Populate The Gravesong War || Ashes of the Undying [ ME Populate of Ploo ]

[Jonah]

TARIS – THROUGH THE VEIL
Coordinates: (D,6)

She moved like smoke through flame.

Jonah caught Cordelia’s approach from his perch—no helmet, no hesitation, just a predator uncoiling into motion. The way she walked, the way her saber came to life like it missed the slaughter, told him all he needed to know.

She didn’t need watching. She needed space to work.

A beat later, another presence joined them. Jonah turned his head slightly to clock the figure crouched behind him—Montello Praviah. A voice out of the haze, words heavy with memory and bitter clarity.

"Nothing a good old beskar blood-wash can’t fix."

Jonah gave a low grunt of agreement, not quite a laugh. “Let’s make it a deep clean then.”

His gaze shifted down the avenue. The alleyway ahead was an open wound, packed with corpses still moving—if only barely. The frontline was a blur of flame, flashing blades, and disciplined blasterfire. Manti stood at the heart of it, a force of nature among her kin, carving a path with shield and steel while coordinating her clan like a hammer blow. Near her, Adonis carved through the enemy with the unnatural precision of a Jedi. And behind them, a heavy repeater sang a song of molten justice, chewing through the undead in a storm of light and thunder.

It was holding—for now.

Jonah clicked into the shared comms channel. His voice came through low, calm, but commanding:

“Manti. Adonis. Verd here. We’ve got eyes on your position from the rooftops. My squad’s moving to join you—better we break the horde together than let it bleed us out in waves.”

He stood, sword still humming in his grip. The wind stung his face through the gap in his scarf, but he didn’t flinch. Instead, he stepped to the edge of the ruined rooftop, took a breath, and jumped.

The Force surged into his legs like a coil snapping loose, launching him across the gap. He landed hard on a bent durasteel beam, then vaulted again, leaping from shattered balcony to collapsed scaffolding. Rubble crumbled beneath his boots, but his momentum never faltered. One last jump—and he landed behind Clan Wyrvhor’s line with a roll that kicked up dust and ash.

He rose smoothly, turning just long enough to signal Cordelia and Montello with a sharp nod. A gloved hand flicked upward in a “follow me” motion.

“Let’s give ‘em a wall of iron they won’t walk through.”

Without waiting, he moved—vibrosword raised, charging into the fray with the kind of grit only the Mandalorians could conjure. Not for glory. Not for honor. But because the dead needed a reminder:

The living fight back.​

Tag: Manti Wyrvhor , Adonis Angelis IV , Cordelia Malkavian , Montello Deshra

 

[Aether Verd]

TARIS – THROUGH THE VEIL
"“We do not break. We forge forward.”"​

Coordinates: (D,4) – Collapsed Hospital Site

The dead were thinning.

For now.

Their limbs twitched across broken pavement, skulls cracked beneath boot and beskad. The last shambler fell to a bolt through the temple, its smoldering corpse collapsing with the others in a mound of fetid ruin. The hospital doors—battered, dented, clawed to hell—stood firm no longer. Now they yawned open to reveal terrified eyes and trembling limbs.

Aether Verd lowered his blaster, smoke trailing from the barrel. Jaikell moved beside him like a ghost, sharp and steady—watchful. One of the civilians stumbled, and Jaikell caught them without a word, guiding them back behind cover as Aether moved deeper inside.

They were here.

Dozens. Some limping. Some bloodied. All still alive.

The Mand’alor’s voice filled the entranceway, carried by the vocoder in his helm. “You’re safe. Mandalore has you.”

Behind him, his Supercommandos moved fast—securing hallways, patching wounds, lifting rubble. They were an extension of his will, iron in motion.

A voice crackled through the comms. Kuben. The younger warrior had moved ahead of the line, alone, dropping from a gunship into the heart of chaos. His intent had been bold, reckless, and exactly what the Empire needed. Aether keyed his comms.

“Your initiative is noted, brother. You bought these people their lives. Hold your ground—we’re finishing the sweep.”

Another voice surged through the general frequency—Lysara. She and Clan Varkor had established a rally point near the northwest, organizing evac routes and holding the western flank with iron resolve. The Mand’alor’s reply was swift and firm.

