Faction Sparks In The Snow || COV

[Romul Saxon]

KESTRI.​

Over forty years ago, the Sith-Imperial genocide of Mandalore had made wanderers of the proud warrior culture. Broken, defeated, and their homeworld -- the heart of their identity -- stripped out of them, the Mando'ade had been cast away and discarded. Many tried to retake their world, and they died in the attempt. But some, infused with an undying hope that endured even the harshest defeats, fixed their eyes elsewhere and cast off to not retake their old home, but to make their new one.

A frozen world on the edge of the known galaxy. To most, it was unknown. But to the Mandalorian people, it was their home. They'd won it from mutated Vong, shaped and tamed and adapted to its fierce wintry weather, and from it had sprung a new golden age of the Mando'ade. Yet for all they had done, politics, war, and the corrupting march of time had worn down the sure foundations of their Enclave. As the controversial Mandalorian-Galactic Alliance crusade hit its peak, defections soared. And that is when the Vong struck.

Unbeknownst to almost all, the savage creatures whom the Enclave had subdued when it had won Kestri had remained dormant, but not silent. At the end of 902 ABY, they resurfaced from their massive underground tunnels, millions pouring out from nests in the deep, in an overwhelming horde that caught all by surprise. Many settlements were overwhelmed and slaughtered. Even starships succumbed to their advanced biotechnology. It was only when a courageous final stand was made at the most fortified of Kestri's redoubts, Tor Valum, the ancient mountain city claimed by the Enclave as its capital, that the tide was turned. Heroic figures like Kranak Vizsla, Vren Rook, Romul Saxon, and countless others rallied their brethren to save their homeworld or shed their blood trying.

The day was won, and the Mandalorians lived to see another dawn, a dawn of an offensive to retake their home. But the cost was high. Thousands died that day, among them Kranak Vizsla, once heir to the famed darksaber and one of the Enclave's finest warriors. ARTUS, the near-omniscient super artificial intelligence, was taken offline. And the Enclave itself was no more, its organizational pillars destroyed, even its capital left in near ruins. But those who survived chose not only to do so, but to live. To reforge what was broken anew.

In a bond of brotherhood and blood, a pact was sworn. The Iron Covenant was made.

It has been some two years since the first oaths of the Covenant were made, and now Kestri begins to reemerge as Mandalorian forces have retaken the majority of their world, the largest hordes scathed from its icy surface. Work remains. But the Covenant endures.

OBJECTIVE I
​

The Flameward is the title given to the singular warrior of the Rekav'dral, the governing council of the Covenant, who is entrusted with the defense of Kestri and leading the Verd'kandar, Kestri's shield. Since the Second Battle of Tor Valum, Romul Saxon has borne that responsibility, yet he seeks to pass it on to another who proves themselves worthy of the mantle. Those whom he has deemed as potential worthy successors have been handpicked to form a fireteam with orders to clear out the Bes'curitr Mines, once the most productive mines of the planet, now infested with a Vong colony. Any Mandalorian corpses and armor from the Third Vong War are to be recovered as part of the operation.

OBJECTIVE II
​

The Iron Covenant has slowly begun to reach out into the galaxy in the wake of Planetshift, which altered the galactic neighbors of Kestri. Many hyperlanes are still uncharted, and once-familiar routes must be slowly reworked. Before fleets are sent out into the deep, the Rekav'dral deemed it prudent to feel out their surroundings. The planet Hefi was once the second capital of the Enclave, but in the wake of so much chaos, contact has only just been established with the world. The Rekav'dral wishes to use its spaceport to support Mandalorian vessels, but a series of insurgent attacks has damaged the systems. Exercising prudence, those Mandalorians who are apt for covert operations have been called to investigate the source of the attacks and report back so the Iron Covenant can take swift, decisive action.

What will your saga be? What songs will they sing at your Storyfire?

 

[Sahan Dragr]

Spoiler: Gear

Vambraces
Tusurki'aa Ta'hye Beskad
O'dteyase Saranuhlr
M.I. 'Pulsar' jetpack
Kestrisaur Hide Utility Belt and Jacket

The cold wind ripped through the valley in front of the entrance to the mine. Despite wearing no armor, Sahan did not really feel the chill. He wore his vambraces, which were the only parts of his armor which he had been able to salvage and repair so far; along with his glowing ironheart, which he had tied to a leather thong around his neck; and his Rulariyi Mandalorian Sunglasses. He hated being without his beskar'gam, but despite what the Galaxy at large thought, that was not what made one a Mandalorian. If one was not a Mandalorian without it, one was not a Mandalorian with it. At least he still had his old jetpack he used when he was younger.

A scan with the sunglasses didn't tell him much in regard to the wall of biotech blocking the mine shaft. It was covered in a hard chitin-like material. It resisted the flames from the plasmacaster, which were admittedly weak without his full armor to supply proper fuel. He had to switch to the wrist laser to make any headway, albeit slowly. This stuff was tough. Not quite on the level of zillo beast scales, but certainly not terribly far either. It boggled his mind how these mutated Vong were able to slowly start regaining enough intelligence to grow and build this stuff underneath Kestri without anyone noticing. It seemed complacency had gotten the better of them. That and a whole host of other distractions. They thought they had them contained...

