A massive cataclysm has struck the universe, and destroyed most everything in its wake. The survivors are now trying to pick up the pieces, and figure out exactly what has befallen them. Gather together, lightsiders!! The darkness has shattered the peace and calm of the galaxy...and they will do anything to stop anyone from finding out exactly what has been done! This is our first sitewide RP plotline. Lightsiders, you are looking for the source of this massive event. Clues must be found, lackeys tracked down, and bits of memory discovered. Darksiders, you guys don't want that to happen....because of the one behind the whole thing is furthering his ultimate goal. Mandalorians, and non-force users, you guys can decide where you stand on this line....do you side with the Jedi, and try to discover the reasons behind the ruined universe, or will you side with the darkness, and protect those secrets. Will the secret of the cataclysmic reaping be kept under wraps? Or will the Jedi and their allies find out the truth? Your RP and writing will decide the outcome!
BATTLE ARENA
Welcome to The Saga Continues. We have a section called the Battle Arena. Here you can use your characters to fight other characters. Hone your skills and see what you are made of. Don't worry, anything that happens here, does not effect your characters in posts, so if your character dies, you can still use them over and over. Have fun and check it out!
The Saga Continues is the product of the mind of ADMIN ADI; all contents are copyright their original owners. All characters belong to their original creators, and may not be used or replicated without permission. All images are copyright their original owners. This skin Operation Mindcrime was made by pharaoh leap of Pixel Perfect and put together by ADMIN KRYSTAL
Keldabe was the capital city of the planet Mandalore, the homeworld of the Mandalorian people. Situated atop a flat granite hill forty-five degrees north of the planetary equator, the urban fort-town of Keldabe was almost completely surrounded by a bend in the Kelita River and the forests of Mandalore's north. Packed with an eclectic array of buildings of all shapes and material, ranging from durasteel to wood, Keldabe was a hub for life on Mandalore, and boasted landmarks such as the hundred-meter-tall tower of the MandalMotors company, along with the Oyu'baat, the oldest cantina on the planet.
Oax stared at the drink in his hand, sloshing the liquid around before gulping it down and refilling the glass from the bottle next to it. He was trying to forget the events that had lead to where he was now: “Mommy? Daddy? What’s happening outside?” cried a scared five-year-old Kayhla as she ran to Oax’s open protective arms. Oax grabbed her up and walked over to the reinforced window where he took a glance outside before closing the blaster proof shutter. “Don’t worry about it sweetie. Everything will be ok, daddy’s got you.” Oax said trying to comfort his worried daughter. As he turned around a beautiful woman walked into the room in her nightgown. “Oax? What is it?” she asked rubbing her eyes. “There seems to be some sort of riot going on in the streets. We will be safe enough. Let’s go back to sleep.” Oax said as he carried Kayhla to their room. Placing her in his bed he opened his nightstand and placed one of his WESTAR-35 blasters on top of it. Crawling into bed with his wife and daughter they all prepared to go to sleep again. “I can’t sleep daddy.” Said a wide eyed Kayhla, “Tell me a story!” Oax smiled down at his daughter, “Ok, what do you want to hear? The story of the time I defeated the Gundaark that was released to terrorize Naboo city? Or the time your mother and I teamed up to defeat a slave trader ring all by ourselves?” wildly shaking her head she squealed, “NO! tell me how you and momma met!” Looking at his wife with a loving smile Oax chucked and began his tale.
“It was a few years before you were born little one. I was following my Aliit’alor in a fight to take over a missile manufacturing facility on the recently captured planet Adumar. The I had lead a couple Aliit'Ordo to the factory while our forces, lead by Cathaoir Aliit'alor, had created a diversion on the other side of the town. After we disposed of the guards I hacked the blaster door and we started eliminating any other armed forces we saw within the facility. Everything was going well until someone sounded the alarm which alerted a detachment of guards to the fight. The battle for the facility however, wasn't going as planned and we almost failed, until your mother and a group of Aliit’Ordo came to our aid. During the fight a reactor exploded sending me across the room where I was knocked unconscious, when I came to it was your mother's face looking down at me, looking into that beautiful face I knew that she would be the one I would win over. For the next year or two I did everything I could do to prove to your mother that I could be the one for her, from single-handedly defeating a Gundaark, to making sure we were partnered together for her assignment to hunt down the great slave trader Tyrral Katar and his slave ring. Finally, she agreed to be my riduur, my wife. And a couple years later we were blessed with you, little Kayhla, and you will grow up to be just as great a warrior as your mother.”
