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Saint

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  1. Saint

    Tatooine

    Saint and Rose received the hail and landed at a nearby ship berth. Rose was being uncharacteristically quiet, perhaps to hide the pain from the injuries she received on Kashyyyk. It was an unnecessary gesture, recovery time from combat was normal, and Rose was still capable enough to hold her own in a fight. It was a common enough problem among mercenary groups, fear of being seen as weak, and fear of shattering the reputation they had built. It had no place here amongst warriors though. “Could you grab the kit up in the overhead compartment with the red diagonal line and the three blue dots? My shoulder armor is still wonky,” Saint queried, tacitly showing that it was okay to be upfront about physical condition within the ranks. With their gear sorted and equipped, the pair strode into the backwater town. Tatooine had an odd knack for collecting people of exceptional skill, despite (or maybe because) of its out of the way galactic position. Black Sun openly governed Tatooine, and none of the big players had any interest in contesting that claim. It didn’t seem much different from regular governance, Black Sun was just honest about its political leaders and administrators being corrupt criminals. They went to the back of the cantina and claimed a booth along a windowless wall, so that neither party would have to sit with their back to the entrance. Now it was on Parangor to show up.
  2. Saint

    Tatooine

    Saint's ship arrives at Tatooine and sends a hail to Parangor, requesting a face to face meeting.
  3. "Bolt was muttering something to himself about working on a new alloy, in the meantime just kitbash something together. While the planet itself has little of value, there's a mercenary specializing in gunships that is currently spinning his wheels there. Thyrsian, shows promise. Gather your gear and we'll take a shuttle up to my ship." Once everything was prepared, the two Crusaders left on a shielded shuttle for orbit, transferred over to Saint's ship, and departed for Tatooine.
  4. The others had come, literally following her to into Hell. It was equally rapturous and sobering to see people so willing to sacrifice to reclaim the warrior culture that had uplifted all of them. She had been in her quarters looking over files, both of Death Society cells and mercenary groups that would be suitable to build a foundation for this new crusade. It would be the first members that established the face of this holy undertaking, so a massive rallying cry to arms would most like do more harm than good. Too many Death Society soldiers were little better than terrorists, bitter whining cowards who railed at the state of Mandalore in their hidden group therapy sessions instead of taking the steps necessary to find their own path to the Last Settlement. She would need people who saw the value in a life dedicated to growth through conflict. Warriors, rather than just mercenaries. Saint wrapped up things in her quarters and headed over to the medbay to check on the others. It was a strange thought that Qat Chrystac’s deadly nature could invoke so much tension in the engineers that assisted the landing, when they routinely made vessels that crossed an equally deadly and unforgiving void. Perhaps the void had become mundane to them, so commonplace that its true nature felt contained. Was the same true of the Mandalorians these days? Did the galaxy feel that they had domesticated them? Maybe they had, or maybe Kad Ha’rangir had forsaken his people when they failed all those centuries ago, and the fire within had gone out. “Glad to see that your fight isn’t over yet, Rose. Black Sun is paying way too much for us to help them dig in at Onderon. Terra and Borsk, go to the Dxun moon and establish a foothold, I’ll divert mercenaries with proper combat experience to your command while we train fresher recruits here on Qat Chrystac. Rose and I will go to Tatooine to follow up on some leads on a mercenary band that will prove useful.” *************** In orbit, construction began on an orbital station with the equivalent firepower of a Golan III that would also function as a communications hub and supply drop station. A comm is sent to Sollust to begin the construction of another Fane of Storms class ship.
