Private Lost In The Void

[Itzhal Volkihar]

| Location | Previous territory of the Imperial Confederation

When the Imperial Confederation met its inevitable downfall, it was anything but silent. Warlords emerged from the murky darkness of Imperial Politics, hoisting their banners high, each one with the promise of victory and a restoration of the order that others had failed to uphold—always others to blame. Long-standing grievances ignited into furious confrontations, erupting in a chaotic haze of blaster fire and explosions, leaving the echo of civil war to rebound across the stars. As the dreadful forces of their former master's foes descended upon them, once proud members of the Empire fled in all directions, seeking safety and prosperity wherever the opportunity might linger.

The Steadfast Accord was one such ship, a civilian transport vessel that had seen better days, yet continued to function despite all statements to the contrary. Once gleaming with the brand-markings of a forgotten starship foundry, nowadays, the hull was ravaged with the trials of time, dulled and scarred after centuries of service. The interior wasn't much better, with cramped maintenance corridors and ancient machinery that often forgot to deliver the status reports it was meant to send to the bridge and other communication sites. By all means, it was a poor prize, though perhaps one had assumed, with the nature of the vessel, it would allow those within to slip through the tightening jaws of greater threats.

Itzhal Volkihar doubted they would ever know; what they did know, however, was that a distress signal had been reported only a few minutes before the vessel had spiralled out of hyperspace with smoke spiralling from multiple sectors and frantic claims of former Imperials attempting to assault the bridge. It had been fortunate, then, that a Gozanti-type Light Frigate had been in the area, recently departed from Mandalorian Space and on its way to investigate the situation along their borders. Even then, it could have ignored them, dismissed the message as nothing more than a trap.

The Galaxy always did have its strange sense of humour—a raiding vessel for a counter-raid.

Faint hisses seeped through the nearby walls and ceilings, the journey of gases facilitated by a network of pipes hidden beneath the cold metal plates of the air-lock. Itzhal shifted his weight, a slight twist to the pressure on his right leg as the thin chains beneath his boots rattled ever so slightly. Around him, a wide array of Mandalorians stood in various degrees of readiness for the situation ahead.

Tags: Reina Daival​

 

[Reina Daival]

Tag: Itzhal Volkihar
Location: Former Imp Space

One "Mandalorian" sat off to the side, sharpening her blade as well as she could. It was no Whisperwind, the Force-imbued blade she once had that had been shattered, but it would perhaps do. Considering the recent tales of the Sith and the Mandalorian, she had deemed it to be "preferred" if she didn't bring her lightsaber with her. Not that she planned on leaving anyone alive to see the red blade, but it would have perhaps sent a message that she didn't want to. Of course, she didn't see herself as a Sith, and even though she had done the Verd'goten, she didn't quite see herself as a Mandalorian, but those were pesky little details. The Galaxy didn't care about details.

Next, she focused on her ranged choices. And by choices, there was only one. The Stormclaw. A tried and tested weapon for her, that she didn't rely on much but if she didn't have her lightsaber to rely on, there was plenty of alternative weapons she needed, as she sat there, loading up magazines one by one with slugs. A large majority of them being the depleted baradium rounds. Plenty of armour penetrating power behind those slugs. Of course, she didn't fully know what they were going against so she did fill a single magazine with the cortosis slugs and a single magazine with the non-lethal rounds. If she could bring some people in alive to question, that would give precious information that they might be lacking in.

In a way, this felt like a mission she'd have been getting ready for with the Jedi. Though instead of checking over her beskad and slugthrower, she'd be going over her lightsaber, her robes and the like. At the very least she could afford to be a bit more trigger happy with the Mandalorians as opposed to the Jedi. She doubted very much that she'd be looked down upon for killing a bunch of criminals or slavers for the greater good amongst them. Of course, she could always be proven wrong.​

 

[Itzhal Volkihar]

| Location | Previous Territory of the Imperial Confederation

"Listen up," Itzhal bellowed, his voice cutting through the din of final system checks and the ominous hiss of gasping pipes throughout the pressurised container of the airlock. "You should all know why we're here," he continued, dim beams of light trickled down from the ceiling, grazing the polished surface of his visor as the blank glare drifted deliberately over each Mandalorian, with the measured weight of judgement, testing their mettle with every second that passed, before he moved to the next.

"Less than twenty minutes ago, we detected a distress call from the civilian vessel designated the Steadfast Accord. They reported a situation that, if true, can only be considered dire: their bridge and engine room were under siege by individuals they themselves identified as members of the Imperial Confederation. We have no proof of these claims, only their word, and the fact that this ship dropped out of hyperspace without prior warning or reason. This could be a trap. But, under the circumstances, it could just as easily be true, and the only thing between helpless civilians and pirates still clinging to the Imperial banner is us," Itzhal spoke, his voice steady and smooth, each word chosen with care as they filled the space with his report of the situation. He did not pace. Boots firmly planted into the metal grates beneath his feet, the Morellian stood with his back straight, unyielding in the presence of his fellow Mandalorians. "I am not willing to dismiss that possibility."

