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​

 

[Kirae Orade]

Tags: Vytal Noctura Aether Verd


The Force had been something Kirae hadn't wanted to dwell in. She hadn't wanted the Power. It had been something she had tried her hardest to keep secret. She had shunned it for as long as she could, to the point that she had believed it was too late for her to be taught how to control it. Instead she had believed that she'd have to just use instinctively. Yet there was an offer. Perhaps not to be fully taught but to at least be shown a path that she could walk...

"I would care to learn. Yes."

She wasn't a woman of many words. Not yet at least. Her gaze focused on the green flames washing over the undead, whilst her grip tightened around her Beskad. It was something she could feel in the Force. A heat that didn't quite feel natural but also didn't feel unnatural. The power was enough that Kirae could have let her guard down...but she didn't. There was every chance that something could get through the Flames and if it did, Kirae would be ready to cut it down.

"My cause is to protect my people. To bear the Weight that they don't need to...And if I can learn more power to help with that, then I will."

And so she followed Vytal as they moved to support Aether. Breaking off every so often to deal with a stray member of the Undead whilst Vytal was making chokepoints for the undead to have to make through. It was smart. The undead might have numbers, but numbers meant nothing if you could only get a handful through a gap. That was one main strength they had over the undead. The living were smart. They could think. Of course, she wasn't sure if the undead couldn't do that. They just seemed to be shambling messes.

"This is unnatural. How could anyone bring themselves to do this to the dead..."

Kirae muttered to herself. It was a question she didn't expect an answer to. But it would at least help to paint her opinion towards the Force. Her view towards power. Perhaps it was a naive view, but Kirae could not stand the unnatural. It was what she had disliked about the Force. It hadn't seemed natural to her...but her views were changing. Slowly but surely.

"...How do you make those Flames? I have never...seen them before in action."

Now that was a question she wanted an answer to. She didn't expect to be able to do it herself, but to know how it worked would give her an insight into how to defend against it if she ever had to go against a foe that had a similar skillset.

Once there was sight of the Supercommandos, Kirae pushed herself once more into a sprint to catch up. It wasn't because she wanted any glory of arriving to help, or wanted to be praised. No. Kirae just didn't want to be left behind. She had to keep up with people far more experienced than she was in the offensive. She was going to prove that she could keep up.​

 

[Manti Wyrvhor]

"While peace is forever in question, Victory is certain."
​

Objective: Through the Veil
Location: D-6 -> D-7
Tags: Adonis Angelis IV Jonah

Manti needed to rest, a few seconds at least as she watched the thick bolts of light tear through the shambling masses. The perfectly recycled and filtered air in her helmet felt fresh, and she would close her eyes as her nostrils filled with cool pleasant odorless air. She did not envy Adonis' lack of helmet.

As her eyes open again she would watch him, perched on an old ventilation unit. How had he got up there? Her gaze falters, looking back down at the horde as the fantastical jump he made flickers through her mind's eye. Jetii magik, again. It was everywhere she thought. While before she went most of her life never really seeing it, it now seemed she could barely escape its presence. The magik made its wielders strong, and she had spent her time in the Mandalorian Empire struggling to gain recognition and power. Wasn't it natural that the strong would be near the top? The location she had fought for? Perhaps that was the simple reason the magik was everywhere she looked...

Regardless, she would nod in agreement to Adonis' words. "Reload, Rest, we both could use a couple of-" She'd pause as a newcomer would arrive, a Verd.

The stranger would charge headlong into the horde and thus the Heavy Repeater's firing cone, Manti's eyes widening at such a brash action before commanding her troops to aim away from the fighting... as best they could. It would only be a second later that Manti would rejoin the fray, her knife finding the socket of an undead's skull before finding its next target. To her left a stream of bolts tore undead limb from limb. Yet the horde would be thinning out with the Heavy Repeater's help, and so they pushed onwards, forwards, out of the alley and into the heart of the horde.

Outside of the alley she would find countless undead... and hopefully that was all that is there.

