Jump to content

All Activity

This stream auto-updates     

  1. Yesterday
  2. Of all of the emotions one would think that Zalis, the Queen of Vice would be feeling as she had her ship, Lucky Strike navigate the Akkadese Maelstrom towards the planet, many would not have guessed nauseated, but she was. The idea of the whole situation brewing on the surface brought up many scenarios playing out in her head, all of which had many of the legitimate companies she owned or had high stock in could come crashing down around what was transpiring or could transpire. At that was her sole purpose in making the run as fast as she could to get here. Not to respond to the Black Sun's call for agents to help defend it if they could, but rather to protect her own agendas, which could do more damage to the Sith Empire and Rebellion, which in turn would hurt her own business. She stood behind the pilot droid, PD-087, who was navigating as best it could with its high tech gear. She couldn't care less how the droid actually did it, so long as it got her planet side safely. As the ship moved, she got her dress off, which revealed bare minimum clothing, to which she quickly but her weapon belt and straps on, followed by her brown leather jacket and combat boots. She needed to make sure that she was in a position to defend her assets, no matter what. "Ma'am, there are a few reports coming in quickly. It seems to be several small insurgents attempting take overs at multiple locations. I will try to find the least dense populated are-" "No- swing me over near the processing plants. I want to protect them." She didn't give the droid a chance to respond, she began to walk back towards the landing ramp. She knew what she was about to do, and the droid knew its role in all of it. She opened the landing ramp, having sirens from within the ship blare at her in warning, which were quickly drowned out by the loud whoosh of wind that took over. She zipped up her jacket and and stepped down onto the landing ramp towards the edge, holding onto one of the gears that held the ramp. She looked towards where the ship was headed and saw what she needed to see. Lucky Strike was moving quick and low towards one of landing pads, and she saw her moment. She stepped off the ramp and leaned backwards in a quick fall over the landing pad. She used a trick she learned when escaping crime bosses she would assassinate from high buildings on Coruscant. She spun herself backwards so that she would land without a lot of impact upon her own bones and joints. As she landed, she pulled out two blasters and began to pour fire towards those that began to oppose her as she moved hurriedly towards defending the processing plant.
  3. ”No brute force does not control a mind, brute force crushes a mind.” he said with almost a whisper almost to himself. Crushing the beasts mind was not what he wanted to do but it was the first step. He had stopped the beast in its track it was no longer trying to kill him but he did have its full attention. Camik started at the beast and did not blink. He was a Cathar dominance was something he was born into. He and his people might have been subjected, their true nature had only been suppresses not removed. He took this lesson as he began to use the force to press himself onto the beasts mind. He could feel its hunger and rage and he used it. He used the image of himself and the rage teh beast felt and started to overlay a different emotion to it. He tied the rage the beast felt for Camik specifically and twisted it. He worked to change what triggered the emotions. Hunger would now only be sated when it would be directed by Camik. Rage was no longer directed at Camik but rage was now for everyone but Camik. He could see that Camik was doing protecting it, and looked out for it. Camik worked to bring this beast into his Pride. As he did this Camik let loose a roar. It was a primal sound and one that he had felt he had needed to be done. With that roar he let loose emotions that he built up over his life. The roar was primal, something that all beings would feel in their primal brains. With that roar he cemented himself into the beast social structure and placed his own dominance over it. Camik was the Alpha here and his will would not allow for anything but complete subservience.
  4. The still air of Kessel went about, the small R3 unit and his companion unphased by the usual atmospheric conditions as they traversed the desolate rock and dust. Remo's red photoreceptor darted about vicariously, scanning the areas inch by inch as his wheels stirred through the muck. It really wasn't a place he'd prefer, but with the Black Sun's dire needs, it was a necessity. After all, if you wanted something done right, one must get their own hands, or in his case, wheels dirty. Which led them to the power relay station, the churning of the generator's gears echoing distantly. With a few clicks of the small droid's receptacle, it wasn't hard to slice his way inside, each door presenting a dulling scenery not unlike the last. They were truly in dire need of cleaning droids, to say the least, dust and atmospheric carbon latent upon everything placed within, like layers of soot placed upon layers of ages past. Yet, for Remo, it was meaningless. He just needed to win over the inhabitants of this baseless world, not dwell upon it. With a few clicks more, the large blast door opened to reveal the main computer inward, likely intertwined with the others that gave this rock its atmosphere. And as his photoreceptor scanned the area, forms began to appear upon his memory banks, all fallen corpses, save for one. His gaze shot from the fallen forms back to the one standing near the computer, then back to the fallen, and finally resting upon the Neimodian with a cold stare. What could only be translated as "Hello" escaped his binary vocal cords. "Step away from the Computer, Neimodian." Zepex instructed firmly behind Remo as the droids stepped across, and in Remo's case, rolled around the corpses. "Master R3-M0 requires it." As for Remo, he sat in almost dead silence, his gaze fixated upon the form before him with unspoken intent. Only the droid truly knew what was upon his mind.
  5. Last week
  6. “Go and see to it that the Jedi do not sully the force, again, Defender Sarlacc. Tarry not, for the Jensaarai are needed elsewhere. Divert the droid army to the cause of light and then go search the shadows for friend and foe. Seek the truth.” The Saarai-Kaar spoke, his words slow and deliberate. Rising from a kneeling position, The Sarlacc locked eyes with the leader of his order. Determination shone in his pupil-less eyes. “That we may find it where it might be found Saarai-Kaar.” The Sarlacc clapped his fist to his armored chest with a thump in salute before turning and exiting the chamber deep within The Bastion. Gliding silently through the aged and darkened halls, the Jensaarai Defender made his way back out of the core of the Jensaarai’s base and wound his way through the ship until he was outside. From there he made a cautious arc through the landscape of Artus Prime to where the Asha’ajak was nestled amongst the outcroppings of rock and scraggly brush. Boarding the ship, the armored monk made his way down the hall until he saw Svata. Pausing he offered wrinkled forehead in warm delight at seeing the aged apprentice. “Brother Svata. We have much to accomplish and even more to uncover along the way. Join me and we will find our new brother. Then we will be off.” Leading the Ryn down the hall to Bones’ door, The Sarlacc stopped and rapped his knuckles against the door to Bones’ quarters once. The metal rang with the fierceness of the touch. When the door slid open, The Sarlacc looked the Tognath up and down, taking in the grizzled experience of the young being in a glance. “Greetings Brother. Time is short. We have little time for drawn out discussion. Defender Sun Dragon has told me much of your training. You will find that he and I differ in many of our ways; but we are both Jensaarai. We all,” he reached a hand towards Bones and placed the other on Svata’s shoulder, “are Jensaarai. Come, walk with us.” Leading their trio down the halls towards the bridge in silence, save for the muted hubbub of a ship as it prepped to launch, they made their way to the bridge. Even on a ship of such size, the crew acted in relative silence, trained and honed to carry out their duties quietly so as to mask their signatures to any would be scanners. On the bridge, the lanky Duros turned to the captain and spoke a single word, “Mechis.” With a nod, the captain’s fingers flew across his control panels sending flurries of crewmen moving like the well-oiled machine that they were. They were more than that. They were brothers. They were Jensaarai. Their survival depended on it. Turning to Bones and Svata, The Sarlacc raised an inquisitive eyebrow ridge. “The Jedi, a mythical order; but one you know to be real. Just as the Jensaarai are real. Still, we, compared to the Jedi are, are wraiths of shadowy myth compared to them. History would tell you the Jedi are legendary heroes of peace and justice. The powers that seek to control the galaxy paint them as rebellious warmongers, agents of chaos, and zealots that would murder for their cause. What is truth? What truths have you learned of the Jedi? and the Jensaarai?”
  7. Raven Nasra

