Mission Teldon Troubles [Mandalorian Empire]

[Aurodium]

Teldon Troubles
"Our people are tough, but they cannot survive on nothing."

Spoiler: Mission Details

• Teldon depends almost entirely on imported goods.​
• Three consecutive shipments logged at 100% departure weight from the orbital transfer platform.​
• Teldon's ground inventory reports shortages ranging from 12% to 18% per shipment.​
• No registered distress calls or piracy alerts filed along the trade corridor.​
• Dock surveillance on Raydonia shows routine unloading procedures with no visible interference.​
• Two independent merchants in Teldon have quietly increased prices on staple goods.​
• A warehouse power outage occurred during the unloading window two cycles prior.​
• Escalation without proof could undermine trust in Protector judgment.​
• No direct evidence of theft. No confirmed falsified manifests.​

Name: Lysa Ren Tal
Species: Kiffar
Role: Teldon Quartermaster
Connection: Filed the discrepancy reports
Capabilities: Organised, detail-oriented, former logistics officer
Temperament & Reputation: Considered honest but increasingly strained; facing public frustration.

---

Name: Captain Harl Vex
Species: Human
Role: Senior Contract Freight Pilot (Raydonia Route)
Connection: Delivered two of the disputed shipments
Capabilities: Experienced long-haul pilot; maintains a clean Imperial transport record
Temperament & Reputation: Defensive regarding accusations; respected among fellow pilots.

---

Name: Jorin Bale
Species: Zabrak
Role: Dock Operations Supervisor, Teldon
Connection: Oversees unloading procedures
Potential Leverage or Risk: Controls access logs and labor assignments; extended family runs a local supply market.

---

Name: "Grayline Collective"
Role: Informal merchant coalition within Teldon
Connection: Benefited from rising scarcity prices
Potential Leverage or Risk: Could be exploiting shortages — or manufacturing them.

Teldon is not a wealthy settlement. It endures rather than prospers — a hard-scrabble outpost clinging to survival through grit, strict rationing, and the steady rhythm of scheduled supply shipments from off-world. Its population is small but stubborn: miners, technicians, hydro-farmers, and a scattering of families who have made lives on a world that offers little comfort.

For them, the most reassuring sight in the sky is the arrival of a freighter bearing the Mandalorian crest. It is a promise — that the Empire remembers its distant holdings, and that even a forgotten settlement like Teldon remains under its protection.

Over the past three standard cycles, that promise has begun to falter.

Essential off-world supplies — food concentrates, medical packs, bacta supplements, replacement power cells, and machine components critical to the colony's infrastructure — have repeatedly arrived short of their listed quantities. According to Teldon's quartermasters, shipments that should sustain the settlement for weeks are being unloaded already diminished. Containers arrive sealed, yet lighter than expected. Inventories do not match their manifests.

Freight pilots contracted along the Raydonia route tell a different story.

Every captain questioned insists their cargo holds were fully stocked at departure and properly documented upon arrival. Their manifests, filed with Imperial port authorities, show no discrepancies. Cargo seals appear intact. Sensor logs report no unscheduled stops, deviations, or docking procedures during transit.

No violence has been reported.
No pirate activity has been detected along the route.
No distress calls have been logged.

Yet with every passing shipment, the shelves of Teldon's supply depot grow thinner.

Rations are being stretched. Medical supplies are being reserved for emergencies. Machinery once repaired immediately is now left idle while technicians salvage parts from failing equipment. The settlement has not yet reached crisis — but the tension is beginning to show.

Whispers have begun circulating among the workers and settlers. Some blame bureaucratic negligence. Others suspect corruption somewhere within the supply chain. A few have begun to fear something far stranger.

Whatever the truth, the discrepancy threatens confidence in Mandalorian logistics and the authority of Protector oversight in the region. A colony that believes it has been forgotten becomes unstable — and instability spreads quickly in frontier space.

If the shipments continue to arrive diminished, desperation will follow.

