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If Grandma and Grandpa Kai knew where he was, they'd probably die of heart attacks.
Makai was a little worried about being on Gala. Historically, the Sea Tribe was always a target for slavery. His grandparents were former slaves. His mother had barely escaped, his uncles were captured and never heard from again. There were other types of Galans but as far as he knew from stories passed down the interaction was minimal. His scales were an indicator that he probably shouldn't be poking around the rebuilt city of Galu. Hopefully the Mandos weren't the 'enslaving all aliens' type of government, as they seemed to be taking over the planet.
Given the reputation of Mandos as warriors, Makai hoped Galans would at least learn how to fight a bit better. Perhaps the new rule would be better for the sector. Only time would tell.
His sole reason to be on Gala wasn't completely about his ancestors. The other part was doing a bit of research. At a young age he had been gifted a technology company by [member="Danger Arceneau"] .His time to run it was approaching quickly. Makai wanted to start having more input. Like relocation. If Gala was changing, he felt a need to give back to the place where his mother was born and raised.
Objective: Royal ball
Location: Gala
Allies: [member="Mesh'la Dral"] [member="Marcus Lok"] [member="Lok Munin"]
Enemies: Assassins
Post: 19/38
"Will you dance with me this time? You're a gifted space witch" a high-level noble told Cathul.
"I have to say, some people have space magic up the wazoo but at least I know when to use it and how. I'll dance with you this time"
And so the pair danced, with Cathul even using Force-agility to make her dancing better. She was no dancer, nor was she a witch that relied on agility much. Her brain may be her main Force-instrument, because of which she still had to think when using mind-over-matter kind of powers. She spent more energy on the physical part of Force-agility because Force-agility didn't seem to make much intellectual demands of her. Sure, as used here, it didn't make her faster, it made her movements more gracious, at a level the courtiers expect of Twi'lek dancers capable of using the Force. Cathul was now seemingly dancing at the level of a rather proficient NFU Twi'lek dancer, and several attendees are simply watching the pair dance as they never danced before, under the effect of Cathul's Force-agility. And man did that dance endear him to the white Twi'lek. Once the current music being played ends, so does the dance.
"That was a pretty good dance, if I may say so myself"
It was simple coincidence that Corin's search took him to a theater of war. Some of the Mando'ade might not choose to call it such, given the political ramifications, but they were attempting to conquer a region of space all the same. The eldest of the Tal'verda sons could only support such a position. With the One Sith falling and the Mando'ade in their zenith, it was only natural that they expand. None could rule with the sense of honor and honesty of the true children of Mandalore.
Even still, he was not here to assist their operation. Another soldier, even one with such unique talents as his own, would make little difference in a system wide conflict. No, he had his own purposes for visiting this dismal desert world.
To the untrained eye, there was nothing of use on Aargonar. It was a dusty, forgotten place with little by way of resources. Its prizes were something far less carnal, and far less well-known. Corin drew in a sharp breath as his uncle's skyjumper settled down upon the planet's surface. It was a rickety old ship held together by adhesive tape and faith. The vessel jerked forward as its landing struts sunk deep into the sand, causing Corin to fall forward and smash his forehead against the flight console.
"Frakkin'--!" He sputtered a curse. Flying had never been one of his talents. A string of quiet curses followed as he ran a preliminary flight check and secured his war-gear. Satisfied that everything was working how it should be, Corin rose to his feet and slammed a fist onto the access panel. The shuttle's loading ramp hissed downward, allowing a light storm of dust and hot air into the vessel.
"Reminds me of Geonosis," Corin mumbled. His Strill companion, Lord Cabur, uncurled itself from the bed it had made in the shuttle's corner, and trotted up to its master's side. Its tongue lolled from its mouth as it stared up at Corin with wide black eyes, curious.
"Tsikala par a kemir, Cab'ika?" Corin asked in roughly-accented Mando'a.
The Strill responded with a raspy, albeit cheerful bark. Pleased, Corin reached up to don his buy'ce and strode down the ramp, a hand resting on the rail of his Deece should the need for it arise.
