The signal came through in the middle of the night, through a channel most in the Brotherhood have never even heard of before. The body itself was simple and to the point.
“I have need of you.”
Tracing it back, you double checked the specifics. The coordinates attached were to a starport on Arx. There was no way to tell who else received the same message. Still, a direct mission from Muz Ashen presented unique opportunities well worth investigating.
Quentin recived the message from Muz Ashen while he was on the Maleficium doing a tour of the Shar Dakhan victory class star destroyer. Reading me message over “I have need you” Quentin says reading it aloud as he headed for his personel transport knowing when Muz called nothing more needed to be said. Was a short flight to the coordinates, the GX1 transport called the Horizon sets down gently on the landing pad. Within moments the Quaestor was walking down its ramp his black commander robes flowing behind him as he moved with haste “Now where is he” Quentin says to him self as he scans star port.
The Regent had been in his office on Mattock Station when he had received Ashen’s call. Curiosity got the better of him, and he decided to make the trip down through the shield gate surrounding Arx to the planet’s surface - utilizing one of Xesh flight’s Xi-class shuttles to make the journey to the starport.
When he arrived and exited the shuttle, he was pleasantly surprised to find next to no one in the immediate area. Usually the starport was a bastion of activity, many ships coming and going. The Mandalorian General wore his trademark ancient Mandalore inspired, personally forged Mandalorian beskar armor, his assortment of weapons and gear placed dutifully. He carried on his person his triple-phase elder lightsaber Duraanir, custom WESTAR-35 Naast, his full forearm Mandalorian vambrace, his dual-phase Elder lightsaber vambrace Rang'kad, and his beskar gravity hammer Nau'ur, with all but the hammer easily accessible. Nau'ur resided attached to his jetpack.
Folding his arms, the Regent of the Brotherhood waited patiently for Ashen to show himself - or other parties to arrive, if they were coming.
The Bes'uliik-class Beskar Starfighter sped through the atmosphere or Arx as Korvis made his way to the spaceport. It wasn’t everyday that he received a summons from a former grandmaster. Not to mention it promised hefty rewards it was a no brainer to at least attend the meeting.
Docking in bay 21 Korvis released the hatch and grabbed his gear. Scout, his massive Arx Wolf jumped out and followed him out of the bay towards the meeting spot. Even on a planet as diverse as Arx the duo made for a unique sight. A seven foot tall Mandalorian coupled with an Arx Wolf that was nearly three foot at the his shoulder were imposing to say the least.
Seeing the other ships arrive, Quentin pulls his hood up and begins to head their way to see if they are here for same reasons that brought him here.
The Theta-class shuttle slowly lowered into the port, wings folding skyward as landing gears vented steam. Coming to a gentle stop, the ramp extended to the ground with a satisfying crunch, a stern man in uniform waiting at the top. Stroking a tidy mustache, he began to make his way down the ramp, hooded eyes regarding the Mandalorians and the grey bearded darksider.
“I take it you’re all here to meet the boss.” His accent was pronounced, but didn’t impede their understanding. He looked at them, an eyebrow going up in question. “Seems not everyone has arrived just yet. So, since we have time…” He reached inside his uniform jacket, retrieving a finely rolled cigar and a lighting coil. A twist of the wrist and a few deep breaths later, a plume of fragrant smoke erupted from his mouth.
“General Darius Blackwind.” He stepped off of the ramp into gravelly soil, introducing himself, cigar caught between clenched teeth. “Of the Fallen Spear, to erase any doubts.”
“Never heard of you,” declared Bes'uliik, not skipping a beat. He’d met and heard of Ashen - almost everyone had at least heard of the former Grand Master’s name if they’d been around long enough - but the name Blackwind escaped him completely.
He was vaguely familiar with the Fallen Spear. It was some Hard-To-Pronounce Dragon-class assault ship, at this moment the only one of its kind within Brotherhood space. The Regent of the Brotherhood had plans to change that, however. He nodded to Korvis, who had arrived not long beforehand, and extended a hand to his Arx Wolf, Scout.
