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 an Outer Rim world in the Mandalore sector, located near the border between the Outer and Mid Rim. Like the rest of its sector, it was frontier country, covered in jungles, forests, deserts and plains. The planet was principally an agricultural world, backwards in development, and its plains were tilled by the planet's farmers to meager effect.
The transports flew low, skimming just above the treetops in a loose wedge formation. Through his viewport, Saris watched the sea of pines- towering sentinels bathed in the ivory light of Concord Dawn's moon. It was strange being back after all these years. He'd left the Temple at just eighteen, nothing but his besk'ad and 'gam to his name, and gone off to do Kad's work. For two years he'd worked as beroya, moving from cesspool to cesspool, trading his blades for credits, and then the Mandalore had called for a Crusade.
Priests had been in high demand those days. Their ferocious zealotry and immunity to pain made them ideal front line berserkers, and their peerless skill with melee weaponry made them efficient Jedi killers. Saris himself had crossed blades with at least a dozen of the warrior monks, and while he had a handful of plasma burns to show for it, overall they'd proven to be underwhelming opponents.
Of course, despite his own success the war had ended in a stale mate. The Jedi and Sith were too entrenched, and Ashrah's hold on the people's loyalty was too tenuous for any extended siege. The Crusade had burned bright, but flickered and died when the Mandalore disappeared. The Thyrsian had intended to go back to Concord Dawn, then, to commune with the Destroyer God and find his way. His disillusionment with the Resol'nare had left him shaken, lost. If the vode could be dispersed so easily, were they even worthy of being called such? Or had the centuries of playing mercenaries destroyed whatever values had once made them special, beloved of the Destroyer? These were the questions he'd intended to bring to the Temple elders- but that was before he met the Prophet and his ragged army. Before Faust shared with him his vision for the future.
"Sergeant." He started, broken from his reverie. The Reaver across from him was pointing. Saris squinted, leaning forward to look out the window. At first he saw only a modest field of grain and a farmhouse. But then, further out-
"Ah, I see." He shot a glance at the upper corner of his HUD, wordlessly opening a comm channel.
* * * * *
"The Prophet has lost his mind. The galaxy is in ruins. Mandalorian worlds run red with virulent blood, and yet our aliit'alor demands more. He demands holy war, no matter the cost." Janse looked from face to face, studying the Reavers filling the hold of the transport. Each of them had removed their buy'ce's and laid them at their feet, exposing identical looks of grim determination displayed on wildly varied features. The Echani met their eyes one at a time, holding their gaze, searching for any sign of doubt. He found none. "We're in agreement, then. This...madness...it ends on Concord Dawn."
Silent nods, one at a time. Mourning evident on each face. 'And on mine,' Janse admitted. 'This pain is...unbearable, but a cancer has taken root among Kad's disciples, and it must be cut away. I'm sorry, Faust'ika. I'm sorry, my friend.' Slowly, the Echani drew his ritual dirk from its sheath and placed the point against his palm. The soldiers clustered around him mirrored his movements, and the cuts were made as one, until crimson pooled at their feet.
"It should be done tonight. If we wait any longer, we risk further complications. Who knows where the locals' loyalties will lie." Katariah's voice was soft, and when he turned to look at her he saw tears shining in her dark eyes. His heart broke. For her, and for what had to be done, but the priest only nodded.
"Aye. Tonight."
The sudden crackle of the comlink startled them all. "Report. Friendlies spotted approximately half a kilometer due West. Looks like they're trapped, might be those plague victims we've had reports of. Requesting permission to assist."
After a moment he keyed open the channel. "Permission granted. Rendezvous at original destination following mission completion."
"Acknowledged."
* * * * *
The transports split away from formation in perfect synchrony, one pulling hard to starboard, making for the Temple, and the other pulling into a sudden nosedive, screaming toward the farm. As they got closer Saris could make out at least two dozen of the humanoids crowding around an old grain silo, shrieking incoherently and writhing in massive, seizing waves. A frown of disgust marred the Thyrsian's tanned face as he reached back with both hands, freeing his twin beskad.
