No Honor or Humanity [One Sith - Atrisia]

[Vrag]

[5/20]
Objective: Deliver spankings
Location: Airborne
Enemies: [member="Coren Starchaser"]​

Well, so much for that avenue of attack.

She always did try that first, though. Nice and easy, from afar. To spare her enemy the incredibly unpleasant ways to die that they were bound to encounter when the fighting devolved into close-quarters, you understand. Honestly, she was nothing if not merciful, in that sense.

Gravity was making sure that the time allotted to mercy was running woefully low, however, and Vrag realized that practicality o'clock was drawing near at breakneck speeds. Hah.

Her opponent, now effectively alone with the Sith Lord as they both plummeted towards the planet below, zoomed to the side with a small burst of a handy piece of technology on his person that she neither knew nor cared to identify. It was going to be a moot point in a few seconds — or however much was left to the pair before breaking their fall became impossible — and it didn't change things all that much for the woman.

A slight flight adjustment, a spreading of wings of the Qorih'Kralt, and—

Motherkarker.

She missed one of the blaster shots as it came low on the side, her wrist turning just a moment too late. The bolt singed past her and sizzled against the membrane spanning the two long, hollow bones that gave structure and form to the left wing of the creature, and the Vong biot gave out a high-pitched hiss of pain. Still, the anti-laser aerosol embedded in its dermis did the job it was supposed to do, and after a few seconds of flailing, Vrag regained stability once more.

Her lips curled back into a grimace, and then the firrerreo squeezed her free hand into a fist again, yanking it back with a vengeance in hopes of wrapping the Force around her opponent and pulling him in close. With the speeds at which the pair were traveling, the man she was fighting would be hard-pressed to come up with a defense for the lightsaber strike that was slated to meet him the moment he came in range, and even then he would be going up against a piece of chit, underhanded duelist who liked to go for the soft bits and had the skill to do so, too.

So, you know... pain incoming, etc.

 

[Coren Starchaser]

Location: Still falling
Objective: Defeat Inbred Bat
Enemies: [member="Vrag"] @Jedi @Sith that Team with Jedi @Bounty Hunters @Basically everyone in this thread and some
Post: Tres plus Trois

Land. Ground. Port (he preferred rum but right now? Who cared).

He knew when he was against the odds, and something with wings in this environment? Kark that. Kark that hard. He would do his best to stall whatever that was, but beyond that? Ground would probably be his saving grace. And this was possibly the only time you’d hear him even make that thought. Ground being a savior?

Watching, one blast did hit the beast, that wasn’t enough. Pistol wasn’t giving him what he needed. “Whats the hard line.” Coren asked as she looked to the top of his HUD. He had to deal with the bat, but he also had the time frame of becoming bio-organic goo on the ground below. “The last chance to stall the jump is approaching, two.” The virtual intelligence spoke. It wasn’t Lexi, from one of his ships, just the armor’s own droid mind.

Personal assistant of not dying.

Needing to think fast, he gave the jump jets another touch, moving him into a different trajectory. He wasn’t bothering to look behind him, he’d throw the entire jump jet to slow his descent, a bit of a massive blast from this suit’s back unit. One that would slow the descent enough for him to collect the Force around him.

Not faster than the… what in the nine Corellian hells was this? That called the Force around him. He took a second to try to bring it in close, to pull in the Force that they were sending. Absorb it, make it his. The Warden of the Sky was in his element, being moved by the Force? Not so much, but instead of struggling, he scanned, any weapons? Didn’t matter, he was going to be using his armor as a weapon, Phrik plated arm, elbowing into the jaw as they connected.

 

[Kenrath]

Objective: 2 Secure the Shipyards
Location: Atrisian Space
Allies: One Sith
Enemies: everyone else
Squadron: http://starwarsrp.net/topic/30819-ki-sb-mki-aka-the-bomberdier/ x10 (two were destoryed)
[4/20]


Thanith banked hard right still taking fire from not one but two enemy squadrons. He held a white knuckle grip on the stick. He had went from answering a distress call, to engaging hostiles, to trying not to die, and now trying to buy time. He hit the comm.

"6 status report."

He waited for a few minutes.

"1... 6... we are facing heavy resistance..............." "We are giving em grief though."

