Paradise Found, Schutta (Rebellion of Mimban hex)

[Isar]

The pathetic humanoid switched from pistol to rifle, firing off a desperate blast from within the depths of the horde that nearly missed. The shot slammed into Warok's right energy shield and the hum from the gauntlet heightened, frantic, then began to spew smoke. The shield flickered and failed, utterly overloaded by whatever sort of weapon the soldier used.

The Necromancer did not stop his chanting, not even when a wall of telekinesis blasted two dozen or more revenant off their feet. A last string of unholy words filtered from his pudgy lips as two figures emerged from the chaos of the discombobulated horde. A soldier and what appeared to be a Jedi. Warok finished the incantation with a final drawn out sibilant.

Above his head, the shimmering air distorted further still until a glimpse of jungle could be seen, as if through an opaque window. The vision solidified for an instant, a mere heart beat of a moment. Long enough for two clouds of black smoke to pour forth from within this ethereal realm, summoned at Warok's bidding.

They coalesced into smoky shapes roughly humanoid, with clawed fingers and glowing eyes like hot coals. Warok pointed toward the two heroes. The demons said nothing, instead launching themselves through the air toward [member="Nick Sept"] and [member="Veiere Arenais"]. They would seek to enter through the victim's mouth or nose and flow into the body in their cloud form, then eviscerate the individual from the inside out. If this could not be achieved, the two demons would merely seek to tear them apart the old fashioned way. Since the infernal beings were stronger than wookiees, Warok did not doubt they could do this with ease.

Still, best to make sure...

He stalked forward in their wake, limping toward the man with the big gun.

 

[Orlong Bann]

Location: Gyndine Orbit
Objective: Shaka's glory.
Allies: [member="Aedan Miles"], [member="Alkor Centaris"], [member="Karai"]
Enemies: [member="Dallen Thayne"], [member="Gir Quee"]

Ruddy with the glow of exiting the atmosphere, the Werda climbed towards the stars, and the scopes scanning far ahead picked up the impending enemy interceptors. Impassively, the Werda throttled forward its engines, burning higher to meet the enemy.

When the starfighters were estimated at forty-five seconds out from contact, the Werda stopped. Engines dropped to the most minor impulse and shields thrummed, turbolaser turrets turning to take aim for point-defense and flakking.

Then the Werda opened her belly and, at thirty seconds from contact with the two squadrons of Typhoon fighters, poured three squadrons of Bes'uliike forth to meet the enemy. Each pilot immediately took aim, and two squadrons swarmed forward and outward to engage from angles. The third took a screening formation around the Werda, coordinating to optimize firelines from the frigate. All three squadrons hit trigger as their targeting reticles registered the enemy fighters entering range.

 

[Nick Sept]

[member="Warok the Defiler"] [member="Veiere Arenais"]


Sept coughed weakly. Black...crud...landed in his hand. That couldn't be good, it match the color these dead things we're bleeding when shot 'em. He must've gotten infected. Well, this speel only seemed to work on dead people, so as long as he didn't, die, he'd probably be.....oh, the gods damn it all to hell. The little hairball was summoning some sort of angry cloud of red, venomous smoke. He could sense the energy in it. Two beings, both made of smoke. One for reach of them. Kark. Kaaaaaaark.


One of the flew towards neck, entering through his nose. He could feel it trying to fill his lungs and permeate his body. He could feel it attempted to solidify. He could hear the audible ping of it's semi-solid form grating against the duraplast that had replace the cold cyborgs lungs. Ichor in his body, it had a dark energy, a different one. And it wasn't getting along with whatever the evil smoke thing was. Unfortunately, having two powerful dark side spells combattign each other while arguing about which way to kill you, and having that argument inside of your artificial organs, was probably the most horrible thing possible. Scratch that, this was definitely the most horrible thing possible. Nick wobbled weakly as he breathed in once, and then vomited out a mixture of black glop and red smoke demon residue.



