We Do Not Sow

[Ascendant Muse]

R A I D ​

B A R A B​

All it takes is a spark.

The right spark to be ferried upon the four winds. When struck into being, something so tiny can bring about the most destructive change known to man. Upon settling atop kindling and seizing precious breath, a single spark can burn into a raging inferno. Change was oftentimes just like a spark riding the breeze. Small. Miniscule at first. Thoughts worming into the minds of men whilst they bore witness to the happenings of recent. Yet, a powder keg ignites so quickly. Those thoughts muster together, raising into a chorus of united voices. Change burns through them all. Uniting. Strengthening. Directing. Such was it that the dusty sands of Haseria were subject to a revitalization. In the beginning, those who clung to the mantle of Protector were satisfied to leave well enough alone. Their midst were scarred: cast aside by their people for matters of blood. Or willfully exiled as opposed to kneeling before a usurper. Yet, as the events of the present occurred before their eyes, that spark burned within them.

The elders remembered the struggles of their youth. Remembered how often Mandalore was made to burn at the hands of the Dark Ones. But beyond this - they remembered the strength that their people had. They had been reared to rely upon their own strength and not to cower behind the throne of another. But, when they looked upon the place once called home, they found a stark contrast to all they knew. And that sat as well as oil upon a body of water. To make matters worse, they bore witness to the weakness that had seeped into their people. Eshan was a great victory for the southern systems they now called home. A battle which was hard fought against monsters and warmongers alike. And yet, the elders remembered a time when the concept of a Mandalorian defeat was ludicrous. All about the campfire, they'd rant and rave about the good old days. About the old ways that had been so easily forgotten.

And just like that, the sparks grew into a wildfire. The young and the old grew tired of sitting on their hands. Grew tired of simply protecting and leaving everything well enough alone. Their blood demanded that they fight. Their souls cried out for battle. They would have their fill. Though some tarried behind upon the dusty valleys of Haseria, many flocked to a new banner: The Crusade. Born were they in the image of the old ways. They would accept nothing but the spoils of their own conquests. They would satisfy their hunger for battle and return the word Mandalorian to a place of prominence amongst the stars. And as was the case with all engines of war, the first battles were for resources. Thus had the far-flung world of Barab I been selected as a fitting exposition to their tale of battle. At a glance, the sordid, acid-ridden slab did not seem to be the most glorious site for a Raid.

But the constant strife amongst Galactic powers had acted as a shining light against the bed of vermin. With every clash, their shadowports and safe harbors were reduced to memory. With every engagement, they were forced to flee - just as cockroaches at the sight of electricity. A plethora of the filth had therefore descended upon the bleak world, congregating within a relic of the ancient past. What little the vagabonds knew about their newfound fortress was that it was a fallen command vessel of the eons past Yuuzhan Vong Incursion. The so-called Qet Hazaak. They did not see it for the boon that it was: a literal goldmine waiting to be seized by hands far more worthy. Alone, the destroyer held untold heaps of assets - from exotic weaponry to the means to uplift base life into monstrosities. The presence of the vermin was but the cherry on top. For with every base, there were caches of weapons, credits...and even spice if one were into that sort of thing.

Thus, for but an eve, probe droids descended through the acidic heavens and hovered about the derelict destroyer. Precious data was fed back to the Crusaders who laid in wait at the edge of the system. Their scans told the tale of two sites of high priority - and thus the plan of battle was laid. When night fell the following day, a cadre of strike vessels cut through the heavens. The relative quiet of the lava fields were shattered by the thunderous boom of blaster cannons unleashing hell upon the sods on the ground. But this was but a gentle breeze compared to the Hell which laid in wait within their hulls. The drop bays and shuttle doors gave way to open skies. Astride Basilisk. Born by Jetpacks. The Crusaders launched headlong into battle. Their cries of bloodlust would pierce the heavens as the Raid raged into being. So burned the inferno of change.

Spoiler: Points of Interest

The words "front door" apply the absolute most in regards to the Underbelly. The Qet Hazaak exists in the form of a T, and therefore its base is easily its most vulnerable point. Over time, the harsh elements of Barab I tore open a chasm within its hull - one that has developed into a quick access point for its Black Sun occupants. Here, all manner of armaments are stockpiled: blasters, disruptors, detonators, and much more! Yet, as a result, the Underbelly features the brunt of the Black Sun forces. Automated defenses have begun to spun up as a result of your arrival. And amidst the chaos of the opening salvo from your ships, the enemy has begun to fire back from the ground. Decimate the enemy. Claim victory in the name of the Crusade!

One can never predict just how any sort of shaped life will interact with the environment. In the case of the Qet Hazaak, the equivalent of hydroponics ran absolutely rampant over the course of centuries. The upper decks have been completely overrun by living flesh; and the horrors of Yuuzhan Vong shaping now lay suspended in the grotesque depths. The Black Sun have learned the hard way not to trifle with the upper levels - but the Crusade is not deterred by any vongshaped creature or flesh made horror. Here, the fruits of Yuuzhan Vong labor can now be the spoils of battle. Burn through the Hell above and seize every boon in the name of the Crusade!

Spoiler: Tag

[member="Safira Varad"], [member="Isley Verd"], [member=Nya], [member="Ardasz Verd"], [member="Calixte Diantha"], [member="Mavrek Kordalas"], [member="Roy Americus"], [member=Cay-Yo], [member="Kaptan Americus"], [member="Kaden Farr"], [member="Allya Vi'Dreya"], [member="Daisy Americus"]

 

[Ardasz Verd]

The grizzled Verd veteran remained unconvinced. Time had forgotten tales of the Reclaimer, [member="Isley Verd"], and his righteous fury that burned across the Eastern Galaxy, though only a handful of years had passed. It was his family's own legacy, their so-called "disgrace" at the hands of the Undying that had sent him to the furthest corners of the Galaxy. He was told Isley was gone, replaced by a Dar'manda named Metus. All of these things were insignificant.

