Faction Into the Deep - The Evening Before [ ME ]

[Avast Verd]

MOBILE MEDBAY

| Adelle Bastiel Reina Daival Eenia Vahn

"Medic!" Avast barked out with the kind of tone that had learned the difference between panic and urgency the hard way. "Before this one decides infection is a lifestyle choice."

Siie grumbled in Sullustan under his breath, stubborn as a busted nav buoy. Avast didn't slow. She never did when momentum mattered, tightly plaited thick braids swinging with each impatient step as she hauled a limping Sullustan through the hatch of the mobile medbay.


Weeks. Maybe months. Time had gone sideways in the Unknown Regions. The Convergence had spat them out and flung her ship and her navigation crew into a galaxy that no longer agreed with its own geometry and suddenly the Force didn't flow there so much as argue.

She had listened anyway.

That was the part no one back home would understand. That catastrophe hadn't broken her. It had taught her. The youngest Verd had learned how the Force traced the new bones of the galaxy and that the paths weren't gone, just rewritten. She had to map them the hard way through exhaustion, loss, and near-misses that still rang in her head.

Ravagers had been one of those lessons. She'd thought they had been mere Spacer tales. She'd been wrong. Every part of them was real. The madness, the desire to kill, maim, and aim to kill anything and anyone in sight. Running a fight through dead space that ended with blood on the deck and Siie refusing medical care, as if it were a moral failing.

They barely made it out alive.

Avast finally released him near the exam table, her hands bracing on her hips for half a breath as the adrenaline drained enough to let the weariness show. Those dark eyes lifted as they began their assessment, already cataloging supplies, exits, and people -- navigator habits died hard.

"Someone please fix him," she added, jerking a thumb at Siie, "before I do it myself and end up sawing off his leg by accident."

 

[Liorra]

Liorra caught Mia Monroe's glance, and for a heartbeat she stalled, mind racing ahead of her feet, already second-guessing words she hadn't spoken yet. She was grateful for the helmet as she sealed the visor shut. It hid the tight knot in her expression, the flicker of uncertainty, the dozen reasons she gave herself not to step forward.

By the time she realized it, she was already moving.

Instinct, apparently, was louder than doubt.

What do you say? What does one say after all this time? The thought tripped over itself as she stopped a respectful distance away.

"Something… something, hello, vod," Liorra offered, the word half-murmured, half-teasing, before she exhaled and steadied herself. "Liorra. Uh, do you need another gun?"

Her heart was very much pounding against her chest, thank you for asking. She tilted her head slightly, a small shrug following.

"Or… I can go find something to do. Punch. Blast. Otherwise reduce into nothingness." A beat. "I'm flexible." A cough, "mostly."

Mia Monroe | Itzhal Volkihar ​

 

[Adelle Bastiel]

Mobile Medbay
Tags: Reina Daival | Eenia Vahn | Avast Verd | Open

“I did send in a requistion slip asking for extras,” Adelle said, somewhat bitterly. “They’re scheduled to arrive tomorrow morning, before we hit the mines.”

She scoffed and turned around, leaning back against the countertops. A glance was spared the mercenary, a young red-haired woman with guarded eyes, before she met Nia’s gaze. “We’ll see how punctual they are this time.”

The other healer’s question about forgetting something set off her paranoia. Had they forgotten something? Adelle ran through the mental checklist. Inventory had been taken, everything unpacked and put in its place, items and tools sterilized and prepped. Complete sterilization would happen in the morning, when the Mando’ade set out. She couldn’t think of something they had missed but now the doubt gnawed at the edges of her brain.

"Medic!" Avast barked out with the kind of tone that had learned the difference between panic and urgency the hard way. "Before this one decides infection is a lifestyle choice."

She heard a shout from outside, a sarcastic comment with bite soon following. Adelle strode to the doorway to find a young Mando hauling a Sullustan into the medbay. She hissed through her teeth.

"Someone please fix him," she added, jerking a thumb at Siie, "before I do it myself and end up sawing off his leg by accident."

“Haven’t even gone into the kriffing mines yet,” she muttered. “And someone’s already dying.”

Adelle took the Sullustan off of the taller Mandalorian woman’s shoulder, tapping into the Force to balance out the weight and size difference. And while the examination table hadn’t been sterilized yet, it was clean. Certainly cleaner than the floor. Adelle helped the Sullustan onto the table, finding Nia’s gaze.

