Skirmish Where Shadows Linger | THR & LS vs GE & BSS

[Tydeus of Tion]

THE SEPULCHRE

CORRIDOR JUST OUTSIDE THE INTERROGATION CHAMBER

Objective: My Own

"Reckon we found the welcoming committee. Y'all into a rush or somethin' more sneakity?"

“We can’t,” Tydeus said simply, his eyes the hard, flat gray of unyielding iron, then he amended, “I can’t.”

She would understand.

They had spoken of it before. Upon the Kainate’s desolation of his homeworld, Tydeus Shorn of House Gravid became a walking Wound in the Force, reeking of the deaths of millions.

He could no more hide his presence than could one hide the blinding fusion reaction of a main sequence star.

It left but one option: full speed ahead.

Tydeus looked at what awaited them, the dark specters full of photic power that he had sensed two hallways back. Ahead lay two reptilian behemoths, busy savaging each other. Beyond them stood a tall Nautolan, of whom Tydeus had heard only in dossiers and battlefield reports. And beyond him, emerging from a doorway, twin lightsabers in hand, stood an armored figure that he recognized only too well.

The Cathedral Guardian.

Bent light illusion slipped away as Tydeus released it.

“Stay together,” he said, a tone of command in his words despite his meager age. He left the lightsaber hilt and hatchet at his belt, choosing instead the sword they called Ravening from the magnetized open-sheath at his back.

No use trading words with these monsters, he would speak in a language they would understand.

His off hand undid a pouch at his belt and a half-dozen balls, each no larger than a ball bearing, forged from phrik, hardest of metals, flowed into the air at his command.

He shoved his palm outward, flat, and accelerated each of them to absurd speeds. The blast of ballistakinesis sent the phrik orbs ripping toward the two reptiles at the front of the pack, fast enough that they rivaled the speed of railgun rounds. If not slowed they would punch through any conventional armor and leave wounds of such cavitation that it would be as if the internal organs had been ripped asunder. And against armor such as beskar or phrik? Oh the metals would most like hold, but it would be as the body behind the armor would be a mess of bruised tissue, or shattered bones, or even ruptured internal organs - as if a mace blow had struck dead on. A mere counter-push in the Force might slow them, lessening the wounds. But to stop them mid-flight, at these speeds? Absurd.

I’ll take you all.

Engaging: Krasskorr the Maw Brutalis Lord Creuat Meliant
Allies: Tansu Treicolt Talsin Lota

 

[Casi Braste]

OBJ: Don't let the jedi get any further
Friend: Da'Razel
Opps: Ran Serys & Kelan Dhal

------

As the War-Priest broke through the doors to the detention center, the sounds of fighting further in could be heard. She wondered how they had let this even happen. There was no mistaking the aura of Jedi ahead of them, even if Casi was not the best at reading the flows of the Force. The sheer tension between the combatants, their heightened emotions, it was palpable. She had only heard of the prisoner and his importance, but she could sense that whoever was here for him was tied to him deeper than she had realized.

Casi was about to step through the threshold into the breach when she heard running footsteps behind them. She pivoted, gripping her sword with both hands and planting the balls of her feet in a Djem So stance, ready to leap forward, but as she met the eyes of the woman turning the corner she nearly dropped her lightsaber.

It couldn't be... not here... Ran Serys? Casi wondered if the Archivist would recognize her, if the Jedi Order even knew that she had survived Coruscant through the arms of the Empire. Would she be able to see in her thousand-yard stare the same little girl who always needed to be reprimanded when her and Rusen giggled too loudly among the holobook shelves? There had been no sign of the living when Casi had arrived to the temple library and found Rusen there, among the bodies of the Padawans who could not escape. She had hardly been able to identify them all through the tears in her eyes. The Chief Archivist had not been there when Casi had found the boy she loved with that shocked, stone cold expression on his face, the life seeping from the burned hole in his chest. After that, it had never been the same. Casi had refused to set foot in the archives, unable to bear that weight. She hoped, perhaps, that after the Empire's second, more successful attempt to take Coruscant that Ran might have been given the mercy of death.

That was not a mercy that Casi herself was ready to grant.

Casi found herself frozen, but the fear of the War-Priest behind her pushed her to take a step forward. No one could know that she hesitated, not the other Elite, and certainly not her Sith masters. Hesitation was weakness, doubt was defeat. She saw that Serys and the man she was with were not going to slow down.

