Faction Blackwater [ME]

[Trimantium]

Blackwater
"A Protector's duty is not measured by the battles they win, but by the lives they bring home."​

Arrakan, Outer Rim Territories
Local Time: 13:22 Hours

On worlds of stone and dust, trouble announced itself with blaster fire and the screech of sublight engines tearing through the atmosphere—victims' stares pointed towards the sky above.​

​

On Arrakan, it arrived with the crackle of ozone and the churning of waves. Blackened clouds loomed along the darkened horizon, where ominous warnings flickered with the harsh beat of distant thunder. Below the surface, unseen threats stirred, biding their time and waiting for the perfect moment to strike as the waves shifted like jagged teeth reaching up towards the isolated platforms above. It was a cycle, as inevitable as the daily rise of the sun or the creeping presence of the moon.

Predictable.

The storm did not arrive in silence; a thousand active transmissions heralded its arrival—navigation beacons, dock traffic, maintenance channels and emergency broadcasts blared across the local net. Thousands of years of experience and preparation, all built towards a noble goal, their survival.

It should have been enough.

The first thing the Protectors noticed was the absence of noise, not in the audible sense, not with the roar of the storm that ravaged across the Khelar Anchorage, battering itself against ancient structures, their sturdy support pillars spiralling upwards in defiance of nature's grasp. Instead, it was the sudden absence of communication.

Leviathan's Rest should have been screaming.

Static crackled over the spectrum of communication units; hardwired connections embedded in the seabed, and holonet beacons spread across the waves, bobbling over and underneath the rabid sea. And yet, absolutely nothing from those who should have been desperate to connect.

Dead silence.

Alone, it was enough to cause concerns. However, troubles such as this did not arrive alone.

Active scanners detected power fluctuations, building further and further with every peak it reached. At first, it was a sign of relief; a promise that, regardless of how quiet it was, the platform still stood. Then, sacrifices were made. Atmospheric processors required to direct the sophisticated array of ray-shielding and diversion pylons, deactivated with a faint flicker, dwarfed by the lighting bolt that claimed the first wave of responders. Life Support systems spread across the platform and operating in multiple habitation districts, wheezed out a final stuttering breath, then allowed the poison to seep in. Across Leviathan's Rest, similar scenes were carried out, and yet, regardless of the power saved with every sacrifice, the reactor core continued to build.

Time was running out.

The people's preparations were no longer enough.

And so, arrived Mandalore.
​

Spoiler: Tag

Itzhal Volkihar
Tessa Monroe
Sylor
Dral-Kar'ta Saandyr

 

[Vojövif Fett]

Blackwater

The ship tore out of hyperspace like it had just remembered an embarrassing memory mid-jump. One moment the ride was a smooth ribbon of light; the next, Vojövif Fett’s vessel lurched into realspace outside Arrakan with all the grace of a drunken assassin tripping over their own vibroblade.

Alarms chirped lazily, less “we are in danger” and more “we noticed something mildly inconvenient.”

Somewhere, the Protectors had flagged the anomaly first, politely forwarded it along like a courtesy memo stamped urgent but not my problem, and now every nearby vessel was apparently being invited to participate in whatever this was supposed to be.

Inside the cockpit, Vojövif leaned forward, helmet tilted as she stared at the planet hanging below like a suspicious bruise on the galaxy’s skin.

“Of course,” she muttered to no one in particular, the tone of someone who had long ago stopped believing in simple jobs and easy credits. Arrakan didn’t look like a battlefield so much as a place that had already lost the argument and was now sulking about it.

She exhaled slowly, the kind of breath reserved for accepting either destiny or paperwork, and wondered, half amused, half resigned what flavor of disaster the universe had decided to invoice her for this time.

Probably the kind that came with explosions, moral ambiguity, and at least one unexpected betrayal before lunch.

