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.

 

[Kelan Dhal]

ALLIED TAGS: Ran Serys
ENEMY TAGS: Casi Braste Da'Razel
THEME: Light in the Dark

In truth, Kelan looked up to Master Serys.

Literally and figuratively

She was everything a Jedi should be. Everything he was not.

But he would not fail her.
​

It was Mirialan Jedi's senses that saved them from being spotted prematurely, and it was by her command that the strike team split up into two smaller teams. It appeared Kelan had earned the honor of heading straight into danger along with Maste Serys as opposed to taking the long way.

He wasn't sure if he should feel honored or flabbergasted.

Perhaps a bit of both.​

With his arms crossed over his chest, Kelan looked to the honored knight, and for a moment, true concern crossed his features. She spoke with such confidence, and yet she seemed to be confirming his own commitment to their mission if she fell, and that was not something he was even willing to consider.

"Master Serys-" Kelan began before shaking his head and starting again, "Ran, I will give everything I have to our mission, but we will complete it together. We either leave this force-damned ship together or not at all."

The Jedi exile's gaze was firm, and yet his words were filled with commitment and camaraderie. It was true, he would fight and die if it meant the prisoners were freed and a blow had been struck against the Emperor's servants, but it was the idea that a warrior who was far more skilled than he would fall before him that concerned him. He was expendible, Ran was not. But these words were unsaid, only a simple nod as Kelan took his own lightsaber into his hand and followed Ran around the corner to confront their foe.

He had felt it before, but now it was practically smashing into him.

The Dark Side.​

Two servants of evil. Quite literally the inverse of Kelan and Ran. Never before had Kelan confronted a true slave of the Dark Side, but it appeared there was no going back now.

The girl moved first, rushing to meet the pair of Jedi. Master Serys's words remained within Kelan's mind, and as if to prove his commitment, he rushed before her, his own blue blade matching that of his opponent. Her wide swing was held back as the Jedi exile gritted his teeth, locked in battle with his foe. Yet there was a far greater evil being unleashed, but a few steps down the hall, the echo of terrible darkness flooded toward the pair of Jedi. Pain washed over Kelan; his ears were ringing, and he could feel a trickle of blood running from his nose, and yet he did all he could to remain firmly locked in battle with the fallen Jedi.

"Master Serys!"

Kelan's voice lashed out over the force, directed toward the Mirialan Jedi.

"I have the girl. We need to take out the War-Priest!"

 

[Ran Serys]

Allies: Kelan Dhal
Opposition: Casi Braste Da'Razel

Ran’s eyes widened as the younger woman lunged into battle against them. “Casi Braste!” She muttered under her breath. A surprised look of recognition flashed across Ran’s face as Kelan intercepted the blue blade.

In an instant a memory hit her, Casi and her late companion Rusen laughing in the Archives while Ran called to them a reminder that the Archives were for research and not play. What was Casi Braste doing in the Sepulchre? Why was she among the Dark Side Elite, and fighting for them? Ran sensed the darkness in Casi. The younger woman’s dark resolve sparked as Ran leapt over her and Kelan.

“The War Priest is mine!” Ran agreed with Kelan. “Beware the girl! She is recently lost.” The mirialan continued. She let the weight of those latter four words ring. Casi was dangerous, but in Ran’s eyes not so far gone to the darkside that she couldn’t be rescued from the Dark Side Elite with Kyric and the others. But the Zealot. The Zealot was a different story.

The screams of the Zealot’s sword being swung engulfed the hall. Ran steeled herself against the pressure and pain born from darkness. “You’re tricks won’t work on me!” Ran lied shouting over the blade’s screams. Her eardrums began to pop and ring. “I was forged a weapon of the dark side just as I imagine that blade was!” She continued. “But I’ll outlast it! I’ll outlast you, and then I will melt down the blade for scrap or use it against your precious emperor!" Ran goaded and began to charge the dark side cultist. A flurry of quick and deadly strikes from Ran aimed for different vital areas.

