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  1. Mordeci smiled sweetly in the blue and lavender light given off by their blades, silently chastising himself for the blunder of missing her personal light. He'd see if she'd be so smarmy after he cut her to ribbons. He wouldn't make such a mistake again, regardless- her second blade was missing. A foolish choice; Whatever she planned to accomplish with that, she'd have been better off keeping it with her. He could feel her use of the force. It was faint, but it let him know approximately where the blade was. He stepped between her and the blade as he broke away from the first engagement. He lunged forward, feinting with a light thrust towards her left shoulder. It was a simple move, but a dangerous one if unanswered. He was relying on her knowing that, but even if she didn't know or didn't care, he was confident he could disengage again. One of the worst mistakes to be made in a duel is over-committing without clear victory within the aggressor's duel. Right now, it was about finding the weaknesses in her guard, in her form. And if he managed to make a lethal or incapacitating blow in the meanwhile, even better.
  2. Mordecai had barely made it out of the hanger when the station came under another barrage of fire. As the lights and the other systems failed, Modeci smiled to himself. That could be useful. He drew his lightsaber, waiting to ignite it until he needed to. He still lacked 'proper' sith garb, but he doubted people would care. Only a madman or a soldier would be as close to the battle as he was going to get. He stalked through the halls, an ominous air about him as he pondered his task. Kill a jedi. That would be dangerous, but the path to the Dark Side would be filled with danger. Skirting from his duty now would not do him any favors. It didn't take long to find signs of battle. Bodies, lined against the walls. Blast marks in the bulkheads. Death permeated the air. He was close. His footsteps echoed through the halls as he stalked his prey. Jedi. He could sense them. They were swarming with republic troops, though he could sense the panic in the Force. The lack of a life support bothered them, it seemed. He thought for a moment. A station this large likely had backups, and even if it didn't, they would likely still have are for over an hour. He stepped into the hangar, lowering his head and pushing past the panicking mass and he made his way towards the Jedi. He looked up, and he met her eyes, a grin spreading across his face. She had two lightsabers? That could be a problem. He'd have to keep track of both. He reached up with his free hand, towards the dim light in the hangar, crushing it with the Force as his hand formed a fist. "Tell me, Jedi. Do you fear what lurks in the dark?" he asked, stalking through the darkness carefully, watching the glow of her lightsabers to keep track of her. He circled to her right, his anticipation building as he readied himself for this fight. He launched forward, swinging the hilt of the lightsaber towards the Jedi's arm, igniting it mid-swing in an attempt to conserve his advantage until the last possible moment in an attempt to sever or seriously damage the limb, hoping to gain an early advantage. The movement was quick and brutal, lacking all of the finesse that one would expect from a lightsaber combatant. ((Post 1 of Mordecai vs Aleria))
  3. NIA DOARR'S CHARACTER SHEET Identity Real Name: Nia Doarr A.K.A: Homeworld: Glee Ansem Species: Nautolan Physical Description Age: 26 Height: 5'11 Weight: 147 lbs Hair: N/A Eyes: Black Sex: Female Equipment Clothing or Armor: Simple robes covering casual clothes Weapon: A broken blue lightsaber (her father's) Common Inventory: N/A\ Faction Information Force User, Force Sensitive or Non-Force User: Force User Alignment: Lawful Good Current Faction Affiliation: Jedi Current Faction Rank: Padawan History Force Side: Light Trained by: Trained who: Known Skills: Background: Nia grew up on Glee Ansem. Her life was quite simple, with her mother doing the majority of the raising while her father, Fef Doarr, a jedi knight, would stop by every few weeks to spend time with them. She idolized him, much to her mother's dismay. She wanted that life of adventure and heroics that she'd heard stories about, stories that were reinforced by what she heard from and about her father. She knew she was force sensitive from an early age, but her parents disapproved of her becoming a Jedi at such a young age., but as she grew older, she never outgrew her longing for adventure. With the Sith resurgence, however, her father was caught in the midst of it. He was slain in a skirmish in the outer rim, a fact they only learned months later. With this knowledge, Nia set out towards Felucia, where her father had told her the Jedi Temple was. She, however, has much to learn in regards to being a Jedi, and how to use the Force. Ship Registration Name: Class: Model: Manufacturer: Length: Armaments: Armor: Anti-Personnel Defenses: Modifications: Appearance:
