Rose Cariadus

As soon as she saw the cats, Rose knew they had managed to stumble their way into yet another trap. Her pure blue eyes counted them as quickly as her HUD did. Hard skinned, likely blaster fire resistant. But not invulnerable to small arms fire. It was time for her to enter her element. All it took was a little mid rim surprise. Her hand fell to her belt and pulled one of the cryopods off the loop. As large as her thumb and cryogenically frozen with the small tinfoil wrapper that read: Product of the Black Sun Syndicate. Had it been packaged properly from kessel before the rebels had sacked the place? She didn’t know, nor did she really care other than it cost a good amount of her last commission for a dozen such capsules. One twist and the cyro seal broke, revealing the sandy white red particulate of spice in a suspended vacuum within a blown glass inner vial. With one hand, she flicked the vial up and placed it into her mouth, her fingers finding the gap between durasteel helmet and her chin. One bite, which popped the vial, then a quick intake of air to breath it in. One inhalation, then another, and the pain in her mouth from the sudden few cuts was gone. Time seemed to slow, and all she could think about was the hunt. The kill. A glorious sacrifice for a god long dead. A hecatomb of violence that she would thrust upon the alter of damnation. Her rifle came up, and her left hand found the trigger for the underbarrel grenade launcher. Two squeezes and two incendiary phosphor munitions exploded in the middle of the pack of saber cats. Then she was moving, her blaster laying down a rain of red energy as she followed the Tusken.

Rose did not much care for whatever religious freedoms or desires the monks had to express, but she followed until they had gotten to the hoverseld. To go any further in the disguise would require a separation from the Tusken so it was best to put the charade to rest. They had gotten through the front doors and into the lower levels. Now it was time for them both to do what they did best. Feigning reaching for the keys to the Tuskens cuffs, she whipped out her hatchet and buried it in the brain of the Monk. Cutting through skull and matter with the ease of long training and a distinct sense of frustration. She held the body close to the pair of them until the shuddering stopped, dropping the lifeless body into the hoverseld instead. She pointed the ax to the labour droids. Warning them to stay silent as she and the Tusken prepared for their assault to rescue their ratty friend.

Rose turned to Rru and quickly snapped the cuffs around his strong wrists, making sure that they were not fully secured. Then she pressed a holdout blaster into his hand wraps. “For when your ancient weapons fail you.” Then she gave him a swift kiss and leveled her blaster rifle at him. “Start walking sandperson scum.”

She kissed his mask then, leaving a dark bloody smear from her still bleeding mouth before she slipped her helmet back on her head. She twisted it slightly and the visor lit up with her custom readout. SHe walked after her beloved and his pet jawa. Wishing all the while that they did not need such a rodent to guide them when simple blaster play could get them in just the same. But they had learned that lesson before. So she followed in silence.

Rose could sense the judgement in his voice and could feel herself shrinking back and away from him. But she hated that part of herself anyway so she forced herself to instead lean forward a draw a bloody smile across her face. She gave a shrug and looked at the Jawa for a half moment, taking back the canteen with a look that emphasized her disdain for the creature. “If you spoke less annoying gibberish then we could all share my gift of water.” Then she looked back to the tusken raider. “I was wasting my time. Wandering like a lost soul through the plains of Armageddon.” She licked her bloody lips with her tongue. “And what were you doing? Coming to save a blue haired princess in her desperate time of need?” She stood and stretched her arms which had begun to be stiff from the bruising. “Hutts are hard to kill. So it should be a fun hunt.”

With an expert flick of the wrist, she flung the blood and sinew off the blade of the hatchet where it spattered into the sand at her feet. She grabbed the hem of her kama and ran the edge of the wicked blade over the soft leather before slipping the hatchet back into its sheath on her thigh. The smile never left her face as she ran after the unlikely pair of Tusken and Jawa. But she could feel the high in the back of her mind starting to slip. She sighed deeply and slumped next to Roar Roar and the little rat. She gave them both a grin and took a swig from her canteen, tasting the bitter copper flavour of the cuts in her mouth along with the cool water. She held the canteen out to the both of them. “Thanks for the rescue Roar Roar. And whoever you are.” She was sure they would both give an explanation of themselves in good time, but for now it was time to hydrate.

