Dominion The Gravesong War || Crucible [ ME Dominion of Empty Hex ]

[Aether Verd]

ORDO-SEKH CRIES OUT
"Chains break when Mandalore arrives."​

ORDO-SEKH
On the Fringes of the Empire...

For a time, it seemed like Ordo-Sekh would become the newest star in the constellation of Mandalore.

Weeks ago, the colony’s transmission reached the Empire: clear, heartfelt, and unmistakably aligned with the Resol’nare. They spoke of kinship. Of shared values. Of a desire to cast off the shadow of lawless space and stand beneath the banners of honor. It was not a plea. It was a pledge. The kind that brings pride to any warrior who still believes in the promise of the clans.

Preparations were made. A delegation was gathered, not with weapons drawn, but with open hands and warrior’s welcome. Yet as the ships neared launch, the signal from Ordo-Sekh changed.

First came silence.
Then came a cry for help.
Then silence once more.

That chain of events shattered any hope of a peaceful handoff. And so, the Mandalorian Empire did what it always does when family is threatened: it sent its own.

Now, as the task force descends through the atmosphere of Ordo-Sekh, the truth becomes clear.

A Lucrehulk-class Core Ship rests like a wound in the surface below, massive and blackened, nestled too perfectly into the heart of the colony. Around it move armed patrols in brutal formation. Slave pens stand in full view. Shock collars gleam in the sun. And stamped across every piece of armor, every crate, every blood-stained wall, is the mark of the Crucible.

Once a scattered band of slavers barely worth a mention, the Crucible now moves with purpose. Their weapons are modern. Their ranks are disciplined. Their leadership is hidden, but coordinated. This is no accident. No stroke of luck or criminal ambition. Someone has empowered them. Someone intends to test Mandalore’s resolve.

Let them.

The citizens of Ordo-Sekh will be freed. The Crucible’s illusion of power will be broken. And whatever secret fed their rise will be unearthed...By flame, by fury, or by force.
​

Spoiler: Objectives

OBJECTIVE I: BURN THE CHAINS
Location: Outer Colony Perimeter, Ordo-Sekh

The Crucible thought distance would shield them.

This fringe-world colony petitioned to join the Empire beneath the Resol’nare. Yet, when Mandalorians prepared to answer the call, the colony’s signal twisted into a plea for help...then nothing at all.

Now, the landing craft touch down upon scorched earth and shattered defenses. At the colony’s edge stands a monstrous silhouette: a black-painted Lucrehulk Core Ship, repurposed for command and captivity. Around it, slavers brandishing Crucible sigils herd civilians like livestock. They do not scatter at the sight of Mandalorians. Rather, they brace for war.

Who armed them? Who trained them? Why here?

It does not matter. Not now.

This colony called for Mandalore. And Mandalore has come.

PvE | Combat-focused. Fight to shatter the Crucible’s forces, break their lines, and liberate the colony before more innocents are lost! Expect intense skirmishes and battlefield leadership moments.​

OBJECTIVE II: CUT THE CORE
Location: Crucible-Controlled Core Ship

The heart of this nightmare still beats.

While warriors engage outside, infiltration teams move under cover of battle to reach the Core Ship. Inside: cells lined with frightened colonists, converted hangar bays filled with stolen tech, and armed patrols marching in clockwork rhythm. The Crucible didn’t grow bold alone.

Something, or someone, is feeding them.

Your mission is twofold: free the prisoners, and uncover how the Crucible managed to rise from obscurity to organized, militarized slavers capable of challenging a Mandalorian response. Intelligence here could turn the tide of more than one war.

But be warned. The closer you get to the bridge, the stranger things feel. Whispers in the walls. Lights that flicker with no source. Something old may be watching.​

Stealth & Intel | Infiltration, sabotage, rescue operations, and story reveals. Expect tight corridors, deadly surprises, and vital discoveries.

OBJECTIVE III: WRITE YOUR LEGEND
Bring Your Own Objective

This world bears scars that stretch beyond the Crucible’s reach.