“Not to sound rude but never heard of you or your ship, Muz called and I answered” Quentin tells the gentleman as he gives him a look over to determines his character.
“Serves us both just fine, yeah?” He exhaled a cloud of smoke with the words as he regarded the Regent. Brown eyes drifted from the horned helmet to the hooded man for a response. “Good.” A remarkable lack of subtlety in this one. Then again, that probably suited the mission well. He didn’t know, the man was infuriatingly vague on the matter, as usual. Blackwind let the sensation from the smoke wash over his tongue, over his mind. He’d say it was good to be off of his ship, but that was a lie.
He moved to the side, leaning against the landing gear, taking another drag from the cigar, watching the entrances. Six hitters, Ashen said. Transport them back up to the ‘Spear, and that would be the extent of his planet-side excursions for a while. He would have preferred that Muz had sent Leena instead. At least she had some experience dealing with the wizards. Maybe not pleasant experiences, if you asked her, but more than engaging solely from the bridge of the Lord’s ship. He exhaled slowly, relishing the taste and watching tendrils of smoke reach up past the tips of the transport’s wings before the wind scattered it.
At least he had the time for a cigar.
Hector Von Ricmore strode out the doors of his U Wing transport. A call from a grandmaster was not a call to be ignored. Still, the man had a reputation and Hector wanted to be prepared in addition to the weapons strapped, holstered, and clipped to his person, he carried a weapon case containing 4 of the synergy crystal blaster rifles.
He figured the extra firepower would be useful; he dreaded to think what the rumored devoured of planets would consider to be a threat.
The Kiffar arrived at the meeting area. He recognized the armored forms of Korvis and Zxyl, but the other duo were unfamiliar to him.
“Pardon me, I apologize if I arrived late. My name is Hector Von Ricmore and I have arrived to answer the summons Muz put out. This is the correct place, is it not?”
Scout sniffed at the hand extended to him. Getting the scent of the Regent firmly fixed in his mind. The Arx Wolf was exceedingly smart for a non sentient creature. After a couple of sniffs he looked back up at Korvis. The Consul made a fist with his hand and lightly tapped his own breastplate near the heart. It was a traditional Mandalorian salute but also a signal to Scout that this was a friend and was to be protected and he needs not fear him. The Arx Wolf took a step forward placing his head on the underside of the armored glove. A clear sign that he wanted his ears scratched.
Blackwind nodded at the newcomer. “I just got here, no worries.” He looked at the accumulated armor, and squinted, drawing deep from the cigar as he regarded the fact that there was an abundance of Mandalorian Armor present there. If it was half as strong as the stories held, and even a quarter as expensive, this crew was of some renown. “Are you all from the same…” He paused, searching for the right term, “…clan?”
“No. I do not know which clan these two hail from, but it is not Clan Bes'uliik.”
Zxyl pets, and scratches Scout’s ears. He liked a good murder doggie.
A summons from Ashen via signal likely meant a full on mission and with company. Why else exert the extra effort to send a message?
Socorra walked with purpose up to the small gathering, clad accordingly in her full set of Zxyl-forged beskar, helmet in arm. The long black and white mane was pulled back in wild and random complex braids and black kohl lined her one good eye, the other one scarred over.
At her side strutted a midnight-furred Cythraul, mature in height and manner and far more elegant than her handler. While Socorra nodded to each of the men, the wolf-cousin matriarch judged them, her snout endlessly sniffing in their directions. The mentalist wordlessly released the Cythraul and Akua cautiously approached Scout, gauging the wolf with all senses.
The woman quietly and rapidly analyzed the complete stranger among them, failing to find a Brotherhood dossier of the cigar smoking man in her mental database. Everyone else at least had a file.
Zxyl turned his head in the white armored Mandalorian’s direction as she approached, instantaneously recognizing his handiwork. It was hard to miss; the Regent was known for crafting some of the most elaborate items, especially for his fellow Mandalorians.
