Dominion The Future is Mandalorian [ ME Dominion of Uyter ]

Beskar · Thursday at 5:39 PM

THE FUTURE IS MANDALORIAN
"The strong do what they can and the weak suffer what they must."

UYTER
Mid Rim Territories

One would think that a neighbor would know better.

Uyter was a quiet world nestled within the Mid Rim Territories. For generations, its verdant fields had been a vital food source for countless lives. Worlds, governments, and corporations treated with the planet in order to secure stable - and quality - sustenance. And now, as a bordering neighbor of Mandalore, the inevitable offer was extended. Like all worlds that made up the Empire, the agriworld had a solemn choice.

It could become part of something greater than itself. And in doing so, ensure that its identity and freedoms were cemented evermore. As a willing member of the Empire, life would continue as normal for Uyter. In fact, the most jarring change would be the full might of Mandalore enforcing its existence. No matter what calamity might befall the Galaxy, the agriworld had the chance to be shielded by the greatest warriors in all creation.

Or.

It could take the path of damnation. And in doing so, guarantee that - like the Diarchy - only a memory would remain of Mandalore's opposition. This was the path that the Empire hoped worlds would never choose...but if they did, the blade would be drawn. The cosmos was the birthright of Mandalore and they would not be denied.

So it was that Uyter's fate hung in the balance. And so it was that reason was once again clouded by the Light. Unbeknownst to the Empire, fringe Jedi had made a home of the verdant agriworld. Their ways infected the very veins of government, ensuring that no decision was made without the Jedi Council. The Light called it advice and counsel. Common sense called it tyranny. And thus, with Mandalore posing an existential threat to their grip, the Council demanded that they refuse.

The Light knew what would come if Mandalore was scorned...but in their arrogance, they chose damnation anyway.

And as the heavens above wept bitter rain upon the verdant fields, so too did the wrath of Mandalore fall upon Uyter. The conquest that followed would be a reminder to the Galaxy of one, simple truth:

The Future is Mandalorian.

THE HUNT FOR QUIN

As an agriworld, the majority of the Uyter's citizenry and armed forces are clustered in its capital city: Riverbreaker. The rest of its people maintain homesteads spread across the expanse of the planet's territory. Thus, the key to bringing Uyter into Mandalore's embrace is to bring Riverbreaker to heel.

Upon refusing the Empire's offer, the local Jedi led Riverbreaker in hasty preparations. The streets were evacuated. Local militia forces were deployed. And the High Governor's Manor became a veritable fortress in the heart of the city. There, the Light intended to make their stand against Mandalore.

The objective here is simple: break them. A priority target has been placed upon Jedi Master Nikola Quin, the Temple Master of the local Enclave. Ensuring this figure's demise will only make the mission far easier to accomplish. Go forth and hunt in the name of Mandalore!

THE UYTER AIRLIFT

While delusion had surely driven the Light to contest Mandalore in the field, they had not abandoned all sense.

In their preparations, the local shockball arena had hastily been converted into an emergency shelter and evacuation point. The open-air stadium was now host to a flood of civilian vessels, each attempting to ferry the citizenry out of harm's way. The problem? There were far too many people and far too many ships.

The situation was untenable and the people need to be secured. The objective here is twofold: eliminate any Jedi presence encountered at the stadium and secure the civilians. If aide needs to be rendered? Render it, for every soul present is a future citizen of the Empire.

Your prey is the Light and the militia they confuddle. There is no glory to be found in preying upon the unarmed.

BRING YOUR OWN OBJECTIVE

The story of Mandalorian Supremacy is not penned by these objectives alone.

Uyter is vast, its potential is endless, and you are free to chart your own course!

Maia

Sylor

Kivah

Sylor

Astrid H'ray

Kyran Thaln
@Coranth Renth

Cabur

Fiore

Kyramud Kass Holliday
@Ekka Batari

Mao

Alden Akaran
@Kael Varr

Hrist

Niijima Izumi

Vael Saren

Elian Abrantes

Serrik Skirata
@Astella Verd

Cabur Nau'ur
@Kotak Vikar'Ranov

Avast Verd

Pal Veda
@Dral Kar'taal

Zurak Bruul
@Ajalurk-Chaidth Kryze
@Arden Priest

Inez

Sidonia

Maur

Ferris Skirata

Veyla Krinn

Renn Vizsla

Perseus

Hubert Starhopper
E erida Lok

Acier Moonbound
@Colden Renth
@Domina Prime

Elira Verd
@Viera

Nando
@Tin
@Serra Toss

Kassandra Beskar'ad

Liorra

Conrad

Reshim

Red Mobius

Suleiman Lok
@Kyrida Verd

Jiriad Galaar

Kandosii Ka'rta
@Manti Wyrvhor

Mia Monroe

Ladante Mamba
R raef Malstadt

CT-312

Rhys Swynol
@Lysara Rynn

Nephthys Nardithi-Verd

Hanna

Siae Andronike

Zlova Rue

Runi Kuryida
@Ren Ashbridge

Vyse de Valorous
@Varuun Rekaal

Israel · Thursday at 6:17 PM

Wearing:
Beskar'gam - Ripper - PDW - Beskad

UYTER - OBJECTIVE III

The folly of the Light was not surprising...

After all, every history lesson laid before Israel had said as much. The Jedi were prone to many things: overextending, schisms, saber-measuring contests - the works. Thus, it didn't make the Supercommando bat an eye when he learned that they were responsible for Uyter making the wrong decision. What did give him pause was that the Jedi were supposedly mounting an offense against Mandalore. They were mostly holed up in the Governor's manor, ready to repel the worst of the Empire's might.

As if they weren't just one, big orbital target?

Something just wasn't sitting right with that picture. Thus, Israel broke away to investigate. Early reconnaissance provided by the Nite Owls gave him a pretty sound heading for a different sector of the capital. Here, the physical presence of the Jedi was made manifest through towering walls and "humble" statues. The Enclave before him seemed very similar to every Sith Temple he had encountered over his career. Simply replace the blue banners for red and, bam, mum's your uncle.

