Dreams Do Come True [Mandalorian Crusaders]

[The Narrator]

Dreams Do Come True ​

Spoiler

[media] https://youtu.be/VmB1b087qVQ [/media]​

Things had been changing for the Crusaders in this strange time, the Clans war against the Republic and One Sith was over and there were mild amounts of peace. So that begged the question what was there to do? Well that was an easy question for the Crusaders. What they did best, kicking ass and lots of it while getting paid to do it. So when the call was made that the Protectorate representative of Singsang called the Crusaders with an emergency S.O.S it was safe to assume that there was trouble afoot.

Armed to the teeth the Mandalorians sent their very best to go and save the diplomat from whatever cruel fate he was in. So in typical crusader fashion they rushed there with haste over the skyline of Singsang past all massive industrial towers until they reached they reached the GPS tracked location of the diplomat and industrialist. Which surprise surprise looked to be a run down crappy building.

"Alright Crusaders! The Representative of Singsang texted us an emergency message calling for help! We smash down the front door, enter, and secure the VIP. Standard formations!" A fire team leader said as the transport unloaded the team of Mandalorians onto the ground.

Stacking on the door the point man aimed a scatter gun at the electric locking device on the door and blew it off in one hit. Afterwards he used an armor augmented kick to break the door open and rush in with his team, however he wasn't greeted with the blaster fire he was hoping for.

Yup, it was a strip club, and sitting out in plain view with a half naked twi'lek grinding against him was the Rodian representative of Singsang known asChupro Greezo an industrialist turned politician and diplomat to the controlling Mandalorian Crusaders and from a distance it looked like he was having a ball. A beautiful woman in one hand and a drink in the other.

But as the Mandalorians drew closer and closer to him he had a blank and empty expression on his face. His shaking hand pulled the hard alcoholic drink to his lips and in one fluid motion steadily downed the drink until it was just an empty glass with a set of ice cubes in it. Greezo didn't bother to look over to the other crusaders or the busted down door, it was all just background noise to him as he looked off blankly into the wall ahead of him.

 

[Zef Halo]

Guthram Aranar was not a renown Mandalorian, neither a galactic hero of some sorts. He had not even been part of the recent great crusades that sweeped the Republic. He was a rather silent man, and a standard Mandalorian, born and bred. His demanour and non-striking presence, despite the eras old Republic Commando armor he had donned, befitted his way of combat - a dedicated marksman. Marksman was certainly a rarity among clan Aranar as they were mainly known for their close quarter combat expertise. The weapon he wielded was even older than his armor - a DC-17 interchangeable weapon system. A relic but a very important family heilroom.

Beside him the rest of the Mandalorians had their guns and nerves steady as the man with the scatter gun tore the door open and barged in. The Mandalorians followed, their reflexes and senses wide open to any danger. They were bred for combat. All of them. What they didn't expect to see in their scopes was the scenery that unfolded - a strip club where a Rodian sat with an empty looking face as a twi'lek amused him. The surprise caught him for a few seconds before he scanned around and felt his trigger itch for hostiles. Guthrum stole a quick glance at Cabur.


What the hell was going on here?


[member="The Narrator"] [member="Cabur Aranar"]

 

[Malok]

Jaren knew better than to ask questions.

As a ward of House Verd, the young man had grown accustomed to taking orders. The men in beskar said jump, he said "how high?" The men in beskar pointed, Jaren moved his ass. It was leagues away from being the most thrilling, or even fulfilling, lifestyle...but it sure beat a bolt between the eyes. In the present, the young Ward found himself seated aboard a ship full of armored warriors. Their destination was Sinsang – a relatively recent addition to the worlds under Crusader protection. In truth, Jaren had very little clue as to why he was being "dragged" along for this venture; or even what the venture was about.

But he was there, and for once, they gave him a blaster.

It wasn't anything flashy, just an old carbine from a locker somewhere. However, to someone who had been lower than dirt for years, this was one hell of a step up. Jaren's fingers wrapped tightly about the weapon and his eyes never left its form. This was his. He sincerely hoped that he could, at the very least, keep it once the mission was concluded. However, despite how "good" it made him feel to be armed...he wasn't about to get his hopes up.

