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

[Harrow]

TARIS
"You scream. I scream. We all scream...that's all."​

The city stretched far beneath him—bright lights, buzzing traffic, lives lived in blissful ignorance.

Harrow hovered in the air above it all, his jester’s cap fluttering in the breeze of the upper atmosphere. Cloaked figures ringed him like silent shadows, each crowned in their own garish motley, each veiled from the world below. Their laughter had long since rotted into silence, but their purpose remained. He turned slowly to face them, that ever-widening grin pulling at lips too pale to be living.

“Welcome, my darlings…” Harrow cooed, voice rippling with delight. “To a brand… new… day.”

His gaze flicked over them, head tilting this way and that like a marionette on broken strings, until it settled on one.

“You.” He pointed, drifting forward. “Pallor.”

The figure stepped forward, hesitant—but expectant.

“You’ve been away a long time, haven’t you?” Harrow said, slinging a spectral arm across her shoulders, drawing her close. “Oh, the Nether was a cold ballroom. And you? You were one of the last dancers. Long… long… Veeery long time. The world you knew? Gone. The governments, the kings, the peasants, the credits, the laws? Gone too. But our mission?”

He tapped her forehead gently with a single finger.

“Still right there. We wake the ones we lost. And to do that, sweet Pallor… we bring the world music.”

He released her, spinning away midair with a dramatic flourish.

“Update their taste for me, would you?”

Pallor bowed deeply, removing her hood in a theatrical sweep. A feminine figure emerged—lithe, clad in harlequin silks the color of ash and ink. Her face was painted in grinning death, her eyes rimmed in darkness. When she rose from her bow, a concertina had already appeared in her hands, forged from violet flame.

The first note cut the sky like a scream.

High above Taris, she played.

And below… the world broke.

Repulsorcraft veered out of control as pilots clawed at their ears, their minds filled with images they couldn’t comprehend—blood, fire, laughter that never ended. Children cried. Adults screamed. The song tunneled into every signal, every frequency. And then—

The graves opened.

One by one. Then all at once.

Bodies, twisted and forgotten, emerged from tombs old and new. Soldiers long-dead, citizens buried yesterday, ossuaries and catacombs torn asunder. Bones marched beside flesh. The streets choked with rot.

Harrow turned, the performance complete.

“Bravo,” he whispered, as he and the Troupe faded from view—slipping between realms like dancers exiting stage left.

All that remained above the Upper City of Taris… was Pallor.

Suspended in the sky.

Playing. Smiling. Waking the dead.

Spoiler: Taris Map

Spoiler: Objectives

OBJECTIVE I: THROUGH THE VEIL
Location: Upper City, Central Park → Taris Streets

The dead rule the streets.
What began as a haunting melody has become a full-blown nightmare—one from which Taris cannot wake.

Above the city floats a singular figure. Scouts who glimpsed her report robes of shadow, a mask of death, and a concertina that never stops playing. The Dark Side radiates from her like a beacon. But to get close? One must first cross the underworld.

The Mand’alor has issued a clear directive:
Preserve what we can. Save who we can. Do not let this city become another grave.

A landing zone has been secured at the heart of the Upper City—a place once known as Central Park, now purged of the undead. From this foothold, strike teams will advance block by block through the corrupted streets. Their mission: reach the source of the melody, end it if possible, and discover what force is truly responsible for raising the dead.

PvE | Urban horror combat, squad tactics, psychological warfare, and Force-driven mystery!​

OBJECTIVE II: LIGHT IN THE ASH
Location: Central Park Encampment, Upper City

Taris is not a warzone. It is a world—and its people have not all fled.

The Central Park encampment serves as more than just a military beachhead. It is a field hospital. A haven. A candle flickering against the dark.
Here, medics work tirelessly to treat the wounded. Volunteers distribute rations. Warriors stand not as conquerors, but as protectors.

This is where we show the strength of Mandalorian iron—not in destruction, but in restoration.
Some among the refugees have knowledge that may aid the mission. Others are simply scared, broken, or on the brink of death. It falls upon those who remain to bring hope, comfort, and order to the chaos.

Humanitarian | Refugee support, medicine, diplomacy, culture-sharing, and heartfelt character moments!
​

Spoiler: Tag

Montello Deshra
Adonis Angelis IV
Otis Fett
Siv Kryze
Farris Kettefre
Jaikell Wyrvhor
Itzhal Volkihar
Valah Hagen
Khairam Tal
Vytal Noctura
Suleiman Lok
Kyrida Verd
Sari'la Kandosii
Jiriad Galaar
Adenn Vizsla
Kandosii Ka'rta
Manti Wyrvhor
Mia Monroe
Ladante Mamba
Raef Malstadt
Ciri Jade
Lunara Azure
Kirae Orade
Ro'talius Emanti
Alora Vizsla
Zhulghua
Yolaghun
Tomaj Eldar
Lorcan Nanu
Michio Shingai
Kalðr Ísbjørn
Cordelia Malkavian
Drego Ruus
Rhys Swynol
"Templar"
CT-312
Lysara Rynn
@Nephtys Nardithi-Verd
Hanna
Siae Andronike
Zlova Rue
Runi Kuryida
Ren Ashbridge
Aliza Vale
Thram Drokor
Sagan Verd
Tarw Rhyfelwr
Ze'bast Verd
Vyse de Valorous
Varuun Rekaal
Kuben Woods
Lyra Scarlet
Talohn Atar
Incitrix
Klavatora Verd
Aselia Verd

REFERENCED THREADS:
What Are You Doing in My Swamp?​

 

[Manti Wyrvhor]

"We Will Not Retreat."
​

Objective: Through the Veil
Location: North of the Central Park

Manti had quickly grown sick of the force. She couldn't help but think that the more she was near practitioners of jetii magik the more confusing and dangerous her life became. But honestly if it wasn't this it'd be something else, at least that's what she told herself as she waded into the horde of undead shambling in her direction. To the right and behind of her about two dozen other members of Clan Wyrvhor were blades deep into the undead horde, hacking, slashing, and blasting their way through a near endless swarm of shambling corpses. The alley was abandoned by all except these creatures and they pressed around the semi-circle of Mandalorians as water presses against the shore.