Vojövif Fett let out a long, exhausted sigh that sounded like it had been filing complaints with the galaxy for years, then whispered, “Right, better get down there, nothing gets done sitting around in this cramped tin can, geez.”

She glanced around the cockpit like it had personally offended her lineage and added, “I really need to upgrade this piece of junk before it upgrades my patience into a weapon of mass destruction.”

 

[Sylor]

Arrakan
Itzhal Volkihar Tessa Monroe Dral-Kar'ta Saandyr Vojövif Fett ​

The silence was the worst part.

Even through the constant rain, rolling thunder, and flashes of lightning that illuminated the clouds, outlining their vessel as it descended toward Leviathan's Rest, the quiet lingered. Sylor stared through his visor, scanning for anything that might reveal the source of the disturbance. Yet the only thought that occupied his mind was a simple one.

What was causing this?

Was it a routine malfunction? No, something else was at work here. Something hidden beneath the storm? The relentless weather seemed less like a natural occurrence and more like a blanket, providing cover for whatever waited below. His gaze shifted to the device mounted on his wrist. Flipping open its protective cover, he activated a small holographic display. A schematic of the facility sprang to life, casting a pale blue glow across his armor.

"Whatever it is," he said at last, his voice breaking the silence, "I feel we must hurry."

 

[Tekton Artez]

Itzhal Volkihar Sylor Tessa Monroe Dral-Kar'ta Saandyr Vojövif Fett​

Tekton was etching gold and silver filigree into an iron chair when the ship exited hyperspace. Tekton sighed, he'd have to finish his piece of art later. Right now there was work to be done. At least it was noble work, not work that made him question his honour. It was even within the scope of Tekton and Clan Artez mission. To provide haven for refugees, reconstruction a place for them to call home. Yes it was a good mission.

Tekton felt a swell of pride that the Mandalorians could use their bravery for something more than brutal conquest. Oh he had no problem with mercenary work for the right client, protection jobs mostly, or providing security for evacuation zones.

It would be a novelty to act on behalf of someone in need of help who had no active enemy other than the very forces of nature. Still a part of him was a little piqued that his artistry had been interrupted. It was always the way, he'd find a project, get into the zone, then be pestered with interruptions.

Hopefully this job wouldn't take too long.

Tekton knew he was making excuses to avoid thinking about the severity of the situation. People would be losing their homes, their loved ones, their entire lives. Tekton would do what he could to help, but he knew it would all be far too little in the eyes of those fortunate enough to be saved.

It was the part of disaster Tekton hated the most. He could handle war, battle, risk of death, the price of killing and dying honourably in battle. It was the grief that got to him. Peoples souls suffering in excruciating torment, most failing to see anyway out of the darkness. Tekton didn't have the words to comfort them were any to be had. He was no Jedi to offer empty platitudes about becoming one with the Force.

The Force was a tool, a symbiotic instrument. Worshipping it, using it as the basis of your beliefs left too much in life unlived, too much excuses and too much justified. Tekton had a curiosity about religion, of various cultures, many seemed to relate back to the Force in some way or another. He himself could never devote himself to something so outside of his own control. One might as well worship the storm wiping out these poor people in the hopes of appeasing it as claim to know the Force had a divine plan.

Tekton shook his head at his thoughts deciding to message the other Mandalorians who had decided to answer the peoples distress. He had been surprised but grateful the mission caught the attention of those it did.

"Tekton Artez of Clan Artez. Reporting for duty" Tekton sent out the message from his ships cockpit.

