Star Wars Roleplay: Chaos
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Junction Chapter II: Iron Remembers || COV/SO Junction of Resource Hex & F'Tral
- Thread starter Vren Rook
- Start date
Eternal Father
Though His body was turned away from them, the Dark Lord's eyes had already been drawn towards the direction of Siv Dragr before He'd even turned the corner. Smoke hissed out from the Mandalorian's detonator, spinning in centrifugal trails around the floor and quickly filling the room with hazardous smog. Carnifex had half-turned towards the Mandalorians at this point, His towering form now wreathed in wisps of concealing smoke. Soon enough, He was completely concealed from visual sight amidst the smoke.
He tasted traces of Ixetal cilona in the smoke as it filled His nostrils and mouth, a frequent component in anti-Force munitions employed by warriors like the Mandalorians. A memory floated to the surface of His mind, a vision of Himself and Mikhail Shorn fighting back to back against the Mandalorians on Concord Dawn. They'd used a more primitive form of Ixetal cilona smoke against the Sith Army, back when the utilization of such technology was new and innovative.
That had been over half a century ago, and the Dark Lord had learned much.
Segments of dark alloy unseal and rise, pulling free from the Dark Lord's layered collar in overlapping plates. They climb along the line of His throat and jaw in thin, articulated ribbons, each piece sliding over the next with a liquid precision. The surface catches the light in muted, oil-slick sheens - black and gunmetal. As they ascend, the pieces knit together. Seams vanish. Edges dissolve into one another. What began as discrete plates becomes a continuous structure; jawline, cheek guards, a rising frame that cups the sides of His face. The metal molds to the exact contours of bone and sinew, tightening microscopically until there is no space between armor and flesh.
Reaching out, bright emerald flame jumps out from the Dark Lord's palm. As the flame quickly subdues, what remains is the umbral gleam of a helmet fashioned in the shape of a leering skull. With one hand, deliberate and unhurried, the Dark Lord lifts the upper portion of the helmet. It is a solid thing in contrast to the crawling lower half - angular, severe, crowned with the brutal geometry befitting His presence. For a brief moment, His face remains visible, framed by the risen metal that has claimed His jaw and throat, His eyes burning with that molten, abyssal intensity.
Then Carnifex lowers it.
The upper helm descends with finality, guided into place as if drawn by an unseen force. The moment it meets the rising structure below, the two halves merge seamlessly into a single whole. Internal filaments lash upward to meet their counterparts, completing the circuit. All sound, smell, and presence vanishes from the Dark Lord's awareness, and He becomes utterly blind and deaf to the world around Him. In their place: currents. Pressure. Intent. He feels them. The helmet has no visor, instead inscribed runes where eyes would be glow a bright, intense crimson, cutting through the thick haze.
Totally subsumed in the undulations of the Dark Side, the Dark Lord moves with frightening precision. The first high-powered blaster bolt skids off of His cloak, reflected by the overlapping scales of beskar that compose its outer layer. The second misses entirely as the Dark Lord hunches down on all fours, thrusting Himself forward like a beast as His armored cloak whips out behind Him. Half-a-meter long blades affixed to the hem of His cloak dance in His passing, each one gleaming with a beskar edge.
He throws Himself not at the enemy Mandalorians, but at whatever gap exists between their ranks. Spinning mid-air, His cloak fans out with blades swirling like a meat shredder. At such high velocities, the beskar-edged blades could slice through conventional armor like butter, and even beskar armor itself would be at threat of being cut.
Meanwhile, the Dark Lord's Blackblade Guards quickly advanced into firing lines, precise and unflinching, executioner rifles braced. The particle beams exploded on contact with anything they hit, sending debris and dust across the room as the firefight grew in intensity.
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The Living Pyre
VARIN MORTIFER
Equipment: Durum Mantle | Black Blade of Chandrila | Eye of The Dragon | Heavy Sith Mace | Cross Guard Broadsaber
The hissing of the door opening caught his attention followed by the tapping of a fallen object. Varin knew that sound instantly he turned and stretched out his hand just as the grenade detonated. His fingers flexed, condensing the air around the flame and force of the explosion, an unseen force maintaining the energy into a small ball as he continued to squeeze it.
