Log:The Bliptettjupp Chronicles: Blue Spamel Highway

The Bliptettjupp Chronicles: Blue Spamel Highway

OOC Date: February 4, 2022
Location: Jedha
Participants: Bizz Bliptettjupp, Valeska Jaivon, Orin, Shaali Brak, Avery Ihala Kora, Sumi Kora, Zevin Daodhri, Fae Renta, Hahtavi Kora and Hadrix Kora as GM Clan Kora

"We are one with The Force and The Force is with us..."

It's been said repeatedly. Groups taking up the chant when others drop it. Sometimes a whisper like shallow water in a river bed, sometimes a chorus of exulted voices. Hooded and robed figures dressed for cold weather have been bracketed by armed guards ever further into the cold of the Deep Winter Plateaus. Some on foot, more riding the blue furred Spamels that loom like miniature scout walkers over the head of others.

<"Brother Bizz... they do know that they make enough noise to walk the equatorial zone, don't they?"> Hadrix himself mounted on one of the stilt legged beasts rides alongside the Ugnaught for the moment, head turning to scout the horizon. <"And how much longer?">

It's been two days since leaving the trappings of civilization. Two long days of field rations and enviro-tent evenings. Granted to most Mandalorians it's not an issue. But for the people being escorted; rations aren't the fare they're used to.

Orin was used to the rations. He was used to living the hard life. Though the Echani warrior was coming into the Mandalorian's own. He wore sleek armor, with a long shoulder-cape that covered his dominant arm for the most part. He seemed to remain on foot, a rifle in his hands in case something decides to pop up. His helmet is on his head, covering his appearance. Though as the group keeps moving?

Orin's eyes are on the horizon.

He watches. He listens. It's been a long two days, but one where Orin has felt as if he belonged. But he's ready for the seemingly steady progress of the group to come to a screeching halt at any moment.

To most Mandalorians, it isn't much of a big deal. But there are those amongst the ranks who, while accustomed, do not much care for it, either. Valeska is walking alongside one of the spamels with her rifle tucked in both hands and a stomach grumbling. <"I long for a bath,"> she complains to anyone who will listen. Likely not one of the pilgrims who is chanting endlessly. <"And a sausage onna bun. With spicy hot mustard, yeah?"> It's possible no one can hear her over the chanting. Or maybe no one is listening at all. That's entirely possible.

<<"Ori'Had.">> The interneral comms echo through all Mandalorian helmets. <<"How much further, do you reckon?">> A tactical 'are we there yet?'

There are certain times in his life that he's overtly thankful for the climate controlled nature of the Doomseeker armor. Traipsing through the frigid lands they currently find themselves in, now is one of those moments. Still, Avery can barely repress a shudder as a particular cold burst of wind finds its way through the cracks in his suit.

Preferring to walk as opposed to riding one of the tall striding beasts, the silver and blue Mandalorian Slicer walks along with those on foot, his eyes scanning the horizon through the HUD that beeps and chitters occasionally in his helmet. <"I don't think the noise is going to hinder us too much..."> He replies offhandedly to Hadrix. <"...the size of this group is enough to catch notice whether we'd like to or not.">

There are numerous folk here the Mandalorians are escorting and, with his trusty E-11 slung easily within reach, Avery keeps his guard up despite the weariness that the days' travel have brought on. Almost as a second thought, he glances down at his left boot, thankful to have that hunk of metal gone and a proper bionic leg attached. <"Any sort of real food that hasn't been dried out four or five times would suit me good."> he remarks to Val as his regard returns to their surroundings and the protection of those they escort.

<"If y'wanted the element a' surprise, Hadrix, y'shouldn't taken on to escort civvie ritualists."> The drawl comes from an armored warrior shorter than several Mandalorians, though his bass voice even comes out through the vocoder. <"They allus got somethin' to say, an' even if y'can't see 'em, they swear they're speakin' /to/ someone, too."> Zevin Daodhri's purple-black armor tends to fade from view in darkness. <"Wouldn't need protectin' if they were out bein' sensible survivalists, would they? An' we're happy to help,"> he adds, for the benefit of any of the pilgrims listening in to their guards' chatter. The better to get paid.

He has three weapons within easy reach, but none in his hands, but he lopes along easily. <"Ever'body wants a shower,"> the half-Echani says to Valeska with an audible vocoder-snort. <"Don't get paid to take showers, eh?"> He claps Valeska on the shoulder lightly. <"Kinda like the sere desert, m'self.">

Brother Bizz is riding on a fat long-legged spamel and wearing a ridiculous-looking rabbitfur Ushanka hat that is about two sizes too big for his head. The Jedhan brother's spamel has a long unetiwood stick that extends from the saddle into the air, and on it are prayer flags with mantras written in Old Jedhese, Coremaic, and sometimes in Aurebesh. The icy cold wind of the Winter Moon whips the flags, carrying their prayers across the moon to all creatures. "Oh, we must protect this convoy of pilgrims until the next Wayshrine! Then I have paid for another group of protectors to take the mantle. No doubt it is not too far. I have the map somewhere..."

The Pilgrims are groups of offworlders, but also locals who journey yearly, and members of various sects; the Zealots of Psusan, Phirmists, the Clan of the Toribota, Disciples of the Whills in their red robes, and the Weldsingers of Grace who sing songs and lead the chants.

