Star Wars: Revanchism [Mandalorian War/Knights of the Old Republic]

[HeySeuss]

< OOC Thread is Here >

tl;dr summary:

• Tranoraan's description.
• Zhiss being ordered into the war while the Masters held back
  
• Description of the orbital drop pod
• Meditation in the pod
  
• Landing on the planet.
• Kandor Thex's squad.
  
• Mandalorian Patrol
  
• Zhiss kills her first Mandalorian in an ambush.

Tranoraan was the Galactic Core; a desert world with an atmosphere that was not particularly breathable -- it would eventually damage the lungs of the being breathing it. Most beings, anyway. It was cool-ish by night, but terribly hot by day, to the point that one generally had to make sure their breathing equipment included hydro-recycling modifications to it. For all that, it was the core, and it produced droids, ships and minerals for the rest of the Republic.

The Mandalorians got this far before some Jedi bestirred themselves to begin fighting for it. Zhiss wasn't sure if it was too late or not. But a late start was better than finding out what no start at all would bring, though they had a clear idea of it -- she'd seen the vision on Cathar, she knew what they were fighting for. Half of her wanted to fight for it, the other half wanted to find serenity in a meditation chamber and introspect away the ills of the Galaxy, like so many masters had.

The same masters threw her into this cauldron, to keep watch on the Revanchists. They thought she was obedient. They thought she was curbed more than she was, that she would, in the end, stay faithful to the masters rather than follow her instincts, her heart, and even her morals.

In the sculpted gardens of the Temple on Dantooine, among the simply-wrought serenity of those surroundings, she was told by beings ensconced in that luxury, and it was a luxury whatever the ascetics said, to throw herself into the war. She was a warrior, but she was also obedient to the Jedi. They reasoned that she would be able to survive in the environment she'd be thrust into, and her oft-stated reluctance to be involved, for reasons they were not privy to, made her seem even more ideal for that mission. They didn't understand that she feared falling. She'd veered away from the Revanchist cause upon considering her former master's words on the matter; that the victor did not ever escape unscathed from a war. The other Masters knew this and their solution was to become conscientious objectors, to not do anything for fear of becoming another legion of Exar Kuns and Ulic Qel-Dromas; Jedi who embraced the dark side -- the lust for power often had an agenda, a justification, and that was very much the case of Qel-Droma, one of the great Jedi Knights before he fell. He reached for a weapon and used it, and it used him as well.

But the masters also declined to be another generation of Nomi Sunriders; they failed their mandate to guide the Jedi and perhaps even the Galaxy in its time of peril. Fear stayed their hand, fear of failure -- but they threw Knight Zhiss right at what they feared most without considering that perhaps she'd feared as they did. Their last lesson; they forced Knight Zhiss to not only face that fear, but to face it alone. The Knights and the padawans went to war without their masters to guide them, the wisdom withheld. And like Nomi Sunrider, who'd headed the Praexum on H'ratth, where she'd attended as a youngling, though Sunrider was dead by then, she knew that events forced her to pick up the lightsaber.

It was a twisted joke the Force played on her. She'd done everything she could to avoid this, but now, staring down from space as Tranoraan's dusty brown-pink surface loomed larger, then filled her vision, she embraced it. They were dropping from space into the atmosphere in stealthed, sensor-baffled pods that would produce no real IR signature; these pods would break apart once they survived re-entry, allowing the individual within to plummet down toward the surface; that was when the compute,r assuming all worked properly, would deploy the alloy mesh wings of their parafoils and allow them to sail to their target insertion zones. They were networked on a tight beam the whole way through, monitored above on the Intruder.

The pod was like a meditation sphere, though it was strictly built to bring individual beings through atmospheric entry intact -- it was made of the lightest of alloys and a couple thrusters to steer itself automatically while guided by tight-beam network from the Intruder, the ship that brought them here -- rather than for more esoteric uses. The weight of the being inside was heavier than the device itself, so when the thing split up, the being would fall faster than the shell of the pod, which would further break up into chaff. It was an IRSOG design for covert insertion.

But it was dark and quiet, like a meditation chamber, though the meditation in this place did not provide much in the way of reassurance; there were choices, and the byproducts of those choices were too terrifying to really behold. Perhaps that was real life, the stark calculus of the benefit versus the consequences. Where her ability to see forward usually only extended into the heat of a duel of sabers, in a fight where her mind was clear, she found the clarity now to see even further, though it was hazy and hard to make sense of the impressions -- there was too much emotion to cloud that reckoning of the future and she was no seer or consular, experienced in such matters, though her Master tried to unlock such potential to little avail.

It was unlocking now, to a degree, here and now, as the pod rattled with the entry into Tranoraan from orbit, as the friction of entering any sort of atmosphere from vacuum created flame and sparks.

As suddenly as the moment of meditative clarity, rare for her, came, it ended as the sphere's rudimentary systems beeped warning at her. A red light blinked on and bathed her vision in crimson. Then a second one, and a third, notifying the being within that the systems were activating; when the red lights hit the bottom of the sphere's wall, the thing would break open.

The last red light came on, and the sphere fell away in five parts, along the seams that ran the length of it, floating above her, lighter than she was at the moment and she was left with the thrill of free-fall from flight, with a breather mask and goggles, and, ironically, the standard brown jedi outer-robes. After all the problems she'd had with some Jedi regarding her set of silk robes, the ones she'd used on Nar Shaddaa when she'd picked up some credits as she worked undercover, whilst earning tips as a dancer in a Hutt cantina, and decided to use them for the purpose in a brief moment of non-Jedi normalcy, she wound up having to borrow one of Azor's sets, getting it cut down to her size.

These billowed in the air as she fell; it didn't feel like falling from this high up, but the ground came closer and closer...then there was a jolt, a yanking sensation as the harness holding her to the parafoil wings jerked her back with the wings that just deployed, leaving her to wait as they glided in the night, as the software took over and the squad, VORNSKR, were steered to their pre-designated landing zone -- she could sense Azor now, a sensation of fresh outrage and welling resolve that she'd never particularly detected from him before. She felt the trepidation of Padawan Braith, about to confront something she deeply loathed and feared; that earned the Padawan. The contrast was the calm lethality of the Thrysian sergeant whose unit they were attached to, an armored former Sun Guard who felt mostly contempt for the mass-produced Mandalorian neo-crusaders that he was about to fight against -- little better than droids, in his mind and the man was a towering wall of egotism, though he was actually rather receptive to the idea of using Jedi, particularly Jedi that were willing to fight. The others of the squad were there, a range of feelings, but also a sense of common purpose. They knew their jobs.

Her booted feet felt the ground as the wing landed, and she ran along with it; thankfully the release system was not automated, so she could choose her moment to release and roll into the ground to diffuse the remaining force of the landing; she came up easily to her feet -- she'd even enjoyed the sensation of paragliding for the first time -- with her blood up and her eyes sharp. This was it, and as much as she'd spent time in agony before, she was like a kath hound ready to hunt. The sand shifted and crunched underfoot and she felt a faint chill under the borrowed brown robes, which she'd actually bleached into the tan-pink of the terrain around her -- the sergeant, Kandor Thex, seemed to approve of the initiative, if Azor was a little dismayed to see one of his robes subjected to that sort of abuse. In the end, though, she blended in and that was the point.

