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
Galen moved with him, stepping back and left as the mandalorian moved forward. The blade he shifted (though swatted may be a better description) to the right as he moved, until it no longer threatened his chest.
Releasing it, his right hand dropped to better defend his stomach, while his left remained in the vicinity of his chest. He stepped once more, gaining a hair more distance as his right foot shifted back and his stance finished switching completely.
"It may have been a poor weapon, but it was a fantastic walking stick."
He knew this wouldn't be the end of it though. Knew the man would fire again with that accursed slug thrower, and so he began to prepare. His decades of training had taught him well, and though he lacked the skills most common in force users, he possessed another set just as potent.
And so, as he moved a step away it fell once again to his opponent to strike or run. The first of which would serve Galen far more than the mandalorian as the wookiees continued to close in.
With the staff already before him, it was almost laughably easy to intercept the bolt. Hell, the man had almost shot right at it on his own. Just a little up and to the right and the norris-dye soaked staff would soak up the energy like a dry spon...
CRACK!!!
...oh.
Not a blaster bolt.
Energy coated slug.
That explained the ungodly bang every time he pulled the trigger. Should not have just assumed it was nothing more than a really powerful blaster. Never gonna do that again.
He only had an instant to mourn the sight of his staff split down the middle with a slug wedged between before he had another, more immediate problem to deal with. Thankfully, though, the sword was headed for almost the same place the slug had been, and he managed to catch the leading edge before it could slip past.
CREEEAAAKKKK!
It held for a moment, but even the steel-strong wood had been pushed well past its limits and snapped under the pressure on the oncoming blade. He dropped it instantly, and his hands came together in front of his chest to catch the sword's blade between his palms and halt its progress toward his chest.
Galen had been listening intently as the other man spoke, though not especially to his words. The soft "whump" of the pelt hitting dirt was the first cue, and the following scrape of metal on leather the second and final one.
Quick as the man drew and aimed, Galen threw himself back, lying down flat on the dirt behind him as he opened his eyes to watch the three rounds pass through the air above.
A roll to the left, turning into a handspring to get him on his feet, would carry him out of the immediate path of the weapon. At least long enough to steady himself, staff held ready before him.
The other man looked about as good as he smelled, covered in gore and ichor, and boasting plates of that famed mandalorian armor.
That was not what he'd been hoping to see. Not even a little bit.
A deep breath told him all he needed to know of the situation, even without opening his eyes. The long exhale that followed broadcast his displeasure at the man's choice of prey, but there was nothing he could have done to change the creature's fate.
"Let me guess. You're some kind of religious fanatic."
It was less a question than a statement. If he'd been a slaver, he'd have taken the wookiee alive, and if he was a bounty hunter, there probably wouldn't have been that comment about truth.
Force, he hated religion.
Regardless of his motives though, this man had slaughtered and skinned a sentient being, and it was really the skinning part that lent to Galen's growing desire to see him stopped.
"You should have a seat and wait with me," he said, patting the dirt beside him.
Looking around, it didn't seem like much. Just a patch of dirt in the darkness of the shadowlands.
I mean, sure there was the patchwork roots of varying sizes, criss-crossing the dirt and giving it some character, but other than that it wasn't much.
Still, this was definitely the place.
To the average observer, he would likely look incredibly out of place in this, uh... place. Not least because of the fact he wasn't a Wookiee, but also because of his garb. A simple tunic and pants, with legs wrapped from toes to knees and arms from knuckles to elbows. He definitely appeared to be the martial artist he was.
Yet, he did not appear to belong in this place.
Nevertheless, he knew this was where he needed to be, and so here he was. He took a seat in the dirt, laying his brylark staff across his knees, and closed his eyes to listen and wait.
Night time on Kashyyk, the combatants are in the shadowlands (on the ground) shadows and the sounds of beasts are plentiful. The ground is damp and the air humid with large roots making an obstacle course of the field. The Forest is filled with vicious beasts that may turn up at any time in packs big enough to send the natives running for the nearest elevator to the nearest canopy settlement.
Roots vary in size and reach up to 40 ft in the air with open space below them and are generally moss covered making them slick and harder to be sure footed on.
This is a formal challenge to Ishmael, who I do not know how to tag from my phone, per our agreement in chat.
No special rules. Bring what you've got.
Kashyyyk: Shadowlands
Night time on Kashyyk, the combatants are in the shadowlands (on the ground) shadows and the sounds of beasts are plentiful. The ground is damp and the air humid with large roots making an obstacle course of the field. The Forest is filled with vicious beasts that may turn up at any time in packs big enough to send the natives running for the nearest elevator to the nearest canopy settlement.
Roots vary in size and reach up to 40 ft in the air with open space below them and are generally moss covered making them slick and harder to be sure footed on.
"Dorian." He'd been here long enough to hear the spiel half a dozen times already. "I'm Galen." Taking the proffered hand in the customary human greeting, he released it as soon as it was socially acceptable to snatch up his newly refilled beverage.
"So I hear you're one of the best karking pilots this side of the rim." Or overheard, rather. From him. During no less than four of those previously mentioned spiels. "Was that confidence talking, or the booze?"
To be honest, he didn't really care. He just needed someone either dumb or brave enough to fly him where he needed to go. Well that and a ship, but one thing at a time. He could worry about the transport after he found the fool to fly it.
"Ok listen, kid. Whatever happened, it's not bad enough to..." He stopped, sniffing the air as he settled onto the stool next to the young man, "...by the force you smell terrible." He downed the rest of his own drink, then slid the glass across the bar for a refill. "I take it back. Maybe it is bad enough to pull the trigger. Just not in here, yeah? Cops'll have to show up and close the place down for hours, and I'll have to give a karking statement." He shrugged in a haphazard gesture of noncommittal sympathy. "Maybe even get arrested and investigated. Huge inconvenience for everyone involved. Best go do it outside."
The teeth, ears, and cranium said he was sakiyan, the clothes mentioned his penchant for travel, and the lack of weapons combined with the wraps visible within his sleeves told a tale of mild to moderate martial training.
"Or," he dropped a credit chit on the bar in front of the kid, "you could go clean up a bit and see how you feel after."