Private The Legend of the Sword Part 1: The Pools of Mandalore

[Faison Kelborn]

The Legend of the Sword - Part 1

The Pools of Mandalore

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There hardly existed a planet like Mandalore. To endure such focused and deliberate abuse numerous times over the millennia of recorded history, and yet remain intact as a planet; what other planet existed like it? Even Alderaan had its limits when the Death Star rent it asunder into countless atomic-sized chunks. But not Mandalore. Like its people, it had demonstrated a unique resilience despite all that had thrown itself against it.

It was just too damn stubborn to give in.

Such endurance did not come without cost, however. Today, Mandalore was a corrupted, perverse version of its former self; a planet of paradoxes. Half of the planet remained much like it was, with rolling hills, dense forests, and small settlements of Mando’ade attempting to scratch a living in the same manner as their ancestors; namely, in defying the innumerable predators who seemed intent on killing them.

The other half of the planet would be nigh-unrecognizable to those who weren’t present during the events which affected its transformation. Where lush grasslands and foothills once stood, barren wastelands arose instead - pockmarked blights upon the once life-giving soil its people had depended upon at one time. Where already intimidating predators roamed the valleys and plains, with hardy Mandalorian Clansmen to hunt them; aberrations twisted by the malign influence of the Dark Side of the Force now wandered, mindlessly scouring the surface for naive or foolhardy adventure seekers who sought to venture where few dared.

Where once great cities, villages, and settlements once stood, graves and ruins took their place; with ghosts and faded memories being the only remainder of their former splendor. They would be among the few to pay homage to what once was, as the galaxy seemed to continue on despite the tragedies of the past. All of these things, and likely many others would come to mind upon listening to a message sent to you via the holonet.

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A familiar face would appear, with a short beard lining his features. He wore a weary expression, but a faded smile still found itself on his lips. ”Hey” He began.

”I know I haven’t been around for a while. I... I had some stuff to take care of.” He sighed and looked down, as if he was a bit frustrated with himself.

”I need to stop being cryptic. Might as well give you a bit more of the story.”

“I haven’t always been a "good guy". You probably already knew that to a certain extent though. I used to be a cop on Corellia, and saw a lot of messed up stuff. My... fiance’ was murdered by a serial killer, and I went to a very dark place to try and find the bastard. I took things too far, and got pushed out of the force. That’s when I fell in with some pretty... questionable people.”

The holo image showed Faison look down, his mind clearly deep in thought about those years of his life. ”But I found a new purpose. If you’re hearing this, you’re one of the people in my life who helped me to find that new purpose in some way. I guess that makes you... a friend.” He chuckled dryly. What was this? ‘Mercenaries Anonymous?’

”After joining up with the Enclave and getting faced with the reality of who I was, and who I needed to be... I eventually couldn’t ignore it any more. I haven’t been around for a while because I had to tie up some loose ends; take down some bad people I helped get even badder along the way a few years back. That’s not who I am anymore, but I couldn’t just leave all of what I did in the past, and let it be someone else’s problem. It took a while, but it’s done now.” He smirked slightly. Although the implication was quite clear that he likely had blood on his hands in the pursuit of atoning for the evils he had done in another life, it seemed as though he had a slight measure of weightlessness at the retelling of it. He may have gotten his hand dirty, but he knew deep down that his past sins (and the people he committed those sins for) couldn’t hurt people anymore.

”If I'm really going to cleanse myself of the past, I can’t do it half way. That’s why I’m sending you this message, and why I've told you what I have so far. But it’s also why I’m about to ask you... for help.” His hands were clasped together in front of him. For those who knew Faison, they would know that it wasn’t easy for him to even admit that he needed help. He had built a reputation of being a lone wolf; half because he was damn good at getting stuff done on his own, but also because it seemed as if he carried a weight he thought was only his to carry. People who think like that often don’t feel worthy of asking for help. He certainly didn’t, not back then. He didn’t really even think he deserved help now, but he knew he couldn’t do what he was about to say without it.

”It was said that those who broke the Resol’nare; back when our people were actually a people, and more in tune with our traditions - would bathe in the pools beneath the surface of Mandalore, under the forges they would smelt their armors and weapons in. They would enter defiled, but emerge cleansed anew.” He had a slightly far-away expression in his eyes, a sense of longing in his voice, which foreshadowed what he was about to say next.

”That’s where I’m headed. Mandalore, to bathe in those pools. If I can even find them. But I’m not calling you to help me reach my back.” He snickered again, then continued: ”No, this is only the first step near the conclusion of my journey. It will help me fully put the past behind me, but it will begin my path to do what I should have done ten years ago.”

“I’m going to be the man my father always wanted me to be, and rebuild my Clan from the ashes. Or die trying.”

And just like that, the message ends, with hyperdrive coordinates to the ancestral homeworld of the Mandalorians. The geographical position pinpointed an area on the fringe of the ‘good’ sector of Mandalore, with the implication being that he’d meet you there, if you so chose to do so. Based on the contents of the message, it was abundantly clear that, at least in the eyes of Faison himself, he was at the doorstep of a quest that needed to be done. The question was, would you join him?

Spoiler: OOC

This message would be sent to those Faison has journeyed with. If your character would not logically have that rapport, feel free to get inventive for how you stumble across the area outlined with these coordinates. Several of ya'lls characters know each other, so feel free to group up if that makes the most sense. Let's have fun with this! Looking forward to getting this kicked off with yall.

Vren Rook Ijaat Mereel Tovald Kahmen’’a Fenn Stag Jhira Mereel Kale Onara Sergeant Omen

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[Jhira Mereel]

Gar taldin ni jaonyc; gar sa buir, ori'wadaas'la.

LOCATION: The Echoy’la Sun Bridge, on approach to Mandalore.
Objective: Find Faison
Equipment: Cybernetics | Jet Pack | Beskar’gam | Weapon load out | The Echoy’la Sun
Tag:
Vren Rook

Ijaat Mereel

Tovald Kahmen’’a

Fenn Stag

Kale Onara

Sergeant Omen Faison Kelborn

As much as Jhira loved piloting a small, nimble fighter craft, the Echoy’la Sun was her pride and joy. Packing firepower, speed and a surprising amount of defense into her hull, she was more war ship refitted for her family, then a merchant ship turned into a privateer.

