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Exodus last won the day on October 29 2019

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About Exodus

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  1. The body seized, the brain loosened, and the euphoric surrender of life loaned itself to the Sith Reaper. The Anzati King released his clutch, and tossed the creature to the wayside. The emptied corpse rolled a few paces, lightly sprawling to an awkward stop. What life remaining in such a broken creature, drained without struggle or remorse. The excessive torture that the wretch had suffered was an overindulgence that the Lords of Old used to exhibit their insanity, wanton and serving little more than to inflate their desperate egos. This mouthpiece of Ar-Pharazon was no more, and the ignorance that the worm had suffered with for decades, had finally come to an end. Exodus brushed his heavy-cloak, shaking the moonfall soot from the rich embroidery, casting his sight to where he now understood his destination would be. "Arkob Skon. I see you." The Spider dropped out of his thought and sprang for the entrance. Hoarse adrenaline flushed through his veins. Exodus jerked his movement unpredictably, leather bound boots trampling incredibly fast over the rocky terrain, bounding left and right in dark flashes. Meteoric deterioration fell from the skies in all shapes and sizes, hammering the landscape all around him with terraforming power. The King himself worked to keep his balance definite, knowing that the slightest mistake could lay him beneath an impact that would wipe him from existence. The danger zone did not hesitate in a constant attempt to erase all things living, unearthing all manner of hazard and secrets as it did. His handmade alchemical vestments afforded him excellent maneuverability, akin to the hunters of his homeworld. And so, the Dark King moved like the wind. Visions drew to the front of his mind, screening his reality with instinctive direction on where to find this entrance. He had never been, but the wretch now showed him the way. He found himself ignoring the many wide-berthed fractures in the tectonic plates of Coruscant, most of them oozing super-heated gases to the surface or belching a yawning descent in which there would be no returning from. Then suddenly, the assassin tucked into a roll and launched himself into a rocky opening. _______ Exodus deftly flew himself a great distance into a lightless black, landing where his memories had led him, lightly against another ruptured bedrock. Looking around, sweeping the full range of his eyesight, he found himself in a cavernous space. Erected before the Dark Lord now, was the broadest barrier stretched from wall to wall, salmon-colored and seemingly thicker than the walls of Dragon Gate. He marched forward, indifferent about the obstacles that stood in his way.
  2. B E N E V O L E N C E The static adumbration of the Dark Lord manifested once more, even more cryptic as the up-link suffered greatly from the overt damage dealt. A brass laughter chalked through the transmission, sinister with a sweet inflection. Exodus searched through the connectivity, encompassing mentally what it was that he had been deprived of in these dying minutes. The glaring signal from the IM-455 diminished in spurts, obstructions from the moonfall were weeks away from clearing, but this was what he had to work with. The offering Master Qaela spoke of was extremely telling nonetheless, and catching wind of her words was providence enough. "Illustrious keeper of the Darksong. You have bested the prestigious Raven Zinthos in single combat. Impressive.. The Empire will hear of this, the Empire will hail your might." What he spoke of rang true, for the mighty Imperial Machine thirsted for champions to liken their beliefs too, Gods of Battle that they swore to in the heat of war. There was an uprising of such men, women and creatures of the dark side. Their abundance fanned the flames of influence throughout the galaxy. "Knights of Nothing. It would seem that purpose has found you in the smallest of spaces, and you have earned your lives in this hour. This trial ends here. The one you have sworn yourselves to.. Her crown has been claimed by the hands of a true sovereign queen, the title Raven once carried is meaningless. She is now no more than a treasonous rebel, beholden to the vanquisher of false empresses. Master Qaela of the Sith Empire has incarnated her claim. Take heed, as I now consent your freedoms, and the life of your master, understand that the young apprentice that now lies before you, will awaken with a vengeance. Your leader has failed in reconciliation, bargain and battle. Leave now, my mercy is at an end." The holo-projection disconnected immediately after.
