Location: Balmorran Arms Factory - Scrapyard
Objective: (PvP, hopefully) Repel Republic and Secure the Scrapyard for the One Sith
Allies: One Sith
Enemies: The Republic | Anyone looking for a duel
Equipment: All on-board profile weaponry. E-11 Blaster Rifle, SWE/2 Sonic Rifle, DT-57 Blaster Pistols, "Butcher" Vibroblade
Status of Equipment: Throwing Flachettes (x2), Concussion Grenade Launcher (Disabled), Flamethrower (70% fuel capacity), SWE/2 Sonic Rifle (Full, 0 Power Packs, 0 Acoustic Coils), DT-57 Blaster Pistols (2 Power Packs, 2 Gas Cartridges), E-11 Blaster Rifle (1 Power Pack, 1 Gas Cartridge)
Status of Chassis: Blaster Scoring and Armor Penetration in chest, Damage to Left Leg (Retains 60.3% Mobility)
[Youtube]https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pc2BXCEeJMg[/youtube]
At the end of a shattered stretch of wall, the Droid, some random Sith Lackey and three of his primate brethren shouldered up against it's cracked and splintered surface. Clutching his hand around a grenade he had retrieved from a bandoleer that hung loosely from his frame, Six-O could hear the dirt and grime crunch between his mechanical joints. With a transient pause in their progression, the droid bowed from the corner, lobbing a grenade with a calculated crescent in it's pitch.
A thump yawned with magnificent vibration, spilling bisque dust and grey plaster from the wall on to Sith Soldiers. Holding his Blaster Rifle steady, Six-O strode forward in to the smoke. His throw had produced four casualties, their bodies punctured with wide, blood oozing gaps. Behind the droid the Sith quickly fell in.
"Behind the Droid, let's go!" One of the inferiors cried, "Use it for cover!" typical organic.
They fell in with haste, tucking their soft, fragile bodies as neatly as they could behind their mobile shield. The first in line going as far as to prop his weapon on to Six-O's right shoulder. It was by mere fortuitous grace that the One Sith were paying very well for experienced Mercenary Collaborators -- it was perhaps the only thing that kept these biologicals from meeting an early death.
A volley of red beams snarled down the alley as they stepped over the grenade cooked Republic corpses, they missed widely. Six-O returned contact immediately, gliding a line of blaster fire through the heavy gloom. Sith Soldier -- using the Droids shoulder for accuracy support as they moved forward -- did the same, mirroring Six-O shot for shot. Emerging from the cloud at the opposite end of the alley, they had entered a scrap yard of some measure. Large stores of discarded metal wastes, and junk of all nature rest in messy piles.
Down the parallel, more teams of the Sith emerged then vanished behind the mountains of dreck.
Six-O continued, they knew the Invaders were holed up in this area somewhere, offering support to their assault teams that waged illustrious battle inside the Arms Factory.
Negotiating the chain of Sith in a Western cut through a series of scrap heaps, stacked, unctuous bogie frames, and ground littered with busted axle shafts. The junkyard forest opened out in to a larger Refinery area. Speeder trucks with massive storage container trailers rest lifeless. Forward more, the droid filed them through and between rows of track-work and dormant caisson carts baring hazardously heavy loads within their carriage drums.
Here, as they swiftly worked over a greasy coupling assembly, the Republic began to drub their position with an intense crossfire. The Sith broke position, dropping in to cover immediately. IGa-60 flicked bolts from his own blaster back, rapidly formulating which angle the position of the shooters was weakest from.
A red beam struck his left shoulder, scorching the filth tarnished metal, but the shot did not penetrate his armor plating. A torrent of focused fire excavated the gravel and stone beneath him. Bolts and slugs ricocheting with snapping pings as they bounced from rock and metal. A stray shot severed a support brace of a wagon near the droid, the burdensome contents of it's deep cart belly bulged against the weakened side, popping what portion of the brace that had been valiantly holding strong with a choral clang of such melodic frenzy one of the soldiers could help little but to cry out.
"Get small!" He howled wildly.
