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
SCENARIO: 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.
The Lord of Deception found himself in the bridge of The Indomitable, although he wasn't entirely sure why. The Force had called him here through a vision, and without question, Andor had made his way to Corellia, navigating the plague infested terrain until he found himself at the dry docks of the Correllian Engineering Corporation.
Through the blackened depths of the beast, Andor had made his way here, and now, he stared at the main console of the ship. Why had the Force brought him here? Why was this shell of a vessel so important?
His skeletal, pale hands began poking and prodding the buttons, trying to coax the ship's power to life. But there was no response except for a small shower of sparks. It was obvious the ship had never finished repairs (nor did it seem like it ever would), and Andor was no mechanic. Not that he had the time, the manpower, or the desire to try to repair this star destroyer anyway.
The viewport was shattered, letting the brisk outside air whisper in: a steady, cool breeze bring with it, the smell of rain. A storm was brewing in the distance, its black clouds flashing every so often with lightning. If that wasn't foreshadowing of what was to come, then the Sith lord be damned. Gingerly, his hand scratched the white scruff that was beginning to shadow his jaw line, as he pondered.
Within his black robe, and under the sleeves of his crimson tunic, he felt the cool presence of his twin lightsaber hilts, one strapped to the inside of each forearm. He reached down to his right hip, and unstrapped his DC-15s side blaster.... just in case. Something just didn't feel right. Had the Force brought him here for a test?
His left arm was prothetic, halfway up his bicep, made up of of a weaving of reinforced cortosis, a metal known for its effects against lightsabers, and its toxicity to the human touch. Then, his left hand, as a neuro-shock hand, capable of interrupting the electric signals that were used as communication between the brain and whatever limb was affected. With this arm, he scratched his lower back, reassuringly touching the small pouch on his belt that contained a thermal detonator. Andor had always been one to divulge in dramatics and was known to occasionally go out with a bang.
Moving around the console, he approached the shattered viewport, his black boots crunching shards of glass and debris with each step. His eyes gazed into the darkness of the approaching clouds as he let his mind submerge into the icy currents of the darkside. He was here. Now, he waited for another message from the Force.
*When traipsing through the ruins of a sunken ship such as The Indomitable, I am faced with a fresh reminder of how frequently the comforts of climate control are taken for granted.
The air is cold and dank, adorned with that distinctive smell of decay and corroding metal. A breeze whips through, coming from the interior of the ship and sweeping out of the many breaches into the canyon below -- caused by the pressure differential -- as if the ship itself seeks to purge its bowels and to die in peace. Its sound is a soft low whistle, echoing within the deep skeleton and piercing what would otherwise be a suffocating silence. And the chill it bears seeks to steal the very breath and life from my lungs.
How pleasant it is! I think we so often tend to the practical matters at hand during any given moment that we can easily fail to appreciate the atmosphere, and especially so with relics of the past such as this. To stop, and to meditate here for a time, would no doubt be a perfect way to refresh my spirit. Yet, that cannot come at the expense of the present. Therefore, I will take care of the business at hand and then be at liberty to repose. I'm here for Darth Andor, above all else.
Apart from the howl of the wind, the silence is further broken by two sets of footsteps. The first, crushing broken glass underfoot at the head of the bridge. The second, boot against metal, a resounding clang as I stride along the catwalk belonging to the second level of the scaffolding. My right hand traces along the metal bar at waist height. My left holds the weapon Trogdor, blades unlit, the two ends conjoined by magnet. On my right forearm is mounted the emitter for the energy field, Saurez, also unlit as of yet. At my belt are the LL-30 model twins, the blaster Crisis and the flash-pistol Crux. My mask, Devient, is strapped onto my left shoulder. Without her on my face, I am already Seeing my quarry: a deep violet hue standing in stark contrast to a silver-gray world.
I approach; a ramp is before me, and I follow it down to the first level of scaffolding, about two and a half meters from the ground. And as I do, I pay heed to Andor, contemplating his demeanor. We met, briefly, during the Battle of Honoghr. I did not come to a complete understanding of the man then, but that's hardly my fault. One's so-called allies are never the focus of your attention, not when there are enemies afoot. That is why betrayal can be such an effective tactic.
I study the man; his armament, his apparel, his aura, as I have done with hundreds before him. Without a doubt, this is a man who ascribes to the philosophy of versatility. I must say, I applaud it. But if so prepared, why do I get the unmistakable feeling of confusion? Of bewilderment? Even his very posture cries out his confusion.
No doubt he's heard or sensed my approach (or both). Nonetheless, I call out as if to announce my presence to him.*
And as time had begun to pass, Andor felt it. That presence: a presence he'd only felt once before on Honoghr but would never forget.
Ryu.
Still he stared outside, his eyes fixed on the sun that was now beginning to set, the colors of pink and orange and blue long lost to the darkness of clouds that expanded in every direction. Rain was falling in the distance and soon, it too, would be upon them. Lightning flashed, thunder cracked, and the wind whispering its cool song. And then, the Lord of Cleansing was in the same room, his voice crossing the distance between them. His voice fell upon Andor, issuing his challenge. The Lord of Cleansing had come. Is that why the Force had brought him here, to be cleansed?
Andor smiled to himself at the thought. He doubted it.
He let his arms drop to his sides in a casual stance, but every muscle was tense, his mind alert for whatever Ryu had planned. The Lord of Deception's voice was thin and cold, a whisper upon the wind, but even so, it dripped with malice and hunger. "I'm puzzled at the idea of why you think you can beat me. Things aren't always as they seem."
Then he turned to face his opponent, "Did Abaddon send you to do his dirty work?"
*Indeed, it is only fitting that Darth Andor would seek to cast doubt on the outcome. As if it hadn't already been decided.*
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*I light my shield and saber, and extend the hand with my gun towards Andor. From that hand, I gather and expel Telekinetic energy with the potential to pull him from where he stands into the canyon behind him.*
*Having expressed this much, the two ends of Trogdor flare to life at the push of a button, eight blades in total, bathing the darkness around me in a red glow. Saurez lights up with a flick of my right wrist, adding orange tint to the mixture as this energy shield rises to the occasion. And I extend the right arm to which it's mounted, leveling the blaster Crux at the man who I've been sent to purge.
A smile flickers across my face. When the pieces are set and the game is afoot, that's when things are best. Once the match is laid out and the inevitable conclusion becomes obvious, that's when there is no more enjoyment to be derived. But when the outcome is known, and the route is unknown, well... that's when the idea of exploring just one of the many possible routes is compelling.
I draw upon the Force, and I imagine full well that Andor will do likewise, as soon as he senses it. I've just got something simple in mind, something to test the mettle of the Lord of Deception.
It's nothing more complicated or difficult to deal with than a Telekinetic attack.
Channeled through the fingertip of that outstretched arm, of my right index fingertip which points parallel to the gun's barrel, the Force at my command rushes out. In short order it jumps the distance between us -- ignoring scaffolding and fixtures of the ruined ship along its way -- making its way straight and unimpeded towards Andor's right thigh.
Should this go unopposed, then at my command his leg will be swept up under my Telekinetic influence, and, quite simply, he'll be pulled backward by his own leg. After a certain point, he'll become unable to maintain his balance, and will fall facefirst, and subsequently will be dragged across the glass-littered ground up to and over the edge; at which point I will relinquish my grip, and gravity will take care of the rest.
Yet I am sure that this will not succeed as imagined. Darth Andor would not stand where he does today if this was all it would take to end him.*