Manti would pull the foot long combat knife out of the skull of one creature while bringing up the small circular buckler shield up to intercept another's blow. The city streets were familiar terrain to Clan Wyrvhor, their semi-circle making the most out of the cramped alleyway they had been fighting through for the past few minutes. Only a few dozen of the undead could shamble in at a time, and at this point they had to crawl over the dismembered corpses of those who came before thus slowing the rate at which Mandalorians had to exert themselves.

Flipping the knife around into a back-facing grip Manti would plunge the blade through the creature's neck before two quick pummels of the shield would sever it entirely from the body. As the head rolled away Manti would turn to face the oncoming horde.

"This is Manti Wyrvhor-" she would begin, speaking through her communicator to any nearby Mandalorians "My team and I are pressing North, all we've found are walking corpses. There has to be hundreds of them. We're pinned into an alleyway.. it's not urgent but if any nearby teams can come assist I'd appreciate it."

She doubted her clan could be overwhelmed by such creatures but Manti doubted the slow shamblers were going to be the only things stalking these streets, best to be prepared.

As another dozen or so undead clambered over the slowly growing pile of bodies Manti would flip the knife around again, raise her shield, and charge back into the action.

 

[Delsin Shaw]

Objective II and III: Provide Medical Services and Investigate
Location: Central Park

This was quite the change from what I was used to. While at first I was an extra hand to just make sure these undead didn't invade central park, They were pulling anyone they could who could perform triage on those who were being injured, or killed. A marker in my hand that was marking the individual's forehead for how serious they were injured. Being told to leave a numbered mark or an "X". Numbers for what order and how severe they were, and an "X" for well... those who would be provided enough meds to take the edge off and let die. Nothing we could do for someone who had multiple limbs missing and leaking blood like a fountain in a City Square.

However, I was also told that if anyone was marked by Bites, or had blackened veins, to mark them with an X and a Circle. So that when they did die, they would be dealt with so they couldn't return. Apparently there was enough of a thought process or someone noticed that these people were not of natural life. Which I could tell first hand, was a very real and dangerous thing. I knew variations of such powers and abilities. Even... messed with some of them in the past.

Kneeling down at a young girl, A woman held onto her and was petting her head. Crying and praying to the deaf cosmos for her child back. Her body pretty much gone. What worried me, was the bite marks on the child's hand and arms. Moving over to the woman, I tried my best to stay next to her for a moment. Hating the fact that I was defiling her baby's body with my marking. Also seeing the bites on her...

I marked her forehead and spoke to her. Indicating to follow these "nice officers" essentially. So then she would be lead away from the rest of the public and dealt with. It sucked to see this happen. Looking around, I continued my triage of the people here. Doing what I could.

 

[Adonis Angelis IV]

TARIS
Objective: Through The Veil
Tags: Manti Wyrvhor
Northwest of the Park​

Screams tore through the city around him, raw and unrelenting. The stench of death was thick in the air—heavy, burnt, and wet. It clung to everything. It choked the breath. It seared Adonis's nostrils with every inhale, branding the horror into memory. He hadn't been with the Mandalorian Empire long. Barely enough time to grasp the foundations of the Force, let alone master it. But he'd trained for war his entire life, molded by a family legacy of soldiers and sharpened further by the Creed. Instinct, at least, wasn't something he lacked.

Still, instinct only went so far when the world itself was dying. The street buckled under him as a shambling cluster of corpses dragged themselves out from shattered pavement, their mouths slack with hunger, their limbs twitching with corrupted intent. He was alone—just northwest of the park—and already surrounded.

A scattergun hung from his side. A compact blaster rifle was slung over his back. In his hand, his lightsaber hissed to life, flooding the alley with blue light.

The undead didn't flinch. They never did.

With a breath, he tapped into the Force, and the world surged around him. His legs exploded into motion, propelling him forward like a missile. The saber cleaved through two of them before they even registered movement. He pivoted, blade snapping off with a flick, and extended a hand. The Force rippled outward. A sudden, invisible wave sent a cluster of corpses flying backward, smashing into their own ranks with bone-cracking force.

Adonis unclipped the scattergun from his side, braced himself, and fired. The blast roared in the tight alley, shattering ribcages and punching holes through flesh like paper. Still, they came. Crawling over one another. Gnashing teeth. Twisted bodies with faces that should have stayed buried.

Even dismembered, they moved.

Even burning, they came.

His jaw tightened.

He reactivated the lightsaber, now wielding it in one hand while firing in short bursts with the scattergun in the other. It was a brute's tactic, but precision didn't matter. He just needed space—enough room to keep from being drowned beneath rot. Smoke and steam hissed around him as corpses blistered and blackened beneath his saber. His lungs burned. His armor stank of scorched meat and ozone. No amount of training had prepared him for this.

Then, through the chaos, his earpiece crackled to life. Among the sea of static, a voice cut through—strong, clear, Mandalorian. "This is Manti Wyrvhor—my team and I are pressing north. All we've found are walking corpses…" A sister-in-arms. Someone still alive. Still fighting.

Adonis slashed another corpse down the middle, stepping over a twitching pile of limbs as he keyed his comm. "Manti, this is Adonis Angelis. I'm headed your way—got separated, surrounded. I'm breaking through their flank now. Should reach your position in a few minutes." He panted between words, cutting down another ghoul as he spoke. His armor held firm, the thick plating sparing him from gnarled claws and broken teeth. Whatever was causing this, he hadn't been infected yet. At least, not physically.

With a deep inhale, he reached into the Force once more and pushed. Hard. The air erupted with concussive energy, launching a wide section of the horde backward. The strain was immediate, his muscles burned from exertion, but it was enough. A breach.

Adonis moved.

The Force surged beneath his steps, pushing him faster than some men could track. He weaved through clawing hands, slipping through their ranks, his lightsaber a blue trail of light as he made for Manti's location.

The dead weren't going to stop.

But neither was he.

 

[Aether Verd]

THROUGH THE VEIL
"The dead may rise. But so will we."​

Coordinates: (E,5) → (D,5)

Never in his wildest dreams did he think he’d see Zanbar again.

Certainly not on Taris.

Aether Verd—Mand’alor the Iron—stood at the edge of the broken boulevard, the burnt-out husk of Central Park behind him. An evac shuttle had lifted two minutes prior, its engine trails still a faint shimmer against the sky. The dead had not breached the barricades. Not yet. For now, the Park was secure—a beacon amidst the rot.

But beyond it?

Madness.

