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
This fight was fairly cut and dry in terms of writing. Some flashy moves on both sides and a climactic ending made for an entertaining read, if not exactly a clean fight. There were some things worth mentioning on both sides before I get to the knitty gritty.
First, Kirwin- excellent job with comprehension in terms of dueling mechanics. You demonstrate a working knowledge of how things move and react in your posts, and it does you credit. The single issue we had here is with a slight instance of Metagaming. Kirwin "knowing" that something was an explosive on intuition isn't kosher, and Kirwin shouldn't have. Moving forward, don't do that. It doesn't really alter the outcome of the fight, you'd probably try to deflect a non-explosive thrown at you too. It's just cleaner to leave out a mention of outside knowledge.
Mike- you had several things to address. Your use of the Force, more explicitly overuse of it, is an issue that's running rampant in this tournament. You don't need to use it for everything, and you certainly can do better than using several things at once. A good duelist once told me, "less is more." Figuring out how to do more with less will ultimately help you become a better duelist.
Second, during your use of Force Speed, there is a point at which you halt your momentum entirely and adjust for an attack that ultimately scores a hit; however, the physics that led up to this are not feasible, and so we decided that it should not have occurred as written. Also, your blocking of the saber strike was lacking. You could have chosen to trade, killing blow for killing blow, or committed to a defense. It just felt to us that you responded poorly to what was given- any time you find yourself attempting to post-cut a post-cut, it's time to reevaluate and try a different approach.
Because of Mike's overuse of the Force and disregard for physics in the last sequence, and because Kirwin overall had a better understanding of mechanics and a cleaner written duel, we award the victory to Kirwin.
Thank you both for participating in the BA, and good luck in round 2!
The world was awash with sensations that served to fuel the swirling coils of flame. They licked at the columns and rafters, eating away greedily at the supports that held the roof in place. A large section shuddered as the foundations collapsed, and chunks of metal began to drip away like teardrops. They streaked the floor molten, leaving a hissing pool of silvery gray.
Alkor reached out toward the hellfire under his command, fingers radiating their own hear as he willed them to expand more. The danger of commanding fire was that there was no reduction- he could only grow the devastation until it ran out of control. It was already well on its way.
A gleam in his eyes hinted at insanity as he manipulated the natural disaster into something that could not be stopped. By now, he was a pulsar radiating in the Force. Luminescent energy lending itself to Honoghr, allowing it to purge a filth that had lingered too long.
If he had not yet been noticed, it would be impossible to miss him now.
Power surged back and forth as though funneled through a circuit. The powerful emotions that permeated the chaos ran into Alkor, and from Alkor into the fire. It grew and ran amok.
The roof began to whine, and columns began to crumble. Safe means of exit slowly grew fewer in number as heat, smoke, and flame barred entrances. Debris from the deteriorating walls fell haphazard.
Soon, the facility would become a hellscape, unbreathable, uninhabitable.
And Alkor continued to feed the Force to itself, burning it out of existence all around him. When at last he was through, the affected area would be barren. Life might one day grow there again, but the Force would never touch it.
The Galaxy cried out in agony. Those sensitive to the Force were made violently aware as it reeled and writhed, desperate to be free of the wicked grip that had taken it. It was a depraved and parasitic bond, one where the Dark Jedi placed his enmity and malice into the world, and the Force itself burned.
Inversely, as agony took the Force, it also took Alkor. He felt the heat rise in his blood, bringing his body to uncomfortable new levels of warmth. His skin glowed an orange-golden color as he commanded the pillars of flame to rise and twist, spiral, and flow outward. They ignited new areas of the building.
The serpentine flames billowed outward, expanding as he exhaled. Breath like a dragon dried out his tongue and burned his lips. His eyes glowed a deep red color. Darkness took its toll on his body, as it was wont to do.
The world ahead was an inferno. Large ships made impact with the city of Nystao, dragging the tallest of its buildings to hell beneath their weight. Countless bodies dropped from the ruins, crushed and brutally disfigured beyond recognition by the wanton destruction. Bogan relished in their sorrow, gaining power and fueling those who drew from him for their own.
