Legacy of a Murderer: Blood and Honor...

[Julius Sedaire]

Mereel... The name rang in his ears, over and over again as he turned over the battered leather-bound book in his hands. The pages were long since yellowed, and almost browned with age, and so he handled it with care. He had digitized copies of it, omitting his fathers' many notations and theories and the like from that copy. It still smelled slightly like he always remembered his father. Soft pipe tobacco, the sweet anisette aroma, and the oil and grime and coal of the forge. Comforting, really. The stories hidden in it, or hinted at that he had learned in truth tracking them down... His father was mandokarla and that was for certain.

Regardless of the memories, one last little errand was remaining to him from this book... Then he had things he needed to do, no matter how they might rankle his pride. So he had called [member="Isley Verd"] to him and had prepared the Hammer Home for what might be her last ride with himself at the helm. Verd had been progressing, here and there were some hiccups in the 'rehab' so to speak, but overall he was truly committed to the concept of this trial. The last thing Ijaat could think of was to bring him along on this mission to recover his final prize.

How he acted during that would be a great indicator of things to come. And if he did well, Ijaat would send him back to [member="Anija Betna"] with full recommendations that he had done all he could to teach the Dar'manda humility, honor, integrity, and all the things his family had stood for and he and his father before him had tried to live by throughout their ages. It would be up to the Council from there, what would be done with him. Ijaat held little doubts though, Isley would do him proud.

Nodding, he had Geoff hit the comms, tapping his hand lazily to the command chair to allow the AI connection to his ship and smiling. Amazing how such a curse as the vongshaped biots within him were now used so casually. The longer he practiced with it, the less painful it seemed. In truth, it was still agony to him every time, he was just used to it by now. Geoff would have located Isley, wherever he was at, and in his quite, posh Corsucanti accent would have request him to meet Ijaat on the bridge. They had finally arrived...

 

[Darth Metus]

It was under the tutelage of [member="Ijaat Akun"] that Isley had learned to challenge himself again.

Long ago, back when he was just a whelp tampering with Sith Alchemy, the Dar'manda moved from one challenge to the next. At first, these challenges revolved around mastering the techniques of his master, [member="Rave Merrill"]...but as time moved forward, they evolved. He began to challenge the fullest extent of his abilities in the Force. Of course, when left unchecked, Isley fell far away from the Path. He saw the power in his Arts and wanted more. Yet, after paying the price of this hubris...the Dar'manda became too afraid to challenge himself. He threw himself at the mercy of the Council, yes. He met the challenges posed to him head on. But did he devise new ways to push himself?

Not until recently. Not until Ijaat got into his head.

It was during his Trial that he began to truly see the depths of his errors. Isley realized that it was not the act of pushing himself that had resulted in his tremendous fall; but rather irresponsibility. Plain and simple. As a man...as a Mandalorian...it fell upon him to always push himself to get better. It was expected that he always hone his craft, whatever that may be. That was why the Forge was always stoked in the morning. That was why the Smith always had something to work on. Thus, did Isley begin to look inside...and the challenge he selected was one of tremendous difficulty. It was something that he did not share with his mentor and friend, Ijaat; for truly, there were very few words shared between them in the Forge.

But Ijaat knew Isley's history. He knew the Dark Side was in him. And he would see the fruition of this challenge.

Isley would...abandon the Darkness.

Today, the task at hand would take place outside of the Forge. Instead, the Dar'manda was directed to board the personal vessel of the Forge Father and they headed out. Isley did not know where they were going, but eventually he was summoned to the bridge. Upon arrival, he made himself somewhat comfortable by leaning upon the nearest wall.

"What's our heading?" he asked.

[member="Ijaat Akun"]

 

[Julius Sedaire]

The other took his time to stand slowly, keying in various commands to the ship in some aspects whilst Geoffery took care of powering up and preparing the patrol craft. The larger forge vessel would stay in orbit over the planet, scanning and analyzing the surface in great detail and nuance. Probes were released to further enhance the detail and depth of said scan, and he had every intent to send them to the Silver Sanctum Coalition, as a thank you and an apology for his intrusion on their space. When he had learned the location of the relic he now sought, and confirmed it, he had also been alerted to the fact the Kyr'stad who had been troubling them recently in Mandalore had been dispatched there as well.

That he would not let stand, and he could not await the proper diplomatic processes out. So he had sent communiques out ahead to those he knew to contact, alerting them of the intelligence and possible threat, and alerting them of the cultural relics of his people possibly at risk by said threat. The message had been brief and to the point, fitting for the Mando'ad conducting the mission when on an operation of a military nature. There had also been a listing of various IFF tags that would be present over the planet surface in regards to his ship, and the ones in his and Isley's own armor.

The affiliation had been simply as Aliit'buir Ijaat Akun and his ward, Isley, of House Mereel. No further authority was provided. Hopefully they would understand things. He had also promised a detailed scan of every inch of the planet, topographically and geologically and minerally and everything. Anyone would, frankly, leap at the chance to get such data on any planet. Damn near every inch of the surface mapped, and if he had to stay in orbit, he would do it.