The ship shuddered to a halt. Jaren, and all the other Mandalorians, quickly filtered out onto Sinsang's surface. Their target, clearly, was the ragged structure before them. At the helm of this operation was...well, Jaren knew the guy by his armor – he had seen him numerous times – but by the gods his name escaped him. Anyway, the point man barked orders to the group before opening the front door in true Mandalorian fashion. Then, with weapons raised and backs to each other, the group breached the interior.

Jaren gaped.

This was definitely his kind of mission.

Music blared from the speakers adjacent to the door, giving the young ward a jolt upon entering the room. What surprised him even more was the rampant, gyrating forms littered about. Scantily clad, ridiculously pretty – Jaren had never been to a strip club before. And as far as he could recall, he had not met a woman that wasn't clad in beskar. There were enough trained warriors around that, frankly, the young ward had no qualms about enjoying the view.

How could she get her leg that high?

[member="The Narrator"], [member="Guthrum Aranar"]

 

[Keira Priest]

Gear in signature.
Music
This was the sort of thing the Crusaders had been missing of late. A simple smash and grab mission was just the sort of thing they all needed to get back into the game, and as luck would have it that was just the sort of call they received. In no time at all a small strike team had been assembled, and they had departed for the designated location. Everything had transpired almost too quickly to process, and only once everyone had boarded the transport did Keira find she had time to actually think. To the best of her knowledge Singsang wasn't a planet she had ever heard of, but a dossier pulled up by her AI quickly solved that part of the puzzle. All there was really left to do was wait, which was every soldier's least favorite part.

Along the way to the next impromptu battlefield her helmeted gaze was attracted to a man who seemed strangely fascinated - even for a Mandalorian - with the blaster carbine he held in his grasp. Either he was new to their group or a greenhorn altogether, but the next coming hours would see to it that he wouldn't be quite so unbloodied when he came out of things. But then, this was the ward of their House that Isley had told her about. He wasn't a proper Mandalorian exactly, but about as close as one could get without taking on the verd'goten. She had never interacted with him, only been informed of his presence, though it brought a slight smile to her face to see him there. After all, he needed to learn, one way or another.

Almost before the ship had settled at their destination every one of them had disembarked, weapons at the ready. Practiced eyes and crosshairs scanned over their immediate surroundings before the group moved to the door, and in a matter of seconds they broke inside, ready and welcoming a firefight. Instead, however, things were strangely quiet. Certainly the music was blaring, but the sound dampeners in her helmet took care of that. The only sight to greet them were the dancers on stage and the seemingly shell-shocked Rodian staring off at nothing. After a preliminary scan of the area to be certain no hostiles immediately awaited them, Keira looked over the supposed representative before her attention turned to the Mandalorians present.

Speaking through private and in-helmet comms, she doled out her orders, "Spread out and take a look around. It's obvious something happened here, or our friend would be a bit more chatty. You find anything, let the whole team know. Only pull the trigger if they do first, but use your best judgment. Be safe. Oya." It had been awhile since she'd taken direct charge of any military operation, but in some ways it felt good to be back in control. At leas then she had a say of what went down and where. With that out of the way she turned her attention to the man she had come to meet, stepping forward and lowering the Marauder she held so the muzzle was pointed at the floor. She raised her voice so as to be heard clearly over the music, reaching out to gently touch his shoulder and get his attention, "Sir, the Mandalorian Crusaders have arrived to help you. Where is it you need us?"

[member="Jaren Solain"], [member="Guthrum Aranar"], [member="The Narrator"]

 

[The Narrator]

"There was so much blood." ​

Chupro spoke softly to himself as his drink was set to the side. He continued to stare off blankly into space, his face completely neutral and hollow as his large blue alien eyes remained wide and empty. It would become very clear to Keira that this man was broken, if she extended her senses out to him through the force she'd be able to feel something. A lingering mark upon the man's mind, a sign of evil and fear like she'd never felt before. Anyone force sensitive would be able to feel the uneasy deadpan aura of pure fear to the point of brokenness.

