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Mythos last won the day on May 25

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About Mythos

  • Birthday 11/21/1984

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  1. Mythos


    As blade tore through flesh, Mythos' ear flinched with boiling pain and altered equilibrium as he shifted his weight to keep his stance. But the Flechette he expected to carve he and the girl asunder did not explode it's payload like he expect, instead tearing it's pathway across and into her collar, a byproduct of Mythos' hindered balance. He smirked as best he could, his salivating maw grotesquely unable to capture it's intent behind his mask. So the fates had decided they both were worthy of life despite their wounds. He would respect it's wishes. The Great Moon had decided, even if she was Sith and a non-believer. Holding her up by his blade, his voice echoed from behind his mask. "You are quite the Warrior, little Sith." He spoke, his glance briefly looking down at his destroyed arm and across the field of battle. He wanted to end her life here, but with the dud speaking the will of the Great Moon, it was sacrilege to not follow it. "I expected the Great Moon to call home our souls and cleanse you, but she has decided otherwise. Pity. You are dishonored and tainted. I don't know why she chose to spare you. Perhaps there is something she can see in your soul that I cannot." Mythos grew quiet as his gaze stared deeply into hers, his grip tightening, his rage apparent as he threatened to turn on his blade. "I will leave you to your wounds. Survive, or do not. I can care less." And with that, he threw her wounded form aside, his blade slipping out of her form as the momentum shifted her form into the air and the lake beside them. As he hit his knee, his blooded blade plunging into the soil of Naboo, he breathed heavy. Ichi turned to ask if he was okay, but Mythos wasn't truly sure. This outcome had been truly unexpected and he simply knelt there as he took in the moment. Instead, Mythos simply halted the Chandrillian with his paw and signaled him to recover the fallen forms as well as Sesil who had survived. Moments later, he would return with a few field medics that had been aboard the ship they had arrived on. Despite this being a win with the Sithling's defeat, this battle had taken more than its toll on Mythos. And the Shistavanen held alot of unspoken questions within his mind. And as his gaze shifted to Theed, he questioned whether to proceed or to fall back. News had arrived of the ship's flight capabilities, and the outlook was good. But the question remained whether they could escape or not, dependant on the current outlook of the invasion.
  2. Mythos


    The Sith before them was unlike anything Mythos had faced before, unrelentless and powerful. Despite everything that had been thrown her way by them, she remained in near almost prestige condition as almost all of his men laid upon the soiled ground in shambles. Sesil had been the first to fall in her initial attack, the sight of him reeling in the pain of her cleaving his legs plaguing the Shistavanen's heart. And Andrew fared no better, his life flowing from his eyes as Mythos' gazed shifted across the field of battle at his own. Dogga had been the last, his form unimaginably grotesque and unfathomably hard to discern flesh from bone before him, Pecal, and Ichi. And yet, she continued her onslaught unhindered. So this was the true power of the Darkside. This was why the Sith were worshipped as Gods. This was the extent of their Magicks. Were there no bounds? Were there no weaknesses? Mythos had fought Sith before, rogue Jedi even. But this new Order, this rise of a new Imperium, he had never known such chaos and strife, had never known such destruction and power. They seemed almost invisible. Almost as if they could not be slain in the heat of battle. Nyrys. Inmortos. Now Kahla. Could he truly stand against their ilk? It felt hopeless. All Mythos could do was watch in horror as she turned her sights upon Pecal to get to him, her blade cleaving through the being's form so freely and casually as the stench of burnt flesh sent his smell reeling. And in that moment, Mythos felt a sensation he hadn't felt in ages. Vulnerability. It flowed through him like ice water, his hair standing upright, his heart racing with the unknowing, and his mind chaotic. And for a brief moment, he felt fear freeze him place. "No." Mythos grimaced under his voice, the aged Shistavanen catching himself as the doubts threatened to consume him. "I will not falter. I will not fail!" Mythos growled in defiance as he threw his prosthetic arm into the path of the incoming blades, the heat of the blades boiling the metal beneath the weight of their pressure before they began to cut their way through it. Mythos mind had returned to its original state, his resolve growing in strength. It mattered little whether they were Gods or not. If they could be cut, they could be defeated. And even if he wouldn't be the one, at least he could die with the pride of his people intact. Not just as Shistavanen, but as an Alliance Marshall and Colonel of the Rebel Alliance. Reeling back as the blades cleaved his arm in two, Mythos grinned a malicious grin as he swung his blade forward to her gut, Ichi stepping beside his superior with the deafening release of the Flechette shell. It's target was at point blank range and eye leveled, and even if the Flechette Needles managed to get through Mythos' helm, he didn't care. If they were meant to die this day, then so be it. That was the fated outcome, and neither would live to regret it. All they wanted to prove was the ability to severely wound these Gods and humble them, to show them that they weren't unstoppable. And in this moment, they knew they had ((3...Great Duel bro.)) Actions: Pecal was slaughtered. Mythos felt helpless and vulnerable for a brief moment. Blocked Kahla's Blades with his prosthetic arm before aiming for her gut with his. Ichi fired a Flechette at point blank range toward her face as he stepped to Mythos' side.
  3. Mythos