Yes, Mandalorians certainly are a varied lot. While Valeska longs for a hot bath and a sausage somewhere near some buns, Fae Renta longs for... well. A lot of things, really. A bath would be a good start. A mirror. Some food that hasn't been freeze-dried. A private place to pee. She's wearing her helmet today to protect her pretty skin from the sun. A light purple afghan covers the top of that helmet and hangs around her shoulders. Almost a cape, but not really. Little gold accents flutter in the wind as she walks.

<"This is miserable. I never want to do this again."> The lady doth protest. Her Dresselian Rifle hangs from a two point sling over her chest. The barrel is angled down and her arms are tucked up over her chest, pinning it against her torso. Both hands are sort of snugged up under the spot where her helmet twists into her torso's armor.

<"Of course you like the desert, Daodhri. You're a bumpkin. Bumpkins love things like... sand. You make up games about it, like... I spy with my little eye, something hard and coarse that gets everywhere.">

Shaali Brak is along, having hitched a ride or something. And she's been wearing layers over her flight suit, changing her socks at every rest. She's far from Miss Wilderness, but she seems to at least have an idea of what to do and how to be usefull. There are also no complaints from her about the rations, the walking, or the smell of the Spamels. "Ooooo... a nice hot one with bubbles and some wine. And maybe somebody to rub my feet and make sure I don't pass out and drowned," offered in banter to Valeska. "Maybe once we get where we're going," she hooks a thumb at the Spamel, "we can eat one of these things. Never been much of spam, though. But who knows? Maybe it'll be decent if they don't can them first."

She then pulls her little snow hat down a but further on her head, as a chilly wind sweeps through. And the scarf around her neck is lifted up and used to cover her lower chin. She's also managed to prucure a walking stick along the route, something just found on the side of the trail that hasn't managed to fully fall apart yet.

Spamels are tall, spindly legged stilted blue creatures and Hahtavi is currently mounted up high upon the back of one of them. He is up somewhere near the front unless Hadrix should put him elsewhere. Wearing his usual black armor, he turns his T-visor slowly, panning and utilizing his 360 degree optics. His HUD allows him to zoom in and study things in the distance. For the moment his flamer is slung over his back with his jetpack but his Galaar is clipped to the tactical rig in front. Hands free for riding, Hahtavi nonetheless can almost instantly grab the rifle when needed. Shame he didn't bring his new sniper rifle but Orin's been kitted out with one of Haht's so they have a long distance marksman or two in the group all the same.

As they proceed, this Kora still tends to turn his head even with his helmet optics, glancing back to check on Shaali, a newcomer that somehow talked him into giving her a ride out here to engage in merc work.

Sumi is on the ground hoofin' it partly because she knows she's out of shape, and the other half knowing she'd fall off those tall rekks and bust her ass given the off chance something spooked the god damn spamel. If it weren't for bad luck, Sumi would have none at all, thus.. she is with the spiritual 'convoy' walking. Each step jingles, perhaps adding some percussion to the chant and keeping them 'in time'. Sumi has her helmet on, and her cape is swept back. Across her torso and attached by sling is a sleek G8 assault rifle, its custom optics has been married with some desert plant that's been fed through the small net cast over it. The weapon itself is coyote tan, with all the bells and whistles to include a blaster-pack marked for incendiary rounds.

Sumi carries the weapon like a seasoned soldier, the buttstock chicken-winged under her arm with her hand cupped over the grip, finger straight and off the trigger. She doesn't add to the moaning, her thoughts wander like her gaze, taking in the hooded faces of pilgrims wondering about a life devoted to religion.

<"I could use a smoke,"> She says, winded.

<"It's less a matter of elements of surprise so much as to actually be able to hear a stanging thing besides how much the Force is up in them and how much they love it being in them."> head shaking slightly but focusing on Bizz when he mentions the next wayshrine soon, and others to take command of the pilgrimage.

Freezing winds blowing sand across the plateau of the cold desert of the prayer road creating a momentary fog like haze before a rise is crested and the half buried, tilted, head and shoulders of a woman in hooded robe appears. The face alone at least fifteen or twenty feet - sightless eyes staring out above and behind the line of those headed to their sacred sights.

It does little to quiet the various religious travelers.

If anything some of them begin chanting louder, more fervently. Several break off to go to their knees and lift their hands in supplication to the figure whose name could be anyone's guess.

<<"Fantastic...">> muttered over private comms, <<"At least he pays well.">>

Maybe Orin was blind. Maybe he was still getting used to the sensor array of his new equipment. Though as he walks alongside the group, he manages to spot nothing despite how hard he tries to look. His attention moves from one to another, his eyes narrowing. But he sees nothing. The chanting becomes louder, and it distracts Orin further. But he doesn't disturb them.

He holds his rifle in hand, and muttered over the communications, Orin replies. <<"Indeed.">>

He keeps his attention on some of the other Mandalorians as well, making sure nobody's missing. But honestly, there's so much happening that it's difficult for Orin to have eagle-eyes!