  3. Coruscanti sunsets were always a thing of praise. It was strange, the praise being what it was—especially considering the artificially controlled environment. After centuries of being the most occupied world in the galaxy, manufactured structures had ultimately sheathed the entire surface of the planet. To better accommodate such overdevelopment and dense inhabitation, it had been necessary to fill the stratosphere of the city world with a sequenced array of planetary mirror technology and atmospheric purifiers. The deployed facilities were essentially the only way that Coruscant maintained its place as the capital and undisputed heart of the galaxy. However, consequential to the fabricated ecology that ensured temperate stability was the complete elimination of all weather variations that would normally denote the natural passing of seasons. Coruscant no longer experienced the sweltering heat and lackadaisical haze of summer. Nor did it undergo the cooling night temperatures that stimulated waning displays of multi-colored foliage, which would indicate the transition into fall. Frosty mornings and thick blankets of snow no longer marked the dormant slumber of winter, and absent was any trace of the flowery blooms and melodious birdsong that would herald in the rebirth of spring. Instead, there was only the continuous gray of neutrality, as bleak and artificial as the dull plasteel and indistinct ferrocrete that covered most of its landscape. The last remaining hints of Coruscant's past natural splendor were those spectacular sunsets. When, without warning, the sky would burst into a magnificent array of vivid shades spanning from pale ochre to deep magenta before slowly ebbing into the night. No such spectacles graced the skies now. Coruscant burned with a fire drawn from the deepest depths, accentuated by the somber downpour of a moon scattered across the galactic throne, raining unforgiving death. The uneven terrain beneath him waned with enormous fissures that lined the entire district. There was nothing like it for miles. It was incredible how vast architectural designs were now reduced to simple mounds of mud, stone and metal. An area once brimming with life, was savagely torn asunder by the heaviest concentrations of moonfall he had seen thus far, trimming tall buildings to mere dirt, turning men and women into shelved dust. The grandeur of the jewel was lost, but the Empire would use their might to stave total destruction. Emperor-King Malacoda Syn stood with unfocused eyes as lengthening shadows fanned themselves across the splintered streets. Although his impeccably shined armor halves and meticulously blackened robes were consistent with the persona of the esteemed King of all Sith, his unruly appearance was just the surface of who he was. A terrifying shell that shed no light on the frustrating sorrow that churned within his mind and burrowed unrelentingly into his cold soul. His yearning for perfection was riddled in a time he wished he could forget. A heavy sigh escaped him, Exodus lowered his face into the rough leathers stitched to his gauntlets and raked his fingers through his long ravenous hair. Such things made no difference now, Exodus knew that his destiny had become greater than his thoughts. "Spider-1. We have a visual on an incoming target. Signal to engage." "Stand down. I will clear the area." The command was immediate, stern and baritone as the words echoed over transmissions. Exodus turned instead to lay eyes on what he could already feel approaching. Rampant rot riddled the core of the creature, permeating each step it traveled with an intangible sickness. It walked as the infected did, diseased with half-hearted mobility and a health quite obviously on the decline. Threadbare clothes, sullied and picked apart by the seams. Ink and charcoal covered sickly skin, while death lingered in it's bones. The language of the creatures' clothes spoke of High Sith diction, trinkets and hieroglyphics reminiscent of an age previously passed. Exodus locked his visceral emerald slits onto the prey, as it dared to speak freely in his presence. “.. The only one?” Exodus wondered if such words were true, outcasts from failed tenures could not be trusted, nor did he have a particular use for the whimpering that came from them. If what he spoke was true, he would be the first to dissect these harbored secrets for what they were, and weigh their worth. He turned towards the creature, while reaching out to it’s mutilated countenance. The helmet was triangularly fashioned, larger and heavier, burned into the face of the absent-minded servant. The Dark Lord drew his metal-plated fingers across the headpiece, searching for particular apertures. The power that stood before the servant would buckle most to their knees if he allowed a measure of it to loosen. "You are forgiven, worm. Your life is mine." From the radiocarpal joint and opposite of that, the ulnocarpal joint, long and thin proboscis-like appendages slowly revealed themselves. What was mythically derived from the face of the Anzat species, now drew from the wrists of the conqueror and propelled themselves into the foul mouth of the creature. They scurried like rattlesnakes into the nasal cavity, aggressively tearing through bone and brain membranes, and leeching onto the brain. The raw absorption was otherworldly, quickly vacuuming the soup of life from this odd creature. The brain ruptured violently, leaking aged life, informational synapses and the secrets of the soul. Blood struggled to find openings as fast as it retched from the mouthpiece of Ar-Pharazon, crawling down the iron mask of a disappointing regime.