Oax looked down at his daughter and saw her peacefully sleeping, next to her was his wife, asleep as well, but sweating. He got up and got a wet towel from the bathroom and placed it on her forehead. Laying back down he shut his eyes to sleep for the next few hours of darkness there was. Oax was abruptly woken up by the feeling of hands closing around his neck, his lungs were already burning and he couldn’t see in the dark who his assailant was. He had to act fast, grabbing the wrists of his would-be assassin Oax tried to break their hold, to no avail, in a final desperate effort Oax reached over to his nightstand and fumbled with the hilt of his blaster pistol, finally grabbing ahold of it he set it to the jaw of the attacker and fired. The person’s body went limp and collapsed on top of him. Oax pushed the body off of himself and jumped out of bed to turn on the light. Turning around he was horrified to see his wife on the ground with a blaster shot through the top of her head. He dove to his knees and began sobbing. Looking for his daughter he saw her laying in the bed eyes and mouth agape, as if gasping for breath. Oax couldn’t breathe, the tears kept flowing but the air refused to enter his lungs. The realization of what had happened but not knowing why caused Oax’s oxygen deprived brain caused him to blackout and collapse to the floor. Oax stared at the bottom of the drink in front of him, “You’re in my seat.” Said a gruff voice behind Oax who kept looking at his drink. “Did you hear me drunk?!” questioned the voice once again as the owner of the voice grabbed his shoulder. Oax quickly and smoothly unholstered his pistol and placed it under the jaw of the aggressor. “Leave, if you want to live” stated Oax in a low voice. “Nobody tells me where to go!” demanded the voice seconds before Oax’s blaster fired a shot through his skull, “I said ‘leave’.” Said Oax as the body crumpled to the ground. Oax finished his drink threw some credits on the bar top and asked for another bottle.
“Time for you to leave here Oax, you’ve been here all day. And even though the credits are nice I can’t have you killing my other patrons because you don’t agree with them, got it?” stated Nar Seto the barkeeper as he placed the bottle on the counter. Oax looked up at him, thanked him for the bottle as he picked it up, grabbed his helmet and headed out the door. Stumbling out into the street Oax saw what he wanted to forget: death, the death of many citizens from some unknown plague, or disease that had spread over all of Mandalore. He uncorked his bottle and took a long swig of its contents and stumbled on. Oax had been stumbling around for a while before he found himself in a dark alley, “This doesn’t seem to be the way to the Oyu-baat, must’ve made a wrong turn somewhere.” He slurred to himself. “There he is.” Said a very angry voice as three shadows appeared from the other side of the alley, “You killed our friend back there in the cantina. You will pay for what you did!” Oax put on his helmet and looked at the shadows the night vision mode identified his aggressors were a Twi’lek, a Weequay, and a Human, all part of a local gang of thugs that fought for dominance of the poorer sectors of Keldabe. Oax flashed the Ordo crest on his buy’ce, “You know what this symbol means?” he asked, starting to sober up some, “Yeah, it means you are clanless. Everyone on Mandalore knows that Clan Ordo was wiped out by the plague. You’re all alone, nobody to give you aid, and that’s just how you are gonna die: alone.” replied the Twi’lek drawing a blaster and a vibro-blade knife, his buddies followed suite, “Get ‘im boys!” All three gangsters charged at Oax simultaneously firing their blasters. The first shot caught Oax on his durasteel shoulder pad and the other two missed wildly. “Fine then, you just made me angry.” Growled Oax as he loosed both blasters from their holsters and engaged his jetpack to give him some distance from the vibro-blades and opened fire on the thugs. His opponents quickly found cover from his shots and kept firing at Oax. Oax stumbled a little bit when he landed from his short flight, quickly gathering his composure he grabbed a thermal detonator, activated the timer and tossed it in the alley. Shortly after the explosion sent two bodies flying out of the alley along with some debris and smoke. Walking over to the two bodies that had landed a few feet away Oax saw that only the Twi’lek was alive, “Didn’t