In the distance, there was another team making their move already, KRAYT by the sound of it -- a quick check on the comm confirmed that. There were three teams to the mission, all with different tasks. Theirs was to reprogram droids -- that was why Raynard was there, and it was natural that she go with the only Jedi among the Revanchists that didn't seem to think that her work for the masters -- it was widely suspected why she was there and the suspicions were true -- was some sort of indictment against her ability. Knight Azor was going to slice the mainframe that controlled this particular batch of droids and they were going to turn those numbers against the Mandalorians.

The Thyrsian sergeant, Thex, had his men toting ion-disruptive weapons in addition to the usual equipment, though he went as the Sun Guard he was -- armor, some sort of staff weapon and blasters. The IRSOG troops were a mixed bag, a number of talented misfits along with more conventional Republic troops. The gamut of opinion of the new additions of Jedi, misfits in this lot to say the least, ran many different ways from relief to annoyance to rage.

But Thex was not one to be overly impressed of Jedi; he'd told them, "You are a part of my squad, this is not a Jedi-led operation. You will not countermand my orders in this operation -- there is a chain of command, and your place is after me." And the men of the unit, hearing this, nodded along -- the Thyrsian, all shades of black, was towering grace and calm-expression. They were an offshoot of the Echanis, used to communicating their opinions and feelings through the mastery of normally subconscious bodily functions. They also had a long-standing antipathy with the Mandalorians, and this antipathy was returned in full as a rival warrior culture. In the case of the Sun Guard sergeant, the dominant feeling being communicated there was that he would -tolerate- the Jedi.

Zhiss was eager enough to prove the man wrong, but she knew that she was here mostly because they needed Azor's skills and she was backup for Azor; in a sense, she was in the same boat as the Padawan among them, who was there largely because her Master was, though that wasn't something that Zhiss really worried about; one person's skills were a specific fit to the situation and two others went in. So she also knew that she needed to prove that she could cooperate and be an asset, rather than a problem. Thex pretty much made the challenge clear upon the first meeting when the mission briefing was given; he expected the Jedi to prove themselves, he didn't take them for granted.

"Thex here, proceeding to navpoint spanner, out." That was the Thyrsian's communique with the IRSOG commander on the ground as the man started his advance toward the facility -- once they had confirmation that the defense net was disabled. The squad moved as one, and she felt the pull of that particular communion, not fighting it a bit, as she fell into a natural place, on the flanks, where Jedi senses and sharp eyes could be of use -- she'd grown up, for a time, on Iridonia, and knew how to move in terrain. This place, with its rocks and sand, slightly reminded her of parts of it, without the acid pools, of course. The breather mask hindered the recognition, and reminded her that this was an alien place; the four visible moons in the sky, in their various phases, also informed her of this fact.

Mind in the game, she told herself, and her sentimental awareness of Iridonia receded as she fell into her senses.

Then, suddenly, the comm unit crackled, "Team VORNSKR, we have movement on the sensors; Mandalorian patrol coming in on your flank, checking the perimeter. They are approximately three clicks away on bearing five-eight. Over."

"Copy that, INTRUDER." was the Thyrsian sergeant's response, but then he started making signs toward his men, indicating firing positions and cover. The same motions sufficed to explain where he wanted the Jedi to go, but Zhiss shook her head and indicated a different position, something flanking. There wasn't much time to argue, so the armored Thyrsian agreed. It might be his command, but she wasn't about to sit so closely to the republic troops and essentially occupy a position of little to no worth for her.

The various elements of the squad broke into their parts and their places; there were a couple folds in the sands and some rocks for cover. The problem was the wide open spaces of the terrain; movement was easy to detect, and that was why the ELINT types in the Intruder notified the unit of the problem; a quick switch of the comm showed them that KRAYT was underway with their mission and NEXU was ready to make their move when they could. But VORNSKR's objective and mission profile were not as vital as the others, so they were the ones tasked with neutralizing a patrol that might interfere with the mission of the other groups.

Movement was easy to detect in this terrain, so they held still; even when the Mandalorians moved closer and closer. Zhiss felt as if she were broadcasting herself, but unless there were a Mandalorian force user there, they'd never notice. And odds were, a Mandalorian who could use the force hadn't trained in it.

The squad of IRSOG troops were experienced and well-trained, they held themselves stock still while the silhouettes became more distinct; at least one of them waved and moved like he was in charge -- this wasn't an alert group, looking for a fight, this was a regular patrol and she could almost taste their boredom and annoyance; with their sergeant, with their job, that they could have been back at the barracks and in their bunks, sipping kaf and reading or something.

The waiting got to the point where she was becoming almost annoyed herself, and she understood that Thex was trying to get them into the kill zone of the repeating blaster than one of the men in the fireteam carried. She assigned herself the task of taking out the same man on the other side, the one with the repeating blaster...it felt right, somehow, and correct, to take out the Mandalorian squad's biggest source of firepower. She figured Azor might have chosen to take out the one with the backpack; that could have been a comm unit, and that being might have been a leader of some sort. After that...they'd have to see. But she knew that Thex was still waiting, and had a plan. There was a sense of that, and of waiting. So she waited as well.

When Thex finally opened fire, it wasn't initially with the repeating blaster like she thought; the Thyrsian was more canny than that, and used grenades instead -- not weapons that the Jedi were terribly familiar with. And yet, the wisdom of the choice was instantly apparent; blaster fire gave their positions away, grenades did not-- they sailed through the darkness in near invisibility. Her first instinct was to leap forward into the fray, but that changed when the grenades exploded among the enemy in several places and men were brought down -- her own chosen target included. There were screams among the flashes and explosions, and those forms that lay still or writhing on the ground were beings; not necessarily willing combatants -- the Mandalorian recruiters didn't offer a lot of really good choices for many people.

She let her senses guide her here, once off the leash, moving rapidly in the Jedi Guardian fashion, using a jump to propel her forward; guardians, like her, practiced three hours a day in various athletic uses of the force, and the leap was a signature method for closing the distance to lightsaber range. To an uninformed observer, it looked like suicide, but the rapid movement caught her opponent, in yellow armor, off guard, and she brought the saber about in a pair of swings; the first found joints between the beskar'gam's plates on a leg, and the second moved up for the decapitation strike -- the audacity and speed of the attack seemed to bring the whole thing together for a success, but there was little time to gloat; by the prompting of the force, she took off on foot from where she was, and a moment later that place exploded from a grenade's landing.

Thex's fireteam opened fire and she was vaguely aware that the other knight and the padawan made their attacks, but her focus was on herself, not on the lethal beauty of the blaster bolts searing the air or the racket that she filtered out of her mind, for the most part.

Her doubts died on that ground alongside the first Mandalorian she killed in the war; Ihna Zhiss had no choice but to move forward.

[Silverbeck]

Disquiet.

