Populate The Remnant War - Sularen's Folly [ ME Populate of Selnesh ]

Beskar · Wednesday at 10:09 PM

THE REMNANT WAR
"Empires die loudly, but their corpses still know how to bite."

CHARROS IV
For seventy two hours...

The Mandalorian Empire had lived inside a storm of revelation. At the dawn of the first day, the news spread with such force that it seemed to reach every hall, forge, outpost, and warship at once. Reports brought in by the Nite Owls struck the Empire like a peal of iron thunder, carrying a truth so immense that even the most disciplined among the clans could not help but feel its fire. To the north, the Diarchy had fallen. To the south, the Imperial Confederation had fallen with it.

The particulars of their collapse remained under investigation, their final unraveling still hidden behind fragments of intercepted transmissions and shattered chains of command, yet the conclusion drawn by Mandalore was immediate and unshaken. After Yaga Minor, after the Empire had broken the Diarchy and cast its gaze southward toward the Confederation, both enemies had come apart in swift succession.

To the sons and daughters of Mandalore, there was no mystery in that outcome. It was vindication. Their cause had been proven. Their Empire had been proven. Their Way had been proven. So the first day belonged to celebration, and the Outer Rim heard the sound of a people who believed history itself had finally bent in their favor.

The second day brought no such noise.

Celebration gave way to vigilance as the Empire watched the dark in stillness, waiting to see what shape would rise from the ruins of two dead powers. Across the frontier, worlds once held in fearful obedience had gone quiet, and that quiet unsettled even the hardiest among the resolute. It was the sort of silence that did not soothe, but warned.

A void had opened where rival thrones once stood, vast and hungry, and Mandalore knew better than to mistake absence for peace. Patrols intensified. Orders sharpened. Eyes turned north and south alike, seeking the first sign of what would crawl forth from the carcasses of the fallen. Whether a new hand would seize the remnants, or whether the old dead would prove too stubborn to remain buried, none could yet say. So the Empire waited, watchful and armed, as the Outer Rim held its breath.

By the dawn of the third day, the answer came in fire.

The attacks began without pattern and without honor. Civilian lanes were struck. Commercial traffic was harried. Remote holdings at the edge of Mandalorian space found themselves bloodied by sudden violence, each blow delivered by raiders and broken fleets desperate to prove they still possessed teeth. Mandalore answered with the only language such creatures had ever truly respected.

Warships descended. Kill zones were established. Boarders cut through steel and flesh with disciplined fury, and in the wreckage of those first reprisals the truth emerged in full. Former Diarchy space had become a battlefield of splinter lords and grasping tyrants. Former Confederation territory was no better, its fractured remnants now ruled by predators too vain, too hateful, or too mad to accept that their empires had ended.

The regimes had died, but their leaders refused to do the same. Now Mandalore stood between two rotting kingdoms, each one tearing at itself while lashing outward at anything within reach. The Empire did not intend to endure that state of affairs for long.

Plans were drawn with ruthless clarity, and the first targets were chosen not for symbolism, but for necessity. The loudest offenders would be silenced first. The most brazen remnants would be cut down before chaos could gather enough strength to mistake itself for destiny. That road led to Charros IV, an unremarkable world by any measure that would have mattered in quieter times, now made significant by the fleet hanging in its orbit.

There, in the cold above that forgettable sphere, an Imperial Remnant had carved out a drydock and staging ground from which it could harry Mandalorian borders and encourage wider disorder throughout former Confederation space. Mandalore would answer with precision and with force. The fleet wouldbe addressed. A beachhead wouldbe established. The warlord commanding this nuisance would be found and put to the sword.

So the celebrations ended, and the work resumed.

Across beskar decks and within sealed war rooms, final preparations were made beneath the gaze of commanders who understood exactly what this moment demanded. The Empire had been given proof of its strength, then handed a frontier drowning in carrion ambition. It would answer both in the same fashion, with resolve, with steel, and with the old certainty that had carried Mandalore through every age worth remembering.

Charros IV waited beneath a crowded sky...

...and above it drifted the first throat the Empire meant to close.

OBJECTIVE I: TASK FORCE SULAREN'S GAMBIT
Orbit of Charros IV

Task Force Sularen's Gambit looms over Charros IV as the mailed fist of an Imperial Remnant too dangerous to ignore. This is no scattered pack of survivors clinging to broken banners, but a disciplined expeditionary force built to cow entire systems into submission. Cruisers, escorts, carriers, and support craft hold the world in a hostile embrace, forming a mobile fortress from which the enemy can raid Mandalorian interests, disrupt trade, and project strength far beyond this single theater. So long as the task force remains intact, it stands as both a threat to Mandalore's frontier and a symbol that the dead still believe they can govern the living.

Mandalore's objective here is simple in its purpose: cripple the fleet by any means necessary. Whether that comes through sabotage, direct assault, boarding actions, capture, or utter annihilation is left to your ingenuity. From piracy to direct capital warfare, the options are limitless - so long as the Task Force falls.

