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Terra last won the day on June 30

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  1. Terra


    Aboard the Xaakzaamhaid, Mandalore the Bloody watched the desert-planet of Korriban spin into view. She had been to the planet countless times, both as a slave and as a loyal Sith servant, but today, to come as an opponenet, to conquer, was different. She was excited, as were her men. They would sell their lives dearly. Mandalorian Neo-Crusader Destroyer Group [Missiles] |Bes'bev| Task Force Experience: Veteran (3xp) IPM Neo-Kandosii-class Battleship: Nat’ah |25/25| Mandalorian Neo-Crusader Destroyer Group [Railguns] |Akalenedat| Task Force Experience: Veteran (3xp) IPM Neo-Kandosii-class Battleship: Xaakzaamheid |25/25| Mandalorian Neo-Crusader Heavy Brawler Escort |Chayaikir| Task Force Experience: Veteran (3xp) IPM Neo-Kandosii-class Battleship: Oosterwijk |25/35|
  2. Above the Rusting world, the Mandalorian fleet arrived. It had not come to devastate or destroy, but it was once more under the employ of the Alliance. It was a war-hardened fleet, all the green had been washed away in blood and fury. It was ready for the next operation, for as long as the credits kept coming and their Mandalore remained entertained by the war. Terra herself, was aboard the Xaakzaamhaid. Mandalorian Neo-Crusader Destroyer Group [Missiles] |Bes'bev| Task Force Experience: Veteran (3xp) IPM Neo-Kandosii-class Battleship: Nat’ah |25/25| Mandalorian Neo-Crusader Destroyer Group [Railguns] |Akalenedat| Task Force Experience: Veteran (3xp) IPM Neo-Kandosii-class Battleship: Xaakzaamheid |25/25| Mandalorian Neo-Crusader Heavy Brawler Escort |Chayaikir| Task Force Experience: Veteran (3xp) IPM Neo-Kandosii-class Battleship: Oosterwijk |25/35|
  3. Terra watched the being fall, collapsing into the remnants of her former Prelast. Adrenaline pumped in her ears, ripping in pounding drumbeats against the now-quiet vault. The only sound that remained was the churning of metallic plating and mumbling soldiers. Mand’alor ground her darkmetal teeth, turning away from the fallen Sith creation in disgust. Another Alcazerin had fallen to her weapons. The Mandalorian’s stomach began to sour, the pain rippling through her like the waves of an ocean, whipped by a storm. She ought to have felt elated, but the reality of it all began to settle upon her. She had lost a good man, and all of her squad was now wounded in some regard. The illness began to crystalize a thought into her mind Mand’alor the Bloody would no longer lead men into battle, the weight of their souls, and the lives of those she loved were far too heavy a burden. She would return to being an assassin, a Mandalorian who represented her people, but did not waste their lives. As one, the Mandalorians departed Mon Cal, collecting their wounded, and leaving their dead, stripped of their armor.
  4. The Sith had failed to die, again. Terra hissed between her darkmetal teeth, a small crimson trickle dribbling down her chin. Perhaps the hiss was more from pain than from frustration, but the adrenaline of battle made it hard to tell. Along the Mandalorian line, a small female voice with a Rylothian accent chirped up. “Kriffing what is this place, Crates-R-Us?” Ander’s steely voice cut in over the commlink, silencing the nervous laughter with his no-nonsense Serrocoan accent. “Stow it Sheol. Focus fire on the bastard. Bugger’ll run out of crates eventually.” Terra couldn’t hear her men, cut off as she was from the squad communication. She was focused now on the body of the Sith, probing it with her crimson eyes. Searching for weakspots. There was an electric glow to the vault, and it was growing. …Siths and their force storms. This one loves his electricity... The Mandalorian palmed a grooved grenade from her belt, twisting the firing timer to count for the distance. The Sith spoke then of being a master of death, she had heard it before, from most every Sith she had slain, even in the days of her youth. The hair on the back of her neck stood at end. Azure fire came again, and the Mandalorian leapt to the side, or at least attempted to, but the fiery pain in her side caused her to stumble again, turning her leap into a clumsy roll. The electricity hit her with spasmatic power, channeling through her armor’s electric systems, shorting them all out. Her body was initially spared due to the insulating underarmor she wore, but the current arced and ripped into the flesh of her face. Her jaw clenched shut as the electricity ripped along her skin, arcing into patterns of lighting in burns across her cheeks and jawline. Her roar of pain was inaudible, because she