work too well for you, huh?” taunted Oax as he looked down at the dying alien. The Twi’lek looked up at him holding the side of his neck as blood oozed between his fingers, “You... *Cough* will pay... for this.” He forced out before Oax put a plasma shot through his head, “I highly doubt that.” “Now look at me, I’m not drunk and it’s your fault.” Griped Oax as he walked into the alleyway to make sure the Weequay thug was dead. He found half the Weequay body resting dead against the wall, his lower half had been vaporized by the explosion. “How unfortunate, for you. Now where is the Oyu-baat? I want some of their homebrewed Ne’tra gal, or maybe something stronger.” The Mandalorian said to himself as he started in the direction that he figured was the correct way. He didn’t bother with the bodies except to loot a few credits from the Twi’lak and human who had not been dismembered by the explosion. There was already so much death in the city, what were a few more bodies added to the pile.
*Our transit to Keldabe featured marginally better progress in communication with Curcebithin. When I pulled out a half of Trogdor and ignited its blades, he pulled out a pair of curved-hilt lightsabers and did the same. Cool! We’re comparing weapons now, and I didn’t even need to explain what I was doing!
And then Ielyn informed us of the inherent risk of slicing a hole in the hull, of explosive decompression, and asked us to put the sabers out. After doing so, I muttered to Curcebithin that I would be able to survive a depressurization event thanks to the rebreathers embedded in the mask I’m wearing. He ignored that comment and I press it no further. We’ll spar later, I’ve decided. Start laying the foundation for what power really is in his mind.
All the playing around with our lightsabers brings to mind a forgotten detail. Tal’s saber is lying somewhere in the Korribanni desert, and there’s been not so much as a whisper about what sort of replacement he’ll be looking at making, or when he’s planning on doing so. Nor, indeed, is there any idea of where we’ll obtain access to a furnace, if he’s going to forge his own crystals and hilt. The Mandalorians are famous for their metalworking, but I doubt they’ll let us simply waltz in and get to cooking. Didn’t they declare war on Force users not so long ago?
There has been a lot to process, and a lot of planning that has surely taken place. It’s understandable that this novel gap in Tal’s power would have escaped direct attention, but given the destination’s reputation for their love of conflict, it might be worth a chat at the present.
At least we can prove that we’re paying everything its due attention.*
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*There are some things that the Jedi got right. That the lightsaber is equivocal to your being is one of them. Actually, they didn’t think it out fully; it’s that your power is your life. And your weaponry constitutes a significant portion of your power. ‘Try not to lose it,’ what a good phrase! ‘All those who gain power are afraid to lose it,’ another good line. Even with those two pieces you can clearly see the interplay between strength, power, and life.
Of course, the Jedi failing to think things fully through is nothing new. In fact that’s the least surprising outcome of all, it’s so cliché that it hurts. You can see that in the uniformity that plagued the Jedi Order. Why is it that a single blade was the motif dominating their ranks for the vast duration of the era of the Republic? It’s because they were a military entity, and being in very nature regimented, expressions of individuality were harshly suppressed.
‘This weapon is your life.’ Oh, is that so? Then why does it look and function exactly like everyone else’s? No! If your weapon is truly an analogy to your life, then it should be different. No two beings are exactly alike, not even clones. And it’s a blatant lie to suggest that a single saber is the pinnacle of efficiency as far as weaponry goes. No, you understand the truth, don't you? It’s merely part of the uniform, for that’s all the Jedi cared to think of it as, despite claiming otherwise.
But we are different. The Sith are the ones who truly care about freedom. The Sith are the ones who care to empower each individual with the tools necessary to obtain freedom. Therefore we recognize that a man’s armament, being an extension of who he is, will be unlike any others’. We embrace it.