The Dark Side pulsed from the north like a second sun. Aether could feel it in his bones—sour, ancient, wrong. It clung to the air like grease. Not just necromancy. Not just death. This was sacrilege. Taris’ honored fallen, stirred from the soil like puppets. Mand’alorian dead torn from sacred rest. Their bodies used. Their memory defiled.

His teeth clenched behind the visor. His fists tightened around the haft of his weapon.

He burned.

And he was not alone.

At his flanks moved a squad of Supercommandos—each armored in unique paint, each hailing from a different clan beneath the banner of the Empire. Wyrvhor. Vizsla. Rekali. Kryze. Gedyc. Clanless, even. A cross-section of all he stood to protect.

They didn’t speak. They didn’t need to.

Their rage matched his own.

With a final check of their gear, Aether raised a hand and pressed two fingers to his helm’s comm-link. “This is Mand'alor. Give me eyes.”

A brief delay. Then the reply crackled through. <<We’ve got heat signatures in a collapsed hospital two blocks west. Civilians. Looks like a dozen, maybe more. Undead closing in.>>

Aether’s next breath came steady.

“The beast can wait.”

They advanced.

The Mand’alor moved like a war engine—blaster rifle barking sharp commands, flamethrower jets igniting the shamblers before they could shamble. Beside him, blades danced. Rockets soared. Streets that once teemed with the dead now smoked with ruin.

One of the ghouls, dressed in tattered nurse’s scrubs, lunged from a pile of debris. Aether caught it midair with a gauntleted fist, drove it to the ground, and buried his beskad through its temple with a single, brutal motion.

He didn’t slow.

This was no longer just a rescue op.

This was a reckoning.​

Adonis Angelis IV , Manti Wyrvhor + Open

 

[Jonah]

THROUGH THE VEIL
(D,6), Taris

Zanbar had come and gone before he ever answered the Call.

His brother’s call.

At the time, Jonah told himself it was logistics. Loose ends. Debt collection. Territory that still had his name carved into it. But deep down, he knew the truth.

He hadn’t come home because his heart hadn’t left the underworld yet.

There were two reasons for that. Two names. Two shadows that used to walk beside him like kin. Together they’d built something out of nothing. The Haxion Brood was their little empire, stitched from scraps, sweat, and no shortage of savagery.

But friends didn’t disappear without a word.

Friends didn’t leave you with the weight of a throne that didn’t feel like yours.

Jonah held the reins for a while. Ran the game. Made the credits. But it felt… wrong. Like dancing with a ghost that wouldn't look you in the eye. So he let it go. All of it. Power. Territory. Legacy.

And after one last trip to Leven’s old lair—empty, cold, still smelling like blood and spice—he turned his back on that world for good.

Mandalore was waiting.

Since then, the Empire hadn’t slowed down. First the firebreathers on Ketaris. Now this—the dead rising on Taris. If it was a test, someone out there had a hell of a sense of humor.

Jonah stood atop the jagged lip of a collapsed rooftop, cloak fluttering in the wind that cut between towers. Below, the horde writhed. Clusters of corpses spilled into the avenue, gnashing and gurgling and dragging themselves between wrecked speeders. If they reached Central Park, the whole landing zone would be at risk.

He flexed his fingers, then slowly drew his vibrosword free of its sheath. The blade hummed low, eager.

This wasn’t his preferred tempo. A Nite Owl was made for insertion, sabotage, shadowplay. Not crowd control. Not meatgrinders. But the dead didn’t care what badge you wore or how pretty your doctrine looked on paper. They needed culling.

Fortunately, he wasn’t alone.

She’d be here soon.

Jonah adjusted the scarf wrapped around his neck, narrowing his eyes against the rising wind. Cordelia Malkavian—his superior, though they hadn’t worked together yet. He’d read her file. Professional. Precise. Probably wasn’t going to like him.

He smirked faintly. That made two of them.

As the horde drifted further into the open streets, Jonah crouched near the edge of the roof, sword resting across his knees, and waited for her silhouette to cut through the haze.

Time to clean up another mess. And bury a few ghosts in the process.​

Tag: Cordelia Malkavian + Open

 

[Sari'la Kandosii]

OBJECTIVE 2 - PROTECT THE CAMP

Tags: OPEN
​

The disciplined warriors of Kandosii had been deployed in defence of the medical evacuation camp amd formed a ring of steel around the more vulnerable medics and their patients the fact that her ship was formerly an Imperial medical science vessel meant she was also able to lend further assistance in the form of supplied and equipment, even if all the scientists and doctors that created her and her kin were long dead.

She landed on the ground next to a group of her warriors that were just in the process of reloading and checking their gear after a fairly brutal assault by a group of undead driven to madness by the unseen force. There had been the odd injury but for the most part the controlled fire was keeping the monsters at bay even as the intellect controlling them probed for weaknesses in their line.

"They shall find none."

 

[Manti Wyrvhor]

"I Stared into the Abyss and when it stared back, I pulled the trigger."
​

Objective: Through the Veil
Location: D-6
Tags: Adonis Angelis IV

Manti would breath a sigh of relief as aid radioed in.

"They're pushing from the east, intel says a horde is gathering there. We intend to put an end to it." she would respond to Adonis while her knife would grind through the spine of an undead Mikkian she had wrestled into a headlock.

Around her the warriors of Clan Wyrvhor fought valiantly, most armed with blades, scatterguns, and pistols. Each was a flurry of metal and blasterfire, a steadily growing pile around their feet. Their defensive line was holding so that two soldiers in the back of the group could finish their task: assembling the turret mounted blaster cannon. The heavy weapon would clear the alleyway of this chaff in a matter of seconds, but the heavy machine took time to set up, time Manti and her commandos bought with blade and blaster.

"Be advised, we have heavy weaponry we're setting up. Though odds are you'll arrive before we're ready." she would call once more over the communicator.

Manti would meet another set of grasping claws and gnashing teeth with her shield, forcing the creature to the ground before crushing the skull with two consecutive stumps. Swiveling she'd impale another creature through the throat, before wrenching the blade to the side to decapitate this beast as well. It wasn't particularly hard fighting, but the never-ending amount of enemies would get exhausting the longer things went on. And Manti knew this would go on for quite some time yet.

"Really wish we had the forethought to bring some walkers in." one of her men would joke, Manti smiling slightly in response.