She would strike with purpose, because when that blade moved in her hand it was the only thing that made her feel alive. As a Jedi her master had encouraged a more defensive style, but the Dark Side Elite had introduced her to the philosophy of Vaapad, channeling the thrill of the fight, and the enjoyment of it. She lunged towards the Jedi, her movement swiftened by the Force, breaking from her defensive hold and sweeping her blade wide across the hallway in front of her. Blue blades were about the clash, the jedi's sacred weapon defiled in its intent, its purpose...

 

[Krasskorr the Maw]

DSE: Brutalis Lord Creuat Meliant
FOOD: Tydeus of Tion Tansu Treicolt Talsin Lota

​

Brutalis was a formidable opponent, a force that matched his own without giving an inch. The narrow corridor became a cage, amplifying every blow from the both of them. Green blood stained the durasteel, and for a brief moment, the world narrowed to the feel of his jaws clamped on the Savrip's trapezius, the sharp taste of alien blood on his tongue, and the satisfying crunch of bone against his teeth.

Then, a sudden, powerful force ripped them apart. The world spun in a blur of motion as he was slammed against the bulkhead, the impact knocking the wind from his lungs. Krasskorr's senses reeled, his two sets of eyes blinking in confusion as he registered the new presence. Executor Lord Creuat .

The leader of the Dark Side Elite and chosen by the Galactic Emperor himself to keep order amongst the ranks. As the Executor spoke, Krasskorr's keen senses picked up on the new scents again, stronger this time. The Jedi. The girl. The smell of something different, something to be hunted.

He was just beginning to regain his footing, to process the Executor's command, when a new wave of sensation washed over him. Tiny, metallic specks, screaming through the Force with an unbelievable velocity. He registered the sound a fraction of a second before he registered the threat, a high-pitched whine that cut through the still air.

The phrik orbs.

Krasskorr's animalistic brain didn't need a detailed analysis. It only knew of one thing and that was danger. Without a moment's hesitation, his massive left claw reached out and ripped a durasteel panel from the wall, the sound a shriek of tearing metal. The panel, a massive slab of alloy, was a crude shield, but it was all he had.

The phrik orbs struck the panel with the force of railgun rounds, each impact a jarring, deafening crack. His arm was jolted, the bones screaming with the transferred energy. His raw strength held, but the panel was a mess of dents and fractured metal. One of the orbs, a near-miss, glanced off the edge and ricocheted wildly, slamming into the opposite wall and leaving a deep crater.

Krasskorr's blood lust, temporarily sated by the Savrip, was now fully focused on this new threat. He threw the mangled panel at Tydeus of Tion to give Brutalis a much needed opening to close the gap and hopefully be able to stop him from sending any more projectiles.

 

[Corin Kaze]

The vibrosword clattered against the grated metal floor, a hiss steaming from the slagged cut. Corin moved his lightsaber backwards in an unthinking flourish with a violet twirl of colour, the hilt rolling about his palm while the other extended palm pointed fingers at the bounty hunter's chest. A wave of the Force lashed out, wild and yet measured in a storm of all things chaotic and controlled. Content with striking the criminal with a concussive blast, aiming to put him out of the fight before it ever began.

Tohu

 

[Tohu]

Tohu felt his body take off like something yanked it out an airlock. When he opened his eyes again, he didn't know how long he had been out of commission. Everything was blurry, but he could just make out the shape of the Jedi walking away as nonchalantly as he had disposed of him. Tohu figured he wasn't out long, and he willed himself to move.

Nothing happened.

Looking around, he saw his whole body had dented the metal wall of the ship. He looked around again, left and right, see if he wasn't dreaming. He wasn't. Now he was starting to cackle, feeling blood trickle down his lips. He heard his voice tremble, saying, "W-what kinda power is this?", then the cackle burst into a laugh; laughing at the Jedi, laughing at himself, laughing at the galaxy of gods into which he, a mere mortal, was born.

Later on, Tohu would recall this sense of helplessness to push himself further, to grow stronger, powerful.

Corin Kaze ​

 

[Talsin Lota]

Allies: Tydeus of Tion | Tansu Treicolt | Kyric
Enemies: Brutalis | Lord Creuat | Meliant | Krasskorr the Maw

The panel never arrived at its destination.

