Ask A Quest Begins

[Fenyang]

The war effort needed plunder. While the Mandalorians labored to revitalize their waning industries, they were vulnerable. No matter the skill of the individual vod, the Mandalorians as a collective needed a constant supply of weapons - from small arms to blades to supplies to literal bodies to shove into the war machine. Plundering the space around Mandalore could provide the newly-energized Mandalorians with any of the above. And it would show those who flew into Mandalorian space what fate awaited them, now. Here be Dragons.

When scouts reported that an Action VI had flown into Mandalore's gravity well, he took three warriors with him to meet it. Now seated in a Lancer Pursuit Craft while one of the warriors flew, Fenyang reviewed the targeting computer, which revealed something the scouts hadn't. There were two ships - both Action VI transports. One had covered for the other's movements, somehow, or they had entered the gravity well at different points to rendezvous here. Either way, it made little difference. Mandalore would send its customary greeting.

It made their target all the more tantalizing. This was a pair of ships with something to hide. Otherwise, why go through all this length to get to Mandalore? Or, why cover the tracks of the other ship? One would think that greater numbers would be a boon for a lone trading vessel sailing unknown space. No escort fighters or corvettes, either. Whatever these transports hid behind their durasteel carapace, it would be of service to Mandalore.

They needed to avoid getting killed first, of course. <Approach with caution. I've seen pirates turn these things into floating gunboats.> If the party could take out both of the ships' engines, they could board each at their leisure. Failing that? They'd have to split up. Or lose one of the ships. He didn't know which sounded worse - losing their prey to the void, or having to split up and conquer the unknown.

But Mandalorians had known worse odds. And, this would give him a chance to bond with his kinsmen. Those he was meant to lead. What did this Mandos think of his reign, he wondered. While most had decided to follow his orders, almost all save the most fervent of his Death Watch kinsmen had objections to his rough handling of civilians or his alliance with the Sith. Mandalorians were not meant to be droids - they were welcome to have their objections as long as they followed orders. But, still...an army with only ire for its general? He needed to work harder to improve the morale of the Mandalorians, show them that by their actions, they were changing their people's history for the better.

Perhaps this star-laden night in the Mandalorian sector would be the best time to show them how far they have come. With any luck, it would also show the Mand'Alor how far they're going.

@Painus @Arcangel @Sreeya

 

[Gett'se Vizsla]

Gett'se sat at the helm of the Lancer Pursuit Craft as it roared up through Mandalore's atmosphere to meet the interlopers. Intruders. Defilers. Most likely pirates who hadn't gotten the hint that Mandalore no longer welcomed their ilk. He remembered the last time he had seen pirates on Mandalore, remembered their cries as they fell before his beskad and blaster. The thought made his forearm itch where the old scar from the Nagai's blade still lay.

"Closing in on the intruder's now." He spoke without little emotion, trying to let as little of the disgust he felt in his chest out as possible. Perhaps it would would be interpreted as towards the aruetti ships that lay before them. Gett'se and his fellow Vizsla's had been called to respond to this threat by the Mand'alor, their encampment being the closes to the incoming ships. He did as the Mand'alor willed, but Gett'se couldn't say he was excited about having the man there with them, his own distaste for the circumstances of the man's rise to power and their current alliances leaving a sour feel in his mouth.

"Should we hail them?" He asked no one in particular, though probably the Mand'alor. He wouldn't be surprised if someone else responded instead however. Either way, he powered up the ships weapons and flipped the shields on, the invisible barrier that would protect them if the ships ahead turned out to be armed coming to life. He watched the distance to target count down as he focused on the lead ship. "Two minutes to firing range."

@Painus @Sreeya @Fine Dining Set

 

[Shale Vizsla]

Shale had stayed behind, rotating through armament and camp set up duties, while others were on the frontlines. It wasn’t long before she was put in combat rotation. Her excitement fell slightly when she realized she was accompanying the Mand’alor himself. While he had done wonders for their people, it was difficult to shake off the alliance with the Sith. There were already rumors circling about how Fenyang was nothing but a puppet to that monstrous Sith Lord. That this was all a ruse. Shale wasn’t the type to believe rumors, and she decided she would judge the man herself.

