Invasion Double Tap | TSC Invasion of COV-held Abregado-rae

[Raukai Ironstone]

The shadow of the Kar'ta Kelborn loomed outside the glass, hiding the distant flames consuming the planet Abregado-rae.

It was on a direct path toward them, intending to crash into his warship, a reckless act fueled by a false sense of righteousness. He wondered where that conviction had been when Mandalore was burning, but he found no satisfying answer.

If they chose to throw themselves into the jaws of his horde and be destroyed, he would not stop them. He turned away from the glass, his voice calm despite the severity of the situation they found themselves in.

"Full power to the engines," Raukai commanded, moving to the center of the command deck. "We will meet them head-on."

The consoles buzzed more intensely, the vibrations traveling through the metal soles of his boots as the sublight reactors powered up. Inside The Whispering Matron, old seams creaked and strained under the strain. Dark smoke and bright flames burst from the cruiser's outer hull, blooming against the cold void before disappearing into the airless expanse.

"Fire the primary heavy particle cannons. Break through their shields," he commanded, positioning himself by the main console. Two Heavy Particle Cannons roared to life, aimed at the approaching ship's bow, ready to pierce through the shielding. With a groan and smoke billowing, The Whispering Matron advanced to engage.

Zavar Kelborn Careena Fett
​

 

[Madrona A’Mia]

​

The Core
Abregado-rae
Present

Direct Tags: Darth Strosius , Lily Rhodes , Revna Marr
The Hoardmother's Boon: Darth Strosius, Revna Marr, Lily Rhodes,
Anet Raine , Efret Farr , Casimir Thorne , Srina Talon , Mercy ,
Leontis Antalis , Calyx Sundrift , Varin Mortifer , Naamino Zuukamano ,
SL-0182 , Astra Sadow​

Plague was well and truly upon Abregado-rae which almost entirely consumed the Hoardmother's attention. That rampant spread of accelerated mycelial parasites and maintaining her protective aura over those who fought beneath the Sith banner required all of her energy. The promising little sorceress Lily Rhodes was certainly providing excellent support but A'Mia was hesitant to put too much onto the young one — such promise required a gentler hand for cultivation than an apocalyptic battlefield would allow for.

Still, gratitude settled deep in her roots for the support of her companions, particularly the attentiveness of Darth Strosius and Darth X'aviera. It was an odd juxtaposition, to feel such a calm contented emotion in the midst of utter death and destruction. But the neti had always experienced emotions differently than most, even when compared to members of her own species which were indeed rare and more alien to most sentients.

Regardless, as burning winds full of ash and spores billowed from the drop site pyres, while screams of torment or terror or rage filled defiance filled the sky, A'Mia remained resolute at the center of the carnage. Outward from her watchful gaze, driven by their own unique physiology and spurred on by a rampancy serum, thousands of flesh reavers swarmed in screeching hunting groups. Away from the epicenter of it all, out across the ravaged cities to find more mass to fuel their growth. The nightmarish things spewed acid from lopsided mouths, gorged themselves on the dead and those still struggling for life alike, all while their grotesque forms of muscle, bone, sinew and mycelia bulged with new growth.

Meanwhile, A'Mia was distantly aware of fearsome Revna following lines of the web to find unwelcome interlopers. Without words, she swayed where she stood and sent forth her righteous support of the culling ahead. To mow down a field of simple folk, separating proverbial wheat from chaff was one thing. It needed doing and the plague labored on. The Mandalorians though? They required specialized violence.

Even now your daughter stalks them,
seeks to feed them to the fire.
If you go to aid her, mind the lines,
and guard your flank.
I will tend the pyres.
​

A'Mia addressed Alisteri in his mind, the message an eerie song which was felt more than heard. Still, her meaning was clear. She was doing well enough for the time being and as of yet had drawn no real direct ire from their enemies. If he wished to stalk the smoking, wretched killing fields then she would be with him still, watchful from afar. And he with her, never too far to come to her aid if need be.

 

[Mercy]

MERCY

EMPRESS | WARLORD | STAR-ARM

Location: In the sky | Objective: Make an entrance
Direct Tags: Srina Talon | Grace
Other allied forces: Xan Atropus | Veyla Tass | Kaelyr | Leontis Antalis | Astra Sadow​

.

Everything was alive all at once.

Had Mercy known that this was what Lords experienced on a daily basis, she would have long ago broken out of her limited state. She had become the tank, the way she had always dreamed and this allowed the Sith Lord to focus on other things.

Where is the panic? A disembodied voice in her own tone murmured up her spine.

A wall… they draw us in. It continued to observe right along her ear.

That same disembodied voice, carrying her quality, thundered suddenly into the minds of Astra Sadow , Kaelyr , Leontis Antalis . The Lord of the Covenant spoke and demanded their attention. Like a herd of horses bursting into their mind’s eye and consuming their full focus for a brief moment.

Few refugees, little panic, guard yourself, sons and daughters. A plot is afoot and we do not know the parameters of it.

While the Legionnaires had no issue linking up with Leontis and Sadow’s forces, they were disciplined and formidable… The Graspborn were another beast. At the mere sensation of their Master’s displeasure, they howled and threw themselves into battle. Like on Coruscant, like on Humbarine, before on Desevero and Tapani… these cultists died at the pleasure of their Lord and did it with a smile.

Every death served a purpose. Their bodies a vector of infection as the wind carried with it the plague from the population zones.

The Mandalorians might reform, but the Graspborn were a tide with no end, eager to allow their bodies to serve as fertile ground for Madrona A’Mia ’s plague. It would help them ascend and become part of a new horror. The dream forged from Mercy’s disastrous mind. She felt the Mother of Brosi in the background, weaving along the lines made by Lily Rhodes , but right now her attention was fully occupied. It heartened her to see so many of theirs on the field however.

All of them... had a choice to make here on Abregado-rae. This desolation, this monstrosity they were building... some would be broken by it and others would be reforged.

Concussive force launched itself at her. Jump. Mercy leaped upward without hesitation, feeling the itch in her knees even more than the strange voice. The blast shattered concrete and took her by the leg, sending her spinning, the Sith only just about managed to catch herself mid-fall, landing back on her feet.

It crunched the floor underneath her, sending fractures through the floor.

She felt Srina’s thoughts and her observations. It was refreshing to Mercy, being able to immerse herself into the battle, while her mind wandered.

She expected more…Panic.

There was certainly enough of it. The Dread Queen could feel frightened minds pressed together behind the walls, but the movement surrounding the port did not seem entirely right.

I feel it too, sestra. Her voice rampaged through their shared current link. These Mandalorians aren’t brain dead like some of them. They are plotting something.

Even as Carduul came to challenge them Mercy met him head-on, bursting forward, as he attacked her. The joy of two decades of battle was that Mercy did not need to think actively about these things anymore. She simply moved. Contrary to his assumption, the beskar pole-axe rammed itself against Mercy’s chest, without her trying to deflect or counter it.

That is when the surprise would hit.

A brilliant metallic crack rang through the area… as if pure beskar hit beskar.

<<Duck, sestra.>>

“Nice spear, nerf herder.” Then she ducked exactly when her sestra beckoned. The debris would fly right past her, swarming the air and immediate area, to try and smash into Carduul, the snapping dogs and the Arkanian.

Mercy did not wait to see if it hit home however. Even as her chest throbbed in pain and her breath halted momentarily with her lung seizing inward for a microsecond, the Mountain moved, blurring her shape as she was suddenly upon Carduul.

Her fist, wrapped in the same fleshy, boney carapace that had blocked beskar with a beautiful sound, came up to smash into his head. While cracking open the legendary metal was difficult, Mercy didn’t need to.

She just needed to transfer enough blunt force trauma until his body underneath the armor broke.

.

ERASE THE PAST

 

[Varin Mortifer]

VARIN MORTIFER

Equipment: Durum Mantle | Black Blade of Chandrila | Eye of The Dragon | Heavy Sith Mace | Cross Guard Broadsaber | Wyrmfang​

Molten metal oozed from the impact zone from his gaze, weakening the metal. It seemed Naamino knew exactly what to do next. Hurling a powerful force blast opening the doors further, blasting them out of their frames. The heavy impacts rang out as the obstructions screeched across the floors.

Inside were a group of security attempting to protect refugees seeking to hold sanctuary within the walls. One of them yelled as he ran forward with his blaster rifle, slinging bolts into Varin’s armor only to bounce off and ricochet into the walls.

Varin’s hand outstretched lifting the man from the floor, held aloft helplessly as he began to scream in pain. First was the popping of tendons and joins as they began to compress from pressure, then the snapping of bone tearing through flesh as his body contorted in ways his physique could not control.