Ardasz was unconvinced.

Mandalore itself had fallen into a stupor. Led by hounds who were little more than the puppets of Sith, they rotted on perches in Sundari and feared reproach from any enemy. He had heard whispers of Eshan, of a battle where the Mandalorians were humiliated and forced from a world they had claimed as their own. Their people were scattered, cuckolded, and ruined. What remained on their world was a carcass sat upon a throne, and diseased rats who picked at the bones for meat.

It disgusted him. They had fallen beyond sloth, beyond frailty, into stagnation. In Ardasz's eyes, there were no Mando'ade left to inherit the world. That had been the case, at least, until he found his Half-Brother at the ready, rallying all who would listen, who would take up arms to his banner. He would Reclaim what was rightfully theirs, in the only proper way.

Crusade.

Isley led the chosen few through clouds and into the heart of a storm, toward a cache of tools that would kit and bolster their ranks for the coming conflict. At his right hand, Ardasz rocketed toward planetfall on the wings of his jetpack, careful to drop feet first as he laid down blasterfire to discourage the criminals from getting too brave.

Their time would come, whether or not they were ready to face it.

"Su'cuy, Isley," he called over his shoulder, voice amplified high enough to beat out the heavy rain. "Just like old times, 'lek?"

 

[Safira Haran]

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Location: Planet Surface | [member=Isley Verd]​

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Faster than the neon green lightning that chased them across the sky, the strike vessels descended on the shell of the once great ship. From the skies the massive structure seemed almost lost in the devastating darkness, lit momentarily as the bright streaks of artillery rained down on the surface. Safira watched it all through the view port as they descended in a torrent of acid rain and fire. She could taste it in the air, feel it in the rush of adrenaline that coursed through her system, hear it in the rapid thudding of her heart against Mandalorian iron. The time of peaceful protection had passed, giving birth to a new dawn of chaos, destruction and greed. Just how she liked it.

A gloved hand lifted up to wrap around a near by support beam. The violent shudders of a ship snapping the air in its wake was something she could not pass up the chance to relish in. Behind the purple tinted buy'ce onyx pearls shifted to the man sat beside her. Isley had become a fast friend, a partner in crime, someone she was quickly realising she could not do without. A smile cracked, hidden by the thick metal helmet over her raven curls. 'Mar'e.' Came the devastatingly sweet tone. 'Finally. Something to write home about.' Excitement had been brewing in her the moment Isley had uttered the words raid. The telling trembles of the ship touching solid ground motivated the slender woman to stand swiftly from her seat. 'Time to kick ass and make money.'

The landing amps dropped, giving way to a wave of sound Safi had almost forgotten. The sound of battle. With no hesitation she charged from the ship, heavy boots clanging against the thin metal flooring. A set of rusted doors lay up ahead, partially open to reveal the tempting depths of the ship ahead. They just had to make their way through a torrent of angry scum who seemed begged to receive the searing kiss of her blaster. Safi was not inclined to keep them waiting, especially considering she would be leaving the battle behind in search of grander prizes. For her goal was not to sing the song of a warrior, not today. Today she would answer the call of the criminal, the thief, and the pirate.

As her foot made the first fall onto the irradiated undergrowth Safi raised her arm into the air. Squeezing the trigger of the blaster that rose with it, Safira was purposeful in the way she lingered just as the weight of her finger set it off. With devastating speed it cut through the air and found a home in the first fleshy thing it could find, followed quickly by another that was slightly more deadly in its trajectory. One down, a million to go. Just as her own flesh and blood brothers would be moments behind her, she knew Isley would not be far behind. This was the soul reason she did not look back, the soul reason she had no qualms with striding across the ground, the doors set firmly in her sight. It was time for her to show her skills, prove that she was worthy enough to fight by her vod's side. It was time to show the Galaxy what the Mandalorian woman was really made of.

 

[Haastal Haran]

Location: The Underbelly ​

Armor: Archangel​

Tags: None​

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"All I'm sayin' is the chit aint got to be that damn spicy." Achilles muttered as he adjusted the rangefinder on his blaster.

"It's called seasoning to taste, your tastes just don't line up to the dish." Achilles snorted at the man's comment before turning to him, his helmet dismantling itself to reveal his confused expression. "Seasoned to t- what the hell are you talkin' about? It tasted like someone was pouring Isotope-5 on my tongue!" The man who stood before Achilles was clad in traditional Beskar'gam, or whatever the Mandalorians called the armor they wore. The Mandalorian was Achilles "handler" and the man who was supposed to be showing Achilles the Mandalorian way, so far all he had shown the man was a spicy soup recipe made by the Wookies.

"Just keep an eye on the guards." Haastal Verd muttered, slapping the man's shoulder. Achilles turned his attention back to the blaster before him. After he finished configuring the weapon to the long-range modification, he peered through the rangefinder on the weapon. "One...Two...Three... Maybe six in total but a piss poor excuse for a guard team."

They stood on a rooftop overlooking the main road to the Qet Hazaak, Achilles was tasked with eliminating the guard teams who dared to venture too close to the strike team. The guard rotations had increased over the last few minutes which meant now was as good a time as any.

"Ready?" Achilles asked, bracing his boot against the edge of the building.

"Ready." Haastal muttered, setting down the tripod to his own blaster rifle. "What's the bet?"

Achilles muttered softly to himself before glancing over to the armored man. "Hundred credits per head?"

Without a word, Hastaal let off a round. The blaster bolt slammed into the chest of one of the guardsmen, initiating their bet.

"Cheatin' bastard." Achilles muttered.

