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
The Correllian Engineering Corporation's dry docks were located just a few hundred kilometers outside of Coronet and spanned thousands of acres. Most of that space was occupied by smaller vessels- shipping freighters and pleasure barges, along with a few Corvettes and other military vessels- but the heart of the shipyard was occupied by the Indomitable, a Clone Wars-era troop transport of immense proportions.
The entire starboard side of the wedge-shaped transport had been blown apart years ago in a battle over Neimoidia, peeling apart the hull and leaving the innards of the ship exposed for nearly a quarter of a mile, ringed by jagged durasteel. It's currently surrounded by durasteel beams, scaffolding, and equipment abandoned when the workers fled the advance of the plague that boiled out from the city. Multiple cable lifts line the supports, used for transporting tools and employees to and from the ground level, but otherwise the only way down is an eight-hundred foot drop to our duelist's certain death.
Our competitors are free to start either within the blackened remains of the Indomitable, or out on the two-foot wide durasteel beams and walkways surrounding them, but be warned: after ten posts a modest storm will sweep through, causing dangerous winds and steady rainfall for the remainder of the duel.
Rules: -No Force -Melee Weapons Only -Lapay no Tal is allowed to use Perdition, Makoto Warren is allowed to bring a melee weapon not listed in his character sheet
He felt naked beneath the Armorweave and Duraplast that stretched across his body. Funding after the plague was abysmal, and Republic Military Forces felt the brunt of their losses. Investment in the infantry was limited nearly to the bare minimum, and it was lucky they gave them anything better than flak armor.
Makoto was tasked with the investigation of CEC on a lead from a shipwright that one of their enemies might intend to rob the Republic of the few militant ships left to them. Indomitable was one of those last remaining ships in operation since the Clone Wars, and because of the economic situation, the Republic would not be able to replace or upgrade to newer models for the foreseeable future.
That was why they dispatched a team. This was an asset they could not afford to lose, and if it looked like they were going to, well...
Better his life than enemies of the state be allowed to take the ship, he reasoned.
His weapons were checked in and left behind at ground level, and as he rode the elevator up to where the Indomitable was being serviced, he hoped the prototype weapon they had offered for the task would serve him well. Fuel lines and highly explosive materials were litered around the workzone, so he could not use blasters or any type of ordinance to subdue potential enemies. Instead, he watched his HUD- rudimentary, but efficient for simple tasks- for any sign of life in the area. The man let out a breath as he stepped out onto the beams and told himself, "don't look down."
And like every other idiot, he ignored himself.
"Okay," he let out a breath, "that's a long drop."
He closed his eyes and took a deeper breath through his nostrils. "Get aboard the ship," he told himself quietly. He reopened his eyes and headed in that direction.
Makoto could only hope the Intel they received had been faulty.
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.
At this height, the wind was almost loud enough to drown out the whirring of the lift as it rose through the scaffolding. Almost. I watched it ascend from within the Indomitable's hull, brow furrowed. I couldn't make out any of the lone occupant's features at this distance, but their looks are the only thing left a mystery. There is only one motive they can have for being here: word that the Order of Ruin was picking at the bones of this dry dock turned graveyard had reached the Republic, and they had loosed one of their dogs to shoo me away from their scraps.
They would need a lot more than one agent to accomplish that, but I understood their reasoning. One wrong move by either of us could spell disaster for the ship. Construction materials, combustible agents, and cables and struts under thousands of pounds of pressure everywhere you look: a single misstep, and it would all go up in smoke, us included.
I ran one gloved hand back through my short black hair, the micronized besk'ar grating against my scalp, then dropped it down to rest atop the hilt of my saberstaff. The lift finally reached its zenith, the doors sliding open automatically, and I flashed the man a fierce smile. There could be no mistaking the challenge, and no avoiding the threat that I posed.
After a long moment, I turned and retreated ten meters into the ship, boots clicking on the scorched tile. Lightsaber grasped in my right hand but unlit, I set my gaze on the melted remains of the hull, and waited.
There was no other way to explain the sensation nagging at him. The man gave him a look that screamed danger, and he couldn't just chalk it up to years of combat experience. The weapon that he held was a lightsaber of some kind, the iconic weapon of Force Adepts both black and white.
He made out those microexpressions and the weapon at a distance, of course. His HUD registered them in a zoom view, and identified the dormant energy source with unquestionable certainty. Threat level: extreme.
"I definitely don't need you to tell me that," he muttered to the program, though it was not equipped with an artificial intelligence great enough to respond. Makoto watched as the creature of darkness plunged into it and escaped his view.
