Parable of the Sower [ Aka'liit & Mandalorians ]

[Darth Metus]

D X U N
Onderon Orbit, Japrael Sector​

It takes much to cultivate a fruitful harvest.

Planning. Diligence. Care. All and more are required to see a bounty come into being. Yet, once sloth infects the heart, cultivation comes to an end. Stagnation seeps into the bones, slumber weighs upon the eyes, and sloppiness overcomes every action. Such was the reality of Mandalore. Over millennia, countless souls worked together to uplift the warrior culture. By blood did they carve out their place in history...and with honor did they grow the next generation. Yet Arasuum reared its head in the modern era. Sloth infected the people, soured their minds and dulled their blades.

And in the end, Mandalore became a shadow of its former glory.

But.

Even the worst harvest can be overturned. Even the darkest night promises a bright morning. The Mandalorian people would know pride again - and it would all begin on the Blood Moon. Dxun held special significance in the hearts of Mandalore. It was hallowed ground: a vicious world populated with all manner of hellish beasts. To survive its jungles was to an act of supreme glory in of itself. Yet to dwell in them was to shed all weakness. This was the first labor of Mandalore's liege; for only by righting his people would his burden be lifted. Only by restoring their glory would his personal exile come to an end.

And so they came.

Shuttles. Freighters. A plethora of vessels descended upon the ravenous world together, settling down amidst the trees. Their destination was but a treacherous trek forward: the long-forgotten Mandalorian Outpost. In an era past, this complex served as the home for the Neo-Crusaders. Yet time was not patient, nor kind. The exterior walls were in ruin - broken, cracked, and crumbling. The buildings were in just as sordid a shape, and some had been reduced to ash some time ago. Nature had claimed the skeletons, overgrowing upon every wall and every roof. Not a man called this place home...

But it was the furthest thing from abandoned...

 

[Vilaz Munin]

He was tired. Aggravated. Disappointed. Humbled.

All of these things described Vilaz when he thought about the state of Mandalore and the Mandalorians. He asked himself the same thing over and over. Why? Why had they allowed themselves to become so low? Why did they do nothing? Why did they disgrace the title that they all shared upon being a warrior of Mandalore? Why were they so broken when an external force didn’t cause this to them?

But he wouldn’t allow this stagnation; this sin of sloth; this apathy to consume his warrior spirit. He wouldn’t. While he did enjoy the luxury of peace, it was one he wouldn’t become too greedy with and allow it to shape him into some distorted figure that sealed him from his true self. He wouldn’t allow his family and his clan become something damned and cursed like the New Mandalorians. They were nothing but monsters and demons that tried to force the true definition of the name Mandalorian into extinction. That’s what Vilaz saw in his era of the sons and daughters of Mandalore. A false identity of what a Mandalorian was supposed to be. It was as if his pride and honor were shattered because of his fellow comrades. They had allow themselves to be, once again, the laughing stock of the Galaxy.

And it hurt him.

But there was hope.

In every desperate times, there was always hope. It was what brought them here to Dxun, the Demon Moon, Mandalore the Ultimate’s stronghold where he led the Neo-Crusaders against the Republic. Their mission would begin here and their goal would be realized one way or the other.

The Munin looked at the old Mandalorian base and saw nothing but depression and sorrow in it. It deeply reminded him of how the Mandalorians of now and today. Cracked, broken, weak, weary, lack of will, and degenerated. But these images would help him push for the best of the future of the Mandalorians.

“We will become stronger than ever.”

 

[Mór-rioghain]

It was time. Time to embrace the heritage her father so desperately tried to get her to embrace when he was alive. She didn't take orders well, but at the request of her older sister [member="Deneve Verd"] she came. Their father would of wanted them to do this.

Stepping forward , she would move into the dense jungle ahead, the dark saber at her side along various other tools affixed to her belt. She was ready she had to be.

 

[Briika Munin]

Briika walked silently alongside her husband through Dxun's lush jungle from where they had landed their ship towards the old Mandalorian outpost that was used as stronghold during the Neo-Crusader days, which the Aka'liit would rebuild for their own purposes. This would be the rebirth of the Mando'ade as true warriors and protectors they were meant to be, or so was the hope in the Faithful's minds and hearts.

The Munin had been in a certain wistful mood ever since Manda'yaim imploded onto itself both literally and figuratively. Well actually before that, but the tragic incident was what pushed him over the edge. The only thing that had brought joy to the now Mand'alore in Exile was the birth of their daughter; [member="Vilaz Munin"]'s first biological child.

Kayra had been a great blessing in a time of so much anguish and despair. The baby girl was named in part after Bree's late mother, who had died along with the seasoned medic's father when the Three Sisters, once thought extinct snow-capped volcanos standing tall and majestic over the Enceri Valley up in North Country, blew their tops during the Mandalore's geological catastrophe... or was there something more sinister in play? If the latter was the case, then whomever perpetrated the deed had indeed murdered the Tor elders, and it was known Mandos have long memories.

