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 semblance of a joke flits across my mind, something to the effect of an idle curiosity about just how closely Abbadon intended our work together to be, but I stifle it. Sith aren't exactly known for their senses of humor, after all. Instead I turn to wondering why he would bring it up at all- pointless small talk is another thing Sith aren't known for.
Ah, but of course: "Linking the battle lords together would create a true symbiosis amongst our forces- one hive mind separated through various nodes, each controlling a portion of the rank and file. Ingenious idea- their abilities in battle will be quite literally unparalleled, I think."
Oh, this was going to be good. While I really couldn't care less how the war with the Jedi actually turned out, creating what was essentially a sentient, hive-minded swarm was a project that could definitely hold my attention. It was, in essence, a single organism- the greatest leviathan to ever be created.
One finger rhythmically tapped the surface of the table as I gave it more thought. "The corpses of those who fell victim to the plague will do for those to be bound, but the battle lords themselves will have to be superior specimens. Force sensitives would be best, though even that won't guarantee their survival. The ritual is rather...violent.
I assume, once all else is done, your abilities will be sufficient to create a link between the battle lords?"
And then...there he was, as clearly as if he'd been standing next to me on the station. I felt his disappointment clearly, as I'd known I would. What other reaction could a father have to his failed son? This is what I had dreaded: not the reckoning due my betrayal, not my possible death, but Ryu's witness to my shortcomings. I bowed my head beneath his scrutiny- it is all I can manage. The Lapay are supposed to be proud, unbent, indomitable...but I am not sure of who I am anymore.
Yet I am angry.
<<I was your son, and I needed your guidance. Do you have any idea, the burden of the power I wield? Peerless...directionless...pointless. What good is it to be the strongest in the universe, when you can no longer surpass yourself?
Stagnation. Emptiness.
I am a void.>>
I know his rebuttal without it being spoken: what fault is that of his? He has given me more than could be asked of anyone, and I complain that I don't know what to do with it? Yet I can't shake the bitterness threatening to engulf me, though I know it is no doubt borne as a defense to the shame already consuming me. Color rises in my cheeks.
Then, cataclysm. The Vengeance strikes the space station in what would have no doubt been a cacophony had it occurred in atmosphere. As it is, the entire station lurches dangerously. I am knocked from my feet amidst a pile of hydrospanners and electrical cables, and for a moment I wonder if the frigate was truly going fast enough to break the station apart. But then, the tremors stop, and I pull myself to my feet, unharmed. I know nothing of the computer's failsafe, or of its adequacy, and so I assume all is well.
So to speak. Ryu has arrived, after all.
I have no Sight to rely upon, and also no need for it. Ryu's aura is a beacon- probably intentionally so- and I immediately make for it, disregarding the actual route I take and simply allowing my feet to carry me to him.
Remarkable, that arm of his. Severed wires and hydraulic cables dangle from it like mechanical gore, and yet it supports him effortlessly as he tumbles away, transferring his lightsaber to it before his feet have even touched the ground. I'm surprised not so much by the acrobatics- after all, I've fought at Andor's side before, and know roughly what he's capable of- but by how he chooses to employ them, stretching the the time he has to interrupt my attack to the absolute limit with a dodge that was wholly unnecessary.
Ah, but he lands with a blaster pistol halfway out of its holster, and brings the weapon to bear upon me. My thumb taps rhythmically against the activation stud of my lightsaber, but the blade has yet to recover from its clash with the cortosis ore. I am fast enough to dodge one blaster bolt, I'm sure, but I'm no acrobat, and it wouldn't be graceful. I would be in no position to evade the next few shots.
So instead, I brace myself, teeth gritted as I tense every muscle of my body for impact, and pour my will into crushing Andor's ankle. I have no equal, and I will not be stopped.
The first blaster bolt hit me directly in the right pectoral, and promptly dissipated against the Norris-infused cloth of my robes. The impact was still significant, akin to a hay-maker from a fist of thermal energy, and my right foot slid back to compensate for it. Pain rippled through chest and right shoulder, but it was nothing serious...and nowhere near enough to break my focus.
