Mandalore

[Mirdala Ad'Goran]

Following her husband’s lead as the ranks of Death Watch descended on their position, she sheathed her kukri’s and took up her assault rifle and Kandor’s energy shield to cover their flank as they made their way to what cover they could find in the intense fire-fight between the two armies. Should have kept Darkfire with us, she thought idly before finally deciding to give in and draw on her own abilities to guide her shots to their deadly marks. As she stepped away from the yasalamiri bubble surrounding Kandor, she called out for Rhys as she spotted the familiar suit of armor in the dimness as he fought his way back to two of them.

 

The omicron nodded once as he jammed his wrist blade into the base of the skull of one of the Death Watch that had managed to break the lines and had sought to take advantage of the confusion as Mandalorian fought Mandalorian and take their chance at the Manda’lor and his wife.

 

I’ve got him, he cut in on the team channel. Ritual’s peaking and we’ve got to stop it. Got a plan?

 

His only answer was a short nod as she turned toward what remained of the ritual’s energies.

 

As the blood mists came, Mirdala felt the Force speaking to her only to find that the remaining cultists, while not individually strong in the Force, cumulatively had been able to bend and distort the energy around them to feed on the death and carnage as sacrifices accumulated on both sides of the fray with the children of Keldabe caught in the middle.

 

She felt Rhys and the others pull back from their connection with her to focus all of their energies on disrupting the cultists as Mirdala continued to draw the Force around her completely falling within her instincts and focusing on her goal.

 

As the energies built, Mirdala fought harder to draw them to herself and protect the children at the heart of the ritual. The other Seekers were doing their part, but they were all engaged in a tug of war that neither side had a clear shot at victory. All Mirdala could do was buy them what time they could and limit the amount of damage the ritual would do once the cultist’s fervent chanting reached its zenith and set loose whatever chaos they’d hoped would stop the sons and daughters of Mandalore.

 

The pressure mounted and the air around the fighting became charged as Mirdala fell to one knee and her vitals shot up. “They mean to kill the city…” she managed between gritted teeth across the live channel. “I can’t stop them…”

 

She knew what action needed to be taken. She knew that it meant the innocent would die so that a city would live.

 

It didn’t make things any easier to accept.

[Moon Knight]

Even with his disruptor Fett was making only slow progress advancing the remaining distance to the ritual site. He was about to order an all-out push which would potentially cost many lives in his assault team to finally cross the gap when Rhys and his riduur told him that he'd run out of time. The ritual was happening.

 

He clenched his jaw. He knew what he had to do. "Twenty-two?"

 

"Standing by, Master. I believe we are undetected."

 

He put out a comm to the branch of the army he'd led to this site as well as the command center. "This is Mand'alor. Fall back from the ritual site. Repeat. Fall back," he ordered. He switched back to 2277. "Hit it."

 

The deafening roar of the Justice's engines marked its arrival with two other Tra'kad-class vessels. A second later Fett watched as from each a pair of brilliant warheads streaked downwards, lighting up the night and leaving behind a trail of smoke on their path to the forest floor. The proton torpedoes struck the ritual site and detonated with enough force to shake the ground and the shockwave tore through the treetops. Leaves came showering down upon the army and the blaster fire paused as both armies attempted to assess what had happened and how to respond.

 

Fett knelt next to his wife, who had doubled over in concentration to battle the ritual with her still-newly-trained Force talents. He put a hand on her shoulder and she nodded to him. It was over; the ritual at this site had been ended. It had cost the lives of every hostage that had been taken -- ad'ike and other civilians alike. They looked at each other for a moment from behind their buy'cese, but he knew they both understood. It had been the only call. Either the hostages died, or the whole city had died and the hostages along with them.

 

The Mando'ad stood up again. "Fall back and regroup," he ordered the army. The Kyr'tsad seemed to also be pulling back to their camp somewhere to the north, the objective they had been guarding annihilated. Fett knew he didn't have the manpower to pursue them, given the size of the force that had attacked the previous night and how much of it had survived. So they would return to Keldabe and hole up again until they were eventually overwhelmed or help came from elsewhere. They might have won a victory out here -- if this could even be called a victory -- but they were still losing the war.

[saberforce]

Tros kept his focus clear, finding new targets as quickly as he could, pulling the trigger and moving on. He was about thirty feet back from he rest of the other Vode attacking, him and Caen both hidden within the trees keeping up some sniper support. He was trying to find clear sights on the location of the ritual, but with crazed men jumping out with forms of grenades and detonators, his priority seemed to be focused on keeping them far away from the charging Mando'ade that would come to an explosive end if he couldn't keep them down. It was then that he thought he saw something on the HUD of his buy'ce...

 

"Caen... did you see what I think I'm seeing?"

 

There was at first only a comm click as a response, followed by a loud explosion as Caen took a shot at someone who was holding a grenade up high. The shot took out the group surrounding him. Quickly after the loud explosion, Caen's calm and soothing voice hit his ears loudly.

 

"Yeah, a real demagolka type shit going on. Do we have the support to provide a rescue sweep?"

 

It was a question that even Tros couldn't and wouldn't answer. The size of the ritual site was smaller compared to the other, and he was certain that he was only seeing half of it.

 

"We're not high enough to make that call. We'll have to take it slow. Keep laying cover fire, but we need to help the other push. They can survive without sniper support from here."

 

Almost as soon as he finished, he took the sniper configuration off his blaster riffle and began to just charge the frontline. This would be no time or heroics by anyone. They simply needed to shut the ritual down by any means. Since they did not have the best sight lines from sniper support to see the whole battlefield, they were all better off making the charge. With each step upon the ground, adrenaline kicked in for Tros and he moved himself quicker and faster towards the front to help aid the others. It was then that he heard the familiar sound of a jetpack. Caen was blasting ahead of the group.

 

"Caen Fuller, this is no time to be a hero! Stand down!"

[Terra]

“Kriffing Suicidal idiots… What is this a tenpenny holoreel? Sith brainwashing…”

 

Cruel, crimson eyes passed over the legions of the weak, judging each in their path to doom. Blackened armour glittered under the sunlight that filtered through the treetops in mangled beams of pale yellow. Her countenance was dripping with the corruption of the Sith, a far stronger power than that which warped the minds of the suicidal imbeciles. Terra had never been one to feel the pull and the will of the Force, and she felt better for it. She was no one’s pawn, least of all these cultists.

 

Her squad was apprehensive, their comlinks filled with observations of troop movement and the crumbling resolve of the Cultist forces. Resorting to suicidal attacks was a sign of desperation, and one she would have no part in. The twins upon the upper cliffs, well concealed, called out the slow and methodical advance of countless clans through the treeline. Terra placed her hand upon her weapon, letting the caress of the assault rifle steady her unease.

 

In the center of the ritual site, the stakes that held the children were fully exposed to the sights and sounds of war. Each child struggled against their bonds, straining to free themselves so they could join the fight, to defend their homeworld and their people. With each pull of the neck, each strain of their muscles, their bonds tightened. Their childish cries of help became yelps of pitiful agony, bonds cutting into skin, drawing blood, cutting away breath.