Thanith frowned. He banked left skimming along the top edge of the station avoiding more fire. Another fighter burst into flames dropping there numbers yet again. Things were going from worst to unimaginably suicidal. Thanith almost wished he had stayed at home. His little gamble was going to get him killed. Even if he managed to survive the firefight he was sure to be facing court martial once he got back for not only taking the squadron to begin with but for failing the objective. He sighed turning towards the station banking left and right.

"6.....................1 coming in hot." "Get to those defenses............" "If we can't beat them from space we will make our last stand on the station."

 

[Vrag]

[6/20]
Objective: Neither brave nor stupid
Location: Between ground and space
Enemies: [member="Coren Starchaser"], phrik, and gravity​

There was some struggle, and then there was none anymore, and the two people collided in less than the fraction of a second. Like a charge whose polarity was suddenly reversed, the hostile snapped forward into the waiting embrace of the Sith.

Remember the underhandedness?

Some would say Vrag was a duelist, but in reality she was merely a close-quarters fighter with a complete absence of scruples, her dignity left in the dust by her need to employ pragmatic, efficient ways to neutralizing the enemy. She was, quite literally, the title of this thread.

The qorih adjusted its wings, this time undeterred by errant blaster bolts, and in a true testament to its agility, the firrerreo was suddenly higher and to the right of the assaulting phrik elbow. With the lightsaber extinguished in her grasp, the woman would wrap the fingers of her left hand around the wrist of the offending limb as it passed her by, exercising the full strength of her muscles in conjunction with the Yigdris to curl the arm out into extension and then… snap.

A clean punch from the hips, not the shoulder; right palm, meet olecranon. Olecranon, meet wrong direction, and also fresh air.

Well, deoxygenated air.

Same difference.

 

[Darth Ophidia]

2/20
Objective: 1. Stabby fun times. First! A cup of tea.
Location: Atrisian Tea House.
Allies: [member="Xander Blackmoore"]
Enemies: Some Atrisian dudes.

“I would not consider myself a connoisseur, Darth Vizios. I merely have a healthy interest in the hot beverages of the galaxy. It is a hobby of sorts, and Atrisia brews some of the finest there is.”

The tradesman responsible for introducing her no doubt heard these words, for his demeanour puffed up with an extra touch of pride as he dug out a number of teas for Ophidia’s samples. He took great care in each aspect of the process, turning it into an art in motion. The Rattataki watched intently with a smile on her lips. Outside of her work as an Assassin, little gave her such joy as her collection of beverages.

“Very well, I can take you up on that offer. First, let us taste this one.”

Out of the brews, she chose one that had an intense green colour that removed all opacity. One could no longer see the bottom of the cup, and for some it would appear rather unappetising. She sat down across from her companion and placed a large cup of the tea before each of them.

“This one is brewed of the freshest buds of the tea plants. It is supposed to invigorate the mind and spirit with the youth of the buds. Or so the packaging said.”

She had read it over the tea-maker's shoulder previously. Ophidia took the cup in her hands and appreciated the colour, and then she closed her eyes as she took in the scent of the vapours. She rotated the cup three quarters as the brewer had previously instructed and took the first sip with an audible slurp. Some would say such a sound was uncouth, but she found it to enhance the flavour of the tea by bringing air into the mixture, which in turn involved the nose in the process of tasting. The tea did not disappoint her, as a shiver travelled up her spine from the sheer energy stored in the crushed tea-buds. She continued to drink in silence, enjoying her tea fully.

 

[Coren Starchaser]

Post: Se7en
Location: Almost to ground
Objective: Blow up Sith, use the next thirteen posts to rescue some people

It wasn’t that Coren’s story wasn’t exciting. It was that he had lost Horus Fireteam, but the other fireteams had made it to ground. And they were working to get to the rendezvous. Locations where refugees would be located, people fleeing the Atrisians and the Sith. Once the teams started to make it to the ground, they began checking in. And Corey was using this to prove the Underground was a whole lot more mature than the Rebel Alliance. The new one, not the one that was made by Jorus many a moon ago.

