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The Hapes Cluster


Tarrian Skywalker

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Relief, more than anything, flooded Mirdala as she sat in the chair next to Kandor's bed, cradling her head in her hands. The weight of worry finally lifted from her, though she hasn't realized until that moment just how much. They were free to go home and to what ever mission awaited them. For a moment it didn't seem real to her. Glancing at her wrist, she instantly knew why.

 

"Are we really free to go? This is still active." She held up her wrist that still bore the tracking device.

 

White gave her an apologetic look. "It is true. However to ensure compliance the tracker isn't going to be removed until law enforcement sees you safely to your ship and on your way. The locational restrictions have been removed. As of midnight tonight, you'll be able to move freely about the city to collect and pack whatever supplies you need for your journey. Now if you'll excuse us, we'll leave you both to your rest."

 

Thane gave them one last nod of thanks, then he and White left the room.

 

Mirdala rose, turning to Kandor and rested her forehead against his. "You'll excuse me if I question you the next time you describe a mission as 'take a look' into something. This did nearly become quite the mess, cyar'ika." Despite her words, a slight smile curved her lips.

------

"I'd say it's been a pleasure, but, let's be honest, it hasn't been," Mirdala quipped to the red-headed Hapan officer who'd met them at the space port to remove the tracking device the next morning.

 

"I think we can agree to part on mutual respect and the knowledge that we're likely to never meet again." She answered, nodding stiffly, surprised when Mirdala extended her hand.

 

"I can respect the position we put your department in. You weren't wrong in distrusting me before, just not quite for the reasons you were trying to pin on me. If you're ever in my neck of the woods beer's on me." Ultimately the red-head nodded and shook the other woman's hand.

 

Not sure if these two are so odd because they're bounty hunters or Mandalorians, or both. the woman thought to herself as she returned to her speeder.

 

Mirdala stood at the base of the ship's ramp, almost as though she were standing guard to make sure the woman that had disappeared around the corner wasn't coming back. Kandor's hand on her shoulder brought her back from her vigil and she sighed, ultimately glad this particular excursion was over. With the exception of a few intimate moments with Kandor, she would happily forget this system and it's people existed. "Let's get out of here cyar'ika."

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Ke barjurir gar'ade, jagyc'ade kot'la a dalyc'ade kotla'shya. - "Train your sons to be strong but your daughters to be stronger."

“A Mandalorian woman's greatest talent is not her charm or beauty, but her strength of body and will.” - Mandalorian proverb

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  • 3 weeks later...

The whisky felt like fire, passing through her lips, ravaging her mouth, alighting her tongue with the taste of Kreminan Absynthe, the flavour that gave Arkanian Fireball the kick it advertised, before scorching and parching her throat as she swallowed the shot. Swiftly the metallic sting of copper replaced it, a consistent reminder of the damage done to her lithe body by the Sith Master Ason Antilles. The stained wooden chair creaked under her as she leaned back in it, her blackened boots resting on the table before her. Her crimson eyes narrowed as she scanned the cantina, taking in the seedy establishment through the wafting fragrance of incense, hookahs, and deathsticks. She could feel a few eyes on her, scanning across her duster and hat, taking in her marked beauty. She poured another shot from the bottle at her side, purposely spilling some to the floor. She doubted if the barkeep from whom she had purchased the bottle knew she was underage for drinking in the Hapes Cluster, but she didn’t care.

 

“Where did you get that face tattoo, beautiful?”

 

Terra slowly turned towards the voice, allowing an alcohol-stupor grin to alight her face. Before her stood three Humans and one Weequay, more armored than the usual populace, and bearing the insignia of the Faraway Racketeers, local swoop gang. They appeared tipsy, and eager, and from the looks of the other barflys, all of whom were moving away, they would be trouble. Slurring her voice she raised her shotglass

 

I got it from my m-master

 

They all smirked, confident in the outcome of their night

 

“Of course you’re a runaway... We would all enjoy seeing where the rest of the tattoo, and you will show us or we will take you back to your master…”

 

Terra’s smile froze as the frontman patted his holster. He was sandy-haired and handsome, a gunslinger most likely, and eager to take her to bed for a night of entertainment. Her eyes darkened, and she smiled slowly, her pale lips giving way to sharpened teeth, crimson and dripping with the dark stain of blood. The whole group recoiled, the frontman stepping back her face contorting in horror. With a thrust of her leg she kicked the large wooden table into his legs, angling the table’s fall into his kneecaps. Wet snapping announced the tearing of his right knee, it buckling backwards under the impact of the stained wood. His anguished cry was muffled by the eruption of blasterfire from his friends. Their aim was haphazard and even at point blank range their sporting blasters missed their mark.

 

Like a wraith Terra stood from her chair allowing her duster to open, revealing the blackened and scarred beskar’gam beneath, her gloved hands raising her two flechette revolvers to bear on the massed thugs. As the hammer fell on Sanguis Exhaurire, it spit a round deep into the chest of the weequay, darts cutting through sinew, bone and flesh, exploding out his spine in a gout of shrapneled bone and internal organs. Certamen Animae fired into the lower abdomen of the second closest human, emptying his bowls through his pelvis, along with his supply of blood. As the two bodies dropped, Terra emptied the revolvers into the remaining human, turning a wasted life into nothing more then shredded and unrecognizable meat.

 

A whimpered moan drew her attention back to the downed frontman, incapacitated by the fallen table. Her armored boot shattered his jawline, filling his formerly handsome mouth with a froth of dislodged teeth and rushing blood. He sputtered and coughed unable to clear his airway, his emerald eyes shining with tears and the recognition that he would soon drown in his own blood. Sharpened teeth in a showing in a cruel smile, Terra holstered her revolvers and kneeled down beside the frontman, whose arms were straining and grasping to relieve his airway. With gloved hands she grabbed his right arm and bent it backwards before she put her armored knee through the back of his elbow, ripping through his tendons and bone, fragmenting the joint and putting gleaming bone through the flesh of his arm. A bubbling cry found its way through his choking as Terra repeated the process with his left arm. The cantina was deadly silent and the barflys watched the brutality with horror.

 

Standing once more, the sadistic girl reloaded her revolvers, letting the empty and burning shells land on her victim who continued to suffocate beside her. Her crimson eyes scanned the silent bar as she raised her revolvers once more.

 

No witnesses

 

Lancing rounds of flechettes ended the lives of the remaining ten or so humanoids in the bar, cutting them down like cordwood. Holstering once more, she withdrew her vibroswords, etched in ancient Sith runes, thirsty for the blood surrounding them. She let them feed upon the hapless cantina band, her body flowing through Echani form as she danced about the stage. The singer’s spine gave little resistance to the singing of the vibroblades. A startled gasp drew her from the dance, and her eyes found before her a serving girl, no more than twenty standard years.

 

The girl, golden hair flowing down her back, turned to flee, crying out for mercy from the demon that had slain all she had ever known. Her flesh split before the merciless onslaught of the vibroblades, the swift slice hamstringing her and letting her drop to the bloodstained floor. Her whimpering cries ended in a rattling stream of blood as Terra embedded the shimmering blade through her throat. She let the blades drink before slipping them back into their sheaths strapped upon her back. With a spring in her step, Terra walked swiftly out the door of the decimated Cantina, to where the Rosenrot lay waiting. Slipping into the cockpit, she activated the computer

 

Rosenrot, take us to orbit, plot course deep space.”

 

With a swift pulse of repulsor-engines, followed by the deep rumble of X-37 Vandals, the fighter climbed out of the planet’s atmosphere and gravity well, and engaged into hyperspace

Terra

To the Death...

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YOU MUST FINISH WHAT YOU HAVE BEGUN.

 

------

 

The Necropolis of Gallinore stood, cold and cruel, on a bluff overlooking the coast of the largest continent on the capitol planet of Hapes. Its thin and curling spires glinted gold: the relative age of the system’s star touching both valleys and mountains with an autumnal glow as it the planet spun on its axis away from the sun like a dancer feigning scorn to her partner. Here were buried the royal women of Hapes. The number of bodies collected in the halls and grounds of this sanctuary of the dead grew exponentially every year: such was the practice of Hapan politics. For every new Queen Mother crowned, a half dozen sisters, cousins, aunts, nieces, or daughters paved the way in their own blood, spinning the roulette of the assassins and waiting to see where the wheel stopped turning. Marbled halls clad in jewels paradoxically held the refuse of the monarchy, rotting bones of steel-blooded ladies whose desperation to stay alive did not match their gift of cunning. They were laid to final rest in velvet and satin, given at least that much honor by those who saw to their demise.

 

But deep within the vaults of the Necropolis, underground where only the lowest, the grunts, the unspeakables tread, there lay an array of tombs for the unknown. No marble or granite or gold filigree adorned the outside, no expensive calligraphy in hammer and chisel to mark the names of the forgotten ones within. These were the casualties. The foreigners. Without home or family, here were stowed the remains of women whose bodies could not just be discarded into the sea, or incinerated to be forgotten, but women whose secrets were intended to stay buried.

