Skirmish The Day the Stars Wept || ME vs. DIA

[Wrathian Kell]

Aselia Verd

Wrathian scanned her armor. Beskar'gam, worn and weathered, telling the Pureblood there was no false bravado behind this woman's conviction. There was an inkling of respect within him for her person, and ability. That armor also made it clear that a fight could prove more troublesome than de-escalation. She had also made a point within her words. His eyes narrowed while the morals of her words played in his mind, she was correct, partially. His own crusade against his people had been sparked by grief, and yet what drove it was self-conviction.

It seemed she was not doing this out of her own malice, but due to generational trauma inflicted upon the tribes of the Mandalorians. He was the same, the Sith people turned into a tool for anger and war, never to escape the cycle thrust upon them. Different from his people, the Mandalorians still had their honor, instead of chains.

His eyes shifted watching the soldier's cover explode in glorious fashion, the Sith Lord did nothing, just watch the man run to where he came from. It was sickening. His side was to blame for this just as much as hers, yet the soldiers who'd fired first were the cowardly ones. It was no wonder children had been caught in the carnage. Disappointing. "I can guarantee that those who began this massacre will face summary execution." That was all he could promise. Wrathian himself was on probationary period with the Diarchs allies. To run around like a headless Tuk'ata trying to temper rage and adrenaline would do no one any favors, nor would it further his own position with those in the Diarchy who doubted his motives. How... troublesome, this was becoming.

While Aselia shifted forward to deflect the bolt, Wrathian locked eyes with the man who'd fired it. A civilian of the Diarchy, whether he was aiming for the mother, or had been trying to hit the Mandalorian warrior he was having words with was unknown. The fact this man was a fool and wholly incompetent was clearer than water. The tendrils on Wrathians jaw began to writhe as his sabered hand came upwards. Two fingers lifted from the hilt as flash of golden lightning arched outwards striking the man, who flew backwards squirming and screaming in pain.

His arm retracted as his gaze found the woman once more. This fight, in truth, was beneath him. She had honor and a line she wouldn't cross. Yet if her intent was to hurt the forces that would help him reshape the Sith, then he would be unable to leave this alone. "To my own disappointment, I do not have the power to simply snap my fingers and halt these men as if they were droids. The truth remains, I do not wish to assail you. Though if you would crusade against any who fit the picture in the name of 'justice', rather than focus on evacuation. Honor, and more importantly purpose outweigh my preference."

The tips of his blades began to trail upwards. His center of gravity dropped, and as it did, his left arm came up to his head, saber pointing behind him. The right arm crossed his midsection chambering underneath his raised left elbow. "Should you commit to this fight, fret not. I will do all within my power to evacuate your people once it ends."

 

[Drego Ruus]

Tag: Lord Mettallum
​

Big fucker.

That was all Drego could think as he charged forward. The axe came first, as Drego lowered his left arm to allow his massive shield to parry the blow, pushing the axe back before he raised his right arm, firing a stream of high powered cryoban from his vambrace at Mettallum's leg, before blitzing forward and attempting a heavy swing with his shovel's sharpened head at the leg.

He intended to chop it clean off if he could, but even a bit of damage could let him an advantage.

 

[A'Kharu]

Vexis Station was now a floating tomb.

Shattered display cases spilled fruit, trinkets, and half-burnt fabric across the floor. Somewhere in the upper gantry, a blaster report echoed—short, sharp, and final. A Mandalorian, clad in armor colored like desert sand, moved like a dust rat through the wreckage. His visored eyes scanning every doorway. Each step was measured, recalling the huntsmen of his birth tribe. A'Kharu was on yet another hunt...

The station's city was labyrinthine in its own way. So very different from the sun-scorched dunes of Tatooine. He had to find an open ground. As noted by the corpses that occasionally littered the pathways, hallways were deathtraps. And so he continued onward, pausing and taking cover when necessary. The Tusken eventually found himself in the open.

For a moment, he paused as he saw a retinue of Diarchy stormtroopers. He knew it was too big lf a risk to face them head-on on his own. Then he saw her: a woman among their followers. A brief glimpse of lightsaber on her hip knew that he could not ignore. A lightsaber wielder was a dangerous threat that could not be allowed to walk unchallenged.

The warrior unsheathed his gaffi stick. The metal glinted, betraying its beskar forging. He made himself known to her.

