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
Coruscant's surface was defined by its urban sprawl, which collectively was called Galactic City. The dense city blocks were built on top of each other, with lowest being Level 1 and the highest reaching to Level 5127. The lowest known habitable level was Level 5. At its highest level, Galactic City's skyscrapers were built with many reaching 6,000 meters into the atmosphere, with sleek, transparisteel edifices standing next to older duracrete structures. The planet's skylanes directed the air-traffic of airspeeders via auto-navigation system that moved the speeders along preprogrammed routes. As such crashes were extremely rare.
The Shadow's landing gear touched down on the metal landing pad in a hiss of steam, where the engines ran idle for a few moments before dying into silence. The landing ramp hissed and extended, lowering itself to the floor, sending a cascade of light from the ship's interior into the darkness of the night. And in the light appeared a silhouette of a human figure, tall and lean. Andor's footsteps clanked on the metal as he moved onto the landing pad. Cautiously, his now blue eyes surveyed his surroundings, scanning the darkness for anybody or anything.
He found nothing. Everything was silent and still, no doubt the aftermath of the plague, of the galaxy's first cleansing. Good, there was no record of Andor ever entering orbit or landing at one of the smaller spaceports. If anyone happened to run into his ship and checked its credentials, they would find it registered to a wealthy farmer on Agamar, by the name of Kevin Winter... Andor's alter-ego, much like how Palpatine and Sidious were two different personalities but under the same entity.
He made his way through the spaceport, the traffic a mere trickle of what it had once been. There were no bustling crowds, but only the occasional passerby who would often avoid eye-contact as they passed by. The disguised Sith Lord made his way to the exit where he found numerous abandoned and unused speeders. He surveyed them and hopped into a sleek grey and purple one. Igniting the engines, he felt the speeder lift off of the ground, its engines humming with excitement. In a flash, the speeder shot out of sight, disappearing into the night and diving into the lower levels of Coruscant. It was time that Andor found any remnants of the black market so he could finish his disguise before making his way to the Jedi Temple.
Andor had spent the past day scouring level after level of Coruscant, speaking with the merchants that were scare to be found. He had yet to find anything or anyone worth his time, and his patience had worn thing, irritation and anger bubbling beneath the surface, threatening to break free at a moment's notice.
"This is it? This is all you have in stock?" The Dark Lord sighed, trying his best to act civil and to quell the rising anger. His eyes scanned the contents of the shop, noting the thin inventory of blasters and armor, "You don't have anything more... unique?" He put a little emphasis on his last word, trying to get the shopkeeper to get the hint.
And it worked. The rodian before him hesitated but recovered within a half a second, but the Dark Lord had noticed. So there was more. The alien shopkeeper looked Andor up and down in obvious distrust. He slowly began to back away, moving behind the counter, his hand noticeably shaking and moving to something hidden below... No doubt a blaster. "I'm sorry, Sir, but this is all I have. If what I have doesn't suit your needs, then I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask you to leave." The rodian's voice was hardened, but Andor could sense the man's nervousness. Andor took a step towards the counter.
"I know there's more. Your feelings betray you." His voice began to darken, as he stalked forward, "Show it to me."
"I'm... I'm warning you. Get.. Get out.. out of my shop!" The Rodian stammered as he raised his arm, pointing some sort of pistol at the Sith Lord.
But Andor was ready, his arm already extending, his hand outstretched. There was a tug in the Force and the pistol was ripped from the Rodian's hand, not before barking off a single green blaster bolt that soared well off to Andor's left and sizzling into the wall. The black pistol flew through the air before being caught in Andor's bare hand.
The Sith aimed the barrel to the Rodian's forehead as he stood between the Rodian and the shop's doorway. "Now now now, that was completely uncalled for. I'm just a collector searching for more exquisite items to purchase." He raised his left hand and waved it across the Rodian's face, "You will take me to your back room."
