Myrkr's Open Terrain

"That depends on the messages." Mal leaned forward in her seat, flicking through them one by one. She shook her head, frowning. "Yeah, nothin' from Tawaza or Stealer, which means they're probably still neck deep in chaos. I'll send them a wave once I figure out our next step," she sighed, smiling the tiniest bit as she skipped over Adrien Draykon's message. She owed the man a chat, eventually. And a few drinks.

Like any good smuggler, Malora kept tabs. She had contacts in high and low places, tech trackers all over the holonet, and her hands in all the wasaka berry pies (legit and shady). Her network had taken years to build, and although it wasn't as extensive as she'd like, it did the job. Most of the time. Every once in a while, the filters on her trackers would go haywire and send her like ninety-eight notifications about a celebrity tripping on-stage or a local mooka pedigree show. That's what you get when you use cheap tech. (Mental note to manipulate Oz into some upgrades next time she saw him.)

Right now, her whole net was set for one purpose and one purpose only: to fish out any information that might be related to the missing Galdaart Fel. So when she found a notification on a possible job opportunity among the spam, Mal's heart jumped. She scrolled through the message, looking for details (there were none), and a quick examination didn't reveal anything that would help her find Fel. Still, she read through it.




Mal checked her credit balance. "…Hmm." She sat back in her chair, frowning, eyes thoughtfully far away. Their cash was spread pretty thin, and the work sounded quick and painless enough, although she knew from experience it was never as easy as it seemed. It had been so long since they'd done a job, legit or otherwise. In fact, it'd been SO long that Malora had begun to question whether or not they could still call themselves 'smugglers'. But they had the time while they waited for the Three Amigos to finish on Bespin, and she had a capable ship…

Mal stood, flipped on the live comm, and checked the frequency. It was first come, first serve, but the contract was still flagged as live and available. Wouldn't hurt to contact them, see what the details were.

A short while later, she was back in the pilots chair with a set of coordinates and a fresh sense of purpose, something she hadn't felt in a very long time. She'd lost her identity after Tir Kaarn and Xaxan Zadicus, and her hopes of finding it again were crushed when they'd lost Dazac and Wade. Fel's disappearance had kicked her into high gear, and finding out Wade was still alive had given her something to do, but her sense of self remained blurry and elusive, floating around aimlessly between her friends who were so clearly defined, at least in her mind. She did a decent job of 'playing' the Malora she was supposed to be. It was easy enough. Karana Malora was not complicated. A little swagger, the right mix of sass and blunt humor, leather jacket, and a peppery will to survive the chaos. But under the bravado, she felt hollow, insignificant, spent, all feelings she thought she'd left behind in the black, bloody Undercity of Coruscant.

There'd been a moment there back in the barracks with Connors. It'd been fleeting but powerful, like lightning through the clouds, a tiny splash of life in her dry, empty soul. The promise of rain, brewing against the horizon for the first time in years.

And now, an opportunity to be what they'd been a long time ago, before all the death and the anguish and the cruelty that had torn her crew apart, before she'd lost herself. Crew for hire, will-work-for-credits and go the distance to get the job done, but done right. Transport? Load up and buckle in. Guns for hire? As long as the cause is kosher. Smuggling? That'll cost you a tad more, but we'll get you there without a hitch.


Maybe this job, this simple bit of familiarity, would start the rainstorm.


The Unfair Advantage rumbled to life under her feet. Mal sat forward, running her fingers over the controls, worn smooth by Fel's hands. "Buckle up, Connors." She winked at him. "Got us a nice, legit job to run for some nice, legit credits. Wrench? Better sew that thing back up, we're outta here and I need my hyperdrive."

Lifting off, Mal took the UA up and out, breaking the atmosphere and soaring into the infinite black of space. "Felucia, buddy," she called over her shoulder at Wrench's query as he finished what he was doing. The tiniest of smiles lit her face. "We're going to Felucia."

The Great Northern Forest

After setting his YT-2400 down in what he estimates to be the center of the Great Northern Forest, Fumnanya turns to his Shownarri co-pilot and, as he begins the post-flight routines and checks, says, "I've got things up here, why don't you round the others up so we can have a little chat about how we'll handle the first day of our hunt."

Nodding, Dikeledi unfastens her safety harnesses and makes her way aft to get the other crew members together as ordered. The prospect of hunting down a pair of Vornskr pups as they have been hired to do would be daunting enough, and the fact that they will need to do so without the help of sensors and other similar equipment due to the effect local flora has on most sensor equipment only makes it more so. Despite the disadvantages, however, Dikeledi feels reasonably confident of their chances of successfully completing the task they've been paid to accomplish, especially if she can arrange things so that she doesn't have to worry about their weakest link - Nkosana, who is an unreliable addict dangerously close to becoming an unacceptable liability to keep on the crew in her book - while conducting the hunt for, and capture of, the Vornskr pups they are being handsomely rewarded for acquiring.

