Private The Cache

[Red Mobius]

Wearing: Agol'Gam (Crimson Color)

Armed With: Besragr , Viper Series Blaster Rifle (Scoped, Undermount 40mm Grenade Launcher), Mobius Pistol

Grenade Rounds:

Fragmentation: 8
Plasma: 4

Equipment: Jetpack, Ammunition Belt


Mandalore, Night


Red watched from a cliff side at the small camp of pirates a kilometer and a half away and below her. They were all armed with heavy blaster rifles and they even had a few AT-ST walkers at the perimeter. Lots of turrets.

In the distance slightly beyond, half buried in the crumbling base of a ruined mountain, lay an ancient, repurposed Czerka Sandcrawler bearing the symbol of the Mandalorians.

Red had occupied herself since awakening in this new era trying to find her clan with exploring the ruins of this planet. In that time she had come across rumors of an old Mandalorian base that contained a cache of Mandalorian Disintegrator Pistols. Even today they were still considered horrendously deadly.

Determined to see if the rumors were true, Red had correlated rumors with actual records she had sought out and determined a rough possible location. But knowing she would need help, and knowing those with clans were still wary of her she had instead sought the help of another one missing their clan.

The plight of Rheyla Tann genuinely moved Red, for she knew well Tann's pain. Her family had been everything to her. They had given her purpose. To lose them, and worse, to not even know their true fates unlike Rheyla...it was worse than having your heart ripped out.

Red had approached the clanless Mandalorian with an offer a few weeks after the meeting at MandalMotors Hall when she had started searching for the Base: Help her find the base, and Red would set her up with new weapons and armor in addition to letting her take what she liked from the base while turning the rest over to the authorities.

She had finally located the base, taking Rheyla along...only to find these interlopers...and watched for their schedule and habits, waiting for the perfect chance to strike, even as she watched what looked like a large freighter arrive at the dead of midnight, the moon of Concord Dawn above them...

"It's time to strike. They're at their most relaxed now..." Red said to Rheyla. "You ready?"

 

[Rheyla Tann]

Rheyla adjusted the wrappings around her lekku, tugging the cloth tighter against the wind as she crouched beside Red. Her honey-brown eyes swept the valley below, flicking from the lazy arcs of pirate patrols to the squat silhouettes of those AT-STs.

“Relaxed, huh?” she muttered dryly. “Guess this is what passes for bedtime stories out here.”

Her hand rested on the worn grip of her blaster. The freighter below caught her eye—fresh arrival, probably carrying more muscle or worse. She didn’t like the look of the camp. Too organized. Too confident. Pirates weren’t supposed to act like they owned the place.

She leaned closer to Red, voice low but steady.

“So we’re fighting organized scum with heavy gear for a myth wrapped in rust and dirt.” She really regretted not taking her Cycler Rifle with her. A pause, then a wry smile. “You really know how to show a girl a good time.”

Despite the sarcasm, she was already checking her gear—tightening her gauntlet strap, adjusting the sheath of her vibroblade. She didn’t need a pep talk. She needed targets and forward motion.

“I don’t trust relics. And I sure as hell don’t trust Mandalorian ‘legacies,’” she added, glancing toward the half-buried sandcrawler. “But I trust my instincts. And right now, they’re saying we hit fast, hit hard, and make damn sure nobody walks out of there with anything that doesn’t belong to them.”

Rheyla pulled her goggles down around her eyes, the lenses catching a faint glint of moonlight.

“I’m ready. Let’s make some noise.”

Red Mobius​

 

[Red Mobius]

"Heh..." Red chuckled at the comment Rheyla Tann made about being shown a good time .

Then Tann talked about hitting fast and hard and Red agreed.

Red decided to kick things off with a plasma grenade from her rifle's under barrel launcher. Firing her jet pack and flying before the round landed and bathed a full quarter of the camp in a plasma fireball, killing three as she started firing as she flew, gunning down one as he tried to get into a scout walked.