"I will take you to the back room." The Rodian muttered as he pressed a button below the counter. Immediately, one of the shelves to Andor's right slid upwards into the ceiling to reveal the secret room. Immediately, the two made their way through the doorway. Andor's boots clacked against the metal as he was delighted to see many more items of the illegal nature.... Explosives, spices, illegally modded weapons. He made his way up and down the table, brushing through the contents, looking for one thing in particular.
His hand stopped as his eyes noticed a small glimmer of light in the corner of his eye. Turning, Andor smiled as his eyes rested on a silver lightsaber hilt. Picking it up, he analyzed it. The hilt was simple in design, no intricate detailing and simply silver. He pressed the activation switch and a green bladed shot forward, sending a cascade of emerald light across his face as he glanced over to the Rodian, a devilish smile spread across his lips.
"Now that wasn't so hard, was it?" He chuckled as he brought the blade above his head. The Rodian uselessly covered his face with his arms and let out a sharp shrill of fear before there was a flash of emerald light and the blade seared through his skull and into his torso. The blade deactivated and the body fell limply to the ground.
Leaving the back room, Andor made his way out of the shop, after stopping to change into a brown robe that hung on a coat rack in one of the aisles. He strapped the lightsaber to his belt and adjusted his pistol. Flipping the brown hood above his head, the Sith took a deep breath as he stepped back out into the streets, making his way for the Jedi Temple.
After receiving Andor's transmission to report to the Jedi Temple, SG-14 made his way into the cockpit of the 'Shadow' and took a seat in the pilot's chair. Strapping himself in, his mechanical fingers glanced over the controls, where the engines roared to life in response. Taking a moment to plug the Temple's coordinates into the navcomputer, SG-14 pulled up on the controls and the freighter lurched off of the ground and began to rise into the air.
Spinning to face the correct direction, the sunlight engines roared to life and the G9-Rigger Freighter made its way into the nearly abandoned lanes of traffic, the Jedi Temple a mere dot on the horizon.
Andor was suddenly jolted awake as the ship violently began to shutter. Snapping upright in his seat, his ears were assaulted with the annoying clamor of wailing alarms and the flashing red lights that appeared all across the dashboard.
"What in the hell is going on, SG?" Andor asked in a low growl, his voice deeper than usual.
"Sir, scanners are indicating that the ship is out of fuel. I don't under-"
"WHAT DO YOU MEAN THE SHIP IS OUT OF FUEL?" Andor bellowed, bolting into a standing position. He turned on the droid, the hood falling from his head. As the shadows receded, his face gave all the signs of anger: a furrowed brow, his lips pulled thinner than usual, his jaw sharp and rigid as he bit down. But the most noticeable feature was his eyes. They were narrow slits, burning with anger as he stared down his droid. "YOU SAID YOU HAD JUST REFUELED THE SHIP RIGHT BEFORE YOU TOOK OFF!"
Before the droid could respond, the ship lurched into a nose-dive, and began to free-fall. Andor was thrown upwards, his feet leaving the ground as he crashed into the sealing. The droid, however, remained in its seat due to the seatbelt.... SG-14 desperately punched at the controls, and the ship finally oriented itself, resulting in Andor crashing to the ground.
If he hadn't been seething with anger, the Sith Lord would have easily have been dazed. But hastily, he got back into his seat and fastened the straps across his torso.
"SG, you better get us out of this mess. Can you get us down in one piece?"
"Unlikely, Sir. Reports indicate we're reaching an altitude of thirty thousand feet. There's not enough fuel to get us into orbit or to get us back to the ground."
Almost as if he were in slow motion, Andor turned his head to the left to look at the droid. "What. Did. You. Just. Say?"
SG-14 audibly gulped, even though the primary function of gulping was unneeded for a droid to clear its throat. He pulled hard on the controls and suddenly, the engines shut off and the cockpit went dark. Immediately, the ship began to fall out of the sky.
"Brace for impact."
"Can you keep her level?"
