Jump to content

Mavanger

Roleplay Mod Team
  • Posts

    249
  • Joined

  • Last visited

  • Days Won

    19

Everything posted by Mavanger

  1. Darth Mavanger watched from seclusion with interest. His cloak his his telltale armor, and while he doubted his presence in the force went unnoticed, her rested easy knowing that any who noticed him would likely let him bide his time. He knew the Sith needed strong leadership, and this new contender seemed to offer it. He would lead them himself in due time, but he had no place in aiding their efforts to rebuild, at least not yet. But there had been discontent even with Darth Nyrys, a renowned master of the Dark Side with a storied history of victory- there was no telling how the Sith would accept this stranger. She had power, but no standing ,and none loyal to her cause to protect her claim. While he believed her worthy, at least for now, the Sith needed stability to rebuild. Should she fail to grant that, he would step forward and claim the title for himself. But should she defeat her challengers, claim the throne free of any real dissent, then he would return to the shadows, watching, waiting for the day that he would lead the Sith from hiding into a glorious new conquest.
  2. Mavanger

    Space

    Darth Mavanger nodded. He'd heard enough- While Akheron clearly believed in his god, his declaration was a good start. "The road ahead is long, Lord Akheron, and you will have many trials ahead of you. The galaxy has fallen into the hands of the rebels, and the power that is rightfully ours has been stolen from our very grasp. The Jedi and Imperial Knights, despite their losses, walk openly in the galaxy once more. The Dark Lady has plans for a shadow war, anonymous terrorism and assassination. This is not a fight for me- the time is for those amongst our order who did not have a chance to show their worth under Darth Exodus to do so now. And to do this, you will have the backing of the Sith Empire as a Sith Master. By taking the first steps to casting off your chains, you have passed your trial. Masterhood is yours- use it well, or die trying."
  3. Mavanger

    Space

    "You know the code, but you do not understand it." Darth Mavanger turned to look at the Sith Lord before him. "There are those among the Sith who believe you to be ready for the title of Master. I am to be the judge of that. While none question your ability to fight, I question your loyalty. Your beliefs. Your dogmatic fanaticism to the cult that you've fallen in with raises concern. In the Sith code, we speak of chains to be broken. Not just physical chains, but mental chains. To be a master of the Sith, you must be above the chains of the lesser man. How can you claim you have broken free of yours if your every move, your every victory, is snatched away from you by some false god taught to you by a wayward cultist? There is a reason those that blindly follow gods do not rise above fodder." He set his glass down, his eyes finally meeting Akheron's in judgement. "What separates us is that you are a cultist blindly following a deity that if it exists, does not care for you or your struggles, seeking to be deemed worthy. I am a Master of the Sith Order, and I am the one who passes judgement, the one who people blindly follow. Lord Akheron, the true question to be asked of you here, is whether or not you are too blinded by faith to cast off your chains and rise above the fodder to show the galaxy why it should be you, not some dark god, who passes judgement on the worthy and unworthy alike?"
  4. Mavanger

    Space

    As Akheron spoke, Darth Mavanger shook his head. More talk of the Fanged God, of a fate that wasn't his to control. The man had been so neutered by his faith in this... cult, that he had forgotten what he was. It would be Mordecai's duty to rectify this mistake. While Nyrys's new shadow empire would sow discord and discontent within the new galactic government, he would remove any vestige of weakness and misguided faith from it. While he disagreed with the Dark Lady's methods, the deed was done, and the only chance to succeed would be to ensure that the Sith were at their very best when they were ready to return. "I don't recall asking for privacy, only for you to close the ramp behind you. Had I wished to remain anonymous, however, such a guard being placed outside defeats such a purpose. In truth, their presence matters not. What leaves this room after this conversation is for you to decide." He pulled himself to his feet, moving to the Ysalimiri enclosure that had protected them on their way into the Helvault. The beasts had been disposed of shorty after their retreat, and now the terrarium lie empty, still as the day it was created. No evidence that life had ever congregated within. "Are you able to recite the Sith code, Lord Akheron? Did your master ever teach you its proverbs? Help you understand it's meaning?"
  5. Mavanger

    Space

    Darth Mavanger watched in amusement as Lord Akheron swept for bugs and placed a rather overkill number of guards outside of the ship. As he finally returned, sitting before the Sith Warmaster, Mavanger took a drink from a cupboard. The ship was not only a stealth transport, but as it had been furnished for Sith operatives and members of Sith Intelligence, it had a healthy amount of luxurious hardware. He poured himself a glass- A bothan wine, from a manufacturer he didn't know. No matter, it was a formality more than anything. He poured a second glass, placing it upon the table before him. "Help yourself if you wish, Lord Akheron." He took a drink, watching the man's actions carefully. "Tell me, what do you believe the cause of this meeting to be if you have placed so many guards and performed such a diligent sweep for bugs? Do you not trust your own crew? The fellow Sith who just aided you in a mission most dangerous?" At a glance, he was at ease, more interested in the drink before him that the Sith that now sat opposite. But this, hopefully unbeknownst to the veteran Lord, was a test. A measurement of his character. A chance to see if his hunch was correct. His answers here would laregly steer the conversation, for better or worse. He would either be found a worthy ally, or a hapless pawn.
  6. Mavanger