"It matters not whether this is an organised force of the Imperial Confederation or mere remnants; they have endangered civilian targets in their actions, and close as they are to Mandalorian Space, their intention is suspicious. They are pirates, in truth, if not in name; treat them as such, lethal force is granted." Slowly, he raised his hand, palm held outwards. "However, I want whoever is in charge alive; if not, then their second in command will do."

Colossal blast doors loomed behind him, quaking with an ominous tremor as the harsh sound of shrieking gases slipped through the minuscule gaps in the mechanisms beneath. Heavy pistons groaned and protested, their deep rumbling felt through the resonant tremble of the metal grating beneath their feet. Time trickled away. Light seeped in through the growing cracks of the opening doorway.

"Time to move," Itzhal drew his pistols, Oath and Honour, their metallic frames gleaming in the soft glow of the hallway as it was suddenly filled with the harsh light of blaster fire.

On either side of the hallway, Imperator Guards crouched behind the elegant angles of delicately concealed boarding slats, their positions covered as they braced their weapons against the metal frames. Crimson lances tore through the air and crashed against Mandalorian Iron, angled to deflect the worst of the enemy fire. Itzhal swayed through the impact, his blasters raised and guided towards the next target. He pulled the trigger, and an enemy collapsed, their position irrelevant with the bolt that carved through their helmet. The next volley was far deadlier as it tore through the opposition's sheltered position.

Tags: Reina Daival​

 

[Reina Daival]

Tag: Itzhal Volkihar
Location: Former Imp Space

There was a part of Reina, perhaps the more destructive part of her, thought things would have been more simple if they blasted the vessel out of space and blamed it on the pirates, but that wasn't the right thing to do. As much as Reina had wished to be able to stop doing the right thing, there was no way for her to stop herself from doing the right thing. The only thing that she partly grumbled over was the fact that they had to bring whoever was in charge alive...but that was how the cookie crumbled.

At the very least, when it came down to it, Reina had plenty of experience with fighting the Imps from when she had battled on Brosi. Of course, then she was using her Lightsaber and it was only a squad of around four Imp soldiers...Of course, they had been special Forces, but Reina was without her Lightsaber in this battle. She'd have to stick to cover, even with her armour. She couldn't quite accord pure beskar for the armour, nor did she truly feel as if she had the "right" to it. She may have earned being a Mandalorian in the Verd'goten, but was she truly one? Not if you asked her, and she was the one who was donning the armour.

So as the bolts came raining in, Reina just focused on moving as fast as she could, keeping her head down as she added some slugs to the pelting of bolts going down both sides of the corridor. Boarding a ship wasn't something that Reina had done much herself if at all. It went against all of her instincts. To resort to cover, as opposed to using her lightsaber to make an advance on the enemy. She was barely even using the Force, minus the passive amplifcation that she used for her strength, speed and endurance. This would have been a good lesson for her to work without using the Force...but she also saw no need for her to not use it. With every enemy that went down, it would just be another notch on her belt. It didn't matter if it was with the Force or not.​

 

[Itzhal Volkihar]

| Location | Previous Territory of The Imperial Confederation

Crimson light from the muzzle of Itzhal's blaster blazed through the air, subtly distorted by microscopic imperfections in the thermal sleeve, which created a barely perceptible haze that shimmered ahead of him. More an afterimage of the shot rather than the bolt itself, a vivid flicker of red—diminished by the dark tint of his visor—already gone by the time he switched to his next target. They were already dead. Consumed in a bright flash of heat that scorched the outer segments of their chestplate, while the point of impact was bored straight through, leaving the Imperator Guard to collapse in a bundle of twitching limbs.

A moment later, he stepped over their corpse in his advance, just another obstacle in the push that they needed to break the chokepoint as Mandalorians filled the corridor in a wave of Beskar'gam. It didn't take long after that. The last remnants of the Imperial line crumbled, their bodies riddled with a dozen blaster bolts, as the hardshell armour clattered against the floor.

Itzhal's voice followed, sharp and commanding in the silence that hadn't quite settled, "Naal, gather your men and make your way to the engine room."

With a fluid motion that allowed him to keep a grip on the handle of his blaster pistol, Itzhal delivered a sharp sequence of taps to the screen of his datapad, integrated into the metal frame of his gauntlet. The device hummed to life, transmitting a stream of close-range data packets that quickly displayed the allocation of Mandalorians between the two squads.

Squad 1
Itzhal Volkihar
Tella Rook
Thevlan Ordo
Reina Daival
Jarek Voss
Lirae Kynn

Squad 2
Naal Sorrell
Reir Chorn
Rynn Velas
Marek Velas
Kael Mourn
Vexas Thorne

From the ranks emerged a figure clad in a striking suit of crimson armour, all the more impressive for the silver horns that sprouted from their forehead, like curved blades pointed towards the heavens. With a booming voice that brooked no argument, she issued orders to the surrounding soldiers, barely waiting for them to pay attention, before she stormed off with a final clank of the heavy scatterblaster in her hand.