couldn’t open her mouth enough to get it out. ***** Those of Clan Blackmore, the hardy men and women of the honor guard, steadied their aim as a firing line, and that was when the Sith’s magic hit them. It was not a subtle thing, visions of death and failure filling their minds. They were not as mentally strong as their Mand’alor, but all were Mando’a, resolute in the face of death. They had faced dishonor and failure before. Death was the reality of the honor-guard of a Mand’alor, but not all stood firm. Behind them, Hades stood strong, raking his beskar claws into the stone, watching his Master fight, the independent combat AI judging her moves and aptitude. He had not yet decided to fully intervene. To those who had lovers, or children, the Sith’s magic was cruelly effective, with Hans and Sheol dropping to the ground immediately in terror, nerves already frayed by unblockable strikes from hidden demons. To the others, their concentration was shaken, but they maintained their positions. As the electric attack came against their Mand’alor, a withering fire began. Scattered crimson light from Chyphosis’ T-21 LRR reached out to embrace the Sith, followed by the glowing rounds from Anders’s LJ-50. As for Shasa’far, she switched from her HH-15 to her RSKF-44 Heavy Blaster Pistol, due to the danger to Mand’alor posed by an erratic shot from a mini-concussion missile, firing rapidly at her former Prelest. The shots were more scattered and hastily aimed, but it would be an effective enfilade of the Sith Master before them. ***** Terra rolled to her knees, huddled in pain as electricity sparked along her darkmetal jaw. The crimson trickle began to flow faster, tinged with black from burned blood. She looked at the Sith and forced a twitching smile, her fingers twitching and sending burst after burst of her slugthrower at the Sith, emptying the rest of her magazine at him. With her other hand she tossed the grenade underhand at the man. It was an EMP grenade, made to short out droids and electronics, but here it would serve a different purpose, to create an overwhelming positive electric charge at the feet of the Sith. She hoped it would be the same as the stormcatchers she had seen on Ord Mantell, creating an electric disbalance to cause static discharge from the clouds before they could strike and here she hoped it would pull the Sith’s own lightning to destroy him. ((3)) Defensive: Lost the rest of suit electronics and took facial burns from lightning. Squad loses a few members to mental attack, rest lose some concentration and accuracy. Offensive: Slugthrower rifle, and used an EMP Grenade as an attempt to backfire the electric storm, squad rifle and pistol attacks Been a pleasure to duel. Thank you
  5. Hades, her basilisk continued bounding down the hall, called to her like a faithful kath-hound. The scraping of its beskar claws reverberated through the hallway like the distant echoes of thunder. It nearly drowned out the screams of her men as they were attacked by unseen assailants. Terra’s HUD displayed the frantic as the squad began to reform further down the tunnel, setting up a firing line twenty meters to her right. It looked as though they were reacting to the stings of piranha beetles, slapping at their armor under which welts and ragged lines of torn flesh were beginning to appear. Chyphosis retreated to join the rest of them, his blaster rifle deemed at the moment ineffective against such an opponent. Mand’alor drew a line across the scorched and ragged tunnel floor with her eyes, painting the line in amber for the squad to form up on. Hans and Shasa took to a knee, propping their heavy weapons against shattered granite pillars. She signaled Anders to approach on her right, where his LJ-50 Concussion Rifle would apply the most damage, and he ran a few steps forward until his firing line would encompass the Vault door. More words from the former Prelest and Terra watched her opponent’s move. He appeared unharmed from her initial assault, which didn’t surprise her. Sith were a resilient lot. Spast. A changing face and They’qell became Vothe in a flash, and the sight tore into her soul for but a moment. There was a rending in her heart, and the bubbling joy retreated into the darkness, consumed by her anger and rage like the stars fell to the Maw. Something was trying to play her heartstrings. She had been a Sith’s marionette before, and she had no intention of becoming the slave of another. She had enjoyed the man, desired him even, but had she loved him? Hate began to form deeper in her heart, subsuming the jaded feelings she had for Vothe. No one would use those she cared for against her. An azure glow alight the world. The