 

[Isran Varad]

A I R B O R N E​

LOCATION: Qet Hazaak, Barab I
TAG: [member="Achilles"], [member="Ardasz Verd"]. [member="Safira Varad"]
THEME: The Chosen Ones

The Drop was his salvation.

Ever since setting foot upon this dizzying reality, the Mandalorian quickly found that all he had know was lost. The world he loved. The clan he adored. All that Isley had known had been erased. Altered by the maddening nature of Cularin. When he emerged from the asteroid field, the warrior found himself in a world that was similar...but vastly different. From that day, Isley was very much so alone - and that was what drove him to Reclaim it all. He followed the kindness which had been afforded to him upon his arrival. The southern systems saw fit to liberate his derelict vessel from the field and bring him back into their borders.

And thus, he eventually made his way to Haseria. Thus, he began to truly understand just how different this reality was.

But in the here and now, the old ways would be honored. It mattered not what madness had claimed the present day - there would always be that sound foundation to stand upon. And for the Mandalorian, that foundation was battle. The thunder of his heart was music to his ears. The chants of his comrades as they readied for battle was a symphony which outshone any other. And when their vessels opened fire upon Qet Hazaak, a wicked grin formed upon the man's face. The mirth was quickly obscured by motion in his hands: his buy'ce spun effortlessly and was then lowered to obscure his expression from view.

And with the blink of an eye, his HUD hummed to life. The azure view quickly began to track the motion of his irises, succumbing to his wordless commands with blinding speed. Comms? Check. Flight Controls? Check. Everything was in the green. It was only a matter of moments before the agents of change - The Mandalorian Crusaders - began to unleash a personal Hell upon the vermin below. Reaching, Isley secured his stance by holding the bar above his head. He would have spared another moment to review the scans from the evening before, one final time as to preserve the lives of his newfound comrades from Haseria, but first contradiction to his solitude spoke up. [member="Ardasz Verd"]. The man knew him at first sight upon the dusty world the Protectors called home. Pointed him out of the crowd with ease.

And when they spoke over a bottle of tihaar, Isley was introduced to what had befallen his Clan in this time. Scattering. Reforming as Vi'dreya. The old ways lost to the Darkness. It wounded the man's heart - but also strengthened his resolve all the more. In the here and now, Ardasz looked over his shoulder as their vessel entered the drop zone. His voice, amplified by his helm, called out over the acidic rain which poured from on high. Just like old times, lek? The savage grin upon the Mandalorian's face only seemed to intensify at these words. < "Just like the best times, brother." > he answered in their native tongue.

As the Black Sheep of Clan Verd prepared to launch into battle, the chime of an accented voice reached his ear. Her tone was hungry. Eager. And alive with the same fiery spirit that had drawn the Mandalorian to her side in the first place. When first Isley met Safira, she was in over her head...but she fought with the ferocity of a Mythosaur and honored their people with every shot of her blaster. Isley couldn't help but jump into the fray in order to preserve that life - and in doing so, forged a bond everlasting. He took it upon himself to be her pillar of strength and her guiding hand: a mentor and friend. In some moments, he would not rest until she laughed so hard tihaar shot out of her nose...again. In others, he would not rest until she learned how to fire from the hip. Yet in either case, the longer that the Mandalorian tarried in the present, the more the fact became evident. Where Safira went, her shadow named Isley was sure to follow.

For, like all shadows, he had her back.

The vessel shuddered in response to the side doors being opened. There was still a few seconds before Safira would disembark on foot, but Isley moved past her in order to do as he did best. He gave the woman a half-salute before turning his back to the open skies. Descent gripped him - and as the thrill of gravity filled his stomach, Isley Verd freefell. With but a twist of his torso and the bat of an eyelid, his jetpack roared to life, propelling him ahead of the transport which lowered to the earth. The Mandalorian wasted no time in providing additional breathing room for Safira and Ardasz, letting fly a wrist rocket to cause the first of many personal explosions of the day. The impact was enough to send a duo of Black Sun enforcers hurtling over their equipment, battered and broken from the concussive force.

And as Safira ran ahead, a column of flame lit her way: projected from Isley's other wrist. < "You want something to write home about? Let's eat the biggest fish!" > the challenge was evident in the thrill of his voice. His HUD marked the priority target of the Mandalorian and his caramel protege'. It was beyond the thicket of vermin which stood before them and above: the so-called Overgrowth so vehemently avoided by the Black Suns below. It would take some doing to soften their forces enough to push past, but as more of their comrades entered the fray, the opportunity would soon present itself. For now, Isley busied himself roasting as many of the enforcers as he can in the hopes of providing cover for his protege. Yet, as he hovered, a gnarly old voice broke out over the comm. Raspy with age, Hastaal Verd called specifically to give the young warrior chit.

"You's hoverin like a damn target. And this foo' can't even hit a dome straight. This generation's something else, I tell ya."

Isley smirked, quickly banking to the right as to avoid a hail of blasterfire. He didn't dignify Hastaal with a response, but rather buzzed into [member="Achilles"]. < "You just gonna take that chit? >

 

[Calixte Diantha]

Location: Planet surface
Tags: [member="Isley Verd"], [member="Achilles"], [member="Safira Varad"], [member="Ardasz Verd"]

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The song of battle was not typically something that rang in Calixte’s ears, nor did it create fire in her blood. She had been trained throughout the majority of her life to survive, and thus far she had proven fairly good at it what with still being alive and all, but the idea of a looming battle ahead did not thrill her as it did her comrades in arms. No, what thrilled the usual redheaded vixen about this entire raid was the possibilities of what could be gained by the time it was all said and done.

That, and the redhead never did like to be on the losing side of any endeavor.