<"What I long the most right now is some damn peace and quiet."> The chanting is reaching a fever-pitch and this is after it had overstayed its welcome about an hour or two into the multiday trek. <"If I have to hear about the rekkin' Force for one more--- huh?">

The large, looming /something/ in the distance clouded by haze forces a double take. Upon confirming she is not hallucinating it due to the constant repetition around her, Valeska takes to the sky with a roar of her jetpack and pushes forward quickly. <<"Alor. Al'Verde. I have visual. Some kinda... statue, yeah? And there's a lot of sentients around it. They don't look too happy to see me.">>

Anyone who is familiar with Avery could probably guess as to the state of his eyebrow beneath the silver Y-visored helmet. For those that aren't, though unseen, a single brow arches high on his forehead as the lot of them arrive at the half buried statue, the cacophony of their charge rising higher in a near fervor pitch. <"I'm guessing we've arrived, or are near enough to throw a stone at our destination...">

His comment fades with the chill wind when designations begin appearing, marked in yellow on his HUD. A dozen bodies or so appear up ahead, hard to tell the exact number with the nature of the weather and terrain around them. But this group doesn't appear to be clothed like pilgrims... the shape of their outlines bely bulky armor, and maybe even long guns. Avery squints into the gloom, like this would have any effect with the enhancements his armor gives him, and drops into private comms.

<<"Um... I'm seeing some figures up ahead. About twelve or so, looking to be armored, possibly armed.">> In preparation Avery lifts his E-11, not sighting down the targets yet but alert and ready should the need for shooting become apparent.

<"Sometimes I forget you were a garrison soldier for folks that ain't had a proper war in decades, Fae."> Zevin's tone is friendly. <"But y'never let me forget fer long."> He's pacing alongside where Valeska was and where Fae's spamel is still making its lumbering way. He looks up towards the statue. It's the best cover for kilometers. If there's anywhere to launch an ambush from...

Zevin turns and breaks away from the line of pilgrims, trying to get some distance from the rest of the group before the enemy - expecting the worst, here - gets a definite count on how many guards this caravan really has. He gets some distance, but he's not really finding a good place to blend. As he 'stalks,' his voice comes over comms. <<"Confirm sighting. Dozen minimum, in armor, an' rifles, too. Those /ain't/ pilgrims.">>

Brother Bizz adjusts his holy robes, throwing some of the extra fabric around his shoulders to swaddle against the cold winds. Underneath he has a little bit of armor on, but perhaps that is permitted among the Guardians of the Whills. "Oh, is this the Daughter of the Force? Many come to look upon her visage and ask for peace. I must leave an offering of incense!" He is reaching for a globular censer of Dagoyan incense that hangs from his spamel's side when some strange aroma fills his nostrils. Glitterstim, tibanna-jacked weapons... He reaches instead for his energy bow.

Fae is on the back of Hahtavi's spamel, torso leaned slightly backwards in a reclining gesture, but with legs fully tucked into leather stirrups that are more for her comfort than any steering. If you asked Fae Renta if she was doing anything back there, she'd insist that she was helping steer it. 'I actually steer it more from the back, like a boat's rudder' she would say. She's not doing anything, though. It's more like those steering wheels they put on grocery carts for little kids.

As the spamel slows its movements and some of the worshippers break off towards the statue, Fae's attention turns in its direction. She untucks her fingers from the edge of her armor and she moves her grip to be at a more ready position. One hand clutches the top of the stock by the trigger and the other tucks up beneath the forestock between the magazine and the rifle's barrel.

<"Farkle yourself, Daodhri,"> Fae says simply. She gives head a toss, like she's tossing her hair, but it's all in a helmet so it probably looks a bit ridiculous. She tucks that rifle against her chest and lifts her chin up, opting for a hero landing as her eye catches motion up on the ridge just ahead. That'll look awesome, Fae.

Except her foot gets caught in the stirrup on the way down.

<"No no noauugh--OOMPH!"> Plonk. Fae lands on her belly and rifle. Proud Hapan noble that she is, she tries to play it off like it was intentional. She's prone, after all. Angled sortofish towards the ridgeline. She tucks that rifle against her shoulder, tips her head, and peers down the sights at the various targets. Finger still straight, but ready to squeeze the triggers.

<"Theydon'tlookfriendly."> Fae says, all at once, because she got the wind knocked out of her.

Pistol smoothly drawn and held in hand, Shaali begisn to fall back to the rear. 360 security is important, and she doesn't have the right weapon for a ranged fight. <<"This is Brak. I got rear security,">> intoned into the comms channel she's been given in a business like manner. It lacks her customary 'this is hilarious' undertones, as she hunches forward and starts picking her way through the rocks. Older than most of the other mercenaries here, and likely far less armored, the middle aged woman does what she can where she can. She does linger long enough to see if Fae is still alive. And seeing her move, her short pause is ended and she returns to slinking through the caravan and towards the back.

Unlike others who complain, Hahtavi seems to be very content to be roughing it. Camping at night, traveling through a desert by day, it's almost like home. Hot, cold, doesn't matter. Dry is nice. It isn't Nar Shaddaa. As usual, Haht speaks little and keeps his eyes and ears sharp, vigilant and enjoying the trip. Except maybe the chanting he's tuned out. There's a reason he's a little out front and off to one side a ways rather than in the thick of them. Room to maneuver.

The wind blows dust and sand, a cold wind. Hahtavi takes note of the huge statue rising up out of the desert ahead as they crest a swell in the dunes between intermitant stony ground. He took picks out movement even as he hears Avery's voice come over his coms. Time to dismount.

Oops! There goes Fae. Hahtavi can feel her shifting behind himself and before he might put out a gauntlet to steady her dismount, she leaps! Or falls. Hard to say, but she landed with style! Maybe.