While their compatriots, the Crusaders, continued to aggressively expand about the stars, the Warmaster had a rather interesting job in store for his direct subordinates. Weeks prior, a seemingly spontaneous voyage was made to the dusty world of Tatooine...during which odd negotiations took place. Isley personally led the talks, with a passion that confused the ever-loving kark out of the Hunters, and ultimately succeeded in sealing a deal. Fast-forward to the present and one would find the Mandalorian and his vode aboard a barely spaceworthy vessel.
They were ferrying cargo of an unspecified kind...to Aargonar of all places.
As descent gripped the vessel, causing a rather concerning series of tremors to span its length, one of the Hunters finally spoke up. In but a few words, he encapsulated what the entirety of his comrades were feeling. "With all due respect Warmaster, what the kark are we doing?" Until now, Isley had kept his followers in the dark about his plan – but obviously he felt that this was an excellent idea. At current, his back was facing the curious one, for the Mandalorian busied himself looking at a holo-map of the planet's surface. Without turning, he said: "Taking advantage of Aargonar's resources."
The Hunters shared a collective, yet quiet, "WTK" moment.
"Sir...It's a desert. What resources are you talking about?"
Isley chuckled.
"You'll see in just a few moments. Have faith in me for that long, alright?"
Several minutes later, when finally the ship made touchdown upon the desolate world, Isley was first to arrive at the cargo hold. A tremendous ramp extended from the ship to the sands, as if heralding the arrival of something massive. Eagerly, his hands rubbed together whilst a smirk graced his features.
"Alright everyone, open 'er up!"
And at his command did a chaotic sound enter the afternoon air. Rusted metal and archaic servos scraped upon each other...at an agonizingly slow pace. The Hunters shared a collective groan, with many wincing against the noise. Yet Isley? He simply muted his helm for a moment. Once the doors were open, the roar of engines quickly greeted the Mandalorians. Sand Crawlers, three in number, quickly rolled out onto the ramp.
"Sir?!" asked the curious one, raising his tone over the noise.
"What do you know about this rock?" Isley began, waving approvingly to the tiny occupants of the Crawlers.
"It's covered in dirt?"
"It was a war zone, numerous times! Ain't much else on this planet but desert, rocks, and what can be salvaged from battle."
Desert. Salvage. Sand Crawlers. Oh.
"So you convinced...Jawa...to come salvage on this rock?"
That was a question the clone had been asking himself a whole lot ever since...well, since whenever he came up with the question. Around the timeframe of the Netherworld event when he didn't had anyone left that he could call family. The Dreadguard of his generation where all scatter; some picked up the role of a bounty hunter or a mercenary, few went to continue their military career, and others went to Mandalore and picked up the mantle of a Mandalorian.
To sum up about Canal, he was lost and confused. He was artificially created by Isley and fought as a soldier for the Confederacy, but he was more than just the perfect soldier created by the blood of the infamous Jango Fett. His whole life revolved around battles, and he wanted more than just that.
So here he was on Aargonar, helping out the Mandalorians claim this useless desert planet for something.
Kinda looks useless like Tatooine. Can't believe the Clans are gonna set shop up here.
The Fett clone began to head on towards the commotion where a herd of Jawa Sandcrawlers and Isley's warriors where doing something productive, or at least that's what the soldier thought. The little knowledge that he had of this wasteland was that it was a major battle between the Galactic Republic and the Separatists during the Clone Wars. Last thing he expected from the Verd was to salvage remnants of the Clone Wars with Jawas.
Not only was he going to meet up with Isley, but someone else that he was unfamiliar with.
The Strill was normally a calm creature. It always retained its composure, even in the midst of battle. Corin's father had told him that uncle Galaar instilled the behavior into the huntin g beast on purpose. It had always served Corin well -- when Cabur was displeased, something was truly long. Alert, Corin drew his Deece up closer to his shoulder and lowered his range finder over his visor. A quick sweep of the surrounding plains revealed nothing, save for the large rock-face half a click to the east. That was his destination, but he could not quite leave with Lord Cabur on alert.
"What's wrong Cab'ika?" Corin asked softly. He spoke to the creature as if it were a younger sibling crying over some non-issue, though in reality Lord Cabur was well past a century in age. The Strill gazed up at him, its eyes narrowed in a predatory stare. A low rumbling noise issued from the back of its throat, and Corin stood a little straighter. Whatever had upset Lord Cabur, it was close.