And those had been the very thoughts that had steered her forward. She had geared up to the promise of a prize, not for the battle that was quite literally waiting for them all as they arrived. Calixte hadn’t been seated once the vessel had entered the atmosphere, and she felt the muscles in her stomach tighten from the sheer height alone as they descended. It wasn’t that she was afraid of heights, it was the idea of plummeting towards the ground with nothing to stop her from impact. Not to say that she didn’t have faith in her family in arms, but irrational fear was exactly that for a reason.

Which is why as the doors came open, the redhead moved back not only to get out of the way but to keep a steady distance between herself and the quickly approaching ground. There she remained until the ship was grounded, and she took a much more casual approach to leaving the blasted thing than those ahead of her had. Once her helmet was in place upon her head, her HUD lit to life though she was already aware that her systems were functioning properly despite the data telling her so.

[Why is it that no one can take us girls any place nice anymore?] Cali questioned across the comm link while she took the time to adjust her gloves on both hands. She was of course only teasing, she had willingly signed up for this and she wanted to be here. But any excuse to playfully run her mouth was going to be used, the opportunity taken. Though admittedly it was as much a defense mechanism as it was the redhead just being a tease.

 

[Galaar Fett]

Location: Qet Hazaak, Barab I
Objective: Burn Baby Burn
Tags: [member="Isley Verd"] [member="Calixte Diantha"] [member="Achilles"] [member="Safira Varad"] [member="Ardasz Verd"]

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The shuttle shook much too much for Galaar’s tastes. It felt as though one of the engines wasn’t pulling it’s weight, and the others were having to compensate for it’s inadequacies. It was a sad fate, one that meant the engine would more likely be replaced when the group got back. A fitting metaphor for many clans. A singular member not pulling their weight had the effect of overworking, overstressing every single other member of the clan. If that was to occur, mistakes would happen, and people would die. It wasn’t a risk that could be taken, and as soon as it could occur, that part, that member would be replaced by someone else that could do their job properly.

That was, at least, how would Galaar could describe it. Perhaps some others would think this method harsh, or unnecessary in this day in age. Much like the Mandalorian faith, one that his clan had been so ridged on growing up. Now, the leader of the Fetts of Hoylin, Galaar had taken a pilgrimage to explore this part of the galaxy and attempt to find others that were worthy of being called Mandalorian. Too many in this day and age of the galaxy wore the armor, perhaps even spoke the ancient language of their ancestors, but did nothing that gave them any right to wear the armor they so disgraced. Hut’uun, shabuir, chakaar and dar’manda. He would see them erased from history and their bodies given a disgraceful burial.

His journey had lead him to this group of men and women, the so called Mandalorian crusaders of the southern systems. They were seemingly lead by this man of clan Verd, someone who had not impressed Galaar to this point. He was pompous, perhaps even a di’kut, though that was to be seen. There was perhaps no reason to judge the man so harshly, as he had yet to see him in battle yet. And from where they were flying into, it would not be long until the leader of the Fett’s truly understood who was dealing with.

The moment the doors opened and the other members of the shuttle flung themselves out of the shuttle was the moment that Galaar stood. He was observing them, not meaning to lead them. This time. It was not his place, as they had an appointed leader at this point. Whether or not that was warranted would be to seen, but for now, the Fett would allow the Verd to do his job. One of the last few out of the shuttle, he was silent as he jumped, eyes laser focused forward as he swerved left and right in the air to avoid the laser blasts.

Down and down he fell, only flicking on his jetpack in the final moments to slow his decent. He hit the ground hard, whipping his EE-3 off his back and proceeding to the front of the conflict, taking point beside the shorter clan Verd member, Isley. His shots were purposeful, deadly, and accurate. Even as he fired downrange, however, he spoke calmly to the man beside him, eyes never leaving the enemies in front of him. “Vod. Vaabir gar ganar a dajun?” to speak in this way could cause some confusion, though it was a fair test, one that Galaar intended to get his answer for.

 

[Ardasz Verd]

His boots dug in and gave several times before he caught himself and magnetized to the outer hull of the downed Destroyer. While it was hardly a daunting landing in terms of difficulty, the Black Sun agents firing back at him certainly wanted to make him work for it. The Mandalorian managed to nick one with a precisely aimed bolt, but given the massive advantage the man had in terms of cover, Ardasz didn't assume it to be a kill shot.

He raised his left arm and cycled the gauntlet once, allowing the device to make a full turn and click as the ammunition locked into place. With a few microexpressions and a physical prompt from the opposite arm, he aimed down into the belly of the beast and let loose a torrent of hellfire. "Don't you folks worry," he called across the comms a slight bit too cheerfully, "I'll have an entry point secured for you in just a moment."

He hopped down into the madness, agonized screams and liquefying flesh bubbling up to greet him as he maintained a steady stream of left to right, right to left sweeps. Those forces fortunate to move back out of the way fell further behind cover, firing wanton toward Ardasz as he laughed over the sound of crackling flames and death wails.

"One door, ready and waiting!" he called as he expelled the spent canister of fuel with a dull thud. Most of them came to pilfer various weaponry and tools for use in the coming days. For Ardasz, it was a matter of staying sharp. The opportunity to test his mettle against enemies both stronger and weaker than himself tested his limitations and taught him how to be better.

And every fireteam needs its muscle, after all.

 

[Haastal Haran]

Location: The Underbelly
Armor: Archangel
Tags: [member="Isley Verd"]

The first round Achilles let off had missed it's mark. Instead of slamming into the Black Sun Footsoldier's chest it merely impacted his shoulder. Sure it was enough to take the man off his feet, but not enough to kill him. He listened to Haastal's mocking tone and immediately spit out over the side of the building. The guards below had scattered, some of them firing a few clumsy blaster bolts towards the two snipers, none of them were even close to hitting the mark. When [member="Isley Verd"] came over the comm unit, Achilles snorted at his comment. “Hell nah.” He muttered before adjusting the scope on his sniper. Haastal smiled from beneath his Buy'ce though you would never know.