Red landed, going full auto with her blaster even as fire was returned. She launched a wrist rocket at one of the walker units, exploding the cabin and then pressing deep into the camp, loading up another grenade round killing another small group, this round being a fragmentation round that shredded them. But still more were firing...

 

[Rheyla Tann]

Rheyla Tann – Burn the Quiet

The plasma grenade whistled off Red’s rifle—and the world below exploded in fire and chaos.

Rheyla blinked once behind her goggles as the blast lit up the night, the fireball washing the camp in molten light. Red was already airborne, jetpack screaming, rifles barking, rockets flying.

“Show-off,” Rheyla muttered with a crooked grin.

Then she triggered the rockets in her boots—short burst, not flight. Just enough to hurl her off the cliff edge in a blur of motion. She landed hard on the slope below, rolling once and coming up behind a rusted barricade as blaster fire lit the darkness around her.

No finesse now. Just war.

She moved fast, low to the ground, letting Red draw the bulk of the fire. Pirates scrambled in every direction—some screaming about the fire, others shouting commands that didn’t matter anymore. Rheyla slid between two crates, popped up, and fired twice—two clean shots, two less problems.

Another pirate tried to flank. She caught him mid-run, slammed him into a wall with a knee, and drove her vibroblade up under his ribs with practiced ease.

“You had a walker,” she hissed to the dying man, “and you still got smoked? That’s just embarrassing.”

She moved deeper, hugging the east flank. A turret swiveled her way—too slow. She tossed a flash charge under it, then used another short rocket burst to vault a stack of debris while it overloaded.

Blaster ready. Blade dripping. Eyes sharp.

She caught a glimpse of Red mid-frenzy—still airborne, fire everywhere.

Rheyla tapped her comm once. A short ping.

East line’s mine. Keep dancing. I’ll cut the music.

Then she disappeared back into the shadows, her grin wide and wild. For all her cynicism, her mistrust, her grief—this? This was starting to feel like the old days.

And maybe, just maybe, that wasn’t such a bad thing.

Red Mobius​

 

[Red Mobius]

"Gotcha, Tann." Red replied to Rheyla Tann as they both advanced into the camp. Red was coldly methodical hunting down each enemy, gunning down each assailant with at least three shots, two to the chest, and one to the head.

Red shredded into the assailants like a Ray Stevenson-Grade Punisher even as they returned fire, some armed with rotary cannons.

Red burned them alive with a wrist mounted flame thrower, feeling absolutely nothing as they flayed about.

It almost felt like the old days. Except it was two Mandalorians without a clan. Missing in Red's case. Dead in Tann's.

Tann had no idea how much Red empathized with her situation. Losing just one member had been a bad experience for Red back in the day.

One of the last remaining Pirates charged at her, wielding twin hybrid axes she had never seen before. Red blocked the strikes with her Vambraces, her armor specifically engineered to resist Vibro weapons. His frenzied attack left his defense open and he was undisciplined to boot.

Red evaded his next strikes, mag-dumping him in the chest a second later. She then finished off the remaining ones on her end with a frag grenade round.

Once the camp was completely subdued, Red went back to the corpse with the axes, picking both up.

"Interesting..." Red noted.

"Hey Tann! Found some weird axes, you want one?" she casually called out.

 

[Rheyla Tann]

By the time Rheyla knifed the last pirate through the gut and let him crumple at her feet, the camp was already a smoking ruin.

Charred bodies. Cratered sand. The scent of burned synth-leather and blood hung thick in the air.

She wiped her blade on a torn cloak and slid it back into its sheath, her breath steady. The buzz of the fight still tingled in her hands—familiar, but not addictive. Just... necessary.

Off to the side, Red stood like she was born for the chaos—gear scorched, boots surrounded by scrap and limbs. Wrist launcher still warm. Blaster likely overheating.

Rheyla tilted her head. “Overkill’s not dead, apparently.”

"Hey Tann! Found some weird axes, you want one?"