"Don't worry. The facility is only half a click out. We can jog if that makes you feel better." The Strill gave a derisive huff, as if it were unamused. Corin bunched his shoulders up in a slight shrug, and ran a preliminary scan of his surroundings. Something new popped up on his long range sensors. He felt the hair on the back of his neck stand up at the image coalesced into a mass of energy; some kind of vehicle, Corin decided.
As if awaiting his notice, another two steps revealed the top half of a Jawa sandcrawler. Corin cursed.
"They're here," he grumbled, "Which means they may have found the lab. We're chasing ghosts here already: can't afford a dead end here."
Lord Cabur made another clicking noise as if in agreement. Displeased, Corin trudged on toward the sandcrawler, his Deece's powerpack whirring as it came to life. Nothing on this backwater was going to stop his search. Not now.
Objective: Royal ball
Location: Gala
Allies: [member="Mesh'la Dral"] [member="Marcus Lok"] [member="Lok Munin"]
Enemies: Assassins
Post: 20/38
"Looks like the assassins are deep in poodoo"
"Oh?"
"Don't get overconfident, Your Majesty"
"Why? The ball must go on"
"They aren't completely neutralized yet"
Cathul knew better than to be lulled into a false sense of security due to the assassins being held up and in deep trouble at the outer perimeter. Perhaps the assassins have one secret weapon, something not unlike a defoliator or some other such thing, that could turn the tide in their favor. Or so Cathul fears. But she still keeps listening to some dancing music while she repeated the same circus of dancing with another courtier, knowing that each dance is to last as long as there is going to be music to dance to. One opus, one dance. Where in dar'yaim are the other Mandos assigned to the protection of the queen? I'm the one dancing with these guys and you guys are sleeping at work? she thought, while Force-sense was still active. She was called the Radar of Mandalore for a reason: she was to be the one whose Force-sense is always active so long as she is awake. Poor Cathul: she was going to be the one left with the Mandos' dirty laundry.
No casualties, no death traps, no significant resistance, and they had drawn first blood against the Sith Cultists inhabiting the Chateau. With the early Cultist that they had killed earlier, the rumors were absolutely right about sadistic Sith worshippers terrorizing bits and parts of Vjun just to bring a victim to sacrifice in the name of whatever Sith Lord(s) they praised and worshipped.
Then again, nothing could ever go perfect or too well when a group of men and women did a mission like this.
And the boulder that came from the ceiling of the cave was just a perfect reminder of not expecting any type of objective being a walk in the park. Luckily, the Akaan's beloved was the first one to warn everyone of the boulder dropping in from above.
"Look out, Three!" The Concordian cried out as he pushed the young clone away from harm's way. It was his job and duty to his warriors to make sure that they were well and safe, especially to the young ones such as Three. The boy was capable on handling himself after his display at the Mandalorians' Invasion of Kashyyyk but as long as he was under Vilaz's supervision, then he'd be dealing with a protective Alor.
"Is everyone okay? No casualties," the Cuir Rekr said in the comms, hoping to hear that everyone was okay and didn't received any significant injuries. The voice he was very much hoping to hear without any stress was the one of his beloved Bree.
Mishka took up the rearguard of the Mandalorian task force that moved through the cave in search of an entrance into the ancient castle that Sith Cultists had infected with their dark taint. Her sword held in both hands in a low guard, Mishka focused her extra-sensory abilities upon the yellow crystal gemstone that rested within the pommel of the weapon. The crystal filled her mind with a calm center and stability. Upon the edges of her senses, real and enhanced, she felt the tingling of fear and panic. Not her own, but even more real and intense than her own. Vaguely, almost as an echo, Mishka heard faint screaming. Thousands of voices calling out to her from worlds away... Mishka closed her eyes, shook her head, and focused more intently on the crystal. The fear and the voices pushed back further towards the edge of her awareness.
In the faint glow created by the exposed Soul-Steel blade, Mishka could still see the backs of her vod ahead of her, albeit faintly. Their helmets afforded them a thousand tiny components that, among other things, enabled them to see in the dark. Mishka wore the armor of a blacksmith, not that of an engineer or a bounty hunter. Mishka wielded the blade of a Runi'verd, not the engineered weapon of the Jetii or the slug-throwers of her clansmen. Mishka wore not a helmet, for it interfered with her senses... with her connection to the Manda.
