Public Glory, Glory...

[Ijaat Mereel]

Theme
Location: Scuttled Ship in orbit of Mandalore
​

As the small but doughty freighter pulled up and angled to dock with what was left of the Morut, Ijaat gazed at the remnants of the Mand'alor-class Dreadnought. She was scarred and mostly scuttled, serving as a basis for raiders and Sith, if reports could be believed. Regardless, either the current occupants were myth or taken with not dying, as no fighters or the like issued to greet them as they docked. Pressurizing his helmet with a hiss of escaping air, Ijaat stepped across the airlock as it cycled open. Ancient beskar and chipped paint behind it would be the first thing anyone met as he stepped forward with Mia Monroe at his side, Shacklebolt scanning and clearing the corridor with a hum of micro-droid processors. Mag-lock boots clamped him to the corridor, with life support completely offline at current.

Clicking his comms to life, he spoke outward to any who had heeded his call to salvage the work of his old allies. It would be a virtually new ship by the time they were done, and it would be a long journey limping it to a dry dock as it was likely not hyperspace-worthy. But those gathering to him could see it done, and the symbolism of resurrecting and refitting such a beast of a bygone era to modern usage fit with his goals.

Those coming may just be helping out a friend, seeing who he was, or more formally Heeding the Call. It mattered little to him. Hell, they could even show to try and silence his claim, that could be dealt with too. But it was time to step up and step out, as his partner would say.

Objectives:
1. Restore Internal Life Support & Comms
2. Get at least the sub-light engines going.
3. Purge any Deathwatch/Sith remnants lurking

 

[Mia Monroe]

Stepping alongside him, Mia let out a low whistle that reverberated through their external comms. "I can't remember the last time i set foot on one of these beasts." she murmured, trailing her fingers along brittle paint, waiting it crumble into dust and float in the vacuum. She deactivated her mag boots kicking ahead of Ijaat to scout.

Touching down occasionally and extending senses in the force, feeling for anything that couldn't be seen. "If there's anyone here, they'll likely stay hidden til the life support comes online. We should tackle that first." A suggestion, if Ijaat wanted her to go another way she would.

Ijaat Mereel

 

[Elise Ahana-Gwyneira]

Apparently, word of Elise's defection from the Enclave spread fast. Upon being contacted by a Mia Monroe , and reading holoboards by the esteemed Ijaat Mereel , Elise soon realized that her Mandalorian heritage needed her just as much as the Enclave's victims. It was a call she was more than honored to fulfill, which was why she was coming out of hyperspace, to Mandalore Itself.

Her mission: restore a legendary Mandalorian Dreadnaught of generations past.

Elise veered the Estrela slowly towards the ship. In awe, Elise gazed upon a model of ship she had seen in her grandfather's memories, but had never seen in her own. The images of bright, glorious ships burning in the defiling of Mandalore were replaced with the current image of a long abandoned hull. The Mandalorian exile gulped in awe, seeing this dreadnaught and remembering the aged history of these models. Elise closed in on the vessel with her freighter, sensing two familiar Force Signatures moments before spotting Mereel and Monroe on the ship's skeleton. The mere sight of living people casually standing on a ship in the vacuum of space always frightened Elise, but she forced that unease aside before reaching out to them.

Activating her comlink, Elise spoke to the elder vode below. <<"Su cuy'gar, vode. Elise Vizsla here, responding to your call for aid and stuff.">>

Elise was obviously nervous speaking to such legends.

<<"I was never a mechanic or engineer like my Buir, but wow what a ship...">>

The Estrela floated upon space's currents, watching over the dreadnaught. Elise stood up from her cockpit, <<"My beskar'gam isn't built for space, but I have a spacesuit if I need it. What do you want me to do?">>

 

[Ijaat Mereel]

The Estrela floated upon space's currents, watching over the dreadnaught. Elise stood up from her cockpit, <<"My beskar'gam isn't built for space, but I have a spacesuit if I need it. What do you want me to do?">>

Keying comms, Ijaat spoke. He would need to lecture this Elise later on void-proofing her armor. Mia Monroe had told him he couldn't do everything himself or he would have just made it so as it were. Taking a stance to stand put, he spoke as the static click told him a channel was open.

"Welcome to the mission miss. If you're void-vulnerable, we could use a better scan of it rather than the quick one we made. If you have such. If not, overwatch would be quite useful. Don't need someone sneaking up our backside and surprising us while we wake this old hulk up."

Turning to Mia then, he nodded at her suggestion finally. He raised his rifle and pushed off as he let his mag-clamps go and arrowed down the hallway. The void was as much home to him as the forge, after his earlier years as a career merc and living in the Outback. The stray thoughts of Kathol made him smile, as always. Maybe he'd take Mia there, they had some lovely places the two of them could cool down in. But the glinting of the mask on a console as he drifted by made his brow furrow. Time for that later. There was a mission at hand, and more to come after.

"Aye, lets get this going and done. I hate recycled air."

Mia Monroe | Elise Ahana-Gwyneira

 

[Elise Ahana-Gwyneira]

Elise nodded, as if Ijaat Mereel could see it, and responded.

<<"The Estrela has some decent scanners. I can give it a scan while watching your tails.">>

If Elise got into her spacesuit and went in, Elise could have used her Force Sense to map out the entire ship in her head. Alas, she would have to resort to Estrela's scans, and keep her area Senses on high alter.

After setting up the scanning process, Elise closed her eyes and extended her Senses. Immediately Ijaat and Mia's powerful Force Signatures lit up like beacons in the dark. Then, the warm glow of the ship's basic outline, and... other Force Signatures. Not nearly as bright as her vode's signatures, but it was there. Little dots of life, cluttered around the ship's westmost cargo bay.