Protectors assigned to this matter are to investigate immediately and determine where the loss is occurring — whether in transit along the Raydonia corridor, within the docking infrastructure upon arrival, or somewhere inside the settlement itself.

The supplies are disappearing.

The question is where — and who is responsible.

Spoiler: Participants

Korda Veydran Garo Vevut-Varkor Niijima Izumi

​

​

​

 

[Niijima Izumi]

Izumi moved along the upper catwalk of the Teldon supply depot, her gaze sweeping the stacks of crates below with quiet precision. Years as a samurai had taught her to see imbalance where others saw routine. That skill had not left her, even now, beneath Mandalorian armor. Her dark brown eyes flicked from container to container, noting every detail.

Three shipments from Raydonia. Each left fully stocked, each arrived light. Seals intact. Manifests correct. Yet quartermasters reported shortages across the board. The settlement endured, but the pattern could not be ignored.

She activated her comm, voice calm, professional. “This mission was assigned. I will follow orders.” She paused, letting the weight of those words settle. “Full access to the docks, warehouse, and manifests from the past three cycles is required. All containers must be logged, all seals inspected. The merchants adjusting prices on staple goods will be monitored.”

Her stance remained rigid, controlled. There was no hint of accusation, no personal vendetta, only the duty she had been sent to carry out. “The source of these losses will be identified. Whether in transit, at the docks, or within the settlement itself, it must be resolved. Protector judgment depends on it.”

She allowed herself a brief glance toward the horizon, the incoming freighter already a speck of light. Then she returned to her work. This was not her fight by choice; only by order; and she would execute it with the same discipline that had guided her across worlds.​

​

Korda Veydran Garo Vevut-Varkor​

​

 

[Korda Veydran]

The supply depot was too quiet.
Not the peaceful quiet of a place that had finished its work for the day. No laughter from dockhands, no shouting foremen, no forklifts whining across durasteel floors. Just the hollow echo of distant machinery and the low hum of power systems running through the structure.


Korda Veydran sat perched atop a stacked shipping container like a hunting bird watching a valley.
One boot rested against the crate beneath him while the other hung loosely over the edge. In his hands rested the Ashen Maw, its dark metal frame partially disassembled as he dragged an oil cloth slowly along the receiver. The weapon gleamed faintly under the depot lighting.


A thin curl of smoke drifted upward from the cigar clenched between the Mandalorian's teeth.
He hadn't smoked before.
Not until Yaga Minor.
The cigar shifted slightly as he exhaled, the smoke twisting lazily into the rafters above him. For a moment his gaze lingered on nothing in particular.


Sometimes when things were quiet like this…
He still saw them.
Four shadows that should have been standing beside him.
Four brothers who had landed with him.
Four helmets that never left that planet.


Korda blinked slowly and pushed the thought away, focusing instead on the quiet hum of the depot. His helmet hung from his belt, the Jaig eyes painted across the left chest plate of his armor catching the overhead lights whenever he moved.


He thumbed the small comm unit at his wrist.
"Veydran reporting in."
His voice was calm, low, the relaxed tone of someone who had spent too many years around cargo holds and shady trade routes.


"Been sitting here about twenty minutes."
He paused, glancing across the massive stacks of crates filling the depot.
Still too quiet.
"Feels wrong."


The Mandalorian rotated the bolt assembly of the Ashen Maw before sliding it smoothly back into place.
"No pirates. No broken seals. No course deviations."
A faint chuckle escaped him through the cigar.
"Reminds me of some old smuggling tricks."


His eyes drifted across the warehouse again, scanning the stacked containers and loading lanes with the instinct of someone who had spent half his life around freight.


"You don't move cargo by blasting it out of the hold," he continued over the comm.
"You skim it. Quiet. A little here, a little there."
He flicked a bit of ash from the cigar, letting it fall onto the durasteel floor far below.
"Problem is," he muttered, "people checking these shipments usually don't know what they're looking for."


Another slow drag.
Smoke curled from his nose. his helmet hanging at his side.
"On-world security probably ran their inspections by the book."
A pause.
"But the book doesn't catch smugglers."