Of course, Jhira did a bit of both; she was never shy about hunting bandits or pirates, taking the occasional bounty or making a profit.

But not this run; although her holds were filled with exotic flora and fauna for the fragile, newly recreated ecosystem of Mandalore as well as creature comforts and emergency supplies for those struggling to reclaim the ancient world, they weren’t her purpose.

Helping a Vod find his way home was her purpose.

The thought drew her attention to her brother, who had settled into Mia’s station on the bridge. She flashed a smile, the lingering, haunted tension in her gaze eased for the moment. He was lean and dangerous, a delight to any Mandalorian’s eye. Loyal, fierce, skilled.

Very skilled, not to have rebooted Mia’s Tactical station the moment he sat down. That girl thought in circles, on a good day, and in bloody paranoid fractals on a bad one. But she had always had a soft spot for the lost kinsman.

[color=maroon“Did you coax Mia’s custom program into obeying you?”[/color] Or sort out her custom icons. Mia had an odd sense of humor.

And a stubborn streak. Jhira’s smile fled and she shook her head. “What was that girl thinking? She is not fitted for security work!”

The flight path delicately floating along her on-board HUD shifted, the curve lighting up in jewel tones. Swearing softly in Mando’a, she course corrected to avoid the flight of predatory birds. Just maybe, they should have established the non-carnivorous species a little more solidly before the Great Hunt had been called? But that had been someone else's' decision, a long time ago.

A smile flared. Besides, what would Mandalore be, if it weren’t challenging?

“I’m glad you are here, Omen.” Her voice had lifted, the stark, harsh beauty and enduring spirit of her people’s spiritual homeworld soothing and inviting, all at once. “You will love the pools; I did. Faison will likely need your insight, too,” There were some dark things in Faison’s eyes, even over the holovid he’d sent. Jhira had a feeling Omen might be able to reach him in areas Jhira could not.

And she trusted Omen’s notion of a sensible, safe landing zone far more than Mia’s. The thought sparked a sharp, pained laugh; Jhira missed her niece like she might an arm. But no Mandalorrian – not even one as lost as Mia, could grow up chained to home. They had to run free, even when they ran headlong into danger.

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[Ijaat Mereel]

Objective: Meet up
Mandalore
Tags

Still keeping the runi tome’tayl in a belt pouch at his waist, Ijaat stood on the ground of Mandalore near where he had spent so many decades of life. Between here and Concord Dawn, the lion's share of his time alive was to be found. His bes'runi armor hummed and faintly shone, The memories of the Cataclysm he had caused roared at his mind. He had only been back once or twice, very briefly. And the pain battered at his spirit as he saw what his actions wrought on his people, despite the intent they had begun with.

Nevertheless, the slate was wiped clean. Cin vhe'tin... Blank and gone. Though the guilt would hound him until the end, it was not the stopping of all things. He waited for one Faison Kelborn at provided coordinates, his ship sat in orbit. His clan sergeant. Jhira Mereel was likely on her way, as he had updated her with the mission in case anything went wrong. The concern the young lass showed for her alor was baffling to him, but endearing all the same. A generation too young to know the villain he really was.

Armored and helmed, he sat by a fire and waited, watching the sun and sky as he ran whetstone over his blade, lost in thought.

 

[Sergeant Omen]

Omen grunted as he straighten his back, hearing the crack inside his armor as his spine straighten itself out. Mia really was weird not to have cushions on this chair though if is how she stayed awake during her watches it wasn't a half-bad idea. "Well, at least I think I know what the emoji with finger guns means but I'm still working out the rest. I might have to test them all out and put tape with their real titles over them."

The Clone of course frowned as he saw what distress his sister was in before trying to comfort her. "Well, she is perfect for encryption if this control board has anything to say about it. She just wants to leave the nest and do something that is not under the Great Jhira's wing for once. Plus who knows, she could be just put on a remote base as support staff. Even if she is put into combat, you've taught her enough not to get killed. So just push it out of your mind for now. She only did leave yesterday." In fact, his head still hurt as the music from the send-off party played over and all the ale Mia had forced him to drink. Yes, the little Mereel really was lightning in a bottle and whoever broke the seal was in for a good surprise. He supposed her new boss was finding that out right about now.

"I'm just glad I get to spend more time with you. That's always a blessing. Whether Faison will me, in particular, is another thing entirely but again, it is nice to see a new place with my favorite sister." Guessing the right buttons, a nav trajectory would pop up on Jhira's console. "That's the closest piece of flat land to the pools as I can get her. Hopefully, it is enough space to put her down in." If only Omen knew a way to put away Mia in his sister's mind. That would have been a boon.

Jhira Mereel

 

[Jhira Mereel]

Gar taldin ni jaonyc; gar sa buir, ori'wadaas'la. ​

LOCATION: The Echoy’la Sun Bridge, on approach to Mandalore.
Objective: Find Faison
Equipment:Cybernetics | Jet Pack | Beskar’gam | Weapon load out | The Echoy’la Sun
Tag: Vren Rook

Ijaat Mereel

Tovald Kahmen’’a

Fenn Stag

Kale Onara

Sergeant Omen Faison Kelborn


Jhira’s laugh rippled free, as

Sergeant Omen confessed to the state of Mia’s Ops board. “I don’t even think she meant to make it confusing, that’s just how her mind works. A little sideways to the rest of us, I fear.” Her laughter faded, but it left a dent in her concern for Mia. Truly, the wild-child was talented and inventive.

A troubling question occurred to her, but she shelved it for later. She could always talk to Omen - that was one of the many gifts he gave her. For now, she focused upon carefully settling the large, armed freighter onto a slab of granite without vaporizing the local wildlife. Mereel Ice Works, amongst others, had worked too hard at restoring the ecology to casually destroy a portion of it.

Using tractor beams on low setting to anchor her ship into the improvised docking cradle, Jhira leaned back, fingers lingering upon her controls. “You have done much to help her combat skills. A remote base, hmm? That might be a safe posting for Mia,” The thought was just a little daunting, though. Mia in a small, confined space was always trouble waiting to happen. A tiny shake of the head pushed the worry for her assorted children to the back of her head. Standing at last, she offered Omen a hand up.

“Faison is looking for answers. You know how that feels, better than I ever will. I think you may just surprise yourself, with how much you have to offer.” Recollections of how she’d met the enigmatic young man danced through her mind. A mando’ad was a complex creature, almost by definition. To add in the traumas of the past few decades and a bit too long in the underworld only complicated the matter.