PvE | Attn: Crimson Dawn & Great Heathen Army

OBJECTIVE II - EYE OF LIANNA
Orbit of Charros IV

At the center of the task force rests the Eye of Lianna, the flagship around which the rest of the enemy fleet takes its shape and purpose. It is the beating heart of the operation over Charros IV, and thus is a priority target for Mandalorian wrath. Its halls are thick with stormtroopers, armored support, and even Inquisitors who will make every deck a battlefield in its own right.

This is where Mandalore means to cut off the head of the serpent. The objective is to infiltrate the flagship, fight through whatever steel and blood stands in the way, and eliminate the architect behind this fleet, the self-styled Grand Admiral Tygen Sularen. He will not be easy to reach, and harder still to put down, but Mandalore will not be denied.

PvE | Attn: All Divisions

FORT HARDHOME
Surface, Charros IV

While battle unfolds in orbit, Fort Hardhome rises in quieter fashion upon the surface below. Still under construction, this Mandalorian forward operating base is being established as a listening post, staging ground, and mustering station for future campaigns into former Confederation space. It is not yet a polished stronghold, but that is precisely what gives it life. Walls need raising, supplies need sorting, defenses need organizing, and the machinery of occupation must begin turning before the next phase of the war can truly take shape.

Yet Fort Hardhome is more than logistics and labor. Because of its quieter nature, it offers a rare chance for Mandalorians and service members from different arms of the war machine to meet before the next major clash begins. Here, bonds may be forged while towers rise, names may become familiar over shared duties, and future comrades may find one another before the coming battles test them in earnest. In that sense, this place is not only the foundation of a fort, but the foundation of the force that will carry the war forward.

Social | Attn: All Divisions

OBJECTIVE IV - THE STORY IS YOURS
Charros IV

Charros IV is a world alive with danger, uncertainty, and opportunity. Between the fleet action in orbit, the growing Mandalorian foothold on the surface, and the wider chaos spilling outward from the collapse of the Confederation, there is no shortage of space for stories beyond the main objectives. Reconnaissance, scavenging, bounty hunting, rescue efforts, private rivalries, patrols, chance encounters, or personal missions all have room to breathe here.

If you have an idea that does not fit neatly into the listed points of interest, bring it to life. Charros IV is the kind of battlefield where initiative matters, where smaller actions can carry real consequence, and where a warrior with vision may carve out a story all their own.

BYOO | Bring Your Own Objective

Cabur

Fiore

Kyramud Kass Holliday

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

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

Jonah · Wednesday at 10:16 PM

"Remember, breathe. Dinner's on me."

Jonah's words were uttered quietly in his helm, echoing across a private channel to the smuggler standing in earshot. He spoke in Mando'a. His tone was light and supportive. Why? Because the two of them, along with some fellow Mandalorian warriors and...goddamn pirates of all people... were crammed in a boarding pod, hurtling through the abyss of space. Now, when Jonah looked upon the woman who his words were meant for, she appeared to be the pinnacle of confidence.

She was strong. Armored. Looked the part of badass Mandalorian warrior who could keep anyone's throat in if they so much as sneezed at her incorrectly. But, past experience and post-battle chats had revealed to the Warmaster that

Tessa Thayne hated sardines.

Well.

Okay.

She hated cosplaying as a sardine, cooped up in a can that was way too tight. Thus, he had taken to being a pillar of support in his mind. Reminding her that, after this brief, uncomfortable voyage in the black, there awaited a reward. A light at the end of the tunnel, so to speak. He would shower her with a meal of her choosing, no matter how fancy, or expensive, or outlandish it ended up being. Why?

Because this boarding pod foray was his idea. And he wasn't about to hear the end of it.

"Only a few moments until impact, you've got this."

He hoped.

Tag:

Tessa Thayne + Open

Aether Verd · Wednesday at 10:24 PM

Wearing:
Beskar'gam - Darksaber

CHARROS IV, SURFACE

Aether's gaze was on the Heavens.

Even from the surface, he could see the fury of the operation unfolding. Mandalore moved to cut the head off of a troublesome serpent. And just like Yaga Minor, Aether believed in the might of his people. He believed that they would lay low this adversary, not in a matter of days, but in a matter of hours. The sight of Mandalorian Supremacy unfolding above Charros IV set his very heart athunder.

He wanted more than anything to be astride his Basilisk in the void of space. To revel in the rush of crushing his enemies underfoot. To finally allow his blade to taste the plastoid of stormtroopers who thought themselves better than Mandalore's finest. However, the work demanded that he be on the surface.

The Great Heathen Army had this.

He had the future.

Thus, Mand'alor the Iron strode forth through the forward operating base. All around him, the din of construction filled his ears. Walls were being raised. Mandalorian voices were shouting with urgency. Soon, they would have a valuable foothold. Soon, what remained of the Imperial Confederation's might would fall to Mandalore. But for now, his gaze swept across the faces that rushed by. Searching.

"Where are they?" he muttered under his breath.

Torva Vikar ,

Kirae Orade + Open

Renn Vizsla · Wednesday at 10:44 PM

Abrion Sector

Alone

Renn rested his gauntlets against the armrests of his Helm as he looked around the bridge of The Iron Hound, his flagship and home for the last month. His eyes scanned over the readings that continuously fed from the scanners, shuffling and murmurs escaping around the bridge as officers went about their business dutifully.