“Lady Erinos, glad you could join us.”
It was the droid that gave him away, more than anything. Rekan was louder than the weapons specialist, the HK built for combat more than stealth. Declan Roark moved into the bay silently, a brief nod to the others as their heads pivoted his direction. There was no need for anything more. They knew who he was, by reputation if nothing else. If they didn’t, well, that wasn’t of much concern to him. They’d learn. Or not, it didn’t much matter to him.
This was not the first time that credits had made their way from the Lion’s account to his. He’d seen what the man could do in person. And yet, some things a person just needed professionals for.
And Declan was the best.
He paused, a half nod at Blackwind before making his way up into the shuttle, droid following a half pace behind. Blackwind nodded back, drawing in a last breath of burning tabac.
Blackwind turned, a trail of smoke from the Chandrilan cigar following as he took it from his mouth and looked at it. “Well, then.” He gave what some would construe as a welcoming smile, nodding his head back over his shoulder up the ramp as he threw the remnant of the cigar into the soil. “Shall we?”
QuentinShadows follows Blackwind up the ramp his robes flowing behind him as he thinks to his self that he will never get the smell of that cigar out of his garments.
Zxyl had watched Roark arrive, not say a word, and immediately make his way into the shuttle’s bay without acknowledging anyone.
Such is the life of a Grand Master, I suppose.
The Dathomirian-Mandalorian grabbed loose hold of the lightsaber hilt secured to his belt, nodding to the others as he stepped into the shuttle after Quentin and Ashen’s glorified chauffeur. He only held it to stop it from swinging, and his armor ever so shifted slightly as he moved.
If Ricmore wanted to haul around that massive case containing whatever was inside and wear that heathen Imperial beskar armor - armor worn by those that perverted the Mandalorian’s most valuable resource for their own ends while melting down generations old Mandalorian armor to do it AND occupying Manda'yaim years ago - he was going to do it without the aid of the Regent. Korvis’ Magistrate or not, Bes'uliik had zero patience for such things.
Dar'manda.
Every time the Armorer saw that subset of beskar his blood boiled just a little bit more. The Mandalorian General had led the covert he had helped form in a conflict with a remnant Imperial Colonel during the last several months, resulting in even more Mando'ade lives being lost at the hands of those scum.
“Glad to be here.” It was genuine. She enjoyed his company and it was a good opportunity to get to really know some of the Vizsla, especially Korvis.
The Seeker noticed his sudden change in demeanor, the nonverbals and rumblings in the Force (although Zxyl always tried to conceal everything) towards Ricmore, and no doubt Ricmore. The armor alone must give the Kiffar a thousand thousand-yard stares and one day probably a gruesome death. Beaten to a pulp with it, perhaps.
She interrupted whatever hateful thoughts were likely running through the Armorer’s mind.
“And good on you too. Ashen’s missions tend to be…” She looked over to Roark’s arrival with a smirk-nod. “Interesting.”
Motioning to Scout that it was time to load up Korvis followed the rest of the team that had already headed into the shuttle. The Arx Wolf reluctantly left his newfound companion and followed suit. Korvis could only surmise that although they were technically a different species there were enough similarities that it was a rare opportunity for Scout to be around one of his own kind.
“I suppose we better find out what the former grand master has in store for us. Adventure awaits!” Hector stated as he lugged his case up the ramp after the group.
The shuttle shuddered into motion, lifting from the ground and reaching for the stars. As the blue shifted to black, the sounds seemed muted. The panting of one of the wolves, the whirring of droid gears, the quiet click of a gloved hand against beskar, all seemed loud in the quiet shuttle.
A loud thud later, the engines seemed to cut, the vibration calming as the hiss from maneuvering jets engaged. It was a sound that they were all knew too well. The shuttle landed, ramp extending, exposing the light of the Autocthonian ship’s hangar to them. After a moment, Blackwind emerged from the cockpit, sliding the door closed behind him. “Welcome aboard the Fallen Spear.”
