know what his father would’ve done.

What he had to do.

“Wolves. Form up.” His voice cut through the storm.

“It’s time to tame the tempest.”

Adonis Angelis IV · Jul 15, 2025

Objective II

Tag: Athena Faar

The jungle hissed beneath their boots, steam rising from roots slick with rot and runoff. Every breath was thick with ash, every branch sagging under the weight of caustic rain. The graves were behind them now, but not forgotten, never forgotten. Adonis led them beneath the canopy's broken veil, where the storm's breath could still be felt on the skin, and memory clung like humidity.

The ping came quiet in his HUD, a Basilisk overhead tagging a cluster of movement, headed straight for the city. The data stuttered in and out through the storm, but it was enough. The targets were armored, disorganized, fast. Their signals were corrupted, their transponders masked. But the shape of their retreat gave them away.The Stormguard.

He slowed at the edge of a stone outcrop jutting from the earth, part of an old Mandalorian shrine half-swallowed by vines and time. A faded sigil glimmered beneath the grime, its edges scorched, but still proud. The others gathered behind him in the clearing, rain dripping from their pauldrons, visors turning his way.

Adonis opened a private channel, voice low, just between them. "Athena," he said, steady and sincere, "I'm glad you came." He was earnest, she hadn't had to come, she chose to. It meant a lot to the warrior.

Then he turned to the others, taking one step forward as the jungle breathed around them like a forge. Rain clung to the curve of his armor. His voice came low at first, steady as iron.

"Brothers, sisters, vod. The storm is thick with more than heat. You felt it, back at the graves. That wasn't just rot or ruin. That was desecration. And not by beasts, but by men who think they can wear our fallen like trophies. As if beskar were just metal, and not memory."

He paced once before them, visor catching flashes of distant lightning that forked like veins through the sky.

"But they forgot something. They forgot that beskar remembers. That every scratch, every weld, every mark is a story, and it will not suffer liars."

He turned back toward them, the wind tugging at the edges of his cape, his tone rising.

"Those grave-thieves? They're no warriors, no vod. They're cowards cloaked in stolen armor. They tried to bury their crimes in the storm and vanish into the city. But we saw them. We heard the dead scream. And now, now we carry that weight."

A beat passed. The only sound was the hiss of rain on the leaves, like a war drum building in the distance.

"We are the ones the storm did not break. We are heirs to fire and thunder, born of iron and oath. And we do not forget. Not our dead, not our creed."

He lifted his chin toward the jungle ahead, the path where the signals flickered in his HUD.

"We cut them off. We strike like the wrath of the Manda itself. And when this is over, they will know, through flame and fury, that beskar belongs to the living only if they've earned it."

His hand settled on the hilt of his lightsaber.

"Let's make the ghosts proud."

No one needed to answer. Soldier stood up straight as weapons were primed, their shoulders squared. A breath passed between them, the kind that came before violence. Through a break in the jungle, the quarry revealed itself, figures trudging between the trees, armor patchworked and unearned, helms oversized or sloppily welded, movements unfamiliar and slow. They wore beskar, but not well.

Then the sky cracked. Far off, toward the city, fire bloomed where stone once stood. A shell hit the wall, and its thunder rolled like an omen through the canopy. The Stormguard patrol below faltered, turning toward the sound, distracted, confused, vulnerable.

Adonis gave Athena a look, sharp and knowing.

"On my mark."

And then he raised his hand, ready to bring the storm down on those who had no right to wear its skin.

"Now." He lowered his hand and the battle was on.

Camille Cendre · Jul 16, 2025

Objective 1 - Jungle, Landing zone
Operating the Kosa Mk-1 (aka "The Coffin")
Status: Clearing the Nearby Jungle
Nearby:

Zee Caromed |

Kuben Woods |

Aether Verd |

Delsin Shaw |

Aiden Wolf

Inside the Walker
Her knuckles turned white as they gripped the handles, in stark contrast to the rest of her flushed skin. It was sweltering in the coffin, especially as the metal walker's components started to operate and heat up. She felt her heart thud in her chest and sweat beading her brow; the mossy smell of foliage was overpowered by metal and smoke. She could hear her comrades manning the blasters above, the clank of their beskar boots and the low hum as the turrets warmed up. Soon they would ask her what the hold-up was, why the walker wasn't moving. "You aren't ready" her bunkmate had said. She knew he had a bet that she wouldn't survive her first battle. But he was wrong.

