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KYBER CRYSTAL CAVES UTAPAU Ember had a nearby power droid recharge the oddly empty capacitor while he managed the connection between the power source, converter and the comm antenna. He carefully rummaged through the insides of the converter, adjusting some internal coils as the age of the device seemed over a hundred years old for some reason. Perhaps Utapauans weren't really good at maintenance?
While doing his job, he felt tremor of the dark side of the Force in the back of his head. Instinctively, Ember's head turned to one of the people sent along with him to watch for the safety of the mine shaft installers and workers. His eyes followed the leather jacket wearing teenager while subconsciously his hand still worked the insides of the converter by habit.
"Joza...-" The Jedi Knight turned his head at Joza but an electric shock made him groan and yank his hand out of the converter.
Static followed from the comm's speakers before chillin' words came through from an ORC channel
::....Mandalorians....repeat....Mandalorians raiding....Utapau...static...Mandalorians raiding....static.....repeat....static...Utapau....static...alert all Outer Rim Coalition assets...static...repeat...:: And so on.
Ember glanced at each of the safety personnel of both Jedi and others.
As the door fell down, the man who'd been surprisingly quiet in Connory's ship finally decided to speak up. Just so he could crack wise. Hardly the time for that, but everyone handled crises differently. She couldn't judge. He was certainly quick on the draw after shipboard security (or whatever passed for it among these mindless, slavering locusts) showed up. Grunts, for now, rushing in to the very obvious security breach made by a dislodged blast door flying several meters down a corridor.
"There are more hangars farther up. The ships there may not have launched yet," she said simply over her helmet comlink. "They aren't my concern. The nerve cluster in the center of the ship - life support, gravity, power controls - that's where I'm going." A bunch of the young bloods at the other end of the corridor opened fire, and Fabula raised her armored arm to intercept the bolts with her heavy-plated beskar gauntlet. The silver paint was scored, but no great issue. "You can follow, protect Connory, or stay out of my way. I don't care which."
And with that, Fabula took a half-step back and tensed her legs, then bolted forward at a pace far, far greater than a human could possibly achieve. Blasting forth like a silver bullet, she reached the admittedly solid defensive line the young bloods had set up in scant heartbeats. As she ran, she pivoted her hammer around her body and brought it into a monstrous, sweeping swing. The combination of sheer weight, momentum from her raw strength, a repulsor blast, and shockwave generators not unlike those found on bes'uliik droids created a thunderous clap strong enough to send the first man she hit flying into the next, and so on. The bowling effect continued until the lot of them flew back in a scattered pile.
When she was done, Fabula stood solid and grasped her hammer in both hands before her, cracking her neck to either side. She exhaled, letting the tempered and solidified Force energy inside her out to cycle back into the galaxy, then repeated the process. Inhale. Temper. Ready for battle. Her blood red visor leveled on the children scattered before her like dolls. The unlucky first target of that hammer probably wasn't long for this world, but the others would recover in time. A pity. She'd wanted to leave an impression.
There was another warriorvictimpenitent soul further down the corridor, approaching with reinforcements. Some huge, bulky creature she'd never seen before, like a bulbous, possibly obese trandoshan. It would pay like the rest. Fabula narrowed her eyes behind her visor and gripped her weapon closer, ready to dash around a bulkhead in case that weapon it carried was strong enough to be dangerous...or charge if it was no threat.
Location: Crystal Caves - Somewhere, making a lot of noise and a lot of wreckage Objective: Crystal Caves Crystal Cave Foes: [member="Orn Pharr"] [member="Mishel Noren"] [member="Kaia Starchaser"] [member="Joza Perl"] Crystal Cave Allies: [member="Aryn Spar"] [member="Liset Vereen"] Engaging: No one
(I think I've got the caves dance partners down on both sides, tag me if not in your post so I can add you!)
Then pressure. If the launch had been the hand of a God, this grew quickly from the insistent pressure of a Seraph to the hammerblow of something deep, dark and demonic.
And that was just atmospheric ionization.
Shia kept her eye on the mission clock. The Warmaster's team should be on the ground and ready now, she wasn't sure how'd been convinced to go first, but she was very glad she wasn't between him and the target.
*WHAM*
Warning: Atmospheric Shielding Encountered
Penetrator Systems Deployed
Penetrator Operation: Successful
The entire pod seemed to slam up into Shia's chest and forcibly exit through her throat and out of the top of her head. She wasn't entirely sure if she was screaming or laughing as the wave of pressure passed over and through her, along with a scent of ozone that really shouldn't be penetrating her armour filters. Of course the penetrator deployment was successful, you stupid machine, we'd be high altitude paste if it wasn't.