  4. Mordecai nodded gravely. He had barely left training, and already he was tasked with killing a Jedi. As much as he'd liked to have lied to himself, tell himself it would be nothing, he knew the task was no small one. Not for him, at least. Regardless, he motioned for a nearby squad to follow him to his personal dropship. "It will be done, my lord." he said, turning and heading towards the ship. Once on board, the troopers in their seats, he seated himself in the pilot's chair. He didn't trust anybody but himself to fly them through that battle out there, even if Lord Valinor had assured him they'd make an opening. The shuttle lifted, and launched out of the hanger at his command, falling in directly behind a squadron of fighters. Ahead, he could see the hellish area that swarmed with the bulk of the fighters. And to get to the station, he'd have to fly right through it. His comms beeped, and with the push of a button a voice spoke. "Just fly right through it, my lord. We'll keep anyone who tries to stop you busy." He nodded, though the motion was mostly to himself. "Very well. Good luck." With that, he flew into the hornet's nest. All around him was chaos. Death and destruction permeated here, and e reveled in it. However, this skirmish was not his goal. He put the transport into a dive to avoid a hostile fighter, followed by a hard bank to the left to avoid a torpedo not meant for him. A few lasers hit the shields, but the aggressor had to pull away as several Sith fighters swarmed it. A few moments later, and they were through. All that lay between him and the station now was the blackness of space. He landed in the hanger, watching as a Jedi assault shuttle bore into a nearby section of the hull. He sneered. The Jedi. He stalked out of the transport, the squad already disembarked. They had taken fire when he landed, but the few troops inside seemed to have been dispatched by the squad. "Stay here. Wait for the rest of the troops. Keep this hanger secure." With that, he departed the hanger. It was time to hunt a Jedi. Edit: Continuity error, dropships changed to assault shuttles
  5. Mordeci hadn't noticed the Dark Lord's presence. Not at first. It had been so ineffably powerful that he didn't realize the growing power on the edges of his mind until Valinor told him of its existence, writhing like a mass of shadowy snakes that were coiled to strike. His hand drifted to his lightsaber almost instinctively. Whoever the Dark Lord was... He was dangerous. More dangerous than anyone he'd want to encounter here, in the past, or in the near future. And yet, here he was, on this warship. In the midst of a battle he knew nothing about. Suddenly, he felt like a child. He knew not the power he toyed with, not as these Sith Lords did. If he were to make his mark, he would need to learn. Before him, as Lord Valinor motioned, he took in the troops' emotions. Pride, anticipation at the battle to come, mixed with the sickly sweet fear of death. He feflt power, though it seemed to pale in comparison to the Dark Lord's. He turned to face Lord Valinor, eager to prove himself worthy to be called a sith, like those around him. "You say the Jedi are coming. Where will they strike? I shall meet them in battle. I shall wet my blade with their blood."
  6. Heyo! So getting down to brass tacks, I'm trying to gauge the interest in starfighter duels. With the incoming Fleet Rules revamp, I was hoping to see some interest in the unsung heroes of fleet combat, the pilots. We saw what just one squadron could do against even the Death Star. If even one of you is interested for flying for any faction I would happily take up to opposing position and get some starfighter duels going over the space battles. Hopefully, however, there's a little more interest and we can get... funky.
  7. Mordecai gazed in awe at the sight before him. A super star destroyer, up close. He'd seen them before, on Carida as a child, but that had always been from the surface. Now there was one before him, several times larger than even the city he'd grown up in. Even so, however, with all its might and glory before him, he was skeptical. Yes, an SSD was powerful, a weapon of fear as much as it was a weapon of strenght, but it was a double edged sword. Expensive, and a target. What it had in fear, if it were destroyed it would give just as much hope to their enemies. It was slow and cumbersome, as well, and susceptible to a number of strategies As they boarded, Mordecai fell behind his master. Clearly this was the flagship... but who was in command? "My lord, who commands this vessel?" he asked. Whoever it was had to be important. Either an officer of the highest prowess, or another sith lord, and likely a dreadfully powerful one at that.