 

A caretaker had been appointed to these halls; banished as a form of punishment for a crime not severe enough to warrant execution. A weathered man worn by sun and toil, his skin leathery to the appearance, bore with great fatigue the grooves that time had etched upon his face. Known only as “The Steward”, he made a habit every evening of standing upon the bluff and watching as the late evening sun set beyond the horizon, capturing the last bits of the day’s beauty before descending to the darkness to sweep the dust off of the forgotten. On this particular evening, however, the auburn sun seemed sinister as it disappeared into the sea. The air was too still. The entire planet seemed to be waiting for a command.

 

The Steward hobbled slowly back up the craggy rocks at the edge of the bluff to enter the grounds of the Necropolis. He wandered across the grassy courtyard, weaving between marble pillars, to enter the central halls. Slowly, carefully, he descended into the dank underground, the warm air thick with embalming spices and incense mingling with mildew. Like an old donkey wandering the same weary trail, he began to go about his cleaning duties, sweeping out the vaults, emptying pest traps, plugging holes in the stonework.

 

Modināt.

 

It was the barest of whispers, carried as if on a halting breath of frigid wind. Stretching from across time and space, it reverberated through the marble hallways, a hushed thunder.

 

Modināt.

 

The second time, it was enough to make the Steward halt his work. He stood as straight as his ailing spine would allow and craned his neck to look back at the doorway to the stairs, ensuring no one had entered. The chilling whisper had grown teeth, and was even more distinguishable. But no shadow loomed in the doorway, no figure swooped down the cobblestone stairs. He paused just a moment longer to listen, ears straining against the silence, scanning for movement. Nothing.

 

Atgriešanās!

The ice-wind stirred up a tempest in the cramped chamber, the funnel cloud tossing the old guard to and fro in its jaws and slamming his body into a far wall. The entrance to a sealed tomb froze and cracked under the relentless onslaught of the unnatural wind, and as the thin pieces of shale fell to the floor, the Steward cried out in terror. The voices in the whirlwind had indeed, been loud enough to awaken the dead.

 

The whirlwind stopped as quickly as it started, the droning voices disappearing from the demolished chamber. A figure appeared, silhouetted through the jagged remnants of the door. She appeared even more ghastly for being clad in a simple white shift dress, staggering as though her limbs had forgotten their purpose. Her hair was pleated carefully into a crown-style braid that wound all the way to her elbow, woven carefully through with flowers as with the greatest of tenderness. She held up a lily-white hand to shield her face from even the miniscule amount of light that crept its way down to the depths of the Necropolis vaults. Brandy-brown eyes wide open in fear and alarm, she scanned the room before her until her eyes fixed on the form of the Steward, cowering where the wind had left him, dripping blood from a gash on his scalp.

 

“Where-” she began hoarsely, only to be strangled by a hacking cough from a throat that had lain dry for years. When at last she regained control of her lungs, she straightened and put her hands on the wall as if to steady herself. Reminiscent of a startled doe, her eyes pleaded with the ailing old man for an explanation. “Where am I?”

 

A moment later, her gaze had gone blank, some faraway terror settling in as another spirit seemed to pass by the haunted woman. Her fingers were as frigid as if they had been plunged into ice water.

 

Awaken.

 

Like a beacon in her soul, like an anchor dragging her down by the pit of her stomach, like a black spot she could not rub out, the voice rattled through her mind. And suddenly, it all came back. The slow and steady pinging of medical monitors, the swarming staff, the pain, the grief. The woman from the nameless tomb recalled her name, just as it came on the tide of the Force.

 

Where is she…?

 

“No,” she murmured to no one but herself.

 

Seized by panic, she rushed at the Steward, whose shrieks amplified as he buried his injured head in his arms in an attempt to fend her off. He murmured under his breath, gesticulating with his arms, holding his hands with the palms facing her as if to urge her not to come a step closer, terror seizing him. Frantically, she grabbed at his wrists until she could manage to meet his eyes. “Please, please, sir,” she panted, eyes wide with fear, “you must help me. Please, he’s coming.”

 

The Steward, who was finally beginning to realize that the erstwhile ghost was just as terrified as he, looked up to face her. “Madam,” he began, in an ill-used, croaking voice, “who is coming?”

 

But her grip on his wrists went slack, another jolting memory crushing her soul with the force of a superlaser. The desperate gnawing sensation, the emptiness she felt in the pit of her stomach suddenly had a name as well. She ignored his question, instead echoing the sentiment she heard rattling around in her brain. “Where is she?”

 

The man shook his head helplessly, rubbing his wrists, as the woman crumpled to the floor, sitting on her knees. Haunted eyes rose slowly to meet his, eyes swimming with tears. “Where is my baby?”

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...why are the pretty ones always the most hazardous to your health?

May the Forth therve you well...

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With all the grace of a trebuchet thrown bantha, the Marie exited hyperspace on the fringes of the Hapian system of Gallinore. The heavily modified CR-90 corvette was painted garishly in the old Black Sun fashion of crimson and black. Having passed just recently through the transitory mists, the ship was still in full defensive mode, its particle shields up to full power. As more power was dumped into the engines the craft sped towards the glowing orb of the planet,

 

Delta stood, fully armoured at the helm. Though he had been originally ordered to begin the groundwork for the assault on the Golden Link, when the casino had surrendered without a fight Delta had instead veered the course to this system for one idea alone. Gems.

 

The rainbow gems of Gallinore were always very valuable on the black market, but after a quick analysis and a few well placed tips, buying and trading were out of the picture. Instead a simple heist was in order, The largest gem exporter on the planet was a private run institution, labelled as ‘Gallinore Market Exports.’ Foolishly, they had declined a complete buyout. So Delta had decided to make an example of them. The planetary defenses were relatively non existent this far into the Hapan Cluster, instead relying on the firm and rigid defensive of the Mists to provide adequate detection of an assault force. This did not stop however a single Corvette class vessel and a wing of attack starfighters from infiltrating the defensive perimeter with a few well placed bribes.

 

As such, the export company would have a rude awakening. “Engines ahead full, take us to the surface, Starfighters, establish a perimeter, you see those barge? Begin to corral them back onto the surface. Don’t be afraid to fire at will. We only have two hours until the Hapan s get here, let us loot as much as we can.”

 

And with that, a flash of turbolaser fire, an exploded civilian craft in the upper atmosphere later, the raid was on!

 

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Ca'Aran

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Wrapped in a blanket, on the warm hearth of the Steward’s home, the lifeless shell of a woman sat, trembling. Once the elderly man had overcome his shock, he abandoned his post for the evening and led her slowly back to the small stone house--little more than a hut, she thought, eyes flitting around the room again--on the edges of the property. After depositing her in front of a crackling fire, he excused himself with a series of comments about readying stimcaf and, with a tentative glance, left her alone to her thoughts. In her mind, a maelstrom swirled, much akin to the tempest that woke her from the grave. So many questions lacking so many answers plagued her thoughts. As soon as they came, they were replaced by others. From what she had gathered, after stepping out into the starlit night, she was still on Gallinore. But how long she had been here, in whatever state of half-life she had been in, remained unclear. She could gain no clues from her body, as it hadn’t seemed to age, but she felt a lifetime older. Color was returning to her cheeks, but no strength to her body, and as such, it felt like a foreign place to inhabit. From the time of her adolescence she had prided herself on her physical prowess, strength, and agility, and now her hands felt as though they barely had the fortitude to clutch the blanket around her shoulders. Of all her questions, however, the location of her family tortured her the most.

 

The baby… Andon… Ashley…

 

Clenching her teeth and squeezing her eyes shut, she willed the names out of her head, praying for a respite from the fear and guilt that tortured her. She hadn’t been strong enough to stave off whatever removed her from them. The Grey Goddess who could reach deeply into the spectrum of the Force couldn’t keep her arms around her family.

 

No, stop, she chided herself for the useless thoughts. Those considerations wouldn’t solve anything. But what could? Just as her mind began to mount the daunting task of taking stock of her current situation, the Steward returned carrying a tray laden with a meager offering of finger foods--likely all he has--and a pot of steaming hot tea.

 

“I thought you were bringing caf,” she said, the deadened tone of her voice startling herself.

 

The wizened man smiled gently. “Pardon, but you don’t seem to need any more strain on your nerves, miss.”

 

With a snort and a half-smile, she conceded his point, dropping the blanket from around her shoulders and reaching forward to accept the cup from his hands. The luxury of the satin graveclothes she still wore gave her a shudder as her bare arms brushed against the slippery fabric adorning her torso. “I think I might need to make some new clothes the first order of business,” she said dryly, wrapping her hands around the teacup.

 

He leaned forward in his chair, his kindly eyes seeming to see straight through her as he assessed her. “And what business does a woman back from the dead have in the land of the living?”

 

It struck to the heart of the matter that she had been working hard to ignore. Why had she been called back from her rest in that cold forgotten tomb? As thoughr in answer, the voice that was not hers reverberated through her head again.

 

YOU MUST FINISH WHAT YOU HAVE BEGUN.

 

“I have to finish,” she repeated, staring blankly into the flames yet again. When she blinked, and turned to face the Steward again, her eyes swam with tears, but whether from emotion or the dry heat of the fire, even she couldn’t tell. “There are so many questions without answers. The last thing I remember was holding my baby for only a moment. He was here, too,” she breathed, her voice catching in her throat, “Andon--my husband.” The word sounded foreign, but she pressed on. “There was no attack, there was no emergency. I don’t remember how I died.” Her face screwed up in confusion and she turned it down to study the stone tiles on the floor. “I have to find them,” she choked out in a whisper.