It wasn’t the feeling of needing to be washed clean that troubled Jhira, so much as the thought that any location or external sign of re-birth could soothe the inner sense of alienation.

It would take action, and blood on the sands, before he really felt Mandalorian, she feared. There was a reason why a Verd’goten involved violence.

Ijaat would know best how to balance it. A hunt, maybe? All of them together. Vode An. more than one of the friends coming to Faison’s aid would understand and enjoy that.

As they exited her ship, Jhira slid her Buy’ce on, the world lighting up before her with the enhanced sensors of her helmet. She paused, enjoying the rugged, bitter beauty of her spiritual homeworld, that one piece of sentimentality that the Mandalorian culture enshrined.

“We are making progress, Omen. Life stirs across Mandalore once more.”

Scanning the surroundings, Jhira picked up a familiar IFF beacon. "My Alor is here."

The Captain sent the coordinates to Omen’s HUD, just in case, then headed towards the gleam of the fire.

Alor and Buir. Such a gift; it surprised her, even now.

 

[Sergeant Omen]

The Clone joined in Jhira's laughter with his own chuckle. "Oh I know. Just a little harder trying to figure out what the face with its tongue out means." If Mia could remember this code system, she was smarter than Omen remembered.

"Don't worry about Mia's combat lessons. They gave me some exercise anyway." In truth, he had been sore for weeks after those lessons. If anything, he should be thanking her for telling Mia to go easy on him. He took Jhira's hand up before silently pushing a Shuklaar Kyrdol bobblehead into it. "One last gift from Mia. I told her that you would enjoy it."

He offered her a smirk as they both walked out of the cockpit. "Yes, yes I do. I'll keep that in mind if he actually does ask me a question." Hopefully, all this conversation would distract his big sister from her little brother putting a sheet of paper saying "I am a Bresrig Simp" on her back. He had to have his fun somehow right?

The Clone took in some of the clean air as the stood on the end of the ramp. Yes, it was just how he remembered it when he first met the protectors.
"Let's hope that progress stays in place this time..." The breeze smelt so sweet and he tried to savor its touch before he shield his face within the confines of his helmet. Yes, it was Mandalore alright. As the two started walking towards the set of coordinates, he only hoped that her Alor was as happy to see them as his sister was to see him.

Jhira Mereel

 

[Jhira Mereel]

Gar taldin ni jaonyc; gar sa buir, ori'wadaas'la. ​

LOCATION: The Echoy’la Sun Bridge, on approach to Mandalore.
Objective: Find Faison
Equipment:Cybernetics | Jet Pack | Beskar’gam | Weapon load out | The Echoy’la Sun
Tag: Vren Rook

Ijaat Mereel

Tovald Kahmen’’a

Fenn Stag

Kale Onara

Sergeant Omen Faison Kelborn


Jhira knew very well that the ARC trooper’s melee skills outpaced both Mia and her own, which meant his comment made her grin once again. Oh, probably he’d been worn out chasing Mia down for her lessons! Doubtless, it had turned into a whole different type of lesson in cat-and-mouse. Mia was good at that; she could nearly always find a cubby-hole or abandoned maintenance tunnel.

The Shuklaar Krydol bobble-headed doll in her gauntleted hand was baffling; Jhira was torn between amusement and horror, distracted from Omen’s movements. Surely the two had engineered the thing themselves? She could not even imagine how the grave Nyles Kote would respond to such a thing. Or maybe she could; a shudder slipped through her.

A telltale warned her that Omen had touched her Jet Pack a mere instant before her power slammed from stand-by to combat mode. Automated systems activated her Myntor Personal Shield to scrape the weapon off and hurl her clear of Omen. Blast boots and thrusters activated, crossing the blast radius for the standard sticky grenade in about two seconds, three less than the typical delay on such weapons. Lightning reflexes allowed her to spin and drop into a combat crouch rather than to be knocked prone. Her HUD still showed no threats; only Omen, Ijaat, a few signatures yet too distant to ID.

That, and the flutter of paper.

M.I.C.A.H. (programmed by Mia, and gleefully adopted by her pair of Droid brains, Shera and Onyx), assured Jhira that the scrap was a deadly threat. The analysis of the adhesive on her Jet Pack showed it to be exceedingly mild, but the crypto-program blinked an angry orange.

Being unfamiliar with modern slang, it could not decipher the threat message, keeping her systems on alert.

A flicker of will and the systems settled down to Yellow; not even her override would convince MICAH to go back to green.

It was Mandalore, after all. She’d been hit here before.

“Ner Vod,” Jhira took a deep breath, settling her nerves. Crossing the area demarcated by her sensors as the threat zone, she gently grasped Omen’s arm.

“Mandalore is not a safe zone, and I do not think it will ever be free of strife and pain. Too many people hate us, fearing another Mand’alor who mistakes our culture for yet another Empire.”

Her gaze remained on the accusing piece of paper. The phrasing, meant to be lovingly teasing, exposed wounds to the public which Jhira kept closely guarded. Perhaps too closely, if even her too-perceptive brother did not guess at the full extent of it.

A flutter of something near to pain flickered into her voice as she made herself speak. “Please understand.”

“I owe a debt and duty to the Clans of Breshig which I can never repay. They have preserved what is best and brightest of our culture and heritage through these trying times; they treasure the teachings of Jaster Mereel as I do, living the Supercommando Codex the Canons of Honor. and the Resol’nare every day. I feel at home with them, as if my family lives and breathes once more. My kith and kin have a Manda to return to only because the Clans of Breshig have held fast. But these are deeply personal, private matters.”

“Forcing our beliefs upon one another is what has shattered our people in the past. So aside from recommending their gear and commending their honor, I do not speak of these matters to those who do not already choose to follow all three.” To say nothing of the more personal situation Omen was privy to. Though that offered harm only to herself, not to another.

Clasping her brother by both shoulders, she asked simply,

“You may tease me about how much I adore Breshig Warforge Consolidated's gear at any time. Or Lucerne personal defense or even Concord Specialized Technologies. You may torment me about how much I respect the fighting units of Stril Securities. But please keep more private matters in the family?” Family meaning lori-goof, [ Loreena Arenais-Valhoun ] too, of course.

