Dominion The Gravesong War || Silence the Song [ ME Dominion of Myrkr ]

[Reshim]

OBJECTIVE I: ROOT AND SCALE

TAG: Aselia Verd / Aether Verd + All of ya's

Brute force and superior firepower worked wonders.

It was a timeless truth of war, and the Mandalorians wielded it with terrifying precision. The ground shook beneath the synchronized advance of armored boots, and the air crackled with the sound of blaster fire and howling beasts. To Reshim, they moved less like a traditional army and more like an ancient war pack—hunters bred for combat, reveling in the chaos.

There was an almost primal beauty to it. He hadn’t felt this kind of martial reverence since his earliest days as a naval officer. Watching them carve a path through the hostile terrain made him nostalgic for the simplicity of being a soldier—when orders were clear, and battle was pure. These warriors didn’t rely on doctrine or excessive chain-of-command posturing. They relied on instinct, skill, and sheer ferocity. And it worked.

He was used to the precision of uniform formations and the rigidity of Imperial discipline. But here? Here, individuality thrived in a crucible of shared purpose. Armor was personalized, tactics improvised, and yet every movement was deadly in its intent. Unparalleled, he thought. No wonder the Empire feared them. No wonder they were never truly conquered.

Reshim had chosen well when he abandoned the Imperial Remnant and pledged himself to Mandalorian space. It felt less like defection—and more like destiny.

Even so, there was work to be done. He checked his gauntlet’s systems, his mind snapping back to the moment. The path needed clearing before they could move forward, and he knew his place in this operation. Aselia led with clarity and purpose—qualities that stood out starkly from the calloused, power-hungry leaders he’d endured in the past. Her leadership inspired confidence, not compliance. The kind of command that earned respect without demanding it.

When she addressed him, he gave a crisp nod, his tone resolute.

“As you say. I’ll be quick about it.”

While the brunt of the fighting fell to the Mandalorians, Reshim had no intention of being dead weight. His gauntlet-mounted launcher was primed to tag targets, sickly creatures. If he could mark them for the heavy hitters to finish off, that was enough. But the Blight Hounds? He wouldn’t hesitate to put down himself.

Reshim’s eyes narrowed as he scanned the path ahead. Success was on the line if he screwed up.
​

 

[Liorra]

How many times was she going to do this? Liorra asked herself as the Crescent Serpent descended onto the misty world of Myrkr. The ship touched down gently at the edge of the landing zone, the landing struts crunching softly against the damp earth. Liorra's fingers tightened on the controls for a moment before she released them and let out a slow breath, the tension leaving her shoulders for just a second.

She had spent maybe a month or two—three at most—with her mother's master, Coren Starchaser . That brief time had felt like a lifetime ago. Since then, she had wandered the galaxy, still trying to figure out what her future held. She missed the days of learning from Mia Monroe , the comfort of simply wandering and rebuilding Mandalore. She missed that sense of belonging, of having a purpose.

She chewed on the inside of her cheek, frowning as she glanced out the viewport. "No use running, I suppose." She muttered to herself, her words a mix of resignation and determination. Picking up her helmet, she slid it over her head and secured it into place, the familiar weight settling around her. The Crescent Serpent was hers, but in this moment, it felt like the only constant in a galaxy full of uncertainty.

Liorra reached down and tapped the hilt of her beskad, the familiar sound of the metal resonating in her mind like a rallying cry. As she descended the ramp, the ground beneath her feet soft and slightly slick with dew, she turned to face her droid, R9-K3, who beeped in response from within the ship's cockpit. "Mhmmm, better stay here, Rek. I might need you to start the engines, and you too, Starlight," she added, looking down at the Loth-cat that hopped down from the co-pilot's seat and stretched lazily.

"No protests, we don't know this world," she said firmly, though part of her had to admit the mild discomfort at being this far from everything she'd ever known. With a swift motion, she lifted the ship's ramp, letting the hydraulics do the work as the steel door sealed shut behind her. The air felt heavier as she turned towards the Great Northern Forest, the thick mist rolling out like an endless sea that swallowed the land, obscuring everything just beyond her sight.

"Here goes nothing," she muttered under her breath, her voice almost lost in the sound of the wind that carried the scent of damp earth and the promise of danger.

Her Mandalorian armor, scratched and worn from the countless battles and long journeys with the Mandalorian Protectors, felt like a second skin. Every dent, every mark told a story, some of victory, others of survival. She adjusted the straps on her belt, feeling the weight of her weapons settle against her body, and squared her shoulders. She had come to Myrkr with a purpose. Several, really. She needed to find herself amidst the conflicting ethos of the Way of the Mandalore and the Path of the Jedi. Both called to her, but she wasn't sure she could walk both paths at once.

As she took her first steps into the dense undergrowth of the forest, the oppressive silence around her became immediately noticeable. The air was thick, as if the very forest held its breath. The distant rustle of unseen creatures moving through the trees added to the disorienting feeling that nothing was truly still here. The whispers of ancient beings, alive or long-dead, seemed to stir just beneath the surface, making the hairs on her neck stand up.

Liorra shook off the doubt that threatened to claw at the back of her mind. She had been through worse. She would get through this too. She had to.

Her journey here had been a blur of combat, uneasy alliances, and scattered lessons that hadn't fully given her the clarity she sought. Endless days spent on the move, never truly staying in one place long enough to catch her breath. She knew, deep down, that she was meant to be part of something bigger than herself. Something that would give her the sense of purpose that had eluded her for so long. But standing in the midst of this jungle, with the mist swirling around her, and hearing the low rumble of distant creatures, she couldn't help but feel like more than just a stranger in a strange land. She felt like someone who didn't belong here. And there was no guarantee that anyone in this place would look at her and see more than just a lost soul, a foundling, wandering through a land she barely understood.

