From the Ashes we Rise (Order of Ren)

[Goran]

Something Something
Something Something Something
Something
Interacting With: [member="Racosidae"]

"Oh," Goran said, crestfallen. "Cowards."

It was hard to imagine a more drastic change from the carefree, gleeful demeanor with which the Shard had entered the chamber.

It loved a good duel. The idea of matching blades with a potential equal, of putting everything in the hands of skill and chance, that was a rush that no mere brawl could match. Such a challenge was rare in this day and age, when posing and spastic flailing were considered acceptable substitutes for real skill.

No one really played for keeps anymore. Even in the bloody great wars between the Jedi and Sith and whatever the hell else was floating around, death was an honor reserved for the unnamed and unloved grunts who spilled their guts in job lots. The bastards who started the wars, meanwhile, somehow never seemed to hit anything vital on their opponents. It was as if they agreed beforehand to take it easy, to let the other retreat if things got too dire. Lots of flash, lots of drama, but leave the dying to the little folk.

It sickened Goran.

The little Shard had traveled all the way out here on the word of an old comrade who hinted that here, in the Knights of Ren, if might finally find a beautiful death. Whether there was one among their ranks capable of doing the deed or they sent it into a battle where such a thing might be found, it didn't care. There was a part of it, the old Goran, the Iron Knight who fought side by side with Ilum at the fall of Orax, that longed for death, an honorable death, a death at the hands of an equal.

Most days, that part slept, content to let the jester take the wheel. While Goran the Iron Knight lurked in the darkness, Goran the Clown cavorted and capered across the galaxy. No one took it seriously, and that was fine. It didn't take any of them seriously, either. They weren't worth the effort. They were all temporary, mere ephemeral distractions that served as nothing more than a way to pass the time while the warrior slept, waiting. It only woke when there was work to be done.

Goran the Clown got stoned with turkeys in active warzones and busted into Mandalorian governmental functions wearing armor the size of a house and blaring retro metal.

Goran the Iron Knight craved honorable battle, but was as cold a killer as they came when dealing with scum.

Cravenly blackguards who dared not meet a worthy foe without an 8-1 advantage certainly fit that description.

Well. 8-2 now that the girl rushed off to save the armored one. Surely some others would side with the armored bloke, but Goran didn't much care.

"I hate cowards."

It turned to the youth, sensitive to the fact that she was lapping up its energy like a parched dog. It was considerate of her to feed only on the excess, rather than try to dig deeper into its reserves. Smart, too. If she drank too deep and tapped into the vast reserves hidden deep inside the Shard's aura, the pressure could very well fry her brain.

"If you're looking for a meal, gimme a hand killing these guys," it said, pointing its saber towards the Praetorians. "I don't know what's going on here, but once they're down, you can slurp up the slimy bastards through a bendy straw for all I care, if you can stand the taste."

[member="Varas Ren"] | [member="Kyrel Ren"] | [member="Doran Ren"] | [member="Primat Ren"] | [member="Marriskcal Lati"] | [member="Eighth Guard"]

 

[Varian Alaric]

Designation, Primat Ren/Valentin
Location, Bastion of Ren
Equipment,
Lightsaber(red)
Ren Armor
Status, Determined

Targeting, Varas Kyrel

Val eyed the female disciple to his left along with the astromech. The female disciple was a welcome addition, but the droid? Val supposed they could use all the help that they could get in this situation. Val’s gloved hands went upwards, towards his helmet. His fingers clasped around the metal locks for his helmet which were around his neck. A delicate hiss left the helmet as the metal locks were disengaged and Val’s right hand went to his chin, his left to the back of his helmet. He pulled the helmet off in a quick motion, before dropping the helmet to the ground with a loud clang of metal on metal. Val’shttps://i.pinimg.com/564x/e3/b5/9a/e3b59a78abcddb93aa7b8cbf2b98ca45.jpg clandestine glacier blue eyes looked upon the faces of both the Master of Ren, Kyrel, and his daughter, Varas.

He had heard rumors of Varas being a clone of Kyrel. The two did admittedly look a lot alike, however Val didn’t believe these rumors or gossip. To him, all they looked like was father and daughter, albeit a rather rude, prejudice and controlling father...though they were family nonetheless. Val smiled softly at the response Varas gave him, he could’ve sworn he saw a smirk, and a cute one at that, at what he had said.