<The Manda will guide me.> Mishka thought to herself as she stepped lightly through the dark cave. At her feet, the body of one of the cultists that the redheaded Jetii had killed. Mishka paused and crouched low, holding her blade over the body to illuminate it for her eyes. Though the blade cast only a faint glow, her eyes were trained by the Manda to perceive it as bright clearly contrasting as daylight. With her right hand holding the blade over the body, Mishka's left hand slid along the length of the Cultist's body, feeling with both touch and Manda-guided senses. Mishka checked the Cultist's belt, the pockets of his pants (finding a wallet, a cell phone, and a keychain)... Mishka checked what was left of the robe for hidden pockets... Mishka checked his boots... Mishka checked the ground around him... But... Mishka found no lightsaber. <Was this Cultist not a true Dar'jetii?> Mishka thought as she regarded the corpse and the blaster carbine that lay beside it. Absently she flipped open the wallet. There were no pictures of family. The holovids always had the dead person's wallet contain pictures of family. Instead, there was a driver's license for the planet of Tiss'Sharl, several credit cards, some Silver Sanctum Credits, and some sort of security badge. Mishka removed the security badge and placed it and the keychain in a pouch on her belt. <These may come in handy.> She thought as she stood and looked ahead for her comrades.
The armored backs of the rest of the vod were well ahead of her, barely perceivable in the darkness. The ground rumbled and the ceiling shook. Voices called out in alarm from ahead and rocks fell from the ceiling. Not just one boulder, but dozens fell from the ceiling. Mishka coughed on the dirt and dust that was flung into the air, using her left arm to shield her face as she held her blade in her right hand. Squinting through the dust, Mishka saw the faint outline of a massive clawed hand reaching down through the darkness. A body was dragged from the ground and through the new hole in the ceiling, Mando'ad or Cultist, Mishka couldn't tell. Seconds later, a horrible, wet, sickening crunching was heard.
<What in the name of the Toung?> Mishka questioned silently as a massive shadow dropped into the cave ahead of her, a thick and heavy thud shaking the cave as something horrid impacted ahead of her. A feeling pressed against the edge of Mishka's awareness, her focus on the crystal slipping for a moment. It was not the fear and panic and voices screaming that she was used to. This was a cold, ancient presence... She felt a hunger. A deep, unquenching hunger.
Mishka straitened her stance as she stared down the shadow at the end of the tunnel, the shadow that stood between her and her vod and the wall of rocks that had just almost killed the rest of the team. "Tengaanar gar." Mishka said as she gently struck the tip of her blade against the wall of the cave. A flash of light pulsed from the Chaab'kad, a pressure wave followed it that buffeted Mishka's Beskar-plated dress and flung the dirt and dust from her presence. In the flash of light, Mishka saw the beast in full. A thick, armored carapace covered it. A sweeping crest ending in spikes swept back from its head. Similar spikes of carapace jutted forth from its back. The beast stood and turned. It had a tusks. Black, diamond-hard tusks jutted forth from either side of its mouth. Each clawed hand ended in three similarly black, diamond-hard talons. Mishka had no doubt that they were sharp and sturdy enough to shred through beskar... A wide mouth adorned its face, stretching from tusk to tusk. Blood and flesh still flowed between the teeth, drooling down the beast's chin as a mangled hand protruded from the corner of the creature's wide mouth.
The beast had cold, white eyes. There was both intelligence and malace within those eyes.
<This is no beast.> Mishka thought to herself. <Dar'jetii Gotal.>
"Sheb." Mishka said aloud as the beast roared at her.
"No. I dumped that sanctimonious lot ages ago," Elpsis responded to the little boy. Little did she know that he was actually a lot older than her, what with being a time travelling clone cadet from the Grand Army of the Old Republic. Incidentally, the redhead was a supporter of #CloneLivesMatter!
Alas, there was no time for socialising, for a massive boulder suddenly dropped down from the ceiling. Warned by Briika and her own precognition, Elpsis dove to avoid the falling rock that threatened to make the cave their tomb. Dirt and dust was flung into the air when rocks rained down upon them. One smaller rock slammed into her shoulder. Ouch.