"Yes sir, although, I don't know how much good that will do us in the end."
Andor sighed and ran his hand across the top of his head, feeling the fuzzy sensation of his recently buzzed head. It felt awkward and out of place, and the Sith Lord longed to have the facial implants removed... But it seemed like there were more pressing matters at hand. "Just work on keeping her level. I'll take care of the rest."
"What else is there to do?" SG-14 looked over to Andor and didn't even need an answer before his programming delivered him the correct response, "Oh yes, the Force. Good luck, Sir."
"There's no such thing as luck." Andor snarled.
The ship continued to fall, Andor's stomach threatening to float into his throat. The Sith Lord closed his eyes and submerged himself deep into the well of the darkside. He drew on his hate, his pain, his anger. At first, the power embodied itself as a chill that resided within Andor's spine, causing the hair on the back of his neck to stand erect. But then, it began to grow and envelope the Sith Lord as he manipulated it. He was not a servant of the Force, but instead, the Force was a servant to HIM.
He let his awareness drift outside of the cockpit where it began to focus on the ship in its entirety. His hands raised above his head, as if he were worshipping at an altar, but instead, he reached out with the Force and took hold of the ship. It responded with a lurch, and a vein in Andor's forehead began to appear as he fought to control the ship's descent. A groan escaped his lips as he lifted his arms higher, and finally, the ship began to slow down, little by little.
The tallest of the skyscrapers began to rise above them as they fell, still at a blurry pace.... Too fast to survive.
"We're still coming in too hot."
But the droid's complaint fell upon deaf ears as the Sith Lord's brow furrowed in concentration, his forehead glistening with sweat. There was another shudder, accompanied by the scream of breaking metal.
"Sir, we just lost the starboard wing."
The windows on the buildings shot upwards, the pace at which they passed slowing ever so slowly. But Andor knew his efforts were in vain. He couldn't slow a ship this size on his own, not as fatigued as he already was.
He gave a cry of pain as he released his hold on the ship. At the sudden loss of the invisible resistantancn, the ship lurched forward and crashed into the wall of a skyscraper before bouncing off and careening into an adjacent building. Andor's head bashed into his seat and if it weren't for his safety straps, he'd have been thrown about like a ragdoll for sure.
The Shadow was descending ball of flame, and as it finally hit the ground, there was an explosion of sound and Andor's sight went black as the Sith Lord was knocked into unconsciousness.
Cruising down through the atmosphere the black ship wasn't headed for any of the secured landing zones but crusing towards one of the more recent plumes of black smoke that had climbed into the sky. Pod bad doors opened as a drop pod containing a sith lord was launched from the ship down towards the massive planet covering city. The man inside using his force sight and the pod's controls to guide himself through the turbulent air towards his destination and to avoid objects that could damage or throw the pod off course. Static was cutting through his coms slightly which was to be expected with the state of things around here. While he wanted to land close to the crashed ship he knew better than to land in the same place as it. Drop pods aren't known for making soft landings and well he couldn't guarantee the stability of the structure where he would land.
Meanwhile his ship the Harbinger began the work of finding a landing zone big enough for the yacht class to land to pick up their commander and the person he had gone down to retrieve.
Andor groaned as he finally came too, his hands coming to rub at his face. How long had he been out? His head was swimming, his hearing muffled, his vision blurry, and everything seemed to be moving in slow-motion. Trying to concentrate, Andor's ears picked up on a dull 'thumping' sound. Focusing on that, he grounded himself as he looked out the viewport, his eyes immediately widening in shock.
His eyes were squinted against the setting sun that came through the cracked windshield, but it wasn't the fact that it was getting dark that bothered him. It was the fact that there were dozens of hands clawing and hitting against the glass, threatening to break through, leaving smeared trails of crimson blood in their wake: the source of the thumping.
The infected had come, drawn out by the cacophony of noise that the crash had no doubt created.
"SG, any idea where we landed?"