No, these Underground, they were working their way to the locations, gathering civilians, arming some, and protecting most. The Onith Class transports would be coming in once the battle was clearly at its full, the Atrisians focused on the Sith and the Sith on the Space Japanese. They’d pick up the team that was leaving, pick up the refugees and leave the team that was staying behind to watch over the world. Cells of resistance fighters with assault and sniper rifles and small arms. This wasn’t one of the established swoop gangs, like Marna, it would be specialists, and operatives. People who were going to be working the planet for their own success.

They’d have to go native. The Americans was an influence. Learn what they could, immerse in the world, probably start speaking some space Japanese and be ready and waiting for when the call came. The kids would probably marry and mate with the local populace if it went on that long, and then they'd be perfect for being fetishized. You're welcome.

***

But the real focus here, that was Coren. Coren and [member="Vrag"] the Batgirl-meets-Joker-meets-Appalachian-Inbreeding.

That’s why you don’t drink moonshine, folks.

Honor though, that was something that didn’t have a place when you were fighting for your life, and fighting for the freedom of others. Sure, you could work to save people, and that was good and noble, but when you worried about honor? That got you killed. And worrying about humanity? That wasn’t something that the Sith were overly concerned with. And neither was Coren. The ends justified the means.

Feeling his elbow meet nothing but air, he knew he was in for it. Her hand was around his arm and he could feel it extending. And extending beyond.

“Feth!” He shouted. The Force was filling him, covering him like a blanket, and he was trying to pull on the opponent, trying to pull her in, give him the strength he needed. He was shaking his head, eyes filling with the red-hot pain of the arm breaking. He was calling on the Force, something no Jedi would ever sully themselves to do, and he grabbed with the Force. He wasn’t looking to drain hard, merely take to give himself some giddy-up in this situation and discombobulate (because who doesn’t like to use that word) his target.

“One…” Was the call from the suits VI. Right arm not of any use, he swung himself to the left, hoping to rotate him so he was on top. If he was successful, he’d be using her back as a springboard when the jump-jets came online, hard programmed by the suit. Should he not be successful, well, he’d be jumping and pulling whatever was still attached to him.

 

[Vrag]

[7/20]
Objective: Not turning into crab paté
Location: Fallin'
Enemies: [member="Coren Starchaser"]​

Allies: Laws of physics​

​

hhttps://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wsHTZI9uPl0​

That delicious give of bone and flesh as it yielded to strength that exceeded the capabilities of what it could endure and still retain functionality was… well, delicious. And usually, Vrag had more time to savor it properly in its entirety, capitalizing on the pain it sent arcing through her victim and delivering the coup de grâce as they were exposed.

Not today, however.

Pressing matters, like gravity and the rapid mutation of potential engergy into its kinetic form were rather more important than the fact that her foe's arm was broken, and surely Vrag could seek out others in need of having their limbs snapped in half by some neat maneuvering.

Once she was safely on the ground again. Focus.

Said foe swung them around as clouds kept rushing by, attempting something rather odd which didn't seem to agree all that well with Vonduun Skerr Ygdris and Dhaladii. They reeled against the Sith, but with all the information being fed to her from an uncountable number of sources, the Hand hardly noticed the displeased shivers that ran down her spine in tandem with her armor's grumbling.

And then suddenly, the non-Jedi above her was pushing away hard and fast, utilizing that same technology that the woman had already professed no interest in. Really, the only thing relevant in the moment of the man's departure was, well, that she was still holding onto his right wrist.

And quite tightly, in fact.

One had to wonder… how much torsion and tension could a broken limb withstand?

 

[Coren Starchaser]

Post: More than some Sith
Objective: Land safe, beat up [member="Vrag"], get to a Bacta tank, have [member="Spark Finn"] kiss it all better
Location: Jump jets.

The mission for the people on the ground as simple. And no, that wasn’t to say they were doing it as fast as Corey was discussing, that would be silly. Because maybe 5 seconds between posts in game time have elapsed, but in order to make sure his point was there? The Underground members were going to be working as best they could to start liberating oppressed peoples. They’d take shots at the Atrisians and do their best to be a rescue team.

They’d store weapons, and procure them later. For now? It was setting up landing zones, and with Horus fireteam gone, the main tip of the spear was now pointing at a half broken Force user against some bat… thing.