Ran planned to put an end to their battle quickly, because as Kelan said, they were to leave this force-damned ship together or not at all.

 

[St. Thomas Barran]

TAGS
[TBD - currently spitballing ideas to opps]

WHERE SHADOWS LINGER - PART 1

​

Aboard the MV: Heart of Mar'Zambul,
Approaching the IV: Sepulchre,
Atrisian Space, Galactic Deep Core (903 ABY)

'Thanks for the glaive, Dad. Its just like the one I picked for training - but Beskar.'
'Surprised you even looked at the Beskar slab, let alone choose it. But you're welcome, son.'
'She's perfect, honestly.... Songsteel can come later, when I'm ready for it.'
​

Even at the surface, Thomas could tell that his son was amazed at the craftsmanship that went into his darling blade, and in looking into the glow of his pupils, he could tell young Arriochus had grander, more-profound thoughts running through his mind at the time. It was enough to stir a fatherly pride within the one-eyed Woad, beaming with eyes almost as dewy as the Hybrid boy's in these moments, it seemed that the Bloodhound wanted to amplify that excitement in Batu as he curiously inquired,'Got a name for 'er yet?', asking but once so as not to force the boy into choosing a rash, undeserving name for his Glaive.

'Of course, Father. The name has been in my mind from the moment you promised to forge her for me, front and center.'

It was then the lad began to swing the Glaive hither and yon with intent, focusing especially on his signature downward, slicing slash, and when Arriochus bared sharp, jagged white teeth in a grimace of excitement, his father knew he had honoured the most-specific of requests. Stopping then, but only to state,'These things stay in the mind, and I forget nothing from my dreams.... Ever!', before finishing out his blade's trial run with an open, wide-arcing slash that required considerable strength to throw from a high, shoulder-thrown twist. Already tested to a clean technical extreme, and by none other than Savrip Soul, the Mantellian's strong-arm duelling method was already yielding powerful results, though the abundance of time was likely to take the lad's natural abilities to entirely-new heights before his twenty-first birthday.

'I decided on,"Alparas", from the very moment we first landed on Durace.'

'Good.... Can't be havin' a blade serve without a name - its a curse in the making.'
​

Young Arriochus was a sceptical soul, for the most part, but in his reverence toward his father, found that careful consideration of Goidelic superstitions would be heeded almost just as religiously. All the questions on the matter had been cast years before that night, and in due course, all their corresponding answers had been given in turn; and as far as such curiosities went, there was nothing else to learn from old Thomas, or rather, nothing that Arriochus could not learn on his own. In the process of becoming Batu Darkhan, the hybrid boy would surely discover much and more about his lineages, patrilineal and matrilineal alike, and in that process young Barran would learn what that wild ancestral concoction created.

Blending the ferocity and daredevil abandon of Spindly Khatan, with the raw power of Bloodhound (Nokhoi) Khan, many a parental figure would know the risks that would have went with raising a boy of potentially-mercurial temperament, though many of the Marauder caste would sigh with relief to see the boy learn the meaning of calm at the early stages of development. This made it easier for guards to protect the boy, and even more-so to teach before his eventual interest was shown in the ways of his parentage, all of which making a great difference when it came to his training, leaving the rest to battle-experience and the watchful eye of the Khan's closest subordinates.

The boy was ready, but the father was not - letting go was the hardest part.

<"Is the youngling ready, Great Khan?">
​

'Well, Keshig? You r-?'
'Of course I am, Great Khan! Reporting for duty!'
'Damn right.... But before you go to war, jus' know I was always proud - it didn't take deployment to achieve it, son.'

<"The boy is ready, Brother Ghoul.... The lad wishes to earn his spurs after all.">

 

[Tydeus of Tion]

He threw the mangled panel at Tydeus of Tion Tydeus of Tion to give Brutalis Brutalis a much needed opening to close the gap and hopefully be able to stop him from sending any more projectiles

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.