<<"There's life forms in the westmost cargo bay. My guess would be scrappers and looters. Their Force Signatures are normal for none Force Sensitives, but be careful over there.">>

She kept her eyes closed, blossoming outwards, further into the ship's general area. As she continued to search for trouble, she also kept aware of the area surrounding them. If any ship came out of hyperspace, or if a purgoil decided to hang out around here, Elise would know about it.

The notification of her scan came through.

Elise opened her eyes and took a small look at the scan results. The scan results matched what she Sensed so far.

<<"Alright, it scanned. I'm sending the readings to our Mand'alor's HUD. I'll continue Sensing for any trouble.">>

Mia Monroe had told Elise before, not to ignore her Force Sense. Elise had a history of ignoring and suppressing it, even while trying to control it all these years. But now that she finally was starting to embrace what she feared, it was strange how crystal clear her Sensory Force abilities were becoming... she always had that potential, so how was it that she was finally slipping into it now? Her mother and the Dreamseers had done their best for the prodigy, but Elise had never truly trusted her abilities the way she was learning to now. Now, she knew that only more pain came from ignoring the Force's warnings to her. And now, her true potential was budding in a way that could catch the same attention it caught from the shamans of Novania.

 

[Mia Monroe]

Mia chuckled at Ijaat beneath her helmet, knowing full well the mention of Elie's lack of space worth armour had made a vein in his temple pulse. Elise would be horrified if she knew how much it irritated him, she seemed to worship the ground Ijaat walked on, looked up to him. It was kind of adorable, if a little irritating. The only time Elise was ever quiet was when she was eating.

Mia extended her own sense, at Elise's mention of looters to their west. "Let us know if they move, Elise. We shouldn't cross paths on the way to the engine room but I'm sure when the life support kicks in, they'll scramble, either for the stars or for us." She paused to give Ijaat a moment to catch up, the mask of the Ultimate glinting in the low light. Something had stirred in him, a lightness that had instantly been snuffed.

Part of her felt guilty, she'd pushed him into this, made him believe that this was the right path, for him to take the mantle of Mand'alor. It was a heavy burden. Things would get easier, the more people they found, the more hands that came to help. Together they moved forward, pulling open doors following the scans Elise had provided. Quiet and focus, each listening for something out of place.

Ijaat Mereel Elise Ahana-Gwyneira

 

[Tharil]

"I've got eyes on one of the groups."

Tharil spoke up over the com as she stayed crouched near the cargo hold. Mechanics weren't her thing, but hunting, that was. She kept her blaster in hand, scanning through the group just to see if there were any outstanding bounties. None so far, but.. One ticked off. Her eyes narrowed further. "One's coming up Sith Imperial. Officer. Orders?"

Ijaat Mereel | Elise Ahana-Gwyneira | Mia Monroe

 

[Darth Malum of House Marr]

Objective 4: Eliminate Traitors

This was a bad idea. He knew that from the beginning.

But it was something of a running theme for Malum, running head first into bad ideas, and then somehow, usually barely, escaping from the situation with the mission complete, or at least partially complete... to a standard he could accept anyway. Despite what he had told Mia Monroe on Zanbar, he had begun moving agents from Moridinae. Not, away from it by any means, what he had said then still stood now, but he had used the warning as it was given, instructing what agents were embedded to bury in deeper, and what agents were not to vacate their positions and find where they could bury deep.

It had gone well, aided by the fact he was not communicating with them lightyears away from the Kainite worlds, or even more Alvaria, for now, with his position drifting Zanbar, he could coordinate very well with the local agents.

So it had gone well... all for one thing.

And as was the nature of things, there was always that one thing.

One position that the Tsis'Kaar had taken hold of was a derelict Mand'alore-class Dreadnought, it had been a convenient position, overlooking Moridinae itself, and seemingly ignored by the authorities on the ground, likely as they were quite busy rebuilding that ground. However, that had recently changed, and considering his meeting with Lady Monroe, he had a pretty good idea of why it had changed. The Mandalorians were beginning to consider the derelict in a new light, for now, seemed unaware of the Sith presence on it, seemingly more interested in whether they could commandeer their old vessel for their purposes, however, if they dug much further, it would become very evident.

Malum himself, cared little.

Oh he ideally would have liked the ship for himself, but such was much fantasy as the Galactic Alliance disappearing tomorrow, with how damaged it was, there was no way he could bring it to a place to repair it. Furthermore, he had no idea how to bloody command the ship, sure he might be able to track down the schematics, sure it may not be too different from a Sith vessel, but the fact was, it was a Mandalorian vessel, and he likely would need Mandalorians to command the thing.

Unfortunately, Mandalorians were in much demand and in low supply these days.

So he was content to abandon it entirely, allow the Mandalorians to retake it, and use his magnanimous abandonment of what was clearly his vessel, no matter its condition and proximity to Mordinae, to the Mandalorians, in exchange for further concessions from Lady Monroe when they would speak to each other next.

Or more likely something to rub into her face.

Both sides of his mind seemed strangely united at that idea.

However, the aforementioned problem put that entirely at risk, and its origin was a very key factoid.

He was not his Mistress, not yet anyway.

"Don't we all know it."

Heh.

Where the Tsis'Kaar loyal to him had quickly departed without question, they had informed him of a troubling development. The first was that they had not been the only Sith to be inhabiting the derelict, other more rogue elements having taken control, making it their base of operations as Mordinae had fallen out of the Sith Empire's hands. He was content to leave them there, even if he felt somewhat that it may have been his duty to save them. Still, warnings had been transmitted to them to leave as well, and few had taken the invitation, their fate was in their hands, and if it was for them alone, he would not have been here.

