Star Wars Roleplay: Chaos

Register a free account today to become a member! Once signed in, you'll be able to participate on this site by adding your own topics and posts, as well as connect with other members through your own private inbox!


AB7-C2181-79-E2-4-F51-8-AFE-6-FE92-B3519-F5.gif

Equipment: Sword of the Tenth | The Panoply
Tags: Ishida Ashina Ishida Ashina | Tren Chaar Tren Chaar
Location: JEDHA - En Route to JEDI MONASTERY
Theme:
Military Aggression

There is, he has experienced, a moment of time before a kill that has a certain type of sweetness to it. And no, that is not to be understood as an alternative way of saying "I enjoy doing or seeing that." It is, in fact, quite literal for the horned man.

In that split second before his weapon - whatever that is at the time - cuts through or pounds the flesh of his foe, there is a...burst of flavor on his tongue. Traveling from rotten taste bud to taste bud, driving him to swallow a delicacy that is not there. He has repeatedly described it to his fellows across time as the finest honeyed wine laced with thin scents of fresh-picked berries. Or, well, whatever comparable description the idiot could give. Most importantly, regardless of the description, it was a taste of home. A centuries-old memory surging its way, worm-like, through the electrodes of his mangled mind. As if the world around him is celebrating the coming death with a small taste of the ambrosia his family would serve after every performance his sister had on stage.

There is no such taste in this moment. There is no such celebration to be had. As the woman danced through the horde and now engages him in combat, reminding him in some way of that sister who now was lost to him forever, there is no ambrosia. There is only a bitterness, the carving of air, and the forcing of the offensive march. This was bound to happen, even if he didn't want to admit it. Likewise, if he did not know it.

And...he did not know.

He could not know, in spite of the fact that the reasoning for him to acknowledge it and grasp it was openly standing there; screaming at him as a scorned lover left standing in the rain. Barking at him with an ever-tearing throat that for every fight he did have all those years ago, he would never have allowed his enemy to even consider that their attack would connect with any part of him - armor or flesh. Lamenting that this woman was able to not only do that but also nearly caught him off guard, that his skills have atrophied or that the modern-day warriors are far better than the cowards he had maimed so long ago.

Laoth perceives none of these facts. He only maintains his fanged smirk, glad to have a fight worthy of his dullard's passion, of his brutish efforts. Only are they recognized by his forgotten self - the drowned self. The lost self that wants to reach out and retake control of its body that is currently being driven by an imbecilic shell of am and make him fight like he used to once again. Like a true warrior and not a nitwit purposely extending the fight for his own childish enjoyment.

This atrocious change in conditions is made none more evident to that self than when, after this luminous woman dodges his responding attack, she also avoids each of the subsequent series of carving swings intent on slaying her. A dancer of the blade, weaving around the terrible edges of the Sword of the Tenth. A relic weapon that has been drenched in the blood of thousands of innocents, soldiers, and Jedi. It should have been so deadly in the hands of the titan, yet it is currently incapable of cutting the flesh of a single woman?

The drowned self finds this shameful, but Laoth cannot feel such shame. And while this avoidance of not only death, but also injury, is not as clear cut as one might have assumed given this woman's meteor-like speed, it is enough to make that drowned self all the more aggravated. Ironically, this only makes the oaf that is Laoth all the more gleeful. She's not dying immediately. She's not bleeding. She's fighting back. This is fun!

His strikes become quicker, more vigorously thrown as the two move their feet in a chaotic intro to a rhythmless tango. Steps are accompanied by drum beats of plasma and choirs of screaming soldiers. Each dancing to their own tune - it would have created a mess of a showing if the two were on a stage back on Devaron.

Flawed and disordered is the initial portion of this fight, at least until the woman suddenly produces a second blade with the speed of a Starweird. Utilizing the scorching bane of the darkness to block the final heavy swing of the horned man's blade, the woman shunts forth a gleaming curved razor toward's the unprotected section of his chest. It is like molten starlight, reflecting the light around it in a stream of precision that careens towards the beating heart of a dark sun that should have been dead long ago.

The image of the approaching razor is reflected in his gaze like a mirror, and the glee briefly leaves his face; his seemingly eternal smirk breaks off into a crooked frown. His deep blue eyes shift from their reddened wide stare into a furrowed almost blackened glare, a sense of seriousness crawling over the area around the two combatants. For the horned man, time slows to a crawl, and the haze of his powder-addled mind slips away for a solitary moment.

He has to be quick, quicker than her. Is that even possible?

Out of self-preservation, the titan shoots his free hand up from his side and grips the gleaming razor in his fist. The edge slices through the leather of his glove with ease, drawing tar-black blood from a fresh gash in his palm. It runs down the inside of his bracer, wetting his wrist and forearm. He hides a grimace, the first true instance of pain since his freedom from the tomb by God. He saved himself, but the pain still radiates from his chest. Laoth looks down, hissing at the revelation that the point of the razor still managed to mark its intent upon his breast. Black blood runs down in a thin line from the cut, staining the red of his chest straps. Had it struck true, it could have punctured deeper and into his lung. Such precision to have in conjunction with such...rapidity of motion. Laoth looks to the woman, hastily acknowledging the increasingly orange glow from the mark of contact of her lightsaber and the Sword of the Tenth. If it remains in this clash for much longer, it could slice in half.


"Quite the skill you have, Jedi," he says with a strange temperament that belies his frowning expression and previous savagery. "You are the first in years to make me bleed. Not many hold such achievement." He is quick to move against her after letting his words settle into her mind. A miasma of contradictions that he could use to his advantage if that lost self was a bit more permanently recovered than for a single moment of preservation.

He lifts his hand into the air along with the razor still gripped in his fist. The point carves its way up his chest from its mark and barely avoids nicking his neck and jaw, but is now being held at a slightly acute angle, pointing towards the dying sky. His next actions are surprisingly swift in spite of his girth, though still nowhere near as quick as his foe. Rotating his body and armament, the titan drags his sword against the edge of the scorching bane so as to then shove it upwards and trap the razor in the empty space between both sides of the weapon. In the same breath of exertion, he then lets go of the razor from his fist and twists once more with violent force, ripping the woman's blade from her hand and sending it flying towards the entrance of the partially excavated monastery. As she moves to recover from this sudden loss, the horned man takes his wounded hand and grips the woman's throat, lifting her into the air just as he had her weapon. Black blood weeps from the gash in his palm and smells distinctly of silver and sulfur. The blood of a Devaronian subjected to his own hubris.

Hubris that makes its consequences known once more.


"You fight well," he muses with an increasingly strained voice. Maintain it, Jedi. Make...him...learn."

Just then, the fanged crooked smirk returns and the eyes redden anew. A roar of pure primal stupidity escapes his throat and suddenly is the woman tossed from his grasp, hurled towards the entrance of the monastery like a sack of meat. Loath lumbers after his quarry as she soars through the air, gnashing his teeth while dark curses bubble and boil on his tongue.

The real fight had just begun.
 


The Mongrel The Mongrel | Romi Jade Romi Jade

"Do you ever tire of hearing your own voice?"

"Why, is it bothering you?"

If her face has been visible, The Mongrel would be treated to the snidest, most chit-eating grin in the galaxy. Even Yula had to admit that she was being fairly ballsy for someone currently cemented to a wall.

That smirk melted into a wince when he stomped closer, the hilt of her lightsaber in his enormous palm. So that was how he chose to end it, huh? The second of Dagon's girlfriends to end up impaled by a Jedi's weapon. That thought sparked a flurry of indignant feelings.

For the first time in the span of only minutes, her voice was even-toned.

"I'd have used the 'clearly-compensating-for-something' sword instead."

Yula inhaled deeply, drawing the Force to her in one final surge before she let it all out with a scream, releasing a shockwave that raced violently in all directions. It was the same technique that had collapsed a cave on Ilum (sorry, Valery), albeit this time it was intentional.

"FETH OOOFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFF!"

The solidified glop pasting her to the wall began to crack as it met with the force of the shockwave, hairline fracture beginning to score along its rigid surface. With her fingers wriggled partially free, Yula concentrated on regaining her grasp over the lightsaber—whether it was still in The Mongrel's grasp or had clattered to the ground.

If The Mongrel hated the sound of her voice before…

  • Force bellow producing a shockwave that moves outward in all directions.
  • Shockwave helps to loosen some of the glop hold.
  • Yula attempts to call her saber to her via the Force, wherever it ends up (on the ground vs. still with The Mongrel).
  • Incapable of shutting up, sorry.
 
Objective I: Defend the City
Location: On a street outside the Temple of the Kyber
Tags: Danika Leventis Danika Leventis Aeris Lashiec Aeris Lashiec

Kai was caught by the blast of energy that issued forth from Danika. Unable to block it with his lightsaber, the Padawan could barely resist it with the Force. While he was not instantly vaporized, if he had been human it would almost certainly have killed him, if not left him completely incapacitated and severely wounded.