It took a bit, but he finally was able to cut through the biotech and began prying it off. He had no idea how to slice through the door it made, so this was the only way. Still, he made his way through. Now the mine was open for the rest of the fireteam. Eventually, he'd see about getting through the chitin surrounding the entrance to ARTUS's servers so he could repair them. That stuff was even worse than this had been. "Hang in there, Arty." He gave a whistle, and a Ji'yr Rekr that had been keeping watch outside the mine rose up and silently joined him. "Come, Ciri. Time to hunt." The snow-white beast growled in response, eager to sink her teeth into their prey.

TAGS: OPEN​

 

[Zandra Ruus]

Tags: Open!
Loadout: In Bio
Location: Orbit around Hefi

Zandra had become a wanderer in the time since the Neo-Crusaders had fallen. Her life was in chaos as she tried to correct the tailspin that it was in. Her travels had brought her to a fleet of Mandalorians that had been seeking to tame the wilds of the galaxy. These tales intrigued the young warrior, enough to fly out to meet the fleet and their leaders.

Her, admittedly short, history as a Rallymaster for the Crusaders didn't have much sway. But, it was enough to get a small command of her own. She was deployed with a landing force on the planet of Hefi, where reports of some unknown insurgents had been harassing the locals.

Was it the most important detail in the galaxy? No, probably not, but it was a step towards safety. These people were in need, and the insurgents had to be stopped, that's what mattered to Zandra. Still, something didn't feel right.

Why was it all happening on such a far out planet like Hefi? And how were the insurgents performing such impessive raids without being caught? Whether they be pirates, rebels, or kriffing Jetii in stealth ships, Zandra was going to stop them.

Walking through one of the Assault ships, Zandra ordered a pair of lower ranking Mandalorians to join her in the dropship hangar. Once there, she began to map out their landing site and the surrounding area using a holographic map.

"Alright, we have a simple surveillance mission on this one. Pack light, and be ready to move quickly," She said, pointing to the chosen landing site. "We land here, on top of a plateau. It'll give us a good view of the area, and we'll be able to set up reconnaissance over the last known position of the insurgents."

The marines looked over the plan in detail, and found it sound enough not to back talk the young Alor'ad. After that, the small squad walked to a landing craft, their snow colored armor standing in stark contrast to the black armor Zandra wore.

 

[Arden Priest]

ARDEN PRIEST
Bes'curitr Mines | Kestri
TAGS: Sahan Dragr
GEAR: TBD

The blizzard howled around the Bes'curitr Mines, gnawing at the valley's edges. Arden Priest stood at its mouth, his breath steaming through the visor of his white helm. The armor's color blended him almost perfectly into the snow-swept rock, creating an illusion of stillness. Yet, beneath the beskar, he was far from calm.

Doubt gnawed at him. His heart held a steady beat, but a sharp, cold edge of uncertainty chilled his mind. Why had they chosen him for this mission? The Flameward's team should have been comprised of giants, heroes sung in taverns, men whose armor bore battle scars like banners of honor. Arden was young, barely years past his verd'goten. He was no celebrated legend, his name was a quiet echo. Perhaps he was simply a last resort, chosen out of desperation, as if there were no one else left.

He drew his rifle from his shoulder and moved to the scarred place in the biotech wall, the opening Sahan had made. The flesh-like barrier still pulsed faintly, twitching as though recoiling from the cut. Arden pressed a charge from his belt into the gap, its light blinking once before he triggered it. The mine shuddered as the blast peeled the remaining chitin apart, tearing a jagged entry wide enough for a squad.

The stench hit him first: wet and sour, like blood boiled too long. Then came the dark beyond, shifting, alive. His visor filtered the worst of it, but even so, he could feel the oppressive weight of the place bearing down.

Arden stepped forward. The howling wind was instantly cut off as the dark closed around him. Inside, the world became unnaturally still. His boots crunched on the frost-rimed stone, but the sound was swallowed almost instantly. The silence felt wrong, unnerving and heavy.

His light swept across the cavern. There, crumpled against the wall, lay a fallen Mandalorian. His armor was cracked and stained dark, the helm's visor spiderwebbed with fractures. His rifle remained clenched in his hands, though the weapon was broken nearly in half. He must have fallen years ago, yet no decay or rot touched him. The biotech around him had preserved the warrior like a grim trophy.

Arden froze, staring at the silent figure. The blue-white gleam of his visor caught the ruined beskar, and for a moment, he saw his father's face reflected there. His throat tightened, but he forced the feeling down into the iron core of his chest.

The mine swallowed him deeper. His rifle remained steady in his grip, though his heart hammered a frantic rhythm. If his name was to be remembered at all, it would be carved here, in blood and snow.​