She stepped over a melted turret and made her way toward Red, boots crunching through debris.

“Depends. Do they come with a concussion and a regret waiver?”

When she saw the thing, she stopped short.

"...What in the kriff is that?”

She crouched, looking it over. An axe, sure. But also… a shortened cycler rifle? Maybe a slugthrower with extra flair? With a spike, and what looked like a decorative flourish, someone thought was a good idea halfway through a drunken forge session.

“This thing looks like the weaponsmith lost a bet halfway through designing it,” she muttered, picking it up and turning it in her hands. “Couldn’t decide if he wanted to chop, stab, or shoot—so he just went with ‘yes.’”

The weight was solid. Edges surprisingly sharp. The barrel looked barely functional, but the craftsmanship on the metal was oddly intricate.

Rheyla gave it a test swing, then raised a brow.

“Honestly? Could make a decent backup. Or at the very least, some collector’d pay good credits just to hang it on a wall and feel dangerous,” she said with a shrug.

She slung it over her shoulder. “I’ll take it. If nothing else, it’s a conversation starter. Preferably, the kind that ends with someone unconscious.”

She gave Red a nod—more than casual, less than formal. Just enough to say: good fight. I’ve got your back.

Then her eyes turned toward the half-buried crawler in the distance. “Alright. We’ve cleared the rats. Let’s see what the ghosts left behind.”

She started forward, boots crunching over scorched gravel and scattered shell casings. The axe clinked lightly against her back with each step, still absurd, still hers now.

The Sandcrawler loomed like a broken tomb—half-consumed by the mountain’s crumbling base, rust etched deep into its plates, time having worn down its once-imposing silhouette. Faded Czerka markings still clung to one side like a corporate scar, but it was the sigil on the blast-scorched hull that made Rheyla slow her steps.

The Mythosaur skull.

The Mandalorian symbol had been painted decades ago, maybe longer—rough, weathered, but unmistakable. A claim. A memory.

She didn’t stop walking, but she did pause for a breath.

The crawler’s ramp had long since buckled and fused, so she stepped over the ruins of an improvised barricade—rusted durasteel welded into a kind of makeshift entry. Pirates had clearly tried to keep people out.

Too late for that.

The air around the crawler was different. Heavier. Like the dust clung thicker here. Like it remembered. Rheyla didn’t say a word as she ducked through the opening and vanished into the dark. But something in the way she moved—measured, steady, silent—said she felt it.

Not fear. Not reverence.

Recognition.

Red Mobius​

 

[Red Mobius]

Red tested its controls., pointing the barrel at a can and unleashing what looked like a sonic wave that effectively functioned as a shotgun blast. The can was ripped apart.

"A combination weapon. Don't run into too many of these. Someone's old school..." she said, activating a pencil thin laser blade from an emitter at the bottom of the barrel. She swung and thrust with the axe experimentally.

"May look ungainly, but not gonna lie, it's kind of growing on me. Might be the barbarian in me speaking. Takes some getting used to is all. My guess is it's an honor weapon of some sort. Something you earn..." Red mused. "Best use is for boarding activity or enclosed spaces."

Red returned the nod Rheyla Tann gave her. She was a good warrior to have your back, Red decided on the spot, having an instinct for these sorts of things.

She walked with her to the Sandcrawler, feeling a sense of ominousness approaching it.

She blinked and the sky was on fire, seeing orbital strikes all around her. She blinked and the vision was gone. The Axe clinked from her belt the whole way.

Rheyla reached the Sandcrawler entrance first, and ducked into the shadows. Red's night vision in her helmet went active.

"It may have looked like a Sandcrawler on the outside but it wasn't on the inside. More like a vast warehouse meets weapons plant. Red saw Mandalorian banners everywhere...

Red took out her war axe, recognizing its potential as a survival tool, and activated its laser blade, her helmet scanning for traps on one of the crates and finding none present, using it to slice open one of the durasteel chains around the old crates and open it, albeit still with a great level of caution...

