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Pack Fenrir A Von Howlster Conglomerate Creed "When the Moon calls, we answer. When Fenrir beckons, we surrender." Heraldry Blood Moon with the Mask of Mythos in the foreground History When Mythos Fenrir Von Howlster passed, word managed to reach his father's ear. Sergi Fenrir, the Alpha that fathered him, became so lost in turmoil and grief so strongly, it is said he howled for nearly fourty moons before he began his Trail of Mourning, an ancient right amongst the Shistavanen where the Alpha of a Clan must march alone across the land and bring his pain to the other clans by challenging each of the Clan Alpha's strongest sons to single combat and slay them. An ancient right so respected and revered that it cannot be denied nor retaliated. The Clan Alpha's must share in the losses until the pain becomes grief. Sergi, a silvered Shistavanen slew nearly two hundred of the strongest contenders in response, bringing not only pain to the Clan's he traveled to, but reverence in his plight before his pain was swayed and grief took hold in his mourning. In this reverence, not only for the pain each saw and felt in him, but for the hollowed soul it had bore in him before his heart could grieve, the Clans came together with him at the Eternal Den. Here, at the Eternal Den where the Trail of Mourning end and the bones of the fallen can be buried at long last, they proclaimed their fealty to Sergi and his Clan in honor of such a son. It was here, as Mythos and the two hundred were buried in the mound, that Pack Fenrir was born and became a Conglomerate under the banner of Von Howlster. Capital The Mother's Teet, Uvena Prime

>Arm is now 80% functional. I'd advise not using that hammer when powered as it could damage your shoulder further< Reported Fera, unable to do any other further repairs in the time limit given. She crawled away from the shoulder onto Ruins backside and positioned herself in a safe position, preparing for the combat about to occur. Ruin tested his fixed arm, clenching his fist and releasing like a human would after surgery. He then followed this by slamming the nearby wall with it, creaking some cracks in the black stone. “Groovy” Ruin commented and nodded to the others. He was ready. The grenades were thrown. The Jedi charged. The blaster fire changed direction. “Rip and Tear!“ Ruin declared as he charged, stopping only to grab the Hammer he had dropped earlier. In the chaos of blaster fire, Ruin moved like the terror droid he was. His model was built for causing terror in the battle lines. To destroy morale and to cause chaos to the best well laid plans the enemies created. Here, Ruin metaphorically shined like he had just come off the assembly line. Five steps forward, a leap over a pile of sandbags, and a swing. A soldier went flying into a wall with 7 broken ribs and a pair of crushed lungs. Three steps over. Ruin swung wildly, hammer colliding with another soldier’s head. One step forward. Ruin swung and let go of the hammer, the impromptu ballistic missile hitting a soldier on a turret on an upper level, sending him flying to his death. Another soldier turned to the droid. A step forward, a grip on the throat and leg, and a throw sent the man flying. Several steps, and Ruin was at the steps, behind several soldiers. Ruin raced upwards. The man at the top received a knee to the groin and two fists to the head, crushing the skull entirely. Ruin was at the turret now. The chaos created by the Jedi and the agent’s grenades was proving effective. The Sith hadn’t even mounted a proper reaction to him yet. While the original user of the turret was behind ruin, crushed by his thrown hammer, a new user was manning it. Ruin simply grabbed him and kicked him head first off the edge. The turret was heavy duty to say the least. A modified repeater blaster connected directly into a power bank nearby. The gun easily weighed 50 lbs and had to be mounted on a tripod in order to be used effectively, and the power bank another 20 lbs. Ruin, who never cared about the weight of certain objects unless he was using them as a blunt weapon, picked the think up. With a slice from his vibro blade in his wrist, he disconnected the gun from the tripod and hoisted the thing up. One hand at the trigger, one hand near the barrel, Ruin turned the gun towards the enemy troops. “Violence! Fear! The great communicators!” Ruin shouted as he opened fire. Ruin did not stop holding the tigger at any point, letting shot after shot ring out. So many shots fired that the gun had started to heat up. Had Ruin been a human, he would’ve burned his hands, but being made of wires and metal, he felt nothing. Instead he only laughed from his perch.

House Maximus Creed "Domus Ante Singulos" Heraldry Moated Tower with Sun behind it, two pikes crossing the front of the Tower with a single Crown front and center History An ancient Imperial House of the highest order, House Maximus originally held it's humble beginnings on their homeworld of Chandrila before the rise of the Galactic Empire. What started as a larger vineyard took a discourse through the First Galactic Empire when tensions and disputes were rampant amongst the noble houses of Chandrila and inevitably lead House Maximus to join as soldiers and spies. During the rise of the Rebel Alliance and New Republic, the then in exile House Maximus continued its prosperity through litigation and business and eventually led to the true establishment of House Maximus under the Imperial Banner until the succession of the Imperial Remnant under Lady Raven. Many of the House's leaders have served the Empire through the Generations, beginning with Patriarch Jenson Maximus and recently ended with the death of Sampson Maximus, only born of Patriarch Brennan Maximus, at the last battle of Kuat. Only surviving heir is Lady Pandora Legatha Maximus I, an adopted alien whom their son had been engaged to. House Colors Gold and Chronium Capital Citadel Terek, Andara

The monster had been injured but not destroyed, but as with all great works, nothing was instant. A great work of symphony could take any minutes, hours even, to get to the crescendo. And the Force moved heavily as Sandy and the pitiable monster began their last chords. A clash of bright light and utter darkness. Threads of Redemption against bitter anger and brutalism. A planet and people long scarred by an oppression that had stolen everything from them. Trodai in his blind passion had destroyed the identity of an entire species, kidnapped their youth, and had led them to a slaughter. And for what? A crown that had already slipped from his brow? He was no Dark Lord. Others had seized that title and had dispensed of their entire galactic might leaving Trodai without the power he had sought so hard to find. Even in revenge there would be no relief. There was no final satisfaction in such an act, for a life consumed with rage and passion could never be truly fulfilled. There must always be an objective, a center of the rage, or passion or lust. For if there was none of those it would turn upon itself. It was a pitiable lifestyle. A snake eating the world until it had eaten all but itself. Turning to eat its own tail. A story, a song, as old as humanity itself. And somewhere beneath the song and the movement of the force Sandy felt her heart weep for Trodai. Even as he bounded towards her, his lightsaber reaching for her soul. For though there was a righteousness in the defeat of such an evil, he had still been at one point a man. Before bitterness and rage had filled every ounce of him and burned him beyond recognition. He had gotten close, and the song filled her ears as she began to move in concert with the Sith Lord. She could not defeat him blade to blade, that was not her battle. So the Jedi Master began to move as the song directed her. A thousand opportunities and a thousand more possible directions, most ending in almost instantaneous death. All required a sacrifice of pain. She took another steadying breath and let the force guide her, there was little time and the song was coming to its crescendo. She took a step back and pushed off with her right leg, letting the force flow through her to amplify her push away. The Sith would not find the easy delight of her death. The first and second blows found purchase, cutting through the light cloth and scoring a wicked burn across her midriff. The flesh burned painfully and the second blow caught her outstretched left arm as she pushed away. Burned to the very bone, a sudden stiffness catching at her tendons. Another wound that would take a very long time to heal. Just like the world that she was trying to save. Distance was what she needed and the threads of the force now lay arced to where she once had been. Where the Sith Lord glowered in malice. A malice that had led him into a deathly trap. The force moved heavily in anticipation. And the Jedi master let it guide her. Sandy flexed her uninjured hand, gathering the threads that the force had connected to her, and with a pull the song did the rest. The names were too numerous now, thousands and thousands. Those countless sons and daughters of Falleen that had been led to their doom above Nar Shaddaa. Whose bones would never settle in the earth of their home world. An unnumbered loss, which the planet cried out for justice. Tens of thousands of memories, of childhoods, of lives lost for useless wrath and useless rage. Justice the song sang in ten thousand voices. And the buildings all around where she had been echoed the song. How many joyful days the great stone buildings had seen. When avenues were full of smiles and laughter. Now long gone and the streets full of rot. Full of the one who had brought damnation to the world and its peaceful inhabitants. The buildings themselves fractured, their edifices already torn and their foundations shattered. The tall buildings came down as fast as the force could pull them onto the pitiable Trodai. The planets song reaching to smite him for his evil with every brick and stone. With effort Sandy lifted her injured arm and let the force flow through it. Letting it form a bubble of protection that expanded out before and above her. A shield of the bright white light of Justice. The Fanged God would be defeated even if it’s twisted minion threw himself upon her shield. For Justice had called his name and Falleen would be redeemed. ((3)) ((Great Duel my friend))