Perhaps you lost someone in the silence between signals.
Perhaps your mission lies in the mountains or among the wreckage.
Perhaps you hunt an old foe who once wore Crucible colors.
Perhaps you’re not here for the colony at all.

The shadows are deep. The stars are distant. But your path is yours.​

You bring the mission. | Mandalore brings the reckoning.

Spoiler: Tag

Haken Ralo Bolt
Ginjako Brorai
Maiz Tor'val
Xasin Dyst
Sanguina Krev
Svidur Galaar
Vaux Gred
Mig Gred
Edrick Aethelred
Tarre Priest
Cerar Vizsla
Kassandra Beskar'ad
Kad'irk'Ra
Janous Ryss
Liorra
Tyr Mereel
Conrad
Aren D'Shade
Zel Sharratt
Korra Kast
Whottoomuzz Chantin
Reshim
Red Mobius
Emilia Locke
Athena Faar
Thalira Kiing
Vulcan Krayt
Delsin Shaw
Montello Deshra
Adonis Angelis IV
Siv Kryze
Jaikell Wyrvhor
Itzhal Volkihar
Valah Hagen
Vytal Noctura
Suleiman Lok
Kyrida Verd
Jiriad Galaar
Kandosii Ka'rta
Manti Wyrvhor
Mia Monroe
Ladante Mamba
Raef Malstadt
Ciri Jade
Lunara Azure
Kirae Orade
Ro'talius Emanti
Alora Vizsla
Zhulghua
Kalðr Ísbjørn
Cordelia Malkavian
Drego Ruus
"Templar"
CT-312
Tomaj Eldar
Rhys Swynol
Lysara Rynn
Nephthys Nardithi-Verd
Hanna
Siae Andronike
Zlova Rue
Runi Kuryida
Ren Ashbridge
Aliza Vale
Thram Drokor
Sagan Verd
Ze'bast Verd
Vyse de Valorous
Varuun Rekaal
Kuben Woods
Valeria de la Vallée
Lyra Scarlet
Talohn Atar
Incitrix
Klavatora Verd
Aselia Verd

 

[Vytal Noctura]

OBJECTIVE II: CUT THE CORE​

A pale figure leaned forward; their emerald eyes gazed down the length of the corridor in the wake of a passing patrol. Multiple large portals stood open with energy barriers keeping a host of people captive. Forlorn, anxious, sobbing, the faces were not of momentarily inconvenienced or willing guests. Not that the Witch had expected such given the use of slave pens and shock collars outside.

Shadow and fire consumed her, and deposited her in the power core. As little time was needed here as she'd needed by the hanger bays full of stolen material. The whirlwind of magick quickly enveloped her once more.

After several more stops, including the 'medical' wing, the pale woman checked on the corridor outside of the command chamber. An itch crept along her arms and down the length of her body as she stood there. It had been felt long before, but it was all the stronger there. An urge to tear open the doors and grapple with such a foul entity surged within, but Vytal forced it back down. It wasn't that she couldn't handle it, but that there could be any number of other things or people in there. Escape would be difficult as the entirety of the ship came through the doors after her. It only made sense to complete the mission and get the Mandalorians in here to clear out the wretches.

With a slight sneer, the Nightsister vanished.

Back at the Mandalorian Camp the netherdevil deposited the crimson-armored woman. Vytal detached a scanning device and handed it over to their commander. "I scouted the interior of the ship. Property. Captives. Hostiles. And something... unnatural is on that ship. I couldn't see what is controlling it all without alerting them to our presence." Well, her presence, but then they'd know the Mandalorians were coming and that they'd be prepared -- more so than going in blind at any rate.

The question why the Crucible was here, who was behind it, or how they'd managed to take the planet before the Mandalorians could arrive remain unanswered. Intrepid warriors would need to keep their eyes peeled for that information -- before or after they excised the slavers' putrid presence.