  8. Mavanger


    Mordeci followed his new master's instructions, settling down and closing his eyes, trying to meditate. He focused himself, tried to reach out, but something wasn't clicking. He called on the force, and it answered, but how to hide himself was beyond him. it wasn't as intuitive as merely moving things with the force was. Before he could go any further. They were interrupted, however, by a timid man, careful not to tread to heavily, as though the ground were covered in landmines primed to kill. His master's humor was infectious, if dark. He did not guffaw, or chuckle, but he appreciated the humor. He had never been known for his sense of humor though, even on Carida. The man's message, however, was a humorless one. They were going to war, and he was little more than an acolyte with rudimentary training with a blade and the force. Indeed, he felt more at home with a blaster as of now than he did the new weapon that he held in his hand. And yet, he was meant to be better than this. He wasn't a foot soldier in someone else's war, like his brothers were. He would be a foe to be reckoned with. And this was his chance to prove himself, for better or for worse. He followed the Sith Lord closely, keeping his head down. He had heard stories of how the Sith treated their rivals, and he would like to slip under their radars for as long as possible. If his pathetic attempt to fight Valinor was any indication of how'd he fare against a proper Jedi or Sith, he'd have to pick his targets carefully. He would stay by his master's side, to be sure however. He doubted she would save him if he got in trouble regardless of where he was, but he had no intention of picking a fight he couldn't handle. Then again, most people who die in wars never do. He boarded the shuttle behind Lord Valinor, looking out over Korriban as it rose, the legions of Sith soldiers and warriors preparing for the conflict. It was an epic spectacle, one that would strike fear into the hearts of their enemies. Still, there was a question on his mind as they departed the planet. "My Lord, where will the fight be?"
  9. Mavanger


    Mordeci looked up. Was he surprised? Indeed he was. Was he in disbelief, however? No. He believed that the dark side wascapable of such feats. He took her hand, though it was more of a formality, as he rose on his own. "The warrior's way is brutish. It lacks the delicate touch sometimes required. It is like a club. Dangerous, yes. But also predictable. Used with little or no thought. Sometimes, all you need to kill is the general, and the army falls apart. I will become an assassin. The scalpel of death, rather than the club. His mind raced, thinking of what was to come. He was to become Sith, now. If his luck and skill held up, he would perhaps ven become a Lord. But that was in the future. "What do I do now?
  10. Mavanger


    Mordecai nodded dutifuly. He had indeed never heard of the Sith lords that his teacher had mentioned. His legacy would not be one of triumph and glory, but of quiet whispers. He wouldn't be a man. He would be a myth. The boogeyman that mothers told their children about to scare them into behaving. The other sith would wonder who, if anyone, he was. A person? Or a title, passed on from generation to generation? Deathless? Perhaps dead long ago. Maybe this Sith's legacy would be one of order, and security. But powerful sith had enemies, he was sure. If not in the Jedi, then in other sith, looking to claim that power for their own. His resolve stronger than ever before, he turned to the lord, kneeling. "Teach me the ways of the Sith..." He was silent for a moment. This would be his final chance to back out. To die now, uncorrupted, as it were. But that was not what he came here to do. "...My lord"
  11. Mavanger


    Mordecai was silent for a moment, contemplating the question and the Sith's earlier lesson regarding the statues. Indeed, a legacy of death, pain, destruction and dispair was easily forgotten as soon as someone caused more than their predecessor. Perhaps... perhaps that was not the way to become a legend in the Sith. What would be a lasting legacy, however, escaped him. From what he had been told, what else was there for a sith to build a legacy on? He spoke these thoughts inquisitively. "You tell me a legacy of death is not sufficient. These ruined statues are proof of that fact. That leaves me quesioning, however, what is a Sith to build a legacy on, if not death and fear and hatred?" he asked. He glanced back at the Sith. He was painfuly aware that if he failed this test, he'd die here. He wouldn't even be an acolyte, and he'd have failed. This fear of failure filled him with more strength, however, than any complacency that would have filled him in a less brutal enviornment.