Similarities aside, the Supercommando hoped to find answers here. Particularly, why were the Jedi so confident they could repel Mandalore? Was this an attempt at turning themselves into martyrs? Or did they have something nefarious up their sleeve? Ever donned in his beskar'gam, the warrior directed his Basilisk War Droid to land just behind the Enclave's walls. There, his helm did a multi-sensor sweet...culminating with his scowl.

It was quiet. Too quiet.

Open

Sylor · Thursday at 6:25 PM

Riverbreaker
Objective - Hunt For Quin
Tags: Open

Sylor looked back briefly toward the small contingent before they touched down. He gave the slightest nod, and that was all they needed. One after another, they disembarked behind him, moving into a disciplined formation. Taking a step forward, he raised an arm while his free hand moved to his wrist. The cover opened with a soft click, and a hologram sprang to life. Several focal points were highlighted across the map. They were not critical targets, but enough that they would seem to be overlooked. Fortunately, they were going through everything here, nothing was left unchecked.

"We will begin here and break them down. We will see how strong these fanatics truly are."

Sylor glanced to his side and gave the signal to advance. The formation moved forward without hesitation. Soon, they would meet resistance, and that resistance would fail. Sylor had fought for many years. Resilience was woven into his nature, forged into him as surely as his loyalty to Clan Verd.

The enemy soon came into view.

"So it begins..." he said quietly, his gaze fixed ahead.

Mia Monroe · Thursday at 6:32 PM

Tags:

Sylor | OPEN

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Someone had once told Mia Monroe that she was a boulder rolling down a hill.

Tonight, Uyter would learn why. Anger burned in The Warmaster's chest, not because they had refused to kneel, but because these insurgent Jedi had yet again slithered their way into the people's minds. Their deaths of Uyter’s armed forces would be on their hands, the collateral damage would be on their heads.

It was a waste of life and resources and if she got her hands on the Jedi Master, she’d remove his head.

Blaster fire rained down from the governors walls, forcing the advancing troops to scatter into cover, comms relay called out sniper positions before heavy ordnance rained down, explosions breaking the front line.

Mia seethed and pushed forward, opening the door to the force and letting it flow through her as she reached for the foundations of the wall ahead of her. There was a resounding crack, as she began to rip a section upward, duracrete and steel screaming in protest before it gave, rubble exploding upwards as a section of the wall began to collapse.

She turned back to the Mandalorians waiting behind her.

“Athu'neha etid at etie lovik!”

OYA MANDA!

Veyla Krinn · Thursday at 7:13 PM

Objective: 2
@open

The storm had arrived before the battle.

Heavy clouds rolled across the skies above Riverbreaker, turning the afternoon into a dim, gray twilight as rain hammered against the transparisteel canopy sections surrounding the massive shockball arena. What had once been a place of competition and celebration had become something else entirely. Thousands of civilians crowded the concourses, loading platforms, and landing fields. Cargo haulers, family transports, agricultural shuttles, and private vessels sat packed wingtip to wingtip across every available stretch of ferrocrete. Engines roared. Children cried. Security sirens wailed intermittently over overwhelmed public address systems struggling to maintain order.

Veyla stood near the edge of the main landing zone, rainwater streaking across the crimson accents of her beskar as she surveyed the chaos unfolding before her. This wasn't a military stronghold. It wasn't a battlefield. It was fear given physical form. Families carried whatever possessions they could hold. Elderly citizens leaned on younger relatives. Workers still wore stained field uniforms as they hurried toward departing ships. The people of Uyter were trying to flee a war before it reached them, and there simply weren't enough transports to make that happen quickly.

Her helmet remained sealed as she stepped forward through the crowd, accompanied by a small contingent of Mandalorian warriors. They moved with purpose but without aggression, their weapons lowered and their attention fixed on maintaining order rather than projecting force. Some civilians shrank away at the sight of Beskar armor. Others stared openly. A few looked relieved. None of them truly knew what was coming. They only knew that their world stood on the edge of something larger than themselves.

A disturbance near one of the loading ramps drew Veyla's attention. Voices rose above the crowd. Panic spread quickly through the packed crowd of civilians, and people were already pushing toward a transport whose crew had announced it was preparing for immediate departure. The crush of bodies threatened to become more dangerous than any blaster. Without hesitation, Veyla changed course and moved directly toward the swelling crowd.

"Back."

The single word carried through the rain and noise with surprising clarity. Beside her, several Mandalorians immediately spread out to create space between the transport and the civilians surging toward it. Veyla climbed onto a nearby cargo crate, elevating herself above the crowd. Her gaze swept across frightened faces, finding not enemies but people desperately trying to protect their families.

"Everyone gets aboard faster if nobody tramples each other getting there."

Her voice remained calm, measured, and entirely free of threats. "There are more ships coming. Form lines. Families stay together. Injured and elderly first." Some obeyed immediately. Others hesitated. Yet confidence often proved contagious. As order slowly began replacing panic, the pressure against the loading ramp eased. Mothers pulled children close. Workers began helping one another instead of competing for space. The difference was small, but it was enough.

Standing atop the crate as rain continued to fall around her, Veyla looked out across the immense stadium. Thousands still remained. Hundreds of ships were attempting to depart. Somewhere beyond Riverbreaker, Mandalorian forces were advancing deeper into the system. Somewhere else, Jedi and militia were undoubtedly preparing their response. The battle hadn't arrived yet. But she could feel it approaching. For now, however, her responsibility wasn't the coming fight. It was the frightened people standing before her. And until the shooting started, that was exactly where her focus would remain.

Amelia von Sorenn · Thursday at 7:19 PM

UYTER - OBJECTIVE III

Uyter, a planet known for its agriculture and farming of crops, which would go on to supply the galaxy with foodstuffs. Its people were known for being independent-minded, and this quality led them to their current state. It would have been all too easy for the Warden of Ferrix to arrive at the head of an armada, to stand quietly and watch as gunships and troop transports tore through the atmosphere to unleash the hordes of the Mandalorian Empire upon a world that had already smacked away an outstretched hand.

However, as easy as that would have been, she had taken a different path, one that would prove much more difficult, yet all the more rewarding. Instead, she would offer another hand, outstretched and bearing much-needed gifts for the people of Uyter, for those who had not fully thrown their lot in with the Jedi Master Nikola Quin. The first vessel that dropped from hyperspace was not a warship, no grand Capital vessel bristling with weapons; rather, it was an Aether-model MF-02, a Medical Frigate. The moment that it had reverted to realspace, it had already begun its work, unleashing a swarm of Aether-model MSS-21s, Medical Shuttles carrying supplies, medical personnel, and medical droids.