Between the first and second blaster bolts, I hear the crack of Andor's ankle shattering.
Now I move, throwing myself to the right in a graceless roll. My already bruised right shoulder hits the ground harder than I intended, and I'm grimacing as I come up into a crouch. There's no time for me to indulge in the pain, or celebrate in my success. Andor will be very dangerous for the next few seconds- though I've destroyed his mobility, and taken away his ability to use Ataru, he still has the ability to strike at range, both with his blaster and the force. My own reserves of energy are by no means depleted; I shaped the Crush before we ever locked blades, honing it into a low-powered version that barely sapped my strength.
In other words, while I am in no danger, I am still in the most danger I'm likely to be in for the duration of our engagement. Sloppiness is always rewarded with injury, and so instead of remaining static I straighten as I come out of my roll, and begin to stalk toward the lesser Sith.
My thumb continued its motion, rapidly tapping the activation stud. I'd counted the seconds in my head- six now- and knew it would be only moments before my blade flared to life.
Expressionless in the wake of the titanic Mandalorian's threats, I simply stared back at him, letting the silence build as he advanced upon me. At this distance, a lunging step forward and an extended swing were all it would take for him to split my skull open with the bar he held. Quite the gruesome thought, but I didn't let it perturb me. I've never met a Mandalorian who was my match in any of the martial arts, though this one looked like he could crush me just by falling on me.
Finally, after enough time had lapsed that I deemed the silence to be uncomfortable, I shrugged. He's made his position quite clear- words won't sway him, that much is obvious. But, I think it's time he learned a lesson regarding words, and their uselessness when one can't properly back them up. Indeed, it's much better to leave them unspoken when faced with a being of such immeasurable power as to be beyond your comprehension, no?
Ah, but he doesn't know any of this, which brings us back to the necessity of the lesson I'm about to teach.
Unhurried and unconcerned, I sidled to my left, keeping watch on the warrior from the corner of my eye while I approached the half-buried vibrosword. I'm quite sure it will be immediately obvious to the man what I'm going for, but nonetheless it's hard to know what to expect from him: on one hand, his warrior culture and code of honor may dictate that I be allowed a chance to defend myself; on the other, he may opt to simply leap upon me while I am- in his eyes- defenseless.
Either way I don't really care. I make for the sword because it is the most sound strategy, and I do so casually because I am quite capable of tearing the Mandalorian apart with my bare claws.
I cock an eyebrow; that's the only manifestation of my sudden realization, made as the Sith's left hand moves on a direct path to intercept the snarling blade of my lightsaber. He's fast, I'll give him that- maybe even as fast as me. But deceptive? Hardly. There is only one possibility, one conclusion to reach (other than that Andor has taken leave of his senses, which I quickly discount), and I do so immediately. His left hand- and only his left, else he'd not have bothered defending his right- is a prosthetic, forged from some form of lightsaber-resistant material, most likely in the form of a mesh interwoven with the synthflesh giving the appendage its lifelike appearance. Ah, but what is it? Phrikite? Beskar? Songsteel?
It's too late to avoid contact now, and though my blade cuts deep into his forearm, it ultimately stops, then shorts out in a shower of sparks.
Cortosis.
I make a -tsk- noise as my weight transfers to my left foot and I spring backward, matching Andor's sudden advance with a retreat of equal measure. It's time, I think.
Airborne, if only for a split second, I snap the fingers of my left hand, and loose the energy I had so carefully hoarded and molded into a singular use- Force Crush. Such a technique at full force could quite literally turn durasteel to powder; my application is much more...relaxed. After all, I have no need of such a display- it's a waste. Instead of a constant, irresistible pressure I release the energy in a single, devastating thunderclap. My target is the Sith's right ankle, and instead of smashing it in a hydraulic press, my technique is more the equivalent of catching it between two sledgehammers, falling simultaneously.