It was an eye-opener to see two major players in the game of Galactic dominance burn away to disarray and chaos so quickly. The news from outside the Empire came swiftly, two voids created by the loss of control over large swaths of space. As soon as the news reached the Warden, he had swiftly assembled his forces to lock down the sectors of space the Mandalorians controlled around Roon, whether he liked it or not. Chaos would spiral out of control and would soon reach across borders if not swatted down with a firm hand.

Swift action happened across the Empire, not just in the halls of Roon. The Great Heathen Army rallied its forces to ensure the safety of the border planets that might otherwise not be able to defend against remnant forces. Word of Task Force Sularen's Gambit reached the Warden as forces were raised to assault the remnant forces and halt any advance into Mandalorian space. Renn dispatched a Task Force through his Hypergate to assist in the defense of the Heart of Mandalorian space, but he knew that he could not keep his home unattended for long, in fear that he might not be able to stop a targeted assault against his Sector if he was caught lacking.

An officer dragged him back to the present as he glanced towards a outstretched datapadd, recieving it with a nod the Warden went to glancing through the report, his eyes glancing through the report of the assembled forces facing the Task Force, Nothing more I can do for them now, just going to have to pray they make the fight swift and decisive, I don't care to lose more over frivolous engagements. A gentle sigh escaped his lips as he handed the padd back to the young officer beside him with a nod.

His hand reached towards his forehead, his gloved fingertips running across his forehead as he sat there silently, May the Manda guide all that ride into battle in the name of the Mandalore, and may the sons and daughters of Roon return home in one piece.

Vode An

Sidonia · Wednesday at 11:35 PM

O B J E C T I V E O N E

Tag: @Open

Sidonia did not arrive like a commander. She arrived like a contradiction.

The hangar bay of the Veil of Ashes yawned open to the cold, distant light of Charros IV’s orbit, and in that dim glow she stepped forward, not clad in armor, not wrapped in anything that spoke of rank or war, but in a long black dress that trailed behind her like a shadow reluctant to let go. The fabric moved slowly with each step, softening the hard edges of the warship around her, as if she had brought something quieter, something more intimate, into a place that had no use for it. The silver heels were worse. They gleamed with every shift of her weight, catching the sterile light in sharp flashes, wholly unsuited for steel decks and military purpose. Each step echoed just a fraction too clearly, a sound that didn’t belong; like laughter in the middle of a funeral. Sidonia didn’t seem to notice. Or perhaps she did, and simply refused to care.

Her gaze lifted past the threshold of the hangar, out into the void where Sularen’s Gambit held its formation. Even at a distance, the structure of it was obvious, cruisers locked into place, carriers held close and guarded, escorts moving with rehearsed precision. It was the kind of order that tried to look inevitable, the kind that wanted the galaxy to believe it was already decided.

Crimson Dawn had never believed in that kind of certainty.

They didn’t come here for Mandalore’s victory, or its pride, or the clean simplicity of a fleet breaking another fleet apart. That wasn’t their place, and it never had been. What mattered was what came after—what always came after. Empires didn’t die cleanly. They fractured, and in those fractures, things slipped through. Smugglers, warlords, desperate men trying to become something more than the ruins they crawled out of. Without control, without structure, that chaos spread fast. It didn’t stay contained to battlefields. It bled into trade routes, into civilian space, into the quiet places Mandalore couldn’t afford to let rot and that was where Crimson Dawn lived.

For years, the shadows within Mandalorian space hadn’t been left to grow wild. They had been gathered, shaped, disciplined into something that could exist without threatening the whole. Crime still existed, but it had boundaries. It had rules. It served a purpose, whether anyone beyond closed doors admitted it or not.

Sidonia was the one who made sure it stayed that way.

And now she stood watching a fleet that threatened to unravel that balance; not because it was reckless, but because it wasn’t. Sularen’s Gambit wasn’t just another desperate remnant lashing out in its final moments. It was organized. Measured. Capable of becoming something stable, something others could gather around. If it survived long enough, it wouldn’t just raid or disrupt, it would start to mean something again. Meaning was dangerous because meaning turned remnants into movements which turned into power. And power, left unchecked in the wrong hands, didn’t stay contained to a single system.

That was why Crimson Dawn was here. Not to challenge Mandalore, but to ensure that nothing rising from the wreckage ever could.

Sidonia had come herself because this moment sat in the narrow space between order and chaos, and she understood that space better than anyone. This wasn’t her kind of battlefield. There were no whispered alliances to twist, no courts to hollow out from within, no careful manipulations hidden behind polite words. This was steel and fire, clean lines and direct force.

It feels like she didn't belong.

She stood there for a moment, still, the faint current of recycled air shifting the hem of her dress just enough to remind the room she was real. Alive. Present in a place she didn’t quite fit.

Her head tilted slightly, as if reconsidering the thought. “Strange,” she murmured under her breath.

Behind her, Crimson Dawn waited in silence. No one questioned the way she was dressed. No one ever did. They understood, in the way people eventually learned to understand her, that Sidonia never stepped into a situation by becoming part of it. She would rather re-create it or reshape it somehow. Her fingers brushed lightly against a nearby console as she moved, not for balance, but as if grounding herself for a brief second in something tangible. The metal was cold, unyielding, honest in a way most things weren’t.