If you wish to become whom you desire to be, the only answer is to be a Sith. All other paths are laden with deceit. There is only one Way.
The Gamma-class shuttle plows steadily onward. Estimated time of arrival in Keldabe airspace, ten minutes. Plenty of time to devote to this topic, or not too long of a time to sit in silence. A happy medium.*[/font]
[/font]I replied with an eager smile, and leaned forward in my seat[/i]. "I had the same thought process. If all one must do to grow their power is increase their individual strengths, then I have no more glaring weakness than my old lightsaber. I've been wracking my brain this entire trip, and I think I've come up with something you'll like.
I mastered the art of fencing, and I've not been bested in a lightsaber duel since becoming a Lapay, but all the same I've outgrown the Way of the Ysalimiri and the weapons best suited to its use. Instead, what I need is something versatile. I won't lie and say that Trogdor didn't provide some inspiration, but I think I've actually managed to improve upon your design.
In the end, it was my original purpose for coming to Mandalore that provided the final piece of the puzzle. I don't have my holopad, or I'd sketch this out, but just imagine this: a saberstaff composed of a phrikite hilt and two high intensity blades, each on an isolated loop and capable of independent ignition. Beneath each emitter would be cruciform hand-guards, made of dense, heavy metals. Both blades would be triple phased- capable of shoto, standard, and extended length- the last being a dramatic increase, something along the lines of six feet."[/font][/font][/ul][/ul] I paused, partly for dramatic effect and partly to wait out the sudden turbulence that sent us all jostling on our bench seats. Made for comfort, these shuttles were not. Ielyn made an apologetic noise from up front, which I ignored. Up until now, what I'd described was unimpressive, borderline run of the mill. But with just a few tweaks, it was capable of becoming something extraordinary, and so I plowed ahead.
"
[/ul][/font] I sat back, a pleased smile on my face, and waited for the applause.
*With a reply like that, it's almost as if he's been waiting for the moment I'd ask.
Most of what he says is pretty hard to picture without a bit of paper to sketch it out, he's definitely right about that. A saberstaff, got it...independent emitters, that's pretty standard...crossguards? On a saberstaff? Ok so then if you've got one side inactive the one can behave like a pommel but are you often going to get much use from the active end's guard oh wait hang on we're still going...triple phase well that's going to require some careful engineering, wow.
I understand. Truly, I do. With how Trogdor is designed, there are innumerable variants to how I can weild it. How could I fault Tal's excitement? In fact, were it not for the mask, he would see a grin mirroring his spreading over my face. Envisioning possibilities for maneuvering in combat is a really delightful exercise. It reminds us of a far simpler time, when all there was to being powerful was winning in battle. Back in the days of our respective youths. Before greater responsibility fell upon our shoulders, with the cognizance and duty associated with ever-surpassing power.
...Do you long for a return to the simplicity of those halcyon days? Woe is you, then; no matter how you may wish it, you can never go back. Once enlightened, the beckon call of innocence is no more than a siren song full of naught but empty promises for you.
Nevertheless, there are two parts of what Tal has blurted out that strike a clearer picture than the rest. Things are piecing together, now. First and foremost is the upgrade away from analog emitter switches. It's a really good idea — the only true thing he's spoken about the potential for Trogdor to be improved. The second, on the other hand, requires some clarification.*
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*Feels like a cheap trip, if that's the principal driving force behind why we came here. The Mandalorians are renowned for their proprietary metal. Over the course of their checkered history it has both served to empower them and to draw the attention of enemies. Sometimes victorious, sometimes defeated. Don't you think that they would just as soon be rid of the lot of it? If the Mandalorian iron is synonymous with the Mandalorians themselves, don't you think that it bears too much responsibility? Incurs too much weight?
If a piece of your power can be used against you, the right answer is to excise it and start over again. Ironically enough, it was Mandalorians who gave me a practical examination over that very topic.
I passed with flying colors.
And for our part, it does draw to light the question, 'isn't there a better way?' Now, to be sure, our purpose here is surely not solely on behalf of the special gloves. Already that's been proven true with the exemplary progress in communication that I have been making with Curcebithin. And there's surely stacks upon stacks of motive, intrigue, and impending bloodbathing.
