Junction The Final Countdown - AC/NIO/EE/GA/Enclave/BotM Junction of Dromund Kaas/Centares/Lutrilla/Aruza/Hypori/empty hex above Sposia

[Erion Justeene]

​

Objective I: Found a fight, prepare for it.
Location: New Kaas City, Dromund Kaas
Equipment: Lightsaber, Voidsaber
Allies: BOTM, NIO
Enemies: AC/EE/GA/Enclave
Tags: Stone Gra'tua

Similarly, Superious braced himself against the onslaught, his Lightsaber no use in such close combat, he could use it but then he would risk limb loss too. So, it was not a very good idea. The Beskad bit into his arm more as the blade sliced flesh and left a decent gash. Which will leave a battle scar and an impressive one of that.

This was bad, he lost most of his advantage points and the tiles were beginning to shift underfoot. The blade of Stone's Beskad dug into his skin and drew blood. It hurt, but as of right now he wasn't bothered by it. The fight was the focus point. He shifted footing to keep his footing as they strained against each other. Stalemate is now the focus here, neither of them budged. But Superious knew that he had to break it soon, but he can't think of how to do that at current. Most of his energy is focused on not getting skewered with a sword made of Beskar. Impressive man and Superious knew he had to give him praise for the resilience shown here.

Then the sky split open with lightning and the Ubese got an idea, an idea that could allow him to regain an advantage once more. So, he was able to wriggle himself free and land on the opposite roof, his arm sporting a deep and bleeding wound, blood mixing in with the rain. The pain was making his fingers and hand burn with nerve misfire. But the relief turned to sulphuric hatred and the Force spiked outwards in a burning wave.

Then from his hand, a wave of Force Lightning burst forth, leaving a sharp odour of Ozone as it crackled through the air and right at Stone, Superious hoped it will hit the Mandalorian, he even wanted it to hurt. Very soon he'll bring the Void Saber into play but not yet, it needs a definite opening.

 

[Stone Gra'tua]

Objective 1 : Hunt Sith
Location : Dromund Kaas, New Kaas City
Equipment : Signature/Profile
ALLIES | NIO | AC | TE DECEASED Erskine Barran Nukth Kelga'an Annor E-059 Hoken Stryte The Fool Pietro Demici Don Belkora Jerec Yularen Siv Dragr Mira Athrani Morrow Heinrich Faust Djorn Bline Thonn Rokkal Julian Qar Vulcan Krayt
ENEMIES | TSE | BotM | Keilara Kala'myr Rowena Percival Io The Mongrel Kyrel Ren Zachariel Steelblood |
Engaging : Erion Justeene

Lightning flashed, rain poured, and the blood flowed as the Mandalorian and Sith battled one another on the rooftop above New Kaas City. Stone felt the pressure against his forward push diminish, as his opponent used his agility to retreat to another rooftop, bleeding from the deep gash in his arm. "Oh no" The Shi'ido did not let up, firing his jetpack for a quick leap to match Superious, closing the distance between them. "You don't."

Superious' arm came up, and Stone reacted before the expected blast of Force Lightning came forth, ducking low, grabbing for the Ubese's outstretched wrist with his left hand. If he succeeded, he'd still take a hell of a blast of electricity; but the spasm of his hand in the crushgaunt would be able to turn the Sith's wrist to powder. An acceptable trade, as the Mando'ad saw things. His beskad now reversed, as he ducked, Stone swept it at Erion's opposite thigh, aiming for the thick muscle, in a rough but powerful slash.

The battle for New Kaas City was a free-for-all, with several armies involved, and Kad knew how many agendas. The Mando'ade of Clan Gra'tua had come upon several tunnel entrances, and after a brief comm coordination, began sending teams into the tunnels to mine them. The explosives they had to hand were a mixture of thermal detonators, repurposed mining charges, and a few seismic charges they'd pilfered from various ships. Vansen commed to Stone updating him on their progress, but got no response, all he'd see was the urgent comm message in a corner of his HUD, something easily ignored mid-fight.

Beneath New Kaas City, teams of Gra'tua Mando'ade moved swiftly through the underground passages, leaving detonator-linked explosives at various cross tunnels, on braces and stanchions, and any sturdy-looking arches and buttresses they came across. Those with heavy armor led the way, able to absorb fire and return it, while the swiftly moving Supercommandos kept to the flanks, ensuring they overwhelmed any threat before it could slow the progress of the sapper teams. The longer they worked, the more of a nasty surprise they could set up for their enemies.

Spoiler

Teams of Gra'tua Mandalorians have begun to penetrate the city's tunnel network and lay explosives

 

[Aeric Kaze]

KAAS
ALLIES: /
ENEMIES: All
NOTICE: Dagon Kaze

Aeric's head slowly bobbed up and down, a combination of excitement and anger bonding together at the sight of the figure approaching.

He watched him as any predator would watch their prey. Still a JEDI. DELUSIONAL. Caught up in his own thoughts, his head bobbed again, convinced, more than ever as to what he should do. What he had to do. Kill him.

A sulfuric glow emanated from the black hood on the steps, two brightly shining eyes staring daggers of hate at his kin. Rising up from his seated position, his hands extended out from the robes. Sickly pale, but the man they belonged to did not move like a man bound to go to the grave soon. He made measured movements, admittedly slow, but it was to take the measure of him. How far he had come from nothing.

Ruusan... So far away.

They'd become unrecognizable since then.

How long has it been since then? What have I accomplished?
NOTHING.

He was still youthful in appearance, in movements there was no strain of age, but where natural wrinkles formed was cracked skin. Beneath the robes, black lines formed where veins were situated, their darkness more profound in some places than others. While covered, Aeric suspected Dagon had become experienced enough to see how immersed in the Dark Side he had become.

From the gentle and bright eyed little brother that could never see wrong. His fist clenched tighter around the saber hilt, trembling.

He's different.
Weak.
He is not what he was on Ziost, or even Ossus.
-This time you'll kill him.
...I hate what he's become.

He could see the determination in Dagon's eyes from where he stood. He'd grown strong. Maybe stronger than even him. But he had the advantage of Kaas itself. The history of the Dark Side, the atrocities committed here in the past. So much death that he could draw from to strengthen him.

"I've come to bring you back...brother."

He smirked.

"Back? Do you know where we're at?"
Kill him.
"This is the only place we need to be... Home."

He reached out, beyond Dagon to their periphery. Just them.

"You came alone?"

His pale, colourless lips twisted into a malicious grin.

Run out of girlfriends to kill?"

He shook his head, raising a hand to cradle his skull before he shuddered violently, shutting his eyes as he suppressed the nagging voice at the back of his head.
Talk when he's dead.

"You're right," he quietly muttered, dropping his hand.

"I'll bury you next to our grandparents."

His free hand raised, and Aeric opened his eyes, drawing from the interlacing network of energies that pervaded the world. The darkness that plagued his flesh grew, becoming more profound and darkening more, and as he instantaneously consumed the aphotic energy, he released it in an explosive deluge of vibrant, cracking, purple-white lightning.

 

[Spindle]

TAG: Lord Letifer | Darth Saevius | Pietro Demici | Ingrid L'lerim

"Achoo!"

The entirety of Spindle's near-skeletal being shuddered as the settling dust tickled her nose. Her climbing from the rubble, twisting and contorting around it rather than shouldering the debris away, somehow managed to be both graceful and jerking at the same time. She kept close to the others, approach aided by quick feet and Darth Saevius ' efforts to keep their presence unknown. Her wandering, curious gaze, saw the Sithling stop every now and then, something catching her eye among the rubble before quickly scampering to rejoin the small hunting party.

She hung back a hair as her master and the Darth lept into the fray. Better to leave the initial assault to those capable of brutish strength. She didn't wait long, however, slipping into the battlefield to take advantage of the ruckus already being made. Coming up behind one of the many crusaders, a bony, long-nailed hand worked quick to tear away any headgear the crusader possessed, grabbing a handful of hair and wrenching their head back. "Such a pulse on this one. Fascinating." She hissed, her free hand grasping at the crusader's throat, the ichor-stained fingernails digging into flesh until her fingers felt the gush of warmth. Then, she pulled, a grin just a bit too large for her face pulling at the corners of her mouth as the body toppled to the ground.