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.

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 Tansu Treicolt Tydeus of Tion Tydeus of Tion and Talsin Lota Talsin Lota in a single bite!

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

JUST OUTSIDE KYRIC’S INTERROGATION CHAMBER:
Krasskorr the Maw Tansu Treicolt Talsin Lota Lord Creuat Brutalis Meliant

Trusting to the others to handle the thrown panel and the two-headed crocodilian, Tydeus focused on the enormous Savrip before him as he raced toward it with his sword drawn.

The raw scream from its maw reverberated down the corridor, empowered by the Force itself, and Tydeus took the full blast of it as he charged forward. The sonic wave did not blast him backward, unlike a Force Bellow, but it rolled through his body and rebounded off the hallways, hitting him again and again as he charged to meet the shrieking reptilian. He felt an enormous pressure in his skull and then a sudden pop. He felt a warmth as blood rushed out of his left ear. He could no longer hear out of it. A sense of vertigo sought to seize him and throw him off balance, but Tydeus drew on the strength of the Force.

Ordinarily, a soldier might be stunned by that scream and the impact on the inner ear, but by applying the ability known as crucitorn, Tydeus could clamp down on such injuries - and worse - and push through.

So it was that he came straight in for the reptilian, whose snapping jaw aimed to take a chunk out of him. Tydeus wasted no time, but as Brutalis’ maw opened wide he drove his Force imbued blade straight into that expanse, aiming to ram it up through the roof of the behemoth’s mouth and into its brain pan in a single killing thrust.

 

[Casi Braste]

OBJ: Fight! Fight!
Friend: Da'Razel
Opps: Ran Serys & Kelan Dhal

---------

Casi's wild strike was met with the resistance of the man's skilled parry. She pushed, and he pushed back, and for a moment their blades and eyes were locked. The grey streaks in the man's hair, the trickle of blood forming a drip out of his nostril. Her opponent showed signs of weakness already, and it was like an animal instinct welled up inside of her, one she had never felt before but had seen in the eyes of the other Elite. It was a kind of hunger that set in as she felt the weight of the man's push against her, the same thrill of a beast cornering its prey. All that was muddled in her head, the rage, the doubt, the fear, all of it was shoved deep down when the swing of her blade made her adrenaline pump, but emptying the mind only allowed space for the dark side to take a hold of her.

"You aren't meant for this, old man! Turn around and you won't have to die for Karis!" she pushed her saber further into the lock, then suddenly broke, allowing the Force to carry her backwards as her feet sprung off the ground.

She would need to deal with this man quick, then she could deal with Serys... whatever that meant. With another Force-assisted leap, Casi jumped to the wall of the corridor and used it bounce off and drop down towards Kelan with a brutish overhead strike.

 

[Meliant]

Krasskorr the Maw Brutalis
Talsin Lota Tansu Treicolt Tydeus of Tion

Meliant merely walked outside and found himself in a wretched mess. Two large lizards, screaming and throwing things. Steam flowing from broken pipes, limiting vision. Two Jedi, accompanied by the mysterious fool who had once accosted him on Cademimu V.​

​

As much as he might have liked to take care of the idiot-knight, Brutalis was in the way. Fine. First the detritus, then vengeance.​

​

​

---​

Tansu swung her lightsaber through the steam looking for Krasskorr, only for her blade to be caught by another: bright crimson, wielded by an armored figure which now pushed forward through the obfuscating mist. This close, the slits in his visor revealed the armor to be empty... Save for a bitter hunger at its core, a dark presence which reverberated in the Force.​

​

"Your form is atrocious," he hissed, and his second blade snapped to life. "Lord Creuat wants you alive?"​

​

He laughed, and it came out in a cruel staccato.​

​

"Well, we all get lonely from time to time, don't we?"​

​

Meliant suddenly lurched forward to shove her back. No sooner sooner had their sabers broken apart did he begin to swing: a flurry of relentless, hammering blows. It quickly became clear he was deliberately striking at her blade and hands, attempting to break what he perceived to be a weak, untrained guard.​

​

He was attempting to disarm her.​

​

For Creuat, of course.​

 

[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 Bōchōr's first breath roared through the prison block. Steam hissed from burst pipes, as the twsited into grotesque contortions of themselves. Shattered screws, bolts, and nails rained from frames unable to withstand the shock, while bent plating curled off the walls and scattered across the floor like discarded feathers.