There were truths in life, for all people. And one truth was true for Shia - she did not care about Ra's crusade, she did not like Ra's crusade, she despised his alliances, but he was Mand'alor, so she would obey or issue challenge as was proper. But Clan Kryze had never stood by while her people starved, and Mandalorians were wolves, not sheep. These people had what Manda'yaim needed to survive, the Mando'ade could not afford to pay, those who had offered aid had proven false, been turned away or were Sith and so the Mando'ade would take what they needed to survive.
So, Shia Kryze was in a newly designed drop pod, plummetting off course through an ever thickening atmosphere towards an uncertain destination to steal rare crystals - and perhaps break the ORC hold on an otherwise friendly planet. While she might not quite agree with the cause, she had no doubt as to the reasons, and frankly wouldn't rather be anywhere else.
"All pods adjust for drift. Brace for..."
The error in precision was small, but small distances become big distances even across the short distance between the planetary shield and an impact target site.
Anyone watching from the ground would have been treated to a stupendous view of firey red plumes rocketing down through the atmosphere, the ripple as they punched through the high altitude shield and veered off course, then the immense impact ejecta as they came on the plateau, not in front of it, their final repulsor and retro-thrusters firing moments too late.
Fortunately, there is a mine below the plateau.
Anyone inside the mine can hear the unexpected roar echoing as five pods in a tight cluster formation punch through the rock (which in the end, isn't harder than a starship hull), through the first and perhaps the second or third layer of crystal mines and end up... somewhere inside, canted at unusual angles streaming smoke and debris.
It is a testament to the MandaMotors designer and a strong selling point for future potential clients that only 1/3 of the Strix - of Shia's friends, family and clan - died or were critically wounded upon impact.
No one in the pods really felt the impact, it was too massive, too stunning. But even then, as they felt the lesser impact of their unexpected ride down into the mines, combat-drugs flooded their veins and bacta soothed minor injuries, so that it was perhaps no less than thirty seconds from the pods coming to rest in their impact craters below the earth and the side of Shia's pod punching open, revealing an extremely upset Mandalorian. Yes, she had bypassed some of the upper level defences. Perhaps - these mines went deep. But her head was swimming, her vision was blurred and the number of black markers on her buy'ce HUD was enough to generate stinging tears.
"Strix-actual to Lead-actual. Down and safe, somewhere inside the mine. Locators on, going hunting." The clever thing to do would be to wait for support, but lacking points of reference, Shia and her Strix didn't even know what direction to secure - so moving off from the crashed pods seemed a wiser choice.
Location: Highreach Station Objective: Evacuate the Station Enemies: Mandalorian Empire | [member="Ronan Vizsla"] Allies: ORC Personnel Engaging: Soon
Drifting leisurely in a tight geosynchronous equatorial orbit around Utapu, Highreach almost looked peaceful and serene from a distance. But like with the fresh lick of paint that covered the cargo station’s dented and pock-marked hull, one only had to scratch the surface to reveal the truth that lay beneath the façade. A hive of activity bustled through its ancient and winding corridors, a sea of panicked faces ebbing and flowing in every direction as they pushed and bustled their way towards the freighters and other ships that had been appropriated for the evacuation. Civilians, mostly. Contractors hired to bring the station somewhere into this century.
A dozen or so ORC personnel found themselves within the crowd, trying in vain to lend some sort or order to the chaotic proceedings. A dozen more sweeping the upper and lower decks for any stragglers that remained. No one could be left behind, not with the news gradually filtering. Exaggerated rumours about death camps and cleanses. Likely nonsense, but one that painted a rather chilling picture of the Mandalorian Empire. Second Mandalorian Empire.
“Fierfek,” Runi swore as she watched another pair of hopefuls try to rush the lines, barrelling heavily up the ramp of the freighter with little regard for who they displaced or injured in their manic bid for safety. Clad in scratched and scuffed beskar’gam, unadorned save for an ORC symbol hastily sprayed on her pauldron, she was afforded a rather wide birth by the crowd. Of course, the presence of a scattergun resting lazily on her shoulder didn’t hurt, either. “This is takin’ too karkin’ long.”
Barely operational and only in the loosest sense of the word due to the retrofits, Highreach would likely prove to be a tempting target for Mandalorians. Putting aside the value of the materials and equipment that had been ferried up from the planet below, the station was in a key position for an orbital foothold. It would only be a matter of time before they started trying to board the ugly fether – assuming they didn’t just try to blow it out of the sky. Runi wasn’t really keen on sticking around to find out which.