They moved in on the ships and Shale couldn’t help but grimace, reminded of the fiasco with the fan club, “We need to stop shooting first and asking questions later unless we want media up our asses again,” She said sternly. Shale didn’t care if that wasn’t ‘the mando way’, Srucayr had all but devastated Mandalorian credibility in the galaxy. He had been the reason others showed up overly prepared with fleets because the Mandalorians had a reputation for stupidly attacking anyone showing up, civilian or otherwise.

@Fine Dining Set @Painus @Arcangel

 

[Merek Vizsla]

For all the years he had been spacefaring since his induction into the clan, Merek still felt uneasy with it. Like a hound caged for too long, he stalked up-and-down the ship impatiently, making no effort to hide his irritation. His helmet sat on a crate in the common room, staring at him as he passed through the area every so often. Dark kohl lined his eyes and various shades of grey paints on his face gave him a gaunt, skeletal appearance. It was a tradition from his home that he never let go of, and often wore beneath his helmet to maintain that connection. Painting his face before battle was often both a sign of devotion to his god, as well as a means of intimidating foes unaccustomed to such esoteric barbarism.

Merek entered the cockpit a few times to look out into the void as they approached, then left with a huff, discomforted by the vast expanse of nothingness beyond the metal walls. He never felt safe when he couldn’t see the sky above his head, though he forced himself to stomach spaceflight. Fortunately, he was among kindred on this ship, which did much to ease his thoughts. He knew Gett’se vaguely, and knew nothing of the Vizsla woman, but just sharing the name was enough to make him content with their presence, so firm was his bond with his people.

The Mand’alor had summoned them for this operation, and, though he had his opinions on the state of his people and their newfound ruler’s ties to their ancestral enemies, he would not turn down such a rallying call. If the lord of his people demanded he venture forth with him, then he would wade into the jaws of hell. Honor dictated it. Aside from that, however, he knew as much about the Mand’alor as he did the others on the ship. Another instance of serving as a hand whose fingers were unfamiliar, and the fist clumsy.

He picked up a piece of jerky and began gnawing at it as he walked, grumbling his thoughts aloud in response to Shale. ”The media!” he remarked with a deep huff, ”As if the words of sycophants fawning over the powerful to stir hysteria are worth considering. Pfeh!” He took another bite, drawing closer to the cockpit and his comrades. ”Throats best suited to a brisk half-hitch. They are in our lands without escort. But.. reh, firing on unarmed vessels is the coward’s way.”

@Fine Dining Set @Sreeya @Arcangel

 

[Fenyang]

Mandalore remained silent as the trio spoke, considering their words. Mandalorians

must be willing to steel their hearts to violence if Mandalore is to rise. The sole focus of his regime was to emblazon those words in the minds of every living Mandalorian. They will be made to see the great pain that Mandalore's rebirth will require. Mandalore empowered would require Mandalore united. He felt ill-prepared to intervene in their conversation. In Death Watch, shared ideological purpose provided them the clarity they had needed. They were of one mind as assassins, terrorists. He wondered if he was truly cut out for leadership, if he could not withstand the burden of decisionmaking.

He did not become Mand'Alor to be beloved, but again, At the moot, his actions had sent a message: Stand in line, or die. These ones had done exactly that - fallen in with their leader regardless of their reservations. It would be foolish to punish them for speaking as they felt - one of the greatest tools a Mandalorian could put to use is their great passions. Stubborn, stuck in their ways; this is what Mandalorians are. And, the pair had provided a proper course of action through their comments; they would need to know who they were facing.

<Open a hailing frequency.> A durasteel gauntlet from Fenyang fell down to Gett'se's shoulder as he make his command, and he leaned into the console of the cockpit as he cleared his mouth to speak in Basic.

"This is the voice of Mandalore. We demand that you ide-"

"Forsooth, wicked Mandalore! All of Creation hath heard Tale of thy dire Misdeeds. The Broth'rs Penitent has't did accept a great and noble Quest to bringeth thee Villains before Just Law. Br'er Aramais, giveth these foul Creatures a Gust of mine own Broadsides!" The transmission cut out from there. Fenyang cave a consternated look beneath his helmet as he he tapped the button again to hail. No response.

He turned his heads to his fellow Mandos, briefly, before considering the next task. How could they respond...Moments later, another sound rang out, as the strange ships hailed them again. "Ack! We art Imperiled. I has't been toldeth yond our gl'rius broadsides art...down. Prepare thyself, Mandalore...TO BE BOARDED!"