Of course!

 

[Sergeant Omen]

Omen gently patted her arm as he used his calm aura to try to calm her through the force. "No its not and if the rumors are true some of our brothers and sisters that support the Maw are using it as a raiding base. Yet here we are."

His sister's look was enough to make him wince. Maybe he had pushed her too far... As she launched herself into her explanation, he quickly seized his datapad out of his belt "Just give me a minute to get the Jhira translator out. So, you are saying that you love everything about Shuklaar Kyrdol and love the idea of his clan and ideals plus especially being in his arms but you want me to stop teasing you about it. Got it. Oh and plus you want to have the fantasy wedding of your dreams based on those photos with your faces pasted on the happy couple on your computer. Makes sense Jhira."

Taking her hands off his shoulders and gesturing to the visitor advancing towards, he quickly shut down before their host could get within hearing range. Heaven knows what would happen if Jhira got exposed to anyone outside the family. She probably just ball up and start to cry. Maybe he could roll her back to the ship... Best leave it alone... for now at least. "Come on Sister, we have a meeting to get to."

Jhira Mereel , Ijaat Mereel

 

[Vren Rook]

TAG: Faison Kelborn | Kale Onara | Jhira Mereel | Ijaat Mereel | Sergeant Omen
GEAR: In Bio

DEVIL GOT YOU BEAT​

Mandalore.

Why did it always come down to that cursed place?

When Faison's message had come through, Vren and Kale Onara had been enjoying a good drink on a hot day on Tatooine, enjoying a well earned breather from all the crime hunting on the planet.

Needless to say Faison had become like a brother to Vren, so when baby brother got himself into trouble, big brother had to clean up the mess.

Nag howled over the desolate landscape of the once-Mandalorian home. It hurt, being back here. Vren was quiet, struggling to keep the emotion at bay. The destroyed sector was a reminder of all Vren had lost during the initial attack of the Sith. Since then, it had only gotten worse.

The Basilisk Droid rumbled at him as she picked up on the emotion fluctuations. Vren swallowed the lump in his throat.
"I'm fine, girl. Let's get to the coordinates. Kelborn will be waiting." he then said.
<How long will we be here?> Nag asked him in her binary voice as her ions continued howling toward the designated coordinates.
"I have no idea, girl. We'll see. Just stick close." he told her.
Another rumble as confirmation.

Before long, the large droid touched down in the area that had been sent to them.
<Kale, how far are you, partner?> Vren radioed to Kale Onara before Nag opened her cockpit so her rider could hop out.

He was very glad for at least some radiation protection in his armour. Hopefully they'll be off this hell hole before the planet's radiation could do much damage. The continuous barrage of the New Imperial Navy upon the planet was more to make sure that the graug on the planet either died from radiation or stayed underground. Looking around, Vren caught sight of a Vod next to a fire a little ways off.

Upon approach, Vren noticed the well known armour of Ijaat Mereel as he was whetting a blade.
"Keeping an edge on that toothpick, hey partner?" he smiled as he walked up.

"No sign of Kelborn yet?"

 

[Kale Onara]

Kale Onara was replaying the message that came from Faison Kelborn over and over to memorize it. Kale knew Faison Kelborn's type and for him to request assistance, even from his fellow vod, must have galled him greatly. In the time since Kale met Faison Kelborn, he had taken the measure of his fellow warrior and found him to be both strong in heart and in honor so there was no choice in the matter. Kale was proud to answer Faison's call. So here he was on approach to the one planet that was both monument and graveyard for all Mandalorians. He'd never actually been here before but now that he was, he inwardly wondered if coming here was a good idea for him. He shook the moment of doubt off and began his descent. He was here now and that was the end of it. Now all that was left was to honor that past and help forge the future of his people.

~Ni cuy' Mando~*

As he broke through the atmosphere and headed for the rendezvous, his radio crackled to life and he grinned as he heard his old friend Vren Rook speak,
<Kale, how far are you, partner?>

Kale opened his comm channel and replied, "About two minutes from touchdown Vren. I needed to take a moment before breaking atmo since I've never been here before." Kale piloted his ship and sighed at seeing the damage wrought by their enemies. Even though Kale never saw what Mandalore looked like before its destruction, it still hurt his soul to see the ancestral home of their people so blasted. Once more he shook himself out of the growing depression and focused on why they were all here. An honorable warrior requested help and Kale considered all honorable vod his kin.

Kale brought his ship down near the others and got up to disembark. As he walked, he looked to his ru'kir'manir ad** and spoke, "Jorin. You will remain here on the ship. This is no training mission so I want you to remain here and continue with your lessons." Jorin sulked a bit but nodded. Kale smiled slightly. The young teenager was always ready for a good scrap but tended to resist the more "boring" lessons like learning the Mando ruyot, the storied history of their people. He nodded to Jorin and opened the loading ramp. Once out of his ship, Kale made his way to the other assembled Mandos. Though it couldn't be seen, his vod could hear the smile on his face as he greeted them all. He clasped arms with Vren and gave his shoulder a good pat and then looked around to see who else was around.

Translations:
* - I am Mandalorian
** - adopted son

TAG: Faison Kelborn , Jhira Mereel , Ijaat Mereel , Sergeant Omen , Vren Rook

 

[Tovald Kahmen’’a]

Location: Venomoth, Outer/Midrim Boundry
Objective: Help Faison on his quest
Equipment: Rifle, Sword, Magnetic Thermal Detonators, Thermite Explosives, Heavy Blaster Pistol, Carbine
Tags: Faison Kelborn | Jhira Mereel | Ijaat Mereel | Sergeant Omen | Vren Rook | Kale Onara

<"Don't bite me!"> He says stupidly, half awake.

Startling awake from a fitful sleep, the first full sleep since the bite, Tovald without hesitation, pressed the play switch, it was Faison. It has been a while since he heard from the Mando. He thought nothing of it at first but, Fasion's message reminded him that he should have paid more attention. The message would be played several more times. Shushing the noisy cats when they overpower the message with noisy meowing. He gave them the rest of his fish, which helped.

Mandalore, the empty planet of cold wastelands, eh, UbaIV was a wasteland too, that is until the Vivid Orange Sunflowers began to grow sporadically around the planet. Still, a heavily glassed planet can't recover so quickly. Then Tovald, more out of ignorance rather than outright insensitivity scoffed at the mention of bathing in pools spiritually cleanse someone. His ancestors had something similar but it was more of a religious requirement. He didn't care about it anymore.