He adjusted his collar, swift bootfalls leading down the ramp to the deck below, efficient movements leading them to the turbolift that would take them up to the briefing room. Soldiers in black Kaminoan armor paused from their duties as they passed, looking at them briefly from beneath dark colored lenses.
Several hallways and doors later, they came to the briefing room, a long table flanked by expensive looking chairs, a holoprojector running a test pattern in the middle. Once they all found their places, some taking a seat, others cautiously standing against a wall, the doors slid open again, a violet skinned Twi'lek in a close-cropped vest and a scar along one of her Lekku entered, stepping to the head of the table. “Thank you for all of your prompt arrivals. I don’t expect any of you know me.” She half smiled, continuing. “He’ll be here any moment.”
The Twi'lek inserted a code cylinder into a panel in the table, the holoprojector shifting to show an image of a Trandoshan, ruddy scaled and with an eye missing. She looked up as the door slid open again, Muz standing there for a heartbeat before stepping into the room, black eyes gliding across the assembled forces there.
Before we begin… The words echoed inside their head more than they heard them. It was hard to tell if Muz was even bothering with the pretense of moving his lips. The next thoughts came at them fast, concepts and ideas flooding through their minds much more efficiently than speech could possibly imagine. It was a high-risk, high-reward mission, requiring the highest levels of discretion and competence. There were massive repercussions should they fail.
Leave now, if you’re unsure. Muz leaned forward, his hands braced against the table as he looked at each of them in turn, awaiting a simple response before the details would be shared. The cards were on the table. Whether or not they wanted to play was the question.
He had been around enough of the force users to immediately recognize what was happening. The former grandmaster of the brotherhood was using the force to speak directly into his mind. Korvis disliked the habit as it seemed to just be a show of power than it was useful, at least in these conditions. Still he held his composure and washed his negative feelings aside. If he wanted to show off a little who was Korvis to say otherwise.
“I wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t going to see it through.” Was the only response the Consul gave.
Zxyl thumbed in the direction of his fellow Mandalorian in a what he said fashion. The Mandalorian General equally disliked having his head filled with someone else’s, voice, but he understood that to be Ashen’s primary form of communication - besides his lightsabers, that is.
He was sure the others would agree… They wouldn’t of made the trip if they weren’t willing to do what needed to be done. The genetically-altered Dathomirian-Mandalorian waited patiently for their answers, eager to get the show on the road so to speak.
Quentin relaxed back in to the chair, “ To leave when a high ranking Krath summons me, specially one of your standing would be dishonorable, I am at your service” said as he bowed his head to Muz with great respect.
Muz nodded, satisfied.
“Right.” The Twi'lek cleared her throat and began, pointing at the holoprojected image of the Trandoshan. “This is Sersst. He is your target.” She waved her fingers over a console, the image beginning to spin and show the target’s full body.
“Sersst was hired through …erm…backchannels to track a Duros information broker thought to have deep cover agents within the Brotherhood. Twelve hours ago, the Inquisitors had uncovered one of the traitors. Through their advanced interrogation methods, it was determined that Sersst has been compromised.” She adjusted the console, and the feed morphed to an feed of a young man in novitate robes strapped to a table, two Inquisitors and a black droid ministering to them. The sound was low, but not muted, the man’s agony still audible behind the cooling fan from the projector.
“Sersst missed his last scheduled check-in three hours ago. Data indicates that he is on Daluuj, which we know has incredibly hostile facilities.” She keyed a command on the console, and the image transitioned to a star map, then zoomed into a small planet, half forested, half sandy, some narrow oceans running pole to pole.
“We can not risk compromising the contact that hired them, or show any manner of Brotherhood involvement.” The Twi'lek looked up, her lekku twitching to punctuate the importance of the statement.