What she'd managed to return with might not the layout of the entire lucrehulk, or meticulous patterns of patrol, but at least those going aboard would know not to blow up the power core because there were captives on board. That said, perhaps it would be wise to disable the engines first? Or should they get as many captives out before they were noticed? Cut the head off the entity first before they could think to power up the engines or kill the hostages? It would be interesting to see what the Mandalorians would do next.

OPEN​

 

[Liorra]

​

Liorra had set her navcom for the nearest Galactic Alliance beacon, hoping to find some clarity in the midst of the chaos that had been her life. But even as she steered her vessel away from Mandalore, something gnawed at her. She glanced at the Mandalorian vessels heading in the opposite direction, their sleek forms cutting through the atmosphere like they had a purpose, a purpose she didn't quite share.

Why was it so easy for her to just pick up and run? Was it the anxiety? The constant pressure of needing to explain her story over and over again to strangers? She never quite felt like she belonged, never felt like she was enough in any of the places she found herself. Mandalorian, Jedi, neither, both?

Her mind wandered, but she couldn't shake the sensation that she was running away from something that she should face.

That's how she ended up here, on the outskirts of Ordo-Sekh, a colony she knew little about, but which had called for help nonetheless. The burning resentment inside her, the anger with herself, the world around her, and the confusion about her own origins, drove her to this place. She didn't have answers, and she didn't have a family to speak of. All she had were fragments, her loving mothers, one a Jedi who'd overcome the dark side, and the other a Mandalorian who had taught her the Resol'nare as naturally as one teaches a child to walk. That was the sum of her history, and in that moment, it felt small, insufficient.

Helmet on, Liorra charged toward the Crucible lines, her footsteps heavy with the weight of all the things she couldn't say. She wasn't just angry at them, she was angry at herself. Angry that she had allowed herself to wander for so long without direction, without truly embracing the lessons her mothers had taught her. The Resol'nare was part of her, yet she had distanced herself from it. But here? Now? That was about to change.


As she approached, the Force pulsed around her, a raw, untamed energy that she pulled into herself. Liorra gathered her strength, focusing it in the core of her being. Her body trembled with the sheer force of the telekinetic power she was about to unleash. She felt the air crackle, the weight of the world pressing down on her, but for the first time in a long while, she didn't hesitate.

With a deep, steadying breath, she released the energy in a surge of raw force. In one great leap, Liorra sent a wave of telekinetic power crashing toward the Crucible lines. The impact was thunderous, an explosion of raw energy that shook the ground beneath her, sending debris flying and sending the slavers scattering in all directions. The earth trembled beneath her as the wave tore through the front lines, clearing the path before her.

The heat of battle began to rise, but Liorra was no longer a stranger to the chaos. The anger she had kept buried for so long, her frustration with herself, her confusion, and the years of wandering aimlessly, had now found its focus. She wasn't running anymore. Not from her past. Not from her doubts.


She was here to fight. To reclaim what she had lost. And in that moment, she was Mandalorian. She was the way of her ancestors. And she would not falter.


She was no longer a foundling. She was a warrior.

T H E M E

​

 

[Manti Wyrvhor]

Manti stared into the Rodian's eyes, bulging as the slaver struggled to intake air, the mandalorian gauntlet around his neck making it a futile struggle. He kicked, boots landing weakly against the beskar plating of Manti's chestplate as she held him in the air. As two of his comrades emerged from the bushes, firing at Manti she would swivel so the blasts impacted against the dying Rodian's back before tossing him with all her strength into the two oncoming slavers. The three would land in a pile, struggling to untangle themselves as Manti would charge forward.

Around her was fighting, Mandalorians vs. Crucible slavers. They were armed, and tough enough to put up a resistance but there was little doubt in Manti's mind that they'd fall like all the others. She yearned for a real fight. The first of the three slavers would begin to stand, but Manti would be on them in an instant. A satisfying slip of the blade from their armpit up their chest and through the neck saw the corpse fall in an instant and Manti's steel gray armor be splattered with blood. With a kick she'd knock over the Rodian, barely strong enough to resist, and then spin to land a punch into a Human's ribs. The crack and cry of pain that followed told her she had hit her mark, and as the slaver fell Manti would grab the blaster pistol from her belt and plant a bolt between the human-slaver's eyes, the Rodian being dispatched a second later with two follow up blasts.