"Humph, no Disintegrators yet..." Red muttered, reaching in, pulling out a dull gray ingot...

"Buuuut...this is a pretty good find all the same..." Red noted, holding the ingot up.

"Know what this is? Phrik. Worked with this stuff in the forge since I was sixteen. I'd know this metal anywhere..." Red said, dropping it as her helmet sensors registered hostile personnel rapidly approaching. Her X-RAY scanners went on.

More pirates, these ones armed with heavy repeaters.

"Get ready, we got company!" Red hissed, getting behind a pillar and keeping her new Axe weapon at hand... showing how quickly she was getting attached to her new prize...

 

[Rheyla Tann]

Rheyla ducked deeper into the crawler, her eyes adjusting to the dark with the lazy hum of her visor filters kicking in. The air was different in here. Not just stale—quiet. Like the place had been waiting.

Red’s footsteps echoed behind her, the clink of that absurd axe following like a faithful pet. Rheyla didn’t turn when the weapon hissed and cracked, tearing the can to shreds.

“Of course it has a sonic blaster,” she muttered, half amused. “Wouldn’t be a proper overcompensator without sound and light.”

She let Red talk, absorbing it. Laser blade. Enclosed spaces. Honour weapon. The analysis tracked, though it didn’t make the thing any less ridiculous-looking. Still... it worked. And that was more than could be said for half the junk pirates hauled around.

As they moved deeper, the space opened wide—unexpectedly cavernous. The interior was a far cry from any standard crawler layout. Vaulted ceilings reinforced with industrial beams. Rows of rusted scaffolding. Crates stacked in shadowed alcoves like old coffins. The banners were the real shock: blackened, dust-covered, but still bearing the unmistakable symbols of Mandalore’s fractured past.

Rheyla stopped beneath one—half-torn, scorched at the edge. Clan Kyrze. Or what was left of it.

Her jaw tightened, just a little. She said nothing.

She crouched near a different crate, scanning it with her gauntlet. No traps. No alarms. Just time doing what time does best—erase.

Red cracked one open across the room, her new toy cutting through the chains with ease. Rheyla heard the change in her voice before the word even hit.

Phrik.

That made her look.

She crossed the distance in a few strides, eyes narrowing as Red held up the dull grey ingot.

Rheyla didn’t say anything at first. Just looked at it. The weight. The colour. The faint shimmer in the metal.

She’d heard the stories. Daro Vhett used to talk about it around the fire—how real phrik could turn a blade, stop a lightsaber, and outlive the warrior who wore it. She’d never seen any. Too rare. Too expensive. Too far from the Outer Rim jobs they used to take.

And now here it was. Sitting in a dead crate in a dead crawler, waiting.

She exhaled slowly. “Could armour a legend with that,” she murmured at last. “Or a ghost.”

And then the motion detector in her gauntlet chirped—soft, sharp, urgent.

Movement. Not a stray. A group.

Red called it first.

Rheyla dropped into cover behind an old support strut, pulling her blaster free in one hand, vibroblade in the other.

"Guess someone didn't appreciate us raiding the ghost yard," she muttered, already angling for a flanking path. Her mind mapped the space instinctively—cover spots, firing lanes, possible choke points.

Then she glanced across at Red, crouched behind a pillar, axe at the ready like it had always been hers.

“I’ll take the left. Let’s make them earn their mistake.”

And with that, Rheyla moved—silent, quick, low to the ground.

Let the next dance begin.

Red Mobius​

 

[Red Mobius]

The smugglers rolled both stun and smoke grenades into the area before charging in and spraying fire wildly before filing in to hunt the intruders down.

Red used the sonic shotgun in her axe and let off two bursts that hit one square in the chest, killing him instantly while firing with her pistol and nailing two more, charging in, the vibration function of her axe tearing into their armor brutally. Going full Axe Murderer on the ones she was facing while a number of the others focused on Rheyla Tann and firing on her, the ones Red faced desperately tried to retreat from her but Red showed no quarter for the raiders, her axe soon bloody and the raiders she attacked either dead or heavily wounded before she used the carbine portion of her axe to fire on the ones retreating, not wanting to give them a chance to regroup.