Her hand tightened around the hilt of her beskad, the cool metal steadying her nerves. The briefing had been clear: the Ysalamiri, the Blight Hounds, the spreading corruption. This planet, this jungle, wasn't just filled with dangers from the outside, but with something far more ancient. Something hungry. It wasn't just the creatures. It wasn't just the trees. It was the land itself that felt like it was waiting, watching, almost alive. The thought of it sent a shiver down her spine.

A distant howl cut through the silence. The Blight Hounds. Liorra gritted her teeth, pushing the gnawing dread aside. She was Mandalorian. She didn't run from fear, she confronted it. Whatever had infected this place, whatever darkness had seeped into Myrkr's bones, she would find it. And she would face it head-on.

With renewed determination, she started moving deeper into the forest. Each step was cautious, calculated, but there was no hesitation. The jungle might be alive, it might be watching her, but it had underestimated Liorra. She wasn't just a lost wanderer. She was a Mandalorian. And she was here to make a difference.

Open to Interaction

Objective 1? Reshim | Aether Verd | Aselia Verd | Et al on Obj 1​

 

[Delsin Shaw]

OBJECTIVE II: The Teeth in the Trees
LOCATION: Landing Zone, E-6 Square
EQUIPMENT: Armor | Mask | Murasame | Soothsayer
TAGS: Suleiman Lok | Adonis Angelis IV | Reshim | Jonah | Lliara Daeva | Red Mobius

As soon as the legs were removed from the creature, I could hear Jonah and his voice filled with an almost awestruck tone. Surprised, but also commending me for the strike made to bring the Alpha, literally to its knees. I sly chuckle escaped my lips as some of the smaller ones attempted to attack me. I quick lance of the blade through the throat of one that leapt up into the air, and tossed aside, and utilizing telekinesis to grab the other, and throw him back deeply into the forest. Only sign of it furthermore was the yelping and a crunch somewhere deeper within.

"Don't have a name, but we can make one later!"

Almost joking about naming specific moves or actions that were taken like some kind of Holo-film. In that mean time, others joined in. Jonah sending drones to break open its back. The action alone sent it reeling back and trying to fight this oppressive measure. However, I saw Adonis, one of the Mandalorian Knights wielding his saber close the distance like a Battering ram. In the mere second after its back had been blown open, the Knight leapt the distance. Not unlike these Blight Hounds. Plunging the blade deeply into one of it's heads.

Oh how I would have loved to get one of these creatures of my own. However, that was a later thought. In that time, As the voice of Adonis broke out, calling for the second to be brought down, I smiled brightly. Already leaping up to it's hip. Standing on top and closing the distance by just running. Out of the corner of my eye Suleiman had come to the side. Spear thrown with a precision and force that was clearly aided by the force. A very quick nod was thrown his way. The action would keep the beastie steady as I reached the head.

However, the saber wielded by the Knight was easily able to pierce through the skull. Both of my blades could not perform such feat. However, I did have something else. Murasame was a blade that could find any weakpoint. Even through the use of the force. Meaning if I could get a clear shot of it's neck...

Looking up, I brought my left hand up. Firing from the bracer a liquid-cable. Attaching to one of the drones. Yanking myself up, and I needed more. All the more. I needed all of the height over the top of this creature. I turned around to face the ground as I rose up into the air. Throwing telekinetic push after push to just get that much more.

Breathing, in and out. In. and out. Eyes closed and focused. Drawing everything I could. Feeling my muscular frame tighten and relax. Its power flowed and connected like a singular unit. A linking that would draw start small at my feet, and only get faster, and stronger as it would transition the kinetic linking up through my abdomen, torso, shoulders and into my arms. Once more, I drew the force into me. My body lighting up like Myths of Gods of Lightning.

I felt myself reach the apex of my height. The sound of the wind slowing, even as I hung into the air. Suspended by an invisible wire, by body was crunched. Holding tight, keeping itself together, before the final release.

KA-BOOM!​

The flash of light was there and gone. Lingering only in the eyes of those who saw it directly. Burning the retina for a second. The Bolt of Lightning had lanced down at the creature, and a spew of blood, venom, and viscera exploded from its neck. The head falling to the ground with a loud thump and the body following. I watched as the head started to roll away and settle into the dirt, and blood stained mud. My breathing heavy and labored.

In that moment, I had drawn the sword, Wielding it with two hands, and came down upon it. I could see the thin thread between its neck and the tip of my blade. What was once lose and flowing in the wind, became a straight shot. Lancing through within the bolt of lightning and through its neck, down to the ground in a crouch.

Looking around to see the cleanly sliced neck. The body and Adonis holding tightly to the saber still in the second head. I stood and nodded. A sly smile painting my face. Blood and gore covering my White Mask. Holding the red blade out I flicked it to clean any blood from the edge and then replaced it into the Tsuba. A soft click before I spoke to the Knight.

"How was the Finish?"

 

[Itzhal Volkihar]

| Location | Myrkr, Inner Rim Territories
| Objective | II - The Teeth In The Trees

Snarling jaws were met with the clash of beskar, resolute in its defence against razor-sharp teeth, buying time for a humming blade to pierce deep into the diseased flesh of the horrid creature that hadn't realised it was dead. As its red eyes burning with hunger faded to cinders, the rank heat of its breath across the neck of the Mandalorian it had once believed prey, petered to nothing more than the faint warmth of a fresh corpse.