His gaze shifted toward the interior of the depot where workers had been unloading containers earlier. Somewhere deeper in the structure another Protector was already investigating.


Korda leaned forward slightly on the crate, resting his forearms across the Ashen Maw.
"I'll keep watching the floor," he said calmly into the comm.


"If something's bleeding cargo…"
The Mandalorian's voice lowered slightly.
"…it's doing it somewhere between the paperwork and the warehouse."
Another thin ribbon of cigar smoke curled upward into the rafters.
"And I intend to find out where."

Niijima Izumi Garo Vevut-Varkor

 

[Garo Vevut-Varkor]

​

Garo stood quietly on a rooftop, his basilisk lying behind him like a dog, an immense metal dog, his arms crossed as he looked at the warehouse.

He concentrated on Manda, to sense life forms in the area and any form of cencien, whether organic or not.

The HUD on his helmet also showed nothing, except for the occasional electric spark from a poorly insulated cable.

"Everything is quiet around here, and I don't sense anything strange in the warehouse yet."

He wasn't used to this type of operation, so it was a learning experience, but at least lying in wait was something he was accustomed to.

Niijima Izumi Korda Veydran

 

[Korda Veydran]

The quiet stretched thinner.
Korda shifted slightly atop the container stack, Ashen Maw resting across his knees as he listened to Garo's report crackle through the comm.
Nothing strange.

No life signs.
No disturbances.
His cigar ember glowed faintly as he took a slow drag.
"Copy that," Korda muttered. "Appreciate the overwatch."
He rolled his shoulder once, watching the warehouse floor below.


Then, almost casually
"Tell me something, shaman…"
A faint smirk tugged at his voice.

"What's it like? Feeling Manda like that."
He paused a moment, considering his words.
"I follow the Destroyer," he continued evenly. "War, fire, endings. I understand that part."
A slight shift of ash fell from the cigar.
"But sensing life through it? That's…" he hesitated briefly. "Different."

A metallic clang echoed from deeper within the warehouse.
Korda stopped mid-thought.
His head turned slowly toward the sound.

The cigar hung motionless from his mouth as his eyes narrowed.
The noise had been sharp. Not loud, but deliberate.
He waited.

Nothing followed.
He exhaled through his nose and gave a small shrug.
"Probably the structure settling," he muttered into the comm. "Old shelves give up eventually."

A faint rustle slid across his collarbone.
Oro emerged from beneath the edge of the container, the small serpent coiling comfortably around Korda's chest and neck, tongue flicking once into the air.

Korda didn't react. He simply adjusted the Ashen Maw slightly so the sling didn't disturb the creature.
"Easy," he murmured under his breath.
He took another long drag, letting the smoke roll slowly from his lungs in a thick, drifting cloud.

Then...
Another crash.
This one heavier.

Closer.
The cigar shifted between his teeth as his posture changed instantly.
The relaxed warrior vanished.
Korda slid off the container in one smooth movement, boots landing silently against durasteel.


Ashen Maw came up into his hands, not raised fully, but ready.
His voice changed over the comm. Calm. Controlled.
"Unidentified impact inside the warehouse. Western quadrant. Mid-stack rows."
A beat.

"Pattern inconsistent with structural fatigue."
Silence stretched.
Then his tone shifted back to something more grounded.
"…Either my head's playing tricks on me…"


He glanced toward the interior darkness. checking to make sure he had the stun rounds in the ashen maw.
"…or something in there is knocking things over."
A pause.
"Anyone else hear that? I'm hoping it a droid"

Oro tightened slightly around his shoulders.
The cigar ember dimmed as Korda let it hang, eyes locked on the shadowed aisles.
Waiting.

Garo Vevut-Varkor Niijima Izumi

 

[Niijima Izumi]

Izumi did not respond immediately.

From the upper levels of the depot, she had already heard it, the first metallic note, sharp and misplaced, cutting cleanly through the stillness. Not the slow groan of aging durasteel. Not the natural shift of weight. The second would only confirm it.