    Nubia

    Beep Beep “Commander. Incoming transmission from the colonial militia.” Commander Schillingsfürst looked up from his ale, then quickly wiped off his desk from the scattered datapads and covertly placed the jar of homebrew ale under the counter where the hologram would not pick it up. He wiped at her moustache and beard, the ran a hand through his greying hair. “Understood, send it through.” The light haired woman in the uniform of a militia subaltern. A Lieutenant of lesser rank, and one that had apparently taken the short straw of perimeter duty. “Commander, a floating hulk just emerged from hyperspace, the derelict is marked from the De’Subar line. A defunct passenger service from the time of the last war. Archivists can find nothing about it, but initial scans mark it as lifeless.” Schillingsfürst nodded solemnly to the screen. “Send tugs and a TIE escort, bring the reck into the quarantine port of the shipyards.” He sighed and keyed off the comm and holo transceiver. Then went back to sipping the delicious ale that had lost most of its foamy head while hidden.
  8. There were a lot of things that Nok might have guessed would be useful in getting inside the shield relay station. His weapons, his growing mastery of the Force, his experience in sabotage... His neimoidian sense of smell was not on that list. Nok had been jogging towards the shield relay station, relying on the spoken instructions of his comm device to compensate for his blindness. He had estimated he was less than a mile out when an acrid stench wafted past him. Nok's neimoidian scent glands, not covered by his respirator, got a full blast of the odor, and even as his eyes watered the smell triggered a memory. Nok had once owned a small ore refinery that had smelled just like this, and if he remembered right it had come from the building's old generator. A Naboo model, it had been built to run off of Naboo-mined plasma. When the whims of history ensured that the sparkling blue stuff was too expensive to import, people like Nok had turned to artificially grown plasma to keep their machines running. Problem was the impurities in the manufactured plasma burned up when it was used, and it stank like nothing Nok had ever known. And if they were using artificial plasma, then they were using a Naboo model generator, and Nok had crawled around in his own generator enough to know the usual layout. Granted, he'd been doing it to blow it up in an insurance scheme, but he figured the experience translated. Mentally chuckling at how uncreative he'd been in those early days, Nok had followed his "nose" to find the exhaust port, and as he predicted there had been a maintenance hatch. It was locked and sealed of course, but once again the Naboo obsession with safety measures got Nok what he wanted. A slight Force push on the right mechanisms inside the door and he tricked it into thinking there was a sudden pressure build-up inside and that someone was trying to work the inner latch. With a hiss and a squeal it popped open, and Nok crawled down into it and towards the relay station. Now, Nok was hooking up his datapad into the station's main computer. The bodies of two techs who'd had the misfortune to be doing maintenance lay a few feet behind him, bleeding out from the necks. The twitching body of an astromech lay a couple yards further back, the blast mark on its head smoking. So long as he wasn't interrupted, this wouldn't take long...
  9. Zendrin

    Corellia

    The Jedi was smart, his silver tongue kept Kahla on her toes. "Then who decides what can and can't be studied?" She allowed the boy to continue. As he spoke about the impact of the Sith like a fuel, an affront to nature she hesitated. "And similarly to that inefficient fuel, the dark side is in abundance, it is better, and damned the cost of the natural world. Again, morality can't beat results." For a moment Kahla pushed her feelings aside in favour of her steely calculations. She had the fullest intent to learn from her master. Not just on the power she could wield but the philosophy. Her mind wandered however, remembering what happened to not just herself, but her crew. The things they'd been through together, their eventual triumph, the feeling of success that washed over herself and her closest allies; her friends. Her mind began to torment her, torture her with the memory of their faces, first in celebration, then in fury, fear, and finally in death. The things they did to each other, torn down to their baser instincts, fighting for nothing more than survival, self preservation. She remembered enjoying the feeling of the saber cutting them down, the look in their eyes as she mercilessly struck them down, one after another. What could he be thinking right now? The things she's put him through, moreover the things that he must be enduring. She couldn't just double back on her word now; but maybe she could make things slightly more barrable. In her distraction she failed to notice the Jedi's saber being summoned to his hand. Kahla was pushed against the plated hall, grasping for understanding of what happened. When her mind caught up to her the boy was bolting for the door. For a brief moment she locked eyes with Mordecai before drawing her blaster pistol and unleashing a flurry of bolts in his direction, one of which catching the blast door release ahead of him.
  10. The first shot that sailed towards Char was crippling, winging and disabling his entire left side. The next two were lethal. The drone’s last noises before the blaster fire squared him away was a beep of pain. The Water Beetle, who was so eager to fulfill any command given to him, fell lifelessly through the air like a stone before exploding in a small ball of fire. Mozo was slightly more lucky as the shot went just to his right. The explosion that occurred barely fazed him, but the beep that had come just a millisecond earlier had enraged him. Having heard his companion’s death cry, he began to honk in anger and try to circle the pilot’s backside, away from her sidearm. It’s gun swiveled a top its body, firing twice at the chair. Xar had ordered her death, and she had killed his partner. Xar would be beyond displeased if both drones failed this task. While the lone drone tried to finish it’s task, Xar was busy with the astromech. It had denied him. It had declared its loyalty to the puny organic being. When the astromech turned off its engines, Xar was surprised. Xar couldn’t help but wonder if the little astromech didn’t care for its own survival. When the astromech attempted the electroshock Xar, he knew that the little droid must have had a death wish. The electricity was enough to short out Xar for about two seconds, forcing him to fall limp and separate from the droid,. As his own sensor came back on, he had a glimpse of the astromech’s own eye sensor. Rage filled the Hunter-Trainer droid once again, forcing him to forget why he had attempted to grab onto the droid in the first place. This little machine was trouble. “You wish to serve your inferior master so well?” Xar cried out as he raised both arms and aimed his forearm blasters. “Then die with her!” At a distance of a meter at most, Xar opened fire, giving two shots aimed at the droid’s eye. (2)
  11. Wrath was like a storm, unrelenting, wild, and powerful. It was ample in it destruction, leaving nothingness in its wake. For Shiro, it had been his awakening. It was the flowing current ever pushing toward the mouth of the ocean, blackened and deep. But it was a simply introduction, incapable of being steered without aid. It simply swept him toward his destination, his fate. And when he accessed it, opened himself up to it, it simply took him forward in time blindly and unstoppable to the point of injury. But Pride was the oar, capable of steering Shiro even amidst the raging storm. It was the Captain of the Sea, undeterred in his war against nature. It was logic in chaos. Where Wrath would sweep him, Pride would give control. It was the perfect combination of a perfect storm, powerful and yet honed, strength with sight. Shiro could see it even as he contemplated the potential of the blade. The Force he grasped at was its Forge, and he, the Blacksmith. Yet, what would be the material? Shiro opened his gaze upon the bubbling brooke, then shifted it toward the boiling sea, scanning along the darkened beach head. The bodies along it no longer existed, nor did the materials that they adorned. A few links of wood swayed in the crashing waves further down the shore as the sea boiled with his Master. But as his gaze shifted back toward the brooke, something familiar caught his eye. His shoulder ached with grotesque pain as the memory replayed its self, the darkened maw reaching up from the bloodied sands as it swallowed flesh and bone from its socket, a worthy sacrifice made in what appeared to be vain. Yet now, the ivory form sat with inches sticking from its grave, flesh and bone boiling separate from the heat the sea emitted, the flesh leathered across the cooked meat as it dripped into the sand from bone. Shiro grinned as he Rose and made his way over, pulling his former arm from its placement and laying it before him. Gathering his blade from the sheath near his ankle, Shiro sliced away flesh and meat, stripping the white ivory bone from it. Was this the purpose of his sacrifice before he became one of them? He didn't possess the time nor care to question, something within driving him forward. Laying strips of hide to the side, he continued until only the white ivory remained laying before him and a weapon began forming in his mind at the sight of the bones, most notably the Humurus and Scapula bones. And so he set forth to forging what he envisioned. The Humurus would make a great handle, whether for this weapon or any other, a true extension of himself like his arm once was. The Scapula was more brunt than he liked, but with a few chisels of his blade, it's own edge began to form. But muscle and ligament were boiled and cooked away, leaving the joining almost improbable until he gazed at the hide he had stripped away. His blade in hand, Shiro began to carve away at the bone until the Scapula could fit solidly into the Humurus and the hide grown strong enough in the boiling waters to rejoin together. And as the last of the hide was tied tightly together with his teeth and hand, Cathar would inexplicably resound in his creation. "Bone of my bone, forged in the fashion of those who destroyed, may my Wrath and Pride be heard." The voice echoed in his head as his Maater emerged from the Sea and her cackle brough his gaze up from the ivory to meet her own horrific form. Shiro smiled with a nod, and turned his focus inward and to the blade, letting his memories imprint themselves upon his creation. Wrath brought forth his childhood, his slavery, his pain. And Pride brought forth his escape, his rise in the Arena, and now his rise as a Sith Apprentice. As each of these memories and emotion flowed through Shiro and into the Blade, it echoed and mirrored his own intent. And as he stood, the axe seemed to drip with power visually. With each swing and test of the blade, power flowed forth from it, the darkness within seeping and splattering from its form into the direction of its aim like blood. Satisfied, Shiro sheathed the blade on his hip and made his way toward his Master, the Pride evident in his eyes and his silence.
  12. Sheog the Mad

