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

[Montello Deshra]

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Map Coordinates: (D,7)

TAG: Jonah / Cordelia Malkavian / Adonis Angelis IV / Kuben Woods / Manti Wyrvhor

OBJECTIVE I: THROUGH THE VEIL​

He acted without hesitation, but his efforts weren’t quite enough to seal off the alley. Something slipped through. It was a coursing surge of magic, familiar in its resonance yet alien in origin. It tugged at the edge of his awareness like a half-remembered dream. A flicker of curiosity tempted him to stop and explore its nature, but he pushed the urge aside. If he paused for every strange ripple in the current of the Force, they would never make it out alive. Certainly not him.

Whatever odds loomed ahead, they moved forward with the same relentless momentum. The dead continued to rise in droves—mere obstacles to be crushed beneath every measured step. The Mandalorians that flanked him were more than just warriors; they were sharpened instruments of war, molded by tradition and hardened by necessity. Each one a testament to what discipline could shape from raw violence. In their presence, there was purpose.

The Nightmother's chant drifted through the chaos like a haunting melody, dark and ancient. Her sorcery laced the battlefield, altering the rhythm of the conflict. Her will did not just shift the tide. It drowned their foes in it.

But something else stirred. The battlefield twisted once more. A disturbance—no, a revelation. New actors had joined the fray. Or perhaps they had been lurking in the shadows all along, waiting for the moment to strike. One figure streaked through the air in a graceful arc like a dancer suspended between worlds. Another descended like a thunderbolt hurled from the heavens.

Azure Pallor landed near his group, the ground cracking beneath her. From the impact crater emerged a monstrous entity, a harpy of claw and fury. Its screech splitting the air like a blade through bone. It was the sound of nightmares made real.

Before Praviah could move, Kuben surged forward, responding with the instinct of a predator. The harpy’s bellow would have staggered most—but not him. He stood firm, a mountain against the storm. What came next was almost... beautiful.

There was something uncanny about the way Kuben fought. It wasn’t just raw strength. It was a kind of martial artistry, grotesque yet refined. A brutal rhythm with elegance hidden in its violence. Praviah watched, silent and contemplative. There was a depth to Kuben's power, one that made him wonder what ancient thing had touched him, or what he had touched in return. Whatever it was, it marked him as something more than a warrior. A monster in his own right.

The galaxy, it seemed, still held wonders. Still held secrets. Perhaps, if they survived this, Praviah might begin to uncover one of them.

But for now, survival came first. Today would be a lesson. One he intended to learn well.
​

 

[Itzhal Volkihar]

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

Cleansing fire skittered from one corpse to the next, a vibrant pyre fed on the kindling of a dozen soulless vessels turned to dust as the remains were whisked away in the breeze that came from the breach. A crude opening in the wall, more akin to the tear of a grievous wound than an intentional door, was littered with bodies, scattered around the blood-drenched metal teeth, cragged and shattered by a constant assault, then scorched black in the wake of Itzhal's arrival.

His right arm raised and pointed down the corridor, the Mandalorian backpedalled, careful not to rush like the security guard who turned tail and fled deeper inside as the dead flooded in. Their terrible wails, harsh like the screech of nails against a chalkboard, were silenced with the bitter roar of the inferno, which should have bought them only a few seconds as fuel was burned for precious time.

Instead, the blaze bought them an eternity as the crackle of burning bodies filled an eerie silence, suddenly devoid of the rushing steps that should have broken through in the absence of his firestorm.

Itzhal raised one hand to the side of his buy'ce, a loose finger pressed against the vocaliser of his comm-link, "Rook, Status report?"

"Horde's stalled, we've got reports coming in that one of the witches is doing something to neutralise the threat—no confirmation on duration at the moment," confirmed the Mandalorian from Clan Rook as Itzhal's hurried but controlled stride paused, a slight hitch, barely noticeable before he continued down the same path that the guard he'd saved had come from. "There's a few stragglers out here, but the Mand'alor's Basilisk seems to be having fun, Ordo as well."

"Delightful," Itzhal drawled as he felt a spark of something similar to hope, not quite fully formed, but close enough as he stepped further and further away from the breach. "Get a few of the squad to watch the entrance, we'll need to hold it until we've got everyone evacuated. This isn't over yet."

