By the Pricking of my Thumbs (The Witchmasters)

[Ashin Varanin]

A handful of starports, of various allegiances, had always been tolerated on Dathomir, some even encouraged. This one was new, it was small, it was prefabricated -- hardly exceptional.

But for its purpose.

Ember didn't know who had provided the nondescript freighters or the prefab buildings or the understated but military-grade defenses. He didn't know who had come up with the agenda. All he knew, at this particular point, was that whether these people were dar'manda or Death Watch or Republic or Jedi or Sith operatives, they'd overstayed their welcome. Oh, their proselytizing had been subtle enough -- professional, even -- but the Witches of Dathomir tended to be a little smarter than technologically savvy offworlders credited them. They knew a divide-and-conquer op when they saw it. So when the newcomers had started trying to draw the local Clans' sympathies away from the Mandalorians, Ember had gotten a call. It wasn't the first time people had tried big, obvious manipulation of the Dathomiri. The Dathomiri were not amused.

Ember's rancor partner crouched on the ridge overlooking the small port. A few Witches had come here to trade, but they were pulling back now, their exchanges done along with the day. Night was falling, and Ember and company were about to attack out of the sunset. Why mess with the classics?

He whispered a phrase in Paecean, and the rancor lumbered down the ridge toward the starport.

Snap-hiss.

[member="Anija Betna"] [member="Cennika Hawk"] [member="Daedel"] [member="Isley Verd"] [member="Eirlys Verd"] [member="Fabula Caromed"] [member="Falcon Gyndar"] [member="Kaeda Vevut"] [member="Kass Zyn'meshurok"] [member="Loxa Visl"] [member="Mia Monroe"] [member="Morgana Belcourt"] [member="Siobhan Kerrigan"] [member="Spencer Varanin"]

 

[Fabula Caromed]

Dathomir was hardly sacrosanct to Fabula. It represented some of her darkest times. She grew up here as an outcast, then as a servant. Her mother died here. She awoke to terror and loneliness here, and Petra vanished here, leaving her alone in the galaxy. She emerged from Hell here, and wept at her daughter's sorrow and at the ghost of her mother. It was nothing of an exaggeration to say that she'd love nothing more than to see the whole planet burn. She'd even start the fire, if someone would provide the tinder.

But Ember Rekali was sacrosanct. They'd met years ago, and while their time together had been brief, Fabula's lost and broken mind had associated him with paternal warmth and guidance. She'd lacked anything resembling a father in this life or the last, and the fact that there was someone who so eagerly filled that void made her more than a little attached. One might have said obsessed, even. She'd lost contact with him a few months after they'd met, and she assumed that meant he didn't want her around. He likely had his own family to worry about.

When that family was lost, she'd felt his pain through the Force. Even dull senses like hers couldn't miss such anguish.

Now she was on Dathomir, a planet she hated, fighting for Ember, a man she loved. There was...something going on, some off-worlders attempting to make trouble while avoiding notice. Ember had noticed them, though, and generally that was bad news. So Fabula stood in the oncoming darkness, pulling her Lotek'k jacket closer as she waited for the cue to begin. A half-crazed marauder she might have been, but following orders was one of her strong suits.

And now Ember's rancor was moving. That was her cue. She quietly walked after him, hand hovering by the lightsaber at her belt.

 

[Fable Merrill]

If [member="Fabula Caromed"] were a pale rider sans a horse, then Fable was her slightly-more-vibrant shadow. She'd only recently been introduced to the bare bones of her heritage, and although she was loathe to claim the title of 'Witch' given her lack of any sort of real training in the field yet, she felt it was her obligation to learn more. Do more. Be involved. Shockboxing was a fine way to kill time and get some coin in her pocket, but from the start, Fable knew she'd been doing it for lack of anything better to do. When your primary talents involved Force-feeding people knuckle sandwiches, your options were a little sparse. Talent, after all, demands to be used.

It was how one put it to use that defined who they were.

Unlike her nigh-indestructible mother, Fable was neither wearing leather armor (for once) nor quietly determined. In fact, she was somewhere between exuberant and in awe - she'd never seen a rancor before, and the sight of [member="Ember Rekali"] astride one had left her somewhat star-struck. Aside from that, this felt like a war march, and she hadn't yet had the pleasure of going into battle with a number of people, chief among them being her mother herself. Being something of a vagabond, she also understood the importance of home, and from what she could gather, that's what this operation was all about. Somebody had set up shop on Dathomir with the intention of ruining her mother's home planet, or their traditions, or whatever, and that simply wouldn't do.