lightning leapt like a Stingmaw onto her, ripping into the systems that were more exposed to electronic interference like a Krayt into a Bantha. Terra was plunged into darkness as the lights inside her buy’ce overflashed, and the system began to reboot into safe mode. Contact was lost to all of her squad, but not to Hades; the AVATAR-link remained strong. Double-Spast. The Assassin leapt into a backwards roll, dropping both her flechette pistols to the scarred ground. They had proven ineffective and were of no further use. She ripped off her restarting helmet, casting the buy’ce to the ground in a clatter of darkmetal. Her armored boots scraped as she came up into a shooter’s stance, her blonde hair whipping into the air about her face. She could feel the coolness of the air now, even as damp and dank as it was in a sewer, it was cooler than the insides of a helmet. She was close to the back wall of the sewer now, a few paces. The pain from her side was nearly overwhelming from where the Sith's lightsaber had charred her, and she dropped to one knee, turning a cry of pain into a bark of laughter. With a shrug, the Mandalorian flung her plait of hair behind her back and gave the Sith a wry, cruel smile. Darkmetal teeth flashed in the low-light, reflecting as crimson as her eyes from ever-bleeding gums. With one hand she calmly flicked a grenade off her belt, while the other raised her slugthrowing rifle by the handle to the full extent of its single-point sling. Anders shot then, sending three glowing rounds from his Concussion Rifle at the Sith, while Terra tossed the grenade, of simple fragmentation design, in an arc towards the Sith’s head. Transitioning her throwing hand, she brought it to steady the rifle, letting loose a three-round burst aimed for the Sith’s center-of-mass. The maneuver brought a fresh wash of pain from her side, and she began to cough. Hades let loose a roar of static-afflicted voices as it loomed above the firing line, crimson light spilling from its photorecpetors, it had come to its master's call, and was ready to attack. ((2)) Is temporarily disoriented by death mask, loses HUD and direct control to lightning attack. Most of squad is distracted by the wraith attacks, and reforms at distance. Three rounds from a concussion rifle, a frag-grenade, and a further three rounds of slugs inbound.
  6. The Prelast changed then, and the darkness in the vault seemed to rush in and concentrate about the Warpriest like vapor condensing on a cool glass of Padberen Lager. The Mandalorians turned as one, staring at their former friend as the man’s stature and expression changed visibly. Terra’s shout was tinged with both desperation and fury, “Back and away, the way we came!” Her men began to obey her barked command, but a voice came then, one that was clearly not of her former Warpriest. The Hades Combat AI painted They’qell with a signature of crimson on the HUD, transmitting it as a high priority target. Terra’s darkmetal teeth grated together, showering sparks upon her scarred tongue. The Sithling was talking, but making little sense. The Mandalorian slipped Shadowlord’s lightsaber back onto her belt, dragging her duel Flechette pistols from their holsters. So the Alcazerins yet lived. That order had faded from galactic memory after the purge of the Scorpions under Lord Ar-Pharazon. The Mandalorian had been there, in thick of battle against that order, slaughtering her way across Chandrilla and Almas. She forced a laugh across her burning tongue, her gravelly voice stained with a mocking resolution. “Who do you think slew Hephaestus? Who bathed in the rotten blood of Nurgle? Who devoured the Archserpent?” She smelled him and tasted him then, that scent of Mystwheler Lavash and stale wine. Why was she thinking of him now? Vothe Kyrik, the man whom she had run to after the dissolution of her bond to the Sith. The taste of his lips lingered for a moment before being torn away in a rush of foreign emotions. Death and torture. The Mandalorian winced within her buy’ce, stumbling backwards, gasping a breath of the stale air. The emotions were too raw and had all the subtlety of a Wookiee swinging a hammer. She had experienced something similar before, a glimmer of memories long silenced by torture. Ar-Pharazon and Antilles had used a power of a similar vein while dominating her mind. She had been broken by insanity far too often. Terra breathed out, hissing between her teeth, a sound of snarling hatred. She pushed the memories down, burning them within her hate and malice. As she tarnished the memories of Vothe with hate, they began to fade, to be locked away with all the rest of herself that she hated. Her HUD camera