Instead the doppelganger was thrown backwards, flipping end over end across the pavement. His flesh was warped, as though chunks of his skin and muscle had been torn away from the bone. Yet by the time the blast died down, the twisted mass of black blood and tissue was still alive and moving, struggling to reshape itself.

<I do understand,> Kai said, still clutching the hilt of his lightsaber in a mangled hand. <But if that’s how it is, I can’t allow you to hurt anyone else.>

He sank his teeth into her mind as if to feed on her thoughts and memories, but it was only a distraction as the doppelganger charged at her, thrusting the tip of his blade toward her shoulder. Hopefully she’d be too preoccupied with shutting him out of her head to react in time to block the blow...
 
5-D0-D2078-B73-D-48-C5-8519-C4646-C9896-C7.gif

Location: Jedha, New Jedha City
Engaging: Yula Perl Yula Perl
Nearby: Keilara Kala'myr Keilara Kala'myr | Zark San Tekka Zark San Tekka | Bernard of Arca Bernard of Arca | Westenra Mina Westenra Mina

  • The Mongrel is knocked back by Yula's scream, and loses his grip on her saber
  • He retaliates with an integrated flamethrower, trying to fry her before she escapes the glop


Each of the Jedi that The Mongrel had encountered over the last half-decade of fighting them had possessed different talents. He'd faced pyromancers and telepaths, masters of the saber and warriors who could fling around speeding projectiles with the power of their minds. They had all pushed him to the limit, forcing him to adapt in order to survive. A weapon or technique that worked well against one would be rendered totally ineffective by the unique magic of another. But not every Jedi, it seemed, could have a powerful and useful talent.

This one had scraped the bottom of the barrel and come up with unfathomably annoying... though she was doing her best, it seemed, to weaponize it. She kept up her barrage of snark as the warlord stalked closer, her sharp tongue unrelenting. If she felt any fear as he prepared to slay her with her own weapon, her voice did not betray it. The Mongrel shook his heavy head, baffled at her conduct. She would be the first Jedi he had ever killed, but their duel would be just as memorable for just how bizarre it'd been as for that accomplishment.

Maybe the Alliance was running out of Jedi, and had been forced to deploy the C-listers to make up for the shortage. "Sorry, we're out of battlemasters and kineticists, here's one who's... let's see... really snarky." No wonder the GADF and the New Jedi Order were on the outs if this was the best they could offer their allies! Rolling the lightsaber out of his palm and between two fingers, The Mongrel carefully pressed down on the activator, a motion that was almost dainty. The shimmering golden blade sprang forth at his command.

The weapon of his most hated foes, now his to wield.

But perhaps Yula's unique talent for taunts was more useful than the warlord believed. Perhaps it served well as a distraction, and as a way to get others to underestimate her. For as The Mongrel approached, moving the burning yellow blade toward the Jedi's chest, he suspected nothing... even as the storm gathered inside her. He merely shook his head as she snarked about what the size of his warblade might indicate, grinding his durasteel teeth in his artificial mouth. "A poor choice of final words," he retorted. "Crass and meaningless."

"The galaxy will thank me for the gift of your silenc-"


Suddenly a much different sound tore itself free of her throat, one full of sorcerous power. The force of the scream drove the surprised warlord back several paces, and the lightsaber - loosely held between his fingers - flew from his grasp. Auditory dampers automatically kicked in, keeping the sound from overwhelming his senses or pulping his still-organic brain, but the pressure wave was another matter. The impact of it stayed his hand from the killing blow for several key seconds... long enough for Yula to call her golden blade back to her hand.

The dried glop had also begun to crack prematurely under the pressure, and it was all too clear that the Jedi would soon be free of it. The Mongrel hissed in fury as he recognized how he had allowed his arrogance to deny him the kill. In the old days, before he had gained his powerful cybernetic form, he would never have hesitated or postured, knowing that such things would get him killed. His armored body, towering over the man he had once been, had made him overconfident... and against any Jedi, overconfidence was fatal.

No more wasting time, then. He had to finish this before she fully freed herself from the glop; he'd taken one hit from that blade already, the spot still bleeding a steady stream of sparks and black lubricant, and he could not afford to take another. "Just die, witch!" he howled, and raised his arm to point at her once more. He was out of glop, and he didn't dare fire a projectile or blaster bolt at her now that she had her saber back in hand. So he switched the hose connected to the sprayer nozzle from the glop tank... to the incendiary one.

A jet of flame shot at Yula, aimed to roast her before she freed herself.
 


TASK FORCE XESH
BCA1-C7-CB-2-AFA-4-FCF-81-E7-E57235978-A30.gif

j83eXVL.png

XESH SIX
JEDHAMOUR TEARS || ELIMINATE TRACES OF THE SIA BLACKSITE
JEDHA | UNMARKED LOCATION | SIA BLACKSITE

Tao was already working on putting significant distance between himself and the latest planted charge when Xesh One's voice came through his earpiece with his final instructions.

<"I don't give a damn about Jedha or its pretentious significance to the Jedi,">
A wicked grin spread across his unnaturally thin lips, stretching from ear to ear as he continued to scurry through the hallways, navigating through the random individual in a lab coat that got in his way. Collateral in white coats. The Jedi were certainly a precariously enamoured bunch. Heroes one day, under house arrest the next. Before being drawn into Xesh, he hadn't much cared one way or another; just managed to keep slipping by them to pedal out his shipments.

He hadn't much cared, until one of those blasted Jedi found him and dragged him into the SIA.

<"I won't permit anymore time to stragglers, they can die with their boxes if they don't get outta here.">

And that's why he liked Boluc. No shavit, straight to the point. Everyone had their time, as much time as he'd needed to plant several charges throughout the hallways of the site.

<"Blow it up once you are safe from the explosives, I got one last thing to take care of.">

<Copy that boss. You got less than five. See you in the sand.>

Tao ran, ran, ran until he turned an unfortunate corner right into Maestus Maestus .

"Hoooo--leeeee chit." He whispered, exhaling through his teeth.

For a few helpless seconds, he could only backpedal. Bravado seemed to drain from his muscles, slipping from his composition until the Klatoonian gathered himself, and crossed his arms to withdraw blasters resting on either side of his hips.

Whatever amount of fear had immediately swelled in his stomach, he felt it rising to his throat.

Forcibly, he swallowed it away and levelled the barrel-end of both blasters at the eye-catching devil. This was not a lab coat technician.

This was someone in his way.

"Chit for you, schutta..I mean." He quickly readjusted his thinking, forcing back spacer's courage to the fore of his façade and pulled the trigger in rapid succession on either of his rifles.




THE ILLUSIONIST
JEDHAMOUR TEARS || ELIMINATE TRACES OF THE SIA BLACKSITE
JEDHA | UNMARKED LOCATION | SIA BLACKSITE

cvMHV8u.png

ec7grC4.png



"Completed my downloads - preparing to move out."

"Black Site is being overrun."

<Downloads complete sir.> Maijan recited, her lashes fluttering as her eyes moved beneath closed lids. The concentration it was taking to keep the stability of the illusion, amongst so many masters of the Force, was enervating her.

<"Update me on the Jedi and the data, Mai. It's urgent, this place is about to blow sky high at any minute.">

"Any minute?>"Her eyes snapped open. The suddenness of her emotional shift created an unwanted ripple effect on her influence over the current, and a few corners here and there started to poke through the illusion of invisibility she'd conjured up to this point. "Captain, you can't any minute. Therrrre arrre still Jedi inside and within the blast rrradius. They need to know how much time they have to escape."

Dread of the inevitable swelled from her belly to her heart.

Was this within her scope of whatever the cost?



WHITE CURRENT CLOAK ACTIVE BUT FLICKERING, ILLUSION SUBJECT TO DETECTION AROUND SIA’S JEDHA BLACK SITE WING C: THE LAB



ALLIES | NJO | GA | Boluc Laar | NEARBY Allyson Locke Allyson Locke | Valery Noble Valery Noble | Ripley Kühn Ripley Kühn
FOES | BOTM | Maestus Maestus | Darth Kentarch Darth Kentarch



 

AB7-C2181-79-E2-4-F51-8-AFE-6-FE92-B3519-F5.gif

K N I G H T
GALACTIC ALLIANCE
JEDHA

LIGHTSABER | JEDI ARMOR
cj2JhgK.png
Shades of brown vibrated when their lightsabers clash, the red and green creating that pigment of color when they met. The Jedi Knight did not miss when his blade burned through a small length of black fabric from the Sith, disappointed and upset that his blade did not meet the warrior's torso and carve out the skin. A centimeter or two, and maybe he would have cut through more than what he managed just now. A good measure of distance from his opponent, never giving the excuse that it was luck that saved him from something more critical.

