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!
Fatty the snowman continued to aimlessly run into the horde, and the zombies tried to eat him... only to find a substantial brain freeze. He giggled as the chaos ensued, unaware of the huge blazing fire the mouse droid had created in the decimation of one city of this world. The Chain Gun zombie cut him clean in half with an aimless volley of bullets.
The snowman giggled and danced on the ground as zombies slipped over the ice he had created. He sang as he did this:
"Oh, I feel so pretty and gay and BRIGHT!" came a voice from afar. Vilox Pazela emerged, dancing on his tip toes, spinning around in a flash of light, utilizing the Force to create an effect of a rainbow around him. "OH HOW I FEEL SO PRETTY!" He manuevered himself beside [member="Ashin Varanin"] "I FEEL TO PRETTY AND GAY AND BRIGGHHHHT!"
Lucien was as always slightly behind in this little party. He was just starting his breakfast and was just drinking the first cup of tea, when a rather pale servant handed him a report then proceeded to quiver for a good few minutes as Lucien read the report.When Lucien reached the paragraph about zombie attacks and tea was sprayed from his mouth "Is this a Joke?" He said anger evident in his voice. The servant vigorously shook his head "n nn no M'lord" he quivered. Lucien rose poised to put the servant through a wall when the commander of his combined forces walked into the room "The report is true My liege". Lucien was a little shocked a few moments latter he padded over to the intercom to address his forces "It takes a Vile, Vindictive and wicked evil to disturb a mans breakfast, I wan't that horde obliterated, Wickedness must be punished,Evil effectively eliminated ,Wickedness must be punished, Kill the Witch Zombies!"
Then he went to dress, his breakfast would have to wait after he had dressed he began communications with the two coordinators of the currant Mission "Lady Merrill, Lady Varanin. Is anyone dealing with the former leaders of this planet?" He asked if not, he would. Their incompetence was what costed him breakfast.
OOC: hope you guys don't mind if I don't post a gif. My computer is really karking buggy right now and will freeze if I try to go find any.
An armored hut sat in the square
With weapons galore in the sun glinting.
No karks given on what was or wasn't fair
He had beskar Hutt armor and was there to play.
Zombies on all sides charged at him
And trampled each other in their run.
Popo the Hutt wasn't the least bit dim
And laid into them with all of his guns!
She was there, in the midst of the fighting. She took out [member="Ember Rekali"]'s lightsaber, even as she sensed a familiar presence in the force that might very well be the bounty hunter that got away. She was too busy be-heading zombies to look, though.
And too busy singing slash rapping.
[SIZE=10pt]"Darkness falls across the land[/SIZE] [SIZE=10pt]The midnight hour is close at hand[/SIZE] [SIZE=10pt]Creatures crawl in search of blood[/SIZE] [SIZE=10pt]To terrorize your neighbourhood[/SIZE] [SIZE=10pt]And whosoever shall be found[/SIZE] [SIZE=10pt]Without the soul for getting down[/SIZE] [SIZE=10pt]Must stand and face the hounds of hell[/SIZE] [SIZE=10pt]And rot inside a corpse's shell[/SIZE] [SIZE=10pt]The foulest stench is in the air[/SIZE] [SIZE=10pt]The funk of forty thousand years[/SIZE] [SIZE=10pt]And grisly ghouls from every tomb[/SIZE] [SIZE=10pt]Are closing in to seal your doom[/SIZE] [SIZE=10pt]And though you fight to stay alive[/SIZE] [SIZE=10pt]Your body starts to shiver[/SIZE] [SIZE=10pt]For no mere mortal can resist[/SIZE] [SIZE=10pt]The evil of the thriller."[/SIZE]
Fatty reassemble his body in the midst of the Zombie fighting, and decided to revive everything with song and gif. As he collected himself, using his personal flurry, the snowman creature decided that this must be summer! Look at the grass! Look at the sky! So blue!
"Put me in summer and I'll be a..." Fatty looks at a puddle of blood.