His arms straining with effort as he detached his arm from the jaws, Itzhal grunted once, then flung the creature aside, black blood left to drip like tar from the wound he'd made—a deep pool of sickness left to spread across a bed of twisted vines and putrid moss. He knew not enough to know whether or not there was anything he could do, the purity of fire, tempting despite the danger it would bring.

Before he could consider further, however, his attention was summoned by the thunderous sound of a crash and the barrage of weapons fire, made all the more concerning without an identifiable IFF.

Around him, other Mandalorians turned their helmets towards the disturbance, already finished with the blight hounds that had attempted to assault their squad.

Reaching down for the pistol he'd knocked aside in his final confrontation, Itzhal asked, "Rook, any identification?"

There was a pause, long enough for Itzhal to stand back up, checking over his pistol as he scanned the frame for any indents or damage around the power cell casing. The sensors in his Buy'ce detected nothing to fear, though he made a note to double-check once they were off the planet.

"I think they just said they're a Hutt. It sounds like they want to join us," the other Mandalorian spoke, their words halting in disbelief as others in the clearing tilted their visor towards them.

Itzhal paused, a faint flicker of surprise concealed beneath the expanse of his visor, before he assessed the situation on his map. "It looks like we have a Hutt to meet then."

Turning towards the sound of battle, it didn't take long to find the Hutt illuminated as he was by the crackle of an electrostaff and the howl of a dozen blight hounds, their numbers growing in size with every echoed calling. His steps whispered quietly as he traversed the jungle, passing by trees and thorny bedrock on their loop around the fight, away from where the pack seemed to come in mass.

Itzhal activated his commlink, "Be aware, allied forces are coming from the South."

The first to step out into the clearing formed as much by nature as the aftermath of the Hutts' assault, Itzhal found himself dwarfed by the figure in black and gold, a lifetime's worth of fortunes wrapped around his massive form, emphasised further by the armaments that gleamed with danger, barrels still hissing from previous barrages. His own efforts, a torrential hail of blaster bolts that pierced heads and targeted the exposed wounds of those unfortunate enough to stumble across them while already injured, were almost paltry in contrast to the Hutt's sheer arsenal.

"Ni cuy Itzhal be allit Volkihar. I am Itzhal of Clan Volkihar," he repeated, first in Mando'a as was right and then in basic. His spoken Huttese was less than adequate, a terrible accent having caused more than one fight in the past. Though he understood the words, he'd rather not start a fight because he'd accidentally insulted this figure's mother or complimented them too much. "To who is it that I speak to?"

Tags: Whottoomuzz Chantin​

 

[Whottoomuzz Chantin]

The last of the blighthounds collapsed beneath the swing of his vibroblade, its body cleaved nearly in two. Black ichor steamed on the edge of the metal. The clearing stank of ozone, gore, and scorched fur.

Whottoomuzz exhaled through the grille of his helm.

A quiet.

Then—

Footsteps.

Not the skitter of carrion. Not the clamor of prey.

Armor.

The kind that walked without fear.

He turned slightly, shoulder plating creaking under its own mass. When the Mandalorian entered the treeline, Whottoomuzz was already watching. Turrets disengaged. Electrostaff humming low. No threat—yet.

The figure spoke.

"Ni cuy Itzhal be allit Volkihar."

Whottoomuzz did not answer immediately.

He reached to his helm, fingers clicking a side-release. With a hiss of depressurization, the faceplate lifted. What emerged was less grotesque than expected—but no less alien. A monument of fat and scar tissue. Eyes the color of faded bronze. A mouth not made for kindness.

He regarded Itzhal in silence, tasting the name.

Then spoke.

“Me doth Whottoomuzz... bu Chantin kajidic.”​

The name was spoken with weight. Not shouted. Not roared. But like a title carved into the stone of a grave.

He let the silence hang before continuing—in gravelly, imperfect Basic.

“I am not... yet sworn. But I bleed in your... storm?”​

A gust of wind passed. Leaves hissed. The jungle smelled of rot and plasma.

Whottoomuzz tilted his head slightly.

Is that not enough?​

Itzhal Volkihar , @Open​

 

[Aether Verd]

Assets: Beskar'gam | Basilisk
Darksaber | Resolute Dawn​

OBJECTIVE II
Ysalamiri Colony

The voice that crackled through the open channel was rough and heavy, full of weight and strange cadence. Huttese. Aether recognized the tongue, though only barely. His own grasp of it was piecemeal at best. But his helm’s internal translator flickered to life, parsing through the syntax, scraping clarity from broken grammar.

“I will stand down. The Hutt comes to you to bleed like a Mandalorian.”

The words earned a long moment of silence.

Aether’s gaze dropped to the datapad mounted against his left vambrace. A flick of his fingers brought up squad overlays and battlefield markers. The readout updated in real-time. Itzhal had arrived. Moving precisely. Navigating the clearing where the Hutt’s trail of destruction marked his approach.

The Mand’alor pressed the side of his helm to open a tight-line comm.

:: “Itzhal. I see you’ve made contact. I want your read on him. See if the warrior’s words match his weight. If he understands the Resol’nare, then maybe he understands us.” ::

He closed the channel.

The jungle around him rustled.

The bait had done its work.