 

[Jaikell Wyrvhor]

D.4 – Collapsed Hospital Site to Lysara Rynn 's Position.
Jaikell immediately steps forward at the Mand'alor's order, nodding without hesitation. A disciplined soldier, Jaikell understands the weight of the task—not just an escort mission, but a charge to protect the fragile hope embodied by the civilians.


He signals to Dren and Cordakk, checking their readiness, then quickly surveys the civilians: elderly, injured, frightened. Jaikell's voice is calm but authoritative as he speaks to them.
"Stay close to us. Don't break formation. We'll get you there."


He takes point, leading the column through broken terrain, eyes always scanning for threats in the shadows, minimizing open exposure, When a child stumbles, Jaikell doesn't slow—he lifts the child onto his back without breaking stride.

By the time they reach Clan Varkor's rally point, Jaikell is ragged breathed but every civilian is accounted for. he gives the men guarding the front a short wave before bringing them inside.

 

[Itzhal Volkihar]

| Location | Taris, Outer Rim Territories [F4-F3]
| Objective | Through The Veil [F4-F3]

An endless tide crashed upon a bastion of beskar and sheer will, unprepared for the defenders summoned by cries of fear and terror beyond mortal comprehension. Valiant paladins stood against the dreaded arisen, protectors of the weary, who knew no mercy against such an evil, for the enemy was already dead; their legions formed of the defiled fallen, their sacred rest disturbed by foes most foul.

Avengers, chosen for their might of arms and a furious hate so deep it burned like a funeral pyre, charged out to face the source.

They were not the only ones to leave the protective warden; a wall blossomed with beams of energy burning with the sun's might.

Reloading his weapons of choice, Itzhal marched amongst a squad of Mandalorians, their arms weary and their stores of ammunition tried and tested, yet they did not falter. They could not. Not when failure was a matter of life or death for those who begged for salvation.

There would be only one sin upon this battlefield. Failure.

Itzhal Volkihar would not allow others to suffer for his mistakes—not today, not when the stakes were so high.

Armed with a conviction as sharp as any blade, the New Mandalorian progressed through lifeless streets, his weapons held comfortably at a low guard, ready to raise encase they encountered another blockade like the bridge that had come before. Yet, the waiting alleys remained quiet, the rush of street-to-street fighting disturbed by the chilling lack of action.

With a flick of his finger away from the trigger guard of his pistol, Itzhal reached up towards the controls of his rangefinder. "Anything on sensors?"

The answer rang out in silence.

"Keep an eye out; they can't have disappeared," Itzhal ordered as they approached the reported site of survivors. Swift steps carried him through the next few alleys, their pace unhindered by the lack of enemies, once so common they'd lost dozens of energy cells cutting through the chaff, suddenly vanished in only a few blocks.

Then the sound of a blaster rang out from ahead, clear as an artillery barrage in the hushed quiet. The next was no louder, though it screeched with a desperate echo. Picking up the pace as they followed the sound, a slow-building symphony formed from a dozen shots in the dark, growing louder as they neared.

Itzhal turned around the corner into madness.

Thousands, if not hundreds of thousands of corpses lined the streets, their bodies piled upon each other, a ravenous mass that twitched and shuddered with every second that passed. Unaware of the countless casualties that their sheer weight and momentum must have caused amongst the horde, the dead continued to move, battering bodies and limbs against a wall of steel and desperation.

For a second, Itzhal paused, unable to comprehend the sheer scale of the forces ahead of him.

"I feel like I'm going to hate myself for this," Itzhal informed the others as he glanced between his blaster pistols and the tide. "Rook, have we confirmed the location of the survivors?"

"Ahead, vod."

"Yeah, I was worried about that."

"There's a plus side, at least."

Gaze focused on the mass ahead, Itzhal tilted his head in curiosity.

"At least we won't have to spend as much time hunting for enemies," offered Rook as he stepped aside for another Mandalorian in red and white armour, their hands occupied with a string of explosives that neither warrior commented on.

