A massive cataclysm has struck the universe, and destroyed most everything in its wake. The survivors are now trying to pick up the pieces, and figure out exactly what has befallen them. Gather together, lightsiders!! The darkness has shattered the peace and calm of the galaxy...and they will do anything to stop anyone from finding out exactly what has been done! This is our first sitewide RP plotline. Lightsiders, you are looking for the source of this massive event. Clues must be found, lackeys tracked down, and bits of memory discovered. Darksiders, you guys don't want that to happen....because of the one behind the whole thing is furthering his ultimate goal. Mandalorians, and non-force users, you guys can decide where you stand on this line....do you side with the Jedi, and try to discover the reasons behind the ruined universe, or will you side with the darkness, and protect those secrets. Will the secret of the cataclysmic reaping be kept under wraps? Or will the Jedi and their allies find out the truth? Your RP and writing will decide the outcome!
BATTLE ARENA
Welcome to The Saga Continues. We have a section called the Battle Arena. Here you can use your characters to fight other characters. Hone your skills and see what you are made of. Don't worry, anything that happens here, does not effect your characters in posts, so if your character dies, you can still use them over and over. Have fun and check it out!
The Saga Continues is the product of the mind of ADMIN ADI; all contents are copyright their original owners. All characters belong to their original creators, and may not be used or replicated without permission. All images are copyright their original owners. This skin Operation Mindcrime was made by pharaoh leap of Pixel Perfect and put together by ADMIN KRYSTAL
The ride through warp was less than eventful to say the least. my waking hours were divided between studying up on the culture of the people i was about to be among, Meditating, training the skills i had, and testing my tactical mind. Before too long i grew bored with everything except playing a three dimension version of Dejarik while suspended in an empty Bacta tank.
of course, it cannot be mental prowess and winning, as just when i was about to execute the best Fork maneuver ever seen, i was lowered to the ground as an alert summoned me to the cockpit where the pilot droid was trying to negotiate the space in front of us with some rather gruesome ships buzzing about
::ahh, master. so good of you to join me, praise the maker. Permit the diversion from my duties, but Welcome to Mandalore, 5th planet of the system of the same name, warmed by a sun that … shares the same name. I was attempting to slip through a convergence of Concordia and another moon when we attracted the attention of the Mandalorian protectors. we currently have 3 fangs and an Aka’jor chasing us down as well as 4 more Fangs seem to be coming in from a base ahead of us. we have been hailed::
I took a moment to consider the ramifications. The Father i was supposed to train with was some how related to the leader of these people…their Mand’alor. as i considered it, the longer i waited the more likely i could be seen as a threat.
“Transmit pertinent information. tell them that we only seek safe passage and an audience with their Chief to try and find the Father.” I mentally calculated the time it took for them to look over the data. they were either stalling for superior firepower , or transmitting the data to someone on the surface. as i reviewd the information i sent, i noticed that the acronym for the Grand Army of the Jedi had been included within the identifying information packet. when they transmitted again it was not in a tongue i was familiar with, so the pilot had to translate
:Jetii’verd, Mand'alor copaanir at urcir gar. shekemir mhi bah keldabe1:
after the transmission the fangs seemed to form a processional forbearers, leading my ship toward a landing area on the planet… while the Aka’jor remained behind us to ensure we didn’t try to pull a fast maneuver. I went to the lounge to prepare. while there, a message came on my com.
::Just thought you would be intrigued about this factoid. although convergences like this aren’t rare, the distance of this one is significantly close so that a rock thrown from concordia would land on the other moon with the explosive force of ten… no wait, my apologies, that is most certainly a false factoid::
Jedi Soldier, Mandalore will want to meet with you. follow us to Keldabe
[/font][/font][/font] Ielyn announced. They were the first words he'd spoken since he'd informed us we were about to enter hyperspace, back in Korriban's orbit.[/ul][/ul]
[/font][/font][/font][/ul][/ul]
The big man was slumped in the pilot's chair, expressionless, picking his teeth with one hand and loosely holding the shuttle's control yoke in the other. Occasionally he would wince and shift, trying and failing to get comfortable in his powered armor, but otherwise he hadn't so much as looked back at the quartet he was transporting. I imagine he'd concluded it was safer that way, and I can't blame him. It's lucrative work I've offered him, but for good reason: chances he would survive to retire were slim.