And he wasn’t as fast as he wanted to be. The jetpack torqued up, but with the added weight on his right arm? The soldier was torqued to the side as the weight was holding him done. “Override!” he ordered to the suit, the jet stopping nearly immediately. The scattergun on his back, he reached, grabbing for the tethered weapon with his left hand. Working on shunting the pain away, more centric on surviving than the pain in his arm, he leveled the scattergun in the direction of the beast and fired.

 

[Vrag]

[8/20]
Objective: Non-lethal touchdown
Location: Where the eagles fly (or the SW equivalent thereof)
Enemies: [member="Coren Starchaser"]
Allies: Gravity, maybe. Who knows?​

​

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-Yc-3fchwqw​

Such a pity, that the arm held. Who would've guessed? His screaming was enough indication that the strain on his broken limb had hurt like a motherkarker, though, and while some would've thought her to enjoy the wails of pain on their own, Vrag appreciated not the agony it caused him, but rather the opportunity it granted her.

Even as he scrambled for his weapon that had doubtless been positioned for easy right-handed access - not the left hand, you'll note - Vrag capitalized on his weakness.

Thrown as he had been to the side, the woman had followed on top by virtue of sheer momentum of the turn, and now, hovering perhaps a few inches away, the woman had an unique window to exploit.

Naturally, she did.

With her left hand still holding him firmly, the woman would reignite her saber effectively at point-blank range straight into his visor, counting on her accelerated reflexes and movement speed to outpace his unwieldy maneuvering with the shotgun. Considering its length, Vrag doubted there was even space enough between the two combatants for a normal blaster, let alone the bulky beast in his grasp.

Welp. Wrong.

Perhaps seconds after the red blade came to life, a blossom of white-hot pain erupted in her right side along the ribs, blasting her to the left and likely swerving and rolling the tethered pair about in the air once again.

Now, tethered by what, you might ask yourself; well, wonder no more! That karking Sith piece of chit was still holding onto the non-rebel non-Jedi's arm.

The schutta.

 

[Darth Timoris]

[Post =2/20]​

Objective: One - subjugation
Location: En route to Zaria’s ship
Allies: [member="Zaria"] | one squad of Sitherhood troopers (9)
Enemies: That old phrase, be careful what you wish for…

In Melori’s mind, the walk to the other ship was a formality – little more than a stroll. Except nobody had read the script to the locals.
One moment she was walking along a deserted street and the next she’d turned a corner to face a barrage of blaster fire. Four men were firing in unison, taking shelter behind an upturned speeder.

With a small movement of her hand, Melori stood the squad down. She needed the practice. And so with a giant leap, she landed a few metres behind where the four of them were squatting. Clenched in her right hand was her saber-staff. The feral working of her jaw, and the yellow blaze of her irises – suggested she was ready for action.

The humming lightsaber dangling from her left hand, Melori remained silent, letting her posture speak for her nefarious intent. In turn the four clambered to their feet, aiming their weapons at the same time. That she permitted them to do so should have set their alarm bells clanging.

The tallest of the men fired his blaster even as he raced for cover behind the speeder. A split second behind, the chubby one raised his weapon and fired a continuous hail of blaster bolts at the Sith. In the same instant the remaining two sprang forward in an attempt to outflank their opponent and place her at the centre of a deadly crossfire.

Melori’s reaction to the barrage of bolts that converged on her required almost more processing power than a droid had at its disposal. By employing a combination of body movements, lightsaber, and naked right hand, she evaded, deflected, or returned every shot that targeted her. Slowly surrendering energy, the bolts caromed from the floor and the speeder.

Spying the retreating man, Melori hurled her lightsaber in a spinning arc that took off the man’s head and most of his left shoulder, misting the air with crimson blood. The middle two looked dumbfounded as Melori slashed at the chubby one and he fell face-first to the ground, screeching in pain, reaching futilely for his severed arm with the other.

Two down and two to go. She wondered where her Apprentice was…she could only keep them alive for so long.