"True," Itzhal acknowledged with a shrug as he searched for an entrance into the boarded-up building, far from the waves of blaster fire that streamed into the crowd below. "Forgive me if I'm not particularly thankful. Krest, did you pack enough tibanna gas chambers?"

"If your aims decent, then I guess, it would be tight, though," shrugged a woman in armour the colour of the deep sea, beautiful, if not for the layer of grime and blood that seeped across the plates. "No chance with Ordo here."

"I'll take that into consideration," Itzhal said, dismissing her and the echo of complaint that followed as he took aim. "Fire."

A hail of blaster bolts followed, and a storm tore through the nearest of the horde, unprepared and unaware of their presence. Their lifeless forms tumbled and strained to face the Mandalorian assault. Not a single one of them was prepared for the beast that arrived a moment later, carried upon blazing thrusters, the Mand'alor's Basilisk crashed into the fight, a deliverance of duty and the promise of protection that followed.

"Well, you don't need my permission to start blasting."

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

 

[Kuben Woods]

Nothing shall satisfy me but your soul

Spoiler: Theme

Location: C4 on the north side of the hospital
Objective: Through the Veil
Tag: Adonis Angelis IV , Aether Verd , Manti Wyrvhor , Itzhal Volkihar , Vytal Noctura , Kirae Orade , Raef Malstadt , OPEN
(For context he also has a blaster pistol and rifle on his person.)
​

Kuben didn't have to wait long.

It was only minutes before the next group was on him. Another mob of twenty or thirty some odd shamblers and sort of runners who saw the fresh piece of still living meat out in the open. Kuben's naturally calculative mind looked at the field around him. There were multiple avenues to escape, to divert or otherwise lead this herd away. But that would leave the front of the hospital open for the next group, and that was unacceptable. So he simply growled under his helmet as he again took an athletic stance and decided that fighting was the only move. He'd have to kill them here, and now.

He didn't draw his pistol or rifle as they advanced on him, he intended to save the ammo for when it was necessary. These foes, this chaff would fall before his claws. He let them close the gap to being just inside a few meters before he lashed out like viper. Silvery metal sung through the air as the large hulking man tore into the group. His blows weren't clean, but rather wide arcs intent on catching whatever he could per swing as with how tight this mob was packed together he didn't have the luxury of picking his punches and going one at a time. Even so, his maneuvers were done with the practiced ease of a man who'd gotten quite used to fighting with the giant metal claws. After a few swings he noted that the group wasn't breaking, and that he'd need to get them to break up a little lest they simply fall on him and crush him with sheer mass alone.

So Kuben took a quick double back step away from the group to generate distance, and as one of the shamblers lunged at him, he caught the offending arm with a single hand, twisted it into a locking hold before jamming his other hand's claws through the arm and into the hissing thing's torso. He then planted his shoulder behind the thing and charged, using the corpse as a makeshift barrier as he shoved through the remaining mass of shamblers, causing them to stagger to the side or fall over. Once through, he didn't dare let go until he slammed his unwilling shield into the wall across the street crushing it's skull into the metal, stone, and concrete construction. Turning back, he eyed his handiwork. There was now space, even if a little, between the walking dead.

A little was all he needed.

Aether Verd 's word would fall on deaf ears as Kuben was in his element. He was bobbing and weaving, stabbing once, twice, or even three times, his blows going from being broad arcs and sweeps, to pinpoint precision strikes. He no longer was trying to tear through multiple at a time, but instead conserving his energy as he used superior speed and agility to isolate and destroy these abominations one by one. He had to hold, buy time for the rest of reinforcements to make it. What he hadn't noticed was that more were filing in from the surrounding alleys, and while them going after Kuben was the plan, he was becoming slowly encircled. Dark flashes would cross his vision as the figure looked at him, smile growing wider and wider knowingly as it watch Kuben struggle against the tide, against the inevitable. What finally tipped Kuben off was when one got a hand on his shoulder and he reflexively threw the thing over his shoulder, pinned it to the ground, and tore its head free with his claws as he looked around him.