Varin quickly drew the Black Blade, hurling it in a horizontal pattern as he held the man still screaming. A telekinetic blast erupted from the blade, cutting through a couple more guards as Varin started to slowly walk inside.

Finally a wet squelch echoed from the man as his body finally and totally collapsed from the pressure. The crumpled body hitting the floor with a wet slap as blood pooled from around it.

A few more came forward from cover, yelling in unison as their blaster rifles fired off towards Varin.

"Move forward. Slaughter them."

Varin's voice came towards Naamino and his crew with deeply and coldly.

Naamino Zuukamano | Braze | Korar Murrak​

 

[Vreegan Fett]

The longer the HUD processed the data, the clearer the picture became. The Sith weren't keeping this plague stored in containment tanks like a standard weapon. Cages of live captives were being dragged straight to the edges of the growing biomass, fed into the pulsating flesh to keep it spreading across the landing field.

The Drop Zone was the source, so the argument for orbital fire was clear to him. Once command under the leadership of Romul Saxon review the footage, they would have no reason to hesitate once the trap finally sprung. Vreegan tapped his comms, opening a channel to the Mandalorian units in the area, more specifically Siv Dragr and Kamon Hourn .

"Command, Fett. The drop site is the source of the plague. They're feeding live captives into the biomass to expand it. Mark this grid for orbital bombardment the moment ground forces pull back." He adjusted the thrusters on his jetpack, descending through the thick Cloud layer. The reek of dark Alchemy and burning flesh grew stronger but his helmet filters kept the worst of it out. As his eyes moved further into the Mist he unslung his Commando rifle from his back adjusting the mechanism into sniping mode.

Through the crosshairs, he targeted the thickest tendrils of biomass creeping up the landing struts of a Sith transport. He squeezed the trigger, sending a heavy round straight through a main strand of the tissue. The tendril snapped back, oozing dark fluid into the dirt. He adjusted his aim slightly, firing a second shot into another thick cluster near the braziers, severing it completely.

Efret Farr Casimir Thorne

 

[Siv Dragr]

G U N S L I N G E R
Abregado-Rae

HELL
​

Allies: Kamon Hourn | Yuri Maji | Vreegan Fett
Targeting: Quinn Varanin | Arris Windrun

“Observation post cresh, over. About to deploy, but trying to get a handle on...all of this.”

A brief burst of static gave way to Kamon's voice in reply to Siv, only briefly drowning out the explosions, screams, and blasterfire. "Copy." Siv hiked up a small pile of rubble, spotting some Sith soldiers and gunning them down without hesitation. He could see a towering monolith in the distance, its black spire reaching up towards the blackened sky. That had to be their target. Siv catalogued it as such in his HUD, pushing that tag to the Covenant's battlenet.

Kamon hesitated, trying to think of something - when an idea dawned on him. “You got a cryo weapon? Or some slug throwers?”

The comms hissed once more with Kamon's suggestion. Siv had summited the pile of rubble, surveying the mass of bodies and pulsating, red growth below. His armor's environmental seal read fully working; he didn't know much about this virus, but he sure as haran wasn't going to get himself sick from it. He paused atop, breathing heavily, his mind racing. Cryo? He had cryo. "My ship," he ground out over comms. "Sending you the coordinates. Send a pilot; they'll be able to supply us." The Statha had a slave circuit that allowed Siv to control its systems from afar, though he didn't dare use it in these conditions. Still, he'd be able to unlock the ship for the vod Hourn picked.

The mass of flesh and parasites and absolute chaos of natives and Sith soldiers made the streets almost impassable. There was a second option; Siv's jetpack roared to life, the Mandalorian leaping into the air and soaring upwards. A shrieking, flying flesh monster swooped down towards him, eager for its next meal. Its maw did not crunch down on meat and bone, however, but high-velocity ordnance -- a missile from Siv's gauntlet. The veteran of the mutated Yuuzhan Vong wars pushed on, undeterred by the monsters and horror of it all. He alit on a rooftop of a modest three-story building that gave him ample oversight over the sector, closer to the monolith. He could see one of those abominable pyres of living sacrifices in the distance. Fresh screams echoed down the streets; likely the Sith's newest victims. At the horrible sight, Siv's stomach churned at the thought of what Mandalore had been like.

There was a squad of Sith troopers moving through the streets, and then his HUD tagged two more individuals moving south. "Mark my position, Hourn." Siv's voice was clipped, his eyes focused on the troopers. "Engaging hostiles. Over." He raised his blaster and leapt into the sky.

The Sith Troopers were not dumb cattle brought to the slaughter. Siv watched as their helmets turned upwards, no doubt responding to his jetpack's ignition; the bright flame burst no doubt gave him away. An order was barked, and the entire squad pivoted, raised, and fired. Siv evaded and returned his own; whistling bird rockets whistled out of his launcher, streaking through the air and finding seven of eight targets. The last evaded by just barely ducking behind a collapsed wall. Siv flew over it and, above him, fired downwards at the Soldier, who crumpled to the ground. Siv landed just beyond the trooper's corpse.

One squad down. He could see the two figures as they drew in closer -- two more and he'd reach the pyre, put whoever was still alive and succumbing to the flames out of their misery -- when he realized who he was looking at. The Cyborg who'd invaded the Casino a month before. And with her -- Quinn Varanin . The Queen of Eshan.

Somewhere, in some small part of him, he'd hoped that the Echani had taken the opportunity given her; escaped the dark cycle that she was trapping herself in, the same bitterness and rage that always pulled Siv back in. That hope died instantly, disappointment welling into anger that swelled, in turn, into rage. "I GAVE YOU A CHANCE!" Siv roared. He raised his blaster, trained its barrel squarely on the Echani, and slammed the trigger incessantly.

He'd made her a promise.

 

[The Arkanian]

GODKILLER​

THE ARKANIAN
TAG: Carduul Akahl | Mercy | Srina Talon
GEAR:
Mandalorian Armor + Modular Wrist Attachments (Flamethrower, Whipcord, Dart Launcher, Wrist Rocket), Jetpack (with big missile), Stouker concussion rifle + 3 power cells, Holdout Disruptor Pistol (boot), Dissuader Pistol + 2 mags (hip), Crushgaunts, Hifold Sensory Package, Cortosis Dagger (chest), 'Nades, More 'Nades, Even More 'Nades (bandolier), Raw Cortosis Dust in a Lil' Baggie (belt), 2 vials of Trihexalon (belt), aerosol canister of Droid bio-assault spray (belt), Voidstone good luck rock on a necklace.

Unit: Haran's Hounds

Named NPC Companions:
Spike and Dozer (Sukkot Force Hounds)

Harran barely had time to admire the sight of Sith knocked down to the ground by his shot before danger came his way.

Huge hunks of ferrocrete smashed toward the structure and fortifications behind the Mandalorians with enough force to bring pieces of it down. The rest went low and headed toward the hounds and their masters.

Though he was by no means brutish in his methods, sometimes the best way was simply through. Debris and dust was sent scattering and obscured his form for that briefest of moment, before his foe was directly across from him. Momentum was gaining.

The huge poleweapon of the Anointed obliterated a hunk of ferrocrete, spraying the Arkanian with bits of debris.

Faster than mere human thought, the Arkanian's hifold sensory package processed an incoming chunk of ferrocrete the size of a person in an instant and he managed to lean his upper body backward just enough that it tore through the space where his head and shoulders had been a moment before instead of smacking into him like a two ton freight.

An errant bit of debris struck him right in the beskar helmet though, making it ring and he felt the force of the impact even through the layers of insulation and padding.

"Ow."​

The reptodogs weren't so lucky.

A chunk caught one in the hindquarters so hard that it spun the massive Voxyn-Ysalamiri hybrid in a full 180 with a yelp of pain.

"Spike!" ​

The hound landed and was still standing, but it kept its right rearleg off the ground. No way of knowing how bad the damage was yet. Harran ground his teeth and then spat.

"Oi! Not the dogs, you cankerous filth." ​

The giant Sith in the freakish armor appeared focused on turning Carduul into Mandalorian jello with nothing but fists. That wouldn't do. The Arkanian shouted a command in Mando'a and the hounds leaped forward, Spike only as quick as his rearleg would allow. They drew within range of the big Sith and their overlapping Force nullifying bubbles would probably start to disrupt whatever advantage the hulk spawn had in terms of strength, regeneration, that kind of thing.

The Arkanian had studied Sith enough to know that they tended to vastly overrelay on the Force to give them strength, speed, power... everything really. Without the Force? Well...

Without the Force they were just ordinary people.

But him?

Harran the Arkanian?

Well, hells.

He was still a Supercommando of the Manda.​

Swinging his stouker concussion rifle toward the woman who had hurled the ferrocrete, the Arkanian opened fire. One blast wouldn't do, so he fired shot after shot, sending two bolts of ionized air rippling toward the white-haired woman. A grazing blow could shatter a limb. A direct hit could pulp interior organs. And even if it hit nearby, the resulting shockwave if close enough could send the woman flying.