"Really Jothrin? Aren't you the one always complaining you don't get to use that axe of yours?" Around her half a dozen others would let out exhausted chuckles as they'd take a slight reprieve, before marching farther into the undead horde.

 

[Cordelia Malkavian]

Through the Veil​

Tags: Jonah | Open​

Another call for aid, and this time there was no hesitation or second thoughts to responding. It wasn't the wailing cries of suffering or frightened denizens, it wasn't some unanswered need to be some hero or vigilante. It was the call of something much darker, the draw of something so vile and unnatural. The dead had climbed from their holes and crypts, mindlessly driven forward to obey something else's command. Were they driven by basic instinct, their most primal need to feed? That was yet to be personally discovered, but it did not lessen the kinship that was felt here.​

​

These were monsters, just like Cordelia.​

​

She did not wear her helmet as she chose to stride the streets rather than take the high ground. The stench of the dead as well as the undead coiled through the air almost like visible ribbons to keen, gray eyes. It was also what allowed her to catch movement above her, and she acknowledged Jonah with a single look before her focus retrained on the problems ahead of her. Problems they were meant to be the solution for.​

​

A sharp hiss sounded and crimson ignited at her side. The hum of the lightsaber was almost comforting after so long of not being used, and her grip flexed on it's base as she refamiliarized herself with it. Too long she had fought against who she was, what she was, trying to keep herself tame and safe to be around others. But it had dulled her, had made her become something she not only did not recognize, but did not like. Delia was not meant to be tamed, and as she continued her approach raw, unfiltered power awoke in her veins. It coursed through her, greet and caressed her like an old friend. But it also stirred the darkest part of her, waking it along with everything else.​

​

Cordelia was indeed a monster, and now she was thirsty.​

​

​

 

[Eenia Vahn]

​

Objective: Light In the Ash - Central Park
TAG: Open
Wearing: Doesn't matter, everything is bloody anyway


The very sounds within the refugee encampment was enough to tear holes in one's soul. The wails of mothers losing children, the anger of husbands losing wives, children losing one if not both parents. It was devastating, and yet did not slow the hustle and bustle of those tending to their numbers. Injuries were abundant, but it wasn't just the need for medics and healers that made a person need to numb themselves. It was the marking of bodies, signifying who was at risk and telling them apart from those who weren't.

A heavy hearted sigh parted one healer's lips, and she lifted a hand to rub the back of it against her forehead and wipe the sheen of sweat away. Eenia stood from the side of the person she had just been tending to, and her ocean colored gaze slowly swept the immediate area around her. So many people, so much to do.

Another sigh, this one through her nose as she bucked up and got back to it. Along her path, she paused to grab up some rations and water to distribute along the way. How many times had she been in this exact same scenario over the years? The exact same - well, not exact same - circumstances, with people huddling together for survival. Too many, was the answer, and yet she still answered every time she was able to when these situations would come about.

Once her hands were free, she knelt beside another injured body. The man was clutching a deep red stain on his side, but Nia smiled kindly and gestured for him the lie back. Concentration painted her expression, though it took so much less now than it used to, and then she used one hand to remove his from the wound and her other hand pressed to it. The man hissed sharply, though whether from pain or surprise, Nia didn't know. Whichever the case, the flesh beneath the warmth of her palm steadily knit itself back together until there was nothing more than a pink scar from the initial wound. Confusion took over the man's expression and he pulled at his own shirt to see the spot and then run his hands over it.

That was Eenia's cue to get up and step away. She didn't have time to answer questions, and she didn't want the sobbing praise. That wasn't why she did these things, it wasn't why she helped. She did it because she could, because it was a skill and ability that was needed, especially in situations like this one. And there were still so many left to tend to.

 

[Montello Deshra]

​

[5,6]
TAG: Jonah / Cordelia Malkavian + Open

OBJ I: THROUGH THE VEIL​

He could feel it.

The corruption.

Dark energies pulsed through the city below like a heartbeat out of sync with nature. It was a twisted symphony—an amalgamation of forces bound together in ways that defied comprehension. An anomaly he couldn't fully understand… and one he desperately wanted to. What he wouldn’t give to see his late master’s reaction to this festering blight. Her sister, too, would have found fascination in the city's unraveling state. But they were gone. He alone remained of their once tight-knit, fractured circle.

Praviah knew the situation would only deteriorate if left unchecked. His master’s old research had shown as much. Unfortunately, he wasn’t sure how his vod were supposed to deal with something so deeply spiritual. This wasn’t just war or politics. This was rot.

Conflicted thoughts gnawed at the edge of his mind. One part of him, the protector, wanted to stop it—wipe it out before it could do more harm. But the Sith in him… the seeker… wanted to see how far it would go. How deeply it could fester. How it might be harnessed.

That duality left a bitter taste in his mouth.

He remembered the scene vividly—Zanbar. Mangled corpses of his fellow Mandalorians, animated and desecrated by this same darkness. He had watched from the co-pilot’s seat of a Kom’rk-class transport as the dead refused to rest.

That memory alone fueled his hatred.

It stoked rage.

Now he stood a few meters behind Jonah, both of them overlooking the streets from a rooftop vantage point. Praviah squatted, his armored hands resting before him as a chill wind stirred his cloak. The thick air rolled over his hood, brushing past the T-shaped visor that watched the shambling hordes below. The undead shuffled through alleys and avenues like echoes of war. It reminded him of his earliest training on Ziost. Not his fondest years, but formative ones. He was stronger now—sharper, more dangerous.

His jaw clenched, teeth grinding faintly as he rose.

“I’ve seen my share of horrors across the galaxy in pursuit of knowledge,” he muttered. “And I won’t lie—this power intrigues me. But stopping it… stopping it might actually give these people a chance to breathe again. Nothing a good old beskar blood-wash can’t fix.”
​

 

[Adonis Angelis IV]

Objective: Through The Veil
Tags: Manti Wyrvhor
Location: D5->D6​

Ash fell like snow.

Adonis moved through the broken streets of Taris like a shadow stitched with firelight, his blaster cracking off disciplined shots when the dead got too close. The scattergun roared once, twice, each blast sending limbs spinning into the smoke, but he was conservative with his ammo. Every shot had to count. The Force pulsed at the edge of his awareness, eager to be used, but he held it back. He needed to save his strength.