The next two rounds that Achilles sent off were nearly perfect shots, hitting two of the footsoldier's and sending them lifelessly to the ground. Haastal whistled at this and fired off another shot, barely taking out another of the men before he could move to cover. The Mandalorian set his sights on the final guard, humming softly as he zeroed in on the fleeing soldier. “I w-”

A round echoed out as one of the crimson bolts flew from his rifle, slamming into the back of the soldier. He turned to Haastal and gave the man a toothy grin. “You owe me a hundred credits.” Haastal shook his head before taking hold of his weapon and pulling to from the ledge. “Take it out of my as-”

Before the older man could finish his sentence, his words were drowned out by a deep roar. Achilles and Hastaal looked up to find a Black Sun gunship staring them down. Both of the men eyed the ship with surprise, but neither was necessarily frozen by this revelation. As Achilles’ helmet began to materialized around his head, he took a few steps back from where the gunships was approaching.

“Kark! Run!” Haastal turned from the gunship, his armored boots slamming into the concrete until finally he met open air. Achilles followed the man over the ledge, tapping a small button just below his wrist. Only seconds after Hastaal's jetpack came to life Achilles’ boots released small jets which allowed him to fly through the air. The two flew in unison, Hastaal leading the way as they soared over the underbelly. “No one said anything about karking gunships!” Achilles yeld out over the comm channel. Hastaal's comm was breaking up but for a moment he seemed to be...laughing.

“You wanna live forever?!” He called out to Achilles, as he craned his neck to look back at the man. Achilles said nothing, he could say nothing, because in the next moment he heard the hail of blaster fire exploding from it's repeater. The gunship maneuvered expertly, keeping a close chase with the two. The Gunner was not so experienced. The shots were wild and everywhere, slamming into the sides of buildings as the two Mandalorians flew by. Achilles and Haastal were too smart to fly in a straight line, they continuously changed their flight paths, having to dodge each other as well as the blaster fire. They tried taking sharp turns to elude the gunship, but it never let up. Eventually Hastaal called out over the comm device. “Karking thing won't get off our tail. We need to split up!”

Achilles took hold of a small metal device on his waist in response. With a nod of his head, the two led the gunship into the thick of the Underbelly. Still it did not waver, however the route the two were using was coming to an end. Achilles tossed the metal device towards into the air ahead of them and in the next moment it exploded into a cloud of smoke. The thick mist washed over them, absorbing them as they passed through it.

“Now!” Haastal shouted.

Achilles banked left as the Mandalorian went right, each of them nearly slamming into the building at the end of their flight path. For a moment it seemed the gunship had slowed to negotiate the smoke that Achilles had created, but in the next moment it had made its decision of who to chase.

The gunship pierced through the cloud of smoke, quickly catching back up to Achilles.

 

[Kaden Farr]

It was something to feel alive. Kaden has agreed to join a band of crusaders for some simple fact, he wanted to feel like a Mando’ad again. The pain of why he was more likely to be considered dar’manda ate away at his heart. Were Kaden’s heart not coated in the hardest of beskar it would have broken and shattered a million times over and again. Selene had saved him though, darkness, his mother, the woman he named for light. She needed fear and death to return to the land of the living, and Kaden had pledged to give it to her.

His armor was simple, not the pitch covered black beskar he had once boasted. What had been fashioned for him was beyond suitable, and nothing he would have imagined. His helmet lacked the telling T-Visor, but he was not ready to reveal himself to Clan Verd. They would certainly recognize the face of the decreased riduur of the current Mand’alor. Whether they recognized her as such, Yasha did bear the title, and thus Kaden’s reason for seeing himself as dar’manda, he wanted her dead. He wanted Kaine dead. Kaden wanted those who had abandoned him and dared to suggest he had been the one to betray to die. There would be no mercy, and Kaden needed his mother for it.

He watched from a distance so as to take in the battle even as it began. Kaden noted where every attack was coming from, and as he was about to move, his HUD picked up a line of incoming gunships, at least one. The best signature of two others fleeing the ship popped up as well, their movements marking them as part of the raiding party.

Kaden hit a button on his chest and lit up the jet pack on his shoulders. While the other were flying away from the ship, Kaden was flying toward it. The two banked away, one left and the other right. The ship chose, and Kaden followed. His right hand reached for his slugthrower. The hand held pistol packed more of a punch than others might expect, and all Kaden needed to do was punch through to the engine or the cockpit. It was going to be a risky move, but as Kaden got closer he realized he was coming up on the tail of the ship now.

Speeding, Kaden tried to catch up to the ship. His voice calling out on what frequencies he knew to be friendly.

<<< “Gonna do something stupid, but it’s gonna save your shebs...” >>>

Pulling a thermal detonator off the bandolier around his waist, Kaden pushed the arming button for delayed detonation. With a good throw, Kaden launched the detonator into the gunships thruster exhaust port. It was going to be a glorious explosion.

[member=“Achilles”]

 

[Shukalar]

Location: The Overgrowth

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When the ship had made its way into the ruined vong vessel he had remained back, biding his time. He was not the most skilled blaster fighter especially among his peers in Clan Verd or their allies. His strengths lied else where. The deliberate and professional actions of his comrades made short work of their immediate threats, if one could call them that. It seemed the Black Sun had been completely blind sided by the incursion. His claws clenched against the durasteel flooring, curling the metal behind his weight.

