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The long beskar pole swung round, clouting her across the snout, opening a split across her cheek. Malika didn't even flinch, twisting her jaws to clamp over the bev'kal, acutely aware of the faint red glow, careful to keep either end from anything vital. She tugged sharply, intending to knock the shot off course and pull him towards her.
Close enough that he'd see the angry glow in her eyes, before she blew and angry snort out of her nose, her paws looking to pin part of him to the floor.
The bear caught the pole in its mouth and he knew he was going to be in for some hurt.
"Osik!" He dropped the blaster mid blast, sending the shot far over the other Mandalorian's head. It clattered to the ground along with Davin. The bear's paw landing on his chest to keep him from moving felt like he had been hit with a beskar smith's hammer as the air flew from his lungs.
"Osik, osik, osik..." His hands gripped the fur on the bear's paw in an effort to lift the paw from his chest. But he knew it wasn't going anywhere.
With Davin pinned beneath her, Malika smiled, dropping the bev'kal and settling her free paw upon it. She snapped her jaws within millimetres of Davin"s face, his curses bringing her contentment. She could have killed him, could have ended it all there and then.
Instead Malika shifted, back to her armourless form, fist closing about his weapon that she brought to rest across his thoat. She was sat on top of him, face within inches of his t-visor.
"Be smart, little brother." She said softly in mando'a. "Enough of us have died already." Her other hand moved to tug her second tomahawk from her belt the edge levelled to deal a killing blow if she wished it.
"Tal! Push our forces forward. Start our assault on the lower levels." She yelled, not taking her eyes of Davin.
The bear morphed right before his eyes. At first he wasn't sure what he was seeing, but this wasn't the first time he had a run in with shape shifters before. He swallowed hard, the cool beskar of his saber's hilt resting against his throat. A battle maiden of Mandalorian legend dangled him before the Manda now.
Not today.
"Alright, alright." He sighed and relaxed his tensed up body. "I could kiss you right now, you beautiful warrior of Mandalore. In fact...I think I will." His helmeted head flew into the face of the Mandalorian straddling him.
Everyone has a moment that they could recall that became their defining moment.
Some moments were loud. Others were quiet.
And as Mishel stood there with the lights of the Utapau'an Cave dancing across the beam running through to the Mandalorian, with the tower's own bright lights shining behind them all. With the darkside running through her veins bleeding the dark decisions into her mind. She knew she knew that the consequences good or bad would be hers and hers alone. There's a light inside of you. It wasn't there from Hazel, no, it wasn't something she inherited or received. In fact, maybe - just maybe as Mishel closed her eyes and thought back to the days on Tygara, blurred memories filled with light - just maybe. The light had been there all along and she'd been too afraid to let it shine.
The light has a habit of showing you everything - especially the parts you don't want to see.
When she opened her eyes, there was a renewed brightness to her hazel-green orbs. "You know something," she looked away for a moment before returning her attention to [member="Shia Kryze"], "would it have hurt you guys to have just done that first? Like, before you went all BIG AND BAD. Blowing holes into the mine, TERRORIZING the locals which by the way - good job, mission accomplished." Mishel drew a breath and exhaled, "could your like Master or whoever have just pulled our Master or whoever aside and just, hey can we get some crystals? Oh sure, can we have this." Mishel also gestured as she talked, "but no, no, no you all had to come in here stompin' around destroying the place."
"That makes you no better than the pirate next door, or the little raider scumbucket," she just looked over to the side where the cave wall lined with crystals were. "You want the crystals? Do you want the crystals? Alright then." Telekinesis was never her strong suit, but be damned if she didn't try with her arm outstretched she focused as her handless wonder of a limb lay limp at her side. The cave wall shook, and Mishel concentrated every ounce of her forceborn abilities. Not knowing the damage that she may have been causing to the caves, to the mines or anyone else here. The more she focused the more the darkside gnawed at her. Resisting the urge to just shoot a fireball right at the Mandalorian was harder than she thought. Sweat beads began to form within minutes, blood dripped from her nose as one knee gave out, an animal-like sound came from her lips as the crystals began to move.