“As to that last part…” She pulled a bounty puck across the table, a wry smile across half of her face as the Trandoshan’s headshot erupted from the top in glitchy blue. She raised her fingers, bending them to denote the cover story. “Turns out a nice family from Kashyyk has a bone to pick with our friend here…and they’re really quite motivated….probably just as motivated as his captors are.”
“None left to tell the tale.” The voice was deep, gravelly and raw. He turned to leave, pausing long enough to give a brief nod. She watched him go, turning back to them after a moment.
“We have a clean shuttle prepped to take you down to the surface.” She tapped the console, the holo showing their path, the end goal. “We’ll be in system shortly, remaining under cloaks. You may want to get ready and get down to the shuttle. If you need anything else, let me know.”
Zxyl knew all he needed to. Had all he needed to have. Without so much as a word, he popped his side off the wall he had chosen to arbitrarily lean on, and left the room. The Dathomirian-Mandalorian made his way through the Fallen Spear and its internal layout, taking note of each corridor he passed through, the turbolift he rode, everything, as his armor AI H.A.L. (Helpful Artificial Lackey) quietly scanned its interior and stored it in the memory banks of Bes'uliik’s armor.
The Regent was most certainly curious to learn more about the former Grand Master’s personal assault ship, though he didn’t care much for any personality it held; all the black and purple. He was more concerned with its various capabilities. He arrived at the I'mNotTypingThat Dragon-class Skirmisher’s small hangar bay a little while later, and checked over his gear to ensure all was in order. Of course, it was, but he felt the need to check every time he went somewhere.
There was a perfectionist side to the Mandalorian that few actually knew about, even if they had witnessed it without intentionally grasping it. His weapons and armor were crafted to absolute perfection, and he took great pride in being a Foundling hailing from a clan of Mandalorian Armorers that had worked the Great Forge on Manda'yaim for centuries. His lightsabers, for instance.
Duraanir was the only triple-phase lightsaber in the Brotherhood that he knew of or had personally seen, able to convert to a crossguard lightsaber via pressure on the grip or switch from a traditional blade to a lightwhip by pressing a certain part of the segmented dual-piece activation switch. Rang'kad was also the only weapon of its kind, an unassuming looking vambrace gauntlet that could expand to reveal a dual purpose emitter capable of creating either a lightsaber blade or firing a bolt of kyber energy, similar to a blaster bolt.
His armor was no different, deviating greatly from the recent and traditional designs of Mandalorian armor. It took much inspiration from ancient Manda'lors of legend, with large pauldrons and a partially-gold painted helmet. A miniaturized hypermatter reactor had been carefully integrated inside the backplate, providing peak performance near permanently to its various systems and H.A.L. He had already used the suit to make orbital jumps more than once, and debated whether he should do the same here again for maximum stealth entry to the target.
All in all, the Iron Beast of Mandalore was not one lightly trifled with.
Quentin followed the mandalorian from the room to the shuttle, his hand slipped to his lightsaber almost anticipating the chance to test out the new tainted nightsister crystal he installed only a few days prior to this assignment. Saying nothing he found a set on the shuttle and waited for the drop planetside.
Socorra’s eidetic memory forgets nothing, unfortunately, and as she studied Leena intently, memories flashed in her mind in nanoseconds, a complex algorithm sliding them around and clicking together like puzzle pieces. All the while details of the mission were being stored in her mental databank, able to be recalled at any given time.
They were always there, the good, the bad, and the verboten. And that was why she drank.
Leave now, if you’re unsure.
Ashen’s words were ironic, in a way. He had never given his former subordinate much of a choice before, as death was always the only other option. That in turn was also ironic, as one of his signature phrases was I did not permit you to die.
The Seeker’s addled mind wandered off into tangents, wondering just how many times she actually had died, resulting in minor timeline jumps too short to be noticed. Just little blips in the blink of her one eye. Her only worry was still being unable to harness that ability and the possibility of extremely undesirable results like currently being stuck in this alternative timeline.
Advanced interrogation methods.