Tavick’s thoughts were troubled as his pod careened towards the surface of the tan-pink world. This had never been how he had imagined himself when he entertained thoughts of joining the war. Not as the senior Jedi amongst a group of much younger, spitfire knights and several displaced padawans with only the aforementioned spitfires to guide them. He had never wanted to be the leader of anything - he had simply wanted to protect the innocent, and fight if the more experienced warriors needed him to. But as it turned out he was the most experienced warrior in IRSOG37, or at least the most experienced Jedi. Now he had eight young Jedi beneath him who to him seemed to each be in need of guidance in some way - he was not sure if he was prepared to be there for each of them, especially in the face of something so alien to him as war. He was a diplomat. Not a sage or a highly experienced guardian. His specialty had always been getting other beings to stop fighting. Now his duty was to lead a group into war.

The Force worked in mysterious ways, it seemed.

Of course, it had been his choice to join the war effort - he had put his foot down of his own free will. He had been there on the Cather homeworld, and seen the visions of horror and destruction in his mind’s eye just like all the others - he had chosen, just as they had, to avenge the deaths of the innocent, to fight for the lives of those yet unmolested. But was it really a choice? Or had the Force simply led him and the others to the ruined planet? Could any Jedi say truly that they would not put their foot down after seeing what he and the other Revanchists had seen? It was a troubling thought. Was the Force truly a living thing, as Tavick had always believed? Or was it an omnipresent thing, a cruel puppeteer that on a whim marched formally peaceful men, women, and younglings off to war?

Journo wasn’t sure if he really want to know the truth. He inhaled deeply the sterile oxygen that his breathing mask filtered to him and drove the disquiet from his mind, closing his eyes and leaving the physical behind. Even as the drop pod he was encased in buckled and shook upon entry to Tranoraan’s atmosphere, the diplomat opened his mind’s eye and reached out with the Force. He could see the others burning bright in the blackness - a cascade of auras that he felt comforted to “see”. He could sense all at once the twisting fear and grim determination that they all felt in some part of their being. He also felt around in the dark for the minds of the padawans, who were no doubt more out of their element than any who rode a pod down to the surface, and one by one he extended to them a comforting thought. When he managed to grasp the mind of the youngest and greenest of all of them - the boy Vran whom Journo had recently found himself looking after, the diplomat extended thoughts that were as warm and reassuring as he could muster. No words, and nothing distinct - just what hopefully equated to a feeling of trust and safety; a hand on his shoulder. The boy would not come to harm as long as Tavick was with him.

The diplomat did not need to open his eyes to know that the countdown lights of his pod were glowing bright, signifying that his pod’s wings were about to deploy and warning him that the surface of the planet was fast approaching. He braced himself, and with a snap-hiss-bang the excess shell of the drop pod fell away. His robes immediately caught the updraft, and for several exhilarating seconds he experienced complete freefall. His eyes shot open as soon as the wings deployed, wrenching the breath from his lungs as his descent was slowed and he began glide through the air.

The Jedi’s stomach leaped into his throat for a moment as the automated glider began to steer him to his team’s first objective - he was not a flyer, and hated to trust a computer to see him safely to the ground. The others all seemed to have entered without a hitch, however. Not far behind him in the air, the rest of KRAYT flew silent as a breeze, all of their minds brimming with anticipation of the action to be had below. As the ground rushed up to meet him, Journo stilled his shaking heart and thumbed the switch that would release him.

He disengaged in mid-air and dived from the glider, front-flipping as he approached the sandy ground and landing on his feet with grace that few non-Jedi could ever muster. Because of the momentum of his flight however he ended up sliding several meters in the sand and losing his balance - he was forced to curl his body into a roll that became a clumsy tumble as he turned over and over - trying with all his might to slow down. The newly disengaged glider careened overhead, having suddenly lost the weight of it’s passenger, and it too smashed into the sand and folded up into a barely recognizable ball of scrap - leaving parts of itself behind as it skidded.

Finally upright, the Jedi diplomat brushed himself off and scoffed at the wreckage of his glider. “Damn, I hate flying.” He murmured to himself, just before his comm buzzed and he was made to check in with command. Their objective was reiterated. They were team KRAYT, and their mission was to disable or destroy all of the facility's perimeter defences. That meant taking out any patrols that roamed the outskirts and also removing or reprogramming all of the base’s automated gun turrets. They were to clear the way for the republic’s reinforcements, and then they would have to take up position to hold the facility until the cavalry arrived. Luckily, they had touched down in a mostly clear plain, with large dunes and crags keeping them out of the sight of any Mandalorians who might have been on lookout.

All around Tavick the others were either landing or shrugging out of their harnesses one by one. He made a point of lending a hand to them as they needed it, though he gave the Nautolen and the Gand a bit of a wide berth - they were specialized soldiers who’d likely done this before - and they were not his responsibility. Specifically, he assisted his new padawan Vran in climbing out of his harness and then moved on to help his fellow consular, the Selkath Knight Tarra - as it could not have been easy to do what they had just done with only two fingers and a thumb on each hand. He gave her a smile and a nod - as the two of them were doubtlessly going to work closely - he was one of the few in the Mercy Corps other than that strange HK droid who could understand her native speech, after all. He saw Knight Dwex and her padawan touch down as well - though he was barely able to feel it. As an Epicanthrix Dwex was immune to his mental powers - something which made the half-Miraluka very uneasy. He almost didn’t trust her, as he couldn’t read her whatsoever, even with his Force Sight she was more of an empty blip than a presence.

Once everyone seemed set up on the ground, the diplomat turned to the two soldiers in their group. “Operative Obul; Operative Noslee, we Jedi will defer to your superior experience for now - what’s our first move?” As far as Tavick knew both of them had knowledge of stealth and tactics that far surpassed that of any of the Jedi in the group, so he would allow them to lead until they encountered the enemy - once the first shots were fired they would leap into action.

[Apocrypha]

Exhilaration.

Point-blank. It coursed through his veins, thicker than his blood, coating every centimeter of his flesh with chills. The inner sanctum of the pod was near pitch black - an empty void, a canvas for which to project ones' thoughts onto, it seemed. Grif's time in the service - after his stint at the Sophie (the Special Operational Forces Educational Institution, on Coruscant) - spent boarding Mandalorian vessels mid-flight came rushing back to him in an overwhelming collage of fear, nausea, and pride. Maybe their comm array had been intercepted by Republic forces, and they'd been fed false coordinates for a rendezvous; perhaps they were scouts, spearheading an exploratory scan of nearby worlds ripe for invasion; or maybe they were just in the wrong place at the wrong time, alone and defenseless in the dark. The song had its intro: the drop bay doors hissing open, crystallized vapor in their paths as the Zero-Gravity Operatives made their way out of and around their own ships, top-of-the-line, newly made hardsuits propelling them towards their targets with ingenious miniature thrusters hardwired into a dozen positions on the chassis of the armor, deftly cutting a course through the infinite vacuum.