  12. Mavanger


    Mordecai had been too enthralled in his brief victory over the course that he hadn't noticed the change in goals. He silently obeyed the Sith Lord, taking a knee. He did as was told, drawing on the prisoner's anger at her captivity, hatred for him and the Sith, and fear of what would become of her. The rush it gave him was euphoric, and he could suddenly understand why Jedi would fall so easily, and so few Sith ever 'redeemed' themselves. He reversed his earlier machinations with the lightsaber before him, slowly, carefully dismantling it as he prepared to replace the crystal. As he did so, he could feel the Force becoming more familiar, like a mute slowy gaining a voice and learning to use it. While his earlier usage had been sloppy and wrought with mistakes, he was slowly ironing out the kinks, learning to do simple procedures such as this in a faster, more fluid motion. The first crystal was discarded with an abesnt projection of his will, and he carefully fitted the new crystal into the weapon. He reassembled the weapon, quicker this time, and pulled it into his hand. He gripped the hilt, and could feel the crystal. However, he didn't know how to 'bind the darkness in his spirit' to the crystal. He felt the crystal pulling him, he could almost feel it in the corporeal world. He simply submitted to the Force, and let it lead the way. For now, at least. Until he understood how. He was not such a fool as to use a tool without understanding how to do so properly. And then, the Force had receeded. Curious, he activated the lightsaber. It sprang to life, the crimson glow washing over his surroundings. He smiled. A red blade. The first sign of being a Sith. Still, the second half of the Lord's instructions did not fall on deaf ears. His first thought was to just pull the captive, as he had the crystal, but when he tried, discomfor arced through his body, weblike, and yet not following his veins or nervous system. As he continued his attempt, the slight discomfort quickly turned to a sharp pain, and he was forced to release his grasp. He gasped, his sparehand going to the ground to steady himself. The prisoner gave him a dirty look, and he sneered at her. The Sith had never said he had to be gentle. His first move was to sprint foward, straight for the platform. Much to his dismay, it was much higher up than it had seemed to be from the beginning of the course. He knew there was no way to jump that high, at least, not in his current state. And so he veered of for the closest ramp, but too late. The time had already been lost and he heard the loud bark of one of the turrets before feeling an electric pain down his spine and he fell to the ground. He struggled to stand, and took a few wary steps towards the ramp, only for the turret to fire again, sending him to the ground once more. He growled. How was he supposed to make it if that damned turret shot him every time he stood? Above him, the Imperial seemed to be enjoying herself watching his failings. It only served to enrage him further as he pulled himself forward, leaping up with an angry shout, only to once again be shot by the turret. His mind raced. The pain was becoming more intense with each shot. He thought back to the stories his father had told him. Of Jedi and Sith deflecting blaster bolts with the flick of a wrist. He stumbled to his feet once more, his lightsaber hissing as it activated. Just in time, as the turret fired again, but he failed to stop the bolt, taking the shot to his chest his time, a blow that sent him to his knees. With a roar of anger and hatred of his own, he threw the lightsaber at the turret, watching it sail through the air in a haphazard spin before slicing she turret in two with a flurry as screeching and sparks. He stood in triumph for a moment, before remembering the second turret as it hit his shoulder and sending him to the ground. He rolled over, reaching for it with the force. The invisible tendrils of pain and despair mved to his command, wrapping around the barrel or the turret and crushing it. The fixed weapon tried to fire again, but only succeeded in damaging itself further. He stood in bittersweet victory for moment, before walking across the room and scooping up his lightsaber, turning to the woman with hatred in his eyes. Her smug expression had faded now as he stalked up the ramps, never once taking his eyes off of her. he wanted to hurt something, and that something was right in front of him. He didn't beat her. He didn't assault her with the lightsaber. No. Instead, he simply... pushed her over the edge of the platform, watching with steely satisfaction as she fell to muffled screamed before hitting the ground with a soft thud. For a moment she was so still he thought he'd managed to kill her, but that proved to not be the case as she began to slowly squirm on the ground in pain. He walked back down to where his moment of triumph had occured, grabbing her by the arm and hauling her to her feet. He dragged her to the beginning of the course, throwing her to the ground before the Sith Lord, his earlier expression of cocky pride replace by one of smoldering fury. "It is done, Lord."
  13. Mavanger


    Mordecai gazed at the training course. The turrets were intimidating, but would only matter if he failed. He prepared to run the course, taking in each ramp and ledge, every jump, his imperial training taking over. He stopped himself- Imperials thought such a way because they didn't have the force. Mordecai did. He stood straight, took a step forward. and reached out with his newfound abilities. Immediately, he could feel it. The crystal pulses, hummed with energy invisible to the unworthy and the uninitiated alike. He grasped at it, like a child grasping for a toy, for a new experience, and pulled. The crystal responded, and the energy reacted to his own, the force obeying, whether by choice or by his own force of will, he couldn't tell. He opened his eyes, and gazed at the crystal as it flew closer. he was acutely aware that he likely only had a few seconds left, and gave a hardy tug. The crystal flew into his open hand, and he closed it into a fist, turning to his mentor. "That was easy. What now?" he asked. He could feel it. With every moment that he used the force, his connection to it grew stronger. Not by much, he wouldn't be breaking any records, but it was there. Over time, he would get better at using this new tool, until eventually, he theorized, it would become like an extra limb- an extension of his will.
