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
Concord Dawn was a planet in Mandalorian Space. The planet was devastated during one of the hundreds of wars it suffered, with roughly a third of its mass blasted out as asteroid-sized debris in its planetary orbit.
Sergeant Saris and his men had already mustered in the hangar bay of the Marauder when the proximity klaxon sounded, a shrill cry signalling their impending arrival to the birthplace of the Priesthood. The Thyrsian's yellow eyes wandered over them idly as he waited: a five-man squad in dented and blaster-scored armor. Trained killers almost giddy with excitement at the prospect of what lay before them. 'The only thing that matters to them is leaving Rodia behind,' he observed, and after a moment: 'Can't say I blame them.'
As if she read his thoughts, the Reaver closest to him laughed eagerly. "It's about time. Finally off that damn island, and back among 'vode."
"If not for that island you'd be dead of the plague like all the rest, Lostara."
"And I suppose you'd have fared better, hm?"
"Better than you! I-"
"Enough." Saris finally cut in as the telltale shudder signaled their return to realspace.
"Sithspit..." Lostara breathed, staring. He turned to follow her gaze, through the mouth of the hangar, and felt his own breath catch. Wreckage tumbled past- fuselage and melted strips of hull, frozen corpses and the shattered remnants of a turbolaser. The Marauder shuddered again as the deflector shields were suddenly pummeled by the devastation. Similar shouts and curses rose from the other squads filling the hangar, quickly drown out by the sergeants as they snarled up and down the line of troops, restoring order.
'We're not slowing down, though. Looks like we're sticking to the plan.' "Well," he shrugged, "we knew it might be bad. Doesn't change anything. I want you on the transport in sixty seconds- move."
* * * * *
Harlen shook his head. "No; I see no foreign wreckage whatsoever, alor. This was no attack.My best guess? The plague spread onto the ships, spreading chaos like a wildfire. They destroyed themselves trying to put it out." The prophet only nodded, turning back to the viewport. Harlen's armor clanked and rattled as he positioned himself next to the diminutive priest. "Marauder reports its transports are ready to launch. Ours, as well. We can follow them down, take up position above the city-"
"No. I won't expose the cruisers to possible planetary defenses until we know what we're dealing with."
"As you will, alor."
The priest's lambent gaze found him again. "Janse and Katariah can handle the scouting mission. You and I will take a transport to the Temple, to see what remains- if anything."
"You really think there might be priests left alive?"
"If so, they will answer for this...negligence."
The Shield only nodded. 'Kad help them.' "I will ready a transport, then." He only made it a few steps before the prophet spoke his name. "Alor?" he asked, turning.
"Plague like a wildfire, you said. You're wrong. The plague is nothing more than stagnation made manifest- rotting undergrowth, choking the life from the forest." His reflection in the viewport suddenly grinned, a sight that made Harlen's blood run cold. "We are the wildfire, ner vod, and Concord Dawn is the ember that will set it all ablaze."
Through the viewport, he could see the first of the transports were underway.
"I deal in death and thralls, aruetti. Which is it you seek?"
As soon as the ship came out of hyperspace Baala was on her feet, leaping out of bed and running down the hall towards her father’s room. It had been forever since he let her off the ship more than a few hours at a time, because apparently Zeltros nightlife ‘wasn’t appropriate for kids,’ and so he’d confined her to the ship as soon as the sun went down.
Recently, however, they’d spent the past few days in hyperspace on the way to their next destination: Concord Dawn. He’d refused to tell her exactly why they were returning to Mandalorian space, but she had a feeling it wasn’t just for a vacation. It was rare for them to visit like this, and even rarer for him to be so adamant about it. There was something else going on, whether he would admit it or not.
Bare feet carried her silently through the doorway of his room, and she crept up next to his bed. With a grin Baala leapt on top of him, aiming to startle him awake. "Ba'buir, wake up!" She was more than ready to land and get back on solid ground again and finally do something.
As soon as he was up she would jump back down, practically vibrating with excitement as she waited for him to get out of bed. "You’re too slow, I would’ve won and you’d already be dead. C’mon, we gotta land so we can go outside, I’m bored." She wouldn’t leave until he’d properly roused himself and left the room, because she knew full well he’d fall back asleep if she let him, and that would not be happening on her watch.
It was perfect. Peace. Quiet. The general lack of back pain and the abscenece of his ever decreasing bladder capacity.
And then Baala woke up. He shot awake, but the shooting pains and collapsing ribs were what kept him from throwing her off. "Ba'buir, wake up!" Baala screamed, shaking like she was trying to massage away the shooting pains riding up his body. Marvik couldn't even muster the strength to talk, let alone push her off - so he instead opted to curl into himself and bury his groans of pain into the pillow.
"Bu'ad..." hemanaged inbetween groans, "...get off Ba'buir."
As the girl dismounted, Marvik slowly creaked up to a sitting position and every adjustment to do so was filled with sharp pains. Damnit. This was what he got for having kids in the first place. With a sharp look, he jabbed a finger in Baala's direction, "If you don't stop that, I'm taking away your practice knives again - and you'll stay in your room when I'm flying."
Feel insuffeciently threating, he carefully slid his feet off the bed and onto the floor before easing himself to a stand. His body screamed at him the whole way up and his shimmy to the bathroom was no easier. With the same bitterness he had every morning Balaa was excited enough to wake him, he said to her "Go to the kitchen, I'll make us breakfast"
"Just have to piss some blood first." He grumbled as the door slid shut. He finished his business, washed in the sink and took a second to look himself in the mirror. Fields of black hair were being overrun with grey roots and pepperings of white. What was once smooth, creamy skin had become a dry, erodded valley covered in deep gorges.
He didn't remember getting so old.
