Never say Nether: Reclamation [Mandalorian Dominion of Bimmiel]

[Azrael]

They gave it many names; Hell, Purgatory, Crossing of the Dead, the Netherworld. Whatever this strange and metaphysical plane of existence was, it was not welcomed - not had it been expected. Among the catastrophic events that catapulted the Galaxy into a mad scramble for power, two long figures had marched through this desolate world devoid of knowing if they were either in haran or some strange version of their beloved Manda. Thankfully this was not the final resting place of the two vode who strode across the vast plains of a canyon that soon emptied out into one of the various rifts of time and space.

Rejoining the vode - the Mand'alor returns to find the stars visibly shaken from their sockets at such a calamity. The focus to rally the Mando'ade has risen, and Azrael returns to his people, to rally them to the cause to ensure their continued conquest, and to repay those that have dare encroached their reach on their territory.



Aboard the BBC-105
Mythosaur Super Carrier


Just days after returning from a place that had once promised to be their undoing, both Azrael and [member="Vilaz Munin"] had returned from the Netherworld to reunite with the Mandalorians. Azrael had taken care to ensure that his family was safe, and those he cherished the most were back with him. While they had not been at the forefront of the action, the pair had weathered the storm of the unknown, and traveled through plains of existence they thought better left for the dead bones of countless souls. However now the Mando'ade were facing a crisis likened both beyond that of the Vong War, and the Gulag Plague. The Galaxy was ripe for the taking and several factions had already latched onto that ideal, and were moving forward to reclaim territory or poach new ones from what had been left in the desolation. Formally though, Azrael had not been in front of his people on the main stage for some time - and while he was glad to be among them again, he felt as if his absence had been a fetter to their mass bravado. Still, they needed someone to lead - as they had new enemies on the forefront.

On the upper deck of a large hangar within the mighty Mythosaur super carrier, the salvager slid the helmet from the bench seat he had taken, sliding it over his head and clipping it into place. Reports were already coming in from bridge control about the planet they were sailing towards. A world that had once been the stronghold of the Vong when they had crippled the Galaxy. It felt right to take that planet as his first command when being back in the Galaxy proper. Their new enemies were paired with not only the One Sith, but with the Vong contingent that was growing steadily in the time since their last war on Empress Teta. This was a day to send a message, that they would not back down, nor fall under the Vong influence or whomever was footing the bill for their reassurance. Rising from his seat, the charcoal and crimson armor clipped into sight as his bionic and armored hands rose to grasp the railing.

"Oloram ner'vode!" The booming amplification of his vocals emanating from his helmet cast it's tones onto the awaiting Mandalorians below. "Many things have changed in the last few months - the Galaxy is a fractured place and it is tipping on several points that will inevitably lead to all our war." He paused for a moment. "The Netherworld attempted to claim us, but many of our own stood up to the cosmic threat that sought to undo the stars themselves." Another moment of silence passed as he gauged the reactions. "Some of you wondered about my fate, and while I was transported to that haran of a wasteland, I knew that you would continue to be the force that the Mandalorians have always been for millenniums in the past. It is good to be home - and with your continued support, we will deal with what has become of our Galaxy." The Mandalorians believed in the Galaxy itself being up for grabs. They didn't care to own the whole lot, but they were certain that they would be a feared force to tangle with once again.

"We approach the planet Bimmiel, on the Veragi Trade Route. History has taught us that this was once the starting stronghold of those vile creatures; the Yuuzhan Vong. This is a statement ner'vode - we will not bend the knee or bow the buy'ce to any of those creatures, or their Dar'jetti compatriots. This is but the first of many territories will reclaim in the name of the Manda." A general shout of spirited affirmation echoed back as the Mand'alor gazed upon the crowd. "This is the dawning of a new age - the age of Mandalore!" He, of course, spoke of the planet, and not in vanity about himself.

​

 

[Arumi Zy]

Arumi stood there and listened to the speech of The Mand'alor, he had never met him but that ment little. He was the supreme ruler of the Mando'ade and that was all that mattered. Arumi had no idea he has been stuck in hell with him, but Arumi's time there was literal hell and he had been consumed by despair becoming it's avatar.