From the canopy above and the broken branches near the colony’s edge, small shapes began to descend. Their movement was tentative, cautious. The Ysalamiri. Thin-limbed. Faint-eyed. Carried by instinct and the subtle pull of the pheromones laced in the nutrient spray.

Some were wrong.

Mottled scales. Glazed eyes. Veins too dark. Aether marked them with a scan and stepped back.

The healthy ones, what few remained, he approached without sound. One hand steady on the containment pod, the other gloved and open. He moved gently. No sudden movements. No pressure. Each lizard that let itself be taken was lowered into the pod with slow precision. The process was delicate. Slow. But he did not rush.

By the end of it, he had secured twenty.

Several adults. A mix of sexes. A handful of juveniles. Two pods held clusters of eggs untouched by sickness.

Aether exhaled through his teeth, quiet and measured.

Then the sensor flared.

Another lifeform.

He turned, slowly. No Force signature to track. No emotion to guide his awareness. The Ysalamiri’s presence had carved a wound in the field around him, stripping his senses of intuition.

Only sight. Only sound.

“Reveal yourself,” he called aloud. His voice rang through the mist without echo. “Now.”

His eyes scanned the trees. Another flick of his wrist sent the Basilisk moving. The war droid shifted beside him, then launched skyward on whispering thrusters. The containment pods were latched tight to its hull. The cargo was leaving. Bound for the Landing Zone.

Secured.

Aether raised his comm once more. This time, open band.

:: “To all Mandalorians in theater. Ysalamiri specimens have been secured. Twenty viable. Several eggs. But the pickings were slim. The enemy has done more damage than we feared.” ::

He paused, letting the truth settle.

:: “This is not the end of it. We will need more operations to purge the blight completely. But today, we have ensured the species will endure. We have preserved a future for this fight.” ::

He let the line go quiet.

Then turned back to the trees. Eyes sharp. Waiting to see if the newcomer would step forward.​

Reshim , Aselia Verd , Liorra , Whottoomuzz Chantin , Itzhal Volkihar + Open

 

[Itzhal Volkihar]

| Location | Myrkr, Inner Rim Territories
| Objective | II - The Teeth In The Trees

With a final step into the clearing, Itzhal broke free from the tangled embrace of gnarled trees, their many limbs recoiling with a soft rustle, as if wounded by his escape. He stood alone, confronted by a figure drawn from the whispers of old tales steeped in blood and dominance—the presence of a warrior hutt, their sheer stature awe-inspiring in scale, just as it was unsettling for the amount of weapons that graced their armoured frame.

His voice steady yet measured as he formally introduced himself, Itzhal silently acknowledged the Mand'alor's command, unwilling to disrupt the brewing storm that faced him, a faint hum from the electrostaff held in hand. Their arms, as thick as the Mandalorian's torso, were wrapped in a layer of engraved armour that would have ransacked entire nations.

Quietly, he wondered what circumstances had brought a warrior like him here, so far from the comforts of Hutt Space. Whether it mattered or not.

Under Itzhal's piercing gaze, the Hutt moved one of its massive limbs towards the crowned helmet that covered their face, speckled with grime and dirt from the previous fight. Despite what had already been said, the Mandalorian was still unprepared for the Hutt's faceplate to retract, the metal peeling away to reveal the face beneath within only a second or so, long enough to get a shot off, Itzhal errantly observed, before his attention focused on the person beneath.

He did not recognise the name, no matter that it was spoken with the gravity of one who deserved to be known. Itzhal was no seer; he could not pluck histories from the ether, nor was the database of information contained within his Buy'ce set up for interacting with Hutts. A shame, it might have made things easier or even more complicated.

In acknowledgement of their introduction, Itzhal nodded his Buy'ce.

"You're assistance is appreciated," Itzhal announced with clarity, careful not to rush as each word that followed carried with the rhythm of a declaration. "If required, I can understand Huttesse, though many of our allies do not. We shall speak as we move."

Bursting free of the grasping tree branches, more of Itzhal's squad began to arrive, already turned towards the nearest known presence of blight hounds around. A few of them, he could tell, snuck intrigued glances at the figure that Itzhal stood beside as he pointed his blaster in the direction they were headed. Straight in the direction where Whotoomuzz had torn through the enemy, their corpses painting the floor just as did the gaping landscape ravaged by blaster-fire and explosions.

"Now, why have you come to fight with our people?"

Tags: Whottoomuzz Chantin Aether Verd​

 

[Whottoomuzz Chantin]

Whottoomuzz followed.

Not with grace, nor ease—each movement was a seismic study in effort—but with certainty. His armor, caked in mud and burned ichor, still glimmered with the faint suggestion of wealth beneath rot. Gold and black. Opulence and war.

His turrets slowly receded into the reinforced shoulders of the Shyran Dol. One hand gripped the haft of a vibro glaive like a staff, its bladed edge sparking with dull, ambient menace.

He listened.

Then, with a guttural exhale from deep within his barrel chest, he answered.

“I come because the galaxy no longer fears the Hutt.”​

A pause.

“Not the Jedi. Not the Empire. Not the criminals we used to command.”​

His eyes—dark, amber-ringed—swept across the treeline.

“They see decadence. Weakness. Fat.”​

He raised his arm, showing the engraved plates, the burns and scoring from a dozen beasts. A pause. Then, lower—

​

“I see it too. You ask why I wish to fight with your kind? Nal Hutta is lost.”​

The words were blunt.

“Sold to the outside syndicates like chattel. The old Kajidics bowed or burned. I will do neither.”​

A slow breath rattled from his chest. Grief. Shame. Resentment.