She almost snorted. The interrogation looked…crude and messy. Unfortunately, Socorra had not been available for intel work until recently. She had been fired from the DIA for one, and too busy bribing Evant with parties and other annoyances to coax him into studying/working on the “boring” portal so they could all finally do the thing. At least she didn’t have to babysit Dacien…yet. But there was always some price to pay for Sith ambition.
Socorra turned to leave with the others, her leg snapping from standing still for so long. Zxyl had already left in a hurry so she gestured with her free arm, the other holding her helmet, for Korvis to move ahead of her. It was an insistent gesture. <@583854106599489557>
Turning from the table Korvis acknowledged the gesture with a cursory nod. He had questions of course but knew better than to ask them. It was a simple seek and destroy mission. Though they rarely turned out that way, especially when a Grandmaster of the Brotherhood was involved personally. The walk to the shuttle was thankfully quick. Taking his spear in his hand Korvis sat down and began running a sharpening stone down the finely crafted blades.
Zxyl made his way on-board their assigned shuttle shortly after Quentin and Korvis, finding a spot onboard for him to relax until their arrival in orbit of the destination planet. He crossed his arms over one another, tipping his head down momentarily before raising it again in Korvis’ direction.
He was curious if <@476595775187451913> or <@284151800414863360> were going to even show up back on the shuttle, or enjoy a little pleasure cruise with the Planet Eater himself. Neither had made any movement during the briefing conducted by the former Grand Master’s aide, and things were about to pick up.
“I heard you have chosen a new deputy, Manda'Vod,” he mused to the Vizslan Consul sitting across the way from him. The Regent knew, of course, that said deputy - the Proconsul of his clan - was among them on this mission, and would likely be showing up very shortly. The fully armored left hand of the Mandalorian figited, opening and rolling each finger closed again in a repeated motion. He was eager to get the show on the road and do some damage. Perhaps Korvis would be prepared and ready to do an orbital drop with him, get right into the thick of things.
<@583854106599489557>
“I have, as you probably are already aware. Lady Socorra has joined us in Vizsla.” The Consul replied as he continued honing the edge of his blade. One with Socorra’s reputation doesn’t just show up somewhere new without a lot of people taking notice. “A strong and fierce warrior she is a fine Mando'ade.”
Hector took a deep breath to steady himself. Telepathy, especially from a mind he was unfamiliar with, was always unpleasant. He ignored the slight trembling of his hands as he forced himself to walk onboard the shuttle; weapons case in hand. The communication with Muz Ashen reminded Hector of his failed attempt to capture the Seer. And how close he came to losing everything.
The Kiffar took another breathe, held it, and counted to 5 before releasing. He repeated the process until he centered himself then rejoined the others.
“Telepathy can be quite unpleasant.” He announced as he set the case down and placed himself into an avaiable seat.
Socorra nodded to herself at Korvis’ quick acceptance. This whole transition might actually go smoothly. But that there was hardly anything– and like Ruka, eventually he would have given in.
She paused her movement to the shuttle and leaned closely to the Twi’lek while walking past. That Leena did not recognize her was in fact a good thing. It meant the Herald’s old gray streetwear spywear had done its job some decade ago.
“Leena. Would you kindly send me data on broker and agents? At convenience.”
Socorra’s post-coma accent was thicker now, not less, and over-enunciated consonants and syllables and rolled Rs like she was a living onomatopoeia. It had its pros and cons, and at least her speech was comprehensible when she was not in a hurry…or pissed.
<@284848346672136192>
“I couldn’t agree more. A fine choice. She’ll do Vizsla well, I think,” the Regent continued fidgeting with his fingers.
Where are they?