  4. Primary: Exodus Discord: Exodus Name: Exodus Active Characters: Exodus, Berserker.
  5. What do you see? He planted his knee in the unsifted rubble, rocks and rust thrown askew. The Dark King rested his breathing, slowing the heaves of his heavy chest. He quieted his mind, just enough with the chaos of Coruscant running free, Exodus would become acutely still. The wailing wind coursed through his wild mane, brushing through the small trinkets of his fuel-black armor, dancing with the darkness that shed from his skin. Kneeling with his balance surer than standing, the Spider focused his mind into a clarity that could see so much more. The skies were seething with pain, black smoke chalking the atmosphere as the industrial clouds burned horribly red. Corpses by the thousands filled the soil as fertilizer would, blossoming into a misery that the Sith could feed from like swollen fruit. Rivers of blood were tickled by the shine of a dying moon, draining into the deep wells of the galactic city with the thickness of wine. He could see it all with eyes wide shut, and it was the force that showed it to him. Lacking the natural biorhythm that most creatures had, his body began echoing vivid sights through sound for miles away. The range of detection that opened up for a King of the Dark Side was beyond ordinary measurements, heightened predatory senses that was wielded so naturally. "We will bring an end to this." The voice of the Spider was as comforting as stone, both unmoved yet strangely empowering as the smooth fluency of his Anzati tongue whispered like a warm chill down the spine of his most powerful allies. He slammed his fist into the broken earth, breaking the floor beneath him apart as he shoved his weight from the ledge and leaped far into the distance. First instinct drew him to crush the resistance that his commanding forces weighed their lives against, but something more had revealed itself to him. Echo detection unearthed a cluster of activity buried in a place shunned by the citizens of Coruscant. Beneath the roughened crust sat a broken site once claimed by the darkness that had been buried away shamelessly. Whatever it was, it now called to him. The assassin spared no quarter to his speed, the whistling and waning of meteoric impact punished the grounds around him. He slid beneath barely suspended canopies of steel, bound himself over vast canyons filled with fire, spearheading through blockades of failing buildings. In the passing, there were creatures and small groupings of people that caught this and blinked twice, checking their eyesight while trying juggling their survival. He harnessed the force as if it were entirely his to command, allowing it to burn through his blood as he covered great lengths that landed him before a fortress he had longed to set his sights on. "So this is it?" Taut rancor-skinned boots nestled deep into the moonfall debris beneath his feet, planted sternly as a high-heated storm began to brew overhead. The Emperor dusted his cloak leisurely and tightened the metal gauntlet braced to his right hand, now sizing up a vast uneven region of land that was utterly beaten to pieces. The people of this world were beneath the oppression of a nightmare, and every where he turned, Coruscant seemed drearily seeped in an inevitable downfall. The roots of the industrious land were heaved to the surface, the streets were cracked wide open with mammoth splinters of concrete staggered awkwardly everywhere. There was something here.
  6. The force moves darkly around creatures about to kill. The small transport descended carefully over the last recorded landing zone of the Devil Hounds, suspending itself under the constant shelling of moonfall. As armored as the carrier was, the damage it had endured thus far was physically evident in how crushed the steel skin of the bird appeared. Traces of black smoke inked from out of the loud and overworked motors, wheezing as the strain of suspension worked the last nerves of the ship. The ventral side of the carrier heaved open, while search-lights popped on and scanned the depressing proximity of the broken building. War had quite obviously taken its toll, and the emptied drop pods were evidence that the Hounds had become part of the struggle. Thick cables flung from the ventral port, and down them came the grisly black polish of Imperial Shadow Troopers. As they descended into the gloomy landing zone, their cloaking devices vanished them as soon as their boots met with the uneven surface. They were in their truest form as invisible predators, sweeping the scene, securing the bewildered premises. The first of them moved to secure the blind corner of the room, the second disappeared as he slid down the rope but made for the opposite corner. The third of them dropped down and moved up the middle, angling his T-21 blaster rifle evenly towards the gaping breach in the wall that exposed outdoors. He paused half-way, sweeping to his left, and then to his right. "LZ Secured, Spider One." Just as the courageous voice sizzled through their communication set, the Imperial Emperor stepped from the carrier at roughly sixty feet, plummeting dangerously fast, landing with a powerfully charged force that seemed to stretch the barrier of sound. The raw pressure loosened the moon-fall brie and shook the exposed room to the roots. Sediment fell from all over and softly revealed the positions of three more Shadow Troopers not previously seen. Their cloaking devices were slightly hampered under these conditions, but the veil still offered a considerable measure of comfort from sniper nests in the area. The fragrance of death was a sweetened scent he could taste on the wind as it brushed by, so remarkably fresh. Bleak and colorless vistas of destruction seemed to be the only backdrop that Coruscant could now afford the people, no matter which way you looked. A dark force marinated the bodies of the fallen here, sweeping from mangled corpses and draining into the black hole of power that wreathed the Dark Emperor as he motioned through them. The passing of lives was an intimacy more telling than the taking of them, and as the surcoat of the reaper swept over them, their failing spirits yawned the secrets they once held dearest. The dead had nothing to lose. Exodus marched forward while the men with him kept themselves extremely aware. Meteoric moonfall began to line the indentations of Sith steel that were sanctioned on his body, a mounded ebony warplate resting against exotic trimmings from the fiercest of creatures. He embraced the visage of a nomadic conqueror, with the trappings of his kills drawn about him, emboldening his mighty presence. Truly, the warmth it afforded him was a pleasure on this miserable planet. He drew the traditional hemming of his black hood over his wild and unmistakable mane, covering himself from the uncertainty of the powdery mildew. "Jurek. Lead reconnaissance through the immediate vicinity. Eliminate any hostiles, leave none alive. Beetle, provide assistance for our wounded. I will find the others, they are nearby. Make contact if there are obstacles." (Jurek, Mu, Xora, Beetle, Law, Code) "Copy, Spider One." Six Shadow Troopers heralding their stygian-triprismatic polymer armor, embellished with the insignia of the Imperial Spider, confirmed their mission by moving as soon as their Emperors' had finished. Unit NZ-44 withdrew through the building, navigating an adopted and digitized schematic. The Emperor stood on the edge of the breach, staring out into the abyss, tracing where it was that the Blood Prince had found himself now.