Steeling herself, ignoring the part of her brain that was screaming, she yanked the controls. Routine and familiarity helped to dull the panic and steady her breathing as she pushed on the pedals beneath her feet. She heard the metallic groan from the joints as the servomotors started to move the multi-ton bipedal tank. She turned a nearby crank to widen the viewport as the walker lumbered down the ramp of the lander. "I am ready" she whispered to herself, though it was hard to hear over the blood that was pounding in her ears.

Outside the Walker
Those by landing zone one would see the ten-metre-tall hunk of metal slowly emerging out of one of the nearby landers. It was ugly and inelegant, a bi-pedal square of durasteel absent of any decoration save for a Mandalorian symbol scrawled on with flaky red paint. Only a few would notice the scars of old blaster marks, as most were distracted by the two massive curved blades at the end of each arm. These 'scythes' were scored and stained with the history of many a battle, yet they were still strong and sharp. Above the blades, atop the walker itself, sat two e-web turrets. Mandalorians clad in beskar manned each blaster, keeping a watchful eye out for any infantry that might approach. The sight was almost comical, like a metal monster carrying two heavily armed children upon its shoulders.

As the walker reached the treeline, it readied its scythes. With surprising and terrifying speed the scythes slashed forward, tearing apart the foliage. Low bushes were trampled and shredded, while larger trees were separated at their base. Where possible, these trees were laid down to provide cover on exposed sides of the zone. Occasionally a stray blaster bolt would fire out of the undergrowth, only to be absorbed by the armor plating as the unaffected walker worked away.

So Camille continued in her task of expanding out the LZ to help establish a proper FOB. Once this was done, she would return to the jungle and start clearing a path toward the objective.

Kayte Toss · Jul 16, 2025

KAYTE TOSS
JUNGLE OUTSKIRTS, ONDERON, INNER RIM
OBJECTIVE I: ION SPIRE STABILISATION TEAM
TL;DR: Kayte is part of the engineering team and has linked up with Suleiman Lok 's squad. She's carrying tech to repair the ion spire.

Meanwhile, in the Ion Spire Stabilization Team...

Traversing the jungle outskirts was no easy challenge. Ruined trees littered the ground, torn from their roots. Blaster bolts hissed through the trees- one scorched bark inches from her, another dropped an engineer to her left. Violent rain peppered anything not covered, and the vicious stormy winds continued to pick up. It wasn't ideal- especially not for repair work.

She saw a figure- half-shadowed, tucked in behind twisted rebar like a coiled animal. Her finger found the trigger.

- Pew - Pew -

His silhouette folded backwards into the underbrush.

Kay' and her team had linked up with

Suleiman Lok and his squad. There was a sense of relief between the engineers & technicians- they needed as many hands they could get. They couldn't afford losses.

Her breath fogged the inside of her helmet. Her vision tunneled. But the mission burned steady at the center of it all.

Their landing had been rough- a fight from the beginning. Success hinged on not only being able to reach the Ion Spire, but to deliver the Phase Modulator Array intact; A critical piece of equipment that would sync the ion emissions with the planets magnetic fields.

Time was of the essence, and she was grateful to hear about further reinforcements from

Aiden Wolf - the quicker they fixed the Ion Spire, the higher their chance of saving the planet.

Her duffle of tools was strapped tight to her back. In one hand, a briefcase-sized box containing the array. In the other, her blaster pistol- warm, but barely used.

Suleiman Lok 's soldiers moved with sharp efficiency; she rarely had to pull the trigger.

Kay' & the engineering team moved in tight formation with the squad, her boots catching the mud between bursts of blaster fire. One of her fellow engineers stumbled over some roots- she caught him by the collar, yanked him upright, shoved him forward with the rest.

The rain slicked everything. The wind howled hard enough to drown even footsteps through her helmet filters. But she trusted the rhythm. Eyes up. Vectors clear. Keep the array safe.

A blaster bolt screamed past her helmet. She ducked instinctively behind the remains of a walker, cursing under her breath.

"Osik!"

She wiped the rain from her visor, gritting her teeth as she did so. The heat wasn't helping; Both the storm and the static build up in the atmosphere made her skin feel prickly- soaked beneath her armor.

Picking herself up from the mud, she moved on with the squad, gripping the case tightly as she moved through blaster fire. The array had to make it to the Ion Spire intact. No matter what...

Interacting:

Suleiman Lok ,

Aiden Wolf & Open!
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