 

[Coren Starchaser]

Objective: Untether via a coin flip
Location: Falling con El [member="Vrag"] o
Post: Still more than most Sith. Less than I can do in the thread, btu I’ll also go over twenty just to be a pain

Fething bat. Coren shook his head. He should’ve been on the ground ages ago and working with the Underground to secure the planet away from the Sith. Where were they anyhow? Didn’t matter. His helmet wasn’t broadcasting the slew of cusses that Coren was having to spout out after the blast threw the pair into another spin. His arm was going to need to be replaced. He knew that.

You could feel that karking chit. He shook his head. Spark was going to kill him.

If the Bat-Sith-Vong-Monstrosity didn’t.

The lightsbaer moved quicker than he could, hitting the helmet he wore, burning out the systems inside the helmet, even if the frame held. Phrik blocked from damage, not plasma heat that melted computer systems. He was an a loss here, he knew it, wasn't worth the fight. Coren might be a bit crazy, but he wasn't suicidal. He had people to survive for, and going against this bat? On a world he couldn't win? All he needed to do was slow them down. Pull the distraction to him. The string of cusses came back as the lightsaber reflected off.

Still in the tethered fall, he had one choice, and right now, he wasn't focusing. His arm was dead, useless. And the pain from it was keeping him in the fall with this Sith. He turned the unwieldy shotgun to his own arm, resting the muzzle above teh Sith's hand, and he fired.

With any luck, he'd lose the hand and the Sith tumor.

 

[Asher]

NPC(s): Emperor of Atrisia, Senate of Atrisia.
Objective: Arrive with company
Mentions: [member="Animus Malgus"], [member="Darth Ferus"], [member="Nomkneer artzhul"], [member="Mantic Dorn"] and [member="Lady Kay"]

It was a curious predicament. The acolyte wooing the crowd and part of the crowd not listening. The young Lady Kay and the even younger Animus were both arguing, but for reasons that were all about getting the story going (mostly due to the fact that this writer is already exhausted as-is) the next few lines would be very shoddy and horrible, but the general idea is the same.

The Emperor of Atrisia looked upon his court once more and then the bounty hunter. He heard the arguments of both side and after a while he merely nodded.

“The woman goes with the bounty hunter.” He took his seat on the throne. “He has the most to gain from it and the Sith still retrieves the woman and her bodyguard for whatever need they have of her.”

There was no questioning his move, his voice was riddled with finality.

“I will give you until midnight to get the three of you off my planet, during which my men will keep a close eye on your activities. Make sure you deliver the woman to the hands of the sith.”

 

[Mythos]

Location: Senate of Jar'Kai, Atrisia
Objective: 3
Allies: OS
Enemies: political Squabble
Animus stood undaunted as his eyes darted from corner to corner as a droid scanner taking mental notes and memorizing all of the proceedings as they came. Animus smiled, never letting his confidence and surety be questioned. Body language was a key part of Politics and business proceedings as they were part of what you were entailing, part of what you are trying to convey, a nervous unsure stature was a shaky statement.

He heard the Emperor condemn the Lady to the hands of a bounty hunter, Animus had no clue this was [member="Darth Ferus"] in disguise so he thought that was that, however he knew that lady would never fall into the Hands of the Sith, the Sith were not going to pay anything for her, The Hutt Cartel was, in reality Animus had nothing on her but they sway of the crowd and his manipulation so in the end, he nodded, smiled and shot a wink at [member="Lady Kay"], the closest thing of an Apology he could muster at the moment.

Animus however, was not done with this Political meeting, the Emperor had gone above him and it nagged at his pride... Animus' eyes locked on the throne for an instant... he envisioned himself there, sitting in power and glory to rule over the Armies of Atrisia.... however he could not move to that goal right now... he would have to set himself up for it, and this was the moment he needed. He ignored the last proceedings as if they had never happened, he still needed to win more of the crowd, more senators more people to his side. But how?

Animus figured he was hot and ready, the courtroom was being moved by him but he needed to move something else if he wanted the Throne... The Royals but before he could do that, he needed the people behind him, the common folk.

