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 Oyu'baat was located on the Outer Rim world of Mandalore, within the capital city of Keldabe. Situated at one end of an ancient paved square, across from Chortav Meshurkaane, the Oyu'baat was a hotel and tapcaf housed within a large, three-story structure that appeared to some as a gathering of smaller buildings that had merged over time. The Oyu'baat was constructed almost entirely of wood and stone, with a sloped, tiled roof, beneath which a massive wooden ridgepole—as wide in diameter as three average Human men—could be seen jutting out on either side from below the building's eaves. A pair of doors stood at the cantina's entrance beneath a large portico. The Oyu'baat's exterior facade was coated with painted plaster that was known to chip and flake with age, and possessed an eclectic assortment of windows with non-perpendicular angles and a general disregard for being level. The Oyu'baat took its name from the Mando'a word oyu'baat, a term which translated to "universe" in Galactic Basic Standard. The name in both languages was written on a sign outside of the tapcaf's entrance. The dual-language sign also warned that strills, six-legged hunting animals native to Mandalore, were not allowed inside, and notified potential customers that the cantina accepted barter as means of payment, in addition to standard credits.
Inside the doors of the tapcaf, a broad but shallow staircase led into the Oyu'baat's main hall, an immense room built primarily from dark-colored wood. Tables for customers to sit at were spread about the hall at intervals, while booths lined the outer walls, each with a sliding wooden screen that could be drawn across the booth's opening for optional added privacy. Two curved bars with long counters and a number of available seats were the centerpiece of the Oyu'baat's main chamber: one was allocated to serving food, while the other offered a variety of beverages. The Oyu'baat kept a large stock of Mandallian Narcolethe, and brewed its own ne'tra gal, a sweet black Mandalorian ale they served to customers in glass mugs. Among its non-alcoholic beverage selection, the Oyu'baat sold a blend of spiced caf for which the cantina was well known even among non-Mandalorians. The tapcaf prepared soups and a number of other food dishes, including a meat and vegetable stew. Mandalorian folk humor insisted that the same stew had been left to simmer for centuries, only with fresh meat and vegetables thrown in daily, and it was said that the Oyu'baat's menu had remained the same since the time of the Mandalorian Wars. During the day, the bar area was bathed in sunlight from the skylights housed in the roof, and behind the bar, the current bounty-hunting list was displayed for Mandalorian patrons who pursued bounty hunter work, as both a holodisplay and with flimsi posters.
At the far end of the main room, opposite to the Oyu'baat's entrance, was a large, open log fire. The fire was surrounded by a wide alcove that could host more than a dozen individuals, and was a particularly popular choice for patrons to gather around. A noisy, automated hot-air unit provided additional heat to rest of the Oyu'baat. The Oyu'baat's interior was clean, yet rustic, decorated with vivid tapestries depicting various events and figures from the Mandalorian culture's long history; many favored shades of deep red in their composition. The ancient cantina's main hall was often noisy, and featured a large holovid viewscreen commonly used to watch sporting events, in addition to boards for playing cu'bikad, a rough Mandalorian table game. Broad galleries overlooked the large main chamber from the Oyu'baat's second and third floors. Part hotel, the Oyu'baat's upper levels had a number of rooms interested parties could rent, for overnight periods or longer, and were reached by a staircase at the rear of the main hall. The stairway also concealed a hidden panel which led to a secret, office-sized space within the Oyu'baat that few knew about. The cantina smelled of the wood fire, yeast from the brewing ale, and the scents of various cooking foods. With the exception of rare special occasions,the Oyu'baat was always open for business.
"I deal in death and thralls, aruetti. Which is it you seek?"
It was within one of the booths Keira sat, quietly nursing a cup of caf as she watched patrons come and go. It was all she’d been doing for the past few hours, and all she was like to do for the rest of the day. There was little else left for her but leading her clan, and given their small size that work was mostly done independently. Rarely was there a need for her to step in as a guiding hand, and even then the instances were minor.