 

A young, sandy-haired boy of seven pulled against his bondage with all his young strength and childish endurance. The tightening bonds were unnoticed as he strained to join the fight, to make his elderly buir proud. For every story told over a bowl of Regeran Soup, for every conquest, he fought. His ears could not hear the screams of his older sister, for him to stop. The noose was tightening and his stubbornness and pride would be his executioner. Panic set in when he could no longer breath, the garrot cutting through skin and squeezing shut his lungs.

 

Desperation only worsened it, his arms straining against the bonds, fingers grasping where they were trapped to let oxygen into his lungs. A straining heave of his chest, his intercostal muscles and the diaphragm fighting each other to force air in, to no avail. It only grew tighter. His face turned from bright red to darker shades of violet. His tongue began to swell, and his eyes ran red with bursting vessels. He slumped into convulsions, strangled by his misplaced will to fight. His body hung limp in its bonds, another victim to the war.

 

Terra’s squad moved back from the chaos of the fighting, the Greyjoys having no desire to die to friendly grenades. Terra herself moved along the border of the sandscape that made up the ritual site, the stakes in the center a monument to the destruction about her. She felt half awake in a dream of death.

 

“Jetpacker di’kut flying south of you…”

 

Terra listened to the droll sarcasm of Arna and Longkra’s AI, and held her position. The Mandalorian (Caen Fuller) would most likely land behind the cultist lines, where the Greyjoys could kill him at their leisure. At the very least he would see the children and draw the rest into the killing field. The young assassin focused on the nearby waves of Mandalorians, preparing herself to spring in on any unsuspecting commandos.

[Kalyani Wartide]

It seemed that all hell had broken loose. Kalyani kept Mellanie in sight as they pushed forward. She put the pain in her shoulder to the back of her mind and just got on with it as best she could. It shocked her when the crazed cultists began to emerge from hidden trenches. The insanity in their eyes as they triggered grenades had her feeling emotionally numb. So much death… and they weren’t even armoured… not even fully clothed. With whatever the Sith had done to them the kindest thing to do was to put them down… at least that was what she told herself though it was like lambs to the slaughter.

 

Catching sight of Mel signalling to Jaesko, Kalyani joined them, arriving beside them at the same time as Araac and a few others. Seeing where Mellanie was indicating she gave a sharp nod. She slipped in a new charge pack into her blaster and headed off, though the closer they got to the ritual site the more nauseous she felt. Glancing at her sister she knew that she was feeling it too, despite not being able to see her features. In a way she was glad for her open face helmet - at least if she had to be sick she wouldn’t have to rip her helmet off to do so. At the same time she did wish for the extra protection a full faced helmet would provide.

[Mellanie Devanus Vevut]

The small group continued to push forward, swinging around to the right of the ritual center. As they approached, Mellanie's heart sank at the sight of the children huddled in the middle. There were several other Mandalorians behind the group, and from their casual attitude, she assumed they were dar'manda.

 

There was the sound of a jetpack behind them, and Mel glanced up to see the Mandalorian she had fought beside earlier flying into the center. As he did so, Mel saw their chance. "Oya!" she cried. They all began blasting, aiming at the cultists, but in reality taking down anyone in their way. Cultists began to slump to the ground right and left, suddenly having to fight on two fronts. But there were so many of them; it was as if for every one she shot down, two more took his place.

 

"Come on!" Jaesko shouted, motioning to a large outcropping of rock a little further in and further back. They all dashed for it, taking cover behind it and catching their breath, before ducking out and joining the fray again.

 

Will this nightmare ever end?

[Tresha Ad'Nort]

The horde of zombie-like cultists that streamed thickly from the ritual site did not seem to thin in number no matter how many rounds were pumped into them by the advancing Mandalorians. Tresha had learned, however, that using the same tactics trying to keep an advancing enemy at bay hardly ever delayed the onslaught in the long run. No, she would look for a more strategic strike point. Strafing along the edge of the treeline where the sandy pit unfolded before her, she finally cut around toward the rear of the cultists' camp. The wailing of children finally met her ears beyond the cacophony of gore and death amidst the fighting behind her.

 

From behind heavy cover in the treeline, ducking down under a significantly thick clump of bushes, she pulled out her rifle and trained the scope on the far treeline. The form of a boy hung limply, his face frozen in a mask of breathless terror, and beside him, several of the other similarly-trussed children were weeping. These were the same children she had watched disappear into the woods on the opposite side of the Kelita. But where was their kidnapper? Moving her scope along the treeline, it became obvious that there were additional forces present, hiding behind the stakes that held the children.

 

A movement of shadow attracted her attention. There, lying in wait like some bloodthirsty predator, crouched the demagolka. Her squadmates' armor glinted in the trees behind her, giving Tresha momentary pause, but her desire for vengeance was strong. Confident in her invisibility along the ground, she lined up a careful shot aimed at the chink between the collar plate and the shoulder plate and fired before prostrating herself deep within the bushes.

[Whispering Abyss]

As the transport touched down, word reached Hawke that the first ritual site had fallen. The second was in a similar situation, the reinforcements crumbling fast. Defenses there were light, anyways, most were still concentrated at the main war camp, but only enough to keep the Mandalorians occupied while the surgical strike on Keldabe's spaceport was underway. If they could eliminate the anti-aircraft guns and secure a landing zone, the inbound reinforcements would have an easy foothold to flood the city and wash the warrior farmers from their lands in rivers of their own blood. Hopefully the breadcrumb trail from the ritual sites would lure them into an entrenched combat with the main Sith force, delaying their best fighting forces from returning to the city in a timely fashion.

 

And everything hinged on a few key components. Asset Epsilon Theta was an inside man, a Mandalorian fighting hard within Keldabe, secretly loyal to the cult with a small splinter cell. They had all killed their fair share of Sith troops, leaving outside observers none the wiser. Terra had relayed instructions in her prior incursion into the city, and critical defense points were already wired with hidden explosives. As a red flare was shot up from the river banks, it was answered with the bright orange blossoms of myriad explosions. Hawke and the rest of the Death Watch commandos activated their repulsorpacks, and the assault began.

[saberforce]

Tros watched as Caen blasted forth ignoring the stand down orders. Feeling very flustered by his cyare'se actions. Quickly pushing strongly on his feet, he charged the front line with blaster riffle firing off in a rapid fire mode. In his charge, he only half heard Mellanie and Jaesko cry out the charge for the rest to rush the lines. Tros really only cared about getting to Caen in one piece. He had already lost too many vod in the past year. He wasn't sure that he could lose another, especially one like Caen, whom Tros was sure he would say openly riduurok to Caen. He needed him back alive. He was now more certain and determined that him and the verda would and could win this battle skirmish. They had to.

[Kalyani Wartide]

The sight of the children in the center of the ritual site was sickening and served to anger the young woman enough to forget her pain. Her stormy eyes, so like her mothers, narrowed as she focused on each cultist that came into range, squeezing shot after shot off to drop them. For once she wished she had asked her older brother or Count Shadowlord for some training... or even her sister's father. Any Force training so she could stop the suffering of those poor kids... Hearing Jaesko shout out Kalyani was quick to move, still firing as she moved in the direction her friend had signalled. The short breather was welcomed though proved to show how fatigued she was. Can't stop... gotta keep going... got to finish this...

 

When the others left the shelter of the outcrop, so did Kalyani. She'd clicked in a new blaster pack and let her focus take hold so that she didn't waste any shot she fired. Each shot hit a target.