Suddenly, durasteel plates retracted from the fores of both ships to reveal ion cannons and grapple lines, fired from both the ships. These were weapons designed to lock a ship into place. From the targeting computer, new dots began to appear as fighters and boarding craft unfurled from the hearts of the transports, zooming through the expanse of space to get to their ship. The lights shuttered, bringing the ship's emergency power, as the first ion blast found its target.

There was an eagerness in the voice over the comms, doubly apparent in their rapid response. Tri-pronged boarding craft slammed into the hull of the ship, as an automated warning began to spread across their vessel. From the cockpit, the team could see the rear hallway of the vessel, now with the three sharp fangs of a boarding craft jutting through. With a hiss, the craft opened, and six oddly dressed and armed folk spilled out into the decks.

"Br'ers! We hath arriv'd Safely, by the Grace of the Force! Let Us bring Righteous Bloodshed to these vile Mandalorians! For the Church!" The other warriors echoed their leader's call as another boarding craft smashed into the hull. It slowly hissed open.

@Sreeya @Arcangel @Painus

 

[Shale Vizsla]

Shale cast Merek a dirty look, “It’s media that probably got that Sith Lord showing up with a giant fleet, you unwashed turnip,” She hissed, her helmet slanting a bit to catch a glance at the jerky he had, “That doesn’t even look properly dehydrated. Damn kooky grandpa,” She muttered the last bit under her breath before gazing forward again.

Her mood lightened considerably when Mand’alor actually agreed to hail the other ships. Her very body language relaxed and shifted. He had been silent for the most part, and he could have curtly told them all to shut it, but he instead kept a cool resolve. Shale heard the exchange, her jaw dropping slightly beneath the helmet. She exchanged a look with Grandpa next to her before looking back at Mand’alor.

There was a shudder as the other ship collided with their own, hooking for a boarding. Shale couldn’t help but be floored at the realization that they were somehow the ones caught off guard. The Mandalorian sprang to her feet. She could see the oddly dressed characters from the terminal cams, “What…the…” She mumbled as she made her way down to intercept them.

Shale trained her rifle, but she could only stare for a moment as they barged in, “Hey! Are you guys um…cosplayers?” Shale blurted a bit too excitedly. She didn’t mean to imply that she was totally part of the intergalactic comic convention scenes, but it happened. Between that and being an active member of the Emryc Thorne Fan Club, there was a host of things she didn’t need Mand’alor to know about her.

@Arcangel @Painus @Fine Dining Set

 

[Gett'se Vizsla]

Most of Gett'se's attention was on the ships that were swiftly approaching in the viewport, though his ears remained open to the conversation happening behind him. Still, he found himself agreeing with both and turned his head to say something when he was greeted by not the T-visor of Merek's helmet, but a naked face, hairy and painted. That of a man. He flinched away from the conversation, turning back to the viewport silently.

Gett'se knew his views on the way of the Mandalore were... strict to say the least. His views were hammered into him as a youth, forged through experience, tempered by faith. No man, or woman for that matter, had seen the face that lay beneath his buy'ce. Paranoia had kept his views firm, and his iron skin firmly clad to himself at all times when in the presence of others. Though he had hardly been in the presence of so many fellow Mandalorians for... far too long. Proximity made the practice of his faith all the harder.

He had thought perhaps Merek was of similar faith, his devotion to Kad Ha'rangir strong. Gett'se knew that many Mandalorians practiced differently however, held the different values of the Resol'nare to different levels of strictness. He tried so often to not be disappointed.

A hand clapped on his shoulder as the Mand'alor spoke, and a mixture of aggression and revulsion arose within Gett'se which he suppressed down to a mere flinch as he moved to activate the communication console, hailing the incoming ship. The response was... it left Gett'se confused and stunned, though he was pretty sure they were about to be fired upon. He was moving to take evasive action when they were hailed again. Again, garbled basic that Gett'se could barely comprehend. He got the meaning well enough however.

"Incomi-" Gett'se started before the ship shook under impact of boarding craft and ion cannons. The shields popped and the lights cut out for a moment as the ion cannons stripped power from the ship. Dim emergency lights flickered on as Gett'se rose from his seat and rushed to the back of the cockpit. The were being boarded, and damned if he was going to let them set foot aboard the ship without a fight.

Gett'se came to a halt next to Shale, drawing his Peacemaker with a twist, preparing to fight when he first caught sight of their foes. He looked sideways at Shale with his whole helmet when she suddenly spoke excitedly at the men and stared at her for a moment.