display showed that Hans, Sheol, and Anders had stopped outside the vault with their head in their hands. Only the two Chiss stood resolute against the Sith’s mental onslaught, and they dragged their comrades to safety besides the door. Chyphosis provided a covering-fire arc from the vault’s broken doorway as his sister tended to those affected by the Sith’s mental weapon. Hades bounded down the hallway, coming ever nearer, the rasping of beskar on stone echoing down the hallway. The Sith’s twin blades flashed into life and Terra felt a burning lance across the flesh of her side as she twisted away. The Darkmetal had caught most of the blow, but the lightsaber had burnt the skin and nearly touched the muscle. Pain raced through her nervous system, speeding up her heartrate. She continued to backpedal, her eyes darting across her HUD. Vothe’s sardonic voice chided her “You let him get too close.” …No shit. Got to keep range. With a blink, Terra ignited her jetpack in a quick burst as she leapt away from the Sith, angling her arc towards the yawning vault door. She brought up the two pistols, bringing in the trigger-slack as she followed the targeting reticle on her HUD. She found the crimson target easily, painted as it was with crimson light, and finished the smooth pull of the triggers, feeling them snap crisply. She fired twice with each pistol as she propelled backwards, spinning a web of both armor piercing and explosive tipped flechettes to ensnare and destroy the Sith. Chyphosis Her’kerik, fired his T-21 Light Repeating Rifle towards his former warpriest, with teeth gritted in anger. He had watched the death of his children, again, at the hands of those that called themselves Peacekeepers, and it had stirred his rage. He had grown up alongside They’qell in the ranks of the Crusaders, but he could not allow the man to continue to live as a possessed demon. A stream of crimson bolts leapt from his rifle to speed towards the Sith who had formally been his friend. ((1)) Terra and the majority of her squad affected temporarily by Sith Insanity. Damage taken from lightsaber swing. Terra retreats and fires flechettes at Oni, alongside blaster fire from one of her squadmates.
  7. Mand’alor stepped cautiously into the yawning darkness of the vault, switching her visual pickup to thermal, scanning for any sign of movement, finding nothing. They’qell stepped past her, raving lunacy on his lips, jittering with excitement. She motioned the rest of her squad back, as to provide sweeping angles of fire should droids or a trap be triggered. Terra’s headlamp illuminated boxes and shelves filled with tools and refuse. There was the odd glint of bronzium, but it was far from the vast wealth she had pictured. Darkmetal teeth ground sparks into her mouth in frustration. There was an odd oppression to the vault, an unsettling feeling she had become familiar with, the raw darkness that invaded the mind. Her voice was filled with scorn as she spoke, “Sith. Always kriffing Sith. Should have guessed it’d be the bastards who owned this place.” It wasn’t near golden enough to be one of LAP’s, or filled enough with foodstuffs for that insane Hutt she had met. She watched the Prelast pick up two items from a shelf. They were cylindrical and dark. Her voice raised a pitch, filled with an immediate worry that caused her squad to step back “Prelast, sto-”
  8. The lightsaber drove deep into the warped and pitted metal, sending crimson-stained sparks spinning and twisting across the darkness. Mand’alor pressed the blade deeper, putting her weight into the corroded lock, feeling the metal give way beneath as the lightsaber consumed it. Smoke curled, twisting and flittering like ghosts in the relative stillness of the exposed tunnel. Terra’s three-hundred-and-sixty-degree camera pickup highlighted the warpriest’s erratic behavior. He twisted and moaned, chittering like a Chatheran Skeramore after an apoplexy. She pressed the lightsaber deeper, feeling the hooked grip beneath her fingertips, and twisting it through the ancient mechanisms of the lock beneath. She began to grow more annoyed with the man, and the hair on the back of her neck began to stand on end. Her voice was harsh and carried a disciplinary tone to it that cut through the smokey air like a vibroknife through bantha-butter, “You, Prelest, stand back with your mutterings, I don’t need your kriffing spittle raining on my neck.” Mand’alor the bloody switched the crimson blade off and kicked the vault door, hearing the squealing and grinding of time-worn hinges protesting. She added another kick, an echoing thud of bootheel on metal ringing through the cavern and the door gave way. They were in.
  9. Terra pressed her armored knees into the saddle, guiding the wardroid towards the ruins below. Satellite readouts indicated there had been a rescue operation mere moments before, during the heart of the Sith’s storm. The replay had indicated at least three, perhaps more, U-Wings had been a part of the operation, but there had been no indication of such an operation on her orders. Mand’alor smiled wryly. Mercenaries do the hardest work for such pittance… Perhaps the Rebels had not fully looted whatever they had found. Fantasies of vast treasure treasure flashed through her mind. The hidden wealth of Xim the Despot, or a treasure barge of Lord Ar-Pharazon the Golden. Crimson eyes narrowed, tracing the smoke down to twisted and destroyed rubble. She activated her scanners as the group of Basilisks descended. She traced the crater on her HUD. Too jagged for timed explosive ordinance. Boiling liquid expanding vapor explosion then. Methane or some other natural gas. A discordant voice of static tongue rolled through Terra’s mind as she began her approach on the still-smoking ruin. …Catacomb. Tomb. Vault… The Mandalorian practically leapt from the flight-harness, her boots touching on the permafrosted rubble with a crunch. The Blackmorne Honor-Guard leapt after their Mand’alor with not but a whisper. They scrambled down the rough incline, weapons in hand. The rasping of beskar’gam on shattered stone echoed through the silent crater. Utterly eery, lifeless, and silent. Terra slipped her battlerifle forward on her one-point sling, letting it expand to it dig into her shoulder. She spat counter-spells into her comlink, hearing them echoed by her squad. Prelest They'qell followed on her heels, staff in hand, held like a rifle. His thick accent added a few barking spells to those of his Mand'alor Whispers seemed to crawl over her as she advanced, the chiding of demons, preying on her natural fear. It was insurmountably dark, and the tunnel seemed to go on forever. Slight splashing filled her ears as her squad moved behind her in the semi-flooded tunnel. She could feel the slickness of algae beneath her boots. A larger splash came then, the sound of Hades following at distance, metallic plating grinding and shimmering. She scanned the air, finding now only faint tracing of methane. Crimson outlines showed on her HUD, tracing an ancient, vaulted doorway, blocked with rustpocked steel. Terra waved a handsignal, and the squad split into two, flanking both sides of the massive doorway in a breaching maneuver. Filtered light shimmered off the Bronzium circlet on her helmet, reflecting white onto the dark waters and she stepped back. The Assassin blinked, changing the T-visor backlight of her buyce from a crimson glow visible to the naked eye, to a purple highlight on her Infrared sensor. Her squad followed suite, and the entire tunnel disappeared into darkness, lit only on the infrared spectrum. …Take every advantage. With a flick of her wrist, Terra brought up a glimmering object, pressing the cylindrical tube against the doorway, thumbing the switch with a gloved finger. Crimson light was filtered automatically from the spectrum as to not blind her, the blade piercing to the heart of the door’s massive, ornate locking mechanism. The boots of Prelest They'qell splashed as he moved to come beside her. The infrared highlighted his bone-woven dreadlocks, and the flickering of his reflective eyes as he chanted in a trancelike state. She took a breath of hanebane from her amulet, letting it invigorate her as she drove her hand deeper into the dark gateway. The lightsaber had once belonged to the Sith Master, Draken Shadowlord, a Krath Master and Count of Serreno, once equal in power of the any weapon of the Dark Lords of the Sith, but now it was no more than a tool in the hands of a former Pariah. She continued to speak her counterspells, cursing the darkness and all its spiritual inhabitants. Whispers intensified, demons drawn to the impending destruction.
  10. Mand’alor’s crimson eyes narrowed as she watched the missiles fly and cause their devastation. The storm almost immediately began to dissipate, the winds ceasing their howling, the frost fading from her armor with the rising heat. Movement began to scatter light across her HUD as Hades began to highlight a surge of enemy forces in a bath of neon light. With a blink, Terra brought one such specimen into magnification and its rotting jowls, dead eyes, and shambling nature immediately disgusted her. She spat a string of words into her commlink, a ward against the evil that she saw. Necromancy. The Assassin had not seen its use since the solstice of the Hutt Dark Lord, when Krath prominence in the galaxy had been unquestioned. She spat again, but an alarm echoing through her buy’ce brought her attention to one of the video-feeds that came from viewpoint of Anders Lok’a’rokin, once of her honor-guard. Every member of her squad had a POV camera that fed into a monitoring feed that was passed through the Hades combat-AI, and now through the man’s eyes, Terra saw an all too familiar form. A hulking mass of muscles coated in fur, leapt from Anders’ basilisk, onto the armored side of Hans Bre’tsar's wardroid. A cacophony of curses and shouts of alarm began to assail Terra’s ears. The human's distraught, but determined voice spilled into her ears. “Mand’alor it’s a…” The Assassin sighed “Wookiee... Jedi!” The sigh became deeper, and she placed an armored hand on the lightsaber hilt that had belonged to that Wookiee’s friend, Kitt Fitt. She watched as the beast leapt down towards the devastation her men had wrought. She keyed up her comlink, and spoke through gritted teeth “Vod, meet Kirlocca, Jetti Master, and ally. Do not engage, for now…” She emphasized the latter words with particular, cynical meaning. With a press of her knees, Terra brought Hades away from the Mon Cal shipyards, towards the site of an earlier explosion. Alliance intelligence was scrambling for information about the site and possible Jetti involvement, and since they were occupied, she would make herself useful.
  11. Crimson eyes watched the blizzard from behind a façade of darkmetal, a cynical sneer crossing over the woman’s pale complexion. The cloudburst of unnatural snow and wind had dissipated for a moment, before intensifying. According to data-readings, the Hex had not detonated as intended, somehow the Sith had redirected the weapon to scatter its charge into the wind, a particularly difficult task to do alongside a Force Storm. She let out a hollow sigh, a scathing guttural thing. Yet another Sith Master to kill. Hades uploaded real-time Satellite imagery scans of topographical changes to her HUD. She could tell the entire complex had caved in on itself, but not to the exact details of where the Sith had disappeared to. Darkmetal teeth ground together, sending sparks against her scarred tongue. With a blink, she selected the entire complex in a firing pattern, beaming the information through her AVATAR link into the Squad’s HUDs. Hades processed the information and autoassigned firing points to each of Clan Blackmorne’s Honor Guard. Sheol Wes’theran barked a laugh behind her white T-visor, her armored lekku twitching with excitement. “You really have a hard-on for killing Sith bastards don’t you, Mand’alor?” Terra rolled her eyes and gave the firing command, and to divert main power to weapons. The Empire had its POSTLJWK protocols, the Sith their machinations of Energy and storms. Force Users were to themselves as gods, but the Crusaders had killed gods before, and they were well versed in their tactics. Each of the Black and White Basilisks began to hover and dart about like a swarm of piranha-beetles, their main engines replaced by intensity-repulsers. Then as one, from each of the discordant swarm came a hail of fire to join into the chaos of the storm. Fourteen Taim & Bak KX5 laser cannons stitched crimson flame towards the complex and its surrounding, joined with the blue fire of their H9-Dual Ion Cannons. Flares of light joined into the wind-whipped chaos to announce a torrent of concussion missiles, all streaking in jagged lines towards the Sith-held, collapsed ruin. “Just… Die.”