Val’s head turned in the direction of a blonde-haired disciple as she spoke to him, ‘Decide quickly.’ He didn’t have any notion of what she meant. So, he offered her a curt nod in response. Then the praetorians came marching in, and then they were off fighting Kyrel and Varas. The disciple Doran seemed to be taken care of, he was injured already, and Val had no interest in fighting him. He was for more interested in that loathing, and self-righteous fething bastard, Kyrel Ren.

His hand reached down to his side, grasping around the cool handle of his metal saber before pulling it out and igniting it in an instant. He had another, hidden on the other side of his belt, though he didn’t draw it. Val didn’t want to reveal all his weapons right out the gate. No, he wanted to use the other saber at the right time.

Though, he would have to deal with Varas for now, and not her father. Not that this annoyed her, though he didn’t have any quarrel with her. But, she was following in her father’s footsteps, something he could not, would not, allow. A hiss like that of a venomous snake exited from Val’s lightsaber as the red blade sprung forth. His metal feet collided with the ground, step by step, as he made his way towards the fighting praetorians, before striking towards Varas with a left-to-right swing of his red lasersword, hoping to catch her if not just a little. "Pretty sure your father can handle all those guards by himself, he seems capable...seeing as how he tried to take control just now."

[member="Goran"] | [member="Eighth Guard"] | [member="Kyrel Ren"] | | [member="Varas Ren"] | [member="Doran Ren"] | [member="Marriskcal Lati"]

 

[Doran Ren]

Location: Bastion of Ren, Virgillia
Nearby: Kyrel Ren Eighth Guard Varas Ren Racosidae ghostwrite

Doran frowned as he lifted both of his hands into the air with his palms open. Two knives were flying towards him at incredible speeds. He channeled as much force power as he could to stop both blades and allow them to drop to floor."Decision made, and I'm not going to fight you child." The young Ren lowered his hands and breathed heavily as he exerted himself and felt the pain in his chest. He was right, he wasn't going to fight the kid, he couldn't. He backed up to the cold cobblestone wall and lowered himself to the floor and wheezed, coughing up a little blood from his burning chest. He looked up at the girl and chuckled as she sauntered towards him with more knives at the ready.

He weakly smiled and held up his hands in a shrug. "Huh, go on then kid. Kill me." He was bluffing of course, hopefully a child wouldn't kill his pitiful self propped up against the wall. At least he hoped, for all he knew she could be a cold blooded killer going to jab a knife in his jugular. He laughed again and coughed hard, spitting blood into his hand and feeling the hot liquid on his gloves. He suddenly yelled at the girl and tried to get up "I SAID KILL ME GIRL!" He collapsed again and fell into psychotic laughter.

 

[Marriskcal Lati]

Praetorian Initiate Hopeful
Equipment | Training Lightsaber & Throwing Knives
Location | Throne Room, Bastion of Ren , Virgillia VII
Status | Did you miss your share of common sense when they were giving it out?
Target | Doran Ren

Marriskcal made a soft sound of discontent under her breathe as the two knives stopped midflight and fell to the ground with a sharp clink. Oh well, no matter. I did expect this to happen, after all. It was part of the reason that the youngling favored using throwing knives. They were light enough for her to keep a dozen on her person and it was easy for her to use them to give her a measure of an unknown opponent’s strength and reflexes.

Child.

Though it was the truth, hearing the word made her bristle.

With another silver blade in hand, the youngling stopped before the male on ground, at what she felt was a safe distance away. She knew if the other was feigning the severity of his injuries and lunged for her, she would not be able to retaliate swiftly enough.

The second time he reminded her that she was a mere youngling, Marriskcal was irritated enough to contemplate abandoning her knives and go straight for her lightsaber instead. She has never liked being reminded that she was still young. Young and unproven. I’ll show you how much of a child I am! she thought irately.

But his following exclamation was an adamant proclamation. The truth of his words rang through the force. Perhaps it was not something unusual in a broken individual, but Marriskcal’s understanding of the world is limited to what choices she herself would or would not pick. To the blonde, embracing one’s death was not something that she had ever thought about before.

“I–” her voice quivered with indecision.

Why?

Death was final. And that meant that death was unacceptable.

It was clear that Marriskcal was shaken by his statement. And when she found herself adrift, it usually lead to fury.

“Are you insane?! You should be trying to kill me, and not asking for me to kill you,” the blonde stated imperiously, stomping a foot for good measure. “Did you hit your head so hard that you forgot this basic concept?!”