This axe was something else, Red decided. It was probably one of the better secondary weapons she had ever used. She would have to make room for it in her kit going forward.

Once her half of the response team was slain, Red turned to try and see if Rheyla needed assistance...

 

[Rheyla Tann]

The moment the stun grenades rolled in and smoke hissed across the chamber, Rheyla ducked sideways with a muttered, “Of course they brought party favors.”

Blaster fire lit up the air like a firework show for people who hated fun. She moved fast—low, quiet, clean. Two pirates came through the haze on her flank, yelling like it’d make them shoot straighter.

It didn’t.

She tagged the first with a shot to the knee, let him drop screaming, then used his stumble to shield herself from the second’s fire. Slid in close. Blade. Throat. Done.

The silence after the last pirate fell didn’t feel like relief.

It felt like the moment just before the mistake.

Rheyla stood slowly, dust clinging to her cloak, blaster still warm in her grip. She scanned the ruined chamber, the crates, the banners—so much history buried under grime and bad decisions. For a heartbeat, it almost felt like they'd won.

Then she looked up.

Through a shattered segment of the crawler’s roof, something loomed—wrong in shape, ugly in motion. A pirate-mod gunship, big enough to block out the moonlight, hovered into position like the galaxy’s least subtle threat.

Twin rotary cannons spun up with that low, mechanical whine. And from its side doors, figures began to rappel down—heavily armed, better equipped than the ones they’d just carved through. Not the cleanup crew.

The real muscle.

“Oh for kriff’s sake—”

The first volley hit like the wrath of a god.

The crawler howled. The ceiling peeled open. Beams collapsed. Crates exploded. The world turned into noise and fire and hurt.

Rheyla threw herself down, landing hard behind the remnants of a support strut. Her thigh guard caught the edge of a falling panel—sent a jolt up her leg. Sparks rained down. Her goggles cracked on the left lens.

Her armour plates groaned under the shock—but she could feel the heat licking through the gaps. Too many gaps. Too many holes. Her gear wasn’t built for this.

The gunship kept raking the crawler, chewing through metal and stone and anything dumb enough to exist inside it.

Rheyla clenched her jaw, rolled under a chunk of debris, and slapped her comm—voice raw, half-shouting just to be heard.

“Red—please tell me you’ve got something for this! Because I’m running real low on ideas, and none of them involve dying under a flying cheese grater!”

Another blast tore through the far wall. Light flashed. The floor shook. A piece of the ceiling screamed as it came loose and slammed down two meters from her.

She flattened herself against the floor, muttering through gritted teeth—

“Kriffing pirates and their dramatic entrances!”

Red Mobius​

 

[Red Mobius]

Red heard the Gunship before she saw it and readied her Viper Rifle's grenade Launcher. She was already behind a support pillar when it started raining down blaster fire.

She returned fire, blasting a number of mercs as they were rappelling down into the ship, hitting one of them directly with a plasma grenade round and killing not just him, but the to that were going down the line with him.

The Volley hit hard and fast on her position but Red had a plan. She loaded a frag round into her rifle's launcher and fired right into the exposed cabin that had opened to allow reinforcements to rappel down.

She fired it and it sailed right into the cabin just as the cabin started to close.

The Gunship exploded from within and it began to veer away wildly from the crawler as it caught fire.

That was when Red came under fire from smugglers in power armor, armed with Z-6 Rotary Cannons blasting away at her position.

Her Agol'Gam took a few good hits before she returned fire and blasted away at the the mercs, her own shots doing little visible damage.