The most unnerving effect of the oscillation was on the cubed cells. Transparisteel, lommite, and glass shattered.

The transparent panes akin to open wounds, as sounds like a hundred jagged thunderclaps echoed amidst the storm of crashing crystal.

From the cells that didn't, came the desperate pounding of fists, souls who believed themselves unfortunate enough to remain imprisoned, seizing a fleeting hope of escape amid the chaos.

But the Saint had other plans.

He longed for their voices to join the choir of anguish, the song of the Sepulchre.

Yet his opposition was nearing rapidly.

Unable to gauge the masterful skills of his foe, he thought himself safe for but a breath too long. The Devaronian was young, exceptionally gifted, but alas, reckless.

The lady's blade found its mark before he could mount a proper riposte.

A searing roar of agony tore from his throat as his head snapped back toward the ceiling. Pain exploded in his abdomen, his insides pierced, his organs seared by the blade.

Reflex, more than thought, screamed his defenses awake, his most cherished artifact, the Helm of the One-Eyed Prophet, answering the need of its bearer.

Within the span of a heartbeat the temperature around the Saint spiked. Before further harm could reach him, the Force-fueled barrier erupted outward, projecting a blazing sphere yearning to swallow the incoming blows. The scalding shield desperate to drain every trace of danger from his proximity, as though some godly hand would sweep the attacker's presence from its chosen shepherd.

A moment later, with yet another thundering evocation, the barrier collapsed, leaving only the after-image of its galvanizing birth.

But the Saint's scream did not fade. Both hands clenched the hilt of his greatsword as he fell to his knees, body twitching as though burning alive.

And then he did.

Da'Razel erupted, an uncontrollable surge, a living mantle of fire. It was not ignition but detonation, as if a torch had been thrust into a powder keg.

Flame poured from him like liquid, as if he were the very spring of some infernal font, a fountain of hissing red blaze that set the air alight.

Their very breaths ignited, the shift in heat so rapid, so violent. Those closest among them, some unfortunate fleeing prisoners, were affected first.

Their air in their lungs expanded with such force, they swelled and popped, bursting like balloons drifting to high into the horizon.

Freshly spilled blood from scathing against the ruptured glass evaporated before it could boil, sizzling from their skin.

Even the fluid of their eyes, boiling orbs in their sockets, seethed away, in an instant, until something remained akin to shriveled blacked plums, spoiled summer harvest.

The near instantaneous heat wave rolled outward with greater fury than even the roar of his blade, like a sweltering cavalry galloping across the deck.

Glass fractured, and burst into molten drips splashed into the hall like hail.

Metal ran with sweat, fat drops falling like tears to the ground.

Flesh blistered into grotesque bubbles, while the steel beneath their feet softened, into a sizzling grey carpet.

Fire alarms howled to life, emergency protocols seared into motion, breach gates slowly sliding shut to trap the encumbered behind.

Screams erupted, drowning the hall in palpable agony.

Among them, his own. It ran on and on, as he drowned in the duality of pain suffered and pain inflicted.

His mind was consumed by one thought, and one thought only:

Burn, you fifthly heathens. Burn.