    Space

    There was one last thing he had to do. As the other Sith filed out of the shuttle into the Sith vessel, he closed his eyes, leaning back in his seat. Inmortos had gone down with the station, an unfortunate loss. But he doubted the master Necromancer would die so easily. No, he'd be back. Death had as little grip on the Krath as it did on himself. A monkey paw's curse. Immortality, but a life of pain and loss and grief. All that was left, the only reprieve he could find, was vengeance. Cassandra's death, Raven's. Every rebel he'd killed, every monarch he'd toppled, none of them were an equivalent exchange for the single one he's lost. And yet, it was all that came close. He forced himself to his feet, the weight of his armor holding him back. It was more than physical nowadays- it was an emotional leash, a psychological weight put in place by time after time of being handicapped at his moments of triumph. But this time- It would be his last, whether he won or lost. Even if death still refused to claim him, he would be done. Of that he was sure. He pulled out his comm device, keying it to call the last piece. "Lord Akheron, return to the shuttle immediately. Seal the entrance behind you. We have much to discuss."
  7. Darth Mavanger didn't know what Inmortos had in mind, but his own objective had been accomplished. The Helvault had been breached, and Apothos had been retrieved. Anything past that was secondary to getting those who had accompanied him off the station. He pushed through, just behind the wake of the remaining Sith forces as they filed towards the hangar. Upon their arrival, he swiftly boarded, firing up the engines of the craft. "Brace yourselves." As the Helvault plummeted towards the planet, a glowing meteor hurtling towards it's inevitable demise, the shuttle rocketed out. To the naked eye, it seems no more than a piece broken loose by the forces of re-entry. Yet another pillar of the false peace of the Rebels and their government- More willing to consign the souls aboard to death than to give them a chance at freedom. The shuttle rattled violently as they escaped the vortex left behind by what was now a glorified fireball. He stood, removing his mask and moving to the passenger section of the craft. Their allies would be here soon, and there was much to be discussed. He nodded his head at the new arrivals, his eyes decades older than they had been months past. "Krath Apothos. Did you think I would let an ally rot in a cell? It seems you made an ally of your own while inside." he said, motioning to the unknown party with a gauntleted hand. "We lost much at Mon Cal, and at Nar Shaddaa. Now, we rebuild."
  8. Darth Mavanger snarled as they entered and he heard the other Siths' words. As they spoke, the station was in freefall, flooding with dangerous droids, hostile prisoners, and force-bound horrors, and yet they stood around posturing as though for court. He glanced back towards where they came from- it seemed to still be open, albeit a path of much resistance. "You all speak to much. First we escape, then we can introduce ourselves. If you are Sith, follow us. If you are not, find your own way off this hulk. We have no interest pursuing you." He glanced at Apothos- Another lost to the battle of Mon Cal. Pain flashed in his chest- It was a battle that had claimed too many able warriors. At least Apothos could be recovered and rescued. The self proclaimed Darth Dictum, claiming title and position within the Sith Empire, although he was a stranger to the order. The veteran Lord Akheron, a warrior who's combat ability he'd been made aware of long before Nar Shaddaa. With these collected Sith, not only would the Empire survive, but he would with luck retain loyal allies within while he undertook his self-imposed exile. His glance drifted to Inmortos, nodding. "We have what we needed. We should return to the ship."
  9. Progress was easy, even without the use of the Force. At least, at first. Turrets with pre-programed targeting algorithms were easy to fool, and as long as they killed them faster than the station's systems could adapt, they would stay ahead of the curve. That was, until the programming realized that turrets alone couldn't stop them. A squad of Droids pressed towards them from a separate hall, and Mordecai snarled under his mask. He'd hoped to find a straggler, to give them time to find the registry. Instead, he'd gotten an entire security detachment. He ran forwards, his blades cleaving through droids like they were made of paper, stun batons bouncing off of his Sithsteel armor, blaster bolts trying desperately to keep up with his sporadic movements. The only thing that slowed him was the return of the Force. All at once, it hit him. Death. Anguish. Grief. Betrayal. Thousands of spirits, finally free from their eternal prison, finally able to find a vessel for their wrath. Even he could feel it, despite his unfamiliarity with the Necromancers' skills. But the feelings they forced on him, they were more familiar than most counted on. He didn't resist- He knew the burning rage in the souls of the departed. Left here, forgotten, nothing but death as their destinies were robbed of them. He let the fire rekindle in his chest, he channeled the emotions of the spirits around him. As the necromancer behind him screamed, and the droids in front of him fired another volley of shots, he felt them impact. Most were absorbed by the armor, but a few hit the less protected joints at his shoulders and elbows. He hissed, sneering. The ghosts around him cried for revenge. They tried to take control, to force their will upon him. They had no true hold over his psyche, however. Death had tried once before to claim him, and it