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
Location: Abandoned Warehouse, Slum District G17, Lower City, Coruscant
Ah, Coruscant. The Center of the Universe. The Crown Jewel of the Republic.
Now, just one more barren urban wasteland. Another victim of the plague. But most importantly, largely uninhabited.
Ezan had no fear of infection. The virus, plague, whatever it was had already run its course on Coruscant, leaving only empty shells and rotting corpses behind. Rumor on the winds, this virus was like a flash fire; incredibly lethal and infectious when it was alive, but not lasting more than a standard month in duration.
Ironically, Ezan had to thank the virus for creating such a large yet empty urban terrain in which the Clawdite could play. Despite being given the all-clear, either too many people had died or were loath to return, meaning there were many sectors for the shifter to play in. Whether practicing their skills, or storing merchandise (and hiding it from looters), or simply laying low, Coruscant had been the reliable place to do so.
Not that it'd ever be home. Oh, no. Home was a burned-down building in the slums of Nar Shaddaa. The resting place of their family.
No. Don't think about that now. It is not a safe place to think about that.
Right. They needed to focus on the task at hand.
The Clawdite, still in their natural form, readjusted their shirt and continued to make their way across the district, putting to good use their acrobatic abilities. Ezan never, ever parked their ship next to the area where they intended to work. Too risky, they felt. Besides, they considered this their warmup.
It wasn't long before Ezan arrived to their favorite warehouse in the sector. There were plenty of leftover scraps and broken down junk for target practice, and the beams made for excellent gymnastics practice.
Broken glass and litter crunched underfoot as the Clawdite made their way to a rusted desk, no doubt left over from the original workers. Swiping a hand over it to remove the layer of dust, Ezan pulled out their blaster and the lightsaber they'd lifted, placing it on the now (somewhat) clean surface. They couldn't explain it, but the shifter had felt...drawn to the weapon. There was a sense of enamourment beyond simply admiring a shiny object.
The Clawdite shook their head. They had targets to set up, and a lightsaber to test out.
(Credit to my friend Bambi for the sig)
I wanna tell you what my truth is, but it's buried down inside//Don't be scared, truth is hell
For all the hard work Makoto did, he could still ill afford a penthouse in the upper city. He was a refugee from a backwater world, and while the Republic had spent the time and credits to rehabilitate him and reintroduce him into society, he still had a sizeable bill to repay for his treatment. It had taken months to simply decrease the psychotic episodes to a degree where they were manageable with medication; but the longer lasting mental damage would take years to undo.
His scarred mind now struggled with the idea that a person would knowingly and willingly unleash something like this epidemic at the center of Galactic commerce- let alone anywhere else. The lives he had been forced to take weighed on his shoulders like chains, and when he tried to sleep, he could still hear each of them crying out for mercy.
If it had been his decision, they would all have had it.
Lashes on his back had scarred over, but deeper pain still lingered. Not a pain of the flesh, but of the heart. As the youth made his way through the back alleys of Coruscant's slums, his eyes watched the palms of his hands tremble. With no reason to hide his distress, his body relapsed into heavy anxiety and cold sweat beaded along his back and neck.
Why?
None of this made sense. He felt only confusion when he thought about it, so he took a deep breath and tried his best not to. It was the only way he knew how to cope.
"No one else died today," he whispered to himself, "that's a good thing, at least."
For the past several days, an unknown number of Republic citizens had fallen victim to the outbreak. Those who were seemingly unaffected became targets for the infected. Chaos broke out, and people who had lived normal lives on the city planet found themselves in the middle of a cataclysm.
When the dust settled, Makoto found himself standing over trillions of corpses.
It was all too familiar.
He stopped suddenly when he heard a strange sound from the warehouse not far from his tenament- the only shelter he could manage to afford in light of his unsteady income. Concerned, the red eyed boy hobbled over to the entrance and placed a hand on the outer wall.
"Hello?" he called, loud enough to reverberate through the condemned building.
Hope begins in the dark, the stubborn hope that if you just show up and try to do the right thing, the dawn will come.
No doubt, the strange noises Makoto heard were the frustrated grunts of Ezan.
Lightsabers were a sophisticated melee weapon, used by Force Users on both sides to fight each other. They were crafted by learners at a young age, and meant to be not only a tool, but an extension of the user - much like the Force itself.
The damn things were also supposed to turn on when you pushed the stupid button.
Ezan had been ready for using the lightsaber. Dressing in relatively non-constricting clothing, setting up the targets just right. They were eager to begin swinging their laser sword. But the damned thing wouldn't even turn on. No matter what the Clawdite did - and have faith, friend, for this one had an imagination without bounds - the stupid hilt was no more than a dated rod of metal.
"Why won't you work?!" they hissed. "Work for us, dammit!"
