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Mythos

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  1. Mythos opened his eyes but for a brief handful of moments as he gazed about in wonderment, his last memories being of the engagement with the Sith aboard the ship. But the sights he saw were different, almost familiar as he looked down upon his form as he laid upon the gurnee, the necrosis flesh having been cut away and his shoulder half sawn off, bandages engulfing most of his form. Too weak to speak, her simply adverted his eyes toward the medical droid looming over him and his throat growled in pain as he realized his condition. He should have died, he felt. So why was he being treated so well by his foe? Or was he even amongst the Sith? These questions, though hard to process, jolted about his mind as he managed to whisper out a sentence. "Where are you taking me? "To Nar Shadaa, Marshal, along with the rest of the wounded." The droid replied, but all Mythos managed to hear was Nar Shadaa before he fell unconscious again, a flashing image of the dead surrounding him just as his gaze faded to black.
  2. Silence... it was as foreboding as it was welcomed, the lingering apparitions still plaguing his mind with their cringing question. Yet, despite his fear of them and their lingering presence, he knew them to not be real. Still, it didnt make his nerves settle any bit easier. Clinching his blade, his ears twitched as he tried to drown out the hauntings and focus upon his hidden opponent as his gaze shifted about. He hated waiting, but with the enemy he faced, it was likely the smartest. Huffing, he remembered why he hated Mystics and their beloved Force. Too many mind games and damn near impossible to defend against. No longer than that thought crossed his mind, did the Sith before him only prove his point as the most disappeared along with the dead as a wailing cry pierce his mind. His vision doubled as his ears fell to protect themselves beneath the mask he adorned, the Marshal's gaunleted hands reaching upward to protect his hearing out of natural instinct just as her volley of attacks began. For most, the cry was damaging enough, and for Mythos, it nearly incapacitating as it threatened to nearly tear his mind from his skull even with his many years dealing with sonic weapons. But despite this, maybe out of sheer luck or natural instinct of years being stuck in tough spots, Mythos was still capable of react swiftly enough through the garbled thoughts and piercing pain to block some her attacks. He could only describe the moment as being a boxer on the verge of being knocked out, yet his body taking the years of training to still dodge a few of the persistent blows. For those that missed, it was only noticable by the sparkling scraps of metal against metal. For others, it was sheer luck that leather kept the blade from slicing flesh. But a few did manage to graze and even pierce his fur and flesh, sending his mind deeper into confusion and strife as the unbalanced gravity of deafness began to wane upon his conscious. Emotions were useless at this moment in time as he struggled to simply evade, let alone a plan of action being able to formulated within his mind. And in that very instance, Mythos managed to bring forth a singular thought to his mind. It was that of his end, in this very moment, an opponent of higher caliber besting him as his mind began to succumb to that final thought. Yet, Mythos refused to go down quietly, a part of him refusing to give up this fight. The Marshal within him knew that this was very likely his end, his heart knowing it to be almost utter truth. Yet the Hunter within found its self to be backed into a corner and ready for that last moment of voraciously in battle. Instinct would be his greatest weapon in the seconds that followed as he reached out with his free hand, her words fell upon his deaf ears, and grasped at her as he slung his shoulder into her blade, gripping at her her form and attempting to draw it closely to his as his bladed hand assumingly reached to quench the blades thirst where her breastplate and greaves met. It was in that moment that his final act was to take her with him into the afterlife should he perish this day. "If I go, so shall you." ((3))