“Healing might be the better option here,” she said. “Keeps our supplies fully stocked for tomorrow’s hells. You want to take point?”

 

[Reina Daival]

Tag: Adelle Bastiel Eenia Vahn Avast Verd
Location: Mobile Medbay
Outfit

"There's a lotta things that would be "better". Doesn't mean it's realistic. Double is the best we can hop for."

Reina gave a non-committal shrug of her shoulders as the Medics and first-aiders spoke. Why was she even stood here when she didn't have an ounce of healing knowledge that would be useful? Maybe because this reminded her of the Jedi. Their humantarian efforts and the like, that Reina always lurked around yet never took part in. Or perhaps it was because she felt as if she didn't truly fit in with the culture and the people. She was a simple mercenary. No-one special. As much as she might have desired otherwise.

If something had been forgotten, Reina had no clue what it was. What she did have a clue of was someone's pride getting the better of them, as another Mandalorian came barging in, hurtling a Sullustan onto the table. Reina took a step back, mostly to let the experts deal with it. For Reina, her way of treatment would have been heat. A lot of cauterisation. Which Reina knew wasn't efficient...but it was the best way to prevent infection that she knew. It was strange to watch all the same, as her eyes flickered between the three Mandalorians.

More and more she felt like an outsider. No matter where she went, where she worked, she felt like she didn't belong. She hadn't belonged amongst the Jedi. She didn't belong amongst the Sith. And now? She didn't belong amidst the Mandalorians. That wasn't something she should focus on in the moment however. She wasn't here to find a home, or a place to belong. It was a simple job. Credits. That was it.
​

 

[Itzhal Volkihar]

| Location | Mandalore, Outer Rim Territories

Itzhal Volkihar gazed across the vast expanse before him, his eyes drifting beyond the ancient, bowed mountains, buried in turmoil, shaped by endless warfare. Above, the night sky shimmered with twinkling stars arrayed in a timeless dance, a balad of guttering hope that burned bright, held together with the glittering wisps of stardust, whispered promises of a foretold dawn. On nights like this, where the breeze seeped through his bodysuit, the tired old man beneath the armour couldn't help but contemplate whether their people's future awaited far beyond, in between the glittering wisps, rather than here. Far from a realm sculpted by its people suffering, a sanctuary rather than a trial; free from the graveyard of restless spirits entombed within the cold embrace of beskar.

He wondered then what brought his people crawling back. Why did they crave a history of death and destruction, a place that, by his fellow Mandalorian's description, could have been wounded countless times over?

"I am," he admitted, without hesitation, calm despite the fear that settled into his bones. There was no reason to deny it, not when he'd brought the subject up. Whatever lurked beneath the surface was unnatural, an abomination sealed away till the day that brave warriors stepped forward to vanquish it, or it cracked the seal.

The metal of his right greave was cold; leeched of heat over the past few hours, a biting chill snapped against his covered fingers as he drew small circles against the metal.

"When the Sith invaded Mandalore, I was elsewhere, my head planted amongst the sands for all that I helped," He said, something weary but amused in the admission that was shared between them. "My skills have always focused on people, whether they be civilians or warriors; I am used to the conflicts of men. In recent months, I have faced other threats: the firebreathers sealed away beneath the sea, monsters wearing the faces of our dead, and even misfortuned beasts ravaged by the jester's will. By all accounts, I should be prepared for this."

Insects beneath his feet crawled their way out of cracked fissures in the stone, barely a few fingers in width, for all that the swarming creatures poured out like a river of black, only to seep into nearby drops into the sightless abyss. A few, he crushed underfoot, a faint nuisance quickly dispatched, as he returned his attention to his fellow Mandalorian.

"But, this feels different. Perhaps it is the fact that my skin is chilled with a thousand knives whenever I dare to sleep within sight of the mine, mayhaps it is something simpler. I am no stranger to danger; I have grown inured to violence, as much as I wish I could claim otherwise. So many times, I have spiralled across the stars, pushing onwards to the next threat, whatever danger that would threaten our people," His throat felt parched, a dried-out husk drained of excuses or explanations, faced only with the conclusion. "Now, I stand here, the danger within reach, and I fear it has already started fighting."