But they were close.

With a final glance towards the breach as he turned around a corner into another corridor, Itzhal turned away from the defeated foes and towards the reason they'd come here in the first place. Confident and assured with the steps to follow, the Mandalorian Protector made his way deeper into the building with a soft clack of his boots against gleaming floors, beaming brightly against the darkness outside.

The survivors were waiting for him, blasters raised but not pointed in his direction, despite the way many of them flinched as he stepped through the doorway and said the only words that mattered: "Come with me if you want to live."

After that, time passed quickly as the shuttles landed, and those who remained were brought to safety, escorted by figures in beskar under the gaze of a visor that had become infamous.

Today, though, that armour was more than just the wargear of conquerors and monsters.

Today, they were heroes.

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

 

[Manti Wyrvhor]

"A knife does the job."
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Objective: Through the Veil
Location: D-7
Tags: Adonis Angelis IV Jonah Montello Deshra Cordelia Malkavian Kuben Woods

Manti had no idea what was going on around her, too focused on the planting of the thermal charges. Her breath was deep and controlled, trying to still her hands as she connected wires and delicately places the first charge into a crevice in the alley's wall. The second charge would follow soon after, though this one was giving her more trouble.

A pause and a glance over one shoulder told her everything she needed to know. Adonis still fought with a monsterous beast, one Manti wasn't sure she'd have been able to deal with. The dead seemed to be effected by something, giving Manti enough time to place the second charge and move to the other side of the alley, removing the third and final charge.

"Overkill, we'll want to clear the area."

She assumed her kin-in-arms knew this already, but speaking it helped ground her, helped her plan for what came next as the dead fell around her.

As the last charge is put in place she would turn and begin to run. Ignoring grasping hands she would push through what remained of the horde, straight towards the Azure Witch, it needed to die.

As she'd get closer she'd jump, a massive explosion haloing her arrival and propelling her through the air towards the creature.

Using this mommentum she'd try to plunge her blade as deep as she can, hopefully somewhere vital.

Breath heavy, body acheing, she would do what she could to help Kuben kill this thing.

 

[Siv Kryze]

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O B J E C T I V E: THROUGH THE VEIL​

Coodrinate: Epic Center​

Tag: Conrad Vytal Noctura Kirae Orade Itzhal Volkihar Raef Malstadt Delsin Shaw CT-312 Aether Verd ​

The battlefield was chaos—screaming undead, sorcerous fire, and the relentless advance of Mandalorian steel. But Siv saw only the patterns, the gaps, the moments where a single strike could turn the tide.

"Phoenix Teams, high-altitude sweep," he ordered, his voice cutting through the din. "Clear the skies and keep that witch off our Mand'alor's back."

Jetpacks roared as his warriors surged upward, their repulsors kicking up dust and debris while laying down covering fire. Crimson bolts of energy lashed out from the witch toward Aether's position, but the Phoenix Teams intercepted with precise blasterfire, forcing the horror to divert its attacks.

"Mortar Team Besh, staggered fire on my mark—three-second intervals." His HUD tracked Aether's movements as he calculated trajectories. "Keep her distracted and away from command."

The ground shook as shells arched skyward, detonating in a controlled storm that forced the shrieking witch into evasive maneuvers—each explosion carefully placed to herd her away from where Aether was advancing.

Then Siv moved.

With a roar of thrusters, he launched himself skyward, his beskar spear gleaming in the firelight. He didn't charge blindly—every repulsor burst was calculated, every shot from his vambrace cannons placed to drive the witch further into the kill zone.

He flew through the hail of mortar fire like it was nothing, weaving between explosions to get close enough to see the madness in the witch's eyes. A snap of his wrist sent his spear lashing out, not to kill—not yet—but to harass, to provoke, to keep her attention locked on him while the Mand'alor prepared his strike.

Below, his warriors maintained their covering fire, ensuring no undead slipped through to threaten Aether's advance.

"Again!" Siv barked, and the mortars answered.

The skies burned. The witch screamed.

And through the smoke, the Mand'alor's path remained clear.