Out beyond the hangar, the fleet still held its perfect shape, a problem meant for soldiers. She turned then, the motion smooth and deliberate, silver heel pivoting against the durasteel as she stepped fully into the hangar; into a war that was never meant for her, but one she had no intention of letting spiral beyond her reach.

Aten Karr · 2026-03-19T02:36:16-0400

OBJECTIVE I

"You are all in arrears, indebted to the Dawn."

Aten stood at the forefront of a formation of raiders, the humming of their transport vehicle filling the pause between the drawl of his words. His gilded armor dripped with gold against the room's dim lighting.

"Which is precisely why you have all been brought here." He pointed at the enemy fleet, marked on the holomap of the transport, a cloud of red that grew larger and closer with each passing moment.

"This is no battle, it is an opportunity. We took you in, looked past your transgressions, furnished you with arms, with kinship, with purpose. Do not mistake our generosity for charity." He looked at his band of misfits in crimson, a few brandishing their beskads, oiling them to a pristine shine, others checking the plasma cartridges of their blasters, but all helmets turned to him in attention. They were Mandalorians, even if anchored with their affiliation with the Crimson Dawn. Warriors of honor, but honor could be twisted when mingled with the criminal element.

"Settle what you owe, to the Dawn, and to the Mand'alor. Strip this fleet bare, and I give you my word: the credits will begin to flow." His retinal scanners swayed behind his helmet, cybernetics synchronizing with the systems of his armor, his implants winding up to combat capacity, rybcoarse stamped muscles flexing and unflexing in anticipation.

"Make ready those ships. Every sound piece of equipment is to be taken—sold where it will fetch a price, or stripped for what profit it yields. If you judge a thing of value, you take it. Spill blood if you must, but bear this in mind—they're worth more to us alive." His voice lowered with a synthetic growl, the gravel amplified by the audio systems of his helmet.

"Settle your debts, fulfil your oaths, and I shall see to it, personally, that you are duly rewarded."
@OPEN

Korda Veydran · 2026-03-19T06:52:24-0400

The hangar bay of the Veil of Ashes thrummed with restrained violence.
Mag-clamps groaned. Engines idled low like beasts held on chains. Crimson Dawn operatives moved in disciplined silence beneath the skeletal glow of overhead strip-lights, their armor catching faint reflections from the void beyond the bay's open maw. Charros IV hung distant and indifferent beneath a sky crowded with war.

Korda Veydran sat on a durasteel crate near the shadowed edge of the bay.
Helmet off.
Knees apart.
One boot tapping. Then bouncing. Then forcing itself still.

A cigar burned between his fingers, the ember flaring bright whenever he drew from it. The smoke curled upward in slow, deliberate spirals before being stolen by the hangar's ventilation. He let it sit in his lungs a second too long before exhaling through his nose.

Calm down.
His armor lay open in sections before him like a disassembled confession. He checked it again.
And again.

Gauntleted fingers ran along the seals of his chest plate, pressing firmly at each locking point until he felt the reassuring resistance of engaged mechanisms. He leaned forward, inspecting the micro-grooves of the helmet's neck seal, ensuring the magnetic compression ring would hold vacuum integrity if the bay lost atmosphere mid-operation.

He didn't rush.
He never rushed this part.

The Ashen Maw rested across his thighs, its darkened frame almost swallowing the light around it. He ran a thumb along the housing, checking the heat vents, the stabilizer assembly, the alignment of the muzzle shroud. His grip tightened briefly.

Solid.
He set it aside carefully, like something alive.
Next came the detonators.

He pulled one free from its slot at his belt and turned it slowly in his hand, feeling the weight. Compact. Clean. He adjusted the activation dial half a notch, then returned it. Checked the others by touch alone. Counted them without looking.

Then the vibroblade.
He drew it just enough for the hum to whisper against the air. The vibration was steady. Healthy. The edge shimmered faintly as it caught the hangar's cold lighting. He tested the grip tension, then re-seated it at his hip with a controlled push.

His knee started bouncing again.
He noticed.
Forced it still.
Another drag from the cigar.

"Yaga Minor…" he muttered under his breath.
The words felt heavier than they should have.

He'd fought worse battles. He'd walked through cities reduced to slag and bone. He'd eradicated his own clan without losing sleep. That memory didn't twist his stomach. It didn't sit under his ribs like a splinter.

So why that world?
Why that sky?
Why those screams?
He exhaled smoke slowly, watching it blur the silhouette of a Basilisk droid being prepped across the bay.
"Get a grip," he muttered to himself. "You've carved through worse."

His eyes drifted across the hangar.
Warriors loading boarding pods.
Crimson Dawn operatives checking blades.
The distant figure of Sidonia somewhere deeper in the vessel's architecture like a shadow wearing silk.
He felt out of place.

Not because he didn't belong.
Because he cared.
That irritated him more than anything.
He ground the cigar against the crate beside him, extinguishing it with unnecessary pressure. The scent lingered, sharp and bitter.
Korda rose.

He rolled his shoulders once. Twice. Sealed his chest plate with a firm press. The armor locked with a mechanical hiss, the HUD flickering to life as he lifted his helmet and pulled it down over his head. He felt the small imprint of the newest thing he made, it was the Kyr'amyc Shriek Node, should it work. Then he would work to improve it.