This was a warzone, and those who venerated the Light were besieged where they stood. Alkor Drew upon the Corruptor for his own dark purpose. While Andor and Abaddon began their assault, he moved along the grounds toward the centrer of commerce and when the first signs of flame came, he stretched out his awareness.
The flames were white hot in the Force as they brushed over his ethereal touch. Vibrations fanned their strength, and oxygen fed them. The slightest of influences was more than enough.
Embers became pyres.
Metal warped and creaked.
Wood turned to ash.
With his careful control, the fire rose. With more time, it would grow rampant and consume all of Nystao- but for now, this was simply how it began.
Aidas: One of Alkor's three blades, Aidas is larger and normally seen worn on his back. Black and curved with a keen edge, the blade embodies the spirit of a hunter. Once the weapon has drawn blood, it remembers the victim and seeks them across great distances. Ysalamir or interference from Void Stone can dampen or weaken this effect. Alkor can tap into the Force to feel out the presence of a "marked" individual.
Sunya: The second of Alkor's Sith swords, Sunya is a blade fit to be utilized with one hand. The edge is invested with a toxin that breaks down cells slowly, causing agonizing pain and deteriorating the bonds between them. If left untreated, it can cause necrosis and in the long term, much greater consequences.
Zarmtyr: The last of Alkor's blades, Zarmtyr is an anomaly born of Sith Magic. While the weapon can be used in tangible form, its true nature is actually sinister- when willed to do so, the blade breaks down into ashes, which Alkor then controls mentally. Materials that come into contact with the ashes are exposed to the heat of a raging inferno. This can be as fleeting as simple pain, or in cases of prolonged exposure, actually cause significant burns. This ability cannot be used in places devoid of the Force, or when Alkor cannot concentrate on the act.
Ragged black robes, spun of Shell Spider silk and treated with dye from the Norris root. He wears a cuirass stitched of Terentatek hide beneath them, dyed black to match the robes.
Death stank in the Force. Much like a fetid corpse, as the powerful Ryu flickered from the world of the living, his essence scattered and wafted across the senses of those who could feel it. Alkor stopped for a moment, though he continued to stare blankly into the distance. After a moment, he sighed.
Strength was a matter of fact. Confidence often outweighed it. Understanding one's own limitations was fundamental to the concept of victory that Sith vaunted so, yet so often, they never made any connection between the two.
The King was dead. Long live the King.
While they had anticipated no complications, reality was hardly so simple. The loss of Ryu was a momentary setback, although the fact remained, it was a loss. Abbadon would be furious.
The Dark Jedi resumed his pace, slow and purposeful as the chaos reigned all around.
Ships crashed. Towers in Nystao shivered and crumbled beneath the weight of stray Snubfighters. Panicked screams from within the facility preceded an exodus of staff and patients. War had come to this place of peace.
Rules: Shed Blood for Kad. Weapons: In Profile. Force Powers: lol Setting:
Concord Dawn was a planet in the Mandalore Sector, primarily comprised of rural farm land and suburban landscape. The cities were few and far between, spread out to allow local clans such as Vhett to attend their more modest lifestyle.
Of course, that was before the uprising.
The days of Kad Ha'rangir were once thought numbered, but his faithful had risen once again. Dissatisfied with the direction of Mandalore in current Galactic affairs and in favor of a more violent approach to foreign affairs, the Priesthood has incited a Civil War to call the weakness from their Vode and bring about righteous Crusade.
As the fields burn and wrathful ravagers fall upon the homesteads, they theunsuspecting victims as nothing but ash.
But the Protectors were not going to take it laying down...
The others frolicked in their blood sport, relishing the desperation of their enemy. Passion, both allied and enemy, was the furnace in which all things burned- and by stoking the flames, the Order of Ruin would spread their inferno to the Galaxy. Lapay no Ryu was a Sith of great talent, and his works were subtle tugs at seemingly insignificant strings. The way he eased this conflict onto the opposition was testament to his guile.
Alkor remained behind as they engaged the enemy, simply content to listen as death sprang up like spring flowers all around. Honoghr would burn, just as predicted. It would burn, just as the rest of the Galaxy would.