  5. The world of Qat Chrystac came into view as Saint exited hyperspace, flanked by her new prize. It would have been best spiritually to have paid the blood price for the ship, but with no shipyards to call their own, and the Sullustans being neutral, it would be too costly to the crusade in the long term to act rashly now. Fires that last are ones that are carefully built. Qat Chrystac, Sullust, Mustafar, the galactic southwest seemed to have a running theme of lava planets. And this one now belonged to the Faithful. Its surface was a tumultuous riot of reds, oranges, yellows, and blacks, entrancing to behold and as awe invoking as it was deadly. With her neural link body glove back on, and a generic hazard suit over it, Saint went EVO and glided gracefully into one of the Venator’s open hangar bays to meet up with the Sullustan technicians. “Everything moving smoothly?” She asked upon arriving at the bridge. “We’re just finalizing a descent pattern and final contact point. Has anyone told you you’re crazy yet for trying this? Because you are.” It was the chief engineer that was speaking, probably resorting to humor to overlook how dangerous what they were about to do was. “When the galaxy explodes and you realize what a forward thinking genius I am, you’re welcome to join me in hiding under my super hard to find rock.” “Please, I’m trying not to think about the holonews these days. You would think by now people would just tell the Sith and the Jedi to go find an empty corner of the galaxy to fight it out while the rest of us enjoy some measure of peace. Even the the Empire and the Alliance seem to be done with fighting each other. Sealing all access points and coordinating towcraft for landing. Brace for atmo.” The Venator began its descent, guided by a number of craft and its own repulsor engines, firing for the last time ever. But this wasn’t the end for the ship, just a transformation into a new purpose. Fire from reentry wreathed the ship and it buckled under the strain. “The Sith and Jedi, they’re ideas. You can’t kill ideas. It’s a slugging match between unkillable immortals. And we’re all along for the ride. So learn to ride the storm and maybe you’ll find yourself somewhere you want to be.” “Says the maniac riding a capital ship like a meteor into a world that I’m pretty sure the gods used as a basis for hell.” “You’re from a volcanic world.” “Yes, but this is clearly a different beast. I mean what benevolent force in the galaxy says “You know what, this lava isn’t dangerous enough, let’s make it cancer lava,” No thank you.” “Be nice to the cancer lava, we’re close enough that it can hear you.” The ship groaned and strained during the final phase of the descent, and contact was rough enough that everyone ended up on the floor, but shield and hull integrity held. It had worked. As everyone clamored to their feet, a few exultant whoops and cheers could be heard, as everyone reveled in their not deadness. The chief engineer addressed her again, going over final details. “Our techs are going to finish marking doors that lead to hot zones in the structure, you’ll either want to permanently seal them or create decon units at those points. We stocked up some radsuits at various areas, just ask the computer if you need one. The hangar is a hot zone, so you’ll need to suit up even if the hangar bay is closed while you go to any of your ships. I would suggest an orbital platform for decon and resupply, but not directly above your location because otherwise what’s the point of trying to hide this hard?” “Your wisdom is appreciated, senior engineer. I will send praise to your superiors.” The Sullustan techs finished their work and departed, leaving Saint to her thoughts. The ship had landed parallel to a mountain ridge on the right, and the bridge tower had a spectacular view of the molten glass planescapes to the left. It reminded her of images of Shogun that Bolt had shown her. This is where the faithful would be reborn. In orbit, and encrypted beacon waited for the worthy.
  6. “Thank you for meeting with us despite our lack of credit history, may your risk be rewarded with fortune, procurer.” Saint sat in an office in one of the SoroSuub office hives, consulting with a representative of the company regarding a very unique reasoning for purchase. “I must say, miss Sylc, that I’m surprised that anyone is thinking about the future right now instead of just trying to survive, or set set up their own little dictatorship, what with the Galactic Alliance fragmenting and the Sith moving to claim worlds. It’s in our best interest to provide support to those that actually keep the wheels of commerce turning. Not to mention people with money instead of promises make the best customers. Now looking at your application for production, it seems that you are looking for a ship with higher than standard shielding and armor to act as a safe zone on a planet classified as extremely hazardous for the purpose of mining ore that you believe we will be of interest for our acquisitions department for the purpose of building starships. You are also looking at the construction of a security vessel to handle pirates and aggressive competitors that might try to muscle in on your claim. You want this vessel to have a superior communication suite for overcoming the radiation interference at your claim’s orbit, and to prevent pirates from calling in the location of your shipments. You want chaff torpedo launchers for active defense for your shipments. The defensive armaments are going to be mass driver tech to prevent certain shadier elements from tracing tibanna gas shipments. The hangar will use launch tubes to deploy fighter escorts, while security shuttles will use a dorsal access point with armored doors.” The Sollustan went through the extensive checklist of needs as a protocol droid translated. Saint’s own body felt unfamiliar without her armor, and