[member="Doran Ren"]

 

[Kyrel Ren]

Location: Bastion of Ren, Throne Room
Equipment: Raiment of the Vigilant, Vader's Bane Lightsaber
Music: The Man Comes Around.
Enemies: [member="Eighth Guard"]
Allies: [member="Varas Ren"]
Near: [member="Marriskcal Lati"] [member="Doran Ren"] [member="Primat Ren"] [member="Goran"] @Racosidae

​

The anger that came from Kyrel himself in this very moment was fed to Vader's Bane, who in return returned rage tenfold back to his Master. He kept the fiery blade up in a defensive stance, he had been enraged that within moments the Ren were caught within infighting. Something that he feared would be the outcome, but to say he didn't expect it was an exaggeration. Alas, the Ren would rise from this even if it was through death and destruction. The Knights of Ren would continue to thrive as long as a Ren lived. No matter he was surprised by his daughter against his back with her own blade, wielding his blade actually. He couldn't help but be shocked she wouldn't join in killing him. Perhaps he was grateful of her at this moment. Perhaps she was loyal to him due to the cloning process. It did not matter the two Kyrel's fought against the guards that approached them, growling at the Eighth Brother's words.

What had approached from the shadows he didn't feel in the Force, as other guards emerged from the shadows. Something he had found strange as he thought the rest of the Praetorian Elite had gone with the Supreme Leader. He didn't focus too much as all the elite had attacked in perfect sync. Kyrel found himself assaulted from all sides as he stuck close to Varas, gritting his teeth as he was forced into a Soresu defense blocking each weapon with accuracy. Before switching to his personal style. Often mixing Soresu with the dominant form of Djem So. Quickly cutting down one of the guards that attacked with a vibroaxe. As soon as the blade touched him however he realized that they were no illusions. "What twisted magic is this.." He looked to the Eighth guard as out of the corner of his eye, Varas was soon engaged with Primat leaving the guards to surround him.

Even though the form before him had disappeared, unlike normal illusions, they did not hesitate in attacking. They still caused damage as soon, as they surrounded him, they landed several strikes to his armor to which he couldn't help but grunt and grit his teeth in pain. He moved on the offensive, using the Force to push them aside to the far side of the room, while focusing on those that were behind him, severing them in half, and decapitating a pair. All fading into dust. His rage at its peak where he had wanted to wish death upon all those that defied him into this very room. Still, he kept a firm control on himself and kept his blade up. Focusing on more of the Eighth guard, and before he struck. Then a droid, a droid strong in the Force had come in the room, muttering and going on about "Ren School" It called it. For now, Kyrel couldn't afford to be distracted and retained his focus of the eighth guard. "Your illusions will not save you." He said as he moved quickly, moving the blade in a falling avalanche strike hoping to cut the Praetorian down and end the duel quickly.

 

[Doran Ren]

Location: Bastion of Ren, Virgillia
Nearby: Kyrel Ren Eighth Guard Varas Ren Racosidae ghostwrite

Doran grinned as the girl let her guard down and began to approach him. With that his right arm jutted outward as he attempted to take hold of her trachea to incapacitate the girl. "I don't plan on dying just yet." As he tried to fend off his attacker he looked to his right to see what seemed like a full scale war. He gawked as what seemed like more Praetorians dueled with Kyrel and Varas.

The other few Ren were either trying to figure out their next move or was attacking Kyrel's loyalists. His goal changed as he sought a way to escape from the Praetorian hopeful so he could rush to his masters aid. He had to think fast and used his free hand to lift the two knives from before off of the floor and hurl them towards his Master's attacker. He called out to Varas so she wouldn't accidentally be hit by the soaring blades. "Master! Move!" He hoped with all his being that the projectiles would at least hinder the Ren trying to kill his new master.

 

[Marriskcal Lati]

Praetorian Initiate Hopeful
Equipment | Training Lightsaber & Throwing Knives
Location | Throne Room, Bastion of Ren , Virgillia VII
Status | No more missy nice girl
Target | Doran Ren

A mélange of regret, shame and rage suffused the air around her as an invisible hand closed around her throat. Regret that she had allowed an opponent to get under her skin and prolong the confrontation. Shame at the admittance that he had tricked her when she thought he was gravely injured . Rage at herself that she had been confident enough in her assessment that she had allowed this… this lapse to happen.

I was trained better than this!

To think it happened in the view of every individual she respected.

Gritting her teeth as she held back the instinctive action of physically grasping at the grip the force exerted, Marriskcal channeled all her fury and vengeance to bend the force to her will. Perhaps it was because the hostile was weakened from his earlier battles. Perhaps the hostile was distracted by his new master’s plight. But the hold he held on her shattered and the youngling fell on to the ground, choking and gasping for air.

You will regret this.

