GROUP A --- DRAGON SLAYING -- going up another entrance via the emergency stairs within the underground tram systems.
Sweat went beading down Ti'Cira's temple and bled into the grime and dry blood caked upon her face. Behind them, in the distance, they could hear the roar of battle between the Kursed and the rebel resistance at the main exit, where the Dragon's mighty blast of fire kept breathing in. The rebels were doing their part, providing a means of distraction to allow those that were with her to flank the dragon.
Her legs went pumping as she ran a left, down a long dirt warren before it opened up to a large underground permacrete area. The ancient tram passageways. With a set jaw, she motioned for her group to follow her, and her legs went pumping towards the far side of the chamber, where a large durasteel door was marked with the aurabesh sigils detailing it 'Emergency exit.'
Sliding to a stop in front of it, the witch gave a hiss as she curled her hand around the door to open it, only to be met with frustration as it was jammed. Taking a step back, she broke into a determined stance, her arm snapping up with her hand extended towards the door. With a powerful surge of the Force, the elder witch curled her fingers, and gave a vicious mental tug, Force energy curling around the durasteel door. It shook, years of dust and rust scattering as it vibrated within it's frame. Finally, the groaning of metal came, and in a second, the door was wrung from it's bindings, swinging open for them to enter.
"
Let's go." she said. Names did not matter, not now. At another time perhaps, but the battle was at hand. First in, she began pumping her legs up the stairs that would lead them to the surface.
Hazy putrid light met them, as they exited from the tunnel. In twenty years of war, Mandalore had turned into a warzone and wildlife was all but nonexistent. A gust of wind blew, sending the witch's cloak fluttering in the air. A wild look came in her eyes as they beheld the object of their mission from the rear. Even at this perspective, Jhaega was a sight to behold.
"
All dragons have a common weakness... their bellies... and eyes..." she said told them, her free hand going to her waist to pull a small wuffa skin bag from it. A quick untying of it's bindings, the contents came spilling forth into her hand - a handful of Grahn vine seeds.
"
Let's find out just how thick it's skin is," she said with a low hiss, her eyes glowing a bright amber. With a tip of her hand, the seeds fell upon the dirt next to her feet, the bag fluttering to the floor as her right palm took her shoto saber in hand. Durindfire silver light hissed to life with the mere press of her thumb across the activation switch, while her beskar whip stayed in its clip at her waist.
"
He'ay'hee'ee! Allya yu'waka le mak'oce. Jaa kip wake magazu. Jaa kip wake magazu. Jaa kip wake magazu!" came the fervent chants in her native tongue, the dialect of Singing Mountain clan, and power surged through the witch, running down her veins and charging through sensitive nerves. Pushing her will into the very ether, honing on the barest signs of moisture in the air. The air seemed to crackle, energy flowing from the land to the skies.
That gust of wind grew stronger, wilder, as the sky over head began to churn within it's sulfuric hue, streaks of clouds thickening into grey. A sultry breeze found it's way to the Rebels, and with it came the fragrant smell of moisture, of potential rain.
This would be no tempest; no, this was the kiss of nature to a parched ground; and like a long lost lover, it ached for it's sweet touch.
It was a call for rain.