A grunt leaving his throat from the strain of containment. He was not one to contain, he was the one who usually exploded. Already this fight seemed different.
Finally he slung his hand to the side pushing the blast towards the opposing wall. His saber hilt drawn and roared to life with a plasma-like fiery red blade, he took a stance as his armor deployed a phalanx shield of kyber light, cracking with red and white energy.
He did not call for his backup, he wanted them to keep searching for more.
Searching for others like a nest of roaches ready to be purged.
Lord of the Holonet
Her master had tasked with something simple. It was all she could be trusted with these days. But unlike her previous masters,
Darth Carnifex
understood what Dekaltis excelled at. What she craved.Murder.
Deep in the factory, the girl laid in wait. Watching the Mandalorians mow through the sith troopers she had sent ahead of her. Fodder, so she could study her prey. The girl's head tilted at the weapon the Mandalorian used.
An Enclave Blaster. Hyper-accelerated blaster bolts that chewed through armor. A grenade launcher underbarrel.
She knew what needed to be done. Her cybernetic eyes shifted, going from green to red. A smile formed on her face, as she prepped to engage. A wicked smile. An evil smile.
Her lightsaber activated, and before she said a word, she sent it spinning towards the mandalorian with a velocity that caused it's twin blades to going from two colors to merging into one, as the lightsaber hurled towards Vara.
All the while, Deklatis herself re-positioned. Leapt from one catwalk to another.
She knew the saber wouldn't take out the Mando in one go, but she was probing. Trying to get a feel for the prey she planned to dissect.
Kelhav
The Living Pyre
VARIN MORTIFER
Equipment: Durum Mantle | Black Blade of Chandrila | Eye of The Dragon | Heavy Sith Mace | Cross Guard Broadsaber
Blaster fire impacted his shield in short bursts before they ceased. The hum of both his saber and shield were nearly deafening in the coming quiet before a small ping. The Mandalorian threw yet another grenade. Varin quickly leapt back from the explosion as more blaster fire rained down towards him, the sound of a jetpack igniting caught his attention.
Gas had filled a small part of the space, thinking it was but some form of smoke cloud Varin stepped through. The gas slowly creeping into the crevices of his helm. A cough escaped him before he felt his body's connection to the force sever. If this had happened months prior, he would have panicked. But he had sense felt the feeling of coldness that came with suppression.
He knew at this point he could not reach him at range as his smoke tendrils slowly sucked back into his body.
He drew his Black Blade and surged forward after him, his saber whirling deflecting blaster fire, slower than he normally would. But stray blaster bolts bounced off his plating.
The Black Blade clutched in his grasp he held it forward and slashed to the side. The blade would not reach him, but the cutting winds that followed shot forth towards the man.
With a quick push of a button in his gauntlet needles along his spine within his armor injected a substance straight into his body. A yell erupted from his throat as he surged forward once more. Faster than a moment ago.
Imperator
Death on the wind. Lirka's gleaming slit lenses glared out to the assembly of warriors before her - immediately was her attention drawn to the form of
Darion of Myrkr
as the warrior prepared to meet Lirka's rumbling challenge. For as much as she besmirched and degraded the people of Mandalore, she had come to appreciate their ability to meet a challenge.In a sharp contrast to the obnoxious roar of her arrival, she did not savagely charge to meet the Warrior. Quite the opposite, a shifting of her feet and the raising her of massive alien blade - the electro-plasma filament along its blade crackling with fury. These interlopers were new blood, nascent and proud.
She would teach them to remember Lirka Ka.
As Darion surged forward on the jetpack's flames the Once-Sephi exploded to life. For all of the powersuit's hefty bulk, Lirka was always a bit faster than she seemed. With a scream of whirring servos and mechanized strength her defensive stance turned in the wake of the Mandalorian's skewering strike - with the whistling songsteel of her blade she used it to push against his blade, letting the weapon scrape across her chestplate with the whine of beskar-on-beskar.
Her trophies of a butchered Mandalore had wilted away with time, but still did those inkling remain. A wordless taunt, and reminder of the butchery committed at her clawed hand.
"Quaint trick, rat."
Following up on the defensive blow, Lirka surged forward to slam her metal bulk against the warrior to disorient now that they had entered the brutality of close combat. Oh yes. This would be one to remember.