He knew what had to be done, even if he did not want to do it. One more breath, first. The inveterate soldier took it, and steeled himself for what came next.
His pace quickened and he followed his enemy into the blacked out ship. With a blink, he gave the unspoken command for the helmet to activate its integrated flashlight, and the beam pierced through to reveal a line ahead of him.
He reached to his side and the blade slipped free of the sheath, sleek and just longer than his forearm. The silvery sheen glistened in the low light his armor provided, and he scanned the area for any signs of movement.
I may regret this decision.
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.
Ah, he follows. Good. For a moment, waiting within the darkness, I wondered if perhaps he'd thought better of his assignment and retreated. I don't bother reaching out with the Force because frankly, I don't care. If he's full of fear, or steeled resolve, it makes no difference. The only aspect of strength I'm interested in developing at this point is Perdition, and the anticipation is killing me.
So as the beam of light cuts a swath through the darkness, I will the forward emitter to life with a thought. The crimson blade boils out to standard length and I start forward with long, hurried strides. As the distance between us shrinks rapidly, I still have time to pick out a few details about the man: shoddy armor, short blade, visored helmet that could be hosting a sensor suite of some kind. If this was the caliber of special ops that the Republic had to offer, they were even worse off than I thought.
As soon as I'm close enough I launch off my rear (left) leg, right knee coming up at the same time to add momentum to my hop forward. Torso twisting, my left arm swings backward as I thrust my blade forward, aiming for the Republic agent's center mass with the full power of my jump. I'm holding Perdition in the center of the hilt in an overhand grip, and mid-thrust I extend the forward blade to its full length of six feet- staggering the motion and scrambling the timing of my strike.
I land on my right foot, and the reverse side of my saberstaff activates, the blade extending back along the length of my arm, pointing at the darkness behind me.
He saw the blade before anything else, but the movement was relayed as a screech in his ears that caused him to move on instinct. The man exploded off one foot and launched himself forward. Makoto leaned backward and stepped in the same direction with his right foot. The blade itself was without weight, but the kinetic energy that followed it bore down heavily. His toes dug in and slid along the metal, seeking purchase.
The lightsaber slid along the outside of the dulled edge of his weapon and revealed its nature. It could not cut. Instead, it could be used for bludgeoning and beating, a riot baton suited to his skillset.
He twisted his torso with the block, aware of the back end of the blade. His opponent employed a weapon that required extreme skill and focus, but also, one that had a vast number of vectors for attack. Now parallel to the blade as his opponent came down, Makoto swept his left leg around and toward the knee of his attacker's grounded leg.
The blade had grown in length, he noted. This man had many, many dangerous tricks up his sleeve. It would take all of his training and skill to stay alive, let alone manage to fulfill his mission.
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.
He blocks my strike without flair, his movements nonetheless competent and fluid. They betray a high level of skill to my experienced eye. I'll need to see more before I know for sure, but I'm struck by the nagging suspicion that this agent is more than he seems. It won't matter in the end; inevitably, he'll fall to my blade. The only question is how long he'll manage to survive.
The blades snarl and shriek as mine grates past his. I'd assumed his weapon would be crafted from lightsaber-resistant materials (most bladed weapons were nowadays, especially those used by spec ops and elite units); now that hunch is confirmed.
I land with my right arm extended and immediately snap my wrist back, bringing the forward end of Perdition arcing toward my left shoulder, and the back blade slashing up and to the right, on a direct intercept course with the agent's extending leg. By the time his foot reaches my knee, my blade will have reached the inside of his thigh.
His opponent hefted the saber predictably, utilizing the aft end of the weapon as a countermeasure against the kick his senses told him was coming. Lightsaber combat, from the perspective of a Force Adept, involved quick reflexes, heightened awareness, and responsiveness to stimuli. The Force gifted them with the ability to "feel" things that came to pass, generally as they were happening. It was a powerful asset, yet also, a thing to be exploited.
Many forms of martial combat offered training to combat the senses of a Force Adept by generating a favorable response, then responding to that. It made them move in a way that was relatively more controllable than the dervish of movements they otherwise employed. As the weapon sliced for his leg, Makoto pumped his hips backward and halted his momentum. His knee stopped before the "halfway point" of the kick, the position where it was pointed toward its target.
In this case, the knee of his opponent was significantly neutral relative to his own height, so his own leg only created a forty five degree angle. It retreated without much issue, beyond the residual heat of the lightsaber licking at the plate on his knee. That was when the hilt passed directly in front of him.