  7. ".. Yet pretending is a specialty of yours? You wound me with your distrust, Raven. You continue to believe, or rather insist, that you lack the slightest of reason to step onto Coruscant. You will not do it for the prisoners that fight for you and your allies on Onderon, nor will you move for the trillions dying on behalf of you and the enemies that you failed to stop. You have abandoned them to Mandalorian butchers, and now you hide from your duty even as I extend favor to your selfish circumstance." "You see, you are gravely mistaken, for I have never once claimed such juvenile notions as good or evil. Where I am from, such words are merely groomings for children that have been burned out from their family homes and thrown blindly into colonial holding camps, each of them counting the good and evils that passed them by the hour. All this is, is survival. You will make of it as you please, little Raven. For the lives of thousands, you would have been wise to have killed yourself on Dark Sun and been done with it. For the lives of many more, you would be brave to face the fire, but you will not show. You are not worthy to call yourself an adversary of mine, a youngling desperately void of dignity. But you are youthful, and perhaps we can make something of you yet. "We have summoned you, you have been weighed, and you have been found wanting. Your allies will not be released. They will die clinging to this hope you speak of, and they will face the inescapable judgment of the Dark Side. They will not be the last, for they are not the first. Just as you or I will face an end when our time comes, theirs will not be swift. The cowardice charged to you and the Jedi you serve ensures this." "Master Qaela. You have done well. She may leave if she chooses, But those that she came with, Kill them."
  8. The onslaught continued deep into the northwesteern corridor, chaos rapidly dancing in the backdrop as he moved. These creatures had never seen such footwork in their lives, the way in which this speed demon murdered so liquidly. Allfather Exodus swept his feet as deftly as the shadows themselves, and with that, his sun-touched blade burned through his adversaries two at a time. The dangerous stalemate of the smaller airdock had not interested him, for he knew the two he had left behind were more than enough to quell the pathetic uprising. The King of the Sith desired answers, secrets that were confined within this ancient barge that had eluded him and the Sith intelligence for far too long. Windows of opportunity were now closing however, and closing fast as explosions tore through the Hexa. There was another strike team that extracted what he needed, operating under the distractions the other Imperials provided when they had boarded, trained to remain a mystery to even those that were considered allies. These four were marked in the armor of classic stormtroopers, but blackened in paint with small detailings of luminescent emerald. Their deployment always signified a critical extraction, but reaching them for answers was an impossible feat. Once their objectives were confirmed, a direct line of communication with their commander-in-chief would verify that their departure was permissible. Stealth technology was extremely prevalent in teams that conducted themselves under the emblem of the Spider, nurturing the air of mystique that surrounded them. He could feel the fires of this Dauntless spread like wildfire beneath these scorched layers of metal. Bolts and beams splitting apart as the infrastructure viciously separated, peeling undone before the atmospheric gravity of Coruscant suctioned them into an unforgiving heat. Exodus rounded the bend and made way for the airlock that had suspended his cloaked starfighter. The rummagings planetside had unfolded and the struggles of Coruscant would not be sorted without the Emperor-King leaving his imprint. (Going off grid.)
  9. Dun Möch "You lead those that will oppose me? ..Silly Raven, that is the meaning of this. Your focus is half-witted. When will you lead your people to protect those that beg you for it? Coruscant weeps and burns, yet you ignore and choose instead to warmonger like the God Emperors of old that you speak of. I am but a simple man, one that the likes of you and your kind are ill-prepared for. This, I promise you." The Emperor-King smiled, but the strange static that hampered the holo-display from revealing a clearer picture, obscured his sharp toothy-white grin . Truths were spoken, ones that perhaps bit harder than she could expect, but these were the events as they unfolded. If blows were exchanged here and now, the startling of Dun Möch would set this child beside herself in the face of a Master. Exodus hadn't expected much more than this, for his enemies were all unlettered, and weaker than he could have hoped for. In the strangest of ways, it had become his responsibility to strengthen those that opposed him, for iron sharpened iron and the failings of his enemies would surely sour the truth of his ambitions. The Jedi were a crippled rendition of what they once represented, choosing to detonate the lives of innocent bystanders in a war for a fraudulent Empress, for no other reason than to make a statement. Several thousands sacrificed selfishly for her and her alone, to be rescued from an eclipsed Black Sun, while their home-worlds and loyal citizens were ravaged and undefended. Sickening, beautiful and truly a nature born of the dark side, whether they understood that or not. They served themselves, that was the tall truth of any Jedi past or present, and that was the tale of Raven the pretender. "These prisoners of war.. They invaded Onderon, unprovoked and herded by your Jedi. You must have known this, child. Their treason, their warmongering is why they faced impartial execution. Their blood is on your hands, Pretender. You are playing a game in which you have no understanding. What would you have me do to those that endanger the citizens of an innocent world?" The Spider dangled the choices of life in front of her, weaving the white braids of her consequences as bleak cobwebs of truth. There was no convincing this one of how dark she truly was, and no measure of lies needed to convince her that the ones she chose to align herself with were just as sick. She knew at least that much, for it was the dark side that had freed her from her chains. But perhaps here and now, she could learn and become more than what she was, perhaps one day she could bring his adversaries to a place of worthiness. Exodus was still smiling widely, the wild lengths of his dark hair sweeping his powerful features. Or perhaps, there was something far more sinister at stake, and not a soul could place their finger on it. "Would you trade your life for theirs?"