Much more smoothly, Hahtavi clears his boots from the stirrups and then throws a leg over behind to lower himself down the side of the spammel. It's a tall beast and he takes care to climb down and drop the last little distance without spooking it, lest he or Fae get dragged or trampled.

As soon as his own boots hit the hardpacked sand, Hahtavi uses his rifle to smack it's hock and send it off and clear of them. Then he too goes to ground since there's no cover out here, siting up his rifle and marking any targets for their HUD's that he can spot that aren't already marked by others.

Hearing Shaali, the merc, Hahtavi notes her position watching their Six. He remains silent.

Hearing the confirmation of possible hostile forces ahead, Sumi drags her rifle up after hugging her off-arm around her torso to make for a steady shooting platform. Her helmeted head tilts and she adjusts the optics on her scope to see through the sandy haze. Her HUD begins to transmit data to the rest of the Squad, marking not only the 'contacts' but their dormant speeders sitting cold and off to one side. The speeders are marked as a possible explosive and danger.

<<"This day, the Daughter of the Force gifts us an opportunity to bring peace.">> Sumi calls out in a cold tone.

Taking a moment to steady her breathing, Sumi recalls the sound of her mentors voice uttering a calm chant in the back of her mind. The figure eight the sight-reticule makes from Sumi's natural point of aim aligns with the speeders some 200m away. Sucking in air and holding it, her arms tighten and her head lowers to form a stockweld with the buttstock just as her finger hooks over the trigger and begins to gently pull back.

The lance of red discharged from the G8 rifle traveled slightly slower than light, leaving a contrail of black that cut through the haze from its origin to its point of contact. The shot surprised Sumi because she had been so focused on the chant in her head, and obtaining the sight alignment and picture.

The success of the shot eclipses the desert in a tall explosion of fire that consumes the group of speeders around it. Sumi had reached out and touched the fuel cell of one speeder to level the 'playing field'.

<<"Mando'ade.. it is our turn to leave an offering.">>

<"What the hell are they going to get out of pilgrims, Brother Bizz?"> Hadrix is drawing the easier to pull carbine from his chest harness while he rolls backwards off of his spamel to land in a crouch, dropping to one knee and aiming the short blaster like a pistol towards the directions indicated by others.

The pilgrims let out a variety of shouts of surprise and panic when the escort move into action - as that could only mean one thing, really. Many start to pull their pack animals and repulsor sleds to start running. Others fall to their knees with their hands up begging for mercy. Some even take their walking staves into a defensive position, shouting wordless challenges.

A trandoshan among the group atop the head of the mostly buried statue seems ready to speak. Likely a list of demands, taunts, or demanding taunts that might have risked a monologue to be interrupted. Or a distraction to presage an assault. Hissing and snarling in maddened irritation even as the wet hissing roar of a lamprey like mouth and pointed fingers show Zevin hasn't gained positional advantage, a sound combined with anger and shock at the destruction of one of their speeders.

"SSSSSCOREKEEPER SSSSHAlL HAVE A PRIZSSSSE!" is, ultimately, shouted as the Dosh open fire on the cat-ear helmeted figure. The Dashade following suit.

<"Hm?">

That's Odin's sole reaction to reports of visuals, enemies are present. Though he frowns as he understands the situation. <"Then it's time to take care of work."> Orin plugs a fresh clip into his rifle, especially when Sumi transmits targeting data to his HUD.

He takes a knee after moving to a decent vantage point, angling the stock of his gun so it's firmly held between bicep and shoulder connection. His finger extends and moves around to the trigger.

Deep breath.

<"I have them in my sights.">

<"Score this."> And Orin starts pulling the trigger to that rifle as blaster fire starts sailing across the distance.

Tactics? Oh, that's where you find a bunch of hostiles firing on the Chief and then you fire back. Them's the best tactics. Still airborne and deciding to remain there, Valeska draws up her rifles and finds a juicy little target in her sights using the tried and true Mandalorian method.

Eeny. Meeny. Miney. BLAM!

A Dashade Hunter is making his merry way recharging for his next shot when a very heavy red bolt screams across the frigid air and makes its new home in his armoured abdomen. The force lurches him backwards as if being punched by the biggest of schoolyard bullies, but aside from some singing, that seems to have only made him angry. So angry.

And there is the command for the attack... that didn't take long on either side, if that's what the call from the Trandoshan was. <"Wait, there's a scorekeeper? What kind of prizes do they require? Is this new?"> Avery asks off-handedly to those around him before dropping to a knee and leveling his sight on a few of the baddies.

The Slicer probably should have been more focused on the for before him instead of coming up with some slightly humorous quip, perhaps his attack would have gone better. As it is, both searing bolts from his E-11 go flying off into the distance, narrowly missing the two he had chosen to drop. Instead, the targets remain standing, their scowls easily seen through the zoom in his visor.

<"Well, that didn't work...">

The Trandoshan up top is pointing right at Zevin. So much for subtlety. He starts sprinting towards the statue as his jetpack flares to life, propelling him up and forward, past the group set up on the ground right onto the top of that statue. He comes down for an ungentle landing with his stun baton locking into place and coruscating with electric sparks, the momentum knocking right into the Trandoshan who was busy posturing. Zevin kicks him off the statue before continuing down the giant statue, delivering solid blows backed by premier First Order technology, the leaders in nonlethal weaponry development, to two more Trandoshans. <"Oh, now yer really somethin',"> he tells the Dashades. He sends a video still of the two back to his comrades. <<"What in blazes is this?!">>

Bizz is aghast at the attack on holy pilgrims. He says to Hadrix, "Slavers do not need rich pilgrims. By the FORCE, the audacity!" He pushes back his rabbitfur Ushanka hat and awkwardly tries to direct his spamel with his knees. "Pilgrims, run to the middle of the convoy for protections! Leave the Daughter's face!" The plump monk raises his Energy Bow and nocks an energized arrow, aiming for one of the raiders. He releases it and it streaks across the sky, across the denuded visage of the Daughter of the Force with a loud THUUUUUUUUUM sound! And hits a raider square-on.

