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
Rai vs. Faust Skirata Standard Battle Arena Rules Top Ten Force Powers
Dantooine: Abandoned Jedi Enclave
Broken beams jut up from a collapsed building to the side. Glass and rubble litter the floors of the hallway. A steady rain plops down from the grey sky, unhurried fat drops of water slowly washing everything back to the dirt. Once, long ago, this place was a bastion of light in the galaxy. Now it is a gutted shell of it's former glory, the Jedi Enclave of Dantooine, a silent marker for the death of the Jedi.
Unfortunately, I have no choice but to call an end to this fight due to extreme posting delays and lack of communication. I would have loved to see this play out- just the back and forth was a good read, and had it actually gotten to the fighting, I'm sure it would have gotten even better.
Since that's not the case, Ryu is hereby declared the winner due to his opponent's forfeiture.
Fifteen thousand pounds of solid duracrete tumble through the air, looking for just an instant to be completely weightless. The fallacy of that observation is quickly dispelled by its landing- an impact that had all the qualities of a bomb blast: the entirety of medical center shook as if beset by an earthquake (an effect surely experienced by those we'd left behind in the hangar); chunks of rubble exploded from the ceiling and the walls, weakening their already questionable integrity; and a plume of dust so thick and heavy that it blacked out the entire corridor arose instantly; and I...
I am baffled. What I had just witnessed was...impossible.
No, really, I mean it. It might be obvious to anyone that the Zabrak was extremely mutated. Indeed, I'd come to the immediate conclusion that he was the product of intense genetic manipulation- probably an altered clone, although there were other possibilities. 'Ah, so his muscle and bone density have been dramatically increased,' you suppose. 'Impossible,' I reiterate. Impossible to achieve the density and strength necessary to perform such a feat while limited to the compact form the Zabrak inhabits- not without his frame collapsing under its own weight, shaking the very firmament with its every labored, tortuous step. Oh, he is a titan among his peers, I admit, but to toss that chunk of duracrete, he would need to be a true behemoth, the size of a small bull rancor.
So, the only explanation is that he's been subjected to alchemical experimentation. Even that is a stretch- Sith magic is not truly magic, after all, but simply more exotic and arcane applications of the force- but it could be possible. Except, I am without a doubt the most skilled practitioner of biological alchemy still alive after the Cataclysm, and I sense...nothing.
Like I said, it was impossible.
Oh, well. Maybe when this is all over with I'll dissect his corpse and investigate the matter. For now, I have other business to attend to. His assumption that I've chosen to venture into these ruins to sift through scraps of tech littered on the floor in hopes of finding exactly what I need is a strange one, but I don't bother replying as he disappears into the dust-filled corridor, toward the screams of the infected.
Instead, I kneel over the corpse of the woman I'd retrieved from beneath the desk, and close my eyes as the dark side rushes in at my beckon-call.
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.
[/font] I murmured, squinting against the looming darkness. I felt no need to introduce myself- not yet, anyway. [/font][/ul][/ul]
The air was choked with dust and greasy smoke, and an orange glow emanated from around the corner we were approaching. It seems the Jedi wasn't lying about the state of the cybernetics wing after all- I assumed he'd at least been exaggerating its state of disrepair in an attempt to dissuade us from pursuing the matter.
I also assumed my choice to ignore his warnings would result in immediate violence. It seems I don't know these people as well as I thought. But it's funny, don't you think, that the only voice of reason was their pet Sith? Only the dark siders in the room were willing to relax, and see the matter for what it was.
Do you know why that is? I do: power. The aggression we were shown was the product of fear- fear that we would take what we wanted, fear that they would be unable to stop us, fear that their power was insufficient. We three, on the other hand, know our power levels and where we stand in relation to one another. That's why having guns drawn on us didn't upset us- cause they couldn't have killed us if they wanted to. That's why Adieumus' transparent bias didn't spur me to violence.
And that's why Loki simply walks with me now, unafraid and unassuming. Because he knows his own power level, and the luxuries- and freedoms- such a thing provides.
Stepping over a corpse bearing the LAN sigil on its armor, I rounded the corner and found the source of the glow: the receptionist's desk (where Adi was supposed to be, hm?) was buried beneath a pile of still-burning rubble. The smoldering coals mixed in with the shattered duracrete gave off enough light to see by, revealing smashed computers and broken medical equipment all over the office area.
I sighed.
[/font][/ul][/ul]
I tucked both of the LL-30 pistols into my belt, freeing my hands to reach beneath the ruins of the desk. I seized the collar of a female corpse dressed in business-casual, and dragged it out into the open. Perhaps, if we couldn't find a working computer, she could give me the information that I need.