Stepping around the form, she quickly knelt to brush her hand clean on the corpse' pant leg before continuing further into the fray, lightsaber hissing to life as she ducked away from a crusader's weapon. Mobility and subterfuge over strength was the name of her metaphorical game and Spindle played for keeps.

A flash of panic hit her as a projectile soared into the air, followed by a sparkle of confusion as large eyes locked onto the item. That wasn't any explosive she'd seen before. Nevertheless, stopping to contemplate its authenticity was a waste of precious seconds. She dived for cover, arms raising to cover her head as she awaited the explosion.

 

[DECEASED Erskine Barran]

4th post
THE FINAL COUNTDOWN
Objective 1: Once More Unto The Breach
The_Woad
IMPAF-Command

313th Stormtrooper Legion,"Sabretooth Legion"

NIO: Jon Kovacs Delilah Jones Shai Maji Julian Qar Morrow
The Fool Keilara Kala'myr Don Belkora Annor E-059 Hoken Stryte
Bex Tarring Jerec Yularen

Allies: Vulcan Krayt Ingrid L'lerim Eina L'lerim-Vandiir Pietro Demici
Baron Reinhardt Ström Stone Gra'tua Siv Dragr Iris Arani Mira Athrani

Enemies: The Mongrel Rowena Percival Io Erion Justeene Zachariel Steelblood
Kyrel Ren Blade Ice

ERSKINE'S LOADOUT
Basket-Hilted Vibrosword Claymore
Fragarach Model Heavy Disruptor-Pistol
Sentimental-Value Fairbairn Vibroknife
Beskar Knuckledusters
Erskine's New arm

THE LAST DANCE: BARRAN'S FAREWELL TO THE SITH EMPIRE - PART 6

Historical District, Kaas City,
Dromund Kaas (870 ABY)

<"Copy that, Grey.... An' if ye want to join in the festivities down here with yer blade, you are more than welcome. Lance One out!">​

'Do we spring forth as we are, or do we wait for the Maw to find us? We'll be causing mayhem either way, sir.... Unless you have more devious tricks up your sleeve?'

The seemingly-mad Woad's plan was finally in effect, but not quite enough time had passed to facilitate the arrival of the others, but it was still perfect enough for the one who had been calling all the shots until that moment. Everything made sense to the Lord-General in that moment, as the background correspondence had suggested he was smart to include everyone else in his plan, to join in at the first opportunity, as all great parties ought to be. However, the sound of the rain and thunder would find itself smothered by the sound of yelling and disruptor-fire, followed by a roared,'WE'VE GOT COMPANY, SIR!!!! LOOKS LIKE AN ACTUAL SITH!!!! HOW DO WE PROCEED?!?!?!?', from one of the Sabretooth troopers to the north. Whatever thoughts or plans Barran had on the next sequence of events, none would prepare him for the experience that both sides of this riot were just minutes away from embracing for themselves.

'YOU FALL IN BEHIND ME, AT THE DOUBLE!!!! I'M CALLING DIBS ON THIS ONE!!!! YOU HEAR ME?!?!?!?!'

'AFFIRMATIVE, FALLING BACK NOW!!!!', the Sabretooth-trooper in the distance responded, with obvious grief-stricken voice cracks heard like snapping bones in the process, given confirmation by the growled obscenities the trooper was expressing when they passed by. Lord Erskine would then grab them by the arm and shoot his subordinate a questioning look, to which she revealed,'Corporal Nizzale - that freak back there turned her.... I had to, sir. Nobody else would.... She's dead, sir. Compromised.', through gasps and suppressed sobs of despair. Whoever had died nearby was very close to the individual who was standing before the Lord-general in that moment, shaking like a leaf with tearful, adrenal rage as Barran momentarily considered his answer in silence, considering the severity of the circumstances they'd be charging into as a result.

'You'll now be fighting for the good memories you share with 'er, but please let me get close to this freak o' yours first.... My plans are decidedly unchanged now.'

'Go join the others, Sergeant. You did all you could, trust me on that.', Sir Martin chimed in, stepping into the Stormchaser's periphery baring naked Durasteel in anticipation for the first advances northwards. And yet, as the Sergeant walked sullenly towards the rest of the Imperial contingent, the Lieutenant kindly turned around to continue,'She'd be glad it was you, Praxt. Better to die by kindness than the animosity of those who don't know 'er like you do, to hell with the circumstances! Remember Nizzale for the hero she was, both you and the Corporal deserve as much.', to the kindly, amiable shock of the sword-wielding officers within earshot of it. After all, these were the words of a man who sounded like he'd finally made peace with the deaths of both his closest friends in life, something of a wondrous turning-point for IMPAF-Command to behold, despite the harsh turn of events that led to such a moment occurring.

'SAPPER-TEAM, FIND SOME MANDOS AN' SET EXPLOSIVES - TO BLOW THIS ENTIRE DISTRICT SKY-FUCKING HIGH!!!! GET MOVING!!!!'

'Whit?', Lord Erskine baulked, seeing the looks on his subordinates' faces, though he was relieved to see that Sir Rosk'Aiar remained unfazed, in a complete contrast of behaviours to his peers in that moment of moments. Looking into the eyes of McGechin and Wyll once more, Barran's grey irises seemingly illuminated before them as he drawled,'Too much to ask for just a wee dose o' chaos, is it? Too much for staunch scions of order, aye? Naw, no even maybe.... If the Lord-General wants his bedlam - then bedlam he shall have, gentlemen.', with an air of confidence that had never been seen in his demeanour before. The Woad was onto something, but nobody could quite figure out what that was yet, not even those with some level of access to mind of the Lord-General could put a finger on what he was tapping into, what he had learned of the Maw in the journey to Dromund Kaas.

'You'll know what it achieves when the smoke clears, in the meantime - I'd rather teach these Mawites a thing or two about terror.... And in turn, I want the Galaxy to see what Imperial barbarity looks like! The Bastion Accords failed us, and the Galaxy should know that, unlike the Maw, we're a monster of our former allies' making! EVERYONE BUT THE ENCLAVE ARE ENEMIES!!!! AN' HERE IS WHERE I MAKE THAT STATEMENT WITH FINALITY!!!!'

Rosk'Aiar finally stood up, using his Gaffi stick to aid the process, but instead of showing signs of disapproval, he roared with all his might and threw his uncharacteristically-sleek Gaffi stick with intent, steaming out the goggles in his war-mask with a wrathfulness not seen since the reconquest of Nirauan. Letting the roar's echoes die out, Lord Erskine leaned in soon after to say,'At least someone understands the concept anyway.... Oh, let me translate this time. Hold up - alright, go! "Accord, Maw, one sows chaos - one prays for it. But Lord Erskine treats it like a brick, mad enough to throw it at his enemies.", bloody Hell! Well put, man.', before turning back southwards to think on the elite trooper for a moment. The lack of hesitation would be needed whenever the hostilities were to reach their heaviest, most-frenetic moments in all of the fighting, maiming and killing the Stormchaser was hoping for - and the Elite-trooper would have front-row seats to every last part of it.

'Bring me that Elite-trooper, something tells me I'll be needing a stone-heart today.... It's going to get messy after all, an' she'll be needed to shoot us both if we fail. At least this way, we can make a war-hero of the youth an' fast-track 'er to a life more peaceful than this fuckin' madness!'

THE LAST DANCE: BARRAN'S FAREWELL TO THE SITH EMPIRE - PART 7

Historical District, Kaas City,
Dromund Kaas (870 ABY)

'They're here! Ready up!'