"Drop us on top of them," he called to the pilot, "and then circle away to the other side of the field until we call you back." Standard strategy for a small-scale skirmish was for the transport to hover overhead and provide fire support, but they'd been without a resupply since leaving Rodia, and wasting even a drop of fuel was out of the question. "Lostara, stay with the ship."
"What? Sergeant-"
"That's an order. We don't have enough medics to be throwing them onto the battlefield, and you can't patch us up after the fight if you get torn to pieces during it." He ignored the rage in her eyes, turning back to the hatch. 'Besides, Faust would flay me alive if he found out I'd let one of the Destroyer's Chosen anywhere near these...things.'
A dozen heartbeats passed in tense, white-knuckled silence, and then the transport's side hatch slid open, the blaring alarm drowned out by the rush of cold night air and the snarling howls from the mob below. Gritting his teeth, Saris took two long strides forward and jumped. Blades flashed out as he fell, taking the hands from one of the creatures that reached for him, and he landed in a crouch that turned into a roll.
Then...he was among them, working in a circular pattern, twin blades flashing out in quick, devastating blows to keep the creatures at bay. Four more Reavers landed around him, and a chorus of battle hymns suddenly rose up, mixing with the savage cries of the infected.
"I deal in death and thralls, aruetti. Which is it you seek?"
They sat huddle together in the cramped space, confined to the circular shape of the empty silo. Five left in total, one of them unconscious with a bloody, bandaged stump where her left forearm used to be. The other four worked silently but diligently in the low torch-light: readying their weapons for the fight to come, preparing to help the Commander and whoever else came to their aid. They were silent as the shadows, desperate not to draw any further attention from the two-legged beasts that shrieked and moaned outside, their infected fingers clawing viscously at the doors, the walls, the scratching sounds echoing through the empty cylinder of a building.
Out of the cacophony of the dead, the low, distant whine of an engine reached their ears. Xaxu, the male in charge of the scavenging operation, perked his head and smiled. Using hand signals to convey his orders, the other three, two women and another male, stood tall and slung their rifles over their shoulders, and with the scratching sound of metal, drew their besk'ads from their sheaths. The two women would stay back to defend their wounded comrade, while the other two would venture outside to help take down the biters outside.
Moments passed in silence, and finally, the noises of battle reached their ears. Their allies had engaged. Slamming the door open, the two men charged outward, their blades held in front of their bodies, cutting down the infected lingering against the silo. With expert slashes, their blades reflected the light of the distant moon, as they cut a path to meet up with the others. They drew near, and as Xaxu's eyes adjusted to the light, he processed what he saw.
The color and decoration of the signature armor of his people did not match that of his garrison commander.
__________________________________
"Thirty seconds, Commander. It seems as if they've already engaged." A private informed him, his exposed head observing the approaching farmhouse through a pair of binoculars. Hal was shocked. They'd already engaged? That didn't make any sense. What in the blazes would they do that for? Quickly, he adorned his buy'ce and the HUD light-up on the display. Ahead of them, it marked all of the moving bodies as targets, except for the two friendlies highlighted that were coming out the silo."Something isn't right."
"Sir look, a starfighter!" This time, the private was pointing in the air, off to their left. Sure enough, the dark shape with the illuminated thrusters was unmistakable. Someone else had found them.... Were they after the supplies? Where had they come from? Hal shook his head and cleared his head of the endless questions that assaulted his mind.
"Only engage the infected! Blades only. If one of our visitors engages, we oblige them with death." His voice was stern, the weariness of the day gone, replaced with the adrenaline of battle. The stiffness in his aging joints disappeared as the four land speeders skidded to a halt, the twelve soldiers of Alpha and Bravo squads hopping out of the moving vehicles and leaping into the fray. Hal lead the charge, the tip of his besk'ad sinking into the forehead of one of the many dead before his feet even touched the ground. Kicking the body away, and retracting his blade, he moved on to the next, and the next. A whirlwind of death.