  10. “Astonishing,” It even speaks as peasants do. “Your ignorance and blatant inexperience reveals itself in record timing, Raven. Like the child you have proven to be, you wave your finger about, trying desperately to blame another for your glaring shortcomings. You are wrong, and you have failed." Exodus considered for a moment, that this was the champion of the battle at the Third Death Star, an unexceptional woman that bonded the blood of foes and created false peace. A thing once called the Galactic Alliance, a thing she had a hand in creating, but now calls useless. Perhaps she was a witch, and had turned them all into fools, but the mystery was one he would likely never understand. His challenges in waters that were far more dangerous than these, had taken him into an undertow of struggle for a near decade before he could return to what was left here. And thus far, he was wholly unimpressed with the remainder of what common folk considered the Golden Age. The Dark King cleared his throat before he continued with his explanation. "Your provocation and betrayal on Carida, it was I that put that to a halt. Your failure to apprehend Faust on Iziz was costly, but it was I who crushed him and liberated the Capital. I shielded Onderon with might, reinforced her better than any have before, and you chose to answer with an invasion." Exodus broke an empty laugh, sarcasm more than obvious in his delivery, "you barely broke orbit." "Your forces crumbled like paper against the armor of our armada, yet you and your Jedi friends chose to bombard and defile the small colonies of Dxun for nothing more than jest. Even Lord Sheog would not think to stoop so pathetically low. If this was not yet embarrassing, you allowed one trite and tired criminal to devastate Coruscant by himself, and open the flood-gates for the Crusaders to rape and ruin the Galactic Throne. Where are the beloved peacemakers now? On Chandrila, did you send aid? Was it enough? But of course, the hundreds of thousands that ambushed the Station to rescue you was of most importance." Egregious selfishness was on display, sickening when the realization hit. No endangered civilizations were sent any amount of aid, but the full armed force of the their greedy alliance was sent to rescue just one woman of mild importance. It painted a bright picture for even the most ignorant to see. "Understand this, I weigh my kills with the blood of my enemies, while you and yours weigh it in the blood of the innocent and weak." "Little Raven. If you think this is what fear looks like, than you have been nursed at your mothers' teat for far too long. You are a suckling that has attributed your failures as a protector, to your fears of the great and powerful Sith. I am what you fear, and as the evils around you distract and take you apart, you continue to instead watch me with cowardly eyes and sacrifice your sheep against my wolves. I have handled your responsibilities for you while you skulk in my shadows, and have done what I have needed to do to see a true Empire rise. I am not here to school you on these histories, but if it is any voice that you would use to speak to me with, it should be one of reverence, for your sarcasm will have you killed where you stand." The conviction in his voice, explained that this was not the dealings of Black Sun. This was life or death. "Do we understand one another, Raven?" King Exodus was merciful, he would start again.
  11. Scratching, brief moments of stubborn static, followed by a rough three seconds of deafening silence. The sonic frequency was erratic but when the connection settled, a much clearer rasp fell upon the uncomfortable board room. His breathing was harsh, heavier than usual, far too close, yet not close enough. And then it wasn't. .. C C R R R R R K K! A sharp and short crunch. Breaking? Delicate bone caving under pressure? What that sound was, could only be confirmed if they had visual. But they didn't. What sounded similar to a body gone slack, dropping with dead weight to the floor, was just conjecture. The labored breaths that once were, now fell quiet. Three-dimensional imagery sprouted from the centerpiece unevenly, the filaments of dry color shorting as the Dark King emerged. This was not the likeness of some hunched, over-cloaked, force-festered blight that stood before them. Here, the crude and able-bodied width of a young conqueror satiated the relay transmissions. The magnitude of his size and imperial stature seemed overwhelming, even by holo-display alone, magnified by the detailed tinctures of armor that covered him from his battle-worn greaves to his neckline. Loose cloth that was both unsparing and thronged, hung from his open cloaked breastplate, strengthening his exalted demeanor. Yet, the color of his battle raiment remained distilled by the simple grey-scale transmissions, so much so that his face was rendered into a distortion, leaving his facial features covered in an obscure mask of shifting shadows. ".. Aaah. And so it begins,"
  12. I M M E R S I O N Darker now, flashes of red blindly punching through the smoke. Blaster bolts. Exodus spread his stance thin, lowering himself nearly into a split. Weak lungs or not, a great many would slowly buckle into a wheeze if they were not wary, dropping below the smog was likely the best option here. The assassin closed his eyes to see what he could not with them open; as far as his natural sight could see, his unnatural mind had a vision that was nearly prophetic in efficiency. The hum of the warship drummed alive with echoes and sounds, senses that heightened him into an apex predator no matter the species he was up against. "I see every last one of them," His voice was charred with the Dark Side, but his answer met the curiosity of the Imperial Officer Bakra. Exodus tumbled forward into a clean roll, organizing enough momentum to torpedo his body like a bullet towards his enemies. It