The Great Northern Forest

On the eighth day of their hunt, the crew of the Geheim Masjien finally have their first sighting of a possible candidate for their hunt; Dikeledi spotting a very pregnant Vornskr that she is able, by having Fumnanya stay put rather than try and keep up with her and her quarry, to track back to her well concealed den deep within the forest.

Setting up in the high branches of a tree outside of the cave she had followed the Vornskr to, Dikeledi comms Fumnanya to have him head back to the ship to wait with the others while she watches over the Vornskr's lair during the day and into the evening to try and determine how near to the completion of her pregnancy the canine beast is, if possible, so that she can gauge whether or not it is worth their time to continue watching the beast. After Fumnanya agrees, saying that Dikeledi should stay in position until he arrives later to relieve her, and that they can consider sending other members of the crew to continue hunting for possible candidates later should the need arise.

Fortunately for the crew, late in the afternoon of that very day Dikeledi not only hears the unmistakable sounds of the Vornskr giving birth, but is also able to, after the birth is complete, see that the mother has born a pair of healthy looking cubs. Deciding that with the mother more likely than not worn out from the births, and the majority of the remaining nine vornskr of the pack dozing, now may be the best chance they have of acquiring the cubs, Dikeledi turns her mind to coming up with a plan that will enable her to do so with a minimum of risk to her or the cubs . . .

Tightening one of the straps of his black and grey beskar'gam's breastplate as he starts heading for the boarding ramp shortly after the squad's Kom'rk-class transport has set down in a plain near to one of Myrkr's forests, Cionaodh Rodarch, a forty eight year old near-human Bimm yawns and speaking in Mando'a asks Tadhg Farr, a tall and thin fifty four year old human with long, dark hair and a scraggly beard who is wearing black and grey armor and checking over his blaster rifle and other gear, "Where are we again?"

"Myrkr," Tadhg replies in Mando'a, finished checking over his rifle and adjusting the sling to carry it in an off-side drop position.

"Ah, Cionaodh replies, tightening the straps of his shoulder pauldrons to minimize the noise they make while he moves, And why are we here again?"

"Gene samples," Tadgh answers, a hint of exasperation in his customarily terse reply as he realizes that Cionaodh obviously paid little attention to their leader, Zdzislaw, when he briefed them for the operation.

Frowning in mild confusion as he nods, Cionaodh asks in the hopes of getting more information out of Tadhg, "Gene samples?"

"Gene samples," Tadhg repeats, not inclined to repeat the briefing when he doubts Cionaodh would pay much attention after the first few sentences anyway, finished checking his gear and heading for the boarding ramp.

Cionaodh disembarks not long after Tadgh, joining the other members of the squad outside to wait for the other Mando'ade that are joining them on the mission. Jedrzej, Niall and Ksenia, the squad's scout sniper team, have already set out into the forest to begin hunting for signs of the beasts they have come to acquire genetic samples of, and Cionaodh is given the task of watching the plains to the rear of their ship for any sign of the Mandalorians they are waiting for, with Zdzislaw and the others watching out in the other directions.

Mandalorian patrols from Cerar Kandosii, the new base in Hyllyard City, begin patrols of the forest and jungle around the city. Teams place sensors and comm repeaters, then camoflage them, building a network of sensors and communications through the forests. The natural interference from Myrkr's forests interfere with comms and sensors, which makes for a fantastic advantage to defenders, provided they retain access to communications and sensors their enemies do not. Such is the defensive strategy being employed by the Clan.

Clan Australis commandos patrol in fire teams of four, each platoon of twelve dividing into three teams to spread out across such a massive area. The task of placing the sensor network will take time, but far more work is to come, with construction of supply bases, bunker complexes, and other fortifications deep in the forests the task of years. Clan Australis was setting up to stay, and to defend the ground they had claimed as their own.

Myrkr was now under their protection, and their watch. They would only intervene in the event of direct attack, otherwise, they would be content to watch, and to train here, and build the next generation of supercommandos.

*Australis Outpost - Somewhere on Myrkr*

Two clan Australis grunts were sitting in the sensor control room for the outpost, in charge of monitoring this section of airspace over the planet, in the case of any unidentified craft somehow making it past their orbital defenses. Such a thing could never possibly happen, though. At least, that was what the two Australis soldiers believed, which it turned out was both a blessing and a curse. "Nothing ever happens out here! There's no way anything will ever make it down to us, but I'm just sitting here, with my thumb up my sheb!" One of the grunts complained to the other, who was kicked back in his chair, feet propped up on the console, drinking from a little coconut with an umbrella and crazy straw in it. "Reeeelaaaax, vod. Enjoy the peace while it lasts. It never does." The more tightly wound of the two grunts huffed and pointed an accusatory finger at his comrade. "This is all your fault we got this dush detail! I told you to get rid of that poster of the aliit'alor's daughter!" The grunt raised his hands to try and catch the attention of whatever deity had cursed him with such a horrible bunk-mate. "Oritsir, Hod Ha'ran! I do not know what has caused you to curse me, but I will have my revenge on you!" The more laid back of the of the two raised both his hands in a faux defensive position. "Calm down and drink your rum. It wasn't easy to smuggle here, especially after the C.O. ransacked my bunk. Lost most of my stash. Don't ask how I got it here." The laid back grunt took a sip from the crazy straw. He pointed at the other coconut that was across from his more tightly wound partner, who's face was now red with anger. His eyes widened, and he opened his mouth to begin a tirade not unlike the one their commanding officer had given both of them before sending them out in the middle of nowhere, when the outposts klaxons began going off. Something was in Australis airspace.