Snarling at the hostile, Marriskcal sheathed the throwing knife in her hand and drew out the lightsaber she brought with her. It was a simple and plain lightsaber, a training blade equipped with a synth-crystal that is used by all younglings, disciples and initiates alike as they learned combat forms. But unlike most practitioners, the Order of Ren never set a limit to the plasma emittance of their training lightsaber, instead allowing the wielder to use their own judgment.

The blonde forced herself back to her feet, and with a sharp movement, its red blade hummed into existence. “I will kill you,” Marriskcal rasped in a hoarse whisper, her cold blue eyes fixed onto the hostile’s figure. She channeled energy to her limbs and lunged in a swift movement, the lightsaber raised in a classic Ataru strike in an attempt to dismember the hostile’s limbs. And if that action failed, her left hand was ready with a knife to slash across his stomach.

No more hesitation.

 

[Armand Temi]

Primat Ren was correct about her father. The former Enforcer would go after all eight Praetorian Guards and not hesitate. In battle his strength grew like a whirlwind and would not disappear until the native energy of the room or situation changed, much like weather phenomena or atmospheric storm. As if on cue, the handle of Kyrel Ren’s old lightsaber that she now wielded, pulsated in her gloved palm.

And like her father, Varas was equally surprised when the Praetorian guards she’d swung at disappeared. “What the burnin’ feth,” was her less refined reaction. But there was little time to rest before she felt Primat’s saber pass over the surface of her armor, the burn of the blade singing her skin where it made contact. Wincing, she instinctively whirled around to face him at the same time hearing Doran’s warning.

"Master! Move!"

Varas leapt to the side with the practiced precision of an Ataru specialist, landing a few paces away from Primat and into a crouch where she could spring if she needed to. “Doran, you’re hurt.” But he wasn’t. Like Marriskcal, the brunette clone had also been fooled by his injuries, and he swiftly grabbed the young girl with an invisible choke hold.

The tone in the chamber had gone from confusion to flat out cacophony as violence pervaded, and the stumbling choreography caused Varas to smile. Not really wanting to attack her own Brother, Varas waited to see his reaction to Marriskcal’s knives as they headed straight towards Primat’s exposed head.

[member="Goran"] [member="Eighth Guard"] [member="Kyrel Ren"] [member="Primat Ren"] [member="Doran Ren"] [member="Marriskcal Lati"]​

 

[Varian Alaric]

Designation, Primat Ren/Valentin
Location, Bastion of Ren
Equipment,
Lightsaber(red)
Ren Armor(without helmet)
Status, Determined and Annoyed

Targeting, Varas Kyrel

The first knife caught Val off guard as it eclipsed his cheek, the sharp end of the blade slicing a thin, shallow line through his cheek. Some droplets of warm crimson blood dripped from the small cut, slowly dripping down the side of his face. The second knife wouldn't be so lucky as to land a blow on Valentin. Valentin lifted his left hand which had no saber in hand, his fingers extended outwards towards the second knife which flew towards him. His mind focused solely on the knife hurling towards him, focusing on the knife stopping mid-air. And then, it happened, the knife froze mid-air, vibrating slightly as it had stopped in motion. Val's eyes fell upon the frozen knife in mid-air that slowly vibrated as if it were in stasis. His focus then diverted towards his own brother, Doran, who had thrown the knives at him, and then his eyes swept towards Kyrel's daughter. He couldn't take them both on, he wasn't some master duelist like Lord Vader of Old. One person, he could take...two however, he wasn't too sure about. Val's outstretched hand reached the handle of the frozen knife, turning it around to where the blade now faced Doran, before releasing it from the hold the force had on it...making the knife fly towards Doran with the same speed and power from which Doran had thrown it at Val in the first place.

"Thought this was supposed to be a fair fight, one-on-one..." Valentin's attention turned towards Varas as he spoke, his outstretched hand falling to his side, the hand holding his blade was bent low, close to the ground, feigning innocence and defenselessness. "...you can leave the foolish side of your father, we needn't fight. Though, if you insist on doing so...I won't hesitate to attack you." Valentin was now just mere meters from Varas as his eyes locked with hers, his weapon-arm laid limply at his side, though the muscles in his arm were tensed. He was ready to attack her at a moment's notice. He didn't really want to fight Kyrel's daughter, for a number of reasons. One, he didn't want to further divide the Ren as they were right now. Two, Val did think Varas was cute...in an intimidating sort of way. Three, he didn't want to incur the wrath of Kyrel, whom he knew would defeat him easily. Though, Val's guard stayed up nonetheless encase the woman a few meters infront of him decided to attack him.