Fae, still lying prone, watches that blaster shot streak out over the air atop her and impact speeders some way up on the ridge. The explosion that rocks in the distance prompts her to turn eyes towards her sight. Shots ring out through the air while Fae sights a target -- one of thems big nasties. <"Mmmhh, alright."> Fae murmurs beneath her breath. Her finger curls inward and finds the trigger of her projectile rifle and she squeezes it. The gun kicks against her shoulder, bucked up by the same explosion that slings a slug through a rifled barrel and... -pewww-. Well high.

<"Rrrgh."> Fae grumbles, and tilts her head to the side to adjust the sights that may or may not have gotten jostled loose from the fall.

Shaali Brak drops to a crouch at the rear of the formation, lifting her blocky and NOT ugly cromium and black blaster pistol into both hands. She takes sight, her whole hand squeezing with an easy pull of the trigger. But there is no small amount of distance, and it was a hand gun. That's the excused she'll be making over drinks later, at any rate. Both bright red bolts go wide and over the Raiders head, burying themselve out in the desert somewhere after fading from view. She's then dropping to prone, since there is a distinct lack of cover here. Though it's more like flying, as she just flings herself forward and lays out flat before hitting the cold ground with an 'oof'.

Lying prone on the ground to present the smallest target profile possible, and to steady his rifle, Hahtavi is not far from Fae. He watches the figures moving in the distance through the sand blown haze and as one shows themselves just a bit more, he fires a shot and another in quick succession. Bolts fly forth from his Galaar.

The first bolt scores only sand but the slight adjustment tracks his target more precisely and hits the Dashade hunter, dropping him! It wasn't his best shot so it's just as well if that one was injured already.

Over his coms Hahtavi can hear the others speaking, passing intel, targets marked on his HUD and being tracked even when he can't see them clearly.

Calm, patient and quiet, this Kora ignores the pilgrams scrambling away behind them and stays frosty, focused on their ambushers while seeking another acquisition through his rifle's targetting reticle.

Sumi holds her ground as a hail of fire is returned, pocking up the sand and popping rocks near her. Sumi lowers the rifle and turns from it, slogging forward a bit and waving her arm to the pilgrims. <"AGAINST THE ROCKS! FIND COVER!" Another shot slaps the ground near her feet, but Sumi continues to wave the pilgrims off the path and out of harm's way.

When it came time to join the Mandalorian assault, Sumi moves up and along the column of shifting people, making a few last minute adjustments to her rifle. She isn't going to run, she has much younger Mandalorians for that. She does get to a better point up front to take stock of the situation ahead. A raider runs close by, and Sumi lazily lifts her rifle, leveraging the buttstock under her arm in a chicken wing to fire a single shot as casual as one might take out the trash.

The raider rushing the pilgrims transforms into ash before their eyes, falling to his knees before gravity took him the rest of the way and the hazy wind swept away the ashes. Cycling the incendiary canister out by charging the rifle's cycler, Sumi says, <"I said.. get back."> The emphasis to take cover seems to resonate more clearly with some now, and Sumi turns her attention back to the battle, observing the Mandalorians go to work.

Eyes keen to the infrared spectrum follow the flight of Zevin, though they seem fine with letting the flying figure batter down the trandoshan whom had called out and received their hailstorm of return fire. Even with one of their number blasted down by another - leaving only one atop the statue head, it drops back momentarily while raising its heavily modified rifle.

"Sporting." the mouth filled with rows and rows of teeth manages to grumble, a toggle thumbed and a spray of energy shards are blasted out for the half-echani Mandalorian - a cloud of burning pain meant to severely inhibit those of a spectacularly mobile nature.

As blaster fire lances back and forth some of those pilgrims of the warrior monks of the varied schools of philosophy and spirituality break from the ranks, staff and fist meeting club and claw as the groups begin to tear into one another in a wild melee that, for the moment, favors the raiders for the number of defenders that fall.

<<"As Alor'Sumi said, to the rocks, get cover, find defilade between as many of them as you.">> Hadrix is walking with all of the confidence of an Endorian Boar-Wolf among ewoks and other smaller creatures. Blaster bolts falling like rain around him and one reflected by the cuisse on his right thigh. For those with HUDs icons are being blinked into displays while he talks. <<"Short range weapons move to flank, long range stay centered and draw attention. Displace towards relative nine o clock and fire high to avoid the pilgrims.">>

Calm as can be when one shot spins a raider like a child's toy and then another, krayt scale cape blowing out behind him.

"THE FORCE IS WITH US, BROTHERS AND SISTERS! WE ARE ONE WITH THE FORCE AND THE FORCE IS WITH US!" the battlecry going up from the ranks of pilgrims and more move to make for the defense of their kin and kind.