The bay doors came first; enclosed plasma torches capable of circulating their own power, even without an atmosphere around them, would saw through the durasteel like a hot knife through butter - and in they would go, a two-meter wide chunk of ship carved out and drifting laconically away from their point of entry. A team of six would pour through this hole as the bay sealed itself against decompression; any pilots or techs caught inside - and there were always at least a dozen or more; a ship never truly slept - would beat upon the sealed exits, screaming until they collapsed against the cool floor of the bay, asphyxiating quietly. An engineer or systems analyst on the team would plug in to one of the nodes in the bay, typically used for shipping orders and crew logs, and route their way into the ship's entire system from there. The first to go was life support; room-by-room, Mandalorians were sealed inside their durasteel tombs, left to choke and die on their own tongues. Once the Mandalorians caught on to their invaders' plans, they'd lock them out of the system. From there, Grif would lead his team hall to hall, room to room, cutting holes in sealed doors with a plasma torch and gunning down any warriors left alive - until everyone but the ship's Captain was dead. They'd take him in for questioning on some backwater planet too far from the Core Worlds to care a whit about military torture. What the Senate didn't see and hear certainly didn't bother it.

Grif was drawn from his reverie by the slow and steady glare of three fault lights on either side of the pod's opening; ten, and he'd be free, the pod breaking loose beneath him as his safety harness dislodged, glider atop it, directing him perilously fast to the sand beneath. His mind wandered once more, recalling his sweet sisters and his charged brothers on Coruscant; they had amounted to little in their own rights - two bankers, a politician, a merchant, and a novelist - while Grif was here, now, saving lives and defending the Republic. He hadn't seen them in two years, now - his mother, his father, his two sisters, or his three brothers. He did not miss them.

Five.

He was not a romantic man; instead, his entire life had been driven by valor and courage, had seen him promoted and promoted again, and now in charge of his own fireteam in one of the most elite covert ops units in the Republic military. He was going to be fighting alongside Jedi - for what that was worth - and some of the greatest warriors in the galaxy at large; he would be killing the rest of the greatest warriors, interestingly enough.

Seven.

The Mandalorians. Truly one of the most complex and interesting species in the galaxy - human enough, but with a thirst for blood and challenge, a desire to bid everything in one, great, pure action: combat. Grif respected and revered them, and would shoot them, break their necks, and slit their throats with the utmost pride. He identified with them in a way that few did; Grif saw combat as a means of release from normalcy and constraint, a method of redemption and a way to prove oneself. Battle was the purest form of self-identification, and he loved it almost as much as any Mandalorian.

Ten!

The light metallic shells caved in on themselves and sheered away from Grif with a dull sound, most of it lost in the screaming wind pounding at his hardsuit's audial receptors. His hands groped at the harness above him, holding it securely, fingers poised on the release mechanism - and as he descended, nearing six meters from the ground, Grif disengaged the harness. It separated from his hardsuit with a clang, flapping about beneath the glider - which careened wildly with the sudden decrease in weight. Grif plummeted to the sand below, and as his feet made contact with the sand, he tucked himself inwards and rolled gently across his left should. The hardsuit absorbed the shock, as he knew it would, and the soldier was left only mildly uncomfortable in the wake of his arrival.

As Grif drew his Arkanian blaster rifle, his team descended to the ground around him, one at a time; Church, Graves, and then Burke, each engaging their own weapons and falling in beside their team leader. "Right," Grif barked, the comm unit of his suit reducing his voice in quality, hollowing it out a bit. "This is it, boys. We're a bit off-target from the rest of Nexu so that we can provide fire support, if necessary; we'll move to Point A - marked on your visor's HUD - and get the lay of the land before rendezvousing with the rest of our troops. Hustle up, fall in." With that, the foursome0 was off, trampling through the sand as quickly and quietly as they could, their shiny new black hardsuits meshing with the night around them and leaving them virtually invisible to the naked eye, only a glimmer of movement on the horizon from time to time. Perfect for infiltration.

Half a klick from the facility, Grif slid to his belly beneath the crest of a dune and his team followed suit. "Fireteam Arrak, Nexu, in position A," Grif called out of the unit-wide comms. "There are two four-man patrol teams within three hundred meters of the facility, moving north and south. Krayt, you should have a solid visual on them from your vantage; if you want to engage, we'll follow suit."

[Darkspleen]

What felt like a long, long time ago, Raynard once felt like the universe made sense. He knew what was right and what was wrong. He knew what his calling in life was, that it was to serve the masters of the Jedi council and, by doing so, serve the people of the Republic. Most of all he knew that it was wrong to take the life of another, no matter the reason. But now that he was smothered by the darkness within a Republic drop pod, watching Duros burn in his mind's eye, he was not so sure anymore.

Even has the pod begun to shudder, entering the planet's atmosphere, he couldn't help but question how he could have been so blind towards the chaos that made up the universe. Even now he didn't come close to comprehending it. Even as the pod shook violently, Raynard kept his eyes shut in concentration and contemplation. He couldn't even begin to imagine how many evils the Jedi had turned a blind eye to on behalf of the masters' fears.

Duros had burned, its people slaughtered on the streets, what remained possibly being enslaved. And how had Raynard reacted while Duros burned? He had simply watched, by the masters' will; the mere thought of his inaction caused his stomach to churn. How many could he have saved had he chosen to? He certainly could not have stopped the invasion, nor even hoped to have slowed it down. But was the life of a single innocent person not worth the risk, minute as Raynard believed it to be, of falling to the Dark Side? Apparently the Jedi masters didn't feel it was.

Wrapping himself in a sheet of determination, Raynard opened his eyes just moments before his drop pod broke open. Raynard took a deep breath, the air he needed being proved by a breather mask, as the planet's air buffeted him. For a moment he simply enjoyed the feel of the wind, but the experience was robbed from him when parafoil wings extended to either side of his back, slowing his descent to a less than lethal speed.

As he neared the ground, he reached out for his recently acquired apprentice through the Force and guided himself in her direction. Raynard pulled a thin cord to release himself from the parafoil wings when his feet dangled just a few feet above the ground, rolling the moment his feet hit the round to help absorb the shock. He smoothly rose to his feet looking around to ensure the others had landed safely, though he felt nothing amiss in the Force. The ISROG-37 operatives were all business. Even before the Sun Guard leader of the present ISROG-37 operatives had made it all too clear that the Jedi would follow his orders, Raynard had felt that the Republic soldiers didn't quite trust the Jedi and for arguably legitimate reasons. Each and every member of ISROG-37 was a battle-hardened veteran of the war against the Mandalorians, with a wealth of knowledge and experience to help them through the conflict. The Jedi on the other hand where little more than a policing force, even if said policing force could bring quite a bit of power to bare. Within short order Jedi and soldiers began to march towards their destination, but they didn't have far to go before a warning of incoming hostile forces reached them.

As Sergeant Thex indicated firing positions, Raynard waited and watched the soldiers for a moment. He wasn't entirely sure where he was wanted, but he judged that the sergeant wished for him and Nasrin to be slightly offset from the rest of the group. As he moved into position, he shot Ihna a questioning look as the woman seemed to ignore what the sergeant had wanted. He couldn't help but wonder if he had missed something or if Ihna simply didn't care to follow all of Thex's orders. Either way it was too late as the Mandalorians were nearing.