    Nubia

    The HSD Bourbonne erupted from hyperspace above the temperate world of Nubia, death in its wake. It had come from no particular hyperlane exit point and was far distant for a viable approach vector for any of the major cities. From a distance, the C-3 Passenger Liner looked alive with its hull painted in the blues and greens of the De’Subar crest, but to scanners everything was far from alive. The transponder had reverted to the long lost ISL Thesuvious, which had been designated as lost with all hands on the Pabol-Sleheyron route in Hutt Space nearly two decades past. There were no less than ten hull breaches which streamed oxygen like banners as the ship hurtled through the orbital space of Nubia. The hull at every breach was curled outwards as if by massive contained explosions, and parts of the scarred hull was stained crimson, pitted and marked by corrosion as by direct application of acid. The Passenger Liner’s speed began to decrease, its autopilot finally failing, leaving it at the mercy of the gravitational pulls of the Traxel planets and the other worlds of the Nubus system. A single repeating line of dialogue repeated on the longwave emergency broadcast: It showed a haggard humanoid, standing upon the bridge of the unfortunate vessel. His features were greyed, and his uniform was disheveled, but still showed his ranking as a boatswain’s mate, a man who had little reason to be in command. He stared at the decking at his feet, curled and corroded durasteel stained with greens and reds. His lip quivered and he could barely look at the camera as he spoke in a gravelly, frightened voice, “The hunger… it overcomes us all. It is our very nature." He took a bite of his own hand, screaming as he tore through the pale flesh, severing tendons, teeth grinding on bone. As he chewed, the camera faded to static and the message began to repeat.
  13. Fieldgrey

    Cathar

    As the apprentice worked, Awenydd burned within the ocean, an unending fire of pain and destruction. Powers of destruction were at their heart an ouroboros, providing to in turn consume. The ocean’s waves above had taken a green edge, white squalls forcing them to peak and crash with thunder. She felt wrath above, cloaked in pride, even as her mind was absorbed by pain. The force would answer her apprentice’s desire. A blade would form as he forged into it the warrior’s path. From the waves, the Sith Lord crawled. Her flesh was scalded, boiling, charred. The skin wept from her left arm in trails of smoking rot. She stared at her apprentice with eyes that were wholly different then when she had entered the ocean; they held a maniacal fire within them. The white of her eyes had turned a charcoal black. The irises were as crimson as the Maw Nebula. Her pupils were as dark as the heart of the Maw. She was laughing. Bright laughter that tinkled through the crashing waves. A laughter that would warm the heart of even a stranger. “Come now. Finish you blade, we have a long walk to find a ship.” ((OOC: Pour your everything, every lesson, your very essence as a warrior into this sword of yours. It'll come in handy in the fights to come.))
  14. Terra’s eyes began to water as she was washed in the brilliant color-storm of the X-Wing’s battle as Hades passed through, rocketing both the ship and its rider towards the pockmarked surface of the spice asteroid. She lulled her head back, letting the slight gravitational pull of the decent lay her back in the Basilisk’s saddle. The radiance of the Maw Nebula reflected in her dilated pupils, the snaking lines of iridescent mercurial purple and yellow helium painted upon the background of red hydrogen. She breathed in a lungful of recycled air from the lines that connected her beskar’gam to the shimmering blackness of Hades’ armor. …Master… The Mandalorian stretched, arching her back and cracking her neck with a tug on her buy’ce. Setapoite’s sarcastic voice cut into her mind. …There is Cryterkyh processing plant at… 45.72, -95.432. Target priority alpha. Adjacent to main city and the Rebellion's warefare. Terra’s HUD displayed the planetary topographic, and the image spun to highlight a deep crater on the northwestern hemisphere. The processing plant was set into the southern face, taking advantage of the crater wall to be eternally in shadow. According to readings, the plant had four access tunnels from landing pads and uncharted access points from the innumerable caverns that ran throughout the asteroid. The processing center itself was an immense, underground monolith as high as 15 stories throughout and roughly a rectangle seven-hundred meters on its longest side and three-hundred on its shortest. The relatively weak sandstone of the roof would be supported by durasteel crossbeams and pillars of permacrete spaced every 10 meters. The Mandalorian took a sideways glance at her explosive ordinances and her mind began to churn through mental math. They would be hard pressed to bring down two-hundred and ten square kilometers of even sandstone with their paltry supply. Harjav whistled the team’s awe at the sprawling complex map. There would be innumerable machines and supply-crates of glitterstim, all photoactive and hazardous. The squad of Basilisk-riders turned their metallic beasts toward the northwest hemisphere, dodging x-wings and criminal fighters as they made their approach. The blaring of a small alarm caused Terra to wrench about in her saddle, a beam of light from an anti-infantry turret scorching through where her head had been an instant before. Four DF-9 batteries and two 1.4 FD P-Towers were identified, disguised into the crater’s irregular edge, spitting forth their fire against the oncoming Mandalorians. The fire of the defense batteries was irregular and uncoordinated, evidenced by the spaced and terrible targeting. Terra’s teeth ground out sparks. How I wish I had the Xaakzaamheid and her railguns… Hades’ claws dragged against the sandstone as it flattened nearer to the surface to avoid the combined fire. Even ineffective fire could get lucky. Terra selected the Taim & Bak KX5 laser cannons that were mounted under the Basilisk’s forward arms while she unslung her own slugthrower. With a blink, she sent bouts of red flame into one of the DF-9s, and as it exploded, she aimed in on the fleeing gunnery crew. Their anti-vacuum suits each had an explosive mounted on the belt which kept her finger from the trigger of her rifle. Her voice rang out over the crew-comms, as she winced “Gunnery is slave crews, use ion.” Hades toggles the H9 Ions under the nose and her fire turned to an electric blue. Within seconds, the rest of the basilisks opened up with azure flame, gutting the remaining defenses without loss of life. Banking down, the basilisks landed upon the northmost landing pad, surrounding a Xebi-Class freighter whose crew was desperately attempting to load black plasticene-wrapped glitterstim into the hold. Slipping from the saddle, Terra sent a three-round burst through a Twi’lek trooper, her lekku twitching as she hit the ground, her useless blaster pistol skittering across the decking. Harjav put a bullet through a Quarren holding a fragmentation grenade and Aorn put down the remaining defender, a Mon Calamari who seemed to be about to surrender. The squad secured the area, disabling the loading droids, shutting down the engine block, and sealing the ship for it would not do for anyone else to claim the disabled ship as a prize. Terra turned to the yawning tunnel and activated her commlink to the Rebel Commander, “Forlorn Hope moving to disable Cryterkyh Plant, will report once secure.”
  15. Genesis