In retaliation, the Sith lunged back with a spin, momentum in the attack. Rhis ready to intercept the Sith's lightsaber with his own, again that brown color coming alive when the two sabers clashed and energy crackling from the two. An angry frown could be seen from the Nautolan’s face directed to the Sith as their lightsabers were still crossed.

“All I see is another dead Jedi. You just don’t know it yet.”

Taunts of death trying to distract Rhis from their fight. It was all about exploiting the first mistake and seeing if it would be fatal or otherwise. Many Jedi fell dead to the warpath of the Maw, this was true. Csilla, Lao Mon, Coruscant, and even smaller engagements before Csilla’a destruction. Now today would be added to the list.

“Your arrogance will be your downfall, as it was for your predecessors.”

No matter how many Jedi were killed there was always champions of the Force with inexorable courage to face evil. The extinction of the Jedi was always impossible to fulfill, history made that clear.

The Devastator roared louder, a more powerful gust of sand and dust blowing across the canyon. Powerful to knock off Fisto’s balance as he broke off from the cross and pushed over away. Almost impossible to see with the raging elements in this gust, the only vibrant things to see were the activated lightsabers. Standing up with lightsaber still in hand and facing his opponent while being conservative with his footing. Many factors meant death or critical injury to the two as they were high above from the earth, and a simple push could lead to their fall.

The tip of his lightsaber came into contact with the exterior metal of the Devastator, whatever layer of metal there was began to melt and burn from the heat. The Jedi continued this as he paced his steps to the Sith ready to slash upwards across the warrior’s body, hoping to see a break in their guard or even better.

ALLIES | GA | NJO
ENEMIES | MAW | ENGAGING Lord Letifer Lord Letifer | Tu'teggacha Tu'teggacha
 
5-D0-D2078-B73-D-48-C5-8519-C4646-C9896-C7.gif

Post: 5
Objective: Wicked One
Location: Jedha City
Equipment: Mind Crown | Black MidNight Duster with Hood | Echani shield suit | Grav Boots | Eltro Life Gloves | x4 red lightsabers | Defender | Forearm Lanvorak | Wrist Laser | x2 FWG-5 Flechette Smart Pistol | Boomer | X4 Daggers | Pack of Death sticks | Various Explosives | Holopad
Allies: The Mongrel The Mongrel | Keilara Kala'myr Keilara Kala'myr | Dark Apostle | Kyrel Ren | Marlon Sularen Marlon Sularen | Darth Mori
Enemies: Elpsis Kerrigan Elpsis Kerrigan | Jax Thio | Caltin Vanagor (Meat Head) | Bernard of Arca Bernard of Arca | Arlo Renard Arlo Renard | Zaka | Seto Du Couteau | Viers Connory Viers Connory
Engaging: Elpsis Kerrigan Elpsis Kerrigan

GM1OQzU.png


Tegan raised her right hand the trigger for her Lanvorak popped out and she fired six razor sharp discs as Elpsis generated and sent forth her flames. The Disc's flew off in all different direction not a single one going for Elpsis, they just went off in a chaotic pattern. Then Tegan's right-hand palm went up the trigger of the Lanvorak going back rested position. Tegan knew this was going to hurt like hell as the fire sprayed down on her channeling it to towards her right hand.


The edge of her gloves and the electronic components in the glove began to melt to flesh and then the flesh of the hand began burn even bursting into flames. The Fire was being absorbed into Tegan, she had already absorbed the energy from the telekentic slam, so the energy raw force was nearly overloading her as the fire being absorbed into her ran up the right arm burning, charring, and cracking the skin of her right arm. Her muscles tightened, contracted and her Teeth clinched tightly together. Her eyes flared brightly as black veins appeared at the edge of her neckline from her right shoulder.


Her Body was so full of pure raw force Energy anyone who was force sensitive could probably sense her miles away. She naturally gave off a ton of dark energy with his she absolutely glowed and bursted from the seems with convert raw force into dark energy. Granted it wasn't like she was absorbing a nexus though if she absorbed much more she might turn into a small Nexus. Her eyes burned as brightly as stars in the sky and they stared right Elpsis's they stared through her like she was just a gnat to a God.


Tegan's red saber in her left hand began spark as and electrical storm began to dance across it. Electrical energy began to dance around the weapon giving the saber an added charge to it. Then Tegan let loose the saber and it began to fly like a helicopter in the air spinning faster and faster Plasma and lighting letting sparks fly off in all direction as fly toward Ellipsis. As that weapon flew towards Elpsis's at lighting speed Tegan right hand that was charred and nearly useless at this point against the tightened muscles squeezed closed into a fist the arm still raised.


As it formed a fist all six of those small disc's from the Lanvorak that had shot off in a chaotic pattern became charged with energy turning them explosive and they all corrected course going strait for Elpsis Two aim specifically for her Jet pack, one towards her head and helmet, one for her Chest, and the last two going for each of her legs. The Saber had been aimed for the woman's midsection as well. As the discs changed course Tegan dropped to one knee, and began dissipating the rest of the energy she had absorbed into her web on the ground.
 

inv_header.png

It felt like a small ember of fire that danced along the surface of her skin, one errant knife that carved its way along her veins until it reached a terminus. Better meant suffering, but not just anyone’s suffering but hers specifically. The first flash she shook off, but the next didn’t strike quite as easy and neither did the ones that followed after it. Her body convulsed, shifted and spasmed in pain and electric judgment as she struggled to fight back the onslaught, not quite sure she was undeserving and not quite certain that she deserved it at all.

As precious seconds ticked by, as she lost more and more of the nerve to fight back, something snapped. It was like a switch, a brief moment in which her losses and victories began to flash before her with the one message: no more sorrow, and no more remorse. Peace and serenity was all that would remain, but there was only one way to get there.

Her hand jolted up to catch the lightning. Something drove her back on her feet again as the electrical torrents cracked and whipped against her increasingly blackened skin. This man had long stopped being who she knew. Traces of him existed, but the rest needed to be carved out for the cancer that it was — but more specifically for what it was doing. She had tried, she had begged and pleaded, but he had refused to listen. And now, it was her turn.

The energy that had gathered in her hand began to light up with intense brightness before it descended on Alex and Danika both in a cascade of pure light, enough to suffocate the dark that had enveloped them for far too long. Aeris' eyes shone with purpose as peace began to emanate around her.

“Repent, or die.” Aeris felt the words part her lips yet they didn’t feel like her own. “This is your final warning, Alex Mortimer. Your misguided hatred ends here.”
 
Ziare Dyarron | Keilara Kala'myr
COMPNOR (ISB) Junior Agent, Nite agent | Marauder of the Maw
5-D0-D2078-B73-D-48-C5-8519-C4646-C9896-C7.gif
Objective I: Defile the City
Location: Tythoni Square, New Jedha City, Jakku
Equipment: FS-18-UP2 Omega Phase Assault Rifle | 2x PV-16 "Sunfury" Pulse Pistol | Druetium Armour | Viper Mk. I Skinsuit | 2x Vibrodagger || Stealth field generator || OPBC-01m
Allies: The Mongrel The Mongrel | Marlon Sularen Marlon Sularen | Tegan Starfall Tegan Starfall
Enemies: Harson Thaddeus Harson Thaddeus | Bernard of Arca Bernard of Arca | Zark San Tekka Zark San Tekka | Gorthalon Gorthalon | Asmundr Varobalder Asmundr Varobalder | Seto Seto Du Coutaeu
GM1OQzU.png
[ Mitternacht ]
"Galactic Basic" | ~"Telepathic" communication ~ | << comm. channel >>

H3rbU3r.png
Four more seconds to live…

Four!​

One thing is for sure, I have never done such madness in my life. Everything slowed down around me. I heard the metallic tapping of the grenade as it landed on the ground. In the distance, the sound of shots was heard, fire crackling, shouting, begging. After the knock, he began to roll on the ground. Was it possible for a Force User to detect this? Yes, that question was still on my mind. The grenade display has changed. Will ours get to this place? It was a really good question. I need that sniper rifle.

Tree!​

For a moment, I played with the idea of trying to shoot a grenade from afar, or I should have set it to explode in the air while it was still flying. It was a very, very vile method, but I loved the idea. More and more metallic sounds as the grenade rolled. Then silence; he was far enough away from me to no longer hear its sound because of the noise around me. I looked at the Jedi for a moment and snarled under my helmet. I was hoping he would die or be injured and his injuries would be enough to become an easy prey.