No, his reasoning he was here, was for the fact that not all the Tsis'Kaar agents had listened.

His betrayal stung deep, and though it may have seemed at times, that his feelings of guilt were overextended, these were good reminders that his actions had not been accepted by all. It had been something he had dealt with far too many times, as he had taken control of the invisible empire, mass defection, mass treason, ironically enough... mass betrayal.

He had not been able to all of them, not even most of them, using the very same methods they once used to serve the Tsis'Kaar to disappear into the shadows, leaving the order behind entirely or finding new masters. He did not fault them, did not blame them, did not say anything as he spent the next few weeks using what of the network remained loyal to him to hunt down and eliminate all breaches. They said the civil war ended on Fiviune, he knew for a fact it continued months after that. Would likely continue for years still.

By the end of the few weeks though, stability had been restored, he had proven himself to what was left of the Tsis'Kaar that he was their undeniable leader, as Ali had departed off to no doubt conduct whatever he needed to bring order to the Inquisition.

This would simply be the newest branch of his agents to go rogue, and that unfortunately meant, it would be his duty to deal with them violently, quickly, and silently. He might have been tempted to allow the Mandalorians to do his dirty work for him, after all, no matter who won, he prospered, and if his agents lived by the end, he could deal with them. Yet, that would not be right, despite their betrayal, they were still of the Tsis'Kaar, and he had already lost one agent to the Mandalorians, he was not going to lose more.

It was not out of any compassion for his once former men and women.

Simply cold calculus, the Tsis'Kaar could not be killed, where one head fell, two would sprout back up, they were immortal, unyielding, in their cycle of death and rebirth, there would always be another. Or so the theory went one that would quickly unwind if their weakness was displayed across the galaxy.

There too was the other reason, the Tsis'Kaar that had listened had proven themselves loyal, true, but loyalty today, was not loyalty tomorrow. He held the helm of power through strength as much as fidelity, to allow this brazen betrayal to go unanswered... well, agents talked. Weakness invited daggers in the back, and he had no intention of any more betrayals if he could help it.

Perhaps labelling what he had done on Fiviune as his original sin was not far from the truth, no doubt it had only led to so many betrayals after.

So it was that he was sat adrift upon the Lochris, shivering in the cold as all systems apart from his life systems were turned off, as he cloaked himself, as best as he could. It was a bad idea, but considering the circumstances, it had been the only idea, warping close to Mordinae would only alert the Mandalorians, so he had instead warped nearby, before immediately hiding himself. The initial momentum of his jump provided him all that he technically needed, in a frictionless airless space, all it took was for him to avoid Mordinae's orbit, and upon a ghost ship that held almost no systems running, he drifted closer, and closer to the derelict. Unfortunately, though he might be safe for the most part from sensors, the human eye could certainly spot the Lochris, a risk that only grew as he moved closer and closer.

Unfortunately from here, he could already see that it was all too likely that it would be the case.

The Mandalorians were already here.

Fuck.

Breathing out, watching the cold manifest themselves outside his nostrils, he needed to be quick.

Placing the replica mask of Darth Marr upon his face, it hissed as it connected to the rest of the space suit. He likely did not need it for long, depending on the damage to the Mand'alore. Yet the mask could not be coming off, none could know he was here. It would put everything into jeopardy.

Such were his thoughts, as in the final leg of the journey, the thrusters came alive for seconds at a time, adjusting his position to land, as the landing gear came out to hug the steel hulk. Taking a final breath of his life support system, the latch opened, and he experienced space.

Positioning himself, he travelled through one of the holes in the ship's hull. Reaching finally, a position where he could walk.

Removing the space suit, his steps echoed along the long hallways. He needed to be quick, who knew if he had already been spotted? Where the Mandalorians even were? If he would have his pound of flesh?

Elise Ahana-Gwyneira Ijaat Mereel Tharil

 

[Elise Ahana-Gwyneira]

Elise spoke briefly to Tharil. <<"Roger that. I'll keep you updated on whatever I see.">>

A part of her felt intimidated, fraudulent, speaking to a full blooded Chiss Mandalorian. Elise's father, Eliz Krayt , was a hybrid Chiss Mandalorian borne of a pure blooded Chiss Mandalorian. Elise knew too well of Chiss technology and culture. But Eliz was one hybrid, who had married another hybrid. With a miniscule amount of Chiss blood in her veins, Elise never had truly hung onto her Chiss identity. She was a mere mutt. What would this Tharil think, if she found out about Elise's miniscule Chiss heritage?

Her thoughts on that were cut short, when a ship tore out of hyperspace. Elise turned her attention to the scanners, and saw through the cameras that this ship-... this ship...

... Oh... Oh no...

Elise's eyes widened, tears forming in her Chiss red eyes. "No, no, no..."

She knew exactly what this ship was. She knew exactly who this ship belonged to.

She reached out through the Force, trying to feel that familiar Force Signature. Oh, so cold yet warm at the same time. She was unable to sense him, and for a moment her hopes went up. But she remembered, how easily a Force cloaking technique could come by him. And her heart sank once more.

She saw a harmonious savannah, a free outback. She saw nothing but the light of Archais, and the man she had saved from death there. The man who exchanged stories and lore with her, helped her, made her feel good. The man who, due to her own negligence, snuck into her heart while corrupting her home around her with his presence. The Dark Side, cold and maliced and cruel. The Dark Side, embraced and mastered by a charming, compassionate soul so unfitting for the Sith Code's spite.

Several tears slipped down her cheeks.

"Malum..."

She bolted to a cockpit window to get a better view of the ship. The ship that has once crashed into her homeworld. She slammed her ship's comlink, forcing a connection with the ship's own holonet. She cleared her throat.