    Corellia

    I stopped, a grin upon my face as I gazed upon the Master and Apprentice. Perhaps in another life, where ambition and tranquility did not separate us, we could have been allies or even friends. But not in this one. I held strong to my convictions and beliefs just as strongly as the two before me. Such was life, a difference of views clashing against one another with no true winner or philosophy. Just opinions and debates. Nothing more. "Some things just aren't meant to be studied." I spoke first, in reply, to the Apprentice. "Fuel is a precious commodity, and yet you must destroy nature to gain it, and destruction is left in your wake. But if another, less destructive and eco friendly option is viable, why not pursue it? Because it would cost more? Because the gain wouldn't bring enough profit? The darkside is no different. Jedi move with the Force rather than against it, not bend it to our will and disrupt its flow like the Sith." My gaze then shifts to Mordecai, the smirk still adorning my face as the Force flowing around us begins to slowly pick up intensity, the torrential pour of it flowing forth like the rapids before the waterfall. "Perhaps in another life, we could have been allies, perhaps even friends..." I speak, my mind focused upon the thought of what a friendship like that could be. "But for now you stand here an enemy, perversing my words and making them hollow. If the Jedi Order is truly meant to die out, then let it. Such is the path of nature, civilizations and religions rising and falling across the Galaxy's small life. But for millennia before the birth of your own corrupted Order, the Galaxy knew peace and balance under the Jedi. It was only when the fallen chose to study the Forbidden, the unnatural, that the Force became cursed with the birth of the Sith Order and the enslavement and destruction of those your Order's namesake derives. My gaze briefly shifts to my own blade clipped to his form, myself drawing upon the Force flowing around us and willing it to me. "Let nature take its course, no matter the outcome..." With that, my blade flew toward me and I found its familiar feeling within my hand, inactivate, as I unleashed a torrential push of the Force in their direction, the men behind me clambering to quickly subdue me. I would have no choice, despite my wounds, to act quickly. Blade activated, I spun toward the men grasping at me, it's aqua hue cleaving through the metal form of their rifles as I pushed myself up and over them. Without looking back, I took off back from wence I came. I had to reach Master Armiena and Ryu quickly as I could.
  16. Leena Kil

    Scarif

    Leena pulled back instinctively as Sandy sat up with a scream that shattered the calm sound of water lapping at the ship’s hull. Her eyes were wide with surprise. She had not expected the Jedi master to return so . . . suddenly. Having little to offer, Leena tried to hand the master whatever larger scraps of robe she could still reach. Smiling at Sandy politely, Leena gingerly placed a forceful hand on the woman’s shoulder and pushed her back down on the hull. “You are not fully healed yet Master Sarna.” Sandy may be a master, and therefore outrank her, but here, in this situation, medical bay or field medic, Leena was the medical provider; Sandy her patient. It warmed the Mon Cal’s soul to see the Jedi pulled back from the brink and she silently thanked the force that still radiated freely around them; the healing waves of light pulsing silently about them. “You must rest.” She continued, nodding as Sandy spoke briefly of knighthood. It was encouraging for Leena doubted strongly if she was capable enough to ascend the ranks of the Order, but in this moment, those thoughts were pushed aside. Her focus remained on and in the force, serving as a conduit and guide to help accelerate the Master’s natural healing, drawing on the calmness about them and infusing it with light and peace. Radiation was not a simple broken limb, it was a dark power that hid in the recesses of health, light, and life. Leena was encouraged by the Jedi’s recovery, but still, she immersed herself in the force, seeking out the darkness where it hid. She, Tali, and Sandy had all been exposed and would need treated; but Sandy had taken the brunt of the blow beneath the waves. After several minutes, the calm air was pierced by the low throb of engines as the vessel that had deposited them here returned to retrieve them. Jumping into the near craft, Leena grabbed a blanket and scrambled back out, draping it around Sandy’s shoulders. “No sense giving everyone a show.” She smiled playfully as she offered a hand to help the Master into the craft. As soon as they were all aboard, they set about making their return to shore and Tali’s village.
  17. The light atmosphere of Kessel rushed past her helmet in a constant roar and Beth was glad for the small reserves of air that were captured in the tank attached to her left thigh. It wasn’t enough for 24 hours of life on the surface, but it was enough to wait for the evacuation shuttle. Or, more likely, getting enslaved by whatever the Sith would bring with those damned shuttles. She visually checked that the E-22 blaster carbine was still strapped into its harness beside her then her eyes sought after the disintegrating X-wing in the distance. “Kriffing hell I-” There appeared to be two objects rocketing up towards her ejection seat. She could not make them out specifically, but the pale sunlight glinted off their exteriors enough to tell her that something was in fact coming straight towards her, from the droid that had taken off her S-Foils. She was just reaching for the pull line of the blaster carbine when the first blue tinged bolt smacked into the seats padding next to her helmet, spraying her with little chunks of impact foam. The next three bolts span past the seat entirely, diffusing into the pale atmosphere behind her falling ejection seat. And Beth pulled the carbine up from its straps and slapped the slide release with a gloved hand, arming the blaster carbine as she brought the iron sights into alignment with the weaving orbs. This was certainly outside her training purview, and shooting from an ejector seat at two small droids would be hard, but they were closing the distance and when the first dodged into her sight picture she depressed the trigger. Sending a burst of three bright crimson bolts towards the first little droid, she then adjusted her aim to the second, letting it settle for a millisecond before shooting at it as well. But those little bots had not been idle and a single blast of energy grazed along the side of her face, numbing her cheek and filling her eyes with tears of pain. She furiously blinked them away as the altimeter on her wrist ticked towards zero. For R9-DT, or as his master had dubbed him in her tireless enthusiasm, ‘Dimitri,’ the story was equally terrifying. Though as an Astromech he was particularly programmed to feel fear, the sight of a giant droid with literal claws jumping at him was enough to give his circuits a taste of it. The metal behemoth spoke to Dimitri and the words he spoke was enough to develop a bead of hate in the little droid. Though he only spoke in binary, he thought his tone carried. “I do say how dare you. I would never!” And the claws dug into his chassis, dragging the larger droid along with him, though the power of his rocket boosters couldn’t save them both. Only slow their descent. But Dimitri had no such ambitions. He was a droid of the Rebellion, he had honour to uphold. Even if that meant his own destruction. He cut power to his boosters before ejecting his shock probe. And proceeded to dump half of his battery reserves in an effort to electrocute the other droid. As they plummeted with all the grace of a meteorite towards the ground. It was doubtful that it would work, but it was all Dimitri could do. And of that he was proud.
  18. Exodus