without her body glove a sense of crippling vulnerability permeated her instincts. The representative probably thought it was jitters from a backwater entrepreneur waiting for a verdict on her financial hopes for the future. She did nothing to dissuade him from that notion. “That is correct, procurer. The people that raised me taught me not to believe in causes, just to see the “churn”. People who believe in things get so caught up in how things are and how they think things should be, that they lose track of how often all of the rules change. That’s why the wars never produce a true victor. There is no finish line, no final victory march, just the churn. So me and mine are going to keep our heads down and do what we need to survive the next change of the currents.” Saint waited patiently as the Sullustan worked at his data terminal. Not needing to be alert was an odd sensation, and made her feel hollow, underutilized. The room itself seemed designed for comfort, with neutral wall tones, effective but soft lighting, and a scent that according to wall plug in was supposed to be reminiscent of a Naboo flower garden. Nothing was wrong. Her training was telling her that meant that everything was wrong. How can you be prepared if everyone is pretending that everything is safe? Things are never safe, that’s how idiots get killed, by letting their guard down. Saint reached for the comforting reassurance of a weapon that wasn’t there. This isn’t right. Isn’t right. Not right. Wrong. Wrong. Wrong. WRONG! WRONG!!! At this point, Saint realized that her hands were shaking heavily. She clutched their opposing forearms to still them, but she could feel the adrenaline high surging through her body. Did the Sullustans know who she was? Were they stalling while the police came to apprehend her? Sullustan cities were excavated from underground, so the viewports were actually just recorded images of natural environments on loop, so no sniper threat. Even without her suit she could subdue the SoroSuub rep and use him as a hostage, he was travel sized. “Would you like a glass of water miss Sylc? My sensors indicate that you are nervous.” The protocol droid suddenly chimed in, and Saint managed to get out something resembling a vocal affirmative. The droid retrieved a pitcher from a nearby beverage station and poured some of the contents into a glass and brought it over. She couldn’t hide her hands shaking and still take the glass, so she hoped that the rep was too caught up in data to notice how bad it was. She reached out and grabbed the proffered glass, but the adrenaline surging through her system made it shatter under her death grip. Shards exploded everywhere, and a number of them carved lines in her hand that were soon traced in familiar crimson. The room exploded into chaos as the Sullustan rushed over and the protocol droid began apologizing profusely, but the chaos along with a problem to solve brought a familiar calm to Saint. Wash and disinfect the cuts, bind them with medical supplies, let the pain remind you that you are alive. The rep was aghast at her being hurt, but Saint had found her calm in the eye of the storm. He seemed to redouble his efforts at the data terminal, tapping away in a dervish. “Alright, I’ve transmitted the plans to the design team for your security vessel, they’ll draft up plans but there is an approvals process, so it may take longer than just building a standard design. If approvals are met however, and your needs expand, we will be able to go directly to the manufacturing stage for future orders of that type. For your first request, I worked a bit of magic and managed to find a unique opportunity for you. With the GA downscaling, we’ve gotten a lot of vessels sent our way for reclamation and parting out, now that nobody has the credits to maintain such a massive galaxy wide fleet. We have a demilitarized Venator class ship that with its military grade armor and shielding would be able to cope with the parameters that you established, and we can overhaul the central computer systems to use Duros biocomputers, so that you will be able to maintain a hardwired network as long as the vessel remains uncompromised. It has extensive hangar space that could be used to house your mining equipment, and those capital ships are basically like flying cities, so you could convert them to suit whatever infrastructure needs you have. You’d honestly be doing us a favor in clearing the drydock space. In terms of starfighters, there are a number of legal issues that need to be navigated with selling any modern level of starfighter. That being said, our techs could sell parts that could be assembled into a functional whole." Saint processed all of the information before responding. “A functional whole? You mean like Uglies? We can work with that. Anything too advanced would be a waste on our pilots anyway. We’re not the space jockey hot shot types.” “Then miss Sylc, I believe that your funds have cleared and we have come to a successful transaction. May we all prosper together.” =================== Saint and her new project soon left Sullust together for Qat Chrystac.
  7. Saint