The frigate was soon joined by a litany of vessels, yet they all shared a similar feature: they carried no weapons or only the smallest number for personal defense. Aether-model FT-02s, Fleet Tenders carrying tens of thousands of tons of cargo, supported by Aether-model ICC-15s, Cargo Crafts, and Aether-model DCC-02s, Droid Cargo Crafts. Each vessel was stamped with three simple letters on its side, as though they supported and were there to ensure that the Mandalorian Empire would bring one more wayward sheep into the flock; they served a more subtly insidious purpose. Emblazoned on the side of each vessel was a simple TTC, white letters in a field of black.

It never ceased to astonish many, the sheer terror and beauty that was traveling through hyperspace. The woman remained silent, still, as though she were nothing more than a statue that someone had decided belonged on the bridge. The elongated white lines of the stars slowly took shape, and the brilliant, hazy blue of hyperspace began to dull as the vessel dropped into orbit above Uyter and began its approach. It was a Shadlaar-type, a troopship, and its cargo was much more dangerous than the hordes of Mandalorians it could have brought.

The vessel shook for a moment, and the turbulence of entering the atmosphere buffeted the vessel until it broke free. A soft smirk slowly pulled across her lips, and had she not been wearing her helm, one might have even seen the slightest hint of a fang. Verdant fields of green and golden-yellow began to fill the viewscreen, the same agricultural fields that the planet was known for, and would soon fall into the Mandalorian Empire.

The Warden of Ferrix had arrived on Uyter, and within the hold of her vessel were hundreds of droids, AT-BL3 Battle Legionnaires, a much-needed and compliant workforce that would not tire nor complain, and to oversee their tasks, VOS-N1 Administrative Droids. She had brought with her something far more dangerous than Mandalorian Warriors... The Warden of Ferrix had brought Bureaucrats, and they would go over every single grain and account for every individual before Uyter would join the Empire.

TAGS: OPEN

Adonis Angelis IV · Thursday at 8:22 PM

The outstretched hand of the Mandalorian Empire was not one to be swatted at lest it become a fist.

That fist had found its way planetside as soon as the call had been given. Adonis Angelis IV had long been struggling with the darkness inside him, and it was a daily battle. His line between service to his people as Warden and his personal morals was starting to crack. The truth was, responsibility made you think about things differently. Whereas before, Adonis would have been unable to go against the Jedi, whether that was due to fear or respect wasn't important. Now he saw the truth of the situation plain as day.

The Jedi had sentenced these people to death.

Mand'alor was no tyrant. He did not burn worlds for pride or wage war to satisfy his ego. The Empire had offered Uyter a place within something greater than itself. The Jedi had answered with defiance. Now the consequences of that choice were being paid in blood.

That was what brought the jaw of the Empire down around Uyter, around the Jedi, and soon around Master Quin. Adonis was not one to call for mass casualties, so finding the Jedi Master and ending this soon was his main priority. Every possible future Mandalorian citizen was to survive. Those who decided to fight met the same fate every warrior eventually does. Adonis couldn't help but see the monotony in the soldier's life, but he still lived and breathed it. It was a welcome relief from the day to day of being Warden. He took in the smell of smoke and spent rounds like the perfume on the skin of a lover returned.

A blue broadsaber cut a swath through militia fighters. Their bodies started to pile up in the mud beneath Adonis's boots. It was a pity that they couldn't just listen. They would have been given proper training and they would have learned to defend themselves, instead they were fodder to feed the ego of a Jedi Master, the same damnation they cast upon the Mandalorians. Voices cut through his HUD rapidly as the battle spilled over the green grasses that covered the planet. The Vaalan knight found the similarities between Uyter and Vaal to be instantly recognizable. Where savanna and tall grasses covered one, farmland and plains covered the other.

One of the voices that cut through was that of

Mia Monroe . His superior in both the Great Heathen Army and the Wardenate. It sounded like she had created a breach in the makeshift fortress created overnight. Adonis would make his mission to reach Mia and the others so that they could strike the head of the beast and let the body die. The sooner they were finished the sooner they could start rebuilding and the sooner the people of Uyter would see the true side of the Mandalorian Empire.

An explosion from his jetpack left only smoke in his wake. Adonis had no time to waste on scattered militia while the Warmaster was calling the charge. They would have been stupid not to focus their fire on the Mandalorian, so they did. Their unskilled eye mixed with inferior technology meant bolts were glancing off ivory and gold beskar. The warden applauded their tenacity though.

Adonis landed near the breaching party with enough force to knock a group of inexperienced fighters back. Hopefully they would be smart and stay down. "OYA!" The knight roared into his comms as he charged further into the fray with the warparty.

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TAG: Sylor

Daegon Ashkaar · Thursday at 10:07 PM

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U Y T E R

Farmland- Muddy Fields
Rain carried a different scent here.

It smelled clean, like it had been straight from the stream. On Vaal you could smell the minerals in the rain, years of ash and buildup carried through the soil, fed by the mineral rich waters from the mountains. It smelled like home, this- this smelled sterile. Tanned fingers wiped a single raindrop from his cheek and brought it to his lips. Just as Daegon had though, it tasted of almost nothing. No traces of stone, no metallic tang, nothing. The warrior was finding more of the shock was coming from the mundane rather than the mystical. The Force and technology were things he had heard of before, but he had never considered the smell of the rain.

Adonis had tasked him with a simple mission, he had been given a pack of young vornskr, transported in personally from Myrkr. He was to use them and find two local reek who had been terrorizing the farmlands. The vornskr were the same beasts he had felled before starting his journey with the Mandalorians. They were young- tough, but young. Given Daegon's complete unknowing of blasters, beskar armor, and munitions, Adonis decided to play to the barbarian's strengths- nature. The vornskr had been easy enough to control so far, not unlike the wild hyenax who roamed the plains of Vaal.