[Mirdala Ad'Goran]

Reports soon came in as they made their way back that the spaceports were under attack. Mirdala silently and wearily turned to look at her husband, and checked the charge on her rifle as she looked to him for her next actions.

 

She couldn’t afford to think about what had just happened in the ridge.

 

As she’d watched the Justice fly in, she knew the sacrifice that had to be made in order to preserve the greater forces. It didn’t make the sharp pain of regret in her heart at the loss of the innocent any less. It didn’t make the cold fury at the lengths Ab’ki and her followers were willing to go to gain their victories over the Mandalorian people disappear.

 

Suddenly she stopped in her tracks as most of the other forces had moved ahead in the retreat back to the city, where a new challenge was awaiting their return. It felt like she was drowning in all of the events of the last few days, but she could sense someone lurking just outside the periphery of the storm.

 

Rhys nearly slammed into her. “What is it, kid?”

 

Tearing off her helmet as though it would help her breathe better. Her face was paler than it should have been, even in the Keldaban moonlight, and her breathing was rapid and ragged. “Ab’ki is near. I don’t know how I know or her target yet...just that she is close to making her move. I wasn’t looking for her. Ori’haat.”

 

Ori'haat - I swear

 

[Moon Knight]

"We have to get back," ShadowFett said. Keldabe's spaceport was defensible and, if taken by the aruetiise, could serve as a foothold from which they could spread across the city. The move wasn't entirely unexpected; the Mando'ade had willingly weakened the city's defenses in order to pursue the ritual, and it was a decision he would stand by. Now they would have to deal with the fallout.

 

But even as he checked in with the command center and started to rally his portion of the army for the march back -- assuming the battle at the secondary site didn't require their intervention -- Mirdala suddenly staggered and ripped off her buy'ce. Fett immediately drew close to her, enveloping her within the ysalamir bubble in case there was a Force attack. But what she was feeling was as much empathic as Force-based. The dar'jetii herself was on the move.

 

Fett considered his options. He was not eager to abandon the battle for Keldabe, especially at this critical juncture. As Mand'alor the army was looking to him, and right now there was no clear path to victory. Not only was the spaceport under attack, but the bulk of Ab'ki's army still waited in their camp to the north and they outnumbered the defenders. It would take a lot of hard work if Keldabe was still going to be standing at all in a few days' time.

 

But Ab'ki was the head of the snake. Mirdala needed to be there and she would need Fett as well as her vode there with her, especially if Ab'ki had surrounded herself with her most powerful servants. He remembered the lesson his Moon Knight vision had taught him one night that felt like months ago though it had only been days: it took discernment to find the right objectives, and even giving up a battle in one place could win the greater war.

 

"With a little bit of time do you think you can find her?" he asked Mirdala. "If we have a shot at taking her down, we have to take it. I will make Ops understand even if we have to leave now."

[Mellanie Devanus Vevut]

They had to end this, and they had to do it soon. Every moment that passed meant the death of another Mandalorian. Mel thought it seemed like they were winning, but it was really impossible to say. And who knew what had happened at the other ritual site? No, time was wasting, and as Mellanie kept up the fire, she searched for a way to end the ritual quickly.

 

Her eyes scanned the area, looking for something, anything, that could give them the advantage. And suddenly, she saw it. Sitting back behind the enemy line was an overlooked box of explosives, leftover from the suicidal wave from earlier. It was perfectly positioned; if they could get in and detonate it, it'd blow the ritual area sky high. It would mean sacrificing the children. But Mellanie gritted her teeth. The children or the entire race...it was a clear, obvious choice.

 

With a few hand motions, she indicated to her squad to stay put. Silencing her weapons, she crept towards the box, moving as quickly as she could without drawing attention to herself. As she approached, she realized that none of the other three had obeyed; they were right there with her. She was about to protest, but there was no time to argue. They grabbed some cover near the box. Mellanie grabbed one of her grenades, waited until the coast was clear, then stepped out of cover and lobbed it towards the box. She couldn't resist the temptation to use the Force to make sure it landed exactly in the middle of the box. Then all four Mandalorians dove for cover.

 

The explosion was massive. Debris of all sorts rained down around them, and Mellanie knew without a doubt that if it hadn't been for her buy'ce, she'd have gone deaf. The explosion set off several others, and all was fire and mud and blood and heat. But as the noise died down, Mellanie knew the ritual was over. The creeping darkness she had felt was gone. Relief washed over her...but then she realized where they were. Cut off, trapped behind enemy lines, too far from their own lines. Making a break for it across no-man's-land would be suicide. Her heart sank. They had ended the ritual, but in doing so, she had led her friends into worse danger.

[Terra]

The shot dug into the plating on her collarbone, sending white hot shards of superheated metal into the flesh around it. Had she not been wearing the underarmour Ar-Pharazon had made for her, the wound would have been fatal. The blast sent her spinning into the harsh-barked embrace of a Veshok, where she made impact in a clatter of armour and curses. A metallic voice droned through the ringing in her ears

 

“Sniper at your… Hmm maybe too late?”

 

The young assain’s eyes narrowed as she rasped through the pain, her voice carrying bitterness and a rising anger

 

“Kriffing light it up you di’kut!”

 

The HUD link of the Greyjoys alight the targeting zone in a sphere of red. The shot had been traced and calculated by the Twin’s AI, which had spotted the armoured Mandolarian Commando, taking into account both views from the Twin’s visors, in their hiding place in the cliffs above.

 

“Such harsh language…”

 

The whistle of a grenade passed over her head, signalling Shen’s response to the sniper: Three plasma grenades in short succession in an overlapping spread. The rattle of heavy weapons erupted from the treeline as Harjav and the lovers began to lay down fire towards the sniper’s position, cutting down a number of supercommandos in the area. The Galeks and Veshoks turned to splinters, and the ground began to churn with their weapons.

 

“Ahem… Jetpacker above you…”

 

The young assassin dove back towards the circle, and her captive children, letting her momentum transfer her into a crouched firing angle to have an optimum strike at the airborn target. It was an armoured male, much akin to the other supercommandos (Caen), and her HUD marked the ridges between his armoured plates as an optimum area to place a three-round burst of armour-piercing slugs.

 

“Die you fu-”

 

The concussive blast of all of her traps, and so much more tossed her like a ragdoll back into the same Veshok as before, where she felt a wave of flame carry her through the boughs and branches. Her buy’ce knocked into the trunk and she fell to the burning forest floor in a heap. The hiss of blood pounding in her ears brought her attention back, as a second wave of flame rolled over her armoured body. This one burned, even through the environmental protections. She scrambled forwards in primal desperation

 

“Well those plasma mines sure had an effect…”

 

Harjav’s voice answered the Twin’s AI, with his typical wry mirth.

 

“Those kids sure got blown to hell. By their OWN people. Such moral and upstanding supersoldiers...”

 

Terra stood shakily, her muscles screaming from the adrenaline fueled dash. She reached her armoured hand down to her feet and hauled a coughing Mandalorian from the flames. It was the flyboy from before, and they locked eyes through their T-visors.

 

“Thanks vode, that fire was damn hot!”

 

Terra nodded and looked to the expanse of mandalorians that were rising from the blast. She was set apart from them, and still in view from the sniper if she yet lived. A rain of child-gore was beginning to drift in ribbons and showers of boiling blood about them. She could either fight, or try to blend in and escape. Almost before her thoughts had finished, she could feel her vibroblade dig through the underarmour of the flyboy’s lower back.