She brought her hand up to her mouth, eliciting a loud and ear piercing whistle to flag the attention of one of her fellow Coalition members. “Wayii! Rasco, we ain’t packing for a gorram holiday trip in the country here. Only thing those civvies need to bring is themselves, ‘lek? Everythin’ else is just extra weight an’ room we can’t afford.” She turned, “An’ Jaffenc, I swear to karkin’ powers that be, if you let another bunch of line jumpers through, I'm gonna shove my boot so far up your gorram shebs you'll be tickin' my toes every time you stutter a karkin' exc---"
Attention! Attention! Mandalorian boarders have been spotted on the lower ring!
Attention! Attention! This is not a drill! Evacuate! Evacuate!
If it was chaos before, it had to be complete anarchy now.
Through the smoke, Silas saw the man, the multi-frequency targeting device embedded in his helmet highlighting the lone figure and his droids. His eyes narrowed, it was all the confirmation he needed. In an instant the floor behind him was nearly disintegrated, the metal beginning to melt and weaken, but he didn't stop. Even as the molten durasteel bubbled and popped, splashing against his beskar, and even some against his skin, he didn't slow, he just jumped.
Leaping clear over the weakened floor in spite of the searing pain in one of his legs where hot liquefied metal had burned away flesh, Silas landed with a thud. Instantly he dropped into a roll, coming out in a crouch with the MF-44 leveled with Connory. There was no pause, he squeezed the trigger, pumped and fired again, sending the smoking shell clattering across the deck. Quickly he made for cover, not intent on being melted where he stood.
All he needed to do was get close. The others could deal with the B1's, he would deal with this. He pumped the shotgun again, discarding another empty 8-gauge shell. When he'd designed the weapon, it had been meant for killing jetti and the like, but it worked fine for traitors too.
Anger brewed in him in a way it hadn't since the Civil War, there was something about it, something raw. It ate away at him, drowned out reason and his conscious, and replaced them with the hate his brother knew so well. But for Rel it was so much more. Did he hate him because he made him question himself? Because he hadn't done anything to stop the destruction? Or had he just provided a convenient outlet to heap self-loathing onto? In the end it didn't matter. Rel was here for him, and Silas was here for him.
Location: Highreach Station
Objective: Take the station.
Enemies: ORC | [member="Runi Verin"]
Allies: Mandalorian Empire
Engaging: Soon
There was a plan.
A process.
But Ronan Vizsla was Alor.
A mewling whelp was not going to tell him how to wage war. He had done it for years and need not be taught- all that Vizsla knew was that Mand'alor was not here and no one else would command him. The more Ronan had heard, the more it sounded like a raid rather than an invasion.... and why was it here? Why were they slaughtering a nation that had no stake in the Mando'ade?
On the other side of the Galaxy.
The Core just in reach and filled with weak nations, but here they were. "This will be glorious!" One of the young ones screeched- his helmet filters making it sound high-pitched and squealing like an over-eager piglet.
"Glory?" Ronan mumbled while sharpening his beskad. "We are here to slaughter and take what we want. That's it."
Boys playing at war and thinking that there was honor at the end of it. Only idiots and psychopaths believed war was glory. It was ugly, filth, it were the old and the new collapsing on their knees with tears in their eyes and begging on their lips.
It was weakness personified.
The rumbling screech of the transport shuddered through the hull.
They were in.
Outside the firefight had already started from transports that had arrived earlier. Let the Munin boy play at his war, he was Vizsla. They were Vizsla and would show what war truly was.
Ronan stepped on out- the sudden lights of the hangar bay dimmed by the filter of his helmet. He hated wearing armor.
Grim determination. That was all he found in her as she gripped the controls. She felt the buckles slide home, the crash webbing securing her in place- there wasn't time, or frankly breath, available to thank him.
Sometimes those niceties had to go out the window.
The ship spun, whipping them around, the edges of their vision clawing black from the g-forces. Straining, her fingers crawling across the dash against the press, her eyes closed tight as her hand closed around the lever for the inertial dampeners. Fighting the pressure, she slowly forced it up to max, each centimeter easier than the last- there was no getting around the feel of the spin, the sight filling the viewscreen that flipped faster and faster as the ship tilted, flashing tan earth and blue sky in nauseating pattern. Faster and faster.
Breathing in deeply, she eyed it, watching, watching. And at the last moment, jerked the controls up.
They crashed hard, the last minute motion sending the ship skipping across the surface like a rock on the mirrored surface of the lake.
Eventually it came to rest, pushing soil up ahead of it. Smoke rose from the destroyed engine.
In the pilot's seat, Tryp groaned, hands fluttering inefficiently at the buckles.
