World Gone Mad

Odari Landing Cavern 

Frost rimes the jagged, carved obsidian columns that surround the Ikikir Spaceport landing pads. The gaping maw of the cavern mouth opens over the misty, abyssal depths of Dealbreaker's Gorge. Insectoid technicians working on various ships in the facility can be heard chittering and clacking in the ancient Odarite merchant's tongue. An archway leads into the city spaceport, and a thin blue plasteel staircase leads up to a smaller landing pad above.

As the transport lands, I'kkrikik takes his staff and limps toward the airlock, followed by Ak'kkkr'kkrik. They emerge, starting to walk down the ramp toward the landing pad that's adjacent to the spaceport. But the spaceport is no longer a place of coordinated chaos with passengers coming and going on schedule. Now, it is utter and complete chaos, with Odarites clashing against each other, clacking carapaces and slashing with dealbreaker blades. Others opt for energy weapons, firing point-blank whenever possible, exploding the heads of their enemies. Quite a few use their agile leaping ability in combat, bounding over assailants, taking refuge in rafters, spiraling acrobatically in mid-air and attacking in tandem. It is mayhem. It is madness. It is home.

In K'kr'frr: Ak'kkkr'kkrik clicks sadly as he gazes at the carnage about him. "We have truly fallen far so very quickly," he notes grimly. During the trip, he manged to secure weapons and armor, and into his gauntlets rises an Pulse Assault Rifle, and while its capacitors hum to life, the Odarite doesn't show any signs of using it. Yet. "Do we know who is with us?"

I'kkrikik limps to the base of the ramp, compound eyes reflecting myriad visions of the conflict as he shifts much of his weight to the silver-topped staff. "When it gets this bad, my friend, it scarcely matters. Odarites from other cities look no different than those in Ikikir. We are all brothers of the Hive. We are all children of our Queens." His mandibles chitter and click as he swings his rounded head to gaze at Ak'kkkr'kkrik. "Now, they kill simply to kill. It is a dark side of our kind, when we get like this. Worse than Nall."

In K'kr'frr: The Queens are all that will matter in the end. Perhaps we can make them see reason, Akk'kkkr'kkrik muses as he watches for danger. "What is our plan of action, Minister? Have the mercenaries employed by the Guild for defense fled in this turmoil?" The armored Odarite gnashes his mandibles angrily as he looks towards the sky. "I have been to Tomin Kora. I thought I saw the worst of it all. I was proven wrong. There is no profit in this."

I'kkrikik considers the options. "I am wounded. And old. You may be a capable fighter, but the numbers are against you. In this madness, your closest ally might put a blade through your carapace." His mandibles click. "If we fight, we die. If I seek to find cooler heads in this conflict, I die, most likely. We are too late to find peace. It is perhaps best if we find our way into hiding. Their passions will dwindle eventually. When they do, we may try to rebuild relations."

In K'kr'frr: Ak'kkkr'kkrik clacks loudly, obviously disatisfied with the answer. But after mulling for a moment, he bobs his head rapidly. "I am not one known for his wisdom, but I have found profit here and there at a cost to myself. Perhaps it is wisest to hide, but it is not safe here. Would you remain in this chaos when you have a ship behind you? Home is not home in such a time."

I'kkrikik bobs his rounded head, antennae flexing. "Of course, you are right. We should flee. For now." He turns, about to make his way up the ramp, when a rocket-launched plasma grenade hammers into the cockpit of the transport, shattering the transparisteel window and obliterating the controls and seats. A column of billowing flame and smoke rumbles through the interior of the transport, then vents out the airlock in lapping tongues of vermillion. The blast wave sends the old Odarite clattering on the landing pad, his walking stick rolling off to the right. The transport groans, its forward landing strut collapsing, and then the vessel drops with a CRUNCH! on the tarmac.

Ak'kkkr'kkrik is also sent careening by the blast, his armor loudly scratching against the pavement of the landing pad. Loudly clicking a curse, the Odarite rises to his feet and quickly recovers his rifle. For the time being, he ignores the aged minister and focuses on the destroyed shuttle, gnashing his mandibles. Crouching low, he gazes about for the source of the grenade while approaching I'kkrikik.

The source of the grenade appears to be one of four Odarites currently springing from the plasteel staircase that winds toward the upper pad. The other three are armed with dealbreaker blades, which they snikt! into separate lethal segments as they arc through the air before landing on the tarmac some twenty feet from the burning shuttle.

I'kkrikik rolls over, mandibles clicking weakly as he grabs for the silver-capped staff with one of his right appendages and pushes himself up with the other three. He struggles to stand, shifting the staff to his left claws and resting his weight there as he watches the four Odarites bounding toward him and Ak.

Ak'kkkr'kkrik moves to stand between I'kkrikik and the four aggressors, his mandibles slowly opening and closing. As the dealbreaker wielding Odarites grow closer, Akk's wings spread out and begin to buzz angrily, overwhelming the sound of the trio of pulseblasts speeding towards the first of them.