Everything was fuzzy. That was the first sensation Aidan felt as he woke from the abyss of nothingness. There was no cloning cylinder, he was laid out in a medical bed with a droid looking over him. The doctor came in and started talking, but it all blurred together. Something about...his telomeres? A cloning sickness or something. He tried to sit up but a sharp pain in his side paralyzed him back to the table. The droid administered some drugs, and he drifted back to sleep. It would be hours before he woke again. This time, a Jedi healer was by his side. He was lucky, she said, that the cancer hadn't spread before she had a chance to excise it. Cancer. Cancer. Several more hours later, when he got his strength up, he dressed in the robes provided by the Jedi, collected his belongings that had been collected from the battlefield, and set out to find Anne and Pandora.

The few steps that the Sith had taken backwards from his attack was enough. The lack of power driven into the attack was also sufficient enough to maintain his own energy. The Sith carried with him a great sense of pride and position. His tactics like one who had waged war many times, his presence assured of knowing he carried the momentum for the battle. The slow security he needed the Sith to have, as he knew for a fact that he never once faced the form of Wru’torr. But how could he? None of his apprentices ever mastered the form, save one. Dahar. And Dahar’s death was a premature one. So long as the Sith kept charging with blind focus and creating pain, he was playing into the form’s hands. The next flurry began quickly, with a wild swing of one of the swords towards his shins. A sweeping blade that carried with it some momentum. Being such a large creature that he was, a simple step backwards avoided the blow altogether without having to involve his lightsaber. The fast spin from the Sith warrior off his momentum also brought with it a side swing again, a threat of catching him midsection. A step backwards would end up resulting in himself losing the ground he needed to disarm the Sith. So he took a half step in towards the Sith again, dropping himself on the lower side to catch the blade. A bit of precognition kicking in. The precognition from the Jedi Master proved to be spot on, as the follow up swing by the Sith was an overhead one from his other blade. Catching the first swing on the lightsaber, Kirlocca ended up placing both paws upon the hilt, and swung it upwards to defend against the downward strike as a fast follow up. The defense shot pain through his left elbow of the strike against it, along with pain that shot across his shoulder blades from one of the first strikes of the Sith to even land. The pain felt like stretching a muscle that just wasn’t ready to be pulled as fast as it was. It gave the immediate reaction of longing for withdrawal. Kirlocca surrendered to the withdrawal feeling, taking a step backwards as he stood up to bend over slightly to provide relief for his shoulders. His slight withdrawal proved to be a small saving grace from the wild swing at his midsection again, this time catching some of his flesh in a steady cut from one rib to the other. The cut went without any defense as his lightsaber remained a bit to the side from his own withdrawal away from the Sith. The pain felt like fire across his midsection, with fast stinging from his own blood and sweat that almost immediately entered the cut. It forced him to take another step backwards. The step backwards was met by a wild swing from one of the swords that went nowhere. Clearly the Sith had expected for the Wookiee to step up and use his lightsaber, but the cut forced a different option. It was then that he saw it, a driving downward blow. Instincts told him to step backwards, but the Force whispered for him to step into it. It was what Wru’torr was built around. Using the momentum and energy of the opponent against them, whilst saving your own only for when it was needed. nNd he could feel it, the moment he had to end this conflict. Placing both paws upon the hilt, he stepped into the driving downwards blow, catching it head on. But upon meeting the blades, Kirlocca released his hilt and spun towards, not alongside the Sith. The false catch he hoped would carry the Sith’s own momentum downward, leaving him exposed to what was coming next from the Jedi Master. As his body came around, that’s when he unleashed it. His right paw went downwards towards the Sith’s neck, with every bit of energy and Force strength he could muster, as he used very little of it thus far. The strike upon any normal person would have separated their head from their neck, even with armor covering it. He knew the Sith would be able to prepare for it somewhat, so the blow would not be lethal. It would however still have very devastating consequences. ((3)) (Fun duel! Loved writing this story with you. Thanks Mav!)