[member="Goran"] | [member="Eighth Guard"] | [member="Kyrel Ren"] | [member="Doran Ren"] | [member="Marriskcal Lati"]

 

[Seto Du Couteau]

Location: The Bastion of Ren - Edge of Throne Room
Actions: Observe and Attempt to remain hidden
Equipment: Two Lightsabers (One Emerald and the other Ruby colored)

Shadows, quiet footsteps and silent movements came naturally to the young Du Couteau heir, manly thanks to his Inquisitorial training. His clothing dark with shades of grey and black, matched his own darkened thoughts of his recent past. The Art of Small offered Seto far greater understanding of more than just the threads that held life together but of also the importance of concealment both physically and in the Force. Truly a helpful talent , doubly so when approached with the current situation Seto faced. His eyes narrowed, watching the events unfold before him as his arms rested across his chest.

Seto hardly saw himself entering into such a fray, neither a true disciple or knight of this Order but simply an initiate with some ambition. A small chuckle escaped his sealed lips, bemused at the situation in spite of himself. How poetic that chaos falls on all those in the galaxy, like a scale tipping towards on side or the other his thoughts brought back memories of the collapsing loyalties and leadership of the Galactic Empire, and now he faced a different turmoil of sorts. At least they aren't tossing large Star Fleets at one another, Seto thought wearily as he kept his own presence hidden and small. He had no urges to needlessly throw himself into the fray, less so with a delicate situation such as this in the Throne room.

Regardless though his own lightsabers hanged readily by his hips, even as Seto's intentions of non interference held true the young Du Couteau heir knew the galaxy. How it worked and how even idle bystanders might find themselves dragged into positions of war and strife. Smart move would be to get away from here but- the thought ended abruptly as he witnessed more fighting. The duels between the Rens fascinated Seto, while he thought himself of a good, if not great duelist in his own right, the scene in front him showed cased a much brutal reality to close quarter combat.

"Fascinating," Seto murmured, breaking his silence once again. From his own position, disguised with the natural darkness and with the Force Seto worried little of being discovered. Let's see how this plays out first. . . .

[member="Kyrel Ren"] | [member="Varas Ren"] | [member="Marriskcal Lati"] | [member="Eighth Guard"] | [member="Doran Ren"] | [member="Primat Ren"]

 

[Dirk Bannahan]

Feeding of off: @Goran
Now Targeting: [member="Eighth Guard"]

How fast the situation had shifted from intensity to frenetic disaster. In the swirl of chaos retorts were had, attacks were made, magicians were revealed, and schemers waited on the side lines. All of it needed to end and quickly.

Words would serve little for what came next:

Rae channeled some of the energy she had been absorbing into a pinpoint of barely contained rage. Once the intensity of this bubble hummed so loudly in her ears that she could almost make out the blood pounding in her ears, she pushed out.

An impressive Force Whirlwind struck out towards the lead usurper, the red praetorian guard. In its wake, the wave cracked the floor much like the skin of the girl herself. As a disciple still learning, it may have not been to most especially well aimed strike, but the wide cone of influence would definitely catch the rascal if something wasn't done. While it would send whoever was in the strike flying, it wasn't extreme enough to kill with its smash. That said, if someone unlucky happened to spin unto their neck the result would be grisly indeed.

Excited for more, she kept pulling in more power carefully, this time concentrating on casting a stasis -but it would take a few moments to prepare the spell.

[member="Kyrel Ren"] | [member="Varas Ren"] | [member="Marriskcal Lati"] | [member="Doran Ren"] | [member="Primat Ren"]​

 

[Armand Temi]

With a subtle smile, Varas watched Primat Ren manipulate the vibro-knife, but her grin disappointed when she noticed the blade hurling towards Doran. He was already engaged with the youngling, so with a gloved hand she flung the knife, propelled by telekinesis towards the wall.

“Nothing is ever fair,” the brunette Knight growled. Like the fact that I didn’t have a real childhood? Yeah, that was kind of a bum deal.

“But even though he’s my father, aren’t you my family too, Primat?” she asked, attempting to cause an imbalance in the Disciple. To make him think of unity and harmony.

Yet, instead of following her lines up with further debate about how the Ren should stick together in times of trouble, she swung at Primat as though batting at a hornet’s nest. All violent energy, Varas Ren would not be satisfied until she made the less experienced Disciple bleed and with staccato Makashi she’d strike in a series of moves that she prayed he would parry for his sake.