If Nick had been a jedi, he would've focused on the code's peculair statement, "There is no death, only the force." But Nick wasn't a jedi. And although he had heard that line from jedi, he friggin' sneered at it. Death was real. He'd seen it. He'd lived it. He'd brought it upon more people than most. There was death. And there was the force. And this little hairy jackwagon was trying to turn the latter against the former, as if these poor people hadn't suffered enough. Nick felt his anger. It was louder than the constant droning of the spell in his ears, reciting the Ewok's commands to his revenants. It spoke within and around the hissing of the smoke demon, trying to find a way to claw itself out of the odd amalgam of chassis, flesh, and incredible willpower. He smiled, a spark of electricity coming off of his left eye, a bit of blood dripping from his nose as the Ewok approached. He could like. Not long enough to survive this. But, if he pushed every ounce of will, every bit of blackened anger into his mind, he could endure long enough to finish this fight, to break this contemptible, vile beast in two.



Warok wanted to be feared. He wanted power. Sept may not have seen such a grand display of the force before, but some people were easy to read. This sorceror wanted to be the greatest menace the galaxy had ever seen. He wanted his enemies to run in fear of his presence and name. He wanted atrocities to define him, and to destroy all that crossed him. But like every other terrorist, he wanted to be taken seriously. And like every other jerk who had a specific goal that rubbed Nick the wrong way, Nick did what a good military-grade drill instructor should--antagonize the little jerk.


"Sorry, but I think your smoke buddy ran afoul of my filters," he said with a laugh. He coughed again, but the dinging noise from his torso stopped, just more violent hissing. "Robot pancreas beats smoke and mirrors any day. So, C'mon, show me a good trick this..." The cyborg coughed and wheezed. "....maybe something with a deck of cards? Saw yourself in half? Make me disappear, that'd be a good one!" The cyborg cracked his knuckles, the sweat on his brow obvious. He estimated that even with his artificial respiratory system active and trying to isolate whatever the hell had been forced into him, the internal damage was severe. He had twenty minutes until complete organ failure, if he didn't worsen his injuries. Of course, that meant not getting hit with whatever trick was next. Which was fething unlikely.


He focused for a brief moment as the diminutive limping figure of this walking war-crime advanced towards him. One quick message relayed via an embedded commlink in the skull, before the fight began. One quick message to this team. "Get the hell out of here," the comm-link chirped. "NOW!"


Nick made one last movement. He blew out a ring of red smoke. He smiled through blackened teeth. "Nice flavor on that one....." Now, to hope he'd goaded the little guy into forgetting the Jedi.....and that the cavalry actually had a plan....and that he wasn't about to bleed out in this alley....okay, so there was a lot of hope involved. Long on guts, short on brains. Go figure.

 

[Ayumi Pallopides]

Gyndine was looking better as things overhead in the skies were quiet... she trusted in their fleet over some of the things but was not going to leave all of it up to chance as the Senator stood with the others. They had returned them to the buner and base that was like had been set up a series of power stations for the shield. You dind't just blow one and network goes away you have to actually move across a planet while she was seeing the shield was normalizing and returning to normal. With a small look at a few of the bigger things they had when she was sitting there with a healing cube in one hand and a healing crystal in the other to focus the force energies through the mesh and into her hands where it was empowering the healing items.

 

[Ria Misrani]

Location: Yractos, Gyndine
Allies: [member="Ayumi Pallopides"], [member="Caelag Vass"], [member="Dallen Thayne"]; the Republic, [member="Gir Quee"]
Enemies: the Mandalorian Empire; [member="Orlong Bann"]
Objective: Make it Count.

Between the rains, and the darkness of night Symara and her platoon broke through the streets, cutting a clear lane for vehicles to get in and out. The sound of boots against the ground could be heard thundering toward the Corporal's last known location which was somewhere between Exocron and Danube. Somewhere out of nowhere, the Senator chirps about pay, and it annoys the feth out of Symara. Now was not the time to address something like that. Last Symara recalled Caelag needed help, and so, as she paced herself through buildings finding the city's end as more of Gyndine's thick forest became apparent.

She wondered what she was doing here, what was she doing fighting for the Republic. What had the Republic done for her, for Corellia? What could they do? What would they do? All of those thoughts ran through her mind, as she caught a Longbow-class heavy vehicle heading for the corporal's last known coordinates. A running grab, and pull, found the sniper riding on the outside of the vehicle. Like one rides along side of a tank, lifting herself up to sit down on a part of it, as the rains continue to beat down on her and her men.