    Kashyyyk

    The mercenaries, their objective completed and having found more pressing matters on the horizon, gathered up their dead and exfiltrated on Black Sun craft back to their own ships. Something had reached out to touch Saint's mind after the vision, the Dark Lord she thought, but trying to seize the reins on that opportunity would just leave them tumbling in the dirt. In time they would carve their own place in the galaxy, and then such things as galactic war could be considered. But for now, it was a time of remembrance and rebirth. Before departing, Saint had established an encrypted communication method with the others for when preparations were complete. Saint still cradled a bowcaster liberated from a fallen wookie when returned to her ship. A passion project for another time. For now, after checking her accounts, she sent out feelers for the next step in her people's great journey, finally settling on Sullust. Claiming to be an entrepreneur looking to set up a mining claim on a hazardous world, she transmitted some basic guidelines and project needs and set a course for the Sullust system for a face to face meeting.
  8. Type: Frigate Class: Escort/Assault ship Length: 300m Crew: 854 Gunners: 66 Troops: 100 Fighter Complement: 24 Armament and tactical assets: The Fane of Storms sports twelve point defense mass drivers, twelve heavy mass drivers, chaff missile tubes, and two tractor beam projectors. In addition to the bridge, it boasts an information warfare center, used both to monitor enemy communications and disrupt sensors. Description: Littoral assault carrier and reaving ops center. The Fane of Storms is a frigate designed for raiding planets with light defensive capabilities, and supporting planetary assaults by jamming sensors and disrupting targeting. The ventral hull section is heavily armored and shielded to protect the ship against planetary defenses, and the hangar bay uses multi-gate launch tubes for initial deployment, only opening its armored dorsal hangar doors post raid, to avoid exposing vulnerability mid assault. The Fane of Storms relies on high maneuverability and precision ranged fire to act as a force multiplier, rather than overwhelming firepower or indomitable shields.
  9. Saint

    Kashyyyk

    Every nerve in Saint’s body lit up with a thousand sensations as if being struck by lightning and standing too close to an inferno. Confused, she scanned frantically around her to see where she was hit, or who had fired, but there was no wound or assailant to be found. The feeling of nearness to heat grew into the sweltering sensation of standing on the surface of the sun, an overwhelming impossibility of unsurvivable yet awe demanding force. And somewhere in that primal riot of energies was a consciousness. It sang through Saint, each pluck of the string sending careening supernovas through her body. Each lyrical transmission burned with the confusion of premature enlightenment. A fractal kaleidoscope of a vibrant plethora of colors labeled a study of black and white morality. A clock that measures time in wars. God disproving the existence of God. A wall inscribed with every truth ever spoken. Fires evaporating a flood. A window over the galaxy that shows only lies. The violated dead rising up to cull their errant children. Farmers enslaved to their crops, laboring for them only to one day be buried underneath them, a final sacrament as the children begin to repeat the cycle, feeding the plants their greater destinies. A cycle of broken cycles. God proving the existence of God. A vast frozen lake stretched out around Saint and her squad, coming up from the abyss like a predator from the depths. Saint saw other Mandalorians in the ice, some struggling to escape, some driven so mad by their confinement that they gnashed their teeth like rabid dogs and saw only threats in the faces around them, regardless of who they once knew them as. Still forms under the ice whispered that if you stopped moving, stopped fighting, the numbness would take the pain away. Saint and her squad burned too furiously for this world and the ice strained and cracked underneath them, growling as it readied to swallow them whole. As the surface ruptured, several fell into the freezing waters and did not resurface. Somewhere in that water, Saint heard the voices of her mother and father calling to her. Saying that no matter what she done they would love her. Love had killed them, and left Saint adrift until Bolt had found her. She needed to press forward. The ice steamed and receded wherever she touched it, hissing as it sublimated into steam. “Keep moving!” Saint shouted to the others and she searched for direction, and a glimpse of hearthwarm orange on the horizon became her guiding star. Something deeper in the depths of the lake raged and railed at their escape and slammed its fist against the ice but could not shatter the cage it had made. A song in the air breathed fire into Saint’s lungs, a war chant of her people to embolden the heart against impossible odds. A figure, ever in the distance, beckoned to them. He could not save them, but he could help them save themselves. A clock that ticked for every broken cycle moved forward again, and the thornclad figure of molten steel spoke in a chorus of shifting voices. “You will find a new fire to carry through the darkness at Qat Chrystac. Remember who you are. Remember who you need to become.” The words obliterated the dreamscape and sent the squad tumbling back to reality. If not for the ice water that still permeated their kit, it would be too easy to dismiss the vision as a fever dream, but it was more real than the world around them now. “Get to the exfil point squad, we have work to do.”
  10. Saint