Even with his 360 degree view, he was swarmed. Bodies came at him from all directions, their nails and hands clawing ineffectively against his beskar'gam. One by one, he cut them down, trudging his way through wave after wave, doing his best to get to Xaxu and Juurec, but always keeping an eye on those strangers that were here. Finally he was there, and Xaxu met him, and now they stood back to back. "Find some new friends, Sergeant?" He growled.
"I'd be lying if I said I did, Commander. I thought they were you!"
The infected were relentless, undeterred by wounds that would've left normal foes screaming on the ground. But they were not immortal. In less than a dozen heartbeats Saris cut down three of the creatures, opening the jugular of one and cleaving open the skulls of two more. They died badly, dragging themselves forward even as their lifeblood soaked the grass and their putrid kin trampled them underfoot, but they died all the same. Behind the iron mask of his buy'ce, the Thyrsian's lip curled in disgust. He flicked black ichor from the tip of his blade and turned to meet the next plague victim, dropping his shoulder low, beneath its outstretched arms, and then surging upward, lifting it off its feet. Both blades followed it down, piercing through bone and sinking into the soft earth below.
Around him, his soldiers fought back to back to keep from being surrounded. Under other circumstances, they would have tried to box the creatures up against the side of the silo, herding them into a kill zone that left their flanks protected. But with vode trapped inside, and with no way of knowing how many more of the creatures prowled the area, there was no time. 'So get your asses out here and help clean up your mess.' He yanked his blades free in time to check the swipe of another infected.
As if they'd heard him, the doors to the silo burst open, two Mandalorians in full armor rushing out to join the fray. Saris kept a tab on them through his HUD as he fought on, but only moments later the drone of engines reached his ears, and from the West came a full squad of mounted soldiers, quite literally swooping in to join the battle. A sardonic smile twisted his features as he turned. 'Ah, the cavalry has arrived. But we beat you to it, didn't we?'
"Form ranks!"
The vocalizer on his helmet turned the order into a mechanical snarl. Instantly the four Reavers were at his side, arranged in a loose semi-circle against which the last vestiges of the infected began to break.
When the fight was over his men began moving through the killing field, finishing off the infected that still clung to life, screeching and clawing the ground ineffectually. The sergeant left them to it and strode over to the two locals wearing officer's insignia. He sheathed his blades and removed his buy'ce, regarding them with a hard stare. "Su'cuy, ner vode. We've come to aid the people of Concord Dawn, in the name of the Destroyer. I am Sergeant Saris...which one of you is in charge here?"
"I deal in death and thralls, aruetti. Which is it you seek?"
"That would be me," Hal responded grimly, stepping forward to approach Saris. He too sheathed his blade and removed his buy'ce, cradling it with his left arm. His facial features were rugged and word, his greying brown hair cut cropped short. He returned the gaze with his hardened green eyes, the line of a scar tracing the outer curve of his right eye, going all the way down to his jawline. "I'm Hal Qaibel, garrison commander of the Capital." He offered his armored hand as a sign of greeting. "Your help is much appreciated, Sergeant. It's nice to see some fresh faces. It's been nearly two weeks since we've encountered anyone of the... living variety. "
"Even though we would have been fine on our own."
There was something about these strangers that seemed familiar to Hal. But his memory was distant, and he couldn't quite put his finger on it. In the pit of his stomach, a feeling of unease began to stir and Hal couldn't shake the idea in his head that trouble was stirring.
Behind him, the others from the Capital moved into the silo, emerging moments later with three hov-sleds gingerly packed with foodstuffs and a few side-arm blasters. They pushed them over the corpses and slowly began to load them into the land speeders. Behind them, two soldiers were carrying the unconscious, one-armed woman between them, her feet dragging a line in the dirt behind them.