The dark one lit a smoke as Azrael continued to speak, patting his fur coat down for his lighter. After a moment he produced it and turned his head for only a moment. He cared little for the speech, he really didn't pay it much heed. All he cared was that the Mand'alor had returned to lead them in this most trying of times when the forces of the abyss were set against. They, he needed his guidance and leadership to bring down his one time sith brethren, to turn the tide of the Prime horde and to cement the mandalorian empires place in the Galaxy once and for all.

He reached into his fur coat and produced his saber " the Mandalorian knights stand ready for your orders" [member="Azrael"] he bowed " to death and hell we follow, our blades carving and our souls to eternity we follow. Let us forge our legacy in sith and vong blood, shatter the hordes and slaughter the Raven's, the enemies of Mandalore will fall, this I swear on my blood".

 

[Garrus Garon]

Kandosii-type Dreadnaught
Enroute/In Orbit over Bimmiel
Allies: [member="Azrael"] [member="Arumi Zy"] @Mandos

​

The Mythosaur Super Carrier was not the only ship enroute, or in orbit, around Bimmiel. A Kandosii-type Dreadnaught, a staple of a bygone era which had stood the test of time, had also journeyed to Bimmiel where it would assist in reclaiming the planet in the name of Mandalore. On the bridge of the Dreadnaught the crew would be able to hear the speech given by the Manda'lore, they cheered and affirmed they were ready, the Field Marshal commanding the vessel meanwhile stood on the bridge looking out the viewport. Last time Garrus had been here it was to rescue his Brother, Strider, from the Vong after the Mandalorian ship had crashed on the surface of the world and been left cripple. Fighting had been fierce but Garrus had arrived just in time to launch an orbital strike against several Vong population centers below. Many Vong died that day however the Warrior had never shown an ounce of regret. Once he was asked about it by a crewman to which he responded..."Vong were made for killing."...ending the conversation before it had begun...

...now that the Mabdo'ade was returning to Bimmiel it seemed only right that Garrus return with them. It had been a few years since he'd seen the planet. No love was lost that was for certain. Dressed in his Beskar'gam, his helmet tucked underneath his left arm, he took his flask in his right hand and drank from it allowing the burn of alcohol to traverse and pool in his belly while he waited. Garrus never went a day without that flask in his hand. Liquid courage for some but to him the contents was his form of water; he didn't think he could live without it and others may have shared the sentiment. No matter though. Once he'd taken a drink the flask found its place back on his person where it would remain until he needed another drink which could be a long time or a short one dependent on what exactly he was doing. Do not dwell on this any longer though it does not suit a purpose...

...in his Beskar'gam he looked every bit as intimidating as one might imagine. The Armor was thick, heavy, as a Heavy Beskar'gam could be expected and the Micro Grenade Launcher integrated into the right forearm didn't hurt to promote the intimidating image that he was extending towards his enemies when in battle. He'd listened to the speech that the Manda'lor gave, it was a fairly good one, then he would access comms via the bridge of the Dreadnaught which would allow him to speak to the Manda'lore directly..."We stand ready to serve the Mando'ade."...the message was clear, a Warrior was here to the work expected of him and if that meant he played butcher again then so be it, then the comms would go silent as he awaited his orders. The Super Heavy Missile Tubes were loaded with their payload, the Drop Pods were prepared, the Vode were ready and now it was only a matter of time...​

 

[Adenn Gra'tua]

Adenn Gra'tua sat down for [member="Azrael"]'s speech, taking the time to load an extra bullet into each of his weapons magazines after he cocked the weapon, not that the extra bullet would help too much, but it was one of the Rally Master's habits. Sliding the magazine for his offhand pistol into the grip, then placing the weapon in his left side holster, tapping it gently as he removed his hand. Adenn looked up as the Mand'alore's speech came to a close, shouting lightly at the mans last comment as he threw his right hand in the air, getting pumped up for the upcoming mission.

Among the league crowd of Mandalorian's, Adenn started checking his armor systems, first the vision modes, then the microphone, and finally the vibroblades, the bounty hunter didn't bother with his jet pack though, as it would be inconsiderate to use it in such close confines to all these people. A light sigh escaped Adenn's lips before he reached up to his helmet, raising it off his head then putting it under his left arm, scratching his chin with his right hand the man inspected the surrounding mando's and their current activity's, waiting for orders to move out.