 

[Adonis Angelis IV]

Through the Veil

Location: D-7
Tag: Jonah Montello Deshra Kuben Woods Manti Wyrvhor Cordelia Malkavian ​

The battlefield pulsed with fury and flame. Echoes of Pallor's banshee scream still warped the air, turning the ground beneath Adonis's boots into a fractured mess of ruin and reverberation. The world had been reduced to its most primal parts: blood, breath, bone. And in the chaos, the Houk still moved.

It came for him like a grudge given flesh. Towering. Unrelenting. Its rusted slab of a club dragged through the dirt, gouging deep trenches with each step. There was more than instinct in its eyes, something like hatred, something like memory. It knew him now. It remembered the pain. It wanted to finish what it started.

Adonis didn't wait. He launched forward, battered but not broken, bones aching under his skin. His lungs burned with every breath, ribs still singing from the last hit. But that pain sharpened his focus. He had learned its rhythm now, how it shifted weight, when it reared back, how its strikes overextended. The signs were there, clear as any telegraph. The fight was no longer wild. It was a pattern. And he knew how to break it.

The Houk swung again- fast, wide, meant to cleave through a crowd. But Adonis was already inside the arc, rolling low beneath the swing, his lightsaber igniting in a flare of blue. The blade cut a diagonal line across the beast's ribs, sizzling through flesh and armor alike. It let out a wet, gurgling roar, stumbling back, but Adonis pressed forward. Another cut, across the knee this time. The joint buckled. The Houk dropped to one leg with a seismic crash, breathing like a broken forge.

He didn't hesitate. Both hands gripped the hilt of his saber. The Force surged around him, not in a roar but in a focused storm, a precision strike born of exhaustion, anger, and discipline. He stepped in, brought the blade around, and drove it through the creature's neck in a single, decisive stroke.

The sound it made as it died was less a scream and more a shudder. The body sagged, massive frame tipping sideways before it hit the ground with a thud that made the earth flinch. Its head, partially severed, tumbled in the dust beside him. Mouth open. Eyes blank.

For a long moment, he just stood there. Smoke rose from the corpse. Ash clung to his skin. No words came. No fanfare. The saber's low hum was the only thing left in his ears, vibrating like an aftershock in his bones.

Eventually, he exhaled. A long, ragged breath pulled from somewhere deep. He didn't raise his weapon in triumph. He didn't collapse in relief. He just turned, slowly, shoulders drawn back, and looked toward the others.

The Nightmother's power still throbbed in the distance, but here, in this circle of ruin, something had shifted. The tide was turning. The first monster was dead.

Adonis's face was bloodied and raw, a gash splitting his brow, dirt and sweat painting him in war's palette. But his eyes were sharp. Clear. There was no need to speak.

They could see it in him.

Still standing, but the mission wasn't over.

Jonah's barrier had saved him. Without that shimmering wall of Force energy, he would've been swept away by the banshee's scream like so much wreckage. It had given him the room to move, to focus, to kill. Another debt added to the growing list. Another time his brother had caught him when the edge loomed too close.

Adonis rolled his shoulders, bones grinding, pain singing through the motion. He turned toward the crater, toward the real fight, and saw Kuben moving like something summoned, not born. Each of his blows hit like a tectonic shift, laced with a darkness Adonis didn't fully understand, but felt all the same. The fury, the precision, the way the Force coiled around him like a storm barely leashed, it was awe-inspiring. A monster to kill monsters.

Adonis admired the strength, and wanted to show a bit of his own.

He nodded, jaw tight, saber still burning at his side.

They would fight together.

The Knight and the Nightmare.

And whatever else Pallor had left to summon from the void,

Taris would not be hers.

 

[Vytal Noctura]

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Vytal grit her teeth as she pulled the two worlds closer together. Kirae Orade thought little of the unnatural, but thankfully stood fast at the Witch's side; the young warrior would be unlikely to appreciate the extent to which the Nightmother conjured spiritual forces to their aid. There was no blame there, however. Many found the full extent of the power disturbing, if not outright offensive at first -- and for some, forever. It was not something one should wield lightly. Naboo and Geonosis knew well what might happen, and now Taris, when such forces spun radically out of control.

Emerald eyes burned as they saw across the veil at a figure that was not there on Taris with them. It was only a moment as Harrow had decided not to linger; with the Nether an ever shifting place it would take deliberate effort to find him. Effort Vytal could not spare under the circumstances.