<<"Traveller, this is Elise Vizsla, of Clan Vizsla.">>

Her voice was chilled in the shared com channel with her Mandalorian superiors. She had to remain calm. There could be no outward suspicions of the bond she wished she didn't have, but could never let go of. Never... But he alone, he alone would realize the hidden plea. The plea that, she did not want to fight him. Despite everything.

<<"This is Mandalorian territory, aruetii. I suggest you turn around.">>

Please turn around...

Darth Malum of House Marr Tharil Ijaat Mereel Mia Monroe

 

[Arla Rodarch]

Mandalore's Orbit
Aboard the Derelict Dreadnought
(+2 B-12 droids)
Theme

The dreadnought loomed large as Arla brought her shuttle in just behind Mia Monroe and Ijaat Mereel. She secured the ship and got out, bringing with her the force multipliers she'd stopped off on Qena to pick up. Two B-12 droids stomped down the ramp behind her, clad in her armour which was a mix of durasteel and beskar. She hadn't earned a full set yet, but she proudly wore the panther signet, the sigil of Clan Rodarch. Arla had also painted a black panther on a purple background across her torso plate, resting below her breastplates.

The Echani Commander didn't mince words as she approached Mia and Ijaat. "Droids for the raiders, and i'll kill off any Sith too stupid to run." She drew both her blasters, a heavy model and an ion type good for finishing off battle droids. She didn't expect her ranged weapons to do her good against Sith, but she had a blade at her belt for dealing with any of those scum.

Without waiting to see if they followed, she moved off into the ship at a jog, forcing the two droids to speed up to keep up with her. Their firepower would prove deadly in the close confines of a ship's interior, even a vessel this massive. A lot of places to hide, but she knew any quarry would try to run.

Try being the operative word. Arla did not intend to leave any survivors. There was no need to do so. Oh, she might accept a surrender without a fight from those who were unarmed and offered no resistance. But she doubted that would happen. Raiders did not have a reputation for surrender, Sith markedly less so. That was fine with her.

Elise Ahana-Gwyneira Darth Malum of House Marr Tharil Ijaat Mereel Mia Monroe

 

[Ijaat Mereel]

Ijaat froze. As Malum touched the skeleton of the ship, his sense, strained and meshing with the ship itself, felt the touch of one. Immediately he stiffened, and rage spiked in his aura and eyes went wide, nostrils flaring as if he smelled prey or an offensive odor in particular. Finally moving, without warning, Ijaat almost rudely ignored Arla Rodarch and the others.

When he spoke, it was short, terse, and he was beelining with speed through broken hallways towards Darth Malum of House Marr with rapidity.

"Kill all Sith onboard. Leave one survivor only, to tell of what will happen. No exceptions."

Stopping as he felt the presence of Malum nearby, he screamed in challenge. The words were amplified by his helmet, but even more so by the Force, twisted to an inhuman howl of rage directed at his quarry.

"WE HAVE COME FOR YOU!!!"

Mia Monroe | Elise Ahana-Gwyneira | Tharil

 

[Mia Monroe]

Everything shifted, from calm quiet to an angry buzz in the force, like they'd stumbled on a hornets nest. What the feth were the sith doing here? Had Malum ignored her warning? Or were these others?

"Tharil, Arla. Any sith you kill, check them for an emblem, a diamond to slits at its top, encircled by a snake consuming its own tail. If you find it, take it and bring them to me." She delivered them to Malum the next time they'd meet if they were his men.

"Ijaat, wait!" Ijaat was gone he'd become nothing but rage.. "Feth." she muttered. How had she become the reasonable one? Had she really gotten that soft. "Arla, stay with the Mand'alor, I will get the life support online. We still have a mission to complete."


Pushing off in the opposite direction, she continued her path towards the control centre. "Elise..." she paused, sensing distress in the girl, she switched to a private channel. "Eli'ika, your head is not in the game. Eyes on my trajectory please. Whats wrong?"

Tharil Arla Rodarch Ijaat Mereel Elise Ahana-Gwyneira Darth Malum of House Marr

 

[Arla Rodarch]

Mandalore's Orbit
Aboard the Derelict Dreadnought
(+2 B-12 droids)

Arla wasn't used to following orders, not in her old life. Here, she obeyed without question as Mia Monroe , one worthy of much respect, told her to follow and back up the Mand'alor himself, Ijaat Mereel also worthy of much respect. She obeyed, sending her droids off, to hunt what they could find through the darkness.

It was simple for her to alter her trajectory to fall in behind Ijaat, who seemed enraged by something he had sensed. She couldn't feel anything in the Force, not anymore. She didn't need it, she had other senses.

Whatever the Mand'alor might find in the bowels of the dreadnaught, he would not be alone or without friends at hand. The Mandalorian Protectors were on the hunt for true, now, and woe betide anything or anyone, Sith or otherwise, that got in their way.

Arla didn't speak, letting her actions speak for her. The droids disappeared, taking a different path into the ship. Her audio pickups caught the sounds of blaster and missile fire from that direction, so she assumed they were doing their jobs well. She would do hers, and her duty to the Mand'alor.

Elise Ahana-Gwyneira Darth Malum of House Marr Tharil Ijaat Mereel Mia Monroe

 

[Clarron Vall]

Vall kicked himself down from the roof with a thud into the wide, empty cargo bay, not bothering to soften the sound of the impact. It wouldn't be audible in the vacuum anyway, and while he knew the hulk would no more go ignored forever than a corpse in the jungle, he wasn't worried.

He was never worried.

Well. Except the one time. But if the snatches of conversation he had picked up from his erstwhile companions were at all true, he'd been frozen for... rather longer than he had assumed. He surely would have been long dead, as was everyone else. The thought brought about an instant conflict of relief, and a pang of regret. He'd not be sorry to see most go, but a scant few had mattered.