As the two came to the clearing where the ruins of the base were, the petite blonde tilted her silver-colored helmet to the side, blue-green orbs gazing up through the red T-visor at her beloved as he spoke. The Tor simply slipped her much smaller gloved hand into his larger one and gave it a reassuring squeeze. They would do this together for their lost brothers and sisters, their clan, but more so for their children, who someday would be the next generation of Faithfuls with the Manda's favor.

 

[Darth Metus]

Malok was curious.

As far back as he could remember, the Noble-in-Exile knew of the Mandalorian culture. How could he not? The very world upon which he was born was within a stone's throw of Manda'yaim itself. It was, therefore, not a common occurrence to see the iconic T-visor throughout his days as Prince. However, it was one of these very same warriors that had put a collar about his neck. It was one of these Mandalorians that had used him, put him in harm's way...and ultimately paid the price. If it were the same Malok from those days, he would never have been caught dead walking among them. Yet now? His vessel descended from on high alongside theirs.

Why was he here? For what purpose did the Behemoth shelve justified malice?

Education, of course.

He had heard of the planet's fate - as had all living within Mandalorian territory. He had learned of the subsequent collapse - as had the Galaxy at large. But what he did not know...was why the word Mandalorian still carried weight. As a man of the private, militant trade, Malok was no stranger to the warrior culture's reputation. He had even lost jobs to them on that basis alone. So why was it...in the wake of disaster...in the wake of utter devastation...That the Galaxy still regarded them so fiercely? Why now, to this day, did he have to compete tooth and nail against the iconic T-Visor? What did they have that he did not; that ApeX did not?

He had come to find out.

As a native of Mal'kerr, joining the excursion was no difficult task. Given common knowledge, his immense stature, and obvious intent to assist, there were no questions raised at his presence. Despite this, Malok attempted to draw as little attention to himself as apely possible. He was not accompanied by his subordinates, he did not bring an arsenal to the Blood Moon...he even stepped as quietly as possible upon the forest floor. All that stood with him was Grond: the faithful hammer laid casually over his shoulder. With careful strides, the Behemoth followed behind the party.

And the words of Mandalore the Exile reached his ears. They would be stronger than ever, even in the face of calamity. Such confidence. Was it delusion? Or was this but the surface of what made his Mandalorian "rivals" tick.

The Behemoth would strive to find out.

 

[Artemis Lux]

​Artemis Lux remembered. Before the planet crumbled into deadened ash, before the clans scattered across the galaxy like a thousand broken constellations . . . there had been Mandalore. There had been home. Artemis remembered it all.

Her youth had fallen on Mandalore like rain, gently at first, and then all at once until it was gone, washing away her innocence like a flooded baptismal. She had been swept into the war machine at a tender age—groomed, polished, educated, and trained, both to speak like a noblewoman and to fight like a warrior queen. She had come into womanhood on Mandalore, proudly taking up the banner that every high-born Mandalorian daughter carried within her heart and branding her duties to her people on her soul with wildfire. All that she had ever done was for Mandalore. She had assumed what once had been her mother’s political position in the heart of their culture’s diplomacy. She had married a fearsome warrior and given him a healthy son. When war knocked on Mandalore’s door and demanded a brutal, bloody answer, she had taken up arms and fought at her countrymen’s side. She had mourned every loss, rejoiced at every victory. Lived, breathed, and bled for Mandalore.

Now, Artemis had nothing.

Husband and child, dead. Homeworld, deteriorated. Friends, family, reduced to nothing more than ephemeral whispers on the wind. All that remained was loyalty, hope, honor . . . and the idea of Mandalore. All four ingredients, combined, coursed hotly through Artemis’ veins like a fierce life-blood. They had sustained her fighter’s heart and driven her onward when all had seemed utterly, hideously lost. ‘That’s the thing about ideas, my darling Ari,’ Her father had often remarked when she was a child, tugging affectionately at the spring of her long, dark curls. ‘Ideas never die.’

“And neither will we.”

Artemis murmured quietly, more to herself than to the wilderness, as she stepped out onto the lush surface of Dxun, blades of dampened grass bending pliantly beneath the heel of her booted feet. Her comrades were here, and she would find them. Face concealed by her helmet, the scarlet and gold of her signature armor gleamed like a beacon as she plunged forward into the sultry haze of the jungle, faithful blaster and beskad glinting dangerously from their place at the slender curve where hips met waist. Artemis moved swiftly, albeit cautiously, with all of the lethal, calculated grace of a lioness . . . and any man or beast mistaking her for prey would know that this was her home now.

This was their home.

Mandalore—and all of its fury—was rising.