was absurd how his command of the force could accelerate his body the way it did. He spun through the air hard and fast, with the blade of his lightsaber in hand. With the red flare of Transcendence, it looked as if it were a ring of fire that surrounded him as he torpedoed into the fray. The first of his foes caught the brunt of his aerial speed, an aggressive Form IV punched into the Cabal with a force that would have ripped the Trandoshan into two. The assassin missed intentionally, spreading himself out again so that he could stick the landing just behind the stunned foe, driving the width of his red blade through the body of the creature that now stood within his kill zone. Execution of form was flawlessly delivered. The Trandoshan was dead before he could understand how quickly it had happened, his body slowly teetering apart at the seams from what was once whole. The Cabal stood dead, but managed slight movement from his pointed fingertips on his left hand. Exodus heaved upwards, and then diagonally with his weapon before kicking the upper half of his foe over. The left hand of the Trandoshan separated from the wrist, and his head fell clean off from where it just sat moments ago. Before the green-skin came entirely undone, the assassin was on the move again. The speed in which he moved was hard to trace, but he needed them to try. A loud whistle cracked the sound of the chaos all around them. The sound was so naked and powerful, lasting only one full breath, but the hearing of it was what left a gnawing impression. It became a white noise inside of the mind of their enemies, "What is that noise?! Focus, focus, find him! Kill the bastards now! ...What is this force magic? They have reinforcements, they are in the shadows you fools, shoot!" The language was Dosh, so it came across as loud hisses, growls and grunts. The frantic ramblings implied their confusion, and now their desperation. They were beginning to see things, many things, shapes and sounds shuffling their feet behind the veil of low visibility. They aimed high and low, an obvious disorientation scattered across the small airdock in frenzy. Perhaps the Spider was toying with his food. Durasteel screeched off of the flooring, already compromised from the crashing starfighters, but now the metal was being manipulated. Darth Awenydd and her ally Bakra had found a new confidence, now pushing their own offensives. The heaviness of a vibrosword slammed into his crush-gaunt, with an intention to mutilate the Spider, but the quality of the armor-piece was underestimated. Metal clashed with Mandalorian Iron, naturally forcing the Dark King to brace slightly from impact, but the physiology of an Anzati was far superior to most. He adjusted quicker than most could, and immediately seized the weapon with the same hand, holding the Trandoshan closer, close enough that he could smell the rank odor from the underpits of the creature. “Where is the Arkanian Prisoner?” The Cabal hissed in his native tongue, growling obscenities from under his mask that truly answered nothing. The green-skin was rebellious and yanked harder with both arms to free himself, but the cumbersome weight of the vibrosword added to the difficulty. “Pic’ would be ashamed of these rodents.” Exodus leveled the red blade to the face of the Cabal now, silencing the incessant yapping coming from the despicable beast, Dosh was never a pleasant language to listen too. “Cow-erd” The beast tried Basic, so much hate bleeding through those beady eyes. Exodus released the hold on the sword, dropping backwards by a step to avoid blaster fire. All youth and lean muscle came from the Trandoshan now, leaping forward into Exodus, waving the heavy blade in figure eights multiple times before crashing down onto the floor. The Dark King cracked a smile. This time, he ensured eye contact, the brilliant emerald of his eyes showing for the first time as his hood fell from his wolf-mane. For a brief moment, he could see real uncertainty in his opponent’s eyes, almost as if he was questioning his entire life to this point. But it was too late. Advancing. Forward again. The Cabal charged at him with the heavy-blade upheld, going to his foreswing and following it with a backswing. The Spider dodged the first and met the second with his crush-gaunt once more. This time with a force that sent his opponent reeling, but not enough to knock the blade free of his hands. A raving set into the Trandoshan, understanding that his every move was futile. A small storm kicked up in the airdock, circling what he could only describe as a witch, and this man in front of him who was impregnable from the jump. He could see the other Cabal fall from crack shots behind the broken TIE fighter, his attention now scattered. “Focus on me, Trandoshan. You must watch closely, or you will miss the moment that you pass from this life into the next.” The voice of the King was smooth, alluringly so, but the otherworldly pitch of it sounded like he spoke from the grave. Dun Möch. The Trandoshan could not believe the audacity, he stampeded forward now. Swing. Swing. Swing. The first two missed horribly, and the third, a back-swing that lacked strength because of the exhaustion in his muscles. Exodus slapped the heavy-blade from the hands of his opponent and punched into his chest with the same hand, finding flesh and bone. The forearm of the King ate through his opponent as easily as air. The Cabal dropped to a knee, tried to stand, and dropped again. “I will find what I am after, reptile. Now embrace death.” Exodus reached deeper and squeezed, crushing the insides of his opponent, feeling every bit of a warm surrender. The life released from his foe, and so did he, pulling his arm from the idle corpse. Exodus wasted no time and burrowed further, angling his attention now to the enemies that held their choke-point towards the north-western access. He was now the spear.