 

[Kael Varr Bastiel Skirata]

Tags: Itzhal Volkihar Tessa Monroe Sylor Dral-Kar'ta Saandyr Tekton Artez Vojövif Fett
OBJECTIVE: Arrakan
Ship: The Cabur Rekr (The Guardian Wolf)
Armor: Dauntless-type Beskar'gam
Blade: Tal'Alor Beskad
Primary Weapon: Plasma Bow
Secondary Weapon: Paired Beskar Tonfa

Kael was out on his Journey when he briefly picked up a distress beacon, then it was silenced. He felt out with the force and got... a storm... but nothing concrete, such was the force for him lately. Nevertheless, he banked the Cabur Rekr on a wingtip and activated his comms on the Mandalorian Imperial frequencies, "This is Kael Bastiel, Iron Wolf of Clan Skirata. I have battlefield medic equipment, ready to assist, respond?" He looked at his astrogation equipment. Arrakan, a planet of storms. He set the autopilot and went to his armory cabinet, donning his armor and wolfpelt cape. He took a deep breath, letting the force settle his nerves as the runes flared with a soft blue light before settling into the familiar warmth. Returning to the pilot seat, he trimmed for descent towards what his instruments called Leviathan station. The stilt city should be a beacon in the storm, yet from what he saw, even though the readings from its reactor core were increasing, no light nor comms signals were leaving the city. Under his breath, he mumbled, "I've got a bad feeling about this."

 

[Dral-Kar'ta Saandyr]

BLACKWATER


Location, Arrakan, Outer Rim


Local Time; 13:26

​

Tag: Trimantium , Vojövif Fett , Sylor , Tekton Artez , Kael Varr Bastiel Skirata , Itzhal Volkihar



Objective: Arrival



The jump from Maridun to Arrakan was just a few parsecs so the jump did not take much time at all so his G-1a Patrol Fighter jumping out of light speed caught him unawares and the atmospherics buffeted the craft as he gained control. A mechanical voice from behind chided "By my calculations, that jump was in the lower 25th percentile of the expected performance of a pilot of your caliber. Would you like me to put a pilot training module on your schedule?"

The annoyed reply came back "I would like you to put the training module up your…" BEEP, BEEP, BEEP, went the nav alarms cutting of the response.

"Whoa…the atmospherics are all wonky." He said regaining control and vectoring the craft to the landing beacon. "Can you give me readings?"

"I am at this moment unable to quantify any verifiable data extrapolated by the sensors for, as you so un-specifically stated, The atmospherics are… and it pains my circuits to say it so imprecisely, wonky."

"Well, let's land this bucket before we are shaken out of the shy."

"Sensors are picking up a craft. It appears to be of Nubian design but is of no official classification. The Imperial Customs database list the craft as an armed personal transport registered to Kael Varr Bastiel Skirata, who has verified status in the Imperial database."

"Really… Kael? He is the one I told you about with the helmet. I've been wanting to meet him again."

"You have been looking for him, I see. Do you want him arrested or terminated?"

"Neither…Look…" He said in annoyance. "We've talked about this, we are protectors now, we don't terminate anymore… well, at least we try not to. And besides he is an ally. We are here on a scouting and rescue mission so more with the assisting and less with the killing. Do I need to update your pacifist package?"

"No Sir, you do not. I have updated my files to reflect that Kael Varr Bastiel Skirata is no longer eligible for termination." The Droid responded with a hint of disappointment. He liked serving his new Mandalorian master but he sometimes missed the old Empire days.

Dral followed Kael's ship to the landing site. "Dral-Karta Saandyr of Clan Saandyr of the Mandalorian Protectors, arriving to render assistance."

Once landed he exited from his ship into a rainy windswept platform. His hand reflexively touching his blaster as he looked around to assess the situation.

​

 

[Itzhal Volkihar]

| Location | Arrakan, Outer Rim Territories

The YT-2400 surged forward like a comet blazing a trail through an electric sky, its hull illuminated by flashes of lightning as it bravely navigated towards the Khelar Anchorage. A tempest raged beyond the protective glow of the energy shields, dark clouds churning ominously across the horizon, their violent winds lashing against the reinforced hull of the ship. Every shudder and groan of the metal structure seemed to echo, a counterpart to the steady vibration of overworked engines that thrummed through the vessel and deep into the cargo hold, where a single Mandalorian sat alone.