 

[Kellyn Muir]

Chaos and confusion plagued the Mandalorian systems since the implosion of the decentralized pseudo-government of the Mandalorian Clans. Stability seemed to always be a motif of the Mandalorian people, each boasting a hearty demeanor and a love for one another that rivaled only the closed families. This love however, seems to have degraded since Odion's last visit to his home on Mandalore. Instability has taken root, and with it, the fall of one of the galaxy's most distinguished planets, renowned for not just its vicious fighters, but also its serving as a melting pot of cultures. Out of many identities, one unified them - for that was the power of Mandalore.

Though always secular in his beliefs, he was angered with what had unfolded in his absence. Upon hearing the news, at first he was disheartened. Then, vengeful. He would not sit idly by while his homeworld sat in ashes, his people scattered. He had heard of a new mand'alor taking the mantle, however his reign was short-lived, with the Mandalorian people struck by tragedy shortly into his rule. He knew not of his current whereabouts or if he was even alive. Truthfully, he didn't care.

He and his wife, Iona, had taken up residence on Dubrava, living in a small village on the water. It was a quaint lifestyle, but it had allowed the two to form an unbreakable bond. It has also isolated them from the quarrels of the galaxy at large. The Clans had not ceased conflict after Odion's departure, but Mandalore itself was never under threat from anyone. It was the capital of their holdings, and the most populated and defended planet they held dominion over. Disheartening was the lightest feeling in the Kryze household when news broke it was one of their fellow vod that brought Mandalore to her knees.

Gathering their belongings, Iona and Odion had closed their cottage on Dubrava and went on an expedition halfway across the galaxy to Dxun. A fitting ground for the launch of a new initiative that would bring the Mandalorian people back from the brink. They might never recover from the tragedy they had suffered, but if there was one thing the Mandalorian vode shared as a people, it was their resiliency.

Whatever effort was being made on Dxun, it could count on the support of Odion and Iona of Clan Kryze.

[member="Vilaz Munin"] | [member="Briika Tor"] | [member="Malok"] | [member="Artemis Lux"]​

 

[Darth Metus]

The flutter of wings was lost among the noise.

Between the arrival of thundering engines, beskar-laiden footsteps, and the natural cacophony of the jungle, a single creature taking flight would be hardly noticed. From amidst the canopy it previously roosted, onyx eyes staring down at the invaders before them. Its head cocked sideways inquisitively, momentarily, before feathered wings took flight. Swift beats hoisted the creature into the heavens, where it then soared quickly towards the decaying ruins below. Down did it dive - through the vines, moss, and rust. Down did it dive - into the ruined form of a bunker.

And onto the shoulder of its Master.

Why so frightened, oh pet of mine? His voice was a low hiss, obscured by the death upon his visage. The skull of a ram - long since cracked and frayed with age, gazed into the creature's feeble eyes. It chirped, frantically, as if to say that their peace was in peril. That their home - their forest - had been invaded by men of metal and roaring boxes. It was afraid...and this fear made the Master laugh. The hiss turned to thunder as his peals echoed about the bunker, only ceasing to raise a hand. Gingerly, he stroked the creature's beak with a finger before turning on his heel.

The Ram faced the darkness.

Where are your manners, oh pet of mine? he began, extending his arm into the black. This gesture was met with silence...at first. Thud. Thud. Thud. Slowly. Methodically. A mammoth form sauntered forth. It towered over the Master, revealing only a fraction of its vicious form to the meager light. Yet, despite its size...despite its power...the creature dipped its head and accepted the Ram's touch. These are our guests. We must bid them a warm welcome.

* * *​

Where once a tiny flutter was lost in the din...a storm of wings became the noise. From the depths of the ruins did they emerge: a horde of beasts eager to whet their appetites. To the skies did the Drexl take, screeching into the heavens with elementary flaps of their wings. In but seconds did they descend upon their guests. In but seconds was the first casualty claimed. Two dove from on high, electing to "greet" the rearmost members of the group. Together, their talons each sank into the shoulder of an unsuspecting vod before plucking him into the air.

His screams were almost as loud as the Drexl's hungry cries.

When they had finished forging themselves on the poor sod, all that remained was discarded. His carcass tumbled through the canopy, crashed down through numerous branches, before coming to a final halt on the forest floor. A heavy thud sounded his landing right before the feet of [member="Briika Tor"]. All the while, the Ram watched from afar, bemusement burning behind the long-dead helm. Only terror was a satisfactory welcome to Dxun. Only death awaited the Mandalorians on the Blood Moon.

[member="Vilaz Munin"], [member="Malok"], [member="Briika Tor"], [member="Artemis Lux"], [member="Odion Kryze"], [member="Mór-rioghain"]

 

[Mór-rioghain]

               ↳ The day stole fast, an assassin of dark; seizing the evening with her army of stars. Tranquility and hush engulfed terrain, nothing seemed amiss. Unless of course, one wandered in steps with vile beings that came in hordes. Black saber slicing flesh from beasts bones, the disgusting substance lathering her ivory chin in oozy green . Sublime decor, complimenting emerald encrusted pits; focus remaining on task, eager as ever. Yet equilibrium shattered. Sensors detecting / l i v i n g \ anomaly. One not welcome.
           