Fable had her own lightsaber, basically unused but nevertheless treasured. She also had a somewhat MORE used carbine slung over her shoulder, just in case. Her family was Mandalorian, and although Fable didn't carry the name of the clan that'd raised her out of respect for the beliefs she didn't agree with, she knew full well how to use a rifle if need be. A Mandalorian carried whatever tools she might need into combat, after all. Versatility was key, preparation was the line between life and death, success and failure, and whatever other axioms the matriarch of the Caromed had drilled into her only child's head.

 

[Falcon Rekali]

Of heritage with this world, he had none - but it was home. The sanctuary he had shared with his wife, his children, and others of the clan might have felt haunted as of late to any other that had been through what he had, yet the belief in Aaralyn's presence at once grieved and sustained him beyond one breaking point at her death and into another way of being that he had been so easily pulled into in the presence of her father, with their shared grief, and he without the background of light-leaning service that his father-in-law had. All too easy.

While Falcon had never been one for firearms, he did have a taste for blades hailing all the way back to what should have been his childhood, and in the memory of his late wife, he carried her short-sword for the second time in his life. Aside from that, aside from his own lightsaber, he also carried his usual daggers and the one gun that he would be forever loathe to part with, despite his preferences. He didn't doubt the thing had a chance at becoming a family heirloom, given the significance it held for him, and now tied to the fresh fear of his family becoming any smaller. So he followed, for once and for all taking the time to grow his power and skill in every way he could access. How he was before wasn't enough to stem the tide of loss. He had to change.

When [member="Ember Rekali"]'s rancor moved, he went almost alongside the creature, sparing a sidelong glance at the two women he didn't recognize - what were their ties to this? Perhaps that information would come, the more he time he spent amongst the Dathomiri; now more than ever, and in the times to come.

[member="Fabula Caromed"] | [member="Fable Merrill"]​

 

[Daedel]

[member="Ember Rekali"] [member="Fabula Caromed"]

Walks with Storms moved silently despite his size behind and right of Ember's rancor with his slight framed companion in his back. Her long fingered hand was a comfort as he moved through the brush and trees toward the hill. The smells of metal, man sweat, and fear already reached his flat nose telling him they were down wind. The she-thing beside him was the only unsettling creature in their group, she smelled like rancor but was small like a human. It was strange and that was not a happy thing for the young bull.

He huffed out his nose to clear the smells as his companion Daedel wiped dark blue paint on her face and his before she removed her saberstaff from her back and ignited it in response to Ember. The snap-hiss was not his favorite sound but it meant battle and left overs, he liked that.

 

[Darth Metus]

It is easy to take the simplest things in life for granted.

To put the feelings in perspective, Isley felt as if he were wearing a new batch of clothes. Not the fresh, comfortable sort that were amazing right out of the store, mind. Rather, the sort that were awkward, fit strangely, and were always two hairs away from being returned. Such was the reality of regaining control. For many months now, he had played spectator whilst something wicked used what was his. He heard his voice, but did not speak. He waged war, yet did not fight. But finally, there was a release from this prison. Isley lived...but man, did it feel weird.

At present, the former Mandalorian found himself within the world that had been his refuge. For Isley, Dathomir was more than simply the birthplace of his mother. It was more than Rancors and Strongholds. It was a place to call home when all others were burning. So, despite how he felt about the United Clans...and how they felt about Dar'manda...he eagerly made the trip. Reason being, there were some "spacers" who were taking advantage of his mother's vision. Petra had aspirations to open Dathomir ever so slightly, and on the surface it seemed like this particular port was a reflection of this.

However, these "fine folk" did more than barter. They attempted to drive some semblance of a wedge between the various clans and the Mandalorians.

Already, the natives of the world tended to be distrusting of outsiders. In fact, it took Isley's adoption and previous standing in the United Clans to prevent his being greeted at spear-point. So, when outsiders tried to be sly, it had a response. And it wasn't the desired one. A few calls were made and by sunset some "big names" were overlooking the port. Isley was crouched beside an old friend and his rancor, squinting against the final rays of the day. He waited, in silence, beside [member="Ember Rekali"]...for a few reasons. For one, the goal here was to be stealthy. And two? What words could he say?

Ember was living in hell. He lost his child, his last karking child. What could Isley, a man recently reunited with his daughter, say to a man who had lost his? So he was silent, and let his presence speak louder than any words. Whether it be Carida or otherwise, Isley was there for his friend.

The Signal. Excellent.