had failed. The Force had dragged him back to this accursed war, to fulfill his purpose of establishing an unquestioned peace across the galaxy. He darted forward, the power of his rage fueling him once more as he sliced through the remaining droids with ease with the help of the Necromancer. He turned, nodding respectfully. The other Sith's power had grown since they last met- A harbinger of things to come, it seemed. He turned in time to see Solus peel around the corner, followed by a beast he'd never witnessed before. It was horrific, a snarling mass of rage and decay that seemed to destroy anything in its path. But Darth Mavanger recognized it for what it truly was. A puppet of the Dark Side, the amalgamation of the horrors of this station. Loss, pain, regret, and obscurity. And beneath it all, a desire. A hunger. But not a hunger for life. He knew this desire well. It desired death. It's own, or anything that got in its way. He would grant this kindred spirit its wish. That, or it would grant him his. His momentum carried him towards the beast, his oil-slicked blades cutting through grasping appendages and roiling flesh alike. The incarnations of his fury and grief, his greatest weapons, not just blades in his hands, but extensions of his body and of his will. The beast landed blow after blow against Darth Mavanger, but he pressed further in. "Let me grant you peace" he whispered in the chaos. The beast's death, or his. That was the only option.
  10. Mordecai's eyes snapped open as he drifted into the air and the Force rippled around him, even if for just a moment, sparking the quiet rage he felt deep within his chest. His respite, it seemed, was over. There was pain, but pain was not his enemy. He grabbed the bulkhead, pulling himself to the wall as he glanced at Inmortos. The Whiphid smashed into the cell once more, and he looked out. A shame- He had hoped that the local populace would relish their freedom, but it seemed this one wanted them dead. It mattered not. "Follow us, and you will be slain where you stand." He glanced at Inmortos, motioning him to follow as he began to move deeper into the station, pulling himself along the wall. He could hear the blaster fire throughout the station- It seemed that his compatriots had trigger the alarm. They would have to move fast if they wanted to find Apothos and escape in time. "We have much work to do, and I doubt our whiphid friend here is the only one who will try to kill us on sight. We must find a droid- more than likely, they will have a registry of prisoners for us to use."
  11. Darth Mavanger watched from the cockpit as his fellow Sith left, with Akheron and Inmortos charging headfirst into the frey. He closed his eyes, trying one more time to feel the Force. This was a place designed to hold and kill people like them- Those who's power relied on the Force and its machinations. They would get themselves killed like this. His armor rested heavily on him, moreso than usual. He would be slower, less coordinated, but even still he was confident that he was one of, if not the most dangerous lifeforms on the entire station. He rose, walking towards the still-cloaked exit ramp. He took one last deep breath before darting out of the craft. The force of his impact on the hangar deck still rattled the floor plates, and as he sprinted towards the prone form of Inmortos, his mind cleared. It was no longer clouded by the hate and anger that the Dark Side fed on, though the emotions were still there. His fury was not so easily calmed, but for now, it would take a backseat to the mission. Inmortos's plan had worked, and the blast doors had been torn apart by the station's turrets, with naught but twisted metal and burning slag remaining. He could see the turret reacquiring it's target, and he pushed himself harder. He reached down, grabbing the old necromancer by his clothing as the turret whirred to life again, firing a slew of deadly bolts behind them. The station's AI had adapted, and the bolts were no longer strong enough to tear open durasteel, but they impacted his armor as he crossed the threshold, launching him forward as he dropped the Necromancer into cover, his cloak smoking from the impact as he lay motionless for a moment, merely grunting at Inmortos to signal his survival. The bolts hadn't pierced his armor, but they had rattled his body from the impact.
  12. Mordecai boarded behind the rest, his voice silent as he took the helm. Wordlessly, he shut the boarding ramp and engaged the ship's cloak. In mere moments, the ship had disappeared from sight, and Mordecai engaged the engines. All that was left was to get in position and wait for the hangar shields to drop. As the ship lifted and began it's approach to the prison in the stars, he felt his stomach drop, and felt something leave him, as though he'd lost an organ without realizing it. The Force had left him- it was an alien feeling. He felt the true weight of his equipment, his strength no longer aided by the Dark Side. He was still strogn ,still powerful, still a warrior, but without the force he was as capable as any other. It reminded him of his days on Korriban, his connection to the Force a small strand of wool compared to what it was now. He hadn't known then what he was missing. There was something else though- It was like a bag had been taken off his head, as though he was coming to from a drunken stupor. A dark pressure that had loomed over him for years seemed lighter, less pervasive. His grief seemed to abate, even if momentarily, and his rage left him nearly entirely. It was a shock to his system- Was this some secondary effect of the Ysalimari? Was it an effect that was used to placate the prisoners and make them less violent? Only time would tell. The ship drifted into the void, approaching the prison with little trouble. He shut off the engines and leaned back, keying his communicator. "We've arrived. Once the shields are down, we'll infiltrate. Make yourselves comfortable- there's a chance we will be here for some time"