A pick your poison scenario.

The Arkanian's HUD focused on the woman, relying a stream of information.

Hang on... was she the-

​

 

[Astra Sadow]

Madrona A’Mia | Veyla Tass | Xan Atropus | Srina Talon | Grace
The Arkanian | Carduul Akahl | Open​

Astra had separated herself from Leontis Antalis 's forces upon arrival at the spaceport. Not because she hated bloodshed, but because people had this funny way of fleeing at the sight of you if you arrived with and were unaccosted by invading military personnel. Her focus as the man sought to take control of the area was to establish a rapport with the locals.

A vice-like grip snagged one of the frightened sheep as the small group sought to flee inside the main building. Astra had gotten close enough because they hadn't instantly associated her with Leontis, but being unusually calm in a war zone and wearing all black and red did tend to make people nervous. "I need your help." Beat. Astra gave a slight shake to jar the rabbit-like mentality aside. "I need you to tell people inside I'm here to find a cure."

"A cure? To what?"

No escaping the panic in their voice. They weren't unreasonable to find Astra suspect, after all. "To the plague that's eradicating all life on this planet. It'll be here shortly, so if you and anyone with you has any aspirations about living through the day... I hope you'll help. You will, won't you?"

"What... what plague? How could it spread-- Who are you?"

"You can call me Miss Sadow. Sanguine Enterprises. Now really isn't the time to get into the details; time is exceptionally short. You can help me stop this plague, or watch as the Mandalorians let you all burn," she pointed to the conflagration just so over the curve of the spaceport's roof where Kaelyr was no doubt in force. "Difficult call, but I trust you'll make the right decision."

"Wha-- How do we know...?"

A long-suffering sigh escaped her red lips. "You don't, but from where I'm standing you don't have any alternatives. Live. Die. Medical personnel will be here soon to help organize the research effort. If you would please hurry and let the others know? I'm sure they'll want to think about it first." With that she released their arm and smiled as they hurried off.

That was when Leontis Antalis 's voice came in over a private channel. Astra listened as he announced the collection of some test subjects. Quite considerate of him. Had she properly frightened him to contribute to the glorious cause of Medical Science? Everything she'd said had simply been the truth. "That is excellent news. My people can certainly put them to good use." There was no shortage to test subjects when it came to developing an effect treatment for a new disease.

Then the conversation took a personal turn for the man. He had been listening. A healthy expression of concern about his own welfare. That last statement was a bit more direct than she would like, but sometimes you had direct and even curt customers. At least he wasn't one of Those customers. Q'arens were a troublesome lot. "Of course. I'll add the cost to the Operation's expense sheet." Without approval? Without approval. Mercy wanted to have fun and not deal with paperwork, right? She could rely on Astra to handle the boring details.

With all the armed personnel running around and not an army of beskar-wearing zealots to cause a fuss, Astra awaited both Leontis and her people to arrive. The fiend labs would be relocated closer, but kept at a... slight distance given the recent introduction of a literal Firebrand to the theater. Close enough they could escort subjects to and from isolation as needed for examination apart from the rest. Or disposal. Often times testing didn't pan out and there was no need to alarm those still alive.

Two minutes later, Leontis' voice came back over the channel. There was a slight rustle as her upper body jerked. Even as the body slipped from her arm quite dead Astra listened to what he had to say. Just because she hadn't gone in guns blazing hadn't meant local security accepted her presence. And, honestly, she hadn't bothered trying to pretend she was supposed to be there. Better to remove armed resistance rather than invite them to loiter and turn at their leisure.

"Rest assured, General, we have equipment to spare." Nothing better than charging twice for the exact same equipment as if it were an unforeseen expense. "I look forward to your arrival." And they would have a breathing mask or a full suit available. They'd tried to get the mask to fit with the armor Leontis favored, but if it didn't work out there was always the less fashionable, but highly effective alternative.

Which was nigh about time that the Empress Mercy roared onto the scene telepathically. Astra cracked her neck in an understated expression of what she thought of the overwhelming volume. Louder was, indeed, not prouder. Nor necessary.

Few refugees, little panic, guard yourself, sons and daughters. A plot is afoot and we do not know the parameters of it.

Oh? So there was an absence of Mandalorian elsewhere? Here Astra had begun to think they'd simply chose to prioritize another field than the spaceport. Pity for the civilians trapped there being roasted alive or about to become her playthings, but Astra wouldn't complain. It did smack of them having some other plan in the works, however. Mandalorians weren't the type to roll over and play dead -- or die easily if you let them tell it.

Still, lack of refugees was unexpected. They weren't fleeing for the ships? Those nearby obviously would, it was within their grasp. Where else would the people hide then? Underground bunkers? Blindly try to outrun a disease spread by flesh reavers? Well, hapless people wouldn't know about that 'special' phase in the communicable part of this communicable disease. Why wait on chance to propagate when you could grow limbs and fling yourself about?

Astra gestured for the mercenaries she'd hired to escort her scientists to take positions around the area. Whatever it was, better if they weren't all grouped up in one easy-to-destroy cluster. They could even be skulking about the parking structures and corridors of the spaceport that very moment. Or worse. The Sith didn't have an exclusive right to unreasonable tactics -- they just had great PR about how entertaining it was to carry out.

"What do you make of it, General?" Astra was curious what he'd think of this development. His were the personnel geared to manage such a turn.

As for the Ion Cannon, the personnel guiding and maintaining it would gladly take more information and coordination with Leontis' forces. They were prepared to solo-it if necessary, but no one turned down intel. Also, much as Mercy enjoyed a good mess -- and Astra enjoyed the invoices -- this was already a target-rich environment; there wasn't any need to shoot their own.

The massive, thick stabilizing struts had snapped free of the housing and slammed down onto the planet's surface. Its unpacking continued with the cover over the barrell sliding back for its release.

Glareshades | Clothing | Jacket | Vest | Tie | Gauntlets | Belt | Boots | Broadsaber
Holdout Blaster | CommLink | Dagger | A'Mia Circlet | Alchemical Ingredients​

 

[Srina Talon]

OBJECTIVE: 2 [Spaceport]
LOCATION: [Abregado-rae: Road]
SITH ALLIES: Mercy - Grace - Xan Atropus - Veyla Tass - Kaelyr - Leontis Antalis - Astra Sadow
SITH ENEMIES: Carduul Akahl | The Arkanian

The sky was on fire.

Srina noticed because, well, it was impossible not to.

For a handful of seconds, even the chaos surrounding the spaceport seemed to shift, with frightened faces turning upward as something dreadful split the heavens above Abregado-rae. Realspace opened like a wound and flooded the cloud cover with hellish light as the vast silhouette of The Tyranny began to force itself into existence. It was quite the distance, but Echani eyes were keener than most, and she could see specifics others might miss.

The fact that the dreadnought had barely finished dragging itself into reality before battery after battery unloaded on the Mandalorian opposition—Turning the battle, fully, to a multifront attack. By ground, by sky…all they were missing was the sea.

The Dread Queen watched as long as she dared before lowering her eyes. While it was prudent to stay aware of her surroundings, there were problems much closer to the ground. A surprisingly loud one was fleeing in the opposite direction.

"OH NO! CHOMBA REALLY DON'T WANT TO SEE SITH EMPRESS! THAT IS NO NO FOR CHOMBA!" The man leaped to his feet, knowing this was the furthest place that Chomba really wanted to be at. Then it got worse. "OTHER SITH EMPRESS! NOOOOOOO! CHOMBA REALLY IN TROUBLE! NOOOOOO! CHOMBA RUN! RUN!"

Srina only caught pieces of what the amphibian-esque creature was yelping through the din before it disappeared into the masses with remarkable commitment to self-preservation. What the hell was it doing here? Her eyebrows drew together faintly before she dismissed it. The wet and rather damp scent returned, earth and ash, with something sweetly rotten lingering beneath it. It was a silent warning from Madrona A’Mia that her work had progressed, that the Bloody Bonnet infestation was bearing fruit.

Rather, Flesh Reavers.

Her hand slipped into a fold in her armor and retrieved a circlet that she mentally crushed closed around her wrist. She was beneath the protection of the Hordemother…But the spores would be here soon enough. Whatever living thing composed it caused it to tighten around the silver-black scales of her armor—And her attention returned to Mercy…

I feel it too, sestra. Her voice rampaged through their shared current link. These Mandalorians aren’t brain dead like some of them. They are plotting something.