Two!​

Everything around me is still infinitely slow. There wasn't much time left. There was an explosion in the distance; I heard his voice at that moment. The grenade then hit itself into a piece of stone and jumped one. I still hoped he wouldn’t notice it would have been unfortunate. And it was time for me to take the appropriate precautions in case I wanted to survive the current situation. But that was my goal to make it all happen. And then I have to run...

One!​

The explosion will attract everyone here, from the enemy. After all, Maw hasn't really gotten into this area yet. Except for me. I immediately knelt in the cover. I positioned myself to be surrounded on all sides by debris and building pieces. All of this was perfect to dampen the force of the explosion if it occurred. But it happens in a second. I activated my shield and pulled myself together in the cover. Come what has to come.

Zero!​

The explosion should have occurred then, unless something happens that prevents or affects this…

I was not religious, but I think that’s the moment I have to say:

Let the will of the Avatars happen!

DHGyR0O.png

54MNAtl.gif
 
K9FBUsM.png

GADividerBlue.png
SYNDULLA COMMAND | GAMBLER'S INSTINCT
ABOVE JEDHA

CETCOM CETCOM | Asmundr Varobalder Asmundr Varobalder Harson Thaddeus Harson Thaddeus
OLD DOG |
HIGH ADMIRAL MINLOV

Galactic Alliance 6th Sector Fleet
On Approach to Final Dawn Fleet


"Incoming transmission from the Prosperity, sir."

"Our communications to the surface are being jammed, we can't coordinate with General Thaddeus."

"We're taking heavy enemy fire."

"Our Ferrets have finished their scans, sir, we're updating your tacmap."

There were enough voices on the bridge, but Jacken was far more intent on studying the enemy's formation. "It looks too easy," he muttered to himself.

"Sir?" The Elomin didn't look especially confused. Jacken couldn't really tell with most of his kind.

"Don't tell me you're missing this." He pointed to the Final Dawn's forces -- first the enemy flagship, the Purifier, and its position in front, then next to the clump of frigates in the back line, seemingly to protect the ships that were jamming surface communications.


"I... suppose the enemy's formation has its weaknesses, but the ships of the enemy are undeniably strong, and it will be difficult to reach the vessels jamming-"

"Why would we want to reach their frigates?"

The Elomin looked stunned. "We need to coordinate with our ground forces-"

"Yeah, yeah, but that's not what I mean. Look again."

"It seems as though their flagship could be isolated. Particularly by coordinated starfighter strikes."

"Took you long enough." Jacken snorted. "Who's the enemy commander? Call him, tell him he's a moron-"

"That would be ill-advised, sir."

"Probably," he conceded with a shrug. "Alright. Could be a trap, but with bricks like that it'll take ages for them to spring it."

Jacken glanced at the Elomin, and saw some realization sink in. He grinned.

"Get the Primo and Prince to start pulling ahead, they'll lead our lines, followed by the Rrudobar and Krallet's Sting, respectively. Back 'em up by our Cutlasses and a few Sacheens." A few inputs on the map and his orders seemed more tangible. Then, he drew their trajectories.


"An Ackbar Slash?"

"Please, this is twice what fish lips could come up with. I mean, literally, there's two."

"This could be... an effective strategy. The MC81k is a good choice to lead such a strike."

"I want our Ena to get good broadsides in, too. We cut through the sides of the command section to isolate it, cause chaos, then pummel it to hell." Jacken paused a moment, bringing up a hand to tug at his mustache. "Bring out all of our reserve fighters -- I don't care about how tired the pilots will be tomorrow, we're making a decisive strike here. Put our interceptors on escort duty for our strike lines, a few corvettes to help punch through their screen, and start massing our heavy bombers at our center. The X-wings can keep up our main screen-"

"What about air support for the surface? The World Devastators as well." The Elomin pointed to the map. "Maw fighters have massed in a defensive screen."

"Ah. Yeah." Jacken waved his hand dismissively. "Send some of our back line to support. An Endurance, a few FarStars, some Y-wings, X-wings, whatever we've got spare."

The Elomin frowned, but nodded. "Very well. And the Prosperity's request?"

"Right, right... whatever. We should be past those coordinates soon enough, they'll be safe on entry. Saves us a bit of work, if they help mop up the Maw's air support. Tell them they'll be fine."

The Elomin nodded slightly, and Jacken went back to the map. "Alright. We're close enough -- strengthen forward shields, and start massing our strike lines on my orders. Tell our fighters they have permission to engage, and for our cruisers to provide support."

The heavy weapons of the Final Dawn were definitely hitting their battlecruisers hard, but Jacken would rather they focus on his heaviest ships -- it was like how Imperials fought in most simulations. Star Destroyers were the only language they spoke in. It'd definitely hurt once the shields started to fail, but for now it was even enough footing while the ships he'd ordered began to organize. Once the twin lines led by the MC81k cruisers gathered, their engines went to full power, and they started to pass the front battle line. The massed fighters swarmed around them, engaging whatever TIEs dared to get close enough.

"I admit," the Elomin began, "I find this... strike... reckless. Unorthodox. Chaotic, even. I'm not sure it'll work."

"Bet it will."

"...you're willing to gamble on the lives of those serving on those ships?"

"No! No, not actually. I just think it'll work. What are they gonna do, shift their formation? Those destroyers are about as maneuverable as my grandmother."

"Is your grandmother maneuverable?"

"No, she's dead."

"Oh."

"She's not going anywhere, neither are they, so might as well cut 'em up- not my grandmother. Them."

"That would not make much sense, I agree."

Jacken snorted.

"Well, I suppose we can wait and see."

He grinned, then strode to the bridge's viewport, watching how a dark galaxy could be illuminated by their guns.
 
A brilliant fire
Top Poster Of Month

bWMGgIz.png
Location: SIA Black Site
Valery: Appearance
Objective: Jedhamour tears
3YG0eoE.jpg
Seconds from disaster
After sending out her final transmission, Valery had sprinted out of the final data room of the wing she was tasked to cover. Unaware of the comm chatter revolving around the explosives that would soon be detonated, she, unfortunately, ran into more purge troopers. Without wasting a second, the soldiers began to fire blaster bolts to light up the hallway, and a purple blade ignited to deflect the onslaught that was sent towards her.
She was in a tough situation but somehow, she felt that a much greater danger was imminent. It began as a faint feeling but grew stronger until it began to result in a severe headache. There was no way of knowing what was going to happen, but she was certain about one thing - she had to get out of this facility, and quickly.
Without hesitating a moment longer, Valery set aside the painful warning and began to move back while the group of purge troopers continued their fire. They were incredibly precise and in this narrow hallway, each bolt formed a threat that couldn't be ignored. This meant her retreat was slowed down way too much. She had to stop them somehow, but charging in with her blade drawn would be risky in a confined space like this, and their armor was lightsaber-resistant.
She gritted her teeth in mild frustration and in a moment of quick thinking, she made her decision.

RahZnel.jpg

Valery's stance suddenly switched up with her left foot leading towards the troopers, and her left arm extending while the right still held her weapon. Reaching out to call on her ally, the Force, she projected a Barrier outwards to shield herself against the continuous stream of harmful energy. The pressure on this barrier was great, but her resolve was far stronger.
With this shield up, she disengaged her lightsaber and returned it to her belt, allowing her to use both hands to channel the Force, and the energy that built up was immense. When she finally felt ready, the barrier collapsed inwards, the energy flowing between her two palms alongside what else she had gathered. It compressed and a split-second before the pressure would cause an explosion, she released the Force Burst down the hallway.
It took care of any and all blaster bolts in its path and threw around the purge troopers in its way before it violently exploded. She was certain others inside the facility would hear and even feel the explosion, or the echo it created through the Force. It was a full display of her telekinetic prowess.
But there was no time to stand still and watch the show. As the Force Burst exploded, Valery was already running out towards one of the exit points, a side entrance for emergencies. She got closer and closer, but the painful sense of danger she sensed was also increasing with each passing second. It felt as if death itself was in pursuit, as she moved through the hallways and doors of the Black Site.
Moments later, she stormed out of the door, but deep down she knew that getting away to avoid whatever was about to strike would be impossible.
With a massive explosion of the Black Site imminent, she was seconds away from disaster.

F7r9prE.png

 

AB7-C2181-79-E2-4-F51-8-AFE-6-FE92-B3519-F5.gif

jbNDIgd.jpeg

BE LUMINOUS
JEDHA | JEDI MONASTERY
A DARK SHADOW NEEDS LIGHT TO EXIST
BUT LIGHT DOESN'T NEED DARKNESS TO BE LUMINOUS

blood.png




An instant before the impossible takes place, there’s the briefest, itty-bittiest flash of an expression other than maliciousness at the corners of the devil’s grin. If Ishida hadn’t taken the care to notice the façade of her foe, she might have had more success finalizing his outcome. In that split second, something shifts in the way he looks at her. As if she’d moved from the category of challenger to victor.