The flowing fields of Uyter felt familiar to Ashkaar, though the bright green grass seemed ugly when compared to the rich layers of color of a rolling savanna. He would take the golden sea of tall grass over the cold green expanse before him any day, but the vornskr seemed to enjoy it. The pups were less war beast and more curious babes as they sniffed around the grass. Daegon knew they would find the scent eventually, until then he would correct them with whistles and commands.

Rain formed across the single piece of beskar he wore- a helm fashioned in the style of the very vornskr he killed before. Adonis had forged it as a welcome present for Daegon when he left and joined the Mandalorians. Dark, wavy hair caught the water as it fell from his crown. Ashkaar took a long breath before continuing on. The beasts seemed to sniff around a certain pile of dung a little harder than the others. The oldest of the pack, who Daegon had affectionately referred to as Korro, an old Vaalic word meaning trusted friend. He had been the most friendly of the four beasts, even letting Daegon get close enough to pet him.

"Do you have a scent?" An eager voice asked, hoping Korro had finally found the trail. The beast responded by shaking its fur clean of the rain, splashing it all over the warrior. He could tell the animals needed bathed, the normal clean scent of the rain was replaced with the pungent odor of wet canine.

OPEN

Kirae Orade · Thursday at 11:13 PM

Tags: N/A

A flailing body hurtled through the air and off the wall, lightsaber in hand as the sound of metal against bone crunched through the air. Shield held aloft to defend herself on the wall, as others worked on collapsing part of it. Kirae was doing what she did best, keeping eyes and attention on her as she slammed onwards as a bulwark against the blaster fire.

Slamming her shield down to the ground, piercing a defender's foot to pin them against the ground, Kirae brought her dagger up straight for the jugular, before tossing the soon-to-be corpse over the shield and her shoulder, sending them hurtling over the wall and descending downwards to the ground.

Onwards she marched, a constant bulwark against the blaster fire. At least until there was the sound of a distinctive snap-hiss of a weapon that Kirae had yet to actually properly face against. Peering her head over the shield to spot one of the defenders wielding that of a lightsaber. It made sense that one of them would be atop of the wall, and now it looked like it was her turn to take their attention. Time to deal with this "Light."

Muad Dib · Thursday at 11:28 PM

It was just another bar.

Same sour stench of booze burnt his nostrils.
Same flashing neon holograms offering sales of illicit drugs, smugglers, hitters, companionship, and whatever propaganda this rock called news hitting the peripherals of his glowing blue eyes.
Same racket of music assaulting his ears.
Same sticky floors and rustling of bodies pressed against the patrons.
And the same nutty burn of Corellian liquor hitting his taste buds before traveling a fiery path down his throat.

“Oya, tis nice to be home.”

The phrase was grunted as he drained the last of the liquid from the glass before tapping the bar for another round. A cyborg bartender, more machine than flesh, acted under employed compulsion, topping off the glass before the man.
He didn't remember exactly where he was. Not that it really mattered. Just another bar where liquor flowed as freely as the credits from your hand.
Fingers snaked a death stick from the interior pocket of his worn bantha hide jacket. The dark brown of the coat fit nicely with the dark tan tunic and trousers he wore. Not that fashion was at the top of his list of important things to do.
He tossed back the drink and tapped the bar once more before placing the death stick between his lips. A flame leapt to life at the tip, unbidden from lighter or match, and a soft hue of violet smoke escaped his nostrils in a breathy exhale.

“Now this is nice.”

His comment wasn't meant for anyone in particular, just a thought which flowed unprompted. In a more civilized environment one might think the man was crazy. If only that simple word could describe the mad man.
However, today didn't necessarily call for insanity.
Not that it ever did.
A twilek sidled up next to him, soft words whistled past sharpened teeth. An offer of enjoyment for a price. His left arm moved back to reveal the pistol thonged low on his left thigh, callused fingers caressed the grips as intimately as the woman spoke.
She took the hint and left, a frown and a comment about mating rituals with nerfs trailed in her wake. The visual made the corners of his lips twitch upward into his unshaven face.
Another drink downed and another refill into the glass before he finally noticed it bore a hairline crack around the rim.
Just another bar.
His eyes noticed movement in the mirror above the bar. Not just any motion. The twilek hooker motioned in his direction to a group of guys in a recessed booth cloaked in shadow. Glowing eyes scanned the reflection watching a couple of tables where denizens of the bar played cards. A dancefloor where several bodies pressed close enough to be copulating. And a great many others who just wanted to be alone with their drinks.
A sentiment he shared. At least for the moment.
Surface emotions, intents, and thoughts brushed his mind as he took another hit from the death stick. Sycophants, sociopaths, psychotics, criminals, and even genuine civilians.
For the first time he grinned, the blue embers of his eyes flashed brighter. It was going to be a good night he mused to himself.
Just another bar.
Three men rose from the booth, their eyes zeroed on his back. When an enemy approached he would often feel a tingle. But the trio was no threat. Not for him. He felt them stop behind him, not so much in the force but through the heat they radiated with the stench of unwashed bodies and the aroma of spice.

“You disrespecting the lady. Now you pay for the insult and our time.”

It didn't really matter who spoke. The words were as old as time and twice as generic. The breath that wafted over his shoulder was unique. Rotten teeth, cheap beer from the tap, and what smelled like open sores. Probably their nethers rotting off from sampling their own wares.

“I'll pass”, he chuckled as he drained his glass and shoved it away. Not to spare the glass from breaking in the encroaching squabble. To free his right hand which slipped to his belt.

“What the hell did you s—”, one of them began to slur while he reached out a hand to grab the man's shoulder.

He spun, right hand flashed out with the curved skinning kal gifted from a vod years in the distant past. Yet the age of the blade didn't dull the edge as it severed the offensive hand, through the throat of the second, and buried in the chest of the third.