"Are they cosplay-" He started before a primal yell from the first man drew his attention back to the battle at hand. The ship shuddered under fire the moment he squeezed the trigger, sending his shot wide, the heavy blaster bolt ripping the arm of the first man clean off. "What in Kad's name is a cosplayer?!" He shouted over the din of battle. He expected the disarmed man to drop, as most sentients would when they were dismembered. He was sorely dissapointed.

"Tis' but a flesh wound!" The strange invader shouted after a shocked moment of staring at his arm before continuing his charge, somehow determined to swing his two-handed weapon with just the one.

@Sreeya @Painus @Fine Dining Set

 

[Merek Vizsla]

Merek glowered at Shale after her bite-back, baring his teeth slightly in a sneer. Whatever retort he had was cut off with the Mand’alor’s order to hail the ship, and instead he opted to just listen, still gnawing at the jerky. The response took him several seconds to process, his grasp of Basic still fairly rudimentary, but it astounded him. What the hell was a Brother’s Penitent? Villains? Everything that came back from the cargo haulers did little else but confuse him further, his expression going slack-jawed with bemusement. He turned his head slowly, hoping Shale shared in his utter bewilderment here.

The juddering of the ship as the boarding craft impacted roused him from his astonishment at the absurdity of the communications, impelling him to act. He moved into the common area and slammed on his helmet, snapping it into place with a gentle click. He drew his beskad, shouting out a battle challenge to the boarders in his native tongue. Of course, none of them could understand it, but it was more a force of habit than anything else. Shale’s question gave him pause, and he had to look back at the woman with further confusion.

”What the pike’s a bloody cause-player, girl?” he shouted over the sounds of incoming feudal peasants, ”Focus on repelling these blasted boarders!”

A man in bright red pantaloons lunged out of the gaping hole caused by the boarding craft as Merek stalked by, wielding some kind of threshing flail with malicious intent. ”Thy head is naught but a hollow melon, ye pissant devil!” he shouted, swinging the weapon in an arcing blow towards the Mandalorian’s head. Caught off-guard by the proto-Basic, the weapon connected with his helmet with a resounding kh-thunk. Merek’s vision swam from the concussive force, but he couldn’t allow the man to bring the weapon back up for another noggin-bonk.

With a guttural shout, Merek lowered his shoulder and charged into the man, denying him the range of the flail, and rammed him against the bulkhead to disorient him. Merek backed off and slashed upwards with his beskad, disemboweling the religious lunatic and spraying viscera all over the deck.

”Pissant that, ya gutless prick,” he spat back, shaking his head with a chuckle. More shouting erupted from the second boarding pod as more of their foes began to climb out, wielding all manner of iron-age weaponry. If it weren’t so absurd, it’d almost remind him of the more “civilized” settlements of his homeworld, albeit with far more… weirdness.

It didn’t matter; he had more foes coming out and after them, so he backpedaled and regrouped with his kindred, drawing his blaster in the other hand.

”Who the hell are these window-lickers?” he called out, raising his blaster to drop a man beginning to draw a bow back. A bow! In space! On a ship! These men really were psychopaths.

@Arcangel @Fine Dining Set @Sreeya

 

[Fenyang]

Fenyang was surprised. He had expected pirates or lost civilians, but not some mishmash of peasants armed with strange, archaic weapons. An errant laser musket blast forced him into cover, mostly caused from the shock of seeing a laser musket in the present-day.

One of the peasants spotted Fenyang - apparently with a look of recognition. As Fenyang fired a round into a would-be musketeer at the rear of the ship, a short, portly man with a long beard and cropped hair stepped towards the Mandalore himself and unrolled an ancient, papyrus scroll as he began to speak, long, iron cutlass pointed directly at the Mandalore.

"At which hour thy leadeth'r falls, the one who is't hast slain that gent doth take his lodging. Yond is wherefore i calleth thee out, Mandalore to single combat - obs'rv'd by all br'ers and Mandal'rians alike. I dare thee to single combat, to the death. Accepteth this dare, 'r beest known by all as nothing m're than a weakling, a pretendeth'r, and a coward!"

It sounded...familiar. One of the countless number of challenges Fenyang had received over the course of the last week. Everyone wanted a shot at the throne, it seemed.

Mand'Alor obliged his challenge, firing a bolt from his Galeer into the man's unarmored chest. He crumpled like wet tissue paper, immediately mangled by the blaster.