The skies above Gyndine, are now filled with fighters, interceptors, and carriers all looking to engage one pocket carrier. And while it had deployed squadrons, Gyndine was launching just as many, if not more. Thunder cracked above Yractos, lightning danced across the blackened night sky. The Q-Class carrier that had launched from Command Post Echo was now joined by an Imperial lictor-class dungeon ship, one that had been launched by Command Post Indigo, as the second flight of pursuer-class escorts launched from FOB Rheinstrom.

The first flight of escorts were gaining on the pocket carrier, and would soon make contact.

Meanwhile, down in the tunnels, Captain Blackwell led the wounded toward Command Post Hotel, those who couldn't make it down on their own were being helped down. The hospital had taken the brunt of the damage, and out of all of Yractos it had the most damage. It was a grizzly scene down here, blood flowed from the wounded all draining down to points within the tunnels. The smell of burnt flesh now permeated the air down here, and in groups they came out of the evac tunnels into Command Post Hotel, creating their own makeshift triage center.

All the while, Symara on that Longbow thought about her future and thought about what she wanted. To be honest, she didn't really know, it wasn't a question she had asked herself. She was a soldier, a sniper, and an officer all those things meant something, but what, she didn't know. Spending all this time protecting a piece of dirt that she didn't even own, looking down at her armor she looked at its colors and the markings on it. She had a duty to Caelag, to find her and help her out, and from here Symara didn't owe anyone else. Caelag had been someone she met at the Republic's ball, and was a nice enough person to at least inform them of what was happening.

The Senator? She was a job, Symara can put her resignation with her - there'd be plenty of other people who could play babysitter and bodyguard to her. Jumping down from the longbow, Symara continued on foot, pressing down on her comms. "Corporal Vass, where are you? It's dark, it's raining and you're tiny." She says over comms, "don't tell me you've let that Mandalorian get you already."

------​

Admiral Quoald and Carrier Strike Force Erso moved to reinforce the shipyards, "you heard'im men." He ordered, the Selkath put a hand under his chin as he stood aboard the bridge of his ship. He turns to Lieutenant Wershin, "what's the word on Battle Strike Force Andor?"

"Still en route sir, should be here soon, perhaps they can join us on the shipyards?"

Quoald nodded, "yes give them the coordinates and have them drop there."

"Of course sir."

"Admiral Lod, you got it. Erso is moving out toward the shipyards, we'll have our lines hold formation there." He transmitted back, and watched as the strike force began to move. "Wershin have the CAGs run intercept and defense patterns."

"Yes sir, right away."

 

[Thoja Arlos]

(Sorry for the lack of posting, I'll try to be more active one this if possible )

Location: Yractos, Gyndine
Allies: GR
Enemies: The Mandalorian Republic
Objective: Coordination of ground forces

"Bloody EMP!" Thoja yelled, as reports came in of various casualties. This wasn't what they needed, and the mandalorian's would pay for the damage it had caused.

"Get our wounded treated asap, those who can fight need to be send back out, we can't give up now." And that's when another death report came through, this time it was one of his own. Mopek. A good man, a man you'd follow into the thick of it. "Can't lose faith." Thoja muttered to himself, looking over the reports again.

"Sir, Captain Blackwell has the wounded and has setup a makeshift treatment area."

"Alright, tell him I want to speak asap."

[member="Symara Tarriq"]

 

[WolfMortum]

Allies: [member="Nick Sept"]
Foes: [member="Warok the Defiler"]

Veiere watched through furrowed brows as the necromancer summoned another two beings to join the fray and fulfill his bidding, these demons of the force, enveloped in the Dark Side and built of smoke and hatred sought to kill them, with no other goal in mind but to purge those that would challenge the little ewok. To his right, Nick Sept seemed to consume one of them and knowing not what might come of this yet expecting the same to be thrown his way, Veiere extended his left hand and cast the force around him to produce an effective protective layer of light around his body so that the approaching demon would fail to take his resolve.

In response to this, the entity of smoke lashed out at him with claws that looked like they could cut into his flesh as easily as his blade was raised and separated the demons hand from it's arm. Only for a moment did this seem fruitful yet again the demon moved to approach and it's hand wisped up into a small cloud of red before reattaching itself and moving to strike at him again. Throwing himself backwards in an accelerated and strengthened leap, he called to the force around him to guide himself in his landing; returning his lightsaber to his belt and instead the strength to meet this foe in a battle of force.