 

The Steward took her cup and set it back on the tray before taking both her hands gently in his. “I can help to send you on your way, but that is all I can do.”

 

Solemnly, she nodded up at him, squeezing his hands as much as her weak fingers would allow. “Thank you. I have nothing to repay you with. This alone is more than I should ask.”

 

“I have much to atone for. I will think of it as paying forward to the other side.” He smiled, nodding graciously to her, and left the room.

 

With trembling hands, she picked up the teacup again, staring into the watery green liquid. After finding some clothes, where would she go? The hospital might have a record of what had happened to her, but her entombment among the forgotten seemed to suggest that no one had bothered to claim her body. What, then, was the cause of this? Her last memory was of her husband’s gentle, tearful smile as he gazed at their infant. Where had he gone? What had happened to their newborn? Her body seemed to ache as she pondered her baby, a pain deep within her that protested the absence of the small body in her arms. As she hunched her shoulders, bracing against the physiological ache, a quiet breeze blew through the house. There was nothing particularly sinister about it, but it triggered the memory of the dark presence whose command had woken her from the slumber of death. Where is she…?

 

The teacup slipped from her fingers and dashed to delicate bits on the forbidding floor. Her body, which had already been uncontrollably manifesting symptoms of shock, spasmed in response to the sound and she jumped to her feet. With that single memory, her weakness was not just inconvenience, it was danger. Her hand instinctively flew to her side, and grasped for the cylindrical weapon that she cognitively knew wasn’t to be found there.

 

Weapon. Her weapons. They must have done something with them. A Jedi’s lightsaber does not simply go missing.

 

The Steward rounded the corner, breathless, in response to the crash of porcelain, and she shed the blanket as she stepped forward to seize his hands once again. “I’m not safe here,” she uttered, a frantic note hidden in the commanding tone of her voice. “Please, take me to the Royal Gallinore Hospital. It’s the only lead I have.”

 

He nodded slowly, reaching for the overcoat that hung on a peg by the low-ceilinged door. “Come, I have a speeder.”

 

------

 

A quick stop along the way saw the woman feeling much more like herself, clad in a simple olive green belted tunic and black pants to match the cloak she now drew tightly about her. The tea had brought a fresh wave of color to her cheeks, and as they stalled to hover before the doors of the hospital, she briefly set her fingers on his shoulder with a melancholy smile and a word of thanks before disappearing inside. The hospital was a disorienting place, the sheer number of emotions that assaulted her through the Force dictating that she take a moment to steady herself and lock down her feelings in order to accomplish her next task. Making her way surreptitiously through the various wards, she arrived at the center for neonatal care. Trying to seem as nonchalant as possible, she approached the desk where a protocol droid sat, checking arriving patients into their rooms.

 

“Excuse me,” she said, trying to cover over the tone of desperation in her voice. “I’m looking for a record of a baby born here, and I was wondering if you could help me?”

 

The droid turned its sleek chrome faceplate towards her. “I am C-12NPU. I am programmed to assist current patients. Records are outside of the jurisdiction of my protocol. If you would like, I can transfer you to--”

 

Heaving a sigh, she closed her eyes and reached out with the Force. It was all at once familiar and foreign, like seeing a friend for the first time in half a lifetime, and like trying to walk on a limb that has lost circulation. Nonetheless, she traced the circuits of the droid in her mind, calling on all the technical prowess she had picked up in her years as a pilot and mechanic, and with a few sharp tosses of her head, she had disabled the servos of the droid that were inhibiting her.

 

With a brief look around to ensure that no one had been watching her, she addressed the droid again. “I’m looking for a record of a baby born here, to Andon Colos and”--she hesitated, the same foreign feeling settling in as she spoke her name for the first time since emerging from the tomb--”Jaina Jade Colos.”

 

The droid paused a moment as its system took a moment to reset to the reprogrammed circuits. “One moment please, and I will retrieve the necessarily information for you,” it droned in a tinny monotone. It hobbled out of sight, disappearing it what appeared to be some kind of storage unit. She was just beginning to feel nervous about the length of time it had been out of sight when it returned, holding in hand a datapad and a small, nondescript box that looked like it might hold a pair of shoes, except for the name COLOS poorly scratched into one side in Aurebesh. “Here is the information you have requested. If you would like--”

 

She wandered away, leaving the droid still speaking as she peeked inside the worn and dusty box. There, welcoming her like an old friend, lay her lightsaber, its chrome-plated handle humming as if happy to see her again. With the first genuine smile since she had been awakened, she clipped it to her belt, then powered up the datapad and skimmed the data as fast as her eyes could read. Severe maternal distress...fetal abnormality...female...birth defect...birth defect? She paused to read more carefully. Failed motion and facial recognition tests… blindness… name: Tirzah Jade.

 

Tirzah. She had given birth to a daughter. A daughter whose eyes did not see as her mother did.

 

Hungrily, she searched for any clue, any sign that her daughter was still close by. Maternal death. Cause: unknown. Father could not be located to receive custody of the infant. Remanded to the Teneniel Djo Orphanage for Foreign Children. So they had record of her here, but not at the cemetery where they had lain her body to rest. Why had Andon--so steadfast, so dependable, so loyal--not taken charge of their baby?

 

And then she reached the end of the file, and her stomach lurched, horror welling up inside of her. The date on the file was twenty-three years past. For more than twenty years, she had lain dormant in that dank, nameless tomb. Resisting the urge to crumple took all her focus and strength, and the pretense of veiled niceties slipped away.

 

Without a word, she clutched the datapad, not bothering to return it, and glided soundlessly out of the ward and back toward the hospital’s exit. On her way out, she lifted a comlink out of the pocket of a very loud Twi’lek male who was hollering loudly about the quality of his care during a previous stay at the hospital. With a few keystrokes on the datapad, she had ascertained the comm frequency of the Orphanage, and, as she stepped out into the chilly night air, tucked herself into an alley, leaning back up against the wall and gripping the comlink with white knuckles as though it were her savior.

 

-----

 

A series of brief conversations with some unhelpful and tight-lipped officials at the orphanage left Jaina with little information, but enough to leave her feeling utterly crushed. She sat up against the grungy wall, knees pulled tightly to her chest, and she stared at the comlink as if willing it to give her different information.

 

Her daughter was gone, having left the planet after being adopted by a former employee of the orphanage. Out there, roaming, was Tirzah, now twenty-three years old, with no concept of the love that her mother longed to give her, or the guilt and regret that she carried like a millstone around her neck. The last representative of the orphanage that she talked to promised to send more details about the adoptive mother to Jaina’s comm frequency, but seemed to insinuate that they had gone off-planet.

 

If that was the case, she thought, there was only one thing to do. Securing passage on a ship of some sort became essential, but how to attract the attention of a pilot? She sighed heavily. Guess I’ll just have to trust my resourcefulness, she thought wryly. The best place for her to start seemed to be the Gallinore Public Spaceport. With one more glance over her shoulder, setting her face like steel, she disappeared into the night to make her way to her daughter.

 

((EDITED FOR RETROACTIVE TIME CONTINUiTY)

Edited by Guest

53bzzl2.png

...why are the pretty ones always the most hazardous to your health?

May the Forth therve you well...

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Over the main cities of the Hapan planet, a war raged. The light strike fighters launched by the main spaceport were no match for the Marie and her escorts. Most M’ytils were blown out of the sky before their repulsors switched to ION engines. The crimson streaks of turbolaser fire and anti-starfighter weaponry lit up the sky and secondary explosions shone bright against the starfield.

 

The Black Sun starfighters corralled the gem freighters towards the now barren spaceport. Any the deviated from their courses were blown to pieces from either proton torpedoes or a well aimed turbolaser strike. The remains of a shattered hauler crashed into the cityscape. Splintering an apartment complex and spilling bodies to careen across the paved walkways. Eight Gem Haulers survived, surrendered, and opened their holds. THe Marie set down and leading his men, Delta walked into the starport. His men surrounding him in a defensive perimeter. A smiled stretched over his helmeted features.

"Allright men, kill anyone who resists, we have one half hour to dust off. Grab only the most valuable cargo!"

 

Delta drew to a halt. His old senses, well trained by his old love Qaela, alerted him. There was a force user here. He withdrew his sonic pistol from its holster. This would be fun.

 

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Ca'Aran

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"Public flights to Coruscant," she repeated for at least the tenth time to the Bith attendant with a puzzled face. At least, she thought he looked puzzled. Bith faces were notoriously hard to read. “I can work to pay my way. I’m an excellent pilot.”

 

The Bith shrugged. “Pilots have ships, madam. You do not have a ship.” He looked at her sidelong. “Pilots also have credits.” She suddenly felt very self-conscious at the bug-like creature’s stare, knowing how detailed their sense perception functioned, and the instinct to run, to hide, to divert attention kicked in.

 

“You know what,” she waved a hand surreptitiously, “I didn’t come this way.” Applying the Force to gentle persuasion of the being’s brain, she walked away, satisfied that the memory of her would disappear as “she didn’t come this way” came floating over her shoulder in the Bith’s tonal voice. Feeling dejected, she sat on one of the benches lining the walkway of the spaceport, watching the crowds filter in and out as she pondered her next move. She was without credits. She was without her ship--would its mooring on Coruscant still be safe after all this time?--and without friends. Friends, she thought wistfully, as another memory came rushing back. She had fled John and Sirvani’s wedding because of that same dark voice that rang through her burial chamber. Some dark hand upon her had forced the baby to come too soon... Pieces were beginning to fit together, but her mind was still clouded.