His gaze reflected the flames that spiraled out of control in the hangar, detached memories fading away from him.
The men and women who died here on Honoghr were insignificant, regardless of allegiance. Alkor would remember no names or faces. He had but one task. And so, he strode forward quietly, as if ignorant to the warriors embroiled in combat only a handful of steps away.
The smell of charred flesh hung thick and putrid.
"Do not waste too much time on them," he murmured, albeit not loudly enough to be heard as he headed toward the innards of the facility.
So, thanks to both of you for your dedication and patronage to the arena! You're both avid competitors and I hope our judgments can help you to round out your styles and hone you into the cream of the crop like you want to be. That said, I'll start off with my criticism and give you the winner at the end.
First, both of you fouled early on. Andor, simply avoiding the water based attack by jumping felt like a write off, and that's Powergaming. However, I'm not holding it against you because Adi came right back out of frustration a few posts later, when you used the combination of TK and lightsaber.
Adi, you can be more creative in your defenses. Taking one attack and avoiding the other could be turned into something like using the force of one attack to carry you out of range of the other.
Things picked up and got really good toward the end, where Andor scored a great hit with the saber while being grappled. You both handled that pretty well, and Adi gets props for taking a really nasty hit. Andor, what throws me here is where you were being drowned and everything that happened thereafter sort of blurred together.
My opinion here is that taking the drowning hit would have been more favorable for you than trying to fight it. You would have passed out, and several of the last few posts probably wouldn't have happened. It's okay to take a loss humbly- in fact, I probably would have called the saber damage a bigger hit than the drowning, and it could have gone either way.
As is, this match goes to Adieumus.
Thanks to both of you, congratulations, and better luck next time!
Due to inactivity, Abaddon loses this match by automatic forfeit.
Please feel free to try again in the future, this had potential to be a fun fight to read, but as it stands it's not long enough to really properly judge.
I do hope to read a good fight between you two moving forward.
"You would have me do..." Alkor had to laugh. The absurdity of the Sith's words was comical on par with the fall of the last bastion of Ancient Sith history. As rocks were hewn in every direction and the pillars crumbled to dust, the Jen'jidai cackled hellishly. "I come to this place for you to tell me to do as I already intend. Perfect, Sith, absolutely perfect. Nothing could amuse me more than the dangerous game you have decided to play with your words."
Korriban shuddered and spasmed as the Temple was torn asunder, swallowed whole by the planet's sandy surface. Jagged, ornate rocks that once jutted skyward now seeped down into the sediment to be forgotten- the one thing that those ancient Lords feared the most. In a moment of fickle disdain, Alkor fulfilled their horrific prophecy.
And after only a second of satisfaction, he was left humorless. The smile faded from his lips. "I will be this... Ravager that you value so dearly, but make no mistake. No gods, no devils, not a Jedi nor a Sith will keep me from what you call "freedom." Step in the way, and I will scatter your bones indiscriminate from all else."
He turned toward where the doorway once stood, only the shifting sands at his feet a testament that anything ever existed there. "I will return to my ship," he spoke quietly once more, over his shoulder. "There is much left to do before the darkness calls for war once more."
The rot crept quickly through its chosen conduit and spread like sickness. While the pillar maintained its integrity, it was little more than the focus for something greater. The other, unknown Sithling moved forward and placed a hand opposite Alkor's own, and was rewarded with an expression of passionless mirth. The energy radiating forth from Alkor was ruination, the sort that contaminated all life and set it on the narrow path toward destruction. Sith often channeled such power, but to amass it, to hold it in- the Jen'jidai had to wonder what effect that might have.
Instead of worrying over the stunted leveling of this place, Alkor's gaze swept across the dusty floor again, and he regarded Abbadon. "The opinions of a society that eats its own and calls it just are of little consequence to me. If you seek to reform them, you will find me less than useless in that pursuit."
When his words turned to cleansing, Alkor let a soft breath out through his nostrils. He had heard many speak on the prospect of Galactic genocide, but few ever managed to live up to their own expectations. Few, that is, until this plague swept swiftly across the masses and brought civilization to its knees. What a fine time for the opportunistic to step forward.
"You want my strength." It was not a question.