So rarely did Veiere use the Force in such openly aggressive ways, yet this thing that approached him was a manifestation of the Dark Side and warranted no need for hesitation. With some distance now from Nick and the defiler of the Force, Veiere focused on the demon and extended his left hand once more, this time using a sustained hold of telekinesis, he held the creature in place whilst with his right hand he reached out to that of a double storied building already in tatters from the fighting on the war front. What was left of the support beams did not take much to severe, the building crunched and collapsed in upon itself, covering the street and where the apparition had been, permacrete, metals and general debris sent up a cloud of grey that plumed around the fallen mass, Veiere's breathing staggered yet remaining on his feet, he watched and waited for any sign of failure to halt the demon.

Alas...

Much to his dismay, he could see the movement of red against the grey, the creature that the Ewok had summoned was made of smoke and therefore had managed to slip through the cracks of the fallen building and worked it's way back to resemble the original humanoid form once again stalking the Jedi. Closing his eyes but a moment, he could feel the ware of his body and called to the empowerment of the light, his mind open to keep a watchful eye on his surroundings whilst briefly seeking guidance from the force around him. He was tired of the fighting, could feel the stain that such death had left upon the world; this war had to come to an end.

The demon was once again met with a wall of force energy, a telekinetic barrage of consistent power as Veiere sought not only to keep it from him, but to use all of his strength and momentum to see that this creature was torn asunder. As it were, the apparition was forced back yet did not appear to be waning under the use of the force. Digging deep into himself, Veiere sought the use of altus sopor in that he might draw in upon the flow of the force around him to amplify his ability to drive the creature back into the depths. Something however took to his use of the force and much to his surprise took to light up the area as he continued to press the demon with all that he had in him. Knowing not the limitations of his ability, he did not halt as the creature seemed to scream out in anguish before being consumed by the light and violent torrents of telekinetic power, it dissipated from the street and as soon as it had, Veiere ceased his force use before near collapsing to his knees, panting and trying to restrain his arms and legs from shaking. It would seem that he had overdone it, asked to much of himself and for the time being, was forced to regain his composure.

 

[Isar]

Brilliant light blazed from the Jedi, catching the demon in an illuminating beam. Warok lifted an armored paw to shield his eyes as the very fabric of the dark side creature tore apart under the harsh ray. When the light faded, nothing remained of the summoned fiend. Evaporated, like fog beneath the rising sun.

The magus, source of the light, now stood shaking from his over exertion, a leaf in the wind.

Warok lowered his arm and let out a cackle. No wind he, but a hurricane.

He limped quickly as hobbled leg would allow toward the soldier who talked too much, a trail of blood in the Ewok's wake. The nearer he drew, the wider his mad, pudgy grin became until it seemed to split his face in half.

"Last option, I like, hooman. I will make you disappear."

The necromancer shambled to a stop in front of the man. He'd told his friends to run. [member="Boethiah"] would take care of whatever remained of the Jedi. There was no where for the soldier to run. Nowhere to hide. The revenant dead continued to mill about, numbers severely dented by the efforts of Vereen and company, but still very much present.

Small paws curled into fists. A whining hum issued from the gold gauntlets covering each arm. Warok smashed his fists together and sparks flew from the connection. The man wanted to trade blows with an Ewok, thinking victory assured. The thought made the ursine indulge in a snicker.

Without further retort, he reached out in the Force and attempted to yank the soldier toward him at the same moment he chambered his right fist for an explosive punch. The gauntlets Warok wore did not merely provide protection from attacks. They were installed with the same generators miners used in repulsor hammers. Repulser hammers which were capable of shattering boulders in a swing.

Succinctly, if Warok's pull succeeded he would launch a punch capable of concaving durasteel armor right into the human's pelvis region. He would either smack him in the bladder, producing its own set of problems, the groin, or the pelvic bone. The intent was to cripple the man's ability to pivot and turn his torso, or to cause blinding pain. Warok looked favorably upon any of those outcomes.

