Star Wars Roleplay: Chaos

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Junction [GA/NEO] When the Stars Betray Us | GA and NEO Junction of Manaan and Kashyyyk

A noble spirit embiggens the smallest being
The Cathar Militia was quick to adapt to the needs of the situation, loading up Oz with fresh missiles which were dropped in as Minerva Fhirdiad Minerva Fhirdiad kept the oncoming Commandos and Basilisk droids busy. The waves of lesser Mandalorian troops - poor, deluded bastards that they are - were quickly getting pressed by D Squad and the Militia, and the East Square was becoming an untenable position for them to continue to assault without heavy reinforcements. Reinforcements they'd expected in the form of the Commando escorts and the Basilisk droids.

Oz's missiles were powerful and accurate, designed to take down heavy air support, but Basilisk Droids were built out of Beskar Steel, which would require a much greater firepower than Oz could really provide. What it did, however, was keep the skies clear of other kinds of fighters, permitting more Galactic Alliance X-Wings to swoop through and not only escort evacuation vessels, but to turn about and fire upon the Basilisks in coordination with the gunship.

The hard part was going to be the armored speeders and the repulsor tank. D-Squad was deployed to take down heavy infantry and Oz was focused on keeping the skies clear, but they were largely wanting for heavy ordnance against fellow ground targets. They were going to have to get creative.

The advantage they had was that they were in an urban area, with lots of streets and buildings to offer them cover. If they got a bead on Oz, they could cancel their anti-aircraft capabilities. But once in the streets, both the speeders and the tanks would be restricted in their speed and movement, and they could control that just by moving debris around that the vehicles wouldn't be able to push or hover - speeders, rocks, junk, whatever. At best, they could bring the repulsor tank in to clear it out, but that would take shells and time the Mandalorians didn't have.

Anchat kept Oz where he was, with enough troopers to keep him covered if any infantry managed to sneak by. The rest of the Militia, however, and the rest of D-Squad, mobilized to deal with the armored column. The Cathar Militia and civilian volunteers started cutting off roads, creating a maze that the Mandalorians would either have to blast through or follow according to Anchat's design.

There were three armored speeders in front, then the tank, and then the fourth was bringing up the rear. They were expecting to have to deal with urban armored combat. Some buildings might be flimsy enough for the tank to simply drive through, but not its speeder escorts. Remaining Mandalorian troops were called back to provide infantry cover for them, as well. They had their work cut out for them, but D-Squad would be ready. Repulsorcraft were particularly vulnerable to their undersides - mines and well-lobbed grenades were favorite tactics. Anchat didn't have any mines - he hated mines, too much risk of civilians getting hurt - but the Militia had plenty of grenades and satchel explosives.

Anchat knew his prototype combat Droid would likely be able to drill through the armored speeders' armor, but they would be able to return the favor easily. So he kept in reserve, waiting for the first ambush. The Mandalorians bought the first few cut off roads as legitimate debris, but they quickly noticed the pattern. Unwilling to let the tank go out on its own, the front two escorts pushed ahead in a staggered formation, to prevent both of the craft from being destroyed all at once. Smart move for those craft, but it didn't save the third one from a satchel bomb on the side of the road. The building it was beside, four stories tall, had support walls deliberately weakened, so while the explosion did, in fact, disable the armored speeder, it was the falling building that destroyed it, and taking out a few infantrymen.

Cathar militia appeared from their hiding places, firing on the infantrymen and distracting the armored vehicles by spreading their fire thin. This was when Anchat stepped in, emerging from cover and keeping his weapon trained on the weaker visor ports of the vehicle. He ducked and weaved with his Droid, trying to be enough of a threat for the vehicles to notice him, but not take too much damage in the return fire. One of the turrets pointed its gun at him, and he just barely managed to dodge behind a wall, a portion of which was taken out by the heavy blaster. Anchat felt rocks in his gizzard at that one.

He activated his Droid's thrusters, hopping onto the roof and firing back at an unexpected angle. The turret of the first one had expected him to pop out of his cover, while the second realized how much of a threat the first one was dealing with. Anchat, however, was a distraction - the real threat were the sapper teams, the poor, brave Cathars who ran up, under enemy fire, and chucked explosives under the armored vehicles. When they went off, at least two of the Militia hadn't gotten far away enough from the blast, but their sacrifice was not in vain. The frontmost armored vehicle had started pulling ahead, and so it caught the explosion in the rear. This meant it wasn't outright destroyed like the other one, but its rear started to drag behind.