Red ducked behind what was left of cover, dropped her rifle, drew her Besragr , and hurled it into the chest of the closest shooter and began firing her arm mounted flame thrower burning three of them alive and advanced, firing a wrist mounted rocket and drawing her Mobius Pistol and hitting another with concentrated sonic fire as she continued torching them. But there were four more firing on her.

"Rheyla! That Axe I gave you earlier! It doubles as a Sonic Shotgun! You're in range!" Red exclaimed over comms as she tried to draw as much fire to her as possible and away from Rheyla Tann ...

 

[Rheyla Tann]

The crawler was still coming apart around her when the comm crackled—Red’s voice cutting through static and gunfire like a thunderbolt.

“Rheyla! That axe I gave you earlier! It doubles as a Sonic Shotgun! You're in range!”

Rheyla blinked, covered in soot and half-deafened by the cannon fire. She turned just in time to see the last of the gunship lurching away in flames, and the new batch of walking tanks laying suppressive fire like they were getting paid by the bolt.

“Of course it does,” she muttered, ducking a searing blast that left a glowing scar across the floor beside her. “Kriffing thing’s got more functions than my ship.”

She yanked the ridiculous weapon off her back—still awkward, still ugly, but suddenly a lot more appealing when faced with power-armoured goons spraying rotary death in her direction.

The floor vibrated from Red’s rocket hits and the scream of her flamethrower. Rheyla moved. Fast and low, shifting behind a twisted crate and letting the noise cover her approach. The axe was heavier than her usual kit—but that hum, that low thrum of power building inside it? That was new.

She peeked around the corner. Four left. All guns on Red.

“Showtime.”

Rheyla popped out of cover and levelled the axe, grip tight, teeth clenched.

BOOM.

The sonic burst hit like a thunderclap—slamming into the nearest merc with enough force to knock him back mid-step. The armour caught the worst of it, but the shockwave still staggered two more.

She didn’t wait.

Another shot. Another ripple of concussive force ripping through the air.

“Did I mention I love this thing now?! Though still ugly!” she shouted into comms, ducking back as fire returned her way, bolts sparking off the crawler walls around her.

The axe hissed in her hands, energy building for another round.

She flashed a crooked grin, crouched low, and prepped to move again.

“Let’s dance, bucketheads.”

She pulled the pin on one of her smoke bombs and dropped it at her feet. The chamber bloomed with thick grey mist in an instant, curling and swallowing the world around her.

Rheyla inhaled once—held it—then triggered the rockets in her boots.

The burst was short, but sharp. Enough to launch her like a missile through the veil.

She rocketed forward, axe reversed in her grip, melee blade facing front. One of the armoured mercs was just outside the smoke—still braced, still firing.

He didn’t see her coming.

The axe struck first, its weight and her velocity driving the blade deep into the joint between his shoulder plate and neck guard. The impact sent him crashing to one knee with a grunt of metal-on-metal protest.

Rheyla landed in a half-skid just behind him, the axe handle wrenched free from her grip as it locked into his armour. Momentum still driving her, she twisted, rolled, and came up with one of her larger vibroknives already drawn.

No hesitation.

She lunged onto his back—legs wrapping, weight shifting—and with a grunt of effort, jammed the vibroknife up under the helmet, right where the neck met the plate.

A brutal, wet crack.

The armoured form twitched once. Then slumped.

Rheyla clung there for a beat, chest heaving, smoke still rolling behind her and fire still flashing at the edges of her vision.

Then, breathless and grinning, she muttered against the back of the dead man’s helmet:

“…Hope that wasn’t your lucky bucket.”

She yanked the blade free with a wet twist and dropped to the floor again, already searching for her next target.

Red Mobius​

 

[Red Mobius]

Red was starting to get genuinely concerned before Rheyla Tann used the sonic shotgun function.

"See! I told you this thing rules!" Red said in excitement as she exploited the opening Tann had made blasting away at her own foes and then hacking them up during the opening she had made.

The mercenaries started fleeing in spite of their heavy armor, but their retreat was simply much too slow and Red bore down on them, hacking into them with it and shooting them with her rifle one handed.