  13. "Krath Apothos is a Sith Lord that pledged himself to my campaign. I am not one to leave an ally to rot in a cell for my ambitions. Indeed, were it not for Darth Nyrys and he plans set in motion, I would have led this rescue months ago." He motioned towards the clearing, pressing a button and revealing a shuttle taken from the drydock of the Kuat Drive Yards months ago in nearly forgotten preparation for this very mission. Outfitted with a state of the art cloaking system and with enough room to fit several squads of Sith troopers, although it was empty now, it was the key to the locked vault. Sensors were useless against it, the active cloaking protected it from visual identification, and the Ysalimari aboard the vessel would stop anyone from sensing their presence in the Force. The only remaining hurdle was to find a way to open the hangar shields- He imagined that there would be a transport here eventually, and then they would simply slip in behind. "This is our way in. Once inside, we simply find our opening and take it."
  14. Darth Mavanger regarded the other Sith from behind his mask, his own emotions not outwardly displayed. When he had last seen Inmortos, it had been in the throne room of Naboo, after he had convinced his ally to return to the council. He thought back to that day- The Dark Lady had given him a title and a mission, and he had set aside his complaints to see it through. At he known the extent of what she had planned, he would have protested more strongly. He nodded curtly as both Akheron and Inmortos greeted him- He had few words for pleasantries now. All that mattered was the future. The next fight. The next Empire. As Solus spoke however, his hands went to his blades, and he hissed through his teeth. "If you wish for that crystal to stay in one piece you won't try mentioning that mission to me or any others again. Her fate must be lost to history so that she will never be revived." He looked up- He thought he could see it. The Helvault. Where the Rebels had kept their most dangerous prisoners. All in one place, waiting, biding its time for one prison break to set them all free again. This would do more to destabilize the new Alliance than a dozen battles over supply lines. "It is not only Krath Apothos that is held in the Helvault. He is, however, our primary objective. You'd do well in the future to not cast aside former allies so easily. Do it too often and you will be left with none."
  15. What a fucking duel. Just to give you guys an idea, This duel took 3 mods nearly an hour to decide who won because you both did so well and performed so close to each other. You both had good, bad, and fantastic, And even the bad was completely in character and narratively excellent. The idea of two of the greatest Mandalorians alive spiralling through the air in a brutal deathmatch was well portrayed here, from Terra's paranoia and sense of betrayal to Tros's desire to take disarm her and take her alive. If they ever duel again I'll be reading every post. Now, onto the meat of the duel: First and foremost, Terra's final post. In her attack, she grabs Tros's grappling hook and uses it to pull herself towards him to stab him in the collar. It's an excellent move, but grabbing your opponent's weapon and manipulating it for your attack is a very grey area. It works here since the nature of a grapple attack like this is to tether the two fighters, and in doing this Terra isn't undoing Tros's attack or taking actions beyond using it for it's intended purpose- to close the gap. I would not recommend trying this often due to the innate grey area of manipulating an opponent's weapon to your advantage in a closed way like this. Tros, your first post was a bit of a whiff. You made one attack against a target that you were informed was not a part of the duel. While thematic in the situation, and definitely in character, not making an attack in your first post is definitely not the greatest move for a duel post. In the future, I would treat things like this as part of the setup and make your attacks separate for the round. The barest edge was decided in the final post. While Terra is at a disadvantage, being without a jump pack or electronics to alter her course, Tros seems intent to engage her on this front with the intent of using his own blade. The deciding factor was that Terra was approaching rapidly with a long-reaching spear, and Tros hadn't even drawn his blade yet. You both did phenomenally and should both be proud, but Terra is the victor, and has next post.
  16. Darth Mavanger's shuttle touched down at the coordinates he was given. It was odd, to be in the fight even after his departure from the Sith Empire, but he had unfinished business. He wasn't one to leave a faithful ally to rot in a cell, especially when the plan was concocted by other allies of his campaign. He was alone- his shuttle was piloted by a simple droid. None save those who would be present would know his location. The isolation of the Empress's soul was priority right now. Even now, it remained hidden aboard his shuttle. It was programmed to self destruct should someone try to board it without his permission, and if he fell on the Helvault and death truly claimed him, the crystal would fade into the wilderness of Nepsis VIII. He sealed his shuttle behind him, looking to the sky awaiting his compatriots. He was still the Warmaster of the Sith, even in hiding as the Empress had bid, and he knew they would arrive soon.