He got up just when she hammered one of his clansman in the head.
Dead.
So many dead, but... not enough, was there? Never enough. Ronan grunted and strode forward, the pain in his knee already dulled to a pinpoint and easily ignored in the face of anger. It was hot anger, warming him, keeping him heated. His Firrerreo blood kept him going, some of his siblings were nigh indestructible once their battle-rage was going and if they had mastered the Force as well?
Forget about it.
During his stride he yanked up a hammer from one of his fallen brothers, good weight, balanced, it felt good in his hand. Once more there were no words as Ronan clashed against her, stepping in himself first this time around.
Beskad lashing out first, swiping hard from the right and forcing her to block, hammer coming down hard from above next.
Forcing her to stay against the wall, refusing to give her space to maneuver.
Location: Crash site. Outside of Pau City.
Allies: [member="Tryp West"]
Enemies: To be determined.
He suppressed a groan.
Body still hurt.
But Jack let her say her last farewells, it was a ship that had meaning to her and he could understand a thing like that. It was powerful, in a sense, the connection you made with the things you are familiar with. "Hey," Her arm around his shoulders again, slowly helping her and him to get farther away from the site. Because Tryp's thoughts were correct- they didn't seem to be the target, but that smoke?
That could bring anything here.
Best not to be sitting ducks in the meantime.
"I uh-" One hand went into his pocket and revealed a clean piece of hull, not scorched, the wiring on the other side cleanly cut away. "Took that out for ya. Little thing, but mebbe good for more memories?" Jack didn't know psychometry, but he knew thoughts, knew memories. Maybe this would be helpful to her. If not? That was okay. Couldn't hurt tho, as far as Jack was concerned here.
There was no time to sit around, watching and gawking, no, there was vengeance to earn. The rifle reared up just before impact, he shifted as best as he could - shoulder ramming into Vilaz, but one or two slugs screeching against beskar and causing heat to turn skin hot. Burns on his skin and bruises, but Rekali could handle that. The stock of his scatter-rifle was already lashing out against Munin's helmet.
Shatter the visor, obscure vision.
From over the former Mand'alor's shoulder he could just about see the sudden shift in gravity- anything that wasn't bolted shut suddenly reversed direction, some of them even the Mandalorians crewing the ship.
Elijah didn't talk anymore.
Instead he kept bashing Munin with the stock of his scatter-rifle. Obscure vision first, then break him apart piece by piece.
Shia had a great many things she could have said in response, she could have discussed the relative merits of galactic self defense, the treatment of various races by the Jedi, the Ren or others, she could have commented that she didn't consider herself above a raider - just better than them - they were only doing what they had to do to survive, after all. Which was all anyone could really do.
But... as she opened her mouth to reply a cascade of crystals flew from the walls and hurtled towards her and the moment called for action. She took the first wave on her armour - banking correctly that it's immense kinetic resiliance was a match for the lighter crystals and fired off a three round burst at [member="Ember Farseer"], her hand which had been reaching for her second pistol plucking a thermal detonator from her belt instead.
Rule 31 & Rule 1. Remember them. Together, they mean that it's perfectly acceptable to take advantage of a Jedi's willingness to die to protect others in order to advantage yourself. Who's life is worth more? The Jedi? The civilians? Your families? Yours? On a galactic scale, it all evens out to: no ones.
She let the characteristic high keening of the arming detonator hang in the air for a moment, then hurled it straight at the control tower full of mostly innocent civilians - mostly innocent, except the ones that had shot at her. Then spun and boosted her jetpack, charging straight into the teeth of the crystaline storm and right at [member="Mishel Noren"] - taking advantage of the fact she was caught between the two of them to gain distance from the Jedi while charging the (ex?) Ren.