 

No, stay here, stay now, she shook her head firmly. Her life seemed to be one string of clouded memories, and it felt incredibly unsafe to find herself wandering through the past while her present tickled her sense of danger. Her eyes widened and adrenaline began coursing through her body in a sudden realization: that wasn’t an ethereal sense of her present situation, that was an actual warning from the Force.

 

A burst of blasterfire sounded from outside, and several fighters touched down, emblazoned with the Black Sun insignia. With a heavy sigh, Jaina tossed the hood of her cloak over her head and silently prayed to blend into the crowd. Twelve years ago, there was a bounty on her head. She had no way of knowing if that bounty had been lifted.

 

Best to play it safe, she thought grimly, letting her hand rest on her thigh just below her lightsaber.

 

The doors to the hangar burst open and an armored man brandishing what appeared to be a sonic pistol walked through the door, his air relaxed as the men around him scuttled here and there, absconding with what appeared to be a rather large shipment of Rainbow Gems. Her first thought was, I hope he doesn’t fire that pistol around this Bith or we’re liable to have some exploding heads in here. The second thought edged the first one out in priority, and Jaina stood very slowly and gravely, almost entirely turning her back and appearing to busy herself with a series of travel flyers, keeping the helmeted man in the corner of her view. He’s looking for me. It wasn’t quite danger she was feeling, but alarm. In these moments of conflict and adrenaline, Jaina managed to feel at home. Every sense was keyed in and aware, bits of her mind and body waking up that had lain dormant for more than a decade. Whatever happened next, her nerves were tingling, straining to be at the ready.

53bzzl2.png

...why are the pretty ones always the most hazardous to your health?

May the Forth therve you well...

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Distant fear, the tepid feeling of hundreds of individuals fearing for their lives. Though he was no Sith Lord... fear, blood, and death overwhelmed his own fears. Combat adrenaline was enough to get him to that battle high so many soldiers spent their lives pursuing. Delta breathed in deeply to fill in his lungs for safely scrubbed air. To his right a small fight was occurring between two black sun soldiers and two civilians who were attempting to resist the plundering of their valuables. Overhearing the young man attempting to be the knight in shining armour for his girlfriend, Delta could only smile. The exuberance of youth.

 

 

Tiring of the yelling and resisting one of his soldiers summarily executed the young man brave enough to attempt to stop his girlfriends flame gem earrings from being stolen. The black sun soldier ripped the earrings from her ears and walked to the next group of shocked and huddled civilians, leaving the young man's girlfriend to only remember him by the fine mist of blood that had covered her lithe features. But Delta was now looking for something else. Jedi. Clicking on his arm based datapad, Delta sent out the alert signal and things got very much more tense. Hearing the low tone in their ears, the black sun soldiers took a step back from their plundering and trained their various weapons on the crowds gathered at the edges of the room. Turning up the broadcast signal on his exterior mic, Delta stood onto one of the low tables littered with brochures for iridonian cruise lines. Time to flush the creature out.

 

 

“Alright nobody move! This is a stickup!”

 

 

The crowd froze completely. Looking with wide eyes at the many soldiers with many guns. A child sneezed behind his mother. Like one, the crowd held their breath and all eyes looked at the man standing in Black Katarn Armour. The child sneezed again.

 

 

“I warned you!”

 

 

Blaster fire, flechettes, and a hail of sonic weapons strangely only aimed at Bith erupted into the crowd.

 

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Ca'Aran

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Ignoring the obvious sounds of scuffling behind her, Jaina began taking tentative steps toward the door. If a couple punk teenagers wanted to trifle with the Black Sun, that would be no skin off her teeth. Better to lie low, stay alive, and get out without a fight. She didn’t owe Hapes or its people anything, this place where time stood still, where her family disappeared into hazy memories. The ring of blasterfire echoed, and loud protests to the ensuing pillaging turned instantly to a girl’s meaty sobs. The prickle of the Force spurred her to motion as the boy's spirit faded. Slowly, methodically, as to attract no attention, she turned her back to the pillagers and made her way toward the open blast doors mere feet ahead of her. Then, without warning, something changed. Her senses erupted, her fingers twitched, and there was lightning in her veins. This was no longer a vague sense of warning. They were on the hunt.

 

Heavy footsteps behind her sounded, and the leader’s voice echoed mechanically through the room. “Alright, nobody move! This is a stickup!”

 

She stopped in her tracks, hand hovering over her lightsaber, as the Black Sun agents grew quiet, the only sounds the rattling of blasters being removed from their holsters. If she played this right, she could still get out unscathed. Then, off to her right, a child sneezed. No… Her head moved fractionally to follow the sound out of the corner of her eye. Then she saw him, and time seemed to freeze. Huddled behind his mother, his pallid skin betraying his fear, he met her eyes for just a moment, and her heart crumbled. In his face, all she could see was a projection of her daughter. A lump formed in her throat, and she couldn’t tear her gaze away. Her jaw slackened, and her spirit screamed out for the daughter that she lost. Tirzah…

 

Then the boy’s face contorted, and Jaina mouthed to the mother, “RUN!” He sneezed again, and the world exploded into motion.

 

Jaina’s instincts, electrified by the current of the Force, snapped her weak body into motion. Pivoting on a one-handed cartwheel, the other hand jerked the lightsaber off her belt as she threw herself in front of the boy and his mother. With a jubilant snap-hiss, the violet blade sprang to life, humming its song for all to hear, and Jaina Jade came alive again. Blaster bolts ricocheted in all directions as her arm seemed to move of its own accord, batting them away like a pitten playing with a dormouse. It was like an old friend coming home, but with a new fervency: she was touching something in the Force she had never experienced before. These Black Sun agents had woken up the Garu bear matriarch, and she was baring her teeth.

 

But after only two full seconds of constant motion, even driven by the current of the Force, her next realization was: this had been a very bad idea. Her atrophied muscles, dormant for twenty long years, screamed in protest; her danger sense overwhelmed all other awareness. With a peripheral glance behind her, she saw the boy disappearing through the blast doors and down a side corridor out of the line of fire. She backed up, still holding her lightsaber before her, and tucked herself behind the wall on the opposite side of the blast doors to evaluate her next move. Then with a loud and sickening splat, something warm and wet splashed across her legs. In a fraction of a second, she glanced down and stifled a stomach heave as what appeared to be brain cells stuck to the only pair of pants she owned. “Well,” she muttered, “there go the Bith.”

 

Every instinct in her yearned to run, to save her own skin, to abandon the innocents to their fate. But, she thought, watching the boy’s footsteps disappearing down the adjacent hallway as if in slow motion, there is more at stake here than that. Disengaging her lightsaber, she clipped it back onto her belt, and took a single deep breath. Jaina reached as deep into the Force as she had allowed herself to probe, and then stretched just a little farther--calling for strength, yearning for the ability to protect--and stepped around the corner, throwing her hands out with a shockwave forceful enough to knock everyone in the room to the ground.

 

“Enough!” she shouted, surveying the landscape of the room. Bodies littered the ground before her, some living, some dead, some wounded, others obliterated beyond recognition, the Bith notably missing everything from the neck upward. With hands spread before her, she sank into the calm within, holding the Force like a shield. She addressed the armored man who seemed to be their leader. “What do you stand to gain from this?” her voice echoed in the deafening quiet, blaster shots still ringing in her ears.

53bzzl2.png

...why are the pretty ones always the most hazardous to your health?

May the Forth therve you well...

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The carnage was beautiful. Or at least it was for a few precious seconds until the Jedi revealed herself. Flechettes ripped garish ribbons of flesh from a pale green rodians head as a female Black Sun soldier discharged her rifle point blank into his face. The razor sharp darts emitted in a cloud the ripped through bone and flesh passing through thin rodian bone and sinew like nothing at all and ending the life of two aqualish two meters behind him. Red blood mixed with rodian green in a viscous spray that coated ceiling and wall. In a circle around the soldiers and their leader the spray of blood erupted in a pattern some would call artistic enough to sell at the galleries in coruscant.

 

 

A purple lightsaber flashed and instantly everything went to shit. As was common with Jedi they happened to send all plans to hell. Realising a low table was not the best footing when you were fighting Jedi, Delta stepped behind it and leveled the sonic blaster at her. A reflected blaster bolt ricocheted off the purple blade and reflected through the face of the agent that had fired it. He died silently, smokey curls trailing from his ruined face as he fell.

 

“Set blasters to stun. We want her alive!”

 

 

And suddenly there were cries over the in ear comm as a force push sent the agents and civilians scattering. A child was blown hilariously into a framed painting and the agent gunning for her cartwheeled into a statuette of the Chum’da. Delta rolled to his feet and withdrew Scalp Hunter from its ankle holster. He had grabbed that pistol from a jedi Knight. A Scorpion Jedi Knight. As such the pistol was something designed to game the system as much as possible. When that character had died in disgrace to a hail of blaster/flechette/force/lightning/fallingstarship/AIDS, the pistol had lost that certain appeal. The gun was large caliber, ready to harvest the souls of Jedi Knights, and carried a degree of sentimental value. Delta had no plans of killing this one Jedi however.