In the next heartbeat, the trajectory of her blade’s sharp edge was halted. The suddenness of his intrusion jarred from her wrist up to her shoulder, and she flexed to draw the blade back and reset its course. But his grip was steadfast. Strong.

Subtle momentum shifted in the way her sword felt in her hand, it continued to cut, millimetre by millimetre making progress through leather, then flesh, then the topmost layers of muscle beneath. Blood, dark as night, oozed from the incision. Warm blackness against cold silver.

"Quite the skill you have, Jedi,"

It wasn’t the skill of a Jedi that brought her to this position of compliment. It was a combined source of Carp training and some tricks embracing the benefit of sleight of hand she’d picked up from Konrad Harrsk Konrad Harrsk . Though she’d never tell him.

You are the first in years to make me bleed. Not many hold such achievement."

First, her sabre’s pressure became unstable. The security it had established, growing warmer and warmer against the Impervium edge, its metal’s imperviousness to her kyber-born blade was starting to wane. In the second it took for him to shift the weight of her keeping that sword in a downed position, she was already recalculating how to get it back to that point and eliminate the weapon entirely. The Jedi’s weapon would end the Sith’s. Simultaneously, he twisted his grip over the Ashina Steel and freed it from her hold.

A small, shocked “Ah!” hopped from her at this further surprise. Her footwork scrambled, heels inching in quickly to launch herself into recovery mode ——

Just like the carve of her intended cut to his chest, she was stopped and raised to the sky. Thoughts of seeking out her discarded katana were quickly clouded out, replaced with the higher priority of survival.

Only a brief, ragged breath slipped out in protest before he crushed any further noise from the little Ashina. As if her lungs could detect their need, they tried to force more air upwards to no avail. The collision of need and loss in that tiny space of her throat made her breathless and introduced an early onset of dizziness.

Her feet struggled to kick, swinging at nothing for a few precious seconds until the heels of her boots caught the middle of the ‘x’ of the straps where his chest plate should have been.

Through the thick, black fluid, no cooler or warmer than her own skin, Ishida struggled to breathe. His grip was so tight, she could feel her neck’s pulse against his palm. And with each beat of his heart, more blood flowed from his veins to the opening in his skin, pressing against her. The stream of which the blood flowed matched the erratic thump thump thump thumpity thump-p of her own primal heartbeat. Adrenaline coursing through that infused both their hearts to pump instructions over time: To survive.

At this distance, she was sure he could see the whites of her eyes as she could see the burning rage in his sapphires. But worse, he could see her fear the same way she could see...something else. Something distant but tremendously powerful behind those eyes.

Her sabre beat uselessly against the panoply, and she tried to adjust her grip on it, stabilized by her footing on his chest, and make another stabbing motion toward his armpit.

"You fight well. Maintain it, Jedi. Make...him...learn."

There it went again, that subtle something in his expression. If she could have, she would have interrogated the third-person reference, but her windpipe was suffering and her energy was fast enervating.

Suddenly, the pressure released and she was airborne.

Suddenly, again, she wasn’t.

Her body cracked against ancient stone, shockwaves of sensational, white-hot pain ripped through her spine and ribs. It raced through her torso, through the base of her skull, searching for a way out. By the time she drew in an agonized gasp, her throat was burning from the aftershocks of the initial impact. Black dots danced along the peripheries of her vision, and dizziness overwhelmed her as she struggled to right herself at the base of the entrance.

Touching her throat, she pushed against the bone, as if shifting the trachea back in place. Sticky, tepid ichor coated her fingertips. He’d bled by her hands. She’d do it again, vein by vein if she had to.

But that voice, the goading perspective that had edged into his words. That haunting, distant, intangible something in his eyes...

Hands scratched uselessly at the ground for several seconds, before they felt the familiar ridges of the wraps around the hilt of her katana. Instantly, she scraped at the ridges before pulling it toward her, Gripping it tightly. Embracing that family definition and pushing herself to her knees.

Understand why.

She’d missed that chance with her brother, she’d learn from that mistake here. Now, Give Light the opportunity to shine through the cracks. Even if she had to shatter something so solid to bring fractures into existence.

Shaking fists, trembling teeth, she stood.

Armed once more with both her swords, the token blade of the Jedi, and the reliable blade of the Ashina, Ishida recentred her stance. With a heavy blink, she forced the throbbing sensations of impending aches and dizziness away. Jedha continued to release pulses of anguish through the soles of her feet, permeating through the air and entire environment. It was heavy, threatening to drag her down.

“There’s conflict in you, Sith.” Ishida remarked, her voice strained, narrowing her eyes as if she were perceiving the delicate intersections and patterns of his composition. From this distance, she wasn’t so powerful to succeed. "Are you having second thoughts about trying to kill me?" She goaded, forcing forward a wickedly challenging grin. Hesitation is defeat, after all. He could have snapped her neck in an instant, instead, he'd tossed her away and prolonged the reconstructing inevitable.

More learning had to be conducted, and she took a defensive stance. She'd attacked first last time.

“Why are you here?”


ALLIES | NJO | GA| ok bye Tren Chaar Tren Chaar
FOES | BOTM | Laoth Laoth

 
Last edited:
5-D0-D2078-B73-D-48-C5-8519-C4646-C9896-C7.gif

Gear: Equipment: Armour, Hold-out Bolter, Boltgun, Grenades, Sidearm, Sidearm 2, Sabre, Ion Paddle Beamer.
Enemies: Maw/Sith
Tegan Starfall Tegan Starfall

Six Force-guided discs and an electrically charged lightsabre soared towards Elpsis. Elpsis was somewhat familiar with Lanvaroks since Nyssa Vykaris owned one that was a family heirloom, though the soldier had never used one herself. She was already in motion, trying to evade the salvoe. But while she heard the noise the discs made upon launch the, at first, seemingly chaotic pattern at which they moved made them difficult to track. Perceiving the lightsabre being hurled her way, she swung Inferno, meeting the thrown blade.

Her burning orange blade met the blood-red one and she successfully intercepted the thrown lightsabre, knocking it away. However, in the brief moment of contact, the electrical current the lightsabre had been charged with struck her. Much of the electrical current was channelled into her magitech cyber-arm and absorbed through the enchantment, though not all of it. But smoke coiled from her gauntlet. And the discs had changed direction. One collided with the intercepted lightsabre. The crimson blade cut through the disc, but this triggered an explosion.

Discs smashed against a Force wall summoned by Elpsis. Alas, it had been hastily erected and the devices exploded on impact. Boom. The blast wave hit her hard, and her jetpack cracked open and burnt, as the improvised wall shattered. In the process, her leg was struck, and bone fractured, causing her to fall. She felt a sharp pain coming from inside her chest when she breathed in. Shards cut through her bodyglove and the flesh inside it in various places where the armour plating was weaker. Blood dripped from an open wound in her forehead.

Her jaw was clenched tightly, pain shooting through her body. She forced herself to rise, though it hurt like hell, and she had to lean heavily on her one good leg. With the fractured leg, Elpsis would be unable to run and would be limping for the rest of the fight. She tore off the now thoroughly useless, wrecked jetpack.

Behind her enclosed, though battered, helmet, her dead white eyes flared as she stared down her foe, resolute and unwavering despite the evident pain she was in. She drew upon this pain to fuel herself, even as the glowing cracks inside her scarred features seemed to glow ever more fiercely. Her body felt like it was on fire. The flame inside her needed an outlet.

She willed several pieces of debris to rise into the air. The rubble was already the exact opposite of cool from all the turbolaser fire being tossed around, and she lent it a portion of her own inner flame to create shards of molten napalm. A cloud of fast, super-heated shrapnel flew towards Tegan from various sides.
 
Last edited:

AB7-C2181-79-E2-4-F51-8-AFE-6-FE92-B3519-F5.gif

Equipment: Sword of the Tenth | The Panoply
Tags: Ishida Ashina Ishida Ashina | Tren Chaar Tren Chaar
Location: JEDHA - Fighting Outside JEDI MONASTERY
Theme: Revelation

Weeping.png
Beads of sweat - born from excitement toward the fight's progress - begin to form on his brow as he takes his mountainous, plodding steps towards his foe. Slow, almost methodical lumberings as if a bantha had suddenly become a carnivorous predator, turned on its Tusken masters. His senses are enhanced to their fullest in this approach, perhaps even more so by the powder coursing through his veins, nearly overwhelming his simple mind in their perfectness.