"Urraaaaak!" Came the braying call of a Tusken, made distorted by his helm's vocoder

The challenge was issued. Would it be responded to?

Scherezade deWinter ​

 

[Scherezade deWinter]

Spoiler: Loadout

Wearing: Armatura | The Forgemaster's Ring | Ring of Stasis | The Sofitor
Wielding: 8 Nozhi Blades | 2 Whimsy Knifes | 2 Nastirci Combat Knives | Clarion | Copero's Wail | Fire and Smoke | Combat Gauntlets | Tessen | 2 TOTT-001 Arc Light Blaster | 2 Dissuader KD-30 Pistols with Glitter Bullets

Tag: A'Kharu

Scherezade's head snapped toward the war cry, the glint in her eyes sparkling with excitement. She had come to this planet for a challenge, and she had found it. A Mandalorian who for some reason had those Tusken Raiders visors and smelled like… Nope, absolutely nothing else that she could scent in the moment. Still! She was getting a special challenge today!

Her lips curled into something between a grin and a snarl as her fingers brushed the familiar curve of her lightsaber hilts, not yet igniting any of them. The smoke and debris flying around did not exist to her in that moment, as the air felt crisp and fresh and ready for blood.

"You have got to be kidding me," she called back, loud enough (or so she believed) for the vocoder to catch it. The person who had challenged the issue was made out of two main parts, and none of those should have been compatible with the other one. But that was okay. She'd faced weirder stuff.

Scherezade rolled her shoulders and began to walk towards the SandMandalorion hybrid with slow and deliberate steps. As she did so, seven blades moved from her body (don't ask where they were hidden and we won't tell) and floated into the air behind her in an arch of pointy ends.

"Okie dokie," she said, voice dropping into that low, dangerous purr. All seven pointy ends pointed at her target. And in her hands appeared a small and pink sphere. She bounced it exactly once in her palm before hurling it at him. If he didn't dodge, his armor was about to get a fresh coat of Acid Covered Glitter.

 

[Lord Mettallum]

Droid Body: LM Mark III
Weapon: Electro Axe


It seemed this fight was going to be a slug fest. Lord Mettallum's axe failed to penetrate the shield and now the reach advantage had been lost. The cyrobeam wasn't too much of a threat just limiting the movement of one of Lord Mettallum's legs but Lord Mettallum believe with enough force he should be able to easily break the ice that was forming around the leg or atleast that was the plan until the shovel slammed itself into the leg.

The shovel itself would find that it at best made a small indent or mark on the leg as Lord Mettallum had ensured that his new body's limbs were quite armoured similar to High quality mando armour or that shield Drego Ruus was using knowing that they would be prime targets especially the legs due to his height after all he did not plan to fall down to the ground like an AT-AT. The only issue now was that with Drego so close Lord Mettallum could not use his axe effectively and while Lord Mettallum's leg didn't take much damage from the first hit that doesn't mean consecutive hits wouldn't have a chance to breach the armour of his leg.

Playing defensive was not an option either so Lord Mettallum threw his axe to the side and decided to use his two large guns aka his FISTS. Lord Mettallum would slam his fists down at Drego expecting them to be blocked by the shield but that was of no matter. Should Drego use his shield to block the fists then Lord Mettallum would keep slamming down on it unrelenting, the plan was to force Drego on the defensive lest Drego finds a flaw in Lord Mettallum's droid body. This fight was a battle of attrition between two juggernauts after all.

​

 

[Drego Ruus]

Tag: Lord Mettallum
​

Drego's first swing didn't have the intended impact. He should've expected that from a hulk like this. But he also knew something else. He knew how metal worked. Regardless of it's structure, metal was simple. Reliable. In both how it was worked, but also in how it was destroyed.

As the twin fists came down, Drego knew better. A simply roll to the left allowed him to dodge, before he raised his shield arm once more, not to deflect, but to fire off a new weapon. The flame projector of his vambrace, aimed right at that same leg.

Cool. Heat. Repeat. Eventually, no matter it's make up, Metal becomes brittle.

But he knew better than to trust the metal bastard than to keep letting him do that. He needed to keep at it. Keep the machine on the backfoot. From his backpack, three whistling birds, micro missiles fulled with enough high explosives to vaporize elite troopers, fired off at the hulking droid, aiming right for it's face. Drego lifted his shield to block the concussive force.

This was not a war of attrition. It was a war of technology. And a mando always comes overprepared.