 

 

The Jedi emerged from her cover in the door, she was in her mid twenties and followed the general rule of the galaxy in which there were no ugly people. Young and beautiful but she appeared tired.

 

“What do you stand to gain from this?”

 

 

Delta shrugged and dropped the pistols a degree so that is was aiming at her legs. No one fired.

 

 

“I was simply on a vacation and picking up some jewelry for this new bitch I work for. How about yourself sweetie?”

 

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Ca'Aran

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Broiling anger sizzled in her soul as Jaina surveyed the damage wrought in the starport. Her instincts, irreversibly shaped by the Jedi, bubbled up in protest of the casual manner with which these lives were taken, so needlessly, so gratuitously. She held her arms before her, palms outward in a gesture of defense, atrophied muscles trembling. Whether from anger or fatigue, she could not discern.

 

“You’d do all this just for something pretty to show off to your boss?” she narrowed her eyes at him, scoffing, and pointedly ignoring the question he leveled at her. “I guess there truly is no honor among thieves. Or terrorists.”

 

Noting the blaster carefully leveled at her, she ground her teeth together, barely containing the roiling sea of lava that was welling up in her. It would not do to provoke this man, who seemed dangerous enough even without a whole cadre of guns at his disposal. On the other hand, she wasn’t about to let this continue, no matter the odds. Gathering her anger, she let it seethe out of her, applying the Force to her next words in very careful manipulation.

 

“You have what you came for, now leave these people alone and go,” she demanded. Through the hangar doors, in the sky behind the Black Sun troops, Jaina spotted several unmistakable silhouettes. “Before our dear friends in the Hapan military come to pay you a visit,” she pointed with her chin at the four Hapan Battle Dragons descending on their current position.

53bzzl2.png

...why are the pretty ones always the most hazardous to your health?

May the Forth therve you well...

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“You’d do all this just for something pretty to show off to your boss?”

 

 

Delta made a tisking sound through his helmet mic. And his men tensed, their blasters still aimed at the lithe young Jedi girl.

 

 

“I guess there truly is no honor among thieves. Or terrorists.”

 

Delta laughed heartily, keeping his two weapons trained at the young woman.

 

“Now now my dear. I know you are a Jedi and thusly have to judge each and every person from your high Ronto, but I don’t consider myself a terrorist. I consider myself a mass murderer. There is a slight difference. You see the Coruscant Librarical Dictionary defines terrorism as-”

 

His helmet earpiece chirped. Hapans.

 

 

“You have what you came for, now leave these people alone and go, before our dear friends in the Hapan military come to pay you a visit,”

 

Rolling his eyes under his helmet his fingers twitched every so slightly and emptied the chambers of the sonic weapon and the Scalp Hunter towards the woman. Relying on the years of training he had recieved to alow him to take the woman out without killing her. As soon as the first bolt left the chamber of his weapons the rest of his merry band fired as well. Ejecting a wall of stun bolts, flechettes, and the surely aimed curse word that would make any Galactic Marine blush at the woman.

 

 

Above the whining of blasterfire echoes Delta taunting misogynistic voice. “I like killing these people don't trigger me deary by asking me to stop. I mean what will the Hapans do? They are a bunch of woman, Bleed on me once a month on me? I mean i'm into that but still.”

<>

 

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Ca'Aran

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"I'm no Jedi," she muttered as the alarm bells began to chime in her head at the twitch of the mercenary's finger on the trigger.

 

For a brief flicker of a moment that hovered in time, there was clarity. Heavy eyelids fell shut, and Jaina let her spirit expand, reaching out with the Force as though with snaking tendrils of flowering Mayla vine. She let the sweet scent of the Force fill her as she breathed in, a fraction of a second that felt like an eternity, as the grisly scene before her disappeared. Quivering muscles ceased to tremble. Her hands seemed to lift of their own accord, and from them, filling the space around her, the Mayla vine wove her a cocoon. As though from a distance, blasterfire rang out, and slowly, ever so slowly, she exhaled.

 

The chaos began. The din of discharged weapons squealed in her ears, and Jaina clenched her eyes shut, straining against the physical impact of the blast on her Force shield. Panic began to set in as she felt it weaken under the barrage. And then, as if a ghost reached out of her past, she could almost feel the vitrol of her former Master. Bishop's voice came to her. Hatred unleashed upon you: take it in, let it fester, turn it out as their destruction.

 

That welling anger, that disgust at the wastefulness of what had been done in this Hapan Spaceport, that fear for the life of her daughter; suddenly, they were her allies. The panic, no longer panic, erupted out of the cocoon, its metamorphosis complete. Now, it was power. Jaina's hands, once the picture of defense and protection, were alight with destruction. With a primal snarl, she unleashed an arc of energy from her hands, crackling lightning that forked out in every direction, making contact with not a single Black Sun agent--but rather, every weapon that was discharged against her.

 

Let it fester, turn it out, she thought, as the room before her exploded in electric light.

 

<>

53bzzl2.png

...why are the pretty ones always the most hazardous to your health?

May the Forth therve you well...

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Delta vs JJS --

 

Delta's attack was pretty straight forward. He used tactical NPCs associated with his faction as well as his own weapons to unleash an impressive barrage of fire against JJS, who was already weak from having been out of things for quite a long time. While there was nothing fancy about the attack, I knew that JJS would have to come up with a well-formulated counter in order to remain standing.

 

JJS' response very smartly relied on the Force, her connection to which has not atrophied with her body. I was immediately skeptical that any Force barrier would last under such an assault, but Delta specifically stated that he was going for nonlethal, which gives the shield a much better chance of holding up. She then showed her dark/light duality and made an attack which if successful should fry a bunch of weapons. This might be just a bit of an overreach when it comes to Force use, but it was handled well.

 

As a rule, I tend to only award kill/capture shots when the attacker has significant tactical advantage or I find the defense to be implausible given the circumstances in the situation. In a closely-matched situation, I prefer to rule that the killshot fails so as to extend the scenario until a more compelling attempt is made. That is the case here.

 

<>

 

JJS survives the onslaught, but not entirely unscathed -- as she makes her attack there is a window where her shield goes down and she might take a few glancing hits. Meanwhile she fries the weapons of her closest attackers before losing focus on her attack. The Hapan military is now getting close, and four Battle Dragons is more than enough to overwhelm the token force the Black Sun brought, so time is short, but the fight isn't over! I'm looking forward to seeing your next moves.

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The Diamond Cutter appeared out of hyperspace above Harterra, one of the interior cluster systems of the Hapes Cluster. The planet was a pleasant mix of mountain ranges and sweeping forests, broken by the trapping of civilization. Most of the architecture here was in the classic Empress Teta style, regal and stately. Or stuffy, as the occupants of the star yacht thought.

 

Lyda Rohs sat in the pilot's seat. Her reddish-brown hair glinted in the lights of the panels as her brown eyes scanned the traffic around the planet. Not too busy. Hopefully the Hapan beauracracy wouldn't force them to wait. She tapped the comm. "This is the Diamond Cutter, carrying representatives of Lorell Distributors. We have a meeting with Major Antilani Isolder of the Hapan Defense Fleet."

 

This began a long chain of back and forth messages until finally they were transferred to the military channels. Lyda let some of her impatience seep through as they were finally granted permission to land at a military base on planet. She took the ship down with a touch of Corellian recklessness, then turned to her business partner. "Ready to go show them the goods, Ulae?"

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Blood Gem Pirate

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Ulae Shyn adjusted the front of her smart business uniform, tugging her tailored shirt down at the hem and buttoning her jacket. Sighing at her reflection, she checked the holdout blaster strapped to her thigh and tucked in one last masquerading soporific dart amongst the pins in her hair. "Oh, I'm ready," she said, brushing the last vestiges of dust off her pencil skirt. "I just wish 'the goods' bought me persuasion power here. I'm not used to trying to convince women of things," she grinned, with a sidelong glance at Lyda.

 

As they stepped out onto the ramp after a brief word of farewell to their Chiss companion, Ulae scanned the military hangar before them. At the foot of the ramp, there stood a woman in full military regalia who could only be described as sharp. Every aspect of her--from her nose and chin to the vibroscimitar that she wore belted to her side--was angular and looked like you could cut yourself if you got too close. Straightening herself even further, and dusting off her naturally haughty Hapan air, Ulae strode down the ramp, tucking her datapad under her arm, and stretching out a hand in the formal fashion of the Hapan court. "Major Isolder, I take it?"

 

The woman, her graying hair tucked into a bun underneath a standard-issue beret, responded with a curt, efficient nod. "I am Major Antilara Isolder of the Royal Navy of Hapes."

 

"My name is Ulae Shyn. Thank you for seeing us on such short notice." Gesturing to the redhead following her down the ramp leading a hovercart which balanced a sizable arms locker, she applied her most winning smile. "This is my associate, Lyda Rohs. We are representatives of Lorell Distributors, a new branch of Tendrando Arms specifically engineered to best serve the interests of the worlds of the Hapes Consortium. I believe our agency forwarded you a preview of our presentation, did they not?"