I, on the other hand, have been scrutinizing the Irrukine since our departure a few hours ago. They were fascinating specimens, to be sure. Canine features, extended abdomens, possessed of an obviously higher muscle density, and oh yes, four-armed. They didn't take kindly to my staring, unfortunately.
It had been a long ride.
Standing as we jolted back to real space, I moved to stand behind Ielyn's chair. Slowly, my eyes widened.
[/font][/font][/font] Ielyn breathed.[/ul][/ul]
[/font][/font][/font][/ul][/ul]
Mandalore's orbit was a graveyard. Where once a mighty war fleet had prowled drifted lifeless husks of durasteel. Some were damaged, spilling their innards out into space around them, fuselage and chunks of the hull dragged behind like mechanical gore. Others were simply dark, engines and shields powered down, gliding like a spectre among the ruins of their kin. But I could sense them. Mindless, raging, throwing themselves against bulkheads and viewports: the infected.
[/font][/font][/font] I said to no one in particular. "I had thought...well, never mind what I thought. Better broadcast on all channels, Ielyn, I think everyone on that control station is dead."[/ul][/ul]
[/font][/font][/font] the mercenary muttered. Heaving a sigh, he activated the comms.[/ul][/ul]
*The floating spacecraft wreckage of various makes from Mandalore’s shipyard production line catches the eye. To be sure, this is a fair sight more dramatic than the otherwise-empty space over Korriban (which is only a little bit my fault). The ships themselves are in various states of disrepair, with fragments and pieces littering our path with each step of the way.. Navigation through this debris-filled spacelane is a task I’m absolutely not envious of. Given my history with successful piloting, or the lack thereof, I think it’s safe to say we’re all quite happy that Ielyn is at the helm.
Because of the fact that I have donned Devient, I remain not fully aware to the true state of what has transpired and continues to elapse within the derelict vessels. The fact is that there are hundreds of thousands of plague-corrupted beings within, swarming over the ships and enjoying uncontested reign of the open space over Mandalore. One wonders how good at learning the emplagued are. If they could somehow manage to operate those battleships (and assuming that other naval production sites have fared similarly), then we non-infected denizens of the universe would quickly find ourselves outgunned. But then again, that’s starting to sound a bit more like the actions of an antagonistic parasite than a true plague. Probably nothing more than speculation at this point.
As we deftly weave through the hazardous route towards the atmospheric reaches of the planet before us, two questions are upon me.
The first and most pressing question is to what extent I must guide Tal’s rebuilding of his power. There is the obvious benefit of having my expertise in the arena of combat off of which he can quickly gain experience in whatever new styles he chooses. ...There must be more to it than that. It would be simple enough just to rent a simulation chamber for a month’s time, it’s not prohibitively expensive and we are both reasonably well-to-do financially (and there’s also the question of whether the owner is even alive, with the way the universe has plagued itself out). No, there must be some key, some insertion or intervention which falls to me and which I must not fail to notice and to address. That is, of course, the difference between clone and child. The path to freedom follows general rules, but the individual route varies wildly.
But I am peerless in my perceptiveness. I will not falter. I cannot falter.
The second question is what to do with these Irrukiine acolytes that we have been presented with. Abaddon, mountain that he is, does not seem capable of doing things with subtlety, or without purpose. I suspect that they exist as a primitive method of surveillance. They couldn’t possibly hope to defeat us, or to curb our actions if we choose to abandon or disobey the Order of Ruin. And Abaddon, being no fool, must know this. Droids are easy to trick, cameras can be deceived, and so it is far more reliable to commission sentient beings — especially those who you have been training, and especially those who appear less intelligent than they may seem — for that task.
Well, if it’s a ruse, so what? We are too powerful to be stopped. But as long as they remain nominally our wards, we might as well make use of them.
Radio silence has been the reply to Ielyn’s request to land for several minutes now, so rather than stay out here in the ship graveyard while awaiting permission that is likely to never come, he elects to pursue the route of forgiveness instead. Seems risky, considering the local reputation, but given the caliber of passenger he carries, it may not be the wrong choice at all. He drives the Gamma-class shuttle onward, and the craft shudders as it encounters the first vapors of the rarefied air some thousands of kilometers above the surface of the terrestrial site.