It's a solid maneuver. Having honed my energies for this specific purpose, I don't think there's a single power he can bring against me in time to stop my attack- other than maybe the weakest of telekinesis, which wouldn't be enough to distract me anyway, and as I land I smoothly backpedal two more steps, carrying my further out of reach of his lightsaber- which would be completing its initial slash just as the snap of my fingers reverberates, drowned out by its sinister hum.
Oh, but I've been wrong before, Andor, and something tells me we're just getting started. My weapon will reactivate shortly- the effects of cortosis aren't permanent. You've still got time to capitalize on the opening, so come and do so.
For the first time in a long time I feel something like contentment streaming through me. It seems the only time I'm capable of feeling anything other than the empty vacuum of hopelessness is as I close in on the kill. I guess that means many more will have to die after you, but for now, let's enjoy the moment.
This is what he's talking about. I think it's a good idea but that implementing it is going to be problematic. I think we should use the new system discussed for this season, and discuss other options and have the new ranking system- if we choose one- ready to go at the beginning of the next season.
Balance is key when there is nothing below you save for one thin piece of metal that somebody deemed a bridge. It is shaky, thin, and if one looked below they would see nothing but a nearly infinite pit and a tremendous impending fall to the Death Star's core. The combatants will start at either end of the catwalk.
Of course, at the midway point of the catwalk is the tractor beam control tower itself, there's a small lip that you could probably inch yourself along to the side, bypassing a small part of the catwalk... if you dare.
Rules: no force powers, no armor, lightsabers only
I know who it is before the ship is close enough to be visible to the station's scanners. That aura- quicksilver and crimson, absolute control made manifest- was one I would recognize anywhere. It belonged to the man who set me on the Path, all those years ago. Memories of the opulent gardens of Theed flashed across my mind's eye, subsequently replaced by Rattaka, Nuba, Kamino, Taris. all of them bathed in the aura of the man who had raised me up from my base understanding of the Code, who had instilled in me a higher purpose, and a true understanding of power, and freedom.
Ryu.
I always knew this day would come, you know. No machination of mine could hope to kill you- not permanently, anyway. Come, then, for I am not the son you left behind.
I am less.
If all that is not growth is death, then it is a dead universe you return to, Ryu, and I a corpse.
In the months following my treachery, I had looked forward to this day with something akin to dread. In my heart, though, I knew that by the time you returned I would have amassed enough power to fight you off. For what other way could you be beaten, than to stifle your own acquisition of strength, while redoubling my own efforts? Time is what I sought when I banished you to the hyperspace lanes, Ryu. Naught else.
But now I have fallen, my power has diminished, and I can't even summon the cognizance to see you as a threat. Instead I'm simply empty. I turn on numb legs and stagger from the security station. You're here for me, there can be no other reason. And I won't shy away.
I return to the hangar and wait, amber eyes glittering in anticipation. I couldn't care less if this ends in my death; at last, something of significance is happening once more.
For a moment I'm tempted to lash out with Force Crush- it would be quite easy to destroy both the hands he's so obligingly holding out in front of himself, and with my mind and senses honed and ready for one specific technique, I think I can do it before he's able to counter. But that would be in bad taste, wouldn't it? Besides, I already know I'm the strongest force user in the universe right now; I want to know if I'm the best swordsman, too.
I snapped my blade up, suddenly, bringing it up vertically with the emitter in front of my forehead. The Makashi Salute. Normally it's followed by the Flourish, but instead its followed by sudden, long strides forward. My blade returned to my right side, and I fixed my yellow eyes on my opponent. A strong, solid stance, a two handed grip. We'll see if he sticks with it once I put the pressure on, or if he adapts.
Two thirds of the distance is consumed by my advance, and then I strike. With my right foot forward, I blade my body to the left and lash out with a lightning quick thrust aimed for the shin of Andor's forward leg. It's a weak strike, with no power or momentum behind it; as long as he can keep up with the speed, it can be batted aside with no difficulty.
It's a feint, though.
If Andor reacts to parry, I'll roll my wrist counter clockwise, looping my blade beneath his defense and circling around in a quick, horizontal cut at his right hand. If he doesn't, well, I'll let my blade get close enough to sear the skin off his leg before I retract it. 'Just the tip', you know.