Behind him, somewhere in the haze, people were screaming. Civilians, no doubt-he'd passed what looked like a housing quarter during the last skirmish. Now their cries rang out behind walls and rubble, pleading for help he couldn't yet give. It clawed at him, the sound, but he had to keep moving. Manti's voice was still fresh in his comm. There was a front line forming. A stand being made. That came first.

Fire licked through the skeletal remains of buildings above him, sending showers of cinder down in choking waves. The air stank of scorched duracrete, burning flesh, and oil. Taris wasn't just falling apart, it was devouring itself. Street by street, block by block. And in the middle of it stood the Mandalorians, holding back the tide like flesh and armor were enough to dam a broken world.

Adonis ducked into an alleyway, pressing his back to a cracked wall. Just for a moment. Just long enough to breathe and focus. His heart thundered in his chest, not from fear-but from drive. Determination. The comm gave him enough to orient himself, but sound played tricks in the ruins. Screams came from every direction. Gunfire echoed off steel skeletons. The groan of the undead rumbled beneath it all like a second heartbeat in the stone.

He closed his eyes and listened. To the west, panicked voices-high and desperate. Survivors. To the south, the park, their base for now. And to the east, a low, pulsing chorus. Moans, wet and rasping. Dozens of them, maybe even more. That's where the fight was. And that's where he ran.

His boots pounded the cracked duracrete, scattergun slung tight at his back, saber bouncing against his thigh with every step. He ducked debris and leapt through broken storefronts, letting the Force bleed into his stride, soothing his aching muscles. Every so often he fired, clearing the path ahead. When the mobs thickened, the saber hissed to life, cutting arcs of blue light through rot and bone.

Then he saw them. The Mandalorians were locked in combat at the mouth of a narrow alleyway, bodies pressed close, blades and scatterguns holding the line. Behind them, two figures worked fast to finish setting up a heavy repeater, bulky, slow, devastating. It was nearly ready. But not yet.

The front had to hold.

Adonis picked up speed and then jumped, vaulting forward with the Force, rising above the battlefield in an arc of fury and fire. The saber ignited mid-air, both hands gripping the hilt as he came crashing down like a hammer from the sky.

The impact hit like a shockwave. Force energy surged out in a violent pulse, sending a ring of corpses flying. Bodies cartwheeled into each other, landing in broken piles of limbs and bone. The frontline of the undead buckled under the blast, momentum shattering like glass.

Adonis landed in the center of it all. Breathing hard. Standing tall. He didn't wipe the sweat from his brow. Didn't show the shake in his legs or the way his muscles screamed from the sprint. The horde was already starting to crawl over their own dead again. But he didn't back down.

He glanced over his shoulder, voice raised above the rising moans. "There are civilians trapped to the west," he called. "Once this area's secure, we should move."

His saber hummed at his side, low and steady. The scattergun was still within reach.

If he had anything to say about it, the line would hold.

 

[Kuben Woods]

No wealth, no ruin, no silver, no gold

Spoiler: Theme

Location: E5 -> C4
Objective: Through the Veil
Tag: Adonis Angelis IV , Aether Verd , Manti Wyrvhor , OPEN
(For context he also has a blaster pistol and rifle on his person.)
​

Kuben was still in the air as the rest of the forces were being deployed to the primary landing zone of Central Park. He rubbed the palms of his gloved hands as he idly observed what was happening below. This.... thing, this, what to Kuben seemed to be plague, something he'd heard stories about with a similar virus in days of old, was an odd foe. He knew this was the Force in nature, but what exactly he couldn't quite grasp. Some kind of old evil Sith Magic probably, to which the voice in his head chirped knowingly.

That would be correct little soldier. How's your head feeling?

It would hurt less if you talked less.

Good to see your mood has improved.

Kuben tested the fit of his second set of armor. His main set was still undergoing repairs since his brawl with that behemoth had seen fit to use his helmet for stick ball practice and had nearly decapitated him. This backup set of armor was more, rudimentary. Simple armorweave, beskar plating, and good old fashioned leather. It wasn't nearly as nice or protective as his old set, but after the chewing out the armorer had given him the first time for coming back with a dented helmet with a shattered visor, and other damage to various systems, it would have to make do. Kuben almost liked this better, as outside of the commlink there was nothing fancy about this kit. It was simply very tough, and offered him good protection. That's when he heard the call from ( Aether Verd )'s squad over the comms about the civilian target that had been located and he immediately stood from his seat in the drop ship.

"Proceeding, I'll establish forward contact and buy time for you to reach them. I'll delay them as long as I can,"

Kuben then signaled to the pilot to move on that marked position by slamming his fist twice on the bulkhead next to him, and the ship rocketed forward. He knew going pushing forward of the line to an isolated position was a dangerous proposition. He was strong, but he wasn't invincible. The voice in his head started cackling as he went through the risk assessment. A barbed statement crossed his mind as he was doing the mental calculus on how long he could possibly last against various odds.

You may have limitations. I don't.

Absolutely not.

Oh? And you'll risk the lives of those inside because of your fear?

Leaving you alone with them is an even greater risk.

Tsk tsk, no fun allowed. Fine then, but you'll be begging me to help before this is over.

Kuben hit a switch as the bay doors opened and he got a view of the situation. The building had indeed partially collapsed. The pilot started talking in his ear.

"No way we can airlift them from here without clearing the street or the roof, you sure about this?"

"Absolutely. Pull away once I'm out, we can't risk the only means of getting them out quickly. Do not allow yourself to be taken out of action,"

"You focus on keeping your head-"

Kuben didn't wait for him to finish the sentence over the intercom, simply stepping out off the ramp and dropping from the still airborne craft. The wind fluttered past him, billowing his cape behind him as he fell before slamming into the ground with a muted thud. He felt the slam onto the street through his legs as landed into a slightly crouched position, altered muscle and bone tissue absorbing the heavy impact with practiced ease. Kuben stood up as he strode forward to the building, locked doors currently surrounded by a few of the walking undead as they attempted to force the door open. Clearly they were the lead elements of a larger pack that would surely be on its way soon. Kuben reached up to the clasp for his cape, pressing the simple disconnect as with a practiced move he removed the article of clothing, bundled it with a single hand, and threw it onto the side of the building before loudly clearing his throat behind the multiple shamblers at the door. They stopped banging on the door and turned around to find Kuben standing behind them with his arms out stretched. There was a brief pause as they eyed him suspiciously, before one of them shrieked into the air, clearly a signal for more that they'd found one. As they started moving towards him, Kuben simply lowered his stance slightly, and with a clenching of his fists extended his claws. He would growl under his helmet as his eyes began to have a familiar glow, and with a roar of his own he would leap at them metal claws singing into the air as they began the process of cutting, tearing, and eviscerating anything that dared got close to the lone warrior.