               ↳ Yet, aggression which often overlapped mannerisms proved out of practice when she whom danced arose from a crouch, pallid hand clutching something reminiscent of head. Ginger brow crept outward, fear undetected in the calm pulse of man. A light toss of what appeared to be a head caused the subtlest of splatter, awaiting to be caught, or perhaps cringed at via counter. Onward, she moved, shaking the excess ooze from her.
      
"I'm going to need new shoes.."

[member="Briika Tor"] [member="Vilaz Munin"] [member="Malok"] [member="Artemis Lux"] [member="Odion Kryze"] [member="The Faithful"]

 

[dan12x1]

The gentle hum turned to a loud roar. He could remember it now, Glory days come and past where he had a clan and they stomped around Onderon and the City of Iziz like it were child's play. Laughter, shouting, happiness.

The old bird flied true, it's loud engines roaring into almost a scream. It sounded off amid the Drexl. He was tracking a herd of Drexl, pushing them away from his bio-dome where they kept trying to roost on the metal above. It was the only solace he found lately. The large metallic claws dangled beneath the beast as he flew well above the canopy of trees, tracking wing-paths. And then a human scream.

A human scream, on his moon.

His. Moon.

"O'saam, this is our moon. We can't let Aruetii [1] defile it!" He could hear his adopted son, long dead over two-hundred years, shouting in anger. He was O'saam's first, and O'saam's last. "We have to fight them, Buir [2] ! Push them back, make them pay for harming our world," And he'd been right, oh-so right. From cradle to O'saam's training, from O'saam's training to their siege of Iziz with their favored war-droids, and then from Iziz to grave. He'd always been a morally right boy. Always took care of his own. O'saam's pining for his son caused his knuckles to tighten on the guide handles of the semi-sentient beast-bot beneath him.

'Birr?' It called out, child-like. Questioning, O'saam could read it's text based format. It wanted to play with the small leathery beasts that were chasing. O'saam's eyes snapped up before he responded, seeing enough armor to identify the body being torn to shreds by Drexl.

Mandalorians. On my moon. My exile, broken.

By blood.

The next few moments passed like an explosion within a combustion engine. Many things, happening at once.

Intake Stroke.

O'saam braced as he brought his Basilisk low. The engines screamed loud enough once more to drown out the Drexl, the talking, and to be noticed for a great long while. It was not natural, and sent beasts scattering away from the well-learned sound. Besuliik [3] were not unheard of on this moon, and recently he'd been letting them know who the jungle truly belonged to. Air whipped against his armor, some form of resistance. He tucked his body low against the wind-resistant sheet, helmet picking out targets for the main Vulcan cannons mounted on the front of the beast. It wasn't accurate, but he could guide spray. He was surprised when the Drexl didn't flee the sound of a large predator. Main guns spun, bearings turning gears as the barrels themselves prepared to fire.

Compression Stroke.

The Mandalorian knew he couldn't save the cannon fodder. The Drexl tore into him like he would tear into a roba steak, all at once. He could see the blood-spray, and he grimaced. It was a helluva death, to be shredded. But he'd reach behind himself, gripping a spear from where it sat upon his saddle. The Beviiragir [4] snapped to full length loudly as he held it out to his side, his gauntlets tightening to allow him to maintain his grip. He'd shift his feet from the saddle a bit, pressing into the stirrups he would use in a moment. "Senaar'ika [5]," he called to his droid, above the excited chirping he was receiving, "Shukalar ti paru [6]," he'd command. The droid chirped in response.

Combustion.

O'saam detached from his droid, jetpack coasting him down speed wise until he could deploy his glide wings without ripping them off. The Tabard that adorned his armor flapped behind him, a black streak in the sky adorned with white tribal markings atop obsidian colored plating impacting the largest Drexl he could found. He'd do so, spear first. The traditional spear punctured through it's throat, causing a build-up of blood behind the blade as he yanked it white. He'd throw the Alpha, hopefully, into another Drexl before removing his blade. It would not fly much further, and the entanglement of wings would send it crashing to the ground with it's friend hopefully. The Vulcan cannons on his War-Droid erupted in glorious mini-gun firing, filled the air with audible brrrt's as it tore into the pack's formation. Large-caliber rounds would punch holes in leathery armor as the flying beasts were subjugated to the Apex of Mandalorian history.

Power Stroke.