  13. K I L L Z O N E. The eastern hall swam in an ocean of black, haunting in the way the narrow passageway yawned into nothingness, shadows crawling from the corridor like wisps of buttery smoke. Gunfire suddenly loosened with the drumbeat of a hailstorm, an explosion followed with a vicious eruption that rattled the steel framework all around them. The loud thermal detonation careened the smaller airdock with a crude rumble, devouring whatever stood within a six-meter radius. Blood, screaming, and the chiming of battle saturated the already oppressive air. Yet, from the eastern hollow, another had emerged to enter the fray. The well-heeled leather of his boot was the first to surface from the flush smoke. The obsidian complexion of the cured hide looked rich as it crossed the blood-moistened floorboards, one step before the other in a pair of unhurried steps. It would seem that an Imperial officer, and a familiar Lady of the Sith were hand in glove, two distinct seeds of his Empire. The likeness of a time that had long past, brought nostalgia to his cold heart. A symbolic affinity between the Dark side and the Imperial machine, a union restored by the many hands of the Spider. One he would nourish by the strength he had earned. And as a twist of fate, he wore upon himself a cunning interpretation of the uniform that belonged to the treasonous Imperial Knights, quantifying their insignificance the longer he remained as the head of the snake. He adjusted his gilded bracers, watching interestingly from under the brim of his black hood. "We need to bolt. Pick our fights until we can linkup with the proper ground troops and get real weapons." KING EXODUS HAD COME. The matte cloak that chain-linked into his armor piece whiplashed as he quickened his steps. His movement was unbelievable, a blur if the mind even tried to capture a tenth of the quickness he exercised. The distance between the eastern shadows, and the choke-hold between his kin and the Cabal, was covered in a matter of breaths. An inhale, and an exhale delivered him to the forefront of battle. The devilry of Transcendence activated and was already spinning wildly, the malformed hilt of his lightsaber burning a brilliant red, dancing in front of him as he brushed off the stream of fire headed their way. The archaic weapon was of legendary ilk, a tool of destruction that was synonymous with the All-father of Assassins, one of which would not be recognized from the sight alone of it alone. Whenever the lightsaber did scorch the atmosphere though, a distinct and otherworldly humming could be heard in the eeriest of tones, with every swing and every stir. Retreat was a fair choice by the two, for the vast number of adversaries imbalanced the scale. The appearance of heavy blaster rifles meant that open field combat was not advantageous to the duo, and it was more cunning to funnel them into the dark and take them apart piece by piece. He was sure that was indeed their strategy, for cowardice would have sealed their fate otherwise. "On me." His voice was clear despite the pandemonium, a dreadfully calming elixir, echoing in the minds of Bakra and Fieldgrey. The blowout had kicked up more obscurities on the battlefield, and circumstances had now taken a turn in their favor. The smaller air-dock brimmed with smoke banks that rose from the canisters, fell in pours from the impaired ventilation, steamed wildly from the fallen star-fighters, and now crested from the thermal detonator. Visibility suffered to say the least. Exodus moved forward into the thick of it nonetheless, his dancing blade masterfully rejecting the barrage of blaster-fire coming their way. Heedless of where the blaster munitions came from, Exodus brandished his blade with his dominant left, and re-oriented the bombardment to instead neutralize the Cabal that attempted to surround their position. With his right, he summoned a brawny heave of the Force and peeled the weapons from the enemies that continued to advance from the northwest. A pair of heavy blasters, a few pistols, and a massive vibro-sword slid behind him. If Lady Awenydd and Petty Officer Bakra wished to turn the tide, now was the moment to seize.
