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 Caridan district was a section of the planet Carida. Located just outside the Imperial Academy of Carida, the district was well-known for its booming nightlife.
Hope begins in the dark, the stubborn hope that if you just show up and try to do the right thing, the dawn will come.
He saw the blade before anything else, but the movement was relayed as a screech in his ears that caused him to move on instinct. The man exploded off one foot and launched himself forward. Makoto leaned backward and stepped in the same direction with his right foot. The blade itself was without weight, but the kinetic energy that followed it bore down heavily. His toes dug in and slid along the metal, seeking purchase.
The lightsaber slid along the outside of the dulled edge of his weapon and revealed its nature. It could not cut. Instead, it could be used for bludgeoning and beating, a riot baton suited to his skillset.
He twisted his torso with the block, aware of the back end of the blade. His opponent employed a weapon that required extreme skill and focus, but also, one that had a vast number of vectors for attack. Now parallel to the blade as his opponent came down, Makoto swept his left leg around and toward the knee of his attacker's grounded leg.
The blade had grown in length, he noted. This man had many, many dangerous tricks up his sleeve. It would take all of his training and skill to stay alive, let alone manage to fulfill his mission.
Hope begins in the dark, the stubborn hope that if you just show up and try to do the right thing, the dawn will come.
There was no other way to explain the sensation nagging at him. The man gave him a look that screamed danger, and he couldn't just chalk it up to years of combat experience. The weapon that he held was a lightsaber of some kind, the iconic weapon of Force Adepts both black and white.
He made out those microexpressions and the weapon at a distance, of course. His HUD registered them in a zoom view, and identified the dormant energy source with unquestionable certainty. Threat level: extreme.
"I definitely don't need you to tell me that," he muttered to the program, though it was not equipped with an artificial intelligence great enough to respond. Makoto watched as the creature of darkness plunged into it and escaped his view.
He knew what had to be done, even if he did not want to do it. One more breath, first. The inveterate soldier took it, and steeled himself for what came next.
His pace quickened and he followed his enemy into the blacked out ship. With a blink, he gave the unspoken command for the helmet to activate its integrated flashlight, and the beam pierced through to reveal a line ahead of him.
He reached to his side and the blade slipped free of the sheath, sleek and just longer than his forearm. The silvery sheen glistened in the low light his armor provided, and he scanned the area for any signs of movement.
I may regret this decision.
Hope begins in the dark, the stubborn hope that if you just show up and try to do the right thing, the dawn will come.
He felt naked beneath the Armorweave and Duraplast that stretched across his body. Funding after the plague was abysmal, and Republic Military Forces felt the brunt of their losses. Investment in the infantry was limited nearly to the bare minimum, and it was lucky they gave them anything better than flak armor.
Makoto was tasked with the investigation of CEC on a lead from a shipwright that one of their enemies might intend to rob the Republic of the few militant ships left to them. Indomitable was one of those last remaining ships in operation since the Clone Wars, and because of the economic situation, the Republic would not be able to replace or upgrade to newer models for the foreseeable future.
That was why they dispatched a team. This was an asset they could not afford to lose, and if it looked like they were going to, well...
Better his life than enemies of the state be allowed to take the ship, he reasoned.
His weapons were checked in and left behind at ground level, and as he rode the elevator up to where the Indomitable was being serviced, he hoped the prototype weapon they had offered for the task would serve him well. Fuel lines and highly explosive materials were litered around the workzone, so he could not use blasters or any type of ordinance to subdue potential enemies. Instead, he watched his HUD- rudimentary, but efficient for simple tasks- for any sign of life in the area. The man let out a breath as he stepped out onto the beams and told himself, "don't look down."
And like every other idiot, he ignored himself.
"Okay," he let out a breath, "that's a long drop."
He closed his eyes and took a deeper breath through his nostrils. "Get aboard the ship," he told himself quietly. He reopened his eyes and headed in that direction.
Makoto could only hope the Intel they received had been faulty.
Hope begins in the dark, the stubborn hope that if you just show up and try to do the right thing, the dawn will come.
Granted, he had not expected an answer, but for some reason the silence that greeted him seemed lonely. Makoto stepped over the threshold and glanced around at the facility, one that only glowed with the vague lighting of Coruscant's pollution. There were no stars in her sky anymore, drowned as they were by Galactic City's vast array of spotlights, street lamps, illuminated walkways, and in home lighting. It was a city that never slept, all too recently made quiet.
He kept one hand on the doorframe as he looked around, searching the shadows for any sign of life. His lips pursed and he felt a tinge of anxiety spread down from the nape of his neck to the tips of his fingers. Skin crawled from one hand to the other. His so called "sixth sense" whispered to him that something was amiss.
Naturally, he ignored it.
His gut, however, told him to remain tense. "If you're in here, I'm not trying to force you out or arrest you," he continued. "This building is condemned, so it's dangerous to stay here."