Silence. The Sith Lord turned his aching neck to look at the droid, and found SG-14 sitting limply in his chair, sparks emitting from the destroyed droid. Just his luck. Hastily, Andor unstrapped himself and moved into the cargo hold of the 'Shadow', the moans and groans of those outside muffled out by the metal walls. Shedding his Jedi disguise, he pulled his usual gear from one of the storage containers he had left behind. First, he threw on his crimson tunic and his black cloak, shortly followed by his black, steel-toed boots. Then, he grabbed his two twin black lightsaber hilts and fastened one to each hip (after all, there was no time to put on his forearm straps). His hands expertly fastened the holster of his pistol to his belt and he slid three thermal detonators into one of his utility pouches, alongside his grappling hook and rebreather.
Satisfied with his setup, Andor moved back into the cockpit, immediately noticing the crack in the viewport was growing larger, like a spiderweb expanding in all directions under the constant bombardment of the infected.
First he tried to start the shuttle, but it was useless. There was no power, no gas. There was no way he could use the ships communications to contact the 'Messiah' and without that, he was sitting in the dark until he could get out of this mess and find some sort of long range transmitter.
Well, this shuttle wouldn't hold forever. Andor pressed a button to extend the landing ramp, but all the ship did was groan and not eliciting the proper response. For whatever reason, it seemed as if something was obstructing the ramp.
"I guess there's only one way out then." Andor murmured to himself as his eyes locked onto the viewport, and the dozens of bodies that were piling up around it.
The very air around Andor seemed to sizzle as he thrust his hands forward, palms facing the glass. There was a wave of telekinetic energy and the air itself rippled as it crashed into the compromised glass. The viewport exploded outward sending glass shrapnel and bodies alike in all directions. Quickly, Andor drew his two lightsabers and ignited them, the crimson blades roaring forth to do battle.
He ducked underneath the frame of the ship as he moved into the open, his teeth bared in excitement. Immediately, his blades fell across the first three victims that came at him, decapitating two of them in one stroke, quickly followed with a thrust into the heart with the other blade.
"This is where the fun begins." The Sith Lord cackled as more infected rose to their feet, and maddeningly rushed him. Spreading his feet to a shoulder-width stance, with his left leg leading and his blades forming an 'X" in front of him, Andor let them break on him like water on a dam as he began to cut them down one by one.
Sensors picked up movement below him nearly all of it moving in one direction which told him all he needed to know about the final resting place of the ship that had crashed. Correcting his course so that he could land near enough to Andor that it wouldn't be a major fight to meet up with him. The pod's collision alarms started to blare at him as the ground raced towards him, retro thrusters fired so that he didn't land at lethal velocity for himself thought the slowly wakening crowd of infected he landed on wasn't so lucky. The impact of his landing crushing and scattering them giving him some space for when he exited the pod.
The main hatch for the drop pod was ejected from the side of the pod and three lightsaber handles came flying out ahead of the man clad in black. Each of the flaring to life at the same time with blades of orange, red, and purple accompanied by the crackle of their unstable nature. The blades dancing through the air as they cut down the infected that started to rush at him as the landings stunning effect started to wear off. He had the last location of Andor marked as his current way point as he started to wade through the throng of infected between the two of them. The smell of burning and infected flesh rising around him as he made his slow push forward.
Luckily the suffering of the infected left him a nearly unending source of pain and fear to feed on to help keep his powers bolstered. Arcs of lightning would be able to be seen from time to time as the groups of infected would increase in number to slow them down so he could cut them down with less risk of being overrun. The three hundred meters to Andor's last known location moved at a pace similar to trying to march through knee high mud. At least the infected were limited on their tactics, bull rushes and ambushes by the ones that hadn't fully risen yet made things mostly predictable.