"The rest of you are with me," Itzhal stated, his attention already focused on the target ahead as he started to weave down blank corridors. "We're headed towards the bridge. If the message they sent was legitimate, then chances are the Imperials have acquired hostages. Do any of you have experience with such operations that weren't in your file?"

Tags: Reina Daival​

 

[Reina Daival]

Tag: Itzhal Volkihar
Location: Former Imp Space

"It'd be better for them to die than be in Imperial hands. Especially since the Imps no longer have a State. They won't have to worry about holding back from their atrocities, since there's no-one to hold accountable for it. If anything, they'll blame us for their actions."

Reina spoke out loud, as she crouched next to one of their corpses, looking for some kind of datapad or wrist device, using Mechu-deru to hack out information that could be useful for later. Sure, they could break through doors, but if any of them were boobytrapped, having the codes would be much more useful. It was safe to assume at least in her eyes that with how much time the Imps had on this ship, they could have changed security codes and the like. Her gaze flicking amongst the corpses, frowning in thought.

"Be careful in close quarters. Their special Forces are trained in melee combat. They have sonic hatchets that pack a bit of a punch. Don't ask me how I know. They can also gang up on who they see as the weakest threat. Once again, don't ask how I know."

Flashbacks to Brosi were fresh in her mind. Facing down the squad of special Forces operatives whilst Carnifex dealt with their leader. She shook her head, getting rid of that thought from her mind. This was different from then. She didn't have her lightsaber, and wouldn't exactly be able to rely on her more Dark-Side aligned abilities. A shame, of course but one she'd be able to deal with.​

 

[Itzhal Volkihar]

| Location | Previous Territory of The Imperial Confederation

The corridor stretched ahead, its metallic walls glistening under the stark glow of the fluorescent lights that cast their surroundings in an unpleasant shade of white—not quite the hue of proper sunlight.

Reina's words rattled against the sides of the passage, a thunderous intruder to stillness that had settled in the wake of their firefight. Each syllable she spoke dripped with the weight of judgment, a harsh spectre, looming over the lifeless bodies strewn across the corridor, and towards those who remained further ahead.

Itzhal's boots clacked against the surface, smooth and consistent, then stalled—a discordant note in the pause that followed, his buy'ce tilted back to look over his shoulder. "Let us hope the situation isn't quite so dire. We came here to rescue the civilians; let us not be so quick to resort to vengeance, not yet, at least."

Without further pause, he turned back towards the door ahead, his steps following into the familiar rhythm that rapidly closed the distance between himself and their next point of contact.

Over the comm-link, Reina's voice echoed with the thoughtful hum of unpleasant memories dredged to the forefront of her mind, and the desire for acceptance left in their wake, with the simple request of 'don't ask how'—all the more tempting for the questions it left behind, whether that was intentional or not. There was a story behind those answers.

Even with her buy'ce securely in place, Itzhal sensed the moment Tella shifted, he could almost hear her lips parting as if to speak. "Appreciated," he interjected sharply, his tone cutting through the local communications with the finality of a guillotine. "We'll keep an eye out for them."

Seemingly endless corridors stretched ahead of them, only separated by the infrequent passage of doors that swiftly opened whenever they reached them. A few led to doorways, occupied by civilians who cowered in their rooms, while others spread off toward leisure halls and other sources of entertainment, ultimately nothing more than diversions to their target on the bridge.

Before them, a colossal blast door towered at the far end of the corridor, its vast presence casting a shadow over the floor, while lights above flickered with recent char marks imprinted into the ceiling. The door's metallic surface consumed the stretch of the wall it was attached to, revealing an elaborate labyrinth of locks and bolts that crisscrossed the panel, each mechanism building upon the next as they linked to the primary seal. Above it, a small placard announced the entrance to the 'Customs Inspections Atrium'.

Itzhal's stride, once a solid clack against the floor, became a whisper as he approached, gliding across the corridor, where he came to an eventual stop only inches from the control panel, then dropped to one knee. The slender stretch of his rangefinder descended a moment later, settling into place in front of his visor with a soft click. Sensor readings transcribed their way onto his HuD with a blue haze, the door ahead of him bursting apart to reveal the room beyond, or at least a facsimile of it.

The room itself was circular, with a raised central platform that would have served as a security booth, surrounded by a mixture of chest-high barricades assembled from cargo crates, furniture, and the slimmer but taller life-form scanners that a few of the Imperials had spread around. More worrying were the two heavy repeating blasters that overlooked the entrance from elevated balconies on either side of the chamber, their barrels already spinning as they seemed to be just as informed as they were of the incoming threat.

"Uploading scans, enemies entrenched," Itzhal announced, his voice steady and calm as he looked over the data his sensors had acquired and considered the possibility that there was more they might be missing. "Tella, open this door for us. Thevlan, Jarek, flash and bang once that door is open, I don't want them able to tell left from right by the time you're finished. Reina, Lirae, headhunt."

Tags: Reina Daival​