She had held it together long enough to do what she had to so they would survive the crash. But now her hands were shaking, though whether from the after effects of the adrenaline and need or from injury was too difficult to tell at first.
"As soon as we're in atmo, lock S-foils into attack position!" Rayf rattled off another procedural command to his squadron, attention split between monitoring his system readouts and keeping an eye on the explosions and laser fire billowing up dust and smoke at the end of their current heading towards Pau City, "Once we've offloaded the precious cargo, go straight at em. Don't let these thugs scare you!"
Blue Leader knew there was a good bet the Mandalorian Empire already knew they were here, but they still held the elements of speed and surprise, allowing their U-Wing transports to make straight for the surface before the assaulting forces could scramble a response. This far into a planet's atmosphere, especially one like Utapau's, the Alliance commander would usually be jostling around in his flight seat from the strain on his starfighter's inertial dampeners. But Dauntless X-Wings were much tougher than the Sprite-class he was used to, and slower.
By far the most difficult adjustment to make, however, was to the lack of his astromech co-pilot. R9 had not been happy to be left behind on their mothership, and although he would not admit it Vigil had not been happy to leave him. Easing onto a pedal in front of him, the Corellian reduced speed as he began to pull up, taking an arcing trajectory over their landing site. Supreme Commander [member="Aryn Teth"] and his 26th had made planetfall, which meant phase one of their mission was complete.
"Receiving new intel from the locals, standby," Rayf updated his squadron before [member="Janick Beauchamp"] had even finished her transmission, used to micromanaging a dozen things a minute in the cockpit of a starfighter, "Alright, we've got some priority targets. One Ordo-class frigate over the city and a whole lot of basilisks already converging on us!"
He could spot distant pinpricks on the chaotic horizon through his virtual HUD, and did not need to enhance the image to know that they would be getting much bigger soon enough.
"I'll take first flight to soften up that frigate. Rogue Six," Blue Leader didn't know [member="Jax Rhane"] very well, but it was Rayf's duty to take responsibility for the more dangerous mission of performing an attack run and Rhane was the next most qualified pilot to lead, "See what you and second flight can do about keeping those basilisks off us. The dreadnought we spotted in orbit may launch more drop pods, we need to be ready to handle those too."
He tilted his head as Fabula went full-on human battering ram.
Eesh.
And these people wondered why the sentients of the Galaxy either hated or feared them (or both). It was unnatural and maybe in a different life Elijah would have been right there with this... Mandalorian Emp- oh, who was he kidding? Eli had never been much about the bowing and the scraping. While Fabula rushed through, Rekali was more surgical in his approach.
Those that were scattered, fallen, trying to stand up? Those were the ones that were hit by his revolver first.
"Vod, why?!" One of the stragglers piped up, hand stretched out. They too got shot. "Because sometimes rabid dogs need to be put down, before they can cause more damage, brother."
Corpse.
But the explanation made him feel better, if only for a little.
Location: Highreach Station Objective: Evacuate the Station Enemies: Mandalorian Empire | Ronan Vizsla Allies: ORC Personnel Engaging: Sooner
Ronan.
She sensed Him, even before His accursed boots had touched down on the durasteel hanger. A presence she’d felt once before, on a world clear across the otherside of the galaxy. An unforgettable, raw absence within the force. There had been a Mandalorian Empire back then, too. Different banner, different cause. One she’d fooled herself into believing she could be a part of. Finding nothing but pain and loss in its pursuit. Pain, loss and a debt that she had only recently been able to settle.
She bit down on her the edge of her lip hard enough to fill her mouth with a coppery tang, fingers practically twitching with nervous energy as she loaded and racked her scattergun. [member="Ronan Vizsla"]. Mandalore had plenty of rabid dogs on a loose leash, but that karker was of a different and far more vicious breed of mutt. She’d know. She’d watch him practically eviscerate a room in less time than it took for her to conjure up an expletive.
Kark, they didn’t have time for this.
“Rasco, you’re in charge of getting’ civvies out.” To her credit, her voice sounded far more steady and confident than she felt. Just loud enough to be heard over the thronging masses without sounding hysterical. “I’ll leave Elis an’ Oona with you. Don’t be afraid to stick the boot into anyone fethin’ around, ‘lek? Once everyone I on the transports, head to the Boracyk. Korkie should be gettin’ her ready.”
She thumped the man on her shoulder roughly with her free hand, jolting him from his reverie. He was a solid man from what she’d seen. Good in a tight spot, but even better at keeping people in line. The latter quality just as needed right now as the former, if not more. If the Mando’ade weren’t pulling punches with their own people, a bunch of aruetiise would barely prove to be a blip on the ethical dilemma scale. “Don’t fault me for takin’ the rest. Got a few visitors comin’. Hate to think they came all this way without seein’ some Outer Rim hospitality.”