This was not an entirely wise thing to do, crystal chunks the size of small boulders crashed into her with painful kinetic force and smaller shards worked their way in through gaps in her armour, but snarling and bleeding Shia emerged from the torrent of crystals, shorter kad-blade extended and drawn back to stab into the dar'jetti who wanted to continue the fight.
"My people are worth no more or less than yours!" She screamed over the noise of crystals and the howl of rocket thrusters. "I will not let them die because the galaxy does not care for us!"
Which was technically inaccurate, but Shia didn't know that, Ra's propaganda machine was strong.
Location: Highreach Station Objective: Make him work for it. Enemies: Mandalorian Empire Allies: ORC Engaging: [member="Ronan Vizsla"]
The sweep of the beskad saw her own jarred from her hand, the blade scattering off unseen into the swirling melee that continued to rage down the corridor. Its loss a heavy blow, but one she did not have time to mourn before a literal hammer blow almost crushed her head. Again her tomahawk proved its worth as it swept up to save her neck, guiding the hammer away from head and onto the edge of her pauldron. There the natural slope of the armor saw the worst of the impact. A sickening crunch and a muted blare of pain from her cybernetics letting her know that wasn't quite the case, however.
Her lips peeled back into an animalistic snarl as they embraced the wave that rode up, her agonized ankle pressing against the wall as she was corralled back by the sheer pressure of her opponent, shoving off with a wordless roar of pain-ridden anger to lash out with her empty hand with a serious of force-enhanced blows towards his lower torso. A combination that the tomahawk moved to follow up...
... Only to stall at the last second, the damage to her armour and arm refusing to lift the weapon above her shoulder.
Before the laconic fighter could reply to his counter-offer, Mishel's impatience struck again. The teenager's fire burned within and even with his meager skills in sensing, Ember could detect the gathering clouds of the dark side.
"Mishel, do not give-"
Words fell on deaf ears as she gathered the Force and willed it to hurl a large number of the crystals at the Mandalorian. The gathering storm picked up while three shots came his way in a blur of speed. The blue blade danced blocking them away from the Jedi. Nonetheless, the storm of crystals gave enough time for a familiar orb to fly off the Mandalorian's hand. Ember's eyes went wide open, his hand extended in panic. The Force struck the orb, alas to no avail it immediately exploded. The Pau'an from earlier was gone, along with a few who had not ducked behind the safety of the walls in time. They hung on railings, lifeless.
The death screamed in his meager senses but Ember collected himself. He was here, in the now. He had to force this opponent to stand down before more needless bloodshed. He squinted his eyes as he watched the Mandalorian thrust herself at the overexerting Mishel. The Jedi was no good with a blaster to use the range in his benefit as the warrior had ended with her back facing the Jedi.
From the chaos, he could not hear the Mandalorian nor was he focused on her words. His will tapped into the ethereal, hand jerked forward and a bolt of instantenous energy materialized from his hand and at the charging Mandalorian bull. As earlier, Ember used his signature technique - mechu mecture. A force power capable of disabling completely or heavily scrambling/distorting all sorts of electronics. Ideally, he hoped to turn the Mandalorian into a walking beskar box.
Perhaps, that could give time for Mishel and for him to gain some distance.
In his mind Ember knew the importance of halting these destructive warriors' rampage and driving them off. He did not want to think of the casualties Utapau suffered in the initial surprise attack.
Such questions would only disturb his composure. And he needed it now more than ever.
She had lost the battle on this day, and perhaps much more.
Ember missed with the thermal detonator and it was in the moment she watched it ignite that she knew she had failed [member="Joza Perl"] and failed in her mission to protect. No longer able to feel for the wall with the force, the rain of crystals stopped and they dropped all around them, "take what you came for." Mishel kicked the crystal toward the Mandalorian. There was a fear that the detonator would set the crystals off but kinetic energy was not the same as a blaster or any type of energy weapon. She looked at the blade extended at her and laughed, she'd fallen from Vader's Castle, she'd had her own hand wretched from her limb by the Ssi-Ruuk. She'd been force piked and lightening to the point of mental instability by her own father, Sieger Ren. A blade? Sure why not.