 

[Lysara Rynn]

Objective: Through the Veil
Location: [D4]
Tag: Open

Makeshift fortifications had been constructed, along western approach leading toward Central Park, under the supervision of Clan Varkor. To the Northwest of the park, Lysara stood at the forefront, making use of her own scattergun borrowed from one of the injured along with her personal shield to hold back the undead alongside a squad of her own clan. Where she was used to providing recon or being the shadow, this time she would stand where she was needed most.

"Incoming from the west. Hold this line, vod. We've withstood the storms before, let this day be no different!"

When the click of her scattergun rang loud, a vibroblade and pistol would take its place, each shot precise, aimed for weaker points of the encroaching walking corpses. Step by step, they moved forward in unison, if one needed to reload, they'd shift protected by another wielding melee weapons, a practiced tactic from their time fighting on Dxun. The undead however, was a different enemy altogether and they'd have to adapt quickly. Holding the line was their primary goal, but Lysara had tasked them with another, to save any civilian they could, making their fortification the rally point on the western approach.

<<Fortifications established on the Northwest end of Central Park, Clan Varkor shall be utilizing it as a Rally Point for civilian evacuations to the park.>>

 

[Vytal Noctura]

​

Under the circumstances, a Witch had to choose her familiars carefully. Certain visages, how ever well intentioned, would only be mistaken as the enemy and distract warriors from the real threats in their area. Vytal opted for a miniature, green Phoenix. Several of them, in fact, to take to wing in search of Aselia Verd , Incitrix , Talohn Atar , Zlova Rue , Kirae Orade , Cordelia Malkavian , and "Templar" to name a few. As many had arrived in whatever ship they could as quickly as they could in the face of this challenge, the Mandalorian Knights were spread out over the field.

They were Mandalorian and could handle themselves, but urban warfare required coordination and strategy. If for no other reason than to avoid friendly fire. She had attended any number of battles under the banner of the old Confederacy of Independent Systems, and knew the best laid plans truly did fail at contact with their adversary -- all that remain was relying on your fellow sister or brother to get through it.

"Civilians in need West South West. Support Supercommandos West North West of Central Park. Report hostile forces. Report enemy strongholds," the Phoenix that found the Knights in Taris would caw as it soared through the air nearby. It would rely whatever they chose to share back to the Nightmother that had conjured them.

Her feet hadn't touch ground before Vytal had sensed the nature of their enemy. An all too familiar sensation for one that had delved deep, and once greedily, into the Beyond. Was this something that had not escaped the torments? Or something deliberately sent back to haunt the Living for some 'Plan?' Their motives didn't matter. If they had come this far, and done this much, they were likely well beyond diplomacy -- and there could be negotiations with spirits. Vytal already knew a few among them had already made pacts with spirits; she hoped they had chosen wisely in those dealings.

Her emerald eyes swept over the area as she strode forth. If any of the Knights were near, she hoped they would accompany her. The trials ahead would not be pleasant for Mandalorian warriors. Those with the unique skills and understanding like the Knights would well support the greater effort. If nothing else, their training or experience should allow them to comprehend the twisted visage and overcome whatever hexes might be thrown at them.

Much like choosing what she conjured, the Nightmother also had to avoid more 'novel' forms of locomotion. Flying and even hovering might draw an errant bolt, and no matter how confident she was in catching it it remain a circumstance best avoided if possible. On foot with the rest it was then. It had been some times since she'd been forced to trek through a city of the living on foot. Under the circumstances, however, it didn't feel all that different from a Nether kingdom.

Vytal paused as she came upon a major intersection [D4/5, E4/5]. Her armored claws and with it bled green fire into existence between them. Rather than propel magic at the gathering of undead ahead, a circle wreathed in flame appeared to one side of the horde and from it arched a long, mishappen creature; it lurched out of the portal from the Nether with a giant maw to drag the fallen back to their eternal resting place on the other side. True, it might startle, but it also helped thin the enemy enough to make up for it in her mind.​

OPEN​

 

[Itzhal Volkihar]

| Location | Taris, Outer Rim Territories [F5-F4]
| Objective | Through The Veil [F5-F4]

Taris wasn't just like any normal city; its borders stretched across the entire planet, intersecting with the ruins of wrecked starships and abandoned areas that became the foundations of later levels. It was a jigsaw built from numerous pieces, interwoven and reshaped without consideration for the greater picture that had been built and formed over millennia. Thousands of levels and areas, stretching across what would be continents on other planets, reduced to the term of city-states and multi-levels.

All of which was to say that Taris was something of a disaster to navigate even during the best of days.

Today was definitely not a good day.

Smoke and fire blossomed around the former placements of skylanes, their previous occupants dashed against tarnished structures and crumbling lower levels, unequipped for the sheer devastation of an entire planet turned mad in an instant.

A fortunate few were utterly lost to their own madness, unaware of the terror and horror that consumed their surroundings—helpless till the bitter end, a dream brought to a close. Unlike the others, unfortunate enough to slip into that terrible frenzy, for but a fading moment, horrific in its beautiful allure, they ripped and tore their way free from limbs and thoughts draped like actors in a screenplay. A sudden onset of clarity, the dreaming replaced with the reality of a nightmare.

The dead rose for them, a hunger that could not be fed, a hate that could not end.

The casualties were unfathomable—generations gone within hours.

An entire planet left to scream, it was fortunate that Mandalorian forces had been in the sector, distant enough to avoid the initial signal but close enough to intervene as ancient villains became heroes.

One of many, Itzhal Volkihar, was not alone as he strode across a shattered bridge, the metal beneath his feet creaking as the entire structure seemed to wobble under the weight of shifting bodies, a tide of broken and bloodied forms, dragging themselves closer despite the streams of blaster fire that left a thick haze of scorched air. Barely breathable, even as the oxygen filters in Itzhal's buy'ce converted what remained into the New Mandalorian's internal storage tanks, which grew increasingly necessary as they progressed deeper down.