The Wookie's mistake had been hard earned- In an attempt to halt Darth Mavanger's flurry of blows, he had stepped into the Sith Master's guard, trying to emulate his own earlier attack with his knee. But without the momentum, the power, the fire of rage and anguish to drive it, it wouldn't prove nearly as crippling. His ribs ached where the knee met he'd taken the previous blow, pushing him back the precious few steps he needed to strike once more at the Wookie as his lightsaber carved through the Warmaster's shoulder. It had found a chink in his armor, a necessary point to allow for his movement, and in doing so, seared both his body and the fabric holding his should plate attached as it his the ground with a heavy clang of metal against pavement. The Wookie had made a critical mistake- He had underestimated Darth Mavanger. It was clear in his bladework and his intentions. Simple cuts and spacing blows, an attempt to tire the Sith and to keep him at an arm's distance. He hadn't considered that the Warmaster had earned his title through bloody battle and conquest, that he had anything behind his movements beyond a tantrum thrown by an apprentice who didn't yet know how to harness their rage and pain into something dangerous. If he had dueled Mordecai Valar, the young, ambitious Sith apprentice, over Borleais, he would have found the same success that Ismael had. The scarred tissue that coated a large swathe of his face was a grim reminder of that lesson, though. He'd learned many of those. In the years since, he had transcended blind, pointless attacks. Every cut fed into the next, every strike fueled by his malice. Every assault designed in the moment to kill his opponent. He remembered what he had learned, each fight bringing with it their own cavalcade of emotions and sorrow. On Kuat, he had learned never to underestimate his opponent. Doing so had nearly cost him and Xahl their lives. On Corellia, he had learned the follies of the Jedis' defensive fighting when the young padawan was defeated. On Kuat again, he had been taught the error of blindly following where his opponents led him. That had cost Xahl, his best friend, his life, and had nearly crushed Mordecai with a slagged turret. Trulalis had taught him the dangers of overextending when the Rebels counter attacked Mon Cal, and took everything from him. And so many more. Every foe, felled by his blade. The number of people that had survived him were countable on one hand, both friend and foe. This was his path. A firestorm of hatred, of rage, of vengeance and anguish, that left nothing but charred remains in its wake. All of this loss, this sorrow, spit upon by the great Jedi hypocrisy. The preaching of empathy, without the ability to empathize. The belief that the Dark could never defeat the Light, regardless of the number of times the Jedi had nearly been made extinct by the Sith. The Wookie, as powerful as he was, only had one weightless blade and an injured arm. Darth Mavanger would shatter his defense in one final flurry of blows. A sweeping attack low, an outlet for his wrath, towards the shins from Imeall Sceimhle. His momentum carried his spin into an anguish-filled blow from Imeall Dólás as he rose merely a fraction of a second later, another cut towards the Jedi's midsection in a second bisection attempt. A third strike, an overhead swing from Imeall Sceimhle in an effort to split the Jedi's skull in his fury. Another swing brought forth his grief, a cut towards the Wookie's ribs from Imeall Dólás that would tear the Jedi's heart asunder as the Rebels had done unto the Warmaster. Every attack, meant to overwhelm. Yet another blow flashed towards the Jedi Master, carving a path through the Force as Imeall Sceimhle moved to intercept his Lightsaber, in an attempt to make the Jedi as defenseless as one frozen by terror would be. And then, the final blow. Into it he poured everything. All of his pain, all of his loss, his rage. But more than that strike his very will to live, his resolute promise that he would avenge Jarvus through blood. Imeall Dólás drove down unto the Jedi everything that Darth Mavanger could muster. He would make him understand his pain, one way or another. ((3. Excellent duel! Can't wait for the outcome.))

Sanguis shook his head behind the covering they had found, his questioning having been lost in translation as the two droids began rambling on about their predicament. That wasn't what he had meant. His questioning had been more focused on RUIN, not the battle. He had eyes. He could see the battlefield, and what he couldn't see, he could feel in the Force. Despite the miscommunication, the droids did bring up a valid point. Sheer will has gotten them this far, but with the three heavy weapons emplacement, it would be an unholy hellfire to put out when they made their first footing into the killbox. He delved into the currents of the Force as Talyn arrived, following its flow across the battlefield and into the emotions and thoughts of those who opposed them. To describe what it felt like, one would have to understand the sentient mind. Most stood guarded when it came to deeper thoughts like secrets and intent. Especially when they knew a Jedi lurked close by. Even a subtle push to find them out would alert his presence and they would shut down mentally. But in the heat of the moment, where emotions ran high, subtle thoughts of pure randomness could betray them. Especially the weaker minded. Sanguis nodded his head in approval at @Talyn Orin after he finished speaking. The moment was coming up, and Sanguis had found a couple of weak spots in their Defenses. Their was a hint of reluctance in mind, but this was war and the casualties had made their choice long ago. In their unfocused emotions, their intent had became known. Their hatred toward the Alliance and the Jedi had spelled their doom this day. They couldn't be saved even if they were left breathing. With a sigh, Sanguis prepared himself. For the second Agent Orin acted, all hell would break loose. And it did. As the Imperial Agent let loose his volley of grenades, red bolts of fire let loose toward their location, shaking hands and twitching fingers firing in random patterns as the disorientation took holds of their minds. All it took was a little strength in the Force, and a little suggestion, and mind's became subjugated. Rifles turned inward toward the Heavy Weapons Placements and chaos ensued as friendlies became foes. This presented the trio a moment of respite and opportunity. One Sanguis took full advantage of. Emerald blade ignited, he spun it as he crossed the threshold, stray Blaster bolts being redirected amongst their opposition with precision while Sanguis let loose his own volleys of pushes and pulls through the Force. His intent was to completely disorient these villains in the chaos they sought to sow, and provide a subtle victory this day. He only hoped the other two could keep up.

Bernon Mrrgwharr, the Sith Apprentice of the Sith Master Krath Inmortos, the secondary Apprentice of Darth Akheron, and the Sith Warrior, felt nearly helpless, yet somehow still powerful, as his mind was continuously almost shattered. This new illusion would teach Apprentice Bern how easily the Force could be controlled and accessed. The power of a Sith Lord coursed through him, and he felt like he could not contain it, it was a power he had not yet earned. It was a Dark Power that he thought he was not ready for, and yet, a power that he would obtain one day. He soon noticed his Limnal Blade in the door, confused at how it got there. However, he still had the weapon in his hands, though this illusion prevented him from realizing it. He began to walk towards the doors, seeking to obtain his blade from the door's clutches. As he followed the doors, he noticed that they continued to recede, as if they were running from him. He began to walk faster towards it, the fast walking quickly turning into a jog, then a run, then into a sprint. He chased down these doors in the illusion, feeling as if he would never reach his destination as if he would never open the doors as if he would never regain his blade. He continued to follow it as hopelessness seeped into his mind. He soon could take it no longer as he reached out into the darkest depths of his mind, and released Dark Side energy, in the form of a scream. The concept of mortality soon found its way into the doors, and he felt the illusion washing away and realized the blade was still in his hands. He fell to his knees, his mind becoming both strengthened from the trials, and temporarily weakened, from the constant suffering of his mind here. He began to recover himself, strengthening his mind once more in case of another attack upon it. Once he was completed, he stood once more, and he held out the Limnal Blade in his hands, waiting to see what would happen. He now understood the full capability of what he could do with the Force, and how when he obtained its power, how easily it could be accessed. This whole ordeal had been a trial for him, and he knew it was a test, and a lesson, that was certainly not over. He prepared himself, hoping that the doors would soon be opened, and hoping that he would finally reach the power that lay just beyond. Soon, he would have the Library's secrets, and he would gain the ultimate power from it, the power of the Dark Side.