  3. His eyes went misty as her words echoed through-out the fog, Mythos finding truth in her deceitful and misguided words as he thought back to Coruscant, to the days he spent upon it's cityscape, to his leaving, and what happened just a few weeks ago. He remembered that very moment as he sat within that distant Cantina and saw the horrific scenes of mass hysteria and people leaping from skyscrapers just to escape the engulfing flames, the scenes as looters and law enforcement alike fought it out just to grasp control over ships to escape, children trampled over. It was enough to make a two meter Shistavanen welp like a pup. But deep within, it was also enough to make his blood boil with the heat of a billion stars as he saw it unfold. He opened his eyes, tears strolling across his fur lined snout and down his mawl as he heard her words finish. "Your people were no more different than those of Coruscant, innocent lives lost over selfish displays of power by those whom deem themselves above the law." He spoke, his voice even more choked by the memories that still haunted his mind, haunted his soul because he had not been there to protect them when they needed him most. "And like myself you weren't there to protect them, were you? We can both hide behind the false bravado that we were capable due to our absences. But the truth remains, we weren't there out of selfishness in the fact that we chose to follow our own paths instead of where they needed us." Just as Mythos finished his words, shadows began to move about the crimson fog even as his misty eyes focused upon them, the Shistavanen gripping tight the hilt of his blade as he readied for their attack. But the grotesque figures that began to emerge horrified him in ways he had never felt before. His fur stood upon its ends, his skin crawled beneath, and a chill ran it's way down his spine that caused his form to tremble for the briefest of seconds. Quietly in his mind, he questioned: "Who are these beings? Kuat? Coruscant? Has this woman truly raised the dead to haunt me even more?" Fear set in and Mythos, still gripping his blade, slowly began to back up as words and wailing echoed. Yet, he found himself encircled, unable to escape, as they began to enclose upon him from all directions. His hands trembled furiously, his mind scanning every possible avoidance to keep from engaging the dead. But with each passing second, they grew closer and closer upon him, and the nearest position above him laid too far away for even him to jump. And to make things worse, all he could hear were their constant echoing plea. Lowering his head, he shook it. He would not die this day, even to appease the dead and forgotten. Sliding his dominate foot backwards, Mythos readied his blade and pushed forward, tears flowing as he struck the closest foe before him in desperation, their question still preying upon his mind. "Why?" But as he cleared the visage, Mythos mind could not comprehend the realization of the apparitions. Filled with mixed emotions, Mythos huffed, thankful that he did not cleave a truly undead being into, but angered that his opponent would have delved in such tactics. His shoulders slouched just a second before he raised them high and let resound a deafening howl in anger as the lost souls turned back toward him, the single question still echoing in his mind. "You call me coward, but you hide behind apparitions and sorcery rather than confronting me face to face. Have you no sense of honor?" He yelled out, hoping his opponent would hear. ((2))
  4. "Easier to do when you can wave your magic wand around and redirect bolts" Mythos mumbled out loud as the Jedi ran headlong into the forte, motioning the troops to follow as he took the Jedi's charge as a chance to stretch his limbs outside the small containment. Watching the Jedi briefly as he scanned the area, he could only chuckle at the brashness as the engagement began. "Good way to get yourself killed being the lone first man out." War was something Mythos knew little about, an Alliance Marshal's job being only track down hardened criminals and rogue Jedi and/or Soldiers in derelict of their duties. Nor did he like the idea of being back into a corner as he had done just moments before. But scuffles were something he did know of, his many years of experience through countless operations where anything and everything did go wrong. So when they were tractored aboard, he did only what any seasoned vet would do, and that was to let the enemy strike first and reveal their hands before he did. He carried many scars from this course of action, and he bore them with pride. But as he gazed upon the foe that stood before him, his blood boiled as the scar upon his back throbbed. As him men dropped around him, only one suggestion remained, the infamous dark mystics known to carry a name of a long dead sapient species: Sith. Glaring at the feminine body before him through the metallic mask he adorned, his jaws dripped with angered saliva, his gaunleted hands gripping tightly upon the ancient scatter rifle he carried to the point that its stock ached to crack and break. And even as the misty fog that followed ached to cloud his mind, his gaze remained fixated with deadly intent. Yet her skill and prowess was too much for even his attention to detail and movement, the hunter soon losing sight of her briefly as his face shot around to regain his fixation. Of all the mystics in all of the worlds that made up the Galaxy, her kind was the ones he hated most, for at least the Jedi attempted to use their powers to aid the helpless. But her kind, power and selfishness were the only traits they knew. And he knew the only way he would survive