This past week, however, that had been different. Her existence had been enveloped in a fog of routine and day-to-day as she did her best to avoid her own mind. It was coming up on nearly three years exactly since her son had died, and coping now was just as much a struggle as it had been those months after first receiving the news, and perhaps even more so as she lived on with full awareness that he’d had the chance at a life stolen from him too young.
Her grip tightened on the mug held between her hands, and she exhaled shakily, eyes sliding closed as she swallowed the rising emotion in her throat. With another breath her eyes opened, and she forced herself to focus on anything else, gaze shifting to the door as newcomers arrived, then back about the room to those that had been lounging about for roughly an hour or more at this point.
The jaig eyes of her helmet faced the bar, a lifeless sentinel of sorts. As she completed another sweep of the area, a particular face stood out in the crowd for the wrong reasons. Squinting, she watched the figure for a little while longer, considering her next course of action in a way her younger self most certainly wouldn’t have.
At the end of the day, old habits die hard, and her method of getting the attention of the man in question varied little from how she would have accomplished the same years previous. "Dar’manda." There was little need to raise her voice overmuch to be heard over the chatter of the other patrons, and she ignored the looks she could feel, waving the stranger over to her booth.
Twice already a heavy hand had fallen on the priest's shoulder as he sat at the bar. Twice he had had risen, stepping out into the alleyway behind the Oyu'baat, and twice he had returned only a few moments later, his beskad sporting a fresh coat of gore each time. Whether the anger of his vode had clouded their judgment, or the legend of what the priests of Harangir were capable of had faded after the Crusade, Faust Skirata couldn't say. Their sudden, stiff shock as they were pressed back by his fury, the despair in their eyes as they heard his blades song...it brought him no joy, but he had cut them down all the same. A challenge once issued could not be revoked, and the hubris of his kin had been punished quickly and without passion.
Now he sat alone at the bar, palms flat against the dark wood. Introspection often haunted the priest after he took a life, and now his mind wandered, ebbing and flowing like the whorls in the wood.
That the Mandalore's disappearance coincided with his own arrival in Keldabe did not surprise him. It was known among the vode that the Reaver Lord sought the helm, and Reyn could not have been unaware of his impending arrival. No, what surprised him was how wholly unaffected Mandalore seemed to be. The rest of the galaxy lay in shreds, and across the neighboring solar systems Mandalorian worlds were in ruin. Yet within the walls of the Oyu'baat, life went on.
"Dar'manda."
The Prophet of Harangir didn't move at first, though he could feel a dozen eyes suddenly on his back. Another challenger, seeking to make a name for themselves. Another di'kuut with eyes full of fire, ready to step outside to be added to the pile of cooling corpses in the alleyway. Finally he turned, rising off his stool with fluidity in sharp juxtaposition to the grate and clank of his patchwork beskar'gam.
To see Kiera, aliit'alor of Clan Verd, waving him over to her table.
His sulfuric yellow eyes narrowed as he approached, the scowl twisting the flayed remains of his face in a gruesome display. He stopped just shy of her, looking down with clear distaste. "And what is it you seek of this demagolka? I grow weary of killing my brothers and sisters, Kiera, but your insistence will spell your doom all the same."
"I deal in death and thralls, aruetti. Which is it you seek?"
"Udesii, ad’ika." Keira met his gaze with ease, seemingly unfazed by his threats. "I don’t seek to end your life. Not today." Again she gestured for him to sit, and should he accept would slide the privacy screen across the entrance of the booth, affording them freedom from prying eyes no doubt curious about her intentions given that they weren’t immediately violent. There had been enough killing this day, enough warriors laid to rest. If there was to be a fight there would be no honor about it, because exiles were deserving of none.
Again she looked him over, taking note of the scarring and conglomerate of armor he wore. There had been no doubt before that he was a warrior, and here now it was confirmed. This was the man that sought out the mantle of Sole Ruler, the one who would lead their people into eternal war. He certainly had the skill of one deserving the title, it was the rest of it that was left up to debate.