The atmosphere was charged with emotions, fueled by the Sith. Kirlocca held his own in check, as they were clearly not serving the Sith, at least not in a way that he could see. Yes, the emotions in the air were allowing more adrenaline and power to be pulled from; But the mistakes of the big picture were being missed. The Jedi Master made no illusion that he wanted the Sith to keep charging recklessly at him, and that seemed to be okay with the Sith to keep on charging and playing into his hands. The one who killed Raven made a loud cry after recovering from the blow, or simply feeling it, and began to charge again. A small inhale of breath quickly allowed for him to center himself as he prepared for the next flurry of attacks, all of which seemed to be coming from a dark place from the Sith. Even darker than perhaps anger. He could feel it due to the blood ritual on his wrist from the priest in the cantina earlier. The flurry of attacks came like rain during a hurricane. Intense, rapidly and misleading in the damage that they could deal. The Sith first stepped to his left, which began the dance of the two. One of the swords came at his arm, a small yet simple move, to which Kirlocca was able to move a bit toward the Sith, allowing for him to spare his lightsaber for the next move, which he could already feel within the Force. But as he moved to block the other sword, the one aimed at his left cut into his elbow, sending a very sharp pain echoing through his arm, which changed the direction of how he wanted to avoid the swinging wild sword to his right. With the pain, he managed to barely get the lightsaber in defense of the second sword and kept it from doing as much harm. The slightly weakened state had the blade of his lightsaber push back just slightly enough to burn some of his fur, but not enough to make a cut. Luckily though, it forced him to truly step into the Sith attacker, putting himself almost on top of him, which then would aid heavily in the defense of follow up attacks from the Sith, as he just simply would not have enough room with two blades to make anything effective enough against someone being so close and with a lightsaber defending. As he then stood almost on top of the Sith with him thrashing about, causing now strong flurries of attacks that couldn’t truly hit or find a mark, Kirlocca decided to get more offensive in his nature, lifting his knee into the gut of the Sith. As he did, he quickly lifted his blade, bringing it in a downward motion, while simultaneously lifting his leg through his knee. The double pronged attack potentially would make Raven’s murderer choose between being forcefully kicked backwards and away, having to recharge at the Jedi Master again, or having a blade take him clean out. ((2))

Fate Felt her hands start to bleed as the chain on her makeshift hook dug into her palms. As strong as she was, the droid was heavy, big, and balanced. Her plan to pull the thing over and leave it stuck was failing as the three headed droid began to regain it’s balance. No no no no! Fate wanted to shout. She knew the cost of what would happen if this thing regained control of the fight. She had only survived this far out of luck and skill, and if she did not continue to capitilize on the thing’s unbalance, she would be under its metal feet, dead and worthless. “Come on, kill that stupid thing!” The droid’s left head shouted, completely rotated to look at Fate. “I’m trying, I’m trying! Why don’t you do something useful?” The middle head groaned. The entire body groaned as the back legs continued to hold the thing down. Its front legs were flailing in the air, but barely off the ground. “Oooh, why didn’t I think of this? Should I shoot her?” the third head chimed in, rotating its arm towards the Anomid. Fate’s eyes widened at the situation and changed tactics. Instead of pulling the thing back, she ran and jumped towards the droid, pulling at the force once more like a taught rope. “Ack, its on us! Get it off, get it off!” The middle head began to complain as the entire body began to flail wildly. Both of its arms began to open fire randomly in every direction. Many of the shots were aimed upwards towards the ceiling, but thanks to Fate’s position on the droid’s shoulders, the shots missed. Choke on this you stupid fragging son of a scrap heap! Fate tried to curse through her broken vocoder as she wrapped the chain around the three heads and pulled tight. She felt like one of those renowned Reek Wranglers from the holovids, trying to tame a wild beast. If this was one of those Reeks, she felt like she could choke it to death. However, Reeks were biological and could feel their necks. Here, wrapping the chain slammed all three metal heads together, giving them more to complain about. “Get off me! Give me some space!” The middle head screamed, the entire body still spinning around and stomping wildly. “I can’t! Can’t you do something?” The left head griped, firing its blaster erratically into the environment. “How about we slam into a wall?” The right head chimed in. “No, more blaster fire! More blaster fire!” The middle head commanded. “Right!” The other heads agreed simultaneously. Amidst the flurry of blaster fire lighting the train station like a rave party, Fate held on tighter than ever. She could already feel the bruises form on her legs and her bleeding hands, despite the adrenaline pumping through her body. But she pulled the chain tighter and tighter, and held on for dear life, unable to think of anything else. Perhaps if she kept pulling tighter, she would break a wire, bend a frame, something that might give her an advantage. Or maybe the thing’s blaster fire would bring the entire roof down on the two and end them both. I WILL NOT LOSE YOU STUPID CLANKER!

Hagark grinned under his mask after his shield clonked the pirate and the Togruta finished him off. Such a kill was good to witness. The facts of her striking at him as well as her slaying of the pirates led him to believe this was the cause of the whistle that summoned him. The whispers inside him grew louder in her presence, as if they were trying to say something about her. But the whispers were too numerous and unclear to be understood. “Yes, us… noble hunting…” Hagark agreed with the idea the Togruta gave. “A delicious feast awaits.” At the sound of the whistle, Hagark got back onto all fours and followed, only stopping to grab his shield once more. The next hallway revealed another group of pirates. Hagark reasoned that these six must have been alerted to the duo’s presence, for their weapons were drawn and readied. He scowled slightly at the thought of having to face the group, but remembered how the Togruta nearly struck him with her blades. “Noble hunter…” Hagark growled softly in common for the Togruta to hear. “You hear beasts? They come fattened, teeth bared. Perhaps…I challenge beasts, Togruta, and once distracted, you gutt?” Hagark broke into a galloping rush, his hands and feet beating on the floor. Instead of being stealthy like usual, he gave a loud roar. >Face me! Face me and despair!< Hagark issued his challenge in his native tongue. To the common person, it sounded nothing more than grunts, growls and clicks, but to Hagark, it was the noble roar of a questing Felucian. Hagark got off all fours and wrapped his arms around the first pirate, barely losing any momentum, he lifted the pirate up and continued running past the others. The pirate he had picked up dropped his gun in surprise and was trying to beat the thing down to no avail. Finally, the two crashed into a wall. Hagark wasted no time in spinning around, still holding the pirate. Several shots rang out, filling the hall with a red glow. The body in Hagark's arms went limp. Hagark grinned again and held the body forward like a shield. The pirates, now focused on him, fired again and again, hoping one shot may hit the Felucian.