Her earlier discomfort settled into certainty, and it made the itch beneath her skin substantially harder to dismiss. <<Expect the unexpected…Assume that everything is bait.>>, the thought passed coolly between them, but she wasn’t certain if her battle-sister would hear her. The beastly little hounds were creating null-fields, and the giantess had other immediate concerns.

A Mandalorian ( Carduul Akahl ) met the Lord of the Covenant directly, and the sound of beskar ringing across the battlefield as it hit the Warform was like a gong going off. Her battle-sister replied by driving her fist toward the helm of the tin-can soldier, and Srina, for the moment, left them to it. Mercy felt…Happy.

Disturbingly, so.

The dogs were another matter.

Part of Srina’s opening salvo had caught one of the hounds in the leg, and the outrage of their Master ( The Arkanian ) carried easily. It should have been heartwarming that he was concerned about a dog on this planet, on this day, but the Echani only found it peculiar.

Why bring a weapon to war and not expect the consequences of using it?

Her eyes fixated on this strange fellow, trusting that Mercy was dealing with the other one… She saw his weapon train on her position. Srina moved before he fired, leaving him to aim where she was, not where she would be. She was unknowingly a creature his own people had created while trying to engineer the perfect being, a genetic problem, that his ancestors had helped design.

The first concussive blast crossed through empty air before her body folded backward impossibly fast. One armored foot planted, and her spine arched while the pale woman inverted cleanly beneath the path of the next shot. White hair swept the ruined roadway while both hands found the solid ground, before momentum carried her through, flipping backward until her feet touched down again. There was no flourish…Just the evidence of hard training.

Thousands upon thousands of repetitions throughout her lifetime until thought was unnecessary. Combat was the language of her people, her homeworld, and as another distortion ripped toward her, she prepared to move again. She could recognize the weapon by the sound of it firing and knew what could happen if she took a direct hit. This one passed the edge of her armor, and the pressure shoved her several steps back.

Yellow-gold eyes narrowed.

He was fast.

His weapon tracked her again, but this time, there wasn’t enough road with the initial crater at her back. Nanites raced along her forearm while her wrists locked together and the Kavacha Shield in her kit reinforced defenses at the cross they made. The silver-black shade of her armor became darker, and a dense absence drew across her guard, rather than a brilliant flare of energy, and in a fraction of a second—

The shot struck.

Darkness rippled. The force of it drove through the shield, through armor that was designed for energy rather than blunt force trauma, and tried to shove her back into the crater. Her boots dug in, and she slid back to the very edge. Pain that was bright and unyielding arrived immediately after that, and sensors flared in warning, her left forearm bending where it shouldn’t. Srina looked down.

Her armor and shielding had helped, but the bone beneath had snapped enough that the angle was unmistakable. It stayed that way, hanging limp, while her spine straightened and her gaze returned to the Mandalorian that had shot her. Something moved beneath her skin. A sharp sound hit the air, and the limb jerked while bone dragged itself viciously back into alignment.

Srina’s jaw tightened while tissue followed, knitting with grotesque urgency. It was not an immediate repair, but the Blackwall Empress had a plethora of Mercy’s blood in her system. She did not heal as quickly as the Titan, but it made her far more durable than most expected. There was no outrage on her face, no pain in her expression, but the brilliant gold of empty eyes surged with an unpleasant aura that pressed itself down on the spaceport like a metaphysical boot to the chest.

There was ozone in the air that did not belong and a flowery scent that felt wrong.

<<You should have kept shooting.>>​

The growl through the air had nothing to do with her shouting, volume, but something “other” responding to her call. The fingers of her left arm flexed, and her knuckles cracked while she tested the limb. Once. Twice. It was functional enough. The ring on her other hand flared and cold snapped outward from her position without warning. Srionas answered like a living thing while shards of alchemized ice formed from ambient moisture in the air. They tore outward in a widening cone, swallowing the space between them in white-blue crystal with the intent of obscuring both friend and foe.

Ice climbed and spread across everything it touched.

Well...Everything but the dogs.

Durasteel-hard frost consumed the terrain beneath their feet, climbing barricades and broken ferrocrete while turning pathways into frozen obstacles. The strange absence in the Force of these creatures mattered considerably less when Srina simply made the world surrounding them inhospitable and stayed just slightly out of range. They reminded her of Ysalamiri but with fewer steps…But either way, they mattered less than their masters.

Srina didn’t wait to see what her attack accomplished, and instead, the Echani advanced through her own storm while her newly repaired hand dropped toward her waist. The Vora came free in one smooth, practiced draw, and its smart-tracking system flickered to life. It searched through fractured frost until the target, the Arkanian, was acquired.

Srina fired the shatter weapon, and depleted-baradium AP rounds ripped toward the enemy at a high velocity. It might not be enough to rip wholly through beskar, but it was vicious enough that whatever lay beneath it would still feel the impact. Armor could refuse to break…

The body was another matter.

Spoiler: Equpiment

Armour Saber Ring Ring Terentatek Body Gloves HG-54 "The Vora" Class Hand Cannon Holding Aces Popper Echo Implant NPC Units (On Standby) Drake "Vaelcryx" (On Standby)

 

[Calyx Sundrift]

Objective III: Destroy the Factories
Tag: Anet Raine | Feydrik Munin
Equipment: Lightsaber, Specter Vibroknife, Desevro Acolyte armor, Amulet of Many, Gravetail vibroblade, Glitter bombs

Anet's arrival was the sign he'd been waiting for. That they could finally get out of here. Off-world, and as far from the death and destruction as possible.

Then her commlink chirped, crushing any hope of that.

"They're pushing through the district." Many of them, according to the brief bit of intel relayed her way. "Our own soldiers will arrive soon, but we can't let them foil our great work here." Her eyes briefly fell to his weapon. "Are you prepared to use that, Calyx? Are you prepared to fight with me... side-by-side?"

Calyx stepped back defensively, pulling away from her comforting touch. "We weren't going to stick around, Anet." He averted his eye, knowing how it seemed.

I'm not a coward. I'm being sensible.

"The industrial district is beyond saving anyway," Calyx protested. "There's nothing they can do to undo our work!" He scoffed, half a laugh. "They've got no idea how connected this place is! If this power plant goes up, at least thirteen refineries follow!" The site had been chosen for infiltration for good reason. It supplied a good thirteen to sixteen electrum processing plants spread across the district, providing the energy needed for purification through heat exchange with rhydonium. In his short stay here, he'd learned just how volatile that process and the connection between facilities really were.

And now, in this warzone, there would be no one left to operate or maintain the safety systems.

His eye darted to the exit. "Are you sure we can't just... leave?" He shifted his weight uneasily. "One wrong turbolaser shot- kriff, if they're stupid enough to order an orbital bombardment, everybody goes up in flames." It would be like dropping a match in fuel. And he'd never known Mandalorians to be thoughtful people.

They'd most definitely try it.

"We've done our job. Why not leave the battle to the warriors?"

 

[Romul Saxon]

W A R M A S T E R
Safeport, Abregado-Rae

BURDEN OF SACRIFICE​

Stormborn Allies: Kjartan Hammer-Hand | Careena Fett | Vrirrig Awaud | Korar Murrak | Braze | He-Who-Walks-Between | Tytos Saxon | Gel Karn
Mandalorian Allies: Feydrik Munin

The hangar bay of the Gra'tua Dral was packed full of Mandalorians and their Gado allies. Sentient humanoids with fur-covered bodies and tall necks, their glassy eyes framed by helmets the warriors among them wore; warriors, all of them, true to the name. For every native soldier there was another, a civilian, who had grabbed whatever weapon issued -- from old blaster to simple farming or industrial tools -- to fight for their home. To the Sith, Abregado-Rae was just another world to be burned. For the Gados, it was all they had. Romul knew that feeling all too well.

Jam-packed as the hangar was -- the assembled jostling for space in between dropships, some sitting in the vessel's bays, others even on wingtips or hulls -- Romul had a difficult time pushing through the crowd. Upon sighting the massive Warmaster, however, his red and crimson armor a beacon, his cloak billowing out from behind him, they all began to part. The noise of the crowd died down as all eyes turned towards Romul. The old boar's steps were deliberate and slow, echoing throughout the hangar bay. Finally he stopped, stepping up on a crate that allowed him to stand well above the crowd so that all might see him.

"MANDO'ADE. GADOS." His booming voice echoed throughout the hangar bay. The warriors of Mandalore looked at him silently; the Gados chittered among themselves. "VODE AN." Romul inhaled and exhaled deeply, turning his head slowly to survey his assembled force. "The Sith have brought fire and destruction to Abregado-Rae. They intend to crucify this world, to genocide its people, to throw one more culture onto the pyre of extinction. Their mindless cult only envisions death and destruction."

