What Once Was Lost, Attn; Darin, Jericho

Ziost was a planet that few sentient beings thought they’d ever visit, if they ever knew about it. It was inhospitable, making traversing the surface an unpleasant task and one only those with particular incentive would undertake. The surface probably harboured a large number of nasty and unpleasant beasts, the only kind of creatures such an arid planet would allow to survive, all fuelled by the so called dark side energies of the Force if rumours were to be believed. As it was, John was not one to believe in simple rumours made by aruetiise who didn’t know better. If this ‘Force’ would show up, he’d deal with it then, but as it was Force wielders were few and far between, and if anyone showed up they might as well be considered dead if they even tried assaulting the group of Mandalorians.

While it was important to take into account the weather conditions, John didn’t feel the need to worry about it on his part. The inner skinsuit he wore underneath his sections of armour and thick black armoured bodysuit was made of a moisture-absorbing synthetic material, ensuring that it would keep him sufficiently warm. The cold would be a minor inconvenience, he wouldn’t be completely insulated from it, but the worse brunt of it would be removed and it wouldn’t take away from his overall efficiency. If that hadn’t been the case, he wouldn’t have allowed the cold to affect him anyway, as a Mandalorian he was expected to endure varied conditions and as such he was used to being subjected to varied weather conditions.

The three Mandalorian’s had come together on the Eridani, knowing that several ships would attract attention and the element of surprise would be of use to them. One of them were Darin Rahl, known for being capable, the other was the young Jericho Ischoron, a lad from John’s own Clan that he didn’t know much about. He knew the name however, as being aliit’alor it was his job to know who was who in his Clan. He didn’t doubt their capabilities and knew this would be a success. Failure was not an option.

Their task was simple. Hit a base that had been established by slavers, free the Mandalorian children they had captured and any other potential captives. If possible they would obliterate the facility when they pulled out, ensuring that the slavers would suffer for what they had done and lessen the chance of them establishing themselves again. Scum like that shouldn’t be allowed to live and now it was their turn to make them regret their actions. John didn’t think much of outsiders to begin with; slavers were a breed he had a personal issue against. He would kill them all if he so had to do it himself.

John took a few moments to properly equip himself, placing the disintegrator onto the magnetic clamps on his hip, slinging the rocket launcher on his back and hefting the Z-6 up on his shoulder for easy carrying. There was some distance to cover until they came upon the slavers, but it would be simple enough for the Mandalorians to deal with. Giving a glance to his compatriots, John headed down the ramp and paused, waiting for the others to descend as well. He was eager to being.

All in all, Jericho finally decided that this didn't seem like a very good idea. He hadn't been this nervous since he had first met other children his own age when he was 10, and even that hadn't gone well at all. Now he was on a ship, his fair height absolutely dwarfed by the two men infront of him in different ways. The first was Darin Rahl, who while he was more or less around the same height as Jericho was, though he was wide enough to be two of the young man in his current form. He was known to him as an old friend of his uncles, though it was hard to even contemplate his uncle having anyone that he would call friend. His uncle was a stern task master, trainer, and father figure to some extent, but friend? That had never occurred to him.

And if that wasn't bad enough to be on a mission with one legend, the other was nearly a hundred times worse. John Ischoron was a legend in their Clan, someone that even his uncle respected and obeyed, and Jericho had grown up hearing of his exploits, staging impossible odds and somehow getting out of it with just a few scratches and an increased reputation. He was much taller than Jericho was, to mention it, and no string bean himself like his own lanky body.

And he was Jericho's aliit'alor, the leader of their Clan, though Jericho had only spent a few short years and a summer or two at the compound with the rest of them. Regardless of the infrequency of their visits, Jericho still recognized that distinct armor and helm without much guesswork. No wonder Uncle hadn't told him who he'd be doing this mission with, or he would have been halfway across the galaxy right now.

He mentally berated himself, feeling a pronounced sense of shame for feeling an odd sort of fear grip at his gut. It was not a fear of dying really, it was a fear of failing them, all of them. In many ways, Jericho had little regard for his own life, but he was worried that his inexperience and hesitation would negatively affect the two senior Mandalorians with him, though then Rico shook his head and told himself he was giving himself too much credit. If he fell, they'd go on without him, and vice versa, though he doubted that was nearly as likely.