Entering out of Hyperspace was sudden yet there was no feeling of joy with the sight they were faced with. Nar Shaddaa, for however long her conflict was over, was burning and ruined. Despite the victory of the Alliance, the Sith had dealt their damage and Vox didn't need the Force the feel the deaths of thousands of not several million from the cityscape orb. What happened here? Were his kin alright, how long have they been gone for? "God's below..." Romulus says, he had stopped the finishing touches of the equipment he repaired and was now gazing at the planet, "You can see areas that are still burning... Vox, we need to get back to the others, if there was a war here we gotta make sure they're okay!" The Nudono Jedi nodded and turned his head to the pilot, he gave them the exact coordinates of the shuttle station or refugee camp his remnant tribe was settled... He could feel that they were alive and well thanks to that tinge of the Force that lingered, he refused to worry about their wellbeing. Even before their dropout from Hyperspace he had stopped the practice of his saber as there was a tich of death, cold and malicious, however the perpetrators had long since left it felt... But knowing the scale of war himself, Vox now started to think about the remaining soldiers that were left over. For right now, his own soldiers. As they lowered into the atmosphere the damage became more clear, there were still fires around the military infrastructure and compounds, fuel and repair stations burned as there hadn't necessarily been a way to put them out quite yet no thanks to the now-ignited fuel cells and whatever else. However there were clearer signs that the Alliance and the Imperials were rebuilding, various camps and recovery areas were built for the wounded and lost. Portions of the city weren't as damaged and families and friends, even strangers were becoming more communal and helping one another out. And of course there were those who were simply scavenging and out for themselves. As they passed over the ruins of a train station Vox felt a sudden pinch in his arm. Something or someone in trouble? He tapped into a small fraction of the Force to root it out but instead of immediately seeing where they were he felt the heartbeat of one individual. They were running and fighting, they were in desperation of an action to happen, and his head turned to where they would be just about. He was a bit urgent about his people however this would take pressing matters, he readied himself and slid the saber hilt into a ringed pouch and fastened the weapon. "Lower the ship... Here." Vox said to Alcemène, and when it was at a reasonable height he said before leaving the cockpit, "I want to thank you for what you have done for me. If you are in need of help, I will be there as soon as I can. Please drop Romulus off at the refugee camp." "But Vox-" "You will join the others. I will not have protest over this." Vox said to his smaller engineer in a stern tone. He would love to bring the smaller Trandoshan with him however this matter only required one. From there, Vox had moved to the cargo hold and once the vessel had lowered he dropped from the catwalk. He landed a littke less gracefully through the hole of a ruined building, regardless he was still on his feet as the dust from the the landing settled slowly and despite the light that was present the interior was still dark save for the open doorway which light poured through. He still had the Mauler he kept just before leaving the planet to becoming a Jedi, granted he preferred the Spiker Carbine it was better than nothing. And so the Trandoshan moved through the rubble and out of the building he was in. There were noises nearby but they were still meters out of the way, and in that same direction he could feel the heartbeat race. Tuning into the Force Vox allowed his vision to become enhanced, as before when he first used these powers all else was dark gray with white outlines, anything still living was represented by a unique coloration via its life force. When he confirmed that only a spare avian or rodent were the only things around he deactivated the vision until he could see regularly, and then he moved quietly with haste. Being born in thick jungles with massive beasts the ruins were almost lime that, so Vox moved with superb agility and found the rubble easier to trek through. The noises got louder and moved onward, a bit closer to his position after minutes of traversing the area, Vox disconnected the energies coming to him as to focus more. From here on the rooftop of a train station he peered through the cracks and crevices of the roof, readying his lightsaber. There he saw it, an automota attacking an individual, she used what looked to be a makeshift hook in hopes of tripping up one of the many legs of the machine. He didn't move yet, no, it was a matter of patience, Vox would know when next to take action, for now he watched as the two struggled and remained hidden. He starts to creep on the metal top and slowly tracked the duo preparing for his next course of action.

Akheron looked on at Sandy Sarna, his vision fixed upon her until he felt the familiar feeling of impending danger soon to be upon him. His own Dangersense alerting him as the ground began to shake and crumble beneath his feet. Even as blood dripped from a cut upon his head after being struck by one of the rocks previously thrown at him, shredding the robes off one arm to reveal the red skin beneath it and bruised his body. It was painful but he used the pain as more fuel to his ever burning fire. He had barely moments to react before the breaking of the ground was followed by the felling of buildings next to him and the carnage of the debris and durasteel that threatened to engulf him. Shattering the silence of the storm above with the sounds of twisting metal and breaking stone. Any Linnorms inside were instantly upended, spilling out across the field of battle either dead or maimed from the fall. Bodies lay strewn across, but it did little to impede the Sith Master's advance, for he was a destroyer. A chaos bringer who brought Death wherever he went in service of the Sith and the Fanged God. Akheron could feel the Light from the Jedi Master, repulsive as it was too him and this only drove him to become further enraged at the thought this puppet of Light and of the Enemy, hated above all else, thought she could bury him like some ancient exhibit in a tomb of dirt and steel. He would not be so easily diswayed. As the Jedi Master stood where she was creating the chasm, as the Sith Master observed her, the hewn stone and blast molded durasteel came crashing at him like a tidal wave of death. Akheron leapt, Jumping with the fury and Speed of the Force hoping to avoid the premature burial, twisting girders and stone aimed at seeing to his doom. His hope to meet his foe face to face, saber to lightsaber as was his intent. To bring the fight close and into his realm. That of the Sith Warrior, where he was akin to a god of war. Or so he thought. A master of his craft perfected over a lifetime of battle and trials by fire. He did not make it unscathed, paying a price to avoid damnation. While he did avoid death, as he landed on safer ground and finally got within striking range, he felt pain in his left leg and along one side. Looking very briefly, he noted a smaller durasteel girder had impaled the left leg at a diagonal angle and lodged itself, while there also seemed to be at least two broken ribs in addition to his previous injuries. While the leg was prosthetic in part, it was also flesh and bone and as such he could feel pain from it. The Baptism of Blood had made it possible, combining metal and flesh. Akheron still wasn't entirely sure quite how only that he had achieved great power from it. The pain was a discomfort all too familiar. He knew, the Jedi Master was likely to use this against him, as years ago she had irritated his wounds. But it did not stop him from continuing on, instead Akheron used his lightsaber and quickly sliced the girder where it had entered, and exited to shorten it and ensure his enemy had less options to effect the wound. Or so was the idea. He used this additional pain to further give purchase to his Wrath and Rage. To fuel his energy and allow the Darkness to come quickly even as he snarled and winced slightly at the discomfort. Advancing the last steps, he closed the distance and finally met her. Finally he could see directly into her eyes, that of his rival. His nemesis. He would look into her eyes and watch her last moments with pleasure and delight in her Death. Encompassing her in his Wrath and Rage. For he remembered the words of the House of Dragons, the clan vividly. Death, remembers all. And he would remember her death even if she didn't his. He brung his right arm down, lightsaber within as he stepped to the Jedi hoping to quickly get within her defence, bringing the lightsaber down diagonally, he intended to either leave a grevious wound of some sort or bi-sect her in a attempt to overcome his foe. He followed this up with a second blow, twisting the lightsaber, despite the discomfort to his wounds, and slashed the other direction trying to cut from shoulder to hip in a X pattern. He decided he would continue, and use his strength and power to turn the tide with blow after blow. She would either submit or perish, he would see to it. For he was Wrath and Rage incarnate, the destroyer of worlds. A Juggernaut of the Sith. Darth Akheron vs Sandy Sarna - ((2))