"What do we say?" Romul thumped his gauntlet against his chest, and the clang rang loud throughout the hangar bay. "We stand in defiance! We will die in defiance! The pyre of Abregado-Rae will become the Sith's tomb!" The Mandalorians and Gados roared. Romul waited for them to quiet before continuing. "Already many Mandalorians and Gados have given their lives for Abregado-Rae. Their sacrifice will not be in vain!" He repeated the thumping, this time twice. CLANG. CLANG. "Make your final preparations," Romul boomed. "The storm draws nigh." And with that order, all assembled began their final tasks.

Romul leapt down from the crate. Gallius Saxon awaited him, ever the loyal second-in-command. "The fleet is ready, Alor." The Alor'aan held his helmet at his side, Romul's massive warhammer in the other. "Rallymaster Fett has identified the source of the plague," Gallius continued to report as he stretched out the hammer towards his Alor, offering it. "Field reports indicate an unusual resistance to heat and radiation; the Hammer-hand's Forgemaster has suggested cryo-ban weapons to combat it."

Romul accepted the hammer, its familiar weight settling into both hands as his mind whirled with tactics."We have cryoban weapons in our horde," he rumbled. "Relics from the Vong war. Send our quartermaster to retrieve them." Gallius nodded and made to carry out Romul's order.

There were two in the center of the crowd next to them. A hulking Mandalorian towering well over a meter over Romul himself, and next to him a Jedi that Romul recognized from Odessen. Romul turned squarely to face them. "Are you ready, adiike?" The term was one of endearment, not derogation. Romul was probably older than the two put together; he could tell they still burned with the fire of youth. "Glory awaits us. Mayhaps death as well." The Old Boar grinned fiercely. "Both, even."

 

[SL-0182]

Location: Drop Sites - Abregado-rae
Thread Objective: I - Dropship Site
Mission Objective:

• Inject plague fruiting bodies with the Rampancy Serum.
• Inject plague flesh reavers with the Rampancy Serum.
• Inject the Rampancy Serum into the Heart Site.

Tag: Zandra Ruus

SL-0182 glanced down at the branch of living Neti wood encircling her left bicep. The Slatesi Asset knew very little of its nature, as the sorcery and magic behind the talisman was far beyond her capability. She knew only that it was a sigil of protection, intended to defend her constitution against the gruesome plague being unleashed upon Abregado-rae.

A plague whose spread she had been tasked with facilitating.

​

Remain resolute in your work here today.
We are here not just to claim land,
but to strike fear into those who resist our progress.
To teach them the futility of standing in our way.​

SL-0182 silently registered the voice of the Hoardmother in her awareness, the words settling into her mind like a benediction. A faint smile drew up her features beneath the inscrutable mask of her helmet. There was a comfort in knowing that she was being supported and watched over by a powerful Sith sorceress. A relationship that had already yielded a tangible benefit in shielding her from the parasitic bioterror that might soon burrow deep into the soil of Abregado-rae. And yet, even with the boon, the sight of the red spores drifting through the city and the grotesque screeches of twisted flesh reavers spraying acid over the drop sites unsettled something at the edge of her awareness. A bizarre coldness crept through her skin, lashes fluttering anxiously as she took cover behind an abandoned landspeeder.

Even with her anxiety, there was fascination as well.

Rising from behind cover, SL-0182 pointed her forearm-mounted dartcaster at the twisted, pulsating form of a flesh weaver gestating from the corpse of what had once been a massive Herglic. Her head cocked slightly to the side as she studied it, her eyes taking in the red slime oozing into the street around the corpse with clinical detachment. She fired, launching a hollow dart filled with a payload of the Rampancy Serum towards the flesh weaver’s back.

The gestating creature's form rippled immediately as the dart found its mark, the serum flooding into its system. Almost immediately, the flesh weaver’s red-brown flesh deepened to a wet, throbbing crimson. The serum worked quickly, accelerating its growth beyond natural limits. The harsh ripping sounds of flesh being pulled taut echoed through the street as the creature grew horrifically before her eyes.

SL-0182's HUD flickered as her sensors registered the change, a cascade of data scrolling down her display noting its increased size, aggression, and corresponding threat level. Then, she moved away, keeping her distance from the creature. She cradled her SMG against her shoulder as the screams of the dying infected carried on the crimson fog. Red snow fell around her, settling on her combat skin like flecks of dried blood.

She pressed forward, her steps unhurried as her eyes scanned the devastation. Then she stopped, raised her dartcaster, and fired at a fruiting body clinging to the side of an office building. The fleshy mass pulsed and rippled, red mushroom bells sprouting from its surface in a grotesque bloom.

Another step in the slow, inexorable transformation of Abregado‑rae into something new, terrible, and Dark!

Spoiler: Loadout

• Klase Vele Combat Skin Mk. I - Helmet Configuration
  
  • Arms
    
    • FAE/M-02 Energized Forearm Vibroblade Mk. II - L Forearm
    • LPD-38 QuietNeedle Dartcaster - R Forearm
      
      • Ammunition
        
        • Hollow Dart - Rampancy Serum Payload (24)
        • Precompessed Air Reservoir (4)
  • Energy Shield
    
    • Phase III “Force Avenger” Energy Shield
• KSMG-7 Mk. II - Kainate Submachine Gun Model Seven Second Rendition
  
  • Ammunition
    
    • Extended Magazine - CryoBan Ammunition (2)
    • Standard Magazine - Armor Penetrator Ammunition (4)
    • Standard Magazine - High Explosive Ammunition (2)
  • Attachments
    
    • 1-5x FAE/S-08 Electro-Sight
    • Phase I “Susurration” Anti-Sonic Silencer
• Siqsa-S1 Semiautonomous Seeker Obscuration Canister (2)
• FAE/MDE-01-S1 Semiautonomous Seeker Thermal Explosive (4)
• Agzonûboj-type Probe Droid

 

[Ceria Kesyk]

MERCY'S TYRANT SQUADRON
IN ORBIT // ABREGADO-RAE
Kjartan Hammer-Hand | Yuri Maji | He-Who-Walks-Between | Romul Saxon | Tytos Saxon | Iris Beroya | Gel Karn
​

Spoiler: Fleet Composition

Lead ship: Tyranny

Main body:

• Tenacious-class Heavy Star Destroyers​
• Grand Victory-class Star Destroyers​
• Silencer-class Siege Destroyers​
• Ardent-class Fast Frigates​
• Tu'kata-class Sith Raiders​
• Thrantin-class Corvettes​
• Various smaller support ships​

Kesyk's eyes remained forward as Cruelty's voice made his presence known. As usual, no one quite knew when he had arrived, but there was no panic on the observation deck. This was Mercy's flagship, and her crew was hardened, if not outright possessed in their devotion to the Empress.

Pleased though her Lord Empress may be, the Vice Admiral wouldn't be satisfied until the battle was over. There was no victory - no pleasure - until Mercy's demands were satisfied.

Her head twisted back, however, when Cruelty spoke of the enemy's plans. Unknowable, but present.

"Of course," she replied coolly, her iron grip on the armrest telling a different story. "I wouldn't expect anything less. Gambits are all they have left."

It was a concept she knew all too well from the Alliance's end days. That is why she also knew that a cornered enemy was a most dangerous one.

"The Tyranny was a ghost when our command was to pick off freight convoys, but in battle, it is a target. We have likely witnessed all their tools at Humbarine - I doubt their countermeasures can do more than slow us down..."

They commanded some sort of device that altered the way gravity worked on a local level. Different from a gravity well generator. More poignant in an active engagement. But with the sheer size of the Tyranny and the warship's thrust, their analysts calculated that it couldn't stop the dreadnought entirely.

"That leaves one obvious possibility. Yes?"

A boarding action.

Still... Ceria was skeptical. How would they bypass the external defenses? Where would they commit their boarding action? They knew nothing of the ship's internal layout, let alone the scope of its defenses. And any attempts to scan the Tyranny were a struggle in and of themselves. The advanced countermeasures, coupled with a massive DER projector, made sure of it.

That left Kesyk unconvinced.

By then, she watched Tyrant Squadron take on the breadth of the battlespace. While the advanced force focused on the landing corridors, Tyrant would engage the Kestran fleet.

She dialed the communication console attached to her armrest. "Helm - take us into low orbit."

The Tyranny began to spit out starfighters. About a third of its total complement. They were a mixture of nimble fighters, their most advanced cousins, and heavy bombers. The Mandalorians would undoubtedly recognize the Hunters from Humbarine. The starfighters proved formidable, despite their dated hardware... however, these were an updated type, designed from the lessons of that battle.

Her hand left the console, and she swiveled to face Cruelty proper. She found it odd how uncomfortable he seemed with his size. As if the spacious observation deck were claustrophobic walls ready to crush him into infinity.