Her sight snapped back to the material, however, as Pallor screamed.

Dark lips thinned as the foul thing split to assault two throngs of the Mandalorian assault. There was little Vytal could do without risk the undead would return in force. Suppressing Pallor's musical influence over the fallen had to be maintained no matter how it appeared. If they returned they might find a way to shield their puppets from further interference and that was a risk they could not afford to take. As she'd warned Aether Verd moments ago, what followed next would be up to the warriors on the ground.

She could feel the Azure Pallor being assailed on all sides by the Mandalorian horde. Tremors shook the foundations with each exchange. Though those were nothing compared to the physical aftershocks from Siv Kryze 's mortars suppressing and guiding the Crimson Pallor into position; they were very nearly on top of her's, Kirae's, and Aether's positions. A simultaneous assault on both parts.

"They must both be destroyed," Vytal declared, "if Taris is to survive." Her hands wove fiery strands and the spirits that'd soared through the streets and into the homes to pacify the disturbed and hollow damned faded into the material world. The citizens of Taris did not need them lingering in sight longer than necessary, even if they were a fiery net holding the dead down, thick chains to bind, or even a friendly face that held back a tide. With the strings cut they could assume a less overt presence. Though there was nothing Vytal could do about those sensitive to such things still hearing or feeling them nearby.

Manti Wyrvhor | Delsin Shaw | Adonis Angelis IV | Sari'la Kandosii | Cordelia Malkavian | Eenia Vahn | Montello Deshra | Kuben Woods | Lysara Rynn | Itzhal Volkihar | Kirae Orade | Jaikell Wyrvhor | Raef Malstadt | Conrad | Siv Kryze | CT-312​

 

[Harrow]

TARIS - EPICENTER
Ashes to Ashes, Dust to Dust.​

CRIMSON PALLOR

She heard him. Of course she did. Even through the shrieking wind and the thunder of war, she heard him.

Perched above like some overdressed magpie, the sharply dressed mortal mocked her with perfect diction and unearned confidence. Concrete rose at his command, flung at her as though she were some errant rodent to be chased from the rafters.

Crimson Pallor snarled. Did he think himself clever? Cute? Worthy?

She raised both hands. And fire, glorious fire, bloomed in her palms. She would burn the insult from the rooftop. She would cleanse the street with him.

But the flames never found their mark.

Boom!

A shriek erupted from her lips as the first rocket struck. Too fast, too focused to dodge. Her leg. Her leg. The explosion ripped it clean from her frame, and though no blood flowed, pain did. Not the ache of flesh, but the scream of soul. Crimson spiraled mid-air, laughter turned to agony, hate turned to howls.

The Mand’alor.

She saw him. And with every atom of fury left in her, she twisted toward him, bellowing with a voice like shattering glass. She surged. But fate did not yield.

Another shell detonated behind her, catching her in the back and hurling her body like a ragdoll into a broken husk of a building. Duracrete gave way beneath her frame, and she tumbled, limbs jerking, thoughts unraveling. She rose again, barely.

She tried to fly. Tried to think. Tried to kill.

But then the sky fell.

Shell after shell, mortar after mortar, fire rained from above, forcing her from flight to crawl. Her magick failed her. Her focus splintered. Every incantation dissolved before it reached her lips. Every hand raised was met with fire, with steel, with war.

And then...

Pain.

Not just another wound, but something deeper:

A spear.

It came like a lightning bolt, piercing through her side, shredding silk, bone, and blackened sinew. Beskar punched through her right arm, locking her body in a grotesque angle. Her head snapped back. Her mouth opened in a voiceless scream. She clutched at the weapon, talons scraping the shaft like a drowning woman clawing at a reef.

But there would be no reprieve.

No clever words. No curses. No grand monologue. Only fire. Mortar after mortar. Blast after blast.

Until at last, her form collapsed into the street. Crimson silks unraveling, burnt flesh sloughing from twisted limbs. Her smile, once carved in paint and joy, was nothing but ash.

And when the final shell struck…

She scattered.​

AZURE PALLOR

She felt it.

Oh, she felt it.

The moment her other half died, the tether of her doubled being snapped like brittle glass. The spear, the fire, the humiliation, all of it, crashed into her mind like a tidal wave of agony. Her scream tore the sky. Her limbs spasmed, flailed. Her thoughts unraveled into incoherence.