As the eternal echoes of the force reverberated into silence, slowly, Leena opened her eyes. She felt the outpouring of force energy from her body. She had been but a conduit for the energy of the cosmos, for life, and while it invigorated her, her every nerve tingling with purity, she felt the raw drain of energy such a display had carried with it. Caught up in the torrent of the never ending oceans that made up the galaxy , Leena had to strain to not allow herself to be lost in the break as eternal met the present, washing the darkness away in a riptide of purifying light. From her crouched position, Leena slowly stood, stretching out her hands, arms and legs as she willed feeling back into the extremities. She surveyed the world about her. The chaos of the dark side boiled in the distance, an agitated swamp, even more lethal as it churned and was purged; a necessary event nonetheless. The Jedi would have to ensure that the people of Falleen, their people and culture, were not destroyed in the process. Around Leena; however, there was a stillness as the ash of a thousand fallen dark side wraiths were blown on the breeze, their tormented souls free to finally journey into the great beyond, to find peace now that their nightmare was over. The Mon Cal brushed a tear away from a bulbous eye, grief at the loss of life, even as the cancer of the dark side was culled. Sacrifices necessitated by the perversion of the darkness. The Jedi Master inhaled deeply, steeling herself as she remembered that these lives lost were not by their doing, but by the machinations of the disturbed and deranged, perverse acolytes of sin and evil. And yet, it was not wrong to morn the senseless losses the enemy had inflicted. Staring out at the gently wafting ash, Leena closed her eyes, bowing her head in a moment of solemn silence for the memories of those long since destroyed by the darkness, finally able to rest. As she did, the blinding barriers of light that separated the ash and the Jedi began to fade to a shimmer before dissipating on the breeze. The immediate threat of pressing evil over, the world beyond still cried out for salvation from the darkness. In the distance, like a beacon of twisted blackness, Leena could feel it; their work was not yet done. As @Keenava Dira loped toward her, Leena offered up a half-hearted smile; a smile, nevertheless, that shone in her pained watery eyes. She was proud of how the newly uninitiated Jedi had handled herself. Surrounded by darkness, Leena could only imagine how easy the temptation would be to revert back to past knowledges and old habits, even in the name of rightness. “Well done,” she offered as a sign of her approval accompanied by a knowing nod, “but our work is not yet done. The darkness still holds firm to this world. Even as the light seeks to extinguish it, I fear that the shadows of darkness will take root amongst the forces of liberation and good. We must guard ourselves, watch out for others, and extinguish the unnatural flame of shadows. Reach out, feel the darkness my friend. We must go to it and stop whatever profanities they are even now pouring upon the soul of this world.” Leena nodded toward the city in the distance, spiraling towers even now cloaked in unnatural shadowy clouds that seemed to crackle with dark energy. Somewhere within lay the font of darkness that even now corrupted the world around them. Looming to the others she pointed, “The force will be with us and guide our steps.” And with that, they set off, back toward the city and the temple of darkness within.

Panic started to set in, this wasn't a feral, she didn't know what it was with the strange tendrils. Was it something of mythos, had she just pissed off a good. Moving back, keepng her blades in the guard shaking slightly unsure what to do. "To... Togruta, I am togruta" Tunnel vision setting in, every single sense focusing on the creature in front of her. The soft glow off it's tendrils, the way the light caught it's mask. She didn't care about the pirates she just killed, this though she didn't know, she regretted her paniced swing and then... Throwing herself prone as the shield flew overhead and stunning the pirate, turning over and lunging up blade catching in the navel and ripping up till it met bone. She turned back to the creature, getting a better look as the fear faded. "Work as one" she wasn't sure if they understood, it was worth a try though. The sound of more pirates filled the halls as they started to hunt the pair, Lumare giving a short whistle to follow as she moved away from the approaching hoard. Not before taking a small round object off the dead pirates belt.

The world seemed to slow as Darth Mavanger closed the distance with the Wookie. His first two strikes fell upon a stalwart defense, a testament to the Wookie's abilities, albeit only a temporary one as his knee drove into the Jedi's ribs and his pommel cracked across Kirlocca's face. It was in this brief moment of bliss, as his blades tasted their first drops of blood since Nar Shaddaa, that he saw the Wookie's play, a foot driving towards his shin. The very move he had used against the Imperial Knight over Kuat, the move that had almost claimed victory. He leapt, shifting his momentum into a spin, intending to drive two cuts into the Wookie's body, but as his own turned midair and he met the Wookie's eyes, he realized his mistake. The blow didn't pierce his armor- It was a solid Sith alloy, designed to stop everything short of a blow by power armor. Unfortunately, it didn't need to break the armor to be effective as he was caught midair by the force-powered punch. Pain reverberated across his chest as he was pushed back through the air, interrupting his plans for attack as he hit the ground and rolled, driving his blades into the ground to slow his movement. Had he tried to brace himself, the blow would likely have caved in his chest through his armor. It had taken him by surprise- He'd never fought an opponent that could match his strength, his power, blow for blow like this. He would have to be careful to not allow another blow like that. He stood, correcting his chance as he took the briefest moment to catch his breath from the Jedi's blow. He charged again, channeling his emotions and sensations. The pain from the Wookie's blow sharpened his mind, opened his senses to incoming attacks and malicious deceptions. The frustration at his attacks being interrupted drove power into his strikes, merging with his rage and his lust for vindication. The Jedi had rebuffed his offer of kinship, the opportunity to avenge his grief. Darth Mavanger's sorrow had burned entire planets, slain entire populations. He'd slain a monarch to right the wrong done unto him, and yet still he felt it so succinctly. And yet, the Jedi claimed his own grief as greater as though one history of loss negated another. He declared the Sith Warmaster's grief as lesser, as less deserving of empathy because because his list was not known, all the while refusing to bring the perpetrator of such personal sorrow to justice. These things drove him forward, a hardened hammer of darkness to fall upon the brittle shield of light. His empirical truth against the shallow protections of false comforts and self deceptions. A crushing miasma of loss and despair to swallow hope, happiness, and peace wherever it went. His life was a testament of the weakness of the light. How many times had they the opportunity to kill him, to stop his rampage, his crusade? Kuat, Trulalis, Naboo, Nar Shadaa, and now Falleen. All testaments to his wrath, his hatred. All carried with them scars of his passing. He let out a cry that was as much for battle as it was for loss, grief, and sorrow. A harbinger of rage, fury, and hatred. Of guilt and regret, of bloodlust and violence. He feigned the same opening, a false blow to shield his intentions, his true target of the Wookie's outstretched palm, extended past the easy defense of a lightsaber. He stepped to the Jedi's left, bringing down Imeall Sceimhle towards Kirlocca's bicep, intending to either disable it, or sever the arm entirely. The second blow came from Imeall Dólás, a horizontal slash powered by his momentum and his rage towards the Wookie's midsection in an attempt to bisect him, a cruel cut that if it connected would likely debilitate the Wookie if it didn't outright kill him. Another vicious attack followed as Darth Mavanger attempted to get behind the Wookie, a diagonal cut from should to hip from Imeall Sceimhle, followed by one more combined swing by both blades, a crushing blow from above as he looked to demolish any defenses the Wookie could muster. Speed and power were his allies, his weapons, his tools. His trade was battle. His art was war, and he was a master. A potential prodigal son long lost to the dark. ((2))