The Ubese certainly not going to openly question the Pool bit. He will certainly help in the quest. He liked Faison and they worked well together. But he also knew that others would also join, he had that intuition with these kinds of missions. Without much hesitation, the Venomoth roared to life and headed to Hyperspace, following the coordinates of the message.

 

[Faison Kelborn]

Score​

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Location:. The Wilds of Mandalore, approximately three days prior...

It was often said that “Home is where the heart is.” For Faison, although he had only spent the first few years of his life upon Mandalore, his heart remained here from the day he left all those years ago. When his eyes rested upon the scarred surface from orbit, he could feel its call despite its radical change in appearance. When his ship landed and when he proceeded down the loading ramp, his unmasked face took in the faint breeze which blew through the region; possessing the faintest smell of both life and ruin. The rally point he had chosen lay at the edge of what portion of old Mandalore remained, and the barren wasteland it had only recently adopted. The pools were not far from this area, but they weren’t exactly close either. From what reports he could find, it was not wise to camp within the badlands for long - for worse things than alpine predators roamed the cracked and near-lifeless void.

Such things... were not precisely alive... and what things that were alive within it, were easily able to overcome any basecamp one could establish. As much as logic would dictate him and his party should set up closer, and while he may well have risked it had he decided to go about this venture alone; he dare not make that decision for those who were on their way to him. Those he hoped were coming at least. He had confidence that at least a few of his comrades would answer his call, but he also braced himself for the notion that...

That none of them would. Despite finding a place within the Mandalorian Enclave over the past few years, a part of him still felt like a pariah. Factually, whatever lack of feeling a part of the Enclave originated within himself, for he was a loner by nature and often had disappeared for weeks, if not months at a time tending to his own affairs. Part of him did so because he knew that his past was not wholly within the past, and he went to great pains to fix that. The path he had walked was a lonesome one, lined in blood and misfortune.

He was nearing the end of that path, and hoped to see it to the end whether it be alone or otherwise. That’s why he was here on Mandalore. He could not rightly see this course through to fruition without atoning for the life he had led, and the sins he had committed in the name of credits. In the eyes of the Enclave, and in the majority of Mandalorian society, the simple recognition of his past misdeeds and determination to push forward would be enough. Yet, he could not bear to think about his long dead father, as well as the other man who raised him like a son, and ponder over the notion of looking them in the eye with honor. For the longest time, he was not the man they both wanted him to be. Despite more or less becoming that man now, he needed to do more. He needed to walk the path of redemption to be able to really say that he was Mandalorian without calling to mind the deep shame he felt over his life.

That was part of the reason he arrived a few days early. He needed to reflect over what lay before him - to embrace the home of his birth for the shattered version it now was. Much like himself, it was broken; but it still stood. The sun began to fall as he finished establishing his camp, a small outcropping a few clicks away from the rendezvous point he would need to establish for his companions, if they did indeed arrive. As the last vestiges of sunlight began to fall, he could not help but look up at the night sky - the same one that had brought him a sense of adventure as a boy.

Doing so brought back fond memories, which washed over his mind with a subtle pain of the eventual end that befell those memories. Over the years, he started to feel a sense of deeper loss as he began to have a harder time recalling the facial features of his father. In time, the face of his adoptive father began taking the place of his true one, which is partially what led him down the dark road he had walked. But here, he could feel a touch of familiarity when he thought of his father’s face - specifically, the nights they spent camping in the wilds on their hunts. Faison would gaze up at the stars as he did now, asking his father what it was like to travel the stars. He always received some basic answer in return given his age, but his father always had a way about him to make him to stoke and encourage his curiosity.

Then, he died. Faison’s attention would fall to the horizon, in the direction... of his former home. He had not visited since he fled with his mother and sister to Corellia all those years ago - in fact, his spite and misguided disillusionment kept him from visiting for nearly 30 years after. But now, he needed to return. While he could bathe in any of the pools which rest beneath the forges of his people, per the traditions of his forefathers - he had already made his choice about which one he would make the journey to. He needed to visit the halls of his ancestors - to properly stake his claim within the likely ruined halls of his birthplace while bathing in the pools underneath the settlement’s forges.

The journey there would be hazardous, and some would even say suicidal if attempted alone. But he would wait, for a time.

​

Approximately 36 hours prior...

It was in the pitch of night. He didn’t see them, nor did he hear them. He could smell them. It was only after rousing from his light sleep and glancing around that he could see yellow eyes peering through the underbrush at him. He sprung into action moments before the ambush did so, jumping to his feet and pulling one of his M.I. 6M pistols. He was able to level it at the yellow-hued eyes just as a massive, alien form began bounding toward him with reckless abandon, with a massive bladed weapon clutched in its hands. Just over 10 meters stood between them, with Faison barely able to take aim and loose a quick burst of three shots.

The first shot went wide, pinging against a tree behind the humanoid beast. The second shot impacted squarely against the upper-right side of the beast’s chest, but it did nothing to impede the bipedal creature’s gait. The third shot impacted close to the second, and caused the creature to stumble from what clearly was an impactful shot, though he was not felled yet. At the very least, it gave Faison a chance to scramble to the side, allowing the blade to crash harmlessly into the ground he had only moments prior stood upon. He reached for the jetpack activation command on his wrist, but then realized it was leaning uselessly against a tree nearby so that he could sleep with relative comfort. ’Figures...’ He mentally chided himself. He hardly had any time to truly berate himself when a slugthrower shot pinged violently against his shoulder pauldron. His second 6M blaster found itself in his other hand, and he quickly spun about to loose series of shots in the general direction of the shooter, who rose up from his position near the edge of the treeline.

These shots were far more accurate, impacting in a triangle pattern across the creature’s chest. The first shot, similar to the previous volley of shots against the other target, did almost nothing. The second shot impacted in a completely separate section of the torso, and met the same fate. The third shot was able to impact against a notable gap in the chitinous armor of the creatures, causing the foe to bellow an inhuman cry of pain as it fell to its knees. Without skipping a beat, in a bout of intuition Faison Mandalorian flicked the switch on his pistols to allow for sonic fire mode, and unleashed upon the original creature who had now recovered and made ready for another charge. The sonic blasts had a drastically different effect on the creature, with only a few shots needed to cause his entire torso to cave in violently.