I'm expressionless as my onslaught begins, but feelings of manic aggression are already flooding me as I continue to draw on the dark side, hoarding power in preparation for when I would need it most. We'll see if either of us live long enough to see it unleashed.
I spared the man a brief glance before returning my attention to the text spanning the length of the hologram- enough to see the white hair and crimson eyes, features not altogether uncommon for those corrupted by the dark side of the force. It also didn't escape my notice that he failed to introduce himself, which wasn't wholly unexpected. Nor do I care; the monikers and titles of those claiming the mantle of 'Darth' don't interest me. It's indicative of a base understanding of the Sith Code, and there are too many to keep them all straight, anyway.
What did pique my interest was his assertion that we were to collaborate on the creation of Abbadon's army. That could prove...interesting. Using my magic to create a military was a task I'd taken on a multitude of times, but always alone. If this Sith had the skills he claimed, perhaps we could build something truly...special.
I suddenly flicked my forefinger toward the holocron, and the hologram it was projecting froze. The subsection title sat neatly at the top.
Battle lords.
Finally I tore my gaze away, amber meeting crimson. "What skills would those be, I wonder?"
Let me start this judgment by making a note that it does my withered black heart good to read a duel that features sword-play so heavily in a time where force use seems to be the meta.
That being said, I noticed a few issues on both sides that I feel need to be addressed before I get down to the good stuff. As always, this is purely constructive criticism, meant to give you the tools you need to take your dueling to the next level.
Alkor: Beautiful writing, as always. Your description of your character's vicious Juyo and bursts of rage tempered by apathy were a pleasure to read. That being said i felt your posts could have benefited from more detail, specifically in regard to your movements. There were several instances where I was forced to go back a post or two and find the last concrete description of where your saber was at, just so I could track your future movements, and there were times where Geir's responses seemed jilted and not quite right because of this. It isn't major, and I'm not expecting you to trade prose that flows for a technical manual, but a move towards a happy medium would limit confusion on future duels, I think.
Other than that, the only issue I really have is with your initial attack. Spraying superheated duracrete fifty feet to your opponent using a weightless and therefore nearly momentum-less bar of plasma seemed far fetched- had I been Geir I would've been content to challenge the move and stood still while the molten material fell well short of me. That he chose to roll with it was him being a good sport.
On the positive side, your Juyo and tactics were just as flawless as ever. You completely controlled the tempo of the fight, forcing repeated retreats from your opponent and keeping the pressure on. I know there is some difference in opinion when it comes to counting that when a Jedi is fighting, as they're generally expected not to press the offensive, but their is a big difference between fighting defensively and being forced onto the defensive. Excellent job of dominating the battlefield.
Geir, I've discussed this at length in another judgment and I know you didn't get a chance to implement that feedback as part of this duel, so I won't go into as much detail, but your use of the force exceeded what I would consider appropriate. Throwing off a force stasis into force speed in consecutive posts, as well as speed and tk in another, shouldve left you hard pressed to then use TK to throw slag at him while he used Grip on you.
In addition, there were several of your maneuvers that I found questionable in their realism, one of them being what I just mentioned. While I applaud your use of the environment, and snagging a small detail from Alkor's post to use against him, I simply don't think you would've had the time or energy to grab the slag and throw it before being slammed into the ground- not without essentially saying, "My TK is faster than yours," which is a huge no no.
Another thing I took umbridge with was Geir's constant rolling. Not only was it unlikely your character could drop into an acrobatic tumble fast enough to avoid a strike- especially without slicing yourself with your own lightsaber- but it seemed to be your go to every time Alkor put you in a spot where you didn't have a counter. "When in doubt, roll out." It seemed to be a cop out, and one you used frequently.
All that being said, you still fought well. There was no blatant PGing, overuse of the force notwithstanding, and your movements- other than what I've specifically mentioned- were clear and well described. Good job on hanging in there as best you could. Three pages is a long time to go toe to toe with Alkor- the guy's an absolute monster.