The gamble had failed.

She had split herself. Doubled her dominion. And now, she bore twice the torment.

She staggered backward, claws dragging lines through fractured stone. Kuben struck her like a meteor, his fury wild and unrelenting, and she felt it: bones splintering beneath his blows, shadow and rage driving through her form like black fire. She was aware of the others, of Montello, of Adonis, of Jonah, but could do nothing to stop them. Not when the rampaging one was upon her.

And then came silence.

For one second, she stood alone, shoulders slumped, spasming. Her gaze flicked wildly. She tried to focus, to gather her magick, to cast a final curse...But pain had robbed her of reason.

And Manti was already mid-air.

She landed like vengeance wrapped in beskar.

The blade plunged deep. So deep. Right through the midsection. Straight through the core of what remained. Azure Pallor screamed...but no sound came. Her voice had been stolen. Her power had been broken. Her body twitched violently as the blade twisted, dragged free.

There was no grand gesture. No second form. No rebirth.

Just dust.

As she fell to her knees, her voice rasped one last time:

“Damn you Mandalorians…Damn you Harrow…Damn you Dathomir...”

She collapsed.

And her body, no longer whole, no longer cursed, disintegrated into ash.

​

THE EPILOGUE

The battlefield hushed. The song was over. The strings were cut.

And with Pallor’s final breath, what undead remained fell. Motionless. Lifeless. Truly dead again.

The fires still burned. The buildings still groaned. But the storm had passed.

Taris survived.

Because Mandalore stood victorious. Even over death.​

Vytal Noctura | Manti Wyrvhor | Delsin Shaw | Adonis Angelis IV | Sari'la Kandosii | Cordelia Malkavian | Eenia Vahn | Montello Deshra | Kuben Woods | Lysara Rynn | Itzhal Volkihar | Kirae Orade | Jaikell Wyrvhor | Raef Malstadt | Conrad | Siv Kryze | CT-312​

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[CT-312]

//: Delsin Shaw | OPEN //:
//: Weapons: LO-18D ASSAULT RIFLE, & Vibroblade Knife//:
//: Attire //:
//: Central Park Encampment, Upper City, Taris //:
//: OBJECTIVE II: LIGHT IN THE ASH //:

CT-312 stood waiting near the tent’s entrance as Delsin approached. As he neared, she noticed he was carrying a young man across his shoulder like a sack of discarded gear. Several guards followed behind him, hauling other marked bodies. The Scout silently stepped aside, holding the tent flap open with one hand. Her eyes scanned each body as they were carried inside, making sure there were no unexpected surprises.

When her Contact casually referenced splitting and dissecting the bodies, CT-312’s brow ticked beneath the helmet. The tone came off as ‘matter-of-fact’ that the other guards who came along hesitated. Some exchanged glances with each other. Others had a visibly disturbed look on their face. Clearly unknown if it was a joke. At first, none moved. All were watching Delsin’s movements. When he took out his tools and it was revealed to be a handful of surgical tools. Reality began to sink in.

As he began his work, the first incision was made. ‘No hesitation.’ CT-312 noted at the easiness for Delsin. The majority of the guards rushed out of the tent, not wanting to see what was about to unfold in front of them. The efficiency of his blade slicing and opening the body. It was one thing to hear someone speak of cutting open bodies. It was another watching the act actually happen. ‘Oh.’ CT-312’s head slightly tilted as she kept watching. Unsure how she should be feeling and thinking. ‘He’s really doing it.’

She remained still. Watching. Processing.

CT-312 had seen plenty on the battlefield. Dismemberment, casualty piles, flash-burned bodies that sometimes made the body unrecognizable. War was messy by default. But this… This wasn't war. This was clinical. Detached. Scientific.

One of the guards stumbled backwards, gagging. Another bolted straight through the tent flap. A sharp retch of someone throwing up was clearly heard beyond the thin canvas tent walls. The last remaining guard wasn’t too far behind. Shoving past the one who was hunched over outside, wiping his mouth.

This definitely wasn’t on CT-312's bingo card when she was deployed. Yet, here she was. Assigned. This was still the mission. CT-312 would stick it through and stay. She did appreciate and respected the fact that her Contact gave an out to those around him from watching this horror.