    Corellia

    3 CORONATION Inside the kill radius. Strands of electrical currents blinked in and out of the darkness where Exodus stood. Long and unspun sparks of energy rolled from his dreadplate armor, flickering anywhere inside of five feet from the King, like remarkable uneven stitching to the dark fabric of space this field of battle was immersed in. Wellsprings of dark power smelted these halls now as the repulsion of raw force superheated the very air they breathed. Metal alloy warped crudely against mechanical whines, loud hissing leaking profusely from ruptured pipes; destruction began to undress this passageway. The Assassin King drank this in deeply, indulging as his lungs expanded wide to fill the scathing strength he had just unleashed on the Goliath, fixing to unchain another. Sweat stewed underneath his armor, beading his body in flushes that he was too distracted from to feel. Open flesh wounds bled freely, stretched by shrapnel and draped in nothing but affluent cloth, these he acknowledged as they roused a competitive fire inside of him. Discipline ensured his respirations remained controlled however, that his mind was sharpened to the details of the threats that faced him and nothing else, optimizing for an endurance unlike any other. A maelstrom of the force began to exhume from beneath the Dark King that surged to the surface in seething vapors, seemingly organic in it’s evolution from the spheric detonation just a few breaths prior, forcibly altering the simulated sense of gravity directly around him. It was as if the air around the Dark King cooked absent of any heat, telekinetically overcharging before their eyes. Ryu fell and then reawakened, enduring a very visible metamorphosis before the final draw. Draygo stirred as well, wheeling as a hawk-bat, famished for the last dance. “At long last,” Exodus smiled knowingly beneath his fang-toothed mask. The passing of the torch; two far-famed names that had made their mark before the assassin had crawled from the backwater regions of space, both Ryu and Draygo of an aureated era, drenched in a time of blood and war. The Butcher of Gala would now chance a claim to both names, imprinting his growing legend to the legacies they had carved, immortalizing the beginning of his conquest with a Sith Empire more powerful than any that had stood before. Exodus put all else from his mind as he faced his opponents. Advancing towards him came the formless rage of Ryu, and the vainglory of Draygo in Ataru. Exodus redoubled within the Way of the Rancor, inviting the reckless abandon of the ungainly duet with an outstretched dark blade, pointing in their direction. It was unmistakable that the Assassin would not adhere to the philosophy of moderation over aggression, for Exodus was a vicious duelist who favored brutal power moves and had little contrition against lashing out on his foes with physical and efficient savagery. This disposition was accented by his unruly command of the dark side of the Force, actively drawing on his subtle rage in combat to fuel. Quite clearly, his employment of Niman maneuvers incorporated the use of Force powers chained into combat sequences, to compensate for the numbers against him in this battle. His full height dipped as he half-loaded his balance and weight into his thighs, widening his stance. The hilt of his blade appeared sentient even in the black of space, gamey with an embedded laurel wreath that hung from the handgrip, reserved only for those who had fought in foregoing wars, signaling that Exodus had ended an entire campaign with the draw of his blade. Exodus was everything a conqueror could be and yet, the weapon inside of his hand demanded more. Ryu let out a howl, a horrible layered moan that evidenced his manic depression. “Soon, I will end your suffering.” Exodus lifted his hands high, quietly channeling the maturing residuum of his force repulse. He spun his blade in a quick full-moon motion, cutting the air with a whooshing of plasma and a heavy crackle of disruption as arcing lightning poured forward from the confused Arkanian. Exodus pivoted backwards to avoid the reckless firing, but the energy caught the blade of Draygo and reoriented itself into multiples, trimming the strength of the force but catching into his arm, which only raised to brace himself from the surprise, while the rest broke into the ground around him. Exodus reeled as quivering power crawled his body, electrifying a biting numbness throughout his off-limb, but dissipating rapidly against the alchemical wyrmsteel, literally swallowing the energy. There was no time to equalize his balance, Ryu was on him like a hound, so he moved in rhythm to counter. They had finally shown up to play, and if not for their last ditch coordination, the Dark King would have torn the amalgamation of metal and Ryu into pieces, splitting him in two as he charged forward. Instead, a small orbit of debris and a crashing lunatic rammed into the bracing Anzati King. They were on him now. There was a loud crack as the serpentscale armor pinched the force-fueled-shrapnel hand, tightening upon impact as it was designed to. Exodus gritted his teeth behind his mask as he absorbed the raw forward inertia, sliding rearwards upon the weight of Ryu's impossible strength. The green blade whizzed barely by his collarbone, and then Draygo poured forward with an assault of her own. Exodus waltzed step for step, keeping their distances even. They hadn't, not for one moment, spared a second to consider their foe. Malacoda Syn was Firstborn and a veteran of close-quarter execution. It was in their interest to have come across almost any other Sith; most were young and sloppy, too accustomed to fighting from a position of strength and high-strung emotion. Firstborn Anzati had spent ten millennia fighting against impossible odds, always outnumbered, outgunned and outmatched by the horrors that lurked behind the stars. Such a history begat spines of adamantium, unyielding tenacity and zeal that could not be broken. That spelt trouble no matter how the dice rolled. They lunged, Draygo now entering his guard; both their swords sweeping left and then coming straight back for the Emperors’ flank. Kill Radius. It was a bold flurry, but he had been expecting their desperation. Exodus skipped sideways and angled his blade diagonally to counter, catching one sword and letting the other sail past without touching him. Energy flared theatrically as super-heated atoms trapped in magnetic fields clashed, showering the black halls in wild coos of amazement. He pushed away and then was on the attack again. Exodus’ skill became more obvious as he weaved inside of these attacks, a flurry of sweeping slices and thrusts that created a whirling dervish of spinning crimson. Draygo parried with hers, fighting to the utmost to keep Exodus within reach of Ryu while closing distance. Exodus moved into pure aggression, insanely skilled bladework while a maelstrom of force built up all around them, telekinetic drafts of pressure interrupting the simulated freedom of gravity. Form VI was smothering his circumference in a sluggish invisible weight. Still, in a dazzling display of skill the three conquerors danced across the halls, hands moving so fast in the dark, none but he could recognize what was happening. Three supremely skilled swordsmen skipping across the floor, variably matched in speed and strength. Three artists in their element, unaligned dancers in a ballet of deadly force, one that the Assassin knew well. This was what separated him from most of his kin, he understood war was an art. Any could be the superior combatant on the day, but most treated war as a science of destruction, or an intricate machine or even as the trading of punches until one fighter fell over. So few grasped the tempo and the grace of fighting as Lady Alora had taught. He moved with lightning speed, always in motion and his feet skipped and jumped in poetry, countering and stalling purposefully. By comparison Ryu was a raging bull, always attacking but never in the same way twice. Intuitive, adaptive and sly, he combined forms from memory and styles with ease, creating intricate webs of thrusts and lunges that should not be possible. Draygo exerted countless blows for his heart, attempting to skewer the Emperor from each contact. Exodus could see their craving for victory, their thirst for triumph, but furthermore, he was growing to understand that their eagerness hid a weakness. Ryu was monstrous in nature, scorning defence and disregarding his opponent's ability to hit back. Draygo was proud, staggeringly relentless, but sorely lacking purpose and direction as she led her followers to unnecessary death. Had she even a single thought to the life of the third in their party that had vanished? Did that wimpish creature know for what it was, that he would die? ...Did she? Left low, right low, left high, right low, right high, right low, right low, left high, without pattern or reason. Exodus became impassable with the estranged marks of contact stylized in his form VI disciplines, fighting with every last dreg of speed and strength he had earned. Each impact on his defense seemed to send sparks flying and his arms began to succumb to a rare dreariness from the constant hammering. His limbs burned like fire from the effort, even his highly-advanced physiology tested sorely by the furious pace of combat. Every blow came a hair closer to his body, each attack nearer to spilling his blood. His world shrank inward and all else was lost save the flurry of flashing swords around his form. Inside his kill radius. Exodus had enough. His feet spun him about and his blade swept dangerously low, not intending to cauterize limbs with a quick thrust, but rather marshal the staying power of the maelstrom that was maturing from the deadly repulse prior. Niman was in control and had never left. Exodus staggered and Ryu’s bladed hand lifted, slicing into his right arm, leaving a trail of blood running down his forearm. A sacrifice. Faster than any humanoid had the right to move, his sword lashed out, tearing across the enclosed proximity the three of them entertained, and then a vicious thunderous whine of pressure deafened the passageway, blotting out sound. Another explosion. It sounded as if the wall had ripped cleanly from it’s hinge, and a nasty bellow of wind was now sucking them into the sickening cold bite of black space. The passageway hadn’t changed. Unerring pressurization lashed out wickedly as a suffocating telekinetic force seized the moment. Brilliant achromatic energy wheeled from where the Sith lightning had struck, and crawled off of the wyrmsteel plates he wore as if coming alive. Arcs of electricity thicker than the high-branches of a Wroshyr tree exploded towards Ryu and Draygo like musket-fire. The Dark King drifted from his feet, slipping into the air imperiously, levitating by nature of the Maelstrom as it poured an unceasing bombardment of lightning onto the intruders. No two sounds were the same, as metal wept and mourned under strain, bawling incessantly as ruptured plates peeled away and an adamant quaking rocked the Goliath slow. Dry and hateful thunderbolts formed from naught but raw power had cracked, hissed and shattered against steel while loose debris hovered wildly against physical demand. Exodus understood that this was too small a space, because what came after historically, was the onset of a destructive Force Storm. Did his power reach such heights? Would he break the Goliath, to rain death upon his enemies? Look what the little boy from the academy had become..
  19. There she was- broken, but alive and comatose. He stood there, looking at her in the bacta tank. Part of him wanted to break the glass and embrace her. Another part wanted to find the wretch that did this and cut them like a porcine beast. As always the Jedi and Sith sides fought against one another in his mind. That was internal- externally he stood in front of her holding a stoic watch. After twenty minutes the medical staff gave him a chair to sit in. Thanking them, he asked if the lights could be turned off for fifteen minutes and for some privacy. The obliged him, and after the latch clicked- he sunk into the Force. It was a familiar setting; one he had shown the Inquisitor moron. Tobias reached to Adenna's mind and wove it gently in a dreamscape that she would ultimately be able to control- once she was strong enough. This would just give her some rest and relaxation- mentally. There was a cabin, a serene lake to the north, and a pine forest surrounding them on the other sides. There was just he and Adenna in this dream. Then, once he saw her- a little piece of him broke more and he wished he could stay. Sadly, this was not where he was to stay and would have to trick her a bit. So, he made a doppelgänger and let his partners mind pick up the illusion there. As he separated the image of himself and his actual presence- a pang of sadness permeated every part of the Kiffar- but he gently pulled his presence away from the woman that- He cut his train of thought off, going deeper down that path of thinking would only make it harder if she were to become one with the Force. As he regained consciousness and awareness, his face was moist and he quickly brushed his face dry once again. Then, the lights came back up and the staff reentered the room. Thanking them, he departed for the time being- just requesting that the chair remain, as he would be back. Often.
  20. Mavanger