The Twi'lek’s eyebrow went up at the mention of her name. Eyes narrowed as she regarded the ice blue eye of the human. There was something familiar to her, the accent, her movement. She wracked her brain for a moment, reaching back into memory. She tilted her head. “The Herald?” A lekku twitched. No, not the Keibatsu with the buzz cut, but the short-haired one from Arcona. Her hair was longer, one eye damaged, and then there was that armor. “What happ…” She cut herself off. She was reminded that people didn’t often like being reminded of those sort of significant changes, especially the kind that were involuntary. But it made sense. The wave comm was familiar when she sent out the invitations. She should have cross referenced then, instead of feeling sheepish now. Regaining her composure, she nodded at the woman. “Will do.”
“Declan.” Ashen entered the hangar fromt he turbolift, black eyes locked on the Founder of Vizsla as he moved closer to the transport shuttle. Roark paused, his helmet turning to look at the Krath. “With me.” They stood there in silence for a few pregnant moments, information transferring directly between the two minds before the Mandalorian gave a simple nod. A quick hand gesture and his HK droid followed suit, stepping with him as they walked away from the shuttle.
Blackwind tapped fingertips on the bulkhead, watching the exchange, watching them return to the turbolift before he turned away to head for the cockpit. “…and then there were five.” He cleared his throat, a hand slapping the side of a console awake. The holoprojector sputtered to life, pale blue lines of light showing the initial scans of the prefabricated airbase that was their intended landing site. It was hard to be sure at that resolution, but it seemed to be a target rich environment.
His words had an almost melodic accent to them as he slipped behind the cockpit door. “Dustoff in five minutes.”
A small, subtle smirk formed on her ruby lips as Socorra watched the Twi'lek’s mental gears go lightspeed.
“Loved the cat ears, by the way,” she casually yet pointedly commented as she continued on past, letting the implications naturally sink in.
She joined the others on the shuttle, her footfalls far more quiet than they had the right to be.
The Mandalorian Regent checked over his gear one more time before the group was set to depart, noticing that Declan had been pulled off the assignment. He wondered why, but it was of little consequence. The five of them could still make do and be successful without the fifth Mandalorian’s assistance.
As he was checking over his gear, the Regent activated both of his light weapons to ensure they were operating at maximum efficiency. He first activated his vambrace gauntlet, the upper most segment on the top of his forearm sliding upwards to reveal the hidden lightsaber emitter. He activated it for a few short moments, the black core blade with a full grey glow springing to life before sliding back into the emitter from whence it came. The upper most segment slid back down, concealing it within the rest of the vambrace and returning it to the smooth shape it had been before. Next was his triple-phase lightsaber. He pulled it from his belt, studying the expertly crafted pure beskar hilt for a moment for any imperfections. Of course there were none.
Bes'uliik thumbed the activation switch, pressing it with minimal force. The blade, starting as an unstable green ichor blade crackling with green, ichor-esque lightning and emitting a putrid green smoke as its core faded to an abyss and onyx black snapped to life in a near instant. The Elder moved the weapon side to side for a moment, before deciding he was content with the operation of its main mode and deactivating the weapon. The blade was reminiscent of those of his birth-world, the Tainted Nightsister Crystal, but the Black Kyber Crystal that inherently produced it was vastly different.
After securing it back to his belt, he nodded at the others. This was going to be fun, and he was here for it in every sense of the term. It had been too long since the Regent of the Brotherhood had been out on the hunt himself, and now was a good a time as any. The fact it was a mission being given by a former Grand Master mattered nil, in Zxyl Bes'uliik’s eyes.
The light changed to red, the ramp retracting as they settled into their seats, the webbing of restraints making a coarse sound as they were pulled from their homes. furtive glances flew between them as the sliver of pale light closed around their eyes and the ship began to maneuver. The clack of claws on bulkheads skittered for a moment as the wolves adjusted themselves and their footing.
The holoprojector adjusted, the display showing their path and their target. Zxyl pointed at the thin line as it went into low orbit, then passed over the airbase once before circling back down. His horned helmet bobbed in Korvis’s direction before the Consul gave a nod, Socorra sighing as she pulled her hair back and lifted her helmet. Quentin tilted his head in question, cracking his knuckles around a waiting lightsaber hilt.
It wouldn’t be long now.