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 crisp scent of the veshok filled the morning air, crisp with the dying of autumn and birthing of winter. A tall warrior stood atop a sturdy rampart made of the same sturdy wood that filled the lovely dark and deep forest around him. He looked out with emerald eyes over the slowly frosting lake, a dragonhide cape and fur mantle covering powerful shoulders. In the distance he could hear the rhythmic bark of a shatual buck, and he smiled contentedly. Snow had begun to fall, a few flakes sticking to his lustrous black and silver hair, and he took a deep breath. Perhaps he would hunt today, as he had not done for too long. Perhaps fish, or merely work the forge, still or brewhouse. Behind him there was a low rumbling growl, the sound of his friend Freyyrja's melodious shyriiwook.
{Welcome back, Mandalore.}
He chuckled lightly, knowing the teasing sound of her voice as she spoke his title rather than his name. She knew it drove him crazy. He turned to see her, taller even than he, auburn furred and holding him out a large steaming mug of shig spiked with tihaar. He took the mug and had a sip against the chill.
Reyn Skirata, Mandalore the Smith, turned once more to look over his home and let a deep sense of contentment fill him.
Days and nights of ferocious despair. Destruction around the galaxy. No explanation. the Colony he had nursed from nothing on Lehon was destroyed in it's entirety, as if it had never been. He had reports from chieftains around the galaxy, some clans had been wiped out, those that were not were reeling on their back feet.
What had happened?
Reyn had even received a call from Manaan, inquiring as to the state of the clans. Reyn was waiting for a ship to be prepared so he could attend the King of the Gaels. Estimates of at least a million Mandalorians dead, out of a galactic population of not more than ten million. Perhaps one tenth of his people gone. Reyn needed answers, needed to know if this was some action of an enemy or some ineffable act of cosmic destruction.
He misliked either possibility. One could not avenge themselves on the Cosmos itself, but likewise an enemy with this level of power was one not to take lightly.
Reyn sat in his darkened hall, the only light from the fireplace behind him, and the cigarra he smoked. He was nursing a glass of narcolethe and the bottle shared the table beside him with the Helm.
He heard Freyyrja growling quietly behind him, saying that a ship had been able to be made ready.
{What are you going to do, Reyn?}
He chuckled at the simple question, a simple question for such an overwhelming event. He drained the glass and stood up, tucking the Helm under his arm. He turned and smiled at his faithful friend.
I fell silent for a few moments, contemplating what this sudden redirection could mean. When we hadn't received word in orbit, we'd intended to simply head to the Oyu'baat. I'm only modestly learned in Mandalorian culture, but everyone knew that, if any leadership remained, that's where they would be. So, not only are there Mandalorians still living, but they don't want us around.
Ah, the possibilities are endless, and intrigue never fails to bring a smile to my face. What is it, I wonder? A splinter faction of the Empire has intercepted our transmission, and lures us out away from Keldabe so as to murder us away from the Mandalore's watchful gaze? Or perhaps there are no factions, just desperate survivors driven from Keldabe by the infected, forced to live in hiding?
Or, most interesting proposition of all: the Mandalore is in Keldabe, yet refuses to meet us there. Why not deny us entirely, then? Shoot us out of the sky or run us off the planet? Maybe he wants to meet, but doesn't want to be seen meeting.
Juicy stuff. I chance a glance out the viewport and am rewarded with an endless forest, stretching in all directions. Not quite to our destination yet, then, though at the speed with which our shuttle is moving, the horizon might as well be a mile marker on a freeway.
I turned back to Ryu.
"Partly," I said with a shrug. "Crushgaunts are my first choice, but they're non essential, and certainly not worth a trip by themselves." I trailed off, amusement glittering in my amber eyes.
[/ul] *I'd say so, for sure. Nonetheless, as it seems we all agree, it would be a virtually wasted trip just to come here for some gloves, no matter how great they are. Efficiency is best, when acquiring strength. Isn't there some sort of delivery service we could have utilized? Or did the plague knock it out?
Unimportant questions, now that we've come this far. I can rest assured, based on what Tal has just said, that there is more purpose to our visit here than just equipment-gathering.
As the sound of rainfall pattering against the hull of our shuttle becomes audible, I trace a hand over Devient's forehead. It's not really my pace to question the motives of denying our landing in Keldabe; rather, I do as I've always done, with the power available to me. Follow the flow, intervene whenever desired.
Some time passes in silence, as we venture ever further into increasing latitudes. And then, another practical question comes to mind as my interest rekindles on one of the subjects Tal had spoken of.*
[/font][/ul]
*While we converse in the passenger bay, Ielyn receives the instructions from the Fang Fighter escort for where to land the shuttle. In due time, the craft intends set down in the indicated space, with the bay doors to slide open to grant us access to the Mandalor's ranch.*[/font]
*As the triple Fang Fighter escort informed us to prepare to make our descent, and instructed us thusly, our plans were suddenly interrupted by an alert emanating from Galbakhnor's comm channel. The source of the message was the captain of Darth Abaddon's Irrukiine company, and the cause was the destruction of the Sith Academy on Korriban. But the message was a voice recording in the native Irrukiine language, which we could not translate into Basic, so we did not come to find out the whole story. That wasn't for a lack of effort, though. Oh, no, indeed.