Only after the beam of plasma finished its arc, did Keenava see. The roadway sat motionless in her mind. The feather-light touch of the force tickled at her nose and spread throughout her body, mingling with fragments of her torrid past, manifesting in a technique that she didn’t understand. She let out a breath she didn’t know she’d been holding, and one of her knees fell to the cold road. Soil and gravel bit up at her through her jumpsuit. The planet felt cold. Death was no stranger here. The leader fell, and her head fell beside her. But the glimpse held in her blue eyes as the moment drew on was almost relief. The frail form of the woman as she crumpled to the ground was not the demon she was a scant second or two ago. In death, though corrupted, it was as if she’d had one breath of clean air—a breath of clean air in a coal mine. Before the final act carried her to her grave. A somber silence masked the next few moments as Keenava held that pose. The beam of verdant green still fizzled and spat as the healing mist continued to shroud her. Dust was all that remained. Dust is all that persisted as the thralls of darkness continued to fall around her. Even the cult leader had been banished to this macabre ashfall. In her somber state, Keenava saw the particles hanging in the air, falling gently as the light cleansed them: mothers, fathers, sisters, and brothers. Their deaths were justified, but now that Keenava could think, now that her conscious soul had been purified from its inky black, she could feel the weight of them. If she had the choice, she would do it again to protect the future, the balance, and her friends. But it felt different. Something about Keenava was happier that she could feel this sad. If the choice to end a life was effortless, what meaning was there in life to begin with? If you don’t value life enough to stay your blade, what kind of life do you lead? "May the force be with you." Keenava breathed as she bowed her head and extinguished her blade. The Twi’lek felt rumbles and concussions as powerful figures clashed on the paths ahead. She could feel the chaos of the world around her as the somber moment passed. And as she let the shroud of mist fall from her shoulders, she could feel her master in the distance, effort pooling in the force as she struggled. Keenava did what she could to send good thoughts to her master and bolster Sandy in her fight, but now was not the time for hesitation. Stretching her quads for good measure, she ran back to Leena and Kadi to regroup.

Sweat beaded upon her brow; another successful show under her belt meant more money for the cause. The blue Twi spent a moment or two shaking her muscles out before sending after the Drokka twins. She followed a small crew of makeup professionals back to her green room, and they were out to meet Bo and Ro after a few minutes in a fresh set of formal clothes. It was a practiced routine. She was finished with her work for the day; now it was time to join the Queen and assist in any way possible. The Zabrak followed close behind her as she headed down the corridors toward the brig. As she walked, she was passing paperwork to and fro, levying calls and connections via datapads that were passed back and forth. — Vihk already busied himself lifting massive blocks of stone and aiding refugees in moving goods to and from the ship to makeshift shelters. It would take a lot of time to put this place back together, but Vihk felt a swell of pride with every step. It was always good to put good back into the galaxy. — Bending down one last corridor, Esmer noticed the young queen sitting patiently in front of a cell. She posted Bo and Ro on either end of the hall, indicating that they should keep their eyes peeled, just in case. "Good afternoon, your majesty," Esmernia commented, addressing the Queen with a deep bow before taking a position at her side. "At your earliest convenience, I have a small delegation of Gungan refugees that is eager to make your acquaintance. They are comprised of those that were away from home when the destruction began. I also have some decisions regarding construction companies and a series of other decisions waiting for your consideration. All of that aside, I am overjoyed that you made it out alive." Esmernia bowed her head a little once more, a single tear running down her cheek. “We’ve lost too many. I’m glad we didn’t lose you too.”

After so much waiting, filled with pacing and occasional groaning, Solus began to get fed up. “What in the Force’s name is taking them so long?” Solus griped as he turned around for the 100th time to pace the room further. “My message was perfect, was it not? It was succinct, it spoke of desperation, and it had the perfect lure!” In his slow rantings to himself, his grip over his Madness loosened, and several eyes began to form in the crevices of the walls. Somewhere, an gurgle came from the shadows. “Oh no, I made sure everyone could hear it…” Solus replied to the gurgle, as if he understood. “From what I know, the Jedi are always rushing into the rescue. And the Imperials will want a stable government so they don’t have to commit forces here long term! So why is nobody here!” Solus glanced at the equipment that was used to send the recording. “Perhaps I need to resend another message to…” A blaster shot interrupted Solus’ thought. From the ground, a Falleen soldier had just recovered from his wounds, and overhearing the Shard’s plot, sought to prevent the plan from succeeding. Unable to hit the Shard, he did the next best thing and destroyed the control panel. Three shots rang out before Solus even registered what was happening. “You stupid kriffing idiot!” Solus shouted as he reached out with the Force and pulled the blaster out of the Falleen’s hand. “You are the dumbest piece of rusted scrap to ever walk the planet! Why you little…” Solus walked over and placed a metal foot on the Falleen’s chest. Unable to talk much, the Falleen only spat out some spit and blood at the Shard. Solus didn’t outwardly react, only gripping his hands into fists as he stared the Falleen down. “Well, at least you are providing something useful to me…” Solus sighed. Holding up his hand, he revealed the Scomp-link in his finger. “Maybe you have some info on your compatriots, hmmm? Nah, I doubt that. But at the very least I’ll get to enjoy your pain…” From inside the control room for the communications array, screaming could be heard. ______ Shortly afterwards, Solus was rushing towards the central palace. In the time since he had sent out the first message, the Linnorms had completed their goals of going underground and committing to guerilla warfare. The evidence of dead bodies, scorched buildings and destroyed utilities certainly were proof of that. Standing before the palace, Solus saw smoke coming from several of its towers. The Falleen forces had begun their own attacks inside in preparation for the Imperial forces, and the palace was still the icon of the people. From the looks of it, Falleen forces were already inside and dealing with the Linnorms. “Hmmm…it is so tempting to hunt everyone…” Solus thought out loud. “To commit death on a scale to please the Fanged one himself. But…I have a different mission. Killing is not the main goal. Stealth first, then…we shall see, yes?” The Madness gurgled at the Shard’s reasoning. With that acceptance, Solus charged forward. Utilizing abilities of the Force and his own training, Solus became a blur of a droid. While using the ability of Force speed was a given, so too did the Shard have to utilize the shadows, sensor blindspots and Force Flash for areas with no blindspots, acrobatics, distractions via moving objects and creating noises, and even playing dead once as a group of Falleen militia. Much to his pleasure, his efforts were rewarded with no one noticing the Shard. Neither Linnorm nor Falleen took notice of the blurry droid with a cape and music instrument. But all the while, Solus had to deal with the Madness. “Yes, yes, soon soon…” Solus told himself as he ran down a set of stairs towards the basement where the records were kept. “I promise I will kill someone after I… The Madness growled into Solus’ ear, a hint of maliciousness aimed at the Shard. Solus threw his arms up. “Gah! Of course, I’ll drive someone towards insanity, my apologies oh vile one. Just…let me…” Solus stopped halfway down the stairs as he gripped his head where his Shard form laid. The Madness inside was growing restless with the Shard, and was eager to spread and expand. Solus needed to appease it soon, or its images would plague him without mercy. Even with his training, he could not restrain the Madness forever. “There!” Solus heard a cry. At the bottom of the stairs, a Linnorm appeared. Dressed in raggety cultist robes and clutching a bleeding wound at his side, the Linnorm had seen better days. “Thank the Fanged one you’re here…” the Linnorm gasped as he made his way upwards towards Solus. “Our numbers are unable to maintain the Palace for long. But perhaps with you…” Solus didn’t hear anything the Linnorm said. He was too focused on the Madness inside. “Atlach-Nacha '' Solus said out loud as he raised a hand towards the Linnorm. The Linnorm stopped and looked at the shard in confusion. “My lord?” “Em ni esoht hsinab ot dna etubirt ni eno siht tae. gneL ni rellewd , Atlach-Nacha. This be my ritual…” Solus continued. The Force around him shivered slightly as the Impossible Geometries opened up. The vile dark shapes that plagued Solus’ form in the Geometries slid out on ethereal winds. With focus, Solus pushed the Madness towards the Linnorm. The Linnorm’s eyes widened as he witnessed Madness take shape. Before him, a new thing had formed. Numerous hairy, jointed legs stretched across the stairs propping the massive carapace in the air. From its twin abdomens protruded large stingers that dripped ethereal poison to the ground. On its front was a humanoid large face, looking strangely baby-like, save its numerous eyes and maw of teeth. The Linnorm screamed as the thing descended on him. Solus kept his sensors focused on the poor soul, knowing that if he broke vision, the ritual of the Wyyrlok would be broken as well. He had given life to a hallucination, and now that the Linnorm, weak minded as he was, believed it, everything the hallucination did was real to him. Solus finally broke his concentration and stepped over the twitching body. Blood dribbled from its nose and eyes, and its mouth opened and closed noiselessly. The Madness had infected this soul, and in time, would kill him. “Not bad…not bad…” Solus chimed to himself as he left the body behind, the Madness returning to him in full. The gurgling was less vicious now, and more constrained. It would not hunger for a while now. At least, long enough for Solus to find the data room and erase everything inside. “Pity that my master couldn’t have seen that. Or that it had to be one of my own. Oh well. Now, time for those plans…”