As our descent towards Keldabe begins, I break the silence by addressing Curcebithin.*
[/ul] *Whether because of a lack of comprehension, or for some other reason, all I receive in reply is a growl. We’re off to a great start.*
[/font][/font][/font] Ielyn announced. They were the first words he'd spoken since he'd informed us we were about to enter hyperspace, back in Korriban's orbit.[/ul][/ul]
[/font][/font][/font][/ul][/ul]
The big man was slumped in the pilot's chair, expressionless, picking his teeth with one hand and loosely holding the shuttle's control yoke in the other. Occasionally he would wince and shift, trying and failing to get comfortable in his powered armor, but otherwise he hadn't so much as looked back at the quartet he was transporting. I imagine he'd concluded it was safer that way, and I can't blame him. It's lucrative work I've offered him, but for good reason: chances he would survive to retire were slim.
I, on the other hand, have been scrutinizing the Irrukine since our departure a few hours ago. They were fascinating specimens, to be sure. Canine features, extended abdomens, possessed of an obviously higher muscle density, and oh yes, four-armed. They didn't take kindly to my staring, unfortunately.
It had been a long ride.
Standing as we jolted back to real space, I moved to stand behind Ielyn's chair. Slowly, my eyes widened.
[/font][/font][/font] Ielyn breathed.[/ul][/ul]
[/font][/font][/font][/ul][/ul]
Mandalore's orbit was a graveyard. Where once a mighty war fleet had prowled drifted lifeless husks of durasteel. Some were damaged, spilling their innards out into space around them, fuselage and chunks of the hull dragged behind like mechanical gore. Others were simply dark, engines and shields powered down, gliding like a spectre among the ruins of their kin. But I could sense them. Mindless, raging, throwing themselves against bulkheads and viewports: the infected.
[/font][/font][/font] I said to no one in particular. "I had thought...well, never mind what I thought. Better broadcast on all channels, Ielyn, I think everyone on that control station is dead."[/ul][/ul]
[/font][/font][/font] the mercenary muttered. Heaving a sigh, he activated the comms.[/ul][/ul]
[/b][/font][/font] [/ul][/ul][/quote]A trio of protector manned Fangs did a flyby of the ship, awaiting orders from the surface. Upon receiving landing permissions, they opened comms to the ship with the visiting dignitaries. ;:Permission granted. We will escort you to Kyrimorut, keep your weapons cool, or we will fire. Te Goran will meet with you there.:: The three fighters assumed an escort position around the ship, guiding them toward the far northern latitudes, to the home of Mandalore the Smith.
*Our Gamma-class shuttle erupts from Mandalore's atmosphere near the northen pole of the planetary body. In part, this latitude was chosen due to our ventures near the town of Enceri. But for another part, this was chosen so that we could traverse a route not quite so strewn with space debris. After all, because of the way planetary gravity wells work, within a sufficient timescale, orbiting bodies will tend to approach the equatorial orbital track.
This was necessary, because it gave Ielyn time to transfer our coordinates into the navicomputer. It isn't like we're taking any clandestine, seldom-traveled lanes or anything like that, or that we're trying to throw off pursuers, but our pilot is a by-the-book type of fellow. As a mercenary, he does his job right. And in this case that means taking time to properly consider all of the available routes for travel.*
[/ul] *I'm no expert, but this doesn't sound right to me.*
[/font][/ul]
*Ielyn glanced over his shoulder with the air and confidence of a scientist who's just been asked a naive question in his field of expertise.*
[/font][/ul] *His response was appended with an unspoken "Correct me if I'm wrong." But that's not something I'm able to do. All I've got left is curiosity.*
[/font][/ul]
[/i] you manage to do that, by the way? By all accounts it shouldn't have been possible."[/font][/ul]
[/font][/ul] *Never underestimate my propensity for catastrophic results when given free reign to pilot a ship.