"For what reason does an exile return to Manda’yaim? It makes you either very brave or very stupid, having the gettse to come back here. Maybe both, 'lek?" Not inflammatory statements, but rather flat observation by a woman who had mostly removed herself from politics that didn’t concern her clan directly. This, however, was shaping up to be some kind of civil war that she would no doubt find herself on the front lines of in the weeks to come.
How strange to most, then, that she was able to sit across from a future enemy and hold civil conversation.
Taking another sip of her caf, she shifted in her chair, being certain to keep her hands visible in order to ease his conscience. "I only find it strange that one who opposes the majority of the vode would be here." Her head cocked to one side, and an amused smile turned up one corner of her mouth. "That is all I seek from you, demagolka."
The priest's eyes widened, a sudden, slight change of expression that disappeared quickly. Being addressed so casually was...unexpected, and frankly disarming. But his composure was cold, reptilian regard, returning to the forefront in half a heartbeat- even if the voice of Kad's Avatar was suddenly booming through his head.
Still...
How many years had it been since any Mandalorian- outside of his own army- had done more than sneer at his arrival? How long since any had opened their mouths to do more than spit at his passing, or worse, seal their fate with a challenge? Oh, the aliit'alor's greeting was rife with contempt, making it clear she viewed him no differently than the others. Betrayer. Kinslayer. Dar'manda. He'd heard them all before.
Still...
Another long, pregnant pause- filled with drama only in the imagination of their audience- and then priest sat. His shuk'orok lay flat on the table between them, mirroring his host's posture in this bizarre parley. Of course, that left his wrist laser aimed straight at her heart- a fact she was sure to notice. What could he say? Not all among his vode would be kind enough to escort him outside for a duel.
"Elek, maybe both." he agreed. "But you already know why I'm here, alor. You all know why... nuhunla. Reyn flees my coming, and when I step to the forefront, to show the vode the only way out of this nightmare, I'm met with curses.
Tell me...do you even know why I was cast out?"
"I deal in death and thralls, aruetti. Which is it you seek?"
Had she not been watching his face it would have been easy to miss, the micro-expression that heralded to a surprise felt far deeper than surface level and perhaps heralded an innocence at being addressed as something more than a war criminal. It was something taken note of in silence, an oddity to lend more weight to later. What sympathy would have been roused was quelled largely by the fact that he was still an exile - and that wasn’t something done lightly by their people.
"You want to challenge." He was right about one thing, for the most part they were all aware why he showed his face. Nodding seemingly to herself, Keira continued, "So challenge. If the Mand’alor would rather turn tail and run than face you, then it seems to me that fight has already been decided." Certainly she may not have agreed with the rightfulness of his claim, but it all really was that simple.
No more than a glance was spared to his gauntlet, and she made no more attempts to calm him. She had meant it when she said she had no wish for violence today, and that wouldn’t change regardless of whatever precaution he felt it necessary to take.
"Not everyone will agree with your claim. The majority will dispute it. And if they challenge, kill them. If they don’t, well," a shrug, "They weren’t much of a problem to begin with, then, were they?" It was, for all intents and purposes, apparently genuine advice that came not from a place of compassion per se, but rather a respect for tradition and their way as she’d always known it.
With a wave of her hand she dismissed his final inquiry. "Do you assume an aliit’alor would be so uneducated as to their own people, ad’ika? I know why you were cast out. You were quick to find friends among darjetii, quick to torture, to enslave, to turn away from the Resol’nare. You were exiled for a reason, ad’ika, do not forget that."
Letting that final statement hang in the air, she continued after a moment, "But as I said, that isn’t my concern."
"Aye," he sighed, "most will dispute my claim. As I said, I grow weary of killing my brothers and sisters. I came to Manda'yaim seeking one man, not the slaughter of my kin- and they are my kin, whether they like it or not. That I came alone, and not with my armies at my back, should be evidence enough of that."
He could feel that weariness now, clinging to him like a shroud. Years spent fighting for a people that didn't want him catching up to him after all this time. Reyn's death was supposed to change that. His mission had been to replace an ineffective ruler and lead the vode to their former glory. Now, he just felt lost.