Vall shook his head, training and discipline reasserting themselves. Mind on the task at hand, he told himself. The salvagers had been extremely disappointed that he could not compensate them for his "rescue" and had expressed their disappointment by promptly abandoning him on another drifting vessel, one far larger.

It was good to know simple humanoid greed hadn't changed. Some things never did. As he had watched them file back into the ship, jeering at him, he'd contemplated simply butchering them all, but the vessel would have done him little good anyway. He was far from a skilled pilot, and even if he had been, he could not have crewed it alone.

He watched images flicker across the inside of his eyepieces, the sort of readouts he had grown so used to as to almost not notice them. He was still healthy, evidently, although he was confident he'd be too busy vomiting to move if he still had anything like a fully-organic digestive system. Repeated transport via the carbonite method had never made the thawing process a pleasant one, and his vision, run-through with a mass of data as it was, swam with vertigo. The lack of a proper up or down in the gravity-free, air-free environment wasn't helping.

He shook it off, rising to his full height and stretching. First order of business was to see where he was, and get off by any means necessary. Escape was priority 1. Reconnection with Imperial representatives, if any still existed, was Priority 2. Eliminating anything that got in the way of 1 or 2, was Priority 3. He hunched down, taking a flying leap into a ventilation shaft nearly fifteen feet above his head, and vanished into it.

This was a method of travel he was quite used to, and one well-suited for his slim outline and unnaturally-flexible body. He crawled through it rapidly, poking his head out at points where the shaft opened into another chamber, only to be met with room after room of darkness and vacuum. He'd never seen a vessel like this one, had no idea what the layout was, or if it would even be possible at all to leave it. The lack of life support suggested "no", but if he were a quitter, he'd have died a long time ago. At one point he could have sworn he saw lights, but that wasn't a road he was ready to go down yet. Lights meant people, people meant scavengers (or worse) and scavengers meant blaster fire.

Under normal circumstances, Vall found the idea of half a dozen panicky pirates, or whatever lurked here, with weapons as threatening as a warm cup of tea, but he was hardly at his best right now. He was well aware of his capabilities, and they were diminished until he could shake off the damnably persistent dizziness. Better to see if there were a way off that didn't involve stealing a ship from some twitchy scav.

He ceased his rapid movement reluctantly, poked his head out into a dark and empty chamber, and pulled himself out of the vent, scurrying along the wall with the aid of the claws on his hands and feet. He'd forgotten the ease of navigation in this environment, and under better circumstances would have even enjoyed the small rush of nostalgia. Reaching the floor, the magnetic claws on his feet clamped down, allowing him to stride over to what had once either been a bed or a desk. If it was a bed, the makers of this vessel displayed nearly the same contempt for the basic comforts that the Empire had. Nearly. He gave up on it after leaning himself against it for a few moments. The vertigo was beginning to clear somewhat, and with it, some facts arose in his mind.

He was not only low on supplies, carrying with him only what was fused to his body, he had not a credit to his name. He could operate in the vacuum indefinitely, but eventually he would need nutrition. He checked his belt. Enough for a day, maybe two on starvation rations. The Empire hadn't intended for Terror units to be in the field long. Their duties were swift, brutal, and inevitably over quickly. The money situation wasn't as immediately concerning, but still there. He doubted anyone else here would take him off out of the goodness of their hearts anymore than his last hosts had. Did people even still use the same currency? Did they speak the same language? Galactic Basic would at the very least sound different after... however many centuries of linguistic drift.

Vall shook his head again. Needed to stay focused on the task at hand. Maybe he'd run across something here he could barter for passage off. It seemed like a military vessel of some kind. Surely there was something of worth he could steal that unknown numbers of scavengers hadn't. Once again, he turned, scuttled up into the vent, and kept moving. He'd find whatever passed for an armory on this rust-bucket, or else a lone scavenger he could drag off into the dark and search for anything useful. Then he'd worry about whoever else was here.

 

[Mairéad Solus]

​

Location: Mandalore system
Objective: chase Sith
Tags: OPEN

Spoiler: Equipment:

Velmorite bladed lightsaber
Ladies Watch
Serenity bracelet
FDS-4F blaster pistol in lumbar holster
Empyrean Gland
The Family Finger
Marzanna
Body conforming personal shield device
Datapad

Hyperspace alerts would have crossed the boards of ships present as, further out in the system a trio of cruisers, led by a ship named the Zygerrian Freedom broke from hyperspace together and began rapidly approaching the hulk. They were all clearly registered as mandalorian vessels belonging to House Solus but currently weapons and shields were fully charged as they came. They had been chasing a Sith vessel through space since a minor skirmish over Vanquo had spoiled the dinner of the Alor'ad woman in charge of the small flotilla.

Mairéad looked at the screens perplexed as several unexpected signals appeared on her scopes... interesting, mandalorians already aboard. She would have to be careful and keep her shields up and ready to fight. Her house had poor relations to the Enclave and her other life had her a wanted criminal by the same. However, she still needed to board, and as this was unclaimed space she had every right to be here.

<<Calling Mandalorian vessels, this is Mairéad of House Solus, we are here pursuing Sith that we believe are giving aboard your salvage claim. We wish to board and remove our targets and intend no hostilities towards yourselves.>> she began maneuvering closer and readying herself to dock and board the hulk. She wished she was wearing her beskar but the damn thing didn't fit her right now anyway, do she would have to rely on her other skills, should things turn dangerous.

<<I am approaching the docking port behind your vessel, I repeat, i intend no hostilites" she wondered who, if anyone was in charge down there. She would find out soon enough.