Though his helmet was still on (it was a safety blanket in many ways, it was easy to pretend he was someone else) Jericho looked around subtlety to see if either of the two men had noticed his jittery thoughts, though he knew it was foolish to think so. He sighed, and took apart his DC-17 for what was likely around the fifteenth time and started to check over the components, though he knew full well that each part was in working order. As opposed to the firepower that his two companions carried, his DC looked like it was a water gun, but he'd be damned if it wasn't in perfect condition when he was done.

He sat cross legged on the floor, his armor surprisingly flexible and his cloak spread on the ground behind him, keeping Rico's back pleasantly warm. Infront of him was a ragged cloth set out with the parts of his weapon spread across it, a bottle of oil, and cleaning tools. For what seemed like the hundredth time he'd done so, he ran a oil-covered cloth across the broad barrel of the weapon.

It seemed like none of them were big talkers.

In what seemed like days, the navicomputer finally blinked that they were nearing their destination, the supposedly haunted world of Ziost. Jericho did not place much value on stories or superstition, but he would keep an eye out for anything unusual. He started to reassemble the DC with quick, efficient movements of expertise born from reassembling and disassembling the weapon in the dark, over and over again, along with severe punishments if he had failed. Jericho didn't mind much, that was just the way things were aboard that ship.

He stood with surprising grace for such a lanky figure, stretching out his legs and holding the DC easily cradled in his arms. For some, it may have been nice to set foot on solid land again, but Rico didn't much care either way. A majority of his life spent aboard a starship tended to do that.

Aliit'alor John was carrying more firepower than most tanks, and woefully, Rico felt like he was underprepared. Or maybe John was overprepared. Either way, he didn't plan on arguing with the extra firepower. He followed him down the ramp without a word, looking warily through his t-visor at the world outside the ship. His HUD was displaying the temperature, humidity, and heat index for the planet, but for the most part, he ignored it and focused on what he saw.

This planet was overgrown, untamed, which would normally appeal to the Mandalorian sense of adventure, but this just seemed wrong. The way the twisted trees reached towards the sky, there was a sense of malice about just being around the plants, let alone the animals. The sky was oddly lite by a twilight hue, purple clouds hanging above with a fine mist of rain coming down in sprays, condensation on their armor.

This place gave him the shivers, but there was no choice in the matter. This was not a mission to abandon or sit idly. He waited for the last of their party to exit the ship, the white-knuckled grip on his weapon the only indication of Jericho's anxiety.

Another day, another mission to some remote, barren, dangerous planet. Dxun, Ziost, the gates of Hell, it didn't make a difference to Darin where the mission required him to go. Honestly, it didn't even matter what the mission objective was. Darin would do anything and everything Mand'alor asked him to do. Granted, that was partially because they were family, and he would do anything to protect his family, even if they were just as capable of ripping somebody's head from his shoulders as Darin was. In any case, he was tasked with going to Ziost and freeing a large number of slaves, and he would be damned if he didn't get the job done. To make matters worse, the slaves were Mando'ade. And to make matters even worse, they were nothing more than children. That pissed Darin off, and he was dangerous enough when he was perfectly calm.

Darin had met up with two other Mando'ade on board a starship called Eridani. He knew it to be the ship of John Ischoron, one of the most renown Ori'ramikad in the Mandalorian military. He was one of the only Mando'ad taller than Darin, although Darin had him beat in width. In any case, both men were built like tanks, with the firepower to match. Each toted a large chaingun-style weapon, though different makes. Darin didn't doubt that the two of them could have handled this mission on their own without any problem, but they would not have to test that theory. There was a third with them, a young warrior.

Darin knew who the boy was. Jericho Ischoron. Darin was a friend of the boy's uncle, although they had not spoken in quite some time. Their duties came first, and they both knew that. Darin didn't have time for friendly conversation, what with all of the killing that needed to be done in the galaxy. Killing things was more fun than having a polite conversation with somebody anyway. In any case, this mission would be a good test of the kid's mettle.

Sitting in a chair, his Heavy ACP Repeater propped up against the wall at his side, Darin observed the young verd idly. For what seemed like the thousandth time, Jericho was disassembling and cleaning his weapon. It was an obvious sign of the nervous energy coursing through his body. Darin smirked momentarily, and then it was gone. The Ori'ramikad had checked his equipment once before he boarded the Eridani, and once since. That was more than enough to satisfy him. Plus, if one of his weapons failed, he had two more ready to go. He hadn't decided on whether to bring his DLT-19 yet. The Wookiee Disruptor and the Heavy ACP were definites, but he felt as if carrying a third weapon with him would get in the way.