Another peasant strode up to his corpse and picked up the scroll. He began to read from it, again:

"At which hour thy leadeth'r falls, the one who is't hast slain that gent doth take his lodging. Yond is wherefore i calleth thee out, Mandalore to single combat-" Fenyang ended this conversation with blaster fire. Another of the seemingly endless stream of peasant strode towards the scroll, ostensibly to pick it up and challenge the Mand'Alor again to combat. Fenyang couldn't let thi continue this way.

He leapt from cockpit, down the stairs, to land into a stable crouch in front of the peasants' scroll.

Since the cockpit was undefended, and the ship swarmed with peasants, it would be difficult for any of the Mandos to predict what happened next. A pair of peasants rushed to the controls of the ship, slapping and mashing every button on it until they found...the hangar. The hangars doors shuttered open, sucking a single unlucky peasant through its maw into the void before the ray shields that stabilized the ship's atmosphere.

The Mandalorians' ship was not truly capable of hosting a fighter fleet, but its modest hangar could fit a single, small, well-positioned interceptor into it. Which is exactly what happened. A single ETA-2 Actis-class light interceptor flew through the atmosphere-protecting energy shields of the hangar, as a dashing rogue of a pilot stepped a black leather boot onto the nose of his ship before pointing a slug-thrown flintlock pistol at Fenyang.

"When yer leader falls, the one who has slain 'im takes his galleon. That be why I call ye out, Mandalor, t' single combat - observed by all Br'thers 'n Mandalorians alike. I challenge ye t' single combat, t' the death. Accept this challenge, or be known by all as naught more than a yellow-bellied cur, a pretender, 'n a...yellow-bellied cur!" This decidedly-different-period swashbuckler fired a ball at the Mand'Alor's head, which crashed into his Beskar helm and bounced off.

Alright. This was enough.

He shouted over the harrowed yells and frantic prayers of the peasant warriors. Despite their silliness, they had a certain kind of suicidal valor. Perhaps, after the battle...No, no time to think that far into the future.

<Vizla!> There were three Vizlas. He wanted Gett'se, who had flown them there. Would it be rude to call them by their first names? Or, would it show his weakness as a leader if he admitted he couldn't remember them? <Pilot! Help me return this fighter to these...warriors?> They were sitting ducks here, and with their craft effectively stunned in place, they could use the interceptor to bring the fight to their rigged-up transports, they could swing the momentum of battle into their favor.

<Vizlas - Cosplay and Grandpa, secure our ship. > He made a mental note to ask Shale later what 'cosplay' was. If such a ritual could inspire underarmed warriors to charge and die against a superior fighting force, he would have this 'cosplay' for his own armies. While they had already made work of a number of peasants, boarding pods continued to hit their ship, pouring out more and more iron-age bannermen into the heart of the Mandalorian craft. He pushed his beskar-clad right shoulder in front of him, beginning a charge down the hallway through the peasants in the direction of the pirate who had shot him.

Towards Shale, one peasant deigned to answer her question as he swung a two-handed flail towards her head. "Thee naughty Mistress, We art the Broth'rs Penitent, Paladins of the Church of the Force!"

@Sreeya @Arcangel @Painus

 

[Gett'se Vizsla]

Gett'se's shock wore off quickly at being charged by the one armed man, and he blasted him again in the chest. There was no time for answers to the dire question of what a cosplayer was as the ship was flooded with them. His blaster rang out a few times before the melee grew thick and the weapon became next to useless in his hand, his Beskad flicking out from its place at his shoulder and becoming wet with blood as it found flesh.

Gett'se gasped for breath as a mace cracked against his breastplate, though the metal withstood the blow. He shot from the hip at the wielder, a peasant with buckteeth who gasped and grimaced s his stomach exploded. A swift slash of his beskad removed the head from its shoulders. Above the din of battle he picked out the shout of the Mand'alor, bellowing orders to the Vizsla warriors.

"Cosplay?!" He laughed even in the heart of battle as he blocked another blow, this from the curved edge sword of a strangely armored warrior His blaster pistol barked yet again, leaving the mysterious fighter another corpse on the deck of the ship before rushing forward.