His vision is hazed into a contrasting focus, binocular-like upon his distant foe who struggles to her feet, the rest of the world's sand and perceived grass blurred into his zoomed-in peripherals. The odors of this dying Jedha are mingled into a world-class chef's fragrance of death and those fighting to live, their blood a delicious aroma of alloys and their tears a bountiful pungency of salt. The sounds are intensified into a discordant catastrophe of screaming orders and curses upon the murderers of the world. The taste of spit and his own blood upon his tongue - placed there by a long-tongued lick of his own wound during the march - so desperately trying to replace the empty bitterness that had expected the ambrosia of the woman's demise. And the feeling of the blade in his hand, the gash upon his palm, the incision in his chest, and the newly recognized mark in his armpit from the woman's rabid attempts with her shining razor...magnified to an unholy combination of pain and pleasure that endeavors to improve his already outstanding power.

All of it...a concentrated effort by his functions to make the horned man as dangerous as ever, charged with boundless sinful energy. Will it matter, in the end? his lost self wonders silently. When you don't even comprehend why you are this way?


Rains of blaster fire and shrapnel encircle him once more from the ships shrieking overhead in their dogfights, or those passing by in their bombing runs. He looks briefly from his foe who nears closer and closer from her position, now defensive and waiting before the monastery. He chooses to study the battlefield as it is and the effects it has had on the world. He does this without knowing why - why - why his mind has pushed him to do this, why he was so...strange to that woman when he spoke to her.

Laoth grumbles something in a dead tongue as his gaze falls upon the piles of Mawites, beasts, and Alliance soldiers that fill the field of this excavation site like relics of a dead city - some whole, and others not. Some had been running from the direction the Maw charges, and others towards it. Cowards and warriors, all dead and soon to just be numbers again, like the old man and the young boy from before. Laoth looks upon them with eyes that only somewhat understand, which has now begun to aggravate him and lessen the perpetual fanged smirk cracking his face in twain.

At least he had that going for him still: the recognition of what happens to those who die in battle. Forgotten, numbered, given medals or ribbons on their coffins that apologize for their deaths, and maybe, just maybe, their families would be given compensation or stipends as restitution for the loss of their loved ones. He feels nothing when he thinks of these things, but he...thinks that he should. Shouldn't he feel something?

His attention is snapped back to his foe and the feelings in his body. Despite his current lack of exerting stamina, the dark veins in his temples are engorged, beating and thumping with pints upon pints of tar-like blood that threaten to burst the seams of his brain. Sensations of grand design course and weave through the fabrics of his musculature, brace against his skeleton, and reinforce his organs for the coming clash. Yes, something has been awakened in him, something taking a stance between primal and honorable. Bestial and noble. Cruel and merciful. He cannot name it, but it sounds familiar - appears intimate. His uninjured fist clenches the handle of his sword tightly as his arm rises and twirls in a series of pre-battle flourishes, innate in his muscle memory. The horned man stiffly after he does this, not twenty paces from his foe, eyes locked onto the radiance that surrounds her.

“There’s conflict in you, Sith. Are you having second thoughts about trying to kill me?"

The horned man's smirk widens into a grin, and he contemplates a response for a moment - a significant use of what brainpower is actually there in the idiot's mind. His conclusion sees him use the gash on his palm to smear the ink he calls blood across his face. The stinging pain of the act brings a grunt from the man's Cheshire grin, and what is left is a mask of black sticky oil, scented with sulfur and silver. Dark azure eyes like gems peer out through his own abyss, rivulets running down to mesh with the ocean formed on his chest. A long, snake-like tongue forks out from behind his lips to lick off the excess that has stuck to them, and if his foe has any disgust towards this sight, he cannot or does not care enough to tell.

“Why are you here?”

The question is simple enough, though for Laoth it may as well have been an inquiry about his thesis on a term paper. His grin falters as his mind enters overdrive wondering: why is he here? Yes, yes, there is the monastery he has to destroy and the relics he has to either desecrate or confiscate before the Maw's machines run over everything. But there is something more, is there not? Something he cannot describe beyond it being something he felt during his march. He cocks his head to the side in contemplation and before he can even consider opening his mouth to speak, the woman and the entrance to the monastery vanish. In their place, a wall only he can see stands erected with sand and flesh. It is decorated with lit wax candles and the skulls of everyone he has ever killed. Some of them are made of sugar and candy. Others are made of onyx and ruby. Thousands, all together, glaring and grinning at him. Jeering. Cheering. Cursing. Blessing. Hating. Praising. Tongueless but speaking a hundred tongues. He visits this place often but never knows why. It makes him feel nothing, but he feels as though he should be feeling something. Is it that thing he felt on his march or during his initial engagement with the woman? That accursed thing that broke through the blessings of the powder? What is it?

Reality snaps back into play, the wall crumbling with non-existent age, and the horned man is faced with his foe once more. Her stance is defensive, likely adopted due to her failure to kill him with the offensive engagement. With two blades, such a style of combat is likely to be much more effective at stemming the brute's efforts of dismemberment. Regardless, the titan is quick to adopt an aggressive stance with his weapon, gripping the hilt now with both hands and staining it with his blood. The flat cap of the blade points towards the top of the monastery's doorway, the blood-soaked edges facing the sky and ground respectively, granting him a direct line of sight towards the woman. In some ways, it is similar to the opening stance of a lightsaber user's Offensive Neutral stance. Greater reach and swinging power to have a greater chance to break through her guard at critical junctures, but he cannot be certain of this. Her speed is incredible. In the blink of an eye, she was upon him, and in an even quicker moment, she had nearly killed him. Even a lug such as Laoth can understand that she is dangerous because of this, but for him, that only means more fun from the fight.


"Why...am I...here?" he finally says, his voice low but clear, if tinged with some kind of uncertainty. "To kill. To be a warrior. To set your corpses underneath the setting sun. Why are you here, Jedi?"

He does not wait for an answer. He charges immediately like a bull with a war cry bellowing out from his throat. He is quick on his feet, nowhere near her level, but quicker than his size would suggest, all the same. He reaches her within four great strides and rears his blade above his head before sending it down with force, attempting to cleave the woman in two with a devastating downward chop. She is just as quick to dodge his strike as she is to reciprocate, lunging forward from a panther-like stance to lash up at the underside of his exposed left arm. The horned man moves fast enough to avoid the scorching bane, dragging one of the hooked ends of his sword through the ancient stone. However, once again, the razor's edge carves through his flesh with ease. Unknown to the horned man, who backsteps away to examine the wound in befuddlement, the woman's sword is made of pure
Ashina Steel which boasts an atomic fractured design that gives it cutting power far beyond traditional metals.

Laoth grunts at the pain and resumes his offensive approach, performing numerous twirling slices with his blade, alternating his sword hand every two attacks. Yet with every drive of the sword, the woman dodges or blocks or parries with increasing franticness, goading him on with sly grins that only serve to aggravate the horned man into a magnified fury with his attacks. Step by step, she dances - reminiscent once more of Laoth's lost sister performing Nad bol Hesh just before the Oshmahr. Twice she had performed that, each time being a rigorously rehearsed collection of twirls, pivots, and dives. Did she live well? his lost self wonders.

It does not take long before the horned man finds himself pushed to a brink from both dead memories and the aggravation this woman presents. His once Cheshire grin has been replaced with a stoic frown, and his widened eyes are once more furrowed. But, it is not the same as it was before. There is no seriousness or discernment from the drowned part of Laoth. There is only a burbling, cursing rage upon the bloodied tongue of the man, his mask of ink flying and dropping in every direction, wetted by growing sweat. Finally, there is a purchase made for both parties after minutes of bloodless dancing. Small, but significant in the development of the bout. One of the horned man's hooked edges, glowing orange by repeated contact with the woman's scorching bane, managed to sneak its way past her defenses and sliced open a portion of the Jedi's thigh. Simultaneously, the steel razor had once again pierced the flesh of its target, this time much deeper than before. As both combatants back away from each other, sliding into their combative stances, Laoth looks to the left side of his body and sees that the razor had punctured through his surface and between two of his rib bones and carved open a sizable cut that ends at his armpit. As he is still breathing just fine, he concludes that his lung was left uninjured, but it must have been a close call judging by the amount of blood running down from the new incision in his skin.

Something in him snaps from the sight - perhaps embarrassment at being unable to do more than a slice of her leg or frustration with the battle having taken so long with little development, or likely both - and the sudden pain from the wound. A rage unlike any he has felt to this moment since his resurrection rises in his chest, his heart pounding with a new chaotic rhythm of the devils below. The might of Death itself is summoned to its host, the divine rights granted him by God. Power surges to life throughout his body and a challenging roar to the heavens burst from his diaphragm. The clouds directly above the monastery broil to life with flame and golden lightning that streaks in forks through the smogged blackness, sparks of it gushing down onto the man as he calls his madness to formation. Bolts of golden judgment coil around the Panoply adorning his form, sparking with untold wrath. Any being unlucky enough to not be the target of his rage finds themself scorched to the bone, reduced to ash and seizing hunks of meat as the storm emanates from his very body.