But spiraling missile struck Six-O violently, the length of it's impact clanking across his droid frame from the left knee all the way across his chest, and directly in to his face. The clash had been so titanic, IGa-60 was left rolling through the air. Coming to a forceful stop against the Coupling Assembly they had just crossed over.
His view-screen flickered and flashed, data unable to process for several moments after the jolt. By the time the system lag sorted, The Sith were moving on, unaffected that a droid had just taken such an impact, they had a mission to accomplish.
A retch of sparks blossomed from the orbit of one right optic, though his cranial plating had absorbed much of the blow, and protected the important internal structures of his system. The visual hardware device that rested in the socket was destroyed from the crushing impact. Worse yet, as Six-O attempted to return to his feet, the motor joints of his left knee ground and growled, whirring endlessly until smoke began to swell. A functionary report quickly revealed permanent damage to the limb. It now obtained a less than fully optimal 60.3% range of motion.
The grenade bandoleer had been torn from his frame, a stock analysis revealed only three throwing flachettes remained in his chest cage. From the ground he could see the armored legs of Republic dogs rapidly rounding the flank. Louder the busted joint howled with discontent as the droid forced himself fully upright. More firing, as vehement as it was thick, stung out all across the Refinery. The Sith Soldiers answering in kind as they scurried through the load yard.
One of the men, nearest Six-O, writhed violently. It's arms folding over chest and clutching the insignificant skull that sat upon it's shoulders, blaster bolts trudging through his thin, fleshy body -- dozens of them. He was dead before hitting the ground.
The droid, rapidly calculating a new formula to account for the change in combat performance hastily returned to work. Thuuk the chest feed of his throwing flachettes groaned, disgorging the spherical weapon in to his droid hand. Computer precision guided his arm in the perfect heave, propelling the grenade with chilling accuracy unto the flanking Republic troops. Reveling in the pop of it's deadly explosion, he gazed, view screens flickering once more as the organics were rend to fleshy ribbons from the rain of shrapnel.
His E-11 was retrieved from the ground, and he began to wade with limp in his march further in to the conflict.
From his vocoder, the music played.
It's like a dream, no end and no beginning. You're here with me, it's like a dream.
Thus they would die. Unless a Jedi General felt need to come end the carnage?
Objective: (PvP, hopefully) Repel Republic and Secure the Scrapyard for the One Sith
Allies: One Sith
Enemies: The Republic | Anyone looking for a duel
Equipment: All on-board profile weaponry. E-11 Blaster Rifle, SWE/2 Sonic Rifle, DT-57 Blaster Pistols, "Butcher" Vibroblade
Status of Equipment: Throwing Flachettes (x2), Concussion Grenade Launcher (Disabled), Flamethrower (70% fuel capacity), SWE/2 Sonic Rifle (Full, 0 Power Packs, 0 Acoustic Coils), DT-57 Blaster Pistols (2 Power Packs, 2 Gas Cartridges), E-11 Blaster Rifle (1 Power Pack, 1 Gas Cartridge)
Status of Chassis: Blaster Scoring and Armor Penetration in chest, Damage to Left Leg (Retains 60.3% Mobility)
[Youtube]https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pc2BXCEeJMg[/youtube]
At the end of a shattered stretch of wall, the Droid, some random Sith Lackey and three of his primate brethren shouldered up against it's cracked and splintered surface. Clutching his hand around a grenade he had retrieved from a bandoleer that hung loosely from his frame, Six-O could hear the dirt and grime crunch between his mechanical joints. With a transient pause in their progression, the droid bowed from the corner, lobbing a grenade with a calculated crescent in it's pitch.
A thump yawned with magnificent vibration, spilling bisque dust and grey plaster from the wall on to Sith Soldiers. Holding his Blaster Rifle steady, Six-O strode forward in to the smoke. His throw had produced four casualties, their bodies punctured with wide, blood oozing gaps. Behind the droid the Sith quickly fell in.
"Behind the Droid, let's go!" One of the inferiors cried, "Use it for cover!" typical organic.
They fell in with haste, tucking their soft, fragile bodies as neatly as they could behind their mobile shield. The first in line going as far as to prop his weapon on to Six-O's right shoulder. It was by mere fortuitous grace that the One Sith were paying very well for experienced Mercenary Collaborators -- it was perhaps the only thing that kept these biologicals from meeting an early death.
