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
Something had gone wrong. The scavenging group hadn't reported in for two hours and now, the sun had set and the moon was shining dimly in the cloudy night sky. Hal massaged his temples with a scarred and calloused hand as he let out a low growl of dismay. He paced idly back and forth, waiting and waiting.
He knew he should have went with them.
His hand dropped to activate a handheld radio sitting on the wooden table beside him, "Sierra squad, you have missed your designated check-in time. What is your status, over?"The radio clicked and was followed by static. "Sierra squad report!" His voice was raspy and his patience had been worn thinner than it had in a while. They'd been running low on food that past couple of days, and after a highly intensive search and survey mission proved successful, Hal had finally issued an order for Sierra squad to search and extract any salvageable supplies from an abandoned farm that rested approximately five and half klicks north of the besieged garrison base. They had left at o'five thirty, and had been diligent in their hourly check-ins. But now, they were two hours past due.
This past month had been a hurricane of hell for Hal Qaibel, Garrison Commander for the military base here at the capital. Some sort of infectious disease had plagued the entire planet, the infected turning into some sort of living dead, zombie-esque humanoids that only wanted to feast on your flesh. At first, the government had been able to contain the spread, for farmers resided far and wide from each other. It was hard for the disease to spread to more hosts, but it was only a matter of time. Hal had managed to gather as many remaining military personal as he could, totally roughly one hundred and thirty in total, and now, they were holed up in the garrison base, doing everything they could to protect themselves and the remaining civilians (who also contributed expertly to defense as was the cultural lifestyle of Mandalorians). Total, only five hundred Mandalorians remained, and all contact with orbital defense and the galaxy as a whole had been disrupted. They were unable to call for aid, and even then, Hal internally wondered if this plague had victimized other planets as well.
The first half of the month had gone smoothly. Procedures had been put into place, food and water rationed out evenly, and supplies scavenged and recovered whenever they were found. But now, they were having to branch off farther and farther. Fuel for their speeders and ships was becoming a precious commodity and once again, it was only a matter of time. Hal knew it was a battle that only had one outcome, but he'd be damned if he didn't do his best to save his people.
A voice came through on the radio. "Base One, this is Sierra Squad. We are pinned down by the biters approximately two klicks north of your location. We have sustained heavy losses but we do have the cargo. Please advise."
Hal turned to look at the radio, his eyes wide and his eyebrows raised in shock. Quickly, it swiped it in his hand and brought the receiver to his mouth. "Sierra Squad, this is Commander Qaibel, I read you. Are you in a secure location?"
"Yes, Commander. We're holed up in an old silo, but managed to barricade the door. We've lost half the squad sir, and there are an unknown amount of bogeys outside."
"Acknowledged. Stay put and stay quiet. We are on our way."
Clipping the radio to his belt, Hal moved quickly. His pace was brisk as he moved across his quarters, and opened his footlocker. He was already wearing most of his beskar armor, having not changed out of it for the night yet. Reaching down, he picked up the grey, scratched and battle-torn helmet with the ever recognizable t-shape visor. He slid it over his head, and suddenly the HUD flickered to life. Opening a channel to the rest of the garrison, "Alpha and Beta squads, suit up! Sierra squad's in trouble and we need to save the day. Departure in t-minus ten minutes."
Pausing only to grab his EE-4 blaster carbine and slinging it over his shoulder, the grizzled veteran exited his room, the twin doors hissing shut behind him.
'Well,' Janse scoffed to himself, staring out at the sea of distrustful buy'ces watching them land, 'At least they're not shooting at us...yet.'
The bulk of the Reaver army had landed without fanfare, transports setting down wherever they could find room. Easy enough- the capital mirrored the planet it represented. Wide, sprawling lanes stretched between buildings, with rolling lawns and spacious parks composing most of the landscaping. As the troops disembarked, they were treated to a scene of obvious struggle. Where the population had once been teeming, spilling out of the city and into suburbs surrounding it, there was now a veritable ghost town. Most of the buildings were dark, and barricaded shut. Carbon scoring and blaster burns marred the facade of nearly every business on the city square.
It was clear that, at one point, the plague had made it inside the walls.
And now, the Reavers occupied the Capital City's main street, standing at attention in a line formation that was three men deep. Ahead of them and across the street, members of what had to be the city garrison looked back at them from within the shadow of the city center's walls. Further back, in the buildings to the left and right of them, Janse could see more Mandalorians peering out at them. From what he could tell most of them wore at least scraps of armor, but it was clear they weren't soldiers. In Mandalorian culture every man, woman, and child is a warrior, as the saying goes, but that's little more than a word, and it looked like the vast majority of the survivors were little more than farmers.
"They look friendly." Katariah murmured as she appeared at his side.
"Mmm. I'd be skittish too, if I were them. How many months has it been, do you think? How long have they been holed up in this city, waiting to starve or be overrun?"
"Maybe we should introduce ourselves, then. Put them at ease. We're here to help, after all."
"No," Janse shook his head. "The Prophet said to wait. Unless we are addressed or directly engaged, we are to hold position."
"But why?"