The Vice Admiral was ready to say something, but as rifts continued to tear open around them, that oppressive force weighed down on her like a hydraulic press. She held her head and struggled against the machinations of the Field of Blades. Even with the seers and sorcerers in the Temple, weaving a protective aura against the otherworldly influences, it was difficult to fight the Tyranny's Darkness - the evil that emanated from its netheric drive.

She shook the influences and heaved, nearly throwing up. She barked at an ensign on the deck. "Sweep the system and all approaches... and I want the God's Eye operational..."

Spoiler: Fleet Actions

• The Tyranny's countermeasures are active.
• The Tyranny is deploying a third of its hangar complement.
• The Tyranny is adjusting its trajectory towards low orbit. Slowly.
• The Tyranny is scanning the local system and any oncoming traffic.
• The Tyranny is powering up the full suite of the God's Eye.
• With the netheric drive still active, more rifts to the Field of Blades are tearing open.

 

[Cruelty]

MERCY'S TYRANT SQUADRON
IN ORBIT // ABREGADO-RAE

Kjartan Hammer-Hand | Yuri Maji | He-Who-Walks-Between | Romul Saxon | Tytos Saxon | Iris Beroya

Ceria Kesyk​

​

Cruelty listened to the Vice-Admiral.

A woman who had been so low, brought up so high, in such a rapid succession. It was a gamble on the part of his creator. But of course, if it became a mistake, they would not accept responsibility for it. It would fall squarely on their heads. On the other hand, if they won the day, then his creator would seize all glory personally.

With no embarrassment, no blushing, she'd accept the hypocrisy. Cruelty did not judge this. It was not within him to judge, it was a quality that hadn't been embedded in him and he did not have the time yet to explore the confines of his emotional reach either. Every day was another day of learning.

"That leaves one obvious possibility. Yes?"

Cruelty's head twitched at the sharpness of her mind.

The shape of it was like that of a feral hedgehog. Any touch was met with pain, hers, but in that moment it became his too. Luckily the ill-begotten man-shaped creature was used to foreign pain.

His brothers and sisters, from one to five, had suffered greatly in existence. He committed their memory as a lesson, because otherwise their sacrifice was in vain.

"One possibility that we can think of right now, Vice-Admiral." Cruelty responded softly. "Reality is an endless loop of options. Who will know what it will surprise us with next?"

His eyes closed again and he allowed his mind to extend once more.

There was so much movement out there that Cruelty was almost lost to it. Here, on the bridge, he felt compressed and claustrophobic. But out there, where his mind wandered free... he himself felt free like never before. It was a temptation. Every time. Even more so when the Netherworld broke open and the Field of Blades entered the fray.

He began to spin a web around the Tyranny, a lattice, that would capture interference. Almost immediately the Vice-Admiral would feel the tension ease in her mind.

It wouldn't be gone entirely - his Creator would disapprove if he assisted too much, but Cruelty did what he could.

As Cruelty worked, he understood the love his Creator had for the Netherworld. While his physical eyes were closed, his true ones saw the beauty of the Field of Blades. Within that boundary, as the sky bled above Abregado-rae, the Field would make itself known. Grand cogs ticking slowly, the dusted hints of metallic sand on the air.

All those that were breaking and being reforged on this forsaken planet would feel the pull of the Netherworld. It would push them harder, push them faster, towards actions that would bring them ever closer to Death and the reunion on the eternal battlefield that was the Field of Blades.

The most interesting thing came last however.

The presence of a telepath, Lily Rhodes , working in unison with the Hordemother, Madrona A’Mia . The latter was fully actualized, her mind a shape so alien that Cruelty was impressed by her ability to function and feel affection for anything still alive and functioning independent. But it was Lily who drew his attention the most.

She'd see it.

A shape, burning caverns shaped like eyes, a familiar form but different.

The creature saw her in return.

"Oh, the strain they put you under." Cruelty whispered into the abyss that separated them. The cold voice of space kept them apart, but the mind knew no such limit. "With no care if your mind will snap or break."

His voice was different, but Lily would recognize the her in him. This was the ghost, the infamous twin brother, who had appeared one day in the Covenant and who Mercy demanded to be acknowledged as always having been there.

"I cannot help you the way I wish, Lily of the Roads." Bastardizing her last name not on purpose, but because her power lay in the forging of paths that others could traverse. "But I will help... however I can, to steady you, when the moment gets darkest." And there Cruelty offered a foundation for Lily to lean on.

If she so wished.

Because Cruelty knew better than most when a stranger's will was forced onto them. He would not demand submission to such sins himself.

 

[Yuri Maji]

ABREGADO-RAE | ORBIT
ALLIES: COV | Iris Beroya
ENEMIES: TSC | Ceria Kesyk
ENGAGING: Ceria Kesyk
GEAR: In bio

Spoiler: Fleet complement

• Capital ships:
  • 3x Ha’rangir-class Star Destroyers
    • Haran’s Call (100 | 100)
    • Mandalore’s Lament (100 | 100)
    • Silence (100 | 100)
  • 6x Brok’ur-class Assault Cruisers
    • Hurricane (100 | 100)
    • Glassmaker (100 | 100)
    • White Rose (100 | 100)
    • Snow’s Kiss (100 | 100)
    • Merciless (100 | 100)
    • Storm’s Beauty (100 | 100)
  • 2x Dalab-class Strike Carriers
  • 8x Aranar-class Escort Frigates
• Support craft:
  • Jai’galaar Starfighters
  • ’Howler’ Basilisk War Droids
  • Keldab-class Dropships
  • ’Mangonel’ Basilisk War Droids
• Ground vehicles:
  • ’Sentinel’ Light Walker
  • ’Chimera’ Medium Assault Walker

THEME​

From the screens and holograms, Yuri and the bridge crew monitored the fighting on the surface. Various reports echoed from the shared network, data fed between the ships and a constant stream of helmet cam footage allowed the crews in orbit to see what the troops were dealing with.

As the comms officer called him over, Yuri lit another cigarette and leaned over the man’s shoulder to check the screens. ”What’s up?” He asked calmly. ”Sir, incoming transmission from Alor Munin. Addressing the fleet directly.” He answered as he brought up the transmission.

"This is Alor Munin. Load cryo-weapons and high-explosive salvos. Fire less effective than desired. May need weapons drop and aerial bombardment. Will advise when needed."

”Alor Munin, this is Haran’s Call. Intel acknowledged, sending word down the line. We’ll try to send alternative ordnance down with the next wing of gunships for you and your boys.” Yuri answered Feydrik Munin with a firm voice, motioning for the gunnery officer to take note.

”Alert the fighters and gunships. When applicable, recall them and refit with cryo weapons.” The captain called out. The bridge moved with precision to pass the information along to the rest of the fleet, recalling various wings of starfighters to refit them with more appropriate weaponry. Among them was the ship of Iris Beroya and her wing along with various other sorties.

”Numerous civilians have been infected by the plague. Our guys are trying to keep it contained. Medical personnel are planetside to learn more of the weapon.” Another officer spoke up, drawing Yuri’s attention. ”Make sure whatever info they get is passed on immediately. The more we know of this, the better.” Yuri stepped back to the holotable as he spoke, smoke pouring from his nostrils.

But their plans would be halted almost immediately as claxons began to blare. It wasn’t a hyperspace alert or even a proximity alert for enemy presence.

The warning that blared was that of anomalous activity.

DANCE OF THE CRYPTEK​

”Get screens on it.” Yuri ordered, shifting along with the captain to see what was happening. At first it looked like a type of storm brewing in the void of space, but very quickly a type of rip began to form and tear reality open. What came out of the tear, alongside a whole fleet of warships, was a hulking mass with seemingly no end in sight. Almost immediately the Mandalorian flotilla was pummeled by enemy cannonfire.

”Sir, what is that?” The comms officer called out. Their scanners were flooded with data that made little sense. The wound in the void remained open even after the enemy dreadnought entered real space.

It dwarfed the modest fleet of the Mandalorians several times over. Taking initiative, the comms officer broadcasted the enemy fleet’s arrival to the other ship as well as any friendly channels.

The crew looked on in a mixture of horror and fear. Yuri was petrified for a few long seconds, his heart pounded in his ears and his throat tightened. A smack at the back of his head from the captain brought him back to reality. ”What’s our orders?” The man barked at Yuri, frantically glancing between the Hound and the enemy fleet slowly encroaching.

Yuri shook the dark thoughts free and turned to face the crew. ”Carriers and half the frigates stay back. Everyone else, come around and form up.” He spoke up, turning to face the appropriate officers.

”Jammers, stealth, scramblers and full shields. I want them blind, deaf and shootin’ duds. Move the fleet to intercept, isolate that karkin’ slug.” He ordered and the crew obeyed. The Mandalorian ships came to life, cycling shields to counter enemy weapons while moving into their appropriate positions. The Mandalorian fleet was heavily outnumbered, not to mention the ludicrously enormous behemoth that overshadowed them.