O'saam yanked his weapon free, staring down another one. With a free hand, he'd pull a Security S-5 Pistol from his side and aim it's grappling hook towards one of the other large, deadly predators. He'd discharge it, sending a small hook launching towards it's side. It impacted the far beast away from it, that had turned towards them. Turning, the Mandalorian would give slack until he could sprint from the entangled mess he'd made. Once he passed the ass end of the Alpha Drexl, he leaped off and held the pistol above his head. All in all, he'd yanked four of the large hunting pack together with a loud thud. He'd then disconnect the grappling hook, letting it's ass-end receiver embed itself in his original target. Falling towards the ground, he'd kick his jetpack on to slow his speed once more for his glide wings.

Heat Rejection

'Find the droid,' his methodical process warned him as he descended still rather quickly. Looking down, he'd note the metal beast was still pouring rounds into the jungle and the beasts above it. Smiling, he'd note how well she did. 'Good Little Bird' he'd remark to himself, frowning after a moment. 'Your mother would be proud,' he'd recount. It had been his wife's beast. She insisted on the personality matrix given to it, since they had no young children. It mattered not, now. "Senaar'ika! Gaanaylir![7]" he'd shout into his comms, causing the droid to keep the hot-barrels still spinning to cool down as it adjusted it's flight pattern. Just above the canopy he'd thud back into the seat before adding, "Gebi [8], Senaar'ika," in a paternal, chiding way. His helmet identified two targets, on the jungle floor. At his current altitude, he was a prime target for the Drexl behind him. He wanted to fix that.

Exhaust Stroke.

"Senaar'ika! Ekur [9]!" he'd shout, guiding the droid to his targets. Her claws opened and she dropped her several ton weight down at surprising speed. The impact alone was enough to crush bones in most large predators on Dxun. Drexl were not excluded from this. However, after the tremendous shock-wave and kick-up of the Demon Moon's floor, the claws were closed around the neck. With the body of the Besuliik resting on the massive avian predators, the arms ripped up in the motion one would use to pull the head off of avian live-stock. There would be a sickening crunch as the heads detached from the Drexl. A spray of blood followed, and a pool formed at the end of the necks. The loud, boisterous droid rested back on it's body afterwards, with O'saam sitting upright in the saddle holding his Beviiragiir against his side, the pommel resting on his hip. His tabard, stained now once more with blood, finally came to a rest along his obsidian armor. There was silence for a moment as he looked [member='Briika Tor'] over from his throne-like saddle. He'd then click his helmet on, projecting his voice to whomever would hear him.

"I am O'saam be Echoy'la, Prophet of Kad'Harangir. Welcome to Dxun,"

[1] Aruetii: Outsider
[2] Buir: Father
[3] Besuliik: Mandalorian War Droid, also known as a basilisk war droid.
[4] Beviiragir: Traditional Mandalorian Spear
[5] Besuliik: Mandalorian War Droid, Semi Sentient. Also known as a Basilisk War Droid.
[6] Shukalar Ti paru: Crush the Formation
[7] Gaanaylir : To catch, to Trap
[8] Gebi: Close
[9] Ekur: Choke


Vilaz Munin, Malok, Briika Tor, Artemis Lux, Odion Kryze, Mór-rioghain

 

[Vilaz Munin]

One thing he had completely forgot about warning everyone and take their precautions of the Blood Moon's nature. Being in a group of iron men and women relieved him of the insecurity one must take whenever venturing into the wilds of Dxun. He had once been here before with a Force User companion by the name of Kaili Talith, and while she was a Force User he had no problems with her at that time. Time had passed and the two had no contact with each other, but the Munin didn't have a problem with her since she herself didn't consider as a Jedi.

With no sudden warning did the vicious flying beasts of Dxun descended to the earth of the moon and plucked a very unfortunate warrior from his own two feet and dragged him up to the skies of Onderon's moon. The Mandalorian screamed from the top of his lungs, but there was literally nothing that could be done to save him. Shoot the Drexls and he would free fall to his death, or allow the Drexls to devour him. Truth be told, it was a very difficult situation to approach as both options would lead to the Mandalorian's fate sealed.

At the end, no one offered to shoot at the wild beasts and allowed them to play with the warrior's life before letting his body dropped to Dxun's earth. It crashed through the canopy of the jungle, snapping vines, and breaking branches before landing right in front of Vilaz's beloved wife. The Mand'alor, acting in a caring and protective way like he always did, pulled Bree behind him. He looked at the iron corpse and knew there was no reason to check for its vitals. The only thing that could be done now was to bury the dead. Seeing the corpse angered Vilaz. It made him want to take a vengeance on these untamed lands and domesticate it. Conquer it. Conquer Dxun like the forerunners of the Mandalorian culture did to Mandalore when they first stepped foot on it. Shape the Blood Moon into the eyes of the Aka'liit. While it wasn't Mandalore, it would be a good alternative.

Then came a man, mounted on an Iron Beast, greeting the Faithfuls by killing a Drexl and giving his name.

"Greetings, Osaam. I didn't know Mandalorians still resided on the Blood Moon."

