Beseeching Vengeance (Vena)

[Ysmir]

---

"I gotta say, I was surprised to see you," the scout admitted. He cleared his throat. "Uh... Lord Mandalore. Sorry -- it'll take some getting used to."

Hal lifted the macrolense in front of his visor. The landscape was vast and wide, stretching out endlessly and revealing sunlight bathed valleys and canyons, and the glittering surface of a lake in the distance. Somewhere across this untamed wilderness was Yolocks. The scout was a member of Clan Varad, one of several posted on the otherwise unnoteworthy planet who had been a direct witness to strange happenings in the long-abandoned mining town. The sector was known to be frequented by the very same devils who had terrorized their people in recent months. Perhaps it would turn out to be nothing; a simple squatter, or maybe a natural cause. But in this day an age, a potential threat was a threat, and Hal didn't plan on waiting around to see if it came back to bite him in the ass.

"You should have a little more faith, vod," Hal replied. Turning from the cliffside, he hoisted himself onto the back of Buir. Atop the basilisk, Hal gazed down at the Clan Varad scout. "Return to your people -- I'll stake out the town overnight until my partners arrive. Best I go alone. If there are enemies, then the less attention we get, the better. Your Chief will hear from us soon."

The scout nodded and brought his fist to his chest. "Of course, Lord Mandalore. Good luck."

"I prefer good help over good luck. Fair winds," Hal said, his parting words followed by the ignition of his loyal steed's rear engines. The Basilisk took off from the clifftop and raced across the orange-washed skies of Vena toward the desolate town.

---

It was the crack of dawn. The sun had barely risen over the horizon, the forest thicket where Hal had pitched his base camp still blanketed in the waning shadow of the prior night. His campfire crackled as it burnt down to embers. He'd begun roasting some freshly caught game for a quick meal, but he wished to get the drop on their potential quarry ASAP. Hal brought up his tacpad and punched in the radio frequency of the two Mandalorians who volunteered to accompany him on this journey of retribution. Through his helm, his modulated voice spoke into the device and through the communications systems of both Mandalorians.

"This is Mandalore. I've relayed my coordinates to both of you," he began, standing from his folding stool to eye the horizon; over the ledge of the small hill he sat atop, he could see down the pathway toward the town. "Try and land your vessels as far away as possible. The element of surprise is still ours. We'll meet at my camp and go over the plan."

He dropped his arm and turned back to the fire pit, planting himself back onto the stool to finish cooking his meal as he awaited the arrival of his partners.

[Zarkan]

The armored bulk of the Cyanis shuddered as the modified Gaid Galaar settled heavily on its broad landing gear. Ark slid the charcoal grey plate on his forearm into place before driving the long bolts that held the outer plate to the underlying frame home. The cybernetic Mandalorian tested the servo's now hidden under his beskar hide flexing his wrist and turning his wrist before clenching and unclenching his mechanical left. He nodded slightly to himself satisfied by the minor repairs to the servos and artificial muscle that controlled his hand. He placed the bolt driver back in its place before latching the lid shut on the tool kit that was bolted firmly to the shelf projecting from the wall in what was once the rear cargo hold before turning to look at the figure clad in dusty red armor. "Ragnar, take some of the cadre and set up a perimeter and keep your ear to the comm lines I'll call if we need support." he said his deep voice reverberating off the tight walls of the cargo hold. Ark placed a hand on the shoulder of the veteran who gave a short grunt of acknowledgment. "Keep the pups safe for me." Ark gave the man a light thump on the soldier before walking past him and to the weapon rack.

Ark locked one of the heavy blaster carbines to his outer thigh with a dull thud as the magnetic clamp pulled the weapon against the plate it's partner soon followed in on the opposite hip. Ark mused for a moment before forgoing the unwieldy looking blaster cannon instead wrapping his hand tightly around the six-foot half of the monstrous beskar poleaxe and hefting it out of its place and resting the heavy weapon on his shoulder. Ark pressed a button next to the weapon racks causing a loud groaning noise of metal moving against metal to reverberate throughout the vessel. The bright dawn light streamed into the compartment as the large armored ramp at the rear of the dropship opened forcing his companion to shield his eyes. The cyborg's own "eyes" adapted in microseconds polarized filters darkening the world outside slightly to protect delicate sensors in the battery of four photoreceptors. Ark keyed his comm system as he moved down the dropped ramp.

"Hal, I've made planetfall and am moving towards your coordinates." He said breaking into a jog as his armored feet hit the mossy soil of Vena "I should arrive in a few minutes try not to get jumpy and shoot me." The cyborg's voice took on a bit of warmth as he shot a friendly jibe at the younger man. Despite the relatively dense foliage of the surrounding terrain his long legs quickly covering the few kilometers from the Cyanis to Mandalore's coordinates.