"I don't know, but at this point we can't afford for anything to arouse his suspicion. We wait." His silver gaze panned around lazily, scanning the abandoned buildings lining the street. Finally, he pointed. "Farrien. That's the one, there. Take position, and await the signal."
The Reaver he addressed was a short, slender man in polished 'gam. In his arms he cradled a rifle nearly as tall as he was. He nodded wordlessly at Janse's request, turning and padding away with silent footfalls. Katariah and the Echani watched him walk to the other side of the street, then rocket upward with a sudden burst from his jet pack. The look they shared when he disappeared on the rooftop was a grim one, before they both turned their gazes back to their reluctant hosts.
"I deal in death and thralls, aruetti. Which is it you seek?"
Hal and the rest of the group from the rescue had made it back to the Garrison in one piece. Now they were busy unloading the foodstuffs and weapons that they had scavenged, and others came by to move them to their proper storage areas. The wounded woman was escorted to the med bay on a stretcher, but the doctor seemed to believe that she would be ok. Apparently, she had been bit by an infected, and had hurriedly chose to have her comrades remove her arm to prevent the spread of the virus. It was a bold and noble move: one that Hal knew any warrior of Mandalore would undertake without hesitation.
He moved into his quarters and had just sat down in a chair when there was a timid knock at his door. He sighed, "No rest for the weary," He groaned as he forced himself to stand back up again. His aging body ached and protested but he was stubborn and relentless. Walking to the door, he pressed a button and the door hissed upwards. In front of him was a boy, no older than the age of ten. On his shirt was the makeshift embroidering of a messenger. In times like these, every able body had a job. It was necessary for survival. "What is it?
The boy swayed back and forth on his feet as he gulped in hesitation. "Come on now, speak up! I haven't got all day."
Another gulp. "Commander, Sir, I've....Sergeant Davis wants to inform you that we've had visuals of m... multiple star fighters landing around the city. A few individuals have been spotted watching us from the Northern border." The boys brow glistened as he twirled his fingers together. Hal knelt down and clapped his armored hand on the boys shoulder, giving it a squeeze. "Thank you, Son. A word of advice, if I may?" The boy nodded, "A warrior of Mandalore finds his courage from within," He said as he drove his pointer finger into the boy's chest, "You must be brave during these times. Do not let fear weaken you."
The boy thought about this for a second, and then his back straightened and his brows furrowed in determination. He raised his arm in a salute. "Yes, Sir. It won't happen again, Sir."
"Very well then. Inform Sergeant Davis that I will be there in a moment." The boy turned and left, jogging down the hallway to deliver his next message. Standing still, Hal removed his buy'ce and massaged his weary and baggy eyes. He released another heavy breath before donning his grey helmet again and stepping into the hallway, shutting his door behind him.
Minutes later, he was in a land speeder, the engines whining in his ears, and the wind whistling around him as he shot across the landscape for the Northern border. Most of the grass and trees here had survived and bloomed back. And he admitted to himself that the signs of life, and the greenery gave the place a more lively look... It was a lot better than the desolation that littered these same blocks only a few months before. But he wasn't sure how much longer they could hold on. The immediate area surrounding them had been fully scavenged, and now, they were having to move farther and farther out. Soon, there would be no fuel left and they would have to rely on only what they could farm within their secure borders. Hope of survival was growing smaller and smaller with each day.
He hopped out of his landspeeder and looked at the wall that stood before him: a fifteen foot barrier of a hodgepodge of wood, metal sheets, barbed wire, and anything else that could resist the dead when they hoarded together and ran senselessly into it. "What've we got, Sergeant?" He asked as he ascended to the top of the wall and stood on a small viewing platform. Davis passed Hal a set of binoculars, with which he used to gaze into the distance.
"Unknowns wearing 'gam have been grouping up on Main Street. Multiple visuals of landing craft as well. They'e just been watching us, Sir." Slightly turning to angle his binoculars in the new direction, Hal immediately spotted the numbers of soldiers standing in columns in the near distance. He watched them for a few moments, taking in as many details as he could before he finally lowered his binoculars.
"Has any contact been established?"
"No sir."
"Well then. I guess I'll go out and meet our guests. It'd be rude to keep them waiting any longer." He began to descend the ladder back to the ground.
"Would you like an escort, Commander?"
Hal silently shook his head as he walked over to the main gate. He took a moment to compose himself and to reorient his weapons and his buy'ce before he looked up at the guards above him. "Open it."
The large metal doors slowly screeched open just wide enough to let the Commander through. He walked forward with a purpose, his tight lips and furrowed brow hidden behind his visor. Boldly, he began to approach the newcomers, the gate slamming shut behind him.
Farrien Vhett settled into his perch atop the dessicated building quickly enough. Chunks of flame-licked duracrete were piled against the short wall running its perimeter, forming a gradually sloping mound that reached just beneath its modest height. With practiced, unhurried movements he removed a weatherbeaten bipod from his kit and affixed it to the barrel of his towering rifle, then gently placed the weapon atop it's new home. Next he removed his gauntlets and laid them off to the side. Long-fingered hands flexed once, twice, relishing their new freedom, and then the most talented marksman in the Reaver Lord's army settled into position, one eye screwing shut as he peered through his scope. Unnecessary, since it was linked to his HUD and feedback from the scope was displayed across the visor itself, but such idiosyncrasies were manifold and dearly held.