Soon, every merc present was quite dead.

"I must confess, I have rarely found an instrument so multi-purpose. This is a permanent part of my kit! I'm gonna manufacture these en masse! They'll sell like Netra'Gal!" Red exclaimed enthusiastically to Tann.

"I think we bought ourselves a bit of breathing room. They'll be reeling from the failure of the assault. Let's dig through this place..." She suggested, stripping the bodies of ammo before hacking open the crates.

"Kandosii!" Red exclaimed, removing a Bulky Pistol .

"There she is. It may not look like much, but even today, these are some of the deadliest Disruptor Pistols in the known galaxy..." Red spoke. "They are an invaluable legacy of our people. They don't belong in the hands of these scum."

Red handed it to her.

"You should get the first one out the batch. Only fair..."

 

[Rheyla Tann]

Rheyla rose slowly from the floor, brushing ash and grit from her sleeves with all the poise of someone who absolutely hadn’t just tackled a walking tank to death.

She yanked her axe free from the twitching corpse with a grunt, eyeing the ugly thing like it had just told a good joke. “Okay. I take it back. You might be onto something with this murder can opener.”

Red’s glee over the weapon earned a faint smirk through the haze. “You manufacture these, just don’t name ‘em after yourself. I’m not hauling around a ‘Mobius Mangler’ or whatever you’re cooking up in that hyperactive brain.”

She holstered her knife, glancing around at the suddenly still battlefield. Corpses smoked. Crates smouldered. Her boots crunched on shattered plating as she crossed to Red’s side.

At the sight of the bulky disruptor pistol, her brow rose. Slowly.

“Kriff. That’s the good kind of ugly.”

She took it from Red’s hand—cautious, almost reverent—and turned it over in her grip. Heavy. Solid. Brutal. The kind of thing you didn’t draw unless you were ready to erase someone from the record books.

Her tone sobered, just slightly. “Used to hear stories about these. Clan elders called ‘em war-enders. Never saw one up close.”

She glanced at Red, a crooked grin tugging at one corner of her mouth.

“Appreciate the gesture. I’ll try not to vaporise myself with it.”

With a faint hum, she powered the pistol down and tucked it into her belt—then looked to the crates, still ringing from Red’s prywork.

“Alright,” she said, kicking aside a chunk of still-smoking armour. “I’m gonna go get the Scourhawk while we've got breathing room. Start piling anything that doesn’t explode when touched.”

She gave the smoking ruin around them one last glance—wreckage, scorched crates, and twitching corpses—and exhaled through her nose. Her boots crunched over glass and ash as she made her way toward the breach where the crawler’s side had been blown open by gunship fire.

Rheyla holstered her blaster, adjusted the strap on her cloak and held the weird gunaxe in her hand. The desert night hit her in the face like a wall of dry heat, and the silence outside felt too loud after everything inside.

“Be right back,” she muttered into comms, already moving. “Try not to torch the rest of the place while I’m gone.”

Smoke curled behind her as she disappeared into the dark, boots pounding over sand and scorched earth, toward the hidden ridge where she'd parked the Scourhawk. Time to wake the old girl up.

Red Mobius​

 

[Red Mobius]

Red began piling stuff into large crates for shipping out while Rheyla Tann headed out to get the Scourhawk.

In the process, as Red came across a long case in one crate and inspected it. It had heavy locks that she had to pick with equipment in her belt and she opened it, staring in fascination, lifting a long, black, double edged sword in a black sheath from the case.

"Helllloooooooo..." she said, feeling a strange things of energy from it that she couldn't explain. She set it aside as she continued packing, carting it out on nearby Repulsor trolleys.

When Rheyla Tann arrived Red held up the sword, pulling it off the sheath, it's obsidian edge gleamed.

"Hey! Look what I found!" She exclaimed excitedly, the Forge Master in her geeking out over the find. "Dunno who made it but it's obviously a master work! This place just keeps giving and giving..."