Dark distorted laughter filled his ears as he finally saw his situation.

Beg.

NO!

Then suffer.

Kuben roared as he now fought in all directions. There was to be no repositioning, no taking better ground to funnel them in. No running. He had to hold his ground as his grunts would turn into animalistic growls and snarls as he tore at the surrounding dead. He would not go quietly. He would not die easily. He had to buy time. He would do this, or die trying.

All the while the dark figure looked down on him and grinned evilly. A figment of Kuben's mind and all too real. He knew that before this was over, he'd have his wish.

 

[Montello Deshra]

​

[D,6]
TAG: Jonah / Cordelia Malkavian / Adonis Angelis IV / Manti Wyrvhor

OBJ I: THROUGH THE VEIL​

He rose from his crouched position to his full imposing height, armor creaking with the motion. His helmet turned slightly toward Cordelia, offering her a silent nod. Just a flick of the chin, nothing more. Praviah’s gaze lingered on her for a moment longer—assessing, calculating. Then the T-shaped visor returned forward. There was more he could say… but time never favored warriors who indulged in words.

Channeling the Force into his legs, Praviah paused just long enough to allow Cordelia the lead. While Jonah descended with speed and grace, Praviah—burdened by his heavier frame and armor—opted for a more calculated route. He identified the most reinforced surfaces and vaulted downward, landing with a heavy thud that bent his knees and sent vibrations up his spine.

Before he could fully straighten, Jonah was already on the offensive—charging into the fray with weapon in hand. The urgency in his movement said everything. This wasn’t a time for caution.

Praviah exhaled slowly, drawing the Force deeper into himself. His gloved hands reached behind him, fingers brushing the familiar grips of the tonfa-shaped lightsabers mounted to his lower back.

“Tave jen' pradzia kash. Diena kia naktis, naktis kia x'aviera.”

The Sith tongue—ur-Kittât—rolled off his tongue like a curse cast into the void. His voice was low, ritualistic, carrying the full weight of his ancient sith bloodline. The mantra summoned the power that simmered just beneath his skin.

Dark side energy surged through him like a storm unleashed. Smoke-like tendrils wreathed his armor, shadows flickering and dancing around him. Then, lightning. It arced along his forearms in twisting webs before lashing outward in violent bursts, chaining across the battlefield toward enemy flanks and washing over his comrades’ advance with crackling fury.

The acrid stench of scorched flesh and charred bone filled the air.

He inhaled through it, the scent triggering a visceral satisfaction buried deep in his war-hardened soul. A slow smile spread across his lips as the twin red blades hissed to life from the tonfa hilts—vicious and pulsing with hate.

He surged forward.

With every strike, he carved a path through the shambling husks. The undead fell in halves and quarters, severed by arcs of crimson light and bursts of power. It had been far too long since Praviah had drowned himself in carnage—and for what it was worth, he would savor every violent second.

​

 

[Siv Kryze]

Objective: Through the Veil
Coordinates: (D,6)
Tag: Aether Verd + Open

"Verd, this is Kryze." The transmission cut through the static like a vibroblade through flesh - clean, efficient, leaving no room for misinterpretation. "House Kryze is combat-effective and on-station."

The comms crackled for precisely two heartbeats before the sky answered. A dozen Nite Owls descended in perfect formation, their blue-and-silver beskar'gam reflecting the firelight like scattered shards of a broken moon. Siv impacted the pavement with a controlled three-point landing, his beskar spear striking sparks against the permacrete as it stabilized his landing.

"We have three squads, full medical complement, and heavy munitions."

His visor never wavered from Aether's position as his warriors deployed with lethal precision - medics already triaging wounded, heavy gunners establishing overlapping fields of fire, scouts vanishing into the ruins.

"Where do you need us?"

