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
Cathaoir Ordo vs. Ishmael Rules: No Force, No Armor, No Weapons (save what can be scrounged from the scenario)
Where:
Raxus Prime: Junkyard Clearing
The duelists find themselves lost in the planet world of Raxus Prime. The arena is a basic junkyard portion of the planet, surrounded by mountains of garbage on all sides. The opponents will fight in the middle of the four surrounding Garbage mounds, be creative in what you find and use here, duelists.
My eyes scanned the surrounding filth dispassionately as I trekked through the global junkyard that was Raxus Prime, nose wrinkled in distaste. The smell alone was enough to bring tears to my eyes; the air felt thick and sticky against my skin, and I was half surprised I couldn't physically see the noxious fumes wafting from the mounds of rotting garbage.
My, but I lead a charmed life, do I not?
This suffering is necessary. I've been on the trail of a certain Sith manuscript for several months now- documents vital to building the armed forces of the Order of Ruin- and I think I've found its final resting place at last. By all accounts the manuscript had ended up aboard a certain smuggling vessel that was promptly shout out of the sky. The wreckage had been slated for salvage but for one reason or another had fallen through the cracks, and been towed to the junkyard world almost wholly intact. And so my search for the remains of the Shrieking Mynock must continue.
Idly I wonder if I will encounter any opposition to my efforts. If I do, it should be interesting. I've chosen to challenge myself in a new way, you see, to determine just how powerful I have become, and how much further I still have to go. I have eschewed my armament; my lightsaber, along with my energy-resistant robes, remains in my room on Korriban. In addition, I've promised myself I will not, under any circumstances, indulge in use of the force. Ever fearful of the crutch it could so easily become, I decided it would be better if I took a nice long break from the dark side.
Distance makes the heart grow fonder, after all.
I wrapped up my inner monologue and stepped into a sudden clearing among the trash, where the debris littering the ground was relatively scarce, but it had been mounded up into towering crags in a rough circle. Eyeing the tallest peak, I thought I could make out the rusted remains of a freighter. It was doubtful that it was the Mynock, but we must be thorough, methinks.
Well hadn't this just been a fantastic time of late? First this abominable plague had engulfed the galaxy, destroying the Aliit'alor's clan and family. Now his ship had been stolen by some kind of pirates with his possessions on board - to include his beskar'gam and his arsenal of weaponry and other gear. It had taken him nearly a month to track vessel here to this junk yard world with its plethora of exotic and nauseating smells and Cathaoir was hell bent on teaching these goons a lesson in taking from a battle hardened mandalorian without even the decency of asking for permission first.
As the hulking man of over six feet and 246 pounds of solid muscle strode through the trash and waste of this world, he felt almost naked wearing simple black trousers, a black, tattered shirt and black shoes. A dirty and ragged black robe caressed his figure with the hood lying limply along his back. His light-brown hair was cut short, and his vivid blue eyes contrasted starkly against the copper tones of his tanned skinned. His face was decorated with that scars of past battles and scruff hugged his chiseled jaw line. He bore no weapons of any kind, nor any form of armor; all of that was aboard his ship he planned to rediscover here.
He came to a clearing surrounded by large mounds of the meaningless junk that was the world of Raxus Prime and in it, his eyes fell upon the figure of a man. He knew not who this man was, nor if he were one of the pirates and thieves that had stolen what rightfully belonged to him, but there would be words to be had should this man attempt to stand in his way.
Cathaoir knelt down and grabbed a crooked metallic rod from garbage at his feet, roughly three feet in length and weighed it in hand, calculating it best use should he have need of it shortly, and stood back to his feet. The rod was idly in his right hand down to his side and he waited to see what this unfamiliar figure's intention were.
As if summoned by my musings, a figure appeared on the opposite side of the clearing. A muscular, hulking figure dressed in tattered black clothes, he had the dark skin and ease of movement that suggested a warrior. Despite the robes, I don't think he's a Forceful (I can't be sure, though; as I mentioned, I'm determined not to use the force myself, so for now this is just a hunch).
This notion is reinforced when he bends down to retrieve a long metal rod from the scattered junk. What is it? Conduit? Rebar? I can't be sure at this distance, so let's change that shall we? I resume my trek toward him at a steady pace, only stopping when the distance between us had shrunk to a meager twelve feet or so. My hands remained down at my sides, platinum cuticle implants glinting dangerously.
"Su'cuy," I call out, wondering if my hunch to the man's origins were correct, or if my Mando'a would be met with a blank stare. "You're in my way."
There was little chance of this ending without bloodshed, that much was obvious. If violence weren't the man's intention I never would have been confronted at all, I'm sure. But what is his goal? To beat a man to death with a metal bar in the middle of a junkyard? To rob a man carrying nothing but the robes on his back?