"I'm fine," she answered in response to the Munin Chieftain's questions when the bombardment ceased. However, it seemed there was no reprieve for the Mandalorian war band, for suddenly a massive monstrosity saw fit to show up. Elpsis was ahead of the rest of the group, and the beast had materialised close to the rear. Moreover, Briika's ysalamiri would probably interfere with her Force Sight if she got closer again. However, she could feel a dark void where the creature was. This beast radiated pure evil and hunger.
Then she heard a loud, blood-curdling roar emanating from it. Picking herself up and trying to stay outside of the fifteen foot Force null zone and avoid accidentally hitting a Mandalorian, Elpsis brought up her Mark One Bolter and fired, unleashing APE rounds, which could shred most personal armour except the heaviest. The bolter had more power than her pistols and was more reliable. Stretching out with her power, she willed a long piece of metal to be heated to an absurd degree, before lifting and flinging it. Ideally, it would impact upon the insides of the beast's right leg.
As the Clone continued to trek his way towards the clan of Sandcrawlers and the Mandalorian Crusaders, his HUD that appeared on his helmet began, obviously, began to pick up IFF tags from the Jawas and the Mandalorians. Not only was he greeted by a swarming scan of tags from the Mandos and the Jawas, but he was also greeted by a squad of six Mandalorians, aiming their firearms at him. This was very, very unsurprising to Canal as he was literally trained by Mandalorian officers back at his birth planet of Kamino. Their culture, philosophy, language, history, tactics, and sophisticated combat were all passed down to him and his clone brothers. Being outgunned and outnumbered by a gang of armored Mandalorians was something common and expected if you were a foreigner passing their territory.
He would cooperate without giving any problems as it was the only way out to get out of a pickle with a group Mandos.
"State your business, aruetii. And it better be a good one."
"Udesiir, soldier," no doubt that first word would shock and confuse the squad. "I'm just here to help, and I don't think your boss would appreciate you bringing harm to me. I'll promise you that."
The ex-Colonel and the clone got along well and had a mutual feeling in regards of one another despite of all that happened in the past.
"So are we gonna stand here all day, helmet-to-helmet and doing nothing?"
"Don't tell me what to do, stranger. Follow me."
Their arms were no longer pointed at the Canal's figure and they began to lead the way towards the sandcrawlers, but they still had their guard up in case if he was did a hostile action which was a very unlikely thing for the man to do.
Corin's brow furrowed as a number of IFF tags popped up along his HUD. He'd expected some form of greeting by the Jawas, but the presence of other armored individuals was troublesome. It was only when the database in his helmet confirmed that they were Mandalorian tags that he allowed himself to relax, and even that was to a minuet degree.
"Taylir. Other Mando'ade. Cuyir ulyc, Cab'ika," he said to Lord Cabur in a hushed whisper. The Strill's lupine head pointed up toward the sky, and it sniffed in the sandcrawler's direction. The creature was instantly on alert, drawing a few paces away from Corin to pounce on whatever might await them. Corin had the sense to let the Strill do as it pleased. Its dangers senses may very well have been correct.
The trek to the sandcrawlers was a short one. Aside from a few mishaps involving particularly loose sand and a fast sinking Strill, things were calm. The walk gave Corin a few moments to think.
Were these traitors, members of the crusade? The Mandalore had acquited them of their crimes, but he was gone now. Would the alliance still hold? Were they of the clans? Cursing, Corin crossed the zenith of a hill and found himself face to face with the gathering of Mandalorians.
"Su cuy," he paused, clicking his tongue. Lord Cabur responded in kind, coiling back closer to his master, though the Strill retained its defensive posture. "What brings you to this wasteland, friends?"
V J U N
Post 6 of 38 Objective: Sith Cultists Location:Chateau de Bad Things Allies: [member="Briika Tor"] | [member="Vilaz Munin"] | [member="Mishka Larraq"] | [member="Elpsis Elaris"] Gear:Eukagar'gam | DC-17 Clone Trooper Pistol | Survival Knife
What did sanctimonious mean?
The helmet he wore masked the quizzical expression on the child's face as he stared, blankly, back at the woman from behind the visor.