"Oya Mand'alor!" He replied, shouting over the chaotic battle cries of the strange invaders, charging through a gap in their midst towards the hangar. He may not be fond of the Mand'alor, may doubt his intentions. But in the thick of battle such as this he would follow the man's command without question as the Resol'nare instructed. Blasting his way to the hangar, Gett'se found a small single man fighter awaiting him.

Tapping a button on his wrist, his jetpack flared for a moment, allowing him to surge above the chaos and flutter over to land heavily onto the hull of the ship. Popping the cockpit open, he paused to shoot a pair of peasant warriors who sought to climb up after him onto its wing before jumping into the pilots chair and sealing the canopy. His eyes scanned the console, quickly identifying the controls he needed to make the ship fly, only slightly amused at the peeling labels written in archaic basic that marked each button, switch, and lever.

Power on, the ship rose on its repulsorlift as Gett'se pulled the flight stick. The ship rotated swiftly on its cushion of air as it rose to face the open and shielded bay door. Pushing the throttle forwards, labelled go'eth, the thrusters washed over a couple peasant fighters who were trying to rush the ship, frying their faces and flinging them backwards to twist on the ground as the ship shot out into space. Immediately confronted by an enemy fighter, a strange contraption that didn't even seem spaceworthy, Gett'se didn't take a moment to question. Instead, he squeezed the firing stud, leaving his questions behind as he flew past the explosion of a ship.

@Sreeya @Painus @Fine Dining Set

 

[Shale Vizsla]

Shale scowled as no one appeared to know what a cosplayer was. How did she always get stuck with uncultured fossils every time? She leveled her rifle and watched as the men beside her began shredding away at the cosplayers that just wouldn’t drop. Her eyes widened as she saw a one armed guy not even flinch and dart towards Gett’se. Shale charged ahead, lowering her head to slam her helmeted head into his unprotected face There was a sick crunch of bone and tissue as the dazed man fell backwards and dropped. None of them were wearing helmets and it was an efficient way of downing them.

“You guys are making such a mess on our ship,” She called out disapprovingly at the display of guts and other viscera all over the ground. In fact, she almost slipped a few times on what looked like brain matter. Shale whirled in with a punch, slamming it into the side of someone’s temple, knocking him out. Instead of using blasters, she whipped out a beskad. To her surprise, the weirdos were excited at this display. One of them engaged her in a duel, using fancy swashbuckling moves as they clashed a cutlass against her beskad. The clanging of metals resounded loudly until she pivoted on her foot and jammed the beskad directly through the man’s neck. She yanked the blade out, only to whirl around and slam her helmet into the face of another to knock him out.

Hilariously, all three Vizslas would look up at the same time when Mand’alor shouted out the name. Cosplay?! Shale looked away when it was clear she wasn’t being addressed, focusing on the man that answered her question and attempted to wallop her with a flail. Shale thrust her beskad up vertically to let the chain of the flail wrap around the blade. She yanked harshly and grasped the man by the back of his head, angling her blade. She slammed his head down into her blade, driving his eye directly into the point.

Shale yanked both weapons back, deciding she would keep the flail. She began to move towards Merek (@Painus) to join the fray, spotting his enemy with a bow, “Oh can you get me that bow?! Please please!” She called out right before ducking a charging pirate with a scimitar. Her armor was completely drenched with blood and viscera, but she was right there fighting next to Grandpa.

@Fine Dining Set @Arcangel

 

[Merek Vizsla]

”Grandpa?!”

Before he could blast the bowman, a cutlass-wielding maniac rammed into Merek, who drew his beskad up in defense and locked blades to force the two into a tense stalemate. However, while the peasant shouted out insults and curses in his proto-tongue, Merek lowered his blaster, cocked the hammer back with a dreadful click-click-clack, and blew the man’s unprotected leg off at the knee with a heavy bolt. The man gave a startled, agonized yelp and dropped to the ground, howling in pain. With a frustrated grunt, Merek cleaved into the man’s skull , splitting it in two and spilling his brains out. He kicked the body back onto the deck and raised the blaster once more, aiming for the bowman.

He scowled beneath his helm, baring his teeth at the myriad foes ahead of them. Shale had sidled up next to him, coated in the blood of their enemies, and begged for Merek to claim the man’s archaic weapon as a trophy. The entire situation grew more and more absurd by the second, but who was he to deny the sport? With a raucous laugh, he ducked low and charged ahead at the archer, trucking aside a man wielding a small dagger that tried to intercept him. The man stumbled back on the thin layer of blood coating the floor and cracked his head on a counter corner, instantly going limp and lying face-down in the viscera.