    Corellia

    Mordecai chuckled at the boy's words. Could he not see the flaw in them? That his beliefs would lead nowhere but his own destruction and the destruction of the order he so cherished? "I do not mock your beliefs, boy, merely question them in a light your masters would never allow for. You claim you follow the will of the Force. You say that your purpose is to return it to balance, but then you say that the Jedi way is never to attack. Are your beliefs not leading to the destruction of your order? Perhaps your perspective is flawed. Perhaps the force is unbalanced, yet, but in such a way that the Sith are favored. Would that not explain much? Our repeated victories? Our superior numbers? Your own order being nearly wiped from existence so often? Is it not your constant warring with the Sith that brings true chaos? But alas, you do not fight us yourselves. No. You haven't the gall. You hide behind lone planets and organizations, telling them that we are the ultimate evil, yet you refuse to raise your own hand in battle until your own life is threatened. The Empire ruled in peace for decades until your rebel alliance rose up, led by a Jedi, leading to one of the longest periods of instability, chaos, and war that the galaxy has ever seen. So I ask you again, what good are your beliefs?" He shook his head, his own sorrow reflected in the boy's eyes. "There is so much I could teach you. I could show you the truth of the Sith. I spared your life, allowed you to stand against me of your own volition rather than strike you down while you were unconscious. And you mock me, first by implying I should let you leave, a hostile invader intent on killing my comrades, and then have the gall to claim you have moral superiority for not striking back. Tell me, which of us displayed more honor in this fight? I need not an answer. I have no wish for you to state what you believe. No wish to hear you grovel. I merely wish for you to contemplate the truth of what has occurred here today in the hopes that in the future, we may be allies, rather than enemies."
  21. Cryomancy All those who obtain power fear that the same cycle will cause them to lose that power in due time. Cryomancers study the metaphysical forces of stagnation and stillness to cement any power they achieve. By stagnating the Force and preventing natural cycles from occurring, the cryomancer creates a frozen well of power to draw upon. This methodology is extremely corrupting, leaving the Sith with a doll-like appearance, with their skin becoming pale and rigid, and over time cracking to reveal black ichor underneath. Cryomancers are able to solidify the souls of sacrifices and defeated enemies into a material called soulfrost, which they use to construct labyrinthine citadels. These sorcerers readily support the Sith war effort and slave trade so that they may easily obtain the resources to expand their domains. As cryomancers prefer to spend most of their time in their frozen lairs, many of them amass great archives to both pass the time and to entice other Sith to perform tasks for them in exchange for access to their archives. While cryomancers don’t use traditional Sith sorcerer powers, their ideology is incredibly Sith oriented. This disparity is a good pick for new players upon reaching lord rank, as apprentices may have trouble acquiring the resources needed to make this disparity shine, but the concepts of it are easy to learn. Cryomancy spells and rituals Creeping Doom: The cryomancer conjures metastasizing ice crystals on the ground and walls that expand and try to envelop the sorcerer’s enemies. The ice hates heat, life, and motion, and wants to silence it all in its smothering embrace. Anyone caught in the expanding ice is in for a slow and painful death as it entombs them and saps their life force while cutting off their oxygen. Enemies killed this way find their final agonies preserved for the cryomancer to add to their collection. This spell requires continued focus for the ice to expand, and should be used more as a means to force enemies out of cover like a fragmentation grenade than a stand alone threat. A wise lord uses the downfall of others to gild their own throne. A victory not capitalized on in full is a wasteful, thrashing bout of foolishness. Hope Denied: With a great inhalation the cryomancer sucks the life, heat, and energy out of the area in front of him, leaving only cold misery behind. While not a lethal spell, it can effectively shut down any build up of energies by enemies and leaves those afflicted open to a pressed attack. What is the strength of a lord who cannot hold to their own power? Hope and courage tremble and flee at the coming of my desolation. Glare of Cruel Disdain: The cryomancer attempts to overwhelm an enemy that they can see with unnatural chill, trying to shatter focus and disrupt aim. Limbs seize and tremble, resisting the will of their owners. It doesn’t matter how right you feel, or what you think is at stake when you strike at me, in the end your fate will be the fate of all fools. Garland of Winter Blossoms: While the cryomancers prefer their frozen kingdoms to the light and lustre of the outside world, they are not always immune to the charms of its inhabitants. This ritual is equal parts binding ceremony and indoctrination, a mockery of the institution of marriage, and turns the victim into little more than a blankly staring puppet. The sole respite for any victim to this ritual is that the cold no longer affects them, but that’s hardly any consolation for the half life that they must endure. Stripped of personal will, infected by the sorcerer’s own darkness, and forced to watch themselves obey the sorcerer’s every command as if in some suspended nightmare dreamstate, these cursed individuals quickly go mad while also being consumed by Dark Side corruption. People of considerable will find the ritual instead targeting their grip on reality, driving them into a delusional state that rationalizes their obedience to and obsession with the Sith that bound them. (Intended for use on NPCs, PCs require direct consent) In time all creation will be frozen belike your heart, and the rule of our sovereign desolation will be undeniable. Unlike our misguided kin the dichotomy of light and dark does not suit me, so I will remake creation as I see fit. The Jedi were right to pick a side in an attempt to make it prevail, they just picked the wrong one. Throne of Oppression: This cryomantic ritual is core to the beliefs of the cryomancers and begins the journey of their greatest works. Upon gathering enough souls to sculpt the necessary soulfrost, the cryomancer crafts the central heart of a new frozen temple. No cryomancer has ever truly finished their grand artifice, as their ambition is boundless, but to an observer these temples swell to hauntingly grandiose proportions. This ritual is the source of the unnatural chill that perpetuates the soulfrost structure, and a necessity to creating any kind of permanent layout. The darkness that emanates from the throne is so suffocating that the light cannot reach it from beyond its walls, attempts to disrupt the ritual must be made from within the throne chamber itself. In long lost Ryllacethos a forgotten princess sits a frozen throne. She bides her time plotting as she awaits the return of her intended with a gift worthy of her hand in marriage. Upon her necklace is set the frozen heart of an ancient flame, and empty rings await its last few embers. Crown of Desolation: Another ritual for cementing power, the crown of desolation creates a mystical link between the cryomancer and their temple allowing them to channel the bitter cold into the world around them. At this point the cryomancer has internalized the stillness and is unaffected by cold and can move unhindered across ice and snow, however the ravages of the Dark Side feed on the festering power of stagnation, twisting and ravaging the cryomancer’s body. There is no lasting escape from this, as even if the cryomancer steals the body of another, deformity will rapidly consume the new shell. Cryomancers that choose to embrace this power find their ability to excel in the physical techniques of the warrior and assassin paths hobbled, and powers from those paths based on strength, endurance, and agility are treated as being performed as a rank lower, and master level physical powers become unavailable. A cryomancer with this power that is using cryomancy with no weapons drawn or readied and is focusing entirely on cryomancy spells treats their attacks as being a mastery level more powerful. In battle the cryomancer becomes a fount of bitter cold, sapping the life out of those around them and inflicting painful (but not lethal for PCs or tactical NPCs) harm to any that stay in the aura for too long (Like all cryomancy spells, this is not an attack that absorbs the energies/life that is lost). A cryomancer doesn’t kill their enemies, they wait for them to inevitably die. When the cryomancers earned the favor of an ancient Dark Lord for averting a foretold doom, they sought the boon of forming a new dynasty to cement their future place in the order. The Dark Lord’s son gifted their chosen sorceress with a ring that made her the fairest to gaze upon, and she treasured this token and would spend long hours gazing at her illusory beauty in a mirror. In truth, her visage had been so twisted by corruption that none could bear to look at it. Shrieking Wail of the Accursed: The Cryomancer shatters a soulfrost talisman to unleash the tormented souls bound within. Driven mad by their confinement the souls scream in agony as they streak through the air, rupturing eardrums and emanating chaotic energies to disrupt the light. Curse of Hollowing Despair: Unsealing a crystal phial, the cryomancer releases a miasma of distilled despair that clings to any living or powered things that it touches, sapping away both emotional and technological energy. Victims of the curse suffer immediate severe depression and apathy, and machines afflicted by it struggle to function on the barest minimum of power. The cone of effect is short but broad, reaching ten feet away from the sorcerer but spreading thirty feet wide. Curse of Howling Agony: Opening a bottle of purely refined agony, the cryomancer unleashes a narrow vortex of freezing winds and razor sharp ice crystals. Anyone unlucky enough to be caught in the trajectory of the curse is swarmed by the ice crystals relentlessly while being slammed back by one hundred fifty mile per hour winds. The cursed ice shards crawl over the bodies of the accursed, flaying but not killing them. The area of effect for this vortex is five feet wide and eighty feet long. Curse of Weeping Regret: Shattering a bottle with a fat belly and slender neck, the cryomancer releases an oily concoction of shame, self loathing, and regret. The hydra-like unguent substance spreads out to a radius of fifteen feet, entangling and affixing itself to anyone unlucky enough to be in range. While it can feed off of a target’s own negative emotions and psychological burdens, it is also able to infect victims with the inner darkness used to create it. In these cases, the victim experiences the alien memories and feelings as if they were their own dark secrets. Malevolence of Eternities: Within the halls of a cryomancer’s abode, the walls do occasionally weep a distillate of suffering that collects in torpid pools in the depths. These wells of curse laden water are used by the cryomancers as an unholy medium for the creation of limnal blades that carve frozen paths through the air, freezing joints and turning armor brittle with a touch. Victims that have survived being struck by a limnal weapon have reported feelings of extreme numbness, apathy, and despair, along with energies of both a physical and spiritual nature being sapped away. Limnal blades are so potent in their purpose that they cannot be wielded by someone wearing metal or powered armor without the armor ceasing to function. A limnal blade can serve as a conduit for the cryomancer to channel preternatural cold into surfaces and inanimate objects, but with significantly less efficiency than a Stillblade.