  17. Darth Mavanger's craft landed with an ear-splitting screech as it tore across the hangar's deck. It had been damaged in the twin blasts of the Rebel flagships, and Mavanger had barely managed to land it under any modicum of control. The blasts had rocked the Raven's Bane- the shields had already taken damage, but the blasts had finally stripped them. Now she lay vulnerable, the only thing separating her magazines and torpedoes for fiery detonation being feet of layered metal. One by one, her support craft moved to reinforce. The charge had been successful, and the captains of the remaining vessels were rallying to the cause. He saw a Harrower star destroyer, move to shield them, watching as the green, red and blue turbolaser fire splashed against the ship's shields. It wouldn't last long, but it was buying them time to get away. Even still, the fire was intense, explosions rocking the ship with every stray shot that made it past the defensive forces. The repairs would be time consuming and costly, but the Raven's Bane would survive. Mordecai pulled out his comlink, broadcasting a simple message to friend and foe alike. "The false Empress has fallen. The rebels will break." To his own captain, he broadcasted a different one. "Take us to Geonosis immediately."
  18. The silence swallowed him, the Empress's words rapidly dispersing into the aether with her final breath. The command deck was silent, save for the Misericordia s creaks and groans as fire was exchanged with the Raven's Bane and her escorts. The second rebel flagship was closing fast- He would have to move. He forced himself to his feet, retrieving the blade from Raven's chest. He could feel her soul pulsing in the gem- the sole reminder of her existence. The ship shuddered, and he moved towards the exit. His vengeance had been achieved, and yet he still felt hollow. The fires of rage still burnt his veins, and he was left without a target for it. Everyone he'd trusted were dead, or beyond his reach now. He knew the way of the Dark Lords. He was dangerous, both to Nyrys and to her plan. He would either be placed in a backwater to guard a place worth little, or he would be slain to preserve her faux peace. He would abide neither option. The galaxy was changing, and he intended to spearhead that change. He had no chance for now. His forces were heavily damaged, his retinue were dead or out of contact, and the Sith Empire's military might would be in shambles after this battle. He would need to disappear, to heal his wounds, his spirit, and his resolve. But he would not leave the Sith to their own machinations. There were still three he relied upon. One who's chains were literal, one who's chains were emotional, and one who's chains were nearly broken. These would be their projects while he was away. He fought his way through squads of security personnel, through hostile corridors and quarters. He entered the hangar, took his shuttle, and left. Alone, and forever changed. _ Aboard the Raven's Bane, orderly mayhem was breaking loose. Their reinforced shields were holding against the Misericordia, but barely, and now the Constantine was moving close to engage. The situation was dire. Captain Ralos knew that the corridor would need to be clear for Darth Mavanger to escape, and with both the Misericordia and the Constantine still active, the chances of that happening were incredibly low. But there was an opportunity- The Raven's Bane was in a favorable position, nearly directly between the two capital ships, and passing close. It didn't take much to perfect their position, and as the Raven's Bane took fire from both sides, it fired a point blank volley of siege torpedoes into both ships, a volley that was hopefully massive enough in firepower to destroy both of the battleworn vessels. Their own proximity to the fallout never once crossed her mind as a deterrent.
  19. Mordecai laughed mirthlessly at her words. "What is madness but the deception of oneself? There is no question that I am a madman, not anymore. But what separates me from the rest is the same thing that separates you. Why we have bodyguards instead of an enlisted man. People put their faith in other people. Mine believe in me, and yours you. Even now they flood the ship in hopes of saving you. How many will die with this ship?" He sighed, watching the destruction with a heavy heart. "I would trade places with any of them though. To die gloriously in combat, to be relieved of the burden I bear. But we all have chains, Raven, whether you realize it or not. I thought mine was the legacy of my forefathers, or the machinations of your rebels. But I understand the truth now. The veil has been lifted, and the madness has cleared. My vengeance is the chain that binds me to this world. I thought it would end with you. That I could let go of this poison, that I could die in blissful relief. But even now, as you bleed out, I thirst for more." He gestured vaguely in the direction that he could feel the force roiling. The Dark Lord would soon face her own trial, but he would be long gone by the end, regardless of who won. "I'm tired. Exhausted. I've fought this war for my entire adult life, brought our empire to the precipice of victory with my campaign. And now, I see the threads coming undone. Exodus was losing grip on the empire, but he still fought to preserve it. Darth Nyrys wishes to willingly cast it aside, start from scratch with some grandiose idea that we will rise from the ashes." He sat beside the Empress, his breathing steadying as he recuperated from his fight. He knew his next step. He needed to truly break free of his chains. "My chains are perpetual. I understand now. I seek vengeance, and in that action, those dear to me die. Conveniently, another target for my hatred surfaces. But I will break free, even if the very forces of the galaxy will resist."