“Clan Varkor, your fortifications hold this mission together. Maintain the line. Begin prepping for civilian intake—we’ll be moving wounded your way shortly.”

He turned back to the survivors.

“Dren. Cordak. Jaikell.” he said, gesturing to a third of the squad. “Form an escort detail. Get these people to Clan Varkor's position alive. Move fast, and don’t look back. When they've been delivered, regroup with me immediately.”

He waited a moment for the named Supercommandos to respond before turning to his remaining forces. They circled around Aether. He looked north.

Toward the epicenter.

“Rest of you are with me. This ends where it began.”

***​

Meanwhile...

Above Central Park, the sky screamed.

Aether’s visor flickered for a moment—brief, unspoken authorization transmitted.

The air roared in reply.

From the blast-wrecked greenery of the Park, a shape rose—angular, scarred, and furious. Aether’s Basilisk War Droid launched from its resting place like a beast unshackled, jets screaming as it blazed through the burning sky. It soared low over rooftops and shattered towers, scattering debris and cinders in its wake.

It landed with thunder, all durasteel fury and clawed limbs, directly beside Itzhal.

The creature-machine did not speak.

It howled.

A deep, grinding metallic roar that echoed across the dead city.

At the same instant, Itzhal’s HUD blinked—authorization code: MAND’ALOR-IRON—and a directive scrolled across the top of his visor:

ASSET: BASILISK WAR DROID

• Status: Operational
• Authorized Controller: Itzhal Volkihar
• Directive: Assist in civilian retrieval and route control. Use force as needed.

Aether’s voice accompanied it, low and cold:

“Volkihar. She’s yours. Use her well.”

Then, without ceremony, he turned to the street beyond.

Toward the pulsing wound in the Force. Toward the music. Toward the madness.

The Mand’alor raised his blade.

“Let’s move.”

Jaikell Wyrvhor , Kuben Woods , Itzhal Volkihar , Lysara Rynn + Open

 

[Raef Malstadt]

Kill now, care never.
​

Location: Central Park, Taris Streets
Tags: Open
E5 - C4
Equipment: R-935M | R-62 | Vibro-ax | RSKF-44 | VF-005

He was here to work. The contract he'd signed made it abundantly clear that it was, in fact, his job at this time to comply with Mandalorian doctrine and bolster their efforts to cleanse the streets of the reanimated. Raef arrived by shuttle - a small craft not worthy of note, shrouded in a coat of shadow.

When he touched down, and the ramp hissed open, he could see the panic and urgency of everyone putting in their best efforts forward - armor and guns of all creeds rushing for the streets, heeding a calling far more honorable than the Red Devil. Crimson clad and heavily armed, Raef stepped forward by his lonesome without tuning into his comms. He didn't need to hear the barking of orders, or have his time wasted on someone that his contract didn't specifically mention.

He saw them - a rotten horde of broken and twisted bodies, mouths agape and spilling forth foul air from lungs that held no function. A choir of groaning and guttural screams filled the air, blasters ringing out this way and that, detonations blasting through rubble and stone as other strike teams fought bravely through the undead.

He was at a vantage point for the time being, scanning buildings and checking his data packet. Many streets appeared to be rather congested, small blips of non-hostile lifeforms scattering with haste, some ceasing to move at all as designated targets swarmed them. Somewhere off in the distance to the northwest sector was an escalating amount of activity, more so than anything in Raef's immediate area.

And so he began to move out deeper into the city proper, his Vibro-ax activated and resting on his shoulder, footfalls shifting to acknowledge his presence as alleyways filled with malformed silhouettes gripping at walls, dragging themselves into the open as their teeth gnashed like a rabid animal.

A singular cleave from his weapon decapitated one of the creatures, its body flailing before crashing hard into the debris filled street.

From small time to this, Raef could certainly say he'd moved up in life, depending on who one asks.

Either way he would not disappoint. Credits were credits, and this was simply another day.

 

[Conrad]

C4/B4

Spoiler: Theme

(Yes he's just wearing a suit and has a cane)
​

Tag: Aether Verd , Jonah , Cordelia Malkavian , Montello Deshra , Runi Kuryida , OPEN

Well today was at least a little bit interesting. You know with the undead uprising and strange musical number.