[member="Azrael"]
[member="Arumi Zy"]
[member="Garrus Garon"]

 

[Vilaz Munin]

Location: Mythosaur super carrier
Allies: Vode
Objectives: TBD

To hell he ventured with his fellow brother against their will. To hell they thought they were to stay for eternity as they thought they were not worthy to join the Manda with the rest of their fallen brothers and sisters. To hell they survived and escaped the damned realm to rejoin with the rest of their vode and the Galaxy. But the time for celebrations to welcome back their missing Mand'alor and other Mandalorian Warriors that were strangely kidnapped and sent to the unexpected dimension which was the main highlight for many as they sought to unravel this mystery that had raptured many and many living beings in the Galaxy, not just the Mandalorians. Now was the time to rally the Mando'ade and take back what was theirs before the events of the Netherworld. Many worlds within their influence and control somehow became neutral as they were before the Crusade of the Mandalorians which decreased their borders. They weren't the only ones that had lost worlds and influence in the Galaxy.

Numerous factions ranging from the Omega Protectorate, the Republic, the One Sith, and so on began scrambling to have dominance over these undisputed planes to gain something from them whether it is to exploit their resources, use their shipyards, or utilize their valuable strongholds. Things that the Mando'ade desperately needed in order to strengthen themselves and their defenses against new and old threats that are on the horizon. Luckily, they had conquered and reconquered old and new lands to expand themselves and have access to the riches of that particular world. But some planets that were within the Mandalorian fold were in the clutches of major factions bringing them in to their government, and minor factions such as pirates, criminals, and vong taking over and ruling with an iron curtain shadowing over the inhabitants. But today they will continue of what their ancestors have done in the past. Conquer with a vast and might crushgaunt.

On the super carrier that their Mand'alor was residing was also the Rally Master that walked those vast plains of the canyon with Azrael in that realm that they had awoken in. Dressed in his traditional beskar'gam with his unique crossbow-Thunder Spike-, two dual WESTAR 34 pistols, a repulsor pack, and four thermal detonators he was at the Warrior along with his fellow ironclad brothers and sisters were presented in front of the leader of their people as he spoke to them charismatically. Morale boosted within the ranks on this day as they had eyes to conquer this historical world that was a stronghold for the Yuuzhan Vong race. It would be unfortunate that the allied forces of the Vong and Sith were to claim this world for their sole advantage to expand their stank to wherever they went. And that would be leading the dar'jetti to the doorsteps of the Mandalorians.

A war cry would follow the speech of Azrael, and a long one too. "Well, y'all heard him. Move your damn shebs," the Rally Master barked out the masses of proud Warriors to get the gears shifting of their conquest beyond the stars. Power he had within the vode due to his rank and one most Mandalorians respected, especially the initiates but it wasn't comparable to the ones of their Field Marshals and their sole leader. However, he wanted to see these feared warriors to show their might for everyone in the Galaxy to see. Soon individuals wearing similar iron skins-but unique to the user-began moving towards drop pods, fighters, and transports to get their boots on the ground to commence their battle for dominance if Bimmiel.

[member="Adenn Gra'tua"] [member="Garrus Garon"] [member="Arumi Zy"] [member="Azrael"]

 

[Anastasia Rade]

Ana sat quietly near her brother as she listened to his speech. She had missed him terribly when he had been away. During that time the Rally Master had thrown herself into work in order to cope. It was apparent that she herself still had abandonment issues. It all hadn't been for nothing as she actually did learn a few useful abilities and about a few new weapons. There had been no time for mopping just action.

She had no idea what sort of hell he had gone through while he was away as he didn't speak of it. Ana had made it clear though that if he did find the need to talk it out that she was hear for him. When he was was ready Ana was sure he would but for now they had a galaxy in turmoil to deal with. They were on the brink of war, she had seen such. It was only time until it all exploded and when it did they would be ready.

Anastasia was ready to go and would serve in any capacity that her brother saw fit for her. She worked with the Mandalorian Knights from time to time. It gave her the opportunity to show off some of those skills however if she was needed elsewhere that was where she would go.


[member="Azrael"] [member="Arumi Zy"][member="Garrus Garon"][member="Adenn Gra'tua"][member="Vilaz Munin"]

 

[Mac O Shenanigans]

Mac sat near the back of the hanger, his feet propped on his buy'ce as he listened to the Mand'alor. Several of his weapons lay at his side as he was in the process of stripping and cleaning them. His edged weapons lay sheathed next to him as well, awaiting the wetstone.