In a fit of anger, they'd pulled back their arm, ready to throw the thing away (call or no, what was the point if it didn't work?!) when an unexpected voice spooked the daylights out of them.
"Hello?"
Ezan nearly jumped out of their skin at the sound. Never had they ever expected anyone to be here. Scrambling to the metal desk, they threw on their coat and grabbed their blaster-- then paused. The person wasn't close yet, but the door was on the other side, and any attempt at escape would no doubt be noticed.
Their blue, feline eyes travelled upwards. Perhaps, if they were quiet enough... This newcomer, whoever they were, would leave. Tucking the blaster and the lightsaber into their coat pocket, Ezan gritted their teeth together and braced themselves for the shift.
It was always painful, shifting. Ezan had gotten pretty good at ignoring the pain, but that didn't make the sensation of feeling as though their entire body was on fire any less pleasant. Especially when horns were growing out of their head as they were attempting to climb up into the rafters.
The Zabrak woman had made it almost all the way to the top when she dropped her coat - along with her weapons. Ezan peered down, silently cursing themselves out. Would they have time to climb down and get it before the stranger came?
(Credit to my friend Bambi for the sig)
I wanna tell you what my truth is, but it's buried down inside//Don't be scared, truth is hell
Granted, he had not expected an answer, but for some reason the silence that greeted him seemed lonely. Makoto stepped over the threshold and glanced around at the facility, one that only glowed with the vague lighting of Coruscant's pollution. There were no stars in her sky anymore, drowned as they were by Galactic City's vast array of spotlights, street lamps, illuminated walkways, and in home lighting. It was a city that never slept, all too recently made quiet.
He kept one hand on the doorframe as he looked around, searching the shadows for any sign of life. His lips pursed and he felt a tinge of anxiety spread down from the nape of his neck to the tips of his fingers. Skin crawled from one hand to the other. His so called "sixth sense" whispered to him that something was amiss.
Naturally, he ignored it.
His gut, however, told him to remain tense. "If you're in here, I'm not trying to force you out or arrest you," he continued. "This building is condemned, so it's dangerous to stay here."
The chance that he was talking to no one was high, and he felt almost silly for the one-sided conversation- but if he could avert a crisis by some happy circumstance, he would risk looking completely insane. His fingers brushed across the cold metal and collected the dust caked there. He managed to smile.
"I live just down the way," he added, "and while it's hardly high class accommodation, I would be glad to offer you a place to stay that's moderately safer than this."
As a show of good faith, the former child-soldier held his other hand aloft and in plain view, away from the arming sword he wore at the small of his back.
Hope begins in the dark, the stubborn hope that if you just show up and try to do the right thing, the dawn will come.
The Zabrak remained up in the rafter, her ears straining as she listened to the disembodied voice echo within the warehouse. Finally, the soft pitter patter of footsteps gave way to a man about her size, with dark hair that contrasted sharply with his pale skin. At his last statement, the shifter just shook her head.
What kind of ignorant-ass fool invited a possible stranger to their house for no reason? The kind that doesn't last long, she thought.
Ezan peered down again. Her coat and weapons were right beneath her. There was a chance that, should she stay in her spot, the individual would lose interest and move on. However, there was also a risk of him coming closer to investigate - and then looking up. But if she revealed herself, there was a strong possibility of this being a trap. Perhaps the pirates sent him?
Ach! If he's with the pirates, bring them on. We will slit his throat and run the moment we feel this is a trap. She did not stop to consider what would happen if the time came and she couldn't do so.
Before Ezan dropped, however... She needed a name. And a reason for being in the warehouse. Clinging to the bar, her mind began to race.
Name...name... Vanessa? No. Elyn? No. Something short, and easy. Hal? No. Lon....Lot.... Lok! Lok Maxus. Perfect. Our-- no, no, MY name is Lok Maxus, and... I'm a squatter. Parents died from the plague, been hiding around here since. Dunno how we -- I -- survived.
Perfect. Now, she just had to get down, grab her blaster and coat, and question this new person. Easy peas-- "ACHOO!"
The Zabrak let out a great sneeze and lost her grip. Somehow, she managed to land on her feet, wincing slightly. Oh yeah, she'd definitely feel that in her knees come morning. And-- oh. The burning sensation across her extremities told her the sneeze and the fall had been enough of a distraction to temporarily drop her guise among those parts. Everything was proper again -- but she'd have to pray the man wasn't paying close enough attention.
Scooping up her belongings (and making sure the lightsaber was hidden within her coat), Ezan flicked the safety off and stood there, coat wrapped around one hand, blaster in the other. She'd let this chatty man make the first move.
(Credit to my friend Bambi for the sig)
I wanna tell you what my truth is, but it's buried down inside//Don't be scared, truth is hell