The thought strikes me, though, that it is quite fortuitous to have such an expert on our hands. Though I wonder how often bias can contaminate one's knowledge. For instance, I will never not think of Kamino as being one of Tal's possessions, although that day and age has long since passed. So if you were to tell me that the Jedi had established a temple in Tipoca City, I'd be inclined to doubt you. Making sure that one's information is up-to-date and bias free is a critical task if it is to guide action, and I think it is only fair to cast a fair amount of skepticism on Ielyn's repository. Especially if it's open-source. But he's level three, after all, so maybe he knows this too.
Stars blur as we accelerate to light speed, and make the jump to the Parlemian Route. From there, as described, we'll hop into the wilder reaches of space. Then it's a trip through The Maw that will lead us to Honoghr.*
Wraith and Marauder exited hyperspace in tandem. Like ghostly apparitions in the midst of a graveyard, they glided forward, weaving through the field of wreckage that surrounded the planet.
Deep within Wraith's bowels, Faust prostrated himself before the Destroyer. Sweat streaked his naked skin, coursing over the countless scars and burns, dripping to the floor to mix with the blood pooling there. The ritual dirk was clenched in his left hand, the knuckles white as the blade skated along his skin. A vicious, crimson channel opened across his forearm, weeping in exultation.
"Susular, Kad. Gar ade jorhaa'ir." Another kiss from the knife, splitting his lips in twain. More blood splattered the floor as he grinned. He was here. "Haar ca'nara olaror."
They were encroaching on Mandalore's atmosphere by the time he made it up to the bridge. Clad in his 'gam, Ripper on his hip and bes'kad locked to his back, he strode to the viewport. Harlen was at his side immediately, his wrinkled brow furrowed.
"Alor...you've been praying, I see. Does Kad smile upon us this day?"
"Aye, Harlen. It is a time of cin vhetin for our vode. A clean slate...a chance to right the wrongs of the past. It's up to us to show them how." Faust's reflection stared back at him, yellow eyes wide and manic.
The bigger man shifted uncomfortably. "We've been broadcasting on all channels since our arrival...no response. Should I ready the transports?"
"Nayc. Take us down...we're going to Keldabe."
"Aye, alor." He clapped his fist against his breastplate and departed.
Mandalore lay before them, a quickly growing ball of green and blue hanging suspended in the viewport. Slowly, the priest placed his palm against the transparisteel, as if he could reach out and pluck it from the void. 'Soon.'
"I deal in death and thralls, aruetti. Which is it you seek?"
An Imperial II Class star destroyer dropped out of hyperspace, it was completely covered in black paint, on front of its bridge tower was a simple planetoid image surrounded by a gaping mouth as though being devoured, beside it came a Tector class painted the same exact way though it had red stripes running up it with the logo planted on its forward section. They where older ships but outfitted with modern hardware and the crews where battled hardened warriors of the World Eater faction they had been die hard loyalists to their Lord Militant Venator who had at last returned them and promised them what they craved most, blood and glory but that isn't why this small remaining force had come to Mandolore, no Venator the tall armored being on the Imperial II known as "The Invidia" Looked as the "The Malum" his Tector class also dropped out of space, neither had its shields or weapons primed.
"Commander Abslo, hail the planet and let it be known we come in peace and request an audience with The Mandolore." The man in the crisp black uniform nodded and hailed the planet requesting an audience Venator wore his armor, he had not told anyone here that he was replacement for their Lord Loki, that he was his clone, but he had his memories, he knew the codes and now this force, what was once a part of one of the largest military forces the galaxy had known was his, but another such force was in front of him, blood thirsty warriors, mercenary's, they'd work for the highest bidder and the best offers, and Venator had that in spades, he had access to massive accounts of credits, there where two separate accounts, one he couldn't touch but he'd cut it off the remaining money but it too was substantial. "Capitan Kard, prepare my shuttle, Abslo let me know when they respond right away."
::Hail Mandlore! My lord a former ally of your people Lord Militant Venator, requests a peaceful audience with your leader "The Mandolore." We humbly await your response.::
Venator turned on his heel, cloak swirling, he was completely encased in resplendent gold armor, once a gift from a former mandolore, the only difference was the lack of Jet pack and the helm, which was spiked and allowed his horns to exit them, it had been left for him at the cloning complex on Dantooine, Venator entered the hyperlift and was whisked away to his personal hanger and entered his lambada class star destroyer, he brought a token guard with him, four of his heavy warriors with simple bolt throwers and swords he wanted not a show of power but a show of respect.