Faison quickly closed the distance between him and his jetpack, holstering his weapons so as to grasp the pack and attach it to the back plate of his armor. No sooner had he done so, did a piercing noise echo through the air. Faison glanced over at the second creature, who held a massive horn to its mouth and blew into it with the last few breaths afforded to it. As the sounds of foliage being crushed under dozens of pairs of feet began to grew louder in intensity, one word escaped Faison’s lips: ”Osik.”

He turned his thermal vision built into his helmet ‘on’, and the view of at least twelve of these creatures rushing through the treeline flooded his vision. Faison quickly drew one of his pistols again, and popped the hornblower in the side of its head with another sonic round, causing the ceaseless wail of the instrument to cease. Then, Faison engaged the sound dampening unit built into his armor, and silently began to melt into the forestry behind him, moving with a graceful speed to put distance between himself and their last known location. This most definitely was not how he wanted to spend the next few days...

​

Approximately 12 hours prior...

It began to rain about four hours ago, and it did not stop. It wasn’t like Faison could do anything about it anyway. He was lying prone, amidst the muck and underbrush of the forest around him. To a certain degree, the forest was a bit foreign to him given how long ago it was since he had been here. But soon enough, while he was being chased by what he could only surmise were native Graug who had made Mandalore their home ever since the Sith’s attempt to completely annihilate the planet, it was strange how quickly one found their way through. He had gotten into another scrape with a search party about three hours ago, which had been a much closer call than his first encounter. He had suffered a few minor wounds, mainly in the form of lacerations along the plate lines of his armor - most of which were mitigated by the armorweave underneath.

A few though - a few were able to punch through, with enough damage being done that it required him to use some cauterizing powder from one of his medkits. But he was able to kill enough of them to get away and mask his trail once again. They were feckin’ bastards to kill, that was for damn sure. Regular blaster fire took a while to punch through their naturally scaly hides, with sonic and particle blasts being the only thing capable of punching through with any real reliability. Sniper rifle fire however - Faison was curious how that would perform. He thankfully had his sanctum sniper rifle on him before he had to go on the run from his camp, and his ship - which thankfully was sealed at the time of the ambush. He had planned to do a little bit of hunting before the others arrived. He didn’t expect to be doing this type of hunting, however.

For the past 24 hours, he was among the hunted - traveling within whatever stream or rushing rivulet of water he could find to mask his tracks; walking atop rock formations where possible, roosting within dense treetops during the day to try and get some modicum of rest. He did not know much about the Graug, save for they liked caves, preferred to hunt at night, and they were relentless. But now, with a few hours of sleep spread across the entirety of the day previous, Faison was now the hunter. His proximity indicator, which synchronized with a few trip devices he had placed during his trek through the woods - began to beep as a search party began to enter his engagement area. Roughly six Graug moved through the forestry, slowly and carefully moving about to find any trace of the lonesome Mandalorian.

Little did they know that he was peering at them through the lens of his sniper scope about two hundred meters away. The manner in which a sniper opened up an engagement mattered when it came to the distance, atmospheric conditions, curvature and rotation of the planet, as well as the mentality of the enemy he was engaging. If this had been a ragtag band of mercenaries, Faison would start with a person in the middle of their formation. It would cause the most panic in their formation, and had a high probability of buying him another second or two to take advantage of the confusion and shoot again. But from what he could tell about the Graug, these creatures were seemingly bred for warfare, with their minds viciously attuned to the nature of tactical maneuvers and strategy. They were a worthy foe, to be sure - one in which Faison would not allow himself to underestimate.

His sights honed in on the creature he surmised was the leader of their pack, a tall and imposing Graug whose lips were moving far more than the the rest of the group. Faison led the target a few paces, and took in several deliberate breaths to calm his muscles. Of course, it did not help that he was addled up with stims to keep himself moving, but this wasn’t the first time in his life he had to do something like this.

1...

2...

BOOM

A shot rang out with hardly a second’s delay, causing the Graug-leader’s torso to explode in a crater of viscera. As Faison expected, the creatures paused for a moment as their leader had fallen, which afforded Faison the moment he needed to re-zero onto another target, and fire again. Just as their reflexes were about to kick in and force them to move, another of their number crumpled to the ground under a mist of blood and a torrent of their own making.

Faison did not remain for a third shot. He rolled out from his position, sliding down the defilade behind him and making his way to another sniping position. This would be the second time he performed this maneuver, and it did well to delay the parties he encountered. But he noticed more and more of them moving through the forest, to the point where he knew this was only a delay tactic. According to his chronometer, he only had to hold out for another 12 hours before help would hopefully arrive.

Or until he died, from either exhaustion, or... well, whatever Graug did with their dead.

​

Less than one hour prior to arrival...

It probably went without saying, but Faison was tired. He tried to grab a few more hours of sleep in between his sniper traps, when he could find a perch that was hidden enough to comfortably snooze. But those moments were becoming fewer and farther between, as his Graug pursuers were growing wise to his ploys and misdirections. That did not make them immune of course, but the opportunities he had previously taken advantage of were becoming scarcer. He had been able to get the jump on one of the parties during the day, as they normally hunkered down for rest for a few hours. It was funny how the fear surrounding a thermal detonator was universal, and reassuring how their natural armor did almost nothing to blunt the effects of one.

He had barely escaped their clutches after that, taking a direct hit from a massive bludgeoning weapon one of them carried. His armor saved him from the majority of the impact, but he now walked with a bit of a limp. Vren would likely not let him live that down, or even Kranak if he decided to show up - if he lived long enough to see them again. He would fight like hell to do that, but it was hard to keep the thought fixed in his mind as a reality. Nevertheless, he would stick to his plan. He had led the Graug search times in a massive circle through the woods, delaying them with mines, sniper perches, day-light ambushes, all while keeping them close enough to believe they could still catch him. With luck, he would draw them close enough to the rendezvous point so that he could get some much needed backup.

If no one arrived, then thankfully the rendezvous was defensible enough on its own to mount a last stand if he needed to. He was close to the point, and thus far just needed to slow-walk both himself and the Graug so that hopefully the others would arrive in time. He crept through the foliage with a slow, deliberate pace. He knew the Graug were, at best, maybe a few dozen meters away from his position. They had adjusted their tactics to proceed slowly through the forest, for fear of charging headlong into another ambush. But soon enough, they would realize that Faison had run out of explosives. He had a few power cells left for his sniper rifle, but outside of that, he just had his pistols, handcannon, and his one-handed beskad.