The Sword of the Tenth is suddenly shunted down onto the surface, cleaving it as if the weapon were an ax and the stone walkway was a log. Streams of the horned man's power cross over the metal and into the ground beneath the stone, erupting it into small fissures that rush towards his foe. Telekinetic-electric strength modified into a weapon-based attack. True to her previous showcases of speed, the woman is quick to respond, leaping into the air to avoid being struck by the debris of the erupting surface. However, she is unable to avoid the waves of power that follow it, and before she realizes what happens, the Jedi is sent flying back once more, now directly into the monastery and its vast lobby. Laoth trails after her, his voice no longer comprehensible as he shouts various curses in ancient tongues he does not remember learning and his own native language of Devaronese.


"Naa mimu śaź saa, Yedi posh wakre!"

Faster than before, the horned man rushes in and slides to stop in the lobby, his feet scraping through broken stone flooring. He stares at his foe, barely acknowledging the corpses laid across the stone around them. Mawites, beasts, Alliance. Offenders and defenders alike. Electric force still coursing across his armor, though now in limited supply, the horned man points his blade at the woman with a single-handed grip and growls - feral and lost in his mind.

"Ee mimu ni shoshee naa cho śaa wezh," he seethes, his voice a catastrophe of tenor and tone, fangs clenched so hard that blood begins to pool from his gums and drool from the corners of his mouth. "Ee mimu ni shoshee naa baarzhirpuz yaaź su naa nu jom ee!"

Once more does the power coiling on the Panoply race towards the blade held aloft in his grasp, coalescing around the hooked edges like snakes. Within seconds, they are launched forward towards the horned man's foe, screeching with such ferociousness that only a select few could hope to survive the effects of direct contact.

 
Last edited:
Seguidor Oculto de la Verdad
BCA1-C7-CB-2-AFA-4-FCF-81-E7-E57235978-A30.gif

Location: Jedha near the SIA Blacksite
Allies: NSO/MAW | Maestus Maestus
Enemies: GA Boluc Laar | Maijan Paisea Maijan Paisea

The screens flipped from the hallway to labs, to conference rooms, then to other miscellaneous rooms. The security guard lay slumped against the wall unconscious, knocked out cold by Darth Kentarch, who watched the feeds and went over various logs. The situation in the black developed quickly, and assault by the Maw's force's, other sith arriving. From the security feeds Kentarch could see slicer droids downloading information off the black site's data serves. Asset denial was likely the primary objective for the GA at this point. He was willing to bet even without the downloads being complete the serves would be destroyed or wiped to prevent the information from falling into the hands of the NSO. He exhaled in frustration, charges had been set to destroy and physical evidence. With a data download likely no longer an option the Sith Lord would need a physical vail of the chemical compound.

Moving quickly he darted down a hallway towards one of the labs he believed was holding some samples. Avoiding the silhouettes of others, GA and Maw forces alike, he quickly found a storage room rigged with several charges. He likely only had moments to defuse them. Through the force Kentarch some a small barrier around the charge, then triggered the detonator to cause the charge to explode prematurely. Thus only a small spherical section where the charge attached to the wall appeared damaged, and no one heard a thing. Turning to the inventory he found hundreds of vials containing various liquids and compounds.

"Useless." He said to himself, the was no telling which one was the correct sample. He simply did not have the luxury of guessing.

He stepped outside the lab room and glanced down the hall, only to see an older man in a lab coat rush into another room at the site of the Sith Lord. "What do we have here?" Kentarch said again, walking down the hallway to the supply closet the stray researcher had hidden in. Kentarch opened the door to find the man squatting down and trembling. His arms were up shielding his head as if it were some kind of defense that would hinder the Sith Lord. "Open your mind," Kentarch said and reached out with an open hand. With the researcher in a state of anxiety and panic, it was easy to probe his mind. The Sith pushed deep into his memories, then the man seemed to stop shaking. "Ah. I see." Kentarch said, his tone hinting at disappointment. Kentarch lowered his arm and the man feinted, he then locked in the supply closet for his own good.

A love potion.

Kentarch could not believe something so silly and absurd. None the less if this was what the NSO wanted, he would retrieve it. Returning to the lab he found the vials from the researcher's memories and placed roughly 200cc of the chemical compound into a small vial carrying case that could easily be concealed in his robes. All he needed to do now was get out.
 
Lynda somehow grew only more vicious and hate filled as she butchered, only the sheer volume of savages now being tossed her way giving them any sort of fighting chance at all. Both sides were unyielding, both driven by hatred, but different kinds. For the Maw, it was blinding hatred of The Status Quo. For Lynda, it was blinding hatred of The Maw, and the desire to crush their dreams of destroying the Galaxy and rebirthing it to one they liked. She would make it her mission to make sure they failed to change anything, keeping them in a Galaxy they hated, ending their dreams of rebirth, of any hope of it. They would die as pawns to the status quo they so hated, if she had any say in it.

Something terrible had been birthed in this battlefield, just like Nar Kreeta had given birth to Xiphos and the Nuetralizers ultimately.

Lynda's katana moved so fast around her body it looked like a silvery, spinning disk, her beastial, outright demonic sounding snarls carrying over the battlefield, rapidly ripping into the Maw hoards, their attempted assault on this city completely disrupted in the area she now inhabited, the Android cranking out painful, bloody, Paul Verhoeven-esque deaths like they were party favors. It was like generally any of the scenes involving the Arachnids in starship troopers, except all the death and dismemberment was being inflicted by a murderous Gal Gadot expy, and there wasn't one Casper Van Dien, not even a Michael Ironside, to mitigate the damage.

Maw savages died like it was going out of style. To the point where they had long since stopped trying to kill her with simple blades or blaster rifles and were now resorting to Automatic Shotguns, Grenade and Rocket launchers to try and kill her, forcing her in turn to be more fast, more evasive, and even more brutal to not just survive but keep up her obscene kill rate.

A pair of shotguns hit her, blasting her back and shredding her face, she tried to get up but was blasted again, shredding into her armor as her glowing red blood spilled, forcing her to roll to evade further damage as she flipped back up, but the Maw hoardes were now so desperate to kill her and end the humiliation she had inflicted on them that they were firing plasma Grenades and Rockets even when their own were in the kill radius, and she caught parts of the blast, flinging her violently backward and skidding brutally on the ground, most of the flesh on her face and arms gone with chunks of tissue, exposing a strange, obsidian Skeleton in certain places. And still she didn't die. She didn't feel a fething thing except pure hatred. She was about to charge them again, still having managed to hold onto her sword, when a gang of four Final Dawn Sith charged her, bent on doing what entire detachments of Maw had failed at.

She didn't even blink, charging at them, snarling in inhuman fury, not giving them a chance to use The Force on her as she attacked all of them with blinding speed, even as her limbs were shattered.

The next forty seconds were her and the Sith, attacking, counter attacking, using her gauntlets of Morpheus or her sword to block their lightning, her design giving her resistance to Telekinesis and telepathy and allowing her to power through certain Force Choke attempts, and in the first twelve seconds of this fight, one got beheaded by her. Five seconds later, a second Sith died trying to use his Alchemized Gauntlet to protect from her strikes, only for the sword, super charged by the stolen psychic energy of its victims, to cut completely through it after two strikes and cleave into his brain.

The other two, realizing they needed to get creative, began slamming objects into her with Telekinesis and stun her, then impaling her with rebar to try and pin her down, but she managed to tear herself free before they could impale her through the brain with shrapnel, but lost her jaw in the process as she attacked them furiously and relentlessly. They tried, but the Droid far out stripped them even in their own hatred of life itself, and her brute strength and speed rapidly wore them down and killed them both, even as she started to regenerate.

She wasn't done. Not by half. Now she had a Lightsaber.

Lynda, still a mangled, torn mess that was visibly repairing, charged back into the Maw detachments that had tried to take advantage of the forty seconds she hadn't been able to ruthlessly butcher them to get closer to where they were supposed to be attacking, only for her Demonic roars to elicit dread in even the most hardened of them as they turned to face the Bloody Demon of Jedha, now armed with a red Lightsaber as well as her dreaded Katana...