 

...Damn it…

 

The blade chewed through his flesh, rending muscle before skipping off the pelvic girdle. The vibroblade wasn’t on, and the serrated edge cut deep into the bone before she ripped it upwards, dissecting his left kidney and the abdominal aorta. The breath was driven from his lungs in a sharp scream that echoed from his activated comlink to his squadmates. The blade stopped as it caught on his spine and she placed a boot into his back, sending him sprawling into the fading flames as she ripped the blade from his back. She shrugged to the crowd of Mandalorians as the man thrashed on the ground before her. Harjav’s voice echoed over her comlink, but all she could see was more blood to drown the fires in her own mind.

 

“Good kriffing gods Terra what the $%#@!”

[Tresha Ad'Nort]

If her shot found purchase, she did not wait to find out. Scrambling back into the forest on her belly, the sudden blast of a grenade sent her flying, along with a solid two meters of the dirt from behind her, superheated plasma eating at her heels as the concussive blast of the grenade was echoed by two others from beside her.

 

In a shuddering wave of sonic compression, the whole sandy pit blew to shreds.

 

Tresha’s body slammed into the trunk of a tree some thirty meters away. The shock of the blast was enough to halt her thought process for a moment, and even the protection of her beskar’gam was not enough to entirely negate its effects. For the space of several moments, she lay stunned, watching as the trees nearest the arena went up in flame. The children, their small bodies secured to stakes like some ancient witch trial, had barely stood a chance.

 

Assessing her own condition in compartmentalized denial, she concluded that the plasma blasts may well have saved her life, even if her calves smarted from the thorough singeing they had received north of her heavy armored boots. The momentum she had incurred in becoming an unintentional projective had worked in her favor, rolling her along the forest floor and extinguishing the flames in its damp earth.

 

Abandoning her flechette rifle on the soil, she pulled her scoped rifle to bear, assessing what remained of the pit. Most of the insurgents and all the half-dressed cultists had been utterly obliterated in the blast--and with a pang of sorrow, she realized the bodies of the children were missing as well--but a single figure she spied from across the arena twisted knots of rage into her stomach.

 

Blinking her comm to life, she announced to the remaining squad that had not yet been in the vicinity of the blast, “Ad’Nort. Strategic overlook on the far side of the pit, recommend caution in the cleanup. I have a priority target, moving to pursue. Over.”

 

With a speed driven only by the fuel of her hatred, she moved through the trees like a wisp, irrespective of the flaring pain from her burned legs and the aching reminder in her right shoulder. Silently she moved, the greens and tans of her weathered armor making her appear to all onlookers like a veritable part of the scenery, until she had the demagolka in the sights of her rifle from behind, dropping the limp body of one of the Mando’ade from the tip of her vibroblade, having stabbed him in the back like the dishonorable shabuir that she was.

 

The additional power packs she brought from the triage unit had been damaged in the blast, and from the readout on her rifle, Tresha guessed she had at most three high-powered bursts left. Drawing a bead, she inhaled, the familiar preparation to unleashing vengeance.

 

But the exhale didn’t come, her breath nearly stuck in her lungs. Such an end was too good for this creature. Shifting her aim slightly, the scope’s targeting laser landed on the soft underside of the kidnapper’s knee.

 

Exhale.

 

Trigger.

[Mirdala Ad'Goran]

Mirdala glanced quickly at Rhys but nodded as she was able to catch her breath once inside the protective ysalamiri bubble. “If not her, than Fieyr at least. I could sense the two of them together. There were others. I don’t know how many.”

 

Her face was tense as she looked toward the city where she could just make out the signs of battle in the direction of the spaceport. “We have to get back to the city. I don’t think that you, Rhys, and I will be enough,” she turned toward the city and took several steps away from Kandor, then paused, hesitating a moment as a series of Force-fueled thoughts rushed through her head - her parents’ deaths, what she’d witnessed through TeVerd’s broken buy’ce.

 

“I’m also not about to leave without saying goodbye to my buir,” her voice had taken on the sort of cold edge that Kandor had heard in the memories of TeVerd Tikkorel had imparted to them within the confines of the Temple of the Moon.

----

Getting back into the city had not proven hard as the weary defenders now found their second, third, or fourth winds as they pressed toward the spaceport to defend against Ab’ki’s forces.

 

Mirdala and the rest of her group headed straight for the first-aid center where TeVerd and Tresha had been recovering. Vy’ika must have sensed them coming because he met them just outside of the entrance. “Before you ask, I don’t know where she went, but you’re not her minder or CO so don’t get mad at her.”

 

For a moment Mirdala looked at him confused, then moved past him into the med-tent to see where Tresha’s bed lay empty. Taking a deep breath, she said a silent prayer to the Manda to save her cousin from her own stubbornness but had little in her to devote to worrying about the other woman. Tresha was the master of her own fate every bit as much as Mirdala was of hers, and there were larger concerns at the moment.

 

“Easy Runt,” TeVerd rose from his bunk and allowed his own battle calm to wash over his daughter. “She’s got her own fight like you’ve got yours ahead.”

 

“You sensed her too?” Mirdala asked turning toward her father.

 

“Fieyr’s stench, specifically, but the two of them together, but yeah.” He looked her up and down briefly, for a moment remembering the half-storm-drowned little girl he’d found in the Shogunite woods before he pulled her close for a hug. “You’ve worked hard these last few months, and you’re more than ready.”

 

The truth of it was that he wished he was in shape to be more than a liability to her if he went, but it was equally true that he couldn’t watch over her for the rest of her life, only make sure she was prepared for the challenges ahead. When he stepped back, he no longer saw the little girl she’d been, but the stubbornly tenacious warrior she’d become. “Your team is more than ready. Pirunir sur'haaise, verde.”

 

 

Pirunir sur'haaise, verde - Make their eyes water, warriors.

 

[Moon Knight]

ShadowFett knew that it had always been the plan for TeVerd to come with them to help put Ab'ki and Fieyr down, and the fact that he couldn't was a strike against their traat'aliit. But there was no room for doubt in this operation. These enemies in particular had proven themselves quite adept at killing Mando'ade and even Seekers, but Mirdala, her vode Rhys and Verdeyuii, and Fett himself would have to manage. They were the galactic elite, some of the best verde anywhere, and they would not break under pressure.

 

And they were well prepared. Fett was already starting to mentally review the training he'd put himself and his riduur through over the last few weeks. They'd known this fight was coming and had trained specifically for it based on everything they knew about their opponents. The reverse was most likely also true, and to Fett, the victors would be the ones that had done the most with that.

 

While Mirdala spoke to her buir, Fett called Ops and made them aware of what was happening. The queen shabuir was making a move, and if she was killed, her followers would most likely disband. Ops wasn't too happy at first that Mand'alor was leaving Keldabe when it was on the ropes, but admitted that it was more a question of morale than any one soldier's tactical impact on the fighting. Since they were handling all the coordination anyway, they could make it so that he could leave without the army even noticing, though Fett was certain that most Mandalorians would agree with his reasoning for departing if it had a chance at ending the entire invasion.

 

As soon as he got off the comm with them, he switched to his channel with 2277, who still had the Justice prepped after the bombing run, and arranged for a pickup on the outskirts of the city away from the spaceport.