Screens lit up and the red emergency lights flickered as the sensors picked up something...big. The tightly wound grunt shoved his ally's boots off the control console, and looked at the readouts of whatever had tripped the alarms. He frowned in confusion. "That can't be right." Without another word, the grunt stood up and left the outpost through the doors, to look outside. The other Australis soldier simply shrugged and continued sipping on his rum through his swirly straw. From his helmet, which was in his lap, he heard his commlink crackle to life as his partner contacted him from outside. ::Vod...come out and take a look at this...:: The grunt set down his coconut drink and put on his helmet to respond. ::Me'bana? We under attack?:: His comm crackled again as his partner spoke again, but it seemed it was not directly to him. ::How is this even poss-:: The link went to static, as if there was heavy interference or signal blockage, even at such a short range between their comms. Slightly worried at this point, the grunt jumped from his chair, grabbing both coconuts on the way out to join his friend outside. As he stepped onto the veranda, drinks still in hand, he slowly approached from behind his companion, who was staring at the sky. His helmet hid his expression, but beneath it his jaw was agape. As the drink toting grunt made it to the railing where his flabbergasted compatriot, he joined him in looking up at the sky. The two coconuts slipped from his grasp as the same shock overtook him as well, their contents spilling out onto the ground. "Woah."

A giant asteroid had somehow appeared within atmosphere of Myrkr. The celestial body, however it had arrived, stayed aloft for a few more moments. Atop the asteroid, a humanoid-looking being with long white hair and beard wearing naught but some tight fitting green pants and a pair of black sunglasses, walked across the surface of the celestial body. From a hip holster he pulled out a travel mug and drank some of its contents before returning it to his hip. He took hold of a pair of reins, attached to the asteroid's surface by stakes driven into it. Adjusting his sunglasses, the being clicked his tongue and lifted the reins up, signaling to the giant space rock it was time.

A signal would air through the clan Australis communication channels as the asteroid began its descent, which caused even greater panic than was already happening. An asteroid appearing out of nowhere was not something that anyone could miss. Even as fighters were launched from bases on the surface, and ships in orbit turned their attention to the asteroid, it was already too late. Fire erupted before the asteroid as the friction from the speed at which it was descending. What was odd was that from the perspective of the two grunts still staring up in shock, it was growing smaller as it got closer. The asteroid was, in fact, compressing in on itself, as if under an immense pressure. The being that had been riding atop was no longer there, as what was once a giant space rock was now too small to comfortably reenact a similar scene from an old holofilm. It was now the size of a home refrigeration unit, and rectangularly shaped. The fire dissipated, and any damage caused by the gravitational forces was somehow instantly reverted back to their pre-asteroid state, and all recorded evidence of the asteroid was scrubbed, as if it had never happened. The black rectangular rectangle stood like a dark monolith among a grassy clearing, standing around nine feet tall, and four feet wide, sticking out like a sore thumb.

The rectangle shaped former asteroid was sleek and black like the void of space, with an obsidian sheen and perfectly smooth. There was no visible way to gain entry into it, no handles or scanner of any kind. When the person it was meant for would stand before it, its seamless surface would open to reveal the contents; a magnificent caf bean producing plant, genetically modified to forever be in season and producing. As well as an assortment of caf related tools to turn the beans produced from the plant into the most delicious caf in this sector, such as an automatic bean roaster/grinder/brewer combination machine, several mugs, and a shelf with ingredients to get any desired flavor. Lastly, there was a smaller box, the same composition as the larger one it sat within, but inside this black obsidian box was a bag of beans, specially grown by the Whill of Coffee, made especially to bring forth the memories of whomever they were grown for, and only that person. Atop the smaller enclosed box was engraved the name Kaine Australis.

Finally, one of the Australis grunts came to his senses, shaking the other by the shoulder. What had only been less than five minutes had seemed an eternity, as they both were still in shock from the terrifying event that had just transpired."Hail the aliit'alor! Tell him we have eyes on the impact...no...landing site?...Just tell him we have eyes on the...thing!" His face unnaturally pale beneath his helmet, and a slight tinge of feces emanating from his armor, the previously laid back grunt snapped to attention and ran inside the outpost to reach their clan's leader, Kaine Australis. The grunts, after cleaning their armor, would arm up and go to secure the area of the monolith.