Either way his corpse will bear witness to my departure from this place.
A vibrosword projects from a nearby pile of rubble, about ten feet to my left. Aside from some obvious damage to the hilt, it seems to be fine- the edge looks razor sharp, anyway. I wonder why it has been discarded? Perhaps the vibration generator quit working, or perhaps it was simply no longer of any use to its former owner. Regardless, if this vagabond proves skillful wielding his metal bar, I may be forced to retrieve it.
"Bal gar cuyir motir o'r ner. Bal bic cuyir sila boracyk otahyr at motir acyk a Mando bal kaysh aka."[1] Cathaoir spun the ragged metal rod in hand, getting a better feel for it. He liked it for the most part, though it didn't carry the familiarity nor weight of beskad, yet another item he was hell bent on getting back.
He turned his head to both sides, creating loud, audible cracks and pops from his neck, though keeping his attention on the man before him. He took a couple of steps forward, nearly halving the distant previously established by the other man. "Jii, motir akaryu katkta va gar stibutu esada enar be ganar gar kyr'bes babar'r o'r ti a katrahye sagr be kayatr. Ni ganar nayc otctea ti ebin otahyr."[2] His words were blunt and direct, his voice a raspy baritone.
He spun the crude weapon in hand once more and narrowed his focus on the man in front of him, hoping he'd choose to have his head beaten to a pulp. Cathaoir need to release the pent up furry within him. Needed to break something. Or someone. Simply speaking, too much had been taken from him of late and he was no longer the man of his own reputation. He was simply a husk of once was. A ghost from a past that ceased to exist in the present. Nothing was left in the man but anger and hatred. Sorrow and determination. A determination to avenge each and every wrong done unto him a thousand times over. Whomever had done to him what had happened, created a monster beyond imagination. A man so set on revenge and torn apart through pain. A man with nothing more to lose and as such, a man who who fought for his own beliefs now. At the moment, those beliefs lay in vengeance for all the wrongs done unto him. Anyone who stood in his way now, would succumb to that wrath.
[1]"And you are standing in mine. And it is an piss poor choice to stand between a Mandalorian and his mission." [2]"Now, stand aside unless you rather fancy the idea of having your skull caved in with a crooked piece of metal. I have no issues with either choice."
Expressionless in the wake of the titanic Mandalorian's threats, I simply stared back at him, letting the silence build as he advanced upon me. At this distance, a lunging step forward and an extended swing were all it would take for him to split my skull open with the bar he held. Quite the gruesome thought, but I didn't let it perturb me. I've never met a Mandalorian who was my match in any of the martial arts, though this one looked like he could crush me just by falling on me.
Finally, after enough time had lapsed that I deemed the silence to be uncomfortable, I shrugged. He's made his position quite clear- words won't sway him, that much is obvious. But, I think it's time he learned a lesson regarding words, and their uselessness when one can't properly back them up. Indeed, it's much better to leave them unspoken when faced with a being of such immeasurable power as to be beyond your comprehension, no?
Ah, but he doesn't know any of this, which brings us back to the necessity of the lesson I'm about to teach.
Unhurried and unconcerned, I sidled to my left, keeping watch on the warrior from the corner of my eye while I approached the half-buried vibrosword. I'm quite sure it will be immediately obvious to the man what I'm going for, but nonetheless it's hard to know what to expect from him: on one hand, his warrior culture and code of honor may dictate that I be allowed a chance to defend myself; on the other, he may opt to simply leap upon me while I am- in his eyes- defenseless.
Either way I don't really care. I make for the sword because it is the most sound strategy, and I do so casually because I am quite capable of tearing the Mandalorian apart with my bare claws.
In the very moment that Ishmael began to alter the direction of his advance, moving casually toward Cathaoir's right, the hulking Mandalorian clinched his fist around the crooked metal rod, whitening and cracking his knuckles. He watched, his vision narrowed, and studied the movements of this man. Was he giving way for Cathaoir to pass along? Or was there something more?
Truth be told, the distaste for the events of the past - the torment and agony this plague had wrought him - had focused the Mandalorian to man before him and not so much to his surroundings. He did not see the fractured and broken vibroblade that stuck up plainly through the debris of this world. No. His mind has a singular focus and there was a lot of suppressed rage and pain buried within the man. It blinded him in some areas, yet it others it heightened the man. Attacks would ravenous and full of power, but his footing may not be what it would been with a cleared conscience. The adrenaline and years of training without the protection of his beskar'gam had numbed him to an elevated degree of physical mutilations and injuries, but he would likely be clumsier in his defense, and more prone to leave himself open to injury. For the brutish man, this battle would be a battle like no other that he'd ever fought. He was a far different man and warrior than he had been in years past, but the galaxy had turned him to this. The galaxy had brought a beast and demon to the surface unlike like any it'd seen before.