(These weapons do not in any way store or absorb energy, they only bleed away the energies of the enemies and objects that they strike) The same misery wept waters can be used to treat textiles and metals for armor, although only Sith warriors have the stamina and strength to effectively battle in a full suit of cursed Sith steel armor, making such things a common item of trade between the two castes. Both forms of armor sap the energy and momentum of attacks, in particular ranged attacks, but only the metal variant offers significant protection from melee strikes. Attempts to wield both limnal blades and cursed steel armor have been fatal at best, with the sum energies overwhelming and killing anyone that has tried. (This statement is not meant to be read as a way for your character to show how amazing he or she is at mastering the Dark Side, it’s a warning that you will die if you attempt it, and the other Sith will point and laugh at you.) Stillblade Chrysalis: Using profane sorceries and offering up foul sacrifices, the cryomancer denatures a lightsaber crystal to create a darkness that devours rather than a light that blazes. Often one of the first steps that a new cryomancer takes on the path, the weapon becomes a focusing conduit for their inner darkness. While activated, frost crawls across every nearby inanimate surface, and freezing mists emanate from the cryomancer, partially obscuring their outline and movements. If used with Crown of Desolation, the cold is significant enough to blot out thermal vision. If used with Darkness Reigns, the cryomancer is treated as being a rank higher. The cryomancer must be actively wielding an activated Stillblade to gain these benefits. As a weapon, Stillblades are interchangeable with lightsabers in terms of damage and materials that are resistant to lightsabers. Casual Dismissal: The cryomancer conjures a spear of ice, either from water in the air, a nearby body of water, or souls, and uses it to strike down an enemy, preferably while they are restrained by ice or otherwise incapacitated. While the cryomancer is capable of making the spear travel quickly, they often prefer to make the attack appear effortless like the name suggests while they put down defeated foes. The penetrative power that a cryomancer can muster depends on their rank as a Sith, but the attack must always be a single spear that originates from the cryomancer's general area. It is not a fire and forget attack, requiring dedicated focus throughout the spell, but in return this makes the attack significantly harder to deflect or redirect through counter TK. Deny the Coward: The cryomancer can slowly seal off doors, tunnels, or hallways with soulfrost walls. The creation of these obstacles is too slow to be useful as an effective mid duel defensive move against attacks. Maw of Inevitability: The frozen surfaces around the cryomancer metastasize sharp spikes like teeth, creating a plethora of deadly traps for drained and weakened enemies to be driven into. Tyranny of Winter: A cryomancy ritual of intricate invocations and complex sigils, this is the cryomancer’s answer to enemies that would try to press them with hordes of troops and mechanized assaults. The battlefield is consumed by a blanket of white and visibility dwindles to nothingness as bitter winds and snowfall obscure all vision. Superstorms meander through the blizzard flash freezing anything caught in their eyes. Infantry are forced to take cover or freeze to death, and machines find their inner workings failing in the extreme cold. While the cryomancer is channeling this spell they cannot leave the ritual area or hide their Force presence in any way. The storms cannot be used to target specific PCs or NPCs, think of the spell as a means for mass suppression of armies rather than a way to snipe high value targets. Darkness Reigns: Cryomancers can choose to manifest their TK as a blast of freezing winds. Upon reaching the rank of Lord, the winds are able to persist for a few seconds beyond the initial blast. At master rank the winds become a persistent channeled effect, ending only when the master loses concentration or chooses to end the effect. A master that is using a Stillblade or Crown of Desolation’s unarmed power boosting option can treat the use and upkeep of this spell as an innate passive ability.
  22. Earlier
  23. Zalis watched for a moment as she realized there were actually two different events that now required her attention. Corellia was a prime spot to establish a Czerka office on, even more so as a way to help relief efforts would open many more doors for her. But Kessel... the complications there were great and many. On one hand, the spice mines were a place that Black Sun used to help shore up more of their illicit clientele that fancied such things. Smuggling in and out of their ways always high traffic, and could potentially become more so with a take over or a destruction of any part of the facility. But it was her ties to the company of HealthiDrive that would suffer from any form of destruction or increased security measures. She needed to respond there and quickly. "Unfortunately yes." She looked at Kane now with a half smirk upon her face. "Because I'm starting to gather that you and me have very similar goals... Don't capitalized too quickly up Corellia. Wait for me, please." She now winked as she turned to leave. She made sure to take with her the basket of weapons provided to her upon meeting Kane. With the basket in hand, she made her way out of the bar and towards her ship. She needed to keep the legitimate business aspects of Black Sun alive. Because of that, she needed to protect the assets of HealthiDrive, and that is exactly what she intended to to upon arriving at Kessel...
  24. A rise of pleasure resonated in Xar’s circuits as the Hunter-Trainer droid activated his claws and began to tear the wing apart. Like a wild animal enjoying a delicious kill, Xar sliced and tore apart metal. Each piece of metal screeched as it was cut threw and tossed away like trash. Xar cackled to himself. Something about being purely destructive made Xar ecstatic. While it wasn’t as pleasant as hunting some form of prey, listening to fine music, or slitting a lesser’s throat, it was certainly enjoyable and even euphoric. However, the feeling didn’t last. Xar took a glance at the cockpit for just a moment, and the feeling of pleasure vanished. In that moment that didn’t last a full second, Xar caught the pilot’s eyes looking at him. He was expecting a look of fear from the pilot. Some form of terror or panic. But what he received was something different. Determination. The pilot, a fully grown humanoid, was not afraid of Xar. She was well-practiced and following protocol. Xar did not see fear. He saw a what he believed was a feeling of grit and resolve. Xar’s pleasure had been replaced by anger. She should’ve been afraid of him! She was a lesser! He was the superior being! The pilot's cockpit released. Her seat ejected from the doomed ship. Instantly Xar gave an order to the two drones latched onto his chassis. “Hunt her! Now! Track and Kill!” Xar wasn’t sure what caused him to send the drones like it. He wasn’t sure if it was because of his sudden anger at the pilot, because of his pride at being a superior being, or because of his utilization of a hunting chassis, but something inside Xar clicked. Like a dog seeing an animal run away, Xar had to catch the pilot and kill her. He had to sink his claws into her, or see her lifeless body splattered on the ground. He had to prove he was superior, and make her know it. Mozo and Char honked in acknowledgement at their commands. Without a moment of delay, the two detached from their master, activated their repulsorlift engines and took off. While they were drones, capable of handling only the simplest of commands, The drones understood the command ‘hunt’ . The two Water Beetles tried their best to catch up with the pilot, rising to meet her. In a few seconds, both were firing their stun blasters in hopes of stunning her or disabling her seat. Mozo honked with delight at each shot, while Char simply beeped a few times in agreement. Meanwhile, Xar focused on the task at hand. He had to get a safe landing, and there was one hope at the moment. The ship was beginning to point itself downwards. If he was correct, he didn’t have a moment to lose. In one second, Xar grabbed onto part of the wing he hadn’t destroyed and pulled himself up. In another second, Xar crawled closer to the ship’s center, fighting air resistance all the way. He could see the little astromech. Xar's ticket to a safe landing. “You will serve us and help us kill that pilot.” Xar declared loudly as he got into a crouched position, balancing himself on the rapidly descending ship. The astromech launched itself into the air. Xar didn’t care if the astromech was willing to let Xar hitch a ride or not. It didn't have a choice in Xar's eyes. Like the pilot, the astromech was a lesser, and Xar was the superior being. Thus it was meant to serve him. As the astromech launched, Xar leapt upwards and reached out with both arms, claws eager to grab a hold of more metal. He would attempt to grab onto the astromech’s flying little body, and force it to land on the ground safely. As a superior being would do Xar thought to himself. (1)
  25. Zendrin