 

As the women followed their military escort through the halls of the bunker, headed for the conference room, Emerald in the guise of Ulae Shyn had to bite back the resentment that crept up from her belly. Hapan Military school had left its mark on her, and the years had done nothing to dull the enmity she felt towards her entire culture. There were deep secrets here, experiences she hadn't even bothered to unpack for her fellow Blood Gem Pirates. The memories alone turned her stomach and sent her into a flop sweat. Hoping that this all remained hidden from the heavily armed women that comprised their escort, she glanced at Lyda, whose gauging sidelong glances bore, to Ulae's eyes, the simple message, snap out of it.

 

At that moment, to her relief, they were ushered into the conference room. Assuming a position at the head of the table, she breathed deeply, setting the businesslike manner of her character, and began her presentation. "Hapan Battle Dragons. As I'm sure you are well aware, they are singular in their presence, capable in their abilities, and fearsome in their armaments. Their use in the battle over Dathomir turned the tide many years ago. Pulsemass generators are largely the cause of this. And we have a proposition regarding these selfsame generators that should be a win-win for both of our interests."

 

She was hitting her stride, now, letting charisma flood each word. The expressions on the face of their hardened audience hadn't softened much, but where there had been hostility, there was at least now interest. "We at Lorell, in collaboration with Tendrando Arms, have developed a prototype pulsemass generator that far exceeds the range, duration, and effectiveness of those currently employed by the Hapan Fleet."

 

She gestured to Lyda with an open palm and a brief nod. "Ms. Rohs, if you would be so kind as to display the prototype."

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"I'm no Jedi."

 

Oh what the Kriff. Instead of some cowardly Jedi power of tipping all the blasters up a few inches or something dumb like that, lightning instead shot from the girls hands. Reminding him again of his old Dathomiri love. It arced through the air and caught dear old Scalp Hunter right in the grips. Delta cursed and dropped the weapon smoke curling from its emitter and from his gloves. Several agents were similarly disarmed and one particularly fat agent’s heart gave way and he fell in a writhing mass of fat. Crime didn’t always pay, and when it did, it usually bit back with the force of a tuk’ata in heat.

 

 

There was a scream from the ground at his feet and Delta could feel a rush of force energy from Scalp Hunter as if a dozen souls were suddenly released from eternal torment as the weapon expired. What a weird weapon. He had certainly not read the manual on that one! Delta held up a hand and the agents stopped firing but kept their weapons up.

 

 

“I had no clue you were a Sith my Lady. Couldn’t you have just told us? That would have been easier. And poor Jemson over there wouldn’t have gotten so broken hearted over the whole event.”

 

 

The whine of engines began to fill the air as the Marie began to fire from cold start. Within a few seconds there would be turbolasers raining from all angles. Delta gestured to the distant boarding ramp.

 

“Would you need a ride before all hell rains down I mean it seems weird, but now that there has been a mass murder here the value of these gems is going to jump galaxy high. We could sell them as like blood diamonds or some other cool brand. Unless you would rather we keep shooting until we are all turbolaser dust your choice really!” He looked across the dozens of murdered civilians and shouted into his helmet mic, “Marie those two freighters you have tractored at the moment, when we blast off drag them like ablative armour. Maybe having the deaths of a couple more dozens won't matter to the Hapans or maybe it will. Either way we get to see some great explosions.”

 

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Ca'Aran

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This day could not possibly get any stranger, Jaina thought to herself in utter shock. It took her a moment to respond to the sudden change of events. She was almost strangled by adrenaline. Cognitively, she knew that the Force was limitless. Practically, her weakened body and tired mind had been to hell and back, quite literally, in the course of a day. Inhaling shakily, she narrowed her eyes in confusion and alarm. It was now or never, and she didn't want to be found at this scene when the Hapan government came asking questions.

 

And, she acknowledged bemusedly, now probably wasn't the best time to let this Black Sun agent know she wasn't a Sith either.

 

"If you can leave me planetside on your way past Coruscant, I'm in," she said, her tone guarded. With an inclination of his armored head, the Black Sun agent nodded his assent. Then his team of agents sprang into action. Leaving the bloody remains of their conquest behind them, they filed quickly through the hangar doors and boarded starfighters and yachts, scattering like rats abandoning a sinking ship. With caution in her step, fearing a setup but feeling no ill will through the Force, she let her weary feet follow him. They dashed up the ramp of the ship, and moments later, the Black Sun entourage blasted toward the edges of Hapan space, freeing itself of the shackles of the trailing freighters, dodging turbolaser blasts from the pursuing Battle Dragons, and dashing for the hyperspace lanes that would mean safe passage away from the Consortium.

53bzzl2.png

...why are the pretty ones always the most hazardous to your health?

May the Forth therve you well...

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Once the initial contact was made, they were escorted fairly quickly through the military installment. Sapphire could tell that Emerald was bothered by being back here. It was interesting; Sapphire too had attended Hapan military training in her younger years, but for her, that just made it easier to slip into a mindset where she was comfortable enough with the surroundings that she could observe and process them quickly. But then, she had always been the type to bottle up her feelings and let them go at a later point. Emerald wore her heart on her sleeve. But now was not the time. She gave her a few sidelong glances, but didn't dare say anything.

 

Once the presentation got started, though, Emerald relaxed. Her natural charisma took over and Lyda could tell that the officers were intrigued by what Ulae was saying. At her cue, Lyda stepped forward, removing the dust cover on their prototype. "This is the Lorell Industries pulse interdictor torpedo," she explained. "Obviously a disarmed model." She flicked her wrist, and a detailed diagram of the torpedo appeared on the presentation screen, while Ulae handed out flimsy copies of the technical readouts. "As you can see, we've kept the same shell as with your current pulsemass mines, allowing for an easy switch to our product." She went on to elaborate on the specs of the new weapon, taking care to point out the places where it was superior to what they were currently using.

 

One of Major Isolder's aides spoke up. "According to these specs, this new interdictor torpedo would increase the duration of the interdiction affect by ten standard minutes?"

 

Lyda nodded. "That's correct. And the range of the interdiction field is wider as well, allowing you to halt more ships at a time."

 

The presentation continued for another half hour. The Hapans had a ton of questions. Lyda was starting to get a little worried, but eventually, their clients agreed on a live field test. It was a promising step. Lyda was sure that if they saw the pulse interdictor in action, they'd be quite eager to buy. There was definitely nothing on the market quite like this. They were escorted back to their ship, where they carefully unloaded a live torpedo and handed it over to the Hapans, who hurried off with it.

 

Major Isolder then crisply shook their hands. "Thank you. We are impressed with your product. Once we perform the live test, and assuming everything is as you say, we will contact you about purchasing."

 

She then turned and headed off. Lyda bit the inside of her cheek. She was hoping they would be invited to the live field test, but it looked like Isolder was playing things close to her chest. Oh well... There was nothing they could do now except get back on the ship and wait.

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Blood Gem Pirate

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"Pulse interdictor torpedo. Ya know, if this goes well, we might actually be able to find a legitimate market for these," Emerald grinned, tossing the false torpedo shell back and forth between her hands. "Increased duration and range? We could probably even sell them to the Empire. Capital Interdictors aren't exactly a dime a dozen these days."

 

After they had taken their leave of the military bunker, the Blood Gems hadn't been idle. The disguised Glory was now drifting in orbit around the planet, tethered to a small delivery shuttle that contained their entire "payload" of torpedo shells. If all went according to plan, when the call came in from Major Isolder, Ruby, in the guise of Marin Pirou, would take the shuttle and its contents, switch the false torpedoes out with the Hapans' current pulsemass mines, and rendezvous with the other two quickly enough that they could be in hyperspace before their own weapons could be used against them.

 

Emerald sat on top of one of the empty cargo crates in the main hold, tucking the shell under her arm. "Honestly, we could even probably take these to the Hutts or Black Sun in limited quantities. We wouldn't want to incur manufacturing costs, but this prototype is half-genius, Ruby."

 

The comm unit in the main hold twittered, and she jumped up at a half-jog to answer it. "Ulae Shyn, Lorell Distributors."

 

"Ms. Shyn," the Major's aide said, appearing on the comm display. "after a successful field test, we have decided to replace the entire complement of our Home Guard's current Pulsemass Generators with your new torpedo. Please deliver 300 of them to our central military bunker at your earliest convenience."

 

Emerald tucked away the smile that wanted to creep onto her face and forced herself into a very businesslike demeanor. "Thank you for your time, Corporal. We will send a representative as soon as your order is ready to ship."

 

The comm winked into silence, and Emerald wandered back to the cargo hold. Raising a sarcastic eyebrow at Ruby, and leaning against the door jam, she hollered, "You're up, Glow Worm."

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Ruby glared at Emerald, her scowl promising revenge for the use of that moniker before she turned her attention back to the final touches on their work. Satisfied with the end product, she let the droids ferry the crates over to the cargo hold of the shuttle and left to go change into clothes that weren't covered in grease and explosives residue. When she returned the loading process was done and there was nothing else to do but proceed with their plans.

 

“I swear, if they reverse engineer that thing and it comes back to bite us, I'm not going to be a happy person. Good thing the rest of these are duds,” Ruby griped as they boarded, taking their respective places and getting settled in. With Sapphire and Emerald stowed away aboard the shuttle inside of specially constructed shielded smuggling compartments, Ruby navigated the vessel toward their destination, waiting with bated breath as she transmitted over her credentials as Marin Pirou of Lorell Distributors, almost expecting something to go wrong and for the Blood Gems to have to hightail it away from Hapes yet again.