"My Emperor there was never Any Argument, i was just pointing out my Duty as a Servant of the people and of my brothers." Animus began to speak again this time with a calm and gentle manner. He now addressed the Crowd of Plebes and common folk in the area, these were who he needed to win. "My people, i come before you as a servant, my authority is given to me only to serve you" He looked at an Atrisian black haired Girl about his age who bared her eyes upon him like two beacons of black coal... her desires were obvious and Animus' raised eyebrow was a sure sign that he would not mind... but... there was the Matter of his heart. "I am interested in what the Common Folk need so i come before you, as one of you. I was just a common boy of a poor family in Naboo once too" Animus was smiling, but his voice denoted a certain sad tone --acted of course, Animus was never technically a poor person-- "I too went through hunger and lack of work, economical and emotional distress known very well to the Common people and that High Class Royals for all their Heart and Good intentions" He looked back at the Royals in a gesture of apologetic patronizing "Know admittedly little about."

Animus had their ears again, every time he spoke more would rally to his cause and he was not about to stop now. "Surely you understand that a Welder cannot Help the Miner in how to make his Job easier" Animus paced through the crowd, using the Force to make sure his voice reached all present, the Dark Side whirling around him like a Typhoon that enveloped all who stood around him. The metaphor was Obvious, he meant to separate the Trust the People had (if any) with the Emperors' high class royals and swing it to the One Sith. "How can a Farmer take advice from a Banker in how his crops should grow?" Animus laughed and quickly added "Trust me the Nabooian Farmers would shiver at even the Metaphor of such a thing" some nodded and gave a light chuckle. it was true... it was a politician's tool in every planet whose High class was miles apart from anyone else, the bigger and less educated the mass is, the easier they are to manipulate.


"My dear people the matter is you need someone who can represent and help you in what you need, that knows exactly what it is you need because he or she has been there before." Animus turned to the Royals, and then back to the people. "When is the last time you saw your Royal Family prance through the Factories and Farmlands?" Animus just opened Pandora's Box... he would continue, but the rabble and explosion from that last sentence sent the Courtroom into chaos. It was, Marvelous.

 

[Lassiter]

[7/20]
O: Follow Sage
L: Where Sage is.
M: [member="Kinsey Starchaser"] and [member="Sage Bane"]

Off killing randoms, abusing the cover of civil war for a moment of her own piece of the fun. Clever girl and if anything ‘illusions’ was something Sena most certainly could pass along to her friend once Sena herself had a good grasp on it. Something that she was bound to make short work of. She always did pride herself off of her ability to learn rather quick, didn’t she?

Something like that.

For now her old self was allowed to resurface for a bit again. Rigid, cold and disciplined. A perfect calm before the storm and a tool for only the goddess to abuse. Sena could spend ages praising herself for reaching the stage that she had, but for the sake of leading things ahead she didn’t.

Being connected to someone else, mentally, wasn’t a new sensation by any means. Nephthys was good at it, one might even go to say that it was how Sena, or ‘Darth Drethi’ had spent most of her time learning.

She knew damn well better than to question the man when he mentioned emotional stability and sanity.

... Not that she had any to begin with.

As a result she merely listened to what he said. Not uttering a word and still keeping up the facade of indifference.

 

[Nomkneer]

Location: Senate of Jar'Kai, Atrisia
Objective: 3
Allies: OS
Enemies: Enemies of the sith


As Animus began to address to the senate, he stands silent and strong, representing the sith with his discipline. As Nomkneer and Animus heard that the Lady Kay will go into the hands of the bounty hunter, Nomkneer was curious about the identity of the bounty hunter that appeared out of nowhere.

Nomkneer at the sound of the bounty hunters voice, as it rattled in his mind repeatedly, he remembered he has heard that voice from somewhere. The voice was in an accent that sounded a bit forced, Nomkneers paranoid mind, because of it, he could not let that bounty hunter out of his head, his voice, it sounds familiar, his way of addressing to other people and his manners, he thought he has seen equal behaviours somewhere. Nomkneer, through his communications, silently ordered his slave "investigate which aircraft did he come in to this planet", as Animus began to address the people, not the senate. He began to woo the crowd this time, for the senate was getting too hardboiled and were not reasoning. Nomkneer went to the "bathroom" again in order to keep in touch with his slave.

The slave took no less than an hour to find out that nobody knew what aircraft did the bounty hunter came in, aparantly, he hid it real good. That gave Nomkneer a whole other level of curiousity, Nomkneer wasn't gonna let this bounty hunter just take his credits.