He hacked and he slashed, his crimson blades creating an impenetrable shield in which the mindless infected fell prey. But for every one that was cut down, it seemed that two more replaced it. It almost seemed as if they were seeping out of the very walls, out of every nook and cranny, drawn to Andor like a moth is drawn to light. Their slumber had been disturbed by the crash-landing of the ship, and now, their focus was drawn to the one thing that moved and made noise.... The Sith and his humming lightsabers.
Andor pushed himself through the crowd, keeping the wall of the building strategically to his back, so that none could get behind him. Shimming to the side, his target was a large, ornate set of stairs that went upwards to the next of the thousands of levels of Coruscant. If he could make it to the stairs, he'd have the utmost advantage: the high ground. His right blade swung outwards in a horizontal arc, bisecting three humanoid figures as his left blade thrusted forward, taking a fourth through the forehead. As the four bodies fell limply to the ground, Andor gathered the force around him and leapt high into the air.
Weightlessly, he found himself rising. Then, at the apex of his jump, he planted his feet against the solid wall that was behind him and pushed off at an angle, launching himself in the direction of the silver, metallic stairs. He flipped once, before his feet landed confidently on a step only a foot or so wide. The infected stopped their assault, looking wildly and clawing at the space where Andor had just been.
Then, there was a roaring sound of thrusters activating and a flash of light in the corner of his eye caught the Sith's attention. Taking the risk of looking up, Andor saw a drop pod soaring through the atmosphere, wreathed in flame from the heat of re-entry. The pod soon corrected course, and began to fall at a calculated drop.... and it looked like it was headed for Andor's position.
"There's no such thing as luck." He chuckled to himself, amused at his choice of words he had used earlier. The Force truly worked in mysterious ways. Andor watched as the pod soared behind him and disappeared from sight behind the heights of the Coruscant city-scape, before hearing the resulting sound of the crash.
It wasn't far. There were a series of moans and rattling breaths as the mob of infected turned to face the direction of the new sound, their glazed eyes falling on the Sith Lord yet again, who stood there, basked in crimson light.
Deactivating his lightsabers and returning them to his belt, Andor ran up the steps in ducked into the shadows of an adjacent alley, and hid behind a dumpster, disappearing from sight. Peeking around the side of his cover, Andor saw the horde of flesh-eating, mindless beasts trudging slowly up the stairs, their steps uneven, jerky, almost mechanical. Slowly, they passed by the alley, stalking forward in the direction they had last seen their prey moving.
Retracting, he sat down, with his back against the dumpster, panting from the physical exertion of his most recent engagement. "Just another training exercise." He thought.
Andor hurriedly placed his comlink back into one of the many pockets within his robes. Admiral Lynn and the remnants of his fleet where in orbit and we're in the process of sending down a shuttle to extract him from this hellish, undead scene. But first, he had to get to that damn roof.
Outside the alley, a mob of infected trailed idly past, drawn by the recent sounds of Andor's crash and combat, and now their focus seemed to be diverted to whatever was happening over yonder, where there was another plume of smoke curling into the air. Still positioned behind the dumpster, Andor looked up at the skyscraper above him. It towered over him, leaving the Sith hidden in its shadow. It stood at least seventy stories high, if not more. Andor had to get inside and make is way to the top...
"I'd bet a thousand credits that building is packed with those things." He muttered to himself. But he had no other option. Andor closed his eyes to focus, to steady his breathing, and the ease the throbbing in his head. That crash had rattled him and kriff, he was tired. But he had to keep pushing on. Survival was the only path Andor had ever lived.
Taking a lightsaber hilt in a two handed grip, Andor walked over to the exterior wall of the skyscraper. Placing the blade emitter against the solid, metal surface, Andor thumbed the ignition switch. There was a snap-hiss as the crimson blade immediately extended, burying its full length into the wall. The searing metal hissed and slowly turned to a burning orange color as Andor began to move his lightsaber in a circle, slicing a hole through which, he could slip through.