On the other side of Thakwaa, in a move thought of as a "brilliant maneuver" by contemporary political commentators, the stage was set for an event for the ages. Due to the unpredictable nature of the Thakwaash combined with their incredible strength, the only reasonable way to decide who was to be President of the Thakwaash Dominions for the next three years was, of course, a tournament where individuals could showcase their physical strength. It was a martial arts tournament, a globally televised phenomenon that saw Thakwaash toss each other around like rag dolls for a night. Highly entertaining stuff. When the Fringe Confederation contacted the Thakwaash Dominions about possibly assimilating them into the fold, the Thakwaash had responded simply. Enter two of your best into our Presidential Grand Prix. The Fringe had obliged. For obvious reasons, two distinguished and distinguishably sexy Sith Lord allies were entered. The first was two hundred pounds of hunk and raw aggression, the second one hundred and eight-five pounds or thereabouts of hardened warrior. And they had made it through to the final match. After all, they were Sith Lords, and though the Thakwaash were exceptionally strong ... they weren't Sith Lords. Wheat and chaff, chaps.
Now, in the Thakwaa City SuperArena, lights shone down on the white martial arts ring and its occupants. Two men, one Thakwaash referee, and another Thakwaash announcer. The announcer snorted with his equinoid nostrils to gain the attention of the ground, and then began his introductions.
"Au corner, yakuro senshi, yakujo kyu tengo jo, Alen Na'Varro!!" The crowd roared its approval, and Alen stretched out both arms in acknowledgement.
"Yo corner, yakuro senshi, yakujo kyu tengo jo, [member="Lucianus Adair"]!!" Once again, the crowd roared its approval.
A fair few of the ladies of the Fringe had made their way out here just for this match, for obvious reasons of course. And a few of the fellas had too ... Alen felt that this was kind of exploitative and a little bit tasteless, but if it helped the Fringe, then he'd do it.
Martial arts, a couple of Masters in the middle of a ring and a planet in the balance. Yep, there's one firm and present reason Anders Sivas, High Councillor for Military Affairs to be in attendance in the front row.
They're going to need a medic.
I even brought my handy dandy bacta patch & odds, ends, my own conglomerate of healeriffic paramedicine in a swiftly opened sling-over-the-shoulder tote bag. At least they'll be fairly easy to suture if the bare chests are any indication. Oh violence, wince-inducing be thy name. Yeah, I'm wearing mirrored sunglasses to go with my black cargo trousers, grey t-shirt and that same leather jacket that's taken me through months of … well the weirdest stuff.
Not quite as weird as Government By Brawl-Down, but I digress. Here I am on Thakwaa about ready to watch bruisers get bruised. Maybe there ought to be popcorn? "Go team." I say under my breath.
All things considered, I'd rather be at the other fight. Not that watching Adair and Na'Varro fight shirtless is my cup of tea these days - my wife catches my eye far more easily than that - but because if I wasn't knee deep in zombie slop I would be competing.
I'd lose, don't get me wrong. The limp is getting worse. Akovin, Denko, Wraith, falling through a cave roof on Dagobah...
I can Force tank my way past anything anyone can throw at me, including todays zombie horde, but cant get there to finish the fight. Cant reposition fast enough to compete hand to hand in a really serious way.
Zombies really are my perfect enemy. They come to ME.
Dissero wants to note that Ashin's post does not contain music or a gif. The disappointment is palpable.
A buzzing sounded in the young Master's comm at the final stage for the tournament halfway across the planet. Alen and Lucianus? Well that was going to be quite a show.
He slashed through another throng of zombies, saber blade cleaning lopping off manner of gruesome appendages, one of his warrior compadres asked him for a bet.
"Lucianus? He's slick, but you know what they say about Na'Varro-"
Swish, slash.
"He's a champ, yeah they love him, breaks a new foe everyday," his voice bellowed over the gurgling roars of the endless undead, "he's a Champ, yeah they loooove him, and his beard makes all the ladies knees give waaaayyy."
Ordo had heard a offensive was taking place and he and a small fleet decided to go and offer assitance. However, by the time he arrived the party had already started. Strange snow creatures and sexually confused dancers would have been targeted from the dropship but it looked like they were kind of possibly on the Fringe's side. Though the urge to curb stomp mister I feel pretty was strong Ordo jumped down with the vulcan starfighter gun Ember had bought him and began targeting zombies.