would be to level his mind and reign in his hatred. Deep breaths and long exhales accompanied his search, the Shistavanen letting go of his Marshal's train of thought and letting the Hunter within gain control as he followed the fluidity shadows that darted about when her first strike came and went. Raising his rifle at the last second, he was capable of blocking the full blow, but she still managed to slice through the upper sleeve of his duster and graze the skin and fur beneath. Flinching briefly, he released and lowered his hand to clutch the graze while carefully staying alert, unsure of what may have coated its blade as his ears twitched in search of the slightest of sounds. But all that was heard was the taunting of laughter and words of a self-righteous ego. But then again, he supposed his own was one to match. Just before the voice finished, Mythos fired the scatter rifle in its direction, hoping to at least return the favor. "Anyone who aligns themselves with known criminals whether for profit or personal gain has lost their innocence. There is only the law to follow." The Marshal barked back as best he could, his grizzly voice echoing its harshness through the tangled vocal cords where his throat once recieved a coward's blade. "As for the Crusade of the Core, the ransacking of Coruscant, all began at the hands of your own kind. Only your Dark Magics are capable of moving celestial bodies like Hesperidium. Opportunities such as that always bring out the lawless and why Marshals like myself return to active duty." Tossing the Scatter Rifle aside, Mythos drew his blade, his gaze still shifting about through the fog, watching... waiting... for her next move. ((1))
  5. War was nothing unusual for Mythos, its core concept close to a meld of hunting and policing, both of which had consumed his life. A veteran Marshal and a natural born hunter, his skills were as they should. And as chaos rippled around them, he was as a stone amidst it's current, solid and unwavering. Beneath the mask where darkness hid his gaze, his eyes were calm and alert, his mind collected and settled, as he gazed about the compartment toward his fellow passengers. Most were still, despite the fear that had settled in their hearts and the unease that tempted their nerves. Some even fought to dismiss the shakes that trembled within themselves. But there were a few whom mimicked his own steeled persona, veterans in their own rights whether as Soliders of many wars or as natural born killers. But such was the way of the Galaxy, and even the paragons of the light held a gravitational pull for those with darkness within. War had that effect, turning sensible beings into vengeful and cold blooded warriors. And in a sense, Mythos was no different than them. After so many horrors witnessed, one would grow to welcome them as naturally as they were to draw breath. These were the beings who stood upon the precipice between light and dark, finding a balance within, lest they fall into its eternal abyss. Mythos' foot slid forward as the transport halted, the confused and freaked pilots frantically accelerating, pressing random buttons only known to them as they attempted to maneuver out of the web upon which they had been caught within. Chaos erupted within the pressurized cabin as those with fear dwelling upon their hearts reacted without thought and some even recited prayers out loud in desperation. But for most, the moment of reality began to set in as the realization of the tractorbeam having grasped them brought forth a fury of emotions. And as for Mythos, the scar upon his back seared with arthritis as his thoughts fell back to Coruscant and the day he recieved it. "It seems we've been caught boys and girls..." Mythos mumbled out loud as his mind returned to the moment, the towering Shistavanen making his way toward the rear and the exit. His large clawed hands grabbed handfuls of rebreathers and tossed them about the cabin. "There's not telling what to expect, so have these at the ready." Mythos gazed down at the one meant for him and seeing that it wouldn't fit, tossed it aside as his gaze shifted toward the front at the pilots. "Ensign, shut her down. There's no use fighting a losing battle." As he turned back toward the rear of the ship at its exit, he grimaced beneath his mask, the sounds of him licking his chops silently echoing beneath its duraplated form as he brought forth the Scatter Rifle that adorned his shoulder to the ready, many of those behind him responding in unison. The inside grew eerily quite as they awaited what some felt was certain doom as only the clatter of teeth and gear managed to escape, the sounds of explosions and finally touch down erupting outside. And then silence fell completely as they listened for what awaited them, the ancient scatter rifle tapping the durasteel palm of his clawed gauntlet. "Hunker down boys. Let's see who will be the first to enter?" Mythos spoke in anticipation, a glimmer in the Marshal's eyes.