The Jedi [member="Ember Farseer"] had been doing his best to keep Mishel from giving in, she had a light. A light that had been there the entire time that she had existed these seven years in the galaxy, it was one that she refused to see because it showed the ugliest parts of her own self. Blood ran down from her nose it covered her lips so when she parted them into a sickening smile the crimson liquid painted her teeth and took a step toward the blade and felt it against her skin, and then took another step to feel it pierce into her flesh. "Your people are no better than mine, and mine are among the most despicable," Mishel whispered and she spoke of course of the Ren. "Does this satiate your bloodlust?" Sulphuric eyes glowed as she laughed in a demonic tone, she took her pistol out and placed the muzzle against the jetpack just as her own blood spilled to the beam's surface. "Go home, Mandalorian."
Mishel pulled the trigger, and whatever she was trying to accomplish - ended there. Her body went limp on the blade, and against [member="Shia Kryze"]'s body.
"He who communes with the dead is destined to join their ranks."
The Dark Lord retrieved his second lightsaber from his waist, letting its blade crackle into existence alongside its sibling. Then, with both lightsabers in hand, he brought them together hilt to hilt in front of his chest. With a twist the two lightsabers connected and become one, a single saber-staff from which both ends extended meter long blades of hateful crimson. It wasn't often that the Dark Lord brought both of his blades to bear against an opponent in such a manner, but this seemed like an opportune time.
Then his attention was suddenly drawn below, his senses reaching out to detect one of the reasons for his arrival on this distant world. He smiled viciously, "Finish this miscreant off, Rapux, I have previous business to conclude at the moment." Without warning the Emperor of the Sith shattered the ground beneath his own feet, falling to the floor below before that took was sundered to make way for his descent. He landed on a relatively clear platform, the signs of a previous battle still fresh upon the durasteel. Before him were two individuals, one he didn't recognize and one that he was specifically hunting.
"Sanya Val Swift. I've been looking for you." On his belt two slugthrowers hung dejectedly, devoid of ammo and stained by blood. With one hand on his saber he used the other to remove the empty guns, tossing them across the platform towards Sanya with the Force.
Above the battle, the slow collapse of the control tower shorted the control runs to the forcefield - for Shia, the thermal detonator had been a win-win proposition.
Better? Worse? It's all relative in the end, the hunt is all that matters.
Shia slammed into [member="Mishel Noren"] with the force of... well... a runaway Mandalorian with a jetback who's suit has just ceased responding to over 60% of it's controls - the Silver Flame was insulated against ion attacks - and force powers of the same nature, but not to the degree she could control her headlong slide or miss the sickening crunch of the blade into the torso of her opponent, followed by the slow slide across the floor. She was in fact utterly helpless to prevent the detonation of the rocket pack on her back, screaming in pain as the nearby area was doused in flaming debris.
Her last bacta charge and her combat stimulants attempted to discharge on automatic, but only one of them managed it - no one would ever know which one - it didn't matter, Shia didn't stand up because of chemicals in her system. She stood up because she had to and because she still had life left in her, Mandalore and it's dying millions demanded she do no less.
She reached down with one hand as she stood, sweeping up her fallen foes inactive lightsaber and shifting it in her grip. Surprisingly, she knew how to use it - that was a Shii-Cho stance, but it was the stance of someone who had been trained in the use of a lightsaber and thought they knew what they were doing with it, although she did not yet activate the blade for some reason.
The roar of wind and falling rocks - while the mine might not be collapsing, that level of a dark side display wasn't exactly healthy - was briefly eclipsed by the sound of a Mandalorian raider hovering into view above the now unshielded hole and commencing a slow descent - not unarmed or unarmoured, but the lightweight transports used for carrying away the result of raids, rather than the assault vessels.
Shia wrenched off her useless helmet and spat blood at her feet.