Orin fired off his first shot and shot a Trandoshan in the head. They returned fire and the Mandalorian-to-be managed to just barely shift his body out of the way as the bolt flies by. His attention refocuses ahead of him and he sees those Dashade hunters still on the move, his eyes narrowing.

In the span of a few seconds, he fires his second shot, and a Dashade's face is suddenly vaporized by the red bolt flying across the way.

The little blinks of her HUD are flickering out one by one by one. Like watching a string of Life Day lights slowly burn out. Eventually, the whole tree is going to go dark and the kids will be sad that Life Day was cancelled.

One of those little twinklies is making a rather rude gesture in Valeska's general area. A rude gesture that involves a lot of popping shots at her allies and scaring the obnoxious pilgrims. From her high-and-lofty position in the sky, the hovering Mando returns her own rude gesture straight into a hunter's face. And skull. And neck. And a good chunk of his shoulders, too. It's all pretty much gone.

A barrage of gun fire flies well wide of most of the assembled, Zevin and a few unfortunate pilgrims fairing not as well as the rest of the pack. Avery narrows his eyes as the battle heightens in intensity, flashes of sand turned to glass, bodies dropping, and everywhere around them shadows shifting from the myriad of different sailing light sources.

Hadrix's command echoes in his helmet and he moves to acknowledge his part, igniting his rocket pack to sail up and over the attacking party to drop in behind. Avery drops to a knee when his feet meet the sand, the usually accurate carbine lifted in his arms to take another go at the ambushing party. Up comes the barrel while his finger curls about the trigger which sends two more flashes of red leaping from the muzzle to fly toward his chosen target...

This time both bolts of plasma slam into his intended victim. The first causes the Trandoshan to spin wildly with a hearty blast to the shoulder, the second stops their top like motion after it catches them in the head. The lifeless body of the snarling foe flips head over heels before both their head and heels collide separately with the ground, rolling along the sand until momentum ceases. <"That's more like it.">

Whatever Zevin says when some of the energy shards slide into the gaps in his armor and knock a chink in, he doesn't transmit it, but those close enough might still hear it. <"Haar'chak!"> He's not happy. He swings the bulk of the shock baton close to his side for cover as he advances on the last Dashade still atop this mostly-buried statue and stabs out with it as though it were a blade. It's more of an electric mace, but when locked into place like this, all of Zevin's momentum can go into the blow. When the Dashade sidesteps, he's up close, personal, and wounded with the reptile.

A click from the baton, a quick step back with a pull and a figure eight brings it around to hit the Trandoshan in the back, stunning him to unconscious. Electricity still arcing into him as Zevin presses the baton against him, he kicks out to send the fierce he-or-she-reptilian falling behind the raiders.

Then he drops to one knee, deactivating the baton and strapping it to his thigh. He pulls out his hand cannon, beginning to flip the safety and adjust his grip. Might as well use the high ground properly.

Bizz puts down his bow and wrenches the unetiwood stick with prayer flags from the back of his saddle. The oversized antique radio-comlink dangling from his spamel's cantle crackles Hadrix's commands. One hand takes the reins, galloping his spamel to the flank then charging the Trandoshans! "By the FOOOOORCE!" At first the stick is couched like a lance, then it is flipped over and used to smack the last Trandoshan a few times, then he rides OVER the Trandoshan. CLOMP CLOMP. A falling giant reptile almost hits him. "To disrespect the Daughter is to be in disharmony with the Universe!" he scolds the bandits.

Fae wants that Dashade. That shot was going to hit. It should've hit. And now, she watches that creature level its rifle towards Zevin. <"Daodhri!"> she yells, just as that rifle discharges. Fae lifts that bolt up and draws it back, ejecting a spent casing and a puff of smoke and vapor into the cold desert air. A jerk of her hand forward and flick of her wrist down slides another round into place and she moves her finger back to the trigger. But then there's the order to get back. To the rocks. To cover.

Fae gives a very soft grunt as she pushes herself up to her feet, tucking that rifle barrel down and the stock into her shoulder. She closes the distance to the rocks swiftly and sets up a position where she's got a nice surface to rest her rifle on and vantage point to take a shot on that Dashade she desperately wants to murder. However, when she peeks her head out to line up a shot, it's -she- who is being shot at instead.

<"Ack!"> says the Hapan in surprise. The blaster bolt hits the rock in front of her and the raider attempts to flee to cover. Well. The best laid plans of mice and women. She flicks the long range scope down and the short range sight up, takes aim, and squeezes the trigger.

Crack.

That rifle kicks and lodges a slug in the sand.

<"Farkle! What is wrong with this thing?!"> Fae says.

Shaali snaps a shot off, as a clump of dirt near her explodes in a gout of heat and energy. Her own shot, steadies by her arms dug into the ground, pratically parts the Raider's hair. "Fek," she grumbles, and begins a mad scramble to the rocks, seeking cover. One handed, she snaps off a second shot as she goes. This shot is much less accruate, disappearing into the darkening sky as he movements jostle her firing position aroun.

THen she's doing another flying squirrel impression, as she sails gracelessly through the air, hitting the ground again and half rolling onto her side to arrest her momentum. Then she lets gravity do the rest, her body rolling back into a flat and prone position. A few kicks of her feet later, and she's got a nice pile of dirt to post up behind.

There's a glance in Fae's direction at her fussing but she seems to be all right. Hahtavi gets his shebbs up out of the sand, <<Hahtavi copies. Flanking, over.">> With his rifle in his hands he starts running foward and moving up to see if he can flank them, coming in from the side and around the statue they are trying to use as cover.