Blood sprayed from the stump of the first who screamed. Who knew he was a soprano? The mad man reached out and grabbed him by the throat and threw him over the bar with such strength the mirror shattered and rained glass across the bar.
Screams rang out as the people ran from the room. Even the cyborg bartender. Guess it was an open bar. He smirked and grabbed a bottle from behind the bar before tossing the death stick into the liquor coating the whimpering amputee.
The sound of the screams changed, choked by the flames which surged into his mouth. The blue eyed man raised the bottle in a mock salute before pulling the cork with his teeth and taking a deep pull.
He cleaned the blade on a bar towel before sheathing it. A sigh escaped. Smoke filled the air in a thick fog. With a smirk he sat on the stool and spun around, a word from the news hologram drew his attention.
Mandalorians.
Mandos invading, falling like locusts upon the harvest. Valiant Jedi standing against the invaders. Blah blah blah.
Sounded like fun.
He hopped off the stool and stepped onto the corpse. Up and over. Until his boots walked across the tacky floor and to the doors leading outside.
Rain fell. A warm shower that caressed his fevered brow. Blaster bolts and explosions rocked the outside. A cacophony of the beauty of war. A symphony orchestrated by true maestros.
Mandalorians.
Vode.
Aliit.
The bottle was raised as he drained the rest of the liquor. Behind him the exterior of the bar caught fire. The inferno consumed the exterior undeterred by the rain.

“Time to have some
fun.”

The Mad Man headed toward the sound of battle.

Maia · 2026-06-19T07:05:07-0400

UYTER - OBJECTIVE III

As far as planets went, Uyter was… okay.

It wasn’t the usual haunt of Mandalore. Those were far worse. Behemoth constructions of metal and concrete that drowned and drained me. At least there was flora here. Though it was better than nothing, it was farmed land. Regimented rows of wheat and barley and rye churned and chopped by harsh blades of harvest machinery. Never allowed to grow higher than what was deemed necessary, never allowed to spread their seed beyond their strict and orderly lines. Choked at their stems and forced to remain just so. Never wild. Never unruly. Never free.

They told me nothing. Whispered no futures, no pasts, no warnings. They could only weep. Every tear pattering on my mind like rain into a bucket. Slowly but surely filling me with their sorrow, until I knew that I would overflow with it if I didn’t escape soon.

I cared little for the war between clans. Of the fight between Jedi, and Sith, and Mandalore, and whoever else threw their weight around the galaxy these days. Their influence was temporary, a weed allowed to sprout long enough to give the gods something to grip onto and pull it out by its roots. They may try to make a name for themselves, claim this planet and that, write their name across the stars. But sooner or later, all writing fades.

History would forget, time would win, and eventually nature would conquer all.

Luckily, he had promised this would be quick. Easy. So far it was. I had joined the Nite Owls on their reconnaissance mission. Scouting the capital ahead of the main parties. The Manor had been a beacon in the blackest night. Illuminated with the Light’s intention so that the entire planet simply glowed with it, but that wasn’t where the Nite Owl’s interests lay. We hunted deeper, went further, and in the shadows we discovered something else. Something different.

The message was sent, and thus we waited.

I noted with great frustration that my fingernails were spotless. Free from the stains of nutrient rich earth or specks of brightly coloured paint that usually decorated them. It didn't matter that they were spotless though. I picked at them anyway. Just for something to do. The rhythmic click, click, click as I cleaned worked like the sway of a hypnotist's pocket watch. It almost made me forget the wails and cries of the tortured farm lands echoing in my mind.

We’d sent the comm some time ago. The announcement that there was another sector of the capital worth our time and effort. I didn’t expect it to be answered by many. In fact, I only really expected one person to take heed, and he was late.

Just as I was beginning to muse on what he could give me to make up for his tardiness, the earth vibrated beneath my feet. Not the sort of vibration I would have expected to feel with an explosion or a landing star ship, it was a little lighter than that. But it signalled his arrival well enough.

I stepped out from the shadows to greet it.

The war druid was towering, forcing me to look up to find the rider. It was an angry hunk of melted steel and hissing parts that were an insult to nature. I hated the thing, but at least it was familiar. I knew every scratch, every dent, every blaster burn. Years ago, I'd been the one that hand painted the rancor on the side, proudly throwing its head to the sky in the throws of a battle cry. Hands far less confident and skilled than the ones I possessed now had taken the time to craft it personally. The paint was chipped now, and here and there spots where it had been touched by the worn fingers of time stood prominent.

Yet it still managed to pull a rare smile from me.

I cocked my head to the side, tugging down the covering that swallowed the lower half of my face so that I could call up to the rider of the droid. “Took you long enough.”

Israel • Open

Itzhal Volkihar · 2026-06-19T15:43:35-0400

| Location | Uyter, Mid Rim Territories
| Objective | II - THE UYTER AIRLIFT

The Wars were over.

To the north, the once-mighty Twin Thrones now lay barren, their territory reduced to a battleground for scavengers and weary survivors, all desperate to carve out an existence in the aftermath of Mandalore's retribution. To the east, the Imperials, once staunchly proud and united in their confederation, retreated into their crumbling strongholds, their ideals a mere shadow of the vision that had once dared to expand across the galaxy, replaced with the isolated kingdoms of warlords and despots.

For the first time since the early stages of its foundation, the Mandalorian Empire found itself devoid of formidable foes to contest its prowess. To many within its ranks, this moment was a breath of fresh air—a chance for consolidation and reflection.

As they gathered to celebrate hard-won victories and to evaluate their newly acquired territories, each one a testament to an ideal that had spread like wildfire along a path forged of blood, sweat, and tears: Mandalorian Supremacy—the right for their people to rule. And so they did, across dozens of worlds, Mandalore forged a fragile peace. It was a delicate stillness in the wake of sweeping accomplishments that had transformed the expanse of Mandalorian space over the past few tumultuous years.

Perhaps, in another scenario, it should have been enough, a moment for Mandalore to turn its gaze inwards.

Yet, Mandalore was forever drawn to the stars beyond their reach, unable or unwilling to pause in their endless advance. The truth gnawed away at Itzhal with every campaign. The toll of Mandalore's ambitions etched across the faces of the conquered and the conquerors alike, visible to all those who dared to look, rather than bury their heads in the sand. For all the victories, for all the worlds brought to heel, they couldn't stop, perhaps they never would. Not until every star in the Galaxy was under their purview or the careful grip of their clients. What a bloody waste.

Itzhal sighed, his shoulders shifting with the burden of beskar laid upon his frame as he strode along the walkway. Thunderous roars echoed in the sky above, a cacophony of sound and fury delivered upon the heads of those who dared to resist. Each step weighed on him, not just for the armour but for the heaviness inside, tangled thoughts pressing against his mind with every stride. The steady rap of his boots, unhurried and sure—a lie wrapped in necessity—toiled endlessly beneath the uproar of the desperate and forlorn, yet the scene before him stirred something uncertain, even bitter, in his chest.