The archer, panic in his eyes at the rampaging Mandalorian, loosed his nocked arrow and sent it sailing towards his target. Merek was quick, but the confines of the ship made maneuvering hard, and so he had little room to evade. The arrow drove through the soft, unprotected flesh just to the left of the edge of his collarbone and halted, blocked by bone. Pain surged through him like electricity, but it did not slow down his charge. Instead, he let out a baleful howl and rammed his beskad clean through the man’s sternum, letting his blaster drop to the ground as he used his other hand to grip the man’s shoulder for leverage. The blade burst through the archer’s back, and Merek began to haul him up into the air, still screaming all the while. The archer stared down in horror and gurgled something unintelligible out, blood oozing from his mouth and onto the Mandalorian’s helmet.

A few other invaders balked at the display and hesitated, lowering their weapons and opening themselves up for rapid dispatch. Merek dropped the body like a sack of potatoes and tore his blade free, snapping his head up to look at his next foe. The man’s face blanched and he stumbled backwards, boots failing to find purchase on the slick deck. He fell to his butt and scrambled backwards, repeatedly shouting out the phrase, ”Devil! Devil! Devil!” while crossing himself.

Merek figured he wasn’t much of a threat anymore and bent down, recovered his firearm, and put a scorching hole right through the coward’s head, spraying the bulkhead further with charred grey matter. He looked back at Shale with a pained grunt, then gestured with his beskad to the fallen bow.

”Come get your bow, lass.”

@Sreeya @Arcangel @Fine Dining Set

 

[Fenyang]

The unarmed man had the unfortunate fate of dying twice. It is a fate that has befallen many a warrior - thinking you're dead after getting killed once, only to realize that you actually died again just a little later. Either way, he was down for the count.

As the Mandalore began his run, he realized he had forgotten something. The scroll. He spun around, fluidly, and shot his grappleshot at the crumbled paper, to expediently get it into his hands. The line pierced through the air, the sharp tip of the grapple tearing through the soft papyrus scroll. Shit. Well, he had more-or-less memorized the speech after hearing it all over the galaxy for the past three weeks. He retracted his grapple shot and shoved the ripped scroll into a pocket before he continued his charge.

He leapt onto the left wing of the fighter and activated his magnetized boots and life support system. With these tools, he could, momentarily, hitchhike through space as Gett'se brought battle to the space-sealed biplanes. The last step was functional, as well as commanding. He fired his grappleshot to the fore of the fighter, giving him a makeshift set of reigns atop the fighter craft. He activated the commslink in his helmet with a touch. <These ships haven't yet closed their hangars.> They could land inside of them, actually see who is leading this attack. Almost as soon as he said that, though, the makeshift hangar of the closest transport began to slowly close. It almost seemed as if it was hand-cranked.

<Has our craft been retaken? Can you get our ship free, cripple the engines of these two?> Or, perhaps there was a way that Shale and Merek could board the other ship while Gett'se and Fenyang boarded the first one. A clean sweep would be perfect. <See if one of those boarding pods is still operational.> Generally, they were single-use craft. However, many escape pods had their own (small) fuel source and ability to maneuver. If the pair could find a way to fire themselves across space to the second Action VI, it wouldn't really matter if they crippled the engines. They could just take these ships from their strange current owners.

@Painus @Sreeya @Arcangel

 

[Gett'se Vizsla]

Gett'se hadn't noticed the thud on the wing before he had taken off, or maybe he had just discounted it as a warrior peasant who was about to take a swim in space as he blasted out of the hangar. He was surprised when the Mand'alor's voice came over the comlink, talking about the enemy ships hangar. Turning his head, his eyes widened as he saw the Mand'alor riding the wing of the ship like it was a krayt dragon, holding onto his grapplecord like reins as the ship blasted through space.

"Crazy motherfu- uuuuh copy that." Gett'se started to curse the man before realizing his comlink was still open. Just as he turned his helmet forwards again he was met with the sight of another starfighter flying directly at them as if it were trying to ram them. He whipped the stick to the side and slammed his foot on the right etherial rudder pedal, sending the ship into a spin as he narrowly dodged the fighter and made sure it didn't scrape the Mand'alor off his hull.