The chance that he was talking to no one was high, and he felt almost silly for the one-sided conversation- but if he could avert a crisis by some happy circumstance, he would risk looking completely insane. His fingers brushed across the cold metal and collected the dust caked there. He managed to smile.
"I live just down the way," he added, "and while it's hardly high class accommodation, I would be glad to offer you a place to stay that's moderately safer than this."
As a show of good faith, the former child-soldier held his other hand aloft and in plain view, away from the arming sword he wore at the small of his back.
Hope begins in the dark, the stubborn hope that if you just show up and try to do the right thing, the dawn will come.
For all the hard work Makoto did, he could still ill afford a penthouse in the upper city. He was a refugee from a backwater world, and while the Republic had spent the time and credits to rehabilitate him and reintroduce him into society, he still had a sizeable bill to repay for his treatment. It had taken months to simply decrease the psychotic episodes to a degree where they were manageable with medication; but the longer lasting mental damage would take years to undo.
His scarred mind now struggled with the idea that a person would knowingly and willingly unleash something like this epidemic at the center of Galactic commerce- let alone anywhere else. The lives he had been forced to take weighed on his shoulders like chains, and when he tried to sleep, he could still hear each of them crying out for mercy.
If it had been his decision, they would all have had it.
Lashes on his back had scarred over, but deeper pain still lingered. Not a pain of the flesh, but of the heart. As the youth made his way through the back alleys of Coruscant's slums, his eyes watched the palms of his hands tremble. With no reason to hide his distress, his body relapsed into heavy anxiety and cold sweat beaded along his back and neck.
Why?
None of this made sense. He felt only confusion when he thought about it, so he took a deep breath and tried his best not to. It was the only way he knew how to cope.
"No one else died today," he whispered to himself, "that's a good thing, at least."
For the past several days, an unknown number of Republic citizens had fallen victim to the outbreak. Those who were seemingly unaffected became targets for the infected. Chaos broke out, and people who had lived normal lives on the city planet found themselves in the middle of a cataclysm.
When the dust settled, Makoto found himself standing over trillions of corpses.
It was all too familiar.
He stopped suddenly when he heard a strange sound from the warehouse not far from his tenament- the only shelter he could manage to afford in light of his unsteady income. Concerned, the red eyed boy hobbled over to the entrance and placed a hand on the outer wall.
"Hello?" he called, loud enough to reverberate through the condemned building.
Hope begins in the dark, the stubborn hope that if you just show up and try to do the right thing, the dawn will come.
"There's no end to the number of civilians casualties, it seems like," one of the senior officers murmured as the looked over the entryway and assessed the sea of bodies that lined that promenade, as well as the grand stairway that dipped into lower levels of Galactic City. The Force only knew how many there were from top to bottom, and they would not bother trying to count. "No one managed to get the entrance closed, so it just kept spreading into the Chambers. Only a handful of representatives are left alive, out of hundreds."
Makoto swallowed hard. He turned his gaze toward the byway that led toward the Senate Rotunda and his eyes rested on a charnel house. Gore dripped over the sides and rained down for miles below. It was not a scene fit for the capital of the Republic.
Or whatever was left of the Republic.
"We haven't managed to get a signal back from any Jedi," mentioned the Investigator, "and we can only fear the worst on that front. If they're scattered or dead, we can't ask them to help us restore order."
"We can't depend on the Jedi the way we used to," replied the Commissioner of Coruscant Security, a new arrival on the scene. "It was a crutch in the past, and it would be even more of one now. The Republic is in ruins, but now more than ever, its citizens need to learn to stand on their own two feet. Let the Jedi deal with Jedi problems- this is our womp rat to fry."
"I agree with that," Makoto chimed in, albeit softly. "No one should ever rely on strength other than their own to function. It makes you weak, and when you have no other choice, it will lead to tremendous failure."
"Sage words from such a young man," the Commissioner praised with a chuckle. "But enough of that- what will we do, without any other options? We can't exactly call a session of the Senate, after all."
"Local governance is the only option now," the Investigator answered. "We have to call on the office of Coruscanti governance and see who the elected official is- and if they managed to survive."
"I can answer that," the first officer interrupted. "Horatio Moorse, first district representative, was elected to the office of Planetary Governor two election cycles ago and remains the encumbent. I'm pleased to inform you all that he has been confirmed living, though quite shaken by the ordeal."
"Can't say I blame him," Makoto quipped.
"He's in the third ward fallout shelter, though they have yet to exit danger protocols. It could be several hours before he can be in contact with us."
"When he is, see to it we have a meeting arranged immediately," the Commissioner ordered.
"Of course, sir." Makoto watched the officer turn and head for a communications hub, then shook his head slowly. The whole world was reeling, even those men who were meant to keep it stable.
"I'll be on my way, with your leave," he said to the Commissioner, who offered a soft smile.
"Of course, son. Your assistance has been invaluable for the past few days. The Republic is in your debt."
"I owe much to the Republic," he responded with a respectful vow. "I'm merely doing my duty."
He turned without another word, and headed for the stairs outside.