Finally, he glanced up to Isley lounging on his ship wall and smiled despite himself, merely raising an eyebrow at the casual manner displayed. It was a good thing, in truth. It meant the other had begun to be comfortable in himself, and in him the change had begun to finalize. His lessons were taking hold then, or so he had hoped. So when he turned, it was with a smirk very few had seen him with in a while. Slow, easy, and lighting up his eyes. Humor had been hidden for years behind grief and loss, but there was a time when Ijaat had wooed and wrassled with [member="Karen Roberts"] herself, and damned near won both contests. Or so he told himself and those he drank with and passed the story onto.

"Galidraan... A specific place on the surface, old Mandalorian bunker complex and memorial. There is something there of import to the Mando'ade, and in particular to House Mereel. By my charge, I could not leave you alone on Mandalore. But you do not by your charges, have need to go to the surface with me. That is of your choice. I can leave you on the ship here, Geoff can monitor you, and keep you well in your bounds and from doing mischief. But if you wish to go, I will give you armor, and weapons, and we will visit this surface together. The Kyr'stad are there, racing to beat us to the prize and desecrate the memorial of a man I prize the memory of greatly, the memory of Jaster Mereel himself. I would appreciate your aid. I will be in the main hangar, prepping to go in the patrol craft. If you wish to join me, you have five minutes..."

With that he walked from the bridge, to go prep his weapons for what would likely be his last big hurrah.

[member="Isley Verd"]

 

[Darth Metus]

In the wake of their excursion through time and space, the Dar'manda had taken some tips from [member="Ember Rekali"].

In particular, he had adopted the habit of examining navicomputers, consoles, and other key devices whenever the opportunity presented itself. This was not due to a lack of trust in the Forge Father, of course. But rather the necessity of sating a base curiosity. So, whilst the old man focused on the task of informing the Coalition of their coming, Isley snooped ever so subtly. His gaze slid first to the navicomputer, which promptly informed him that they were in the Outer Rim. Greater Tion to be exact. However, the exact coordinates were blocked out by Ijaat's form. So, he took a gander at the console, which caught the tail-end of the drones being released from the Forge Ship. Clearly, they were here for more than just sightseeing.

When the Forge Father turned around in his seat, the Dar'manda met his gaze. And...there was a surprise underneath those wrinkled eyes. For the span of time that they had worked together, Isley had never seen the man smile. Not even in passing. But now, there was a well-formed smirk plastered upon Ijaat's face. For some reason, that caused a chill to run down Isley's spine. No matter. When Ijaat had said his piece about what laid in wait on the surface below, the Dar'manda couldn't help but blink. Was he...serious? Was this inquiry for real? After all that Ijaat had taught him...after all their mutual heritage had taught him...was there really any answer aside from kark yes? Well. Technically there were more eloquent ways to put it.

And frankly, Isley chose not to say a word. When Ijaat eased himself up and out of his chair, the Dar'manda was two steps behind him the whole of the way.

With the reality of the Death Watch came the reality of combat. Not that Isley did not trust the skills of the Forge Father, for his scars told the story of an exceptionally competent warrior, but the Dar'manda could not help but fight. These men were...sinners of similar caliber to he. However, they fought under the delusion that their actions would bring about positive change to Mandalore. That would not stand. It never would. How does one bring strength to a culture by fighting against it? How does one begin movement in the right direction when every step forward is wrong? No. They needed to be addressed: either with logic or the sword. So, Isley would fight. He would see to the protection of Jaster's legacy...and he would do it without the Dark Side.

"I'll need my saber, a sniper, and a sidearm." he said, finally.

[member="Ijaat Akun"]

 

[Julius Sedaire]

Ijaat nodded, smiling faintly as he felt the vibrations in the deck signaling Isley was right behind him. He had guessed right about the man, and the bearing out felt good indeed. So as they walked, he used his link to the ship, hands brushing the walls, a railing, random parts and seemingly random moments and intervals. Isley had to have at the least guessed of his abilities, but the full extent of his vong-forming... Well... Only a friend long missing knew of that, only a few among the Dread Guard really. But those touches ordered labor droids to bring up armor, and weapons, everything they would need as he thought of it, or Isley mentioned it.

That deadly smirk remained on his lips, as it always did when he fought, which hadn't been in so long. Idly, he hummed a tune a bit as he stuffed a very pungent cigarra in his mouth, one hand reaching up to offer another of the same back to Isley casually. He took a match from the book he had grabbed from his favorite night club on Nar Shadda, and raked it across his face. The action brought not even a grimace, and the match oddly enough struck flame, and he puffed casually as he walked, cigarra still clenched in his teeth. Geoff was always onto him about not smoking in the ships and this or that. Drinking less whiskey and such too. But life had only a few small comforts.