He could just jetpack in but despite the pilgrams, this isn't actually shaping up to be a difficult fight. Other than the difficulty in trying to nail the ambushers. That and not always ideal visibility.

His boots take him forward. Hahtavi lifts his rifle and skids to a stop long enough to fire off a bolt - nailing one of the Raiders at much closer range. The ambusher is hit dead center and the body thrown back to land in the dust.

Another shot is snaped off, hitting another Raider ere Haht's moving again. In all this he has no clue how the merc is doing.

Sumi stays at the head of the group of pilgrims, not in cover but taking advantage of the wide field of view. She pops off a shot just as one of the Raiders make for cover, and her bolt sparks off the rock. Cycling the spent tibanna cannister, Sumi chuckles. <"The Force is with him, apparently!"> Not for much longer, though. She moves ahead, adjusting her rifle to rest appropriately against her shoulder now, her other hand cupping under it after wrapping her arm about the sling to make the hold tighter. <"Hmmm, let's see how far he makes it...">

Their numbers considerably reduced - that quartet that remains backing up while firing at the escorting mandalorians, and mercenary. Several Pilgrims are on the ground, wounded but still living and others are rallied behind the gallant charge of Brother Bizz as he, quite literally, rides down the last remaining trandoshan of the raiding force.

<<"Keep pushing, they're falling back. Not long now.">> the e-11 in hand spitting red energy darts that find only sand or stone - creating bursts of steam and rapidly cooling glass. Still marching forward, Hadrix watches The Charge of Brother Bliptettjupp, and one can hear the raised brow through the Coruscant accent and broken throat gravel, <<"Dank farrik...">>

But those remaining raiders are trying to make a run for it, despite the wild shots taken. Pursuing is most definitely an option with the combined tactical acumen of the assembled giving several precise firing lanes to follow if they want.

The tides. They have turned. To the hapless, would-be attackers, the tides were never in their favour to begin with. What surely looked like easy pickin's of a kumbaya chant-line of pilgrims turned into a full frontal Mando'n'Merc sandwich. Valeska sends a partying shot into the backside of a feeling Raider: a message to return to base if they even make it to base. She remains in the air on the little puffs of her jetpack, hovering closer to the head of the statue.

<"Vod,"> she says out towards Zevin. <"You okay?">

It was a rather merciless killing by the Mandalorians. Sadly there were a number of pilgrims that felt the sting of the ambusher's assault, their bodies now crumpled on the cold sands before the statue they sought. With a twist of his head, Avery looks from the dead to the fleeing attackers, his E-11 lifted to send a couple of departing shots in their direction. Those that fled would certainly remember this day, especially the one with the new hole in his rear as he yelped and limped away in escape.

<"I'm fine."> Zevin is terse in answering Valeska, but it isn't personal. He checks the ammo on the revolver, then takes up station up here on top of the only big piece of cover. Still kneeling, he watches the three remaining who flee. <"Fit to go for miles, but I'd rather get a bandage an' bacta goin' before I keep goin', if it's all the same to ever'body else."> He waits for their sharpshooters to do their work.

Look. We all have bad days. Fae Renta is having a pretty bad day. It's probably her fault for calling Zevin a bumpkin. Or for trying to jump off the spamel. When she pulls back from another missed shot, Fae glares down at that rifle before slinging the bolt action up and back, forward and down. She pushes off of that cover and rounds the corner towards where the raider she'd missed is scampering away to squeeze a shot off at another Mandalorian.

We all have bad days.

She levels that rifle, closes one eye, lines up the sight and exhales through her lips. That exhale drops her left arm just enough that when--

--CRACK--

that when that rifle discharges, the slug catches the fleeing creature in their center of mass and creates such a pretty red mist against the warm-looking sand of Jedha.

The steam mixed with the blood helps remind Fae just how cold it is outside of that suit.

We've all got bad days, but that raider's? A bit worse than Fae's.

<"Finally.">

There are injured to be attended, and he's got his medpac on him, but first there are still raiders fleeing out into the desert. Hahtavi still has them in range as he runs, stopping once more to lift his rifle and aim carefully. He fires off another shot, taking one in the back to flop onto the hardpan.

The other is running as hard as he or she can, but still armed and hasn't thrown down their weapon. This Kora stands very still, leads the fleeing figure very slightly with his rifle and exhales...

The second shot not only hits them but by chance nails the raider in the back of the head. No more head. The body flops into the dust. Afterwards nothing is moving except for the dust and bits of fabric flapping in the incessant wind. Cold, though Hahtavi doesn't feel it.

When he's certain that he doesn't see any more ambushers, he turns and jogs back to make certain there are no more hiding in nooks around the statue to surprise them.

Then, and only then, he's heading back to tend to help tend to their wounded. <<"Who's hurt? Sound off if you need a baar'ur - a medic, over!">>

Brother Bizz pulls his spamel up and starts to dismount, not wanting to chase raiders. He's an ugnaught of peace! He uses his stick to awkwardly dismount the very tall camelid, losing his rabbitfur Ushanka hat in the process. "Children of the Force, please help us get these wounded on to litters. The next wayshrine is close!" He kicks the Trandoshan who fell off the top of the face statue, making sure it is dead.