[/font][/ul][/quote] *As the leader of a trio of Fang Fighters splashes across our radio, the flight's signatures suddenly appear. Though visually obscured by some convenient cloud banks (it has been, after all, a somewhat turbulent flight) their presence is nonetheless respected by Ielyn. He flicks open the channel and replies in due turn.*
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*L'appel du vide. The thought crosses Ielyn's mind to end it all here, take everyone down with him. Being pretty sure that the fortunes that he's amassing are going to outlive him, what difference would it make? His thumb caresses the tractor beam trigger. You can just picture it, can't you? Slug one Fang into another, burn the other down with the heavy laser cannons, then erupt in a fireball of retaliatory fire from the rest of Mandalore's air force. Go out in a blaze of audacious glory. After all, why not…?
The moment passes, his thumb withdraws, and he complies with no further deviant thoughts. The escort drew them away from Keldabe airspace, to the northern reaches of the planet. 10 minutes turned into an hour.*
If anything, he was straightforward and to the point, something Keira could appreciate. But most aruetiise came to Mandalore seeking the same thing, and she saw no reason why he should be any different. Their people once held fame as warriors, mercenaries and bounty hunters, and such was the reason most came calling to their door. The opportunity to gain much needed credits could be appreciated, but they needed to be turning their attention inwards, not fighting other’s wars for them and inviting conflict to those that could hardly afford it.
In response to his bow she merely waved her hand dismissively; the vode did not abide by such formalities and found them wholly unnecessary. “We thank you for your generosity, but I’m not one to take offers without knowing to what they pertain. No one gives so freely without expecting something in return, and I won’t indebt my people to an outsider we don’t know or trust.” Contrary to how they may have been interpreted, her statements weren’t intended to be inflammatory. This was simply the nature of how Mandalorians did everything: from diplomacy to war, there was never a people more blunt.
“You seek an alliance, ‘lek? And what would my people stand to gain that we could not find elsewhere? We have enough to worry about without needing to look to the outside for potential conflicts. With all due respect, my people and I have little and less trust of outsiders, not to mention Force-sensitives, and to my understanding you and your people are both.” It rubbed her wrong that they would come seeking an agreement in times such as these, when the galaxy itself was on the brink of war, not to mention the civil disputes brewing within whatever governments were left standing.
“And you are not Mandalorian, aruetii. You do not wear our armor. It is not your place.” They were a fiercely proud people, if nothing else. Mand’alor needed to match it.
Venator cocked his head as she spoke, and then nodded along. She was offended by the armor but if she looked it was purely a ceremonial gift. He sighed inwardly at her hostility but reminded himself he was dealing with Mando's here and they where a tricky race. "I apologize for the armor, it was a gift from a former Mandolore, it seemed fitting to wear, that was my mistake." He removed the golden helm and tossed it to one of his men revealing his cruel Zabraki face, unlike his creator he had hair dreaded between his horns and a pointed beard he had both eyes and they burned yellow, like most of those steeped in the Darkside. "I want nothing but for the Mandolorian people to prosper, naas a jate Kelir acyk mhi." He finished simply, he was partially telling the truth and partially lying, one day he hoped to hire them as the mighty warriors they where but until they where stable here on Mandolore that wouldn't even remotely be a possibility, and what better way than to help them on their feet, the mando where crass and blunt, but they also knew how to repay a debt better than anyone, and for now this first time it would indeed be free of charge, no cost, no retainer, no he would pay for their services at a later date, he still had limitless resources when it came to funding and in the future he would make an offer they couldn't refuse. "Please understand I offer these goods in faith and friendship, they are a gift, there is no debt need be repaid, there is no time frame to return anything it is yours and I give it freely, I merely request that should a bidding war ever happen for your services I get a call before it begins, not even favoritism merely a chance to pay you and your glorious warriors their worth." He said lastly waiting for the go ahead to have supplies run down from the ships waiting in orbit from the Lady Mandolore.