Strapped into a bench embedded in the wall, Itzhal Volkihar sat quietly, his attention focused on the soft glow of a datapad resting upon one armoured knee. Information flickered across the display: casualty estimates in bold identified the last reports they'd received, while a second line beneath attempted to extrapolate from what little there was to glean from power diagnostics assessed from afar and the general state of the storm that was continuing to grow—the assessments were bleak, and ever so terribly familiar.

He had seen settlements fall, stations burn, and entire worlds descend into chaos. Each tragedy was etched into his memory, the relentless tide of destruction that so often left him unable to do anything more than pick up the pieces, a mere spectator to the disaster that swept away lives and cities alike.

But it would not be the same here.

He could not permit it—rage coursed through his veins like magma tunnelling through molten earth, a blazing fire igniting every ounce of sorrow residing in his heart. No, the end would come, as all ends did, but today would not be Leviathan's Rest. Other storms would come, other tragedies would follow, but this one he dared to defy.

Tags: Tessa Monroe Sylor Dral-Kar'ta Saandyr Vojövif Fett Tekton Artez Kael Varr Bastiel Skirata​

 

[Tessa Monroe]

The Relentless shuddered beneath her hands, turbulence from the storm making her lurch as lightning cracked along the ship's shields, testing their limits and sending odd power surges through the ship. For all the challenges this flight offered, Tessa was remarkably calm. She’d always been settled in the pilot's seat, it was where she belonged, where she had always felt the most in control.

Something cracked and popped, a warning light indicating a fire in the engine room, fire suppression kicked in almost instantly, the low hiss echoing through the ship.

Her passenger was quiet, focused but more than that, he was angry.

She did need the Echani art of reading people to know it, it was practically radiating from him in the force. Tessa didn’t need to dig, she didn’t need to ask why, they had seen the same reports, they had the same suspicions - someone was fucking with their people.

The Relentless dipped low, almost skimming over the swollen and churning ocean, the distant flicker of landing pad lights ahead of her.

“Landing in five.” She called back to Itzhal as her comms flashed, she opened them to hear Tekton’s report in.

“Copy that, Tekton, we’re rendezvousing on a neighbouring platform, sending you the coordinates now. The ride down is rough, you’ll need to divert power to your shields to withstand some of the strikes, and watch out for power surges.”

It was a battle to get the Relentless down, winds ripping underneath her belly, desperate to pull her away from the landing pad, but she made it down with a heavy clang and a shudder that reverberated through the ship.

Tekton Artez Dral-Kar'ta Saandyr Sylor Vojövif Fett Kael Varr Bastiel Skirata Itzhal Volkihar

​

 

[Vojövif Fett]

Blackwater

Tags - Tessa Monroe / Tekton Artez / Dral-Kar'ta Saandyr / Sylor / Kael Varr Bastiel Skirata / Itzhal Volkihar

Vojövif brought her ship in low over the abandoned pads of Leviathan's Rest, the hull rattling like it was personally offended by the weather.

Lightning forked across the viewport in jagged, theatrical bursts; like the galaxy itself was trying to dramatically narrate her arrival, and for a moment she just sat there, helmet tilted slightly, watching the storm chew on the horizon.

Then she looked back at Leviathan’s Rest. Then the storm again. Then Leviathan’s Rest again, as if expecting it to suddenly confess what it had done with its former tenants. The ship’s systems beeped uncertainly, like they, too, wanted no part of this assignment.

She finally sighed in that very Jedi-Mandalorian way that suggests both professionalism and mild regret, grabbed her dual pistols and the double-sided lightsaber hilt, and keyed the hatch. The ramp lowered into wind so aggressive it felt personally trained in intimidation tactics.

She stepped out, wind and rain smacking against her ferociously, and made her way toward a docking bay door that was stuck mid-cycle; half-open like it had given up on its business but didn’t want to fully commit to closure.