Now, where Ember had ignited his saber, the Dar'manda had opted for something a touch more subtle. Well. At least as far as visibility went. Instead of a bright laser stick, Isley slid the Tomahawk from his belt and held it fast. It reeked of the Dark Side, admittedly, but the average spacer wouldn't be aware. From there, the Dar'manda crept quietly behind the Rekali...and his hulking friend.

[member="Ember Rekali"] | [member="Fabula Caromed"] | [member="Fable Merrill"]

 

[Krayn]

Fate worked in strange ways.
For Eirlys her life was Mandalore, yet with the pledge to the Resol’nare came the alliance to Mandalore, clan and most of all family. While she was a Verd in blood her ties to the Rekali had also been made. Sworn in blood to service to the house and clan of Mandalore she had promised that she Eirlys Verd would serve their clan as if it were her own family, a task the orphan took most seriously.

Strange happenings had started after Roche however and Clan Rekali had started to move in the galaxy. The loss of the Sword of the Jedi had driven a wedge into a solid support of [member="Ember Rekali"], where once a strong beacon of judgment and restraint had stood now it was filled with anger, hate and most of all a wish for justice. The Clan had been pulled forward and those capable with the force had all felt Ember’s control over their own fates. It was this that had brought them to Dathomir, to the planet of the witches where the Mandalorians held a partnership that was being undone by outsiders wanting to sow chaos.

Eirlys had made her way forward, sent as a scout and infiltrator into the prefabrication that was to be the first target of the reclaiming of Dathomir. She had spent the day being friendly with the foul mouthed and loose eyed spacers that seemed less concerned with credits and more with what flesh they could claim as theirs with little concern for honour. The sun had set and Eirlys had removed herself from the mess halls and the banter of lesser men.

A pull at her mind told her it was time. A pull she mentally acknowledged as a blaster was unhooked from her hip and she started to make her way towards the gate that had been locked for the night. These people would soon know fear, know regret and most importantly know death.

[member="Isley Verd"] | [member="Daedel"] | [member="Falcon Gyndar"] | [member="Fable Merrill"] | [member="Fabula Caromed"] | [member="Ember Rekali"]

 

[Nyxie]

Dathomir. The fledgeling vixen had no particular reason to be there. She didn't have some mildly elaborate and irrelevant life story to tell, or any personal investment in the world. She was there because she wanted to be there, and more over, because others would have wanted her to be there. It would have made her mistress, the one who taught her everything she knew about the Force, magic and living, proud and honored.

Kass had since found a prefabricated shelter which served as a local tavern of sorts to spend away the time. Whether or not she was even legally old enough to drink mattered naught for most were too enamored with her appearance to bother questioning it. She had chatted up most of the locals with small talk to learn more about them, though for little ulterior motive. For the most part, Kass wished to relax and get a good deal or two before the house of cards came tumbling down. With a single glass of Corellian rum on the rocks - her mistress's favorite - sitting on the metal table before her, she crossed her legs and sighed in apathetic relief watching the sun and moon crawl through the horizon.

Not too soon into her relaxation, the vixen felt a heavy, distinct weight in the Force close by, faint sounds kilometers away echoing in her vulpine ears at superhuman registers leaving her uneasy.

Kassidy slowly furled her tails into a straightened bunch and marched over to the nearby counter, beskar heels clanking against the hard, bare floor in low and eerie tones. Her cybernetic hand dug through the satchel at her rear for a single aurodium coin, which she palmed firmly onto the counter as she passed, making way to the door.

"You should bunker in for the night.... There's a storm on the horizon. I feel it..." she uttered in a casual tone.

[member="Ember Rekali"], [member="Fabula Caromed"], [member="Fable Merrill"], [member="Falcon Gyndar"], [member="Daedel"], [member="Isley Verd"], [member="Eirlys Verd"]​

 

[Kaeda Vevut]

Dathomir wasn't a place that Kaeda frequented. It was the place where her adoptive father and her mother had been trained in the arts of the force, and it was a place where Kaeda sought the same between bouts of hunting bounties to continue to make ends meet. The planet didn't feel prohibitive to her, like so many others have said they felt. That could be laid down to her own initiation into the arts that are synonymous with the planet, for while they still held great mysteries for her to unravel, she knew that they would eventually be hers.

All of that mattered little, tonight. Tonight was not about learning the arts, tonight was not related to her life long hunt and striving to gain the strength necessary to gain her goals. Tonight was about teaching, tonight was about Dathomiri and Mandalorian justice wrought against those who thought to push their divisive agenda.

This night, there would be blood.