"I also didn't know the old gods were still worshipped."

@O'saam Echoy'la @Mór-rioghain @The Faithful [member="Odion Kryze"] [member="Artemis Lux"] [member="Malok"] [member="Briika Tor"]

 

[Darth Metus]

It all happened so fast.

One moment, the Behemoth was quietly stepping amongst the Mandalorian host. In the next, the Blood Moon has lashed out against them. It all began with a sound of thunder - wings beating frantically in their direction. Malok's gaze went skyward as adrenaline began to pump through his veins. He had heard the tales...the warnings...of Dxun's vicious nature; but stories did not compare to starring down a swarm of Drexl. Not. At. All. As they dove down, intent on claiming their first victim, the Behemoth readied his power hammer. A simple shrug of his shoulder saw the weapon bounce upwards, where it was then swung into a solid grasp.

The pressure of his grip brought life to Grond. Electricity pumped from the power cell and coursed upward, awakening the shockwave generator rods in tandem with the repulsors. A crimson glow began to shine, along with a steady hum that denoted the weapon's readiness. Malok glowered against his avian foes, momentarily ducking as they made their first pass. A victim was claimed: demise was quick, yet excessively painful. Simultaneously, a sickening squelch sounded from just ahead: a short woman tore apart a Drexl with a lightsaber of midnight black. The result was...messy.

Braaaaaaaaat!

Malok's attention was return to the heavens. A War Droid soared at an immense pace, unleashing hell upon the Drexl which flew there. Together with its rider, systematic devastation was wrought upon their midst. In the end, the initial assault concluded with the Basilisk crashing down atop one of the beasts...before addressing the Aka'liit. His words were that of introduction; and manners dictated that Malok respond in turn. However, given the current situation, the Behemoth scarcely believed it was the right time for shaking hands and getting acquainted. So, he walked the middle ground - keeping both eyes on the sky whilst giving an appropriate response.

"Well met O'saam be Echoy'la." he began. "I am Malok."

With that said, the Behemoth took ginger steps forward in the direction of the Outpost.

"Be on your guard all, there's sure to be more of them.."

[member="Vilaz Munin"], [member="Briika Tor"], @O'saam Echoy'la, [member="Artemis Lux"], [member="Mór-rioghain"], [member="Cabur Aranar"], [member="Kad Tor"], [member="Odion Kryze"]

 

[Briika Munin]

The romance of the Blood Moon soon was tarnished as an unfortunate warrior from their clan had found his end at the hands or rather claws of a flying beast that swooped down from up on high. There wasn't much those on the ground could do for their brother as none of the options would help the poor man to live. As his mangled body fell to the surface unceremoniously through the tree canopy, [member="Vilaz Munin"] protectively pulled her in behind him, which sometimes annoyed his beloved though not today. By looking at the half-eaten corpse, there was no need for the baar'ur to check for any signs of life. He was most likely long dead by bleeding out from a severed main artery. Thank the Manda!

It was only a moment after that frightening incident that another iron clad warrior came down from above, this time very much alive on a bessie not unlike what they all used, and landed with flare in front of them. His helmet swiveled and visor looked directly at Bree as he peered down from his war-droid's saddle, then a booming modulated voice announced himself.

[Su'cuy, [member="O'saam Echoy'la"]. I am Briika, riduur of Mand'alore the Exile. Vor'e for the greeting.] Bree nodded having stepped out from behind her husband looking up at the welcome wagon through her red tinted T-visor.

[member="Mór-rioghain"] [member="Malok"] [member="Odion Kryze"]

 

[Jagen Wren]

Jagen of Clan Wren hadn't been on Mandalore when the Catastrophe happened, in fact he had been on the other side of the galaxy on Tibrin chasing a rather slippery Jedi who had wronged a crime lord. But he felt it all the same, he had seen it with his own eyes after the fact; and he, like the Mandalorian people, felt hopeless for one of the first times in ages. But that did not sap at his strength like a leech, no, it pushed him to move away from being a gun-for-hire and return to his people again. By blood he was still a true Mandalorian and he would make to do what he could to help his fellow Mando'ade and avenge Manda'yaim.

So he had set out to join the others on the Demon Moon of Dxun, a location rampant with Mando history and blood. All of them landing near simultaneously on Dxun, debarking to begin a trek towards a dilapidated Mandalorian outpost that had once been a stronghold. So the man stood in a dark blue suit of beskar'gam next to one of his vod. Exchanging words, they suddenly went quiet when roars had filled the jungle and his comrade was pulled into the sky by a drexl as Jagen drew a DT-29 and fired off a few shots, some hit by dropping a dreaded beast but it was too late to save the man.

Jagen stared through his T-Visor, silently mourning until the roaring of a War Droid's engine drowned out his thoughts. Introducing himself to the man mounted on the War Droid, he stood there waiting with his arms crossed, DT-29 in hand; "Su cuy'gar vod, I am Jagen Wren."

