EPISODE III, PART II: The Liberation of Jol Laxus City, "Seizing the Spaceport"

The City of Jol Laxus reeked of war.

Rahalios had pressed forward with a crew through the city, each one but himself and Quinnot Zade, mighty Captain of the Duke of Gorse, picked off by the relentless hordes of the Scaoth occupying the city. The two had hunkered down behind a wall, groaning and licking their wounds. Zade’s mask bore a scatter of blemishes from some shrapnel courtesy of an ugly strandcast warrior with a grenade launcher. Rahalios had somehow stayed safe and unmarked, likely only with respect to the beskar plate hung around his chest, owned only by dubious means. As some quiet began to settle over the city, they crept the length of an alley. Ahead, however, something gave them pause.

A droid rounded the corner, tall and ruthless, efficient and lean, and the pair raised their pistols: two slugthrowers and a heavy blaster respectively standing their ground against the droid’s immense heavy repeater. “Who goes there?”

Behind the droid, a Human showed his face, looking stubbly and smug. His hair was matted back into a slick mop, with spots of ash lining the brown where grey had begun to grow in. “Don’t worry. You’re in good company. Arby, stop scaring the pirates.”

The droid lowered his repeater, and the Human continued to talk as he approached. “Brekkan Talmo, my droid friend here is RB-5. I call him Arby. You probably shouldn’t. He takes some warming up to get very conversational.” The man had reached the two of them, slinging his own blaster rifle over his back. “What’s the story with you two, then? A couple of buccaneers out on the town?”

A tinny chuckle chimed out from behind Zade’s mask. Rahalios joined, the suggestion being that things were, at least, morbidly humorous. “We’re just fighting our way through. Our freighter is far out in the desert, and our crew will be much smaller when we return. Yourselves?”

“We’re liberating this city. A little help from a lost Mandalorian and some Pentastar agent Arby used to know and we’ve got a fairly solid system going. You two fit to fight?”

Zade affirmed the question. “Aye, we’ve got fight in us. Right, son?”

Rahalios nodded emphatically. “As long as I’ve got slugs to throw, I’m still in this fight.”

Brekkan smiled, as strangely blissful as a happabore in its wallow while the sky burned behind him. “Very well. With us, we’ve a spaceport ahead of us and need all the help we can get.”

Before they knew it, they were charging headlong down a crowded street towards a spaceport docking bay, where Scaoth fighters began to flock from two great black wooden doors, as ancient as the land itself. Green-skinned Tof and sickly pale strandcasts began to rise up, each swarmed close around a mightier combatant than any, standing a head taller than his compatriots. Rahalios watched as the fierce warrior of the Scaoth, armed with a devastating and cruel vibro-poleaxe, began to shove through the doors as if the act of opening them were beneath him. He banged the flat end of his weapon to the chalky grey tiles of the crumbling city, and yelled forth his troops.

The Mandalorian, an eager warrior named Handro, took to the skies and began a rain of keen blaster bolts, scattering the mismatched forces of the enemy. On the ground, the enigmatic black-clad duelist of the Pentastar Alignment sped forth with nigh-superhuman speed, executing a solitary blast to the leader of this Scaoth cadre, before engaging. 

For Rahalios’ part, he took the example as motive enough, and alongside Brekkan he charged into the fray headlong, Zade behind him as the droid unloaded rapid volleys of superheated fury against the horde. As the combat pressed forth, and Scaoth began to steadily drop as the doors grew closer and closer, Rahalios could not help notice the duel going on up ahead, a vibroblade clashing with the mighty axe of their enemy’s commander, a stalemate that culminated within the spaceport, and ultimately dwindled out of sight as the other five cleaned up the streets. 

When the swordsman returned, Brekkan quizzed him privately, an arm around his shoulder. The pair seemed frustrated. Questions would have to wait, however, there was yet a city that needed saviours.