Kaeda was in her purchased suit of stealth armor, having yet to make the time necessary to craft her own beskar armor. She wore the phrik knives she had purchased from the same vendor on her lower back, the hilts angled for ease of drawing. Her throwing knives were secured around her thighs, while her durasteel sword was strapped tightly to her back, the hilt held over her right shoulder. In her hands she held her energy bow and waited for the call to start their raid.

In her mind, Kaeda could feel the dichotomous energies of excitement at the coming carnage, and blood boiling anger at the hubris of someone trying to weaken the United Clans. She had fought the Death Watch on Mandalore, and the continuance of aggression against her people brought her to the knife edge of the berserkers way. Tonight needed to be better. Tonight she would be a wraith, drawing blood from the shadows and striking fear into the hearts of her peoples enemies.

Movement of two beautiful rancors caught her attention. The Witchking, Ember Rekali, had begun to move. Kaeda activated the stealth field on the armor, then drew on the force. She immersed herself in the ebb and flow of the force, letting her signature become smaller and smaller. Then she moved forward, feet swift and sure as a hunter on the prowl. Beneath her feet, no rock turned and no branch broke. No noise above the level of wind passing was made as she joined the advance towards the starport of their enemy.

[member="Ember Rekali"] [member="Fabula Caromed"] [member="Fable Merrill"] [member="Falcon Gyndar"] [member="Daedel"] [member="Isley Verd"] [member="Eirlys Verd"] [member="Kass Zyn'meshurok"]

 

[Lina Djo]

Mia opened one eye, and peered through it at the bar she'd chosen to rest in. Another seedy bar, this one a little closer to home than perhaps she would have liked. A planet full of memories, some her own, some were not. Something had shifted in the air, something that made her hairs stand on end, that called to the primal instinct bred into her and screamed for the fight. She'd worked hard with whiskey to quell that feeling, to stamp it out of existence and maintain the aloof 'i don't give a feth' attitude.

What was creeping under her skin? What was washing away her facade? She closed her eyes again, fingers tightening their grip on Shadow's scruff for comfort. He let out a low growl in response. She reached beyond the bar and across the spaceport, feeling the subtle vibrations in the force. Something was amiss, locals and outsiders were twitchy. No, she noticed that when she got here, she noticed the falseness of everything when she got here, she'd picked up on the whispers of changing sides and done the smartest thing she could - gotten drunk.

It was beyond that. Beyond the spaceport, but not to far. It was a wall descending, a wall of determination. She found her source, found what was reaching under her skin and urging her to move. "Ember fething Rekali." she muttered. He head throbbed and she drew back to herself, opening her eyes, she drew in a deep breath. Mia got to her feet with surprising speed and ran out the door, the hybrid close on her heels. She didn't stop as the cool night air hit her, reminding her of just how much she'd had to drink. She stumbled slightly and pushed on, past the now empty market heading for the security building to the north of the port. She needed to silence them before they called for help.

[member="Kaeda Vevut"] [member="Kass Zyn'meshurok"] [member="Eirlys Verd"] [member="Isley Verd"] [member="Daedel"] [member="Falcon Gyndar"] [member="Fable Merrill"] [member="Fabula Caromed"] [member="Ember Rekali"]

 

[Ashin Varanin]

[member="Mia Monroe"] [member="Kaeda Vevut"] [member="Kass Zyn'meshurok"] [member="Eirlys Verd"] [member="Isley Verd"] @Daedel @Falcon Gyndar [member="Fable Merrill"] [member="Fabula Caromed"]

Ember's rancor partner was named Squint Eyes, a name given him by the other rancors. Many of them could read and speak to some extent, smarter than their vocal apparatus could generally match. Squint Eyes even had a modicum of Force sensitivity, and years ago, Ember had taught him the spell to sharpen eyesight -- hence the name. Squint growled out the chant as he broke into a loping charge. The bull rancor's trajectory adjusted in the dark. Ember used the same spell and followed the rancor's line of sight to find a lonely sentry with a sniper rifle. Ember raised his wrist shattergun, then held on for dear life instead as Squint grabbed a boulder out of the ground and threw it. The sentry vanished, along with a neat semicircle of prefab walltop over the gate.

Then Squint's shoulder hit the gate with a sound like apocalypse.

Ember leaped off, lightsabre batting blasterfire away from Squint, and that concluded the withdrawal negotiations. Mercs or black operators or contractors or whoever they were, they responded quick and hard, pouring out of prefab buildings and landed ships.