 

[Sahan Dragr]

Spoiler: Equipment

SHIP:

• "Ure'adtr" Howler Basilisk War Droid (AKA "Gold")​

ARMOR:

• Besk'gathr Mk III​

WEAPONS:

• Tusurki'aa Ta'hye Beskad​
• M.I. Model 6 hybrid pistol​
• "O'dteyase Saranuhlr" Modified Vora-Class Verpine Hand Cannon​
• M.I. Model 12 shatter rifle​

ITEMS:

• AXC (10)​
• Mirshir Ka'esr Binders​
• Irya'kadir Smoke Bombs​
• Sasori Last Resort Cannon​
• Ring of Vision​

AMMO:

• Gas Canisters (12)​
• Slugs (100) |​
• Grulyr'bedtr CryoSlugs (1 Mag)​
• RB-02 "Salt" Rounds (1 Mag)​
• RB-04 "Droid's Bane" Rounds (1 Mag)​
• RB-03 "Force Breaker" Rounds (1 Mag)​
• Tracyn'wuta Pyro Slugs (5 Mags)​
• Hurdisi Photonic Blackout Rounds (5 Mags)​

---

://:OK, so why are we here again? I know you wanna go fight some Mythosaurs, but why?:\\:

"Because," Sahan told his Basilisk droid ship as they pulled out of hyperspace near Mandalore. " Yolaghun ate my Mythosaur mutagen I'd found under the temple. Only way to get access to more Mythosaur DNA is to hunt one down. I heard a few have been reintroduced to Manda'yaim."

://:And why exactly did he eat it?:\\:

"He, uh... thought it was candy."

://:He what!? How!?:\\:

Sahan sighed. "You gotta keep in mind that he's just a kid. I should have thought about it myself. Easy to forget, considering his size and the fact that he isn't even humanoid."

://:Guess I'm a little biased toward not eating random things,:\\: Gold replied. ://:Considering I don't eat at all or even have a mouth.:\\: Sahan just gave a nod. As they approached Mandalorian space, they picked up comms. ://:Hmmm, what's all this commotion?:\\:

They listened to what comms they could pick up. "I think we're making a detour. I don't know who this guy is, but it seems he's a brother. Gotta give him a chance. Hopefully he doesn't turn out to be an enemy like the guys I fought on Kiffu. Not that I blame them for fighting for what they believed. Even if they were misinformed." He listened to more of the comms coming through. He did hear one name he recognized. "Elise Vizsla? Isn't that Gwyn's daughter? Mev's sister. Not sure she'd be thrilled to see someone from the Enclave, but maybe I can get her to tell why she left. There's no bounty against her from the Enclave, and I have no personal beef with her, so no reason to fight."

://:Maybe there will be someone I can fight. She did say something about something about aruetti. I'll patch through to their comms and tell them we wanna say hello and help.:\\:

As Gold hailed the potential companions, Sahan climbed out of the cockpit, attaching to the hull with his magno-boots. His visor zoomed in on the battleship that needed repairing. He gave a whistle, the sound not extending past his helmet due to the vacuum of space. <What a beaut.>

---

 

[Clarron Vall]

After a lengthy tour of searching, Vall was no closer to finding anything. That was until, of course, his squad earpiece screeched a hail of gibberish and static into his ear. He tapped the side of his head briskly with one clawed finger, producing no result, but the static died away after a few moments on its own. Interference of some kind? Lot of signals going through this area, but the device wasn't tuned to pick them up as anything but garbled noise. What was more, he thought ruefully, it certainly wasn't strong enough to transmit outside the vessel, and anything near enough to hear him was an unknown quantity. Still, that told him he certainly wasn't alone. Either nearby units transmitting, or a very strong, starship-grade communications system.

He stopped for a while, intaking a small amount of the liquid nutrition rations he had. Not enough to do more than take the edge off, but it was something. He dropped out of the ventilation system, continuing the journey on ground level. Occasionally, he had to move along a wall or make a vacuum-assisted leap to avoid partially-collapsed hallways or places he suspected of more exotic hazards. Still, this was his element. Dark, cold, and he certainly wasn't alone. He halted suddenly, his foot-claws clamping into the metal to arrest his momentum where the nonexistent gravity could not. There was a greater chance than he liked of becoming lost. Quite apart from knowing where he was going, he had no idea of the size of the vessel. It could be like the Executor, where it could take the better part of a day to traverse from bow to stern on foot. He thought on that for a moment before extending his bladed index finger, and scratching a small mark into the wall on his left.

It was subtle, something that could be mistaken for battle damage to the untrained eye. He wouldn't care to be tracked, even if he were confident that he could turn the hunt very painfully against the hunter, as he had so many times before. As he kept going, he left several more, each somewhat different, in an attempt to leave a trail. Every hallway led into another, in seemingly infinite profusion. If he didn't aim to escape it as soon as humanly possible, he'd have taken time to admire the scale of the place. A marvel of engineering. Not unlike himself, in a way. That thought came unbidden, invasively, and sank in with a bitter taste. At least there was an organic brain ticking along inside his skull, or part of one. That wouldn't be the case much longer, however, if he stayed here.

The thought made him stop moving yet again, eliciting an idea. Ticking.

There was something, an old field trick when a message needed to be passed, but there was worry about hostiles listening in. The odds of anything nearby understanding it were slim, and the odds of leading to anything good if they did were slimmer, but he could see no harm in it. He was confident he could evade detection if it drew unwelcome attention. Hesitantly, he transmitted a brief, staccato series of static bursts on a wide array of frequencies. He waited a few minutes, then did it again. Encoded therein was rank, trooper ID number, and approximate location. With luck, it would at least prompt investigation. He kept moving, pausing occasionally to transmit again, every few minutes.