The Mongrel The Mongrel

Marlon Sularen Marlon Sularen

Keilara Kala'myr Keilara Kala'myr
 
Last edited:
Ziare Dyarron | Keilara Kala'myr
COMPNOR (ISB) Junior Agent, Nite agent | Marauder of the Maw
5-D0-D2078-B73-D-48-C5-8519-C4646-C9896-C7.gif
Objective I: Defile the City
Location: Tythoni Square, New Jedha City, Jakku
Equipment: FS-18-UP2 Omega Phase Assault Rifle | 2x PV-16 "Sunfury" Pulse Pistol | Druetium Armour | Viper Mk. I Skinsuit | 2x Vibrodagger || Stealth field generator || OPBC-01m
Allies: The Mongrel The Mongrel | Marlon Sularen Marlon Sularen | Tegan Starfall Tegan Starfall
Enemies: Harson Thaddeus Harson Thaddeus | Bernard of Arca Bernard of Arca | Zark San Tekka Zark San Tekka | Gorthalon Gorthalon | Asmundr Varobalder Asmundr Varobalder | Seto Seto Du Coutaeu
GM1OQzU.png
[ Mitternacht ]
"Galactic Basic" | ~"Telepathic" communication ~ | << comm. channel >>

H3rbU3r.png
OOC: I'm waiting for Bernard because of the explosion, so I'm writing a filler, not a Ziare / Mercy post, but I'm starting to introduce her future NPC unit. Next Ziare / Mercy post comes after Bernard because I tried to kill him, and I don't want to skip him.

The Crimson Company
At Mongrel’s command, all the Mawites stormed the Tythooni Plaza, but a smaller group was not with the others but did different work within the city. They were the ones who had come to the city with Mercy before. A group that best suited a commando, infiltrator, or special ops unit. But they could even look like a mercenary team because they were an accustomed group.

They were once Ziare's companions on Serenno, who fought against Sith oppression. She is a member of a woman’s former insurgent cell, or someone she knows and has a good relationship with from other cells. The majority originally retired to live their normal lives without the Sith being present on the planet, but they had no luck. Because of Mercy; after all she was all that Ziare did not. And Mercy thought her former companions will serve the Maw case well.

She applied for and obtained permission to hunt down her former comrades. It took months for everyone to be abducted and taken to Maw territory. There a similar fate awaited them as for most slave-soldiers. Torture, until they are broken. Most were loyal and determined to their own views, principles, so the Maw could not break them. Most of the girl’s original comrades performed and finished the "re-education" procedure dead.

However, there were also a good number who broke under the torture, or had just seen the reality, the truth, that the Maw serves and offer them; the true freedom; the will of the Avatars and they joined the Maw and The Mongrel The Mongrel 's men, the Scar Hounds, voluntarily or under torture, to hopefully serve under Ziare as they did in the Serenno insurgent group/cell for years.

This was accomplished, though it was not Ziare who was in charge anymore, but Mercy. The team has placed bombs at countless points in the city in recent days and ever since the siege began; and finally, according to the order, they also set out in the direction of Tythooni Plaza, killing everyone who confronted them without thinking along the way.

DHGyR0O.png

54MNAtl.gif
 

Vesta

Guest
V


Location: New Jedha City
Allies: Brotherhood of the Maw
Enemies: Galactic Alliance | Romi Jade Romi Jade
Equipment:
Faithless, Red Lightsaber
Objective: Feast

With every step she took, between the soft thud and quiet sift of her feet against the sandy ground beneath her feet, time, to her eyes, steadily began to slow. Her peripheral vision was filled with the faint outlines of those that collapsed to the ground, expired, as the gap between the Jedi and her was closed. The sensation of that death, of the ones who likely couldn't even touch the force, hardly registered to her in that moment - like rain against an umbrella, or flies against a pane of glass, they were wholly insignificant to her, to them. She could see it in the way the Jedi seemed to become hollow to her, devoid of the emotional conflict she'd expect from someone who could even pretend to care about the loss of life that was quickly moving towards her.

In that way they were the same - too weak for the Sith to feel, too stressful for the Jedi to try.

Still, that didn't quite change Jedi's retrieval of her lightsaber from her hip and its subsequent flourish that came up in a circular path right into the stinging strike of the Sith's sword. Heavy, solid, the blade struck against the weightless blade with every ounce of momentum the woman carried with her pushed into the blow. The ear-splitting scream of plasma against a blade that used the force to contain it punctured the air in the very same moment that the Sith relinquished her deadly field. Aside from their purposeful distancing from the ones surrounding them, and those now dead, there was little similarity between the two - monastic orders aside.


"How drearily predictable."

She said the word from behind clenched teeth, having pressed their blades into a momentary saber-lock seconds before. She slid her left foot backwards half a step before pressing the ball of it into the ground and using the musculature in her leg to take a step back and disengage. The sword in her hand was brought in close, held across her chest, and with a slight bend at the knees and a forward lean she sprung towards Romi again. She lashed out with the heavy blade, sweeping it outwards in a horizontal chopping motion, keen to test the woman's defenses. It was, after all, what she was after here, and elsewhere.

"I expected more." She said.
 


de423e3-b78843ac-64d5-4d68-8c01-4e03b34dd971.png

5-D0-D2078-B73-D-48-C5-8519-C4646-C9896-C7.gif

Location: Jedha City
Objective: Kick some monk butt.
Tags: Viers Connory Viers Connory
Equipment:
Plumes of dust and smoke obscured the distance, flashing with firelight from the destruction of the Brotherhood's attack. Shrapnel pinged off the Sith's shield and breastplate as the ground shook under the hammering attack of the Mawites. For those not accustomed to bombardment, it must have felt as if the planet itself was going to split in two. But a planet could take a lot before it finally cracked.

As Joycelyn's fire subsided, she spat out some of the blood that had gathered in her mouth. Her bloodied lips curled up in a vicious grin, showing the cracked and broken teeth left behind by the strike against her mouth. They quite resembled the broken homes here on Jedha, coated in her own blood.

The vahlacanthix could feel the pain surging through her body, paving the way to the darkness she so readily embraced. Pain lead her to anger, anger lead to hate, and hate was the strongest passion of them all. Even though she was grinning, her eyes glowed with hatred for this skull-faced individual who had caused her both insult and pain.

Viers shifted her position, and so did Joycelyn. She placed the shield in front of her, slightly angled outward ti make a greater cone of defense.

"Not many can sneak up on me like that, you should be proud."

Joycelyn strained against the pressure on her throat, but her grin did not subside as she pushed back against the attempt at making her choke. It was apparent that this opponent was no Jedi. Still, they would die like the Jedi and burn like the rest of Jedha, so she swore.

"But you need to commit."

She closed her own hand, returning the favour and commanding the Force to constrict Vier's own windpipe in return, but not just constrict. She redoubled her effort and yanked her hand back while stepping forward with the shield as she tried to pull her opponent up off her feet and into the suddenly advancing tide of metal.

Even if Joycelyn did succeed in pulling Viers forward, the advance was still a threat.
Vahl, give me wrath.
Residual flame from the circle leapt to Joycelyn's hand and coalesced into a shape of darkness as she lunged forward with her shield. Amongst the flames formed a dark sithsword, one whose very existence called for the extermination of the light. Its edge glowed like a forge, while red flames and waves of heat rolled off it. Most blades would be compromised by such heat, but Zaudraka was the hand of fire; it was the flames of Vahl made manifest.

And now, from behind the metal bulwark, it lashed out against Viers.
[/div]
 
BCA1-C7-CB-2-AFA-4-FCF-81-E7-E57235978-A30.gif


Maijan Paisea Maijan Paisea

Dragon Shield Talisman
Maestus Bracer Shield
Maestus Fury

Well, this was a pleasant surprise. Pleasant in the sense that Maestus itch for battle was finally getting scratched. Unfortunate for Tao, he would be on the receiving end of her scratching.

As he backpeddaled and then raised both blasters, Maestus sighed, disappointed. Blasters were so unrefined, so impersonal. There was no elegance to them, no beauty in their use.

She stood still as the blaster fire raced towards her. And she...WTF, she was letting it hit her??? As the blaster fire made contact with her body, she was rocked back a step. Where blaster fire met her body, her robes immediately burnt and melted away, exposing delicate crimson flesh underneath. But her flesh did not explode. Blood did not spew forth. In fact, her flesh was merely scorched with a few small tendrils of smoke rising.

A slow, wicked grin developed on her lips. She raised her left hand up, robe sleeve falling back to reveal a bracer with kyber crystals embedded into it. Maestus gave Tao a knowing wink.

She flexed the fingers of her left hand, and a hilt from her belt flew up and snapped into her palm. The instant flesh met durasteel and phrik, the weapon sprung to life. But this was no lightsaber. Oh no, this was much more fun.

A single tail erupted from the hilt. 6 meters long and a deep crimson, Maestus now wielded a light whip. The tail writhed violently at her feet, as if alive.


Maestus moved her wrist ever so slightly, and the whip responded immediately. It seemed to sense Tao as it's victim. Or perhaps Tao's eyes were playing tricks on him.

Now, my little friend, it is my turn.

She lifted her wrist up and sideways, then snapped it viciously. The whip sprung to life, lashing out in a sideways and slightly upward strike. Aimed to entangle Tao within its coils.​
 

Users who are viewing this thread

Top Bottom