As the Mandalorians marched closer, Raynard could tell the soldiers where lax even without the force. They weren't alert. Their gazes seemed to idly watch the landscape without actually seeing anything. Even in his inexperience, Raynard knew the way the Mandalorians held their guns was not inductive to quickly aiming at a target. The Mandalorians were unaware of the danger that lurked nearby and would pay for their ignorance with their lives.

He knew the Republic soldiers would want to launch the initial attack. Their ranged weapons would be more advantageous than the three present Jedi jumping out of the sand. Raynard opened himself to the force, lightly touching the consciousnesses of both Ihna and Nasrin as he waited for the right moment. He would throw himself into the fray after the Republic's first volley.

Surprisingly the Republic troopers opened the attack by throwing grenades at their foes. Raynard's initial reaction was to stay where he was and watch, but he felt through the Force that the moment to move was then and there. Raynard launched himself at the Mandalorians with a Force enhanced leap as the grenades landed at their feet. He had to close his eyes, and shield his face with one arm as the grenades detonated, but the end result of his apparently reckless act was worth it. Summoning his guard shotos to his hands and activating them as he landed in the midst of the disoriented and hurt Mandalorians, he threw himself at one who carried a large backpack.

His first swing severed the man's right arm. The second had the man falling to the ground after taking the hilt of a guard shoto to the face. The following attack severed the man's backpack in half, sending sparks flying in all directions, before the man was even halfway to the ground.

He then deflected a blaster bolt aside with one guard shoto before tossing his other at the man in response. Using the force to guide his attack, he severed the man's leg. The Mandalorian toppled to the ground only to take a blaster bolt to the face, courtesy of one of the ISROG-37 operatives. Raynard immediately clamped down on any negative feelings he had over the Mandalorians death. He didn't want either Ihna or Nasrin to feel any hesitation or second thoughts from him. Not now.

As his thrown guard shoto arced back towards him, he easily caught it without a second thought. He twirled both lightsabers in his hands as he looked for a new target, but finding none he deactivated them and clipped them to his utility belt. The whole skirmish had transpired in mere seconds.

Hearing a groan at his feet, Raynard remembered that he had only incapacitated his initial target. Kneeling next to the man, he removed his helmet to ensure he didn't send any kind of warning to his comrades back at base. "What should we do with him?" Raynard asked no one in particular. It had never occurred to him that he would be in a position to take a Mandalorian prisoner. He had assumed that all of the Mandalorians would fight to the death. The fact that this one wasn't able to made the situation messy. He knew that simply killing the man would be the easiest course of action. He even found himself, for a moment, justifying doing so by the fact that the Mandalorian had taken part in the murder of innocent people and that sent a chill down his spine.

[Ellri]

From the moment that she had entered the gliderpod, impatience had gnawed at Una Dwex. It was not that she would have preferred a pod-less drop, but being stuck in a vulnerable pod during orbital entry chafed at the warrior in her. She tried to project calm and peace, yet as usual that failed. It seemed like an eternity, but after what was probably more like a few minutes, the outer shell was shed, then soon afterwards the proximity to target alarm sounded. Dwex did not wait for the pod to land, knowing full well that they were only slightly cushioned. She pulled her twin sabers from her belt, then switched them on, slashing up and down so that the pod was neatly sliced in two. She kicked away the upper half, then leaped out, landing close by the Jedi Tavick.

Dwex did not fully know why, but it seemed the half-miraluka Jedi had always been somewhat strange near her, a touch unsure. Dwex most certainly did not like him. He reeked of negotiator and if there was one lesson she'd learned in her childhood, then it was that no potential enemy will leave you alone unless your properly bloody its nose. Of course, with many, that merely sufficed to provoke them further. As such, Dwex had been taught from early on that the best solution would be to utterly break the enemy, to destroy them once and for all.

Once she had made sure that there were no proven hostiles nearby, Dwex passed through a sequence of quick lightsaber exercises to loosen her muscles. There was no great point in moving out until the republic soldiers issued their commands. It irked her to be under the command of unproven soldiers, but at least it was better than being under the command of a negotiator. Only then did she remember her padawan. The masters had sent him to her only a few days before she left to follow Revan, probably hoping she could break his bad habits knowing full well that they had been unable to break what they considered her bad habits. Had he not been present right there, she would have laughed. As expected, he sat on one of the wrecked pods, slouching.

Rather than give another tirade, which probably would be ignored anyways, Dwex quite simply lifted the wreck into the air and dropped it back down. Her padawan, of course, fell unceremoniously onto the ground. Dwex presumed he would get the hint. If not, he would simply find himself getting yet another lesson. They were in a war, and that was no place to give countless chances to improve. It would be better for him if she hurt him than the mandalorians. Far better.

Eventually, after all had landed, Jedi Tavick, having no tactical training, naturally turned to the soldiers. As if they would know how to best deploy Jedi. Dwex did not believe they were suited to such, so she did not wait for them to issue bad orders. Should they prove themselves later, then she might be more inclined to obey.

Dwex activated her wrist datalink, checking the previously scanned mission data from the Intruder. Whether they knew she had downloaded it, she did not care. She found it useful to have, so she had grabbed it. It took her but a few moments to identify the nearest defensive turret and its neighbors. She memorized the positions, then locked down the datalink. Before committing herself to any action, she sent out a weak searching using the force, but thankfully she did not sense any nearby patrols. It was not that she minded slaying mandalorians, but merely that they might complicate her mission further. It would be much simpler to take out the turrets without enemies nearby.

Having determined that, Dwex set out. She knew what needed to be done, so she would do it.


She ran over to the edge of the precipice leading down to the facility, jumping down and using the force to cushion her landing. In the weak light of late dusk, even the trained observer would have trouble observing her drop down. Dwex did not look back to see if any of the others followed, so focused was she upon the mission. She crept through the shattered boulders and piles of windblown sand, surreptitiously approaching the first of the defensive turrets.

The turret array was fairly simple. A medium-height foundation of ferrocrete on which stood a seven-meter tower, topped by a dual turbolaser emplacement. Considering how it stood in the open with no apparent defenses, Dwex easily determined that was too good to be true. That tall a tower would have a large blind zone for its turret around its entire base. Sure enough, she could see the tell-tale bumps of buried land mines all around it. No doubt there were also other nasty traps there. If she could have, she would have tried to bypass the security system remotely, but not even a child would leave its computer systems open to remote slicing. There was no chance the Mandalorians had left a system like this one undefended.

The real question, Dwex figured, was whether the mines were proximity-based or pressure-based. Since she did not have any lives or limbs to spare, she figured that was best to avoid testing. Using the full strength of the force available to her, Dwex leaped across the minefield, landing at the base of the tower. Had she been any worse at force jumps, she would not have cleared the distance required. Pausing to recheck objectives, she noted that it was requested turrets remain intact. She did consider simply cutting it down out of spite, but decided that there probably was a good reason they wanted them intact, therefore she decided not to simply do that.