    Kashyyyk

    As the smuggler ship began its descent on Kashyyyk, Saint looked over the group of mercenaries that would be going into battle with her. Despite all of them wearing Mandalorian armor only a handful of them were actually trained to Mandalorian standards. Saint did not know how Black Sun came to have such a stockpile of Mandalorian gear, but perhaps down the road an arrangement could be made to put it into more capable hands. Kolibri in particular seemed to have bought his way onto the team, like some overly wealthy extreme adventure tourist who far too late suddenly realized why they had to sign so many waivers. For Saint, this moment was the opposite of terrifying, instead being a chance to make good on so many past sacrifices. After years of training with her adopted father, at last she would have the chance to truly grow in the eyes of Kad Ha’rangir, facing new opponents and adapting to overcome them. A training accident had left Saint paralyzed from the waist down, and in any other culture she would have been discarded to waste away her days in a chair, too broken to live a full life but not broken enough to die. But it wasn’t in the nature of her adopted people to accept limitations. Tireless pursuit of specialists and experimental technology had allowed her to acquire a body glove that interacted with the undamaged parts of her spine to move her body, almost like having a secondary nervous system overlaying her body. Not only did the suit allow her to walk again, beskar fibers were woven in such a way to act as additional layers of muscle. She should have been a cripple, but now she had more in common with the superheroes that young children watched on the holonet. There was one other defining difference between the other mercenaries and Saint, and that was her beskar’kandar armor. Most Mandalorians wore a lighter version of the traditional armor over a high quality armorweave, but Saint’s enhancement and her repulsor rig gave her the endurance to utilize the heavier plate version. Sometimes excessive momentum could be a problem, but she had trained to account for it. The thicker protection might come in handy this mission since some idiot had fumbled the gear requisition request and supplied jet packs instead of the much quieter and less visible repulsor rigs that she had put in for. The pilot announced arrival and the squad filtered out of the open ramp and into the void of Kashyyyk’s night. While everyone went into free fall for a time, eighteen of them had their descent slowed by sudden bursts of fire as they activated their jet packs. Saint however drifted down like a weightless spirit, ethereally graceful and completely belying the power of her kit. She bounded from tree to tree, drifting silently but with powerful momentum. With the more dynamic entry, the squad had to clear a wider radius of potential patrols, but the mercenaries still put down the targets with lethal efficiency. Originally the plan had been to suppress alarms and move undetected until forced to go loud, but with that option off the table, Saint readied a breaching charge and prepped the bunker door with cryoban shots to make the metal more vulnerable to blasts. She placed the charge on the shield generator’s operations bunker blast door, and as soon as everyone was acceptably clear, detonated the charge for the team to rush through. The Wookies were beginning to rally a heavy defense now, and starting to assemble crew served weapons. Terra called out a Mk II cannon that the enemy were setting up, a definite threat even to Mandalorian iron clad mercenaries. Saint called out a warning over the comms to seek cover and arced a fragmentation grenade into the impromptu nest, detonating it at the point of maximum saturation. The metal walls of the compound made the metal shards ricochet back and forth through the wookies, turning the position into a gruesome abattoir. Through operations the team reached their target, the shield dome’s power generator. Nau’ur detached from Saint’s pack and began its scan of the power system. A poorly placed charge could create an explosion that would incinerate the whole team, so precision was key. Within moments the optimal blast points appeared on her HUD, this was a fairly generic power system, and Saint went to work setting up the binary charges. After placing the charges, Saint got clear and readied the detonator. As she was about to depress the activation stud, the world began to spin rapidly and a pain like raging fire spread through her left shoulder. Spinning awkwardly in the air from the impact, it took her a moment to reorient and realize what had happened. A quarrel from one the most notorious Wookie weapons, a bowcaster, had struck a glancing blow on her shoulder, and even without it striking at the right angle for optimal penetration, a chunk of her shoulder armor was gone or slagged. Saint returned fire with her charric, using the pushback to float into some cover provided by gantry supports. Her left shoulder still screamed in pain, but the charric’s stock was specifically designed to reinforce one handed firing. Once her assailant had been dropped, Saint got clear again and with a warning to the rest of the team, detonated the charges, stripping the city’s protective aegis and clearing the way for the rest of the troops and their fleet support. A quick comm called in the completion of the objective to the fleet. Mission accomplished, she rendezvoused with Bolt, and pointing first to the gouge in her shoulder armor and then to a discarded bowcaster on the ground, spoke to her adoptive father. “I want one.”
  11. Saint