"GET OUT OF MY LINE OF FIRE!" Ordo yelled with aid from his helmet as he thumped forward.
The rotating blaster cannon began spinning it's barrel.
'Pzzzzzzzzzzssssssuuuuuuu' the barrel sounded as it spun up to speed. Then the rain of blaster bolts started.
She'd last seen [member="Ordo"] after riding Basilisks down from orbit to pacify Ord Mantell. Now as she watched him apply Force strength to a hundred kilo minigun, she realized the rumors were true: Ember Rekali's first student in ages had become a Master in his own right. That minigun was sort of terrifying. Zombies departed. Piece by piece. In a relatively short time, Ordo cleared enough ground tbat Ashin could find breathing room. "Much obliged, " she said.
"There good at what they do..." Ash mused allowed, imagining the hot and sweaty throwdown between the two Sith Lords. "But I'm good at what I do, too." the pilot resigned the idea of Alen and Lucianus for another day, gripped the controls tight in both hands, and steered her craft straight into hell. Letting her thumb fall from the trigger, she released a volley of laser blasts into the overly congested horde of zombies.
"'They want a fight? Well now they got one, and they ain't' seen me crazy yet."
The zombies weren't even a challenge...what they were, however, was an unending wave of undead, shuffling slowly towards their doom. Chrysothemis entertained herself as she shimmied her way through the endless horde -
- making a mental note to rethink her wardrobe choice when the moment allowed. White and jewel encrusted was spectacular to look at but hardly practical. Never mind the satin portion of her skirt, which was a total loss as it was almost liberally caked in zombie gore and assorted bits.
Pausing for a breath, the brunette flicked out her hand, sending a wave of energy out to knock down those creatures closest to her. Fingers then lifted to tap the tiny comlink tucked in her ear, wondering what could be so critically important to send on the main Fringe frequency being used that day. The young woman blinked, staring off into the distance sightlessly as she let the thought sink in.
Alen. Luc. Shirtless. Fighting. The governmental repercussions were intriguing, but...shirtless. There was no way -
- she was going to miss this. Spinning on a heel, she pranced her way through the zombies between her and the nearest city entrance. Chrysothemis was moving to her own rhythm and enjoying every minute of it. Once inside, she took the time to grab a change of clothes before making her way to the arena, finding a front row seat near Lucianus' corner. So sue her for being partial to her own...Master.
Her shirtless, devastatingly handsome Master. Nothing to see there, of course. Nope. Not at all.
She split her attention between the Mando with the repeater and the rest of the oncoming hord. Kneeling, she wiped Winterlight on a remaining tuft of grass. It didn't do much good. With a grunt -- she hated wasting energy -- she lit fire around the sword's handle and scorched the gore to dust. It impeded her grip.
I snort as a rough and tumble sort of man hoofs up and comes in beside me. I kick my medkit more firmly underneath my chair and check out the man's boots. Hey, you can tell a lot about a person from the boots, and mine still shine like the first day Sargon got them for me, just giving a smile to a person down on their luck. His boots - well. Well used and well tended.
A man to watch out for. "Hah. I've gone with the Eeny-meeny-miney method." I quip, wincing as [member="Alen Na'Varro"] gets a gorgeous elbow in against Astair. "Aaoooww that's gotta-- I think he's my moe." I point to Alen, "Today I might be. You?"
"That man came close as shavvit to knocking Varanin out of the Cauldron's first round. Buuut what's the point of betting like that if you've dibsed the beard?" He pointed at Lucianus 'Fred' Astair. "I'll lay my name to the dark one. You down for money, pride, or a wager of a more interestin' kind?"
With a roar of deep frustration, potentially audible on the other side of the planet where the leadership fight ensued, Ashin set her grip on Winterlight and strode out to meet the next wave on an open plain. They weren't too bright, these ones, not bright at all. They came at her in a hungry swarm, and she moved like a lightning strike; half-zombies scattered through the air from a lateral cut.