  20. Darth Mavanger removed his ruined mask, placing it behind his blade's sheathe. He looked upon the young girl in front of him, staring him down even now, with her fleet and her world burning behind her. She offered him her blade, and he understood the sanctity of the act. Surrender. An offering for peace. But his vengeance demanded her death, and so it would have it. He took her blade, placing it in a pouch on his belt. He had left Cassandra's where it had fallen- a worthy opponent. Looting her corpse would have dishonored that fact. He drew a much smaller blade. It was still formed of Sith Steel, and it was adorned with a dark crystal that pulsed malignantly in the Force, a sickening artifact of obscene purpose. He stepped in, thrusting the dagger into Empress Raven's chest. It wasn't an immediately lethal blow- the blade needed time to work it's dark sorceries, and she needed to be alive for it. He place his other hand on her shoulder, as he had with Cassandra, guiding her further onto the bridge. Even now, as his most hated foe bled from his wound, he was unsatisfied. The rebels would control the galaxy, regardless of this act. The Dark Lord had decreed it so, and he had not the strength at the time to contest her. Even now, at the height of his power, even if he wrested control of the Sith Empire, the pieces were already in motion. The rebel fleet burned, but so did his. There wouldn't be enough Sith to re-secure the Galaxy for a long time. Not after Naboo and Nar Shadaa. His mind drifted, trying to find someone responsible. Someone he could aim his fury at. His grief. His betrayal. And as he did, he realized. "Care to listen to the words of a madman?"
  21. The doors hissed open, and there she was. Alone on the bridge, the fleet battle that raged on skylined behind her. A brutal tapestry of what they had brought into the galaxy. It was destiny that drew them together here. Raven was destined to die, and Darth Mavanger was destined to kill her from the moment that he had made the decision to join the Sith Empire and departed Carida. Home. He approached the Empress, removing his mask and stowing it on his belt, his blades sheathed on his side. He looked past her, at the fires and the explosions that rocked both fleets. He could see his fleet breaking through, his flagship closing with the Misericordia rapidly. No doubt they were trying to extract him. Loyal to the end. How many would die from the damage his own flagship sustained from this maneuver? He looked at Raven, his eyes meeting hers. He stepped closer, exhaustion filling his bones. He could take her in a fight, even in this state, he was sure, but he knew she wasn't defenseless. "Empress Raven. I've waited a long time for this reunion."
  22. Cassandra defended herself admirably. Even in his current state, Darth Mavanger could appreciate that. Had it not been for the walls limiting her mobility, the fight would have very likely gone on for longer, and the False Empress would have been given a chance to escape. She expertly parried, redirected, and dodged his attacks in a masterful display of footwork, agility, and swordsmanship, right up until the end. Like he though, she ducked to the side to avoid one blade, and stepped right into the path of another. The ship screamed as a metal blade made a hole in the durasteel wall, blood coating the other side as it pinned her to the wall. It was an awful sound, as though the room around them mourned for the Imperial Knight's final moments. Cassandra, the first of his many hurdles, the Imperial Knight who had thwarted his defense of Kuat when he was but an apprentice, now struggled for breath, mere inches away from him. He leaned forward, into her her as he caught his breath. She still had life. the fog of rage and vengeance was lifting, and his senses came back to him. The voice was back. The guilt. The death and destruction that he had caused. Even now, with Cassandra dying inches away from him, by his hand, he was not satisfied. The pit was still there. The hole in his heart, the loneliness of his path of vengeance. He placed a hand on her shoulder, looking at her blindfolded eyes, looking for an answer. "Will the pain ever stop?" he whispered, agony creeping into his voice. But she was gone now. His question was left unanswered, and again he was alone. He looked over at the turbolift, retrieving his blade from the wall and Cassandra's corpse, guiding her gently to the ground. His forces were dead. His guards were dead. Cassandra was dead. This was the destiny of those who surrounded him. Whether they be friend or foe, all that followed him for long was death. And death was still to come, a fact he knew from what he was going to do next.