The galaxy narrowed to targeting reticles and readouts.
Better.
He reached down, lifting his gear in practiced sequence:
• The Ashen Maw, secured across his back.
• A cluster of high-yield thermal detonators locked firm at his belt.
• Vibroblade seated at his hip, hum muted but ready.
• Reinforced shock gauntlets primed, systems synced and lethal.

His breathing steadied inside the helmet.
Charros IV waited.
So did the Eye of Lianna.
And whatever part of him Yaga Minor had unsettled would either quiet itself… or burn out in the corridors of a flagship.
Either way, something was going to die tonight.

Tags: @open

Mia Monroe · 2026-03-19T13:02:50-0400

85f5a5377870014323732b865dd89f44e9812dc0.pnj

CHARROS IV, FORT HARDHOME
WAR ROOM
Tags: OPEN

For Mia, there was no celebration, there was only movement. She’d seen the rise and fall of a dozen great nations and she knew that in its wake there was only ever chaos. Border patrols were tightened, outposts mobilised and scouts deployed beyond their borders. Mia watched every report file in, scouring all of them for the first signs of remnant power surfacing.

When it finally appeared, it did so with all the violence and dishonour she expected it to. Civilian targets, guerilla tactics, violent attacks that came and vanished like a snake striking from the shadows.

The war room in the centre of Fort Hardhome was alive with activity, the live display of the battle above them, holding court in the centre as people moved around it updating data as it came in, moving and setting up equipment around her. Mia didn’t move, her hands resting in the small of her back, expression unreadable as her eyes tracked every maneuver, every response.

Remnants were far more dangerous than what they had broken away from, their desperation made them unpredictable and more volatile. She could have been up there, but the patterns were easier to see from a distance.

So Mia watched, and she waited.

Torva Vikar · 2026-03-19T15:33:59-0400

Charros IV, Surface

Torva had yet to see major conflict, but that was by design. She was still learning, still adjusting to her new way of life, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t sit on her rear all day and not help her new kin where she could. So when Aether called for her to meet him on the surface of Charros IV, she couldn’t refuse it. There was work to be done and now that she was a Mandalorian, she needed to do her part too. She wasn’t entirely sure what awaited her, but she gathered up her grit and courage and managed to find her way to the planet, even through the battle that raged above its surface in orbit.

She had been given directions, coordinates, and she found her way there. On the surface, a Mandalorian stronghold was being erected; Fort Hardhome. Torva began to wonder if perhaps her buir had called her here to help lend a hand in building and fortifying the place - but she wouldn’t know for certain until she met with the Mand’alor and heard from him directly.

Her transport touched down without issue, and Torva stepped free and upon the surface of Charros. Through her T-visor, she could see that work was underway, and the sound of construction drew her towards the operating base. Surely, Aether would be there; he was always at the heart of things.

Torva meandered her way through the hustle and bustle, her blue eyes watchful to spy the familiar presence. For a moment, she idly found herself wondering where Aegon might be in all of this - if he was lending a hand somewhere else. She pushed those thoughts and musings aside for the moment, however, so she could focus on the present.

A few moments later, she spotted the Mand’alor, who seemed to be searching the crowd. Despite the tension and sense of urgency that filled the air, she was happy to see him.

“Sorry I’m late. It was a little nerve-wracking getting through the shit-storm above our heads.” Torva said as she reached Aether’s location. She paused to take another look around her, at the construction that was ongoing. “...something tells me you didn’t call me here for a picnic. So…how can I be of assistance?”

Aether Verd /

Kirae Orade / Open

Prisoner #36929 · 2026-03-19T15:40:11-0400

Tags:

Mia Monroe

He hadn't come to Charros IV for glory. That much was obvious, even to him. When the call went out, he followed. That was what he did now. Followed fleets, followed orders, followed something that almost felt like purpose. It had brought him from a cell to Kalevala, and now here. Still no answers. Still no name that felt like his own.

But he understood one thing. The people this Empire was hunting had done this to him. Maybe not all of them, maybe not directly, but close enough. So he helped.

Lifting, hauling, assembling. Simple work. Honest work. It kept his hands busy and his head quiet. By the time he rolled the last data screen into the war room, his arms burned and his back ached.

He eased the screen into place and paused. The room was alive. Movement, voices, shifting lights. And at the center of it all, the former Mand'alor.

He froze for half a second. He knew her. Not by name, not properly, but memory doesn't need introductions. The arena of Kalevala. The power she unleashed. His stomach tightened. Right. Of course she'd be here. He should get back to work. He didn't.

Instead, he lingered in the walkway, pretending to check the alignment on the screen while stealing glances. What is she even watching? He tried to make sense of the shifting data, the fleet movements, the patterns. It all blurred together. Too big. Too much.

Still… she saw something in it. Curiosity got the better of him. It usually did. Terrible survival instinct, really. He stepped closer. Quiet at first, then slower, like maybe if he moved carefully enough the moment wouldn't notice him. He stopped just behind her shoulder, eyes flicking across the display like he understood any of it. He didn't.

Say something. Or don't. Walking away is free. He hesitated. Yeah, no, too late now.