Saris clasped the proffered hand without hesitation, giving it a healthy squeeze before letting go. "Likewise, Commander...likewise." 'And you have no idea how much I mean that.' "Mm...we've been posted on Rodia and almost totally isolated for some time now, so I'm afraid we're a little out of the loop. The Capital still stands, I take it. That's welcome news. We've seen how hard the plague hit some of the aruetti worlds...I'm glad some of you are still hanging on."
The Reaver paused for a moment as one of his men completed the noisy task of stomping in an infected's head. Three swift blows turned its skull to pulp, and without pausing the soldier began rifling through its pockets. Absentmindedly flicking away a bit of gore that had landed on his pauldron, Saris continued, "I also take it you've lost contact with the outlying towns and farms, correct? Well, hopefully we'll be able to help you re establish connections- but, that's not for me to say. Once you meet with the Prophet-"
"Sergeant," his commlink suddenly blared, "More infected en route, approaching due East. Eyes on the field. Permission to engage?"
"Denied, Lostara. Pick us up."
"Acknowledged."
With an irritated sigh he switched the commlink off. "Looks like we don't have time to chat after all, eh ner vod?"
It was only moments before the drone of engines rang through the night, the transport hopping the grain field to land atop the pile of corpses the Reavers had amassed. Saris was the last to board, seemingly reluctant to sheathe his blood-soaked blades and leave the battle behind. He threw one last glance over his shoulder. "Perhaps we will speak again soon, Commander- next time with some thick city walls around us!"
He finally closed the hatch as the transport lifted off, falling into his seat with a grunt. His men were all staring, dumbfounded.
"What?" he snapped. "It's just good to be home. Eyes forward!"
"I deal in death and thralls, aruetti. Which is it you seek?"
It looked less like an Ag-world and more like a ruin. Ardasz spent much of his youth tilling the fields and harvesting the crops, so he knew all the back roads and far-fields like the back of his hand. Looking at the scorched earth and picking up the high emissions of greenhouse gases in his HUD, he doubted that those times would come again for decades. "Verd, are you seeing this?" a familiar voice croaked across his comm, and he glanced back over his shoulder. "There were reports about mass hysteria coming from the Core. Do you think it's related?"
Behind the T-Visor, Ardasz scowled. They had seen days and countless waves of these infected, even pin-pointed it down to the spaceport where it started, but the madness seemed unending. "I heard it died off quickly," he finally added. "This has been going for days."
A plague-ridden body staggered across the path in front of their vehicle, and Ardasz took the shot. Clean, through the skull. It dropped. "Still not safe to lose your buy'ce, tat," he sneered.
"What's spreading it?" Daro questioned. "Doesn't seem to be a lot of movement between settlements out here."
"That's why we got sent out this way," Ardasz shrugged. "If we can't figure it out, I reckon there's not a good answer. Any word from the Capital?"
"Radio silence," came the bitter reply. "Comms towers are downed in the area. A signal booster might get us something other than static, but I wouldn't hold your breath about finding a site."
"We're two days ride out," Ardasz shouldered his rifle and sat back. "We need to find somewhere to resupply anyway. Fuel's running low."
"There's still the bunker at the rendezvous," Daro suggested. "What are the odds we see smiling faces?"
"If you can see 'em smiling, run 'em over," Verd laughed. "Beskar'gam or nothing at this point."
Hal watched as the newcomers boarded their aircraft almost as quickly as they had arrived. He gave a departing salute to the departing Sergeant and turned to his own people. "You heard them, we've got bogies incoming. Wrap it up and lets high tail it out of here and back to base." He slid his buy'ce back over his tattered features as he hopped into his speeder and started the engine. With a whirl, the engine began to whine as the vehicle slowly rose off of the ground. "Stay tight and do not engage. I don't want any more mess-ups today."
He pushed the throttle, as did the others, and the small convoy shot across the terrain, headed back to the Capital. Back to home.