[member="The Faithful"] | [member="Malok"] | [member="Vilaz Munin"] | [member="Briika Tor"] | [member="O'saam Echoy'la"] | [member="Odion Kryze"] | [member="Artemis Lux"] | [member="Mór-rioghain"]

 

[dan12x1]

Snorted atop his war-beast at the title given to Mandalore. There would be thudding as he moved his legs in the saddle, the beasts' link causing them to move also. It was older then the current model, like a man in a 50's truck parked next to the newest one could find.

"Mand'alore be Echoy'la," he'd laugh for a moment, voice booming within the jungle trees. After a moment the beast lowered until he was around eye-level with Vilaz, the small specks of blood on his visor painfully obvious. "Ner Aliit has held that name since time of 'ore. Ner aliit has worshiped the gods of 'ore since before the time of Cassus Fett. Perhaps that is where the failing of our people has come," The large beast redacted back onto it's hind, moving as O'saam sat atop it, surveying the moon. "We once held this moon en-masse. Our people flocked to it, it was where we were reborn. Where we reforged our honor and strength. Pig Iron, to Beskar. Perhaps you should worship the Old God's once more. They once brought us honor and glory, far greater then we have seen in many a year," He'd grip the steering rein tighter, before adding, "My advice to you is such; do not be around this place during mating season, and have a strict curfew of seven. Drexl are nocturnal," he'd kick something off of his saddle, before shifting his spear back to it's holster. "A comm buoy. I will be available, should I am needed. Should help your people, Mand'alore be Echoy'la," He'd chuckle again at the name, before backing up his droid. With a leap, the engines kicked on, and he circled above the group. "If you lot are half-as-decent Mandalorians are you are shots, we'll see each other soon," He'd circle for another moment, in case they wished to speak.


The Faithfulhttp://starwarsrp.net/user/14481-the-faithful/http://starwarsrp.net/user/14481-the-faithful/ | Malok | Vilaz Munin | Briika Tor | Odion Kryze | Artemis Lux | Mór-rioghain

 

[Artemis Lux]

The cathedral of soaring palm trees and dense undergrowth felt sacred to Artemis as she twisted stealthily through the jungle haze, weaving in and out of the patchy sunlight that seemed to wink off her golden armor almost lovingly. Dxun was a beautiful place, a dangerous place . . . and with every lithe, calculated step forward, the Lioness could not quell the growing sensation that she was meant to be here. They all were meant to be here. Mandalore the Faithful was heartbeats away from rebirth, with the Demon Moon as their witness.

It would not be long now.

Artemis had touched down on the lush planet later than her comrades, but she made swift work of tracking their path. The unnaturally bent blades of grass and broken twigs along the forest floor did not escape the notice of her sharp green eyes, even from behind the tinted shield of her T-visor, and soon the unmistakable glimmer of beskar'garm flashed ahead through the trees. Artemis' heart soared. She was a natural-born huntress, to be sure—but the emotion that threatened to burst forth her chest as she caught sight of that familiar armor was far more than the mere reward of the hunt. It was the anticipation, and the joy, of a reunion. Her pace quickened as she pushed her way closer through the thick brush and vines. Artemis knew that she was almost home.

She could just make out the form of her fellow countryman ahead, and she might have opened her mouth to greet him, to call out 'Burc'ya! (Friend!)' in their native tongue . . . had utter hell not screeched out of the sky. It did not occur to Artemis how eerily quiet the jungle had been until that moment, so taken was she by the prospect of her long-waited reunion with her people. Artemis might have cursed her momentary lapse had there been time.

But the Drexl would not wait.

The man who Artemis might have greeted as a friend, the man who she might have embraced as the first Mandalorian she had seen since the deterioration of their homeworld . . . was plucked from the earth before her horrified eyes, snatched up into the wicked claws of the Drexl and carried away like nothing more than a ragdoll. Where lesser women might have cowered, Artemis took up arms.

"No!" She cried as her hands flashed to the curve of her waist, brandishing both her blaster and her beskad as she plunged forward into the jungle, trailing her unfortunate comrade and his would-be predator at breakneck speed . . . but it was too late. The man's mangled and bloodied body dropped to the earthen floor just as Artemis burst forth into the clearing where the remainder of their comrades gathered. The joy, the relief, the utter absolution Artemis imagined that she would feel in this moment was dulled by the sight of the dead man at their feet. She was no stranger to death and greeted the sacrifice of war like a friend—but she would never be able to shake the notion that one Mandalorian dead, was one Mandalorian too many.

"We should move him and bury him properly, once we're able. For now, we should seek shelter."

The cultured accent of Artemis' voice curled out exotically from beneath her golden helmet, chest rising and falling as the adrenaline slowly drained from her body. She nodded toward the group.

"My name is Artemis Lux."