He hadn't been back long when the call went out, and while doctor said it wasn't wise to come on this mission, he grabbed his gear anyway; the Mand'alor called...

Mac picked up his ripper and started to break it down. Pulling off the slide, he ran his finger over the contact points looking with a skilled eye, and honed touch before dropping the stripped parts into a bucket of cleaning solvent. One never wanted his weapons to fail in combat. Granted Mac, like his fellow Mando'ade was a weapon himself he lived by the rule that if you take care of your equipment, it would take care of you... That's when he noticed the seer on his Strill 2000 was cracked. Sighing, he pulled a spare part out of his toolbox, and tossed to now broken piece in to be reforged when they got home...



[member="Anastasia Rade"][member="Vilaz Munin"][member="Adenn Gra'tua"][member="Garrus Garon"][member="Arumi Zy"][member="Azrael"]

 

[Arla Ordo]

Arla was very quiet still thinking over the things that had happened in the Netherworld. A term she had learned for what everyone called the land of the dead. Dead. She thought it again. My parents are dead.

She sighed. She looked over at her armor it still fit, and it still worked, everything about it was fine. It was her that felt all odd. [member="Verz Horak"] had done quite a bit to keep her moving there.

But had he realized that she met her parents in those moments of chaos. It had felt so surreal looking at them, wondering.

The Netherworld has given me answers on my parents. It is a great solace to me to know they did not abandon me there, that I was wanted. It would seem that everything for me should now be almost perfect. So why do I feel this way? Is it relief? It is an odd sensation.

It was near time she got up and began preparing.

 

[Verz Horak]

Verz Horak's beskar'gam clanked as he walked up behind [member="Azrael"] . The new Mand'alor had been his student once, and it seemed that now the student really was the master. Verz still felt a bit awkward after his return from his self-imposed exile. He still had no idea where he stood in the structure of the Mandalorians, and just as all was getting back to normal, he was literally sent to hell.

"Azrael, ner vod. I liked that speech. Reminds me of Mia, actually. She always had no doubt that we would succeed where others failed in the galaxy. Aya, many of my akaan'vode (war-brothers) are no longer around, for whatever reason."

The warrior pulled off his helmet. It felt better to talk to his friend face to face. He took a deep breath.

"I want to know one thing, ner vod. Where do you need me to fight?"

 

[Nyos Val]

It had been some time since Titan had made contact with his Vod since the dissappearences a few months back, and what is known is the territories of all known factions shrunk to almost 20% their previous size. The task now was reclaiming all the lost and some new systems. Titan, however felt different about the event. It was a time of cleansing, rather than the chaos others proclaimed.

MEANWHILE

It was time to depart and join his adopted family in taking Bimmiel back. The possible FOB of the Vong when they re-entered the Galaxy years ago, Bimmiel was to be cleansed. With Kronos on his back, his Reaver and Ravager by his side and grenades a plenty, Titan would surely aid in the washing of this planet. He knew not of the suffering his Vod endured from the Vong but he'd seen it first hand on Zeltros. The Vong, Graug, and Sith had desecrated that planet in their filth. Titan didn't want to see another planet be devoured by monsters. And what killed monsters better than...other monsters. Titan was a monster, born in a tank, bred for war and wiped of all humanity. The remnants of what made him human were really just his skin and bone. He may have developed sympathy, but that did not make him human. His blessing, and his curse. To be used for warfare and never know the consequences of ending life.

 

[Anija Betna]

Location: Mythosaur Super Carrier - Hangar
Allies: [member="Anastasia Rade"] | [member="Arrbi Betna"] | [member="Arla Balor"] | [member="Arumi Zy"] | [member="Azrael"] | [member="Garrus Garon"] | [member="Mac O Shenanigans"] | [member="Strider Garon"] | [member="Titan"] | [member="Vilaz Munin"]
Objective: Humanitarian Aid/Politicking

Anija leaned against a bulkhead not far from Garrus. A newly promoted Field Marshal, she was still getting used to the new responsibilities. She had done well at Aeten II, from what others had said. While she'd not been on the ground, she'd helped to coordinate the retaking of the mining facilities and the research facilities owned by Mandal Hypernautics. It was a vital point for the Mandalorians, as was their hold on the worlds which held Beskar. The subject of beskar was a touchy one at best, right now. Especially with forces of the Primeval holding Echoy'la.