"Oh... That's neat..." Thumper said as he kept his pokerface as to not arouse any suspicion. . He said it as of it was a weird statement more than anything, and the crazy occultist had a hold of his arm. Then there was a look of fury upon the woman's face which the Clone merely raised his brows, she dropped his wrist abd started for the door which the trio merely looked to each other abd shrugged. While the woman's back was turned Tilt gave a few habd gestures to signal that they get ready... For whatever. They put on their helmets, uncertainty about their thoughts now. Tilt approached the woman but kept a good two foot distance. He asked, "Ma'am... You alright?"

As the sound of blaster and concussion rifle fire broke out and quickly died, more of the pirate raiding crew began to make their way towards the scuffle. Six of them began to run towards the fighting, skidding to a halt when they saw their collapsed and beaten comrades. They hissed with apprehension and slowly advanced, their weapon lights scanning the walls and shadows. Outside, in the depths of space another ship was pulled from hyperspace. Every Pirates worst nightmare. A Star Destroyer from the Sovereign Alliance, fresh from Kurt Drive Yards, on its first run trials. The Gallinore It’s crew very happy to have found themselves in the middle of a target rich environment.

So the thralls had been laid to dust. What power was this? They had seen it before, ages upon ages ago, where eons stretched back and reality became myth. An old enemy that they had been sure was defeated. A power that had gone out of the universe! And now this girl, this fish and her friends was wielding it against the thralls? The dark presence in the temple reached out its own senses focusing on the trio of Jedi. What had brought them here? What fate had given them this mission to defeat him? He had consumed and he would consume. Blood demanded it. In the temple a half dozen priest began their incantations, staining the alters with blood of unwilling victims. There was little time left and the Jedi were close

Even as he spoke the words, Kirlocca began to understand why the Force led him to this planet. The crystal echoed Raven, but it felt off. Perverted beyond a sense of what he knew. Or maybe it was the Dark Side surrounding her through the Sith is more of what he felt. He held it out for a second and spoke to prove his point, only to prove his own. But such reasoning the Jedi Master understood was beyond reaching at this moment. What he held and placed back inside his armor was not at all who Raven was, nor could she ever be from such a thing. But even as he fully placed the crystal away, Kirlocca felt something in the Force, a rise in Dark Side energy. It was familiar, the rage and anger felt within the Force. And then it happened, the Sith Warrior charged at him with reckless abandon. With calmness in his mind, and readiness with his body, he fell into the default position of Wru’torr, allowing for a very slight moment of preparation to the coming onslaught. The Sith, wielding swords instead of lightsabers, would prove to be a step onto Kirlocca’s final path, but one that was beyond the Jedi Master’s own vision and mind. The rage and anger that came with each coming blow gave insight and wisdom, even more so with the Wookiee pushing his own presence into the fray, making the strikes telegraphed a bit more than usual. The first sword went directly at him, a blow with strength, but even for the most skilled warrior would know such a blow would never land except against a novice. It was the second blow that Kirlocca sought to seek out, one that came upwards on his back, as the Jedi Master turned to avoid the first blow, only barely using the lightsaber he received from Sandy to move it away. The upward one took a long cut into his back, but not deep. It cut enough to have his ceremonial battle cross belt off. The positioning of the defense left him open to the next landing blow, a knee into his gut. The air inside his chest left for a moment, which was replaced by pain. Had the Sith Warrior been stronger, bones or ribs could have been broken. It was a brute move, one that he had not seen in a long time, but almost as he bent from the pain, knew to turn to look for the next opportunity. The face turn helped him in only catching part of the pommel of one of the swords, cutting into the corner of his left eye. As it struck, the Force whispered to him to make his move. Using the momentum from the Sith, along with his own, he made a quick spin, making a move with his left foot, but at the last minute dropped his foot and kicked at the the other knee of the Sith with his right foot with enough force to break the shin. His foot went down in such a way that he was moving forward and going through something regardless. The kick was designed around the movement of protecting the other foot, the only reason to strike the way he did. Upon planting his foot, he used his right paw to punch at the gut of the Sith, bringing to bear his natural brute force, along with Force energy. He would get the Sith to back away slightly through the strike, or the energy of the Force behind the strike would push him backwards. Either way, Kirlocca would get some space. As he finished the blow, he took a small step backwards to reset himself into the default starting position of Wru’torr. A small smirk came to his face, blood dripping from his left eye and his back. He knew at this point what his tactic was. Keep the Sith angry, and keep him charging at him. He would play to the strength of Wru’torr. It was the way that Kirlocca would show both Raven and the Sith why he was brought back. ((1))