He was somewhat certain he was heading towards the bridge, but that was only a guess. Not all vessels mounted their command facilities at the stern, as the Empire had done with most of their Star Destroyers. He was gradually formulating a plan. If he could get there, perhaps the more powerful starship communications could be rigged into something like functionality, if only long enough for a distress call. Of course, that would be the equivalent of ringing the dinner bell in an Acklay nest, but if he stayed here, he'd slowly die of thirst at any rate.

The thought prompted an out-loud scoff. All the things he'd seen and done and had done to him, and a simple lack of water would be what got him. Dehydration, doing what capable warriors had failed to do. If he made it to the bridge, it would certainly be worth looking for preserved water and foodstuffs next, to avoid that indignity. In the event this was to turn into an extended stay, he'd have little choice.

 

[Darth Malum of House Marr]

His blood froze, not due to the freezing temperature of the derelict around him, but of the familiar voice that spoke through the commlink integrated into his mask.

"Elise..." Red eyes stared back at him, under a backdrop of nature which was a severe contrast to the metal hulk he was within, the rubies which were not so different to the ones which he bore, yet that was where the resemblance faded rapidly. Golden locks that seemed to shimmer silver, that he could not with complete certainty say were not spun by the gods themselves. A face that was the embodiment of happiness, of curiosity, of nervousness, and of strife stricken with memories of pain, destruction, and violence, and not all of them were her own.

His saviour.

The one who had stolen his heart, when he had thought it belonged to another.

The Force was not a kind mistress, this mission was already an impossibly difficult one, to place her against him too?

It was something even less likely than impossible.

Yet they had their parts to play, ordained by the conductor whose orchestra held the entire galaxy entranced, whose pen held the entire galaxy's fate and destiny towards its whims and wishes. Any who attempted to escape their path, try to decide their future, would be found back to where they were meant to be.

Such was the power of the Force.

Such was the thing he hated, even as it felt so powerful, coiled around his fingers, even as it was so useful, making him something quite beyond what any normal man was.

"She is a weakness that must be eliminated." That all-so-familiar voice whispered through his mind, having been content to mostly silence thus far, far more focused on the treason within her former ranks, those who in all honesty might have been too loyal to her, those who if she still lived, might have been lauded.

He hissed instead, emotions of various states seeming to burn off his body as a cold hand clapped down on his hand in warning, and his skull began to warm in deep contrast to the other states of temperature surrounding them.

"It is enough that I can never be with her, I will never harm her." No more than he had... no more than the simple knowledge of what he had done... no matter the pain of the fact that the Force itself had ordained that they, of such two different worlds, orders, and creeds, could never be together.

That was enough.

It had to be.

The entity remained remarkably silent, perhaps the realisation of the life-and-death situation they would soon be entering head first was enough for its desire for survival to beat out its desire to lecture and inflict pain, he would take whatever relief he would get.

"Viszla," His comms activated, there had been something in that voice that had betrayed what words did not, that she knew exactly who had just entered the ship, he did not know what game she was playing, but he would not betray her, even now, as they stood opposed, "I am... afraid, that will not be possible," He could not explain himself, he could not say the hundred or more words that he so desperately wished to say, he could not say even the simplest goodbye.

He could not let her own people doubt her loyalty when already she was labelled as such by others of her creed.

Yet he was not one to simply let things be either, as he unleashed the inky invisible tendrils of his Consume Essence out in all directions, he told himself it was to detect and identify all the foes on the ship. It was not entirely wrong, yet one tendril went far beyond its sibling's bounds, searching, for someone.

And as it found the Mandalorian with red eyes, it did not pry into her emotions, it did not attempt to siphon her energy, it did not even attempt to identify who she was. After all, he knew exactly who it was.

It only imparted one silent message, one communicated without verbal order.

"Do not fight today... my heart will not be able to bear it."

Before it was dispelled, evaporated into the darkness as if it had never been there at all.

For Malum himself, returning towards the other tendrils, he was able to quickly map out the interior of the Dreadnought, was able to quickly identify all figures onboard the craft, most were unfamiliar, yet whether their auras swirled with darkness or light was a good enough indication. There was even one that was familiar, the woman, the former Mand'alor he had almost killed, was onboard.

That was certainly inconvenient.

Yet he did not have much time to consider that, as he began to run through the metal halls of the craft.

And a shout that was filled with enough energy and rage was enough to give him pause.

Stopping as he felt the presence of Malum nearby, he screamed in challenge. The words were amplified by his helmet, but even more so by the Force, twisted to an inhuman howl of rage directed at his quarry.

"WE HAVE COME FOR YOU!!!"

So the Rekindler himself was onboard. Just his luck, he should have expected it, if his partner in crime was here too.

It gave him even less time to work with, yet such a shout was enough to catch the attention of everyone on the ship.

He was more than willing to exploit that, continuing his run, as a dagger appeared by his hand, his first query did not even see him. They never did, as he silently fell, body tense and panicked, mouth held in place, blood pooling underneath him, as the dagger made quick work through the robes he wore. Malum pocketed the evidence of his allegiance, the old crest of the old Sith Empire, so not one of his.

Good.

The Tsis'Kaar did not go down so easily.

Unfortunately, he doubted he would be able to get another clean or easy kill, the Moridinazid were no doubt closing in. His bloodied dagger went back into his robes, as the red lighsabre hissed into life, its plasma licking the air, as he readied for whatever threat was going to come through in front of him.

Elise Ahana-Gwyneira Ijaat Mereel Mia Monroe Tharil Arla Rodarch Clarron Vall Mairéad Solus Sahan Dragr

 

[Elise Ahana-Gwyneira]

Elise gritted her teeth. Merely hearing Darth Malum's voice, regardless of how cold, made her heart shudder in agony. Hope failed as he said he was unable to turn around, and Elise faltered. She closed her eyes, and she bowed her head in sorrow. When he telepathically told her not to fight, and that he could not bear it, Elise's eyes flashed open. So... despite everything, he still cared for her.