It ate at her to even think about it. Part of her wanted to go and rip the planet out from under them. Sure, the beskar the planet still held wasn't much... but she had been among the crew that had discovered the world. And, she could understand why the other Field Marshals wanted to wait to assault the world. She too knew that they wouldn't give it up easily. There were rumors floating around that Primeval was allied with the One Sith and the Red Ravens. Right now, she had no more proof of that than the next person, but hopefully they would fined out soon.

As Azrael finished speaking, Anija raised her fist and cheered. Her helmet was tucked under her other arm. Taking a moment to look around at the faces of those gathered there, she sighed. And yet, she could also sense something that made her smile. Hope. And resolve. The Mandalorian resolve was strong. The entire galaxy had been shaken to it's core at the sudden Disappearance of millions. Feth, even Anija had wondered why Azrael had gone silent. Now, she knew. That wasn't an excuse for his silence over the several years before, not by any stretch. She hoped, someday, she could get some answers.

But for now, they had a world to reclaim.

 

[Darth Rixas]

[member="Arumi Zy"] | [member="Garrus Garon"] | [member="Adenn Gra'tua"] | [member="Anastasia Rade"] | [member="Mac O Shenanigans"] | [member="Arla Balor"]| [member="Verz Horak"] | @Titan| [member="Vilaz Munin"]| [member="Anija Ordo"]

Oron stood amongst the other Mandalorians on the bridge under his obsidian robes, looking from vod to vod behind his black and gold mask. Arms folded across his chest, the mandalorian's mind reeled on past events.

How long…? How many weeks, months, years had he wandered aimlessly under the banner of the Sith? How many fretful days, passing in the tumult of life, did the promise of immortality whir with the rusted cogs of time? When had all the suffering began, the first whispers of disillusion clawing at the corners of his mind, that one last sanctuary where the jagged fingers of the Dark Lord had began to pry and poke, as though his sanity was a cask to be etched and scratched upon. Twitching, shifting, greedy hands that fumbled and fiddled with the locks. The lack of control over his mind and body had disgusted Oron. The degeneration of the body, skin, mind, sanity, will, focus, control, were all pushed and manipulated by the teachings of the Sith. All over the pursuit to absolute power; a power that reasonably could never be attained. His realization of their blinding promises created instant revulsion.

But Oron had abandoned them. Seeking his brother had been difficult, but not impossible; knowing he would be in Mando space.. For he was the same, was he not? Oron who had clawed upwards, chipping, carving, creating the path in which he would walk – Gore and filth had coated him, malice and loathing his monikers and he had lived up to such. He had been the blight upon the crop, the crashing sea against the stone and he contributed to the withering and erosion of the Republic. And for what he held them responsible for, he had repaid them in kind, fulfilling every promise, every mission, every wish and yet...none of it mattered.

It was then that the hooded mandalorian lifted his head to gaze upon Azrael. He listened to his dialogue intently, absorbing the words as his leader readied them for a long day on the planet below. Instead of chiming in, Oron decided to nod upon the words everyone else spoke, keeping silent for the moment. His words always seemed thick upon his tongue at first, their weight palpable, the sins of a thousand lifetimes dragging them down as they yearned to remain rooted to his body and not be offered freedom into the cold, unrelenting expanse of space. But these things held no inward effects on Oron. He had learned how to survive. The order of the galaxy was not as before. Survival did not come from bellowed cries and hardy weapons, alone. That was a time since past, when enemies met upon the no man's land of their fears, littered with the corpses of trust and the song of only blade and blaster. Now silence was the greatest weapon of all - The instinct, the opportunity to listen and study, the need to have the quiet filled with words, and words he would provide when prompted. For in the days, the weeks, the months, he had learned much about his enemies and himself. Oron held no guilt, no pity, no need for question, or consideration for consequence - and all manner passed his lips.