The sound of a crack caught the boy's attention, just moments before he found himself airborne. Shoved aside, the child face-planted into the dirt. He was winded as he skidded on his chest plate across the ground, instinctively shielding his head as pebbles and rocks pelted him as they rained down from the collapsing tunnel arch.
Bracing himself on his hands and knees, the child was starting to push himself up from the ground when he heard the roar.
If you're in a dark cave and you hear that kind of sound... you're gonna have a bad day.
Luckily, he'd just gone to the bathroom in a previous post, or else the small clone would have wet his pants. ProTipTM: Always go to the bathroom when its quiet and there's opportunity. That way claims of being a badass won't be dilluted by having wet your pants during a dominion later.
Bringing his blaster pistol up, the boy squeezed off two rounds in rapid succession. The first pulled right with the trigger pull, though the tracer from the blaster bolt allowed the boy to make adjustments between trigger pulls so that his second sailed straight into the creature's thigh...
...where it promptly bounced off and impacted the wall of the cave.
What was that hide made of? Beskar?
Tapping the side of his helmet, the child activated his targeting computer as the rocket darts on his shoulder popped up. It would take a moment to line the shot up, but those packed more of a punch than a blaster bolt. And they stuck to the target.
In theory.
And, for the record, the young Mandalorian clone was a supporter of the #TarentatekLivesDontMatter movement himself.
Objective: Royal ball
Location: Gala
Allies: [member="Lok Munin"] [member="Mesh'la Dral"] [member="Marcus Lok"]
Enemies: Assassins
Post: 21/38
"Standing guard over Your Majesty made me hungry"
"What is it that you want to eat? I will have the servant serve what we both want"
"Mango cubes please"
"Strawberries for me"
She was served on like she was used to only on Azure, but on Azure she wasn't overly picky nor capricious. Surely the mangoes would have been tasty to one [member="Cabur Aranar"] if he was there as part of the security team. Cathul was a little, let's say it, low-key compared to Elan. She'd rather eat ramen or spaghetti three meals a day if she could, but here was her chance to eat more refined desserts as the first round of desserts was nearing exhaustion. Especially since [member="Mesh'la Dral"] ate a strawberry from it. But Cathul sensed that she needed to eat especially since the ball left her hungry. I'll probably have to eat a proper meal later: this is a ball, not a banquet, she thought, as she ate her cubes of diced mango, one by one. Oh Cathul would be just one to eat mangoes but she wouldn't touch alcohol this time around. She is not one to drink on a regular basis: if she drank, she would drink a lot afterward.
Objective: 3 (Post 07/38) Planet: Vjun Allies: [member="Briika Tor"], [member="Vilaz Munin"], [member=3X744], [member="Elpsis Elaris"] Enemies: Big scary monster Location:Chateau Malreaux; Dark and Spooky Castle
The sound of blasters and slugthrowers echoed through the cave. The collapsing of the ceiling had, apparently, not entirely separated her from the rest of the group. As shots ricocheted off the sithspawn's legs and raced past Mishka, barely missing her, Mishka had to wonder if her companions had forgotten about her, or if they had simply gotten excited by the sudden appearance of the monster. "Check your target!" Mishka yelled over the sound of gunfire. Another shot missed it's mark and ricocheted off of Mishka's breastplate. "Friendly fire!" She added as she brought her blade up into a guarded stance.
The beast ignored the squad of Mando'ade at its back and charged towards Mishka, a clawed hand swiping at the small girl. On training and reflex, Mishka swung at the approaching talons with a parrying strike. The blade flashed light and kinetic force flung the beast's hand into the cave wall. Echoes of fear and panic pulsed on the edges of Mishka's awareness, along with the screams of those that died on Dromund Kaas so many years ago. Another swipe came at Mishka, this time the other claw coming from her left, and again she struck the taloned claw and sent it recoiling from the shock of the blow. Each strike of her blade producing a pulse of light, emotion, and kinetic force.