 

[Fabula Caromed]

The roar of a rancor was a sound both old and familiar. That wasn't to say that Fabula had missed it, only that she remembered what it sounded like. For her, it was tantamount to a call to arms. She turned to Fable as the group picked up, giving her a glance somewhere between pride and worry. The kind of look only a parent could truly sport. "Do you remember everything Lynn taught you about staying alive in a firefight? Cover, watching your surroundings...all of that?" As the beast crashed its shoulder against the gate, all of the warmth drained from Fabula's face. There was a fire in her eyes that her daughter might not have been familiar with. "Now's the time to put it to use."

The massacre was upon them. The ambient bloodlust and terror sumbersed Fabula in a tide of energy unlike anything else. The Force washed over her, and she dissolved into it. Her body practically glowed with power, and from deep within that kind but twisted heart came a darkness so thick it threatened to visibly seep into the air around her. Her Rage brewed, crackling to life within her as her safeguards fell away. She could stop pretending now. She could stop acting like a human, rather than the beast that presently tore itself out of her heart.

With her body supercharged with raw power, Fabula's legs coiled, then launched her to the shoulders of the reptilian monster before her. As the gate came crashing open, the witchknight shot into the air above the prefab's walls in a long, slow foreflip. As she soared into a proper hang, at the apex of her leap and just before gravity finally wrested control over her flight path, Fabula's hand grabbed her lightsaber. The blood-red blade ignited like a beacon overhead, just before transitioning into an angry streak as the clone began her descent. A single drop of crimson, neon rain in the darkness.

She landed feet-first on what had likely been an armor garage. With a cataclysmic screech of pain from its plasteel awning, however, it quickly became so much scrap. The bikes, walkers, and other craft that had been in there when she landed ruptured, the sprayed fuel catching alight from one of the sparks produced when Fabula had torn through the building. A small, dramatic inferno began to slowly build behind her, and Fabula strolled into the open pathways of the prefab, black-silhouetted against the crackling flames, red blade shining threateningly in her grasp.

These poor fools were going to need more base.

[member="Ember Rekali"] | [member="Mia Monroe"] | [member="Kaeda Vevut"] | [member="Kass Zyn'meshurok"] | [member="Eirlys Verd"] | [member="Isley Verd"] | [member="Daedel"] | [member="Falcon Gyndar"] | [member="Fable Merrill"]​

 

[Arage Bao]

"So what you are telling me is that for my first assignment as a conscript... we are fighting some gorram black ops-looking motherfethers. To note, black ops-looking motherfethers who actually look like they are competent. Can shoot a target from orbit. March through snow, ice, water and fire without breaking a sweat and are heavily fortified, so we gotta fight through them first before we can even touch their shetting space station."

Alaric huffed, before shooting a look at his companion.

"Is that about the nitty-grit of it, bossman?"

His companion was also the Maven who had taken him in. Desmond, decorated war vet and respected Rally Master for the United Clans. At least he had been, before leaving the Clans behind in pursuit of something... brighter, more esoteric maybe. Des was a good man. Better man than he had ever been, period. But he was also a gorram lunatic if he thought that this was a good way to get him introduced to the Witchmasters. The wild grin on his scarred face told all the stories D'Lessio needed to know though.

"Shut the hole, DL. If ya wanna spend your days patrolling the civilized borders of Junction you do you." lotsa humor in the eyes. Desmond wasn't serious. Though the conscript couldn't help but note that his friend was gripping his rifle just a touch tighter than before.

"Look. Remember the crash-course I gave ya. ...you do remember 'em, right?"

"Yes, yes. Always have something at your back, stay close to the ground, aim your shots and conserve the power packs. Yaddadadaddaaayaa."

A grin was flashed his way. "Good!" Desmond looked up as the Rancor roared and was set loose. "Hooyah, now that's what I call a power trip. Leggo brotha. Time for your hazing ritual."

They started to jog... a safe distance behind the rancor.

[member="Ember Rekali"] | [member="Mia Monroe"] | [member="Kaeda Vevut"] | [member="Kass Zyn'meshurok"] | [member="Eirlys Verd"] | [member="Isley Verd"] | [member="Daedel"] | [member="Falcon Gyndar"] | [member="Fable Merrill"] | [member="Fabula Caromed"]​

 

[Lina Djo]

The air was electric with sudden activity as the occupants of the spaceport did one of two things, fled for their ships or raced towards the incoming attackers, there were significantly more in the latter group, which should have concerned the former mand'alor, instead it simply made her smile. Mia's boots hammered across the duracrete floor as she tugged two botlers from her hips. As of this moment, she was in the grey area, some recognised her as an occupant, perhaps a fellow merc so they ignored her, for the most part, other than the odd catcall of 'coward' which she ignored.

