The crash had been short but violent. The wreckage lay strewn about the soft underbelly of the dense forest. It was nothing short of a miracle, or rather their training, that they were still alive. Battered and bruised, maybe even hurt, but alive. The forest was thick though, which was partly why their predicament was all the worse. Between the nearly 100m canopy and the turbulent atmospheric anomalies that had gripped their ship in the first place, sending a distress signal out was nearly impossible. It could be done if perhaps if there were only one issue, but never as long as both continued to exist.
There was a ridge, far off in the distance. Perhaps from there they could send their message, free of interference from the foliage. They only had four days though to reach that ridge before the follow up mission departed. After that, there would be no hope for rescue. They would have to push through the thick of the wild, in an alien and unfamiliar environment, surrounded by Force knew what. Survival was their goal, but it would not come without a fight.
Outer Rim Territories
Mograine grunted in sympathy with the pain that reverberated through his body, the crash had been hard; hard enough to drain his strength through the Force to stay alive. Even with that aid, he still hurt, hurt badly. A groan drew his attention to the man sprawled in the seat next to him, held upright only by his restraint harness.
Sanguinius raised a bruised and rapidly swelling hand to his forehead, wiping away beads of sweat, blood and hair. “What the hell happened Mog?” the Templar uttered.
“Would’ve thought you’d know you sly bastard.” The Plagueian moaned, “Another one of your plans to recruit me?” He scowled at Sanguinius. The Sith fumbled with his own restraint harness, disengaging it and rising to look up at the Anaxsi who hung down from the ceiling, his own chair still attached to the ground of the shuttle.
“Just get me down from here would you?”
A deep voice interrupted the bickering of the Dark Jedi, “Shut the boy up.” A tattooed Zabrak moved out of the shadows of the wrecked craft, “We’ll soon have company.”
Almost in answer to the Exarch’s comment, engines could be heard screaming through the sky as ships flew overhead. A cry of surprise punctuated the noise, as Sang fell from his seat, Mograine having released the Templar. The Obelisk struggled back up off the ground. “Looks like you were right Master,” the Professor smiled as he brushed the hair from his eyes. “Perhaps we could start hiring you out as a clairvoyant?”
Mograine cracked a smile for an instant, before propriety resumed itself with the Corellian. “Who in Okemi’s name attacked us anyway?” he asked.
Cethgus turned his baleful gaze upon the Plagueian, “Deathwalkers.”
A voice interjected, “I thought they wouldn’t have found us out here.” Sang muttered, “We need to get the hell out of here now.”
The Iridonian turned away from the two Equites, “Five minutes before we leave. Gather supplies, Mograine. Make sure you bring the com-links, otherwise we’ll never be able to contact Wuntila.”
Sanguinius sighed, “He’s never going to let us live this down, is he?”
“No.” Was all the answer he got.