He wasted no time.
Makoto throttled his own weapon forward, seeking to land a blow against the veritable lightning rod in his opponent's grasp. As he did so, he triggered the bio-coded switch on the hilt of his own weapon, and the telltale crackle of electricity came as a current ripped through the phrikite sword.
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.
Hmm. Either his kick was a feint from the beginning, bait meant to create an opening in my defenses, or the soldier had realized his mistake and utilized incredible agility and control to withdraw the limb before I could amputate it. Either way, it was impressive. This no name trooper might just prove to be an excellent test for Perdition, after all. But the dance continues, and it's time to increase the tempo, don't you think?
I'm already moving, anticipating the strike as his left foot drops behind him, compensating for his forward thrust, and I mirror his movements, weight transferring to my left foot as I backstepped, out of the range of his thrust by a foot or so, and then snapped my wrist forward, sending the forward end of Perdition slicing from my left to right. The six foot blade of crimson plasma lashed out, arcing beneath the phrik weapon of my opponent just as it reached full extension,
If he's unable to compensate in time, my lightsaber blade is long enough to amputate both of the man's legs at the knee without ever bringing the hilt inside his range.
The blade extended on the fly, and Makoto's own weapon never got close. He noticed as the crackle and thrum of plasma fluctuated, and exhaled as he forced back his initial fear response. It would serve no purpose for him to jerk violently forward and then back, other than to see his body impaled on the incoming energy blade.
Instead, he thwarted his own slash, awkward and ill-conceived as it had apparently been, and pivoted on his new foreleg. The hamfisted shoving motion of his weapon transitioned almost seamlessly into a sideway swipe, sundering headlong into the lightsaber beam intended for his legs. It was a simple matter for the Sith to shift subtly and press one or the other half of his weightless armament toward his opponent, but in this way, as his right leg swept around behind his left, he stepped outside and effectively made a wall between himself and the blade currently closest to his body.
Makoto knew there was no winning a battle of agility with a Forceful. They had an innate advantage that would give them an edge. Attrition could also be a gamble, especially given this beast of a man's size. If it came to endurance, could he trust in his own training for victory?
He was not leaving it to chance.
His left arm thrust forward as he stepped, and he aimed to grab hold of the weapon's hilt between the Sith's hands before the man could compensate for the block and send himself into a dervish of blows.
He pressed his weight forward on his hip, double stepping (think hop-step) to bring his body closer all at once in order to capitalize on the weight of his block.
He sought at the best to press the blade backward into Ishmael's own body. At worst, it would inconvenience the other man.
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.
It has not escaped my notice that with each parry, with each counter-attack and maneuver, my opponent is forced into a flurry of movement in order to compensate. It's not his fault: my size, and the range and versatility offered by my saberstaff, leave him no choice but to jump through hoops just to keep up. And so far, he has been keeping up admirably well. But how long until his frantic movements begin to take their toll, I wonder? No, a war of attrition will see him severely disadvantaged. His only hope, I think, is to use his obvious agility and martial prowess to overwhelm me.
A tactic that some of the best warriors in the galaxy have tried and failed.
Our blades clash, and a visceral snarl echoes through the ruins of the ship at first contact. It's the first time I notice the crackle of electricity emanating from the soldier's weapon, and it prompts a pleased smile to play across my pallid features. Yet another layer to the game, one that will make this bout all the more interesting. Not only must I triumph, but I must do so flawlessly. Even a glancing blow from such a blade would have dire consequences, and could easily turn the tide of the battle in his favor.
It's a challenge I readily accept.
He lunges just as I begin to reverse Perdition's momentum via a flick of the wrist, his hand snatching the staff's hilt below mine in an attempt to force it back toward me. A pity my goal was to test Perdition's power level- the prospect of instead testing my Stava against the man was tempting. Ah, but for everything there is a season.
With my saber acting as a lever, he now holds a superior grip. I'm stronger, of that I'm certain, but cranking my wrist to resist his full weight is beyond me. No matter.
Perdition's rear blade deactivates in an instant, and in that same instant I twist to the right, left foot sweeping around my right and my left hand extending to grasp the remaining bar of plasma in an overhand grip about a foot from the active emitter. I push, keeping the pressure against his sword and removing the option for him to disengage, and simultaneously release the hilt with my right hand. For a split second, the hilt surges my way, only to halt again suddenly as I clamp it back down, directly over his. There's an audible creak of micronized beskar against plastoid as I squeeze, holding the soldier's hand in place.
In a moment, the creak will give way to the snapping of bones and shrieks of agony.