Shaali is glad for her burm. Because burms are good for stopping blaster bolts. And this one does just that, as a lance of red plows into the sand and create a crater of glass and ash just on the other side of her. But then the firing stops. Or slows, at least. Because the raiders are in full retreat. The pilot pops up to peek, weapon by her side for a moment longer. Then it's sliding into its holster, as she moves in that hunkered down position in order to keep low. <<"Do we have a CCP established? We have wounded back here.">> Her tone is excited, because gunfire, but not joyous and not terrified. Just energetic. And she's grabbing one of those wounded by the shoulders of their robe, and she begins dragging them towards cover.

Sumi steps up to the rock her foe fled behind and props one foot up on it, leeeeeaaaning forward and taking aim. She watches them flee, taking her time to settle the sight on their back, then up just a hair to the back of their neck. Her finger makes it over the trigger just as the glare of a Galaar bolt impacts their head, puffing out a cloud of red mist. <"Not far at all,"> Sumi intones, straightening up and lowering her weapon. Adjusting the slung weapon, she brings it to her side and is about to step away when something catches her eye.

A pack of smokes. She takes an aged crouch down, grunting with weathered knees to scoop up the back. A glance is paid to the half buried Force Lady and she lifts the crumpled package in her direction; a gesture of thanks.

<<"Peace achieved.">> Sumi announces. <<"Resume your previous roles and account for the dead. Commander.. let's march on.">> Sumi pulls her helmet off and shakes her dark hair out. The helmet is hooked over the ornate pommel of the sheathed Song Blade of Dargul.

Sumi remains where she is to observe the regroup like an officer assigned to the field unit. Her head dips low briefly to a hand shielding a flame from the cold wind, and then she straightens with a smoke tucked between her scarred lips, the scented release conceived as a cloud of grey haze. "Ahhh.." Sumi clamps her lighter shut and watches the group get things back in order.

Moving among the wounded, tending injuries - of all things. Hadrix; surprise medic is on scene to aid Shaali and Bizz with the wounded. <<"Copy Alor - giving medical aid and prepping to move them. Val'ika, Avery - see about the remaining speeders. Wounded can't walk without risking the healthy, we can make-shift some sledges for the injured.">> standing up as he speaks and watching the lines of the devout begin to gather up to prepare for the next stages of their long walk. Two days without incident. Not a bad record.

<<"Ori'Zev, you're in the speeder with the wounded while we make sure all is well. No exceptions or I'll try to shoot your squirmy kowakian monkey-lizard hopping shebs.">>

Bizz himself being lauded for his heroics by some of those making ready to move on - the little ugnaught grabbed and lifted onto shoulders to be bounced and cheered for his bravery and intensity to defend them. Great cheers of "Brother Bizz! Brother Bizz!" erupting up and down the line to match with the thanks heaped upon Shaali and the Mandalorians present for their assistance. Scented feather necklaces and prayer bead cords in hands attempting to lay them on any shoulder they can. Hands slapping shoulders. The fear the mercenaries had engendered evaporated for their aid.

And so then, the journey for the Wayshrine continues.

Shaali Brak is out of breath, having dragged the body to cover, and then over to a litter where they can be attended to by a medic. Which is not her, notably. She rests a hand on the butt of her pistol, catching her breath as she scans the horizon for anymore threats. Then a scent catches her nose. Her nostrils flare, and her head turns in the direction of Sumi. And she follows her nose, right up to the point where she's having beads and feathers and the like heaped upon her.

It takes her a moment to get back on mission, weaving her way through the crowd and trying to distract them by pointing at people who did more than her. There. Go thank them instead. Until finally, she's stopped near the Mando with the smokes. "Excuse me," said in a very Core accent, "would you mind if I had one of those? Nothing quite like a smoke after a fight, right?"

Bizz is paraded on shoulders though the fat little monk is still looking for his hat. "Thank you, thank you." He is a GUARDIAN of the Whills, mind you, so guarding thing is not out of his wheelhouse. Eventually he has some of the supply hoversleds being pulled along emptied to use as makeshift medical stretchers for the last few kilometers to the next pilgrim stop. There he has hired a company of Er'kit luggabeast munitioneers to guard the pilgrims to the shrine beyond. For Bizz and the Mandalorians, they will start off to the lost Shrine of the Seer. Bizz Bliptettjupp hopes they have beer at the wayshrine, too.

Fae Renta pulls that bolt up and back a final time. One last spent casing flips through the air and lands at her feet before being stomped into the sand. There's a hiss of her own helmet as the pressure releases, followed by a rush of cold air into the once warm space. It pulls the breath out of her lungs in a stream of vapor that lifts up to join the clouds way up in the sky. "It's freezing out here," the Hapan says. A purple skullcap sits atop her head, squishing her blonde hair and keeping those lil ears warm even beneath her helmet.

She pulls that thin hood a little closer, pinching it in front of her red lips while stepping atop the raider she'd shot's head, using it as a stepping stone to hop-skip off of and grind their face into cold sand.

A glance is given towards Zevin and Valeska at the fore, then towards Hahtavi, Hadrix, and Sumi. Fae's slender eyebrows lift when she sees Sumi spark up a smoke. "Where does she find that stuff?" Fae says. A question for the universe more than anyone in particular.

Bizz and Shaali in the rear get some attention, and Fae moves in their direction to check on the wounded pilgrims and administer aid, if required.

"You're faster than you look," Fae says to Bizz. "Unusual to see someone with a belly as stout as yours move so gracefully."