His reticle moved smoothly along the buildings where the garrison soldiers were posted, small red tags appearing above each one as his HUD identified potential targets. He ignored them, sweeping lower to center on the gates as they creaked open, then lower still to settle on the lone figure stepping through them.
His index finger itched, another long-lived quirk. A single shot now, straight through the visor, and the taking of the capital could begin. Leaderless and scrambling, the defenders would either submit, or die quickly. But it was not to be. 'More's the pity,' Farrien thought coldly. Unlike most of his comrades, he had been declared Dar'manda long before joining the Reavers, and unlike most of his comrades, he had no qualms about killing his former vod.
Nonetheless he stayed his hand, and the reticle continued its smooth, side to side motions, finding and tagging targets along the wall's perimeter.
*****
"Oh look," Katariah snorted. "It's the welcome skiff."
"It's the garrison commander, Hal something or other. Saris' squad made contact with him already, so he likely has an idea why we're here." Janse murmured, hand toying with the pommel of his longsword. He felt restless, s sharp contrast to his usual languor.
"Then why didn't they just beckon us inside? These ruins are infested; we could come under attack at any moment."
The Echani shrugged. "Guess we're about to find out."
They observed the remainder of his approach in silence, wearing matching looks of stone that rivaled the expressionless buyces of the Shields at their back. Forming a sharp juxtaposition to them both were the Reavers among them, lightly armored and grinning, their manic eyes leering unabashedly at Hal as he neared.
When he finally stood before them, Janse simply nodded. "Su'cuy, al'verde...you come to meet us alone, the city gates shut behind you. Would you deny entry to your long-lost vod?"
"I deal in death and thralls, aruetti. Which is it you seek?"
Hal listened as he was hailed by the Echani rthat stood in front of the ranks of Reavers. Although he wore a stoic expression on his aged, battle worn face, Hal could sense the tension already, his eyes scanning the restless Reavers, who watched them with a violent excitement and sinister smiles. Janse claimed they were long-lost vod, but he knew the truth. Nearly a decade ago (had it truly been that long?) the Mandalorian's had rallied behind their Manda'lor, the mighty and fearless Ashrah, and had waged a holy crusade on the jetiise. But the warriors of Kad had been driven from Mandalore and isolated to Rodia after being declared dar'manda. They were dangerous and they knew nothing but death and destruction. The commander was not a diplomat, but he'd have to handle this situation as delicately as he could. Hal's eyes returned back to Janse and he stopped about five feet in front of him. "Su'cuy. I am Commander Qaibel, and as I understand it, you and your people have taken residence at the Temple. I'm glad to see you have the kot to survive in these dark times." He indicated the closed gates, "I apologize for not being able to offer a warm welcome, we have been stretched thin as of late as we have fought to reclaim these lands from the dead. Perhaps we could return to the Temple and I can speak with the prophet?"
Doubtful, but it was worth a shot. Hal was pretty confident he knew what they were here for...
Davis stood still, binoculars to his eyes as he watched Hal approach the awaiting masses of Reavers and Mandalorians. The guards patrolling the wall were alert, scanning their surroundings for any threat that presented itself. Finally, a young boy, no older than the age of fourteen, gently prodded the side of an older gentleman, clad in tattered rags and a chestpiece of 'gam, who held a carbine rifle across his chest. "Don't look, but we've got a scout positioned up on one of the buildings to our two o'clock. He's armed with some sort of rifle that looks to be in the sniper configuration," The boy's voice was stern, as all males of Mandalore were trained to be warriors at a young age. And with the dead roaming the streets, this boy had seen his fair share of action. The seasoned man next to him stiffened as he processed the information, before unclipping a radio from his belt. Clicking the transmission button, he whispered into it, alerting the guard of the sniper and to be on the look out for any other scouts.
Not long after, guards of all ages, clad in various types of clothing and armor, some wearing full sets of 'gam while others wore nothing more than a t-shirt and jeans, began to appear along the wall, armed with beskads, rifles, and anything else that could cause any amount of damage to an attacker. Though their resources were thin, their resolve and their morale was high and strong, as they believed in everything that Hal had fought to given them. And now, they'd stick with him, no matter what happened next.
"Stop talking with your mouth full or I'll get you a muzzle" Marvik half-joked, spooning his own porridge into his mouth. "We will train more when I'm ready to train you - and no its not as easy as it looks. I make it look easy because I'm damn good."
The rest of the meal was eaten under pleasant conversation. Marvik couldnt help cut smile as he granddaughter spoke. Even after she had mentioned her father.
He may have been gone...but he had left Marvik a new world. That world was Baala.
As he finished his poordige, Balaa kept to her feet and ran to the window as the ship came into orbit of Concord Dawn.
"Alright, alright. Go gear up before we land or I'm not taking you" he pushed her towards her room and went to dawn his own armor as the ship's autopilot coursed them towards the nearest landing port.