But they were far from outgunned.

The fleet’s electronic systems buzzed to life, jamming communications and actively attempting to scramble the enemy systems. Whether by appearing in incorrect locations, or simply not appearing at all, the Mandalorian ships all fought an invisible fight to blind and deafen the Sith fleet.

On a more physical level, cannons and turbolasers came to life as they returned fire. Dozens of missiles and proton torpedoes zipped toward the enemy flotilla with a variety of ordnance to batter their shields and open potential gaps.

The three Star Destroyers took point while the Cruisers fanned out to flank the enemy. The frigates stuck close to support the larger ships and protect them from more nimble adversaries.

”Charge up the solars, lock onto that dreadnought. Tear that fleet apart.” Yuri spoke with a steadied voice, trying his hardest to suppress the growing dread and dark thoughts creeping into his mind. He had no doubt that the others were feeling the same, but they needed to stay strong.

The Nether was open, navigation was problematic. But their weapons worked and their ships were sturdy. The orbit of Abregado-Rae quickly turned into a brutal melee of ships fighting at a dangerously close range, though the ships of Kestri were more than capable to deal with their counterparts.

For everyone else, however, the skies turned equally bloody as the remaining fighters and Basilisks met the enemy with guns blazing. They would try their hardest to maintain air superiority while the remaining ships aided with point defense weaponry.

Spoiler: summary

• SD’s, cruisers and half the frigates intercept the Sith fleet.
• SD’s activate electronic warfare systems to try to scramble enemy comms and ability to target.
• Remaining carriers and frigates continue to assist ground forces where needed.
• All ships open fire on the Sith warships and try to isolate the SSD.
• Fighters and gunships are periodically recalled and dispatched to rearm with appropriate weapons.
• Enemy starfighters and bombers are engaged by Mandalorian forces.

 

[Pax Velloran]

Aboard the Larkspur | Star Commuter 2000

Abregado-rae System | Outer System Traffic | Open to Tags

The Larkspur had barely begun to answer the controls when every warning light Pax had spent the last hour ignoring decided it deserved his attention. His hand stopped over the throttle as the traffic display changed, several contacts appearing along the outer edge of the system before several more joined them. Whatever had arrived was clearly not civilian. Existing flight paths shifted in response, and a handful of freighters that had been holding outside the principal engagement began changing course, some turning away from Abregado-rae entirely while others seemed caught between continuing inward and risking a jump.

Then space itself tore open.

Pax stared through the forward viewport as a fiery distortion spread across the distant stars. The Larkspur's sensors tried to interpret it, failed, recalibrated and tried again. Something immense pushed through the disturbance, followed by enough additional contacts that the tactical display quickly became little more than a warning that the situation had become considerably worse.

A moment later the navigation computer began throwing warnings about unstable hyperspace conditions. Pax read through the first one, looked toward the widening rift, and frowned.

"That's inconvenient."

His contingency had been simple enough: if things went badly, jump out of the system. That was no longer looking particularly simple.

Pax settled back into the pilot's chair and pulled the civilian traffic display closer. His original descent profile was already useless. Military contacts crowded lanes that had been relatively clear minutes earlier while what remained of civilian traffic bent around them in increasingly erratic patterns. The neat boundaries between combatant and noncombatant space were disappearing quickly, and that alone would have been enough to reconsider the idea.

Instead, something else caught his attention.

He went back fifteen minutes, then thirty, comparing departure logs against the public images still coming out of the spaceport. The concourses were packed. Civilian emergency channels spoke of thousands trying to leave, and the port registry still listed enough serviceable vessels on the ground to move considerably more people than Pax was seeing in orbit.

Yet departures were slowing.

Traffic-control failure could explain part of it, as could damaged vessels or pilots deciding that remaining on the ground was preferable to launching into the battle overhead. None of those explanations accounted for the difference completely. There were simply too many people on the ground and too few ships in the sky.

Pax created a second working file beside the one marked FAR WANDERER and labeled it EVACUATION TRAFFIC. He studied the two headers for a moment, then left them side by side. The evacuation was worth noting, but for now it was a separate problem. The Far Wanderer was still the reason he was going down there.

Eleven minutes.

His attention returned to the Far Wanderer, but there was little point in reading the amended manifest again. Instead Pax worked backward through the fragments of port data that remained accessible.

Berth Cresh-Seven.

The freighter had spent just under four hours there before departure, assigned to a freight annex along the western edge of the spaceport. The berth record itself contained nothing unusual, but the associated customs archive had never been mirrored to the public network. Inspection data, loading measurements and internal authorization logs were still local.

Or had been. Pax checked the node. It was still answering.

Another alert appeared along the side of the display, this one originating from the spaceport. Several of the surviving approach corridors had changed status. One closed outright, another shifted to military priority, while a third remained technically open with identification requirements that had been amended since the last time Pax checked.

That was new.

He pulled up the previous version and compared the two. The port was still losing systems, but somebody was beginning to impose order on what remained. Clearance codes were becoming standardized, departure traffic was being routed through fewer channels, and several civilian flight-control frequencies had been consolidated into a single emergency band.

Pax glanced toward the transponder controls. His borrowed identity had been useful because nobody had the time to look closely. Soon someone would. He checked the legitimate survey courier's last beacon report once more. It remained several sectors away, with no recent flight plan toward Abregado-rae and no duplicate signal anywhere nearby. It would do.

Pax adjusted the Larkspur's identification packet and brought the engines up from standby.

"Let's try not to become interesting."

The shuttle eased forward.

For the first several minutes there was nothing particularly dramatic about the approach. Pax kept the Larkspur inside the broad wake of civilian traffic already moving inward, using larger vessels to clutter whatever sensor picture might be watching from below. He transmitted when required, kept his speed within what would be expected of an aging civilian commuter, and resisted the temptation to improve any of it. A ship trying very hard to look ordinary generally wasn't. The trick was simply to be ordinary.

The first real complication came when one of the civilian transports ahead suddenly banked hard enough to trigger a proximity warning. Pax pulled the Larkspur aside as a formation of fighters streaked through the space they had occupied moments earlier.

"Right."

He adjusted course and continued down.

The second complication was considerably larger. A damaged vessel was climbing out of the atmosphere off the Larkspur's port side, trailing a long ribbon of burning debris. Pax recognized the transponder marker before he saw the ship itself. He had watched that same symbol sitting in a departure queue nearly twenty minutes earlier.

It flickered, returned, and then disappeared. Through the viewport the vessel continued for several seconds without it, a dark shape against the curve of Abregado-rae before something bright reached it from somewhere below. Pax caught the flash in his peripheral vision and looked back toward the navigation display.

The marker did not return.

For the better part of two hours those disappearing symbols had meant interrupted feeds, failed transmitters or destroyed ships. Pax had known that, but knowing something and watching it happen were apparently different things. He lowered the Larkspur's nose toward the planet. Cloud cover swallowed the stars soon afterward. Below it, Abregado-rae stopped looking like a collection of reports.

Smoke covered entire sections of the city. Fires burned through industrial districts whose names Pax recognized from shipping invoices and corporate filings he had been reading only hours earlier. A refinery complex that had occupied half a page of his notes was now little more than a column of smoke rising into the cloud layer. Several others were burning badly enough that the shuttle's atmospheric sensors registered the debris long before Pax could make out individual structures beneath them.

Aircraft moved through the haze in every direction, some military, some civilian and some too damaged or confused for Pax to immediately determine which. The spaceport eventually appeared through the smoke. It was larger than the feeds made it look, and in considerably worse shape.

Pax ignored the primary passenger approaches almost immediately. There were too many active transponders, too many military contacts and too many intermittent warnings appearing around traffic control. Instead he followed an older service route along the edge of the port, originally intended for customs traffic and commercial maintenance craft.

The lane was still marked open.

That did not necessarily mean anyone had intended it to remain that way.

The Larkspur descended through another layer of smoke and crossed the outer perimeter low enough that Pax could make out abandoned ground equipment scattered between the landing bays. One hangar had partially collapsed, while another held an abandoned transport with its loading ramp still extended. The third looked intact enough, so Pax took it.

The landing struts touched duracrete with a dull thump and the shuttle settled onto them. Pax remained in the pilot's chair for several seconds, watching the local traffic network update around him. No challenge. No targeting alert. Nobody telling him to leave.

That was either fortunate or concerning.

Pax shut down the main engines and transferred the Far Wanderer file to his datapad. Somewhere outside, something struck the spaceport hard enough that the vibration traveled faintly through the shuttle's hull. He glanced toward the rear compartment. The blaster went beneath his coat first, followed by the datapad. His hand paused over the narrow compartment holding the lightsaber before he took that too. With any luck it would remain considerably less useful than the datapad.