With his worries shared, Itzhal paused, waiting for a response in the shuffle of footsteps and the approach of another Mandalorian that he did not recognise—there were so many of them nowadays. This one, however, seemed younger than most, sheltered in dull shades of beskar, their armour scattered with scratches and the faint remnant of blaster marks. At least, when he glanced towards Mia, she seemed to have some awareness of the latter.

"I am not opposed," Itzhal shrugged, tilting his helm towards Mia and the decision that he left in her hand.

Tags: Mia Monroe Liorra​

 

[Mia Monroe]

Liorra Itzhal Volkihar

When Liorra began to move towards them, she turned her gaze back to Itzhal listening to his concerns. She understood it, the worry, the fear, the discomfort so close to something this dark and twisted. "That's because it has." she said softly. "This fight for Manda'yaim is not one of just body, it is of the mind too. Every wound she has suffered, every scar is something our people also feel. War of people is easy, you can look at it from afar and predict every outcome, good or bad. But war with the darkness?" She shook her head. "You can't know the path it will take until it takes it."

Her eyes drifted to the entrance of the mines, feeling the pull, hearing the soft whispers in the force that told her whatever lay behind those stones was meant to try them like nothing else they'd faced had. "The important thing," she said turning to face them as Liorra drew closer "Is that you are not facing it alone, there are eye to watch while you sleep, and guns and blades to watch your back at dawn. Fear is good, it keeps us alive to fight another day."

She fell silent, as Liorra drew up, her introduction fumbled. A derisive snort escaped her when she claimed to be flexible. She let out a sigh and shook her head. "Flexibility was never your forte, Liorra." she said amusement laced in her tone. "You can join us, if that's what you want."

 

[Sergeant Omen]

Omen was surprised that the sound effects his weapon made caused a reaction. This was a war camp after all, and these people were preparing for war. One person cycling his weapon should be that much of a surprise. Guess it proved just how on edge everyone was. Korda's response made him chuckle, like something his grad schooler teacher had said something funny. "Good to know I still have my senses." Ones know he questioned his own facilities half the time.

Raising an eyebrow, Omen was surprised about the mutation. He had never seen a red eyed human in person... at least no one without a red lightsaber in their hand, so this was a first. Him being a siege specialist made sense too. He clearly relied on brute strength and power to do his work like he had said before. Guess being trained to breaking through walls made you into a body builder.

As Korda went more into his story, Omen didn't really know what to say. Trust could do funny things to people. And when it was broken, it could destroy someone. He knew from his own experiences that was the truth. "Your story probably wouldn't be the only one like it out there. I lost trust in society at one point too and it didn't end well for me either. Still, we are still standing, got to mean something about us huh." It meant they are still too stubborn to stand down and die.

Korda didn't need to learn about his past and how it was similar. He just needed to know Omen sympathized with his fellow Vod. "Well... Atleast through all of that you haven't forget to have fun." When Korda rose and checked his weapon, the clone knew the conversation was over. Before Korda made his exit, the Clone grunted as he got up as well, offering a handshake to him as he prepared to set off. "Same to you. Thank you for taking the time and giving me the balac to speak and showing me some burcyan. I hope I get to talk to you again." As Korda walked away and the Clone sat back down, he wondered if he hadn't been stopped, if he would have become like this destroyer of worlds, a true monster. The thought made him even more glad that he had. And as he sipped his drink by the fire, it gave him more of a push not to go over that edge again...

Korda Veydran , @Open

 

[Kurayami Bloodborn]

Tag: Open

Outwardly, he made no show of having noticed those who approached the mines. The only sign was his eye slowly opening as he shifted position and unslung his TL-50. Moving to a nearby rock, he began to strip the weapon and reassemble it, though it was hard to tell if this was done as a means to clean and prep the weapon or as another means of meditation. Of course it was possible it was neither and was just a way for him to pass the time and keep his hands busy.

One the rifle was done and reassembled, he moved on to the first of the pistols. Still focusing completely on the task while allowing the Force to keep him aware of those near him. After a short time he moved on to the second pistol. During this he paused when he got to the Xciter assembly and looked up.