[member="Goran"] [member="Eighth Guard"] [member="Kyrel Ren"] [member="Primat Ren"] [member="Doran Ren"] [member="Marriskcal Lati"] [member="Racosidae"]​

 

[Varian Alaric]

Designation, Primat Ren/Valentin
Location, Bastion of Ren
Equipment,
Lightsaber(red)
Ren Armor(without helmet)
Status, Determined and Annoyed

Targeting, Varas Kyrel

Val's feet shifted in place as he stood upright, his body facing towards his sister, the daughter of Kyrel. His ears heeded her words as his emotions analyzed them to come to some thought of his own as to what the woman meant, glacier blue eyes narrowed as they watched the woman speak. Her words stroke a chord within Val, '...aren't you my family, too, Primat?' That--that much was true, Val couldn't deny that. Though, she had sided with Kyrel, the usurper who had tried to take power for his own. He hadn't wanted to fight Varas, though it was his duty to do so now. Though, their was just that moment's hesitation, the change of his footwork from a defensive stance to a stance of hesitance, uncertainty that had left him open for an attack. What an idiot he was. Val silently cursed himself at what he had done, though it was too late for that now He needed to defend himself, not curse himself for his fething stupidity.

Val had known Varas would attack, though he hadn't expected such ferocity and recklessness in her attacks. It was near overwhelming. Val's dueling hand snapped to attention as he quickly maneuvered his wrist in an upwards-diagonal motion, bringing his saber upwards to block the first strike. The second strike, which came from left to right this time, not right to left, was a bit trickier. Val knew the limits of his armor however, and quickly brought up his left arm to where the vambrace had made contact with the lightsaber. The saber left a visible and distinguishable scorch mark across the metal vambrace, though anything under the vambrace wasn't damaged, however the vambrace could only take one more hit from that before it's lightsaber-resistant capabilities were extinguished like a raging fire being beaten down by firefighters. Val easily blocked the third strike from Varas with a flick of his wrist and saber to stop the saber in it's path before it made contact with any part of him. Val quickly clenched the blade of his saber with both hands before using the Falling Leaf maneuver, an overhead strike meant to break an opponent's resolve and defenses. The blade was brought down with the ferocity of Juyo, a reckless albeit ferocious swing.

[member="Goran"] | [member="Eighth Guard"] | [member="Kyrel Ren"] | [member="Doran Ren"] | [member="Marriskcal Lati"] | [member="Racosidae"] | [member="Seto Du Couteau"]

 

[Eighth Guard]

The Eighth Guard, Praetorian Knight​

Equipment: Bilari Swordwhip - Praetorian Armour​

Location: The Bastion of Ren - Throne Room​

Status: Fighting Kyrel Ren​

Theme: Anakin vs. Obi-Wan | Revenge of the Sith​

​

​

​

He had not expected his phantasms to last long, especially against a Ren who had achieved mastery of the Force. They were not meant to save him, or to 'tilt things in his favour'; no, they were to wear down the machine of a man, to exhaust him as much as possible before the Eighth Guard engaged him himself. They had served their purpose well, and now it was time for the Master Kyrel to experience why the Supreme Leader employed the Praetorians to protect him instead of a Knight of Ren.

His mark was fast, but the armour he donned was unfavourable when it came to speed and manoeuvrability, that was what he surmised from his observations. A crimson blade came down harshly towards the Eighth Guard's body, almost impacting against the similarly-coloured armour until the Praetorian strafed to the side and caused it to miss its intended target entirely. Eight pressed down on the switch integrated into his hilt, prompting the rigid 'sword' to disperse into a deadly-looking whip.

Eight struck the ground at his feet with the chainwhip, sending out a loud crack throughout the room. He began to steadily twirl it around in the air, possibly distracting his adversary until he lashed out with terrifying agility, aiming to either knock the sabre out of the Ren's hands or to strike the weak points of his armour.

His flurry was halted near the end, however, as his precognition went beserk, provoking him to pivot just in time to raise his arms as a cyclone of telekinetic energy sent him flying across the room and through one of the walls, leaving a large break that exposed the rest of the inhabitants to the roaring storm outside and treacherous chasm below.

Those who were close to or quick enough would see the armoured guard tumbling down the cliff face into the omnipresent darkness below, perhaps never to be seen again.

Or so they thought.

A lightning strike would illuminate the canyon, a strange silhouette contrasting against that of the ground underneath. It was approaching the throne room with the speed of a blaster bolt, robes fluttering in the howling wind.

It was the Eighth Guard.

And he was angry.