[member="O'saam Echoy'la"] | [member="Jagen Wren"] | [member="Briika Tor"] | [member="Malok"] | [member="Vilaz Munin"] | [member="Mór-rioghain"] | [member="The Faithful"] | [member="Odion Kryze"]​

 

[Darth Metus]

One by one.

It was a shame, really. The reputation of the Blood Moon was measuring up to be lackluster. The Ram watched...felt...as the Mandalorian force systematically exterminated his welcoming committee. By his count, the world's natives had only managed to claim a single life before being butchered themselves. For several moments, silence ruled him. His "companion" slinked away from his arm, gently leaping off and fluttering down to the overgrown floor. It, too, could feel something. Heat. Embers bubbling under the cold, dry skull. Oh pet of mine, what is that old expression? His words seethed forth, sending shivers down the poor avian's spine. The inquiry was rhetorical in nature, for the Ram then stepped away.

His steps were slow.

Yet his mind raced.

If you want something done right...

Malice incarnate seeped from his dominant hand - a bolbous shadow which contorted and quivered before the avian's eyes. The din of its creation was just as gruesome as its appearance...a cacophany of squelches and squishes heralded its descent to the ground. There was a splat. Silence. ...Do it yourself. At first, the abomination laid still: a grotesque mass of black upon the earth. Then, it changed. Suddenly. Violently. It stretched and rolled - contorted all the more...until its height dwarfed that of its master. No longer was it an incoherent mass of black, but something much more. By all rights, this creature was a Devil. The avian looked upon it...

A terrified screech sang from its beak. Frantic beats of its wings bore it far, far away.

And the Devil advanced, with the Ram at its heels.

* * *​

For a moment, the Mandalorians had time to breathe.

The immediate threat had been remedied and it was time to move ahead. Time to think about their next move. Yet, before too much progress could be made, a thunderous boom would reach their ears. It was as if...a tree had come crashing down spontaneously. To match this sound was the suddenly flight of many birds - supposed occupants of said tree. However, there was no immediate visual confirmation of this...until the jungle before them began to break. Hurled by the Devil itself was the mammoth tree, hoisted with arcane ease. Its pace was more than enough to cause a domino effect - the further it traveled, the more vegetation fell down near and upon the Mandalorian group.

And in that moment, a terrifying truth could be realized.

The Drexl were just...appetizers.

[member="Artemis Lux"], [member="Jagen Wren"], @O'saam Echoy'la, [member="Vilaz Munin"], [member="Odion Kryze"], [member="Briika Tor"], [member="Malok"], [member="Mór-rioghain"]

 

[Jagen Wren]

Jagen didn't need his armor's enhancement systems for him to hear the thunderous boom that radiated out of the jungle in front of them, a roar that caused dozens of birds to leave their habitats in the trees, he also didn't need the visual enhancers to see the gigantic tree hurtling right at him. Jagen quickly activated his jetpack and soared into the air, out of the way as the tree impacted with a sickening crack on the hardened dirt of the Demon Moon. Up in the air he could almost see the line in the trees forming as something, something big, was moving towards the group of Mandalorians, flattening all in its way

The man landed near the Mand'alor and announced the obvious "There's something coming for us, something large enough to flatten foliage and throw trees. Ready yourselves." He said, pressing a button on his gauntlet. Down the landing ramp of his ship zoomed a rack of heavy, not to mention illegal, weaponry which Jagen grabbed a disruptor rifle off of. He hadn't come to the moon of Dxun with just a couple of pistols, he had brought an arsenal.

[member="The Faithful"] | [member="Malok"] | [member="Vilaz Munin"] | [member="Briika Tor"] | [member="O'saam Echoy'la"] | [member="Odion Kryze"] | [member="Artemis Lux"] | [member="Mór-rioghain"]

 

[Darth Metus]

Malok hit the dirt.

It was far from a graceful maneuver. The aftermath stung his chin and chest. Yet that was significantly better than being taken apart by a karking tree. For a second, the Ma'alkerrite breathed dust, attempting to pin logic beside what had just transpired. A tree? He was a big motherkarker, and even he couldn't chuck a tree that far. They had ticked something off. Most likely something big. "Gorramit." he grunted, hoisting himself to his feet with urgency roaring through his bones. Using Grond to facilitate his rise, the Behemoth then struck his shoulderplate with his offhand.

The gesture kicked on the personal shield built into the metal, forming a half-sphere of crimson about his person. It wouldn't protect against another tree, but it was something. With nostrils flared and teeth bared, Malok placed himself at the front once more.

"Come on! SHOW YOURSELF!" he bellowed into the jungle.

Not knowing what the kark would scream back.

[member="Jagen Wren"], [member="Vilaz Munin"], [member="Briika Tor"], [member="Artemis Lux"], [member="O'saam Echoy'la"], [member="Mór-rioghain"]