His keen eyes saw through the haze of dust which was aglow with the intense flashes of blaster bolts that had been slowly rising from the combat, slowly he moved forward towards the exit of the ship, his breathing intensifying with anticipation. Now was his moment. [member='Galaar Fett'] had been taking point and doing extremely well in exterminating the biological mutants inhabiting this particular level of the Qet Hazaak. But the Mandalorians were playing against the home team, and these creations had plenty of time to become aquainted with their surroundings. A large ape like creature with hour arms armed with two long black claws a hand fell from the ceiling towards Galaar Fett.

Skukalar saw this in a form of slowed time, his body lowered against the ship's ramp and then he sprung forward with enough power to become air born. The massive form of the transformed Felacatian cast a shadow over his comrades as he soared over head, and with a deep thud and mixed feral screams of feline and primate he fell to the vined floor with the creature his his grasp. Tearing into it's sides with his claws, biting into the muscled neck with powerful jaw armed with knife like teeth. The creature he was grappling with made use of it's multiple limbs to slash into Shukalar's back across the golden fur which began to stain with crimson blood.

Shukalar put both his forelimbs on the ape's chest and pushed himself back off of the creature to get out of the grapple where it clearly had an advantage. As the beast stood and screeched horrifically at him Shukalar swiped his left paw over the creature's chest. There was the sound of breaking bone and tearing flesh as the claws ripped through the mutant. For most of the galaxy this would have been a fatal blow, but not for the machinations of the vong.

 

[Ardasz Verd]

Spoiler

https://youtu.be/q6Q0eHxeeIU

The people headed into the overgrowth now had their main entryway and clearance, and Ardasz could focus on the bulk of the enemy. He kept his personal shields up, soaking intermittent blaster fire from the innards of the ship as he glanced up and allowed his HUD to take in the scene overhead. [member="Kaden Farr"] and [member="Achilles"] had joined combat with a gunship, and it appeared Black Sun had decided to retaliate in force. Hell rained indiscriminately around the Verd clansman as smaller targets concentrated their fire on anyone they could, seeking to split the Mando'ade and spread their ranks thin.

For a criminal organization, it almost seemed too rank and file. Bounty Hunters and Mercs. Paramilitary Forces. He couldn't find any markings that collaborated his gut feeling, but Ardasz had faced enough hired guns to know when their kind of trouble was afoot. He hop stepped to his left to avoid a small firecracker dart, the kind that rained hell on onboard machinery and would have made his beskar'gam glorified heavy armor.

"Watch the mercs, bur'cya," he called over the comms to Kaden, "they're using scramble tech. You'll drop out of the sky if a stray dart catches you." As he spoke, he reached for his hip and liberated the blaster pistol, unleashing a string of smaller bolts to one of the bogeys defending the gunship.

The man screamed out in surprise and pain as two bolts took him in the abdomen and shoulder, but he remained airborne. Ardasz kept a steady eye on his fuel cell, still over half full. He wanted to conserve it as much as possible, especially since he was the only Mando present wearing beskar'kandar. He was the only heavy.

"If you two can help it," he called to all three Mandos dancing in the skies of Barab, "ground yourselves. There may be more coming, and there's enough cover that we have the advantage on the surface."

Not to mention, they needed to regroup.

 

[Haastal Haran]

Location: The Underbelly
Armor: Archangel
Tags: [member="Kaden Farr"] [member="Ardasz Verd"]

The gunship stayed closed on Achilles trail and every few seconds the man let out a loud curse. The gunner was getting closer and closer, every now and again a stray blast zipped past the mercenaries face, nearly knocking him off of his flight path. He ducked and doged through the buildings surrounding him, but nothing short of destruction was going to stop that gunship. Luckily for Achilles, that was just what [member="Kaden Farr"] held in the palm of his head. He didn't respond to the man's words, instead he simply tapped a button right below his thumb's base knuckle. An ackowledgement light would blip on Kaden's HUD as he threw the detonator into the shuttle.

The explosion was glorious. A mild quake came from the ship as it falted in it's flight path. From every vent it had, black smoke and crimson flames flew out as if trying to devour the ship from inside. It struggled to keep to the skies and in a panick the pilot jerked the ship up in a violent twist. Achilles attempted to make for the skies, hoping to leave the ship in a trail of destruction. That was not how things played out. The gunship's wing clipped the man's boot causing it to falter and let out a small explosion of sparks. The flames that came from the boot flickered, causing Achilles to lose control of his own flight patterns. "Woa!" He yelled out as the engine's on his books cycled at eratic rates. He flew towards the ground on an insane flight path, slamming into the side of a building just before he came crashing down into the hard duracrete below. Lucky for him, his other boot's thruster had cushioned the fall, saving him a broken leg or neck.

It was around that time that [member="Ardasz Verd"] reccomend the men abandon the skies for the ground below. Achilles pushed himself to a kneel, groaning through the comm device. "No problem."

He pushed himself to his feet after a few more seconds. Hoping to get a breathe of fresh air he allowed his helmet to dismantle itself back into his shoulders. "Damn that hurt." He muttered, pressing a hand to his shoulder where he had slammed into the wall. He'd fallen in some alley, leaving him with a bit of cover away from the fighting. Lucky for him, if a sniper had seen that it would have been open season.

When the man looked up, his lips formed a wide, yet pain filled smile. The pilot to the gunship laid in the street. Well, he laid half out of his crashed shuttle, moaning loudly from his own bumpy ride. Achilles walked over to the man, tapping his gauntlet and hosting a bit of a limp while he did. "Yea, see. I don't much care for flying either. Traffic can be hell, and evey now and again some ass wipe tries to shoot me out of the skies." The pilot heard the mercenry's voice and quickly scrambled to find his blaster. He was too slow, too injured. By the time he found his blaster Achilles had already been upon him. He kicked the man's blaster pistol away before aiming his gauntlet at the pilot's neck. The poisonous saberdart slammed into the man's exposed skin and in seconds his breathing grew labored. Whether it was the poison or the blood loss that killed him, Achilles wasn't sure and he didn't care, at least the bastard was dead.