"You challenge the might of Mandalore! We have slain Jedi! Sith! Empires!" Manti would proclaim towards the enemy, wiping the blood from her blade.

"We won't even remember you in a month." she said quieter, a threat of certainty.

With that Manti would head further into the fray on this unfamiliar planet. This was Mandalorian soil, and the citizens deserved her protection. Around her Clan Wyrvhor fought as one unit. Shield-bearing Mandalorians provided mobile cover for those with long rifles while a crew behind her began setting up a mortar emplacement. Manti had chosen to take this hill to build it into a command center and defensive position, and it was right in the middle of the battlefield.

She would not break, would not run. This hill was Mandalore's. May slaver blood nourish this ground.

Liorra

 

[Mig Gred]

Above Ordo-Sekh, Concordia and her escorts had jumped into the system. When it came to slavers Clan Gred already didn't mess around, but it had been a long time since a star destroyer took the lead on a mission. Cordie was quickly organizing the fleet ops and star control around the old ship when fighters and dropships deploys and went for landing. What had happened at the same time though was an unassuming YV-freighter, itself a former slaver ship, had slipped by. One that had brought Mig down to the surface landing somewhere close enough for him to get to the camp.

He looked around camp, hearing Vytal and looking concerned. Unnatural. That was never good.... He took a breath, rubbing his eye. He really needed to go get the cybernetic checked out again next time the fleet was in the Taanab system. "Maybe I've picked it up over the years, but hearing something described as unnatural tends to not be great for anyone involved.... Definitely puts a time limit on things too. No spacer tales I can think of remotely like this." He said, thinking out loud for a second as he tried to wrap his head around the new information. He had his weapons ready though, and wasn't about to let whatever the Crucible was win.

Vytal Noctura

 

[Xasin Dyst]

Cut the Core


Location: Crucible-Controlled Core Ship​

Arrival at Ordo-Sekh was a miracle for Xasin Dyst. It was the first time that the woman had traveled outside of the Mandalore system. The first time she had gone through hyperspace. And it seemed that such travel was something that Xasin was going to need to adapt to.

The spirits that Xasin could hear as a constant whisper became eerily quiet during the journey. Though they were not always guiding Xasin, the constant "sound" was a comfort. When that was gone Xasin felt a bit of panic.

Now that the trip was over Xasin could feel the presence of the spirits once more. She took a bit of time to commune with them and center herself as scouts investigated the ship where the citizens of Ordo-Sekh. As she did so she could feel a rise in the anxiety in the camp. Not necessarily a bad thing. Perhaps a sign that they were ready to take action.

Xasin checked her hammer and blaster and made her way into the heart of the camp. She heard the concerned whispers of the spirits even before the witch's report from inside the ship. Xasin gazed at the ship pondering their next move as a warrior responded with trepidation to the use of the word "unnatural".

"This unnatural thing is indeed not likely to be good. Haste might be our best tactic in this situation. But I am no strategist and the spirits are silent in how we should proceed. I await direction, eager to see as many lives as possible freed from this situation."

Tag: Vytal Noctura | Mig Gred | OPEN

 

[Adonis Angelis IV]

Objective I
Tag: OPEN

The very idea of slavery was shameful to Adonis- ori'dush in the purest sense of the word. It wasn't just a violation of honor or creed; it was a rot that spread from weak men to the helpless, and he had seen the damage it did. This wasn't just war, not was it politics. Slavery was cruelty weaponized, systemized, and sold for profit. And that meant every one of these Crucible bastards had to die.