Survivors from the second armored vehicle managed to push their way out of their burning vehicle. One of them had their hands up, but the Cathar Militia either didn't notice or didn't care; none of the crew were spared. The first was literally dragging its rear as it tried to move ahead into a better position, but Anchat was above it now and able to lay down fire onto much less armored parts of the craft. After a few moments of sustained blaster fire, the armored vehicle stopped moving. The turret attempted to move, but a Cathar warrior got up onto the vehicle, opened the hatch, and dropped in a grenade before booking it away. The explosion ripped the armored vehicle apart.

With the majority of its escort destroyed, and much of the infantry taken out, the Repulsor Tank decided that it was too valuable to press into a heavily defended urban area, and started to back out as Militia started throwing grenades, trying to disable the hovercraft from beneath. The road was too wide, however, for any reliable throws, and both the tank and its remaining armored speeder managed to slip out the way it came, trying to keep close to the buildings and clearly under fellow Mandalorian air support - which was already thin as it was.

"I think we've got ourselves a secure square, Minerva," Anchat declared, "How are things looking on your end?"
 


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Outfit: Jedi Jumpsuit | Wedding Ring
Weapons: Blasters | Lightsabers

The hiss of compressed air was all the warning she got. Valery's instincts flared. She dropped low and dove to the side — a narrow escape as the net shot past, whipping through the air with enough force to entangle and crush had it connected. But she didn't have time to recover.

The whistling birds screamed toward her a split-second later.

"Chit—"

She rolled, fast and hard, the tiny projectiles chasing her like angry wasps. One clipped her shoulder, another grazed her thigh — white-hot lines of pain searing through torn fabric and bruised skin. Sparks erupted where others struck stone. The concussive blasts from the cluster of explosions threw her across the dirt and ash-stained ground.

She landed hard, breath knocked from her lungs. But she was up again in an instant, forcing herself to move despite whatever pain her body experienced.

Brent was charging, fists armored with vibroknucklers, his blood-streaked armor thundering toward her like a battering ram. Valery ignited her second saber — a twin blade of brilliant violet roaring to life in her off-hand. Together, the two weapons moved in unison, a blur of precision and force as she met his assault.

Metal clashed against plasma. Sparks flared in staccato bursts. He came at her like a war machine — unrelenting, brutal. But Valery was no stranger to war. She pivoted, stepped inside one of his swings, and brought both sabers crashing toward his midsection. One high, one low — forcing him to guard against both or take a hit.

And then she struck. Not with her blades, but with her body. She shifted her weight and drove her leg forward in a brutal, explosive kick aimed straight beneath the plates of his chest armor. Her foot struck augmented by the raw might of the Force, like a piston fired point-blank, hoping it would crush him.

This was her answer to his resolve.






 
Saverok's trembling fingers found the final injector. Smooth, familiar, precious—his salvation. It was there. Right there. But before the cold kiss of metal could greet his neck, it slipped. No… no, not slipped.

Pulled.

His head snapped upward, eyes blazing through the helmet's visor just in time to see the injector glide—float—dance through the air… and into the outstretched hand of the Jedi.

Caelan Valoren Caelan Valoren

The Jetii.

Saverok's pupils dilated behind the mask, his breath hitched and turned ragged, wheezing through the vocoder like a warbeast choking on its own fury. For a heartbeat, the world blurred at the edges. His vision tunneled. It was like watching a ration pack slip from the hands of a starving child—no, worse. It was watching hope get stolen. Power. Sanity. He staggered, like someone punched the soul out of him.

And then it hit. The emptiness. The clarity. A raw, brutal clarity that split his mind open like a crushed helm. Everything was distant. Muffled. Irrelevant. There was only the spice. The injector. And the thief who now held it.

The Jedi no longer had a name, nor identity, nor philosophy. Just a label burned into Saverok's thoughts: Obstacle.