There was a flash of something you could confuse with a smile. A quirk of the lips before she hauled on her buy’ce before it faded completely from memory. “Jaffenc, gonna let you take the west corridor. Ain’t finished yet, so they’ll be plenty of cover for both you an’ them. Don’t let them crowd you. All else fails, pretend you’re a high class hooker an’ make them pay for every gorram inch, ‘lek?”
With that, she gave another rough clip of Rasco’s abused shoulder before heading out with her own little posse of troops. Making a beeline for the most direct route from the lower ring hanger. She had very little faith that they’d be able to stop the Mandalorian advance, but at the very least they’d be able to buy precious few minutes for the rest of the civilians to evacuate the station. To where, exactly… Well, that was beyond her paygrade.
“I want choke points at every bend, twist an’ intersection. They get within dozen or so meters, you make like Republic soliders an’ retreat, ‘lek? Got more use for you reinforcin’ the next position than makin’ heroes outta yourselves, tayli'bac?”
Location: Pau City
Objective: Trash Panda-monium
Gear: Nice hat, a few thermal detonators, a big gourd, some brawling gloves, and a whole lot of whimsy. Also, the gourd is filled with tea.
New Friends: [member="Zesiro"] @Nok-Krah-Nin @Cotan Sar'andor
New Enemies: [member="Darth Carnifex"] [member="Calina Ovmar"]
The annoying thing about being a prophet is that sometimes, you just wanted to be proven wrong. You wanted to be mistaken about the spectres of death and decay falling from low orbit to try and slaughter their enemies. You wanted to be wrong about the impending damnation of a planet. You wanted to be wrong about the continuous spectres of war that came forward. On the upside, at least it wasn't the CIS stabbing him in the back this time. It was the Sith and the Mandos thrusting a sword at this planet's neck. And for what? Wealth? Power? Territroy?
Nah, that wasn't the way of the one's falling to the ground. He shook his head and advanced, his pace calm. After all, it was a long way to fall, even for a Sith. It'd take a minute. There were two, there were always two. That was the way of it. Others were jumping out of the sky, but they weren't the problem. The problem was the elder on. His aura....it was hunger and death and rage given a face. He'd seen him before, once or twice, but the aura had changed since their last meeting. Substantially. It was like a smaller, bound form of the abyss itself. Vorhi smirked.
Oh, this was going to be entertaining.
He smiled. If his math was right, he'd be about a hundred feet in front of the landing area for the the so-called emperor. He'd never fought an emperor before. Surprising, given how many there were. However, it mattered not. Today, he would laugh at death. Today, he'd put to the test what he learned from the Aang-tii. And from [member="Fabula Caromed"] , for what good it might do him. Still, he was, as always, Vorhi Alestrani. He waited for the man to land.
"Greetings!" He smiled. "Would you like some tea before we begin?"
An eight-gauge Munin-Farr 44 CAWS was a whole lot of shotgun. Connory's belt-mounted personal shield generator sparked and went dead; half-molted buckshot splattered against his armor. Heat stung him at half a dozen places on his bodyglove. This kind of engagement was, admittedly, not suited to his best work. A short-range brawl with a shotgun involved offered no time to think or to engage most of the tools in his bag.
A high-grade data spike slammed into a scomp link, and Connory slid through a secure door in advance of a potential followup shot. He'd put himself in a large storage compartment - no other exits, just a lot of shelves. Not much cover against an MF-44.
So far as actual weapons went, he didn't have much. The doorburner disruptor would make a nice hole in a wall if needed, but Mando battle armor was a whole 'nother story. Get close enough and he could use his sonic servodriver to find a resonant frequency for parts of that armor. A couple of other gadgets might help in the right moment. Otherwise, his side of the fight would come down to hands, feet, a knife or two, and the integrated slugthrowers in each bracer.
He backed up with a central shelving unit on his left, both bracer-guns aimed at the door, and figured Silas Mantis would be coming through soon.
The cold durasteel groaned as the atmosphere resisted the frigate's entry to the planet. Friction turned to fire and mist as the cold of the infinite black burned away. The mandalorians on board were ready the fire of the ships weapons paused only breifly as the gunners waited for the turbulence to cease and after moments they began picking targets once more. It mattered liitle to them who they hit or why they fired, only the act truely made any differance. Transports, freighters, fighters and speeders were all targets and Kal didn't particularly care for the political implications, nor the public out cry about tactics. War was death, his people, their people, war claimed all, that was it's way, that was his way.