  23. There- a mistake. She pushed into his guard, like someone trying to survive being hit by a train by diving under the cars. it was his chance to pin her, to break her. To shatter the wall that kept him from his target- Raven. The saber sparked off his armor, piercing the thinner metal that protected his side and cutting deep, leaving a furious orange glow where it cauterized metal and flesh alike. Darth Mavanger spun, with the attack, only partially intentional, bracing himself. The last time Cassandra had made physical contact with a Sith, it ended with the man bursting into white fire and dying at her feet. Another comrade the Rebels had costed him. One of her fingers scraped across his eye, peeling off a layer of his left eye's cornea as it did. He howled, physical pain shooting across his face as he summoned the last of his rage in conjunction with his pain. Reflexively, both of his eyes squeezed shut, but he didn't need them yet. Her path was clear in the force- the bastion of unflinching purity amidst a storm of anger, hatred, pain and death. The Force that she clung to would be her demise. There was no salvation here. She had already let Mordecai live once. If she had killed him there, if she had slain him and left his corpse at Quela's feet, then she would not be here now, fighting for her life to protect herself and those around her. If she and Ismael had not hoped for Darth Mavanger's redemption, then perhaps the rebels they loved and cherished, who's deaths were at his hands, would still be alive. So might Oroo and Pilon The voice in the back of his mind, a quiet one that he had kept surpressed since his lover's death, finally reared it's head. So might Xahl... and Jarvus The voice was louder now. A cacophony of images and sounds. Those he had seen die, who's deaths he had ordered. The recent ones came first. Pilon and Oroo. The rebels he'd butchered during the approach. The transports that had erupted into flame because of his suicidal charge. Kahla, the closest thing he'd experienced to true family, mutilated and broken, mentally and physically, by his training. Jarvus, who's blind faith in Mordecai, the man, not Darth Mavanger, the Sith, had cost him his life. But it was too late. The Dark Side had taken hold. It had dragged him from the precipice of death. It had forced him onto a world that had nothing left for him. No Empire to expand. No loved ones to return home to. No comrades left to protect. And now, in his darkest hour, all he had left to cling to... ... was Vengeance. He shut down the voice, a violent denial of truth that echoed in the force as his eyes snapped open. He relished in the pain, his vision in his left eye too blurry to aid him anymore. Red now creeped into them, not just due to injury, but as a testament to Darth Mavanger's fall to the Dark Side. Darth Nyrys had made him a Sith Master, but now, in his truest acceptance of his rage and anger, he had truly become what it meant to be a master of the dark side. A path of endless agony, of vehement fury, of hungering vengeance, and a path of his own creation. He dashed forward, the weight of the takeoff and landing of each foot leaving a soft dent in the durasteel, slowed by his injuries and his damaged depth perception, but still coursing with the power of the dark side and relying on years of front line experience as he unleashed a potentially devastating flurry of blows, every move sped up and strengthened by his darkened mind. The pain focused his mind, telling him what he needed to do. The hatred gave him a target, and a goal. The rage gave him the power and the speed to do what must be done. He pressed the attack, opening with a scissoring slash from his blades. If the hammering of his blows along could not break her, then he would need an anvil. By stepping behind him a second time, she had put them parallel with the doors, the frame creating a macabre portrait of good and evil, of light and dark. She had also placed herself where her back now faced a wall. She would only be able to step back for so long, and this time he was prepared for her to step in. All that remained was to make sure she didn't sidestep him. His next attack was a thrust, angled at her left side, hoping to drive her right and closer to the door's wall. A third attack, a dual thrust. One at her chest, and one at her thigh. The driving blows, seeking to corner her. His final blow. A blow into which he poured everything. His grief, his hatred, his anger and his pain. A kaleidoscope of coalescing emotions that cascaded across his cacophonous aura. He would not be denied this vengeance. Not by Cassandra, not by Ismael. Not by Exodus, not by Quela. He would not be denied his vengeance by anyone, Sith and Jedi alike. With all of these convoluted emotions he poured himself into his blades as they cut two simultaneous dark arcs towards Cassandra. His first was a downwards diagonal slice from Imeall Sceimhle, from her right shoulder to her left hip, looking to drive her into the second, a thrust from Imeall Dolas aimed just left of her thigh. It was here that either a demon would die, or a hero would. And Darth Mavanger couldn't tell which he was anymore. ((3))
  24. Mordecai felt a flurry of things as he battled the known adversary. Her appearance dragged memory after memory to the surface. The first time he had met the False Empress. She had seemed but a child to him then. He had not understood the threat that she had represented, hadn't understood why it was important to try and broker peace with her before a full blown rebellion. Had he the foresight of how things would happen, he would have stopped Quela from lashing out. That was perhaps the singular most important moment of the war. The chance for peace, for surrender, snuffed out in a heartbeat by an overzealous Sith lord. Now, however, their paths had been long since set in stone. His vengeance would only halt with death, whether it be his or the Empress had yet to be revealed. He felt pain, both physical and emotional. He remembered Lord Xahl, and his rage sparked again. He had been disgruntled at being assigned to a mere apprentice, and the three of them had spent the battle fighting for glory rather than to secure a victory. For that, Cassandra had escaped and Fahren, Xahl's brother in arms, had fallen. It would be months before they saw each other again. Lord Xahl had become embittered in Fahren's absence. He had sworn vengeance against the rebels, much as Mordecai did now. Xahl had come along simply for the opportunity to extract his vengeance on the