Mid-throw its movement was suddenly arrested and with considerable force it slammed back towards Brutalis and Krasskorr. Talsin stepped forward, next to Tydeus, coldness pervaded through his usual expressive face. He recognized one of them. But the first time Tansu and Talsin had met Brutalis, they were both young, Padawans still.

This time around he wouldn't face young adults with no clue what they were doing. They were hardened now, experienced. Talsin wasn't afraid anymore of those sharp teeth and those reptilian eyes no longer showed up in his nightmares.

"We keep pushing. If we take too long they might kill Kyric." Talsin didn't know Tansu's cousin very well, but he knew that Kyric was a Jedi. That was all he needed to know. These Darksiders had him and that wouldn't bode well. Who knew what sort of corruptive practices they'd try and inflict on the Jedi?

His hand suddenly came down and with it the metal rend above Brutalis and Krasskorr. Serrated durasteel shrapnel and paneling would descend on the two lizards. Like hail, but instead of snow, it was fragments of metal each enough to rip through flesh and even thick hide wouldn't be spared from the onslaught.

Tal didn't have to say now to Tansu.

They had practiced this a million times. One created a diversion, through attack or defense, the other would take advantage of it. As the two Darksiders had to worry about all that metal attempting to rip through them, Tansu and Tydeus had the perfect opening to do some damage.

 

[Brutalis]

Allies: Krasskorr the Maw Lord Creuat Meliant
Enemies: Talsin Lota Tydeus of Tion Tansu Treicolt @Kyric
OBJECTIVE:

​

“Enough!” and the Force pulled the two beasts apart from each other and were pushed into the wall. They were bigger and mightier in physique, but they would recognize their place before the Sith. “Should the Jedi achieve their objective in freeing the Sword I will have your hides,” he would not suffer shame from the Emperor for the lack of discipline within the Elite. The hybrid and the Savrip were then released from Creuat’s hold, before addressing them. “I can sense the Jedi nearby. However, there is a girl among them. Kill the others, but leave her to me.”

The forceful metaphysical tension that pulled both of the large reptiles apart was apparent and ill suited for Brutalis. With a shriek of pain and rage the massive Savrip felt something in his trapezius tear. The avulsion leaking green blood onto the floor in a small puddle. Meanwhile Brutalis's tongue licked the wound covering it in healing bacteria native to his biology.

Infection was the least of his worries. Especially now.

Baring his teeth and snarling at Creuat, The reptilian emitted a deep growl before suddenly roaring once more, but this time it was not from interruption. This was from pain! In a blink a ball zipped against his midrib. A glancing blow but still enough force to remove half of a humans fist from his scaley torso. The flesh splattered behind him into oblivion. Immediately a telekinetic barrier was thrown up in response to another near hit of a almost imperceivable phrik ball. It ricocheted off a transparent flash just shy of the Savrips skin.

The rest of the death volley, flung by Tydeus of Tion , was pelted into a sheet of metal. A last minute save by Krasskorr the Maw . Brutalis's bloodshot gaze burrowed into the darkside elite. Hate flowing into his very bloodstream and leaking out into a symbol of near eruption. A gaze that said, This is not over. Respect for the other reptilian had been earned, as well as something else.

Pain.

And pain, was Power!

His hand suddenly came down and with it the metal rend above Brutalis and Krasskorr. Serrated durasteel shrapnel and paneling would descend on the two lizards. Like hail, but instead of snow, it was fragments of metal each enough to rip through flesh and even thick hide wouldn't be spared from the onslaught.

Tal didn't have to say now to Tansu.

They had practiced this a million times. One created a diversion, through attack or defense, the other would take advantage of it. As the two Darksiders had to worry about all that metal attempting to rip through them, Tansu and Tydeus had the perfect opening to do some damage.

The injuries Brutalis had sustained throbbed as his hatred sharpened and he let the pain penetrate his psyche deeper. Rebounding like needles in his minds eye in till he could no longer contain the chorus that it played within. His toothy maw gaped open wide unleashing a shockwave and sonic scream down the corridor. No. Past the corridor, branching into various halls and reverberating into the void of space and transgressing into the metaphysical currents of the force as a dark disturbance.

Physical and spiritual.

A manifestation of unadulterated agony and rage.