  15. Exodus

    Sith Prestige

    PRESTIGE. A Story-Driven System of Reputation Used by the Faction Leader. (UNDER CONSTRUCTION / UNFINISHED) The Sith Empire uses a framework of prestige to determine the value and notoriety of a character within the faction. Prestige is accumulated in more ways than one, and is OOCly configured based on IC participation. Characters that are involved in conquests, raids, tournaments, faction-progressing plots / missions, developmental role-plays, and specific world-building pieces can achieve a cumulative level of prestige within the Sith Empire. Such achievements and involvements can be attributed to the viability in a characters’ succession of rank within their faction, as well as how they are perceived within the dominion of the faction. This framework is RP driven, not stat-based. "RANK" (ACOLYTE/Pre-Apprentice - GREENSKIN/Pre-Lieutenant) (Level I) "RANK" (APPRENTICE - LIEUTENANT) (LEVEL I & II) "RANK" (LORD - GENERAL) (LEVEL I & II) "RANK" (MASTER - SUPREME COMMANDER) (LEVEL I - III) "RANK" (DARK LORD - EMPEROR) (I - IV) * LEGEND: "PRESTIGE TITLE" (APPROXIMATE RANK VALUE OF PRESTIGE) (PRESTIGE LEVEL) PRESTIGE LEVEL I, II, III, IV. & REPUTATION. Prestige levels and Reputation do not directly correlate. Levels are documented by the faction leader to better categorize the effectiveness of the PCs involved in his or her faction. Reputation is a culmination of involvements/accomplishments/contributions of a particular faction PC, as well as their continued activity in the RP. Prestige levels are used to theorize the overall capabilities and skill of an individual within their respective faction rank (used as an estimation, not as fact). Reputation will deal with how familiar they are within the faction due to their exploits, and what is generally available to them based on how they are perceived. This will make it easier, narratively speaking, for characters to have control over their creations, and make use of faction resources with a bit more diligence and regulation from the faction leader. Role-play is key, and coordination between characters will lead to a more authentic experience. PRESTIGE CAN RESET IF INACTIVE FOR 6 MONTHS REPUTATION RESETS IF INACTIVE FOR 6 MONTHS. ALL ELEMENTS OF PRESTIGE AND REPUTATION MUST BE APPROVED BY FACTION LEADER. First Prestige The narrative listed here generally governs what is possible for a character that has freshly acquired a new faction rank, inheriting a slight power spike from their previous faction rank. Although capable of holding their own in most combat situations against those of equivalent prestige, there are still limits to what they are capable of. Even though it is possible to operate with new abilities that are more suitable to this new equivalency of faction rank, first prestige generally lacks the experience to be masterful of the tools now inherited in their new rank. These individuals can represent the upper crust of the militants within the faction nonetheless, adepts who are able to quickly engage a target in front of them with sufficient speed and accuracy, they can overwhelm the average adversary or NPC without hesitation, but may be faced with lesser experience when engaged with multiple opponents at once, not displaying the same conviction in their new ranking. Second Prestige These are those who have commanded the reins of their rank and show that they are capable of impressive proficiency in combat and are able to manage their focus more accurately. After trials and tribulations geared towards honing body, mind, and soul (or lack thereof) these individuals have shown exemplary tenacity, and confidence in the capabilities that was previously reserved in the infancy of their distributed faction rank. This is the evolution of their role, and also the stepping stone to ascending them to a new level of prestige or a furtherance in the ranks of their faction. Third Prestige Some of the most powerful individuals in the galaxy, they are capable of manipulating the force or their bodies in the most masterful of ways. Dangerous in every sense of the word, these individuals are able to quickly engage with multiple opponents, even when surrounded, and are able to quickly turn on enemies in ways that seem to push the very limits of what is physically possible. Their reflexes have been attuned to the extreme and their speed and reactions develop accordingly. If it is the Force that they command, then their rule of it now wanders the realm of true mastery, ingenious in their applications of it. Force or not, these individuals can push the attack while brandishing a robust defense, even against numerous offensives. These are some of the most unparalleled wielders of their rank, vastly exceptional and sparsely found. Tread carefully around these, for the limits of what they can do are uncharted. Fourth Prestige La crème de la crème, these individuals are supremely beyond compare. Seldom do you see them anywhere in the galaxy, unless they are at the head of the most powerful of factions. They are crowned masters of their mandate, and have chronicled an unquestionable legacy etched into the stones of their faction. Whether or not they can command the force, their sensory organs have mushroomed into near-perfection. They are an army all on their own, and should be feared as such. Either by physical ability, mental acuity, or a consummation of both, these individuals are divine by their very nature. They can withstand immeasurable punishment, while reciprocating that tenfold. REPUTATION 1.1 Hated / Condemned 1.2 Hostile / Inhospitable 1.3 Unfriendly / Unfavorable 1.4 Neutral 1.5 Friendly ? 1.6 Honored ? 1.7 Revered ? 1.8 Exalted Neutral 1.4 These characters are a dime a dozen, commonplace amidst the faction. The character is not a stand-out, no matter the narrative belief that they may have, or the regard in which they carry themselves. Their impact to the faction is smaller than minimal and it may be difficult for them to pool the necessary resources to accomplish personal quests of progression. This is where nearly every single character starts from within the faction, and as they continue to notch their accomplishments on their journey, they will notice that their influence and reputation will grow. “Title” 1.5 These characters and their name (or alias) is a little more known inside of their faction, and perhaps shared in their inner circles. They have found their mark, and may hold a particular leadership role of some sort. Their involvement in faction-based orientations are present, and continue in a constructive manner. The ability to command and acquire resources opens up a bit more, and this is required of them in order to generate a foothold/powerbase within the faction (task forces, NPCs, planetary bastions, etc). Coordination is key, and will loan to the potency of a characters’ rise within the faction. You’ll notice on the Prestige Tracker, that the character will have now have Glory added to their rankings.
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