"I will have you know, Sith," Alkor spoke, his fingers pressing harder against the column until the tips formed cracks in the stone. More power ruptured through these and sloughed outward like blood from a gaping wound.
Korriban itself howled.
"I have no interest in killing those who are not worth my time. The weak are weak. The strong will decide in time who the strongest among them is."
Some men sought to make themselves stronger in order to rule, and others to be free much as Abbadon described it. Alkor sought to be strong because there was a vast galaxy filled with challenges. When they were gone, there would be nothing left, and yet they were as numerous as grains of sand on a beach.
"If you would not mourn for this place," his eyes slowly closed, "or its failures, then allow it to crumble.
There was a profound and esoteric honesty in Abbadon's words that Alkor disliked. The idea that any man could seek freedom in a world where they were inherently bound by their own limitations, the concept of breaking chains was a metaphorical misdemeanor. Alkor had lived in the throes of desperation and survival during his youth, and when finally he seized the strength to stand on his own, he learned that everything had its price.
Sith cheated so many aspects of reality, they had to give up such precious things in return. His eyes moved away from the True Sith at the blasphemous statement. How many promises would darkness make to tempt him, when already it had taken so much?
"My chains are of my own design," the Jen'jidai answered, "and their weight is the burden I bear for their gifts."
It was a blunt answer, and a sour one in comparison to the honey that the Dark Lord offered. "My Brothers have abandoned me," he told the man, "they betrayed and bound me, but here I am. You offer me freedom? I ask you, am I not free?"
As if to answer his own question, the world around Alkor grew frigid. Crystalline flecks of ice gathered at his fingertips as the Force coalesced in the pillar, gushing into it like water through cracks in a dam. His voice reverberated through the room, quieter than a whisper.
"There is freedom in Death," he croaked as the stone shivered. "And for something new to rise, that which stands in the way must fall. This is no fitting place for a rebirth."
Power, unbridled and raw, surged through the foundations of the Sith Academy. Lines of deep ruby light poured out where the Force seeped into the column Alkor's hand rested upon, then outward. The ground trembled, rock cracked, and the world around him screamed.
"You misunderstand," Alkor drawled as he trudged forward, hands moving along the intricately carved stone. Each pillar felt monolithic in the Force, yet ancient and fragile. They held aloft this skeletal testament to the failures of the Sith. Yet her this man stood, mocking.
His gaze moved up a fraction. He saw the world around him choking, gasping, struggling for sense to return as multiple men who by virtue of simply standing there toxified the Force. He saw everything differently from others, and that was why he hated them.
"I want nothing that you have to give, short of your lives." His words were sharper now, laced with venom. "And you have denied me any challenge at all.
What is it you want, Sith?"
His fingers moved up the pillar and traced the cracks. He ran his nails sharly across the stone. Slowly, his gaze rose to meet Abbadon.
It was more than a pinprick that drew Alkor to this place. Abbadon was a festering wound in the Force, hemorrhaging his presence out for anyone with their eyes open to see. That grandiose sort of excess, the blatant disregard for his own secrecy, it smacked of someone who wanted to be found. Alkor, ever the hunter, seized hold of the scent and found the man and his small audience in the heart of this ancient, abandoned Sith Academy.
His eyes traced the floor as he sniffed out the source of the disruption in the Living Force, and at its heart, he sensed the man who called himself Abbadon. His shoulders sagged a bit as he resigned himself.
The hope of something dangerous or exciting had whet his tongue and set him to thirsting, but he found less than a handful of Sith at the source. Where were all those insects who should have crept from the woodwork to bask in the rot? Where were the Sith, who stood ready to climb upon the broken corpse of the Galaxy and call themselves Kings?
Instead of a challenge, he found this.
His lips drew a thin, unamused line, and his eyes remained downcast. There would be no savagery today, no combat worthy of the word. Instead...
"You called me here," he asked quietly, "to frolic in the dust with ghosts?"
He exhaled, and ripples of his disappointment shuddered like links of a chain. The darkness around him palpated and turned his flesh cold, even as the blood in his veins began to burn. "Tell me," Alkor felt his voice increase only a margin, enough to sound almost normal.