A volley of red beams snarled down the alley as they stepped over the grenade cooked Republic corpses, they missed widely. Six-O returned contact immediately, gliding a line of blaster fire through the heavy gloom. Sith Soldier -- using the Droids shoulder for accuracy support as they moved forward -- did the same, mirroring Six-O shot for shot. Emerging from the cloud at the opposite end of the alley, they had entered a scrap yard of some measure. Large stores of discarded metal wastes, and junk of all nature rest in messy piles.
Down the parallel, more teams of the Sith emerged then vanished behind the mountains of dreck.
Six-O continued, they knew the Invaders were holed up in this area somewhere, offering support to their assault teams that waged illustrious battle inside the Arms Factory.
Negotiating the chain of Sith in a Western cut through a series of scrap heaps, stacked, unctuous bogie frames, and ground littered with busted axle shafts. The junkyard forest opened out in to a larger Refinery area. Speeder trucks with massive storage container trailers rest lifeless. Forward more, the droid filed them through and between rows of track-work and dormant caisson carts baring hazardously heavy loads within their carriage drums.
Here, as they swiftly worked over a greasy coupling assembly, the Republic began to drub their position with an intense crossfire. The Sith broke position, dropping in to cover immediately. IGa-60 flicked bolts from his own blaster back, rapidly formulating which angle the position of the shooters was weakest from.
A red beam struck his left shoulder, scorching the filth tarnished metal, but the shot did not penetrate his armor plating. A torrent of focused fire excavated the gravel and stone beneath him. Bolts and slugs ricocheting with snapping pings as they bounced from rock and metal. A stray shot severed a support brace of a wagon near the droid, the burdensome contents of it's deep cart belly bulged against the weakened side, popping what portion of the brace that had been valiantly holding strong with a choral clang of such melodic frenzy one of the soldiers could help little but to cry out.
"Get small!" He howled wildly.
But spiraling missile struck Six-O violently, the length of it's impact clanking across his droid frame from the left knee all the way across his chest, and directly in to his face. The clash had been so titanic, IGa-60 was left rolling through the air. Coming to a forceful stop against the Coupling Assembly they had just crossed over.
His view-screen flickered and flashed, data unable to process for several moments after the jolt. By the time the system lag sorted, The Sith were moving on, unaffected that a droid had just taken such an impact, they had a mission to accomplish.
A retch of sparks blossomed from the orbit of one right optic, though his cranial plating had absorbed much of the blow, and protected the important internal structures of his system. The visual hardware device that rested in the socket was destroyed from the crushing impact. Worse yet, as Six-O attempted to return to his feet, the motor joints of his left knee ground and growled, whirring endlessly until smoke began to swell. A functionary report quickly revealed permanent damage to the limb. It now obtained a less than fully optimal 60.3% range of motion.
The grenade bandoleer had been torn from his frame, a stock analysis revealed only three throwing flachettes remained in his chest cage. From the ground he could see the armored legs of Republic dogs rapidly rounding the flank. Louder the busted joint howled with discontent as the droid forced himself fully upright. More firing, as vehement as it was thick, stung out all across the Refinery. The Sith Soldiers answering in kind as they scurried through the load yard.
One of the men, nearest Six-O, writhed violently. It's arms folding over chest and clutching the insignificant skull that sat upon it's shoulders, blaster bolts trudging through his thin, fleshy body -- dozens of them. He was dead before hitting the ground.
The droid, rapidly calculating a new formula to account for the change in combat performance hastily returned to work. Thuuk the chest feed of his throwing flachettes groaned, disgorging the spherical weapon in to his droid hand. Computer precision guided his arm in the perfect heave, propelling the grenade with chilling accuracy unto the flanking Republic troops. Reveling in the pop of it's deadly explosion, he gazed, view screens flickering once more as the organics were rend to fleshy ribbons from the rain of shrapnel.
His E-11 was retrieved from the ground, and he began to wade with limp in his march further in to the conflict.
From his vocoder, the music played.
It's like a dream, no end and no beginning. You're here with me, it's like a dream.
Thus they would die. Unless a Jedi General felt need to come end the carnage?