Her dark brown eyes shifted, not toward the sound itself, but toward the pattern around it; the silence before and the silence after. That was where truth tended to hide.

She stepped forward from the shadow of a support beam, her voice finally threading into the comm channel. “I heard it.”

A brief pause followed as she moved along the catwalk, her gaze tracing the western quadrant Korda had called out. Rows of containers. Clean lines. Too clean.

“Your assessment is correct,” she continued. “That was not structural.”

Her hand rested lightly against the railing, fingers still as she observed. There was no visible movement….no heat distortion and it seemed as though there was no breach in formation. Yet something had disturbed the order.

“Maintain position,” she said simply. “Do not engage yet. I am moving to an elevated angle over your position.”

She descended the access ladder without haste, each step soft and measured. The echo of her boots barely carried. Years of training, first as a samurai, now as a Mandalorian, showed not in speed, but in restraint. She did not rush toward noise.

“If this is a droid, it is operating outside standard labor patterns. If it is not…” Her voice remained steady, but there was a quiet edge beneath it now. “…then something is moving cargo without breaking seals.”

That, more than anything, mattered.

She reached the lower level, stopping just short of the western rows, keeping to shadow and angle rather than direct line of sight. Her gaze flicked once toward Korda’s position, confirming his placement.

“Veydran,” she said, precise and measured, “you’ve worked freight longer than most. What kind of operation removes weight… without opening the container?”

The question wasn’t rhetorical. It was an invitation for him to apply what he knew.

Izumi’s attention returned to the darkened aisle ahead.

“Garo,” she added, just as calm, “expand your sensing radius. Slowly. I want to know if anything moves before it makes contact.”

Silence settled again, but this time it felt different.

Izumi adjusted her stance, one hand resting near her weapon but not yet drawing it, waiting patiently.

Because whatever was inside that warehouse…had just made a mistake.
​

Korda Veydran Garo Vevut-Varkor

 

[Korda Veydran]

Korda moved without rushing.
He stepped off the open floor and into the narrow corridor formed by stacked containers, boots silent against durasteel. Oro shifted slightly around his shoulders, tongue tasting the air as if the serpent also felt the tension coiling tight.

At Izumi's question, he stopped at the corner of a cargo stack and leaned one shoulder lightly against the cold metal.
He thought.
Really thought.
"Removing weight without opening the container…" he repeated quietly over the comm.

His eyes tracked the seam lines of the nearest crate.
"Only two stories I ever heard working in the freight lanes."
He reached up and mag-locked the Ashen Maw across his back. The heavy rifle clicked securely into place. His hands came free.
"First one's simple. You steal the entire container. Swap it. Clone the seal. Replace it with one that's lighter."
He flexed his fingers once.

Blue current flickered to life across his shock gauntlets with a soft electrical hum.
"Second one…" he continued, voice lowering just slightly, "is spacer nonsense."
A faint, humorless chuckle escaped him.
"Hyperspace ghosts. Freighter crews swear something boards mid-jump. Walks through hull plating. Take what or who it wants."
He shifted his stance, leaning just enough to glance down the shadowed aisle without fully exposing himself.
"Never saw one myself."

A brief pause.
"Anyone who tried to take cargo under my watch didn't walk away."
His gaze drifted to the container walls again, examining weld seams, edges, corners.
"There are rumors though," he added. "Experimental tech. Phase entry. Slip through solid matter without breaching it."

He tilted his head slightly.
"Mostly talk. If it exists, it's expensive."
He reached down and brushed a gloved thumb along the edge of a container seam.
"Or," he said dryly, "someone cuts a hole clean, takes their share, welds it back so pretty even the inspector doesn't notice."

A small huff of breath through his nose.
"Seen worse craftsmanship."
He shifted fully into position now, back to the container, one hand resting against the metal, the other slightly raised, ready to round the corner.
His tone sharpened subtly.

"If something's inside these rows… it's organized."
Oro tightened slightly across his chest.
Korda's voice dropped half a degree.
"Permission to clear the aisle?"

Niijima Izumi Garo Vevut-Varkor