Sithbane
G U N S L I N G E R
Seswenna
Carduul Akahl
|
Gel Karn
Enemies:
Darth Carnifex
| Sith OrderSiv watched as the Dark Lord assumed his mantle, seemingly unaffected by the smoke, or at least unfazed. The way unnatural Sith energy swirled around him led Siv to assume that Carnifex's connection to the heretical had been undampened. Dragr breathed evenly, his pulse remaining steady. When the Sith monster crouched, Siv was watching and ready, kicking off into the air with an intense burst from his jetpack's thrusters even as Carnifex flew to where he had been a moment prior.
The Mandalorian remained composed. Fear was the true killer.
Although Siv could not guess it -- by what he could see from the Sith Lord's helmet, he would assume that Carnifex still had traditional vision -- he would be partially or completely obscured from the Sith Lord's Force-vision by his trakar armor weave. If the Dark Lord were able to detect him, it would be as if Siv were a wraith, immaterial, nearly impossible to perceive. The Dark Lord's defense against the smoke bomb had, ironically, given Siv an advantage. Perhaps Carnifex would have been better-suited to embrace temporary banality.
However, Siv himself did not yet know that Carnifex's vision was clouded. The smoke was quickly filling the vast chamber, and thermal vision overlaid regular vision on Siv's HUD. He was laser-focused on the Sith Lord despite the chaos that had broken out as hidden soldiers emerged. He had to trust that Carduul would play his own part. Siv was about five meters directly away from the Sith lord, four by horizontal and three by vertical distance. He leveled his blaster once more and fired, but raised his left arm and triggered his sonic blaster mounted on his vambrace, firing dual laser and concentrated sonic blasts at the Sith.
Forged in Fire
GEL KARN
SESWENNA
TAG:
Darth Carnifex
,
Carduul Akahl
,
Siv Dragr
GEAR: Two Vonduun Crab Legs, Slave Rags
Ever see Kingsman?
Somehow,
Gel Karn
was still very much alive for the moment.
Despite the intense fighting going on all around him, and despite him murdering one of
Darth Carnifex
's guards mere feet away from him, no one had really seemed to notice Gel or what he had done. If possible, he would like to keep things that way. The smoke that the Mandalorians had throw still lingered about the room that Gel was in, and the forgemaster continued to sputter and cough despite the fact he had dropped to the ground, where the smoke was the thinnest. Whatever this stuff was, it wasn't going away anytime soon, that was for damn sure.
Meaning that if Gel was going to make his escape, he'd have to find some way to deal with the irritants in the air all around him.
Still clutching the Vonduun Crab Legs he had grabbed off the nearest shelf, Gel began crawling toward the nearest exit, in a desperate bid to mitigate the effects of the smoke hanging above his head. He figured that the air toward the bottom of the floor would most likely be the cleanest, and eventually the smoke would drift upwards and dissipate entirely, by which that point he would be out of this room and long gone. Plus, the lower he was, the less likely it would be that he would get noticed, and as much as Gel truly hated the Sith, fighting as few of them as possible would give him the best shot of escaping his fate once and for all.
As he made his bid for freedom, he noticed that
Darth Carnifex
was still quite close to him, and for the briefest of moments, Gel considered trying to stab him through his ankles with one of the Vonduun Crab Legs that he was holding. He quickly dismissed the thought however, as doing so was far more likely to get himself killed than it would be getting Carnifex killed, and he doubted he'd even manage to touch the man before his attempts were discovered.
No, it would be far better for him to keep his head done and try to leave as quietly as possible.
Suppressing a cough, Gel continued forward, slowly but surely getting ever close to the exit. All around him, the Mandalorians continued their fierce battle with the warriors of the Sith. Blaster bolts flew above him on both sides as one of the Mandalorains swung his mighty poleaxe with wild abandon, cleaving Sith warriors in twain as another fire what Gel guessed to be some sort of Sonic weapon toward Carnifex.
Whoever these guys were, they were serious about their attack. Not that it really mattered to Gel, as after all they'd all likely be dead at the hands of the Sith sooner rather than later. Still, that was fine, as their deaths would be what would allow Gel to begin his life of freedom. It would all surely be worth it for Gel, no matter how many Mandalorians perished here today.
...right?