  6. -Neo Krell- A blackened blade split the darkness of space and emerged from its hidden confines as the Sith Armada made it's march of war upon the unsuspecting Alliances of the Paragons of Light with the mighty Scarab heading the spear as they exited hyperspace. Cold and deadly omens could be felt through-out its entirety as slivers of darkness crept up the spines of those they targeted. As he watched from the Bridge beside the Dark King, Neo Krell could only smile as the drums of war beat deep within his heart, its rhythm pumping the hastened flow of blood and adrenaline as his silver locks flowed fanciful upon the power that began to emanate from within him. Behind him stood his faithful Forja Sitmyr and the Tukata Hounds upon each side, Skoll and Hati unbound beside their darkened Master as their noses drew to the air and sniffed its bountiful fragrance. As Neo called upon his power, he stepped forward and rose his head, letting a ferocious howl flow forth from his diaphragm just as Skoll, Hati, the Forja Sitmyr and attending hounds resounded it in favor, the bonds of the Force shared between them creeping across the crevasses of their shared minds and hearts as it echoed in that of their allies and ached to flow into them as well, strengthening their resolve and fortitude as it carried its self through the Sith Armada. ((Sith Fleet Assist - Battle Meditation)) -Mjan- A cold sliver of darkness crept up his spine as Mjan's gaze fell upon the Sith Fleet as it emerged from hyperspace, the Jedi Knight's blood flushing from his red skinned face as it turned a ghostly pink at the sight. Even for a Tsis, it was a dreadful omen to behold such might and raw power. "So much a quiet evening." Rose chimed in as orders came across the channels, bringing the Jedi back to reality from the horror. "You heard the higher ups. Let's break out the welcome wagon." A confirmed agreement came across from his squad mates as Mjan resounded his own before the X-Wings fired up their engines and giant squared formations of fights began their escort of their flagships toward the Dark Sun Station. He knew it was going to be a fire fight. He only hoped he survived it to see the fireworks. -Genesis- "Sometimes natural reactions just outright beat good old fashioned preparations." - Genesis Stromhelm I was in the middle of overlooking the datapad when Armien's sudden jerk of the controls suddenly brought me back to reality and my grip lost its touch upon the datapad I had been scrolling through when my gaze caught sight of the Star Dreadnought before us, my jaw dropping and a chill causing my form to briefly shiver at its sight. "M-Ma-Master?" I managed to mumble out as my hands reached for the ion cannon controls out of reflex. "What do you mean by 'oh'?" Unlike Coruscant, here I suddenly found myself not knowing how to react and in a sense, froze in the moment. And my Master's simply reply only confused my brain even more as the Darkness emanating from the recent arrivals crept into my core and sent my emotions on the fritz. Closing my eyes, I focused my breathing, attempting to restore my suddenly lost harmony. -Mythos- As the bombardment began, Mythos stood in cold dead silence as the ship rocked back and forth despite still having been issued clearance to leave the hangar. He had long settled himself despite the roaring the klaxons and the sounds of orders and stationary calls being constantly issued across the channels, the Marshal honed to reserve himself whilst in the thickest of things. But yet, he was even surprised when he heard mention of the Sith's arrival to aid their comrades. It was unusual, especially for the power hungered mystics. "Calm yourselves." Mythos grimaced toward the troops whom had grew fearful within the confines of the metallic tomb they thought they were trapped in, turning his gaze toward the pilots behind him. "Get us to that Station now." If one had been looking in, you could tell that the pilot wanted to wait for their orders, but few were brave enough to disregard orders from a Shistavanen, especially one so big. And in minutes, Mythos and his troops found themselves in the blackness of space with a small squadron of escorts. The ships rocked about like a bobber upon a lake as the surrounding fish attempted to take hold of its line, explosions and bolts of fire whizzing about all around them, some of the men yelping like cowards while others kept their composure despite the few odd glares toward Mythos. As for Mythos, he stood once again in silence, preparing himself for what laid ahead. Oh the destruction he would reap on these criminals, these outlaws. But it wouldn't replace what he wished to do to the Mandalorians whom had attacked his beloved Coruscant. Such dreams only tempered a beast for so long.