Dust wafted unsettled from its resting place. Metal tiles and light fixtures panels in the walls, floor and bulkhead buckled. Rent asunder from the immediate force. Pipes burst. Venting steam and vapors into the corridor obscuring vision. The lights swayed back and forth violently on wires and then the scream ceased to be.

* THUMP!*

THUMP!​

Two heavy vibrations on the floor. Two massive, but quick movements, then through the vapors and steam, The uncanny iridesent flash of a telekinetic barrier hinted around the form of Brutalis! Maw open wide and teeth poised to snatch or outright crush Tansu Treicolt Tydeus of Tion and Talsin Lota in a single bite!

 

[Kyric]

The sight of Wymar's inert saber drifting closer to Kyric's chest carried with it the threat of absolution. No amount of hope could deny the Dark Jedi's strength in that moment. The kiffar ground his teeth together in frustration. A deeply animalistic fear of the end bubbled up alongside his agitation. To die at the hands of his interrogator, bound by the trappings of the cell, terrified Kyric most of all. He was prepared to face his end with a weapon in hand. He'd trained for it his entire life. But this was different.

As allies new and old pierced the Sepulchre to free him, he felt their tenacity within the deepest depths of his soul. They struggled for him. They bled for him. No words could ever express the gratitude he felt at the lengths the Lightsworn and the Jedi Order went for him. But those feelings cut deep—a double-edged sword driven into his heart.

Kyric's joy sunk beneath a wave of helplessness.

Any moment could be the last for any one of them fighting their way to his cell. The overwhelming stench of the Dark Side pervaded every inch between them, as some of Solipsis' strongest servants stood between Tansu, Tydeus, and Talsin. Kyric couldn't just hang there uselessly. There had to be a way to help them!

Meliant departed the cell to join the other Elite beyond the blastdoor.

Kyric shifted his focus from Wymar's crimson saber, alight with the fury of a Knight driven to the absolute edge of sanity, to the man wielding the blade. The Jedi Knight drew in a deep, steady breath.

---

Tags: Wymar
Good Guys: Talsin Lota | Tansu Treicolt | Tydeus of Tion
Bad Guys: Lord Creuat | Brutalis | Krasskorr the Maw | Meliant

 

[Tansu Treicolt]

​

The opening was merely a sliver, but enough. Tansu acted immediately, darting forward just a hair behind the reversed panel and fully intended to slide just as what had been one solid piece became fractional.

Her intentions became commitments before the ear-shattering, ground-ripping bellow. Her body already on an angle, she felt the immense pressure crash over her with typhonic force and she yawped out a sound of pain of her own — a sound drowned out by the immense boom of Brutalis. The scream shoved grit into her lungs. Dust blinded, steam burned across her cheeks, and the floor pitched beneath her boots.

Momentum faltered but did not fail. She dropped into the skid, slamming through the storm beneath Brutalis's lunging body, shoulder grazing scale and the stink of his breath rolling over her as she cut close enough to feel his bulk shake the deck above her. The golden blade carved upward in a reckless stroke as he took his second step, meant to bite deep across his leg as she tore past.

But his movement and her movement meant it would be in passing — she couldn't assure the strike struck true or deep. The fullness of her slide crested, and she hit the ground hard, rolled with it, and snapped back up in the haze.

Breath ragged she flung out her free hand, acting on instinct, to seize the burst piping and fractured panels already ripped loose by the reptile's scream — the same bellow she'd heard in the belly of Coruscant years ago — and hurled them in a telekinetic wave at the second, double-headed scaled creature with teeth primed to bite.

"C'mon now," she panted. "We ain't supper."

Leaving no room for hesitation, her sabre followed, slashing through the steam to drive the second beast back.

"But keep this up and y'all'll be boots."

____________________________________________________________
FRIENDS: Talsin Lota | Tydeus of Tion | Kyric
FOES: Brutalis | Krasskorr the Maw | Lord Creuat | Meliant
____________________________________________________________
​

 

[Da'Razel]

DETENTION BLOCK - SEPULCHRE
​

Tag Direct: Casi Braste | Ran Serys | Kelan Dhal

Tag Indirect: Wymar | Meliant | Kyric

Equipment: Bōchōr | The Vow of Saud | The Helm of the One-Eyed Prophet | Korrûg Kuûr

The strangling thickness of conflict hung in the air.