Gel Karn
was still very much alive for the moment.Despite the intense fighting going on all around him, and despite him murdering one of
Darth Carnifex
's guards mere feet away from him, no one had really seemed to notice Gel or what he had done. If possible, he would like to keep things that way. The smoke that the Mandalorians had throw still lingered about the room that Gel was in, and the forgemaster continued to sputter and cough despite the fact he had dropped to the ground, where the smoke was the thinnest. Whatever this stuff was, it wasn't going away anytime soon, that was for damn sure.Meaning that if Gel was going to make his escape, he'd have to find some way to deal with the irritants in the air all around him.
Still clutching the Vonduun Crab Legs he had grabbed off the nearest shelf, Gel began crawling toward the nearest exit, in a desperate bid to mitigate the effects of the smoke hanging above his head. He figured that the air toward the bottom of the floor would most likely be the cleanest, and eventually the smoke would drift upwards and dissipate entirely, by which that point he would be out of this room and long gone. Plus, the lower he was, the less likely it would be that he would get noticed, and as much as Gel truly hated the Sith, fighting as few of them as possible would give him the best shot of escaping his fate once and for all.
As he made his bid for freedom, he noticed that
Darth Carnifex
was still quite close to him, and for the briefest of moments, Gel considered trying to stab him through his ankles with one of the Vonduun Crab Legs that he was holding. He quickly dismissed the thought however, as doing so was far more likely to get himself killed than it would be getting Carnifex killed, and he doubted he'd even manage to touch the man before his attempts were discovered.No, it would be far better for him to keep his head done and try to leave as quietly as possible.
Suppressing a cough, Gel continued forward, slowly but surely getting ever close to the exit. All around him, the Mandalorians continued their fierce battle with the warriors of the Sith. Blaster bolts flew above him on both sides as one of the Mandalorains swung his mighty poleaxe with wild abandon, cleaving Sith warriors in twain as another fire what Gel guessed to be some sort of Sonic weapon toward Carnifex.
Whoever these guys were, they were serious about their attack. Not that it really mattered to Gel, as after all they'd all likely be dead at the hands of the Sith sooner rather than later. Still, that was fine, as their deaths would be what would allow Gel to begin his life of freedom. It would all surely be worth it for Gel, no matter how many Mandalorians perished here today.
...right?
Darion of Myrkr
victory or death
It came to him faint at first. The sound was buried under the whine of servos and the hard hiss of the armor, under the scrape of blades meeting in anger. Then, in a beat of the heart, the other sounds went dull and far away, and there was only that one note, clear and thin, like a death knell heard across a valley.
Beskar against beskar.
The blood rose in him and his breath came short. A Sith wearing the iron of Mandalore, the sacred iron of Mandalore. The impiety of it made his mouth dry. In an almost sinful way, Darion of Myrkr did not share the extreme prejudice most of his brethren wielded for the Sith. Even his courage did not dare say it aloud among his kin. The wickedness of the Sith's treachery, yes, that was to be reviled, but Darion was taught by his father to value strength above all else. That was the way of the warrior, the way of Mandalore.And whatever had broken the Mandalorians had been strong beyond telling. That thought did not sicken him. It stirred him.
It made the fight worth having.
Then the Sith struck him full with its mass hard and drove him back. His thoughts broke apart and the world came in sharp againand there was a ringing in his ears. He cursed himself for losing hold and looked up.
The thing stood over him, tall and iron-bound, and he felt its size towering above him.
Darion of Myrkr wanted to topple it down more than anything he had ever wanted.
He lifted his blade high and brought it down as if to split the head, then turned his wrist and cut across, once and again, quick and flat, several slashes atimed at the Sith's abdomen.
Lirka Ka
Beskar against beskar.
The blood rose in him and his breath came short. A Sith wearing the iron of Mandalore, the sacred iron of Mandalore. The impiety of it made his mouth dry. In an almost sinful way, Darion of Myrkr did not share the extreme prejudice most of his brethren wielded for the Sith. Even his courage did not dare say it aloud among his kin. The wickedness of the Sith's treachery, yes, that was to be reviled, but Darion was taught by his father to value strength above all else. That was the way of the warrior, the way of Mandalore.And whatever had broken the Mandalorians had been strong beyond telling. That thought did not sicken him. It stirred him.
It made the fight worth having.
Then the Sith struck him full with its mass hard and drove him back. His thoughts broke apart and the world came in sharp againand there was a ringing in his ears. He cursed himself for losing hold and looked up.
The thing stood over him, tall and iron-bound, and he felt its size towering above him.
Darion of Myrkr wanted to topple it down more than anything he had ever wanted.
He lifted his blade high and brought it down as if to split the head, then turned his wrist and cut across, once and again, quick and flat, several slashes atimed at the Sith's abdomen.
Lirka Ka
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Anointed
There was nothing more invigorating than the feeling of combat. A battle hard-fought, and won. Even now, in the jaws of the enemy, he could not help but feel such a sense. The Crusader can only hope that this would be the first of many.
In the periphery, he had watched as his kin had engaged Carnifex himself; the grisly cape proudly being brought to the forefront as if to showcase the history of such attempts upon their back. Still, he was certain Dragr would not balk at that knowledge. He had swerved aside in the conflict, allowing the other to take the Darth as requested—his task was to keep the rest of the Blackblades off their back whilst those lost souls were brought into the fold. So he had moved, weaving through blaster fire with returning blaster shots of his own and the blink of his blade.
Though, his attention was caught to the opposite end of the room, where a lone Mandalorian was witnessed crawling away. The strange crab legs certainly weren't a weapon...at least not in his eyes. “Vod!” He called, a hand swiftly moving from the haft to unholster his heavy blaster pistol. “It’s a poor practice for a Mandalorian to be unarmed!” Before it was tossed over, clattering against the floor if it was not caught and skidding to a halt.
There was an assumption it was part of the strike team. With the smoke, the blaster fire, Carduul hardly could notice that it was all a production facility that had been host to far more than just recent capture. That point was only enunciated with a particle beam bursting against his chestplate with the momentary distraction, sending him skidding aback with a forced exhalation of breath from his lungs. Had his footing been any poorer, he would have certainly been sent crashing into the wall—but there was no time to waste being winded. His brief stagger had lurched back into movement before several more particle beams bombarded where he just was.
T’was a surprising amount of opposition present, but nothing he hadn’t surmounted before. Terrible odds were often a Mandalorian’s field of battle, and had been so countless times in history. They were not run-of-the-mill opponents, either—he could see the tactics being formulated and used as he immersed in the smoke once more. They were trying to surround them- pin them down so they couldn’t escape. Either they would have to clear the way, or join the prisoners they were meant to save.
“Fight!” He called to the captives who remained, just as he jetted through the cloud in a sudden burst of movement, batting aside a raised blaster rifle that was moments away from a trigger pull. The haft twisted upwards just thereafter, locking around the neck to leverage the Blackblade's body in front of himself just as several more powerful bolts pelted into the makeshift shield. It was obvious there was little care for their comrade's safety—they aimed simply to shoot through him, and he braced himself from the transfer of kinetic force all the same. “Be Mando’ade, and take your vengeance to fight another day!”
The Old Boar
F L A M E W A R D
Seswenna, Lower Atmosphere
Seva Beroya
|
Kjartan Hammer-Hand
|
Signy Bralor
| Iron CovenantEnemies: Sith Order (+OPEN)
Sith forces had responded, yes. Romul silently monitored the situation playing out orbitally; a medium-sized response force, but nothing indomitable. The fleets of Beroya and the Hammer-hand would more than outmatch the force the Sith had brought to bear.
Were they arrogant enough to think no one could get into their own house?
"Do we have targeting solutions?" Romul inquired, looking over the holodisplay of the industrial sector. He yearned for battle, for true opposition, but none yet was granted him.
"We've targeted several sectors where we have no Mandalorian teams operating," Ignus Saxon, Alor'ad of the Gra'tua Dral, reported. "Sectors are prioritized by what our scan-com team could identify as most critical. We are trying to avoid residential sectors, but collateral damage is unavoidable."
"There is no such thing as collateral for the Sith," Romul rumbled. "Begin the bombardment. Remain vigilant; Sith forces may yet present a threat."
On his orders, the thrusters of the heavy assault cruisers flared to life as they moved out from their holding positions lower to the atmosphere, arranged in a triangle formation with the Tal'galar forward and the Stri'liir and Sur'ar on port and starboard sides respectively. There was a moment of silence, then noise as thunder as particle cannons, megamaser batteries, and heavy turbolaser batteries simultaneously opened fire. The result of the barrage was devastating, metal melting into slag as fires and explosions billowed upwards. Fuel processing nodes, ore refineries, atmospheric scrubbers, power conduits threading through the industrial grid, explosions cascaded as one system burst into another.
"Beginning damage assessment," Ignus reported as the thundering ceased, the cruiser's weapon systems cooling down, the night now lit up in flames. Smaller explosions continued to ripple through the sector. To all below, it would've felt as if a large tectonic quake had just struck the ground.
- Ha'rangir-class Star Destroyer
- Gra'tua Dral [Shields 100% | Hull 100% | Structure 100%] - Flagship
- x3 Brokur-class Heavy Assault Cruisers
- Tal'galar [[Shields 100% | Hull 100% | Structure 100%]
- Stri'liir [[Shields 100% | Hull 100% | Structure 100%]
- Sur'ar [[Shields 100% | Hull 100% | Structure 100%]
Kelhav
The Living Pyre
VARIN MORTIFER
Equipment: Durum Mantle | Black Blade of Chandrila | Eye of The Dragon | Heavy Sith Mace | Cross Guard Broadsaber
Varin closed more distance to the Mandalorian after he used his jetpack to dodge the blast of sharp air.
He switched to a reverse grip on the hilt powering down his shield then activating two small kyberblades from his gauntlets for closer quarters combat.
As soon as he surged forward, the Mandalorian’s first blade stabbed towards his helm, causing Varin to shift his stance, barely dodging the blade as sparks scraped off his helm, leaving a bright metal gash on the faceplate.
The vibroblade would meet resistance as it impacted the small lightblade that protruded from his gauntlet.
Varin swung his forearm back to knock the blade away, then his other elbow slung towards the Mandos armored face with his heavy phrik elbow plate.
Might not break the armor, but he would definitely feel it.
The Ashes of Malachor that surged through his system, substituted strength and speed within his body in case he was cut from the force. But the time was vastly limited due to the nature of his bodyheat.
He hoped it would last until his force powers returned.
“Get out of my Grand Masters home.”
He spoke deeply with aggression, though his voice wasn't raised. It was deep, menacing and quiet. A near black and white difference to the roar he displayed seconds prior.
Imperator
TAGS:
Darion of Myrkr
Lirka could feel her body writhe and ripple in the sort of gleeful sadism that only got awakened by her brawls with the Mandalorians. It was a chance to gloat, puff her chest and feed her own murderous ego and remind the rabble what the name “Lirka Ka” meant.
And perhaps the greatest irony of it all, she was not all too different to the more war-like Mandalorians of their people. For Lirka too valued strength above all: but the strength Lirka Ka venerated was a horrid and perverse thing. It was the strength to inflict will upon the weak, and leave a towering pile of bodies in your wake for no other reason than because you decided to.
The strong shall do as they do, the weak will suffer what they must.
With a mechanical purr of a taunting schoolyard bully, she jabbed her newest of foe.
“You hear it, don’t you rat? I ripped your precious planet apart, tore your sacred iron from its carcass and turned it to my own ends. Slaughtered your people like the animals they are.”
The Once-Sephi stabbed at pride and emotion just as much as she stabbed at flesh and bone. If she could stoke the flames of hate within one’s’ soul - she had won as much as she’d like. To herald violence was a holy enough task as it was.
Bustling with savage amusement as she watched the warrior stumble, Lirka stood in leering mockery as his blade lashed out once more. The shriek of metal on metal filling the air once more, that which cut deep and seeped into the meat within brought forth a smell of wicked chemical foulness as a viscous blackness slowly seeped from any wound put upon her body.
Though one of the things that separate her most heavily from the Mandalorians: honor had become something more of a joke to her than anything else. Lirka was a dirty fighter. When it became her turn to lash out again, one of the metal tree-trunk legs shot out as a mechanized missile, launching itself at full speed into one of Darion’s legs to abuse Lirka’s mechanized bulk once again.
Even before waiting to see if the blow connected, the mighty alien machete in her hand lashed out - a quick blow aimed to hack into the man’s side.