Hope begins in the dark, the stubborn hope that if you just show up and try to do the right thing, the dawn will come.
He watched quietly as a team of medical in HAZMAT gear carefully placed a sheet over one of many corpses strewn about the building. Mere hours had passed since the very worst of the epidemic broke out, and many of the doors throughout the facility were still locked tight. Senators and representatives from across the galaxy feared the worst for their families, and hysteria still sounded in the form of anguished tears, agonized screeches, and guttural howls of rage. What should have been a hub for order in the galaxy had been reduced to chaos.
The youth glanced over a deject pile of bodies in grim reminiscence. Within the last twenty four hours, those still warm bodies had been seized with madness, a red tinge to their eyes and froth spewing from their lips the only telltale sign of infection.
What else could it be but sickness, after all?
No magic could have conjured the effects he witnessed. As the medical teams called out a lack of symptoms, an inability to trace any sort of bacteria, and an overall failure to achieve anything at all, Makoto let a sigh loose.
"Thank you for volunteering with the relief effort, Mister Warren," the Chief of Republic Investigation clapped a hand on his shoulder. The younger man snapped back to reality and managed a sad smile in response. "There really is no way of predicting whether or not this is still contagious, or if there are still active infected individuals."
He shook his head. "Not at all," he responded, "this is the least I can do. There has been so much death- if any single life can be saved in the midst of all this, I would like to ensure it done."
He looked over one of the more prominent, isolated bodies, and the inspector followed his gaze with a pained expression. "The House Speaker," he iterated. "Such a loss will surely destabilize Galactic Order, if nothing else does. Every sovereign planet in the Republic relies on the ability of the Senate to make decisions and keep the economy flowing smoothly."
The corpse was swathed in elegant fabric embroidered with gold and royal blue trim, and his eyes were rolled back so that only their whites were visible. "Without its leader to stem the conflict between fueding systems and profligate the tenuous peace we've all comfortably known for generations now, they will be reduced to bickering, inaction, and the rest of the galaxy will descend into anarchy."
"But this incident is hardly isolated, the reports say," Makoto muttered, more for his own benefit. "This isn't an act of war from some political organization hell-bent on replacing the Republic with its own ideology. They wouldn't have gone to the trouble of spreading it further than Galactic City. It wouldn't make sense. They'd lose a massive number of the people and places they intend to rule."
"Some people aren't interested in politics," the Investigator shrugged. "And while I'm loathe to say it, we can't even be sure that this was an act of terror. We're not ruling it out, but there's always a possibility that something happened in the Lower City, or someone who visited a backwater world contracted a foreign sickness that there was no cure for-"
"Pragmatic," Makoto responded, "but something definitely feels... wrong about all this. Something... out of place. I can't put my finger on it."
"I'm just following protocol," the other man replied as another team carted off a number of victims to be incinerated. Makoto disliked the idea, but there were to be no risks taken. He felt a hint of sadness as he watched the multitude of sheet-covered people whisked away from the office building.
"If you need some air, you're free to take a break, son." Makoto glanced up at the other man, and he noticed that his own hands were shaking. He shook his head slightly.
"No, I'll be fine," he whispered. "This just... brings back memories."
Hope begins in the dark, the stubborn hope that if you just show up and try to do the right thing, the dawn will come.
The Republic Executive Building—also known as the Senate Office Building, Executive Annex Dome and Senate Annex—was a large, domed administration building that also functioned as a spaceport in Galactic City's Senate District on Coruscant. It was sponsored by the Financial Appropriations Committee and constructed several years before the Clone Wars.
Hope begins in the dark, the stubborn hope that if you just show up and try to do the right thing, the dawn will come.
FORCE SENSITIVE: Yes, but untrained and not interested.
APPEARANCE: Scars from whippings across his back and arms, toned muscles.
FORCE POWERS: -
WEAPONS: Songsteel Arming Sword, DLT-20A Blaster rifle, Merr-Sonn G20 Glop Grenades (intended for riot control) stocked between altercations.
BIOGRAPHY: Makoto was born into slavery on a backwater world in the Outer Rim. As time progressed, he was trained to fight and thrown into the gladiator pits, where he was forced to fight for his life during his teenage years against others his age. His initial refusal to kill earned him beating upon beating, which eroded his will to resist.
During the subsequent years, he was taken from the pits and recruited as a front line fighter for a local military force, where he was trained extensively to hunt down and kill runaway slaves, insurgents, and foreign threats. Several years passed and saw him bloody his hands so much that he cried at night with no one around.
When at last the raid came from the Republic and his abhorrent captors were apprehended, Makoto was whisked away to be rehabilitated. He spent months in psychological and emotional therapy, and his psychotic episodes were reduced dramatically. Once reentered into society, Makoto resolved never to take life again, and he began his new path as a vagabond.
His desire to see the galaxy is matched only by his desire to protect those who cannot protect themselves.
SHIP: -
ROLE-PLAYS:
Hope begins in the dark, the stubborn hope that if you just show up and try to do the right thing, the dawn will come.