 

[Elijah Brockway]

Even with the sound of the howling winds forcing their way through the throne room's new point of egress, most of those still within the room might either feel or hear a very distinct thud as something approached the room with heavy footsteps. Vice versa, the source of those footsteps could hear the sounds of battle. Karnak Ren, one of the newer disciples of the group, was hastily speeding towards the throne room, the threat of combat spurring him forward far faster than he might otherwise move. The power-hammer he held in his hand hummed, the repulsors enabling him to carry it—once which would be, itself, far too large for most humans—with ease.

Upon bursting into the room, however, he was met with a scene that instilled in his soul supreme disappointment. When he'd been inducted into the Order, he had been informed that the loyalty of the Order of Ren to the Supreme Leader (and through him, the First Order) was absolute. Unquestionable.

The view before him called that claim into very serious question.

The ex-mercenary's brain and implants rapidly analyzed every detail of the situation, plans of addressing it just as quickly being dismissed as they were formed. There were far too many fights for him to go and start breaking them up one by one; the groups would just disperse and reform, fighting elsewhere. Leaving was no true option, as that would only invite the chaos to continue unabated; nor was there any truly established leader that Karnak Ren might go to in the hopes of an appeal to authority to end the conflict—neither group seemed likely to accept the other's authority.

Surprise and distraction it is.

The massive being strode purposefully into the center of the room, raising his power hammer high. Once reaching a relatively open space he swung the power hammer downwards, the repulsors deactivating while the shockwave generators prepared to release their energy. "ENOUGH!" he bellowed at the group while he swung, before his hammer impacted the floor, releasing a shockwave through the ground that would threaten to knock most of the fighters off their feet—hopefully long enough for some semblance of order to be drawn out of the mess.

[member="Eighth Guard"] [member="Primat Ren"] [member="Varas Ren"] [member="Racosidae"] [member="Seto Du Couteau"] [member="Marriskcal Lati"] [member="Doran Ren"] [member="Kyrel Ren"] [member="Goran"]

 

[Kyrel Ren]

Location: Bastion of Ren, Virgillia
Equipment: Raiment of the Vigilant, Vader's Bane Lightsaber
Enemies: [member="Eighth Guard"]
Near: [member="Primat Ren"] [member="Doran Ren"] [member="Varas Ren"] [member="Karnak Ren"] @Racosidae [member="Seto Du Couteau"] [member="Marriskcal Lati"]

​

Throughout the entire throne room, it had devolved into chaos, brother against sister, Praetorian against Ren. Without the guidance of the Supreme Leader, and with Kyrel's declaration as caretaker of the Order. The room had divided between those that would follow him and those that thought of it as an outrage. It had now been a fight almost to death, as the throne was thrown into a blaze of destruction. Kyrel couldn't feel but angry as he saw what the Order had devolved into. He was trying to save it if no one did they would all die. Kill each other after there is no one to give them guidance. No one to lead the unified vision of the Supreme Leader. Meanwhile, Kyrel had to deal with his own problems, and that would be surviving the assault of the Elite Eighth guard. 'I refuse to let the Ren devolve as so low as the Sith have! I refuse!' He kept his blade gripped two-handed as he struck down at the Praetorian, but in that exact moment the Praetorian moved and sidestepped him. Kyrel moved to gain some distance as he feared he opened himself up to a counter-attack by the guard.

Kyrel kept his blade up, and watched the Praetorian extend his blade, the blade was not a sword it was a sort of whip. Kyrel had to be on his guard as he never encountered such a weapon before. The whip crackled with each strike the Eighth guard made. Kyrel relying his senses tried to block each one, within split seconds and unlike blaster bolts were coming at a speed Kyrel was unused to, relying on the defensive part of his style, he slowly managed to hold his own against the guard as he spoke. "Is that the best you can do." Before he could even go on the offensive, the Disciple who was so keen on attacking him had unleashed a telekinetic onslaught towards the guard, which had sent him flying across the throne room and crashing into a pillar.

Seeing the Eighth guard approach with raging fury, The Master of Ren pulled his saber to him, and even with a disciple's assistance thanks to her whirlwind, his rage wouldn't stop till he had killed Kyrel. Fearing that this would ultimately be a fight to the death, He reactivated his blade and raised it towards the elite guard in an offensive stance. But before he could even strike something appeared that had even surprised him. A massive hulking brute to which he could only speculate as a late disciple appeared, all Kyrel could do was swallow his throat as the hulking mass let out a loud shout, and all the while his hammer struck to the floor as the shockwave knocked him down. Slowly he got up and tried to speak to those who would listen. "Enough is right. If we continue fighting like this, it will be the end for us all."