The question hung in the air like the smell of ionized blaster gas - simple, direct, and carrying the unspoken weight of Mandalorian obligation. House Kryze hadn't come to observe. They'd come to fight.

Siv's grip tightened on his spear as his HUD painted threat vectors across the crumbling north wing. Every second spent waiting was a second the enemy used to regroup. But even the Rising Phoenix recognized chain of command.

The choice was Aether's. The execution would be Kryze's.

 

[Vytal Noctura]

​

The Nightmother looked at Kirae Orade as the other woman expressed interest. "That is the best reason to learn," Vytal replied severely with a nod. To protect. Many motivations existed, but something as selfless as that would help avoid the worst case scenario. A person may lose their way, but that was why it was not enough merely to touch someone how to conjure magick, but to commune and grow together. "Magick, or the Force, can do this. Twill take much effort, but if your cause is true time will pass quickly." There was never enough time to train and learn before a crisis mounted that tempted a soul.

Later, as they moved down the street, Kirae had questions about Taris' plight. The question was subdued, likely asked out of bewilderment than a desire to understand. Nonetheless, it was a question that needed answered. There would never be a better opportunity. "The Risen are not unnatural, Orade. Many Nightsisters embrace their bodies being kept as guardians for the living, should the need arise. This," Vytal paused for a second to indicate their present circumstances, "is not that. This is a perversion."

Kirae had a question she did mean for Vytal to hear, which the Witch listened to as they moved swiftly through the broken boulevard. One of her gauntlets lifted with the green flame engulfing her forearm. "This?" Vytal smirked over her shoulder back at Kirae. "Ichor or magick energy can take many forms; this is mine. Fire, smoke, or mist are the most common you will see. It is conjured from Beyond. From the Nether. A Spiritual energy akin, but different than the Force." If Kirae wanted to know how to defend against it, she'd have to ask a more pointed question or be more frank of her objective. It wasn't that Vytal had sussed it out and evaded, but that as it was being used in service to the Mandalorians the thought hadn't occurred to her.

At last the Supercommandos came into view and the duo quickened their step further. "Hurry. The Mand'alor will not wait." He wasn't calling them; he was merely running straight into the furnance with the full weight of the Empire on his shoulders alone.

Kirae Orade | Aether Verd
Manti Wyrvhor | Jaikell Wyrvhor | Kuben Woods | Siv Kryze | Conrad | Itzhal Volkihar | Lysara Rynn​

 

[Adonis Angelis IV]

Objective: Through the Veil
Location: D-6
Tags: Jonah Manti Wyrvhor Cordelia Malkavian Montello Deshra ​

No sooner had Adonis taken a breath than the ground began crawling again. The undead surged forward like insects over split trash bags, limbs tangled, faces twisted, bodies stumbling without purpose. The smell wasn't far off either. Rot and bile and burning flesh churned together in the air like a stew of planetary decay.

The rhythmic thump of the heavy repeater near him still echoed through the narrow corridor, ripping the horde to shreds. It was brutal. Efficient. Almost beautiful in its own way. Adonis had seen battle before, plenty of drills, training runs, simulations, but this? This was the real thing. He had never seen the undead before this. Never heard the sound a jaw made when it detached under pressure. Never smelled what it meant when someone died twice.

And if he was going to climb the ladder in Mandalorian ranks, he'd need to get used to it. He didn't let it show, his face was tight, jaw clenched, sweat beading across his brow like dew on armor. He wished he had his helmet, but it was still undergoing adjustments. He had left it behind when the chaos started, and now he paid for it with every breath of rancid air.

The comm in his ear crackled to life, Jonah's voice cutting clean through the noise. Just hearing it steadied him. Jonah had been the first to meet him when he walked away from his family. The first to look him in the eye and not see bloodlines or wealth, but potential. Strength was no rarity among Mandalorians, but Jonah was something else. Something colder. Sharper. He didn't lead from above, he watched from the shadows and waited to see if you'd rise or rot.

Adonis didn't intend to rot.