The sound of jetpacks caused Achilles to turn back to see Haastal approaching from the skies. "Well well, about time you killed something." The older man mouthed, patting Achilles on the shoulder as he touched down on the planet's surface. "Come on, let's regroup with the others." Achilles chuckled, before nodding at the older man.

 

[Safira Haran]

​

[member=Isley Verd] | [member=Galaar Fett] | [member=Calixte Diantha]​

​

The conversation over the commlinks was riveting, but mostly Safira stayed quiet. She knew very little of her new brothers in arms and thus felt it more appropriate to listen and learn. Except she couldn't help gracing [member=Calixte Diantha] with a reply to her comment. < 'If you're looking for some place nice to go I'd say you're asking the wrong gender!' > A bright streak of orange flame lit up the path she danced across the battle field. A wry smile overtook her face as she peaked behind to see Isley in flight. Safira herself hadn't quite gotten the hang of using a jetpack. The last time she tried she ended up upside down for half an hour, a feat neither she or Isley could explain. Her shadow was graceful and tactful enough for her to be impressed, but she wasn't going to tell him that. His head was already big enough. As Safira stepped between the columns of fire another round of blaster bolts fired from their chambers, slicing the air as they zipped toward their targets.

The more bodies that fell the more Safira was able to advance, and so far she'd only nearly been missed by two blaster bolts. An impressive achievement for someone who's first experience involving any kind of gun ended up in a trip to the nearest hospital. But she was better now, more attuned to the side of her that housed a deadly warrior. The only person she had to thank for that was Isley. Where her Father had discouraged her due to her clumsy nature, Isley egged her on. Where she had been lacking on knowledge, Isley had filled it in. When she had been afraid to try something new, Isley had been the one to take her hand and guide her there. < 'Sounds good to me. What's say we make a bet out of it?' > Safira turned to smash the butt of her blaster down into the nearest skull. The satisfying crunch echoed through the comm as she spoke again. < 'The most kills gets [member=Nya] all to themselves tonight.' > A little friendly competition would go a long way to keeping them both focused, but they both knew despite who won the bet wouldn't be upheld.

Someone approached from her right, brandishing a weapon that Safira didn't have a name for. Whatever it was it looked sharp, sharp enough to do some serious damage if it got near enough to bite into flesh. Safi saw it coming though. Her forearm raised to meet the business end of the make-shift sword, sparks flying wildly as the cheap metal clashed against Mandalorian iron. From up close it looked to be a strip of thick, rusted durasteel that had been crudely crafted and sharpened to form a blade. With his hands occupied, Safi grunted as she brought a gloved fist diving through the air to meet the attackers jaw line. Hand to hand was her forte, but when the opponent was twice her size with muscles to match small fists didn't quite make the dent you would hope for. Despite the size difference he stumbled back, enough so that Safi could finally get a shot on him.

Hopefully, from the air, the others could get a better idea of how long it would take to reach their goal. The more waves of Black Sun soldiers that came, the more brothers joined the battle. For now Safira just kept on fighting, inching closer and closer to the Qet Hazaak.

 

[Kaden Farr]

​

w. [member="Haastal Verd"] | [member="Ardasz Verd"]​

---

​

---

​

The explosion was indeed glorious, but not as safe as what Kaden should have accounted for. He new it was a risky plan, and having been to hell twice in his life, Kaden no longer feared death or wait waited for him when it finally became permanent. He had seen it all, and there was nothing in this life that could frighten him to the same degree as the monsters which lived in the Netherworld. Kaden had faced and killed every kind of creature the afterlife had sent his way which had made him reckless here. He tried to warn Achilles that part of the ship was headed his way, but everything happened so fast that he could not. Kaden cringed inside as the boot was clipped, sending Achilles off his flight path and careening into a wall.

"Osi'kyr," Kaden cursed without the comms on.

A call came out over the comms to get out of the sky, a voice Kaden did not recognize. There was no verbal response to comply just Kaden's movement toward Achilles and where he had crashed. There was an older man heading his way as well, and when Kaden reached them, he turned off his jet pack.

<<< "Didn't mean to clip you like that... Glad you're alive." >>>

Just because Kaden knew what waited for him, it did not mean he was eager to send his vode to the afterlife. Selene needed blood for her return, but it did not need to come from those of his brothers he considered to be less guilty than others. Those they were fighting against were another story. Kaden had no issue sending any of them to hell. It was always a better day for someone else to die, and Kaden was going to ensure that happened without question.

With the order to regroup, Kaden followed closely behind the others. He was quiet as he covered their flank ensuring that nothing surprised them from the backside. Naturally where there was one gunship, there were others as the comm call had suggested. Three pings on this HUD announced three more gunships coming from the south east. They needed to hurry.

<<< "Run to cover, three more incoming..." >>>

 

[Calixte Diantha]

​

Tags: [member="Isley Verd"], [member=Galaar Fett"], [member="Safira Varad"]​

​

​

There was an admitted pause for the redhead when she heard [member="Safira Varad"]'s voice come across the come. She had only a moment to think about this response, seeing as how all literal hell was breaking loose out in front of her, but then Calixte smirked and shrugged her shoulders. < ‘Well, I’m not overly picky,’ > she stated, < ‘If it takes a woman to take me somewhere nice, then please, by all means line up.’ > The rest of the conversations going on weren’t entirely paid attention to, just the snippets here and there that let her know who was where and that they weren’t dying. In trouble perhaps, but not dying – yet.

When the columns of fire roared to life ahead of her, that seemed to be signal enough for Cali to step into the fray rather than dance around the edges of it with her witty attitude. A rather ornate pair of custom, kukri style blades were pulled from the sheaths at her sides, and with nimble fingers she twirled them into a defined and strong hold, never once bringing the bladed ends near the armor covered flesh of her arms. From there she was on the move, one foot in front of the other. Cali knew the others were a decent ways ahead of her, and that meant she had some catching up to do – both on the ground, and in terms of the number of lives that needed to fall against her blades.