    Corellia

    "I don't care for your views, Jedi. The meer possibility of afterlife in exchange for the strength the Sith hold is not a worth while bargain. Trading power for morality isn't worth my time either. I have no need for the Jedi's hushed ways, instead the knowledge I seek is granted freely." She continued walking aside Mordecai, thinking on his victory and her own. The Jedi that had given up, the arrogant mercenary that refused to tap into his potential. Mordecai had tried teaching her that there are more to the Sith than the power you could wield. Perhaps she had a purpose higher than simply rising through the ranks, both in the Sith military and in strength in the force. Maybe there was more to her destiny than her visions of grandeur. She would meditate on the thought when they reached the shuttle, perhaps seeking clarity, or that higher purpose.
  26. “What? Whose there? This is a restricted ar . . . Whoa now!” came the response and sudden shock as the technician answered the call at the door to be faced by a fluid-like stream of goons pouring into the entry hallway of the communications relay station. A blaster fired and there was a cut off cry followed by a body tumbling to the floor. The team spread through the entire facility dropping any body that crossed their paths. The building was not that large. In minutes, the entire facility was purged of anyone save for the raiders. The whole thing was done without a word. Professionalism came in many forms. Even criminals and murderers could be professional. All it took was a personal detachment, a bit of skill, and the willpower to want to do the best job possible. Nodding his head, Blimp keyed his mic, “Set charges and rendezvous out front in two.” Staring down at the control panel in front of him, Shim began to read the scrolling display. Nothing listed indicated any distress call. That confirmed it, someone on the inside had leaked something. How else were the rebels waiting for them? Still, there was a chance others on the planet would soon be placing calls and messages across the cosmos alerting the galaxy-at-large to the unfolding crisis. Bringing down the main relay on the planet would hamper if not severely limit any outgoing transmissions; especially as the fearful masses tried individually in unison to reach friends, families, and contacts offworld. Slapping a single frame charge with a timer to the bottom of the display against a supporting wall, Blimp smiled darkly. Turning Shimsinblimp hurried out of the room and building to meet with his fellows. Hurrying across the dirt-trodden street, Shimsinblimp slid feet first behind the cover of a half-tumbled duracrete slab that once held a sign for some long forgotten goods. All that remained was half a sun-bleached poster for GungaGlow. Holding up thirteen fingers, Shim looked at his fellows while Blimp stared around the edge of the toppled slab, silently counting down to zero. Suddenly a deafening kaboom and subsequent fiery roar drowned out the area in a plume of chaos, downing communication across the city and small planet as chunks of durasteel and duracrete rained down on the area. “Now on to the next one” Blimp added as the Troig pushed himself back to his feet, the dropsuit having provided more than enough shielding from the blast. Some old habits died hard. Waving the rest of the group forward, the eleven heavily armored raiders made their way down the street, sending blaster bolts towards anyone that dared to look out the windows at the cacophony of chaos.
  27. CLACK! The sound of plasteel body armor striking metal caught Nok's attention through the din of tumbling droid parts. It had come from...below. The Jedi must have fallen. Nok struggled to pin-point his fallen foe, his pain and fear slowly dissipating from fresh clarity to a muffled echo. He stalked as silently as he could, remembering his lessons from Mistress Rill. The old noghri had been vicious and had left him with more bruises and cracked knuckles then lessons, but she'd managed to instill the basics of stealth in the affluent neimoidian. It took several long, agonizingly slow moments, but Nok finally positioned himself above where the Jedi must have fallen. His fear and pain, still fading but not gone yet, rippled out from him. He focused beneath him, bringing the faded shapes into sharper clarity by will and desire. There. There was the armor. But...then where was...? ((3))
  28. At the bottom of the ramp, Remo shifted his photoreceptor around, gauging the potential garrisons laid about Kessendra in preparation for war. No more than a mining town, there was little to none protection for the would be Capital of Kessel. He blooped in disdain, the Elder buildings and security no more than relics of bygone eras. He knew he had a task ahead of him, and such a place made it only harder for the R3 unit. Turning to his men, his binary voice began to groan. "Master Remo wants you to split into three groups of ten." Zepex translated to the Operatives. "Head North, East, and West. Master Remo and I will head to the South. Find worthy fortifications and start patrols of the immediate areas. When the enemy is sighted, comm in." With that, the groups departed. Zepex turned to Remo with a concerned tone in his voice as he questioned Remo's orders, to which the R3 ignored. It wasn't the most solid of plans, and the group to encounter the enemy first would likely not survive. But he needed to gain a hold here for future business ventures, and the local businesses needed the Black Sun as much as the Black Sun needed them. Pivoting, Remo headed south toward the closest power relay stations. It's likely the enemy would hit the stations first, causing mass blackouts and rendering the atmosphere chaotic. It wouldn't take long for them to close the gap between he and the first enemies.
  1. Load more activity
×
×
  • Create New...