Seeing the Elite-trooper running up with the Mantellian and the Mirialan Sabretooth officers on either side of her, the Lord-General smirked to himself, drawing his basket-hilted Vibrosword and letting it sing through the raindrops and out to the right in full-arm extension, a right arm that had been fortunate enough to have escaped the afflictions and demise of the left. Followed by the small (but no-less intimidating) Imperial host, the trio of troopers leading the mob were a dominant sight to behold, closing the distance with shoulders thrown back proudly, leading the other troopers with a mutual sense of belonging that fuelled Lord Erskine's almost-narcotic adrenal rush as he bore witness. Everything made sense to the Stormchaser in that moment, like all the Woad's previous harsh outcomes were leading to an ecstatic victory he felt he could almost reach out and snatch up with both hands.

'FOR FEL - IMPERATOR!!!!!'

'WE BLEED FOR THE NEW ORDER!!!!'
'WE BLEED FOR THE NEW ORDER!!!!'
'WE BLEED FOR THE NEW ORDER!!!!'
'WE BLEED FOR THE NEW ORDER!!!!'
'WE BLEED FOR THE NEW ORDER!!!!'
'WE BLEED FOR THE NEW ORDER!!!!'​

'AAAAAAVEEEEEEEEE RUUUUUURIIIIIIIIIIIIIIK!!!!'

No Coruscant-Mantra here, not on Sith-Imperial soil, not while Kaas city's ugly backdrop still remained to offend the eyes of the Woad assailing it, not while the symbols of resistance remained to aggravate the Imperium's veterans of the Third Imperial Civil War. Running off ahead of the Imperial mob, even with the sight of Mawsworn walkers on the northern horizon, Barran charged on ahead of the others with his sword outstretched before him, roaring obscenities as the streets reverberated with every last second of it. But when he saw the body of the trooper his subordinate had mentioned, Lord Erskine had looked up to find the one responsible walking off to the east with a casual, unaffected demeanour; stopping everyone as they caught up to his position by holding both arms out to either side, the Stormchaser's warning would serve as an entertaining change of pace for the others, bringing out a smirk as Barran walked out in front of the mob to single out his opponent once and for all.

'Greetings, stranger! Looking for any - Barrans by chance?'

Speaking from the gut to project his voice, in the usual close-range application of parade-ground projection, Lord Erskine left no doubts as to what he was actually saying, making it all the easier for his would-be opponent by slowing his spoken rhythm for the stranger's sake also. Then, much to the Lord-General's relief, his words could be understood well enough despite the broad, lilting nature of his Goidelic accent, seen in the fact that Barran's opponent started an immediate beeline towards him at the mere mention of his surname. Muttering,'Gooooood.... Lemme get a good look at ye, see who I'm dealin' wae this time.', to himself, Lord Erskine found himself looking towards where the eyes would be, though the stranger was still too far away to exhibit any visible facial features yet. However, something changed Erskine soon after, recalling his son's description of Khaostra Devoid as the orange glow of his own opponent's eyes drew into distant visibility, and understanding instantly what sort of foe he was dealing with.

A Howling Crag, out in the wild.... Interesting development, to say the least.​

One who was strong enough to help him prepare for his next (and perhaps for what Lord Erskine expected to be his last) duel against the Mongrel, one who was strong enough to test Barran's mettle, and perhaps strong enough to aid in the discernment of his remaining shelf-life as a warrior. A real challenge, and Barran's first since winning his last-known duel with Lord-Colonel Gowrie.

Oh, Michael. What shit-pots you've been stirring in my absence, laddie.​

'I know why you're here.... You came to Dromund Kaas for some o' that clan-on-clan violence, didn't you?'

The stranger with the orange-glowing eyes then stopped within striking distance of the Woad, staring fiery wrath into the cold glare of the Imperial standing before him, almost as if these individuals were contrasting, mirror-images of each other. Barran then subtly offered his neck in goading defiance, never once possessing or even needing to call on the power of the Force before that day, muttering,'I want you to tell me everything of my son's fuck-ups afore we start oor wee bout.... Or at least, all the information your clan considers you privileged enough to keep. Enlighten me, and you shall have your fight - this I promise you now.', as he took two steps back to study the movements of his opponent with a little more ease. The Woad's opponent was a couple inches taller, though with an arm-reach that was very much identical to his own, and lighter too. If there had been a tale of the tape, the only differences would've been in age difference and in Win/Draw/Loss-records specifics, though it all mattered very little to the Woad-born betting man, always taking his chances against the worst odds with a smirk on his face.

'After all, you're getting in the way of a good riot.... An' I want to know why!'

 

[Ingrid L'lerim]

Lady Ingrid L’lerim Ragal Terassi Vandiir
Eternal Empress of the Eternal Empire, Lord Commander of the Wardens of the Shroud, Archon of the Primyn Group
Empress of Terraris, Supreme Commander of the Terraris Command, Head of the House L’lerim, CEO of the HPI Consortium​

Objective: Purge the Sith, and occupy the city.
Location: New Kaas City, Dromund Kaas
Equipment: Kiss of the Red Witch | 2x Sigra vibroblade | 2x Striith vibrosword | The Soulsabers | Heilagr MK. I Assassin Armour | Viper Mk. I Skinsuit | The Last Gift || Empyrean gland | OPBC-01m
Writing With: Pietro Demici | Lord Letifer | Darth Saevius | Spindle
Allies: AC/EE/NIO/GA/Enclave | Baron Reinhardt Ström | Open
Enemies: BotM | Open

[ Empress ]
<"High Nelvaanian"> | ~ telepathic communication ~ | << comm. channel >> ​

Since Ingrid had not received a message from the daughter of the cheese, she had no idea that she was the one who sent the message. In any case, the woman was still amused by Demici's behaviour. Now, however, she did not speak, just nodded and let the cardinal talk to one of his men. Because the Empress was perfectly aware of her own abilities and knew that Eina had inherited them, she wasn't really worried about her.

Okay, a little; she had the usual maternal fear in her, but she was nowhere near worried about her, like she was worried about Adrian while the man was still alive.

"The Enclave or the NIO?" she asked, then she nodded. "I know!"

It was when she felt that they were not alone. A predatory smile appeared on her lips for a few moments. As the three Sith arrived at the camp, Ingrid calmly took out her two swords from their sheaths on her back. She has always preferred traditional blades over the lightsaber. Although she had lightsabers, the two blades contained Adrian's soulshards. It would have been ironic to kill Sith with the soul of a Sith. Even if her late husband was more one of the worst Sith with his behaviours than a truly fearsome Sith Lord.

"I hope you have no problem with assassin methods, cardinal!" she looked at the religious leader.

People always forget that she is the deadliest assassin in the Unknown Region and she was probably in a very upscale position throughout the galaxy as well. Ingrid felt the power of the three Sith and their dark side. The Empress was hungry, hungry for their energies. When she looked at them, she looked at them like a predator used to its prey. She wanted their feelings, the dark side that was inside them. Ironically, however, the woman was never Darksider, always neutral, only, the Dark side fed her and granted most of her racial abilities. The gift... no, the curse of the Sith, what she got from them. Carnifex also learned this when he wanted to defeat her with the Dark Side, but he only made the red-haired woman stronger and stronger.

"Cardinal, did I ever mention, at the last days of the Third Civil War, did I almost become the Sith Empress?" told the truth, but in mocking voice, about the pity fact that anyone could be of high rank among the Sith, even if they had nothing to do with the Sith. "Fortunately Lord Grayson was the prince charm on the white horse. and saved me... however, it would have been interesting if I had the chance to behead him in the bedroom and destroy the Sith from within…"

The next moment Ingrid picked up her helmet as well and then headed in the direction of the three Sith. Her movement, springy, smooth, like a big cat; deadly. She reached into the Force, though she no longer had to absorb the feelings from others through drain essence to be able to use Force, but it was a working method, and she let the negative feelings, fear, panic, terror, chaos permeate her body and soul. After a few steps, she reached deeper into the Force again and teleported. To the three Sith, very close to them, so she only has to take a step or two to reach them…

…once she had these steps or two, she tried to strike down the Sith closest to her with her swords.