Despite everything, Elise still cared for Darth Malum.

Mia's voice through the comlink system shook her into reality. She swallowed the tight lump in her throat, lifting her arm to dry her tears.

<<"S-sorry!">> Elise sniffled, <<"Absorbed memories crop up at the strangest of times.">>

It was true. Elise had the memories of other people within her own head. And sometimes, she did not even know she had syphoned them until her own life triggered them. It was safe to bet a convincing lie on that. Especially when even now, she saw through her mother's eyes, as she wept for her deceased husband. Elise's father.

Who would have thought heartbreak ran in the family?

Elise lowered her hands to her side and cleared her throat. Her focus returned to her Force Sense, and she spoke in a hoarse tone, <<"Al'verde Mia, I sense another presence near the ship's bridge. But I don't sense hostility either. It's entirely possible for people to be scavenging with no intent to fight, not wanting a fight.">>

She was obviously suggesting that the person she sensed was non-hostile and deserved no cruel treatment.

<<"Sorry, Mia. My head is in the game, I'm just...">>

She lifted her hand, placing it over her forehead. She could not explain who Darth Malum was. She could not suggest something non-lethal to her own Mand'Alor. All she could was hope for her survival, and hope that Mia kept her right here.

Darth Malum of House Marr Mia Monroe Clarron Vall Ijaat Mereel

 

[Clarron Vall]

Vall, for his part, was currently in the act of attempting to pry open the reinforced blast doors into what he hoped was the command bridge when he felt the searching darkness wash over him. It would find little enough to grasp onto. The only emotions he had to feed on were tightly-guarded, buried far down under years of discipline, self-imposed or otherwise. He felt what he allowed himself to feel, and nothing more, or so he told himself. His searcher would find curiosity, excitement, and a tiny hint of a sort of calculating hopefulness. And, he figured, his position.

He'd been subject to something like that before, long ago. It had earned him the black saber-mark than ran along his back armor, perilously close to the systems that kept his ravaged body active in a mockery of life. If there were company here, and it judged him worth a threat, he could expect them soon. Very soon.

The doors groaned under the strain he was placing on them as the thought made him redouble his efforts. He'd found them open, but not quite open enough to squeeze through, and even his considerable strength was proving inadequate to the task despite pulling hard enough that he was risking damage to his cybernetic limbs. He stopped pulling and started hitting, his metal fists battering the doorway mercilessly with all the force he could muster. It was no use. Doors inside war vessels were made to resist thermal detonators, and he doubted this was the sole exception. All he had to show for that effort were a series of vaguely fist-shaped dents in the metal. Finally, he gave up, hunching down in the corner and slowing his breathing. He closed his eyes, and focused. He was looking at this all wrong.

There had to be a way through. The command bridge needed air like anywhere else. He looked around, spotting a vent. It was small, uncomfortably so, and placed well above his head. He raced up the wall to it, ripped the vent cover off with a contemptuous swipe of his claws, and squeezed in.

It was barely enough to accomodate his frame, and he had to drag himself along with his forearms; any other movement was impossible. His claws bit deep into the metal with every movement as he crawled forward, inch by inch. The process took nearly ten minutes, but at last he squeezed out of the vent like an overgrown kouhun to see that the bridge was open to the vacuum, with most of the reinforced windows missing.

The shields that would normally seal a breach in the towering bridge viewports were, of course, inoperable without power, which didn't increase his optimism about getting anything in here working. He carefully clambered down, and began to rummage through the room, tossing bits of debris over his shoulder, along with the occasional vacuum-dessicated remains of what he assumed was the crew that floated here and there. Nothing of value but scraps of old armor and weapons. Mandalorian, he assumed, from the look of one mangled helmet. Of interest to the vessel's owners, maybe. Not to him.

The instruments were little better. He could effect basic repairs on shipboard systems, as could many pilots, but the damage here was frankly beyond his capabilities even if, by some miracle, power was running. If the bridge were this karked up, the reactor had to be ten times worse, and his hope of fixing that even slimmer. He wasn't fixing this mess himself. That left one option.

Still sure this was a bad idea, he picked up the shattered Mandalorian helmet, pulled out the remains of its internal comms, and spliced them into his, scanning its range of local frequencies. He got a nasty shock for his efforts as the device promptly burst in his hands, either the wiring being too damaged, an anti-tampering security measure, or both. Still, he had what he needed. He then broadcast on what he believed was an (albeit likely defunct) priority command channel, hoping perhaps those aboard were simply the original owners come back to claim their property, and could be reasoned with if he explained his predicament.

"If you're the owners of this floating graveyard" he began, the transmission carrying his distorted, monstrous voice "then you know I'm here already. I'm marooned and don't have any interest in stealing your salvage. I've got no interest in anything of yours, only in leaving in one piece. Whoever hears this first, I'm at the bridge, or what used to be one. Don't bother with it, it's destroyed and there isn't anything worth taking. Only me. If you're willing to do a stranger a good turn, I'd owe you a favor. A favor from me is very useful, believe you me. I don't hand them out lightly."

"If you're not the owners, and still somehow hear this on an ancient Mando com channel, offer's still open. I don't much care who gives me passage off. Whoever gets here first and has a ship. If you're a scav, and I see you show up with weapons drawn, I'll add some fresh new bodies to the old ones up here in their fancy armor." On which ominous note the transmission ended. He scurried into a dark corner, and waited.

Darth Malum of House Marr Ijaat Mereel Mia Monroe Elise Ahana-Gwyneira