 

Finally he approached TeVerd and the others. "We're all set," he reported. "Let's get to the Justice and the three of you can pinpoint her once we're en route." Nothing about the plan was automatic, given that Ab'ki still had ships in orbit which had been steadily winning control of Mandalorian airspace. Manda'yaim would need a lot of help and soon if Keldabe was going to be standing after all this.

 

"TeVerd. Watch over the city for me until we get back?"

 

With that the four verde departed, grabbing a speeder and heading for the rendezvous with the Justice.

[Terra]

The blasterbolt hit Terra’s beskar’gam greave, fusing the metal into slag, and applying a kinetic thrust that sent her onto her back, by kicking the leg from beneath her. It had missed the lightly armoured part of her knee by centimeters. As the young assassin lost her footing she activated her jetpack’s thrusters, letting herself spin in the air and land back on her feet a few meters towards the assembled Mandalorians. She landed with a column of dust from the blowback from her jetpack, and as it rose about her, so did her rage.

 

...Shooting me like a gorram Akk.

 

Terra leapt to her side, keeping the dust as a small shield against the sniper. She arose again, keeping her back to the woodline, trying to angle herself so she would not be outflanked by snipers or the ravaging hordes of child-killers. Her comlink crackled, confirming the Greyjoy’s retreat, all but for the pair of snipers in the cliffs above, who illuminated the area on her HUD as to where the blast had come. Her own gravelly voice was amplified by the speakers on her buy’ce, preceded by inhuman laughter. She stirred her foot in the dirt like an awkward teenager

 

“You killed them... Sounds like us Greyjoys would be right at home amongst so many baby-killers.”

 

She kicked up the tattered remains of a chubby babyarm, letting it arc lazily towards the area where the sniper had been last. It trailed drips of blackened blood that stained its small clenched fingers. The young assassin wished it had been the head, but she doubted the infant’s softened fontenelles would have sustained the blast from the Mandalorian onslot.

 

“From the looks of it you have already abandoned the third tenet of the Resol'nare…”

 

Terra swept her arm out across the crimson-stained sand, churned with ash and tattered corpses. The shattered forms of children lay in husks, torn, disembowled, and dismembered by the actions of the Protectors. She swept out her vibrosword in a slow sweep, letting its tip dance across the bloodied sand as she began to sing in the mocking voice of a child. It was the same nursery rhym they had sung as she had trussed them up for the sacrifice.

 

• 
  “Ba'jur, beskar'gam,
  Ara'nov, aliit,
  Mando'a bal Mand'alor—
  An vencuyan mhi…”

[Delta73]

A comm came rushing into Terra's comm unit with all the speed of Ronin Wartide running to a child sacrifice party in the underlevels of Coruscant.

 

 

Hey Terbear, just checking in and saying hi. I know you pariahs don't like getting disturbed while you are out hunting kiddies and all but hey guess what. We are getting the gang back together for like crime and pudding and stuff. Anywho you are invited to Onderon for the Galaxy Ball, we will have some great hedonistic fun and there will be kiddies to kill there if you want. No pressure. Have fun hunting Mandos. Don't forget to skin some of them for old times sake. <3 ur pal Delts

 

[Tresha Ad'Nort]

The propellant of her foe's jetpack had rendered her scoped rifle impractical in the ensuing tornado of mud and dust that folded itself around the demagolka. She was like some kind of earth demon rising from the depths of Mandalore's soil, as though somehow the planet, the people, the very culture itself had failed her in unforgivable ways, and she simply lingered here as a ghost, haunting these tainted grounds until some kind soul restored the truth of her identity among the Mando'ade.

 

But Tresha was not feeling particularly kind.

 

With two bursts left on her rifle, she scanned the treeline. She waited for a sign, any flicker of movement that would present her a target. Luckily, the heavy rains the previous morning and evening had moistened Keldabe and the surrounding forests such that the blast of the grenade had cleared the pit, and not set the forest and its verdant veshok canopy ablaze. As the dust settled back into the obliterated ground from which it had come, a flash on her HUD zeroed in on her opponent's location. Then the song began.

 

Returning the rifle to its place on her back, Tresha drew the exquisite beskad forged for her by the armorsmith Ahzinger. Her gloved hands tightened on the hilt as she strafed to the edge of the treeline, rising to the taunt that the object of her ire presented. What did this aruetyc piece of osik know of the Resol'nare?

 

A sickening snap sounded from beneath her boot, and with bile rising in her throat again, she dared glance down to the ground. The fractured, lifeless arm of an infant, covered in the telltale scalding from allied grenades, lay revoltingly alone in the damp earth of the forest, another reminder of her failure. The terror welling up in the eyes of the small child she had cradled into death came rushing back to her, and the rotting smell of humanity she stumbled upon in the tomb of a childcare center assailed her mind.

 

Slowly, finger by finger, she pulled the covering from her left hand, crippling hatred strangling her throat. Her beskad clutched in her right hand, held at guard, she came into the light at the treeline and tossed the heavy armored glove with distaste into the scarlet sand at the feet of her honorless opponent, who had dipped her vibroblade into the veritable river of blood that oozed from what remained of the captive children. A gladiator from time immemorial she appeared, unworthy of even the insult Tresha had offered her.

 

"You disgrace the beskar'gam you wear," she spat contemptibly through the amplifier in her helmet, her Concordian accent teeming with rage.

 

 

demagolka - monster

veshok - large evergreen tree

beskad - curved saber of Mandalorian iron

aruetyc - traitorous

osik - sh*t

Resol'nare - tenets of Mandalorian culture

 

[Mellanie Devanus Vevut]

There was nothing to be done, but that wasn’t going to stop Mellanie from trying.

 

“Listen, vode, if we go to the right, over there by the generators, maybe we can--”

 

Araac interrupted. “No, that puts us right in the line of those snipers. I think we should go farther back; if we use the trees as cover…”

 

“And, what, circle around wider?” his sister offered.

 

Mel shook her head. “That takes us too close to those Death Watch squads. But if we go left, using the treeline like Araac suggested, we’re protected from most of the unfriendly eyes.” All thoughts of taking out more of the enemy were gone; now she just needed to get her people out of here. “Come on,” she said, with a new tone of command in her voice.

 

The others followed without question. The next ten minutes were spent dashing from cover to cover, and included several close calls, and one opponent whom Jaesko quickly shot before she could sound the alarm. They were partly helped and partly hindered by the fact that the enemy was beginning to retreat. It helped because people were focused on packing up and loading up, and not shooting everything that moved. But it also meant that those who had been at the front were returning back, and it meant more people and more eyes from every direction.

 

Eventually, however, they made it to the relative safety of the trees. Then they were able to move a bit more freely, but alternately, it was harder to see enemies. Mellanie was once again grateful for her buy’ce, which gave her perfect low-light vision and infared readings. They were forced to take a longer route than Mellanie liked, but there was nothing for it, as some of the enemy’s cannons were being hoversledded along the path they had wanted to take.

 

After some time, they saw a large rock formation and paused. Mellanie was glad for the shelter it granted them. Everyone took a breather and had a little water from a canteen that Araac passed around.

 

“Why do TIE fighters scream in space?” Jaesko suddenly whispered.

 

“Why?” Mellanie asked, a small smile starting.

 

“Because they miss their mother ship!” her soon-to-be sister-in-law finished triumphantly.