His visor flickered a deep blue as the technology within illuminated the space in front of him, moments before he launched a sequence of shots that sent a shadow skittering over the side of the walkway with a handful of holes in its chest.

"Above," alerted a voice as Itzhal looked up, towards the towering scramble of body parts as corpse after corpse climbed over each other, blood and dark streaks staining the arches of the bridge, pieces rammed like pieces of a ladder into the structure, before those at the highest point threw themselves over the edge.

A curse brewed from tired lips, a shield and vendetta in tow, as the old Morellian raised his arm into the air, his form shadowed by descending body parts. A wave of projectiles screeched from his gauntlet, trailing brightly in the previous darkness, as they beckoned the second sun, hot and purifying, before the resonant roar carried over their heads.

"Get a move on. We can't let them do that again," Itzhal declared as he pushed the nearest Mandalorian. Their feet stalled for but a moment, her visor turned towards the skylight, and where a sun should have shone above them, an illusion for those abandoned to lower levels, now cracked like shattered glass. "Rook, make use of that comm-booster you lugged all the way here. I want to know if there's still anyone alive down here. The rest of you, role call and status check."

His stride continuing towards the edge of the bridge, Itzhal dropped to one knee, his arms raised as he launched a torrential hail of blaster bolts that cleared the next few feet, long enough for him to disarm and scavenge energy cells from the nearest corpse as others pushed up to give the rest of them time to reload and their melee specialists time to recover.

Tags: Aether Verd Manti Wyrvhor Adonis Angelis IV Kuben Woods + Open​

 

[Kirae Orade]

Tags: Vytal Noctura


This was not something she could fight with her shield. The Shield was designed to respect the dead. To honour them. And so she kept it sheathed upon her back. Her beskad was her weapon for now, as she prepared to run through the streets. The air tasted...sick. Contaminated. The "Dark Side" was pulsing through the city. This was not a danger Kirae knew how to defend against. Even if she had used the Shield as a weapon to hold back a horde, the undead did not grow tired. She knew she would. Going on the defensive was not an option for her.

But could she truly go out and face the Undead? It was doubtful she'd come across anyone she knew. The list of people she knew was mostly isolated to people from Mandalore...but she always focused on honoouring the Dead. Those who had passed. It could be argued that putting the undead back into the ground could be a way to honour them once more. To grant them their rest once more...But that was not her Way. These corpses might already be getting desecrated, but that didn't give her the right to destroy them more. She ran her glove over her Beskad gently, scowling to herself under her helm. She could ask for forgiveness from the Dead afterwards. Inaction now would be more disrespectful.

She couldn't stay in the park. Medicine wasn't her forte. Nor was talking to people. Her fellow warriors were out in the city, disposing of the undead whilst she was stood here debating what to do. Where to go. She needed precise orders. Her request was answered indirectly as a Phoenix soared past, crying out information
​

"Civilians in need West South West. Support Supercommandos West North West of Central Park. Report hostile forces. Report enemy strongholds,"

That would make her choice on what to do easy enough. The Supercommandos would be able to hold their own in her eyes. And even if they couldn't, there were possibly reinforcements on their way anyway. The Civilians were far more urgent in Kirae's eyes. They wouldn't have much in the way of weaponry and skills to defend themselves against the hoard. She ran from the park, ready to head out into the city, as the weight of her Shield felt like it was becoming more and more of a burden. The closer she got to the undead, the heavier it felt. It was a burden she'd carry however. Always.

She came across her first group of undead rather swiftly, as the shambling corpses dragged their ways through the street. This was Evil. The usage of corpses like this. Kirae gripped the hilt of her blade as she prepared to rush in...before she stopped herself, skidding to a halt as a circle of flames seemed to open up one side of the Horde...and a creature that Kirae had no name for erupted from the flames, dragging the Horde. Her eyes darted around in confusion, before settling on Vytal Noctura . A Witch. She recognised seeing the woman when Aether had held the Iron Court.

What was the best choice for her to do...Vytal was capable enough to deal with the Hordes alone. She had just seen the Witch's skills herself. Yet Kirae knew she didn't hold the same strength. Would she hold back the Witch if Kirae travelled alongside her? Kirae shook her head at that thought, stepping out from the streets to make her way towards the Witch.

"Kirae Orade. It may be best for me to travel alongside you. I am not...experienced in going against foes such as these."

An admittance of weakness. Kirae knew what she was good at. What she was bad at. She wasn't afraid to admit it. Threats related to the Force were unknown to her. She had basic use of it, but that didn't mean she understood how it truly worked. How it could be used to raise the Dead. It wasn't Knowledge she wanted, but knowing how to stop it...
​

 

[Jaikell Wyrvhor]

THROUGH THE VEIL
"The dead may rise. But so will we."​

Coordinates: (E,5) → (D,5)

Never in his wildest dreams did he think he’d see Zanbar again.​

​

Certainly not on Taris.​

​

Aether Verd—Mand’alor the Iron—stood at the edge of the broken boulevard, the burnt-out husk of Central Park behind him. An evac shuttle had lifted two minutes prior, its engine trails still a faint shimmer against the sky. The dead had not breached the barricades. Not yet. For now, the Park was secure—a beacon amidst the rot.​

​

But beyond it?​

​

Madness.​

​

The Dark Side pulsed from the north like a second sun. Aether could feel it in his bones—sour, ancient, wrong. It clung to the air like grease. Not just necromancy. Not just death. This was sacrilege. Taris’ honored fallen, stirred from the soil like puppets. Mand’alorian dead torn from sacred rest. Their bodies used. Their memory defiled.​

​

His teeth clenched behind the visor. His fists tightened around the haft of his weapon.​

​

He burned.​

​

And he was not alone.​

​

At his flanks moved a squad of Supercommandos—each armored in unique paint, each hailing from a different clan beneath the banner of the Empire. Wyrvhor. Vizsla. Rekali. Kryze. Gedyc. Clanless, even. A cross-section of all he stood to protect.​

​

They didn’t speak. They didn’t need to.​

​

Their rage matched his own.​

​

With a final check of their gear, Aether raised a hand and pressed two fingers to his helm’s comm-link. “This is Mand'alor. Give me eyes.”​

​

A brief delay. Then the reply crackled through. <<We’ve got heat signatures in a collapsed hospital two blocks west. Civilians. Looks like a dozen, maybe more. Undead closing in.>>​