 

[Lord Mettallum]

Droid Body: LM Mark III
Weapon: Storm Rifle

This was bad sure his leg could take the current beating and was meant to deal with extreme but Lord Mettallum understood what was happening. Should the constant rapid changing of temperatures keep happening then sooner than later the armour of his leg will become weak enough that the shovel will able to slice right through. It seemed the decades of slumber had made Lord Mettallum Sloppy but before he could even try to think of a new plan of attack boom.

Error Error was all Lord Mettallum could see. something had just blown out his photoreceptors. Quickly Lord Mettallum started using information that one of his guards was transmitting to get his bearings. This was far from precise and it felt like someone else was puppeting him rather than the natural movements. He wondered if this is how headless magna guards felt when fighting.

Lord Mettallum activated his jump pack to gain distance from his opponent and with an extremely rough landing barely keeping upright he was next to one of his fallen droids. On their corpse was a storm rifle which compared to every other weapon in his forces arsenal was the only thing that had any reliable effect to the Mandalorian armour. The armour of his opponent was clearly of a somewhat different design but Lord Mettallum had hoped if it worked on what he would consider the grunts it would work against his opponent.

The initial burst of electricity from the rifle was off target but unlike a blaster it was constant, A millisecond to recalculate the math and now Lord Mettallum was moving the rifle to aim at Drego with a stream of lightning moving with it. Lord Mettallum had 4 seconds of constant barrage of lightning and hopefully that was enough to give him at least some breathing space.

Drego Ruus

​

 

[A'Kharu]

The Tusken-born Mando kept quiet as his prattled on. He had met opponents before who tried distraction with quips and jeers. A'Kharu was not so easily lead on. And then the woman made the first move. A strange, pink ball, hurled in his direction.

A'Kharu lept out the way of the odd projectile. He responded in kind, quickdrawing his pistol and firing a couple shots in her direction. Likely not enough to put her down, but that was not his goal. He kept a sizeable distance between himself and his opponent. His helmeted face was watching her carefully.

Like any good huntsman, he was testing the behavior of his quarry. So far, this woman before him had proven more unique. More whimsical than any other self-proclaimed Dark Jedi or Sith he had happened across before. Certainly more in love with flashy colors than most. He keot hid gazr trained on the knives she had telekinetically pointed at him.

He rolled the gaffi stick in his hand, keeping a gentle momentum ready. Stagnancy was death, and one must always be ready to strike back.

Scherezade deWinter ​

 

[Drego Ruus]

Tag: Lord Mettallum
​

Lightning. Once upon a time, it was the boon of any mandalorian. But Drego had fought other Vode. Imperials. Sith. He knew better. His armor's systems flickered as the internal grounding of his suit activated, allowing the electricity to flow downward and out of his boots. Eventually, it would cook his systems if he didn't do anything about it, but it was enough to allow him a moment of reprieve.

He knew he couldn't let the bot win. Raising his shield arm, he did the one thing he knew would work. Fired his vambrace's disruptor, aimed right at the rifle.

"Jackpot."

He didn't trust the disruptor to take down the brute, but he never liked using it that way anyways. Too quick, too easy. No honor in killing an opponent in one shot. No struggle. But removing variables? That was a valid use of it to him. He'd disintegrate the rifle, then close the distance.

 

[Scherezade deWinter]

A'Kharu

The Sithling pouted as her opponent dodged away from her glitter grenade, staying safe away from the acid covered stuff even with the gentle breeze. Poodoo. She liked it when they glittered in the aftermath of getting hit by one of her sparkly toys.

She flowed aside from the blasterfire, bolts scorching the ground just far enough from her skin to make her grin. The pout vanished, replaced by a bright, happy smile and a string of laughter far too gleeful for the battlefield.

The dude was intimidated. She could see it with ease. After all, he was hiding behind distance, watching instead of playing. Typical. Churi-level cowardice. Still, she could work with that. His stick might give him range, sure… but her knives weren't limited to hands.

Two of them snapped forward, slicing through the air toward him, only to twist away at the last moment. Teasing. Testing. Like wolf cubs nipping at a beast's flanks. The other five hovered in a lazy, predatory orbit around her.

Each time a blade nearly kissed his armor, her eyes went wide, unhinged delight sparking in their depths, only for the steel to pull back again, circling, circling, before darting in once more. It didn't matter whether he moved or not; her knives played by her rules.

And Scherezade was having so much fun.