  7. -Genesis- "War... it was as necessary as it was unnecessary, a conundrum of their ever was one. In a perfect galaxy, it wouldn't even exist. But we dont live in anything resembling a perfect Galaxy. Therefore, as long as darkness existed, light would have to shine eternally to keep its grasp at bay. Such is the existence of both." - Genesis Stormhelm I sat in silence as I gazed upon Armiena, her reaction toward what had just transpired causing me to become slightly uneased. I knew we were headed to war, but I did not expect the Jedi to become the aggressors. It was slightly disheartening to see this unfold before me, but perhaps I was merely lost in inexperience and their wisdom was unfounded in my eyes. Yet, I sensed that Armiena felt a similar way. Clamoring to my feet as Armiena took off, I had little time to react save for listening as she went about readying the B-Wing and following her example. After climbing aboard, taking the rear seat as she took the front, her head swiveled to meet mine as she posed a question that only left me stammering in a daze of dumbfoundedness. "Neither Master." I revealed to her, a sense of confusion mixed with disappointment echoing in my voice as I spoke. "But I'm a quick learner." -Mythos- As the trumpets of war resounded, klaxons echoed once again as the hangars outside spurred to life, Mythos grinning as his heartbeat fastened. He knew what it meant and as the Steadfast let loose her hellish volley, engines roared a mighty growl as fighters took to open space. Finally, it seemed, that the voice of reason had resolved the issue and the pacifistic voice had grown drowned out by it. "War is upon us. Let us face it with dignity and honour." Mythos spoke aloud to the men he had boarded with, some of which smelt of fear and anxiety as their transport followed the fighters out into open space. "These cowards have ran amuck for far too long now with little consequences, and we are here to dish it out in tenfold. Let us make sure vengeance is delivered properly." Mythos' voice was a coarse mumble compared to most, but it was still loud enough that the members present could hear it over the growl of his excitement. Today was the day that the Sunners would meet their fates.
  8. -Genesis- I watched Armiena's body language, the sense of despair hidden by her roughly forged exterior, yet it was the eyes that never lie. Even as my gaze shifted toward the mechanics hearing their whispers before turning back to her gaze, I could see the sadness. It was only her words that placed the pieces together for me. "Forgive me Master. I didn't know." I spoke, my words sympathetic, but holding no weight of knowledge or experience behind their sincerity. "I dont know him, but as a son, perhaps the joy of seeing his mother again will erase, or at least ease, any old wounds. I know it would for me." My gaze shifted outward, briefly considering what I would give to be in her son's shoes and knowing I had the chance to see my mother once again, but shook it off as the realization that I would never have such a chance reminded me so. Sitting in silence as she continued on with her instructions, I followed her in suite. There was certainly a method to her madness. -Mjan- Mjan sat in silence, and a bit of relief washed over the Lieutenant as the orders to hold positions came across the wires. He was new to this, and since take off, found his stomach aching with knots and flutters as the anticipation lingered on. He sighed heavily, opening himself to the Force and letting it flow peacefully through his being, feeling its gentle waves roll across his form. This was going to be a long day, whether it grew eventful or not, but he hoped he wouldn't have to pull a single trigger. -Aurora- Aurora would be found in her makeshift cabin when Tobias came looking for her, the weapon she had collected at Felucia fresh in hand as she practiced her form with by memory. She knew not what laid ahead for her, only that the tension in the air was thick, causing her to feel uneasy. This was the only way she knew to calm herself. -Mythos- Mythos snarled as the Jedi communications echoed through-out the Steadfast, the Shistavanen boiling with anger. If he hadn't been so cramped in the small shuttle, he would have likely smashed something. But for now, he kept quiet. He would await Slaughter's orders, but if they were as pacifistic as the Jedi's were starting to become, he'd storm the place himself. In his line of work, negotiations were only for show to get the enemy to let down their guard, and he wasnt about to be caught empty handed by the Black Sun.