Sighing, he opened the door and headed into the kitchen - still limping as he did.
"I don’t need practice knives when I’ve got the real thing." After all, she was fourteen now, which meant she’d been an adult for a whole year. "Besides, if you wanna take them you gotta be able to find 'em first." Grinning up at him, Baala left her grandfather to his morning routine and made her way to the kitchen, opening the refrigerator and scanning the contents while deciding then that they would mostly definitely have to restock sometime soon.
Meandering about the kitchen, she plugged in the toaster and put two slices of bread in, retrieving a pan from the cupboards and turning on the stove. It had never been a necessity for her to make her own breakfast, but she’d been watching him long enough that she figured she could help out, and who would ever complain about that?
Her grandpa, probably, but she would never tell him that.
Humming to herself, she looked up at him as he nudged her out of the way, rolling her eyes and plopping down into a chair. "What are we here for, anyway? Are we gonna visit ba’buir on Mandalore?" That was the only reason she could think of for being back here. Baala knew he didn’t like to return much, not since her dad died. That was something they were both still dealing with.
"Go sit down - we don't want another Haarshun incident" Marvik teased, pushing his granddaughter towards the table and taking up her space at the oven. He let her huff her way to her seat while he gathered the pots and pans needed for his nad'neral and eggs. Cooking wasn't his strongsuit, but when you traveresed the galaxy in your youth you found ways to make old recipies interesting. Nad'neral was not uncommon by Mandalorian standards - it was easy to make as long as you had some grain and water handy - but it what had in ease it lacked ten times over in anything even resembling taste.
After filling a pot with water, Marvik set it on the stove and readied the jar of Concordian Grain he preferred. While he waited, he began opening drawer after drawer. He'd look in for a moment, sigh and slam it shut. "Haar'chak! I hate this ship." he always managed to blame the ship somehow, "I swear I put the spices right - here."
Baala didn't seem to pay any mind to him, she was probably used to it. "Why are we here anyway? Are we going to visit Ba'buir on Mandalore?"
Marvik didn't stop his search, resorting to using his arm to brush everything out of a head-height cabinet and onto the floor. "No. Keira is busy, doesn't have time for us right now." he grumbled half-heartedly, using his foot to poke through the items he thrown to the floor, "ship needs repairs, the Hyperdrive is leaking during flight."
He paused. Growled. Then a can of processed fruit shot across the floor and bounced off the far wall, "And apparently we need more spices."
Going back to the pot, he began pouring the grains into the boiling water and readying the Nuna eggs.
In truth, Baala was more than used to it, as this had become their morning routine over the years. He would make a mess trying to find whatever he put away the last time in a place he supposedly would remember, and she would clean up after him before finding what he was looking for, and the next morning it would repeat itself again. It was the closest thing to normal they had.
Sliding down from her chair, she began picking up the mess he’d made, all the while listening to everything he had to say about losing things and repairing the ship. "We can go to the store while the ship’s getting fixed." She climbed up onto the counter, retrieving the spices he’d been looking for and placing them next to the stove. "Maybe we can get you something that reminds you where you put things, too."
With a smile she brushed past him, picking up the can of fruit and prying it open, retrieving a spoon and returning to her seat. "We should do something, it’s boring sitting on the ship all the time. I wanna do something fun." Kicking her feet, she spooned the fruit into her mouth, watching him as he cooked.
"Can we do more sparring today, ba’buir? I learned more after watching you help people, and it’s been forever since you taught me." When he no doubt looked over at her, she was the supposed picture of innocence. "If I can’t help, I want to do something."
Defeated, Marvik looked at the spices for a moment and said nothing as he flipped open the lid and poured a mound into the pot. The simmer grew to a bubble and Marvik spooned it around a few times, looking over his shoulder at Baala he did. He scowled, dropped the spoon in the pot and walked over to his granddaughter - snatching the can of fruit from her in mid-shovel. "Stop. Eating. And stop hiding my spices. " turning back to the stove, he tipped the can over the pot. The fruit stuck into the porridge, slowly sinking beneath the thick sludge.
"And what have I already told you? I said no sparring until after you get better with your blaster draw. Kicks and punches won't do you damn-all when a Trandoshan is flailing its disgusting scales at you." stirring the breakfast once again, Marvik sighed, "Which reminds me, you need a new barrel - princess drops-a lot."
With a smirk, he grabbed two bowls and poured a hearty fill into each. The meal was nothing special, but the smell of fruit of and spice watered the pallet. Bringing the bowls to the table, he pushed Balaa one and sat his own on his side of the table. "So I guess that means you can come off the ship. You need to be there to learn how to fix a gun - plus it'd do you some good to learn more about the Mando'ade"
Crossing her arms indignantly, Baala watched him cook as the plans for that day were laid out, grumbling to herself when her blaster was brought into question. "I can’t get better if you won’t practice with me, and besides, it’s not my fault that I dropped it. Fast-drawing isn’t as easy as you make it look." Something she’d proven times over, having fumbled her pistol more times than she could count, though to her credit it was still usable.
As soon as he pushed her a bowl she began eating, grey eyes glaring at him accusatorily. "I do know about the Mando'ade." She spoke around a mouthful of the porridge, reciting the rhyme her father had taught her as a child, "Ba'jur bal beskar'gam, ara'nov, aliit, Mando'a bal Mand'alor - an vencuyan mhi." Prideful in only the way a teenager could manage, she continued eating.
"Buir taught me about our people, and so did you and ba'buir. I did my verd'goten a year ago, remember?" The rest of the meal continued in relative peace, and she shot to her feet immediately afterwards, sprinting down the hall.
Her voice would carry after her, but it would still be audible where he sat, "C’mon, we’re here!"