There was a rush to Calixte’s movements, but only when it came to catching up and there were no obstacles in front of her. When she would come across a foe, her blades bit through flesh and armor alike, and the redhead cut herself a path so that she could work to catch up with the others – or at least catch up with Safira, as the other woman was on the ground as well. There was still a bit of ground to cover between the two of them, but that was alright. Cali wasn’t one to use a jet pack either, otherwise there would be no ground to cover at all. She had yet to have a good experience using one, and as such she preferred to keep her feet on the ground. It paid to be flexible and agile, and she used it to her advantage when in close combat situations.

The sound of flesh being splayed open signaled another fallen enemy, and Calixte stepped over the gurgling body and continued her way forward.

 

[Galaar Fett]

Location: Qet Hazaak, Barab I
Equipment: Beskar’gram, enhanced EE-3’s, Duel DE-10 pistols, mandalorain gauntlets
Objective: Burn Baby Burn
Tags: [member="Calixte Diantha"] [member="Safira Varad"] [member="Shukalar Verd"] [member="Isley Verd"]

​

The inferno that grew and grew before him brought the middle aged man joy to see. It was the true heat of battle that burned before him, something that he had the chance to fully experience in years. It was wonderful, fulfilling, to feel the heat of battle flow through his body, through his blood. It gave him life, more life than he had shown in recent years. This was only bolstered by the fact he was getting to fight beside the men and women that dawned the same armor he did.

Speaking of which, the man that he had dropped in to fight beside had disappeared, as had many of the others, having pushed forward moments ago. He took a moment behind the cover of a fallen tree to observe the scene in front of him, trying to get his bearings. The leave from battle had also taken from him a step or two, though the longer he fought, the more it slowly came back to him.

What he did observe, however, was a hunter clash her arm against the blade of one of the soldiers, tanking it easily before shooting up into the air. That was the direction he figured he should be doing at this point, being where the action was. Quickly hoping up and over the fallen branch, his pressing forward was met by a mercenary who looked none too happy with him. He brandished nothing but a knife of own, small by comparison to anything galaar would wield. Smirking lightly as the man charged him, he quickly slipped his blaster rifle over his shoulder and lowered himself, allowing the mercenary to come.

The second he tried to stab forward, Galaar pivoted his foot so his body would open up, allowing the stab to continue moving forward and carry the man off balance. As it did, Galaar’s leg quickly outstretched, sweeping underneath the unbalanced man’s legs to sweep him off his feet and hit the ground hard. When he did so, knife going flying out of his hand from the force of the landing, the Mandalorian quickly slide his blaster off his shoulder, putting two bolts directly into the back of the mercenary’s head with a dissatisfied frown. “Di’kut.” He had been hoping for more of a challenge but had been seldom offered one so far. Perhaps ahead, it would get harder to end these braindead mercenaries’ pathetic lives.

He sprinted forward from this point, firing quick blasts into the smoke and fire of the landscape around him, eventually ending up near where [member="Calixte Diantha"] and [member="Safira Varad"] currently fought, slamming himself into cover behind a half burned down tree. “Is there where all of the good fighting is? Haven’t had too much fun so far.”

​

 

[Shukalar]

Tag: [member='Galaar Fett']

---

The beast charge Shukalar who lept forward to meet it again in midair, the clash was as ferocious as ever as the duo clawed into each other. The sound of their combat was muffled somewhat by the continued firefight with the members of the local Black Sun. Skukalar's right paw slammed against the side of the mutated primate's head causing it to cave in grotesquely. In response the creature stabbed three of its clawed hands into Shukalar's ribs which made the Felacatian cry out in pain.

The wounded Skukalar fell on his side with the beast on top with its claws still in his torso, until he curled his hind legs under the creature and pushed it off of him. Blood drenched the left side of Skukalar's coat. He struggled it stand and looked around him with exhaustion to see the rest of the Crusaders following through with their battles. If they could meet their opponents and beat them then she should be able to at least vanquish one foe, right?

Skukalar's forelegs shook with effort to keep him standing as the multitude of wounds caused by his hand-to-hand combat with the mutant began to take its toll. The creature who had renewed it's charge at the Felacatian closed the distance with its savaged head and chest cloaked in shredded flesh. Shukalar raised his left paw and swiped downward at the head of the ape once more and this time when it connected the head was removed completely. It seemed surreal to Shukalar that the fight had ended this way, it seemed sudden. It was quick, bloody, and painful.

The immediate threat to him removed Shukalar slumped up against a broken hull panel and slid downward.

 

[Old Man Story]

They fought their way through the ship against insane odds. Flames consumed their enemies, and they cannibalized ammunition just to continue their path of destruction. Above, the Crusaders fended off attacks from ships that endangered their allies within. Whatever the pirates had been hiding here, they were willing to lose an unhealthy number of men rather than give it up.

In the end however, they were given no choice. Isley and Clan Verd led the charge into the heart of the ship, where the fabled stockpile greeted the hungry Mando'ade. They began loading up their bags immediately. When they heard the loud crashes from outside the hull, they knew that the day had been won.

The team of Kaden Farr, Ardasz Verd, and the new blood Hastaal Verd managed to fend off a potentially catastrophic onslaught from the sky. They were beleaguered, but far from beaten as they promptly sat themselves down and Ardasz distributed cigarras. Inane laughter erupted from the man as they started to share stories and jokes, recounting- and possibly embellishing- the tale that they had just spun.

But who would ever know? The Mandos still inside the ship had missed the best part.

Everyone won, today.