The silent tension was then broken by a Twi'lek cocktail waitress who set another glass of hard whiskey next to the Rodian. "Your drink, sir." she said with a small giggle that fell on deaf ears before walking off. Slowly his hand would move towards the glass noticeably shaking as it wrapped itself around the cup. The diplomat then tried to bring the drink up to his mouth but before he could his trembling hands dropped it to the ground causing it to make an audible shattering noise. Most people in the club glanced over for a few moments but everything returned to business as usual afterwards.

"Harrison's Crematorium. Stine and New Hill." The Roadian then went completely silent once more and simply continued to stare out into space as the Twi'lek dancer backed away from the broken glass and spilt whiskey.

The Twi'lek dancer would then seductively move towards the Jedi ward with her head tails and other pieces of anatomy pleasantly bouncing and showing until she reached the man.

"Want a dance?" She asked with a wink and a smile like a true professional.

So with a location at hand and very little information to go on, the Mandalorians had to figure out a plan. Maybe ask around or grab a drink, or perhaps get that lap dance from a rather attractive Twi'lek. I mean she was a solid 8.

[member="Guthrum Aranar"] [member="Jaren Solain"] [member="Keira Ticon"]

 

[Malok]

His mind was telling him Yes.

But his Fireteam was telling him No.

The incredibly pretty, and excessively flexible, Twi'lek had a potential customer in Jaren. He was young, full of hormones, and has just enough credits to afford a private dance. However, upon taking a step in Miss-Solid-8's direction, one of the most adjacent Mandalorians nudged him upon the spine. It stung. Just enough to make the young ward turn on his heel and glare at the culprit. The beskar-clad behemoth said nothing, but shook his head disapprovingly. As if to say: "We're on a job." Or "Business before Pleasure."

Jaren huffed.

"Not tonight, miss. I'm on the clock." His words reeked with disappointment; and with that, the dancer had no reason to stick around. She sashayed off to other potential customers, leaving Jaren to focus on the task at hand.

Cold. Fear. Unease.

At once, the sensation swept over him. A chill raced down the length of his spine, causing him to shudder. What was that? He looked about the room, attempting to discern the source of the overwhelming dread...and found himself fixated upon the Rodian. Dread was seeping from his being, enough so that even an untrained welp like Jaren could feel.

"Gods above. He's seen some chit." he muttered, before moving forward to the side of [member="Keira Ticon"]. "What are we to do?" He asked, quietly.

[member="The Narrator"]

 

[Keira Priest]

It was a look Keira recognized, because it was one she had seen mirrored in herself. To see another so completely broken caused a pit to form in her stomach, and she was silent for a few moments, simply watching the man. There was nothing to be done for him in such a catatonic state, that much she knew inherently, but that didn't stop her from wanting to help him regardless. Wordlessly she extended an aura of warmth outwards towards him, one that emitted a sort of healing aura intended to do nothing more than kickstart his cognitive processes back into gear and begin the process of his brain repairing itself. It was something most wouldn't expect an individual of her alignment to be capable of, but she had her moments.

When the location was given she only looked to where Thalia had manifested in the corner of her HUD, and almost instantaneously the AI granted her a map with the crematorium marked as a priority destination. All was well and good in that department, but as it stood they still had next to no idea of where they were going or what the significance was. However, given that it appeared there would be no combat anytime soon she would sling the assault rifle across her back. It was the closest she would be getting to unarmed anytime soon, and was about as nonthreatening as one could get while being fully armored and armed to the teeth. After all, Mandalorians were meant to be intimidating.

Upon the inquiry posed by [member="Jaren Solain"] she turned towards him so the two could properly converse, nodding towards the bar where they could sit and at the very least keep up appearances of being relatively well-rounded galactic citizens. Only when they were seated would she grant him a response, keeping her voice low and her helmet still on, "I know you've felt it. There's something more at work here than just the usual underworld business, and I don't like the direction things are heading. But we can't just walk out now. For now we ask around, and see what we can find out about this crematorium." She cast a glance back to the man, her brow furrowed slightly in something like regret, before turning back to Jaren.

"I hate to say it, but he's too far gone for us to do anything for him at the moment. Our priority is whatever or whoever did this. So get yourself a drink, try and blend in, and ask around." Giving that particular order a thought, her voice took on a tone that could best be described as maternal in nature, "Just don't get carried away, ad'ika."

[member="The Narrator"]