//OOC: I suppose Fyre and Mack is the two person who is near to her, and Logan will go and fight with Infal, but I'm not wrote any name, I let you decide who is those two characters.//

 

[Valery Noble]

​

Location: Dromuund Kaas​

Valery: Appearance​

Outfit: Factory Link​

Lightsabers: Link!​

Tag: Ishida Ashina ​

Baddy Tag: Darth Kentarch ​

​

"Balance seems difficult when it comes to love."​

​

Valery nodded her head lightly, silently at first as she ducked underneath some branches to remain close to Ishida. "Nothing worth it in life ever comes easy," Valery said with a soft smile before she had noticed the body laying on the ground. As much as she enjoyed talking about these things with other Jedi, this snapped her into combat-focus immediately.​

​

With a hilt drawn into her hand, she crouched and followed after Ishida, who moved up to gain a higher vantage point from where she was able to see their target. As the shurikens flew out towards the Sith, whose presence she had felt stand out within the dark jungles of Dromuund Kaas, Valery began to move as well. First circling around, she chose an approach vector that would draw Kentarch's vision away from where Ishida was still located, hopefully allowing the Padawan to take advantage of that.​

​

Then with a burst of blinding speed, Valery came out of the bushes, hilts drawn and with her thumbs over the activation switches to ignite the violet blades. All around her, the darkness began to envelop the area but she would stand out within it like a beacon at night, her fiery orange eyes focused on her target. Through her training as a Shadow, the woman had developed an almost passive Force Immunity to shield her mind against forces of the Dark Side, allowing her to pierce through the shadows and approach him.​

​

Finally, Valery was moving into striking distance and knew this was going to draw his attention whether or not the Shurikens had drawn his gaze up towards Ishida. The woman's gaze narrowed and with both weapons drawn, she opened with the first flurry of fast-paced strikes towards the powerful Sith Lord. With this fast, aggressive approach, her plan was mainly to draw him into the fight, and allow Ishida to join so they could work together at overwhelming the man.​

​

The battle had started.​

​

​

 

[Annor E-059]

Annor E-059
Objective 1: Once more unto the breach.
Writing With: DECEASED Erskine Barran , Blade Ice .
Historical District, Kaas City

Annor stood in the centre of a wide street littered with debris, and the carcasses of buildings fell. Greer's dismounted Sabretooth troopers fled from the advancing cultists and monsters. At the same time, nursing injuries passed the Elite on either side and stood alone against the oncoming tide. Greer pauses for a moment, Annor's drenched eye lenses turn in his direction. "Problem, Leftenant?" She asks without mirth or audible concern. Greer observes his platoon's bio com monitor. The man was astonished to see Annor E-059's heart rate was sitting comfortably at forty-two beats per minute while he and his men battled for their lives.

Greer clasps a right hand around the trooper's left bicep and looks across into those polarised eye lenses. "We've lost this here, plaza Elite, we need to withdraw and regroup with the rest of the Battalion!" Annor pulls her arm away from the centre of Greer's palm, and he releases it without protest. Greer's eyes tremor in their sockets. The Elite didn't move from her position and turned gaze down the street toward the shattered remains of a grand fountain. "All you've got is what's on you! Against an entire army!" Greer angrily exclaims that he didn't want the Elite trooper to waste her extreme strategic value on a bloody intersecting plaza.

Swallowing loudly, Annor pivots towards Greer in a precise movement on her feet. "Hold still." Annor's hands pilfer Greer's grenades and power cells straight from his pouches with a surgeon's precision and stern, determined purpose. Greer didn't resist. He understood that she had listened to his advice and in Annor's stubborn and obdurate way. "It's enough." Annor now takes several steps forward, the sounding of the beasts' wails and shrieks grew louder, closer. The maw howled to swallow the blood of Imperials. Annor raises her rifle and drops her knees. "Go, Leftenant!" She said in a cold, apathetic voice without looking back.

Greer green orbs examine the Elite's movements as she breaks out into a sprint; Annor launches off her feet into a sprint of such grace and velocity he thought they couldn't possibly be wholly Human. His disbelief was suspended further when Annor's path took her in an arc along the side of a tall structure. "Ancestors of my kin, that's not humanly possible?" Greer wonders in wordless silence for a moment before he turns and follows behind his platoon Sergeant's silhouette whose size had diminished, such as the distance between them now. "Is the Elite even really Human?" Greer wouldn't know. Nobody on the battlefield had seen her unmasked.

Time passes, and Annor is laid flat on her back, staring toward the nigh black sky punctuated with its' fluffy clouds; her empty personal energy shield metric flashes red and blue in a panic. A message window appears on the holographic helmet-mounted display. Text crawls across it <<E-059. YOU ARE NOW DIRECTED TO RETURN TO LORD-GENERAL BARRAN'S CLOSE PERSONAL SECURITY DETAIL>> Annor contracts her abdominal muscles and steadily rises from the rigour where she had fallen in the centre of the damp emptiness of the wide grand fountain. Annor was at the centre of a thick ring of no less than twenty to thirty broken bodies. Annor braces a hand against the fountain's centre and pulls her legs out from underneath the torso of a giant tattooed green-scaled Trandoshan.

Rising to her feet with staunch composure, Annor using the neural bridge of her armour activates her hyperwave radio. "Hush, say no more, my lord." The optical camouflage system engages, and Annor's silhouette blends seamlessly with the bleak blues and greys of Kaas city. Annor did not allow herself any measure of pride or satisfaction for interceding to save Greer's men, believing herself to have done it for her own selfish reasons; she wanted to know what it felt like to do the 'right' thing and be a 'hero' to the soldiers. Annor finds it to be a burden. Brought on by an unwanted and disdained apprehension of scrutiny.

Annor's optical camouflage system powers down, and she quietly emerges from the scenery among the Chief officers of the Legion. One of the officers, a Mirialan by the look of things, spooks. The green-skinned officer jerks away from the Elite Trooper and instinctively reach for their holster. "Be still." Annor makes a gesture with both hands outstretched and fingers extended. There were no weapons in the Elite's hands, firmly hosted against engaged magnets on the thighs and over Annor's shoulder.

The Imperials charge, shouting their reverie for bloodshed but not Annor. Annor remains wordless, quiet as the grave and produces a pistol into left-hand and a collapsed lightsabre in the right. Annor engages the former Sith's weapon and its' crystal shrieks to life. E-059 begins to dice the Empire's enemies like a butcher on the indigo coloured blade with technique. The battle had descended into a mad brawl, and Annor's lips curled into a wicked smile as she stared down one of the Maw's champions. The champion looked like a nightmare from fiction; an ox-man with a pair of tall, proud black horns and crimson fur-covered skin. Horribly disfigured and twisted, in its talons, there was an axe its' haft made from a fully-grown oak with a head fashioned from what looked like a speeder door. "Black Stormtrooper will not be so tough, me think! Crack open like crab!" Its' taunts are made in guttural snarls.

"You talk too much." And so the two titans duel, with awestruck Sabretroopers and Mawite cultists given pause to spectate the two champions' colossal struggle, their story one of grotesque bestial strength against precision engineering.

 

[Caarlyle Rausgeber]

DROMMUND KAAS
NIV TREGESSAR
Allierten: Orys Draste | DECEASED Erskine Barran
Enemy: Marlon Sularen

​

"Sir, the largest enemy formation is moving to intercept us!" The Sensor Officer reported with a shrill coating to her voice. Rausgeber turned instinctively to the viewport. There they were. Almost right on schedule. Sularen would never not try to take the opportunity to intercept and interdict his forces. He would make the man pay for his insolence. Carlyle moved toward the viewport, and watched as they closed in. It appeared he was the scalp Sularen was looking to take. Intriguing.

"Prepare batteries for close engagement." Rausgeber commanded with a sneer, "Have Malice Squadrion, take aim and fire with its artillery frigates. Concentrate bombardment on the lead vessels, and maximise damage." The Admiral Regent ordered with a strict rigidness, "Scramble fighters in defensive formation, and prepare pertard fighters. Target, their sistership. We want to maximise the damage." Rausgeber's cool gaze travelled across the bridge, "We will not let this insolent worm try to stop us." Carlyle smirked, "Actually, prepare a line. I want to speak to this, Sularen fellow personally." There was a flurry of activity then among the bridge crew as they worked to present their leader to the opposition. A thumbs up from one of the technicians sealed it.