Eventually they arrived in the hangar, and Ijaat smiled as he began slipping into what looked like casual clothing. Truth be told, it was armor that was all he needed now-a-days, though his eyes did linger on a stupendously massive set of power armor encased in what looked like a drop pod delivery cartridge. Shaking his head, he shrugged into a long leather coat made of terentatek hide... Isley would recognize the thing probably, he thought. The poncho/sarepa he threw on next was from the same company, and covered the majority of his upper torso in red cloth impervious to the blade of a lightsaber. A finely made, if battered looking, hat capped his head, and a Bodo Baas gunbelt was strapped to his waist, various parts of it cinched as he flexed a bit, making sure his propulsion system was intact. Turning, he nodded to the other table for Isley to begin as well.

On that table rested a suit of beskar'gam that had not seen light in a long while. Ijaat's old set made when he returned to Mandalore. Covered in carbon scoring and scar marks, the white and gold paint still showed through mostly, and next to it sat a verpine sniper rifle, a verpine shattergun pistol, and the saber he had asked for. A pair of crushgauntlets were there for him, just because Ijaat was quite enamored with the device, and saw their utility in a myriad of types of combat. Much was to be said for the gift, and as he left Isley to suit up, he checked the fit for his sword and shotgun on the gunbelt, slid the dinuul into his coat sleeve in the little pocket for it. Lastly, he checked the load on the pair of DE-10's he had, the spare mags for his Shacklebolt rifle, and hefted a crossed pair of bandoleers loaded with various grenades.

He may not be in armor, but he was armed as if to take on and defeat an entire regiment himself. Patiently he waited, puffing at the cigarra and nipping from a flask he had produced.

[member="Isley Verd"]

 

[Darth Metus]

As Mandalorians, it was demanded that the men wear armor.

Yet, to eyes blinded by ignorance, many would believe that Ijaat was failing to uphold this tenet of the Resol'nare.

Upon reaching the hangar, the Dar'manda watched as his Warden began to ready himself for battle. Now, the aforementioned eyes would see nothing more than glorified articles of clothing being tossed onto his person. Yet Isley...well, he was a senior employee of the company that had made the majority of the ensemble. That coat was very familiar, for he had one of the same. In fact, they probably were made relatively close to one another in time. Next, there was a garment dedicated to the deflection of lightsabers. And then a gunbelt which happened to pull additional ammunition out of the ether. Oh, it may not have been made out of beskar, but the Forge Father was wearing armor.

In fact, with that ensemble, Ijaat was ready for war.

Absent-mindedly, Isley raised the cigarra provided to him by Ijaat to his lips. He did not exercise a rather cringe-worthy display by lighting a match off of his flesh...but rather used the book as intended. Now, the Dar'manda did not often smoke...but he had been around Ijaat long enough to learn how not to choke on a cigarra. In fact, he was starting to like the flavor which shot down into his lungs. It was...a mindless, comforting activity. Nonetheless, the Dar'manda watched as the Forge Father nodded in the direction of the second table in the room. Upon it laid a variety of armaments: each one matching the request that Isley had made previously. And, the cherry on top, was a suit of beskar'gam.

Ijaat's beskar'gam.

"I couldn't possibl-" he began in protest. Yet by the time he had taken the cigarra out of his mouth to speak, Ijaat had already moved on. Isley heaved a smoke-filled sigh and relented. There wasn't any point in debating with a man who had already left the room...and time was of the essence. Isley set about getting the beskar'gam on first, followed by stuffing the sidearm into its waiting holster. The sniper rifle was slung over his shoulder and the saber was ignited. A blade of gold shot up into being...a color that Isley had not contemplated before. He gave it a practice swing, testing out its balance, before extinguishing the weapon and moving forward. He came to a halt beside his Warden and slid the buy'ce into place.

"Ready."

[member="Ijaat Akun"]

 

[Julius Sedaire]

Ijaat was busy at that point, smiling as he watched the patrol craft his friend, [member="Captain Larraq"] had helped him obtain, and [member="Anija Betna"] had helped him modify. It was his first ship since he had rejoined his people, and though he could afford and had access to better, he kept it out of sentimentality. One of the few 'flaws' of him that anyone who knew him long enough could note was the sentimental nature he possessed. The gift of his old beskar'gam was something that he had done lightly on the surface, but had given great thought to. He had known Isley would protest, so he had just simply rendered the argument useless. Why fight when you could just win?

Seeing the armor on another person as he strode in, hearing the modulation of the helmet system to warp his ward's voice as his must have been so often, he stood almost rocked back on his heels, mildly taken aback. The shock passed quickly though, and he considered the man a moment before he let slip something that very few people in the galaxy had seen. His skin split, rent and ripped, blood weeping from gashes and craters in his flesh. And something, something wrought from the very worst imaginations in the Galaxy, leaked out, flowing under his clothes and around his flesh, clutching at his form and coating him in a red and gold sheen. He was armored, always and forever, thanks to his uncle @Reverance. Never would he be without his armor anymore. With a mask of red and gold just barely leaving a face able to move, and the orifices open, he nodded to Isley, and racked the slide back to arm the fearsome shacklebolt assault rifle he carried.