“Classic,” she muttered, ducking inside as the storm swallowed her silhouette. Inside, she rotated her visor to compensate for the sickly, failing light, the world turning into grainy shadows and half-formed angles.

She reached out with the Force; slow, deliberate, and found nothing. Not a whisper. Not a breath. Just cold absence, like the station had been vacuumed of existence itself. She stood still a moment longer, then said quietly, “This looks really bad, like an eight on the ten scale bad, but let’s not jump to conclusions. There’s still much to search.”

​

 

[Tekton Artez]

Tessa Monroe Dral-Kar'ta Saandyr Sylor Kael Varr Bastiel Skirata Itzhal Volkihar Vojövif Fett

"Received and acknowledged" Tekton replied to the call to rendezvous at a neighbouring platform.

Piloting his ship down, Tekton was grateful that other Mandalorians had answered the call for aid. It gave him hope that the future of the Mandalorians wasn't just one of perpetual war and endless conquest.

Tekton enjoyed a good fight, but it had to be for the right cause. Tekton and Clan Artez as a whole believed in acts of service towards others. To utilize their skills whether it be the trades they were competent at or the war they excelled at for anything less than the service of others was considered taboo at best almost sacrilege at worst.

As such they were somewhat of a rarity amongst other Mandalorian's particularly as they were an entire clan dedicated towards it. Some thought them soft hearted or perhaps even weak, though they didn't say it twice in their presence.

Still it was a relief to be on an important relief mission instead of a bloodthirsty take over of a planet. Tekton had recently begun to have doubts about his service to this Mandalore and his empire, but missions like this gave him reassurance that things were not all bad.

Tekton piloted his craft down with no small amount of struggle. The winds howled, bashed and ripped against the hull of the ship. The rain so thick it made vision through the cockpit impossible, Tekton had to rely on his ships sensors. Even the noise penetrated through the ships armour.

Landing his craft with a shudder, Tekton donned his armour and went out to meet his fellow Mandalorians who had answered the call to service of others. Perhaps he'd find some comrades amongst them, even should he not for the purposes of this mission they were his brothers and sisters in arms. Tekton would die for any one of them, he expected no less of any member of Clan Artez to look out for their allies. Let alone fellow Mandalorians.

 

[Sylor]

Arrakan
Objective - Investigate - Main Enterance
Kael Varr Bastiel Skirata Tessa Monroe Itzhal Volkihar Vojövif Fett Tekton Artez ​

Sylor stepped out of the vessel. Based on his readings, there were two ways into the facility before them. There was the main entrance, and an access corridor off to the side that they could use.

"We can split up. I'll go through the main entrance, with whomever else chooses too. There is also an access corridor that way." The Mandalorian indicated with his hand as the rain battered down upon them. "Decide quickly. We can't delay."

Without hesitation, he moved forward toward the entrance. He popped a flare and gave it a hard toss through the main doors as he moved closer, trying to get a read on how things were inside, and whether anything seemed amiss beyond what they had already seen. Sylor signaled clear through the main doors, then moved in. The flare provided a decent amount of light in the immediate area.

It was a mess, and there were signs of a struggle.

"What the hell happened here?"

Step by step, he moved forward, his instincts telling him that a trap had been set.

 

[Kael Varr Bastiel Skirata]

Tags: Itzhal Volkihar Tessa Monroe Sylor Dral-Kar'ta Saandyr Tekton Artez Vojövif Fett
OBJECTIVE: Arrakan
Ship: The Cabur Rekr (The Guardian Wolf)
Armor: Dauntless-type Beskar'gam
Blade: Tal'Alor Beskad
Primary Weapon: Plasma Bow
Secondary Weapon: Paired Beskar Tonfa

Kael carefully settled his ship onto the platform, where a few others had already landed. He could not see through the viewscreen, but he nevertheless settled the ship with careful movements and guided by the Force. Donning his wolf pelt cloak and his weapons, he locked down the ship and made his way slowly inside, where the others were already starting to search. There were older Mandalorians, Warriors that had many more years of experience, so he deferred to their judgment and said nothing beyond a message sent via text over comms. "I am Kael Varr Bastiel of clan Skirrata, Iron Wolf of the Werd'la Cabur. At your service, Alors." He was working on his diplomatic skills, and seeing as so far he didn't know the rank of anyone here, he improvised and defaulted to putting them over himself.