 

[St. Thomas Barran]

TAGS
[TBD - currently spitballing ideas to opps]

WHERE SHADOWS LINGER - PART 2

​

Aboard the MV: Heart of Mar'Zambul,
Approaching the IV: Sepulchre,
Atrisian Space, Galactic Deep Core (903 ABY)

'So its already begun, hm?.'
'Well.... Kinda.... We've still got parts of the formation awaiting entanglement, but there's activity.'
'Not bad.... Wait a minute, Brother! If,"Kinda", then who's approaching our flotilla's left flank?'
​

The rogue Chiss turned his gaze toward the main viewport, gasping loudly as soon as he realised the Core Worlders had manoeuvred to blindside the Nomadic Mawsworn Fleet, even offering a wry grin as he admitted,'I envy their naval mobility, truly.... We need that capability.', even chuckling dryly as he pressed in flotilla-wide protocols to prepare battle-stations for combat. It was known that Dreamer Darkhan was always seeking strategic advantages, but the Keshigs already knew this was rightly so, and in the moment he looked to the Great Khan for his input, the Acting-Archon of the Mawsworn Legion would not need to wait for long for an answer from the Bloodhound.

'Its a technological advantage, but I believe we can find ways to improve our own fleet-mobility. Its possible.'
'Permissions given then?'
'Of course, Brother. I'm not gonna tease this, you mad? I feel that same need, by the way.'

​

It was then that Dreamer smiled with a sense of warmth, appreciative that they were on the same page after all, as there were more than a few reasons as to why such things were being hashed out on that occasion, and so early on in the next campaign's mobilisation process at that. After all, the Archon-Elect was under contract at the time, furthering the Emperor's interests beyond the realm's space-locked borders, and for as long as it would take for the Galactic Empire to expand in such a direction, the rogue Chiss would have no other choice but to persist in substituting for Rook Darkhan.

'Hold the bridge, act with autonomy. Permissions preemptively granted for Incanctation.'
'Good luck down there.'

Both Dustborn and Fetters would take bodyguard responsibility from there, walking out in front of the one-eyed Woad as they screened his approach to the Loading-Bays chokepoint, but when they reached their would-be command-center, (even going so far as to shunt more than a few guards in the same direction with purpose in mind) the Khan would signal for them to ready a counter-offensive as the defensive contingents held their ground. This was an easy command for the active Keshig commanders to obey, though they would be given reason to worry whenever their minds returned to the fact their leader was commanding from the front, holding ground as the doors opened invitationally at Docking Bay 3.

<"Great Khan, you're on your own in there, remember that you will likely have to face off an entire boarding-party on your own.... My advice?">
<"Go on then, Dustborn. Shoot.">

<"Well, that might w-in fact, never mind.... All you need, really, is to give them a reason to send out their champion instead.">
<"Leave that with me.... Eyes on the approaching flotilla. Bloodhound - out!">
​

Calling on his Makashi hilt, Barran snarled as he inhaled through his nostrils, revealing a deep, autumnal orange sabre as he stilled his mind for the task ahead, fully-aware there was more to guide the urgency of his action. The Khan knew that repelling the approaching attack would assure the safety of any and all damaged allied starfighters, or rather, those which were too damaged to complete the return trip to their respective frigates, and in the wake of successful repulse, the way could be opened for pit-stop rearmament options for the most-eager of allied pilots.

It was then that the Bloodhound began to call upon his strength, wordlessly drawing power from Inherited Will as much as he was from the Force at the time, inhaling and exhaling to warm his lungs, and all in this ominous, purposeful silence. Joining the quiet of his mind with the noise-strangled vacuum of that space beyond the docking bay, the emptiness would serve as a means to search within for right spark, thus serving as the calm before the Heathen storm; and with that one, static spark of devotion, the Heathen Saint of Rogues and Outlaws would make it count, and to thunderous new extremes of dread for it's intended recipients.