    Space

    With the briefing done, Saint left the bridge to finish preparing her own gear for the mission. While the others procured mission specific gear or chit chatted, Saint set to the task of preparing her own special implements. First she checked the charges on her wrist weapon mounts, a cryoban emitter and a cutting laser. The cryoban would be used for increasing the brittleness of obstructions, and the cutting laser would be for cutting through doors that Bolt’s drones couldn’t hack. Next she laid out casings for a number of binary stage explosives, some smaller for dynamic entry through doors and walls, while others packed significantly more punch and were meant for the main event. Nau’ur would assist in optimal placement to set of a chain reaction in the shield generator. Even with the binary design, Saint stored the explosives in an armored hard case linked to her helmet. The case’s design would allow her to select a specific explosive to grab by a synthetic cloth handle without having to remove the pack or rummage around. After the explosives were secured, Portia inspected her grenade launcher carefully, making sure the software was functioning properly and that there were no mechanical issues that needed to be addressed. She ran a test round through the ordnance transfer, and after that went smoothly, proceeded to hand load the puck shaped grenades into the drum. They were anything but aerodynamic, instead meant for large targets or pinned down squads. While it was unlikely the Galactic Alliance would put boots on the ground in time, the Wookies themselves could potentially have armored vehicles that they would have to deal with on the way out. Next were some fairly standard directional mines that she secured on the hip section of her armor. While she hadn’t personally made them, she had tested their effectiveness and linked them to her HUD for hands free use after deployment. Maybe another time she would rig cameras to them for better control over when to pull the trigger, but that was a project for later. The seismic resonators were an experimental piece of tech that she didn’t know if it would have a place in this mission, but she was anxious to try them out. The system was wired to outputs on the fingertips and palms of her gloves. The final touch was her custom modified charric with an underbarrel flame projector. It would serve the dual purpose of being a lifesaver if they ran into any enemy lightsaber wielders and also being powerful enough to take down a Wookie. It was based off of Chiss tech not often found outside their borders. Just like them. Prudii Be Tor had been left behind on Saint’s ship. While its firepower would have been reassuring, the mission parameters called for a stealth insertion that the iron beast couldn’t do.
  12. Saint