 

[Dral-Kar'ta Saandyr]

BLACKWATER​

Location, Arrakan, Outer Rim​

​

Tag: Vojövif Fett , Sylor , Tekton Artez , Kael Varr Bastiel Skirata , Itzhal Volkihar , Tessa Monroe

Objective: Arrival



His cloak was well made of Nerf leather and Bantha wool but even it was having trouble contending with the wind and rain. He walked over to where several persons, all Mandalorian by the look of it but they were also bundled up against the weather so it was possible they all were not. He recalled the names from the ships comms as they announced themselves but the only beskar'gam he recognized, for it was much easier to identify a Mandalorian by his armor than his face, was Kael Varr Bastiel Skirate from the fires of Keldabe. "Hail and well met." He said, "It has not been too long since we last met." He greeted and before he could introduce his droid he was interrupted. "I am Ta-2po, Executive Assistant and Protection Officer for Captain Sandyr. You are classified as an ally so you may approach freely without fear of violence. I would like you to note that while speaking to you I did not look at your helmet. Captain Sandyr told me not to as it might make you self-conscious." Dral-Kar'ta butted back in. "You will have to excuse Tappo, he is due for his 6-million-word service and he has been acting funny ever since I accidently reversed the polarity of his charging station."

As was the custom of the Mandalorians it did not take them long before they began to sort themselves out. One already proposed action by pointing out the two access points and suggesting they split up. It was a good suggestion for it did no good for them to stand out in the wind and the rain. They may be danger ahead but at least it wasn't raining inside.

"I will join with the party going in the main entrance. Tappo, go back to secure the ship and monitor the comms.' He said as he prepared to follow Sylor to the entrance.

"Why do I always have to go back to the ship. There is nothing to do there and you always get into trouble and I have to come back out and rescue you." Tappo robotically wined but nevertheless he did what he was told.

 

[Itzhal Volkihar]

| Location | Arrakan, Outer Rim Territories

Tendrils of smoke curled through the air, seeping in from one of the dimly lit passages, as the flickering flames were engulfed and subdued by a cascade of fire suppression systems, blanketing the inferno before it could truly ignite. Itzhal barely glanced towards the doorway, his attention settled on the screen in front of him. The situation on the ship was not his to solve—if it were, there would have been a lot more screaming from the cockpit or over the tannoy system.

His fingers moved deftly across the datapad, tapping and swiping to reveal a labyrinth of fluctuating data. Each line on the screen reflected the volatile, unpredictable scenario unfolding outside the ship, filled with perilous unknowns and answers he had every intention of ripping from the hands of whoever caused this.

Another flick of his finger twisted the display, a shift, then an expansion of data as he made his way towards the first real reports from those who'd stepped on the scene. Brask Renn's reports were unflinching and brutal, chronicling a series of calamitous failures that dripped with disdain for every miscalculation they had made. Search-and-rescue vessels, helpless and vulnerable, struck by vicious lightning storms—elements that should have been quelled by the station's robust weather control systems, which were never meant to be deactivated.

He checked twice, another report, another display of failsafes and backup generators that would have left some capital ships jealous. They should have functioned perfectly, never enough to stop the storm, but enough to weather the worst of it. Instead, the result was extended prongs and pylons that sat inactive—but only once someone needed them, only once failure meant something more than another repair job.

Instincts screamed of sabotage, but that didn't make the reports easier to read; it just made them more important as his eyes scrolled over the data, hunting for answers.