The message tapered off, and left Galbakhnor visibly agitated. Being the empathetic soul that I am, I waited for a moment and then gently inquired.*
"Orr-errr-arr. Darrr Arrurrorr."[/ul] *Devient conceals my expression, but you can probably imagine it what it looks like behind the expressionless metal facade. Eyebrows raised to the maximum, lips drawn into a tight-lipped expression of futility, and--this one you can see-- a sudden and slight inclination of the head to indicate that communication is going nowhere. So now Galbakhnor decides to incorporate charades to help get his point across.*
[/font][/ul] *He brings his two lower arms up to his face, occluding his mouth, and with the upper two arms, mimes sitting in a chair.*
[/font][/ul] *To which Galbakhnor nods vigorously. Cool.*
[/font][/ul] *He continues by tracing out some complicated geometrical shape with all four hands, accentuating with additional growls and vowel sounds. By now, Curcebithin's interest has been piqued, and he joins in.*
[/font] "Rrrriifff."
"...Academy. Sith Academy. Darth Abaddon fell down a hole in the Sith Academy. He's trapped and he needs our help."[/ul]
*The brothers' excited panting turns into frantic head-shaking as I extrapolate too far with that last guess. They resume their frustrated miming, and by this point even Tal has decided to get in on the game.
Galbakhnor brings all four hands together in the shape of a box.*
[/font]*Curcebithin nods. Galbakhnor then turns all four of his hands palms-up.* "Destroyed." *A yip of affirmation from Galbakhnor. Curcebithin then uses all four of his hands, pointing his index and middle fingers towards the floor and making a scissor-like motion with those fingers while moving his arms past Galbakhnor's distended palms.* "...And people fled the scene."[/ul] *That was, in fact, the solution! Or close enough, anyways. The fine details could wait, the brothers figured. Their pleasure at successful communication is expressed by howls, and I turn to Tal, pleased enough with my contribution to solving the puzzle, to discuss the implications.*
[/font][/ul] *The possibility of attributing the cause to a dark sider is not unheard of, either. There had been fresh fractures in the ceiling and newly-strewn debris around our feet when we had entered the chamber and it would not take much of a stretch to assume that they had been put there during an interview-gone-awry (which is exactly what had happened, with Darth Vastator). Indeed, with the power levels which Abaddon and I had been toying around with, it would take just one slip to cause the whole place to come crashing down.
One thing that is certain is that it could not have been the Mandalorians; we saw their fleets here, drifting listlessly over their homeworld. The scanners indicated no signs of movement from their forces in the direction we'd just come, so as assumed in our arrival over orbit, their navy is either all dead by now, or festering in dysfunction. Clinging on to survival when there's no hope at all for their future.
The correct course of action is clear in light of this event.*
[/font]
"Normally I'd dismiss the Jedi as culprits, but Abaddon does seem rather...fragile, so I suppose it's possible."
"I don't think we can count them out right away. If they feel cornered by the plague, it's reasonable to predict that they would feel like they've got nothing to lose and strike out. In any case, the only way we have anything to do is if it can be traced back to the Jedi."
*As these words elapse, Tal nods thoughtfully.* "Then there's no location more suitable for us to head towards than Honoghr. It's the only safe haven for the surviving Jedi. If they've organized, that's where they'll be....
Not to mention, Honoghr is home to some of the most advanced cybernetic implant surgery centers in the galaxy. We can move right to the next step in realizing our armament improvements. Once we've arrived in orbit, I'll make contact with the Minstrel. If the staff of the hospital on Honoghr prove less than helpful, Elisio will be able to perform the surgeries himself."
"Who's Elisio?" *That's a name I don't recognize, although apparently I should.*
"A scientist I plucked from the ruins of the Grand Sith Alliance on Mustafar. You met him on Kamino, though I'm sure he was too busy to properly introduce himself." *Ah, yes. I remember now. I think Aire had been interacting with the Kaminoan scientists more than I had; I was more preoccupied with straightening Tal out. And speaking of straightening out, the name 'Grand Sith Alliance' sure brings back memories, doesn't it? Another reminder of the way we have interacted with the various Sith factions as time has gone on. All the more reason to do things differently now.*
"And he's on Honoghr? That's useful. Or is it that you intend to acquire the cybernetics and take them offworld?" ... "Well, in either case, it looks like our course is set. Head to the Jedi world, await word from Abaddon if he would like us to retaliate. In the meantime, design and acquire our new cybernetics. Sounds like a plan."
*Tal assents, and then turns towards the cockpit and calls to Ielyn.* "Let the escorts know that we won't be landing after all. Set a course for Honoghr."[/ul]
*Ielyn stifled a sigh. After coming all this way, these two have decided not to land, and while this is in fact an unusual turn of events, it doesn't help the frustration he feels at a journey that has turned out to be a waste of fuel and time and has kept him cooped up in the pilot seat. But, as ordered, he hops on the mic and radios over to the fighters.*
[/font][/ul]
*"At least we can finally open up the engines, full throttle," Ielyn thinks to himself. The Gamma-class shuttle's top speed is 150 km/hr faster than the Fang Fighters'. So, pulling back on the yoke, he angles upwards, high above the treetops, and lets off the air brakes. In a flash, the shuttle is well beyond the airspace over the Kyrimout, and on its way to an escape trajectory from the Mandalorian biosphere.*