With a deep, soul-guttural bellow that rattled the air, Saverok launched himself forward—faster than he should've been able to, powered by muscle memory, fury, and the echo of long-forgotten Jedi training that had imprinted like scars across his cells. Nothing that large should be able to move like he did. He didn't think. There was no strategy. Only instinct, only desperation, only a savage, blind compulsion. At the apex of his animalistic approach a single arm shot forward reaching toward the Jedi, It was no where near within reach, but then the limb extended beyond what was expected. His right arm turned into a armored blunt instrument of exposed red and gray muscle and nerves fibers.
 



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The net and whistling birds did their job, giving him time to recuperate and advance. The Jedi was thrown to the ground and injured, but nowhere near being out of the fight. As Brent charged towards her, she was up again instantly, rushing to meet his charge.

As he closed the distance, ready to engage her again, he saw and heard the snap-hiss of another lightsaber igniting. The real contest began as they collided, raw strength matched with force-imbued determination. Valery lashed out at him with her lightsabers, both streaking toward his midsection.

Brent swept one hand down, his still extended cortosis woven vibro-blade attempting to impact and throw the blade out wide, hoping it would short-circuit and, if not, throw it clear of his body. With his other hand, he angled his vambrace to take the hit of the other lightsaber, angling it so the vibro-blade on that vambrace would hopefully short-circuit that blade as well and also deflect it from him.

As he did this, though, the Jetii's weight shifted. Her hips rotated, and he saw her third attack, a vicious kick toward his midsection where his armored Beskar plates stopped. Instincts honed over decades of fighting kicked in, Brent's body contorted, his midsection angling so the kick would do less damage. Although no Beskar covered that area, the armor-weave had pockets that held replaceable ceramic/alloy plates, and the Jedi's kick impacted that. Brent heard the snap of the plate, the crunch of it as her kick pushed the material into his midsection, but what he really felt was the kinetic energy passed onto his body. Her kick had the power of the force behind it no doubt, and he nearly doubled over from the power behind it. But he couldn't, he wouldn't.

His HUD blared a warning that even though major surface damage had been avoided, his suit was reading internal bleeding, and it was doing its best to dump coagulants into his body to stem the flow. His time was running short now.

No time to think. As Valery Noble Valery Noble 's kick landed, Brent's arm returned from its wide arc of deflecting her lightsaber, and he attempted to clench her foot as it was still extended. If he could, he would step forward, his much more significant weight and height allowing him to lift her foot high off the ground and throw her off balance, toppling her onto her back, where he would straddle her and bring this fight to the ground to end it. If she saw it coming and was able to react and withdraw her foot, he would instead attempt to headbutt her, his helmet aiming for her face, followed by a quick succession of blows from his fists meant to lacerate her midsection.

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Alicio, for the first time, found a shadow of a smile. Not out of happiness. No, with every talking point, the Mandalorian revealed his position just a little more. He felt like he was beginning to see.

"I hope you understand that I cannot thank the Mandalorians for their assistance, but it was helpful, nonetheless." His ghostly smile continued, before flickering out. "Every battle drained us both. And we outlasted our enemy. It's a less glorified view, but one I think a student of war would appreciate." He shrugged. We did it all by ourselves with only two battles was the kind of oversimplification he expected from an Alliance politician trying to claim favor, not a Mandalorian one.

The scenes of war were gut-wrenchingly chilling... but he'd seen their kind before, and not from the safety of a holoviewer. Vreegan continued, and Alicio... raised an eyebrow. Did the Mandalorian think he was stalling them?


"As you said. You're using military resources to hit soft targets, that were up until recently in your space. There are no points of any strategic importance to the Alliance. You have more to lose." The Alliance had survived being stabbed in the heart with an Imperial dagger, and outlived their would-be assassin. It would take more than an attack on Cathar to break their resolve. They had to know that, right?


"While I am not devoid of compassion, I can be inclined to modify my proposal to align with a different narrative. Dxun will be designated as off-limits to the New Jedi Order in return for a cease-fire agreement between our factions. I have made adjustments to the terms; pray I do not alter them any further."

"Mmm..." Now that was interesting. "No New Jedi. No Neo-crusaders. I'll speak to the Jedi Council."

He extended a hand to shake. Would the Mando retract his?
 


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The vial flew across the distance between them, which was now considerable given the leaps that the mandalorian had taken. It landed within his grasp and he looked at it only once before lifting his gaze back to his opponent. It was spice. He'd seen it before. Addicts existed all over the galaxy, even on Lazerian IV. As much as he wished it wasn't the case, there was no easy way to keep drugs from finding their way onto a world. They did what they could, but they always got through.