Behind him, he could hear wails and moans from the infected, as they suddenly changed direction, moving into the alley to investigate the new sounds. The alley was narrow, only allowing for five of them to stand side by side. Easy numbers for Andor to take if he had to. As the infected funneled their way into the alley, Andor kept his blade moving. It was about halfway through.... He was going to barely make it.
The uneven steps, the scuffling of feet growing closer... Their arms outstretched, their hands blindly opening and closing, hoping to entrap anything they could eat within their grasp. Jaws working maliciously, teeth clacking together.
Closer....
And closer....
Done! The cut complete, Andor extracted his blade and stepped back. In a flourish of movement, the first row of infected fell to the ground, their heads rolling away from their bodies. Then, with his left hand, Andor wrenched the circular chunk of metal and pulled it with the Force. Easily, it came free and now hovered between Andor and his assailants: a make-shift shield. With a flick of his hand, Andor threw it into the horde, letting the heavy duracrete cast them aside like a bowling ball to pins. Quickly, he deactivated his blade and ducked inside. There, he found himself in a dark hallway, the only light filtering in from the hole he had just come through.
Even in the low light, he could see the exit sign hanging loosely from the ceiling at the opposite end. Andor grabbed a small piece of rubble from the ground and gave it a hard toss down the hallway. It banged off the wall before clattering to the floor, and rolling until it hit a knocked over trashcan. If there was anything in here, that noise would have drawn them out.
He waited. And nothing came.
As silent as a wraith, and as invisible in the dark as a shadow, Andor began to move.
*The heat of a sultry midsummer's day is abated by a cool breeze. Not a cloud adorns the brilliant blue sky, and not a sound breaks the tranquil scene except for the far-off cry of some exotic bird. The sole figure on the landscape raises his hand to shield his eyes as he surveys the scene, robes billowing gently in the wind.
From a source of intel given to him by a questionable source, he had tracked his quarry here, to this outer rim world, and knew beyond the shadow of a doubt that the enemy would be found in the cavernous space just underfoot from where he stands. He considers his options. To fly a spacecraft into the opening in the ground sprawling before him would be tantamount to alerting his foes immediately of his presence. Only a fool would do that. But if he does not act soon, then the cavalry will arrive before he accomplishes his advance mission. It's game over, then, they'll stand no chance.
He settles on a solution. Sweeping his brown robes aside, he reveals a utility belt from which he procures a grappling hook and tether. With a skillful toss, he anchors it to a particularly large rock formation. And without a second glance, he turns towards the edge in a single fluid motion and dives freely into the abyss.
As gravity seizes him and draws him ever downward, towards the surface of water sitting placidly half a kilometer below, he stretches his arms out in an iconic pose. He closes his eyes and senses what surrounds him, passing level after level in free-fall. First level, second level, third level...
It is his hope that he has completely evaded detection. And indeed, unless someone happens to be looking into the open air at the exact moment that he drops past their level, he wouldn't be spotted. Except for the fibercord left behind, though. That would betray his method of entry. Still... give it a couple minutes, and his mission will be accomplished. Discovery will be meaningless at that point.
The filament flows outward behind him, a seemingly endless supply in his belt. Yet, long before the resting length is exhausted, he reaches his intended destination and snaps into action. Eyes flashing open, he withdraws his arms and grabs hold of the fiber, putting to sudden arrest the descent and inducing pendulum-esque behavior. On the back-swing towards the sinkhole walls, he detaches the apparatus and neatly backflips onto a platform extending from the edge. But, no time to celebrate a happy landing.
At the moment his feet touch the lip, he breaks into a sprint. Calling upon the Force to fuel his movements, it is with blinding speed that he propels himself onward. His outer layer of robes is caught by the induced air currents and is passively shed without a second thought as he races deftly, as if he knows exactly where he is headed, through the spiraling corridors hewn from the natural stone.
Excitement does not alter his course, nor does the prospect of what is to come deter him. Instead, his demeanor is fully immersed in the present moment, and his resolve is set on what must be done. In such a way, he makes the ideal standard of what a Jedi should be -- for that is what he is, of course; wearing those robes and embarking on a solo mission and using the Force can mean little else -- centered in the here and now, filled only with a sense of duty to the light. Pensive and calm are his motifs, not warm and thrill-seeking.