The Security building came into view, officers pouring from its doors, scrambling to load weapons as they went. "Shadow! Eso!" The hybrid peeled away to her right, disappearing out of sight as Mia let loose a few shots, downing three before the rest got their wits about them and opened fire. Mia was ready for it, tutaminis charged through her as the blaster bolts hammered into her, forcing her to a standstill. Her vision blurred with the red glow and she drew a deep breath, drawing the energy into her chest.

"HAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUM!"

The force bellow slammed into the line of officers throwing them across the courtyard, ripping up the duracrete floor as it did. Mia dropped to one knee, gasping for breath and giddy. "Feth." A bark at her side, made her jump, realising she'd actually closed her eyes. "I'm alright, boy. I'm alright." She pushed herself to her feet and moved forward again, something stirred to her left, she lifted her bolted and stilled it without bothering to look. "Lets see what else they've got for us, eh?"

[member="Kaeda Vevut"][member="Kass Zyn'meshurok"][member="Eirlys Verd"][member="Isley Verd"][member="Alaric D'Lessio"][member="Fabula Caromed"][member="Ember Rekali"]

 

[Edison Bulkhead]

Edison Bulkhead rode proudly on the back of a massive blue spider. Behind her, four more of the beasts trailed, and were flanked by another four rancor. Edison was not only a member of the Spiderclan, she was a Beastmaster. And today her skills were trained on liberating Dathomir.

As some of her compatriots hurled themselves at the spaceport, Edison's beast force moved onto the landing platforms. The spiders and rancor incited instant panic through an already surprised and frightened mob. Bodies were trampled, frozen in fear. Edison had to exert herself mentally to keep Ergo, her mount, from pulling up short in order to eat the man she had sunk her enormous fangs into, instantly liquifying his internal organs with her venom.

Meanwhile, the quarter of rancor moved through the field of ships, knocking docking ramps aside, shattering viewing panels and engine parts, scattering crew and materiel alike. Edison could smell fuel spilling onto the platform. Another weapon, as soon as her force was clear and she had a moment to set it alight.

[member="Mia Monroe"] | [member="Kaeda Vevut"] | [member="Ember Rekali"] | [member="Kass Zyn'meshurok"] | [member="Eirlys Verd"] | [member="Isley Verd"] | [member="Daedel"] | [member="Falcon Gyndar"] | [member="Fable Merrill"] | [member="Fabula Caromed"]

 

[Daedel]

[member="Ember Rekali"] [member="Fabula Caromed"] [member="Fable Merrill"] [member="Falcon Gyndar"] [member="Eirlys Verd"] [member="Kass Zyn'meshurok"] [member="Kaeda Vevut"] [member="Mia Monroe"] [member="Alaric D'Lessio"] [member="Isley Verd"]



Walks with Storms flew against a section of the wall with vehement fury as his smaller companion cried out with words of power. She leapt from his back and cartwheeled over the wall. His heavy claws shredded through the poorly crafted as he heard the sound of his companion's weapon wirring as she spun and slashed. She fought like a rancor, his little friend, all tooth and claw, he liked her a great deal.

The wall tore aside to reveal the woman coated in fresh blood standing on the other side. A small upturn of the corner of her lips made him snort before he roared and attacked the building I front of her while she batted away blaster fire from his flanks. These man-things would not be returning, most would be dinner.

 

[Darth Metus]

It had been a long time.

When last the Dar'manda held the reigns, his saber was always raised in the name of Mandalore. While indeed honorable...while indeed expected...it came at the price of restraint. You see, when a nation is betrayed, assaulted, and invaded by servants of the Dark Side, hatred is born. From that hatred comes paranoia. Bias. Looking at comrades funny for their "specialties". So whenever Isley deployed, he did so with one hand metaphorically tied behind his back. The darkest pieces of his repertoire were left behind. He emphasized using the bare minimum as far as abilities went.

For chit's sake, the man ended up using a sniper most of the time. Yet now...things were different. Now, Isley stood upon soil that he considered to be home. Now, it didn't matter who the kark saw or what the kark they thought. The sods at the port had earned something special: a man who was cutting loose.

Slow.

Steady.

His breathing kept pace with the quiet steps he made. His body remained low, veiled from all in the shadow of the rancor. He used this time to step away from reality: to dive into the Deep. The Force was...an ocean. Vast. Infinite. It eagerly accepted the Dar'manda into its depths, pulling him deeper and deeper into its embrace. The deeper he sank, the darker the waters became...until finally, there was no difference. What eyes, at this depth, could distinguish a single man from a sea of Darkness? None. At this depth, Isley was the Darkness.

And that gave him strength.

CRASH! BOOM! GRAAAAWW!

