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 opponents find themselves on opposite sides of the Eternal Pyre, a monument that has seen the consumption of hundreds of Dark Lords and thousands of lesser Sith in a a fiery blaze upon its altar. Shaped as a ziggarat with stairs on all four faces leading up to the flat platform at the top, with sharp stone spears raising at the corners and an altar in the center. Fight well, for the loser's corpse is next to be fed to the flames.
So this is what it had come to. The first from the Sith ranks had stepped to challenge the Sith'Ari for his title. For his position. And how fitting it was the it should be a member of the Council. However the member that had come forward was not the one he'd thought would be first to come forward. No. Abaddon had known it would only have been a matter of time before this came, but had suspected it would have been the Lord of Ravage, not the Lord of Corruption. This Lapay no Tal as he was known outside the Order was quiet. He was reserved. He was a skilled tactician and had served the Order well. It was now that he'd felt was his time to come forward. It was now that he had deemed would be his time to strike. His time to break away and prove his own strength. Chase his own inclination to lead and no longer follow.
The Dark Lord stood atop the Eternal Pyre of the graveyard world. It still carried the scars and ruins from where Abaddon and the Lord of Ravage had ripped many of the ruins here from the foundations. The flames roared with life and sang of their thirst for new blood - the Lord of Corruption's or his own and he had no intention of his being tossed to the flames. The black cloak tossed about in the wind, glancing off the Neranium that plated portions of his body. From the knee down was covered - the same with the outer thigh of either leg. His shoulder, forearms, chest and back was covered in much of the same armor. A rebreather - modified to fit comfortably for his race, covered much of his face and would give his voice a mechanical tone should he speak while wearing it.
The hilt of a lightsaber hung along either hip - both masterfully crafted and outfitted with quixoni crystals to enhance the wielder's Force abilities in addition to significantly enhancing the strength of the crimson blade produced. Both lightsabers are masterfully crafted, EMP shielded and fitted with Bifurcating cyclical-ignition pulses. The hilts in themselves had elegant designs, even stepping out as far as to incorporate taozin bone around the crystals, serving to protect the integrity of the crystals housed within should either weapon be nullified.
Abaddon smiled through the flames - a cruel, dark, sinister grin - as he awaited the arrival of the one who wished to challenge him. He had an imposing stature at six feet and six inches. He was muscular and strong - a titan of his our species. His eyes flashed a fiery red-orange color and the aura of the Dark Side built and expanded out from the planet. It pulsed and billowed and would serve both men well in the time to come.
My journey up the Pyre is a long one, each step laden with the weight of the task set before me. Head bowed, I watched my booted feet ascend the obsidian stairs, and wondered if I was making the right choice. The shaping of a Universe is not a task to be taken lightly, after all. Not even by a Lapay. Things were in motion that would affect trillions of sentient lives, and to intervene now would have consequences beyond the comprehension of most mortals.
But...no. This impostor must be cut down. He is a testament to the very weakness he seeks to eradicate, yet blind to the similarities. Normally I don't involve myself in such things- if the Lesser Sith want to follow a craven imbecile, that's their business, but Abbadon's disrespect and misunderstanding of the nature of true power is an affront to the Way, and I will not allow it to stand.
I crested the ziggurat with Perdition already clenched in my right hand, fingers wrapped around the center of the saberstaff's phrikite hilt. My black robes and black hair billowed in the wind as I caught sight of the Sith'ari, but I didn't slow. Quick, direct steps carried me toward him, inevitable and unflinching. The flames burned to my left, reaching out hungrily, anxious to be fed. Grasping and contemptible, I ignore them.
The implied symbolism of this so called sacred zenith is undeserved and overrated.
The black wind of the dark side increased its tempo as I pulled power to myself, amber gaze never moving from my target.
The time had come and it was now. This traitor to his own now stooped to coddle and protect those the Dark Lord sought to eradicate. His defiance of the Order in this very moment was a testament to that. If the Lord of Corruption no longer found reason to fulfill the destiny laid before him, then he must be cut down and replaced with someone stronger. Someone more deserving. This "Way" that he lectured of so many times before had torn him from his fated path and that simply could be tolerated no longer.
As Ishmael's head crested the summit, Abaddon's right hand opened downed to his side and by sheer will of the Force, one of his twin blades snapped to it. The crimson blade hissed itself to life and extended toward the dry, cracked stone of the ruins angled outward from his body. There he waited, gathering the Force into himself - seemingly ripping what little life remained of the burial world away. The strength the Dark Side once held on the dead planet had faded with time, and as such, Bogan no longer held its sway here.
Truth be told, Abaddon reveled this day - the day one of his council would rise against him. They were Sith and that's what they were known to do. Test and challenge themselves to prove their own power and worth. And to this point, none had dared stand before the Dark Lord in such defiance. Finally, there was one among them that wished to test this. There was one among them that battle merely to be fed to the flames atop this very ruin. Finally there was one that might actually represent a challenge for the Lord of Ruin.
"Dzi tsiu j'us tuti, tadti' an drarina.1" The words crept from the Sith'Ari's mouth. They were faint, cruel and cold. Augmented to a mechanical nature by the apparatus that hugged his face. They were words of his native tongue in the High Sith dialect. Words very few knew as the language was considered dead. But no. The language was still out there. The Sith . . . the 'real' Sith were still out there. One only need open their eyes and look for the true Sith had merely lent their name to the impostors that lay claim to it. Jin'jedaii would never hold the sway of the Dark Side the same as a Sith and as such would never be able to attain a power to rival his own.