[member="Nick Sept"]

 

[Ayumi Pallopides]

Ayumi was standing there with the others while they were talking, all of the work going into it witht he people had given her a chance to work on treating injuries as she spoke looking at some of the engineers that had roamed around with them. "This mesh you brought be is helpful, if we can use them for more things it should be able to come in handy more for combat situations. Channeling the force through it might make you stick out like a sore thumb though but it will be worth it to prevent things like this." She stayed with it while walking over and starting to work on using the healing cube with other injured soldiers. She rolled her shoulders with a small look while reports were coming in.

 

[Nick Sept]

[member="Warok the Defiler"] [member="Veiere Arenais"]


[youtube]https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4ahHWROn8M0[/youtube]


Perhaps, it was selfish. Yes, int a lot ways it was interminably selfish, to something so callous as to martyr oneself. Nick knew how bad he was, and he knew how damaged he was. Worst of all, he was surrounded. He could evade the pull, either by diving into a cloud of zombies or tackling the Jedi. Nah. Sept knew a trap when he saw one. He was a friggin' survival trainer. He'd been caged, he'd been trapped. Now, the only way to go was through the little bastard pulling him closer with this force crap. But, for better or worse, it was time to end this.




The clone lunged forward, rolling into push, a low somersault moving with it, one hand reaching to his boot in a practiced movement. He aimed to moved into the path of Warok's punch. A punch that could shatter stone and crumple durasteel. The Alumasteel casing on Septs artificial lung, where the blow connected to his lower form, didn't stand a chance.



The RK-17 synthetic lung work almost as well as the real thing. Instead of using molecular bonding, it used electrolysis to re-bond oxygen into the blood stream, and a secondary pump system to emit carbon dioxide. Outside of the the electrolytic converters, it was just a big air pump with an alternating system for inhalation and exhalation. Well, when it wasn't getting a hole blasted through it. At this point, only the intake pump was moving. Sucking in air. And hairy, tiny fists covered in over-price gloves. Warok would feel the annoying, goopy sensation of his arm being sucked into the man's chest. A literal sucking chest wound. Even dying like a smart-ass. Go figure.


Selifshly, Sept had saved the people he cared about--his squad. But in exchanged, he died here. The number of warnings that flared across the cyborg clone's photoreceptors were too numerous to count, diagnostic data on all rounds, telling him in clear, uncertain terms what the force had already told him a minute ago, what he had figured out shortly after landing in this street. The Senator was dying. But, he had strength enough left for one last swing. And better yet, a captive opponent. If he could speak, he would've made some witty one-liner. But having just lost a lung, that was no longer an option. No witty banter, no show of glorious force power. Just a laser-knife from his boot. Aimed at the bear's neck. If he didn't dodge or block the blade, Warok the Defiler was about to be known as Warok with the slit throat. still, this it. The force couldn't keep Nick going forever. small amounts of blood and black ichor came from his photoreceptors. His sinuses were overheating, his heart was failing. Sept would disappear. The question was whether or not this furry bastard would join him in hell.


(OOC: Warok, you can count what happens here as a PC kill at this point, you've earned it. It's been a pleasure fighting heroically against you.)

 

[Isar]

The repulsor gauntlet hummed wildly as four armored knuckles gouged right through the human's thorax. Hydraulic fluid and blood spattered Warok's fur in arterial spurts. The Ewok tried to retract his arm, but found it lodged there, inside the human. Disgusted, he hauled back his other fist, only to feel a prickle of danger raise scraggly hackles.

Left hand shot up, too slow to stop a short incandescent bar of searing plasma from unzipping the warlock's throat. Warok scrabbled at the open wound with his armored fingers, pulling fur and skin tight against the pain. A horrible gargling hiss came from the severed trachea. Eyes of tar fire blazed with madness.

In his rage, Warok clawed for the arts most effortless for him to access, the primal spirits - beasts of his native world. His body trembled as the pneuma of the Rakazzak Beast, swiftest of arachnids, suffused his being. His right hand plunged deeper into the human, impossibly fast, fingers searching for the spine so that he might seize and crush that column of bone with a strength born of the forest's heart.

[member="Nick Sept"]

 

[Nick Sept]

OOC: Heh. I always wanted to go out on a high note. Let's go for the highest.


[youtube]https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fJ9rUzIMcZQ[/youtube]

[member="Warok the Defiler"]

with apologies for [member="Lady Kay"], who requested this a while back.