Conrad sighed as he casually walked the streets of the city like there wasn't really anything to worry about. He'd been on planet for a little over a year now, and it would seem that his local happenings while fruitful, were not ultimately gaining someone like him what he was looking for. Certainly he was conning simpletons, rather rich ones, and making a bit off of the trading of little secrets between people, but that wasn't why he was here. He needed something.... more. He needed knowledge, true knowledge, something actually worthwhile.

After all, Mother didn't give him this assignment so he could sleeze up this entire sector for free.

So Conrad had waited, biding his time and waiting for an opening. A moment where he could present himself as someone who could be.... helpful. A friendly face in the crowd. An asset that was willing to help. Some might even call him a "friend". Conrad chuckled at the thought. Ah, friends. He looked across the street and saw what "friends" had gotten most of the people left out here. One of them was positively gorging themselves on the entrails of someone else, and as Conrad was walking along the street the walking corpse looked up and eyed him like a piece of fresh meat. Conrad made an unamused face back at the creature, but otherwise didn't bother deviating from his little walk. He had important places to be. When it started walking towards him Conrad rolled his eyes before letting out an exasperated sigh.

"Oh fine,"

Conrad reached up with his free hand and snapped his fingers, and an unseen force slammed into the corpse, throwing it like a rag doll and causing it to become embedded into the building wall next to him. A small gust of dust picked up from the surge, and Conrad smiled to himself grimly. He was in no danger here, for now. He after all had a time table to keep making his way to meet this new Mandalore. As the dust cleared, Conrad looked down at his dress shoes and a scowl crossed his face.

Some of the viscera had gotten onto them.

He audibly cursed as glared skyward and contemplated removing the small bit of gore and possible stain before it ruined his perfectly nice and comfortable dress shoes. Alas he couldn't. Mother would not be happy if he let a chance to meet this new Mandalore slip through his fingers. So with a sigh he continued his walk, cane tapping on the ground as he kept his poise and posture correct. After all, just because the world was seemingly ending didn't mean that there was any reason to not have good manners and etiquette. He was in public, and if nothing else, a gentleman.

At least, that's what he intended to show the new Mandalore. He hummed a little tune as he walked along. What a nice day indeed.

 

[Vytal Noctura]

​

Vytal turned to regard the woman that drew near. Kirae Orade. Emerald eyes shone even amidst the sky choked with smoke. "Few are. Even many Knights have yet to weather such a storm, but their power will bolster yours." A curious thing for Kirae to think so little of herself, however. The flow of ichor and the currents of the Force seemed to pool about her. Mandalorians were not known for being Force-curious; perhaps Kirae simply hadn't been taught or had shunned such power.

"Do you wish to learn, Orade? Not all ways are equal in vigor." Her hand swept out to the side before more shambling corpses. A wave of green fire flew from her grasp and washed over them as tsunami crests. "But all are in service to your cause." Some preferred close combat, others range, and others still wide-area spells. Which a person was most suited for depending on much, not the least of which was their mentality.

The Witch grunted softly. "It appears the Mand'alor has advanced." Her gaze turned north toward the hospital. "We must not tarry. He will require our support." With that she started forth at a faster pace than before. They would need to catch up with them before they reached the metaphysical stage. She could already see the currents drawing in the direction of the center of corruption.

Every now and again Vytal would look down an alleyway and create a towering barrier of debris. It might not stop the undead -- they could, in theory, climb over it -- but seeing as how there were easier places to flood through she counted on them yielding to paths of least resistance. To channel them into concentrated areas for the Mandalorians to manage. It should help reduce the need for their warriors to constantly check every single alleyway every second -- a tiring, if necessary act.

Kirae was welcome to ask any questions she wished along the way, but events would outpace themselves if they stood still. It was only because the Mand'alor had spent time at the hospital itself that they would catch up to them.

"There," Vytal announced as sight of the Supercommandos could be seen. Aether was not unfamiliar with the Force, but to think the man would try to shoulder protecting others and combating the enemy alone. Obviously a man they would need to strive to remain aware of and keep up with at all times.

Kirae Orade | Aether Verd​