  12. A small blip on Mand’alor’s HUD registered a distant explosion within the burrows of Mon Cal city, and Hades began an analysis of its cause. The Combat AI had not registered any missiles inbound to the area, and it had not been within the Rebel Alliance’s invasion corridor. A series of new registration points displaying incoming fire from Anti-Aircraft fortifications manned by the Sith. Terra leaned forward in her saddle, pushing her knees into the metallic plating of her Bes'uliik wardoid, flattening herself across the pommel as crimson flame whipped overhead. The Sith gunners were good, she could hear shriek of metallic explosion as one of Clan Agre’mor’s Bes'uliik’s exploded into guttering flame and warped metal. Not a word, not a cry from its rider as he died, blossomed into flame. The Bes'uliiks of Clan Agre’mor fell back into a spread formation behind the spearpoint of Clan Blackmorne’s Honor Guard. Mand’alor winced. She had known its rider, Bev’ark Des’orin, a warpriest initiate who had braided his long auburn hair with the bones he had cast. His last cast had been of loss, and his prediction had come painfully true. She would grieve with Clan Agre’mor in blood of battle. She raised an armored hand in the snow-whipped air and pointed to the oncoming fire that lit up the eastern sky. Her gravelly voice echoed across the comms. “Oya… Bathe the aru’e chakaar in fire. Concussion Missiles.” With a blink of a crimson eye, Terra selected two of the enemy emplacements, backtraced from their firing-points and angles. Two low-altitude, high-explosive concussion missiles entered the firing tubes within the Bes'uliik’s shoulders, their primitive computers programmed for distance-based detonation, instead of target-homing. There was little need to track a weapons-emplacement. Mand’alor knew such missiles would be overkill and might risk civilian populace, but she did not rightly care. They had spilled blessed blood and would pay in kind. If she had possessed Diamond-Boron missiles she would have used those. With another blink, she sent the missiles on their pathway to destruction All six of the Bes'uliik’s of Clan Blackmorne's Guard fired at the same time, matching their Mand’alor with two missiles a piece, filling the air with the snap-crack of missiles breaking the atmospheric sound-barrier on their path towards the enemy weapon emplacements, obscured as they were in the snow. Terra blinked into the HUD, bringing up a meteorological feature map, layering it onto her topographical display, searching for a pattern in the unnatural storm. She had been in enough battles where Sith had played their magika into the weather, and this abnormal pattern had such a taste. Seldom did the Sith strike themselves with their power. The assassin selected the very heart of the storm, and selected a preset for her projectile lauchers. It was a two-two stack, two Hex-missiles packed with the trihexalon chemical packed in a firestream cartridge to keep the weapon in a potent state, paired with two flechette missiles, a far more rudimentary baradium charge packed with shrapnel. With a smile, she sent all four missiles into the heart of the storm, set to low-altitude detonation. The Sith would taste of Mandalorian steel and fire.
  13. “Mand’alor, we’ve got incoming fighters…” A swarm of crimson signature alerts played across the assassin’s HUD, a myriad of flightpaths all converging on her fleet. With a wave of her hand, the Blackmorne honor-guard had spread out their Bes'uliiks, arming concussion missiles and their countermeasure systems. Terra smiled as her mind passed to blessings and omens assured by her warpriests. Thes’tuvar had cast the bones, scried the stars, and seen victory in the entrails. Her body shivered, remembering the symbols the priest had painted upon her naked flesh. It had been from a mix of ashes of a burnt Galek, mud from the Kelita, nectar of henbane, and her own blood, slit from her tongue. The revolting mixture had symbolized the homeworld of her culture, the strength of bersærkergang, and the words of Kad Ha’Rangir of which flowed from the mouth of Mand'alor. A whispering chorus of discordant voices came from the Hades AVATAR connection, scattering her thoughts and warning her of the oncoming enemy. A pair of enemy missiles began to glow a deep scarlet on her HUD, indicating interception vectors, and the Mandalorian selected a simple chaff countermeasure as she calculated her upcoming maneuvers. The words of the warpriest spilled across her blood-flecked lips, mimicry of his trancelike incantations “Gods crying… Wolves Howling… Jai'galaar shrieking… Giants sleeping…” As red signals of the missiles grew so large as to take up most of her view, she pressed her knees into the saddle, and blinked a command that released a chaff charge. The Bes'uliik bucked as it activated its full reversal engine-block, coming to a full stop, and the war-droid and its rider watched as the missiles intercepted the Chaff which had taken on her vector, stunting the primitive missile targeting computers. The blossoming explosion dazzled the Mandalorian as she kicked the Bes'uliik into a spiraling descent towards the planet. Mand’alor let out an earpiecing shriek of war, for in the echoed explosion she had seen the shadow of the jai'galaar, her symbol of war. Her guard picked up the cry, and soon all the Mandalorian fleet was filled with the shrieks of maddened frenzy. They had tasted battle on Fondor, and it had only whet their appetite. The honor-guard of Clan Blackmorne doggedly followed their Mand’alor as she began a steep descent through the atmosphere, pushing their Bes'uliik to the limits of thermal control through the turbulent approach. Terra’s crimson eyes scanned over the insertion mapping for the Rebel Alliance assault. There was little time for positioning now, any Sith Lords planetside would need to be swiftly engaged or she would watch their head-bounties escape. Hades dove towards the reef-marked sea, his rider entranced by the promises of war. She let her emotions play into the wind, letting every Force User know of her presence. It was a most terrible wound in the force, a ravenous, raw thing that was barely concealed with the frenzy of the bersærkergang.