His head moved slowly, sweeping the area. The only dead giveaway that something had gotten his attention was the sweeping motion of his sing organic eye. That soon slowed as it settled on a group of two, wait no three people. Only two were known to him though. Two signatures he knew quite well. A deep centering breath was the only show of emotion from the man as he watched for a long moment debating approaching the group of , Mia Monroe , Liorra , and Itzhal Volkihar . He shook his head and returned to the task at hand. Besides it wasn't clear when the mines were going to be opened and the expedition to clear them would begin.

He had to remember that this wasn't a social call, this was to reclaim hallowed soil for family. No matter the cost, he would not fail them. With those thoughts he slammed the power pack back in place and made sure the second pistol was ready to go. All three weapons prepped and ready, he set to work, giving them a final polish before all was said and done.

 

[Talohn Atar]

Talohn, while waiting for Aether to head his way, turns to face his machine once more, kneeling by it as he watches the mechanical parts within whir and click. Those orange colored eyes shift to Sula as he arches a brow. He doesn't seem particularly surprised by her presence. She was indeed quiet, he had to give her that. Probably wouldn't have detected her if not for those ears he got by being born a cathar. He grins wryly. "Is it not polite where you're from to speak to someone before doing diagnostics on their machinery?" Despite the question, his tone is teasing, no offense seeming to be taken on his part.

His eyes flick between she and the machine as she explain, also following her fingers as she points out the differences in the rock types. He nods, rubbing his chin slightly. "So the density synchronization core needs to be....Dom jurn!" He baps himself on the side of the head as he expresses his discontent in his native tongue. While she begins tampering with the settings on that datapad, Talohn opens a panel to begin messing with the wires using some pliers and a screwdriver. He already knew what settings Sula was calibrating now, but the machine wasn't quite customized to accommodate them just yet. It was a protype after all. Luckily all it required was a few rewires and a few tweaks on one of the circuit boards. By the time she finishes messing with the settings, he shuts the panel as he stands up, arms reaching out in a stretch.

He lifts his shoulders in a shrug as he takes the datapad. "We cathar are carnivores. No agriculture. We do not mine either. I have never tampered with dirt. Much of what I know is research done in the past 48 hours." He was about to try once more when a voice spoke that instantly made his expression light up in a goofy grin. Well, goofy to those that knew him. To those seeing it for the first time, those sharp teeth with even sharper incisors, all able to cut through bone if he decided to, could be somewhat intimidating. He turns about to face Zlova with a wry chuckle as she steps up to them. "I am unfortunately in no place to comment, given the state of my own home world." He gestures to the machine. "But if I can get this to work here, I have a good shot at changing that."

Talohn takes the drink as it's offered, having a quick swig before he places it on the nearby table, his arm going about Zlova's waist to pull her close and press his forehead to hers for a few moments. "Always seeking to brighten up the room, my pizezrera." He states teasingly, giving her a peck on the nose before returning his focus to the machine. "I'm looking to get this device working. If I can do that, it'll be able to scan the caves for us. We'll be able to navigate. That way we only have to worry about what's in there instead of both that and where we're going. It's also a good test run for eventual use in the kiltik caves on Cathar." With one arm still about Zlova's waist, he holds the datapad with his free hand, using his thumb to scroll around on the settings and make sure everything was proper before the text test run. "By the way, you did not introduce yourself." He states, attention finally shifting back to Sula. "I am Talohn Ata- Wait. I suppose it is Talohn Verd in this circle."

 

[Zlova Rue]

The Twi'lek snorted even as she nodded. "I didn't say you should stop." Talohn Atar was dedicated to revitalizing his world. Zlova couldn't say she felt so strongly about some thing near as much, but if it made him happy far be it for her to get in the way. If anything, she made sure others didn't get in his way. Perk of having a Sith Lord as a companion: everything went your way because the alternative was worse than death.

Golden eyes peered up into Talohn's as the Cat snagged her waist and drew her in close. Zlova smiled up at him. She wasn't the least bit concerned with optics and how others thought of the scene. The only time impressions mattered was when she expected to be obeyed. Otherwise, people could think what they wanted. Especially when she found far more enjoyment with the crazed Cathar and his novel ideas than she did all the machinations of the deprave combined.

"The mystery is half the fun," Zlova replied as if disappointed they'd know what to expect going in. Mystery. Danger. Certain Death and surviving by the skin of one's teeth. Wasn't that the Mandalorian way? She was pretty certain there was this waif ambling about complaining about how Mandalorians always kicked down doors instead of trying the stealthy approach or bothering with proper recon.

Her attention swung from the pad and Talohn's device to this other person, Sula Skirata . "Zlova Rue." Her eyes darted to the side at Talohn. "Zlova Verd doesn't have the same attitude. If I have to play nice among Mandalorians, however..." she'd leave it to the Cat to decide if she had to be all formal among the others.

 

[Sula Skirata]

Tags: Talohn Atar Zlova Rue​

“Politeness is a social construct built around making other people feel better. It's a waste of time, your state of mind is not my responsibility.”

She watched him adjust the machinery compensating for the changes she’d made. “You should know dirt. Just because you don’t farm or mine, doesn’t mean it is insignificant. Without it, you wouldn't have anything to hunt. All life cycles begin and end with dirt.” It wasn’t chastising, everything Sula said was said with the tone of someone who simply knew their words to be true.

Sula blinked at the words from the lethan twi’lek a frown creasing her head. Mandalore was not a terrible world, it was simply a world in the process of healing, but that someone else thought it might be terrible did not impact Sula in any way shape or form. They were wrong, and that was their problem.

A beat passed and she decided that she didn’t care enough to voice her thoughts on the matter. The device interested her, not the people around it. If it worked, it would save a lot of trouble and make the trip into the mines a damn sight faster.

Then he asked her name and Sula realised her error. In order to assist and help get the device working, she had to socialise. She shot Aar’ika an annoyed look, before answering.

“Sula Skirata.” she answered, reluctantly.

 

[Talohn Atar]

H E A D E R​

Objective - Location

In response to Sula's opinion on politeness, Talohn lets out a hearty laugh. "I wouldn't go so far as to call it a waste of time, but it does feel like it gets in the way sometimes. I'm just giving you some grief." He waves a hand dismissively. "I'm not actually upset. That being said, please do not tinker with my tech without saying anything again. It's like..." His brow furrows as he attempts to think of a comparison. "Rearranging someone's room without telling them. Harm's not intended, but it can still cause issues."

Talohn shrugs at her introspection on dirt. "I do not know what else to tell you. Caring about dirt was someone else's job back on cathar. I left before I truly learned much. I was 18 or so when I left home. Been a spacer ever since. Dirt hasn't really come up often. Save for my time on Kammia. But the soil there is....Nothing like the soil here. The soil here is....Damaged." That's the best way he could put it. Centuries of war had left it's mark on even the very dirt.

Luckily the mood brightens significantly when Zlova shows up. At least for him. Whatever sadness he felt for both Mandalore and his own home instantly faded in the wake of getting to dote on Zlova affectionately. He chuckles slightly at Zlova's words, shaking his head. "Is the mystery of what's waiting down there not enough? Personally, I want to be able to put my full focus on those beasts. I dislike cave navigation." His thumb finishes tapping about on that datapad. A bar appears on the screen that begins to slowly fill up. While the machine boots up, he places the pad down on the nearby table. "I mean, Zlova Rue is correct. We never formally got married." He snickers. "I remember we looked at the paperwork a single time. We both got bored and decided to make steak instead."

He gives a slight bow of his head to Sula. "Pleasure to meet you. Thanks for the help. This'll make the caves a lot more manageable. At least I hope."

Sula Skirata Zlova Rue

 

[Zlova Rue]

"Yeah, well, paperwork's like clothing. Or armor. Has a societal purpose, but it's all for show. In the end, all that matters is who you are, who you have, and what you're willing to do to keep them." Talohn knew her stances on clothing and armor. If she could get away with neither, she would. 'Civilization,' however, required at least clothing so to not waste time she followed that 'recommendation.'

"Clan or family membership isn't dependent on a bureaucratic form is it?" If it did, Zlova would blame Srina by accusing her of having dropped Aether on his head as a child or something. Didn't matter if it was fabricated. In fact, it was better if it were fabricated! The more outrage the better. Zlova loved a good pot stirred.

Zlova threw an arm about Talohn's shoulders as he stared at a pad. "Please tell me when that reaches one hundred percent something explodes."

The Lethan looked at Sula next. "What's your story?"

Talohn Atar | Sula Skirata