Unpleasant didn’t mean unnecessary.

“Appreciate it. I’m fine, Sir.” CT-312’s voice modulator kept her tone flat and even. Keeping her tone neutral as always.

Listening to Delsin’s request for the woman’s transformation, the Scout nodded once. Confirming, “Understood.” Her gaze shifted towards the mother. The one who had carried her own child into the tent. CT-312 stepped to the bound woman, inspecting her status. The infected woman was barely hanging on now. Her skin pale, lips blue, breath shallow and staggered. A tinge of feeling crept into CT-312’s chest. The soldier didn’t know what it was. Was it pity? Remorse? Feeling sad to feel sad? Confused. A low growl barely escaped her lips as her jaw clenched. She shouldn’t be feeling like this. This wasn’t protocol.

Shaking it off and refocusing on the task at hand. CT-312, dragged the cotton bound woman closer to Delsin’s work table. The woman’s eyes fluttered open briefly, glassy and unfocused. Soon rolling back.

Minutes passed.

CT-312 remained vigilant, eyes focused on every weak pulse of the woman’s failing breath. And then… suddenly, there was nothing. The chest and breathing halted completely. “Sir.” She called out calmly, projecting her voice just enough for Delsin to hear as he worked on the autopsy. “I believe she’s about to turn.”

The women’s eyes shot open. Veins blacked beneath her skin as the newly deceased body began to have an unnatural spasm. Violently convulsing against the cloth bindings. The makeshift gag that was put on before muffled the guttural growl emitting from the reanimated corpse. CT-312 took out extra cloth restraints she prepared earlier on. Pinning the woman’s kicking legs together and securing the other bindings tightly. Minimizing the thrashing. Stepping back, the Scout kept her weapon close. Just in case.

She kept her stance ready. CT-312 observed the infected woman quietly. Turning her head towards Delsin’s work. This was a controlled observation. To study. A purpose.

 

[Delsin Shaw]

Objective II and III: Provide Medical Services and Investigate
Location: Central Park, F-5
Tags: CT-312

I continued my work. Many of the soldiers or guards lost their appetite as I cleanly opened up and removed parts of the body. Their visceral reactions to it had been warned. Many thought it was just a false idea, or would not truly be happening. Yet here it was. Most had left. Save for 312, and one other. The older soldier had seen much and clearly was just standing by for aid while others went elsewhere.

The scalpel sliced through flesh easily. Holding a steady line as the final formations of muscle and skin removed from the chest. Opening up to the vital organs of the dead host of an individual. Finishing up the final touches and making sure that the body was secured to the table, when hearing behind me that 312 informed me of the changing status of the woman.

Her words cold and reserved. Watching all of this happen was not a fun thing. Well, at least for her. For me, this was another Tuesday on the job. That is why I was taken in by the Mandalorians. I was willing to cross lines they would not. To break the cage to discover what was needed to get the job done. So that it befelled to me, and not them. As such, I turned around and motioned for her to move. My hand slowly reached out.

The force latched onto the turned woman. Her writing hastening and strengthening. The invisible hand of the force brought her closer to my form. Inches from my face. Her clawing and writhing in an attempt to fight against what was going on. The only thing that remained of this mother, was her primal instinct to feed. And as such, I bequeathed that to her. The holding she was in tilted. Brining her head to the neck of the dead individual. No hesitation. No waiting. Just started to open her maw and bite down with force to break flesh and tendon. Teeth breaking and now covered in crimson life energies that were dormant within the dead body. Flayed open like a freshly caught fish.

My hand removed the individual. Even as I did so, a sickly ripping of the flesh and muscle around the neck and trapezius muscle structure came forth. Flesh being ripped by pure strength alone. Blackened blood of the gums left behind in the wound. I didn't waste time. Putting the woman back down upon the ground, but laying on her face in the dirt. The weight of the holdings and bindings to the table would hold her down and prevent much of her undead frolicking.

My hands grabbed sutures, and bandages. Applying them to the wound to keep whatever infectious toxin left behind in the flesh would not just wick away. That it would be held into the wound and make sure the application held.

Turning to the trooper 312, I sighed softly.

"Now, we wait."