"What uh…" His voice came out rough. He cleared it, immediately regretting everything. "What are you looking at?"

Brilliant. Truly. A masterclass in conversation.

Jaikell Wyrvhor · 2026-03-19T16:10:27-0400

OBJECTIVE II -Orbit of Charros IV

Jaikell stands inside the Captains quarters of the "Oath of Iron" Crusader-class Corvette
Inherited by his Vod, Manti Wyrvhor,

He might not of fought during Yaga Minor, he was out in the outer rims far away from any lines, hunting any known and unknown beasts after the Gravesong war

But he will be here for this.

Jaikell is reading himself for the mission to infiltrate the flagship of the enemy fleet, Armed with his ENCL-36 Paranour Blaster Rifle and his normal equipment Jaikell exits the room to the bridge,
"Remember get into the dead zone where there lasers cant hit us before dropping us off, We're doing it old school Direct jetpack boarding, magnetic grappling hooks and all, then fly off" he says.

"Aye Sir"

Open to anyone on OBJ 2 that wants to come

| Outfit: |
J O R I R
B E S K A R ' G A M

| Equipment: ALL |

Kirae Orade · 2026-03-19T16:15:53-0400

Tags:

Aether Verd

Torva Vikar

"Use your knees. Not your back. It's easier to replace your knees than your spine."

Kirae barked towards some of the construction workers, as she carried a beam alongside her shoulder. It was rare for her to be without her shield, especially when there was a battle going on. Yet the battle was far beyond where she was, far above in the sky where her shield would have only been more of a hinderance than a help. That would not stop her from lending her strength to whatever she could however. Even if some may seen this work as beneath themselves, Kirae knew that empires were not only build on their warriors, but also on their craftsmen.

Though come to think of it, she was to meet with the Mand'alor. There was only so much time she could push off the meeting as she sighed under her helm, before throwing the beam off her shoulder, letting it thud on the ground, kicking up dust and dirt as the metal echoed through the air. She jabbed her finger off in the direction of one of the other workers, before throwing her thumb back at the beam.

"You carry it the rest of the way. I have somewhere I need to be."

And so with that, she moved through the FOB, sliding her way past the other workers, doing her best to keep her hands as close to herself as she could. A silent refusal in her mind. Eventually, she arrived, glancing over towards the familiar set of armour of

Aether Verd and the growing-familiar set of

Torva Vikar .

"...I think this would be a terrible place for a picnic, so it's a good thing we aren't having one here. I hope."

Minerva Fhirdiad · 2026-03-19T16:44:30-0400

Tag:

Charlana Open

Inside a boarding pod, Minerva sat with her vod. It had been a long time since she had fought in a major battle. Adjusting from the life of a wandering life to that of a warrior for the Mandalorian Empire took time and effort. She had been one for the Enclave, then the Galactic Alliance and now she was in service to Mandalore itself.

She held no command over the warriors around her in the pod, but offered experience to the new bloods and understanding to her fellow veterans. Feeling the pod vibrate as the battle in space erupts, Minerva closed her eyes inside the helm. This is where I belong. In combat alongside my kin.

The thought caused her to smile, finding comfort in that factor. Like she told her lover, Drego Ruus, she didn't expect nor want special treatment. I'll earn my place among the Vode whether by my life or death. Holding her new blaster rifle, the DSR Minerva looked down at it in admiration. She liked the feel of it and its performance on the shooting range also at the field exercises as well.

All around her the warriors were bantering, singing, napping or just checking their gear. Some things never change, she reflected.

"Is it true that the Crimson Dawn are joining this fight?" One Mandalorian beside her asked his squad mate who shrugged, replying. "More or less. They have their reasons like we do ours."

His curious partner continued. "Still kinda surprised those gangsters and pirates want in a battle like this. Wonder what they're getting out of it.“

Minerva listened on as the second warrior turned to the first. "As long as they help us tear these Imps apart and not betray us I don't care."

"Sounds like a fair deal to me." Minerva spoke up at last, causing the other two to look in her direction and they soon laughed and she joined in before adding. "I'm Minerva Fhiriad by the way, adopted daughter of Jorel Merrik."

"Darek of Clan Bralor." The first Mandalorian in blue armor replied before the second in orange said. "Call me Gav, I'm from Clan Rook."

She nodded, saying. "Honored to meet you both. Let's see who can kill the most Imps between the three of us. Losers have to split the bar tap and just let you know in advance I love a good ole Corellian ale."

Gav snorted. "You're on. My preferred brew is the Ne'tra gal and same with Darek here."

The trio shared a comfortable, amused silence. It lasted briefly as the boarding pod suddenly shot out of its mother ship. The warriors held on tight as the pod shook more and more violently. The next few minutes felt like hours to those inside when their craft along with other multiple boarding craft slammed into an Imperial carrier class frigate.

Upon impact the belts holding them all released and the door split open and they charged out with battle cries into a hangar bay on the left side. As soon as her feet hit the floor she opened fire in a three round burst hitting a fleeing Imperial TIE pilot in the back. Chaos soon ruled the hangar as Mandalorians and Imperials locked into combat. Explosions ignited and blaster bolts were exchanged.