Also tagging [member="Miss Blonde"], [member="Geneviève Lasedri"], [member="Aleidis Zrgaat"], [member="Popo"], [member="Jack Sparrow"]



IC:



As the clone felt the fist dig deeper, his body failed. Heart. Lungs. But the mind, the mind didn't fail. Maybe it was the force. Maybe, redundant computer systems. Maybe, just maybe, the short life of the clone decided to have one final burst. But, for reasons that no one could define, the last moments of the Seantor's life were not blinding pain. they were an odd sensation. A sensation of binding oneself to death, of accepting on'es life, and altering everything. Kark. That. Noise. There was one voice left in Sept, and it was louder than hell, and it rang. It rang from a shattered commlink, ringing a grand finale through the planet. One grand finale.....





Was this my real death?
Or just a conspiracy?
Caught in a sith storm,
No escape from this lunacy.


Grind your vibroaxe,
Cut through all the #facts, and screeeaaammm...
I'm just a poor clone, living through his sad dream,
Because it's Senate life, fight for votes,
Quorum's high, discourse low,
Anyway the war goes, Jedi would not dare save me, not me...


Garter, just stabbed a Sith!
The bastard felt my blade, my final gambit played,
Garter, I've but one regret,
And that's the blaster bolt I saved for you...



Garter, ooohoohooh (any way the war goes)
It's now my time to die,
When I'm not back to speak up in the senate,
Carry on, carry on, because this clone's life still matters....



Too late, this war was won,
Ewok's lodged inside my spine,
There's no pain, I'm feeling fine,
Goodbye, everybody, it's been a blast
And now I'll see you bastards all in hell,


Garter, oooooh (any way the war goes)
I don't want to go,
I sometimes wish that I'd never been cloned....


Plasteel grated as the lights flickered out in the clone's photorceptors. But the spirit left. No soul left in the husk-like body as the strange plague took it over, decaying the flesh. Warok could likely sense it leave the body, and it was standing there, immaterial, several feet away, just standing and observing. No eyes. Was he born without them, or did his ghost just forget what they looked like? Hard to say. Still, the ghost wailed, loudly. Warok, and any other careful enough person, could hear it, if they were paying attention. The clouds seemed to churn, angry at all of this. Why? Why would a world shed tears for this stranger?




I see a little silhouetto of a clone,
Force be with, one and all, call the Senate to order!
Blame it on Lasedri!
Fill the clones with dread me!
Blame Lasedri (Blame Lasedri)
Blame Aleidis (Blame Aleidis)
Blame the senate, Blame Popo
BLAME POOOOPOOOOOO!!!


I'm just a poor clone, from a poor colony,
He's just a poor clone, from a poor colony,
Spare him the pains of your failed policy!!!


Quorum's high, Discourse low, do we get to vote?
Fallen Clone! No you do not get a voice! (Let him vote!)
Fallen Clone! You do not get a voice! (Let him vote!)
Fallen Clone! You do not get a voice! (Let him vote!)
Do not get a voice! (Let him vote!)
Never have a voice, oh!
No. No. NO. NO. NO!!!
Oh, Make a choice! Make a Choice! (Oh give him a Voice, Let him Vote)
The Senator's Rebuttal now comes tonight! Tonight! TONIIIIIGGGHHHTTT!!!!!



Thunder struck across the sky. It was rumbling. As if the passion of a dyign man could summon not some magical force storm, but a rain. A slow, pitiless rain to wash away the sins of this city. No magic. No great blessing. Just...the subtle tone of utter defiance in the rain. Just a hint, a spark, of not giving a damn. Of wanting to take the whole damn word with you. Another bit of thunder, the sky seeming to weep in chorus for the many fallen of Mimban. One last funeral cry....



So you think you can stand there and rip out my spine!
So you think that my flesh is fit upon to dine!
Ohhh, Warok, you think you've done me in Warok,
Let me assure you that I'll see your bear bones in hell!


(Ohhh, hell, yes, hell)

Nothing really stops me,
Full of pain and dread,
Nothing really stops me,
Nothing really stops the dead....


(Any way the war goes....)



And with that, the curse of Nick Sept happened. A small warning. The Ewok, Garter, Lasedri, the worst of them, would pay. The ghostly creature laughed as he left. "Any way the war goes...I come with it...." he rasped before vanishing.