He rushes onward, thankful for the track lighting which gives him plenty of advance notice to the contours of the route ahead of his feet. The air beats against his face, drawing tears from his eyes at this breakneck speed. On more than one occasion now he has resorted to jumping over passers-by to maintain his pace and avoid collision. Yet, perhaps because he's moving at such speeds, no one has seen him, or if they have, no one has bothered to raise an alarm. No one going that fast has time for distractions, one might reason, and simply keep his nose about his own business.
Finally, he rounds another corner and spots his adversary in the midst of conversation with a group of figureheads. A distinctive cape covers the body of the enemy, but he'd recognize that hunched-over stance anywhere, at any speed. The man cuts back on his speed, dropping from a run into a jog into a trot into a fast walk. His footsteps are ever-so-soft. The last echoes of conversation can be heard as he strides confidently up to the back of his enemy, while the council adjourns to allow its constituents to take their seats aboard an outer rim-bound shuttle. The Jedi's right hand snakes to his belt and draws his lightsaber, which he ignites with a hiss to reveal its signature purple blade.*
[/span][/ul]
*In response, the stooped figure turns with a drop-step that carries with it less surprise than might be expected, considering the situation. All in all, this is what makes him such a formidable warrior: to not give your foe any advantage, even the admission of being caught flat-footed is stifled. If you claim everything is to your plan for long enough, then even everyone might start to believe you. Commendable! The reptilian eyes of the cyborg general of the C.I.S. betray no shock; rather than widening, his pupils simply narrow as the hunted acknowledges the hunter.*
[/b] a bold one."[/font][/span][/ul]*And in the span of time it took for those words to be uttered, the electrostaves of an ensemble of IG-100 MagnaGuard droids have hummed to life with an electric buzz rising to challenge the iconic sound of the lightsaber being held by the Jedi Master Mace Windu. The four turn, their blue-tipped weapons in hand, and step forward to engage Mace. The next set of words from General Grievous are more of an afterthought than anything else, since they were clearly already set to engage.
But it would make the scene more dramatic to be said rather than left unsaid, so he utters it anyways. That's what makes him such an iconic character.*
[/font][/span][/ul] *And then Grievous draws back, making final mental preparations for the next step. The MagnaGuards are a distraction, of course. There is no way they can hold off a warrior of Windu's caliber.
At the conclusion of the Battle over Coruscant, after Grievous nearly succeeded at kidnapping the Chancellor (which, those in the know will point out, was the ultimate deciding factor in whether the Galactic Empire was formed using the military might of the C.I.S. or the Republic), Windu had made the comment that General Grievous would run and hide as he always does. Implying that a tactical withdrawal is some sort of inferior strategem. But of course, if it was such a weak tactic, why would a general who supposedly stoops to employing it be such a thorn in the side of the Jedi? What danger is posed by a man (machine, whatever) who can only utilize second-rate strategies?
The answer is that Master Windu did not think carefully before he spoke, and the one who stands at an advantage now is the one who can carefully analyze. The MagnaDroids are a distraction, but Grievous is watching carefully to see how Mace Windu deals with them. Every bit of data collected is potentially valuable.
His patient strategy is rewarded as follows: Mace's saber precesses slowly, the blade flowing in a crescent around his outstretched right hand exactly once. He pivots his left shoulder forward, blade now pointing almost directly away from the crack team of top-class droids.
Then, the fingers of his left hand twitch inward, and the unseen power of the Force seizes all four droids simultaneously around the midsection, drawing their feet out of contact with the floor and pulling them together into a clump. Windu then follows through with an out-turning of the wrist on that left hand, and in response, the not-quite-spherical jumble of stuck-together droids is summarily launched out of the vicinity, over the edge, and presumably taken by gravity the rest of the way to the bottom of the sinkhole.