The sky above Ordo-Sekh screamed with fire as Mandalorian drop ships split the clouds, their descent like blades drawn from the sheath of space. But one light moved faster than the rest. It was no drop pod or starfighter. It was a lone, freefalling figure wreathed in heat, Adonis Angelis IV, launched from high orbit through a personal hatch, shield generator spiking red as his armor fought the pressure of reentry. His descent wasn't tactical, it was personal. He knew the impact would drain his shields. He knew it would cook his kama, blacken his plating, leave his HUD momentarily scrambled. He did it anyway, he would meet them head on.

The Force braced his limbs, his breath, and his bones, just enough to survive the landing. Not enough to dull the pain however. The moment he struck, the ground cracked open beneath him in a concussive shock that tossed nearby slavers like leaves in a firestorm. Dust and dirt geysered skyward as a crater bloomed around his arrival point, the sound echoing through the colony's outer yard. Some had expected a gunship or a missile. What they got was worse.

What they got was him.

Smoke curled around his rising form as his boots found purchase in the fractured earth. The kama around his waist hung in scorched ribbons, trailing threads of fire and ruin. His armor, blasted with soot and pitted from atmospheric burn, still bore the unmistakable glow of the House Angelis sigil across the chestplate, like a coal that refused to go dark. It wasn't a clean arrival, but it didn't need to be. Theatrics? Maybe. He'd grown up watching holodramas, after all. But this, this wasn't about drama. This wasn't about glory.

Not the righteous kind he usually tempered in Jedi chambers or whispered behind a visor. Not the polished, noble fury of knights and code. This was a hot, snarling, grounded anger. Mandalorian anger. The kind that burned low in the gut and pushed men toward action when words failed. He hadn't even considered bringing his lightsaber. Not today. He didn't want them thinking this was some Jedi's mercy mission. He wanted them to know, to feel, that this was a Mandalorian killing them. Slowly, if he had to.

He reached behind him and drew the weapon slung low against his spine. A heavy, short-barreled scattergun, a close-quarters cannon designed for crowd control and brutal impact. Beneath the muzzle was a curved beskad-tooth bayonet, forged in the style of the Mandalorian saber, its edge kissed with beskar and honed to cleave, not just cut. The shotgun had no subtlety, no finesse. Just a roar and a recoil.

The shield meter in his HUD blinked: [0.06%]. Still dead. Good. He didn't want protection. He wanted contact.

He charged the nearest group before they could regroup, his boots throwing sparks from the cracked duracrete as he closed the distance. The Force was still with him, not as a guide, but as fuel. Just enough to drive his speed into something lethal. He hit the first slaver like a shockwave, slamming the bayonet into the man's gut, feeling ribs break and blood spray. As the body crumpled, Adonis pivoted hard, shoulder dipped, and squeezed the trigger. The Zabrak standing behind had no time to scream- only a moment of realization before his chest was turned to soup by the scatterblast.

The recoil threw Adonis's arm upward, and he used it. Spinning with the momentum, he brought the blade down across another assailant in a diagonal arc that bit deep into flesh and armor, cleaving through collarbone and gut like meat. The man dropped without a word, still stunned by the speed of it all.

"Slanar," Adonis muttered- a curse, a command, a prophecy. Fall.

A fourth slaver, bleeding from the ear and crawling, tried to scramble away. Adonis stepped forward, planted a boot on his back, and aimed the shotgun's barrel down at the base of his skull.

"All slaver scum must die."

The weapon kicked. The body stopped moving. And the wall behind wore the cost of slavery.

He stood there for a breath, letting the smoke roll off him, the low hum of the shield generator slowly whining back to life in his ears. Around him, the battle still raged. Screams and bolts. War cries in Mando'a. Mortar fire behind distant cover. But in the quiet center of his crater, there was only ash and blood.

The Basilisk had landed.

 

[Edrick Aethelred]

Objective II: Cut to the Core
Tags: Vytal Noctura | Mig Gred | Xasin Dyst | Open

This was no good. The scouting performed by Vytal produced some information. Captives who were being held. And further in was an unknown variable in whatever she couldn't explain. My arm folded over the other, with a hand up and rubbing a credit chip between my index and thumb. Placing the credit chip to my lips as I listened to the others who were here. The older Mandalorian spoke of no spacer tales he knew of that would explain this. While Xasin spoke of haste being an ally in this moment. However, that it may not be the right choice. I mulled it over for a moment. Thinking at least some what critically before speaking up.