By the time, Ishmael had stepped roughly two feet in his new and altered direction, Cathaoir's state shifted. There would be no more studying. No more watching. No . . . instead there would be blood. His? Maybe. This other man's? Most certainly. He pushed his weight from his left foot to his right and lunged forward, bringing the crudely shaped rod held in his right hand with it. He would bring his arm downward at an angle intent on crushing the rod into Ishmael's left should and, had it been a blade, through Ishmael's chest and torso, exiting through the lower right of his opponent's rib cage. In other words, Cathaoir would follow through with his strike, throwing his weight and strength into it. His hips would turn inward and to the left, allowing for extra power and strength to be placed into the strike making for a brutalizing effect should the vicious strike actually connect.
With the follow through of his initial strike, the rod down by his left hip now with a full extension of the arm, the mandalorian would immediately throw his weight into another strike to follow his first. Cathaoir's right arm would flex and bend at the elbow as he through elbow toward what would be the under side of where Ishmael's jaw would be should he be hunched over slightly from the previous strike had it connected, otherwise the elbow would likely connect with the man's chest should it connect at all. Here too, Cathaoir would follow through with his strike, though not filled with as much strength and power as the initial strike. His arm would extend and circle back to his right side, still holding the rod while right right foot retreated to its position prior to the initial lunging attack. His weight was balanced once more with a slight been in his knees and a heavy grip on the crooked metal rod.
The first strike of the bout had now been dealt and the joust was now set. The unstable and enraged Mandalorian vs. the mission bound and agile Sith Lord.
I've barely taken two steps when the Mandalorian makes his move. It's no matter; the vibrosword, despite not being fully functional, would have made killing the warrior quite a bit easier, but I didn't need it. Besides, it would've taken all of the challenge out of it- facing an armed Mandalorian with nothing but my bare hands would nearly put us on even footing.
Nearly. I've been a student of Stava for nearly as long as I've studied Makashi, and am just as proficient. It's a high-impact martial art focusing on knee and elbow strikes, joint locks, and grappling, and with my new body- six feet and one-hundred and seventy pounds of corded muscle- I am in a position to apply it more effectively than ever. The brute is quite a bit larger than me, but his bulk will account for little- once I get him on the ground. In a way, wrestling is just as elegant as fencing, and applies many of the same principles- positioning, leverage, economy of motion, stamina management...the list goes on.
But where Makashi is dazzlingly lethal, I think you're about to find my grappling is nothing but brutally effective. Ah, but first I must get my hands on the Mandalorian, and there's that rather dangerous looking length of metal to contend with.
No matter. He lunges, and I respond.
As the rod comes up in preparation for the strike, I step in with my left foot, then sag beneath the strike, tucking my head down and leaning to my left. My left leg bends lower to compensate for the shift in weight as I essentially weave beneath the oncoming strike. I feel the air from the weapon slicing overhead, and shudder to think of the damage it would've done had it connected.
Before the piece of metal has completed its arc, I strike back. My left leg uncoils like a whip as I shoot for the takedown, launching myself toward the Mandalorian's midsection. Should he fail to move out of the way or otherwise stifle my attempt- which seems unlikely considering he stepped into his strike, putting his weight into it, and to move before the momentum dissipated would be incredibly awkward- my right shoulder will plow into his waist. In the same instant my hands will reach down to clamp onto the back of his heels- claws savaging digging in, trying to sever the achilles tendons of both legs.
The beauty of this maneuver, and why I'd chosen this particular takedown, is that it renders my opponent's weight advantage completely ineffective. While I am quite a bit smaller, he has no muscle that can directly resist the pressure I'm applying with my hands, and my shoulder will act as the second part of the lever that will topple this giant, one way or another. The standard defense, of course, is a sprawl- wherein my foe would throw their weight over the top of me, hinging to avoid being levered over. In this case, however, such a defense will do nothing but give me more time to rip apart his tendons, and render his legs completely useless.
A heartbeat after this analyses runs through my mind, my right foot is planted in the middle of the Mandalorian's stance, and I yank backward with both hands while simultaneously throwing my weight off my lead leg, looking to bowl him over onto his back.
If all that were successful- and I think it will be- then I can truly go to work.
Gentlemen, thank you all for using the Battle Arena. This match was definitely going to intensify as it went on. Unfortunately, due to our two week forfeiture policy, I have to rule ISHMAEL the winner of this duel due to the inactivity of Cathaoir. Hopefully we can see a rematch in the future to see you two fine duelists really stir up some dirt.
Best of luck to both of you in the future and come back soon!