“I left. They think me dead. That is safer—for my mate, for my children. A phantom is easier to bury than a Kajidii.”​

His gaze lifted slightly, toward the scorched canopy. The sky beyond was lost to mist.

“My child is Jedi. My spouse holds the estate in shadow. If I return, I lead death to their door.”​

A brief, brutal smile. No teeth—only darkness. A low rumble beneath the words. It was not laughter. Some gutteral sound of conviction.

“I will not go quietly. I am still a Hutt. Give me enemies. I will show them the Hutt they forgot.”​

He shifted the electrostaff at his side, more banner than weapon now.

“I do not presume brotherhood. I do not know your creed. I do not know if I can fully surrender what I was, but neither can I live bowing to those who turned against our own kin.”​

​

Itzhal Volkihar , Aether Verd​

 

[Jonah]

The beast died ugly.

What was left of the Blight Alpha crashed into the jungle floor with all the grace of a starcruiser nosediving into a swamp. One head was missing entirely. Adonis’ saber still burned in its flesh like a lit fuse. Another had been flayed open by a scarlet lightning bolt, the wound cauterized by Force and fury, courtesy of Delsin’s final dive. The last head was little more than pulp now. Its ribcage split wide open, spine charred and smoldering from Jonah’s drone strike. Its legs? Gone. Hamstrung at the joint, still twitching somewhere back in the muck.

Three heads. No chance. No mercy.

And the Mandalorians stood over it. Victors. Monsters themselves.

Jonah exhaled slowly, the hiss of breath filling his helmet as he holstered the blaster. He stared down at the ruined Alpha for a moment longer, then turned his visor to the others. Adonis was still atop the corpse, saber buried deep. The man hadn’t hesitated once, just charged straight into the storm like a myth wrapped in armor. Jonah gave him a nod, then opened comms.

“Nice work, vod. Gotta say, I was planning to keep that head intact.” The tone was clearly humorous, but the respect was real.

Movement near the treeline caught his attention.

Red was... still going. Still swinging. She fought like a woman possessed...like the rage inside her couldn’t be held in one body alone. Jonah watched as she yanked her spear free, retrieved her hammer, and readied for more, even though the beasts had stopped coming. Even though the Alpha was dead.

And maybe they knew.

Because the horde faltered. First a whimper. Then another. Then the blighted Vornskr, the twisted, corrupted ones, turned and fled. Dozens of them, scattering like ash in the wind. The air grew still again, but not empty. A new sound rolled in. A howl.

Jonah pivoted, just as the first of them appeared from the brush.

Unmarked Vornskr. Clean. Untouched by plague or rot. Their fur shimmered in the dappled light, and their eyes, Force-bright and wary, took in the warriors that had slain the corrupted kin. Some approached slowly, paws crunching in the underbrush. One sniffed at the Alpha’s carcass, then let out a low, mournful sound.

Then, as if by some unspoken pact, they bowed. Not all. Not together. But enough. Jonah blinked.

“Well, that’s new..."

Nearby, Suleiman stood calm and ready. His spear had landed true, pinning the Alpha just long enough for the final strikes to hit home. The man had hunted like a Cathar warlord of old, voice booming with that iron pride of clan and cause. Jonah gave a salute with two fingers to his brow, the gesture respectful but relaxed.

Then there was Delsin. The flash of light had barely faded. The Force still crackled faintly around him like the aftermath of a storm. His voice came over the comm with that same cocky edge. “How was the finish?”

Jonah chuckled. "Would I be inflating your ego if I said '10/10'?"

He looked to the sky, where his drones were now spiraling down for recovery. The smell of burned fur and ozone hung in the air. The jungle, at last, was quiet. The new Vornskr approached again. One sniffed at Jonah’s boot, ears perked. Another pawed softly at Red’s hammer, as if uncertain whether it would be next.

Jonah tilted his head, bemused. He tapped the side of his helmet, opening the comm wide.

“So, uh…Can we keep ‘em?”​

Tag: Delsin Shaw , Suleiman Lok , Adonis Angelis IV , Reshim , Lliara Daeva , Red Mobius

 

[Lliara Daeva]

Lliara looked down at the scene of the crime. She had to admit, these Mandalorians knew how to hunt. Now if only they knew how to not butcher a perfectly fine specimen then they'd have her respect. That's what she gets for expecting a broadsword to act like a scalpel. Why couldn't the galaxy and let her find the creature first?

She thought to jump down, but then more Vornskr appeared. The Mirialan grimaced within her helmet. Don't just let them waltz up to the Alpha, she wanted to shout at the Mandalorians. It wasn't the howls that she'd been afraid of, but any kind of... well, kark it.

The black-garbed figure dropped to the forest floor with the red line glowing brightly. While the Vornskr seemed interested in the Mandalorian, Lliara sought to step around the group and try to get closer to the Alpha. "Don't worry, you'll get all the trophies you want. I just need a sample." Hopefully there was some piece of the corpse that hadn't been flayed, stabbed, severed, roasted, or otherwise ruined somewhere on its massive body. Just one, perfect sample.

Okay, more than one. Blood, tissue, brain matter... None of them would interrupt, would they? Just keep those mutts off her.

Jonah | Adonis Angelis IV | Delsin Shaw | Suleiman Lok | Reshim | Red Mobius | OPEN​

 

[Liorra]

Quietly, Liorra lingered among the towering trees, her presence barely a whisper in the thick mist of Myrkr's jungle. She was careful, using her unique abilities to manipulate the plants around her, coaxing vines and branches to curl and twist, camouflaging her movements as she silently traversed the treetops. From this vantage, she could keep a close eye on the Mandalorians below, watching them with a detached, almost clinical curiosity.

