The Death Watch
Founded On: Year 15 Day 242
Second In Command:
Recruitment Liaisons: Cisrani Sabacc, Cer Killid, Lazarus Grimm
IRC Chatroom: https://discord.gg/ETsXgxX
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“We are the Death Watch, descendants of the true warrior faith all Mandalorians once knew.”
“You look ridiculous,” Krig said. Standing atop of the wall surrounding the local planetary shield generator, the Duros guard smoked a deathstick as he leaned over the railing. He chuckled as he watched his new coworker, Gil, struggled up the steps to the guard tower. “Did you hire on with hopes of fighting off an entire army?”
“It never hurts to be prepared,” Gil panted as he reached the top of the tower. The Nikto was armed with a standard issue rifle in his hands, another on his back and two pistols strapped to his belt. Spare power packs for all four weapons weighed down his harness. He attempted a comeback over his shoulder as he wrestled open the tower door, “I see that you have lost all respect for your work. Smoking is not allowed on duty!”
The Duros chuckled again as he extinguished his smoke underfoot and turned back to his half hearted patrol. “You’ll learn, newbie,” Krig said, “nothing ever happens on Glom Tho.” He took a few steps along the walkway, absently staring at the fading horizon. Krig paused.
A light shone out in the midnight sky above the mountains to the west. It wasn't unusual to see orbital traffic at this time of day but something about this glimmer caught his eye. Instead of disappearing over the horizon or veering towards the nearby city of Lukita it began to grow. A craft was headed in the direction of the complex. Krig reached for his scope to get a better look. Perhaps it was another surprise inspection from the planetary defense force, he thought. That would be the second time this month...
Something screamed out of the night, leaving a trail of smoke and impacting the guard tower near Krig. The building ripped apart from the inside as the rocket detonated. The Duros guard was thrown back from the force of the blast and flipped over the railing behind him. He blacked out on impact with ground meters below. When he awoke on his back seconds later, he heard shrieks of blaster fire and the screams of dying beings. He cried out as he tried to move and clutched at his side. He must have broken some ribs in the fall and his left leg was numb from the knee down. Krig turned his head and saw figures descending out of the night. Fire and smoke billowed from the jetpacks on their backs. The light from muzzles of their blasters and flash of wrist rockets firing reflected off the “T” visors on their helms.
Krig’s heart froze. Breaking free from the daze and pain of his fall, he realized that his rifle had been ripped away from him in the blast. Desperately, he looked around for another weapon. The remains of Gil lay several meters away from where the rocket blast had thrown the charred corpse. One of idiot's pistols was still strapped to his belt.
Groaning as his ribs ground together, Krig rolled and began to crawl towards Gil’s body. His breathing was ragged and desperate. He tried to ignore the sounds of the battle around him, focused on the pistol that lay so far away. A rapid-fire blaster filled the air with screams of destruction. A flamer spewed death and someone shrieked as they burned in its fiery grasp. Krig whimpered as another explosion ripped the night and shrill warnings alarms sounded. The planetary shield was falling. Seconds stretched into an agonizing eternity before he reached Gil and tore the pistol from its holster. He turned and froze as he came face-to-face with the enemy.
A Mandalorian shock trooper stared down at him, smoking blaster rifle in hand. It's helmet was blue with a red symbol above its visor. “Jareor, aruetiise,” it said through distorted helm speakers and casually kicked the pistol out of Krig's hand.
Krig's last hope skittered away into the night as the Mandalorian placed its boot on Krig’s chest, pinning him against the ground beside his dead comrade. Krig felt his ribs popping and a cry escaped his torn, bloody lips. The shocktrooper rested the muzzle of his rifle on the forehead of the guard. “Brave but foolish, foreigner,” it spoke in Common. “This planet belongs to the Death Watch.” The Mandalorian pulled the trigger.
The rifle blast was lost in the cacophony as bright lights streaked down across the night sky. Dropships of the Kyr’tsad were descending. The invasion had begun.