The blows came faster now. Mishka parried each with as much strength as she could muster, each time sending the beast's arms back with the force of her strike and the power of her blade. Mishka's feet were moving her backwards as the beast advanced on her, each blow countered in a fighting retreat. But the blows were coming faster and faster and the beast was gaining on her. She could hear the continued shooting from behind the beast as the squad of Mandalorians unloaded ammunition into the creature's exposed back. But the beast showed no signs of injury and ignored the rest of the squad, it's attention solely upon Mishka and her sword.
In the light cast by her glowing blade, Mishka saw that her strikes (which would normally cleave a beast in two) were doing little more than creating thin cuts and scratches upon the beast's hands. A thin trickle of blood poured from the minor wounds she was inflicting upon the beast. Vaguely, she was aware that the beast's legs lacked similar markings from the blaster pistol and shatter pistol that had ricocheted off the beast's thick hide.
Was her Chaab'kad the only weapon damaging the beast?
Mishka's split second observations were interrupted as the beast lunged at her, face coming down with an open maw ready to swallow her whole. <Not today.> Mishka thought as she thrust her sword at the beast's approaching eye. A subtle turning of the beast's armored head deflected the blow from blinding the creature, but the flash of light and force that followed forced the beast back two steps as it closed its eyes and roared in pain and anger. Seeing an opening, Mishka swung her blade at the creature's exposed abdomen with all her strength, willing the Manda to lend her more strength than she had within her.
The blade struck true, biting two inches into the abdomen of the creature and sending it stumbling backwards in shock as it's skin was pierced and fear touched it's vulnerable inner flesh. The beast swatted in anger as Mishka before she could bring her blade back into a proper guard, the creature's talons leaving deep gouges in the Beskar plating of her side-armor and chest plate. The blow sent flung Mishka to the side where she slammed into the cave wall. She could feel her ribs crack as the air was pushed from her lungs. Mishka gasped. She smelled blood. Her own blood. The copper taste of it was in her mouth as well. In the half-light cast by the sword she still clutched with her right hand, she saw the beast's claw rushing towards her, ready to crush her against the cave wall.
In a flash of instinct and with the Manda guiding her hand, lending her speed otherwise impossible for mortal flesh, Mishka pulled her sword up next to her chest and braced the pommel against the cave wall behind her. In an instant, she saw the blade disappear into the beast's forearm, the weight of the blow cracking the stone behind her and shattering the adegen crystal in her sword's pommel. In that same instant, a blinding flash of light filled Mishka's vision as blood and flesh and bone exploded in all directions. A wave of fear and terror washed over Mishka as the sword detonated it's charge and the crystal she had been focusing on shattered. Blood and gore seeped into her hair and clothes as fear and panic seeped into the core of her soul.
She heard the beast roar in pain and anger, the force of it echoing through her skull. Just as loud were the screams of those thousands that eternally feared their imminent death. Her own scream seemed a distant echo, wet and weak as her vision of the cave faded and was replaced by a vast sea of people looking up at a black, cloudy sky backlit by burning rocks that seemed to both race towards her and hang immobile in the sky.
Mobius stepped off the shuttle ramp and placed one enormous boot upon the barren rock of Vjun. A heavy deluge from the heavens gave the terrain a sullen, hazy cast.
Huge droplets plinked against Mobius' armor. The shuttle ramp closed. The ship rose off the ground, the wash of sublight engines blasting the rain away, and took to the air.
Mobius watched it go, then walked forward. Servos inside the armor whirred.
Clunk. Clunk. Clunk.
Thunder rumbled overhead. They needed to do the job quickly. Otherwise their Mandalorian employer would take it into his own hands. Mobius could imagine the sort of ground zero ruination [member="Vilaz Munin"]'s clan would bring down on such a nice castle. Better to just gut it from the inside out.
"Myrmidons, check in," Mobius rumbled in a voice nearly as deep.
"Hrunga, present."
"Narwha, ready."
"Kooda."
Only four of them in all, including Mobius, against a castle full of cultists. Mobius' hard eyes turned to the sky. A streak of lightning flashed amidst the sulking clouds and illuminated the spire of castle Bast.
I'll take those odds any day.
Hefting his arc caster, Mobius signaled them forward.
"Don't you have companies to be overseeing, shep?" Kooda, that blasted umron. He had no idea what sort of secrets Bast held. Expensive secrets, the kind some organizations would be willing to pay quite a fee to acquire.