"Grand Admiral Sularen?" Rausgeber began with a question, quirking a brow, "Is this even your rank? I'm uncertain as the entire military structure of your regime. Intelligence seems to vary between whether you're in charge. The monstrosity known as the Mongrel. Lord Halketh, or Darth Caelitus?." The First Imperial alumni chided, "But back to business, I am Admiral Regent of the New Imperial Order, Rausgeber. I assume it's through reputation we now meet. And your need to gain a reputation, leading you to move your vessels toward mine." The officer continued, "And it appears you have opted to attack. Bold. Stupid. But bold." The man continued, straightening his posture, "You must realise Grand Admiral, that you comparatively to the other members of your cohort, are a pion. An insignificant waste of skin. Whose ego will mean wanting to take my scalp." Carlyle allowed a grin, "Something I will not allow to happen this day."

"But beyond that, you right now, are in an unenviable position. Being besieged on all sides by the forces of the Galaxy here. And yet you've decided to overextend your supply line, line of retreat to defend the dying regime of the Sith." Rausgeber posited in a pleasant, warm tone, "Well not even the Sith, the inbred warren that is the Carnifex Clan." He licked his lips, and eyed the man. Well more so the camera, chewing up its scenery. "Interesting, is it not that you now sit here. In orbit. Moving to assail me. Presumably, not on your own volition. You strike me as a man, despite your present allegiance to be of logic and reason." Carlyle paid the backhanded compliment. "Which is why, your presence here presently is so curious. I think you and I are similar Sularen. Obviously, maybe a deviation of seventy or so IQ points. But not necessarily dumb."

"If I were in your position, marshalling a large navy. A position I assume of esteem within your regime, would not sacrifice it for Drommund Kaas." Carlyle continued, "It seems, you are whipped. Little more than an over glorified chaperone, at the beck and call of someone whose decided to sacrifice you in order to defend, and presumably extrapolate what remains of an Empire." Carlyle continued, "An Empire which with some certainty would have tried to attack and destroy yourself, and your presumed superiors. And the one, we destroyed." The Admiral Regent continued, "Take it from me Grand Admiral. You are be playing for a fool by the other rabid warlord, or an eyeless fuck who can't hold an erection." Rausgeber's voice took a darkened turn, "And by deciding to follow through on that order you have chosen to envelop yourself into my maw, ensuring I will seek to tear your throat open and watch you die." He raised a clenched fist. Transmission over. Hopefully before some reply could be crafted.

"Have Draste and his squadron perform hit and run their other flank. Keep close to the vessels, make sure their larger ordinance are unavailable to be used against us." Carlyle coldly snapped. The time for pleasant snark was over, it was time now to engage and destroy. Without a doubt, the seeds planted to make Sularen question himself would not take root. It was more of a want to satisfy his own ego. To toy with the soon to be dead man and let him know who was going to end him.

"Milord, report from the surface." Brigadier General Jod barked, "Lord General Barren has confirmed we're in contact." Rausgeber nodded. Good. "I'll let him know when we'll be in prime position for attack." Brigadier General Jod then paused and looked to Rausgeber, "What sort of support are we to provide milord?" He inquired, raising a brow to Carlyle.

"Base Delta Zero. When the time comes we will show these stubborn hold outs annihilation is all that they are worth."

"Sith Delenda Est."


FLEET COMP
NIV Tregessar x

2x Reprisal Class Destroyers x

4x Cuirassier-Class Cruisers x

2x Stalwalt Class Carriers. x

4x Tirallieur-Class Artillery Frigates x

6x Escolta-Class Escort Frigates x

9x Gurkha-Class Corvettes x

4x Cacadore-Class Corvettes x

 

[Onrai]

Thule, Massassi-class Corvette, Void Refit

The Adamithium-Doonium composite hull of the Thule had weathered everything from turbolaser barrages and ion cannon fire to mass drivers and exotic plasma weapons at the hands of the enemies of the Sith Empire, and of Vanessa Vantai herself. The fire from the frigate's hypervelocity guns dented and dinged the already aged vessel, whose hull still bore Sith identification numbers and which showed much charring and rust - the molecular shields absorbed the turbolaser fire, redirecting it into the systems of the experimental corvette and furthering its resolve to end the conflict swiftly. Once more plasma shone as another potent pulse of proton energy lanced across space to strike at the enemy warship. The forward gun of a heavy cruiser grafted into the corvette's systems had required further automation that had, over the years, remained mostly intact - though the gun itself remained at half-power due to the reactor strain, which had ironically allowed the weapon to remain functional and suffer less wear over the many decades.

As the Thule closed in, the rapid-fire diamond-boron missile launcher began to spew its ordnance towards the hostile Nebulon-S. The forward plasma cannons joined in on the fusillade as the ships drew closer, more of the corvette's secondary armament coming into play. Its anti-fighter composite beams were primed and ready to engage any additional fightercraft that chose to try and aid their vessel.

"The gratitude is that of the Void Irregulars." The captain responded to the freighters' hails. "We've tagged your freighters and will contact you within a day after you successfully exit the system. Head to the nearest jump point."

Whether they listened or not was admittedly of no consequence - only the subjugation of this enemy vessel.

Sasmay Cull

 

[Kalie Alverez]

AGENT: KALIE ALVEREZ
OBJECTIVES I - ONCE MORE INTO THE BREACH: OBSERVE AND GATHER ACTIONABLE INTEL ON Don Belkora 's ASSOCIATION WITH COMPNOR.
PRIMARY ENEMY: Asa Yubari
OTHER ENEMY TAGS: Don Belkora Jordi Massad Kazimir Tragovic


“We’re the kriff are they…” She muttered under her breath, growing impatient as she began to wonder if she had assumed incorrectly regarding their intended target. She quickly and quietly bolted back to her X-wing, grabbing her decently-sized duffle bag from the cockpit and throwing it down against the ledge of the building. After rummaging inside, she found what she was looking for… a small stealth drone. She sync’ed it up to her Datapad and tossed it into the air, the motors catching as it shot up silently into the sky.

She leaned up against the side of the roof, observing the feed from the drone as she began to guide it over the adjacent streets, high enough above that it was unlikely anyone would even notice. Her eyes lit up and a smirk spread across her face as she found the small band. She zoomed the camera in… confirming that Don Belkora was indeed one of them.

“Gotcha!” She whispered. “Now... let’s see what you're up to.”

She settled into her position on the roof top, ready to follow her target wherever he might go. This could be exactly what she needed. She hit the record button and started to capture the footage from the feed onto her data pad.

 

[Sasmay Cull]

WEAPONS: 4 Whimsy Knives, 1 Nastirci Combat Knife, 1 HG-88 ‘Big Iron’ Hand Cannons, K914 SMG, (4) Elemental Grenades, (2) Impact Grenades, Phase X-E CryoSonic Heavy Pistol
EQUIPMENT: Phase II Haywire Armor without force mask UL-13 Corporis Skin Suit, Kirino Visual Interface
FLYING: The Gray Queen's Throne carrying The Termite
ESCORTING: x3 Agrilat-series Freighters lightly loaded with food, medical supplies, and buildings materials in internal storage. Heavily loaded with Refined Rhydonium in outer containers.
LOCATION: Entering System near Brotherhood of the Maw space
TERMITE GEAR: 1 HG-88 ‘Big Iron’ Hand Cannons -(Outfitted with Glitter Bullets), BR-3 Rowdy Rancor, Winter Rose Rifle, Phase XI Anti-Material Rifle
DROIDS: (4) Droid Bois - (Tremor, Clang, Skitter, Pop)
ACCOMPANIED BY: Myunna
TAGS: Onrai Darth Carnifex
ENEMIES: Anyone that interferes - BoTM
ALLIES: Unknown

The ship bucked beneath the continuous fire being thrown at it as someone informed the pair about the turbolasers. Sasmay grinned madly, Vella held on for dear life as the captain let herself give into a familiar feeling.

The force had never felt like a familiar friend.

Difficult for her to grasp or call upon except in her most dire moments. Or when madness seemed to draw her into its depths. But this time was different. Something was nearby. On the planet or...somewhere.