I don't break stride as Ryu calls out- we share a similar quality where, once committed to a path, we pursue it with determined conviction. But I do cock my head to the side as I continue walking, to acknowledge that I hear him. In perfect, seamless synchrony, my black hands rise to my sides, and close casually around a pair of identical grips- Crisis in my right hand, and Crux in my left.
It was a thoughtful gesture, but an obvious one. No threat I would meet within these ruins would be a match for my skill in the force, so any tripe about needing a weapon to deal with infected civilians was just that. A room full of hostile Jedi intent on fighting to the death to protect a handful of salvaged cybernetics, however...well, the twin pistols may come in handy.
My black robes rustled as I continued on my way, oblivious to the events developing in the hangar, until Adieumus calls out to me.
And I freeze, spine snapping straight and eyes narrowing.
I turned slowly to regard the Jedi with a baleful gaze, for one moment the effervescent fury visible on my features. Then I shrugged, and gestured with Crux.
[/font] I turned back round and resumed my trek down the corridor. "You say you can't let me...I propose that you couldn't possibly hope to stop me."[/font][/ul][/ul]
A shame- I really thought the tension was going to pass. But to challenge my freedom is...inconceivable, and unforgivable. Tapping Crisis against my thigh in an idle rhythm, I gather the dark side, pooling energy as I disappeared into the inky blackness of the ruined cybernetics wing. Would my pursuers aspire to be my escorts, or my captors, I wonder?
Tension thickens, as it was bound to do. Despite proclamations of neutrality, of unbiased relations with all who come seeking refuge, there was never any chance of the Jedi displaying any objectivity. Some old wounds never heal, even if the face of the galaxy has changed, and by their attitudes, the lightsiders have displayed that it was, indeed, they who were wounded. It's unfortunate that they've proven unable to extricate themselves from the quagmire of their own prejudice- it would've made our business on Honoghr much more straightforward- but not unexpected.
Just as the troopers' sudden entrance is not unexpected. Briefly, I wonder if they mean to take us into custody, or perhaps execute us on the spot (now those would be some Jedi I could get behind), but then the famous Adieumus intervenes, throwing himself between us and them.
[/font] I called out to no one in particular. Then, to Ryu, I offer an observation that only my god-like skills of perception could uncover: "I think we make them nervous. Who's in charge here, anyway?"[/font][/ul][/ul]
Resting one blackened hand against the rubble that blocks the corridor to the cybernetics wing, I lounge and cast a long look around the room. Four soldiers armed with blaster rifles. A Jedi Master renowned for his skill in battle. A Wookiee, and a dark-aligned Forceful Zabrak that made the walking carpet look more like a walking rug. Oh, and another Jedi, hovering in the back, who I keep overlooking.
A solid line up, but I doubt Ryu will even require my assistance- if they work up the courage to actually attack him, that is. So, as tempting as it is to watch the drama unfold, I instead turn my attention back to the rubble. My senses expand once more, ignoring the swirling, chaotic emotions filling the hangar and finding refuge within cool, placid stone.
The supports are still solid, that much is immediately obvious. The section of roof that collapsed must've been hit directly- perhaps with a concussion charge, or the dislodged fuel tank of the flamethrower being used to suppress the infected. I'm unsure. My skill in psychokinesis is fledgling at best, but it doesn't matter. I can remove the rubble without causing further damage to the building, and that's all that matters.
A frown of concentration mars my features as I quest deeper, worming through the stone, through the molecules making them up, to the very building blocks of their matter.
Seeking...and finding...their Shatterpoint.
CRACK!
The rubble disintegrated, stone and duracrete protesting, all for naught. In an instant, the blockade was reduced to a pile of fine dust that only rose up a little past my knees. I wiped my hand on my robes, leaving a swath of grime on the black fabric, and stepped over it and into the hallway.
Fair warning, this is going to be a short judgment. Everything seemed above board here- there was no powergaming, and all of the moves were clearly described and properly executed. There really isn't anything for me to pick on. I'd like to mention the pacing of the fight, the lack of aggression, the hesitance of both parties to engage and do the work necessary to win, but that's the entire point, isn't it? They're both pacifist Jedi, roped into a duel neither of them asked for. I would've liked to see one or both of you use the, 'let's get this over with' excuse to really dig in and get after it, but you were both being true to your characters.
I'm giving this duel to Rai, as he secured a takedown and was in a vastly superior position at the time of judgment. Congratulations, and thank you both for participating in the battle arena- I hope to see you both back here again soon.