Dodging a grenade that exploded and killed a Vod, Minerva rolled forward before firing again, wounding a stormtrooper in the shoulder and killing another with shots to the chest. Then she sped around via jetpack, reloading her rifle. Soon the Mandalorians would be joined by Crimsion Dawn members storming into the hangar bay from their ships unless they were there already.

Tessa Thayne · 2026-03-19T17:02:26-0400

0a6c17de094591524b03455b07f6a1a31e4d7508.pnj

Tags:

Jonah |

Niijima Izumi | OPEN

The boarding pod shuddered, point defense canons from the Eye of Lianna cutting firing lines far too close for comfort as Jonah’s voice, steady and calm, reminded her to breathe. She loosed a breath she hadn’t realised she was holding the tension in her shoulders easing a touch as she forced herself to breathe, shoulders rolling slightly.

They could have taken the Relentless, or hell any other ship with boarding capabilities. They could have waited for anyone of the larger corvettes and freighters now descending on Sularen’s Gambit to come level with the Lianna, but no.

Jonah decided that squashing them into a tin can and threading it like a needle through the fleet was the best option. Another shudder seized them as the boarding pod lights flickered. This time she looked at him, blue eyes glowering at him from beneath the visor.

“I swear by Manda, if it isn’t the dirtiest fucking burger and fries, I am going to hurt you.”

A warning flashed across her HUD.

IMPACT IMMINENT

5

4

Tessa shifted her stance, bracing and closing her eyes, blotting the visual countdown out, the quiet chimes in her helmet replacing the words as she drew in another deep breath, counting down the chimes in her head

Three.

Two.

One.

The pod lurched, the lights darkening as metal screamed under pressure as the pod latched to the Eye of Lianna and began carving an entrance for them.

“Dirtiest.

Fucking.

Burger.”

Mia Monroe · 2026-03-19T18:08:13-0400

CHARROS IV, FORT HARDHOME
WAR ROOM

Tags:

Prisoner #36929 | OPEN

Mia felt someone watching, but opted to ignore it. It was a sensation that she had gotten accustomed to a long time ago. When surrounded by mandalorians there was always someone who stared a little too long or openly, there were enough rumours circulating about the former Mand’alor that it was only natural.

Quiet steps brought someone to behind her, still Mia did not acknowledge him, his advance was not a threat, he was not an aide nor a Rally Master bearing a report for her to acknowledge. Her focus was on fleet trajectories updating in real time as Crimson Dawn and the Heathen Armies Fleets began to move, her gaze flicking back to one small point moving through the enemy fleet at high speed where she knew her daughter was.

Then he spoke, his question making her blink.

Mia turned her head, sapphire gaze flicking over him once. The foundling that had been brought back from Lola Sayu. Her expression softened, hands unclasping from her back as she waved him forward so he could see the display without peering over her shoulder, before moving to the controls and peeling back some of the layers.

“Ships outlined in red are those that make up the enemy fleet, the large one in the centre is the flagship, the Eye of Lianna. Those outlined in green are ours.” She lifted a hand to point out the small handful of green outlines moving through red before adding another layer. “Blue lines indicate the trajectory of our own ships.” her finger followed the line to the Eye of Lianna before red lines appeared; their intensity varied. “Yellow are possible lines the enemy fleet might take, the more opaque, the more likely.”

Another click and another layer, this time data lists that cycled and changed. “On the left. Our ships, their commanders, how many crew they have, how many fighters, their shield and hull integrities.”

As she spoke, a blossom of green dots appeared as one of their own flagships deployed the first wave of fighters. She paused, her gaze flicking towards the Gambit watching for their response.

“I am looking for patterns, or rather breaks in patterns. Remnants do not behave the same as what they came from. They’re unpredictable. Desperation makes people dangerous and when you are in the thick of it, you don’t often see the issue until it's too late.”

Red dots bloomed and moved as the first dogfights began. When a green dot blinked out, something flickered across the bottom of the screen. The ship type, a callsign and a name. Mia’s eyes did not move to it once, not because she didn’t care, but because focusing on the losses would not help those who were still alive.

Adelle Bastiel · 2026-03-19T21:05:21-0400

En Route to Eye of Lianna
Tags:

Aselia Verd |

Liorra

The boarding pod was small, Mandalorians pressed in on all sides, beskar’gam scraping against each other. It reminded Adelle a lot of some of the CorSec vehicles she’d had to cram into. And it made her so fething glad she wasn’t taller. To one side of her, Liorra stood, her presence just chaotic energy. A young Wolf—her young Wolf. That had been her fault entirely: she had volunteered to help mentor younger Wolves or those less experienced with the Force. It might not have been so bad if the girl hadn’t also had her mother’s penchant for bad ideas.

Her HUD pinged. One hundred meters and closing. Adelle flexed a hand, restless and itching to move. Aselia stood on the other side of her. Her presence hadn’t even been a question in Adelle’s mind. She glanced over at the Verd as the impact warning flashed on her HUD.

“Try not to get too crazy,” Adelle warned Liorra. “Vacuum’s a pain to fight in.”

She didn’t know whether or not the teen could create a Force bomb like Mishel had. She didn’t feel like chancing it in space.

Five.

Four.

Three.

Two.

Adelle braced herself.

One.