 

Araac groaned, but Mellanie couldn’t help but chuckle. Loading her rifle, she motioned. “Let’s get going, everyone.”

 

As soon as she stepped around the left of the rock, however, there was a click. For a split second, Mellanie knew, absolutely knew in the pit of her stomach that she was in mortal danger. The Force gave her speed, and she leapt off to the right---but she wasn’t fast enough to avoid the land mine completely.

 

White hot pain seared through her as she landed hard on the forest floor. The world was dim flickering flame around her. She screamed, the pain overwhelming. She had enough presence of mind to look down at herself. She was battered, but her armor had protected her from most of the blast…except that it hadn’t been able to prevent her left arm being blown off from the bicep down.

[Terra]

“What kind of glit-biting accent is that?”

 

Terra spat the words in a mockingly nasally tone, bringing her vibrowsword to level at the woman’s armoured chest, where she stood in the cover of the trees. The canopy of the ancient forest was marred by blazing flame, outlining the woman in the light of thousands of years of growth crumbling to ash. Even the environmental scrubbers could not fully insulate the young assassin to the spiced scent of the burning veshoks. It made her mouth water, and the coppery taste of blood bloomed within her mind, driving all other emotions and thoughts before it like the winds of a hurricane.

 

The fiery canopy was a duplicate of the flames that enveloped her mind. The rumblings of wrath bellowing through her, hollowing her of all feeling but that of a bloodlust that gripped her heart like a vice. Her muscles were seized in preparation, winding themselves like the springs on an ancient chronometer. A ferocity was growing its fires raging across her peripheral nervous system, while her brain turned to the cold calculations of battle. Unyielding rage would do little to bring this opponent to heel. It was an emotion best used for the beating of children or the ravaging of the weak. Now was the time for the wintry manipulations of a psychopath. The duel before her was nothing more than a game of Dejarik, with slightly higher stakes.

 

A phantom in burgundy appeared in the corner of her eye which bore a devilish grin. Its palpable lust enveloped her with its lecherous fingers, and each breath through her lips brought a sudden heat to her chest. The bathing in blood, the loss of her innocence to the sanguine demon. His words echoing in her ear, her breath mingling with his.

 

Jedi, your saber won't help you out

Morals and robe are worthless here

I've taken you in a rout

Forever my souvenir

Bloodied bile came unbidden to her mouth, a mix of metallic regret and soured despair. She was bound eternally to death, and there was no escaping it. With crimson eyes glaring through her muted T-visor, the young assassin calculated the distances, analyzing the background, and identified a young veshok sapling, two meters to the rear and to the right of her opponent. The muscles of her calves relaxed, and the jetpack adjusted its nozzles to her commands. As the gauntlet landed between them, she was ready for her first move in the Dejarik game. The demon's lessons were branded in her flesh

 

Savrip takes Strider

 

The young asssassin drove the tip of her vibroblade into the dirt, showering a spray of the dried dust towards her opponent’s right, while activating her jetpack in a short burst of intense energy. Terra leapt with it, letting the rocket’s propulsion drag her body into an arrow, that would fly past the woman’s left.

 

Division of attention, then destruction

The leatherbound grip of her vibrosword hummed in the rhythm of her heartbeat, marching out a dirge, unsped by adrenaline, and as calm as her mind. She bore the weapon with two hands, angling the blade across her center of gravity. Terra’s strike would carry the full weight of her body and the acceleration of the jetpack across the tang of the vibroblade, and help her turn in midair. If her aim were true, the humming blade would pass between the gap of the woman’s chestpiece and weapon’s belt, taking with it organs and life before dissecting out her lower back. The young assassin would pass with a very low target profile, to the embrace of the supple branches of the young veshok, where she could flip her turn and finish off her opponent.

 

((1))

[Kalyani Wartide]

As Mel began giving orders, Kaly watched on feeling proud of the way her younger sister was taking command. She had her father’s strength and presence Kalyani thought. She followed along with the rest of the group until they stopped at a large rock formation for a rest. Kal laughed at Jaesko’s joke and only laughed harder at Araac’s reaction to his sister. Shaking her head she checked the charge on her blaster, looking up to see Mel stop still, a spike through the Force told her there was danger just before the landmine went off.

 

“Mel!!!” Kalyani screamed and hurried in a mad scramble towards her sister through the dust, debris and smoke, though it seemed as if she were moving in slow motion. She couldn’t get to her fast enough. When she did she saw part of Mellanie’s arm missing. Kaly grabbed one of the bandages she’d been given to change her own dressings with and began to wrap Mel’s arm up as best she could. To Araac she said, “We need to get back now. What have we got handy to make a stretcher?” Knowing how much pain her sister would be in she grabbed out one of her pain injections, took off Mellanie’s helmet with Araac's help and jabbed her sister in the neck with the pain killer. She looked around at Jaes and the others, seeing that one of them had picked up the missing limb to take with them. “Tree branches… long enough to support Mel. We can tie one of the ground covers around them.” she ordered. When one of them started to complain Kaly got short tempered with him, “It’s either that or we all take turns carrying her on our backs. So what’s it going to be… fireman's carry or stretcher?” Kalyani knew Araac would want to carry Mel and if he did, she would stick like glue to them to guard against anything else happening and to hell with it, she’d use the Force more to ensure their safety until they got her sister to a med station. She’d also take her turn in carrying her sister regardless of having the shoulder injury. The Doctors could take it out of her hide when they were all safe back at base.

[saberforce]

From the instances that Caen died, Tros couldn't think, couldn't move... He was paralyzed to some degree. While not physically, mentally for sure. He wasn't really sure how, but he had managed to move himself closer to the group of Vode that had gone in with them. While there wasn't too much to go off of from those around him, he was very certain that his blank stared with eyes blinking every other second was obvious to everyone else. He wanted to shake the feeling off, to move past everything and keep himself going. But he just simply couldn't. If this is what feeling numb is like, I hate it. The aaray he was feeling was all emotional for sure, but Tros wanted it replaced with something more physical. Right now, all he could do was stare off... his eyes had locked on to one of those whom had been on the other side... one who had let Caen get killed. With a sudden outburst, Tros' own voice reached the level of an extremely loud scream followed by him lifting his blaster and held down the trigger until it clicked empty of it's rounds.

 

"Shabuir!"

 

Upon the blaster needing to be reloaded, he took out his last grenade and chucked it in the general direction with another loud shout.

 

"Slana'pir! Skanah"

 

Tros then began to fall back with he rest of the group, now taking his time to reload his weapon. Whatever numbness he was feeling in his own body was no being replaced with nothing but a white hot anger. Had he been given the chance, he would have flat out charged the enemy lines with blaster firing at a high rate. But for now, the nearest brush and trees would have to be good enough as his victims of his hot white anger.

 

 

Slana'pir! : Get out/Get Lost (very impolite)

Skanah : Much hated person

Shabuir : Insult

 

[Tresha Ad'Nort]

Having hunted a thousand targets on five hundred worlds, the swiftness of her opponent's motion came as no surprise. WIth a carefully applied blink of an eye, Tresha's HUD switched to infrared, and the seasoned bounty hunter remained unperturbed by the cloud of earth that enveloped her as her opponent ignited her jetpack. Tracking the heat that the boosters emitted, she was not fooled by the sudden move to the opposite direction and dropped into a crouch, her opponent's blow landing on the left pauldron of her beskar'gam rather than finding the soft gaps between her chest and stomach plates. Had the strike come against her injured right shoulder, it would have had a much more devastating effect. As it was, the glancing blow of the Kyrt'sad's vibrosword served only to increase her momentum.