 

But the Hapan ship never opened fire on them, and soon they were docked with the larger ship. Marin walked down the boarding ramp to meet the Major's aide, and after introducing herself extended a datapad to her. “If I could just get your signature for final approval, Corporal, I'd be glad to have my droids assist yours in transferring the cargo.”

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Three hundred. That was better than Sapphire expected. It seemed that the Hapans had taken the bait--hook, line, and sinker. As they made the final preparations, she was feeling confident. Now it was just a matter of switching out the mines, and that could be done with a little bit of slicing. She settled into her place in the cargo compartment, her portable computer in her lap, ready to go. There was a long pause, and then the hiss of repulsors. There was another long pause where the only audible noise was Emerald's breathing.

 

"I'd be glad to have my droids assist yours in transferring the cargo," she heard Ruby say over their hidden comms. There was another pause, then Ruby said, "Thank you. We'll get to work right away." She let out a sigh of relief. So far, so good. Opening her computer, she got to work. The Hapans used a relatively simple code to network their work droids, one that Sapphire had learned long ago. She shook her head. In all these years, they hadn't bothered to update their systems. It was insulting. It didn't take long to plug in the lines of code that got her access to their programming. First things first. She accessed one of the droids' sensor packages and watched through the droid's eyes as it unloaded a crate of the dummy torpedoes and carried it to the programmed storage room. She breathed another sigh of relief. There were their targets--off to the side there were stacks of the now-obsolete pulse mass mines. She made the droid look in that direction so she could get a clear look. The crates were marked to be delivered to the fourth Hapan fleet in a few hours.

 

As her droid dropped off it's cargo, she knew this was the tricky point. A few keystrokes and it moved over to the pulse mass mines, picked up a crate, and headed back towards the shuttle. The trick would be to hide in the hustle and bustle, and hope no one noticed that the droids were not just unloading the Lorell Distributors shuttle, but also loading it.

 

Five crates in, their luck ran out.

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Blood Gem Pirate

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It was going as smooth as Kowakian spider-silk. Sapphire had somehow managed to network the military droids with the "Lorell" droids, and the loading process was underway. Emerald, in the cockpit of the shuttle, kicked her feet up as she looked over Sapphire's shoulder, scanning through the droids' cameras to keep tabs on all that was happening. Ruby stood alongside the Corporal who supervised the munitions transfer, her foreboding alien aura lending itself to the silent persona she maintained. There was no return to the Corporal's idle chit-chat, and Emerald elbowed Sapphire, flashing a Cheshire grin. "Think she's sweating yet?"

 

Ruby was fully capable, but it wasn't often they put her in a confidence role. She preferred to be behind the scenes with her thumb on the trigger of a detonator. If there were any nerves present, however, they weren't obvious.

 

The hijacked droid had just completed its fifth trip to the cargo hold of the shuttle, rerouted from the storage bay that was supposed to be the final destination for the pulsemass mines. It deposited its payload, picked up another dummy crate, and rolled back down the loading ramp. And then, looking through the display for the camera installed on the shuttle's exterior, Emerald saw her.

 

A mousy little technician with a military ID pinned to her lapel entered the loading dock, bearing the same fiery red hair and sharp blue eyes Sapphire possessed. That was where the resemblance stopped, however--the short, scrawny little woman had a flattened-looking face and pockmarked skin. She carried a thick datapad, and seemed to be observing the droids with sharp eyes. There was no sound, but the puzzled look on her face betrayed her purpose. Frowning, she lifted her communicator from her pocket.

 

"Shavit!" Emerald yelled, jumping to her feet, and out of the corner of her eye she thought she saw Sapphire jump. "Stay here!"

 

Disregarding whatever warning might come back to her about showing their faces in this military bunker again, Emerald slapped the door controls that let her slip out the shuttle's rear loading dock. In the blink of an eye, she sprinted down the ramp, dodging the loading droids, and flew at the woman feet first, catching her squarely in the abdomen. With a whoosh, her diaphragm contracted to nothing, and Emerald seized her around the neck with a muscular arm, dragging her quickly behind a large stack of fuel barrels.

 

She bit her lip as she clapped a hand over the mousy Hapan's mouth, standing stock-still and hoping that her passage in the hangar had gone unnoticed. When no alarm sounded after a brief moment, she took her free hand off of her blaster and pulled the woman's ID badge off. Just as I thought, she thought grimly. It read Tella D'rel, Supervisor Droid Technician. Pocketing the badge, she pulled her blaster and set it to the woman's temple. "All right, Ms. D'rel," Emerald whispered. "Not a sound or your brains are going to paint the side of this bunker."

 

And then the woman's comlink twittered. "Security to hangar bay, confirm? Lieutenant D'rel? Over."

 

Shassa. She'd have to do this the hard way. Shoving the woman into the wall and keeping her blaster trained on the center of her forehead, Emerald reached to pull the comlink out of her prisoner's pocket. Clearing her throat, she glared as she thumbed the comm to life. "This is Lieutenant D'rel," she toned in a tinny voice. "Negative, belay that order. We're fine, all fine here, thanks. Just a slight--uh--droid malfunction. Standby, it's all under control."

 

"Lieutenant, can you please confirm your command ID code?" Emerald grimaced. Glaring at the woman against the wall, she nodded slowly, mouthing, "do it, or die."

 

For a moment, the woman seemed like she would comply. And then she yelled. "BREACH IN THE HA-" Emerald brought the butt of her blaster across the woman's head, watching her crumple.

 

Frowning down at the prostate form, she stuck out her lip in a pout. "We could have been friends, Lieutenant," she muttered. Crouching behind the barrels, she brought her own comlink to life. "Get us out of here, girls," she called as the alarm in the bay began to sound.

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If Ruby was sweating, she wasn't going to be the only one for long. Emerald's sharp eyes had spotted the droid technician, and she had launched into action. But Sapphire wasn't idle either. She frantically began to tap into the hanger's systems. By the time the droid technician yelled, she was in. "BREACH IN THE HA--!"

 

"Great, just great," Sapphire muttered. "Now I have to create a breach."

 

An idea hit her that might buy them more time. With a few lines of code, she set off the fire alarms. These drowned out the security alarms that had begun, and more than that, they immediately began to douse the entire hanger and all it's contents with fire-suppressant foam. There was immediate chaos in the hanger from all the organics. The droids however continued their work. There were five who were on their way back to the Lorell Distributors shuttle. They'd be here in the next standard minute. She bit her lip. It would take the security forces another 45 seconds to arrive on the scene. Emerald and Ruby could be here in 20 seconds max. Although...her mind spun with possibilities. She grabbed onto one and ran with it.

 

"Ruby!" she said over the comm. "Send one of those thermal detonators over to the hangar door, then both of you get onboard!" She typed frantically on her computer screen as she darted out of the storage compartment and pounded her way up to the cockpit to start the shuttle's engines.

 

Outside in the hangar, things started going haywire. The lights were flicking on and off, the air systems started blowing at full force, and various alarms kept going off, first signaling a reactor leak, then a weapons malfunction, then a hull breach. The fire system finally ran out of fire suppressant foam and was simply wailing. All the organics were running for the doors. Sapphire gave them 5 more seconds to get there, then slammed and locked the blast doors firmly in place. Three of the five droids had delivered their pulse mass mines. It would have to be enough; they couldn't wait any longer.

 

She heard the pounding of boots on the ramp and slapped the button to close it. Abandoning her computer for now, she engaged the repulsorlifts. "Ruby, set off that detonator---now!"

 

There was an explosion, and suddenly the hanger was open to space, the force-field having failed in the blast. Gunning the engines, she sent the shuttle diving through the ruined exit and heading for space. It was bound to look suspicious to even the most dim-witted Hapan, but there was nothing to do but run for it. "I really hope they don't use any of those--kriffing--pulsemass--mines," she spit out between maneuvers.

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Blood Gem Pirate

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She had barely a moment to look up from the slumped form of the droid technician before all hell broke loose in the hangar. Suddenly, from everywhere and nowhere at all, thick, starchy fire suppressant foam filled her vision. "Kriff, Sapphire!" she yelled, ducking instinctively. Her reactionary shout was drowned out by the klaxon that pealed with an incessant fervor. Self-important military underlings scattered here and there, trying fruitlessly to shut off the systems that Sapphire had wrapped around her little finger. With a half-hearted glance at the prone Hapan, as if for a moment considering whether or not to do something further, Emerald launched into motion. She leaped over the barrels, one arm over her face as a shield. Running helter-skelter, dodging the droids that were still faithfully carrying their payloads to the Lorell shuttle, she raced the clock, desperate to get back to the shuttle so that they could rejoin the Glory in orbit before the Hapans deployed their Battle Dragons -- and worse, the pulsemass mines that they themselves had come to retrieve.

 

She didn't bother turning to see if Ruby was trailing, but only moments after Emerald darted into the shuttle's cockpit, an explosion sounded from the hangar bay.

 

It was only after she crossed the threshold of the cockpit that she took stock of her appearance. Her feathery blonde hair was stringy and wet, tousled by the air circulation systems pummeling her full-force as she had skittered through the hangar. Her combat suit was drenched in fire suppressant foam.