The pod slammed into the side of the flagship, lights going out as metal screamed in protest. Once the screeching stopped, the hatch opened to a distinctly Imperial corridor. Adelle called the black hilt of her lightsaber to her hand. Mandalorians rushed out in a coordinated effort, engaging with the defenders. Adelle strode out behind them, blue blade igniting and in motion almost subconsciously deflecting bolts.

“Let’s go.”

Korda Veydran · 2026-03-19T21:27:34-0400

The hangar of the Veil of Ashes pulsed with launch sequencing as strike craft began cycling toward deployment.
Korda stood near the bay's edge, helmet sealed, HUD alive with fleet telemetry. Icons shifted across his visor in layered vectors, Mandalorian formations tightening around the enemy flagship like a closing fist.

He filtered for independent assault-capable vessels.
Corvette-class signatures. Boarding-capable hull profiles.
There.
Oath of Iron: Crusader-class Corvette.
Trajectory aggressive. Skirting the outer engagement envelope. Adjusting altitude toward the flagship's upper defensive lattice.

Korda studied it for a moment.
Not a bombardment vector.
Not escort duty.
Insertion.
His thumb tapped his gauntlet. A secure channel opened, encrypted under Mandalorian fleet protocols.
A brief hiss of static.

Then his voice, steady and stripped of decoration.
"This is Korda Veydran."
No title. No introduction beyond the name.
"I'm reading your vector toward the Eye of Lianna. I require transport."
A beat.

"Potentially more than one operative. Unconfirmed. We move light and we move fast."
His visor recalculated intercept windows between the Veil of Ashes and the corvette's projected path.
"Identify your commanding officer. If you can divert to the Veil's launch perimeter for pickup, I will synchronize with your insertion timeline."
His breathing remained level inside the helmet.

"I will not compromise your objective."
A fractional pause.
"And I will not be dead weight."
He cut transmission cleanly, no lingering.

The Ashen Maw rested against his spine. Detonators secure at his belt. Vibroblade humming faintly at his hip.
If they answered, he'd board with them.
If they refused, he'd find another route into the flagship.
Either way, the Eye of Lianna would not remain whole by the end of the night.

Tags:

Siv Kryze

Jaikell Wyrvhor

Kael Varr Basteil Skirata · 2026-03-19T22:52:30-0400

OBJECTIVE IV-Charros IV
Armor: Owl-type Beskar'gam
Blade: Tal'Alor Beskad
Primary Weapon: Plasma Bow
Secondary Weapon: Paired Beskar Tonfa

Keal checked in to Fort Hardhome command, "Kael Bastiel, passing checkpoint Sigma." He waited for the go-ahead from base camp before he continued his part of his patrol path. He could be taking the battle to the enemy in orbit with his Buir, Adelle; however, he was still healing and recovering after his Verd'goten, and so here he was, scouting a patrol route around Fort Hardhome. The mountains near the Fort were once home to the great cathedral factories of the native Xi Char, but the Confederacy had moved and absorbed their production, relocating elsewhere. He knew this, yet something pulled him off the path. Call it boredom, call it the Manda, but there was something that pulled him to explore a bit away from the newly worn path of the guard perimeter. He did think to click on his personal geolocator beacon for Adelle should something happen, and as his luck so far has shown, it very well could happen.

As he strayed farther, he scanned ahead with the sensor suite of his armor. He was picking up a faint signal ahead, something that could be a probe or could be a signal; only time would tell.

Niijima Izumi · 2026-03-19T23:46:21-0400

The countdown passed, but Izumi barely noticed it. The numbers, the flashing lights, the warnings; none of it registered. Around her, the pod shuddered again as the clamps bit deep, metal groaning under the strain. Others braced, rolled their shoulders, whispered under their breath, tried to release tension in tiny ways. Izumi didn’t. She stayed still, letting the vibration travel up her legs and settle in her core, grounding her, centering her. The heat, the cramped space, the bodies pressed against hers; it didn’t matter. All that existed was the hatch ahead, the line of metal separating her from the corridor beyond.

Her hand hovered near the hilt at her side, not gripping, not tense, just ready. She didn’t fidget or adjust her stance. Every movement she had made up to this point had been deliberate; everything she would do in the next moments would be the same. The cutter hissed and bit into the durasteel, sparks flying, molten edges glowing, warning symbols flashing across her visor. None of it touched her. None of it mattered. Timing would, focus would, and patience would.

Then the hatch began to split. Light spilled through the widening gap, slicing across the pod’s interior. Jonah and Tessa moved first, taking the point without hesitation. Izumi followed closely behind them, every step quiet like that of a samurai. She stayed just behind, letting their momentum carry through the opening while she moved like a shadow, folding herself into their advance. She didn’t speak, she didn't need to. Izumi was here to follow what was asked of her, and perhaps be part of the shadows.

She became part of the rhythm, part of the flow. In the small space of the corridor, she was the calm between beats, the motion that matched theirs without disrupting it. Izumi was ready for whatever came next...simply ready.

Jonah

Tessa Thayne

Populate The Remnant War - Sularen's Folly [ ME Populate of Selnesh ]

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Warden of Thule

Mandanator

Korda the unyielding

The Liberator

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LOST

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The Liberator

Trouble

Korda the unyielding

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