 

TIghtening her fists around the feather-light beskad, she let the blow carry her in a pirouette to her left. With graceful ire, she plunged the sharpened point of her saber, not aimed fruitlessly at the stiff iron plates, but at the demagolka's jetpack. If her strike landed, it would certainly render her opponent's quick escape method ineffective. Stepping into the thrust, she kept her balance artfully, intending to drive the Death Watch abomination at the point of her sword into the flames that snapped and hissed as they consumed the stubborn lifeblood, the sap of damp veshok.

 

((1))

[Judyc Viba]

It took a small eternity for TeVerd to make his way back to the surface of consciousness. The limited bacta supplies in the first aid stop had started to do their work, but he was worn through and full of holes. He'd been here countless times before over the centuries, but this time it felt different. He was tired.

 

And she'd been there again. In his dreams. Seemed like she had infinite patience, but even he wondered if it had its limits.

 

None of it mattered right now. The large room in which he'd been situated was full of injured soldiers, but there was a clamor coming from outside. A few men were wearing their beskar'game and had weapons pointed at the entryway.

 

TeVerd hauled himself to his feet. At roughly seven feet tall, it was a long way up. "What is it?" he asked. Speaking hurt.

 

"Kyr'tsad," a nearby soldier said. "They took the spaceport and now they're coming after the wounded."

 

The ancient Seeker made a sound almost like a growl. No time to armor up. He grabbed a long beskad from his pile of equipment, its blade notched and battered from years of use, and strapped on his gunbelt. The sound of blaster fire was steadily getting closer. He had a slight wheeze from his injured lung as he headed for the hallway. "Stay here and keep these men safe," he ordered the soldier.

 

His face was a scowl as he headed up the hall. Hitting a first aid center was low even for the Death Watch.

 

He approached a corner and he heard bootfalls on the other side. He paused. The footfalls were cautious. One man here with more farther back. Hostile, not retreating. He tensed. The man rounded the corner, blaster rifle first. Death Watch, dark gray armor. TeVerd lunged and cut the rifle in two with a powerful strike. His opponent dropped it and went for his sidearm. TeVerd struck again, severing the man's arm at the elbow, then a third time across his throat.

 

Two more men came charging around the next corner. TeVerd grabbed the body of his first enemy and used it to catch two incoming shots. The third shot tore up his right side along the base of his ribcage. He grabbed the man's sidearm and returned fire, putting a bolt in each leg of one target. The other popped back around his corner and then, a moment later, a grenade came bouncing down the hall.

 

TeVerd ripped the helmet off the dead man and lunged, slamming it down over the grenade. It detonated an instant later, blowing the visor out and sending a shockwave through TeVerd's body that popped one of his rifle wounds open. He charged forward nonetheless, rounded the corner and rammed his beskad through a seam in the grenadier's chestplate until he felt the point hit the backplate, then tore it back out and brought it down on his other crippled target who was nonetheless going for a weapon.

 

There were three more Death Watch troopers beyond the two he'd just killed. They opened fire. One of the bolts caught TeVerd on the left knee and one along his right forearm before he could get back behind the corner for cover. The hallway was filling with smoke and he coughed against the wall, then smeared the resulting splatter of purplish blood away with his hand.

 

He tested his left leg and found it could no longer support him. He was missing a chunk of flesh from his right arm. His sword was on the ground, so with his left hand he grabbed his hunting knife from his belt. Kneeling, he waited as a few more blaster bolts struck the wall, keeping him pinned in place. A few seconds later, two of his three assailants came charging around, blades drawn. TeVerd threw himself at one of them, feeling the man's beskad enter his body on the left side around his liver even as he brought his knife under the man's armpit, dragging it through flesh down to around his belt, feeling each rib split in turn.

 

As the man dropped, the remaining rifleman had a clear shot and took it. A blaster bolt burned through TeVerd's chest on the opposite side from the blade still lodged there and his strength gave out, his knife clattering to the floor as he landed in a sitting position.

 

The two Death Watch troopers gave him one more look to make sure he was staying down and then moved past him toward the infirmary.

 

TeVerd pulled the sword out of his chest and heard the remaining air whistle out of his lungs. As his eyes glassed over there rose before them the image of a blue-haired woman as though she were rushing to meet him. He lifted a hand as if to touch the side of her face. Guess I kept you waiting long enough, Babs.

 

His strength failed and his hand struck the crimson-and-purple stained floor. He closed his eyes a final time, confident in the legacy he was leaving behind for the Sector and the galaxy.

[Mellanie Devanus Vevut]

Her mind was a haze of pain. She vaguely heard Kalyani giving orders, felt her sister's frantic panic. There was a jab in her neck, and then a moment later, she felt Araac's arms around her, lifting her off the ground. "I've got her," he said in a firm tone. "Let's get out of here, now."

 

Once the shock wore off, her mind cleared a little. The pain was still intense, but it was no longer fogging her perception. And with that clarity came the realization that she was putting her whole team at risk. "Put me down," she said suddenly.

 

"What? No!" Jaesko said.

 

"Put me down," Mellanie repeated. "I'm putting you all at risk. Araac can't defend himself if he's carrying me. And it's not like my legs are injured."

 

"You sure, Mel?" Araac asked.

 

She wasn't sure, but she nodded anyway. He slowly set her down. She felt lightheaded, but she could stand. She took several deep breaths, then nodded. "Okay, I'm fine. Let's go."

 

"Atin dala," she heard Araac mutter. It encouraged her, however. The painkiller was starting to do it's work. She drew her small light blaster in her right hand and the group headed off again. The others were keeping their eyes on her, she knew, but she found that she was drawing on reserves of strength she hadn't known she had. Focus kept the pain from overwhelming her.

 

Not much farther. We're almost there.

[saberforce]

With each step he took, his own white hot anger grew a little bit more then what it was at. Tros could feel the ground beneath his feet as he moved in the retreat with the rest of the verda towards the outer fringes of the forest. Some were still within, fighting personal battles and engaging the aru'e where they stood. He would have liked to stay and fight, but he was also smart enough to know that within his own state of mind, he wouldn't help anyone or do any good. He would end up like Caen, Raeshe, Riella... all of those of whom he was close to. Dead. And he was better off alive to his fellow Mando'ade. So for now, he kept his marching with the rest of the survivors of the forest encounter.

 

As the group neared the edge of the forest, closer to Keldabe where the fighting had started when his HUD displayed alarming news. The spaceport had been overrun at the city. Early reports coming in were attributing the take over to Kyr'tsad. Fierfek those bastards. His own pace picked up from a jog to almost a flat out sprint towards the city now. Mid step, he launched his jetpack and took to the air, barking out loudly for the rest of those still on the retreat to the city to move with haste. This was not how I thought this day would go. Using what last burst of fuel within his own jetpack, he hurried himself towards the spaceport, although, his jetpack only got him to the edge of the city before it finally ran out of fuel. Landing with a thud of his own armored feet hitting the pavement of the city, he took off running towards the now growing sound of blaster fire, as those who remained in the city to safeguard it were now fighting back against the invasion.