    The men and women of the 432nd were survivors of Chandrila and Veterans of Kuat, born and bred by the holocausts that had plagued their kind in recent months. And like Mythos, who they had placed their trust and lives within, they were tired of losing to the Sith and their ilk. It was no longer about survival. Life held no meaning after the atrocities they had been inflicted by and seen with their own eyes. It was simply vengeance. They fought for their justice and the justice that was demanded for the crimes of war committed in the name of the Spider's reign. And their terror would stop here, the Sith War Machine brought to a sudden halt. It was time for the Alliance to dig in and show the true grit of defiance and rebellion. It was time for the bells of Liberty to ring. They had come to know the Sith, ruthless remnants of the fallen Jedi who sought greed and power. And not just through history textbooks and holovids, but with their own experiences. And as the Sithling made her advance, fear was the farthest thing from their hearts. They had lost everything, and nothing was more dangerous than a sentient who held nothing to lose. So as she made her move on Andrew, an orphan at the hands of the Mandalorians who held no familia ties to this Galaxy, he smirked in defiance as he brought up the E-11D in an attempt to block her blows, able to deflect one of the blades before the other drove down his right arm and cauterized his form down to his hip. Overcome by pain, he fell into unconsciousness. Mythos grimaced with anger as he spun behind Pecal, Dogga dropping to his knee as he continued his assault. Two Flechette cartridges fired simultaneously as the Sith turned her sights to Dogga who stood no chance against her attack and was cleaved in half as he accepted his fate with open arms, knowing that his daughter and wife would be safe thanks to his sacrifice as the two cartridges exploded their needled payload, two more shots echoing across the moment of near silence, hope filling the air that their sacrifices would not be in vain. And in Mythos' gaze as it surveyed the landscape before these three, he vowed that it would not as his own blade came unsheathed. If this Sith wanted to bath in blood and live in darkness, he vowed to make it her own, the moment of battle salivating from his maw. ((2)) Actions: Andrew managed to deflect one of Kahla's Blades with his weapon, but was mailed by her other. Two Flechette rounds were fired as she approached Dogga and mauled him as well, Dogga accepting his fate as the two rounds exploded and released their slivers, two more rounds being fired at the that very moment. Mythos is preparing himself for battle.
  4. Mythos