As they drew nearer to the planet, Darin decided to bring both. One never knew what situations would arise in battle, and Darin was certainly capable of carrying all three weapons, plus ammunition and grenades, without a problem. Darin stood, slid the disruptor and the blaster into their respective holsters on his hips, and hoisted the Heavy ACP up onto his shoulder. He looked at John, who was carrying a rocket launcher and his rotary cannon, and then at Jericho, who had nothing but a DC-17 with the standard blaster attachment. Compared to the two older Mando'ade, Jericho's armament looked paltry. It didn't matter, though. As long as the boy knew how to use his weapon, it was all he would need.

Darin lifted his buy'ce off of the floor and placed it on his head. The HUD immediately came to life. His two companions left the ship first, with Darin right behind them. He gave Jericho a hearty slap on the back before walking past him and up to John.

"Hundreds of slavers against three Mando'ade?" Darin said to no one in particular. "I like our chances." Darin slung his Heavy ACP off of his shoulder to hold it down by his waist. They were in enemy territory now, and he needed to be ready to fight at any moment.

While the words of the elder were correct, hundreds would be of no concern to them, John doubted that they would face forces in the hundreds on this planet. Slavers as a rule didn’t tend to collect in large groups, too much profit had to be divided into takes and so the money granted from slavery deals would be less than if a smaller group had dealt with it. This in addition to the fact that there would no doubt be a few out in the galaxy collecting new slaves ensured that while their numbers would be no small task, they wouldn’t be numbered in the hundreds. John held his silence on that fact however, as he recognised the words as pure exaggeration for the sake of example, or so he thought. If that wasn’t the case he’d be worried about any plan coming from the man, if he couldn’t imagine the numbers of a gang of slavers on a dead end planet he doubted they would be tactically sound. As it was, John had faith that Darin Rahl wouldn’t do anything that would endanger their mission. They were Mando’ade, John wouldn’t expect less.

Turning his head out towards the direction they would head if they wanted to end up near the slavers main encampment, he studied the landscape. It was nothing like any planet he’d seen, it was wild, like Manda’yaim, but the wildness was not like that of his homeplanet. It looked twisted, wrong, and John imagined that perhaps there was something behind those rumours. He couldn’t imagine that there’d be any rot in trees that could make nature look like it did on Ziost, and he’d only seen a small portion of it. The light mist of rain coming down upon them gave the place a miserable look and John was glad he was clad in his armour.

“Their camp is roughly three klicks northwards,” John supplied. “State of the terrain is unknown.” With the terrain being an unknown factor, he knew that the three klicks wouldn’t necessarily take the time it normally did, but perhaps they would get lucky. John didn’t put much faith in luck, so he was prepared for anything. Taking point, John moved forward at a light jog. They needed to cover the ground as quickly as they could, but they couldn’t be stupid about it. Arriving in fighting condition was the key.

The immediate area around them was mostly flat, the reason why John had picked it as their landing zone, but soon they entered a cliffy terrain, forced to walk down the narrow path of a canyon with sheer rock walls to either side. John remained ever vigilant, keeping his Z-6 prepped for action should any creature, sentient or not, come upon them with hostile intent. They moved out of the canyon but still found themselves in rocky terrain, but they forged on at the same speed. Being Mandalorians, a few rocks wouldn’t prevent them from getting to their goal.

((Does anything come upon them as they travel? If something does, does John deal with it, or do the others get the chance to deal with it? Do they reach the compound within good time?))

((A handful of nasty, batlike creatures come from above. They take Jericho by surprise, but Darin and John take care of them before anything terrible happens. They are able to make good time to the camp, their landing spot and path chosen well.))

"Hundreds of slavers against three Mando'ade? I like our chances."

Jericho looked at him oddly, but just shrugged dispassionately and kept his eyes on the unofficial leader of this little mission. He wanted to be able to do this right, but it was so weird as soon as he was working, it was like his nervousness was still there, but at the back of his mind instead of at the forfront. Jericho knew that his anxiety would help none of them in this situation. In a lot of ways, his body posture even relaxed into a state of watchfulness, instead of wondering if he was doing something wrong.