The sounds of the jungle were muffled beneath the weight of her thoughts. Among the group of Force-sensitive Mandalorians, Liorra felt the unmistakable wound in the Force—an open, jagged scar created by the Ysalamiri, whose presence cut off the flow of the Force like an invisible dam. The stillness it left in its wake felt almost unnatural. She could feel it in her bones, that disturbance, that fracture. The absence of the Force was a discomfort she had never quite learned to reconcile, and yet, she wasn't entirely surprised to find it here. Myrkr was a planet of contradictions—alive with danger, teeming with beasts, and yet so strangely silent in the places where the Force should have thrived.

She carefully examined the scene below, her eyes scanning the Mandalorians as they moved about their business. They were busy securing containment pods to the hull of a Basilisk war droid, the soft clanking of metal against metal mixing with the hushed murmurs of the group. Each of them moved with purpose, steady hands ensuring that the pods were locked down securely.

Then, just as she was about to slip deeper into the jungle, she heard it. A command, loud, direct, unyielding: "Reveal yourself." The voice belonged to one of the vod below, their tone a demand, not a request.

Liorra paused, her muscles tensing. It wasn't as though she had been actively trying to hide herself, not truly. She had never been the kind to sneak around. But she had lingered in the shadows, observing, testing her instincts, trying to piece together what was unfolding here.

Her gaze flicked from the group to the containment pods, then back to the gathering of Mandalorians. For a moment, she felt a tug of hesitation, doubt gnawed at her. She had been moving through the galaxy, from place to place, without a true sense of belonging. And yet, the moment that voice had called out to her, something inside her shifted. The call to reveal herself, to step forward, felt both like an invitation and an interrogation.

Liorra's fingers tightened around the hilt of her beskad, feeling the cool metal under her gloved hand as she made her decision. The Force might be absent here, but the Mandalorian creed, the Way, was clear. She wasn't one to hide or slink away into the shadows. If they wanted her, if they needed her, they would find out who she was.

Taking a deep breath, she dropped down from her place in the trees, using the surrounding foliage to guide her descent. As she landed softly on the ground, the leaves around her parted, and she revealed herself to the group.

The foundling stood tall, helmeted head held high, the weight of her armor now feeling like a part of her once more. She said nothing at first, simply meeting the gazes of the Mandalorians before her, each one a stranger. But in that silence, a decision had been made: she would stand among them, for better or for worse, and whatever path was ahead, she would walk it as Mandalorian. She introduced herself, "I am Liorra, Daughter of Shia Kryze."

Interacting with: Aether Verd
| Aselia Verd | Reshim | Itzhal Volkihar | Whottoomuzz Chantin ​

 

[Adonis Angelis IV]

MYRKR
OBJECTIVE II: The Teeth in the Trees
LOCATION: Drop Zone D7, Jungle Perimeter
TAGS: Jonah | Delsin Shaw | Red Mobius | Lliara Daeva | Suleiman Lok | Reshim

The Alpha didn't thrash. Didn't scream. It just died- one grotesque limb at a time, until the massive body slumped beneath him like a felled monument. Adonis stood astride the creature's carcass, breath heavy inside his helmet. His saber sizzled where it pierced rotten skull, a blue flame cauterizing rot and rage alike. The jungle air was thick with burnt fur, viscera, and smoke- every breath a reminder that something unnatural had just been forced to meet a natural end. He wrenched the blade free, letting it fall to his side. The hum was low. Subdued. A heartbeat waiting to start again.

Then came the voice through comms.

"How was the finish?" Delsin's voice still crackled with leftover voltage. Adonis glanced skyward, visor catching the last sparks in the humid mist where lightning had danced. The image of Delsin suspended midair, streaking like judgment from the heavens, was hard to forget.

"Flashy. Reckless. Loud," Adonis muttered, voice dry but not unkind. Then, after a beat: "You'll have to show me how you got that high." There was no edge to it, just a note of interest beneath the helmet, half a challenge, half curiosity.

As he stepped off the corpse, boots sinking slightly into blood-damp soil, the stillness returned. Not the silence of before, the one that had heralded the Alpha's approach, but a different kind- charged, alert, as though the jungle itself was holding its breath. The leaves no longer rustled with pursuit. The trees didn't shudder with clawed movement. And yet, the feeling in his gut didn't ease. It shifted.

They emerged slowly from the edge of the treeline, paws silent, eyes shining. Not blighted, not broken. These Vornskr were clean, unmutated by whatever darkness had tainted their kin. Their coats gleamed wet in the dim light, their muscles moving like liquid under skin. One approached the fallen Alpha and sniffed at the body. Another, larger, with pale streaks across its flank, locked eyes with Adonis from just a few meters away.

He didn't reach for his saber. But he didn't relax either.

Every instinct told him these were not hounds to trust, no matter how noble they looked in the haze of post-battle reverence. They were dangerous. Not twisted. Not rabid. But apex in every sense. He let out a breath and took a single step back- not submission, but acknowledgment. A gesture. A truce, if they wanted it.

Then another movement drew his attention, not a creature but a shadow gliding past, black-clad, deliberate. Lliara had descended from her perch like smoke, making her way toward the remains of the Alpha. She didn't ask. Didn't need to. The intent was clear in the way her eyes scanned what was left: she was here for the corpse, not the victory. Harvest time. Adonis didn't stop her. Didn't speak. He simply watched her pass, head tilting slightly as she moved between the slowing breath of the jungle and the cooling body of their kill.