"Hang on." He added as an afterthought as he leveled the craft out and steered the nose towards the enemy transport. He saw the hangar door inching closed. Changing course slightly, he opened up with the ships laser cannons, explosions rocking the enemy hull as the blasts hit approximately where he guessed the door controls, or in this case the door winch, would be. The door shuddered to a halt halfway closed.

Looping back around and blasting another starfighter on his way, he flew straight at the opening. "This is gonna be tight." He warned the Mand'alor as he slowed thrust just before reaching the hangar door, silently hoping he didn't scrape the Mand'alor off his ship. If he was gonna be responsible for the man's death, he would prefer it to be at the end of his blade and not because he accidentally squished him with a piloting mistake.

Zooming into the hangar, Gett'se cut throttle, angled the nose right and tilted so the bottom of the ship would be facing the incoming wall. A swift button jab activated the starfighters repulsors and he prayed that they were in good working order as the ship practically bounced off the wall on a cushion of anti gravity. Skating along the wall for a moment before bouncing off, Gett'se twisted the stick again and slammed the other rudder to rotate and flop the ship bottom down to the hangar bay floor where it shuddered in the air for a moment before the repulsorlift gave out.

The ship dropped the remaining distance to the ground with a loud thud and Gett'se threw his hands up to protect his head, preventing it from cracking on the console but likely bruising his forearm rather badly. Shaking his head to clear the stars, he popped the cockpit and climbed out, looking around tentatively to make sure the Mand'alor was still alive. "You still alive Mand'alor?" He asked over the comlink before something hit his helmet and bounced off. Looking up to the catwalk that overlooked the hangar, he pulled his pistol and blasted the bowman who had fired at him from above before diving behind the ship for cover as the doorway above expelled more of the medieval archers, arrows clattering off the ship.

@Painus @Sreeya @Fine Dining Set

 

[Fenyang]

As the fighter careened into the hangar of the transport, Gett'se and Mand'Alor would notice that the interior of the Action VI looked less like any starship they had seen and more like the interior to a lavish temple or church. Ionic columns jutted through the tight corridors of the ship, as gaggles of humans, rodians, ithorians, and others, clad in anything from tan sack-shirts to long, white robes and togas. It was crowded, overly crowded for a ship this size. Even with all the ships and boarding parties cleared out, there were still vast numbers of these peasants scattered around. They behaved as if it was almost a bazaar - sharing wares, arguing loudly, shoving livestock back and forth in trade; they barely registered the ship returning back to through their ray shields. Even with the Mand'Alor upon the wings.

<Don't fire unless fired upon.> He deactivated his mag boots to hop off, pushing through the crowd of hagglers as he made his way towards the front of the ship. Looks of gleeful disposition changed to glances of fear at the sight of the Mandos, fiends and villains they thought their own noble crusaders would have dispatched by now. With the scroll in his pocket, Mand'Alor strode towards the captain's chair, hoping to end this bizarre day with a show of authority.

@Sreeya @Painus @Arcangel

 

[Merek Vizsla]

It did not take long for their ship to be rid of the boarders, numerous as they were. Inciting a panic within them at the display of Mandalorian brutality kept most of them terrified or stunned, making it easy work to gun them down. In short order, the ship was filled only with the sounds of the occasional sparking piece of machinery, weak gasps from men who had yet to die, and Merek’s heavy breathing. The arrow still protruded from his shoulder, but the adrenaline blocked most of the pain for now. It was only a matter of time before this annoyance grew into an actual issue.

Merek returned back to Shale, collecting the yet-unclaimed bow on his way, and set the thing onto a counter for her to later return and take. He stepped over corpses on his way to grab a medical kit, paying little mind to the carnage around him. He’d begun to feel a dull ache in his arm, and the warmth of the blood seeping out was reminding him that he needed to tend to his wounds. With everything arrayed, he gripped the shaft of the arrow and took a deep breath.

With a grunt of pain and the sickening sound of tearing flesh, he yanked the arrow free and threw it onto the deck. Pain surged through him, but he set about disinfecting and dressing the wound carefully. When his work was finished, he popped a painkiller and returned to Shale’s side, kneeling to wipe the blood from his beskad on a corpse’s clothing.

”The others left to board one of the ships,” he remarked dryly, ”Let’s see about getting over to the other one. Take it for ourselves.” He was sure they could find a way over there, even if it meant maneuvering the ship to dock with it. It beat sitting around on the ship while others went out and claimed glory for themselves.

@Sreeya @Arcangel @Fine Dining Set