It took her several minutes to find the concealed access panel, but that helped little, for she could not make any sense of it. It was obviously of a level far beyond her slicing skill to puzzle out.

After a few minutes of nonsensical puzzling, she simply opened the encrypted channel to the others on the comlink.
"ehm, Dwex here. Anyone got a slicing tip for mined turbolaser towers? Or should I just chop the tower down?"

[Discounter]

It was dark and cold in his pod and all he could breathe was the musky recycled air of his respirator mask. How Henze just wanted to light that cigarette, it was on his mind the moment he had put on his mask. The air he was breathing now still contained those last traces of the smoke he had blown into it before he had put the mask on. Arkoh Altunen, his comms specialist of Arkanian heritage, had told him not to do it. Henze regretted not having listened to his old comrade. The ride down to planet side would only be the more annoying this way. Why the hell were they even going to world not one of them could breathe on?
Captain Vermeijer didn’t have much time to worry about his personal vices for long as his pod opened up and spat him out. It took Henze slightly more than a second to position himself mid air. His body was pointed vertically to the ground; head first, to gain as much momentum as he could get for a man his size. His earlier thoughts gone about his cigarette, he now focused on his drop zone. With tremendous speed he and his squad descended towards the planet. The codes on their flight harnesses rigged to open later than planned by mission control.

Coming closer and closer to the ground, Henze had a split-second moment of doubt about this action. It felt as if his heart was in his throat as he pictured himself colliding with the surface of a planet whose name he didn’t even memorize. He must have been less than fifty meters from the ground as his parafoil wings finally engaged. Feeling the extra air resistance build, he altered the direction of his body with seer willpower to go horizontal and let the air carry him further. Gliding like this the captain took in the positions of his team, they hadn’t been able to form a textbook formation, but that wasn’t the important part right now.
They eventually landed two clicks of their initial landing zone, but right on target of their intended destination. Henze had a reputation to hold up for being slightly insubordinate and this would be his latest stunt. “Diamond spread, two meters apart.” Henze told his team as a reminder, they had already planned their entire assault out, up to the point where they would secure their objective. The human, two Zabrak and the Arkanian started to move out, near crouching and weapons at the ready.

It didn’t take long before Vermeijer got the messages from the other teams. “Heartseeker for Nexu, in place for breach. Contact confirmed at nine O’clock. Three O’clock out of sight. Please advise on reinforce or push.” The Captain clearly spoke over the link to assure he could be received by the other teams. “Alright boys, prepare to rock and rain fiery death and all that stuff.” He then whispered to his own squad. “And Pol, don’t make this another Empress Teta incident, we need this station intact.” He mentioned as an afterthought to one of the Zabrak. Who was known to be a little too enthusiastic with is his explosions.

[Syntax Error]

Diffident

No windows, no light. Nothing could be beheld of the world below in his circumscribe cannister hurdeling through space. He was often left alone with his thoughts back home, he even prefered it, but he couldn't help feeling a small pang of dissapointment when he realized how dark it was going to be in the pod. The fledgling apprentice had anticipated a miraculous view of the desert planet from atop its' atmosphere. A flow of rushing images that went from a wide view where everything looked tiny to the very narrow, large scale, realistic visage while approaching its' surface. He was woefully unprepared for war, and had never done anything like freefall into a planet's atmosphere in a nondescript piece of metal before. His new master hadn't even given him a proper crash course on landing from a pod. She had merely talked him through it in a rushed tongue fifteen minutes before the drop. When he implored her to explain it once more, the Epicanthrix simply shrugged and stated something along the lines of,
"If you can't survive the landing, then I won't expect you to survive the war."
Dwex was unlike any Jedi he had ever encountered, she seemed cold and distant, having a very stoic "do-it-yourself" attitude. Definitely not the kind of teamwork and safety in numbers approach to missions that the Jedi advocated. He had the feeling she had no intention of taking him on as a padawan. No, he was sure that she had not intended to take one under her wing. However, he was unsure of the exact reason she acted the way she did towards him. Was it that Dwex wanted him to prove himself worthy of her guidance? She absolutely seemed the type to have that agenda. Or was it perhaps that she wanted him to think more for himself and fully realize that he was at war? The questions behind her method, if she had any, were countless and immesurable. Now was not the time task himself with the matter. It was trivial in comparison to his current reality. He was, after all, falling from space.

How am I even supposed to tell when this thing's getting close to the target?
His inner monologue was soon answered by a rough shaking, the metal creeked upon entering the atmosphere. Zyro clumsily reached for his breathing aparatus and attached it over his mouth, making sure to secure the strap behind his neck. Not a second later, the seals of the drop pod broke open. Zyro grabbed onto the glider haphazardly. The process was happening so fast that he barely had time to brace himself for the wind whipping speed at which he began to descend from the air.

The gusts of wind took him by surprise, and his grip on the left end of the glider slipped, causing the wings to tip sideways to the right. Zyro soon found himself plummeting toward the sands in a fierce spiral motion. Met with the sudden threat of injury, he attempted to clear his mind. Zyro extended an open palm in front of his face, and desperately reached out to the Force. He used it to push against the ground and within an instant, he was awkwardly floating upside down mere inches above the sand. He breathed a sigh of relief that he soon regretted, falling face first onto the ground after losing his concentration.

He quickly brought himself up onto his feet and brushed himself off. He looked around to see that only a few of the others had landed thus far. His relief was doubled to see that Dwex was not among them. He didn't wish to further her assessment of him as inexperienced and weak. The embarrassing display of his landing would have assured that. Zyro decided to walk closer toward those that had landed, and sat hunched on top of what he assumed was his own wrecked pod. Soon after, his Master landed with a graceful and stunning performance of skill. Who'd have thought my new Master would be such a talent... he thought to himself as he leaned his elbow against his knee and brought his chin to rest on his fist. A bit of a show-off, but undoubtedly impressive., he added to his thoughts as he watched her perform a few lightsaber exercises.

He wondered if she had been able to pick up on his thoughts, because not a moment after thinking them, Dwex walked over and, without a word, lifted the wreckage he sat upon and cast it off to the side. The unexpected move sent him tumbling face forward to the desert sand in a moment of unwelcomed deja vu. The fall had accidentally activated the two heavy black metal spheres attached at either side of his belt. They buzzed and emitted wobbling sounds as their mini-thrusters brought them to floating stances in the air above him.
"Oh well," he began in a half whisper as he whiped dirt and sand from his face "I'll move around faster with you two off my belt anyway, but ya gotta keep up with me, okay?" The machines made nondescript sounds of agreement, Blip-Blip-WOOoo "Alright then!" he began excitedly as he stood to his feet, "Where to Master Dwe..."
His words were cut short when he looked around himself and noticed Dwex was nowhere to be seen. He began to reach out to the Force in order to "feel" where she had gone, but to no avail. Right, the Epicanthrix thing..

The Force was of no use at the moment, but the simple power of observation had shown where she had run off to. He noticed some of the soldiers and Jedi alike all looking toward the same dune. Zyro's brow lowered, and just like that he took off at a sprint.