    Space

    A smuggling ship will be delivering a small strike force of mercenaries in a HALI drop with repulsor packs for a stealth insertion to target the capital city's shield generator. While the majority establish a perimeter around the target, a team of six will infiltrate the complex through remote hacking, or if necessary through explosive enthusiasm. Once the shield generator is down we will signal to the fleet and engage targets of opportunity as they present themselves, maintaining contact with the fleet to coordinate orbital support and avoid friendly fire. In addition to Bolt, I've tapped Borsk, Terra, Lysander, and Rose to be the tip of the spear. Once enemy hard points have been eliminated we will head to an ally controlled grid point for exfiltration.
  13. Saint

    Space

    At first Saint had been cynical of Black Sun’s offer, but now that she was on the Marie, the opulence of the ship suggested that the crime syndicate had more credits than they knew what to do with. How they kept the crew of criminals from stealing anything was beyond her. Flicking through the data sheets from the battle plan, Saint tagged the other mercenaries with a direct message to say that they would need repulsor rigs for stealth insertion, and to check the Marie’s armory for the requisite gear. Borsk and Lysander’s profiles showed promise, along with a few others, but the majority of the outsiders were an afterthought to secure the perimeter. After checking her chrono, Saint walked purposefully towards the bridge to be prepared for a holo conference with their employer’s employer, some Sith or another. While the Mandalorian relationship with the Sith had been… complicated in the past, the shameful peace between the Galactic Alliance and the Empire meant that a Sith conquest would be the only play available.
  14. Saint