Pax returned to the cockpit long enough to look at the departure record one more time. Eleven minutes. The amended manifest wasn't going to tell him anything new. Whatever had moved the Far Wanderer out of Berth Cresh-Seven early - an authorization, a customs override, something buried in the loading records - would be in the local archive if it existed anywhere at all.

Assuming the archive had survived.

He killed the display and lowered the Larkspur's boarding ramp.

// END RECORD

 

[Vara Maji]

THE FOUNDLING
Abregado-rae | Planetside, Spaceport
Equipment: In Bio
Allies: COV | Fenn Stag
Enemies: TSC | Xan Atropus | Veyla Tass
Engaging: Xan Atropus

The Blood We Spill​

A true hunter lets prey come to themselves.

And the Sith were not one to disappoint.

Silence. The air hung heavy after the report of a particle blaster died down, deeper in the spaceport’s passageways. Ranks of men and women - the innocent, tied and barred. Silent sobs and whimpers, the hopeful yet empty consolation of mothers and fathers to their young, and no less heart-rending to bear witness. Thankfully, the battle raging in the city was enough to quieten them, even if it were for only a moment.

Distant thunders, growing ever more violent by the hour. The earth rumbled and surged underneath as though the herald of Days End. And there she was. Among those hope had misbegotten, sat a figure, knelt like everybody else. Veiled in dark gray wraps, The Foundling kept her cowl pulled over her. Her face, she forsook it from everyone, lest she instill a shred of hope for salvation unto those she had already damned unto Death a thousand times in her mind.

Runes. Runes. The Harpy’s visor kept the thoughts at bay. Streams of tactical data and updates held her eyes hostage. She viewed everything flooding onto her tac-net – everything but the naval exchange taking place beyond the heavens. Yuri Maji . Even the smallest iota of thought regarding him was enough to send her heart racing.

Her Alor. He was here. Amongst the stars, facing dangers she grasped never truly, unless she held the mantle of command he now held over two dozen ships, and thousands of souls. Her maw peeled back, a smile carving itself unto her face. Awe. Fear. Pride. Love – they dared to stir in her core.

Now was not the time.

A draw of breath. The air rushed to fill through her snout and maw through the filter grills. The storm in her heart dissipated. The world around her gained a new clarity. Voices, sounds, smells and scents. Sharper. Strident.

She cocked an ear. Listening.

Listening.

Then, she heard it.

Ears flicked underneath her helm. Crimsons squinted. Footfalls, drumming across the terminal floor. Two. There were two. Each step exuded something more than confidence. A purpose, that of a butcher in a slaughterhouse. Her smile widened, the lopsided leer of a vagrant.

They were right where they wanted them.

And her brother seemed to agree with the unvoiced sentiment. Before you can say parsec, The Supercommando had opened up with a wide-arced sweep of his wrist-mounted flamer at the pair, and Vara was already moving. Up on her feet, the gunsteel cleared her holsters. She squeezed back the triggers – a staccato of red particle bolts snapped at the Sith from the back. With a leap, she sprung past the hostages, maneuvering past men, women and obstacles alike. Not once did the bark of her blasters cease – with every squeeze of the trigger, the twin weapons bucked in her palms.

Runes shifted in her vision. Closing on one. A masculine figure, clad in dark crimson robes. She blinked, a motion too precise to be filtered by her HUD as ordinary eye movement. In less than a beat, her armor answered. A pair of high-ex tipped darts screamed from the side of her kneepad. Sailing through the air, they shot for not the target locked Sith but the ground between his feet.

Here, they would be buried.


​

 

[Sindel Krymer]

S I N D E L . K R Y M A R

| Location | Planetside, Abregado-Rae​

| Objective | Sample Collection​

Sindel raised the sample up to his shoulder, a small mechanical arm attached to his pack grabbing it before moving to store it away in a secure section of the pack. One of his escorts raised their arm up to their chest, relaying the information that Sindel provided up the chain of command. A lot of their arsenal would have to be refit to combat the plague rather than help it spread. There still remained the question of what would be effective, especially when dealing with the fully gestated flesh reavers as well as the growing fields of mushrooms proliferating the surface. ​

​

Atomization was always an option, decimating both the fungi and its spores on a molecular level out of existence; sure the mushroom seemed to thrive off heat, rendering traditional flametcasters to be ineffective but he had yet to find anything organic that wasn't immediately vaporized by a turbolaser being dropped on it. But such would require an unethical amount of firepower that would have to be divested away from dealing with the Sith Covenant's fleet, and likely rendering the entire region inhospitable - not that the latter mattered. ​

​

The people of Abregado-Rae were not Mandalorians - Their safety and ability to live after the conflict was concluded was not even a consideration to Sindel, or the Iron Covenant for that matter, something that Sindel appreciated since his conscription; He would be given freedom to conduct his experiments and treat those outside of the Mandalorians and the Iron Covenants as his lab rats. ​

​

They would simply move on to the next port of call.​

​

Sindel reached down, plucking one of the mushrooms and tearing it from the body it was growing off of at the base of the stem. He looked it over closely. Cold perhaps? he thought to himself, as he turned the crimson fungus in his fingers. It was certainly a possibility; resistant to one element but vulnerable to its polar opposite. ​

​

The escort that pestered Sindel with his stupidity walked over from behind, conveniently placing himself between Sindel and the unseen Revna Marr , weapon at rest ready to ask something stupid again no doubt, only for a Force Blast to hit them and send them flying. The other escorts turned to raise their weapons in the direction it came from, one of them immediately dropping as a crimson saber slashed through the gap in their beskar'gam. ​

​

Sindel wasted no time in getting back up to his feet, drawing his pistol and started to backpedal away from the fight as the Mandalorian escorts spaced themselves out, spreading themselves to try and get overlapping fields of fire on the Sith. Standard procedure to dealing with them was to surround and overwhelm them with numerous vectors of fire. They were powerful, but they could only block from so many different angles at a given time. The added distance between one another would make it harder for her to take scores of them out at the same time.​

​

If Revna was perceptive enough, she would also find that Sindel seemed oddly absent from the Force as far as his presence went.​

​

Revna Marr

 

[Xan Atropus]

X A N . A T R O P U S

| Location | Spaceport, Abregado-Rae​

| Objective | Scour the Hostages​

Atropus did not respond verbally to Veyla Tass 's comment, merely acknowledging her with a sideways look over his shoulder. A cold, silent stare shot from his expressionless face that would make most feel uneasy. He did not acknowledge Mercy as his 'boss', nor any other Sith for that matter within the Sith Covenant. He was his own master, and his path was his and his alone to choose. He did not bend the knee to masters or lords, he served only when it suited him to fight alongside other Sith for as long as was tolerable to him. The off handed comment caused his mind to flash with anger briefly before subsiding, like prodding at a beast that was dormant.​

​

Put them in their place... Like they did to you, a voice whispered in his mind. Break their chains...​

​

Xan's gaze returned ahead of him, fingers curling into a tight white knuckled fist, a subtle tremble reverberating across his body as he fought the voice in his mind. No...I will not break those who willingly serve.​

​

Your hypocrisy knows no bounds wretch. You will kill those that refuse to bend, yet you seek to set others free? Fool. The voice echoed in his mind, shifting from one corner to the next, tainting his thoughts with its words, Break their chains... ​

​

The voice faded from his mind, the renegade Sith shaking it off. The steady sound of his footfalls echoed as he walked past the huddled masses awaiting to be processed. He would impose his will on those he deemed worthy of liberation and salvation, to share in his own demented and twisted view of the Galaxy. If hundreds or thousands perished and burned just so that he could fine one, so be it. ​

​

Xan passed by the hooded Fenn Stag , a wave of uncertainty washing over him as his head began to turn to his left, the briefest moment to glimpse the Mandalorian vambrace reveal itself from beneath their cloak as a stream of fire spat out at him. A surprise attack! His clenched fingers unfurled - just barely in time to stop the flames from scorching his form as an invisible barrier mere inches away from his body put itself between Xan and being immolated. ​

​

The Sith felt his skin begin to blister beneath his jacket from the extreme heat as he shifted his body, using the Force to push the flames off to the side, swinging his body to face his attacker as his saber screamed to life in his other hand to swing at the assailant... Only to be disrupted as explosive darts fired by Vara Maji detonated beneath his feet. The ground below him gave way before the explosive force sent him flying off to the side shouting out, as he rolled along the ground. He grunted as he was showered with rubble, the wind knocked from his lungs and leaving him disoriented, leaving Veyla Tass suddenly alone for a brief moment while he was recovering his bearings.​

​

Veyla Tass
Fenn Stag | Vara Maji

​