On that note I declare Alkor the winner, for controlling the momentum of the match, scoring more hits, and- since that last post was never made- securing what was in all likelihood the kill. We'll call it a TKO. Thank you both for your participation; this was truly a pleasure to read and I hope to see you both back again soon.
I don't think a 5-0 is a better record than a 11-1, no. But you're right about the very bottom of the rankings leveling out into a plateau. I think that's the reason the GBA on JvS was set up the way that it was. It worked, I think, but if we're trying to come up with something to call our own we need to find what works for us.
Tell me more about the Elo system- you'll have to boil down the specifics for me.
His retort was delivered in typical sneering fashion. I'd worked with him on Korriban long enough that I hadn't expected anything else. Like me, like all of us, his confidence in himself was absolute and unwavering. There would be no pleading, nor even a tentative stab at reason. His supremacy had been challenged, and now he would meet the threat with violence.
I rather liked that about him. Straightforward.
My opponent didn't move, but I felt the force suddenly saturate the air around me. I'm not sure what his exact intentions were, but I can determine by feel alone that I am not his target; his energy is focused around me, but I don't feel the familiar tingle of force energy prickling at my skin. What's your game, Andor? Combustion? Whirlwind? For the briefest of moments I consider loosing the Force Crush I've been preparing. With the technique readied and honed in my mind, I may even be able to smash his skull before he can loose whatever attack he has planned. But that would be a waste, and such overkill cannot be tolerated.
Bah, I don't have time for this.
My lightsaber deactivates and I throw myself to my left just as Andor's power erupts around the area I'd been occupying moments before. I'm not acrobat; I land heavily on my left side, grunting as crumbs of glass shower down upon me- the shards had impacted one another and exploded. Had I not moved I'd have been skewered like kebab.
Clever, Andor, but was such a display really necessary?
I pull myself to my feet, expressionless, and ignite my lightsaber once more (assuming I am allowed to). One last chance, Andor, to show me the full extent of your power- and the level of self control with which you wield it.
Win ratios were discussed as a potential solution when we first reviewed the current system and realized it didn't work, but we ran into the same issue as you described- a perfect score is a perfect score, regardless of how many duels you actually have under your belt. Even if you place a buffer on the number of duels you have to have before being assigned a ranking, that still leaves the potential for 5-0's to dominate the top of the rankings for all time. Even one loss would disqualify you from ever surpassing them.
One solution that I think meets in the middle is the option of using the K/D formula common in popular shooters. Wherein a 1-0 score would grant you a 1.0 ranking, and a 7-0 would be a 7.0; this both rewards a higher win percentage, and participation at the same time.
[/i][/b][/ul][/ul][/ul][/ul] I landed in the empty hangar of the abandoned orbital control station without incident, bringing my nondescript Gamma-class shuttle to rest in a row of skiffs and blastboats covered in grime and rust. Descending the ramp alone- I had ordered Ielyn remain in the Valley of the Dark Lords (a task he was none too pleased with)- I set off for the control bridge of the station.
This...presence that I feel. I can't make out its origins, only that it is old, and dangerous, and significant. It struck a chord within me the way a certain sound or smell with overwhelm you with powerful nostalgia, yet I have no recollection of it. For the first time in a long time I feel the tedium drain from the universe. Though it falls short of true excitement, for once I find I am not unbearably weary.
The winding hallways were littered with corpses. Withered cadavers locked in mortal combat, or slumped over in their own excrement. It seems the plague made its way to Korriban after all. I had wondered about that, but the Academy is isolated from the few populated areas of Bogan's planet, and I hadn't the time to investigate further. The thought occurs to me that I should radio to Ielyn and have him venture out to collect samples, but I think better of it. Better to let Abbadon's men be put at risk.
Good help is hard to find, after all.
In the control room I have to pull the body of a security guard away from his desk to gain access to the controls. His withered black lips grin up at me as he smacks against the tile. I pass my hand across the console, nursing circuits back to life until security displays begin to light up across the stacked rows of monitors.
Frowning, I sweep my gaze from room to room. It was time to unveil my mystery caller, and shed some light on this whole debacle.