"Haste can be a tool, yes. However, we have to make sure the captives get out first. Reduce any casualties as much as possible. Rushing in there when we don't know what this disturbance is, could cost us our and their lives."

I breathed a little. Looking at the information that Vytal had brought us. The Lucrehulk was a known battle ship type. However this one clearly had been modified over the years. So with the information given by Vytal compared to that of a standard blueprint of the class of ship, There were some missing parts.

"We need teams. Not a single group. A team that can take out those guarding the captured people, and usher them to safety. The other to dive deeper into the Lucrehulk and figure out what this disturbance is. That way at the very least, we get the people out. After that if we wanted to just blow up the ship and walk away we could. If worse comes to worse."

 

[Conrad]

Conrad

Location: Ordo Sekh, Command Bridge of Lucrehulk | Tag: Vytal Noctura , Aether Verd , OPEN

A smile can be sharper than any blade, and just as deadly.​

Conrad let his face carry the look of someone who was quite unpleased with the situation. He'd arrived before the main body of Mandalorians on planet to being striking a conversation with these.... body dealers. The interior of this Lucrehulk vessel was much more utilitarian than his clothing was, whereas the fine silks and velvet of his signature suit and fedora contrasted with the plain durasteel hull and cages. He didn't hide his displeasure in the surroundings, hell when asking for any kind of refreshments the underling he spoke to gave him a weird look. The gall. Having to pour his own drinks as well? How uncivil. He would follow this little man as he showed him the various cages holding all kinds of people in them. To many, these poor people would have pulled on the heart strings, caused bouts of sympathetic grief, rage, or inspired compassion.

Conrad saw little more than cattle, and more than that, he was quite unimpressed.

"My dear it seems you mistook what my missive implied I was here for. I'm not here for stock fit to plow fields or construct castles. I'm here for..." and he took a deep breath of all the misery surrounding him "something, more,"

The lieutenant seemed to scratch his face as he looked at Conrad quizzically.

"How do you mean?"

"I'm not here for common stock dear. I'm here for your special stock, the premium specimens you carry. I'm here for the exceptions to your standard stock," he looked at a few particularly healthier members of the crowd before reinforcing those words "Whatever they may be,"

A look of realization crossed the lieutenant's face as he realized what Conrad was implying. He would turn towards the bridge of the vessel as he began idly chatting Conrad's ear off about how much money Conrad was planning on spending, or rather what he was spending. Conrad didn't particularly care, or listen to the man, instead using his skills to passively drink in the surroundings as he walked through the vessel, memorizing each step he took, catwalks and numbers of persons, the layout. His brain was working like a surveillance drone as it catalogued and filed all this information for him to access later, all the while his menacing yet subtle aura would fill the air around him. Those sensitive in the force would sense it, and while those present here may think nothing of his presence, those that were following would immediately recognize him, the presence acting as a beacon, waiting for his signal to stop playing along.

Even though he loved playing along.

That's when the rumbling started, and men started hollering around the cavernous Lucrehulk as men with blasters started rushing towards various positions. Conrad noted them, but made himself appear oblivious. When the lieutenant in front of him stopped and listened in to a commlink, it was clear that his incursion was not regular. As they stepped into the bridge there were a number of officers moving to coordinate the defense of the landed vessel, and Conrad simply looked over them appearing unenthused. The Lieutenant then stopped and this time he spoke directly to Conrad.