Leave me behind, eh?

His thoughts began to race as he reached the precipice. He caught a small glimpse of a shadow of a form land at the rocks below before quickly taking off and vanishing again.

Oh no ya don't. I didn't come here to be ignored!

Zyro had no idea where he was going, or what lay ahead of him. And to his suprise, he didn't care. He had second thoughts of staying after he first arrived. He had been disheartened when he arrived at the Revanchist ship and learned that Dwex had no idea what had happened to Maab, not even a clue or a starting point as to where exactly she went missing. What was worse was that Dwex didn't even seem to care that one of her fellow comrades had gone missing. Remembering these feelings, Zyro increased his sprint, finding a reservoir of endurance he had never known himself capable of. The meddroids were even struggling to keep up with his pace.

I don't know if you're going to lead me to Maab, or if you're going to lead me anywhere at all...

Where was this sudden determination coming from? His hair rushed over his face in a constant cycle, over his eyes and then out of his field of vision over and over again, the hood of his robes long since pushed off the top of his head by the wind. The shadow of a figure was now the noticeable shortly proportioned outline of Master Dwex in front of his eyes. He had finally drawn close enough to notice the environment around him while still being able to keep an eye on the subject of his chase.

Maybe I'm deluding myself, but I believe...

He was now drawing closer to a tower, the figure of Dwex ahead of him had paused a moment and seemed to be taking in her surroundings. A sense of purpose filled him as he set foot on ,and launched himself off of, boulders in his path. She had left him, her padawan, behind to take direction from someone else. Ther nerve of the woman. For the first time in his life since joinging the Jedi Order, Zyro was quite perturbed. As he got closer, he opened his mouth to call out in a voice bold enough for her to hear and hushed enough to avoid detection by the enemy. Before he could even stop to pant from his harshed lungs, he beheld Dwex shoot off the ground, leaving a small patch of dust and sand to permeate the air.

The Force is guiding me along a similar path to you., he finished his thoughts as he watched the Knight bullet through the air and land out of sight atop the tower.

Zyro was determined, but not stupid. Some type of trap, landmines perhaps, were the reason she had executed such a move. It definitely wasn't to show off to anyone. To his knowledge, he was the only person that followed Dwex. Even with his strength in the force, Zyro had never attempted a jump like that, and he quickly realized now wasn't the best time to start. If he didn't clear the landing and get to the tower, all he would face was an explosive death on the ground below.

A voice soon came over the comlink at his ear. He instantly recognized it as Master Dwex. She had gotten to the access panel for the laser turret at the tower. Zyro decided to serve as a lookout while the higher-ups worked out the plan of action from here. He found a nearby rock and sat cross legged on it, reaching out and embracing the omnipresence of the Force. He quickly leapt onto his feet and took up the curved hilt of his lightsaber. He could feel them, a small patrol, twenty, perhaps even closer to fourty soldiers approaching quickly from the West point of the tower. They were still a good distance away, but closing in fast. They had five or eight minutes at most before an engagement with the enemy if he and Dwex stayed where they were.

Zyro hurredly grabbed for his comlink and activated it. "Come in, uh, is this thing on? Right, of course it is, I can hear myself in my own ear. This is Padawan Zyro Malholka," he began awkwardly, he'd never been on mission and wasn't sure how communications were supposed to work. All he knew was that a warning of the impending patrol would probably be appreciated. "Um, whatever you want to do with that Turbolaser, you better decide soon. We have company coming in at our 9 O'clock at the Tower, they're about 4 klicks away and closing in fast. I think something might have caught their attention..." He finished the sentence off weakly, since saying those last words out loud made him finally realize that he might have been the attention-catcher he spoke of.

[Rilla]

A Hunter's Life

A Barabel’s instincts told him to hunt, and perhaps, that was why he found himself surrounded by a mass of people he had little interest in, as far as they were concerned anyway. His people were a brave bunch, ones who did not find solace in the bowels of cowardice. Yes, that had to be the reason they rarely speaking Barabel was here. Trained to become a Jedi, he thought that when war approached he would be allowed to bring Honor to his family, to his clan. Yet, when the Mandalorian war began, the Jedi began to take a backstage route - sitting out of a War that was not their own. Secretly, or more perhaps he did not oft speak in Basic, Adinraen loathed the Jedi, and all that they stood for. He would not quit them, for that was not his path. When a place in the Mercy Corps arose, he was eager to join the Ranks, eager to join a war that was not his own. Yes, yes, that was the reason he was here to fight a war that would surely bring his clan a prestige never before matched by another of his race, or surely, he would die in combat trying.

He reflected for a moment and cursed, in his mind, Master Voly for so easily denying the chance to be here, deep down he could not hate the man. The rest, they were getting ready for war, and he could sense it - he could feel the tension rising as it always had before a hunt. He started reminiscence back to a time where, where, he had been the hunter - hunting in the blazing heat of day and returning home before the vicious storms poured. He looked around, and then down towards the planet they would be stealthily entering and engaging. For a moment, Adinraen took time to reflect on his team and the young Padawan he had taken under his wing. He would only speak to the creature in Basic, however, everyone else was treated to body language. Eeth would be coming on his particular objective with him, one that had been codenamed NEXU. According to the people, that mission was one based on a heavily guarded room and disabling a core. Adinraen didn’t much care for the core, but the boys assigned to the objective with him were going to need his muscle to break through the guarded room.

When Adinraen pulled himself from the state of mind he was in, he ushered himself to one of the available pods - it would drop him where he needed to be; on the ground and amidst a long line of people who just yearned to be hunted. In the pod, there were a bunch of lights and fancy technical stuff that he had never cared about. It confused him and luckily he had to rely on a computer to get him safely to the ground. He would never fully trust the thing, for that was not the way, but getting to and from planets required to use of these technological behemoths. Adinraen, himself, was fitted with some gizmo’s that would allow him to communicate with not only his squad, but with the other squads if need be.

Space.

Obviously, this was not the final frontier, people had been spanning through this giant ocean of blackness. He didn’t care about the blackness, he cared about what was there for him to hunt down, to kill, to bring his family what they needed. His pod, which he had been told basically was double-layered, rocketed towards the ground at speeds he could not begin to comprehend. At the appropriate place he heard the computer click, and the over layer peel off.

Shit, he did not like this.

He had begun to parasail, something that he wished he would never have to do. What had he signed up for exactly? He landed with a quiet thud, allowing the computer to take its course and land him in the general vicinity of where he was supposed to be. Based off the communication links, he had eyes watching their position from Grif and his fire team, Arrak, there were patrols moving in opposite directions. He stationed himself near Vermeijer, and someone named Pol - there was a Teta spoken of.

“Reinforce or push.”

Said the man he was stationed near. Adinraen threw a physical sign towards Eeth, telling him to stay close - until the right time and then find a place to provide ground level fire until things were clear enough for them to advance. The Zabrak was good at moving fast, and that would be to his benefit, as well as the groups.