A breeze passed through the canopy, stirring the mist into spirals. Somewhere deeper in the brush, he could hear smaller movements, furtive, uncertain. Not all the Vornskr had fled. And not all of them might bow. But for now, in this strange, sacred moment, the jungle had gone still.

And stillness, he'd learned, was just another kind of warning.

 

[Delsin Shaw]

OBJECTIVE II: The Teeth in the Trees
LOCATION: Landing Zone, E-6 Square
EQUIPMENT: Armor | Mask | Murasame | Soothsayer
TAGS: Suleiman Lok | Adonis Angelis IV | Reshim | Jonah | Lliara Daeva | Red Mobius

The heavy breathing echoed in my head. I closed my eyes and manually breathed to switch from the upper chest shallow breathing typically heightened during times of stress, to full lung breaths that drew deeply in the scents of the forest, blood, flame and ozone as the lightning faded from my form. My hands were filled with a buzzing as energy slowly. The voice of Jonah rang over the distance first. Asking if rating it a full score would inflate my ego. I sly chuckle escaped my lips in response. Yes, it likely would, however it would also embolden me to learn more. To really push myself from now on.

Adonis spoke up and answered as well. While he did mention it was flashy and Loud, in this case extremely so, I knew it was a form of kinship with the following words of wanting to show him how to fly that high. I started to close the distance to him between the heads and was about to answer him.

"When you have a fath- er?"

I had a momentary break in my words as Vornskyr came out from the tree line. Docile and not growling. They had an air of almost respect? Curiosity but they were still cautious. They began to sniff and inspect the dead Alpha Blight Hound. My eyes played around the area as they came closer. Jonah asking on the open coms if we can keep them, and Adonis trying to keep his wits about himself with their enclosing almost around us. While I very much would enjoy a pet, or a companion, I was not going to pick one of an adult nor one of these. Their possible taint caused this thing to happen.

However, I opted to voice against it.

"As much as I'd like to have a Three-headed Vornskyr, or just one in general, I don't think these ones are the one that need to be picked."

A black figure flew through the grass and combat. Moving to one of the downed heads and was collecting samples. While Adonis was all for letting them do so, I slowly pulled the blade and faced her.

"What in the name of Sam Hill is this?"

 

[Lliara Daeva]

"Who is Sam Hill and why do I care?" Lliara synthesized voice asked merrily, her hands not slowed one iota from the interruption. Incision. Container. Collection. Seal. That it was a grotesque butchery of the species from the corruption did nothing to thwart the Mirialan's practiced efforts. She was an excellent torturer -- sorry, Interrogator -- because of her thorough knowledge of all things anatomical. It was reflected with the ease in which her scalpel set to work and samples ended up quickly pocketed in their sealed chambers.

"Come, now, Mandalorian, there will still be more than enough to have a head stuffed for your mantle." A low chuckle followed the image that surfaced in her thoughts. "Or are you concerned what I will do with these samples? It's for scientific research and medicinal purposes, I assure you. Care to sample the result later?"

Delsin Shaw | Jonah | Adonis Angelis IV​

 

[Itzhal Volkihar]

| Location | Myrkr, Inner Rim Territories
| Objective | II - The Teeth In The Trees

Leading the way, Itzhal carefully inclined his helmet towards Whottoomuzz, signalling his attentiveness to the Hutt's words despite the array of sensors embedded in his armour that could monitor their surroundings even with his back turned. Unwilling to give even this potential ally a hint of weakness, whether or not they possessed a reason to dare strike, Itzhal kept his stride measured and calm, instinctively adjusting to allow the lumbering figure to keep pace, as they approached the fringes of the clearing.

Trust was a fragile commodity, rarely given and all the more precious for it. Itzhal could not say whether he was willing to extend such a generous hand when it had not been earned.

In the end, it did not matter; trust was not the same as acceptance, nor was it the same as willingness. He'd worked with enough people to know such simple facts, just as he knew sometimes it was not a matter of trusting the person, but rather their motives. And what a peculiar catalyst for joining that Whottoomuzz offered, Itzhal mused as he ventured further into the depths of the jungle.

Each step of his boots sank softly into the lush carpet of moss that blanketed the ground, a dull green shroud that seemed to pulse with the life of every strand it strangled. Underneath, the damp earth held the scent of rich decay, contained beneath overgrowth that hid the roots of ancient trees, which writhed like gnarled fingers, reaching out in a silent grasp for what vitality remained. Their prime was long past, yet still they stood, strong enough to stay in constant denial.

The Mandalorian Empire could offer much, but he was not so blind as to believe it could provide everything that one might dream. Whether or not they could offer a semblance of what Whottoomuzz desired, he could not say.

Violence, certainly. Enemies, certainly.

A purpose beyond that, well, they could only offer a path.

Millennia ago, the Galaxy had lain scorched beneath the relentless onslaught of the Mandaloiran's, their fierce crusade burning like a star that, even in its passing, left the sparks of future conquests, leaving tales of both awe and shame lingering in the whispers of campfire tales shared beneath the stars. Not unlike the Hutts with their insatiable appetites for power, a legacy ingrained over aeons of success and a reign that had been no less awful despite how it may not have burned as violently as the Mandalorians' short few years of Galactic Dominance.