 

[Lord Ajihad]

[1/20]

Objective One
Allies: OS
Enemies: Deserters

Admittedly, Lord Ajihad wasn't much of a straight-up warrior. He preferred to eliminate his opponents using stealth and subterfuge, eliminating his targets with the force. Therefore, the assassin had yet to kill anyone on Atrisia. He had been on the the planet for quite a while, but had yet to engage in actual combat (yet).

One thing Ajihad seriously hated was a traitor. Even more than that, he hated multiple traitors. And even more than THAT, he hated a large group of traitors brutally abusing other for their own amusement. Therefore, this particular slave camp had caught his eye. It was manned by traitorous scum of Sith soldiers, who had enslaved the local populace. Ajihad was perched far up on the roof of a building, near the camp's central plaza. None of the soldiers had spotted him, looking down at them from above. Most of the soldiers were currently gathered in the middle, forcing two young girls to fight each other to the death. They stood around laughing, as the two teenagers fought.

At that moment, Ajihad flicked his wrists, revealing the hidden blades attached to his wrists. He leaped off the roof, and into the gathering below. Both blades found a home in the necks of two soldiers near the back, killing them instantly. He pulled the weapons out of the men, their blades covered in dark crimson blood. Other men began to turn around, but he plunged the blades into their throats. By the time they realized what was happening, eight soldiers laid dead on the ground. They raised their weapons, and Ajihad grinned. It was about to go down.

 

[Vrag]

[9/20]
Location: Is it a bird? Is it a plane?
Objective: No, it's a Sith Lord!
Enemies: Bid thee farewell, [member="Coren Starchaser"], for the ground is calling to me
Allies: [member="Darth Timoris"] | [member="Matsu Xiangu"] | [member="Darth Ophidia"] | [member="Zaria"] | [member="Lord Ajihad"]​

​

She wanted so badly to wrench that poor, molested limb out the grasp of its fleshy tethers and beat the man with it until he stopped moving — or at least stopped moving on his own, seeing as they were still falling and all that — but she was simply too late to stop his last-ditch attempt to get away from her. Which, all things considered, was quite understandable, because at that point it was becoming clear that the man would meet his end if he didn't.

With a loud, ear-piercing bang and a wet, crunching sound that bones make when you literally blow them into little splinters with a point-blank shot from a scattergun, the non-Jedi non-rebel was… gone.

He wasn't entirely heartless, however, and had left the Sith with a little something to remember him by; a phrik-clad right forearm, blessedly not spurting blood all over the place because the shotgun fired blaster bolts. Well. Will you look at that.

The Hand, unfortunately, had to put the admiration of her newly acquired hand souvenir on hold, because if she didn't, the ground was bound to do so, and rather permanently, too. So with a heavy sigh, the firrerreo resigned to her fate — for even if she'd tried to chase after her opponent, the speed at which she was falling wouldn't allow for that — and bid the Qorih'kralt to spread its impressive wings wide.

Her trajectory started looking up almost immediately, turning the predictions of crab paté into those of a rough landing. Good enough.

The trees of Atrisia flew her by in a messy green blur as she further evened out her angle of flight, altitude steadily falling along with the speed at which she was careening towards one of the epicentres of battle. When her velocity reached a manageable number, Vrag substituted her rifle for the lightsaber and covered her entry with a spray of blaster bolts directed at the bulk of the fighting. Using one of the enemies to cushion her landing, the Hand briefly thought back to her days of doorfing with [member="Reverance"], from Kuat to Khomm and back again. Ah, good times.

A presumptuous soldier was vaporized by the disintegrator attachment under the barrel of her weapon, and then all the memories fleeting through her mind turned into a blur as the Sith immersed herself fully into the ebb and flow of combat, with a non-rebel, non-Jedi hand as her lucky charm.