  9. Mythos' teeth flared behind the mask, the closest thing his kind could come to smile.. albeit it looked more like a snarl than that of a smile, as Slaughter spoke. The Shistavanen was ready for a good fight, and it seemed it had been served to him on a silver plate. The rise of the Mandalorians may have been what brought him out retirement, but his duty was to that of the Alliance and her people, including that of the Imperial Empress. As he turned to walk away, he uttered only a few words, words he felt that Slaughter would find consoling. "The Force wont have anything to do with our win today." And with that, Mythos departed, never truly believing the Jedi mysticism. As far as he was concerned, it was no more than ideology. As he headed to the hangar, he listened to Slaughter's comm to the enemy echo across the Steadfast's internal speakers, his words not only mimicking his own feelings toward the current state of the GA, but as he looked out across the hanger bay, it reflected nearly everyone's as life sprung forth in waves and everyone reported in for duty as engines were filled and ships began lift off. It was truly a sight to behold, a splintered body of government coming together with its allies in a swift motion to return old wounds to those that inflicted them. Even as the towering Shistavanen walked across its bay and climbed aboard the transport he had been assigned to, the men within held no faces of fear or despair. No, they held faces of vengeance and firm convictions, ready to lay their lives down in the line of duty just get a swing at the enemy. These were men and women whom had been backed into a corner and were ready to fight back. And for Mythos, there was no greater gratification than to know he found himself surrounded by beings of the same mentality. And it showed when the Black Sunner made his own retort to Slaughter, the men listening closely growing fired up as his words merely spat in their faces. Mythos could smell the hate in the air like that of a strong cologne. And it smelled delicious.
  10. Mythos remained in silence for most of the arduous journey, his gaze fixated upon the panel before him as he watched and overheard Slaughter holding the fleet together as best he could. But Mythos had never been much of a tactician. Still, he held a certain respect for this human Coruscanti before him. He witnessed the death of his homeworld, and without flinching, had already turned his attention elsewhere. Truly, he understood the rules of war, always forward and never behind. Mythos shifted his gaze about as they exited hyperspace just before the last jump, the Shistavanen licking at his chops out of habit as he gauged the current atmosphere. Fear was adrift, but so was anger, lingering sadness, and a sliver of hope. Emotions were so thick, he doubted that even a Jedi's lightsaber could cut it. But it was an understandable mixture. After Coruscant, morale was down, but their hearts remained within the fight, just as any true warrior should. Feeling the final jump shift his weight as he leaned against a nearby railing, Mythos empathized. They were at the doorstep of another battle, and there was no certain outcome. Emerging, Mythos stepped forward toward the view port as comms came alive, contacts being made both to the ship's barrage of fighters including Andromina's Templars and Slaughter's announcement to the Jedi Fleet. It amazed him to see the Jedi's fleet size, so much having changed since he left behind the Galaxy he once served. But now was not the time for gawking, and Mythos slid his mask over his face as he turned back toward the Admiral, handing over the plans he was supposed to use to infiltrate. "Let's not let these plans fall into the hands of the Black Sun" He spoke in jest, his voice gargled not only by the permanently scarred vocal cords that were hidden behind the scar that adorned his throat, but also by the metallic mask he hid his face behind. As he dropped the plans in Slaughter's hand, he poised an important question. "Where do you need an old Shistavanen like myself Admiral?"
  11. Just as Mythos began to climb the ramp of the ship, he turned toward his human companion as his comm link lit up, Slaughter's voice coming across loud and clear. If he had yet to adorn his mask, the poor son would have seen a fierce face claim the Shistavanen's usual bland demeanor. Clinching his fist tight enough to impress his frustration into the ramp's metallic hydrolic arm, his teeth gritted just as tightly, Mythos began his trek back toward Slaughter. "Those blasted sorcerers will be the death of this Galaxy yet!" Mythos scorned in return, his tone raspy and harsher than usual as the frustration was found snarling out in spurts. "They preach peace and restraint, yet are the first to ignite their tiny laser blades. Hmph." Despite the shift in the hanger as the ships emerged into hyperspace, Mythos's pace never wavered. Within a few minutes he had returned and was present before Slaughter once more. "I'll make sure to do the wrecking myself when we arrive."
  12. What appeared to be a semblance of a smile cross the Shistavanen's face as he took in a moment to remember the information, slipping the plans into his pocket, and nodding to the Admiral. Unpinning the badge that adorn his duster, Mythos slide it across the desk toward Slaughter. "Understood. Take care of the for me, won't you?" Mythos chuckled as he turned to depart, his gaze shifting back only momentarily before he stepped out the room. "I only need one. Your best. Have them meet me in the hangar in fifteen. And with that, and a small stoop as he stepped outside, Mythos was gone. Fifteen minutes later, Mythos stood near the ship that the Admiral had prepared and stood waiting for his newly appointed companion, dressed in all his gear and his mask once again adorned. If they were going to make this work, they were going to have to act fast, and Mythos held little patience.