"If you say so." He said in amiable agreement, though he wondered if Darin was being serious, or if he was exhaggerating a little. It seemed to him that if the base was that big, that someone would have wiped them out before now. But then again, Ziost was a funny place, and Jericho couldn't imagine visiting here voluntarily let alone living here like the slavers did. But Uncle had said that Darin could be overenthusiastic sometimes.

“Their camp is roughly three klicks northwards,” John supplied. “State of the terrain is unknown.”

"Understood, sir."

John could cover much more ground than Jericho could, so he had to jog at a slightly faster pace to keep up with keeping slightly behind the big Epicanthix that was trotting infront of him at a ground eating pace. He methodically moved his head back and forth ahead of them looking for any sign of trouble, his senses on high alert. More than once, the crack of a branch or an odd sound in the twisted trees made him look, but nothing attacked them at those moments, luckily.

It made it more ironic, that danger would come from the one place he wasn't looking for it: above.

They were so quiet that he didn't hear anything from above, and only the slightest flutter of wings warned him at all to the danger from above. Before he could think any more about it, they were decend upon by a group of creatures that looked like twisted parodies of bats. He tried to move, but...

His muscles tensed, his eyes widened, and before he could react John and Darin had attacked the bat things with their heavy weapons, killing several and chasing several back more into the trees. One of them popped up infront of his face and without thinking about it, at last Jericho finally reacted and lifted his rifle, shooting it twice in the face. It fell to the ground, twitching, as he slowly lowered his weapon and looked around.

Oh, just /great/, he froze like some sort of startled predator infront of a Zakkeg, though all these were were a bunch of runty twisted bat things. He felt a bloom of shame in his chest, but didn't say a word to the other two. Hopefully, he would perform better later in the mission.

It wasn't long until they came upon the compound, which was a relief at least for Rico.

((What does the camp/compound look like? How many guards are there? What sort of indication do they have of numbers of the slavers? Do they see any slaves?))

(( The camp is nothing altogether impressive; a dozen or so tents with any facilities being the not-so-good ol' outdoors. From what Jericho can see, there appears to be about four guards patrolling the perimeter. They're all equipped with armour and repeaters, likely knowing the dangers of this dark planet and prepared to deal with them. While there's a few slavers milling about the camp, Jericho has no way of determining how many there are altogether considering some could be hidden within the tents. There's no sign of the slaves, but it's a good bet that they're in one of the tents as well. ))

Darin was not surprised by the lack of response to his obvious exaggeration. It generally took people time to get used to his way of doing things. He didn't expect John and Jericho to understand his ways just yet. His apparent arrogance was simply something he developed over his years as an Ori'ramikad to reassure those around him that the mission would be a success, even if Darin knew that it would be a complete and total failure. Somehow, they always managed to pull through, though, even when the odds were stacked against them so high that it felt like they were looking up at a sky-scraper. If he had to gauge the chance of success of this mission, he would give it about an 87% chance. Hell, that was the highest chance of success he thought he had ever had, which put him in a significantly better mood, despite the disgusting, barren wasteland around him. Oh well, the faster they got through this, the faster they would be able to get off of this wretched planet and never go back.

“Their camp is roughly three klicks northwards. State of the terrain is unknown.”

Darin nodded, though he personally did not need the tactical appraisal of the situation, he was sure it helped Jericho. To be honest, Darin would have been willing to put money on the fact that he and John could have gotten through the mission without speaking a single word to each other, and without getting in each other's way. After all, they had both been Ori'ramikade for decades. They knew, at least to a certain extent, how each other's tactical mind worked simply from being Ori'ramikade, and from going on what were probably very similar missions throughout their careers.

Darin knew there was a reason Jericho was on the mission as well. It would be sort of like training for the young verd. Even if that was not what Mand'alor had intended for the mission, it was how Darin was going to approach it. After having been on so many missions that involved multiple objectives, going on one with a single goal seemed a waste. Even when missions only required certain things of Darin, he had always gone above and beyond. It was a quality that had made him what he had become, and he would do his best to instill that quality in this young verd.

The Mando'ade's jog through the barren wasteland was largely uneventful for a while. That is, until a swarm of deformed bats from hell spotted the three heavily armed soldiers and decided they would make a good snack. It was the last mistake the bats would ever make. Jericho was somewhat taken by surprise, but Darin and John were not. They immediately fired their large heavy repeaters into the swarm of bats, punching holes in the demon-spawn, and killing every last one of them in seconds. Darin replaced his weapon on his shoulder, and resumed the job towards the enemy camp. As he passed Jericho, he gave him what he hoped was a reassuring slap on the back.