"Deactivate the jetii'kad, verd." She said tiredly, squinting until her vision cleared, mindful of her promise to a teacher who would hate to see what was happening here today. "And this won't be seen through to the bitter end. No platitudes, no promises. Just see the frickkin' truth. We came here to take because no one would give to us, because while our planet may be dying, we are the hunters, not the prey and it will not die today, not on our watch. Not on my watch."
She wasn't at all sure she could win - her armour servos - the most hardened part - were working, but every other system had failed. It wasn't an immobile lump of beskar - but it wasn't much better than a barely powered and mobile lump of beskar either. She didn't know this saber's quirks - and she wasn't force sensitive. But if the young woman at her feet could die for her beliefs and her people, well, Shia Kryze certainly could too.
The keldabe kiss wasn't exactly unexpected, not with his little declaration, that coupled with the fact that she had a pole resting across his neck limited the force at which his head could come flying at her. She jerked her head back his helmet snapping into her chin, earning a hiss of disapproval from her. She increased the pressure of the beskar pole against his throat.
The tomahawk flipped in her had and she brought the point to crack across the side of his head. If she could shatter the visor and blind him with the pieces? Good. If she could catch him just so to crack his temple and knock him out? Even better.
Few sounds freeze the blood of the wise like a shotgun racking its next round. Mara Merrill had considered herself wise once upon a time, many injuries ago. These days she couldn't genuinely claim that label, if she ever had. These days she liked the sound of a gun more than she'd prefer to admit. It felt comfortable; it felt like she had some degree of control over her existence.
The bandages wrapped around her temples and thigh should have told her otherwise, but what was the old Jedi line? Feel, don't think. Use your instincts.
WHAKKARABOOM
The shotgun roared, and a door yielded. Behind it, so did a Mando. Mara lurched into the sunlight and shoved him with a boot to the gut. He fell a long way. Squinting against the light, Mara looked off to her left. A straight shot along a ledge would put her right beside the nearest fight: a bear grappling with a Mando.
The Mando, she knew by reputation: Davin Skirata, a Coalition Judge, one of the very few Mandos she wouldn't kill on sight. The bear, which promptly morphed into a blonde woman...well, if she was fighting against the Coalition, then screw her. Screw her comprehensively.
Mara limped across the ledge into range of the fight. She felt their emotions, but nothing from people not far behind them; the ysalamiri field was close, then. Too close for comfort. Given time, she might have tried a powdered-thaissen approach to finding the ysalamiri, but all her supplies had been in her ship, and that ship was slag now.
She tried and failed to speak; dry throat. She grimaced and let the gun speak for her.
SITTING ON THE CEILING
SECONDARY INDEPENDENT LIFE SUPPORT CONTROL ROOM
AFT SECTION
MANDALORIAN DREADNOUGHT
UTAPAU ORBIT
ATTN: [member="Vilaz Munin"]
Force, the weight of this ship. Mandalorian steel plating, durasteel internals, redundant systems, compartmentalized hull structure - a Rekr-class had true bulk. He'd always preferred lighter, nimbler ships himself, but he could see the appeal. Mandalorians serving on a Rekr could rest easy knowing that a staggering mass of metal protected them from the enemy. If they enjoyed visualizing themselves as big strong phallic weapons (and many did, in his experience), crewing this ship would feel like being the head of a sledgehammer. What would it mean to take away that sense of security, that deep-set certainty? What would it take?
He didn't have an answer to the first. He'd lost all comparable feelings a couple of tragedies ago. As for the second - well, a boarding effort was a start. Reversed gravity played into that as well. The gigantic mass of the dreadnought's hull bore down on itself with shearing force. Walk too far one way, and you'd wind up on the ceiling like Connory. Go up or down a few decks and you'd invert yourself in places where ceiling and floor wanted to meet.
The lights flickered and died. Connory finished swapping his broken buy'ce for a dead man's helmet and laid down on the ceiling. This really was kind of peaceful, wasn't it, come what may.