It didn't matter as her anger grabbed for that focus. Clawed for the thing that had eluded her for so many years. A near hopeful reaction at finally being able to perform the task as she used that strange focus to draw the force towards her.

Unwittingly channeling her access of the Force through Darth Carnifex . The split second access drew with it the His presence. Manifesting within her as unchecked power rushed in to fill the empty vessel.

Unprepared, her body struggled with the sensation. Her anger flowing freely as those aboard grew nauseous in the furthest corners of the ship. Those on the bridge were brought to their knees, evacuating their stomach and sobbing at the dread that filled them.

Sasmay stood in silence, form rigid as she struggled in the midst of her fumbling for control.

The ship ceased firing, ceased controlled flight as the enemy vessel pummeled it's shields and scored the hull.

"C-CULL!" Vella struggled to yell as she pushed against what felt like a planet weighing her down. The effort to lift her head a fight as she stole a glance at the woman frozen at the center of the bridge. Stuck channeling the sudden influx of energy into an untrained body.

----The Three Agrilat-series Ships making for the Thule----​

The call from the sensors aboard the ships was concerning. The original plan scrapped as something was plainly wrong with the Throne. Rather than risk something happening, the three freighters pressed on, sailing past the Thule.

Keeping the pods attached rather than dispensing them beside the intended bounty as had been planned.

"Solid copy." Came the reply, unsure of what was to happen to their crew mates they were leaving behind as they began to warm up the hyperdrive.

Spoiler: CARNIFEX AND ENEMIES OF CARNIFEX

Sasmay tapped into the force through Carnifex, also drawing his presence for a split second. Those paying attention to his presence will have felt the draw.

​

 

[Wyatt Morga]

"Any leads?"​

​

For once, Wyatt was at a loss for words. Besides the information she was inside, he didn't have much to go on - it was a double blind ambush. Taeli didn't know they were going to come here, and they didn't know Taeli was even going to be here until a few hours ago. So, as a response to Julius Sedaire 's question - he simply shrugged.​

​

"Force guide us, I suppose.", he said with a quiet smile to his old friend.​

​

"Let's see what happens."​

​

With that, Wyatt turned and ignited his blade - sprinting and leaping from the edge as he began to fall towards the ruins. A split second later - and the white current absorbed him, making him appear quite suddenly walking into the front entrance. It was dark - but he could feel the quiet strength of those that stood inside. Somewhere in this hall was the Sith Lady Taeli Raaf - and with her stood a barricade of Sith flesh loyal to her demands.​

​

The blue glow of his blade washed him and his features - contrasting the dark with a single point of light admist all the shadow.​

​

" Taeli Raaf !", he called out - waiting quietly for a response.​

​

"I've come to redeem you - with blade or with words, it is your choice; but I can't let you leave this place."​

 

[Onrai]

Thule, Massassi-class Corvette, Void Refit

The disruption of the vessel's firing patterns, caused by the bizarre spike of Dark Side energy, encouraged the captain of the Thule to move the vessel in almost side by side with the enemy corvette, less than a kilometer away. Plasma cannon fire at point blank range joined the starboard turbolaser battery and the diamond-boron missile launcher at further opening fire on the evidently crippled vessel. Unfortunately, there were not boarding shuttles or transports to call upon to seize the ship once it had been appropriately disabled, meaning the best they could hope for was to keep the ship occupied as the freighters escaped.

Of course, the captain wasn't the only one keeping an interest on things. Onrai herself had transcended the physical limitations of space and time in her quest for godhood, and her presence eagerly eyed the sudden burst of a power that was, to say the least, familiar to her. So it was that on the bridge of the enemy vessel, the shadows of the deck seemed to coalesce into a more permanent, more physical form, one that eyed the captain for a moment before saying three simple words.

"You're not him."

Sasmay Cull

 

[Darth Solipsis]

DARK LORD OF THE SITH | VOICE OF THE MAW
Dark Force Temple
Noel Strasza

​

The temple had been far from empty, it's halls made silent as the dead. Corpses, freshly slain bodies torn asunder by the strong, by the New Sith whom had claimed this site as their own, littered the entryway. Cultists, zealots, misguided weaklings whom clung to their ideals of empire and heresy. Enemies gathered, fighting outside the walls and in the jungles. The city was engulfed in inferno, chaos far in the distance, the world burned under the scorching heat of the cleansing fire. It was beautiful.

Inside the dark edifice of stone and mystic energy, the Sith'ari waited. Within the sacrificial chamber, the very same once used in attempt to bring forth the second coming of Marka Ragnos, a ritual of great malevolence was in the making. Brilliant light cast over the many Sith statues silently watching from the dark corners. Their stone eyes almost fixated upon the events unfolding before them. A swirl of energy that was the miasma of the Dark Side itself collided together above the dark chanting forms of Sith below. Arms outstretched, they called upon the power of the Bogan for what insidious purpose unknown. Sweat rolled down their brows, the air intensified, crackling sparks of wickedness unfurled. The once sacred chamber, bastardized into a throne room by forces unknown shattered, the makeshift throne constructed near the dark altar, crumbled beneath the weight of the power arrayed within. The Dar k Lord spread forth a vile grin, a sickening smile that spread from ear to ear full of dark grimace.

The heavy doors opened. A figure entered, one silent as the grave and as deadly. Low light shined against their armor and infrequent flashes from the unholy ritual illuminated the void to what could not be seen with sight beyond sight. The Elder lifted his gaze to meet the approaching figure, his ember stare piercing forward into the form of what was.. not Rurik. A void in the Force, non-existant, much like the Yuuzhan Vong he faced in the days of the One Sith, or the Confederate Dreadguard of old, perhaps even the Mandalorian Tal'Verda under their A'lor Kix Tal'Verda . An emptiness, space untouched yet filled by tangible flesh and metal. He knew not for certain why he could not sense her, but in truth he did not care either.

That's when it suddenly hit him. Even in the heart of a Force Nexus, a vergence of dark power, he felt a drain on his power. The ritual waxed and waned, it's power fluctuating with the presence of the newcomer. The Dark Lord hissed aloud as his eyes ignited in a savage glow, immediately seeing the threat for what it was.

D A R K L O R D O F T H E S I T H​

The Dark Voice stepped aside, partially submerging his body in the ever present shadow of the room. Snap-Hiss! The crimson crackle of his crossguard roared to life, his long tattered cloak flowing in the static air as he moved. Flutter-Rip! The long cloak snapped outward, the Dark Lord bursting with speed across the chamber in a near blur, slowed by the drain to his power yet fueled by the ever present hunger for violence against the interloper and her Imperial master. Rushing in, he feinted a forward thrust before pulling back just before reaching the Iron Executor with both arms as if yanking on something before spiraling out to the right flank of his enemy tugging with his concentration set upon a Sith statue shattering into flying debris. He'd seek purchase with his very blade, no longer in control of the stone shrapnel that he struggled to pull forth with no clear target in the Force but himself and the direction of his enemy.

Crimson sparks, faint and weak, crackled between his free hand's fingertips. He struggled to summon forth the power of the Dark Side, if not for nexus permeating the walls, the soil, and the very swamp around them he would not have been capable of utilizing his power as such. Even if diminished, his fatal bolts of crimson hate would make due wrapped around the recourse of his blood thirsty saber. He would smite this foe and scrub the stain of the Fel legacy from the history books.