He needed both absolute redirection and a strong foundation, and the Mandalorians were such a haven. Without either, he would not speak. He would talk to the the ghosts of his grievances, perhaps - But his true desire that uncoiled in his mind was the viper, ready and willing to sink it's teeth into flesh to fill the Mandalorian's enemies with the venom that corroded him inside. The child without fortune, who had lost all and everything to the Sith still had family. A conduit for bonds stronger than any other source of emotion one could create. The perversions of the Dark Lord was the single anomaly in the corners of Oron's vision, the pulled thread upon the tapestry of his retribution, attempting to persuade Oron that they could wear the same stare when equality among Sith was impossible.

His hand lowered to his waist, running his gloved fingers along the sturdy frame of his double bladed-lightsaber, the silent vessel into which he poured all his effort and energy into day and night and he wondered- wondered when the dyke would crumble. Words, treacherous and sure, lulled through his mind again, for now he had begun, so how could he stop? He would never be able to, not until he had filled the reservoir that was the Sith with all his misgivings, all his ails; And they had tolerance for pain, it seemed. But it would be finite, and soon, he supposed, he would empty them with his venom, the serpent that he was...but not this eve. Bimmiel was just one piece of the puzzle, and the conquest of the Mandalorians, as glorious as it would be, was still young in it's drive with a lot of land to cover, land Oron wished to touch down upon one after another with his fellow Mando'ad.

Truth, honor, vision.

 

[Azrael]

Answering the call to arms, and to action was always the Mandalorian way. A culture that thrived not only on the testament of war, but of will and bravado. At times the Mando'ade could be called brutish, or even reckless, caring not for the consequences of their actions; when in fact that was just a perspective that wasn't privy to how much the Mandalorians considered the weight of their actions - though most exclusively for their own people and their own influence. As a community they could be quite selfish, and yet inside it, you'd find no truer friend, compatriot, warrior, and family. They were loyal above all else, both to the state of being a Mandalorian, and to the others within their ranks. A death in battle, and welcome into the Manda was honorable above all else, and while they did not seek death, they also did not fear it. The young salvager among them knew no respite of volition, but rather an undying spirit that had been consistently proven in the fields of battle. Their purpose here was not to simply gain territory that they had lost however, this was a strategy that was meant to be a road leading them to prove again the might of the Mandalorian people, and return their name to that of prestige and feared fame among the stars.

Crimson shone with a hint of ruby glint as the surveying pass of his buy'ce shifted back and forth through the throng of armored brethren below. A few vod atop the observation platform above ready at his side, and close in name and recognition of the Mand'alor. The Field Marshals had already been briefed on the nature of the situation on Bimmiel, and as the Mythosaur drew closer, the assignments were being divided to the Rally Masters and on down to the Initiates. The three tiered system of command was effective, simple, and practically efficient. Still, no Mandalorian was higher than the next, they were also a respected and feared machine of war, with each cog, gear, and lever of the instrument of destruction a viable fighting force on their own. Shifting his attention towards the crimson clad warrior just to his aft and flank, a smile touched the salvager's face beneath his helm as Verz removed his own helmet.

"Oloram ner'vod. I learned from the best." His right hand moved to clasp Verz's shoulder out of respect. Horak had taught him much when he was first an initiate on the plains of Mandalore. Hand to hand and melee combat was Verz's domain, and he had taught the young half-blood many things about that system of fighting. Azrael would always remember those days fondly, though he'd since improved his skills vastly with other teachers as time had moved on. "I could ask for no better family than a team of Alor'e." Azrael spoke of Verz, Mia, and Gilamar. Three different Mand'alors that had each influenced him personally and taught him much to be able to lead the clans in a united and fortified sense. Though it was not time to reminisce as much as it was to plan for the dominion of the planet. Releasing Verz's shoulder, the gauntlet was accessed by a few quick strokes of his bionic digits displaying a holographic display before the pair.

"This is their General, the garish Vong that has lead an insurgent strike force against the garrisons we had built previously. While the state officials are on the other side of the capital city, and will be met with a political team, I need you to coordinate a task force to see to this renegade group of Vong and take out their leader. No prisoners, no quarter - no survivors. This was once a Vong world, and it will never be one again under our visors, or beneath our boots."