Finally, the three reached the slaver camp. Darin knew at once that this could not be the main slaver compound. If it was, this would be the simplest mission in Darin's career. It would also mean the galactic slavery was taking a serious downturn. Oh well, it would just make it easier to take the rest of the compounds in the galaxies down. Of course, Darin was not naive enough to think that all of the slavers in the galaxy could be eradicated. No matter what, more and more would continue to pop up all over the galaxy, but when slavers took Mandalorian children, they made it personal.

The camp was nothing but a bunch of tents plus four armed guards. There had to be a larger compound around here somewhere, but in case there wasn't, they had to destroy this camp as well.

Darin put his Heavy ACP on the ground and whipped his Wookiee Disruptor out of its holster. He dropped to a knee and took aim at one of the guards. "Each of you take aim at one of the guards. Fire on three. One... two..."

((Do they manage to take the guards down? Does any of their buddies come running to investigate the racket?))

The 4 men fall quietly into piles of soulless flesh, one efficient testament to Mandalorian skill. The camp itself seems far too lifeless. There are no fluttering shadows behind the tent flaps and the guards are minimal. The place looks like a momentary pit stop for the slavers at best. The three Mandalorians go unnoticed.

What was I going on about icebergs for again anyway?

Their pace was of an acceptable speed, one that all three Mandalorians could easily sustain for the duration of their run. The terrain didn’t prove to be a large obstacle in their progress, the landing spot having been chosen well from what little information they had of the surface. As a result of this, they made better time than John had calculated at first, the first part of the jaunt going without having to crawl across boulders or take detours around obstacles where climbing over it wasn’t an option. He knew of course that it wouldn’t be smooth sailing like this for most of the trip. Even if the terrain wasn’t difficult, slavers weren’t exactly known to take into consideration the proper tactical approach to a situation, so the work would most likely be messy, disorganised and take longer than it strictly should. It was a good thing they were saving time over the terrain.

As John suspected they had covered three quarters of the distance between their landing spot and the rough estimated position of the slavers camp, he picked up the telltale sound of the frantic flapping of some sort of animal in flight. By the sound he could tell there was a sizable group flocked together, most likely heading for their position. He studied the air around them, noting that most of the flock seemed to be hidden by the batch of threes they were passing. The attack was sudden, the bats flocking out of the forest and going for the youngest of their team. John acted on pure instinct formed through years of training, with the Z-6 on his shoulder, he opened fire, targeting the mass of bats and seeing them fall to the ground in scortched bunches of flesh. Darin joined in on the massacre and they both finished off the main mass of bats, killing and chasing off the remnants. Jericho finished off one bat that was braver than the rest. It was easy to see Jericho had been taken by surprise, but John didn’t comment on it. The boy being young meant that he didn’t have the integrated reactions of the weathered warriors.

Giving the bat massacre no more thought, John turned back to their path and drove onwards, his pace the same as it had been before the bats had accosted them. On this part of the journey they made good time as well, with no more attacks from the wildlife. When they neared the camp, their pace slowed and they adopted a sneak to get in closer. At first sight, John knew they had not found the main encampment. Tents on Ziost were far too unsecure for a thriving slaver ring, as all evidence named this one as. By the looks of it, this was merely a pit stop. A cleared zone could be seen in the centre, perhaps where ships came to deliver their living cargo. The rest of the camp was very much temporary and only widely populated when there was a shipment coming in, or if a shipment was going out. His theory was proven when they only found four guards on watch. John unhitched his Disruptor from its magnetic holster, knowing that to use the Z-6 on these men would be a waste of ammo. He continued to hold the Z-6, on his shoulder, holding it up with his left hand and wielding the pistol with his right.

“... One... two..."

“Three,” John finished, firing as the word left his mouth. The Disruptor did its work, rendering John’s targets into little more that a burnt mass. The feat of taking down the guards wasn’t remotely impressive, considering three Mandalorians were more than enough for a legion of slavers, never mind four. With all guards dead, John swept his eyes quickly over the camp, using his thermal vision to sniff out any extra threats. There were none.

“Clear,” he confirmed, aware that he was the only present with the thermal vision capabilities attached to his HUD. Moving out from their position, he paused to search through the pockets of the dead guards, checking for keycards, comlinks or anything else than could be of use. He then proceeded to make a systematic search of the ruddy camp and the surrounding area, keeping his guard up and eyes sharp for anything that could be of any interest.