He ejected the spent cartridges from his scattergun and slammed in fresh ones. The Nite Owls had already slipped into the horde ahead, ghosts with blades, moving like a single predator through meat.

This was it. The push.

The moment they'd carve a hole in the horde and fight back against whatever was stirring corpses from their graves.

The ache in Adonis's muscles pulsed now, familiar and sharp, reminding him that the adrenaline was fading, that his body had limits. So he took a breath. One deep, steadying inhale.

And then he moved.

The Force gathered around him, crackling in the air like a storm building behind steel. He surged forward, a living missile, and hit the nearest corpse with the sound of a thunderclap. The thing exploded beneath the impact, its body hurtling backward into the mass behind it.

He didn't stop. His scattergun kicked once, then again, blasting chunks of rotted flesh skyward like a crimson mist. Three bodies dropped. Then two more. He racked the weapon, spun it to his flank, and switched stance- blade now humming with cold resolve.

As he broke through the alley and into the open, the scale of it hit him.

An ocean of the dead. Stretching far into the choking horizon. They weren't at the edge anymore. They were inside the outbreak. The marrow of it.

Adonis stood tall, armor slick with sweat and blood. And in front of him, the tide kept coming.

They would hold the line. They would take Taris back.

 

[Kirae Orade]

Tags: Vytal Noctura Aether Verd


"Effort is something I'm good with."

It might not be the right time for it, but Kirae couldn't help but grin under her helmet. Effort and Grit were two things that came naturally to Kirae whenever she applied to doing something. If you were going to do something, you should put your everything into it. Half-hearted efforts weren't something she'd tolerate from herself. She'd rarely tolerate it from anyone else as well, though she tried not to judge those who didn't walk the same Path as her.

As they travelled, Vytal informed Kirae about the "Risen" and how they weren't unnatural. It would be something she'd struggle to believe in. What is dead should stay dead. Death was meant to be an honour for some. A punishment for others. Taking away that honour or punishment was despicable in her view. Yet if it was what the Nightsisters wanted...to protect their homes...Kirae could see the appeal. To be able to protect her Home even after she was gone from the Universe...If anything, it would push Kirae to fight harder against these Undead. For they were the complete opposite of what appealed to her. They were destroying their Home instead.

"...And so this...Magick is the one and the same as the Force? Any Force User could...do this?"

Her curiosity was finally starting to be peaked. Kirae wanted to learn more. It wasn't a power she'd want to use for herself. Perhaps she'd be willing to follow the way the Nightsisters do it in the future, but she wouldn't want to use it on anyone. She needed to figure out what avenues of power were open to her. What she could use to defend her people without losing herself to the power. It wasn't strength for herself she sought, but for others...

From the sounds of it, the Ichor wasn't at her disposal. At least not as naturally as the Force came to her. Something conjured from the Nether that seemed to be closely entwined with the Witches. It would be...wrong of her to ask to be taught that specific skill. She was not from Dathomir. They were not her people, and she was not one of them...Though she narrowed her eyes under her visor as she focused on moving forward.

"...How would one defend against the Ichor? I do not...mean my question as an offense. The Witches are our allies. But it is always...good to have contingencies. It is good to know how to defend against a Power...even if I can not use it."

If Vytal refused to answer, Kirae would not blame her. Kirae would not tell anyone how to defend against Mandalorian steel. It might have came off as a sign of distrust, but Kirae did some some trust in the Witch, otherwise she wouldn't have asked the question in the first place.

As they came across the Supercommandos, Kirae kept a tight grip on her Beskad, ready to put it to good use. It was her tool. Her weapon. She was not yet comfortable enough to use a Lightsaber. Solid steel was far more comfortable in her hand compared to that of a laser sword. Aether would not wait for them, no. Instead he'd take the burden of the Empire on his shoulders and charge in. And that was why Kirae would follow. She had her own burdens to bear, and whilst she could not take the burden of the Empire on her shoulders, she could at least attempt to ease the burden for all who did bear it.​