[member="Arumi Zy"] | [member="Garrus Garon"] | [member="Adenn Gra'tua"] | [member="Vilaz Munin"] | [member="Anastasia Rade"] | [member="Mac O Shenanigans"] | [member="Arla Balor"] | [member="Verz Horak"] | [member="Titan"] | [member="Anija Ordo"] | [member="Oron Verd"]

 

[Strider Garon]

Location: Aboard the BBC-105 Mythosaur Super Carrier
[member="Azrael"] [member="Oron Verd"] [member="Anija Ordo"] [member="Titan"] [member="Verz Horak"] [member="Arla Balor"] [member="Mac O Shenanigans"] [member="Anastasia Rade"] [member="Vilaz Munin"] [member="Adenn Gra'tua"] [member="Garrus Garon"] [member="Arumi Zy"]

"I am for a spot of genocide!' The old man snarled towards his Mand'alor. The last time he was here the Vong had knocked him out of the skies in an awful betrayal of trust. He had last many vode that day and Strider could not think of one good interaction he had with any vong in the galaxy. Even their technology has fallen into their sworn enemies hand, the One Sith who wear the crab armor in some form of perversion in their quest to be galactic force wizurd gods. "The only good vong is a dead vong"

Now, it would be a treat if Mand'alor condoned the murder of all vong on this retched dirt planet. Strider would bath in their blood of days to come and enjoy every moment. But the supreme leader did not hint towards such actions but there was killing to be done and Strider was always for such, especially against these aliens.

"I Can take the Ori'ramikaad to engage the rebel vongs and eliminate this proven threat!' Garon would impose upon those around him. This was what the supercommandos were meant for, special force operations with specific target in needing of extreme lethal interaction.

 

[H3xle]

Location: BBC-105 Mythosaur Super Carrier
-Troop Dropship: Dragonsky


Orin liked to be prepared. Preparation was the secret art of the hunter. When one prepared for every contingency, all that was left was the thrill of the hunt. In this instance he wasn't a lone hunter on the plains, he was a warrior of the Mando'ade, and a fairly low ranked one at that. His preparations were only his personal gear. He had gone over his armor with a fine toothed comb, everything was set and working. It wasn't the traditional beskar'gam that many Mandalorian warriors wore, he had yet to earn the right to collect the beskar and forge the armor. The armor he wore, while in excellent repair, was essentially an ages old design that could be found in the armory of number of budgeting bounty hunters. His weapons, similarly, were the bare essentials. He made sure that they were in excellent repair, his father had trained him well to take care of every tool in his kit.

Once Orin was done with his armor and blaster weapons, he moved to his knives. He removed the handle of each, cleaned the whole blade and tang, then reassembled them carefully. He made sure the handles were wrapped tightly in leather so he could handle them more easily in his armored hands. Fully prepped, he stood and stretched before donning his armor and clipping on all of his weapons. He looked around and saw that the other warriors of his squad were in similar stages of readiness. They would all be ready for the drop.

[member="Strider Garon"] | [member="Azrael"] | [member="Oron Verd"] | [member="Anija Ordo"] | [member="Titan"] | [member="Verz Horak"] | [member="Arla Balor"] | [member="Mac O Shenanigans"] | [member="Anastasia Rade"] | [member="Vilaz Munin"] | [member="Garrus Garon"] | [member="Adenn Gra'tua"] | [member="Arumi Zy"]

 

[Verz Horak]

[member="Azrael"] [member="Oron Verd"] [member="Anija Ordo"] [member="Titan"] [member="Strider Garon"] [member="Arla Balor"] [member="Mac O Shenanigans"] [member="Anastasia Rade"] [member="Vilaz Munin"] [member="Adenn Gra'tua"] [member="Garrus Garon"] [member="Arumi Zy"]

Location: Mythosaur Class Supercarrier

Verz smiled as he remembered the days spent training Azrael, which now seemed like they were a lifetime ago. Verz felt a sense of pride, knowing one of his trainees and lieutenants had done so well with his career. He knew there were others who helped Azrael, but he was his first mentor, who taught him the ancient ways of the sword and crushgaunt. However, the seasoned warrior had to cast aside those thoughts, for now at least, and focus on the mission at hand.

His dark eyes drank in the form of the foe presented to him. A hated and feared, yet respectable foe. The Mandalorian was proud to fight such a foe. Verz listened intently to Azrael's briefing, committing as many details as he could to memory. This would be an important mission. The Vong were warlike, and would likely try to reclaim the world for their own. Verz would stop that threat.