"Hauum. I have people for that," Mobius replied.
Hrunga snorted. "You'd rather be out in the middle of acid rain?"
"Poison water," Narwha affirmed.
"Pakk, what's life without a few risks?"
That brought a chorus of hauums. Herglics gambled to the point of notoriety.
From the gloom emerged a massive structure, wrought all in black.
"The front doors," rumbled Mobius. "Let's knock."
Herglics also had strong opinions on the values of a full frontal assault.
Hrunga took a massive breaching hammer from her back and stepped forward.
Suddenly, there came a great groan and hiss of motors. The massive door retracted upward several meters. A figure emerged from within, swaddled in black robes. Human, but with eye sockets colored in black.
"We have been waiting for you." The stranger's lips did not move.
"Pison."
Mobius grinned large behind his helmet. Now this is interesting.
The clone and the group of Mandalorians returned back where armored men and women, faces concealed by that famous T-visor helmet, and little aliens in brown robes, their faces veiled by their hoods and only showing their yellow eyes, were running about and doing something.
But what could they be doing? He knew whenever there were Jawas around, they were either salvaging something or selling. The thought of Mandalorians buying scrap and junk from a clan of Jawas made Canal chuckle lightly. The latter was definitely opted out, but it was still uncommon for Mandos to work with Jawas. Considering that the Mandos had superior technology which was priceless to some foreigner.
"So why in the blue blazes are you guys working with these dirty scavengers?
"Ask the Warmaster. I don't know what's gotten ino his head. He's told us many times why we're here, but I still think it's a waste of time."
The clone then noticed that there was someone else that had a different style of armor than the rest of the Mandalorians, and it was very familiar to his eyes. It almost looked like...
"Hey," the Fett clone called out to the stranger wearing Calico's armor, his tone very demanding, "you better have a good reason where you got that armor."
Location nearest Cantina
[member="Fenn Rast"]
Post ?
Arla came in from the freezing cold their team had gone into the take out the imperial governor and his cohorts thing she hadn't been prepared for was how much the cold was going to make her fingers ache even in her armor.
She gritted her teeth and clenched her jaw as she made her way up to the bar, through the T she could see the barkeep waiting, the modulator of her buy'ce made her voice sound synthesized, "whiskey"
yes she knew it wouldn't cure the cold but it was a good start. She looked around to see if anyone else had made it off the mountain.
Location: Cantina with [member="Arla Balor"]
Post: 1
Stumbling into a bar holding his side his armor penetrated he sat down at the bar breathing deep taking his helmet off inhaling. Coming from another side of the mountain he had gotten hurt and stumbled his way towards the cantina. Looking around seeing Arla he nodded a greeting before looking at the Bartender. "Just.... give me the strongest thing you have. I don't care what it is, just make sure it won't kill me. Or your dead." He grabbed his side groaning soft looking at the wound. Cursing under his breath soft he looked again at Arla. "What happened with you?"
Rakt Numar awoke to the sound of blaster fire and screams. His opulent suite was in the most secure location in the Spire. No one could have gotten this far without him being alerted, his sleep addled mind reasoned.
So much noise. Yet as he rolled over and reached for the hold-out blaster next to his bed it ebbed away to near silence. There were just angry whispered right outside his door. Numar paused for a half second and then slid open his drawer.
The door burst open. Mandalorians. His hand was inches from the gun. One lightweight pistol against three men decked in durasteel or beskar. Not good odds.
“Numar?” An aging, gravely voice. A blaster was pointed right at his head.
He nodded.
“Good. Call your men off. Tell them to surrender.”
A comm link was tossed onto the bed next time. A blaster rifle would have made him feel less naked than a set of clothes right now. Rakt did as he was told.
“Good,” the mandalorian said curtly. There was a flash of light. Then darkness. Rakt Numar was no more.
The Spire was rapidly being outfitted by the Mandalorians. Rather than a prison, it would be a command centre for the entire region. Today, it was a meeting place.
Davon leaned over the table and took a deep breath. He was on less firm ground these days. His power came direct from the Mand'alor. And no one had seen Ra for a long time.
“I've brought the council together to discuss the emergence of a new threat. A threat that pushed the Silver Jedi back a few parsecs. It's name is Velok.”
