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