Tessa's voice broke the pattern; his eyes roamed over the last passage, absorbing what he could of an emergency retreat to one of the few vessels that had managed to shore up their energy reserves to sustain protective shields. Fives casualties, among them Brask Renn, who had seemingly dictated this mix of professional scrutiny and emotional outpouring from the confines of his medical berth—Itzhal was almost impressed, though he would never say that to the man's face. Far too likely to reach some of the medics he had to deal with.

With the last of what he could obtain from the datapad, he attached it to his belt, the device hidden under a protective cover that admittedly felt inadequate given the sheer downpour he could hear against the hull outside. It would have to suffice. His hand slapped against the restraints pressed to his chestplate, popped open with a hiss that allowed him to rise, uncurling from his seat with purpose that drove him straight towards the entrance ramp.

Chaos should have engulfed him—a barely organised whirlwind of piercing screams and urgent orders, whipped together into the frenzied essence of an evacuation command that had dragged on for hours. It didn't. Instead, relentless raindrops hammered down in an unyielding barrage, splattering against his visor, drenching the landing pad, cascading over the slick railings, and plunging into the tempestuous waves churning below. The world around him roared with a thousand wisps of wind shattering against the metal exterior of Leviathan's Rest, assaulting his auditory receptors, even as the very same sensors in his helmet dulled the relentless clamour to a manageable thrum.

Outside, others moved, waiting for orders, exchanging greetings.

"Save the greetings for when we're out of this rain," he ordered, his voice carried over the comm-links rather than attempting to drown out the screams that would have left such an ordeal impossible. "We don't have the men to split up; stick together till the situation demands it."

Every step landed with the clomp of dispersed puddles, the water shifting around his boots, only to flood back in the moment he passed. His visor flared with a passage of light that turned the raindrops falling down his visor to steam, then cleared it completely, in the second passage that followed quicker than he could blink.

Weathered greysteel framed the entrance, its threshold marked by a faded line of water damage that his boots strode over in the charge to escape the rain. Inside, the corridor was narrow, lit only by the pulsing light of Sylor's flare and the sensor equipment in Itzhal's helmet, which turned the furthest reaches of the structure from darkness into a greyscale blur of doors and passages dissecting either side of the corridor. Most of them led to similar entrances around the edges of the city-platform, but farther on, some would lead into the city itself, whether to the main streets or to maintenance areas required to run a structure like this—and yet, he saw none of the people necessary to run it, either.

With a quick tap of the buttons attached to his gauntlet, Itzhal sent a sequence of compressed map files, compiled from a mixture of reports and general research, over comm-frequency to the rest of the squad. The main reactor and weather control systems should have been directly underneath the central core, not far from the primary spaceport, right in the centre of the city. "Sylor, lead the way."

Tags: Vojövif Fett Sylor Tekton Artez Kael Varr Bastiel Skirata Dral-Kar'ta Saandyr Tessa Monroe​

 

[Tessa Monroe]

Tessa was a few steps behind Itzhal, her eyes glancing with distaste at the rain running in rivulets off the Relentless hull before the vanished behind her buy’ce as she donned it, the seals letting out a soft hiss that was inaudible over the downpour. She slapped a panel as she descended, the ramp rising slowly, forcing her to hop off its end.

There was no way she was going to leave it open for anyone to sabotage or steal. She didn’t offer a greeting save for a small nod to those gathered as Itzhal’s files flashed up on her HUD. the files she parked, reading now wasn’t going to do her much good. The map on the other hand?

She kept her thoughts to herself moving in the Field Marshall’s wake, deep seated unease rising up her spine as they stepped out of the rain. Her hand moved to the slugthrower at her hip. There should have been bodies, but there were none, despite the signs of the struggle.

“The control hub is in the facilities centre. It's our best bet for seeing what we’re working with. I can run a diagnostic and see what systems we can get online.”

Itzhal Volkihar Vojövif Fett Sylor Tekton Artez Kael Varr Bastiel Skirata Dral-Kar'ta Saandyr

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