 

[Marriskcal Lati]

Praetorian Initiate Hopeful
Equipment | Training Lightsaber & Throwing Knives
Location | Throne Room, Bastion of Ren , Virgillia
Status | The terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day

Marriskcal flicked a final contemptuous glance at the hostile before she turned her attention back to the rest of the room, leaving him laying on the ground. Her force senses remained sharp and wary, now that she had experienced her first taste of deception. From a brother, nonetheless.

That was when a loud crack resounded throughout the throne room. The howling gale tore through the break, bringing with it ice cold rain. Focused as she was on purely incapacitating her quarry, the blonde had neglected the ever mercurial flow of battle. She ignored the droplets of water as it soaked into her hair and skin, her keen gaze perceiving the lack of striking red that marked the Praetorian. But before she could even expand her senses to seek out the missing knight, the force burned, spiking in a sudden surge of hot corrosive anger.

The intensity of it was oppressive and Marriskcal found herself tensing, a visceral response to a threat. Even if she was not the recipient of his fury, she was ensnared by its edges. Her breaths came shallow and quick, and her heartbeat were the only sound she could hear. Her instinct bade her to flee, but her stubborn resolve kept her where she stood. With her complete focus centered on crimson figure, Marriskcal noticed the new intruder far too late. The powerful impact that accompanied the bellow caught her unprepared, and the youngling ended up sprawled on the stone ground. Again.

Ow.

This was just not her day.

Even as Marriskcal gathered herself into a defensive crouch, Master Kyrel began to address the room once more. Considering the pure rage that emanated from the Praetorian, the youngling was skeptical if a resolution could even be reached.



[member="Kyrel Ren"], [member="Varas Ren"], [member="Eighth Guard"], [member="Racosidae"], [member="Doran Ren"], [member="Primat Ren"], [member="Seto Du Couteau"], [member="Karnak Ren"]

 

[Seto Du Couteau]

Oh

Seto quickly dodged away from a potential dangerous situation, his old spot now no longer a viable spot to view the spectacle in front of him. Gracefully the young Du Couteau heir swiftly found another advantageous spot in the throne room to continue his observation of the happenings of this Order of Ren. Perhaps a prayer must be offered up to the cruel and twisted galaxy we all live in and somehow it will calm the minds of all the combatants.

The presence of the hulking brute certainly weighed heavily towards the side of the unlikely, but Seto figured stranger things have happened. A strange calmness had already begun to settle in the Throne room. Or perhaps it's just everyone coiling back up for yet another explosive battle Seto had already taken many mental notes, but even he began to wonder if such more demonstrations of such gruesome power would lead to certain destruction of more than just the building they happen to be fighting in. His arms moved in front of him, to protect against the shock wave, exposing his Force signature greatly as he produced a shield to keep himself mostly standing. Even as he feet skidded back from the sheer power produced from that brute's hammer.

Breathing a deep sigh of relief as apparently the attack was meant to calm and quell the hostility, there was some hope for a favorable outcome today. But for the time being, best to remain fresh and unhindered from wounds, but if push comes to shove and forced to participate in the melee well. . . Seto had very few reservations about confronting anyone in this Throne room. Not something I'm terribly looking forward to, if I'm being honest with myself He continued to think to himself.

Time will tell I guess.

[member="Kyrel Ren"] | [member="Varas Ren"] | [member="Marriskcal Lati"] | [member="Eighth Guard"] | [member="Doran Ren"] | [member="Primat Ren"] | [member="Karnak Ren"]

 

[Armand Temi]

Varas held so much anger and frustration that soaking in the Darkside of the Force at that very moment felt akin to eating and drinking, or even embracing a lover, a fantastical thought, but with nothing to compare it to, she could only imagine the aphotic ecstasy was similar. But like a pinhole leak in a balloon, a small bit of this rage slipped out from her, the breach hard to locate, but she realized it was her saber making contact with Primat’s vambrace.

They were turning on each other. But why?

Because their leader was missing? And another one sought to take his or her place?

The Knight should have felt triumphant that she was in a position to best the Disciple. But mercy for Primat fled as soon as he rose both of his arms up into the Falling Leaf. Although Varas tried to kick him squarely in the chest, his swiftness was rewarded by catching her as she turned slightly to the left, her right foot connecting with his stomach. Primat lopped her cybernetic hand clean off, causing her to howl in pain as the cauterized wound became a fresh one again, metal braces on either side of her ulna now exposed from where the mechanical hand had been set into flesh. Varas’s right hand called the saber hilt back to her as she watched to see how far she was able to fling him with a boot to the chest enhanced by Force Strength.

[member="Primat Ren"]