((What does John find on the guards? What type of weapons were they carrying? When he searches the camp, are there any useful items to be found? Does he find any path or trail that indicates the direction where the main camp can be found?))

((They're all carrying Firelance blaster rifles which one might assume were chosen for their stun setting being good use against slaves. One of them also has a keycard, which the purpose of is not yet clear.

The search of the camp itself is not overly useful. There are a few secured footlockers, with who knows what inside, and a stash of adhesive grenades.

Towards the back of the camp is a rather well-worn path, which one can assume will lead to the main encampment. Seems they were counting on the guards at the temporary camp to keep anyone away, and weren't exactly going out of their way to hide their usual trails.))

Jericho could have wallowed in shame for a while, but he had always had a very pragmatic way of looking at the world. He staggered a little when Darin smacked his shoulder, and Jericho was keenly aware that Darin had no true measure of his own strength. Or maybe he did, and was no longer bothered to check it in any way. Either way, Jericho followed silently after them, scanning the area ahead of him and now, scanning the trees above them as well for danger. He supposed it was part of the learning curve of being out here.

If it was one thing that Jericho's uncle had been slightly remiss in teaching him, was how to function with ground underneath his feet. In space, on a ship, there was always the sense that you were on borrowed ground, and that space could retake you if it wanted. Real earth was a much more solid feeling. Most people would feel more comfortable on solid ground than space, but Jericho supposed he wasn't like most people.

It didn't take much longer after that until they reached the camp, and Jericho dropped to the ground and crawled forward a little bit through the brush on the ledge overlooking the camp, wondering who decided to make a camp here. It was a perfect place for an ambush. He carefully removed and prepped his DC, focusing on one guard in particular out of the group.

It never even occurred to him to feel shame or disgust for killing another human being, especially these slavers. They could expect no mercy.

"One, two..."

The young Mandalorian felt himself focus on nothing but the matter at hand, the face of the one hard-faced man infront of one of the tents. Cold, calculating the chances of failure.

Which was zero.

"Three."

Though his DC-17 was carrying much less firepower than the other two Mandalorians, the weapon got the job done. The blaster fire literally had half of the man he'd targeted face in flame, as he screamed and tried to bat at it with his hands, only for another quick series of shots in the middle of his chest to take him down. Jericho started to target the other guards, but there were none left that were still standing.

Still, one was a respectable job, he supposed. However, he continued to scan the area for signs of life, until John called the all-clear. Uncle had told many stories of stupidity where one thought the camp was cleared just because he killed all of those he could see.

It was those that one didn't see that was the problem.

“Clear,”

Rico nodded once sharply, and joined John and Darin in their decent into the camp. Without saying anything, Rico left John to search the bodies while he went towards the tents on the left side of the camp, searching for anything of value they could use.

Jericho searched the tent quickly and thoroughly, finding a dozen adhesive grenades and one footlocker that was securely locked. After a moment, he collected the grenades and grabbed the handle on one end of the footlocker, dragging it out of the tent and to the middle of camp. If it was one thing he learned how to do, it was to search thoroughly for items.

If you can't take it now, leave it somewhere where you can get to it later. What you can't buy, trade for, and when you can do neither, sell.

He let go of the footlocker, gently setting it on the ground. Better safe than sorry, there may be explosives or energy cells in the locker that could go off it set down too hard. John handed him one of the Firelancers, and Rico nodded and let it rest on his back, strap going diagonally across his chest, keeping his DC cradled in his arms. He handed John the case of grenades, tilting his head to the side slightly.

"I found these in one of the tents."

Jericho was a young man of very few words, so he felt like he didn't need to explain why he had dragged out the footlocker. It hadn't taken long for them to search, only a few minutes at most, and they continued on to the path.

But instead of following the easier path, the Mando'ad faded into the underbrush parallel to the road. The slavers my have put guards on the path to the compound.

((Do they see any guards on the path, or scouts? If so, do they take care of them without a problem? How far away does the main camp seem to be? Are there any tactical spots around the main camp that they could use to scout out the enemy forces?))

before they can catch sight of the main camp the group catch sight of a Repulsor sled accompanied by armed speederbikes moving down the road. Aside from the two bikers there are 4 armed slavers on the repulsorsled with a half dozen female slaves in various states of consciousness.