 

[Zaria]

Post Count: 2/20​

Objective: One - subjugation​

Location: Lost Map = Lost​

Allies: [member="Darth Timoris"]​

Enemies: Everywhere​

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The first two troops to step off the cramped shuttle where dropped at once. The death of their squad mates forced the rest to rush out the shuttle doors with blasters burping and chirping as they went along. Zaria gritted her teeth and followed after them right into a free for all. She barely had time to illuminate her double-bladed lightsaber and swipe aside a shot meant to burn a hole in her chest. Once more she gritted her teeth. ​

​

Zaria had never been in a situation like this. Fighting she had done. Never on such a scale as this. Zaria stayed close to the troops as they exchange pleasantries with the enemy doing anything possible to stay out of their way. They were professionals. She wasn't. When she saw Sgt. Jenkins clutch his belly and fall to his side something inside her snapped. The fight or flee syndrome took a vote and passed their verdict down to Zaria. Fight.​

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Twirling her blade out in front of her she made a makeshift barrier to expel the shots that were rudely directed at her. The troops on her side saw her slowly advancing toward the enemy. The Sith soldiers feeling either a sense of pride or a sense of shame for letting a young girl to walk the fine line between life and death alone joined her. Shots rang out from behind her. Dead enemy soldiers dropped in front of her.​

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The welcoming committee had been routed. Zaria saw the nearest enemy baddie take aim at her. His blaster coughed and spewed emptiness. The soldier turned to run away like the rest of his mates. "Oh no you don't," Zaria shouted leaping high through the air. She landed right in front of him pointing one tip of her twin-bladed weapon at his chest.​

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"You are my prisoner. I think. Forgive me. I'm new to all this." The soldier shook his head trying to hide the smile on his face. Zaria kicked him in the shin saying, "Hey! No smiles allowed!" Zaria handed the prisoner over to the survivors of the ambush. "I need to find my Master," she said looking at the fallen body of Sgt. Jenkins. "Make sure he gets a medal for something." Zaria shot out through the streets looking for her Master.​

 

[Darth Timoris]

[Post =3/20]​

Objective: One - subjugation
Location: En route to Zaria’s ship
Allies: [member="Zaria"] | one squad of Sitherhood troopers (9)
Enemies: tbc

Deciding remaining alive was preferable to delaying the fight waiting for her Apprentice, Melori snapped her attention back to the pair still capable of fighting.

One now triggered his blaster ceaselessly, the other tried to crawl away. Melori redirected the barrage of shots at the coward and a number hit him in the back and legs and he lay lifeless on the ground.

The remaining combatant stopped firing and licked his lips. He was clearly weighing up his options. Melori raised a hand and blue light coalesced around her fingertips before lightning arced to the man in front of her. It hit him full-on and lifting him into the air and against the speeder before dropping him to the floor in a heap, as if his bones had turned to dust.

Straightening out of a wide-legged stance, Melori deactivated the lightsaber and scanned the area, but only for an instant; then she fixed the lightsaber to her belt and went quickly in the direction the Force told her that her Apprentice was.

 

[Coren Starchaser]

Objective: Email my phone a post so i can post without getting history on an office computer.
Location: Bleeding out.
Post: Do we really need to count?

There was no thinking, there was only doing. This was how Coren Starchaser handled things. As opposed to just lolnoping out of a thread, he took it that he was involved. And needed to finish it. He had his team on the ground, and that was important. Soldiers, with bits of infantry training. One team would probably survive. Work themselves into the planet, start assisting the rebels on the world on peaceful takeover. Spread out until the time was right.

Hail Hydra.

They had their weapons, but smuggling others? Getting some past the One Sith barrage of the Dark Lord's Curfew? They had their work cut out for them. But this was what they were trained for. Trained to get into a place, spread like a swarm, teach others their ways, convert people to their team, and start turning the tide. Influencing people and then flipping the coin, turning them around and sending the One Sith packing, all when some mythical 'balance of the Force' moment occurred.

Of course, this wasn't happening for Coren. No. What was happening was him needing bacta, and a cybernetic replacement. [member="Vrag"], being the damned good Sith they were, was not letting go, and that was causing him to respond in kind. He didn't want to end up as some sort of pile that looked like it came from a cat food jar. When he blasted the hand that was being grabbed, yes, the pain ripped through the Force, but at the same time, he initiated his retro rockets to fire from his suit. He was going to get to the ground with two guns, one hand, and a whole lot of whiplash. His suit was going to declare an emergency beacon as soon as he hit the ground, but he was still going to go find something to murder.

Would it be Vrag? Only if the bat came after him.