After a moment he bared his teeth in a gruesome smile. "I assume nothing, Keira Verd, but you prove your ignorance with every breath you take. Yes, I follow the Old Ways. The Way of Harangir, in all of its bloody glory. The Way that all the vode once followed, before they became so mired in aruetti affairs and fighting for credits that they lost sight of their true heritage.
I turned away from the Resol'nare in favor of something older...purer. And when you turned your backs on me, I found new allies. No peacemongering Jet'ii or decrepit, power hungry Sith, but warriors such as myself, fighting for a cause they believed in. I would stand by them again, had their war not consumed them all.
You know the what- barely- but not the why. But for most, that's enough...it matters not my motivations, the araay I have endured for you all..."
The priest suddenly realized his hands were clenched into trembling fists, the shuko'rok grinding with enough pressure to shatter a bantha's skull. He snorted. "But as you said, it's not your concern. So why call me over to you? Idle curiosity? There is nothing...idle about you, Keira Verd."
"I deal in death and thralls, aruetti. Which is it you seek?"
There would be no mention of it, no outward indication of her intentions. But her own gauntleted hand would reach out to brush against his own clenched fists, a wordless gesture whose interpretation was left up to the man seated across from her. A strange gentleness accompanied it, one most didn’t understand as synonymous with her existence but learned it to be true in time. Age had softened her only a modicum at a time, but her maternal instinct shone through all the same.
"The Resol’nare has been our way since the days of the Crusaders. What you speak of is the annihilation of an entire culture and way of life in favor of a religion that is now only a fraction of our society. Mandalorians are the Resol’nare, ad’ika, it would do you well to remember that. Without it we lack a soul, we’re dar’manda." Nothing accusatory, and there was almost an offer secreted away behind those words: she would help him onto the right path again, if he so wished it.
To his final observation Keira only nodded, offering a tired - but no less genuine - smile. "'Lek, there’s not. There never has been, not for as long as I’ve known our ways." It was easier to distract herself when she was busy, whether that be with fighting in her younger days or management of a clan now. Never had she found it in herself to slow down, though age had decided to do that for her, piece-by-piece.
"Perhaps I called you over here to kill you, but that would be a waste. No, ad’ika, I only wanted to talk. To understand." She gestured, indicating all he’d said before of the lack of knowledge as to his true motivations, why he went to the lengths they both knew he did to get this far.
He stiffened at her touch, confusion and suspicion twisting his ragged features. It would occur to the Reaver Lord later that hers was the first touch not borne in anger, but now he was frozen, lost. He found himself studying her face, looking for any sign of...''Of what?' he asked himself. 'Deceit?' But there was no sign of treachery in the angular line of her jaw. The hardened but not unappealing cast of her features held nothing but compassion. She bore her own scars, but they served to distinguish rather than diminish. Faust's gaze centered on the most prominent one- a weal that snaked to her cheekbone- and followed it up until their eyes met at last. A flush of heat crept up the priest's neck, for in the dim light of the Oyu'baat, they looked for all the world like pools of honey- 'Enough!'
He jerked his hands away and stiffened in his seat, feeling like he'd been in a trance. Perhaps he had been, but whatever spell had gripped him was broken, and he met her statement with naught but a rueful smile. " Ba'jur bal beskar'gam, Ara'nov, aliit, Mando'a bal Mand'alor— An vencuyan mhi." He recited in mock sing-song, his grating voice somehow still managing to drip sarcasm. As suddenly as it had appeared the humor drained from him, and he sighed. "All tenets derived from the Destroyer, Keira. You worship the spring and ignore the ocean."
He made up his mind and stood in a clamor of clanking armor and bouncing weapons. One hand opened the privacy slide, but his eyes never left hers. "What you should know is this: I will return. The time of my people's stagnation is at an end. When the winds of change reach you, remember: in our time of greatest need, the Mandalore fled, but I did not. My vod may turn their backs on me, but I won't match their cruelty. If I have to drag them kicking and screaming to their salvation, hen so be it."