As the distance between us begins to shrink, I take it all in.
Abbadon is massive, a hulking behemoth of corded muscle. Even with my alchemical augmentations, there is no question that he is physically dominant- but not by much, and even so, my crushgaunts are capable of crushing his skull effortlessly. Between them and my mastery of Stava, should this resort to a melee, I'll have a distinct advantage. Still, one wrong move could have dire consequences. I'll have to be cautious in my approach.
At six feet, I step in on my right leg and thrust outward with Perdition, the crimson blade igniting at the signal from my implant and extending to its full six-foot length in a lightning fast thrust toward center of the Sith's breast. I turned as my arm reached full extension, pulling my left shoulder back and blading my body.
The dark side responds to my beckon call with exultation, coursing through my veins like spice.
'Here I come, indeed,' I think, and bare my teeth in a savage smile.
Abaddon was different than a lot of the Sith who has risen and fallen from power in their time. Where most resorted to aggression and striking a fierce early blow, ending a bout before it could even begin, he was patient and had no qualms with waiting for his opportunity to strike out in retaliation once an opponent made their fatal misstep. In this he was a master and it likely helped to serve as reasoning for his success to date.
As the distance began to close more and more between the two, Abaddon calculated a number of outcomes in his mind. He watched each movement Ishmael made, plotting the man's path and most feasible outcome.
You see? Ishmael was a master of Makashi and this fact was very well known to the Dark Lord and though he was well versed in lightsaber combat in his own right, he would be a fool to play into this traitor's strengths. No, he would have to keep him away from that for now, and only when absolutely necessary . . . engage. Besides, dipping into such intricacies this early would take too much thrill out of this fight and that simply would not do.
As the gap between the two closed toward ten feet, Abaddon swiftly pulled the lightsaber hilt from his right hip to his right hand, unhooking it from its home upon his belt. His left hand remained free and the Force pulled deeply into his body.
At eight feet, the left palm opened toward Ishmael, but nothing happened. At least not until the next step came and Ishmael showed the first signs of his opening maneuver. Quickly and abruptly the power of the Force shot forward from his hand as, it too, shot forward, for the Force was a tool to be willed and molded as one desired it to be. The kinetic energy drove forward and the manner of the Force Push ability (a variant on telekinesis) intent on redirecting the attack that had not fully developed yet, though would likely be intended to be a killing blow should the move connect. However, even with his abounding confidence in his own mastery of the Force, Abaddon would not leave all to wane on the effects of the moderate push should the move prove successful.
His left foot trailed back, angling his body - for the most part - with his aggressor, right shoulder directed just beyond the attacker's left. In hand, the lightsaber's crimson blade surged to life as he activated it and pulled it effortlessly across his body in a vertical fashion that aimed the tip of the crimson blade to the ground. It was a move simply meant as a defense to push a blade being thrust toward him out and away. Once the arm fulfilled its extension across his body, Abaddon's right foot would fall back to trail his left and he would bring his lightsaber back in hand to point in and angled fashion to the cracked stone to his right. The blade would make nearly and 360 degree clockwise spin in front of him as he did this, posturing him to diffuse Ishmael's next attack, calculated like the masterful technician the Lord of Corruption had long proven to be.
Abbaddon's counter is overly telegraphed, his movements exaggerated and premature. As the distance dwindles he retrieves his lightsaber, leaving his left hand open and extended, palm aiming at my midsection. In this vortex of dark side energy, it's a little harder to perceive when my opponent is manipulating the force, and in what way, but it can still be made out. The ebb and flow shifts, yielding to Abbadon's beckon call as my blade extends in its thrust.
The Force Push is a weak one- not even enough to knock me backward. Instead, the kinetic energy resists my forward momentum, giving me the sensation that I'm fighting through water. My strike, which should have been lightning fast, instead extends sluggishly toward the hulking Sith's midsection. Painfully slow, my blade is easily intercepted by a quick swipe of Abbadon's lightsaber, and slapped away to my left.
I had expected a form of minor telekinesis. It was a common technique used in the early stages of a battle such as this, after all. What I had not expected was any level of finesse. Though I've never seen the Sith'ari actually fight, he's always presented himself as a brute. Powerful, but in a raw, unrefined way. His military and political strategies have alluded to a similar lack of tact, but now I wonder if there isn't more to the Sith'ari. Maybe I'm reading too much into a simple counter.
Or, maybe this will be a challenge after all.
The moment our blades make contact I move, yanking my arm back and twisting my shoulders to the right. My left foot swings around, as does my left arm, and I grab Perdition's blade in an overhand grip approximately a foot from the emitter. Now, with my left foot forward, and still well outside the range of any retaliation from Abbaddon- unless he advances, or lashes out with the force again- I hop forward, sweeping my saber's tip from right to left, aiming to cut through Abbaddon's lead leg at shin-height.
I'm not ready to bring the dark side to bear against my foe- not yet. But I've begun to prepare it for a singular purpose, molding it into a shape that serves my purpose, so that when the time comes, employing it will take little time. Force Drain is a difficult technique, after all, especially in the heat of battle. But as I said, Abbaddon is powerful, and to slay him without siphoning that power for myself would be a waste.
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.