​

Aether’s next breath came steady.​

​

“The beast can wait.”​

​

They advanced.​

​

The Mand’alor moved like a war engine—blaster rifle barking sharp commands, flamethrower jets igniting the shamblers before they could shamble. Beside him, blades danced. Rockets soared. Streets that once teemed with the dead now smoked with ruin.​

​

One of the ghouls, dressed in tattered nurse’s scrubs, lunged from a pile of debris. Aether caught it midair with a gauntleted fist, drove it to the ground, and buried his beskad through its temple with a single, brutal motion.​

​

He didn’t slow.​

​

This was no longer just a rescue op.​

​

This was a reckoning.​

Adonis Angelis IV , Manti Wyrvhor + Open

Jaikell moved with the quiet confidence of a seasoned warrior, the chaos of the undead-infested streets swirling around him. As one of the Supercomando's entrusted in Aether Verd 's entourage, his reflexes are on alert to every shadow, every flicker of movement.

He scanned the ruined buildings, watching for weak points in the lines and potential ambush spots. His Hand cannon the HG-88 'Big Iron" Hand Cannon was an extension of his will—calm, precise, deadly. When one of the Ghouls lunged from the rubble, Jaikell didn't hesitate; a quick shot from his blaster, ended the threat before it could even get close enough to hurt him.

His voice, low and steady over the comm, kept the squad synchronized. "Clear left flank so far, This really looks like it would come from a childs nightmare."-he half laughs, his voice has a slight worry undertone in it, Wondering what else is next in store.


Jaikell moved with purpose, covering the the left side of the group, as the others moved toward any civilians they come across. He provided suppressive fire when needed, shooting down Ghouls whenever they would pop up near the group, His presence was a steady anchor amid the madness—a reminder of discipline and duty.

When civilians stumbled into the open, dazed and terrified, Jaikell was the first to kneel beside them, offering calm reassurance even as he kept his weapon ready. "Stay close, keep moving. We'll get you out."


With every step deeper into the haunted city, Jaikell's resolve hardened. This wasn't just a mission—it was a war for the soul of Taris. And he would fight tooth and nail to ensure the living survived the night and to protect his Mand'alor"

This wasnt the time for Glory and needing to impress his leader, Lives are at stake, and Jaikell has never seen anything like this before.

 

[Manti Wyrvhor]

"A Never Ending March, A Never Ending Parade, A Never Ending Slaughter."
​

Objective: Through the Veil
Location: D-6
Tags: Adonis Angelis IV

Manti breathed hard. Her muscles had started to ache from the exertion and yet she pushed herself onward. Combat knife in hand she struck one creature as it grabbed her, both she and it falling to the ground. Warrior instincts taking over she would roll over on top of the much slower opponant, stradling them as she she would slam the buckler into its throat once, twice, thrice, ultimately severing the spinal cord. Staggering to her feet she would sheath the knife and retrieve a blaster pistol. Bolts of yellow would be let loose into the oncroaching crowd, enough to give her a few seconds to rest as she would stowe the pistol.

She was too aware of her own aches and pains, they slowed her down. Yet as she breathed recycled cool air through the rebreather in her helmet she found a second of comforting solace.

"How close are we?" she'd call out, a few muffled responses following soon after. Close, so close.

Yet just as Manti would prepare to dive into combat once again she'd spot the ignition of a blue beam of light above the battlefield. Before she had time to recognize what was happening a figure would crash down into the frontline, a shockwave devastating the front rows of undead.

Manti would pause, her eyes resting on the saber held in Mandalorian hands before answering Adonis

"We push east, destroy the horde before it gets to the Central Park, then we push west to help those civilians."

Looking behind her she could see the final touches being put in place on the Heavy Repeater, a smile spreading across her lips under her helmet.

"Pull back! Clear the firing lane!" she'd call out, a second later her men turning to sprint behind the heavy repeater.

Manti would return her gaze to Adonis before jogging to the backlines of the conflict. A second later, the whir of the repeater could be heard..

 

[Adonis Angelis IV]

Objective: Through the Veil
Location: D-6
Tags: Manti Wyrvhor ​

Adonis stood at the mouth of the alley, bathed in the eerie glow of his blue lightsaber. The weapon's hum was a rare constant amid the chaos, a song of defiance, resolute and unwavering. The dead shuffled toward him in waves, their broken limbs dragging across the rubble-strewn duracrete. They climbed over one another like insects, mindless and unstoppable.

He didn't flinch.

The light from the blade shimmered across the steel curve of his chestplate, casting his family crest,-the burning star of House Angelis-into sharp relief. It pulsed like a warning flare in the gloom. Legacy on display, pride worn not for ceremony but as a challenge to whatever darkness dared rise to meet it. He angled the saber downward and stepped into the advancing line, his movements measured, efficient. One swipe took a Nikto in half at the waist. Another cleaved clean through a clawed Cathar revenant. There was no wasted motion: just conviction honed into action.

He had been ready to fall back. There were civilians in danger to the west, trapped, most likely, behind the rising tide. Adonis had every intention of breaking from the line to reach them. It was what he was raised to do: protect first, stand last. But Manti's voice crackled through his earpiece, crisp beneath the battlefield noise. Her tone wasn't desperate. It was controlled. Directed. Focused east.

Then another voice chimed in, another sister-in-arms, reporting that a fortified position had been established near the housing blocks. The civilians weren't abandoned after all. They had a shield, if only a temporary one. Adonis paused, breathing deeply through the smoke and ash. For once, he allowed himself a second to think. Then the turret behind him snapped to life.

The roar was sudden and explosive.

He vaulted upward with the Force, landing atop a battered ventilation conduit just as the heavy repeater opened fire. A flood of blaster bolts howled through the alley, vaporizing undead in sprays of bone and gore. The scent of charred flesh curled through the air, thick and bitter. He crouched above the chaos, watching as the line held, then turned his eyes toward the eastern street.

"I'll go with you," he said into a comm, voice steady despite the tremor in the ground beneath them. "We'll burn through this horde and whatever calls it forward. No matter the cost."

A beat. Then he dropped behind the repeater's safety cone, boots thudding against broken stone. His eyes found Manti as she organized her kin.

"But I ask one thing first," he added, unclipping a spent energy cell from his scattergun. "Let me reload. Then I'll be ready to face hell with you."