There was nothing left to be said, yet he stood unmoving, as if he were trapped in a pool of honey. Destroyer's teeth, what is wrong with me?
"I deal in death and thralls, aruetti. Which is it you seek?"
When he pulled away she left it at that, allowing him his space and not pressing the issue. In those seconds before he jerked back Keira knew she’d glimpsed at a side of him few had witnessed, and she would grant it the consideration it deserved later. As soon as he pulled away the mask again descended to disguise his emotions, covering them with the same coarse attitude he’d originally displayed upon his initial greeting. There was a struggle within him, that much was clear, two halves unable to reconcile themselves into a single whole.
As he moved to stand she watched him, holding his gaze as he spoke. A beat passed before she pushed herself to her feet, movements slow so as not to startle him. "I want you to consider something for me as you continue your path, ad’ika. Ask yourself why you feel the need to resort to torture and terror in order to spread your message. Why you are unable to inspire loyalty without using fear. Consider these things, and perhaps you’ll learn something before you return."
With one hand she picked up her helmet, studying his face as he stood there, apparently uncertain of his next move. "You don’t have to rush to leave, ad’ika. You have a place at my house and my table if you wish it." Not an uncharacteristic offer for her to make to most, but one he likely didn’t expect to receive given their present dialogue.
Careful not to block his exit, the corners of her mouth turned up in another slight smile. "Find me when you return, after you’ve had time to think over what I’ve asked you. I’m curious what you'll have to say."
The Reaver Lord snorted. "I do not seek to inspire loyalty, Keira; I demand it. Not for myself, but for the Destroyer. If it were up to me I wouldn't seek the mantle of authority. I am a shekemir be akaan, nothing more."
To say he found her offer of hospitality stunning would be a gross understatement. That she deigned to speak to one branded dar'manda in the first place was shocking enough. Taking one into your home was several orders of magnitude more egregious a sin for a Mandalorian.
"You wish to break bread with a demagolka?" His smile was rueful, full of equal parts amusement and pain. "My, but what would the neighbors think?"
There were two options available to him, it seemed. His plan had been to return to the Wraith to rendezvous with his army. With the sitting Mandalorian gone, there was nothing left for him here. The path ahead was uncertain, but it had always been so. Kad'veman were wayward, drifting. The Destroyer's directive was absolute, certain; the road to seeing it fulfilled was anything but.
Did he dare take her offer?
"Tell me which is preferable," he said with a start, yellow gaze suddenly intense. "Living long enough to fight for what you believe in, only to watch as what you loved crumbles, unable to save it...or dying before you ever get the chance."
"I deal in death and thralls, aruetti. Which is it you seek?"
“And a shekemir you can remain, if that’s your wish. There’s no need for war. The old gods and new traditions can exist as one, you can have your faith and we our six acts. I think we can agree the last thing our people need is division. Not in times like this.” No, it likely wasn’t that simple, but a civil war didn’t need to be the only option. They were scattered now as a people more than they ever had been in galactic history, and she wanted to see that mended, not made worse.
The bite of his first question was hard to ignore, but Keira met his gaze with an ease she suspected was uncommon, presenting him with an inquiry in return. “Why not earn your way back?” An idea he would likely deny, but she pressed on, “Whatever the consequence, it would rest on my head, not yours. It’s my clan you’re welcomed to, no one else’s. And with no standing Mand’alor, no one to deny the decision. The aliit govern themselves, just as they always have.”
Leaning back against the wall, she gave his final statement genuine consideration. Nothing said at the table had been without purpose, and this was no different. It was a test of sorts, one where only the individual presenting it knew the right answer. Adjusting her stance, helmet tucked under her arm, she took a breath, unsure of what he wanted from her.
But then, he’d no doubt been wondering the same since she first called him over.
“Mando’ade are fighters, ‘lek? You seem to know that more than anyone. Our livelihood has long been built on conflict. If we cannot find a way, we will make one, as it has always been.” Pausing for a moment, she held his gaze steadily. “I don’t shy away from a fight, ad’ika. But I will not kill without reason.”