After proceeding further a few more paces, Faison decided upon another sniper perch, and delayed for a short while as he took a few more potshots at the advancing Graug, then rushed closer to the rally point. Soon enough, Faison could hear the distant engines of ships arriving at the area. As hope began to well up within him, another sound quickly dashed it - namely, heavy footfalls behind him. He turned, and only had time to react by raising his gauntlet to intercept a jagged sword that would have decapitated him had he not done so. The force behind the blow caused Faison to stumble back, with the truly massive Graug refusing to give an inch as it followed up with another overhead strike. This time, Faison threw his arm into a side block against the sword, using the momentum to cast it to the side.

Out of frustration, the Graug surged forward, bodily tackling Faison off of his feet and down onto the ground. He brought a big, meaty fist down upon Faison’s face. The Beskar’gam held under the assault, but Faison had to act fast or he would be concussed to the point of brain-liquefaction otherwise. He brought his wrist mounted flamethrower up as the Graug raised its fist again, casting forth a stream of fire which encased the massive hulk astride him. The flames licked the scaly hide of the Graug, who quickly responded by trying to grab hold of the arm. But the flames quickly caught, causing the Graug’s body to erupt in a gout of flame. Before the massive hulk collapsed on top of him, Faison activated his rocket boots and was able to push out from underneath him. He took a moment to recover, but knew he did not have much time as he could hear the search parties growing closer. He reached into his belt, and pulled out a flare gun. Quickly, he pointed it up into the air and shot - the bright streak of light slowly shooting up into the air and drifting through the wind. Hopefully, his friends had come - and hopefully, they would see the flare - to at the very least recover his body.

If that is what was to happen, they would do so under a heap of the enemy’s own bodies. He pulled his two pistols from their holsters, and peppered the advancing column of Graug with sonic blasts while he backpedaled, ready to surge up into the air with his jetpack if they got too close. He knew he couldn’t just fly away from them - for they would merely track him across half of Mandalore if he allowed them. No... this needed to end, or his quest would fail before it had even begun.

Vren Rook Jhira Mereel Ijaat Mereel Kale Onara Tovald Kahmen’’a Sergeant Omen

 

[Jhira Mereel]

Gar taldin ni jaonyc; gar sa buir, ori'wadaas'la. ​

LOCATION: Mandalore, near the Sacred Pools, fighting Graug.
Objective: Find Faison
Equipment:Cybernetics | Jet Pack | Beskar’gam | Weapon load out | The Echoy’la Sun
Tag: Vren Rook

Ijaat Mereel

Tovald Kahmen’’a

Fenn Stag

Kale Onara

Sergeant Omen Faison Kelborn


[ Sergeant Omen ]

Spoiler: Omen

The MAW? On Mandalore? Jhira shook her head slowly. That would need to be dealt with, one way or another. They did not need the retaliatory forces of the Galaxy bombing Mandalore one more time, not even to stop the MAW. Yet the very nature of Omen’s reply made her feel that perhaps he had misunderstood her.

What he had to say about the Ramikad-Alor slowly erased all humor or lightness from her expression. Jhira studied him, aware he’d never had a family life, never had to negotiate the dichotomy between heart, mind and soul.

Listening to him, she felt ashamed. Ashamed of having shared half-thought out wisps of hope better suited to a school girl than a widow. She felt like a creepy, half-mad stalker. Jhira, at least, was clear that she barely knew the man, not as a person.

Only the symbol, what he stood for.

The spiritual affinity she felt for the Ramikad-alor, the respect she held for his actions and stance were somehow cheapened by the idiocy of her thinking for even one heart-beat, that they maybe, possibly, could mean something to each other one day.

If she even wanted more; unlike Omen she was aware such things always lead to profound loss. Win or lose, accepted or rejected, marriage or estrangement, it always hurt someone. Warriors died; that was the ugly truth behind the Mandalorian way of life. Was she even able to risk that kind of hurt again? The thought itself was cowardly, an abandonment of shereshoy Worse somehow than how she felt about herself just then, was the knowledge that Omen’s bitter-seeming comments lessened his regard for Breshig and it's Alor, as well.

He slipped away from her, gesturing down towards the flickering fire, reminding her of the meeting they were here for.

Jhira bent to retrieve the accusatory piece of paper, burning it. She let the ash fall, before heading down the path.

That’s when the distress flare lit up the sky.

[ Faison Kelborn ] Why didn’t Faison simply use his COMMs? Troubled, Jhira stepped up to the light of the campfire, her custom Jet Pack humming as it came to life, settling her helmet in place once more.

Vren Rook

Ijaat Mereel “Buir, an honor, as always. Vren, a delight to see you. Looks like our vod needs us a bit early. I’ll see you there!”

Flashing a smile just before her face vanished from view, she launched into the air, heading to the coordinates her NavSystem had backtraced. The Sragivagr Control Suite came alive, gently pinging the friendlies, offering to tie everyone into her Tactical Net who desired it, giving them a wealth of information from the sensors in her ship, armor and cyberware.

The beloved Jet Pack she used had dual propulsion systems and a nearly inexhaustible amount of power, and the speed of a fighter. Nothing, nothing freed her heart and filled her soul like racing to battle wrapped in a battle tank at supersonic speeds, to rescue a friend.

Given that Faison had not chosen to use his COMM system, Jhira did not risk trying to raise him on hers. Instead, she bent her sensors - including the Loth-Wolf Series Combat Scanner, life form scanner and Multi-Spectral Target Assessor - towards the area her navigation systems targeted as the likely origin of the flare.

Seconds later (would it be seconds too late, for Faison?) her HUD beeped, pouring out information upon the odd creatures swarming a central area. Sithspawn. Graug , either brought in by the MAW or left by the Sith. Resistant to blasters - she took the inflight time to swap out her slug throwers for armor piercing flechette rounds. Commanding her construction droid to prepare to deploy the PR-1 Ravager, Heavy Particle Repeater for Faison, a second laugh escaped. She rarely used the heavy weapon herself, but it was excellent Squad Support … and by now, Faison was likely wishing for some heavy weapons support.