Noel Strasza​

 

[Sasmay Cull]

WEAPONS: 4 Whimsy Knives, 1 Nastirci Combat Knife, 1 HG-88 ‘Big Iron’ Hand Cannons, K914 SMG, (4) Elemental Grenades, (2) Impact Grenades, Phase X-E CryoSonic Heavy Pistol
EQUIPMENT: Phase II Haywire Armor without force mask UL-13 Corporis Skin Suit, Kirino Visual Interface
FLYING: The Gray Queen's Throne carrying The Termite
ESCORTING: x3 Agrilat-series Freighters lightly loaded with food, medical supplies, and buildings materials in internal storage. Heavily loaded with Refined Rhydonium in outer containers.
LOCATION: Entering System near Brotherhood of the Maw space
TERMITE GEAR: 1 HG-88 ‘Big Iron’ Hand Cannons -(Outfitted with Glitter Bullets), BR-3 Rowdy Rancor, Winter Rose Rifle, Phase XI Anti-Material Rifle
DROIDS: (4) Droid Bois - (Tremor, Clang, Skitter, Pop)
ACCOMPANIED BY: Myunna
TAGS: Onrai
ENEMIES: Anyone that interferes - BoTM
ALLIES: Unknown

Her form shuddered beneath the power suddenly flowing through her. The slow turn of her face meeting the shadows in slow cadence with the overwhelming drum of her heartbeat. The ship seemed to pull inward as the words echoed from the unknown presence in her ear.

Him.

It felt familiar hearing the word. Knowing the implied person within that simple description.

Him.

Her attention barely held at first, now entirely shifted to the being that had welcomed itself aboard the ship she was aboard. The people around them suffering from the intensity of the pressure of Sasmay's presence as she turned in measured control to face the thing.

Him.

The shields of the ship were weaker to the side, still offering no fight to the onslaught. The hull groaning around them as it tried to hold out. Spots in the shielding beginning to form holes as the whole of the ship rocked against the Baradium weapons being brought against it.

All of it felt fleeting. Meaningless as the singular, now crimson eye took in everything around her. A presence that had graced her for merely a moment offering in its wake an insight that had destroyed the sand filled bedrock of her world.

The air around her seemed to shimmer, heat filling the space as the armor she wore seemed to struggle.

"Where is He?" the careful draw of her words paralleling the slow extension of her will into the ship. The shields slowly drawing to the side as the holes in the shield filled. The guns slowly wheeling in the mounts towards the Thule as the crew were pressed into their seats or against the floor.

Vella sank to the floor, unable to keep herself upright as Furball gave a shrill wookie cry from the communications pit.

----The Three Agrilat-series Ships slipping away----​

The three freighters slipped into hyperspace. Unable to send a message back to the Throne as they watched in abject horror as the vessel seemed lifeless and adrift.

Something with the plan had gone horribly wrong. Had gone so far south that none of them dared interfere as their captain had sworn them to.

The rodian cradled his head in his hands, worry seeping in about what to do as they slipped into hyperspace and away from it all.

 

[Noel Strasza]

LORD EXECUTIONER
THE IRON MAIDEN
LORD EXECUTOR
NEPHILIM | SHOCKGAUNTS | PRIMARY | SECONDARY | GRENADES
// Darth Solipsis \\

​

The revenant stood in unnatural stillness for but a moment, the smothered lights of her eyes situating themselves with the weight of conviction upon the viper's mouth. No sound left her, no words minced nor spared for the likes of him, merely, his hiss of realization was met only by the cold drip of his forces' blood from the contoured edges of her bulwark. She waited, anticipating his initiative when he recognized she was not who he was expecting. She waited, knowing he would realize she was the most graven threat, a walking mortal reminder, built to reach up to the heavens and tear the defiling gods from their thrones, breaking their bodies upon the ground amongst the mortal men they toyed with. His rush was countered not by a burst of animation, her statuesque poise shifted only gradually, her left leg sliding back against the cold floor.

She tracked him with inhuman ease, her onboard scanner latching parasitically upon his heat signature alone, and this was made known by the snap and twist of her head, following his motions. It was not her first dance with the Sith, nor would it be her last. The years had taught her well, experience had honed her into a weapon capable of more than brutish force. The crackling groan of foundations overturned drove her body to fire, launching her weight from the heel planted behind her. Debris whistled by, the cyborg twisting herself about in deft pirouette, her heavy boots grinding against the dust-laden floor, she slid opposite of him until weight pressed down, ceasing her glide. Obsidian shards flashed from their newfound beds, puncturing the heavy plate of her armor, but it didn't appear any had breached her hull enough to damage the machine beneath.

Hands down, across her form, she almost appeared to be hugging herself. Until she wasn't. Both hands snapped upward, the silver canisters of matching grenades glinting fiendishly in the light of their changing environment beside her shoulders. Thumbs flicked, sending twin rings to clatter against the floor, and a mere second after so too fell the grenades. The grenades popped by her boots, but rather than explode, a thick red mist hissed into existence, creeping insidiously from the uncorked canisters, it hung low to the ground. Ravenous grenades, ingenious tools crafted by the hands of men to fell their disillusioned gods.

The creeping mist stained the floors and lapped at her tainted armor, tendrils of it warped around the hands she washed through it, coating her gauntlets generously in the toxic haze. Its influence grew, unfurling sickening petals into the room, the red orchids bloomed. And disturbing their wicked expanse, the cyborg launched forward with speed beyond man, utilizing the dust scattered across the floor to her advantage. She swept a hand low, swiping a cloud of the toxic fog intermingled with the dust toward the Dark Voice, an aim for the eyes, and thereafter arrived at her destination proper. Devastating scattergun in one hand, the cold rack echoed from Solipsis' front left, followed swiftly by the thunderous bellow of the 'Doombringer' singing its song of revelation.

She was no Fel.

​

 

[Darth Solipsis]

DARK LORD OF THE SITH | VOICE OF THE MAW
Dark Force Temple
Noel Strasza

D A R K L O R D O F T H E S I T H​

Sparks flew, rapturing forth from the fingertips of his free hand around the hateful blade in the other with crackling power. Dust and light debris that had rolled off his enemy spread over the Dark Lord as he raised his guard to witness shards of obsidian find purchase in the Iron Maiden's armor but not enough to breach the hull beyond that which was cosmetic.

Fascinating.

His opponent rolled her arms back appearing as if to cross her arms in a self-hold. A brief moment, followed by the sudden emergence of two smoke granades unleashed across the stonework floor. The weaponized cannisters popped off near her boots, spewing forth a thick red mist immediately from it's container. Instinctually, common sense dictated the Dark Lord simply wave both from his vicinity as he stepped back to make distance proper. No warrior with experience, common or veteran would willingly allow themselves to be subject to gases unknown and the Sith'ari was no different. The cylinders would skid off on their own, clanking across the floor until detonating from the superheated charge after it's mandated five second countdown to emit their foul contents without restriction.

The stained stonework near the Iron Maiden soon found coating in the remnant strands of crimson gas, wrapping her gauntlets in the toxic haze generously she launched forward with unmatched inhuman speed.Sickening pedals of red mist grew where the cannisters went off, interrupting the ritual as the Sith chanting found themselves compromised by the gas of one such weapon. In the midst of it all, Noel swept her hand low, swiping a cloud of dust and toxic fog toward the Dark Voice. His hand rose, blocking out the noxious gas and debris with a strained barrier erected.

The United Mandalorian Clans used similar tricks and tactics in the height of their glory. She would have to do better.

Her sudden racking of the scattergun caught his immediate attention, the 'Doombringer' fired shattering his barrier with a forcible push. The Dark Lord skid back, shrapnel fragments scraping across his flesh as his hand outreached guiding his saber true in the aftermath to potentially carve it's way through his opponent's weapon and rob her of her 'toy'. He felt fatigued, unknowingly under the spell of the void stones in the Iron Maiden's armor.

"Useless trinket."

The Dark Lord raised his hand to the collected mass of dark side energy, he channeled the empyrean current and funneled the malevolent power from the collapsing orb into the palm of hand. Playing the role of conduit, the Dark Lord made his move to end this duel quickly by letting loose a savage explosion of Force Destruction. A vaporizing wave of chaos unfurled was unleashed, tearing away at the fabric of all that was around them. Sweat rolled down his brow, a tidal wave of fatigue clenching tight around his person. The Voice muttered out, reminiscing aloud tauntingly about the one closest to ever killing him.

"You're no Halketh."