 

"Shassa, Sapph," she whined the familiar Mistryl curse word. "I look like a kriffing Life Day Tree. Why couldn't you have gone with a cleaner method?"

 

The shuttle bucked beneath them and Emerald stowed her moping, slippery hands fumbling with the seat belt as Sapphire maneuvered them out of the hole in the side of the hangar, streaking towards the atmosphere.

 

"I really hope they don't use any of those--kriffing--pulsemass--mines," Sapphire began, but before she could finish, her sentence prompted Emerald to bring up the cameras in the cargo bay. From the looks of it, they had managed to abscond with quite a collection of the mines. At least eighty gleamed at her from their crates in the hold, given her limited viewpoint. On second count, there might prove to be more. Her attention was brought quickly back to the central viewscreen as Sapphire put the tiny little shuttle through its paces, dodging projectiles from the anti-air cannons centered around the city. It was hard not to feel useless here, out of her depth. Their minimal onboard weaponry meant that her deadeye marksmanship could serve no purpose in dissuading any pursuers. Biting her lip, she had to trust that Sapphire had the piloting of the ship well in hand, and Ruby would be tending to the precious cargo in the hold with the greatest awe and admiration.

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In true Blood Gems fashion, when something when wrong... It went very, very wrong.

 

One moment Ruby was standing in solemn silence alongside the corporal, her inner monologue anything but quiet as she maintained a stoic glare that prevented any of the personel in the hangar from staring at her for too long. The next, chaos took over as Ruby just barely caught the blur that was Emerald hurtle down the boarding ramp of the shuttle and disappear behind a pile of barrels. There was no other warning before the klaxons and alarms began wailing across across the hangar bay and the fire suppression system started dumping foam on everything.

 

The stolid grimace on Ruby's face morphed into an almost maniacal smirk when Sapph suggested the use of explosives to aid their getaway. "With pleasure," she replied over her comlink as she surged into action, any other words she might have said swallowed up in the cacophony that her compatriots had created. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Em disappear back onto the shuttle, and she seized a hidden explosive from where it had been concealed in one of her pockets, but as she moved to lob it at her target the corporal stepped in front of her, blocking its trajectory. A quick uppercut to the jaw solved that problem, and as she spun gracefully, using her momentum to whip the thermal detonator at the door with deadly accuracy and sprint toward the boarding ramp all in one smooth motion. She slapped at the of closing mechanism as she ran past it, the ramp hissing shut far too slowly for her tastes. "Shavit, Sapph, get us out of here!" she yelled toward the cockpit and felt the shuttle surge beneath the soles of her feet as she continued into the cargo hold to take stock of their plunder.

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Emerald was predictably upset about the foam, but Sapphire was too busy gunning the engines to pay attention. The Hapan fleet scrambled quickly, way too quickly for the pirate's liking. She muttered under her breath. "Kriffing efficient Hapans."

 

A wave of fighters were the first to reach them. She snarled as she juked and jinked, doing her best to avoid their fire. The shuttle was definitely not the Nebula's Glory. It had all the maneuverability of a bantha. Red lights began to flash all over the control board as the fighters scored multiple hits on their aft shields. And of course, as a delivery shuttle, it had no offensive weaponry. As the Nebula's Glory came into sight, she spared a split second of her attention to activate the signal device she had in her pocket. It was a tool Ruby had rigged up for her a long time ago, a device slaved to the Glory's controls that would get the ship warmed up and ready for a quick exit.

 

Her distraction cost them their starboard shields. But the engines were still going strong--for now. With luck, they'd make it to their destination before they died...or before fire from the fighters hit their cargo hold. They drew nearer and nearer, the shuttle shaking from the laser fire. But then, she dipped the shuttle down and up and connected with the Glory. Before the link was even complete, she was running at top speed to the transfer tube. The instant it connected, she pounded down it and straight to the Glory's cockpit. Slipping behind the familiar controls, she engaged the engines, sending the ship jumping out of orbit.

 

The docking had cost them again. The fighters had turned their weapons onto the Glory, and had blown a shallow hole in the aft section, damaging one of her power couplings, before Sapphire had gotten the shields up. She scowled. "Stop blowing holes in my ship!" she bellowed to the Hapan fighters, not caring that their pilots hadn't heard her.

 

Now the race was really on. The big Hapan battle dragons and smaller frigates were starting to come into the fray now. Even the Glory wouldn't be able to withstand the fire from the capital ships for long. And they would be here long if the Hapans got their way. She grit her teeth as she put her ship through its paces. Emerald might think to take to the guns, but there wasn't much point, not with the way that Sapphire had the ship spinning, looping, reversing, and jerking.

 

The navicomputer was putzing along, taking it's good sweet time about spitting out a navigational course. Sapphire glanced at it, and estimated that it would be ready by the time they cleared the planet's gravity well. Assuming--her heart dropped. There in front of them on the scanners was one of their new friends, a pulse-mass mine. She yelled a Hapan curse and started on a long diatribe in Hapan. "Chan urrainn dhomh a chreidsinn. Tha iad cho gòrach. Cha toigh leam seo. Chan eil seo fhiach e. Carson a rinn mi riamh a 'moladh a' tighinn air ais a seo?"

 

Meanwhile there was a nasty hit on their aft starboard quadrant. The shields in that sector flickered and failed. She immediately transferred power from the port side, but not before another fighter scored a hit. Smoke billowed in the back, and an entire row of lights went red. Sapphire's verbal diatribe had died out to mostly a long string of curses. Then the capital ships began to open fire.

 

They were in a very, very bad situation. But then, Sapphire got an idea. A wonderful, brilliant idea--if only they could pull it off. The Glory had an ion cannon--perfect for capturing targets. It was a long shot...but it was the only chance they had. She adjusted their course to head right for the little bugger. It got closer and closer. For the last half a klick, she straightened out their flight and lined up the cannon. One shot lanced out with the touch of a trigger. She didn't stick around to see if it connected, for she had already held a straight flight path too long. A second later, there was a beeping from her board. "YES!" she shouted. Amazingly, incredibly, it had worked. The ion pulse had knocked the pulse-mass mine out of commission. It was only temporary, but it was enough.

 

Five seconds later, she threw the lever, sending the two linked ships into the safety of hyperspace.

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Blood Gem Pirate

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  • 2 years later...

((And with that, the final event has begun! When your character arrives on Gallinore, they will find a very large warehouse on the edge of a small village, that seemingly was built by unknown contractors. The local populace doesn't know much about it, and all ties to it have been covered up so deeply that nothing can really be learned about it should people try to take the traditional route. Inside is a maze of computer banks, wires, transmitting equipment, and self-contained power generators. At the center of it all, like the conductor of an orchestra, is the menacing digital maestro himself. One thing is clear, it is time to end this threat to the galaxy. Kain cannot be allowed to bring his plans to fruition.))

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If you meet me, have some courtesy, have some sympathy, have some taste.
Use all your well-learned politics, or I'll lay your soul to waste.

 

 

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A wild, bestial howl came from Terra’s scarred and painted lips as the maddening embrace of hyperspace fragmented into realspace. Her mismatched, chimeric eyes scanned the approach vectors to Galinore as her Basilisk, Hades, entered its stealth configuration. The shimmering armor-plating of the AI-driven machine melded to a solid ebony sheen, and the unnecessary systems powered down to give her a better chance at avoiding detection. The static roaring of Hades filled her mind as the Basilisk began to make its approach to the location of KAIN

...It will be repurposed for Kad Ha’Rangir…

Hades seemed perplexed by her explanations of KAIN during their journey. She had met the AVATAR a few times in the service of the Sith, but knew relatively little about his programming. She clicked her comlink once to signal her compatriots to her location, disguising it against the magnetic field of Gallinore as the Basilisk began to make entry into the atmosphere.

Mandalore the Heartless was excited and her heart was beginning to pump faster as the atmosphere began to peel back around her. Her skin felt warm and flushed with the adrenaline. She could feel the hands of the Gods upon her, caressing her as she joined with her beast in the freefall. The fleet was in quick-call distance, ready to join them if the mission went awry. As the ground approached, she howled again, this time with the maddening joy of the god-touched.

Terra

To the Death...

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The squadron of Bes'uliiks exited hyperspace after their Mandalore. Pure black in colour, the iron war droids in their stealth configuration materialized around the figure of their fearless leader. These were Harbinger. Whose pilots, strapped on with little but the void and a small shield carapace to defend them, represented the most elite of the Neo Crusaders. Each had bathed in blood over coruscant, each had brough a hundred sacrifices to their God. Ha’Rangir the Bloody, the bringer of honour to the galaxy. And Rose was honoured to be among them.

The humming of the engines was loud in her helmet as they began to bank through the space trash in high orbit above the planet. She was in constant communication with the flight team as well as the AI that inhabited the metal beast below her. It was of new manufacture by the Iron Pantheon who had also designed the metal beast below her. It did not have the history of her Mandalore’s AI, but it would learn to lust for blood like Hades. For now Lix Tetrax, for that was its designation, whispered flight information through her earpieces in a voice soft and luxurious. With a touch of her left leg she banked beside Mandalore and raised her fist.

“For death, for Ha’Rangir.”

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Behold the Rose of Sharon is burning in the valley 

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