Rose reached out with one hand and grabbed her rifle from its place on the weapon rack near the door. Pulling her helmet from a nook beneath it and placing the ‘T’ visored helm over her stark blue hair. Darkness covered her eyes for a moment as she flipped the rifle around and brought the weapon’s wooden stock firmly into her shoulder, her hands finding their familiar positions. One blink, then a spam of triplets. One, two, three. The helmet activated in response to its coded password and her HUD sprang to life. It took several seconds to fully come to life as it connected to her suits vitals and other integrated panels throughout her armour. She followed Roar Roar out the door and spared a glance for the jawa. It was best to ignore the pest for now. If the rat could prove himself something other than a gibbering idiot then she would welcome him as a member of her clan. But for now she saw no reason to. His blaster bolt destroyed the speeder bike threat and then before she could congratulate him he ran away like a coward. What a strange creature. She shifted the rifle to one hand and ran towards the two injured men that lay face down on the tatooine sands. Her other hand finding the hatchet on her belt. She looked at Roar Roar and then set about the grisly work of ending the two men’s lives.

Why was that Jawa still jabbering? The high pitched squealing was more irritating than the blow that nearly landed her on top of the slick bartop. But what was that? She shook her head as she crushed her fist into the face of a Rodian, flattering one of his bug like eyes and splashing her with a sick green ichor. What was that smell? The drugs she had just ingested hightened all of her senses, but surely her nose was playing tricks on her. Was that the same strong spice smell at Roar Roar? She paused for a moment as she stepped over the twitching rodian body. She took another long breath through her nose. Her too wide eyes opened wider. Right as the sound of a Gaffi stick punching through the ribcage of a patron came thundering through her ears. She spun and came face to face with the Tusken Raider that had stolen her heart. “Roar roar?” She whispered through a mouthful of blood before grabbing his arm and pulling him into a fierce hug. She would have kissed him, but the blood and face wrappings always made that part difficult. “We should uh probably get out of here huh?”

It was interesting to see a pyroround do its grim business, even from several meters deep in the bar brawl, she could see the bright flash as the round carved its way through bone and brain and exited in a flash into the wall. The wet pop and following sonic crack as the Devorian’s head exploded from the kinetic backblast would have been a sight to behold if she had the time to watch and observe. But bar room brawls waited for no man or woman. She spun under a blow and slammed her fist in a riposte that dropped a human like a sack of muja fruit. But what was that other sound? Was that the shrill jabbering of a kwikian monkey? No, that was the sound of a Jawa. And it was a sound that raised her blood pressure through the roof. “Will someone shut that damn monkey up?” She scooped up a bottle of ale that had been dropped in the fight and threw it with some degree of accuracy at the little beady eyes beneath a hood that lay behind the bar. Now without the shrill distraction she could get back to the blissfulness of the fight. Riding that high as she dodged another blow and returned it in kind into a patron’s groin.

Eyelids fluttered against the sharp and obnoxious lights that dangled like leering luminescent faces over her. She blinked once, then twice, and her vision swam dangerously, the sound in her ears fuzzed like a dying headset into dismal static. Her stomach lurched as she tried to lift her head from the countertop of the dark wooden bartop, but she pushed again and she lifted her overly heavy head up. No helmet, and her face was sticky with the spilled drink that she had so lovingly laid her head down in. No. She hadn’t been sleeping. The quick fist in her guts told her that and the pounding in her head made a bit more sense as she was picked up by the blow and tossed over the bartop onto the squealing rodian behind it. She pulled herself into a crouch and felt to her belt. A leather pouch. A little vial. She grinned as she spat a mouthful of acid tasting blood onto the floor. Causing another squeal from the Rodian bartender. No time for the hypospray. She popped the little glass vial into her mouth and bit down hard, shattering the thin glass into shards that bit painfully against her tongue. But there it was. Amongst the glass shards grating against her molars the spice was activating. She took a breath through closed teeth to let the spice fully activate and then, like a flipped switch, the pain in her mouth, her head, her arms, her stomach, was gone. She spit out the glass and a great deal of blood, then she made her move. With practiced precision, she pushed off her back leg and launched herself over the bar, straight into the chest of the burly human man who had initially struck her. She headbutted his sternum, feeling more than hearing the wind rush from his lungs in a gasp. He choked, then she was striking again. A closed fist to his neck, striking once, twice, thrice. Then she swept his legs out from under him with a kick of her own. Dropping him face first into the bartop, Where he collapsed. His unconscious body struggling to even take a breath as he choked on his own tongue. Then the bar room erupted into chaos.

White flakes of snow struck against the protective kinetic shield that covered the wardroid, turning the protective bubble almost white as the shield compensated for the sudden increase in projectile disturbance. She and the rest of the Iron Knights tipped their wardroids completely over, hanging upside down over the eye of the storm they pulled back and began their dive. Shooting after their Manda’lor’s missiles like iron rockets. The wind kicking between their stirrups sounding like an unearthly scream as they reached terminal velocity. One of the knights beside her caught a turbolaser blast and disappeared in a jut of flame and expanding gas. But her smile was set, and her wardroid began to vibrate as they passed through the thermal layers of the storm. “Release munitions.” And a dozen heavy unguided bombs plummeted towards the center of the storm.