Adinraen opened his maw, speaking in his own language, uncaring that he could not be understood. Perhaps he would attempt to teach the boy if he survived. He grabbed his double bladed knives and prepared to move forward with the advance. He was not on point for this one due to his lack of wanting to speak in basic. It didn’t bother him, he was already in ‘hunt’ mode. All he needed was a command, an order, a signal. He spoke again, which would likely translate to “Hurry” if anyone could understand him. He clutched both knives, and titled his head, it was time for him to hunt down every guard.

[mast3rlinkx]

Calm.

This was how the young boy in the drop pod felt at this very moment. Eyes closed, every breath he took was deep and controlled. Those who knew the training the Jedi went through would know that this was one of several methods of forcing a calm demeanor in a stressful situation. The boy had paid much attention to his training, and he may end up being knighted early. That is, had this war not drawn the Revanchist Jedi into itself, which his last master was among. The master that was killed by Mandalorians, sacrificing his life to save that of the boy. The war may end up delaying knighthood for all of the Padawans here. He tried not to worry about such things, though. They would disrupt the equilibrium he'd fallen into. For now, he allowed his being to merge with the Force as he fell into a light meditation. He couldn't go into the deep meditation that would grant him glimpses of the future in this situation. Even when he was as calm as he was, the situation was too physically stressful for that to be possible. He didn't mind, though. One didn't need the Force to tell that much blood would be spilled this day. And he wasn't sure what to think of such a portent.

He was jolted out of his meditation when the pod initiated atmospheric entry, causing the object to shake extremely violently. His eyes snapped open, and his equilibrium was threatening to break. The boy set his jaw in an effort to remain calm, and reached out to the Force for aid in remaining calm. What he got was a feeling of reassurance from his Master Tavick, whom he'd been adopted by after the loss of his last master. That, combined with the Force's embrace, kept him completely calm. What he didn't realize is not everyone had a relationship with the Force like his. He was very close to the Force, and he was thoroughly convince that the Force was a living, breathing thing, which the presence of Midichlorians allowed organic beings to contact it and interact with it in amazing ways. Jedi shared a symbiotic relationship with this being that most called the Force. The boy, being unsure of what else to call it, also called it the Force, for he received the impression that the being also called itself the Force in his enhanced sensitivity to its ebb and flow. This sensitivity allowed him to find comfort in the Force, even as it sends him through harsh times.

His musings were interrupted as he noted the lights trailing down the side of the pod. The boy, whose name is Vran Exilus, knew, even though he'd not been told, that they meant the pod was about to break apart and start his freefall. He adjusted his cloak so that it wouldn't fly off of him when the air hit his body. The brown cotton cloak was typical of Jedi, even when they become Jedi Masters. However, Vran would rather just wear the tan robes without the cloak. They allowed him to be lighter and just more maneuverable in general, but Master Tavick had told him that he must wear the cloak. Vran had grudgingly obeyed, but he planned to ditch the cloak the first chance he got. The robes underneath were every bit as traditional as the cloak, and he was sure that Tavick knew this quite well. But he didn't argue. Arguing in a time like this was not a good idea.

Soon the lights reached the bottom of the pod, and it burst open. The air slapped him in the face. Hard. He didn't shoot downward as soon as the pod broke, but steadily accelerated, slowly leaving the pod behind as it disintegrated. He had some experience with aerodynamics, because his previous master had put him through freefall training previous to their embarking on the war effort. His parafoils were programmed to compensate for this fact. And, sure enough, Vran pulled his body straight and angled himself downward, allowing him to shoot towards the objective like a bullet. The ground raced towards him, and when he was about 500 feet from the ground, the parafoils deployed. Vran was jerked as though a force had suddenly lifted him up very fast, and he was jarred slightly. However, he quickly recovered. When he was about ten feet from the ground, he disengaged the harness and rolled when he hit the ground, coming to a graceful stop using the assistance of the Force. He stood up in time to see his master lose his balance, though not even the Force could have helped avoid that. Journo had the misfortune to land on looser ground than Vran. The boy took the time to look at the complex they were to infiltrate, and turned back to see Master Tavick turning to aid him in some way. With a wave of his hand, he made it clear that he was fine and didn't require assistance. However, Vran made an effort to remain near his Master. Such was a smart move for a Padawan.

[Crayt]

He payed attention to what was going on around him. The faint hum of the pod plummeting down towards the planet’s surface, his heavy breathing echoing within the pod, bouncing around from wall to wall. They had told Eeth what the process would be like with the drop pod. The splitting of parts, the brief moment of freefall before the wings would sail him safely down to their intended location of landing. The zabrak wasn’t worried about the height or the risk of failure, immediately followed by the act of plummeting to a bone-crushing death. He was from Nar Shaddaa, where if one were to slip and fall over the edge of the several sections, they’d fall for hours before being splattered against the surface of the moon. The paraglider only made him more certain about his survival over this fall.

But it would’ve been false to say that Eeth wasn’t worried. The padawan had met several of his kind before and something he had noticed was that they were all very confident in their abilities, they were all so sure in what they did. But Eeth wasn’t like most of his kind. Eeth had always questioned his abilities, which was why he always sought out more power. And now he was questioning himself morally. Now that there was no turning back, the zabrak couldn’t help but ask himself:
What’s it like to kill someone? How’s it going to feel when I’ve done it? Will I think less of myself? Can I live with myself if I’ve killed someone? I know this is justified, but still... The sudden infuriating beeping of the drop pod pulled the zabrak away from such heavy thoughts and he cringed as he realized that the next few hours would probably be highly stressful. Eeth ran a last minute check of his equipment, making sure that everything was alright with his rebreather and the few pieces of equipment attached to it before assuring that his lightsaber and blaster pistol were attached to his belt.

And then the last red light lit up. It was quite a shocking transition for him, to go from safely standing up to suddenly falling down at high enough velocity for him to feel light headed within the first seconds. That feeling combined with the wings catching wind and suddenly greatly decreasing the velocity of his downfall had Eeth feeling sick before he even had time to worry for his life. It felt like the insides of his body had all been pressed into his chest cavity, trying to pop right out. The world around him was spinning, spinning, spinning endlessly as the padawan attempted to catch his breath. Fortunately, it didn’t take too long for him to get his wits about him and take a good look at the world which he was getting closer and closer to. It wasn’t beautiful, that was for sure. It wasn’t pleasing in any way. But then again, the zabrak’s idea of beautiful was a chaotic city - like Nar Shaddaa or Coruscant.

As Eeth landed, he went roughly tumbling along the ground a few feet, before slightly redeeming himself in his own mind by hindering the movement on his knees. The zabrak swept off the dust on his clothes, swearing at himself in his mind, before slowly rising up onto a crouching position. He didn’t notice any hostile movements towards them, so the noise probably went unnoticed. While making sure that his breathing gear still worked, Eeth noticed his newfound master signing towards him to stay near, so he swiftly snuck over a little closer - ending up perhaps six feet to the left of Adinraen. He followed the movements of the remainder of the group, ready to do anything - even if he still was a little shaken over the idea of killing.