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
Azrayl Ventus was a fool and a traitor - but he'd rather live a traitor and die a fool than exist another day as the disappointment he had been three weeks ago. His father had tried to tell him then just as he had every day prior. "Credits and power mean nothing. Both fade away just as easily as your last breath." It'd taken Azrayl thirty-seven years to understand what his father had been trying to tell him and now, it seemed like it almost didn't matter. His father died trying to accomplish his goals, it seemed inevitable that Azrayl would meet the same fate.
Quietly, his golden eyes stared out from hollow sockets - pools of molten gold simmering in pitch colored pots. And, just like forge steam, the memories hung over his distant gaze. It'd taken days to get from Umbara to Skako and every morning, without fail, he had come to the bridge and meditated in front of the spiraling chaos of Hyperspace. He wouldn't mumble or whisper, nor would he acknowledge the servant droids when they hobbled up from the lounge area to offer refreshment. He'd just sit, think and be alone. By now that austereness must have fit him like a cloak - if it hadn't already before.
There was a reason, after all, that most other races saw Umbarans as dreadfully dull and melancholic creatures.
Thankfully on this trip he was spared the usual groveling of other species over his demeanor - at least somewhat. There was still one other organic onboard, but it was far better than the horde of others he was so tired of. His father had been prone to inviting parties of assorted origin on long ventures whenever he could. Azrayl always supposed it had something to do with trying to expand his diplomatic notoriety. That and because one thing Umbarans distrusted more than other people, was other Umbarans. To invite another onto the ship was to invite espionage, sabotage and assassination.
Azrayl's throat tightened. Death. It still clung to the air and no scrubber, purifier or rinsing would ever get it out. Pulling the stringy vines of white hair back over his jacket collar, Azrayl leaned forward and massaged the sting from his eyes with open palms. Pulling them away, he dried the tears on his pants and took to the pilot's display. His fingers danced across the screen, pulling away screens of useless information until finally arriving at a map of the galaxy - where the ship's position as marked by a glowing triangle on a narrow strip of white.
A few hours more and they'd finally be back on solid ground. Back on track to make his father's dream a reality. Even if the rest of the Council did into agree with his leaving.
There had been few things his father was able to leave him. The retrofitted relic he sat in now was one of them. A man of historical appreciation his father always was and would be remembered as. When he had first gotten this Dynamic-Class Freighter, it was barely holding together. Now it was as pearl white and immaculate as if it had been pulled directly from the assembly line and right through time.
The second thing he'd left was a dream and the means to realize it. As far as Umbara was concerned, he could climb no higher. That was all because of his father.
In return, Azrayl had only one thing to offer to his memory.
The last - and as far as he could remember, the only - promise he had ever made.
In contrast to what he assumed was appropriate to call his business partner - employer? - they’d never discussed the specifics of that relationship - Jalek didn’t prefer to spend his time in contemplation. Quite the opposite, rather. He preferred to keep himself occupied, and right now that meant, well, not really much of anything given that they were in hyperspace. There was nothing to do except wait, and that was far from his strong suit.
So, wandering. It wasn’t the most ideal, he certainly didn’t like it, but it was better than doing nothing. Eventually that led him to the bridge, and it was there he found the man that had brought him onboard in the first place, seemingly occupied with other matters. Plopping down in the copilot’s chair, he glanced over at the other man and then to the pilot’s display, skimming the readings.
"Well, on the bright side, this shouldn’t be too difficult. It’s old tech, means it should only take a couple minutes. They never bother teaching you to work your own stuff?" Not that he was complaining, their ignorance meant he got paid. It was more an idle curiosity, especially given the Umbarans were so concerned with political gain and being one step ahead of the next person in line.
"In the meantime, maybe try this thing called conversation. It helps make things less fucking boring, and it helps when you feel like shit - which, in case you were wondering, it’s obvious you do."
Azrayl didn't acknowledge the splicer as he threw himself into the co-pilots seat and began his impromptu monologue. Yet, despite Azrayl's distant and seemingly unconscious gaze into the void - he had listened to every word. He couldn't help it. It was instinct on Umbara to overhear every conversation at the table beside your own. Even now, when the weight of the galaxy seemed to be resting on his shoulders...he couldn't turn it off.
Humor. Arrogance. Azrayl dissected the splicer's words effortlessly, his mind inserting words into one end and churning out the perfect response on the other. His own feelings searched the aura he felt the man exerting - tapping into the sixth sense that always nagged the back of his mind. Definitely arrogance - but lacking maliciousness. He enjoys the banter....he can tell I'm upset...
After the conversation had hung in the air for a long few seconds, Azrayl finally turned to face the man. His focus seemed soft, but his eyes darted around the man's body in quick jerks as he took in the physical language that other species made all too easy to pick-up on. Oddly relaxed for talking to his employer. The way he lounges...flirtatious maybe?
After a quick dissection of his own words, he became the most beneficial version of himself he could muster, "I would have delighted at the opportunity to study under someone talented enough to work the factory machines."
soften your stare. Unfold your arms for openness. Tilt head to on 'someone' to indicate him - stir his ego.
He played out his part perfectly, adding a smile with the tilt of his head to appear more friendly, "Unfortunately, a plague seems to have - in case you weren't aware - eliminated all potential masters in the subject."
Tilt head away. Smirk to give impression of flirtation. Tilt head upward to exude confidence in your banter. It would be wise to end with a match of wit - indicate to him that it his time to speak.
Observation was something prized where he came from to, but for other reasons. In a gang situational awareness was a necessity of survival, else you were liable to end up the next one dead on the street. His certainly wasn’t honed to the same degree, but Jalek was far from being wholly unaware. He could feel the other man’s eyes on him, but similarly played it off, shrugging a shoulder with a slight, crooked smile. At least this wouldn’t be an entirely boring trip, then.
“To answer your question, it could use some work.” This was how he read people, but so far he had to admit he wasn’t gleaning anything extensive from his companion. Not for a want of trying, but rather because he was apparently even more guarded than the Morellian himself. Unsurprising, if the stories he’d heard about his species’ homeworld were true. Even less surprising, given what he set out to accomplish.
Shrugging a shoulder, he continued his retort, “Slicing seems like a useful tool for someone like you to have in their repertoire. It gets you places you want to be quickly and easily, and doesn’t draw much attention if you know what you’re doing. But then, it’s easier to hire people.” Not exactly an insult, depending on which way he took it. This was just more testing the waters, and it was rare that he ever truly made an attempt to create enemies. That wasn’t beneficial in his line of work.