The HUD spun, a single group of the swarming Sith-spawn flaring a lurid red; they were at an angle of attack Faison couldn’t reach! Responding to the thought alone, her Jet Pack slammed into a Full Throttle maneuver, nearly straight down. As she dove upon her prey, Jhira tucked her head and felt the burning rush as the missile from her Jet Pack targeted a cluster of the Graug. Utilizing Hit-and-Run tactics, Jhira was curving away from her targets before the missile even struck home in a blinding flash of blood, plasma and fire.

That should distract them thoroughly.

 

[Sergeant Omen]

The Clone frowned as he saw his sister's form harden. Had his comments really affected her that much? He probably had pushed her too far. Either that or she was thinking about something far worse under the surface. But no was not the time to pester her about it. They had a distress flare to answer.

As they walked up to the two men, he would raise a hand up in greeting. He, of course, had seen Vren before during their failed Karaoke night. The other man he only knew by reputation and what Jhira had said about him, Ijaat Mereel, the Alor of Clan Mereel, and the guy who drank a keg of tihaar while forging something. Needless to say, Omen didn't want to cross this man so he kept his mouth extra shut. It was then Jhira disappeared into a cloud of smoke, her jetpack making her into a shooting star. It was just as she was meant to be.

Omen followed the path of Jhira's smoke trail at an easy trot, spying the knot of marauding creatures known as the Graug from a small rise in the terrain. Time for some shenanigans. Unpacking a black poncho from his belt and throwing it casually over himself, he wished to hide his appearance as long as possible. Let's see if his performance was up to snuff.

Jumping into the air via his , he would extend his arms into the air as he announced boomingly in an electronic alternative of the Great Palpatine's voice as he shot lighting into the sky. "COME HERE MY PETS AND BRING YOUR PREY UNHARMED WITH YOU! I WANT TO TALK TO HIM." Hopefully, the beasts would at least be confused by the sudden appearance of at least a possible Sith with a genuine force presence. It would give Jhira and the others enough time to set up their shots. Now all that had to be seen is if the beasts would follow his commands.

Jhira Mereel Vren Rook Ijaat Mereel Tovald Kahmen’’a Fenn Stag Kale Onara Faison Kelborn

 

[Faison Kelborn]

Score​

​

Location:. The Wilds of Mandalore - Present

Jhira Mereel Ijaat Mereel Sergeant Omen Tovald Kahmen’’a

A snarling Graug Drone barrelled through the forest; a massive axe brandished between its meaty hands came crashing down with a mighty blow over its shoulder. Faison barely had time to react as he keeled back and pumped a trio of particle blasts into another similarly rabid Graug off to the left, causing its massive hulk to keel backward into a heap of its own mass. The axe-wielding Graug corrected and came about for another swing, only for Faison to use his superior mobility to gut up and under his reach - blaster pointed point blank into the Graug's gut.

He squeezed the trigger in rapid succession, each shot muffled by the chitinous hide of the Graug's external skin. A guttural moan followed almost immediately, but rather than kicking back, the mighty Graug lashed out with a vicious backhand. The force of the impact sent Faison flying, as his body was thrown several meters backwards. His body crashed against the trunk of a tree, causing the wood to splinter from the sheer force of the impact.

Faison shook his head violently, trying to shake off the stunned state that crept upon him. The one thing in his favor was the Graug who backhanded him stumbled slightly as it attempted to pursue Faison to capitalize on its instinctive counterattack. This bought enough time for Faison to level one of his pistols and pull the trigger, sending a Particle bolt burning through the air and into the Graug's head.

No sooner had its corpse hit the ground had several more charged forth, with Faison barely having enough time to rise to his feet. Yet, just as hope seemed to be lost, a Missile screeched through the air and impacted hard into the formation approaching him, with a familiar sight revealing herself in the air. "Jhira...?" Just as she came into view, a booming voice reverberated through the air. Faison was unsure whether the voice was a ruse, or a viable threat, but it did have the intended effect of confusing the Graug enough to create an opening.

Jhira's drone arrived with the heavy particle repeater, of which Faison quickly holstered his pistols and accepted the weapon from the drone without a moment to spare. He quickly primed the particle cell, and unleashed with high intensity particle bolts upon the approaching Graug. The result was reminiscent of razor-sharp blades cleaving through tenderized meat as dozens of shots ripped through whatever Graug had survived Jhira's Missile blast.

As the tide began to turn, Faison synchronized his comm frequency with that of both Jhira and company. <"It probably goes without saying, but I am damn glad to see you.">

 

[Tovald Kahmen’’a]

Location: Venomoth, Mandalore, Wilds
Objective: Help Faison on his quest
Equipment: Rifle, Sword, Magnetic Thermal Detonators, Thermite Explosives, Heavy Blaster Pistol, Carbine
Tags: Faison Kelborn | Jhira Mereel | Ijaat Mereel | Sergeant Omen | Vren Rook | Kale Onara

The minutes ticked by and Tovald didn't move from his chair, and all his cats decided to use his lap as a bed, not that Tovald minded, he thought it was great and the purring was also rather comforting too. He needed to renegotiate the Pantry Agreement for another two months with the spiders. They were plotting a few raids, forgetting he can hear them loud and clear.

Because food is getting scarce as the prices are hiking up pretty fast, they need to hammer out some new amendments about ration portions and what can and cannot be negotiated for. Once that was done, the Ubese was alerted to his destination and prepared to navigate through the atmosphere.

Having cleared the atmosphere, the Venomoth hovered overhead, scanning the area. He was able to pick up Faison from the scan, and he's about to become lunch for some very angry, no, a hungry and angry beastie. Never really a dull moment. Tovald started and then launched the Cyclone, a smaller ship as that means no friendly fire. The Ubese had to cackle at the whole thing, every time they meet something always happens.

Tovald missed the adventure and he has a lot to tell Faison, even if he has to regale the whole spider fiasco. Where on the Galaxy's name would he start?

But now is not the time to think, Faison needs help and Tovald always helps those who need it. No matter who they were. So he used low-powered gunfire to attempt to chase the beast away, using all his aiming skills to not hit his Mandalorian friend in the process. Combined efforts seem to be working, good, he hated to see friends get torn to bits.

<"I am glad to hear you too, friend."> Tovald replied to Faison.