The slaughter had begun. Ember's mount came crashing through, quickly followed by a flying [member="Fabula Caromed"]. Other beasts of Dathomir soon followed, spiders specifically. In but an instant, the port began to be overrun. Isley gave his Tomahawk a light flourish and rushed ahead, making avid use of Squint Eyes' opening. He sprinted past the inferno left behind by Lady Wrecking Ball, around some of the wall's wreckage, and quickly found himself some suitable prey. They were armed. They were few. They were attempting to build some semblance of organization so that a defense could be made.

He broke them.

Not in the famed Caromed sense, yet shattered all the same. A raised hand was the last they saw: the last they could comprehend. You see, the mind worked in complex ways. It is a puzzle, carefully constructed over the course of a lifetime. For those "blessed" by the Force, the puzzle can be influenced. Manipulated, even. Yet what the Dar'manda did was something quite different. He took the puzzle and threw it across the karking room. The armed men were shattered, their minds reduced to pieces littered across a metaphorical ground. They hit the dirt.

Isley continued to hunt.

[member="Ember Rekali"] | [member="Fabula Caromed"] | [member="Edison Bulkhead"] | [member="Mia Monroe"] | [member="Alaric D'Lessio"] | [member="Kaeda Vevut"] | [member="Kass Zyn'meshurok"] | [member="Eirlys Verd"] | [member="Daedel"] | [member="Falcon Gyndar"] | [member="Fable Merrill"]

 

[Nyxie]

As the vixen left the makeshift cantina to walk the streets in the calm before the storm, her casual little stroll was interrupted by the thunderous crash of a boulder plowing through the durasteel and duracrete that composed the outer wall. Bits of dust and debris which flew through the air collected on her pristine, white robe, which was met with a disdainful sigh.
"Savages..." she mumbled to herself. "No wonder nobody builds a spaceport here without bringing a gun...."
One of Kass' tails slid into the alchemized pouch at her hip and freed its leather straps to reveal her millennia-old lightsaber. Just before she was about to bring it to her hand with the Force, Kass remembered that her saber was easily tied to her, and she couldn't afford to be associated with some sickening, uncivil massacre. Instead, she secured its straps tight again with her thumb and conjured a tight, fluid flame in her palm.

The young fox's visage was painted by a surreal blue glow, a similar aura illuminating her immediate surroundings in a soothing light. The march of boots in the dirt and wails of explosions and grinding metal reverberated through the port all around her, but it was the particular hiss of a saber and gargled cries of rancor that drew her attention the most. At the end of her stroll stood the man himself, [member="Ember Rekali"], fending off the droves. Kass' eyes quickly fell upon some of the wounded—a minority quickly growing—who littered the back lines of the gates. She immediately pounced over and pulled some first aid supplies from her satchel, passing them out to the nearby injured, and began applying minor healing to their casualties. The inescapable claws of death gripped and tugged at a few, their life force fleeting before her very eyes; she could feel it slip from their very souls with her "gift," yet she was helpless to oppose. When his last breath had escaped him, she slowly slid her palm over the face of a deceased guard, sealing his eyes shut for the last time. She had done all she could, providing a warm flame of compassion and forgiveness in the darkness of mortality for the passing to follow into the next life.

Those swashing blue spheres of fire clutched tight into shrieking balls of inferno around her when Kass rose to her feet. Her golden eyes pierced the smog to trace Ember's own. What was normally a nonchalant, worry-free tone became monotonous, cold and almost commanding over the sounds of an ongoing battle.
"There's no honor in this. They'll fear us... but they'll never respect us—not this way." She quickly wiped the grit from her cheeks with her forearm, adding pause to her speech. "I'm going to tend to the wounded... whether you all agree with it or not. Besides, you'll get blood on all the spoils...."
It was a quick-witted joke but deep beneath it she questioned whether or not her place was really among these compatriots of hers. She wasn't and would never be the sharp and manipulative person her mistress was; where there ever was mutual compromise, she lacked the gift of finding it.

It didn't matter now. This was the path on which she belonged.

[member="Fabula Caromed"], [member="Fable Merrill"], [member="Falcon Gyndar"], [member="Daedel"], [member="Isley Verd"], [member="Eirlys Verd"], [member="Alaric D'Lessio"], [member="Mia Monroe"], [member="Edison Bulkhead"]​

 

[Fable Merrill]

[member="Fabula Caromed"] [member="Alaric D'Lessio"] @Ember Rakali

Fable didn't have incredible anti-army capabilities, and she wasn't on a Rancor, so when things started hitting fans, she was momentarily at a loss for things to do. She didn't really have orders past 'we gonna hurt these guys', and there wasn't any way of following her mom into the thick of things when she was going all Kraytorb Z on the compound. So, despite her urge to contribute, she was forced to use her weakest muscle to do so. Self-direction.