Her heart beat like the thundering wardrums aboard the Mandalorian battlecruisers. As their mass drivers accelerated chunks of phrik and durasteel to something close to the speed of light, so fell the iron riders of Mandalore the Bloody. Chandrila they had brought low, its populace put to the sword, then they had been blown again by the winds of their mighty God. For Kad Ha’Rangir had called them to follow the weakness of the Rebel Alliance. To forge them in the fire of war until they shed their weakness or perished in the white hot flames. Ka’ Ha’ ‘Thra The guttural calls of the Iron Knights filled her helmet as they followed Blackmorne toward the wine-dark sea. Kad Ha’Rangir would feast on their sacrifice. Mandalore the Bloody would lead them again. For the Crusade was not over. It would never be over.

“Then he is yours to do with as you wish. Though I would recommend you teach him to not run off from the pack.” She squinted a grin towards the Wookiee and Mon Calamari before giving them a near mocking bow. She gave a wave and the troup of battered mandalorians made thor way towards one of the escape shuttles that had been seeded on world from the Xaakzaamheid several months before. It would be a long journey. But she did not look back. There would be another future for her people. For her god.

But the drumming beat of the Mandalorians did not relent, and the the vibroblade sank up to the hilts in the right side of the Jedi Apprentice’s chest. It rattled against the back of his rib cage and collapsed his right lung. She withdrew the blade after snapping off its microvibration function as a new call burst through battle stupor. There were more jedi. And thus her dreams of a dark sacrifice were at an end. She had won the argument, but not the war itself. She cursed softly and looked up to the caves dark roof. Kad Ha’Rangir was a harsh master. She placed her hand on Genesis’s chest and pressed upon the wound. But the blood flow was already slackening. Miraculous jedi healing had saved the young man from instantaneous death and somewhere in Rose’s now tiring head she knew it was for the better. A hostage like him would save them from the brunt of the Jedi Master’s wroth. She lifted a thin hand and stared at the clotting blood that covered her pale skin then stood looking at her brothers and sisters who were readying their weapons. She pulled Genesis to his feet and walked him to the entrance to the cave where she could already hear the dim hum of lightsabers. A wookiee and a Mon Calamari? She gave them a bloody smile and an equally bloody wave. And when she spoke, her free hand spoke along with her in the lorrdian kinetic language she had grown up with. “It appears that your boy here believed that he could take on the might of Kad Ha’Rangir. We have proven him wrong. But fear not, the fool still lives. If barely. We offer him as a price for our escape, but if you wish to take us, then you will loose the boy.” She set him down against the wall and gave them a shrug her vibroblade coming back to life in her hand. Would they let the Mandalorians walk away? Or would there be another fight?

Rose felt the blade yet again bite into flesh, the thirsty blade drinking of it. But again she was hurled away. This time harder, as if a wall had been suddenly thrown at her. Tears stung her eyes as she stumbled into a crouch. The taste of copper flooded her senses as she blinked away the tears and felt the blood of her broken nose dripping down her chin. She reset her stance and coiled her back leg below her as she waited for his counter strike, the attack to follow his blow that could have finished her. But instead he chose to speak. Time? Nurture? This galaxy had been given decades of time to heal and prepare themselves for the unavoidable return of the Sith Lords. But what had the Galaxy done? It had sat on its haunches, dismissed its military, and let itself be infiltrated by a thousand leeches in the form of a senate. She had seen it. She had seen the suffering of the thousands. The escape ships on fire below mandalorian artillery. The Galactic Alliance crumbling while its rich made away in private craft. While trillions died in smoke and horror. That was the true price of sloth. And the Jedi had paid for it, the galactic alliance had paid for it. But they had not learned the lesson from it. The galaxy deserved to be molded by stronger hands than that of the failed Jedi Order! Her voice was muffled by the bleeding state of her nose, every word echoed by a spatter of blood upon the cave floor. “Did not the Jedi and your Galactic Alliance have years to prepare for us?” She spoke of the grand threat of the Sith and the Mandalorians. Her voice following the beat of the mandalorian war song rose with its pitch. “You had your nurture and your time and you failed. It was left for us wolves to tear apart!” But she had given him enough respite. She had answered his debate in turn. For, what respite was there when the drums were beating the song of war? Only blood would seal the argument. So she took the step and closed the distance, driving the vibro hatchet with all the force her muscles could bear in a downward swing to his exposed and wounded shoulder. The drums were begging for his blood. And this time she did not hold back and followed the first strike with a stab to his chest. Her god demanded his death, and she would give him the blood he desired. ((Combat actions: Took the force push to the face, strike again to the shoulder and to the chest)) ((3))