As he looked at Whottoomuzz, Itzhal could not help but wonder if that was the path that this Hutt desired: power and glory, regardless of the moral cost. Or would he sacrifice even that to stand with his head raised?

"Well, we have plenty of enemies, at least," Ithzal offered with a hint of grim amusement, his head tilted towards the sound of deep growls that reverberated in his chest. An echo that neared closer with every breath he took, calm despite the scramble of claws against bark and the sharp snap of vines.

He raised his blaster and fired, straight into the open jaws of a beast, caught in mid-air as he stepped to the side and avoided the crunch of bone and dirt that splattered behind him. The next beast was torn open by a whirl of his vibroknuckler, leaking decay and rot into the air as he flicked it into the next creature's eyes to buy time for a sequence of blasts that hit the fourth and fifth, before they lined back up with the recovering third.

"Still, I'm not here just to be the inquisition; do you have questions?"

Checking over his pistol and the remaining power cell, the Morellian shook his head as he heard more of the Blight Hounds, not quite purged as they had been in other areas. "Incoming."

Tags: Whottoomuzz Chantin Aether Verd​

 

[Whottoomuzz Chantin]

"Bargon wan chee killee yauma."

The systems of Shyran Dol trembled.

Whottoomuzz surged forward with a low, seismic growl—one titanic arm swatting aside a lunging Blight Hound mid-leap. The beast didn’t even land before his shoulder-mounted turret roared to life, reducing a second to scorched pulp midair. Bits of ash and rot splattered the undergrowth. He did not pause.

Another hound flanked them from the moss-covered ridge.

The Hutt let his tail crash down like a oak, splitting, jaw and skull in one sweeping arc. His weight cracked the roots in the dirt beneath him. For a moment, he stood amid the carnage—massive, motionless, ventilator exhaling red-hot exhaust like a furnace.

Then he turned toward Itzhal again, eyes half-lidded with a distant kind of calm.
He paused to rest his electrostaff across his shoulders, thick arms hanging over either end like meat hooks.

He spoke in heavily accented Basic.
"I have questions, yes."

His gaze shifted toward the jungle where more snarls echoed—then settled back on Itzhal without urgency.

"Your Creed. Your people. They speak of honor, trust, loyalty. These are words I understand the meaning of, but words I do not know."

A beat.

"What happens to those who cannot give up everything?"

There was no accusation in his voice. Only curiosity. Hard and low.

"What does the Creed offer to the scarred, the compromised? The ones who crawl to you dragging old sins behind them?"

A Blight Hound lunged from the foliage.

He didn’t even look. One of the turret’s twin muzzles rotated and pulsed—burning it down in a single shot, leaving it to tumble to a halt a few paces from the walking—and slithering—pair.

"I know strength. I believed that I knew loyalty, that I had commanded it once. My name is bruised. My loyalties..."

"Jeejee hatkocanh cahka."
"...split."

He thought of his daughter, learning right and wrong from Jedi. He thought of Xoff, who would return to an empty home. He thought of those he had inherited, the Kajidic he fought fist and tail to establish security for – and now it was association with his name that placed the end of a blaster on their backs, in the very streets they once dominated.

The struggle for survival was all consuming in the underworld. Those that lasted grew fat waiting for when an inevitable lean era would arrive. Every moment was spent on surviving, there was no time to learn what living meant.

Yet no Hutt survives alone.

"I wish to see what life means to those who have never felt the grease-rains of Nal Hutta. To see what it means to be alive as the galaxy thinks the Chantin name has died."

It was an uncertain path, a risky investment. He was not quick to abandon his kin. Perhaps, one day, he could return and share what he has learned. But that was a dream he could not afford to entertain.

"Haku wamma, Mandalorian."
"What do you do with a monster who comes to fight for you?"

The jungle rustled again.

Itzhal Volkihar Aether Verd​

 

[Red Mobius]

Red prepared herself to face more of the beasts...only to watch them start to retreat as Vornskr who were not sick approached from the forest.

Red hesitated, watching as one of them approached.

Red knew better than to think she and some wild animal were suddenly buddies. But still...they seemed to understand that the warriors were here to purge the infection.

Red did not move her hammer as the animal pawed at it...but also made no move to attack. If they didn't break the cease fire, she wouldn't either.

She didn't lower her guard either.

Eventually, the Vornskr withdrew from her presence. Red never took her eyes off the pack. Didn't move either. Couldn't afford to show submission to these creatures. Especially after the carnage she had just inflicted on the infected.

The fight seemed to be over for today, at least...

Out of the corner of her eye, Red saw a Mandalorian in bronze armor pointing at something embedded in a tree. Something that glinted in the light.

Still not taking her eyes of the predators, Red inches her way towards the tree slightly, only moving confidently towards it once the Vornskr withdrew from her immediate area. Her helmet systems kept track of their thermal signatures. They weren't taking their eyes of someone who took on so many packs of beasts like it was her last stand.

For Red, every fight was her last stand. For if she fell, Clan Mobius would die with her.

A cornered beast is the most dangerous. And Red was always cornered...

Red examined what looked like a glowing, golden shard in the tree.

It was a naturally grown, golden kyber crystal. The stone of wizards.

Red plucked it.

"Yoink." Red muttered, putting it in her pouch. Might fetch a fair price.

Red was suddenly surrounded by a version of the Forest that was all flames.

She shook her head, dizzy...but stabled herself.

Her hammer was slung back in its holster. She kept the spear at the ready though. Couldn't take chances...

Jonah

Delsin Shaw

Aether Verd

Whottoomuzz Chantin

Itzhal Volkihar