Men, women, and children scurried beneath him in unending streams, the beating heart of Uyter torn asunder by beskar-clad fists. Some looked on with hollow eyes, their faces drawn and pale with fear; others murmured prayers or curses beneath their breath, clutching loved ones as if to anchor themselves in a world remade by invasion. A scrap of resistance remained in the set of their jaws or the way they glanced upward at the Mandalorians, pain and defiance crashing together just beneath the surface. They would never be the same after this.

He wasn't quite sure if he was referring just to them.

The cost of defiance for a world blinded to the consequences of its actions. Among his fellow Mandalorians, the justifications were as varied as the colours of their armour. Some called it justice, a necessary cleansing to ensure the Empire's strength and protect the clan's future. Others muttered about destiny, that the weak always fell and only the worthy thrived under Mandalorian rule, that this was the price for stability. Yet a few, quieter voices questioned whether crushing defiant worlds truly secured anything but resentment, their doubts swallowed by the march of armoured columns.

Itzhal didn't care.

All he saw was the orderly line of figures encased in shining plates of beskar, faceless enforcers, to a decree of suffering and conquest, his people's legacy.

Tags: Open

Mig Gred · 2026-06-19T16:07:47-0400

Objective II
Tags:

Veyla Krinn

Itzhal Volkihar

Mig never knew how to feel about these things. The Tsad sat in orbit, her escorts ready and holding an evacuation corridor. She had limited fighter cover though. Most of the carrier’s interior was working as refugee space today, and her support bays had been cleared to hold a trio of Influunt-class corvettes set for evacuation duty, plus various freighters, gunships, and couriers from the fleet.

If the man were honest with the Mand’alor, he’d admit he had no intention of sussing out who was who. But his clan had become pretty good at operating under noses, even in plain sight. He would leave one of the Influunt’s,

Leddie Gred in tow behind him as he started quickly giving orders to a few of his band who seemed to mostly be in charge of the various tasks he’d set up. One of the corvettes having a medical insignia painted on the side.

Crews quickly started setting up lines and keeping people in order before seeing Vayla, walking over as he called out. “We have a hospital ship here! Couriers will be landing soon for anyone that’s off world ASAP. We’ve got better medical facilities on the Tsad.”

He then looked over, taking a breath while Leddie ran down to help someone who’d tripped. “I hope everything’s going smoothly.” He said, not looking back over as he looked over the all too familiar sight. “I know the Mand’alor’s orders, but this is an evac site. If someone tries to fight here…. Not gonna take it, even from vod.” It would be obvious he was saying this both as a warning and some slight probing. Many would already know he tended to prefer these things go smoothly, and he wasn’t about to make this more difficult than it already was.

Kael Varr Bastiel Skirata · 2026-06-19T18:44:12-0400

Tags:

Veyla Krinn

Itzhal Volkihar

Mig Gred
OBJECTIVE: II - THE UYTER AIRLIFT
Ship: The Cabur Rekr (The Guardian Wolf)
Armor: Dauntless-type Beskar'gam
Blade: Tal'Alor Beskad
Primary Weapon: Plasma Bow
Secondary Weapon: Paired Beskar Tonfa

Kael was becoming used to the distress beacons. He had heard the call of Mand'alor the Iron, and since he had a ship and medical supplies, he banked the Cabur Rekr on a wingtip and sped in the direction of Uyter.

Seeing the lineup of ships evacuating people out of the stadium, Kael landed outside of it where he could. Grabbing his medkit and his bow, he donned his bu'yce and ran past the lines, looking to whoever I needed to report to.

Diawl Hynafol · 2026-06-19T18:50:31-0400

Objective: Make the Jedi Suffer
Equipment: Beskar Kopis Blades, obsidian and beskar macuahuitl, blaster pistols
Outfit: Mandalorian Armour
Tag:

Mia Monroe |

Sylor |

Adonis Angelis IV

It was the first mission that Diawel had been able to jump into since he agreed to be one of the Mandalorians. Since his armour was fitted and the warrior earned his new weapons. Weapons that came from a different way of life. His macuahuitl had been a staple weapon for years before he agreed to be part of the Mandalorians. Now there were blasters, small swords, vambraces with random technology. It was a lot to take on and until Diawel had adjusted to the new ways, to the weaponry that he would be needing to use, he staved off joining missions. Now, the Mandalorian stood mountainous and looming like beskar monster as he shifted forward.

The rain of blaster fire from the fortified city did not faze the Mandalorian. Beskar was built to handle this and Diawel endured worse on Dathomir. The fools were hardly skilled marksmen and he was there to do one thing really. Put the fear of everything into these fools, they dared to think themselves safe, secure in this city. It was an error. The Demon of Dathomir was going to be his name and that was exactly what he would make sure they saw. His horns protruding from his helmet, his massive weapon and the massive shadow he cast wherever he was. This Riverbreaker would regret thinking they stood a chance.

Looking at the ones planning and organising a strategy to take the city, that was too much in his mind. Diawel saw a very simple solution. "I go take my macuahuitl. I go bash door down. They focus on me, missing you." Diawel told any Mandalorian that would listen to him, speaking more than he was wanting to but there was too much planning and he figured that they needed to know what insanity he was going to do. Let them make sure not to be in his way then.

Sheathing his massive blade, Diawel clenched his fists and gave a raw, primal roar. A ferocious battle cry. Then the Demon of Dathomir charged towards the main gates of the city. Prepared to bring them down to give everyone easier access to the city.

Muad Dib · 2026-06-19T20:39:56-0400

Objective I
Tags:

Adonis Angelis IV ,

Mia Monroe

The rain fell creating muddied streets and failing to extinguish the inferno behind him. Neither did it stop the flames from licking the neighboring building. A taste at first before the fire decided to add to its steady diet of wood and spread. And spread it did.

He ran his gloves hand through his hair scattering droplets to join their liquid brethren in falling to the mud with splashes indistinguishable from the true rain. Coarse laughter echoed from his chest as he watched the mayhem and wondered oh so briefly why no one ran in attempt to stop the spread of fire.