  14. Fire and Blood. The Force echoed with a chaotic cry, that of a pack of hunters close to their kill. The Sith would hear the warcry before any of their sensors picked up the hyperspace signals of the Crusader’s fleet. Above the world of Mon Calamari, the forces of Mandalore the Bloody were released from their bonds of hyperspace. The first signatures that would be detected would be that of the massive Neo-Kandosii Battleships, the twin Xaakzaamheid and Nat’ah, followed swiftly by their escorting Fane-of-Swords Frigates and Jehavey'ir-class Assault Corvettes. These were veterens of the recent Battle of Fondor and of the Crusade that had pierced to the heart of the Core worlds, leaving devastation and grief in their wake. Their crews carried the warcries and standards of their god with them, Kad Ha'rangir. A swarm of Bes'uliik Wardroids were the tip of the spear, and at their very head was their leader, Terra; Mandalore the Bloody. She sat astride her Bes'uliik, Hades, dressed in the beskar’gam befitting her rank, pure black, darkmetal plating with crimson symbols, painted by her warpriests in the blood of a sacrifice. Upon her helm was the shining bronzium circlet that showed her rank. Behind the blazing, crimson T-visor, were eyes of blood-stained silver, pupils dilated and reflecting the darkness of space like a wine-dark sea. A darkmetal smile twisted her youthful face behind its mask. Behind Terra, rode the handpicked honor-guard of Clan Blackmorne astride their Bes'uliiks, following in tight formation as their Mandalore dove into a spiral towards the ocean-world, eager to begin another battle on in their war of honor. The Mandalorians had come to Mon Calamari, and there would be no dawn for the Sith.
  15. Terra’s eye took Kad Ha’Rangir’s maddening glory, the whirling light of hyperspace encompassing her completely, sprawling back in her saddle upon Hades. Her breathing was slow, matched to an invisible rhythm within her mind. She reached out an armored hand and the light played across it like a stone in a river, a small parting of current, but no other effect. Does anyone really believe in these gods? She rolled her head back, her buy’ce scratching on the metallic hide of her basilisk. Was she worthy of her role as Mandalore, that spiritual and war leader of the Kry’tsad. Had it all been a masquerade of psychedelics for the weak-minded men? A small chime ignited inside her helmet and a crimson hue began to overtake the blues of hyperspace. Hades grinding voice, that of a hundred discordant voices mixed to one, erupted into her silence with clipped and broken basic. “Realspace. Dxun. Japrael System. Homeworld of me.” The Mandalorian sighed, slipping her legs back into the bindings that made up the beast’s control-yoke. “Erupting now” Terra’s journey down the Lesser Lantillian Hyperspace Route had been interrupted only once, and that had been to drop her combat squad at the Arradvai’s hanger in the Transitory Mists. She walked this path now alone, a far easier task than to bring a full squadron into the heart of Sith territory. As hyperspace unwound its embrace and dropped her into realspace, her eyes had to blink rapidly to compensate for the sudden darkness. She had been in the light for days now, and now all she could see was small pinpoints of light and the sullen circular shapes of a planet and its moon. Terra had plotted her route to the dark side of that moon, Dxun, to at least reduce her detectability. With the enormous amount of hyperspace traffic into the Sith capital, she hoped it would keep her hidden until she had completed her mission. Terra pressed with her knees, guiding the Basilisk toward Dxun’s foreboding skyline as she considered her own mission parameters. She had told the others that she was to journey here to find a foul and ancient servant of Arasuum, and that it had come to her in a vision with Kad Ha’Rangir’s blessing. Was it true? Not in the least. The Rebellion had scared her, the loss of her men had scarred her. The loss of the only family she possessed had left her as an empty, lost vessel. Again. The Mandalorian had lied as she always had and had come to this sullen and evil jungle for little purpose other than that of any hopeless soul. She had come to find a path, or to die, and Terra could not quite figure out which she preferred. She had little doubt the jungle would claim her as it had so many of her people over the millennia and so, Mandalore pushed the Basilisk into a steeper dive and cut all power, letting the gravity well embrace her, falling slowly from orbit towards the jungle below.
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