Ah...I thought the blonde-haired man looked familiar. Adieumus Matango, Jedi Master and leader of LAN. Not that we've ever met, mind you, but as Grand Inquisitor (spy master, to put it crudely) of three separate empires, well, who's who is sort of a specialty of mine. He's polite enough, which surprises me for two reasons.
The first is that, by all accounts, Matango is a warrior first and leader second. The kind of Jedi that serves the Light on the front lines. Neither Ryu nor myself have bothered to suppress or otherwise disguise our auras. Our alignment couldn't be any clearer if someone mounted a neon sign above our heads. "Darksiders approaching, kill them in righteous anger".
The second is that, even if he's not the warmongering holy crusader that some of my sources painted him to be, the reality of the situation still warrants suspicion. The galaxy is reeling in the wake of the single most devastating event in history. The plague was a mass extinction event, the likes of which previous threats paled in comparison. The Yuuzhan Vong, the Galactic or even Infinite Empire, all Sith to date...none of them posed a threat of this magnitude. Were I in his shoes, the arrival of traditional enemies in a time like this, when I had people to protect and the universe was falling apart around me, would be met with immediate incarceration.
I suppose we're lucky that he doesn't feel the same way. Or rather, he is.
The blackened fingers of my left hand drummed rhythmically against the leather satchel hanging by my hip as Ryu and Adieumus conversed. The other sentients in the hangar began to move into strategic positions- an amusing development. Superior tactics could be a powerful force to reckon with, but against the likes of us it wouldn't make much difference.
My gaze moves to study the Zabrak hovering behind Matango, amber eyes sparkling. Now that's a specimen! Gargantuan in size, muscled and athletic, and strong in the dark side to boot! What a fight that would be...ah, but there's no reason to resort to violence. My power consists only of my command of the force at the moment, and I already know the only being in the universe who can rival that power stands at my side.
There are three others, back behind the group, including a Wookiee and another Forceful, but before I can turn my attention to them Adieumus points to a corridor that's been made impassable by debris. Making a quiet tsk-tsk sound, I stride over to the entrance and place one burned hand against the rubble. The contact is like grounding a circuit, my senses snaking through the rubble, studying every inch in its entirety.
My thoughts wander too, as the hike steals everyone's interest in conversation. Mostly I think of the fact that, if it suited me, I could hike at this pace for days before finally succumbing to fatigue. My understanding of the body I inhabit- and the sorcery chaining me to it- are incomplete. Desperation to stave off the sickness that had plagued me through my years as a Sith (which I now believe to have been a simple corruption, suffered by all those who tread the inky black waters of the dark side, but of immense proportions. A cancer within my midichlorians, growing steadily along with my power) had driven me to utilize knowledge I didn't fully comprehend.
My journey to Chaos and subsequent rebirth into a vessel free of corruption was the work of a myriad of techniques. Some I had mastered beforehand, but others I have just recently begun to understand- and appreciate the magnitude of danger I had been in, toying with forces beyond my fledgling comprehension. Necromancy, spirit-binding, the draining of a victim's life force through the dark side, planeswalking, all to create the unassuming monster you see before you today.
In short, I am lich.
But, despite being free of the sickness that had once threatened to consume me, my new body has drawbacks of its own. As my power continues to burgeon, these deficits- and how they're stunting my full potential- continue to be thrown into stark relief.
I wonder-
Ah, nevermind. We've all but arrived, and Ryu has something to say.
[/i] I always hated that name."[/font][/ul][/ul]
I motion, and our two hanger-ons board the elevator first, pressing against the back wall. Ryu and I follow, posed to make a dramatic and intimidating entrance upon whomever occupied the hangar. The doors slid shut, and we were off.
And within moments, Ryu had thought of a quip. Are you surprised? Neither am I, not by Ryu, and not by the not-so-stunning revelation that Irrukine not only speak Basic, but they speak it well enough to pick up humorous context and sarcasm. I don't bother looking back at the aliens, or even over at Ryu- such a gesture would have been wasted on all of them, after all- but I can't resist rolling my eyes.
[/font][/ul][/ul]
The doors hissed open, and I stepped out of the tension filling the elevator and into the hangar. Amber eyes cast about, scanning past the docked vessels and searching for the Jedi that I knew must be nearby.