    Tatooine

    The drunken rhythms of revelry and untested bravado pervaded the cantina as unblooded children made their claims and spoke of dreams of glory. The galaxy had been been riddled with rot and slumbered restlessly as that great enemy Peace held it bound selfishly like an obsessed lover. Father, no doubt on edge in the presence of so many siren songs of his past, sated his own black desires with the spilling of blood. “This is about far more than credits. Normally one would say that this is a time of rebirth for our people, but that is not true. How many of us can say that we know our clan, or have descended upon the holy fields of battle astride fire and bes’uliiks? We are Mandalore’s unwanted children, Dar’manda for remembering and honoring the past. Once I took such pride in my title of outcast, because I thought it made me stronger to live outside the stagnant institutions of the Protectors, but now on the verge of battle I have found new purpose for my pride. The people on Mandalore, so consumed with foolish shame over the purity of purpose that our ancestors had, have abandoned the means of greatness while avariciously clutching the trappings of greatness to their puffed chests. They deny the crusader heritage of our past, yet they will not surrender the flesh of a true warrior, or the holy weapons of the faithful. Clinging to the fading memories of who we were, they squandered that legacy until their weakness became a mewling cacophony that brought raiders to set foot on once sacred Manda’yaim. I see among us both Dar’manda too young to know themselves from true battle, and Dar’manda too old to remember. The way is lost amidst the tangling vines of peace, while the false dream of civilization pours duracrete on us to make us mortar for statues for their wayward gods of profit, acceptance, and the faceless homogeny of a galactic culture with no past, no identity, defined only by compromise to make everyone settle. I thought I was proud because being Dar’manda made me stronger, but now I know that the pride I feel comes from being truly Mandalorian. If I am soulless it is because I have cast my soul onto a holy pyre of conflict, and the vacant black within has been illuminated by the holy devils of past crusaders who have descended from the burning afterlife to suffer the unworthy who blight their grand achievements. The graves of our glorious dead will be defiled no longer by these Chakaar who would defile our people. I may not know the way, but on the coming battlefield I will light a beacon for all true Mandalorians to find Providence. While the weak perish in the festering embrace of Arasuum, the true scions of Mandalore will find succor in the fires of Kad Ha’rangir’s eternal war, and should we prove worthy, the glory of crusade will be ours once again.” Portia knew that while most Dar’manda had no love for the controversial current Mandalore and Resol'nare, it didn’t exactly translate into the religious zeal that Portia had. Mercenary life was too gray for the absolutes of faith, and elite soldiers would rather trust in their own skills than the hopefully benevolent gaze of almighty beings. But Portia wasn’t a mercenary or bounty hunter, she was born into war more honestly, orphaned at a young age by conflict and rescued by one of the soldiers that the conflict had brought.
  15. PORTIA SYLC'S CHARACTER SHEET Identity Real Name: Portia Sylc A.K.A: Saint Homeworld: Shogun is the only place she considers home now. Species: Human Physical Description Age: 22 Height: 4’11 Weight: 115 Hair: Black Eyes: Amber Sex: Female Equipment Clothing or Armor: Set of Mandalorian beskar’kandar. Beneath that is a special skin tight suit that acts as a muscle enhancer and alternate neural pathway to circumvent Portia’s spinal damage. Without her armor, Portia is a hoverchair bound paraplegic, with it she can kick hard enough to dent durasteel. Her armor has an override protocol that prevents her own munitions from detonating while she is in range. Where most Mandalorians would wear a rocket or jet pack, Portia wears an armored pack with ordnance and reserve munitions and power, instead relying on enhanced speed and jumping, along with a repulsor rig to keep up with the squad. Her armor has been hardened against ion attacks and EMP. Weapon: Barrel fed smart grenade launcher with multiple types of rounds, including frag, AP, flashbang, incendiary, sensor baffling smoke, immobilizing foam, and ion. Grenades can be set to detonate on impact, proximity triggers, or remotely. When facing enemies at close range, switches to a Charric rifle with underbarrel flamethrower. Crushgaunts and powered beskar leg frames make her a powerful brawler. Directional anti personnel mines for securing lanes of attack while she works. A variety of binary explosive devices according to the mission. Wrist mounted cryoban weapon and cutting laser. Seismic resonators that connect through glove pads. Common Inventory: Comm link, field medikit, credits, datapad Special: Prudii Be Tor: Portia’s Basilisk. In addition to the standard loadout, the droid has a shoulder mounted anti tank rail gun and guided missile pod that can communicate with Portia’s HUD to coordinate strikes on vehicles and buildings. Nau’ur: ID10 Seeker droid that can perform a full spectrum scan to detect strengths, weaknesses, and material compositions of targets. Docks on Portia’s backpack. Faction Information Force Sensitive: Current Faction Affiliation: Black Sun/Deathwatch History: Known Skills: Mandalorian combat training, but specializes in close combat power armor brawling, demolitions, and aggressive lockpicking. Background: Born on a world that she no longer cares to remember, Portia was a war orphan scrounging for food when she came across one of the invaders that had destroyed her childhood. Thinking she could gain some measure of vengeance on the man as he was lost in his thoughts, Portia tried to shank him from behind. She did so poorly at it that the man adopted her so that he could teach her how to properly kill someone. The odd pair began settling into a codependent existence dominated by training, but the looming specter of Bolt’s past constantly drove him to drink. One day when he had fallen into a particularly deep bottle, Saint tried to push him to train in an effort to sober him up, but it would have tragic consequences. A drunken blow would shatter Portia’s spine, leaving her unable to walk. Through Bolt’s own technological savvy and a fair bit of raided tech, the pair were able to rig up a suit that would allow her to walk again, but it’s a bandaid and not a solution. While Portia puts on a brave face for Bolt, depression can often consume her in her times alone, and she has taken comfort in the ancient religious beliefs of her adoptive people. As long as she strives for self improvement and refuses to accept a smaller, meaker life, she can still find a way to stand. Ship Registration Name: Talyc Haran Class: Fighter/transport Model: Kom’rk Manufacturer: Mandal motors Length: 52.3 Meters Armaments: Four laser cannons (two fore, two aft) Armor: Standard Anti-Personnel Defenses: The pilot. Appearance: Standard Modifications: Most of the troop bay has been converted into a combination of personal quarters, armory, and workshop.
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