The thundering of turbo lasers reverberated though the hull and the old man almost smiled at the feeling, almost but not quite.
"Deploy War droids. 'X' pattern." he said to the XO who nodded as if it was already expected, "Don't waste time with trying to shoot them down. Crash and tear tactics save ammo for the slow ships and ground targets."
"Just like Ordo did at Bastion and Ord Mantell." The XO said as he went to relay the orders.
Kal watched the screens as the Peregrine-class began moving into sensor range. It's massive frame and railed turbo lasers would be a fair opponent and the flak cannons would be hell on the war droid pilots if not as effective on the hulking droids themselves.
"Engage that Peregrine." Kal said arms still crossed as if observing a game of Mesh Ger'oya.
The ship began it's slow turn to bring it's guns to bear on the other ship. It didn't matter if he won. It only mattered that he fought. He was Mandalorian. Maybe the last of his breed and he would make sure they remembered he was here. One way or another.
Location: AAAAAAA- wait, we are okay. Crash site.
Allies: We good. (also [member="Tryp West"])
Enemies: No, it's fine. We are fine.
Even with the webbing he was splashed about by the momentum of the ship.
Violent shakes left, right, he hit his shoulder against the hull twice, but once the transport calmed down and everything stopped moving Jack sighed. Eyes closing for a bit and trying to feel out his state.
Pain.
Everywhere.
But it was the sort of pain you could handle with a bit of practice. Nothing snapped, nothing broken, that was good. "Yah, Tryp, right'er-" He blinked eyes open and realized that he wasn't where he thought he was.
During the slip and crash his seat had gone loose a bit. So, that's why he wasn't seeing viewport, but was looking at the ceiling. "Aight, might not be exactly next to ya, but I am good." He groaned as he shifted and tried to disentangle the webbing from him. "Ow. Ya didn't hear that." Took his knife to cut away the webbing and get himself free from the mess.
The ship was a wreck.
Parts shredded, hull gone, he could just about see the outside from this angle.
"Tryp- ya good?" His hands were steady. It was the idea of space and air that got him screaming. Once they were on the ground? That became familiar territory for him and Jack could get himself together.
Jorus' train of thought encountered difficulties while boarding at the station. He stumbled out of his cabin and into a gently pitching hall. Apparently the inertial dampeners needed recalibration again. He looked back and forth between his deputy chief engineer and his somewhat disheveled son-in-law-to-be.
Shenna'vala picked up the slack. "Mando attack," said the tiger-striped Twi'lek. "One heavy cruiser in orbit, one frigate coming down the well, some drop pods, probably some troop transports by now. Channels're reporting damage and Mandos on the ground, maybe ysalamiri too." She glanced at Hylo and away. "We got a line from your daughter. She's been shot down, not sure where. We lost comms."
In the space of a couple heartbeats, good-natured querulous grumpy half-asleep frustration became none of those things. Jorus subsumed himself in the Force and stretched out with his instincts, but the currents were cloudy. Battlefields tended to do that; battlefields with ysalamiri in play, even more so. Not for the first time, he wished he had the kinds of Force senses and abilities that other Jedi relied on. His talent for instinctive navigation was giving him a general direction, but nothing clear. No sign that his daughter was even alive.
"Do we know where she is? Roughly?"
"We've got a vector, but it lines up with both Pau City and a cave system that's under attack. Could be anywhere. Cap-"
"Thanks, Shenna." He stepped past her, en route to an auxiliary hold. "That vector feels right to me, but I can't get anything more specific either. Utapau's not set up for a fight. This was the last place anyone expected an attack. They'll need supplies, all those folks fighting between here and wherever Mara is. We look for wrecks and firefights, we keep moving, we drop what we can spare, we find Mara and her crew. Spread the word: anyone who wants off before we hit the situation, now's the time to bail." The pieces of the plan were still coming together in his mind, some slower than others. He paused and turned back to Sirella Valkner's son. "I'll need an extra set of hands and eyes at the ventral hatch while we're chucking supply crates. Need you to help me keep an eye out for Mara. You good for that, Hylo?"
Location: Highreach Station
Objective: Take the station.
Enemies: ORC | [member="Runi Verin"]
Allies: Mandalorian Empire
Engaging: Soonest™
Head tilted as a familiar presence seemed to brush the bloody edges of his mind.
I know you.
Who was... she, yes. Female. Young blood and hands shaking, but trying to steady herse--- Ronan cut himself off. It didn't matter who she was. By the feel of it she had hunkered down and wasn't fleeing. That was all there was to it. "Orders, Cabur?" One of the Vizsla warriors, he rose from a corpse. "Got people fleeing." A shrug as his beskad hissed in the air from an experimental swipe.