Ark made little attempt to be quiet as he neared the small clearing that held Hal's camp using his ax to chop through the denser sections of undergrowth. The small camp consisted of little beyond the armored figure idly poking the waning embers of the small campfire. "Quite the promotion," Ark said in greeting placing the blunt end of his ax haft against the ground a few feet from the fire opposite of Hal before crossing his arms and resting them atop the ax head. "I hope you haven't let it get to your head yet."

[loganomics]

The cries and chirps of local fauna lit up Aedria's ears as shit stood up from the pilot seat of her Basilisk War Droid. The clearing she landed in was more akin to a crater than an actual forest clearing. Scanning the treeline for any potential threats she was suddenly taken aback by the radio transmission on her comms. A quick calculation and the gold and crimson clad warrior had a heading for Mand'alor's base camp.

Mand'alor the Vigilant.

In the years leading up to the terrorist attack Aedria had distanced herself from much of her clan and the Mandalorian leadership circle. Despite that, knowing the damage that was done and the lives lost she could hardly bare the thought of continuing her teaching in the isolation of Onderon's Demon Moon. Still, for her first hunting mission in a long while to involve the newest declarer of the Mand'alor title was a bit awe-inspiring. As she stealthily made her way through the dense foliage towards her squad-mates, Aedria kept the tales of her father in the back of her head. She would need his wisdom and experience if she was to take advantage of this opportunity. Few warriors among the culture get the chance to make an impact on their new potential leader so early after such a devastating event.

As she approached the destination coordinates she picked up a rather unnerving sound. A distorted voice, seemingly talking to someone in jest about a "promotion" and "letting it go to their head". Not wanting to surprise her companions she spoke into her comm link to announce her momentary arrival.

"Mand'alor, this is Aedria of Clan Vizsla. I'm approaching the camp. See you both in a moment."

Breaking the treeline into the camp, Aedria caught site of the behemoth cyborg Arkandos leaning on an equally impressively-sized axe and further away, Mand'alor the Vigilant looking down on the nearby town from his vantage point on the hill. Hal himself seemed quite a bit smaller in stature than herself and their cybernetic compatriot. Despite that though, Aedria was the last person to make assumptions based on size considering the harsh lessons that echoed in her memory on the matter.

"Arkandos." Aedria's eyes glanced over at the mechanical giant and gave him a slight nod of acknowledgment. While never having met him before she knew of his accomplishments and the notoriety that comes with a body like his. Her head then turned to Hal before she stepped towards him, looking out into the distance as she examined the path ahead. "Mand'alor... It seems that we're all here. How would you have us proceed?"

[roadkill]

Vena, a despicable port hive of scum and villainy. Notably, one that the wretched souls who had been antagonizing the Mando’ade. Such things couldn’t go unanswered. Dhagon had remained neutral during the quest to name a new Mand’alor—the wisdom of old age. He had seen far too many claim and lose the title, but he swore fealty nevertheless. Time would tell if this Hal Kelborn had what it took to reign in the Clans.

The Maelstrom, a modified Prudii-class transport touched down, far outside the camp. Within the man known once as The Scourge of the Outer Rim and his only blood daughter sat in the cockpit as they monitored the secure channel given for the operation. They hadn’t been expected, but the leader of Clan Beviin couldn’t resist a good hunt in the name of all Mando’ade. ”Have to take the bike the rest of the way,” Dhagon said, not turning his helmeted visage to face his daughter. ”Don’t acknowledge the comm. Y’know how I likes to make an entrance.”

An audible sigh escaped Fi’anna’s helmet. ”If it doesn’t get you killed, Buir, someday I will,” all she said as she rose from the co-pilot’s chair and made for the hold to make ready the rest of their equipment and gear. Dhagon busied himself shutting down the ship and ensuring the security systems were functioning optimally. He’d always been a paranoid sort. Any who tried to access the ship without the proper codes would be in for a nasty surprise by way of an electrified net packing enough voltage to stun a Ronto. Beviin liked to take any would-be thieves alive to teach them a lesson. Soon enough, he made his own way to the hold where Fi had already packed a single swoop bike with their gear. The old man plucked his Nasreyc-7 slugthrower carbine from the rack and was sure to grab extra magazines filled with incendiary rounds. Named after the only love of his life, Vela, he’d killed his way across most of the Outer Rim once upon a time. He owed more than half of his reputation to it. A pair of Novis Marksman heavy blaster pistols hung on each leg, slung low smuggler-style.

”Ready when you are,” came the husky voice of his daughter as she primed her sniper rifle and mounted it to the side of the bike. Dhagon approached the bike and straddled it, taking the hand controls with both armored fists. Fi hopped on the back, both hands clutching her father as he gunned the throttle and sped away into the night.