"This stuff will kill you just as soon anything else," he said.

Seemed like it already was. He could hear the wheezing, see how it had affected him when it wore off. Though, perhaps given the way he'd shrugged off the lightsaber strike earlier, his body was able to handle the effects of withdrawal better than most. Seemed likely even as the mando struggled. Caelan thought about what to do with the vial for only a moment. Only a moment that was needed as he watched the beast suddenly stop, seeming to come together, to collect themselves, or, perhaps, to give in to whatever animalistic nature lay beneath the outer layer of cohesion that had kept him together with the spice.

When he moved, Caelan slammed the vial to the ground, exploding its contents onto the dirt. Might still be some present, perhaps if he lapped it up with his tongue or ate the dirt he might get something from it, but he wasn't going to get as much as injecting it would have given him.

And the Mando lunged, just a second too late. His arm flew forward in an oddly horrifying way, forcing Caelan to react by dancing backwards away from it, keeping distance between himself and the lunging, likely now enraged, addict. He wanted no part in doing further physical harm to him unless he was forced into it. Part of him was hoping that another snap of withdrawal would take over and render him incapable of action, and then the Cathar recruits could take him away, but somehow he doubted he would get that lucky.

Least now he knew what he was up against.

"Leave. Your body is going to betray you. Even you won't be able to resist it for long. You'll shrivel into nothingness, waste away. I don't want to hurt you, let alone kill you, and I know what you are now. Don't be a stubborn fool. Addiction is bad enough, you needn't throw your life away."


ATTIRE: Link | WEAPON: Lightsaber | COMPANION: BD-F8 | OTHER: Sigil Bead (Necklace), Prosthetic Left Arm

TAGS: Aadihr Lidos Aadihr Lidos | Azurine Varek Azurine Varek | Saverok Saverok (Engaging)
 
The vial shattered, the powder within billowing up like dust off old bones. Saverok's advance stalled, not from fear or hesitation, but from something deeper. A silence fell for half a breath. Then, it came. A low growl, like metal scraping bone, rumbled from within the Mandalorian's chest cavity. It wasn't human. It wasn't even close. The sound vibrated in the air, unsettling, like a predator tasting blood.

Then it changed.

The growl broke into a garbled chuckle, warping through the filter of a broken vocoder—stuttering, static-ridden, yet unmistakably delighted. And from there, the laugh grew into something deranged. A maddening howl of amusement that echoed across the village like a death knell. "Throw my life away?!" Saverok bellowed between hysterical fits. "After four thousand, four hundred and two years, you think I'll die?! To a karking maggot of a Jedi like you?! Ahaaarrgghh-haha—HAHAAHHAHA!" The sound warped, a deep, hellish blend of voice and machine. "You don't even know what I've survived." He took a step forward and his body twitched. Not from pain. From growth.

Something stirred under the black plates of his armor, and not in a way that made sense. His silhouette, already towering like a Wookiee, bulged, armor groaning under pressure, seams stretching, twitching as if breathing. No… writhing. Then the transformation truly began.

His limbs elongated, his torso widened, and a series of sickening cracks rang out as if his very bones—or what passed for bones—were snapping and rearranging. The space between armor segments widened, revealing glimpses of something beneath: wet, pulsing sinew the color of dried blood, lattices of durasteel cords braided through shifting muscle, and a patterns of foreign cybernetic tech threaded through his form like parasitic roots. His body was no longer just a vessel—it was an amalgamation of wars. A monster crafted over millennias.

By the time he stopped, the shadow of his form covered half the village square. Eight feet six inches of living muscle. His limbs like columns of industrial steel, arms too thick and heavy for any normal man to lift, yet they moved like striking vipers. Embedded in his body were fragments of beskar plating, jagged along his ribs, half-melted at the edges where cybernetics met scarred flesh. Tubes pumped black ichor between the organic and synthetic like crude arteries. His helmet—Mandalorian in shape—was split at the jaw, revealing something underneath that looked almost skeletal but glistened wet with every breath.

This was no man. This was a force of nature kept alive by rage and spice, bound together by sheer will and madness. This was Saverok. And then, with an animalistic roar, he raised both colossal arms high above his head in a blur of motion that belied his size. The fists came down like meteor strikes.