He needn't of waited long.

Down the street stood the reinforced gates of the city. Armed combatants fired from the ramparts to whatever foe stood knocking outside the walls. The glow of green, blue, and yellow lightsabers were waved by several figures he assumed were Jedi as flashing blades sparked and redirected blaster bolts back to their source.

“Jedi … not defending them. And certainly not helping whatever poor bastards are attacking. Not my problem. Now, time to find another quaint drinking establishment…”

He laughed and turned away, boots nearly mired in the mud. The suctioning slop tried to hold him in place. Tried and failed. He had a mission. More drinking. But even as he turned away, hands now flipping the collar of his leather jacket up to stifle the flood of water flowing down his spine, he caught sight of something that would change his mind.

Four mandalorians, jetpacks firing and launching them over the wall, landed on the city side of the wall. Two fell to the torrent of blaster fire which ate at their durasteel armor. Yet the other pair remained standing, rockets fired from wrist mounts and felling many that were attempting to reinforce the gate.

Three Jedi somersaulted from the ramparts and landed behind the pair, the force aiding their jump to clear the mandos by ten meters. Three Jedi versus two mandos, that wasn't very sporting in his opinion. Gathering the force to himself he took three steps and leapt up and over to land in a puddle with an impressive splash that dirtied the Jedi's robes and drew the attention of the mandos.

“Don't mind me ner vode. You focus on the gate. I'll play with the glow stick wielders.”

The three Jedi remained grouped together. Poor tactics and training. But what did he expect from Jedi. The central Jedi pointed his jade blade at the mad man who had placed himself, unwisely in their opinions, between them and their adversaries.

“Stand aside or fall. We are in defense against the mandalorians. Are you mad?”

Laughter welled in his chest as his right hand reached beneath his coat and pulled the beskad hanging upside down from its sheath on his back. At the sight of the mandalorion ore the Jedi shifted their feet in recognition of an enemy.

“Mad? Oh no. I'm going to enjoy this very very much.”

A fresh wave of rockets launched from the mandalorians at the inner gate sending soldiers and debris flying before advancing with flamethrowers focused on burning the blockaded obstacle to the ground.

Even as the shockwave from the rocket detonations buffeted his back, Muad leapt forward using the extra momentum to close the distance with the Jedi as he slashed horizontally from left to right.

The first Jedi, a human, didn't react quickly enough and the beskad sliced through the top of the emitter which turned the lightsaber hilt into a tiny grenade. The explosion removed one of the man's hands while the beskad continued its slice.

The middle Jedi, a rodian which reminded Muad of an ale he once drank on Tatooine, possessed enough reflexes to bring his blue lightsaber to bear to block the strike. Unfortunately for his friend beside him, the rodian did not count on the strength of Muad’s blow which sent the blue lightsaber into the third Jedi's chest.

With both blades angled away Muad stepped forward and force kicked the rodian nearly a dozen meters away where the Jedi landed on his back, mud coating his robes as he slid several more meters along like a fun water slide.

Muad swept the beskad back to the left and decapitated the human who awkwardly clutched at the severed stump of his right arm. Which technically made him a double amputee. Head and hand. Lips twitched into a grin on his face.

Behind him the sound of timbers being felled and more shouts then screams told him the pair of mandos were making an improvement to the gate. Much like the improvement Muad had recently made to the bar. Destruction. However the rodian was not finished as he struggled to his feet and slung the mud infused outer robe from his body.

“Die Mando scum!”

Now that didn't sound very Jedi like to the mad man, but who was he to judge? He'd never been a Jedi. The rodian sprinted forward and Muad emulated the action. As the warriors met the Jedi raised his lightsaber overhead in a mighty downward strike at Muad's head.

Or where his head should have been. Instead the mad man went into a baseball slide, using the slick mud to aid his maneuver, and raised his beskad to meet the intersection of the rodian’s legs. A sickening squeal and green gore flashed by as Muad slid between the Jedi's legs. The beskad made short work where it connected with the man's groin.

Standing from his slide he briefly wondered if the strike had turned the Jedi into an eunuch before he died. If it had, did that make Muad a doctor. A mad doctor to be sure, but a doctor all the same.

Finally, the pair of mandos destroyed the gate reinforcements and battle was joined. Through the fog of war and torrential rain he saw a lone Mando,

Diawl Hynafol , run toward the gaped but still formidable gates and he grinned.

“Oya, now there's a warrior.”

Before he took a step in their direction to help, an adjoining section of the wall, both a part of the exterior barricade and a much larger segment of wall protecting something of importance, or persons of importance, was quite literally ripped from its foundation.

Debris, stones, duracrete, and durasteel flew in all directions. A maelstrom of fury rained upon the defenders crushing and breaking all in its path. Laughter flew free as he sheathed the beskad and reached to his belt to pull free the silver cylinder clipped there.

He didn't know what lay behind the greater wall but he did know that he would most likely find greater and more skilled enemy within. An amethyst blade sprang to life as he ignited his lightsaber and jogged toward the gaping entrance not sure what
friend or foe he might find.

“But a good time regardless.”

Veyla Krinn · 2026-06-19T22:49:52-0400

Objective: 2

Itzhal Volkihar

Mig Gred

Kael Varr Bastiel Skirata

The stadium had become a world unto itself. Rain hammered against duracrete and landing pads alike while engines screamed overhead, transports lifting away packed with frightened civilians as fresh vessels descended to take their place. Thousands moved through the evacuation corridors in uneven streams. Families clung to one another. Children cried. Medical teams rushed between loading zones. Everywhere Veyla looked, there seemed to be another person desperately trying to hold their life together while the world shifted beneath their feet.

She moved through the crowd rather than above it. A frightened child separated from his parents was guided back to them. An elderly farmer, struggling under the weight of his belongings, found a pair of volunteers to help him carry the load. A woman with an injured leg was directed toward one of the growing medical stations. None of it was dramatic. None of it would appear in any report once the operation was over. It mattered anyway.