"Consider it done, ner vod. If you have no objections though, I'm going to take the fun way down."

Verz, of course, was referring to drop pods. Drop pods are the only way to insert from orbit.

 

[Mac O Shenanigans]

Mac finished reassembling his Strill 2000, and worked the action a few times. Pleased at how smoothly it slid, he then did the same with his ripper. Normally Mac would be carrying all his weapons for a mission like this, but those Vong were regular chakaaryc. Mac new that speed and lethality were needed, that is why he only carried those two ranged weapons, his beskar warhammer and Claymore to compliment the onboard weapons in his guantlets.

Strapping the weapons on, Mac grabbed his Buy'ce and made his way over to Strider. Clasping his hand on the man's shoulder he smiled, "I don't really care 'ow it's done. As long as I get to put my blade into a few Vong bellies, all t'e better..."

Mac looked over at @VerzHorak, "I'd be down for taking t'e 'fun' way down..."

 

[Werdla Dardalab]

Location: BBC-105 Mythosaur Super Carrier
Allies: Mando [member="Strider Garon"]
Objective: Wait for ground objectives and engagement, shoot things

Like most other those present, La was checking her equipment. She didn't have much, but she was very thorough, and as always she made sure she had plenty of spare ammo. While punching someone into submission and keldabe kisses certainly had their place, the middle of a firefight was not the right time to run out of ammo, not when your vode were counting on you to watch their backs.

"That makes me proud to be a Mandalorian."

"What?"

She asked, startled out of her internal reverie.

"The speech.."

"Oh. Right. Who's that?"

"What?!"

"I said-"

"I know what you said I just can't believe you said it."

"Seemed a simple question."

"Thats Azrael.. The Mandalore.."

"I've never seen 'im before."

"Frig where've you been?"

"Wild Space and Outer Rim, makin' a living."

"Oooh, you're one of them what just came in for the call."

"Yeah. I kinda reckoned [member="Strider Garon"] was the Mandalore at first honestly."

Harampr, Jidte and the other two members of the little squad she often frequented apparently found this hilarious and had a good laugh over it.

"What?"

"Th- you thought, you thought the Hound was the Mandalore?"

"A lot of fathers wouldn't be too keen on that."

"Nor would the husbands I reckon!"

"I don't know! Look, I'm out their doin' jobs and stuff, I get a call saying all true Mandalorians have to come in, I assume it's gonna be from the Mandalore. That makes sense!"

"I guess."

"You've really never seen the Mandalore?"

"No!"

"Your Mando'a is pretty good..."

"Course it is, my Da raised me proper all right? Now shut up and check your equipment."

"Yes Ma'am."

Harampr snickered.

 

[Aithne Charr]

Solan yawned as he sat in the Umbra class dropship that lay in the hanger of the supercarrier he was on. Really he had no real interest in the speech of the mandalor as his purpose was simple and he very loosely followed the Mandalorian code. After all he was part of the Red legion and not part of a clan. It didn't mean he didn't know it, no he studied every inch he could but he simply found himself question if he could actually follow it... maybe he would talk to a full mandalorian in title and name about his doubts on their code. They could probably teach him what was misinterpreted by his mind. None the less he shoved the thoughts out of the way and smiled as his hand curled up into fists while he waited for them to be ready to go.

"The dead whisper and whimper, regret and doubt. Their eyes dull and colorless, their minds dim and without thought. The dead whisper and whimper, regret and doubt. Their hands without muscle or skin, blood or nerves. Ivory white and charred black. The dead whisper and whimper, regret and doubt. Their memories staining the air, their cries before the void echoing across the field. The dead whisper and whimper, avenge and destroy." He smiled as he recited the lines and waited for his order, then the fun would begin.

 

[Arla Ordo]

Arla began to work at putting on her armor she was calm but she felt the fear hiding within her, vong, she was not a fan not in the very least. Arla pulled on each part pulling it tightly then fastening.

She was a lot calmer now than she had been before she was thinking of how she would go down to the planet, transport usually drop off from a high point and repel downwards. She was also considering the drop pods, looking at what advantages there were to them. Course a drop pod would be...extremely interesting.

Finally ready she gathered her weapons the clank of boots she could hear them around her, the forces were gathering. Time to go.