BOOM! The ground cracked, a thunderclap splitting the air as the shockwave rippled out. Dirt flew skyward, buildings trembled, and even the trees lining the village square leaned as if recoiling in fear. Villagers screamed, stumbling from the blastwave, some dropping to their knees, others fleeing altogether. And then Saverok moved.

Not lumbering. Not slow.

He blitzed forward, a freight train of pure fury and muscle tearing through the space between him and Caelan with horrifying speed. Each step shook the ground. His bulk didn't hinder him—it empowered him. Like a predator unleashed from a cage, he charged, not just toward Caelan Valoren Caelan Valoren , but toward everything in his path.
 


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"Yes," Caelan said, voice full of sadness, when the Gen'dai mando scoffed at the idea of dying to a young Jedi, "I do."

He could laugh all he wanted. Act maniacal all he wanted. Change his body all he wanted. The fact was, he was enraged now, and had lost control of himself. Add in the withdrawals from the spice, well maybe that one given his body chemistry, and it made him so volatile that he was underestimating Caelan completely. Partially because he kept saying he didn't want to kill him, which was true. He didn't want to. The very idea of it was abhorrent to him. He didn't even want to fight him, but he needed to in order to protect his friends, and to protect the people of Cathar.

And he had been warning him.

So while he bulked up through the use of his various tentacles, Caelan focused on drawing in the Force and letting it flow through the entirety of his body. His arms, legs, mind. Every fiber of his being became infused with the Force so that every process sped up. His mental processes, his movements, the contractions of his muscles. Even the strength within his muscles increased. This was what was he was most skilled at: modifying his body with the Force. That and barriers, but barriers weren't much use at the moment. Not yet.

When the monster slammed his fists into the ground, Caelan didn't do much but sway with the ground. His feet were planted, his body strong, his mind able to perceive the movements of the ground faster than they actually moved. And Saverok himself moved, rushing across the distance between them, moving at what appeared a normal run to the sped up mind that perceived him. To everyone around them, everything that was happening was at a blinding speed, but for the two of them, it was at an incredibly normal one, everything about them sped up by either the Force or their own physiology.

He stood, unmoving, as the Mando barreled towards him, waiting, lightsaber held in one hand, eyes focused, mind calculating. The beast came at him and he waited until the last possible minute to move, juking underneath of outstretched arms. He could have cut them off, but they'd have regrown. Waste of effort. He darted right at Saverok, making it look like he was going for a leg strike, but at the last moment, he spun his body the entire opposite way in a violent corkscrew of momentum, gripping his elongated, thinned lightsaber in both hands, and sliced his blade at the mando's neck. It was a kill shot, and yes, he hated it, but it was the only way.

The only way to stop the beast. He'd seen this before with Lirka Ka Lirka Ka . He wasn't going to let it happen again.


ATTIRE: Link | WEAPON: Lightsaber | COMPANION: BD-F8 | OTHER: Sigil Bead (Necklace), Prosthetic Left Arm

TAGS: Saverok Saverok
 
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Objective II
Evacuate the Square
Tag: Anchat Anura Anchat Anura

"I'm right over here." Minerva replied, coming over. She had beheld some of what the D-Squad and the Cathar volunteers had done and was inspired. They had driven back that assault. While they'll have to leave soon it felt like a personal victory to not only witness these people's defiance against the crusaders but also fight alongside them as well.

To her ally she added. "Due to your team and my gunship we took out the aerial support for that attack."

Looking around the dead crusaders and some of their destroyed vehicles, the warrior nodded in full approval.

"We held the line."

The lion-faced militia leader from earlier ran over and stated.

”More of our people are making it to the transports. You have our gratitude captain."

Turning to Minerva, he stared in a neutral expression as the former began to feel awkward. Then the local leader at last said,

"Today will not be forgotten warrior, whether it be their crimes or your stand with us.”

Biting her lips underneath her helmet, feeling a combination of amazement, shame and sorrow. Minerva humbly bowed her head, tears hidden behind the visor now for those they couldn't save.

"We're not finished. There is much to be done."

Turning away, Minerva nodded to Anura.

"Let's escort these survivors to the nearest evacuation zone before more hostiles arrive."

Soon she followed along with the Cathar and D-Squad. Up above Minerva’s AI piloted gunship flew overhead to give them all aerial cover.
 