"Gack..! Okay, okay!" The pressure around on his throat increased as she pressed further down on his bev'kal. It was starting to get hard to breath and he saw why his brother had worn a gorget all those years on his armor. He didn't get a chance to finish his plea before she lifted her tomahawk into the air and tried to bring it down on his head. His eyes narrowed behind his helmet as he searched for the Force. The blade cracked over his helmet, sending a crack down his visor.
Kark.
Another blow like that and he'd be blinded by the transparisteel. He couldn't tell if the blow had actually made him dizzy or if it was just his HUD going haywire. Granted, without more complex armor systems, the HUD was relatively simple, but still it flashed red and buzzed in and out of focus. Black was creeping into his vision, but he called on the Force to help keep him conscious.
Friend? Or Foe? He couldn't tell with this woman keeping him down. He cursed under his breath and tried to reach around her with both hands and pull her hair back.
"I really don't want to kill you. Others might, but I do not. Too many mando'ade have been killed by our own hands..."
CHA-CHAK
Malika felt her blood run cold, Tal was not behind her, no one would approach her from behind without announcing themselves that wasn't a foe. She lifted the pole once, briefly and brought it sharply back down on Davin's trachea before following every instinct in her body.
Move.
She rolled off him, taking the pole with her coming up on one knee and spinning to face her foe. At least they had the good graces not to shoot her in the back. The front though? That she was not so sure. A quick glance, assessment of the girl advancing upon her and recognition dawned. "Osik." she swore and dove for the nearest cover.
There wasn't an educated mandalorian alive who hand't heard of Mara's book about their culture. She was the girl who'd witnessed Ilum, a very public hater of the mandalorains. She absolutely would shoot her, regardless of whether Malika wore armour or not.
Crystal Caves Allies: [member="Orn Pharr"] | [member="Joza Perl"] | [member="Mishel Noren"] | [member="Davin Skirata"] | [member="Ember Farseer"] | [member="Kaia Starchaser"] | [member="Damian Starchaser"] Enemies: [member="Aryn Spar"] | (Tooling with Orn, mentioning to keep you in loop)
Grunting, he knelt beside the boy and gave his shoulder a patch as the lad faded off, eyes wobbling. Suddenly they shot open, and as Ijaat was wrapping a field dressing to cover the wound, the boy grabbed his right arm with a look of emphatic need. Something was in his hand, and he pressed it to Ijaat with a need, and the elder took it, nodding his head in return. It was a bes'bev of exceedingly cunning make. With his senses and the Force he could feel the weight of years and dozens of hands to wield and play it. A bit of calcified mythosaur bone formed a lip-rest, and the sling was braided rancor leather. The rest was carved with a symbol of the Clan Vizsla and the Death Watch.
As Ijaat swiftly slung it over his shoulder, the boy nodded as if in consent to the tree, and then went back to languidly staring at a worn-torn sky in a crude and drug-induced haze. Ijaat hoped that Orn didn't realize the meaning of a warrior passing his families weapon to a foe. In their culture? Safe conduct for the one who bore it, to the head of that Clan, or a boon of proportionate asking of any who claim the sigil. And a life debt of this boy to Ijaat. One which he would try to honor his end of, and he took one of his pistols from it's thigh holster, planting it on the boys lap, dallorian alloyed gun blazing in the firefight light, a proud inlay of the True Mandalorians and Clan Mereel.
Sometimes, it is the smallest things that awaken us to who we truly are...
Standing, he approached Orn and looked as if waiting, his expression and aura and even body language would have been puzzles as knotted as a bag of yarn and cats mixed together. Something in his stance seemed relaxed, but tenser. But when he spoke, his words were quick and sure.
"Right, show me what to do to help... Then there is the cavesor the presence I've sensed in the city... A foe I know, who will wreak great havoc on innocents, it is his singular joy. I will defer to you where we go, I swore myself to your purpose and defense for this engagement. Despite how my blood sings to see if it is he and rip his spine through his throat if it is... Word as bond."