'AaaaaaaaaaaaaaAAAAAAAAAAAAATH - BREEEEEEEEEIIIIIIIIITH!!!!'
​

Roaring his chosen incantation into the starry void, reverberating with every ounce of intensity his larynx could muster, the Bloodhound would call upon the power of Rebirth once more; and with a sonic boom that carried a visible shockwave toward the incoming flotilla, this exertion of power would be followed by a storm of black lightning, cast toward the approaching flotilla with his Makashi sabre as it's directional antenna. However, unlike the deep red hue in the Force Lightning of his peers among the Dark Side Elite, the storm of the Khan's making seemed to emanate in the same, autmnal orange as his lightsabre, lashing against the shielding of the attacking ships with it's own, vicious intent.

Just one thunderclap would be needed to make his point clear and present for all to understand, and for all the tendrils that lashed against the boarding-party's ships, no more would be required of that display, the Khan's statement had been made, loud and clear. Proceeding any further would be a poorly-advised choice, and for as long as the one-eyed Woad persisted with murderos intent, none of the regular soldiering caste would gain a foothold on the Heart of Mar'Zambul that day, only Jedi of incredible prowess could set foot within reach of the Khan's sabre.

~=Greetings from the Mawsworn.... I know you can you hear me.... Board if you dare, Jedi.=~

 

[Lord Creuat]

B L A C K G U A R D
Tansu Treicolt | Talsin Lota | Tydeus of Tion | Brutalis | Krasskorr the Maw | Meliant
SEPULCHRE​

Dread.

As if invisible tendrils reached out to naught but one. Truly, Tansu’s light was the most blinding out of the trio. Even so, it might have been as blinding as her cousin’s. Much like Loske with good morals and intentions.

And so he must dim her light.

His Elite spearhead the fight with their superhuman physique against the Jedi. Creuat, however, did not step in and only defended the rear while his mind sharply focused on the Treicolt. The Executor’s presence would come down on her like a colossal wave.

And so she would know the meaning of pain.

Let her pain induce fear into herself and into the Sword. Let Kyric fall into fear of possibly losing his cousin and find power from the Dark Side.

Foolish girl. You are unwise to come here, Tansu.

Mocking her with a cruel whisper into her mind.

 

[Krasskorr the Maw]

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

​

It seemed that Krasskorr was not going to get the strike he was hoping for, as the mangled panel never arrived at its destination. It was stopped mid-flight by a powerful hand from Talsin Lota . The inertia was turned back on him and Brutalis with some speed as it came hurtling down the corridor.

He was not taken by surprise as the Jedi Lord may have hoped when the durasteel slammed into his body; his considerable size and weight rendered it little more than a gentle shove. At that moment, a hundred razor-sharp splinters sliced through the air, and he felt several pierce his tough skin, spilling fresh blood onto the floor.

While it was a relatively minor annoyance, it was still painful and would compromise his protective hide, which was intolerable.

The real threat was still coming as the three Jedi moved in sync, Tydeus of Tion a blur of motion with his sword drawn, and Tansu Treicolt a flesh of gold as her lightsaber ignited and finally Talsin Lota keeping the metal shrapnel raining down.

The Savrip's pain and rage had boiled over into a physical force. The lights flickered, the deck shuddered, and the very air was a thick, choking mix of dust and steam.

Then came the flash of golden light. Tansu, a tiny, agile thing, shot past him, her lightsaber a blur of motion aimed at Brutalis's leg. Krasskorr saw it all in a flash, the girl's recklessness and her intent. But as she moved, she flung a new wave of telekinetically-hurled debris at him, a shower of ripped pipes and mangled metal.

He took the attack head-on. The metal shards slammed against his armored hide, sparking and scraping with a force that would have pulped a lesser being. He felt the sting of a few, but they didn't penetrate. This was nothing. He was a wall of muscle and bone, and their little attacks were nothing but gnats.

He saw her lightsaber coming next, a streak of golden fire in the swirling steam. He met the blade with his own as it was called to his hand, but his weapon was his body. Krasskorr brought his thagomizer tail up and around to smack Tansu Treicolt back from once she came through the steam.