"It suits you. Ready for the surface?"

[member="Isley Verd"]

 

[Darth Metus]

What the?

From behind the visor of his new beskar'gam, the Dar'manda gaped. The transformation was the definition of unexpected...in but the span of a few seconds, the Forge Father added an additional layer to his already impressive defenses. Isley reckoned that the gruesome change had something to do with the man's rather unique presence in the Force...or rather lack of presence. Such a thing was a tell-tale sign of the Yuuzhan Vong; whether full-bloded or shaped. Most likely, Ijaat fell into the latter of the categories, and this transformation was definitely a feat that Isley had never heard of. In that instant, the "creative" part of him wondered what the original Dread Guard would have been like with such a capability.

And then the common sense portion of him dropkicked the creative portion out a window.

They had a job to do, after all.

"Many thanks." he said, choosing not to comment on the shift. "I'm ready when you are. Lead on."

[member="Ijaat Akun"]

 

[Julius Sedaire]

As painful as the shift was to him, and always would be, he had used it often enough in practice that he was sadly used to it. Had found ways to mostly hide it. He couldn't fight, and he remained silent a few moments after Isley spoke. Whilst outwardly he didn't react, inwardly every nerve ending and receptor was firing and screaming in pure agony. He could barely stand, but his knees had locked right before willing the change, and so there was so sag and slump to the floor. Finally the cigarra at the left corner of his mouth rolled to the right, and he nodded, taking a swig of the tihaar in the flask. Some of the last of his own personal made booze from his old bar, The Mad Strill. Good stuff. Tasted a bit like orange and cloves, with a hint of ginger and maybe coriander? Fancy

Turning, he walked to the patrol craft and made his way to the front seat, adjusting his belt a bit as he sat down and keyed the engines up with a slow whine. The smile this time was eager, and almost child like. He would never be an ace, this was undeniable fact. However, he loved flying as a hobby on occasion, and this craft in particular. So as it powered up, he pulled Geoff from the ship into his cybernetics, now covered by the biot and merged with his brain. The shift as the AI transferred to them, and to his very mind was.. Unsettling... It wouldn't do to stay like this for long, wouldn't do at all really. The first time, even for a few handfuls of minutes, had nearly driven him made and taken months. But he had extracted the program, and together they had restored Geoff to a semblance of normalcy. Then they had practiced the merge, until it could be done for a good long time, with only minimal rest before they could do so again.

The only odd side effect was a sort of circuitous pattern of blue light that wormed across his skiin, and behind his eyes on occasion.

[member="Isley Verd"]

 

[Darth Metus]

Ijaat was a man full of surprises.

In one moment, his body erupted in blood to garb him in a protective armor. In the next, an azure, circuitrous glow began to shine ever so slightly beneath its surface. What this signalled, the Dar'manda did not know...nor was there time to ask. There were Death Watch on the surface that needed to be addressed. So, as Ijaat made his way over to his patrol craft, Isley took a different avenue. He made his way over to an adjacent bench, for it bore something that he adored. It was a jetpack. Nothing fancy, of course, just a standard jetpack by the looks of it. Upon closer inspection, Isley could see that it was sporting a full tank of fuel; as if the Forge Father had anticipated his preferred method of dropping in.

Or maybe it was just sitting there. Whichever.

Isley did not ask if he could use it. He simply picked it up, slung it into place, and gave his Warden a thumbs-up. From there, he took it upon himself to press the metaphorical "big red button", causing the hangar bay to open itself. He then made his way over to the patrol craft, filed in, and sat down. Once they broke atmo, the Dar'manda fully intended to freefall the rest of the way down. After all, it was one of the few thrills in the Galaxy that were exclusively Mandalorian. Who else in the known universe would ride mechanical beasts down to the earth, or fall thousands of feet before kicking on a jetpack? Not Jedi for sure.

[member="Ijaat Akun"]

 

[Théodred Heavenshield]

As part of an scouting/patrol party of the Silver Sanctum Antarian Rangers, Théo is pinned to a seat on the bridge watching the scanners for any sign of unidentified ships or unusual movement of them in this part of the SSC protected space. So far, the mission had been quiet, a couple of smuggler ship had been detected, and after an 'aggressive' scan of the ships which reveal them carrying food stuffs and odd bits and piece, there was nothing of urgency. Galidraan had recently come under the protection of the Silver Jedi and so they needed to investigate and plot the system for the database on Voss a report would be sent back to the Temple in due course.

Théo fought against a yawn, before the ranger stationed at the communication panel spun in his chair to inform the bridge of a message received coming from Mandalorian space. The message unclear with static interrupting the bulk of it, but who ever it was indicated that was something of great importance to the Mandos on Galidraan.

"See if you can trace the message back to the ship", the message had been sent hours ago. "See if you can find them, they maybe here already. If you do, contact them and see what they want". If whoever it was had arrived and on ground a message could be relayed to them. Théo waited patiently, to see if anything would come of this. It simply maybe nothing ..

​

[member="Ijaat Akun"] | [member="Isley Verd"]​

 

[Julius Sedaire]

Ijaat smiled at bit a Isley opened the doors, so to speak, and came back with the jetpack strapped onto him. The man would likely do one of the high-altitude insertions he favored, and a flex of his arms and a roll of his wrists was all the check he needed. The gesture appeared common place, average, and in the end, would likely be unnoticed. But his check was done, and he burned it full and hot towards Galidraan. Just as an afterthought, he sent copies of the message he had sent to the Coalition, slightly altered, to the Alor'e Council. Should anything untoward for some reason happen to the two vod, the Council would know where there last position was, and would likely follow up on why they had not come back with news and the artifacts mentioned. Or maybe they wouldn't give two rancor dungballs, he could never tell with political types.

Quietly, the ship leveled out almost without ceremony, and Ijaat looked over the controls, running a biot-covered hand over them. Switches seemed to move of their own accord, dials turning, lights responding and screens changing whilst the odd circuit-like glow behind his eyes intensified a bit, along with a sort of almost sub-sonic feedback whine originating from his fingertips and where they met the console. In a few moments the screen indicated auto-pilot had been selected, that the craft was holding at it's current altitude for two and a half minutes, and that it would proceed to an extraction point in a nearby canyon after that, awaiting them.

With that, the aging Mandalorian heaved from the seat and walked past Isley without much announcement, checked the ammo counter on his rifle and then turned his back to the open ramp of the ship as it slid down with a whine of hydraulics. Without much preamble, he waved politely to Isley with an osik eating grin on his face and stepped back a few times until he suddenly just vanished from the ramp right as the message from Theodred came in, which caused a fluent and profuse stream of curses as he heard it in his ear-comm, chiming and alerting him of the contact and who it was from and what they were asking, Isley might take it to mean something else entirely though, as Ijaat free-fell with all the speed of a shot from a cannon.

As he tumbled, wind whipping past him, he thanked himself for the shadez from Xander Carrick he still wore. The reply was sent by text at least.

"House Mereel Aliit'buir Ijaat Akun to Silver Sanctum Coalition contact - Intelligence suggests a Kyr'stad, that is Death Watch, force has holed up in an abandoned bunker complex at the following coordinates. They have something rather important to our culture, or are trying to get it into their possession. Our IFF's are as follows, the first one belongs to that big ugly beskar hulk in orbit. Please don't scratch her, she's my baby. The second is my patrol ship, it will be on surface. The last two are personal tags for myself and my ward, who will be on surface in-op. Message sent as a courtesy, didn't want to trespass without telling you, but we're going in regardless of the landlord. Try not to break any vases or the like..."

The message terminated without a closing tag, and indeed the codes mentioned were moments behind, popping up to indicate the first just in orbit, the second holding in upper atmo, and one of the personal tags with it, whilst another fell like a stone towards the planet surface. Mandalorian bravado- when you absolutely, positively had to make someone wonder how you would survive to make it to the fight, let alone survive through the trials of it itself, you mando'd up and jumped out of a perfectly good spacecraft wearing what amounted to a particularly nice coat and scarf.


[member="Isley Verd"] | [member="Théodred Heavenshield"]

 

[Théodred Heavenshield]

A message was sent back promptly, the man identifying as Ijaat Akun of house Mereel. Mandalorian. He spoke with haste and an edge of annoyance but Theo had heard far worse, but what he had to say was intriguing and concerning. At the mention of Death Watch, the Rangers on the bridge turned to look at each other as if not believe what the man was saying. Naturally, Theo had heard of this group, they are legendary if anyone even have the most basic of know of that culture and they were or maybe still are, a force to be reckoned with. However, Theo cares little for the politics of the Mandalorians but his concern was that the Watch was sniffing around SSC protected space.

A set of co-ordinates popped on screen as did the ships on the scanner, the identification checked out, 'friendlies' but Theo did not pay much attention to the rest of the message. "I am going planet side to check this out myself". The Captain of the Ranger moved to stop him. "You think that wise Padawan Heavenshield? may I suggest you take Rangers with you".

"I fully intent to Captain, please take the ship to ground and have Ranger ready and meet me at the ramp". While the Pathfinder descended, Theo went to his quarters and changed into his light armoured robes, checked his ligthsaber was firmly clipped to his belt before heading to the ramp. His wrist communication link set to open channel if there is further instruction of the Mando.

"Padawan Heavenshield we shall land in five minutes". Theo checked the co-ordinates to the bunker, they would have to land about one mile away and travel by foot. "Ready Rangers?".

​

[member="Ijaat Akun"] | [member="Isley Verd"]​

 

[Darth Metus]

Silence.

For two and a half minutes, there was silence.

The patrol vessel made its rapid descent, breaking into the atmosphere of Galidraan. In the meantime, both of the armored warriors placed their attention elsewhere. Whilst the Warden placed an otherworldly focus upon the console before him, the Dar'manda took a moment to examine one of the items that had been given to him. The lightsaber, to be precise. For an individual vastly familiar with this sort of thing, taking a minute to examine the casing and wiring was an elementary task. Isley quickly came to learn that this lightsaber lacked the bells and whistles that had become popular at present. It contained circuitry that would make it susceptible to Cortosis. It lacked the loop that would allow it to function underwater.

Knowing the strengths and limitations of one's armaments was crucial, especially when there was a battle to be waged.

As they reached the designated drop point, the Dar'manda easily restored his saber to its former position. He then followed his Warden to the ramp and watched as he dropped into the heavens. Was that...nah. What could he be swearing at? Did he stub his toe going down? Meh. Taking it in a half-jog, Isley propelled himself out of the patrol craft and into the open air. And man, did his heart sing. It thundered away in his chest, joined by the feeling of pure exhiliration in the pit of his stomach. Dropping in was something that the Dar'manda loved to do; and now, he was diving into battle. Now, while the Coalition had been informed beforehand of their coming, the Death Watch below were woefully ignorant.

And apparently, they just got the message as Isley engaged his jetpack. As they neared the earth, a hail of blasterfire began to greet them. The Dar'manda quickly gave himself minor, telekinetic shoves; allowing him to pull off a rather spectacular corkscrew through the air.

"Quite the welcoming party!" he yelled, unknowingly addressing [member="Ijaat Akun"] and [member="Théodred Heavenshield"] over the open channel. "OYA!"

As the warcry escaped his mouth, the Dar'manda disengaged his jetpack. His feet skidded to a halt only a few paces behind some semblance of cover...crates mainly. At once, his sniper rifle was readied for action and Isley took aim. He estimated that his Warden would take point, thereby allowing him to line up some clean shots. After all, why else would he request a sniper rifle?

 

[Julius Sedaire]

He didn't worry about the fall that might likely kill him if he didn't time it just right and land in a particular fashion. The wind whipping his duster, the thrill of the descent, the adrenaline coursing in his veins. This was something else entirely, and the power and majesty of it all till humbled him each and every time. Scarcely soon enough, he pulled his knees up to his chest and closed his eyes, listening to the change in the wind, or so it would seem. Suddenly he kicked and lashed out, and repulsors suddenly sparked and whined to life from his limbs, the system he had made from a base model purchased through Iron Crown whining to life and slowing him to scant more than a fall just enough to not injure himself. There would be groaning and complaining the next morning, sure. But he looked an utter sight as he dropped into a roll with the repulsors cutting off.

That roll saw him rising from a small puff of smoke and steam like a wraith, the shacklebolt rifle in his grasp barking a staccato roar, it's barrel throwing flashes of light as he advanced. The weapon was on full auto, streaming fire almost indiscriminately. The Death Watch forces seemed shocked if only for a brief instant, for several blaster bolts had struck him coming down, but the adriel ooglith and his coat and the like had kept him from any harm beyond annoyance. Suddenly the drum magazine ran empty and Ijaat dropped the gun with expert motions, the magazine dropping into the snow with a heavy thud. As it fell, he stepped to the side and slanted his body, twisting in a full three-sixty spin, coat flaring out as his left-forward foot planted, hands dropping and then rising, pulling a twinned pair of DE-10's from their holsters, taking aim even as the ooglith put him into a spin a Force Master might have problems matching.

You are the beginning, and I am the end.... Through me flows the justice of the Jar'kai and through you the wrath of the Shadow Warriors... Our craft is death, and we are Masters of it.

The thought was errant and fleeting, for a moment he wondered if he had spoke it aloud... It was an old affectation from a training partner of his on Atrisia during his youth, who had written a few lines after seeing a much younger Ijaat fight. The pistols hummed and whined, trigger pulls smooth and fluid like silk across the water, each bolt finding a home or sending an enemy to ground as he advanced, always spinning, ducking, weaving and bobbing his body so that he was never in quit the same place for more than a split second. Rather suddenly, one hand opened in the midst of a spin to the right, dropping the pistol into the holster there and grabbing a flash-bang grenade and throwing as the spin continued and he yelled out a warning, dropping to one knee and panting a bit as he recovered behind a block of crates a fair bit ahead of Isley, almost to the entrance. It would look planned, but in reality he had taken several glancing blows to the calf of the same leg, and though minor, he knew... If he did not rest and let the biot at least repair some damage, it would compact to worse in the end.

[member="Théodred Heavenshield"] | [member="Isley Verd"]

 

[Darth Metus]

Breathe in.

Breathe Out.

Breathe in...

***​

To the eyes of the Death Watch, the True Mandalorians moved to the pace of different symphonies. Ijaat, the Warden, was seemingly the primary target. He descended from the heavens like a demon, unleashing hell upon the poor sods unfortunate enough to be playing guardsmen. Shock, Awe, and Surprise were the allies of the aging Mandalorian. Experience was his weapon. The Song of Death he weaved was spectacular: and his eager audience were sent to the Manda. One by bloody one. While the element of surprise and sheer intimidation formed the basis of Ijaat's entrance, he was not immune from blaster fire. It was almost a certainty that he had taken hits on the way down, as Isley had. However, there was not much in the way of visible confirmation.

And Isley's Sonata aimed to keep it that way.

His song moved to a significantly slower pace, one that revolved around shutting out the world. The chaotic din of blasterfire...the roars and angry cries of Mando'a...all were shut out by the Dar'manda. In their place was a single rhythm: the steady beating of his ever-thundering heart. To this drum did he align his aim. To this beat did he synchronize his breathing. From behind his modest cover, Isley awaited the opening provided by his Warden. A sudden, intense blast of light served to disorient their foes...and the Dar'manda took that moment to close his eyelids. Breathe In. His aim was steadied...The first shot broke clean through the collarbone of an assailant adjacent to Ijaat.

Out. Another man down: his knee suddenly impaled by a Verpine round.

In. A clean shot, straight through the visor.

Isley continued his steady sonata, weaving a song of death all his own. That is, until the opportunity to push forward presented itself. Once the assault had provided enough death, the Dar'manda lowered his sniper and switched to his sidearm. Alongside it was his saber ignited. He roared. He charged. He blew past [member="Ijaat Akun"] and batted away the bolts that dare stand in his way. The entrance was theirs, but they had a long way to go.

 

[Julius Sedaire]

The pistol in his hand was dropped to the holster as it and it's companion were given fresh power-packs, just in case. The ones in the guns were low enough it was a wise move, as well as slamming another magazine home into the shacklebolt and racking the slide, checking the counter as it refreshed, and this time thumbing the micro-droid in it on for a better aim. But as he strode forward this time there was no fire coming from him, he merely spun into the bolts, starting his weaving dance, and on the rebound from his first turn his hands flew out and threw out a pair of cans towards the enemy, then two more, all four of which hissed and sprayed dampener aerosol into the air. There was a reason he preferred slughtrowers and his other devices for wetwork- the element of surprise was incalculable.

As the gas hissed out, his shadez clicked, the AI working to alert Isley via his HUD of the gas and its contents. And he stepped forward into the lines of resistance and the blade of Jatharesa flashed from it's scabbard and the corsuca inlay flashed and flared as he moved with the motion, momentum carrying him forward to impale and lift one up and fire a full blast from his sonic shotgun into the gored soon-to-be corpse, flinging it from the blade and into the wall with a wet thud into another Kyr'stad, who stumbled, and found his head relieved from his shoulders as the cans continued to hiss their blaster-dampening gas into the air, taking their enemies best defense tactic from their hands and forcing them to scramble a bit more.

As he walked forward, the archaic looking sonic shotgun began to hum in his hands as he pulled the hammers back and raised the sword to slice up and down into the neck of someone trying to crawl to a discarded trench knife. His face was almost impassive, but for a smirk as he raised the shotgun when the hum seemed to change pitch to a higher tone, and roared wordlessly, as he jammed the shotgun into the neck seal of the helmet and fired, creating a compressed whoomph, followed by an almost liquid whooshing sound as blood, cerebral fluid and other gore drenched his boots and he stalked forward again, letting Isley take the lead as he dispatched those who were lagging or still clinging to life. This would give him a good chance to assess his charges' combat abilities, and see if there were anything grievously wrong. Not that he expected there to be, but the chance was there all the same.

[member="Isley Verd"] | [member="Théodred Heavenshield"]

 

[Théodred Heavenshield]

The boarding ramp lowered as the ship came to ground, Théo stood on the edge looking down to see the bunker and two figures running for cover. There is heavy fire coming from the bunker in which Death Watch has hold. "There", he yelled and pointed so the Rangers would be clear on their intended position. "Captain we need to ascertain numbers in the bunker, send a scout to find out and report back immediately". Théo heart pounded in his chest, and his stomach lurched. He had been in fights before, even taken by pirates who had killed the crew of the ship on which he had traveled, but his was different. It was he that was in command of the Rangers and the responsibility of this suddenly hit him and he felt sick to the stomach.

Before Théo could continue giving orders, the ship approached the ground, and he jumped out and heading toward the bunker area, which the Rangers close behind. Two scout disappeared into the environment making their way toward the back. Five Rangers with rifles and grenades moved to the right flank while Théo headed to rear guard with the remaining group.

The arrival of the ship and the on ground Ranger had not gone unnoticed by the Death Watch which now divided their attention and rifle fire peppered the ground around them. Belawir, his light saber flew to his palm and ignited, the white blade humming to fire as he ran. The constitution of the lad, his innate strength of the Valkyri and his training since the year of three, Théo has much ability to be able to defend himself, even put up a good fight if it came to it.

Théo came to an abrupt halt as he hear to Cry from one of the mandos and the charge. The second one was already on the field of battle and his friend was about to join him. "Captain, looks like we are in for a fight". There was no time to be scared not now, and with the mandos cry still ringing in his ears, boiling his Valkyri blood now battle was raging .. Théo ran, with the Rangers, to meet up with the mandos, his white blade cutting through the raining rifle fire.

​

[member="Ijaat Akun"] | [member="Isley Verd"]​

 

[Julius Sedaire]

As Isley charged ahead, Ijaat merely noted the direction and let him go. The arrival of those under Theodred's command meant he was less worried about bodily harm and death. More worried about the relics within. And so he stomped forward, shotgun humming it's charged, and other hand hovering near his belt to draw the pistol there if needed. He would let Isley see what else could be found, but for now he had a clear mission and goal in mind. Never the worry about outsiders closing in, if he had to he could take this whole emplacement down with well set charges. Act the friend, go on a 'clean sweep' and leave little presents behind everywhere. Not that it was his first choice of action, but it was a choice none-the-less.

A few security checks were here and there, squads of five men or less. Their ability and fortitude were certainly lesser of those outside as he cut through them with relative ease in the two encounters. They mostly had a stationary heavy blaster and typical small-arms and rifles. The tactic was much the same in most cases: Drop detonators and/or some of the same dispersal grenades as before, and charge in firing. Luckily, he had more than one person as back-up in these trenches this time. Considering the lack of movement available, it was down to old fashioned wet-work really. Up close, personal, and bloody vengeance in the most brutal of styles. And though it took its' tole on his aging bones, he still excelled at it more than enough to earn appreciative glances.

Finally he made his way to a rather large, heavy blast door that was sealed shut. Consulting his info for a moment, he made the determination. This should be the 'vault' as it were. What he sought would be behind these doors, cradled 'safely' so to speak. It wouldn't surprise him if the resistance behind those doors were more than any they had met before. Alternately, with the slop in the hallways, it also wouldn't stun him if there was none within, as they seemed to have made the mistake of relying on an impressive forward defense for keeping them safe. That, and it didn't look like they had intended to stay once they got their prize. Ijaat had just caught up to them a little quicker than their commander intended.

With that planning done, it was the work of moments to open himself to the abilities of his adriel ooglith and begin to interface with the systems keeping the blast doors closed. It was military grade, to be sure. It was a remnant of a much older and darker time on Galidraan. With that in mind, whilst it took a few moments, the doors slid open fairly quickly. Again, there was little thought for the ability of someone to intrude this far, or so it would seem. Stepping back, Ijaat kept his face down as he panted a bit. Blaster fire rained out as those who had landed after, and began to follow him, took down the contingent inside. They had defenses at least. This meant what was within was likely what he sought. But he needed to recover from his biot use, and overcome the searing pain in his body before he could advance in with them.

[member="Théodred Heavenshield"] | [member="Isley Verd"]

 

[Julius Sedaire]

Stepping forward with a grimace, he slid the shotgun onto his back, and strode in with his sword at a low guard and a DE-10 in his off hand, tracking for targets. Most of the enemy was engaged, and his unlikely allies seemed to have done good work. So it was that he saw the figure before him. The face was not known to him, but the helmet with the horn like wings at the corners of the visor was. One of the older style of helms for the Death Watch, from before the Clone Wars. He might have even found it on Galidraan, some rumors persisted the massacre of True Mandalorians here at this place saw them at the event. Either way, the sight set his blood to boil with rage.

Step forward, and he raised the pistol with a steady hand despite the white fury within him. This was the rot at the center of his people. This was the cancer that ate away their honor, their nobility, their very ability. And so, with a shot, the war that had been fitfully gaining momentum was engaged again. A green bolt streaked towards the man in fatigues and dull grey plating. He wore no helmet, and his face was broad, with a flatop style haircut aged in silver to the point they were likely the same generation. That would likely mean the man was experienced, more lethal than his cannon fodder. Nothing excited him more than a good tussle, so as the bolt was met with empty air from the other turning aside, Ijaat charged forward.

Best to end this now, and quickly. He wasn't terribly tired yet, but he couldn't keep this kind of effort up for hours anymore. Particularly not without backup he trusted. These Rangers, if he made his mark right on their origins, were good and tough. But they just didn't know war the way the Mando'ade did, and so his attention was always in a few different ways. But now, he forced himself to forget, to detach and focus solely on the fight before him. The man turned from whatever was in the crate before him and met Ijaat's blade with a ring of beskar on beskar, a hollow brazen sound that echoed in the air. It always tore at him a bit, that sound. So many reasons why they should be together, why they should try to relent and accept differences. But sometimes, when the other side refused, mercy was the mark of a fool rather than a great man.

[member="Théodred Heavenshield"] | [member="Isley Verd"]