Noel Strasza​

 

[Zachariel Steelblood]

Tags: Eina L'lerim-Vandiir | Draco Miles | Closed
Objective: Kill, Maim, Burn!
Allies: BotM
Enemies: Everyone Else
Links: Weapons | Chosen

Similar to Eina, Zachariel found war to be far simpler than the rest of existence. War made things easier, set things equal before separating combatants based on skill. However, he was still knowledgeable in matters outside of combat, knowledge Eina seemed to lack. And her naivety brought forth much amusement, providing Zachariel the perfect chance to mock her. She may understand matters of the soul better than he, but they weren't in the Nether, nor did souls matter to his blades and he. They were simply devoured into the weapons, or sent to the Avatars.

This fact was proved once more as Eina responded to his mockery, truthful as always. She claimed to be three hundred years of age, and Zachariel believed her, but she was still young.
"So young indeed, both in the real world and the Nether." He laughs shortly once more, twirling his blade. "To me, and many others, you are young, a mere child. A few centuries is nothing to me, for I have lived millennia, in this world and the Nether."

His sneer was audible, as was his overconfidence. Not in the fact that she was so young compared to him, most individuals he fought were, but it was her naivety that disgusted him. It was weakness he saw inside her, though she soon corrected that notion. Her Force Light hurt him, but he could tell she was holding back. Very well, that would be a mistake. As he struggled forth, Zachariel slowly closed his view on the Force, on the Dark Side. It was a crutch that too many used, but not him, and he would show Eina this error.

Thus, Zachariel advanced, even as she plead with him, begged him to change. Instead, his scowl and mad laughter responded back, where words couldn't display his disdain. Elsewhere, the Chosen heard his laughter and howled in turn, recognizing their master and their mission. They had noted that no foe presented themselves, so they simply advanced, and had done so all under their own fire, shooting anywhere and everywhere. It was then that Draco activated their weapons to limited success. A handful of rockets were activated, sent flying forth in random directions, before the Chosen checked themselves.

It was a good trick, but short lived in the grand scheme. Grenades can be activated and deactivated, and thus most were. Those that weren't, were thrown as far away towards buildings as possible. A handful were too slow, leaving grenades to either explode on them, or in their hands. But as limbs exploded or bodies were severely injured, they didn't stop, uncaring of the losses endured, few as they were. Once more, the diversity of the Chosen aided them, as the missile bearers were no more than five, the rest either bore ranged weapons or melee. All had grenades, but even those did little in the grand scheme.

However, the munitions weren't affect at all. Blaster bolts and solid slugs had unique ways of firing, but the ammunition itself couldn't be tampered with, the weapons perhaps, but never the munitions. This was proven true as said weapons continued their fire unabated, seeking out any targets that presented themselves. All in all, only two of the Chosen were truly injured, one of those two was dead. The other would soon die as well, missing much of their torso, but the rest were relatively unscathed. To them, a few missing limbs or scorched armor was nothing, and they carried on without a word to any but one another.

As their advance continued, so too did Zachariel's. His laughter had fallen silent, even as Eina finally finished prattling on. She was offering him a chance of redemption, he would laugh were it not so absurd. Scowling, he responded at last, voice angered but not its usual growl.
"Ashla, Bogan, I care not! Crutches one and all, to be used by weak fools who know nothing. One day the Force shall die, and I shall laugh as it does."

Once Eina pulled forth two swords, Zachariel stopped in his tracks, glaring at her. The foolish girl still didn't understand, somehow, Zachariel doubted she ever would.
"Child, your naivety shall be your downfall. I don't care for the blessings of your Ashla or Bogan, nor do I care what you choose to forgive. You see delusions, pain, a lack of peace, and senseless violence." Leaning his head back, Zachariel roared with mad laughter, his bellows echoing off the buildings about them. "The strong rule and the weak follow, bending the knee to their betters. That has always been my belief, long before I found the Avatars, before I began this 'senseless war.' The only senselessness is the old ways, the paths that have ruled for so long without change."

"The old shall be cast aside, the weak shall kneel, and the strong will rule. I know my place in the coming galaxy, I shall set my own place at the table. Your place is also prepared, little Ingrid, as scraps for the dogs to devour. You think there is change to be had, good to be found. What you see as good and evil are mere constructs, and they shall crumble around you as reality takes hold and you see the galaxy for what it is."

With that, Zachariel leapt forward, blades swinging. His leap was a silent affair, no roar of anger, merely cold fury at Eina's foolishness. Few were the foes that could bring such cold fury out, fewer still were those naive enough to truly deserve it. And even as he attacked, his words no doubt still lingered, and there was one thing that should hold itself more than any other. Zachariel didn't do this because of the Avatars, or because he was force to, it was because he truly believed in this creed. The strong ruled and the weak followed, the Avatars were a means to an end, but also very real things to respect. Thus, his attacks came not from the Force, nor from any other source. Each strike, each blow, each swing of the blade came from Zachariel and no other.

 

[Noel Strasza]

METAHUMAN
THE IRON MAIDEN
LORD EXECUTOR
NEPHILIM | SHOCKGAUNTS | PRIMARY | SECONDARY | GRENADES
// Darth Solipsis \\

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Sparks rained between them, splashing across the blood-splattered masque she donned, and the heat warnings across her HUD urged her hands to relinquish their unbreakable grasp on her primary weapon, sending it clattering to the floor torn asunder. The cyborg disregarded the tool and had she been capable of expressing the full range of emotions as her human counterparts, perhaps she would have smirked. It had not been useless, rather, it had served its purpose.

He was wide open.

Yet, he spared her not an inch of ground.

Mere seconds was all she had, less than that, even, to calculate what her next move was. The shift in his posture, the distribution of his weight to his heels, she noticed them as easily as she noticed the sweat starting to form across his skin. The longer this fight drew on, the greater her advantage grew. As much she had learned from her time in the field. Void stone was a sickening trick, and one worthy of equally treacherous foes. And yet, he endured nonetheless. The fact he had refrained from growing disoriented at all from the lingering Ravenous in the air was a surprise, but one that she would disregard. It had become a non-factor in this equation. The Lord Executor wove around, synchronizing her thoughts to the armor socketed into her cybernetic frame, issuing a command for deployment.

And it was narrowly in time, her rhythm ramping up to match his.

The personal force shield generator built into the aegis she donned crackled to life, mapping itself tightly around her person to shield her from the blast. She planted her feet, putting all of her trust in her technology. Instincts learned from decades of trench warfare and close-quarters engagements had taught her to keep moving, to keep weaving, to keep dodging. To create space and openings, to spawn opportunities for herself. Despite that, she now stood fast. And the opportunity found her, it was not one of her own design, rather, he had orchestrated it for her. The impact of the destructive energy smashed into her shield as a tidal wave, shoving her grandiose weight backward, torquing and contorting her upper half as her shield soaked in the raw magnitude of it and she was left to withstand the kinetic pressure.

The floor rocked, the debris gathered about them blasted away, scattering far behind her as the violent line was torn. The world seemed to be ending, compact, within a mere heart's beat. Disoriented by the sheer force which struck her, the cyborg shook her head, her HUD scrambling with the gyroscopic sensor's attempts to reorient her, despite the fact she was still mostly upright. Dazed, there came a pause in her direct assault as considerations flooded her augmented mind, the cyborg dismissing her HUD entirely with but two spoken words cast into the smoldering air.

The power cells in her legs hissed, discharging steam from the vents slotted in the sides of her knees- their charges sapped instantly by the effort to keep her on her feet.

"You're no Halketh."

The woven technology bound around her hurtled what chunk of the Force wave it had greedily absorbed right back, dishing a counterblow to match his with equal merit. The power he wielded was stolen by her armor, and now it had been turned against him. The redirected assault ripped across the chamber from her position, blasting away what little dust remained in its quest to crash down upon him. The Lord Executor made haste to capitalize on the very crescendo he had sent back at himself, the march forward never ceased.

"You're right," at last, Noel spoke to him, her digitized voice cold and wrought by its inhuman projection, "and I thank the gods I'm not you, either." The unnatural heaviness of her steps echoed across the chamber, growing nearer. Her right arm jerked downward, the specialized panels of her armor shifted aside, and from within the limb rasped a cortosis-blend blade nearly thirty inches in length. The thunder of her coming shifted tempo, the woman charging him with the blade at the ready.

​