Moving to the underbrush was a solid plan as it keeps the trios new targets ignorant. It's impossible to tell how far beyond the group ahead the main camp lies.

On the word "three" all three Mando'ade fired simultaneously. Darin saw all four of the slavers and as soon as he confirmed a hit on his first target, he quickly swung his disruptor to the fourth guard. He moved so quickly that to the untrained eye it would have seemed like he switched targets almost before he even fired the first blast. Both Darin and John's disruptors hit the fourth guard at the same time. Darin's first target was laying on the ground with his head and half of his left shoulder completely missing. More than enough to confirm the kill. The target that he and John hit simultaneously was missing large chunks of flesh in various places. It was as if a large animal had come along and taken a few bites out of him. The fourth target lay face down in the dusty earth, face partially burned away, and several smoking gunshot wounds in his chest. All of this took place in less than two seconds. That was the efficiency of the Mando'ade for you. They weren't the most feared warriors in the galaxy for nothing, after all.

"Clear."

Darin nodded, but did no holster his weapon. He kept it up near chin level and moved towards the camp. He trailed behind his two companions, walking backwards and scanning the surrounding area for hostiles. Thermal vision was wonderful, but Darin preferred to use his own two eyes to make sure. There were devices to trick a thermal vision system, but very few that could deceive a trained eye. Instinct told Darin that something was not right here. While the other two searched the camp, Darin searched for a pathway that seemed like it would lead to the main slaver camp.

He spotted a worn path almost immediately. He left the other two to search the camp. He, instead, walked over to the edge of the camp and knelt down, searching for any clues as to how long it had been since the path had been used. It was difficult to tell. The cold, arid climate made the ground hard and dry, and Darin could not see any clear tracks in the ground. He had to assume that there would be a convoy of some sort coming soon.

"We need to move quickly," Darin said when he rejoined his companions in the middle of the camp. He saw the footlocker on the ground and the pack of adhesive grenades in John's hand. Those would certainly come in handy. The slavers were sure to have some sort of vehicles to transport slavers to and from the drop-off points, and there would most likely be armed hostiles on those vehicles. Adhesive grenades would make short work of them.

The trio moved quickly to the path. As Jericho moved to the underbrush on one side of the path, Darin moved to do the same on the other side of the path. Whether John took the central path or joined either Jericho or Darin was up to him. Either way, they would be able to ambush any convoys coming along the road.

Darin moved as silently as he could through the underbrush, his disruptor firmly in his grasp. Before long he heard the telltale sound of speederbikes moving slowly down the path. He motioned to Jericho and John, though he was sure they heard it already anyway. With the speederbikes was a Repulsor sled carrying around six female slavers. Darin counted six hostiles. Two-to-one odds. An advantage for any Mandalorian.

Darin dropped to a knee and aimed his Disruptor first at the biker closest to him. After he dropped that slaver he would fire at the slavers closest to the slaves so that no hostages could be taken. Jericho would be able to eliminate the biker on the Repulsor sled's other flank from where he was, and one other slaver. And John should have had a clear shot at the slavers atop the Repulsor sled. All in all the assault should take no more than five seconds, but nothing ever went according to plan. Using the grenades now would be imprudent. It would bring unnecessary attention to the three Mando'ade. Aside from that, they should be able to eliminate the convoy without the aid of explosives.

The Ori'ramikad had considered the possibility of letting the convoy pass, but then they would just have to hunt down that many more slavers later. Best to kill them now and tie up as many loose ends as they could.

((Note: John is alongside Jericho. How does the fight go? Do they manage to disable to speeder, kill the slavers and keep the slaves alive, or does their plan go wrong?))

The Mando'ade succeed in quickly eliminating the speeder bikes before the vehicles can become a danger. The unexpected burst of firepower continues on to hit two more slavers on the repulsorsled but the mass of frantic slaves has provided a natural barrier for the remaining slavers and they're now returning fire from the safety of their meatshields. The brush surrounding the Mandalorians is burnt away under a hale of blasterfire, hitting none of them but letting them know their enemy has a fair idea where they are.

To make matters worse illuminating flood lights have popped up less than 100 yards behind the repulsorsled. The main enemy camp is a little too close for comfort and the nearest sentries are already on their way to check on the violence. The bright lights make it impossible to gauge the size of the camp but the sound of turbolazers implies a well equipped and sizable group. The sound of screaming women just adds to the atmosphere.