----------------------

It wasn’t long before the pair had reached the coordinates provided. Before their bike was in earshot of any scouts, Dhagon cut the thrusters and coasted the rest of the way in. By the time the scouts spotted their approach, they were parked in the clearing and getting off. As he stood, Dhagon swung his carbine around on its sling, at the ready position. Fi’anna took her long rifle and the pack of equipment, soon walking side-by-side with her father as they approached the few who had gathered by the fire. Behind the helmet, dark eyes scanned the cyborg and the familiar Aedria. Both were given a polite nod—precisely half an inch, and he stopped short of arms’ reach of their Mand’alor.

”Mand’alor,” he began. His deep baritone came with the consistency of ground glass and razor blades. The accent, distinctly Concordian. It commanded the same respect and authority expected of a Clan Leader and Alor’ad. Kelborn was the only of the group who had any years over Dhagon, nearly twice his age. Dhagon stood mere inches taller, but was far broader in the shoulders and muscle mass. He left a pause, just long enough for one to doubt he was there under friendly circumstances. ”At your service. Let’s get this party started. Vela’s itchin’ for a fight. Dhagon hafted the carbine, as scarred and weary as his armor and the man inside it.

[Ysmir]

Hal was crouched by the fireplace. He cleared a section of the forest floor off to the right, where he began drawing out a crude by highly detailed map of the mining town from what information he had been able to gather in his time overnight.

Mandalore didn't even lift his head when the familiar thudding footsteps heralded the arrival of Arkandos.

"Arkandos Phelan Ordo," he spoke, still drawing circles in the dirt with a long branch, charred at its end. "Trust me, if it does get to my head, you'll be the first to know."

Ark the Eternal, one of the few active Mando'ade who could claim to be Hal's senior across the board. He had both a physical and mental presence that most organic lifeforms couldn't hope to emulate. And this was to their advantage; if the old mining town was indeed a den for the very extremists that brought down the Triumph, then this wouldn't be an interrogation, not by a longshot. It would be an extermination.

But Hal would ensure to take at least one alive. Keep the ball rolling.

His comms buzzed to life once more; Aedria, of Clan Viszla.

"Should be quite the party. Knowing our luck, it'll turn out to be nothing. Another dead end," he pointed out ruefully, but continued on with his drawing nonetheless. "But there's always the chance that we strike gold. Find ourselves a tried and true lair to uproot. It'd be the first real victory against these sociopaths in months. That possibility alone is worth the expenditure of resources."

Aedria arrived moments after her message. When she approached him near the map and the overlook, he stabbed the branch into the dirt and pushed himself to stand. The Amazonian Mandalorian positively towered over him, but that fact seemed not to perturb Mand'alor in the slightest, as even his body language exuded his composure and focus. Mand'alor almost seemed to size her up through his T-visor, taking in the detail of her immaculate, colorful, and worn Beskar'gam. After a brief moment of silence, he nodded.

"Good to have you with us, vod." He looked past Aedria to Arkandos and gestured the cyborg over to where they stood with his hand. Hal then turned and knelt once more before the map, retrieving his trusty charred branch to tack on some finishing touches.

It displayed a comprehensive if poorly scaled outline of the surrounding area. Yolocks itself was a large diamond in the map's center, surrounding by various small indentations representing the dense foliage that encompassed and encroached on the abandoned Republic facility. One could see the town in the distance from the hilltop, rusted and worn rooftops poking out from towering trees, covered in moss and vines. It hardly looked to be any threat to passing ships or travelers; just another dead boomtown in one of the Galaxy's many frontier worlds. But looks could be very deceiving.

"Yolocks itself isn't the prize here. It's the mines," Hal began, pointing to the diamond. Then, he drew a line north toward a horseshoe. "right here. One entrance, and as far as I can tell, also the one exit. Scouted around the entire mountain, walked the cliff faces all night long. No other visible ways in or out. The town is most certainly abandoned. What I could see through my thermals was nothing but desolation, lots of burnt out residential and work buildings with nothing of note. But what waits for us down in those tunnels is anybody's guess. That's why--"

Hal heard a twig snap and spun around with preternatural dexterity. Hand on his blaster, Mand'alor pushed himself to his feet as he regarded the new arrivals.

His nerves were quickly and readily settled. He let his hand drop and regarded the two Beskar-clad warriors that had invited themselves along. They were both unfamiliar, save for the stout and broad masculine figure; his stride, his aura, and the markings on his armor gave away who he was before he even opened his mouth to speak. The leader of Clan Beviin had remained wisely quiet during the height of the Dark Age, supporting none of the claimants in their conquest. And yet, here he stood, ready to fight for their people. Commendable.

"So, the promise of the hunt is what it takes to draw you out? Noted," Hal quipped, glancing toward Aedria and Arkandos briefly. "An extra four hands won't hurt, but in the future, keep contact on the comms before you get scoped. See anything of note on the way in?"