  13. Mythos grimaced when Slaughter mentioned the Imperials and their head, his disdained taste for them stemming back decades. And the GA's formal Alliance with them had been like pouring salt into old wounds for the Marshal. But politics and formalities had never been the Shistavanen's strongest suits. He was a being of orders and actions, nothing more, nothing less. That was just his way. "Forgive the lackluster, Admiral." Mythos spoke, his raspy tone little more than a growling whisper as he watched the images before him unfold. "I'm not too keen on Imperials, or even those carrying the name. Too much bad blood befalling Coruscant and the Core Worlds under their name even if these prove themselves to have been different." Mythos brought his clawed paw up his mane, open handily stroking the long locks of fur that would have been a beard had he'd been born human. Despite his dislike for the Imps, he knew what Slaughter was asking of him with understanding. With the Sith Empire on one side, and the Mandalorians on the other, the GA needed whatever allies they could afford at the moment. As stubborn as he was, Mythos also lived by an unspoken creed among the Marshals, a simple but truthful one: The Enemy of my Enemy is my Friend, for a time at least. "But your right. We of the Galactic Alliance cannot afford to forsake any hand we need to keep close to the vest. Consider me aboard. What's my cover?"
  14. "Probably for the best... Mythos snarled in a raspy voice as he took in behind Slaughter, his gaze shifting as his towering form began to fall into old habits. "I've never been one for formalities. Grunt work is my specialty." As the the privacy field generator powered up, Mythos remained standing. Mostly due to the fact that most furniture rarely held up to his weight and stature, but also to the fact the Mythos wasn't much for sitting. He was Shistavanen. He was a warrior, a hunter, and it was his nature. As Slaughter spoke, Mythos could see and smell the duress within him, only amplifying the seriousness of the threat in which he spoke of. He could sense that Slaughter knew first hand of which he spoke, the smell of his wound still fresh. "I suspect it was one of the Mandalorians that gave you the wound on your leg?" His raspy voice came across slightly concerned for the admiral, but more curiosity than anything. Raising his head to reveal the scar that ran across his voice box, Mythos continued as his gaze returned to Slaughter. "The first of many I recieved, a small undercover op I undertook portraying what my species are known for, a hunter. What do you have in mind Admiral?"
  15. Mythos grimaced beneath the duraplate mask he adorned as the Traffic Officer's voice teased, the aging Shistavanen chuckling beneath it as he grabbed the comm unit and gave a simple yet snide rebuttal. "Son, first time I walked the corridors of a MC90, you were likely still suckling your mother's teat." He chuckled once more through his cuspids before hanging it up and turning Von Howlster's Reach toward the Steadfast. As his gaze fell upon the war torn vessel, his suspicions were confirmed. It held the many scars of its age and stories, most notable the burns of the Mandalorian mounts, and his eyes only burnt with more fuel within the fire. Landing in Hangar Three, Mythos disembarked, placing his shield and folder upon his duster as he made his way to the bridge. When he arrived, Mythos removed his mask as he looked on in a mixture of sorrow and rage. He placed a clawed hand upon one of its framing beams, closing his eyes briefly as if apologizing to the older ship for its defeat, before turning toward the magcon and Admiral Slaughter. As the towering beast made his approach, his face revealing a singular across his snout and one large one across his throat, he gave a formal but fumbling salute as the Admiral spoke. "Admiral Slaughter you say?" The Shistavanen jested briefly, his voice gnarled and congested as he sat his mask aside. "Fitting." His face turned to a serious note as he stood there, his breathing deep for such a large form, the Shistavanen standing over two meters tall, and his rage was self evident even as his reached a paw up and wiped the drool from his mouth with the sleeve of his jacket. "These Mandalorians... They come to the heart of a Galaxy I swore to protect, playing conquerors of a planet struck yet again by the hands of powerful Sith, and think they can get away with it under the guise of a holy crusade?" Mythos' tongue licks his chops briefly. "You'd be damned right that I would come out of retirement for that. This was my beat, my turf, and they've declared war upon it. Retribution is but nigh.
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