Imperial Knight. Oh how Mordecai wished he were here now, even in spirit. To watch him face down their hated foe. He felt physical pain, too. In his face from the earlier slash, but her next attack harmed his as well. While the saber slid harmlessly off of his shoulder pad, failing to find purchase, it fared better against his chest piece, gauging a deep cut in the metal as the tip of the blade sliced into his chest. He pivoted as she kicked, letting her foot collide with the back of his knee, letting it buckle instead of bracing against it. He felt rage. The blinding hot flash of fury filling his veins was too fierce to ignore. Rage at all manner of things welled to the surface of his psyche as he dove deeper into his berserker state, unleashing everything he had in this fight. Rage at his position- it was like a cruel joke. He had spent years climbing through the bureaucracy of the Sith, through disfavor with the Dark Lord, through campaign setbacks. Even death itself had failed to stop his rise. And yet now, on the precipice of his finest hour, on the eve of his victory, the night of the False Empress's death, he was to fade away into obscurity with the other Sith. To slink around in the dark like a beggar, asking permission just to go to a rebel world. It was demeaning. A cruel joke, indeed. Fury, at the insolence of his fellow lords. It was no wonder Darth Nyrys felt this was the best course of action, when her first introduction to the Sith was met with seditious words and challenging accusations. They had failed to see her power, and they had forgotten the Sith ways. You serve those in power, until you are strong enough to break free from their chains. He launched himself up, using his braced position on the ground to give him added leverage as he pressed the attack, pivoting as he rose with two upward slashes, one after another towards her belly, both Sith blades hungering for the flesh of their newest meal. She had been injured in his last flurry of blows- good. A crack in the stone, a wound in the body. He was a tempest of fire and wind and stone, and he would break her beneath his blade. Like a gale force wind, he would catch the crack in her defenses and tear down the entire fortification. He delivered two more blows towards her uninjured side as he continued to press his advance. A cross slash from Imeall Dólás, from her left shoulder to her right, looking to cut open her chest, followed by another from Imeall Sceimhle as he tried to sever her head. They were dangerous blows to be sure, but there was a stronger purpose to them- to shift her guard from her injured side as he took another step forward and attempted to drive his armored knee into her injured side. ((2))
  25. Mordecai expected many things when the door open. An opponent, maybe several. He expected to lose troops getting in. He expected to fight whatever it was that had pulled him here. But he didn't expect the agony of Sergeant Pilon, for the man's demise to be so visceral. As his last ally collided with his shins, he dug his feet in. It didn't so much as budge him an inch, but the psychological effect it had was unquestioned. As his final friend lay dying at his feet, he found his eyes locked onto the Sergeant's. Tears welled- He'd been with him from the start. From his first outing on Dark Sun Station, though they hadn't conversed much. It had been years before they met again, when Mordecai announced to the Sith Empire his plans for a grand campaign, sweeping across the outer rim. Pilon had come to him under a young lieutenant and a squad of commandos. They had formed the backbone of his personal guard. They had protected the Kuat Drive Yards from rebel insurgents, escorted him through the tunnels of Geonosis, and had been instrumental in his quest for vengeance since Naboo. The Sergeant had lost most of his squad over Mon Cal, lost aboard the same ship that Mordecai lost Captain Jarvus. They had bonded over this loss, and had trusted each other implicitly. All of this history came rushing to him as Cassandra pressed her attack. The strike impacted his helmet- had he entered battle without one as had been the norm in prior engagements, the hesitation would have killed him. As it was, a direct and undeflected lightsaber strike caused the armor to sizzle and pop, a chunk of the helmet falling away as he was sent reeling, a bright red line across his scarred face where the saber had singed his skin. He glanced up, and his vehement hatred sparked up. He let out a roar, a battlecry that would likely be remembered by those who heard it for years to come. All of his pain, his anguish, his fury. Years of pent up emotion to be unleashed in one virulent maelstrom of wrath and rage, fire and fury. Everyone he cared for was dead. The only recourse was to make the rebel empress and her supporters join them in their fate. He hurled himself forward. She wanted to protect her heathen monarch? She wanted to be the wall against his darkness? He would smash her piece by piece, crush the wall brick by brick. His first strike mirrored hers, Imeall Dólás coming down in his right hand in an overhead swing as he stepped forward, pulling the force into him, using it to augment his speed and strength into superhuman ranges. He took a second step, Imeall Sceimhle striking out in a left-handed thrust targeting center mass. A third step with a third swing, Imeall Dólás striking for her midsection in a cross cut, looking to sever her top from her bottom. He would breach this door, and then he would smash her body into the corrupt ruler that she so desperately wanted to protect, as she had with Sergeant Pilon. ((1. Request made last post for Cassandra to kill the good Sergeant.))
×
×
  • Create New...