Faction The Night's Sacrament of Odacer-Faustin | Iron Wolves [ME]

[Vytal Noctura]

ODACER-FAUSTIN near HYPERGATE CHANDAAR

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Lost in the bowels of this abandoned world are secrets Darth Drear left secreted away. You came here knowing this. Having heard the stories of Darth Scabrous’ reckless Impiety. How many generations has it been now? How many more do you think it will take to unbury a text that purports to solve Life’s greatest flaw? Are you wiser or more powerful than Darth Scabrous? I mean that only with the utmost respect – that someone of great power failed to properly unlock those answers. Yet, here you are, digging away on a prayer.

I offer freely what you only hope to someday find in these bitter wastes. Not at some undefined period long in the future with empty promise of hope only to be consumed by your generational curse. Today. This very hour. More, it is a True answer. A Perfect answer. No tricks. No regrets.

All I ask is an invitation inside.

Warmaster Vytal Noctura stood before the assembled Packs. A planetary map of Odacer-Faustin hung suspended in the air behind her as she spoke. “This recording was sent to the Iron Wolves via the Temple on Yavin IV. The speaker’s name currently remains a mystery. What they intend to do with the people of Oblivion’s Gate is also unclear, but t’would seem nothing natural.”

“Our task will be to go to this archaeological colony, locate its leader S’ren Nolford, and determine why this message was transmitted to us. What they may have discovered.”

“I will lead a team in search of Nolford. Another team will investigate the colony and see what they can discover. A scout ship will remain in orbit to monitor the surrounding area for any developments while we’re on the surface.”

“Gear up and be ready to drop in five minutes. Move out.”

The Iron Wolves would be dropped from orbit or transported down to the surface below depending on assignment. They would start at the small spaceport that’d been constructed to ferry supplies to and from the colony. No response was received from traffic control on approach; but while space was at a premium, the landing pads were free of clutter.

Tunnels led from one moderately sized enclosure or dome to the next, with several wider branches feeding to the central and largest dome at the center. The outside winds were biting, but the interior was a brisk if comfortable temperature.

From there it was up to the Iron Wolves to discover the fate of the colony’s people, and perhaps inquire as to the construction of the unusual architectural makeup of the castle at its heart.

Kael Varr Basteil Skirata | Talohn Atar | Leea Pandac | Adelle Bastiel | Dreidi Xeraic | Tessa Thayne | Julra Repraj | Eenia Vahn | Garo Vevut-Varkor | Janous Ryss | Liorra | Vyse de Valorous | Sanguina Krev | Ashé Fenn | Vael Saren
Open to Mandalorian Empire, Mandalorian Force Users, Witches


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[Veyla Krinn]

The dropship's descent was anything but gentle.

Veyla stood secured along the interior frame, one hand wrapped around the overhead support as the hull vibrated under the heavy strain of atmosphere and wind. The turbulence didn't bother her; if anything, it sharpened her focus, pulling her attention inward even as the colony of Odacer-Faustin came into view through the narrow viewport.

Below, the settlement stretched out in muted tones of gray and frost, its structures clustered together in tight, practical formations. Domes were connected by reinforced tunnels, everything built with the cold necessity of survival in mind. It should have looked active and functional, a place teeming with life.

Instead, it looked hollow.

No movement crossed the landing pads, and no signal lights cycled to guide their approach. The spaceport sat open and waiting, less like readiness and more like a place abandoned in a hurry. Her gaze lingered on the stillness, her eyes narrowing as the dropship adjusted its angle for the final drop. There was a haunting familiarity to this kind of silence. The heavy absence that followed a disruption, where a space had not yet decided how to settle after the chaos had ended.

Her fingers shifted subtly against her handhold, a small adjustment of her grip rather than a sign of tension. Vytal had already given the order; the Wolves would move and find their answers. Veyla simply watched.

The ship hit the landing pad with a controlled impact, the shift in weight rolling through the frame as the engines stabilized. As the ramp lowered, the cold cut in immediately, sharp enough to be felt even through the insulation of her beskar'gam.

She stepped down with the others, her boots striking the duracrete in a steady rhythm while her attention moved instinctively across the landing zone. She scanned entry points, sightlines, and structural integrity. Nothing looked out of place at a glance, and yet nothing sat right. There were no signs of a struggle, no evidence of an organized evacuation. There was only an absence.

Following the line of a sealed tunnel entrance, Veyla fell into formation with the group. She moved with a practiced ease, neither rushing nor lagging, her presence settling naturally into the unit as they transitioned from the biting winds of the surface into the colony's inner systems. Inside, the sound of the gale dropped away, replaced by a contained, artificial stillness. The temperature shifted to something more controlled, but the change only made the silence feel more pronounced.

Veyla's pace slowed by a fraction. Not enough to disrupt the group's movement, but just enough to register a change in the air.

There was something here. It wasn't a sound or a presence she could put a name to, but a pressure that didn't belong to the architecture. It felt less like a physical place and more like a threshold, the kind that only truly mattered once you crossed it. Her hand hovered briefly near her sidearm before settling again, the motion small and instinctive.

She remained silent for now, continuing forward into the tunnels. Her attention sharpened as the colony closed around them, every sense quietly adjusting to a space that looked perfectly intact on the surface, but felt entirely wrong somewhere just beneath it.

Vytal Noctura

 

[Talohn Atar]

BIG SNIFFER​

Talohn had been amongst those assembled. Despite his somewhat goofy nature being a known happenstance, he knew when to keep to himself and let things go about unhindered. Being a tad silly on comms was one thing. Interrupting a whole brief was another. Though frankly, the blue furball was more afraid of what Zlova would say if she heard about it, rather than whatever threats Vytal could conjure. Not that he didn't think she could be threatening. That aside, his main focus was on that message. He had a multitude of questions about it. Half of them likely spawning from his lack of knowledge on Sith history. He would get bits and pieces from Zlova but it wasn't like the lethan was handing out seminars. Either way, he would save his questions for when they were planetside.

Talohn stepped off of the transport as it arrived, weaving his way between two more bulkily armored mandalorians that had been on it with him. His attire consisted of the medium armor oriented Protector Type Beskar'gam. He had just gotten it from the workshop a week or two ago. He had some changes and alterations that he was ruminating on. A new paintjob included. But it would serve him well for now. His helmet was off currently, resting under his left arm. His free hand idly rests on the holster of his pistol. His nose twitches as he sniffs the air, his pace picking up as he does so, only slowing when he catches up to Veyla Krinn . "People have been here very recently. I can't pick up anything concrete but...I think...." He sniffs the air again. "A bothan. A few humans....mayyyybe a nautolan? Some sort of aquatic sentient. The scents aren't stale. A day old at maximum, an hour or two ago minimum. But I can't get anything more solid than that. Ugh. I hate air recyclers." His nose scrunches up. "They always ruin a good nose-" He goes rigid, his words cutting off as they enter the tunnels to the next dome. Whatever he just caught causes him to clip his helmet to his belt, unslinging the Ori Sidaki he had hanging from his shoulder afterwards.

"On your toes. I'm picking up copper in the air. Either someone's already dead or...no they're dead. Only way I'd be able to smell it from here. I'd say that's a good first lead though." He looks to Veyla and then to the rest present. "If you agree with me, I can follow the scent. If we decide on that, I can't keep the scent with my helmet." He chuckles nervously. "I humbly request that you shoot anyone else's brains out before they shoot out mine." He looks about, waiting on the group to decide if they continue following the path, or following his nose. He seemed perfectly content with either option.