Good balance, good weight, this would do.
"Cut them down." The command came a moment later as they left the hangar behind. Reports were coming in of intense fighting already, Vizsla encountering fast-paced resistance throughout the corridor and choke points.
It had the taste of this young blood's phantom.
Good.
Part of Ronan had been mildly concerned this would be an easy slaughter. No challenge to that, just a heavy beskad endlessly cutting through the air and meeting resistance, bloody, over and over again. If it became too easy... better not think of that. A scatter-rifle was pressed into his hands and Ronan nodded a thanks, but hated its weight.
Location: Hyperspace, cockpit of the Courier-class yacht, “Deceit”
Raveem rubbed the small bit of hair that made up part of his mane in a pensive manner. One of his hands was on the ship’s controls while ther other tried to appeace the Bothan’s mane, which moved with his emotions. He gripped the stick of the ship harder and looked out into the bright blue tunnel which marked Hyperspace.
“I fixed that panel you requested.”
Raveem almost jumped out of his seat, as his droid, Orobarra or 8-LOM or… well, the Bothan’s droid had a lot of aliases and names… in a way, just like himself. That droid had been in the family for decades. Some kind of custom work of his grandfather, Raveem recalled his father telling him once. A droid, which could function with multiple programming routines and could even switch bodies by transferring its memory matrix into the other. In other words, Orobarra could function as a protocol droid and look like a luxury droid butler or become a bodyguard and defend its master with hidden weapons and the intimidating body of an IG unit. However, the word “master” and “droid” could be used loosely in their relationshio. Both of them had become friends… in their own way.
“By the stars! Could you knock?” Complained the Bothan, turning around almost shaking.
“You should stop being so jumpy.” Replied the droid, shuffling his way into the cockpit and sitting down in the co-pilot’s seat.
“Says the droid…”
“Says the ‘spymaster’. It was my belief that you were sweettalker, a smuggler… a businessman.”
Raveem rolled his eyes. “I get it, O.”
“Of course you do. You are offended by it.”
The Bothan sighed. “Can we focus on the mission? Please?”
“You focus. I get to stay with the ship. Remember?”
“Ha. Lucky droid. I should send you to the scrap yard.”
The droid turned his head to look at Raveem. “You wouldn’t.”
“Why’s that?”
“You need me.”
Organic eyes met the droid’s photoreceptors. “I don’t.”
“Just a few weeks ago, you ran to me as you were chased by Hutt gangsters. A few days ago you asked me to speak to the ship’s computer and today you requested I fix a loose smuggling panels in one of the corri-”
“I get it!”
If the droid could smile, he would.
“Good.”
“We should be approaching Pau city now.” His free hand hovered over the hyperspace handle, pulling it back making the blue tunnel vanish before their eyes, it being replaced by the planet of Utapau with a background of stars.
“This is a hole.” Remarked the droid sarcastically.
“No kidding…”
The droid seemed to shrug at that, taking a look at the holographic yellow screen that had appeared in front of him as he flipped a switch on the chrome and red console in front of him. “It is literally a hole.” He repeated, this time his tone sounding more sarcastic. “The entire planet is covered in sinkholes, though it says here they are actually cities. Creative. But…” Orobarra sighed… though it sounded more like a low-quality “air” sound effect. “Its bad. And I hope we can leave as soon as possible.”
“Trust me… I’m with you on that.” Replied the Bothan, chuckling. Standing up he headed to walk out of the cockpit, before the droid stopped him.
“Return in one piece will you?”
The Bothan turned around and grinned. “This is a first. You care about me?”
“No. I need you in one piece in case I need major repairs.”
“Wow.” Replied Raveem, feigning desbilief. “Take care of the ship while I’m gone.”
“Its part of my programming.”
Closing the cockpit doors, Raveem stepped into the primary living room of the ship. Red met with steel colored doors, and walls while the floor was covered in a fine carpet made in dyed Wampa hair. Steping into his equipment room, which looked more like a storage room than a luxurious yacht cabin. Taking his datapad, and one of his specially tailored coats from a closet he was ready for the “mission” whenever they landed. For some reason, something was telling him not to do this. But… fortune called and whenever fortune was, Vas’ah was not too far behind.
Tapping on his datapad he opened a profile with some intelligence on the First Order… which just served to make that feeling get worse.
“I have a bad feeling about this…” He said aloud. Laughing to himself he shook his head. “How cheesy.”
Location: Highreach Station Objective: Evacuate the Station Enemies: Mandalorian Empire Allies: ORC Personnel Engaging: [member="Ronan Vizsla"]. Just about.