  14. Mavanger


    Mordecai had expected many things when he decided to come to Korriban and train as a Sith. Pain, both physical and mental. Difficulties on a level that were previously unknown to him. He prepared for even more. His death when he arrived, failure to complete his training, even the possibility that he was shot down before ever reaching the cursed planet. What he hadn’t prepared for was seeing familiar faces. He recognized one of men, Fal, a friend of his whom he hadn’t spoken to since he left. They had grown up together, but Fal had left for Kuat a year ago. Immediately, he called out. “Mordecai! What are you doing here?” Fal grew silent, glancing at the ominous sith lord that was wreathed in shadow, then back to Mordecai. “It doesn’t matter. You can help us! Just-” He didn’t have time to finish his sentence before his head tumbled to the ground, severed with a single cut. The other male gasped, and tried to move away. Mordecai stopped him with a single word. “Stay.” He grinned. Before, the youngest of his family, the heir to nothing, his word was next to meaningless. His older brothers always trumped him. But here… He stared at the weapon in his hand. He held the power of life and death now. There was guilt, of course. One does not kill a lifelong friend on a whim and come away without the feeling of guilt, but it would pass. An Imperial claiming association with him after being captured would do him no good in the days to come. He had no room for weak blood in his midst. He could feel the fear radiating from the two others, though mostly from the other man. He stepped in front of the cadet. “Where were you when Kuat fell?” He received no answer. He frowned. Surely, this whelp of a prisoner didn’t defy him? No. It was the fear. Even he, as unaccustomed to the force as he was, could feel it. Too timid. This death was not as clean. He stabbed the man through his heart, and let him die in pain. There was but one more. The Sith Lord had told him the only way to build a legacy was to kill more than the previous sith before him. This was a good start. And yet… There was one more. He hadn’t even come to a halt before she uttered her words. “You’re a coward, and a traitor. You kill shackled prisoners and think yourself mighty. But you’re weak.” He breathed in, his momentary anger fading. She was stronger than the other two, a fact hidden by the tears that marred her face. He doubted she would survive if he released her, so he did the next best thing. “She would make a good sith. She may have the will for it. But if she lacks a connection to the force, or if you disagree, she will be my slave.”
  15. Mavanger


    Mordecai sighed as he was ordered to do the task again. To him, it was pointless, the exercise of an ability that he felt he had already demonstrated his competence with. As he stood to place the age-old hilt where it was before, to repeat the test, his eyes lingered on the crystal at his feet. It was beautiful, the blue shining ever so softly in the dim lighting of the chamber. The battery, brand new in comparison with the ancient weapon in his hand, the metallic sheen reflecting the crystal’s glow. He looked away, placing the hilt back in the sand. He moved back to his prior position, returning to sitting.He breathed in, picturing the hilt in his mind, the memory of its owner still fresh in his mind, even if it was no longer present in the weapon. He could see her hand tightening around the hilt, bound by a leather that had long since eroded away. Before the sith’s fall, it had been simple, a chrome hilt with a simple brown leather, but after she fell, the weapon had changed to match. The guard and pommel of the hilt had received intricate etchings, filled with gold, which had rusted away over the years. The engravings had faded as well, though were still visible in places. The simple leather had been replaced with a high quality fabric that was unknown to him, though that too had rotted away to time. He reached out again, commanding the Force to obey. It was a tool, and he was the one that wielded it. He molded it into tendrils, reaching out towards the hilt. Slowly, they wrapped around the lightsaber, lifting it into the air. He pulled it towards him, much the same as before, his frustration at the repetition fueling his command more than his meditation before had. Much more quickly, the weapon floating to in front of him. He honed his frustration into a tool unto itself, guiding the battery and crystal off the sandy ground beneath him. The crystal seemed to hum in response to the Force, but he paid it no mind. Slowly, the weapon began to assemble itself, a presence pressing against his mind, guiding his actions. He had never learned to make a lightsaber, but the force guided him. With a soft click, the process completed. He opened his eyes, and the newly completed weapon dropped, sending a small puff of dirt into the air. He reached down, lifting it. It didn’t look any different, but he knew that appearance was a deceptive one, that if he simply pushed a button… With a loud hiss, the blade sprung to life. The soft glow of the crystal had given way to the brightness of the lightsaber’s blade. He stood, giving the weapon an experimental swing. It was weightless, but dangerous. A single swing could end a life, a capability that he relished owning. He looked to the Sith Lord. “What now, my Lord?”
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