With a swift arcing movement, the Odarite target shows one of the other handy uses of a dealbreaker blade: It actually deflects the pulse blasts. One zings over Ak'kkkr'kkrik's left shoulder and burns off the tip of I'kkrikik's left antennae. Another sizzles a grazing blow against Ak's right carapace. The third strikes the hull of the burning transport.

In K'kr'frr: Ak'kkkr'kkrik flicks the safety with one armored, lobster like triclaw as he tosses the pulse rifle behind him. In the heavy armor, the grazing blow is barely even registered. Use it, if you can, he clacks to the Minister as all four arms reach to his sheath and quickly pull out the deadly 'X' that is the Odarite Dealbreaker. With a keening 'SCHING,' he snaps the segments apart. Spreading his mandibles wide, he charges.

I'kkrikik clutches the rifle in his right claws, holding the firing mechanism with the lower claw while extending the upper claw and balancing the barrel of the weapon with it. He aims at the plasma-grenade Odarite, who appears to have reloaded and brought the cannon up to fire at Ak'kkkr'kkkrik. The trade minister squeezes the firing mechanism and strikes the distracted cannoneer three times: Twice in the chest and once in the head, exploding the round shell and sending severed mandibles clattering. The Odarite falls in a smoldering heap, cannon thumping to the left of his corpse. The other three Odarites with their dealbreakers keep closing on Ak.

Three versus one is unfavorable odds for everyone, and the engagement starts out poorly for Ak'kkkr'kkrik. His Combat Armor quickly proves its use as a razor sharp Dealbreaker leaves a scratch across the abdomen, turning aside a deadly blow. Akk spins, arcing one segment of his sword at the head of one of his foes, but only succeeds in knicking the tip off of an antenna.

Another of the Odarite attackers is swinging twin blades of a dealbreaker at Ak while he's busily fighting. I'kkrikik spies his comrade's impending doom and gives a desperate fling of his staff in the direction of the sneak assailant. The stone staff proves to be more useful than pulse blasts against the sharp blades, which bounce off the stick before it bonks the attacker in the head. Angered, that Odarite bounds toward the old minister - just in time to take three shots directly to the head. Down he goes, blades clattering.

Ak'kkkr'kkrik continues slashing in a fluid but chaotic style, occasionally parrying a blow while allowing others to graze his armor. However, this dance isn't one to last, as one of the Odarites swings heavily at Akk'kkkr'kkrik's unarmored head, leaving the Merchant no other option but to drop to the ground to avoid it. Luckily enough, the move confuses his foes, and he takes the opportunity to lop the leg off of one of them before rising back to his feet. Getting some distance between him and the now maimed foe, he clicks threateningly at the survivor.

I'kkrikik glances over his shoulder, and through his compound eyes he spots an undamaged - mostly - shuttle. Whether it can fly or not remains to be seen. He looks back to the fight in progress between Ak and the other Odarites. "We may have a way off this world!" Then he sees the crippled Odarite, fallen but still in reach of Ak, whose back is turned. The one-legged Odarite clutches a dealbreaker segment, draws it back and swings at Ak's left leg. I'kkrikik doesn't have time to shoot with any competence, so he leaps through the air, springing on both his good leg and the damaged one, following a wobbly trajectory as he cradles the pulse rifle in his right arms and intercepts the path of the dealbreaker blade meant for Ak. CHUNK! The blade slices through the old minister's carapace, and black ichor splatters forth. Despite the agony of the wound, I'kkrikik manages to fire off a fatal salvo, decapitating the crippled Odarite. Then he collapses, bleeding ebon fluid from his cracked shell.

In K'kr'frr: A quick slash divides the final Odarite's head in two parts, and Akk'kkkr'kkrik quickly snaps the sword back together and sheaths it. He quickly pick up and holsters his pulse assault rifle, and then finally looks over the Minister. His eyes flicker towards the shuttle, and then he looks back down again. A chance, he clicks, I will carry you, but I can do little treat your wounds. We will have to find a hospital somewhere else. Reaching down, he gently cradles I'kkrikik in all four of his arms and attempts to life the injured bug up - in violation of most emergency medical procedures.

I'kkrikik shakes his head slowly, mandible flexing weakly, his one good antenna hanging limply, the other half burned off. "Too late for me. Go. While you can." Through the spaceport archway, another half-dozen Odarites, fighting with each other, tumble out onto the tarmac. More are getting closer. Soon, the fight will be on this tarmac in earnest and escape will be impossible.

Ak'kkkr'kkrik bobs his head rapidly, quickly drawing his Dealbreaker to give I'kkrikik a quick end. Gnashing his mandibles, he doesn't take the time to put away his sword(s), rather he sprints to the shuttle, his only hope, as quickly as he can in his bulky armor.