Luckily, from the looks of it, she wasn't the only rookie to squad-based combat here. Fable broke into a run with the intention of breaching the compound with the other foot soldiers, not even pausing as she gave the shoulder of a bewildered looking guy with hot chocolate skin an encouraging pat. He looked scared, and that was okay, but he also looked bewildered which made him blaster bait. Her shoulder and ponytail bouncing, Fable spotted a section of wall that'd been demolished by [member="Daedel"] 's rancor - the curved chunk of it knocked loose by the rampaging beast made for an inviting point of entry. Fable broke away from the main squad, pulling her focus into her legs, and picked up speed - nimbly hopping and dashing up the rubble was surprisingly fun, and in seconds, she was atop the wall, facing down a trio of men with rifles.

They were well-trained, and opened fire right away, forcing Fable to duck behind one of the chunks of duracrete knocked loose by somebody's rampage. But she couldn't stay supressed for ever, so it was time to go to work. Use the impact of the bolts to locate them. You don't need to poke your head out. When you emerge, it should be to attack or flee, not to scout. Mother was full of all sorts of good advice - the head of clan Caromed had found herself under blaster fire many times, after all. Taking a deep breath, Fable put the instruction to use... but didn't gather much. She knew that they were all 'that way' and that one of them was getting closer. Likely with the intention of putting her down from above.

No such luck.

With a loud howl to disorient or surprise her attackers, Fable lit her lightsaber and sprung from cover, deflecting the first two bolts that came her way. This was enough window to run forward, use her free hand to grab the closest soldier by the chin of his helmet, and keep charging forward. Using the first soldier as a living weapon, Fable swung with all her strength and heaved the armored troop at one of his companions, sending them both toppling off the wall in a heap of armor and broken bones. Non-lethal, but they were out of the fight. Just the way she liked it.

Now she only had one more guy on this section of the wall to deal with. Unfortunately, he was firing rapidly and backing away, testing Fable's ability to deflect his blaster bolts to such an extent that she wasn't able to move.

 

[Arage Bao]

[member="Fabula Caromed"] [member="Fable Merrill"] [member="Ember Rekali"]

Eyebrow rose as he was patted on the shoulder. Lithe girl swept passed him into the brink of war itself, he looked at Desmond who was smirking to himself and that brought all manners of implications with it that Alaric wasn't a great fan of. "What?" he'd demand, before following suit and trying to pay some manner of attention to his surroundings. In the distance there were already screams, explosions and gunfire... great. Just great.

"Oh nothing." Desmond replied after a moment. He brought up his Czerka rifle - one of the older variants, back when Czerka was still Czerka and not some kind of new, rubbish thing. Can't fake quality like that, and Des knew what he was talking about.

"Just a cute ass, boy. Should ask her out when we survive this." when. As if it was already clear-cut and done with. Alaric was gonna reply, but the sight of Fable jumping like some kind of superwoman and starting to dish out pain was enough to get him to take a moment to check himself. Before he inadvertently wrecked himself somehow.

"Man, you must be playing with me. Look at her... she would gorram break me in half even for trying."

In the short period of time it took Alaric and Desmond to clear a path towards that area and have that short conversation Fable already made short work outta two of three spec-op, black ops... whatever they were. The third one gave her more trouble, which Desmond noted and Alaric didn't because he was too busy being flabbergasted. That grace... that experience, she was amazing.

Desmond elbowed him and gestured towards the last firing soldier. "Neutralize him."

That only got a blink out of D'Lessio at first, but he knew this wasn't a joke. This girl - whoever she was - needed him, he wasn't sure how long she would be able to keep it up. He took aim, long over the barrel of his rifle and tried to focus. Common blaster rifle, also Czerka-grade, 20m effective range and a whole lot of stopping power.

Relax... pull the trigger. Alaric did. Alaric missed.

But Desmond was ready. With one smooth move the rifle was in place, the trigger pulled and the third man was out.

Another pet on the shoulder for Alaric. "S'all good, son. First time's the hardest. You will get your first blood of the night soon... mighta wanna claim you saved her though, chicks dig heroes." wink and Desmond was out and running, giving D'Lessio some time to catch up with Fable.

"Hey!" Alaric ran over to her, still trying to look out for any stranglers who would give him trouble. He was already feeling a little bit light in the head, not enough oxygen. He needed to breathe more. "That um... was amazing!"