As she crossed one of the elevated walkways overlooking the evacuation lanes, her attention briefly settled on a familiar sight. Beskar armor. Mandalorian. Standing apart from the movement around him. Itzhal. For a moment, she followed his gaze downward toward the civilians moving below. She didn't know exactly what thoughts occupied his mind, but she recognized the look. It wasn't a triumph. It wasn't a celebration. It was the expression of someone looking beyond victory and finding something more complicated waiting there. Veyla didn't interrupt him. Some thoughts needed room to breathe.

Instead, she continued onward as another transport settled onto the landing field below. The arrival drew immediate attention from nearby civilians, and moments later, she spotted Mig moving through the growing crowd alongside his crew. The announcement of a hospital ship spread quickly. Relief followed. Visible relief. People who had been carrying injured family members suddenly had somewhere to take them. Medical volunteers began redirecting casualties toward the newly established treatment areas, easing pressure on several evacuation lanes.

Veyla met Mig near one of the loading corridors and gave a small nod of appreciation. "You're going to make a lot of lives easier today." Her gaze shifted toward the hospital corvette before returning to him. "And I'm glad somebody brought more medical support." Nearby, another familiar figure emerged through the crowd, carrying a medkit and moving with clear purpose. Kael. Veyla raised a hand in greeting as he approached. "Good to see you, Kael."

Her eyes briefly swept toward the triage stations forming near the newest arrivals. "Looks like your timing is excellent. There are plenty of people here who could use a medic." Above them, another transport lifted into the storm while thousands still waited below for their chance to leave. Somewhere beyond the stadium walls, the war continued to creep closer, but for now, Veyla's attention remained fixed on the civilians caught in its path. If Mandalorians were going to claim this world, then someone had to ensure its people survived long enough to see what came after.

Adelle Bastiel · 2026-06-20T00:07:31-0400

BYOO - Enclave Temple
Tags:

Israel |

Maia | Open

This was wrong.

Adelle flew through the embattled skies, her Jai’galaar Basilisk weaving through larger fighters and laserfire. The Mand’alor’s terms for annexation were reasonable. A planet could keep its sovereignty if it acknowledged Mandalore’s claim and paid taxes like any other citizen-planet. If it took up arms, if the leadership decided to make it a fight, the Mandalorians would end it. Anyone with a lick of sense would have picked the actual reasonable option.

But these Jedi, for some reason, chose violence.

It made no sense.

The temple loomed in the darkness ahead, violent fires of light blazing like beacons in the Force. Adelle took one hand off the controls and placed her palm on the shoulder plate, exhaling slowly as she reached out to the Force and drew it around them. The Cloak would do nothing against holocams or optic sensors, but she didn’t need to hide from those.

A mechanical rumble came from the war droid as it flew over the Enclave temple. Adelle adjusted, no longer sitting astride but laying flat along the “spine” of the droid. She closed her eyes, focusing on the currents swirling around her in the Force, waiting for the right moment.

Now.

Adelle slipped off the droid, falling over the side, and plummeted towards the ground. She was grateful for her Owl-type beskar’gam: the buy’ce and jetpack would make sticking the landing far easier. Her HUD started identifying points of entry, defensive counter-measures, and… two Nite Owl signatures also on the temple grounds. Interesting.

The roof of the main building loomed ahead of her, a domed thing that probably looked better before the fight began. Adelle flipped herself, reversing her headfirst fall, as it came up quickly and fired the thrusters of her jetpack in controlled bursts. Her feet hit the hard duracrete briefly before she tucked into a roll across the top, bleeding the excess energy from her fall. Adelle walked to where the curve sharpened and slid down to the lip where the dome ended and walls began. She knelt down, reducing her visible profile, before she opened the heavily encrypted Nite Owls channel.

“Didn’t expect a party here,” she said. “I’ll try not to get in your way.”

Leddie Gred · 2026-06-20T10:55:33-0400

Objective II
Tags:

Kael Varr Bastiel Skirata

Veyla Krinn

Itzhal Volkihar

Mig noticed the younger Mandalorian, pointing over towards other medics. “That way for other medics ad (kid). But keep your eyes peeled.” Leddie would hear this too, looking over with surprise as she had finished helping someone with some supplies before speaking up.

“Kael!” She said, walking over. “You’re here…. Right. I guess that would make sense. Medic and all….” The Zabrak would be lying if she said she wasn’t worried anyone she met in that fight, but it was good to see someone else dealing with this side of things.

“There’s a lot of people here. Jagyc’buir (dad) even brought in the Tsad.” It didn’t occur to Leddie that Kael probably had no idea what the ship was, but it would at least be clear from. How she said it that she thought it was major.

Kael Varr Bastiel Skirata · 2026-06-20T12:21:44-0400

Tags:

Veyla Krinn

Itzhal Volkihar

Mig Gred
OBJECTIVE: II - THE UYTER AIRLIFT
Ship: The Cabur Rekr (The Guardian Wolf)
Armor: Dauntless-type Beskar'gam
Blade: Tal'Alor Beskad
Primary Weapon: Plasma Bow
Secondary Weapon: Paired Beskar Tonfa

Kael nodded at the assembled Mandalorians before letting the work of a medic slip over him with no more ceremony than putting on his bu'yce. Starting his peaceful battle meditation as he did the last time he helped as a medic on a world torn by war, he turned to Veyla. "Alor Krinn, I have room to take some of the more injured patients up to the medical frigates. The Cabur Rekr can take six stretchers. Alor Gred, if I can borrow your ad, I would be honored to have a spacer of her caliber pilot my ship up there while I treat and monitor the injured. Between the two of us, we can take the emergency patients much faster than the larger transport ships, and we are far more armored." Kael would abide by the Alors' decisions, but this was the best way he figured he could be of help.

Dominion The Future is Mandalorian [ ME Dominion of Uyter ]

M A N D A L O R E

G U A R D I A N

Strength

The Liberator

Character

The Spacepiress of Chaos

The Warden of Vaal

The Son of Vaal

Curse of Orade

Paragon of Virtue

ʙ ʟ ᴏ ᴏ ᴍ ꜱ ᴇ ᴇ ʀ

Character

Alor of Clan Gred, Mando'ad'jetii

Iron Wolf of the Werd'la Cabur

Demonic Warrior

Paragon of Virtue

Character

Trouble

Gred Survivor

Iron Wolf of the Werd'la Cabur

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