A noble spirit embiggens the smallest being
Anchat looked to the sky, and saw the streaks of Turbolaser fire reining down on the surface. There were explosions in the sky, causing many of the orbital bombardment shots to dissipate in flashes of light that looked, and sounded, like thunder. The Eastern Square was safe, for now, since it was covered in orbit, but the evacuation here would be completed eventually, and the Mandalorians would be walking their shots over.

"It seems to me that the fight is still on in orbit," Anchat said, "This is D-Squad Actual to command. We request redeployment to our next objective. Also, what's causing those explosions in the sky? Something's stopping some of the Turbolasers."

"This is Command to D-Squad Actual, affirmative, sending your pickup. As for the turbolasers, near as we can tell, they're atmospheric craft being launched," said Command.

"Tell me those are automated craft..." Anchat said, something rising in his gizzard.

"Ask me no questions and I'll tell you no lies, Captain."

Anchat winced. Cathar was losing a generation of some of their bravest, craziest souls to just delay the bombardment.

"Command, tell Arninel to bring my X-Wing down. I'm not letting them waste their lives. And send a message to anyone on the planet that can pilot. Call every pilot you can with a blaster strapped to their ship, we're stopping that bombardment! Minerva Fhirdiad Minerva Fhirdiad ! Seems to me that the next part of this fight is in the sky. I'm going up - are you down?" Anchat asked.

Strix Strix
 
The moment Caelan committed to the strike, body twisting, saber flaring—a flicker of focus cut through Saverok's haze. Something lucid. Cold. Calculated but wildly reactionary. He didn't try to outrun the blade. He made his body fit around it.

His torso split, not in flesh, but in form. Segments of armored sinew slid apart like armor plates on a war droid, and with an audible pop-hiss-crack, he dropped his shoulder inward, rotating where his clavicle would be, at an angle that would have shattered the bones of any other species.

His neck snapped sideways—not broken, but redirected, pulled by bands of musculature with what seemed perfect in timing. The lightsaber slashed across him, glancing a long precise arc rather than cleaving through, drawing a molten gouge across exposed physiology and half-melted cybernetic armor. It burned, but he didn't scream. Instead the growl of a beast endured.

And then, like a serpent uncoiling, Saverok's lower back region dislocated and whipped upward. Tendrils of muscle and nerve propelled his left arm up from behind his own back, like it had grown from the wrong side of his body. It shot past Caelan's guard with spear like claws, even as the Jedi may try to correct mid-air. "Did you think I survived four millennia by fighting fair?" he rasped through the hiss of melting armor and burning nerves.

And within his minds eye he anticipated what would occur next. The sensation of his own biological pikes poised to skewer the meat of Caelan Valoren Caelan Valoren dominant shoulder, bicep and forearm in a manner that would introduce sadistic and agonizing control.
 


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The beast moved in a manner unnatural, but should have been expected. It could manipulate and contort its body on a whim because of the nature of being created of a mass of tentacles rather than solid flesh and bone. Caelan knew this, but had allowed himself to be lured into acting in a manner that was that of one who had not known. Foolish of him. He knew better than to do that, but here he was, having barely scored a mark against the mandalorian, and with spikes coming at him.

Spiked limbs, to be exact.

They would have succeeded in skewering him if he didn't have a single ace up his sleeve, or, rather, around his neck. Caelan wasn't without his own tricks of survival, ones that had saved him before and would continue to do so. With a tap of the Force, he activated the bead on his necklace, which projected a barrier around himself, stopping the spikes from landing against him, at least long enough for him to land upon his feet, having completed the spin.

Instead of reacting to the beasts words, giving him a moment to react or act in freedom, Caelan moved again. He lunged forward towards the Gen'dai, aiming the tip of his lightsaber at the creatures head. He might never have faced one of these beasts in personal combat before, but as someone who was a student of history, who made a point of spending most of his free time growing up reading and delving into the libraries around him, he did know a thing or two about them.

And he knew this attack was unlikely to work, which was why he also released his blade as he thrusted, projecting it forward and controlling it through the Force, allowing him to react in ways that his limited body could not.


ATTIRE: Link | WEAPON: Lightsaber | COMPANION: BD-F8 | OTHER: Sigil Bead (Necklace), Prosthetic Left Arm

TAGS: Saverok Saverok
 

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