It has not escaped my notice that with each parry, with each counter-attack and maneuver, my opponent is forced into a flurry of movement in order to compensate. It's not his fault: my size, and the range and versatility offered by my saberstaff, leave him no choice but to jump through hoops just to keep up. And so far, he has been keeping up admirably well. But how long until his frantic movements begin to take their toll, I wonder? No, a war of attrition will see him severely disadvantaged. His only hope, I think, is to use his obvious agility and martial prowess to overwhelm me.
A tactic that some of the best warriors in the galaxy have tried and failed.
Our blades clash, and a visceral snarl echoes through the ruins of the ship at first contact. It's the first time I notice the crackle of electricity emanating from the soldier's weapon, and it prompts a pleased smile to play across my pallid features. Yet another layer to the game, one that will make this bout all the more interesting. Not only must I triumph, but I must do so flawlessly. Even a glancing blow from such a blade would have dire consequences, and could easily turn the tide of the battle in his favor.
It's a challenge I readily accept.
He lunges just as I begin to reverse Perdition's momentum via a flick of the wrist, his hand snatching the staff's hilt below mine in an attempt to force it back toward me. A pity my goal was to test Perdition's power level- the prospect of instead testing my Stava against the man was tempting. Ah, but for everything there is a season.
With my saber acting as a lever, he now holds a superior grip. I'm stronger, of that I'm certain, but cranking my wrist to resist his full weight is beyond me. No matter.
Perdition's rear blade deactivates in an instant, and in that same instant I twist to the right, left foot sweeping around my right and my left hand extending to grasp the remaining bar of plasma in an overhand grip about a foot from the active emitter. I push, keeping the pressure against his sword and removing the option for him to disengage, and simultaneously release the hilt with my right hand. For a split second, the hilt surges my way, only to halt again suddenly as I clamp it back down, directly over his. There's an audible creak of micronized beskar against plastoid as I squeeze, holding the soldier's hand in place.
In a moment, the creak will give way to the snapping of bones and shrieks of agony.
I chuckled. Forty-two Darths, that's a good one. Let's be honest here, though: I'm at least forty-five. I don't know whether to be disappointed by Ryu's explanation, or if I should shed my naivety with a sigh of relief. When we first met, absolute power had seemed like a towering ziggurat, ambition personified and made tangibly manifest. In a way I missed that mindset. How exciting that had been, and how terribly important I thought I was. Keeper of a secret known to only a few: the objective, irrefutable True Way.
And now, the very nature of Power was naught but the subject of idle contemplation. Reality was quickly on its way to becoming our literal plaything, to be molded or destroyed on a whim. Terrifying, isn't it? And not only for the other denizens of the galaxy, but for us as well. We're on the cusp of godhood, Ryu and I, and we've not a care in the world.
I ask, genuinely curious. There is no room for animosity between us, after all. Not anymore.
"Either way, I concede. My perception of power's nature is, in many senses, still in its infancy. I've placed it on a pedestal for so long that the thought that it could be a purely subjective tape measure seemed...disrespectful, I suppose. Like we were trodding upon the foundation of the Way. That was an important explanation you just gave me, I think. I was being held back by an imperfect understanding."[/ul][/ul]
The sudden burst of aggression doesn't go unnoticed by me, but unlike Ryu I have no weapons with which to arm myself. I don't bother drawing upon the force, either, because my resting connection to it is more than enough to meet most threats- and certainly enough to detect that whatever approaches falls well within that category. As we exit out onto the street of Nystao, I cast a glance up and down the nearly deserted street, a 'tsk' noise accompanying my gaze.
The few Noghri that litter the street are hunched, fearful things sporting rebreathers and furtive glances. They scurry between buildings, ever watchful, and we immediately draw attention. I can hear their thoughts effortlessly, like insects straying into a web. Outsiders. Plague-bringers. Danger.
I don't bother keeping the bitterness from my voice. Ielyn is uninterested in my affairs, and our four-armed tag alongs are incapable of interpreting my words, let alone my tone. Not that it would matter overly much- the only advantage to maintaining my image in front of subordinates is to cement loyalty. Familiarity breeds contempt, as they saying goes, but who in Chaos cares? Could any of them- Ryu excepted- pose a threat to me, under literally any circumstance? I think not.
[/font][/ul][/ul] A proximity alert chose that moment to begin sounding through the cabin, and a quick glance out the viewport showed the gray exterior of a hangar bay looming through the mist.
[/font] Ielyn announced, his hands feverishly working the controls. [/ul][/ul]
[/font][/ul][/ul]
It was a matter of minutes before we came to a gentle landing in the nearly deserted hangar. I gave the mercenary a conciliatory pat on the shoulder as I rose and made my way to the lowering ramp.
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.