"Sir it would seem we got a bucket incursion. Those Mandos are starting to attack the ship,"

"And? I believe I gave you what I wanted to see from your stores. You're not going to turn away that kind of money are you? Besides, we both know such beings are not kept with the chaff and file you have outside. Retrieve them, now, I'm making myself a drink,"

"But-"

"I. Said. NOW!" Conrad glowered as his eyes for the briefest of seconds would flash a slight red hue, and his voice seemed to have a tint of, something otherworldly in it. The show of force got his point across, he wasn't leaving until he got what he came for. The lieutenant, clearly knowing better than to press the issue and also not bother whoever his boss was, decided to dip off a different corridor than they entered, and the room around Conrad resumed a hum of activity. Conrad found a flat looking section of some table, and while it looked like his focus was on his drink, his senses drank in the room. Listening to chatter from bosses directing thugs, techs and others looking to activate defenses, and a map right in front of Conrad showing them all an overview of the rather quickly unfolding situation. They clearly didn't care that Conrad was here, watching them, as he'd been searched on his way in. He had no communication devices, no electronics on him at all, just a simple cane and a sharp suit.

Conrad however was having a wonderful time, waiting for the perfect moment to let the act drop. The danger, the pure chaos surrounding this ship, and the mission he'd been given by the Mandalore, everything else a seemingly raging storm, or a suicide mission for one of his nature. He really hoped they tried taking him hostage. That was always fun. And this aura he felt, so close by, it intrigued him. Slightly reminded him of Mother, but Conrad knew she wasn't here. As such he couldn't wait to see what had decided to make its nest here. He would enjoy making it sing such beautiful songs. He took all of this in while getting out a small flask and seemingly producing a cup from his jacket that he did a quick wipe on before doing a small pour into the glass. He would swirl the liquid in the glass briefly, letting the aroma settle his nose a bit from the rank air that he'd just been in, if you thought these slavers had little hygiene their products were always much, much worse. With this achieved however Conrad would take a sip as he sat down and enjoyed the show.

Letting the beginnings of an evil smile creep across the corners of his mouth.

Conrad is on the bridge, being Conrad.

 

[Zlova Rue]

"How'd I get assigned to the 'save the refugees' campaign?" a woman sighed loudly off to the side. None other than the crimson red Twi'lek, Zlova Rue, herself in fact. Both of her hands were planted on her hips as her golden eyes stared out across the distance.

"Yes, Hulk's Haunted. Very mysterious." Zlova rolled her eyes as she turned to look back at the group. "If this were Korriban you'd be a gaggle of suspicious acolytes all murmuring about having seen Exar Kun himself. And like a spooky Sith Tomb, we go in, we kill a bunch of people, then have a few people make sure the dead weight gets out alive while the bulk advances to kill the big bad evil person."

Zlova stopped next to Xasin Dyst before she leaned over slightly toward the three-inch taller woman, and added with a smirk, "Did I mention we do a lot of killing? Bet that gets the ghosts excited." Despite having grown even bolder or more flippant over the years -- her time tearing the galaxy apart looking for Talohn had not helped -- the Twi'lek woman still wasn't wearing a proper beskar'gam. She wore a breast plate and some tall boots that was good enough, right? Leather had always hugged her curves better anyway; to say nothing of being better for her acrobatics and desire to be seen. The Sith tattoos that decorated her body hadn't come from a damn parlor.

Vytal Noctura | Mig Gred | Edrick Aethelred | OPEN​

 

[Vytal Noctura]

OBJECTIVE II: CUT THE CORE​

They were cautious. Better than reckless disregard. And then there was that red woman. If Vytal didn't know better, she'd think Zlova a loud mouth braggart without a single shred of regard for anyone or anything around her -- except she did care about one person that Vytal had seen. Scarcely better than none.

"There is strength in numbers," the Nightmother reluctantly agreed with Zlova. "However, we should designate teams before setting out. If it becomes necessary to split up, we must be prepared." Having all but one go one direction, and a lone soul go another would hardly aid their cause. They needn't settle on whether they would split up until they got to the ship; after all, she hadn't an opportunity to test the strength of intelligence of the patrolling guards. Perhaps they would be paper tigers.

"I will accompany those to the bridge, if we divide into groups. My magick can bolster your mental defenses against whatever is there."

Mig Gred | Xasin Dyst | Edrick Aethelred | Zlova Rue | OPEN​