Blades clashed. Blood spilled. Pain endured and delivered.

A contest of souls, a collision of aspirations, dreams, and beliefs.

A blaring alarms, a mechanized roar erupting and cooling, blare for blare, crimson lights flaring in delight at the slaughter unfolded upon the Sepulchres decks.

The vessel thirsted for it, the crimson spattered across its durasteel walls, poured over its halls and gangways, spilled across arches and thresholds. It seeped into its depths, droplets falling down endless stairwells, dripping into darkness with no end.

And as the lifeblood of foe and ally alike coursed through its iron veins, the ship itself began to thumb alive. The collective atrocities of those stalking its insides stirred awake.

This was the holy vessel of their Masters chosen. In the deep dark void of space, it was a deep dark void amidst the Force itself.

The mere stirring of the vessel's soul poured a wet, misted fog down your throat, whilst afoul fiendish wisp, like condensed mist escaped your lungs on each exhale.

To the Saint, its pounding rhythm was a melody worthy of worship.

Thump. Thump.

The sound of greaves pounding as warriors thundered into combat.

Thump. Thump.

Warm bodies striking cold steel, expelling their final breaths.

Thump. Thump.

Blasters of every caliber firing, exchanging death across the dark.

Thump. Thump.

He wanted to share this symphony, wanted his Master to savor its delight.

Da'Razel turned his veiled visage of iron toward the Elite, and shuddered.

The blue of her blade. He had thought them all burned, all melted in the forge upon the temple at Coruscant. But it wasn't the azure glow that tainted her, it was the fear. Fear creeping down her back like the slow crawl of an arachnid, each needle-tipped leg pricking crawling carefully.

He could smell its stench upon her.

From the cages and cells embedded into the ship's hull joined another rising chorus, the inmates celebrating in tandem.

For the Jedi had arrived.

The gangway towered higher than most aboard the vessel. Glass-like cells rose two, three tiers, stacked on either side. They were filled with rancid slaves, prisoners of war, captured padawans, politicians and meager royalty alike.

Da'Razel had stalked these halls before, his clawed digits drumming against the cells as he recited passages from the holy scripture, hoping, daring, to enlighten them with the truth of the galaxy and inspire worship of their God-Emperor.

But alas in vain.

He had ventured deeper too, seen the cells of truly valuable captives: Jedi Masters, dignitaries, figures of power. Each destined for torture, interrogation, and the sometimes lethal alchemy of conversion, into something else, something truer, darker, more beautiful.

His helm twisted aside. He could no longer ignore the approaching lightsiders.

They had come to free their brethren's, but all they would find was that his believe, his conviction was one of unshattering resolve, unyielding, unmovable. One they would not escape or slip by.

He recognized the first one. Ah yes, Coruscant. The Senate. A wretched grin twisted his lips behind the polished iron of his featureless helm. She had tasted the bitterness of defeat there, and she would taste it again. Her fate sealed. Her thread cut short. Her struggle meaningless.

The Elite floundered at first, still snared by fear. But she wrangled it down, blue blade in hand, and leapt at their opposition.

The Saint knew what they all needed. He would join the music. He would play the tune the vessel echoed. They all needed to hear it, for their own reasons.

His Elite needed to understand, to test her conviction upon the anvil of darkness, of pain. Their adversaries needed to see the truth, that the swamp of malice they waded into would swallow them whole.

Sithari alchemised glyphs sparked along his scabbard as a whisper of pressurized air sighed free, mist curling from the prison of his cursed blade.

With a menacing swing, Da'Razel unsheathed the Bōchōr.

And with it a new sound was born, like the bellow of a colossal bell, a gong of such magnitude it felt as if the very air they breathed was torn asunder by an invisible quake.

A vibration palpable to a mortal eye, a crushing skeletal grip tightening its fist around them.

Steel beams coiled around themselves. Metal sheets twisted from the walls. Glass fracturing, as cracks raced each other before parting.

Da'Razel's whole body trembled. Blood streaked from his pointed ears. His jaw ached. Copper filled his mouth. His vision blurred.

The cursed blade demanded a terrible toll on its wielder. Yet its echo flooded the corridor, a demon's shriek invisible and razor-sharp, raking its claws through friend and foe alike.

Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump.