((Is now the other account of O'saam Ordo, as somebody taught me how to make one))
((Will Continue posting for Allan))
Location: Thule, Somewhere aboard a Dropship
Allies: Mandalorians
Enemies: Everything Else
Objective: One
Post: 1
Gear:
Standardized Mandaloriain Armor Armor
Jump pack (THink Jetpack, but bursty)
DLT-19X (Sniper Rifle)
DT-29 Revolver Pistol
Cudgel (Think Stick, but more smacky)
Character: Allan
Ruin. That is what he aimed to bring.
Ruin to the Sith for all their crimes against his peoples since time immemorial.
Honor, that is what he aimed to gain.
Honor through the fire.
Allan had his cudgel out, it had been twenty minutes since his fire-position had been compromised and over an hour since his teammates landed. It went over his head with a resounding CRACK as it impacted the helmeted skull of something in front of him that definitely wasn't Mandalorian. The being fell to the side while clutching at a counter, holding true to it. Bringing his good ol' cudgel to bear again, Allan would slam it down once more at the cracked gurgling helmet.
Crack.
And Again, for good measure.
CRACK. Squish.
Gray matter oozed and flopped on the floor as the mushed Sith trooper lay defeated. The heavy heaving chest of the de-bucketed and grimy looking Mandalorian found itself shaking. Not from tear, or fear. But from laughter. The nervous kind, that rung through your frame and let you know you'd won and that slimy bastard was dead. His helmet had a broken seal now, and several blaster burns and even part of a k-bar sticking out of it. He'd clipped it to his belt, and would get it fixed later likely.
Not like Barret was leaving any helmets on the other folks he could use. He spun his cudgel in his hand, the blood coated head smacking against his gloves. He'd carve another mark deep into it, on the side he'd designated for kills for this mission. Afterwards, he'd reach down and yank the fallen combatants tags. He fought well, and Allan would never forget him. He heard a shuffling in a side-room in the pillbox, turning to plant his massive foot against it in a Keldabe Master-Key style. Inside, an unarmored trooper reached for his side-arm, unable to clear it from the jammed holster.
"Cheeky buggah!" he shouted before swinging the handle of his weapon down against the man's head. It impacted to officer's cap and bumped him to the floor. The man clambered up Allan's leg, mumbling something along the lines of Mercy. Fingers clasped at leg-plates and eventually at his belt. Allan heard something else in the bunker. A woman sobbing, a child asking his mother when they could go home. Allan's gloved fingers wrapped around the Officers throat as he drug him kicking and coughing up blood towards the noise.
"Open the door, Kriffstick!" he demanded, shoving his newfound prisoner at it. There was begging for Mercy again, which was met by a backhand.
"Yah' got your DAD's license, mate? Open the kriffin' door!" The Concordian shouted again. There was pressing at a keypad by the officer, and the door opened.
"Strewth," he stated. They'd shoved women and children, four for this building at least, into a bunker. His knuckles popped around the Cudgel he was carrying. "Gerrout, go!" he shouted at them. Reaching inside, he'd grab the ones who were too slow for his taste by the shoulder and hoist them out of it. The Large Mandalorian's attitude soured even further. Once the room was clear, he'd drag the officer to a terminal. "Download tha' map. Now." To which the man fought him. He tried to push back and run away, but that was met by automatic fire from a blaster turret that damn near shredded both of them. Allan threw himself down onto the floor out of the nearby doorways line of sight.
"Kriff!" he sprinted to the gunport and saw the civilians he'd just freed gunned down into the mud. His eyes went wide, and the fury that had been rising since he'd gotten here hit a crescendo.
He saw lines, as he had as a child. Vibrant, throbbing lines that burned themselves in his brain. Strike here, cut there, pressure the flank. His fingers wrapped around something in front of him, a handle on the main gun. Through freakish rage, and through a semi-powered suit, he felt it come free of the rack it was set upon. Very little could chew up a Duracrete pill-box, but he was fairly certain this could. Walking around the side, with the large weapon resting against his arm, Allan brought the Wrath of a Mandalorian down upon the pillbox's he could see. Duracrete chipped, men screamed, and by the time he was finished and the barrel had been slagged, he was within sprinting distance. His feet pounded, and he brought his voice up to bear.
"Ah'll kill all of ya, kriffin' wankers!" His jumpack roared as he hopped across a gap towards the door. The Keldabe Master-Key came forward again, sending it open. His cudgel came down, a man's head cracked. The officer reached for his radio and Allan heard him call for reinforcements. "This is Regional Commander Kel Thros, calling all available units to Valley XJ6. We are under fire and need assistance!"
"Call em all, mate! Mud makes a good grave!" he'd chew his way through resistance to the officer, before adding as he pinned him against a wall, "Unfortunately, so does a long fall with a short stop,"
It took him two hours to clear the lane. It took him another to set it up the way he wanted. When the reinforcements came, they were greeted with a grizzly sight. Where there had once been Sith-Operated and controlled pillboxes, now there were Imperial Officers and soldiers hanging from where the gunports were. All except for the Regional Commander. He got a special treatment.
Crucifixion. Where he could watch the rest of his men and those he called for help die. Allan himself was posted behind the spot he'd nailed the man too, firing down-range with his long-barreled rifle. THe officers went first, and then the NCO's. Less then ten minutes in, all that was left were recruits pulled from the academy. Panicking, they attempted to leave. Correcting that line of thought, he shot one in the knee to slow him down into the mud.
"My son. Please."
He heard the Commander beg, and saw him point with a finger as he curled it.
"Let him live. I beg of you."
Allan looked, it was the man whom he'd shot in the knee. Gently, he'd shift down the cross to whisper into the man's ear.
"The sins of the father shall be passed unto the son for penance, mate. Don't worry though. He'll die much faster then you,"
And there was weeping. Sorrow for hours, things Allan lived for. Victory, Vengeance, Vindication. The three V's his father had taught him. The most important things in his life that had ever existed.
Reaching into a pocket on his armor he withdrew a small holo. "Mary," he sighed as he flicked it on, running his thumb over the raised lettering with her name on it. "I remember when you did this," he could see her pretty face, unmarred by the attempts at suicide, the spice, and the cuts he'd found on her wrist. She was clinging to him in his armor, and that day she shone like the brightest of stars to him. "I wish you'd have stayed. Nobody else at home will understand. They already are trying to get me to pick up the plow again," he'd pull out a pen, and attached to the cross he'd stick a note.
It read as follows.
"For Mary, the Gentle Flower who could no longer stand the sunshine. I bury you in this act of justice, knowing that you have done much to warm my heart."
"I will never forget you, Gentle Flower,"
And with that, he'd pluck his comm-piece and put it back in before tuning to the frequencies he'd learned as a Child-soldier.
"Allan Barret, Canderous Squad. There's three of us left, I've secured Valley XJ6.