An ensemble of battle droids, including some droidekas, respond by stepping up to the plate and lowering their weapons at the Jedi, who confidently steps into close-quarters with General Grievous. The cyborg wisely calls them off. For one thing, there's no sense in wasting troops. For another, if blaster bolts start flying, then he could probably count on Windu deflecting at least a few of them in his general direction, and blasters are dangerous. He barks to them to hold their fire.*
[/font][/span][/ul]
[/font][/span]*Mace tersely replies. Grievous pauses for half a moment, because if you take the time to think about it, the droids attacking was in fact already his move and defeating them is a consequence of the move rather than a move unto itself being made by Windu so it's really still Mace's move and it doesn't make a lot of sense for him to end his turn there, weird flex but ok he'll take the bait.*[/ul]
[/font][/span]*Here, Grievous is addressing the tactical blunder of forfeiting one's action.* "I've been trained in your Jedi arts by Count Dooku!"[/ul]
*Stating this, he then unclasps and sheds his cape to reveal a spindly, skeletal metal frame. General Grievous extends his arms out to the side, and with a sequence of pneumatic clicks, they begin separating into pairs so that his true form as a four-armed duelist (which is something one can be almost entirely certain that Dooku never was, in all his time spent in the universe) is finally revealed. In each hand, a set of blades ignite -- two blue and two green, taken from defeated Jedi (Grievous is a meticulous collector, and if he saw that he was going to kill a Jedi with a blue lightsaber, he had to make sure that he subsequently sought out a Jedi with a green lightsaber next to make sure that his trophy collection grew evenly. This proved no simple task, because the ratio of blue to green sabers in the days of the Galactic Republic was a little more than 2:1 and so in practice he usually made sure to prioritize green saber-wielders because of their rarer weapons. That's also why he had said that the lightsabers of Obi-Wan Kenobi and Anakin Skywalker would make fine additions to his collection, because he had managed [by over-targeting the green bladed folks] to find himself with a surplus of green lightsabers and hence their weapons would have restored balance. This in turn begs the question of what kind of an addition a purple saber would make to his collection).
He leans forward, and draws the upper arms overhead. Slowly, his gimballed wrists initiate a demonstration of their superiority to organic joints. The saber blades start to spin with ever-increasing frequency until his laughing visage is shrouded by a sequence of epilepsy-inducing flashes of green and blue light, striking at the floor with each cycle. The other two arms simply pierce the ground, generating a molten slurry, and he stalks forward towards the comparatively shorter man. The cacophony of the sabers in motion -- comparable to the high-pitched whine of an energy saw boring through durasteel -- does not completely mask the fanatical laughter of the encroaching fiend.
For his part in all of this, Mace Windu calmly brings his saber arm forward and places his left hand alongside the right on the hilt, blade perfectly vertical and still. Well-practiced in his art of Vaapad, he gently flexes his knees and observes Grievous, not succumbing to the visual distraction of the flashing saber blades, but rather feeling with the Force, seeking out the beat of the rhythm and meditating for the purpose of perceiving the Shatterpoint that he know will not fail to appear at just the right time.
It is not for nothing that Mace has a seat on the Jedi Council. And it is to Grievous's discredit that he even mentioned Count Dooku, for it was demonstrated only a little more than two cycles before this that Dooku could only battle Grandmaster Yoda to a stalemate, yet on numerous occasions Master Windu has unceremoniously defeated Yoda in saber spars. One could make the argument that Yoda was holding back on using his abilities in the Force at such times, and that would be true, but then the question remains: does Grievous have any ability in the Force to be leveraged in this duel? No? Oh, okay then. So is the outcome not already decided?
Nonetheless General Grievous continues to lurch forward, and suddenly a deafening triplet of beeps chirps overhead, drowning out the entire audio track, and the scene freezes at that very moment, flickering gently.*[/font][/font]