This wasn’t the first time outsiders had come to their planet, and it wouldn’t be the last.
It was, however, a rarity for anyone to make the journey to Mandalorian space these days, and even rarer so without some sort of agenda at their back. That this one requested a peaceful audience did little to quell her concern, and anything they had to say about their intentions meant little and less. Action was valued largely over any sort of talk, and none of that had changed in the time since the galaxy had last heard anything of the Mandalorians.
::Mand’alor will speak with you. You do not have permission to land at this time.:: The response was returned in short order, typed out by her own hand. Much like every other people or culture that populated the galaxy, the Mandalorians were hardly in any shape to be inviting outsiders to their planet, let alone those they hardly knew or trusted. If these ones wanted an audience, it would be done on her terms and no one else’s.
Chatter soon came through that a shuttle was en route to the planet, and she cursed, standing and pulling on her helmet as she went. “Have them escorted by bes’uliike, and set up sniping positions in the spaceport of Keldabe. I’ll meet them there.” Within minutes two iron war beasts would meet the Lambda-class in its descent to the planet, and both would escort the shuttle to the spaceport, silent in their guardianship, though the message was clear: you’re in our territory now, and there won’t be any second chances.
Once they landed Venator would be greeted by five fully armored Mandalorians, four of them being her honor guard, as they awaited his emergence from the shuttle. The others posted at the spaceport weren’t visible in the immediate area but were just as deadly all the same, having set up firing positions at key points in the instance this turned volatile.
The Shuttle descended and then out of the mists came two Mandalorian ships, they didn't seem hostile so the shuttle waggled its wings and let them begin the escort. The elite guard Venator had brought stood in formation near the ramp, however Venator himself was seated in an oddly placed central seat facing the ramp, his helmed head was lowered and he was caught deep in thought.
~Am I the true Venator? He whispered to his own mind, I am made of his flesh, I have his power, his skill his cunning and size, I wear his armor I walk amongst his men, or what where once his men, Venator had seen Loki, now five years older, somehow still alive, which if Venator walked should not be. He was damaged a cybernetic eye implant, and scars on his body, Venator was a perfect specimen, then why was Loki now so different from himself, imagine if they came together, creator and clone, what chaos could they sow upon the galaxy....~
With a gentle bump the shuttle touched down in a rather empty spaceport, the pilots remarked that Keldabe looked worse for wear, which seemed par for the course, according to his commanders the faction before the plague had been thirty warships strong and 80,000 troops now it was but two and some five thousand troops, but they would rebuild from the ashes for their Lord militant had returned.
"Scan the perimeter, I'm sure the Mando will have some type of contingency in place, I merely want to know, do not act, the galaxy has gone crazy and they are right to act us such, especially since they denied us landing clearance, make sure the supply shuttles are ready to launch on my command as well." He said as stood, he walked forward briskly and one of the crew members lowered the ramp that was now facing the envoys from the Mandolorian's. Five, interesting he had expected more in the open, so few? Perhaps they where worse off than he feared. He walked briskly down the ramp and nodded at them, it had just came through that they had denied his shuttle landing, noted he'd have to apologize for that.
"My apologies Mando'lore, my communications director failed to alert us in time that you did not wish us to land, he is being dealt with as we speak." Indeed at that moment World Eater troops where gleefully tearing apart the communications officer one limb at a time, a slow and agonizing death. "Now on to business, many years ago a Mandolorian and I ended up working together, later he revealed his ambitions, and I along with my order helped him seize control and unite your people, albeit temporarily he did not last long, however he gifted me this armor and he gained my respect and gratitude that stretches to all your people." Venator paused briefly. "The plague has been unkind to us all and in a gesture of solidarity and civility, we bring food, clothing, and medicine to the people of Mandolore, ready to be delivered at your word, and then we can discuss more serious matters, for there are enemies in the galaxy that would see your kind and mine obliterated from the galaxy..." Venator bowed low to the female mandolorian pegging her for the leader of her people that she was.