Her scattergun barked a loud and brutal defiance. Shells tumbling freely as she racked and pulled the trigger in rapid succession, dropping the first and second Mandalorian unfortunate enough to draw both her attention and aim in their direction. The third was more cautious than his brethren, already in the process of ducking back behind cover even as a slug tore clipped the edge of his helm with a distinctive metallic ping of beskar. One hell of a headache, but the plating would’ve held.
With a click of her tongue, she fell back with the rest of the rag-tag survivors from the position. Numbers already painfully feeling the attrition. They had heart, but it seemed the tides of skill and war were against them at the moment. This was the second position they’d been forced to sacrifice in as many minutes. While their dead lining the hallways just as surely as those of the Mandalorians, the cost of each fallen defender was simply one they couldn’t afford.
“Flash ‘em.” She barked, turning her head as she cleared the corner. Not a moment too soon it seemed, as a wall of light lit up the way they’d just came. A cheap trick to be sure, one that earned them a chorus of choked yells and curses that’d make even a hardened spacer blush, but it brought them a few seconds to dig in. “Ain’t many more places to run to, ad’ike. Win or lose, we hold them here. Least till Rasco gives us the clear that everyone’s onboard.”
And he’d better hurry up. Even as she spoke, that empty, bleak void continued to drifter closer and closer with each passing second. Only seeming to pause to extinguish another life on its relentless path. Each loss setting her teeth on edge and knotting her jaw that much tighter. Five more rounds in the scattergun, perhaps a half charge in her blaster. Not that they’d have time at that point. As bad as it might seem, it was like the calm of a storm right now. There would be no time for tricks and quick retreats when it finally broke.
“Fierfek.”
Her scattergun sang out once more, second verse same as the first. Discarded without a second glance the moment it ran dry, the weapon clattering loudly on the durasteel plating as she reached for her beskad and Akaa’gi. What was that old Mandalorian saying? Ah, that was right. Ib'tuur jatne tuur ash'ad kyr'amur. Today is a good day for someone else to die. There was some understated, folky wisdom in that.
Location: Highreach Station
Objective: Take the station.
Enemies: ORC | [member="Runi Verin"]
Allies: Mandalorian Empire
Engaging: Now.
The storm broke.
It swept in with the force of armored bodies breaking through the hastily-erected fortification. Some died. Some stayed alive. That was the way of things and Ronan was in the middle of it all. Somewhere, corridors behind them, a discarded shatter-rifle with a shattered butt lay on the floor. Bloody. Now came out the beskad once more and it went up and down, up and down.
Up.
Down.
His armor was dented at places, but for the most part he was good. For now. He felt her presence now- close enough to touch. "Runi Verin, daughter of Verd, you stand against yours?" The voice was modulated, metallic and hard. It crashed through the sounds of bloody fighting, it demanded attention and it might just shift the defender's attention from their task.
This soulless knew their leader by name?
Maybe or maybe they would not care.
But Vizsla was curious what had brought this young blood all across the Galaxy to this place, in the path of his beskad. Family. He had rescued her arse once before during different days.
When things had been easier and harder. When Ronan thought he knew what his Clan needed, when Ra Vizsla was still a nameless whelp himself, scouring the Galaxy with his wolves. Before he laid claim to the title of Mand'alor and gave the Clans their purpose back... before Ronan saw something broken in the Undying and made him consider abandoning his own blood.
They were a rowdy sort, too loud and too proud by half. Not to mention severely misguided hatred of the Force. Every tragedy was one they had wrought on themselves and every excuse trickled back down to "this is Resol'nare". Theirs was a crude path. Without the insurances of the Dark Lord, she would have stayed outside this fight.
And yet, she had volunteered to fight for them.
While the Mandalorians were misguided in their views and backward ways, they were redeemable in their aptitude at making a fine mess of things. Any wildfire in enemy territory was beneficial to the Sith. The Outer Rim Coalition on the other hand, were a cancer upon the galaxy, eating away upon all she held dear. They subverted order and preached the lie of peace, worse yet they harboured and conspired with the Jedi orders of the galaxy. It was a wretched hive of scum and villainy that should be cleansed.
Sometimes, one had to use poison to kill the cancer.
This was why she fought, why she stood behind [member="Darth Carnifex"] and [member="Calina Ovmar"] in a line seeking to free fall out of a ship and set Utabu on fire. "For Ra Vizsla" - the code words were spoken and she did not hesitate in throwing herself out of the ship. Wind rushed past her, pulling on her robes as she fell through the air. Her form diffused and blinked out into a mere oscillation as the stealth field generator in her armour booted up. She gathered the Force in her, preparing to use it to slow her descent and cushion her descent.