 

As he approached the nearest square that held some fighting, Tros lifted his blaster riffle and began to take precise shots at each one of those that had commited their ways to the Kyr'tsad. And with each shot, he would have made a case to be placed in honor and grouping of the ori'ramikad, for each shot was deadly and left nothing to be cleaned up be another vod. As soon as he had finished in the square, a few of those that were pinned down asked for him to clear the way southeast, as they would have a better chance of getting the upper hand on spaceport situation from such an angle. Listening and heeding their words, he moved to lead the three others back towards the spaceport, quickly removing whatever sort of opposition that was in their way. As they turned the corner, the spaceport finally came into view. Fire and smoke filled the area, and a few other verda were off to his left keeping up a steady line of fire. A few of them fell in the short two seconds that Tros used to scan the area. His white hot anger from losing Caen moments ago began to fill him again, and this time, he had a full blaster clip. There will be vengeance in this hour.

 

With that very thought, Tros began to run towards the back of the line of the invading Kyr'tsad, having his own blaster riffle lifted up and pouring a very steady and deadly arc of fire into the lines, forcing them to break up a bit. The breaking up of the steady line of Kyr'tsad allowed for the verda still defending the city to take better positions and take advantage of the now surprised Death Watch, who were forced to leave their ground to get better cover from a two prong attack now being placed upon them. Tros kept his blaster riffle up and steady as he slowly moved on towards the main section of ground that if taken, would allow for the rest of the vod to take the spaceport back. As he walked, he could feel his own white hot anger growing a little bit more with each step and each Death Watch body falling and hitting the ground. He kept it up until he felt something that was hot, but not his own anger.

 

He suddenly found himself on the ground, feeling a searing pain rip through his entire body. With each breath, he found it far more difficult to even breathe. He looked down to see blood slowly dripping out of his chest nearest to his lungs. Breathing becoming increasingly hard and painful with each inhale. Panic was setting in, which didn't help his now racing heart that seemed to struggle to keep up with the need that his lungs were creating. Based upon his own knowledge of the situation, Tros would have to have guessed that a sniper hit him in the lung or very near to them. He was suffering from a collapsed lung. Even as he realized what had happened, he found his eyes shuffling in-between seeing pure white and black colors until he just couldn't hold on any longer. He passed out on the street, leaving him somewhere between twenty to forty minutes to be rescued before he would die...

 

 

verda : Warriors

aru'e : Enemy

Mando'ade : sons and/ or daughters of Mandalore

Kyr'tsad : Death Watch

ori'ramikad : Supercommando

vod : brother/sister

 

[Terra]

Ng’ok takes…

 

Terra anticipated the bite of flesh upon her vibroblade, but there was no vindication to her desire. There was no caress of serrating steel upon tender organs, or cracking of splintering bone. Instead there was only the skittering snap of the blade’s reflection on the unforgiving plating of impenetrable Mandalorian steel. The handle of her vibrosword bucked as the blade broke away halfway down its tang, leaving a shuddering husk of twisted metal and cortosis-weave writhing like a serpent in her hand as the vibrating stabilizers failed.

 

Outplayed. Too hasty.

 

The blow from her opponent bit deep into the jetpack, its tip driving into the nutrient-cage of the ysalamiri that Terra bore instead of a missile. The beast’s distressed death-cry set off alarms on her HUD in sparkling ruby. The young assassin was thankful that the weapon her opponent yielded bore so many disadvantages, such as the lack of vibration, or its feather-like weight. Without the weight of a weapon, the wielder could only rely on their own strength to penetrate armor, and without a vibrating edge, the ability for it to penetrate deep was proportional only to the strength of her opponent and the angle of attack. Nonetheless, a jetpack was a fickle thing, and as the Ysalamiri died, the jetpack sent the young assassin sprawling into the flames of a burning Veshok two meters away as it exploded. A shower of shrapnel serrated her shoulders, driving burning meteorites of fuel-fed embers into pale flesh.

 

...You thought you could keep The Sanguine Prince at bay with the primitive yammerings of a fragile lizard?

 

The impact of the ground sent a wave of clarity through her mind and reverberated through her lithe frame. The fruitless endeavours of the ysalamiri to keep the Sith corruption of her mind at bay were all for not. Sanity, for a demon, was like an eggshell beneath the hoof of a Ronto, hardly durable. Yearning for the break. Enraptured with the anticipation of release from the bonds of rationality.

 

...You will never be free from us…

 

The liberation came with the retreating lifeforce of the ysalamiri and for a moment the beatings of their hearts matched. The paddling of broken oars to combat the maelstrom’s pull to Hades. It left her in a rush, with the exhalation of her breath as she landed in repose amongst the burning cradle of snapping Veshok limbs. A crywithin her mind called her attention to the gift of the Golden God, formed from the unity of death and blood into a handle with a storied past. With inhalation came more than the spiced odour of the burning Veshok that even the helmet’s environmental scrubbers could not hold at bay. The demon within was fully unchained

 

You are forever damned…

 

The heaving of her next breath was filtered through with laughter that rushed through the crackling of the flames to fall on the ears of the assembled Mandalorians. Her armour was stained with flaming pitch, smeared upon her by the Veshok’s embrace. From her scorched back came waves of pain that seared through her upper neck. Crimson eyes fell upon her feast and the primal urges of a predator set in.

 

Gloved fingers cradled the weighted and hooked handle of her razor-wire garrote, while its twin hung loosely as the fall on a whip. Her other hand cradled the cylindrical trophy of her most exquisite murder. She jumped forward from the flames into a sideformed stance, letting her arm flick across her body in a horizontal direction towards her opponent. It was as if she was once again home on Aaeton, under the caress of a summer’s breeze, her hand loosely holding a glacially smoothed rock, to send it skipping across the azure mirror of Lake Tercus. A whip’s crack of razor wire and sharpened hook would pass by the throat of her opponent in a lightning quick arc that would ensnare her unarmoured neck, to cut through underweave, flesh, sinew and bone to detach head from neck. Her front arm was outstretched to parry any blow with gauntlet or spiked armguard, her fingers gripping her weapon in the way The Golden God had instructed.

 

((2))

[Kalyani Wartide]

Kalyani kept close to Araac, her senses stretched to their limit, her eyes trying to see any threat that might spring up. She noticed Jaesko doing the same on her brothers other side. The dull thud, thud of pain in her shoulder was making itself known more and more and she just knew she would cop an earful from the medics when they got in.

 

It was slow going and when Mel demanded she be put down Kaly moved closer. Concern was written all over her face as she watched her sister. They encountered a few other skirmishes on the way and lost another of their number before they were back behind their own lines. By the time they reached the Aid Post Kaly’s shoulder was ‘screaming at her’. Still she insisted that Mellanie be seen to first. Feeling more worse for wear than ever, the young woman slumped down to sit on the floor, her back against the wall though couldn't help the yelp of pain that escaped as her back made contact with the wall. It seemed she’d been hit by something else which caused blood to leak out of her armour. She hadn't noticed when the small projectile had hit her and figured she must have reopened the original wound. Exhaustion weighed heavily on her as she watched the medics work on the growing line of wounded streaming in. Kalyani took her helmet off and laid it on the floor beside her. She could see that Mel wasn't the only one to lose a limb and age was no barrier. She heard someone say that the Spaceport was under attack just as darkness overcame her.