    Rising from the ashes of what should have been a fatal crash had it not been for Colonel Von Howlster and the Pilot's ability to react quickly, Mythos and five members of the 432nd bathed in Alliance Light Armor emerged from their would be graves. Having managed to gather three E-11D Carbines along with two FWG-7 Flechette Launchers, the group set off toward Theed with a vengeful purpose. Their mission had started out as a rescue mission, but now as Theed sat on the horizon in utter destruction and their ship in need of repairs, it became a mission of life and death. Mythos knew this. All six of them did. Either they would die here at the hands of the enemy, or they would find a way off this burning rock and back to the Alliance. These were the only two outcomes. As their trek to Theed began, Mythos turned his nose to the air. That scent had grown closer now and seemed atop them. His gaze shifted about as he unsheathed his black powder scatter rifle and brought it to his forefront, Pecal and Ichi at his rear with the two FWG-7 and Dogga, Sesil, and Andrew at the rear with the E-11D Carbines. Grumbling under his breath, he alerted Pecal and had Pecal alert Dogga of potential enemies inbound as the group fell into unison and began their forward march. As the enemy made their rearview appearence, however, even Mythos found himself slightly off guard by the attack with Sesil quick to fall to the emerging Sith's blade as his legs were sliced cleanly in half with Andrew barely clearing the Sith's aim by centimeters with a quick action jump upward as the girl turned her attention quickly to Dogga. Backpedaling, Dogga, Pecal, and Ichi focused their fire in her general direction in close quarters, two rounds of Flechettes waiting in aim and Dogga's E-11D Carbine igniting in the haste and confusion as Andrew himself backpedaled himself and barely escaping friendly fire. All the while, Mythos stood in his singular position as his men backpedaled in all directions as he aimed his scatter rifle and let loose it's own volley. This Sith may have been powerful and quick, but she had placed herself in the center of hellfire. ((1)) Actions: Mythos picked up Kahla's scent in the previous post and continued into this one despite not being able to hone into her position. Sesil's legs were cleaved in half but Andrew escaped both the Sith's attack and Dogga's on Kahla as the entire group is backpedaling save for Mythos. Currently there are blaster bolts being fired at close range along with a single blast from a scatter rifle with two rounds of Flechette waiting in aim.
  5. Circle of Will While based mostly on the traits of the Jedi Consular, the Circle of Will is more based on belief than of class, and as such, encompasses the Order as a whole. These Jedi believe in the symbiotic relationship between the Living and Cosmic aspects of the Force. And rather than wield the Force, chose to be wielded by the Force in every aspect, even in combat. And while they actively avoid combat or assist through the Force, they also understand the need to combat the consuming nature of the Darkside and what it would lead to if left unchecked. Most Jedi with this central belief tend to study and Master defensive powers and some rarely wield lightsabers, becoming the basis for Form Zero practitioners. Instead, they hone their skills and allow the Force to be their guide, actively meditating on their actions within the flow of the Force. Due to this active meditation, these Jedi develop a gut sense within the Force and can usually transcribe it's will on the fly simply by following it's course with little redirection or disruption. Active practitioners usually aid allies in combat through the Force, supportive measures to heighten the senses and improve vitality while remaining away from combat as much as feasibly possible. But they also understand that the Force will lead to confrontation in times where wounds begin to appear within it's flow or the Darkside threatens to corrupt on mass scales. These moments are where these Jedi become combative, using their connection with the Force and it's will to aid the Force personally. Defensive measures become dire skills meant to defend the user from harm and ultimately use the opponent's own will against them in hopes of freeing their grasp upon the Force by wearing the opponent down in a drawn out duel. Beliefs in the Jedi Code The Circle of Will are more traditionally based Jedi, especially when it comes to the Jedi Code, and as such, stick to the more traditional code as passed down generation upon generation. Because of this, the Circle of Will tend to live a more monastic life style full of mediation, celibacy, and humble attire with very little armor. Below is their interpretation of the Jedi Code and what each of the tenets loosely teaches. There is no emotion, there is peace: The common belief behind this tenet in the Circle of Will is that it asks that one give up it's own will for the betterment of the whole. To attach one's self to base instincts and emotions is to condemn one's self to suffering, and that the only way to truly understand the Force is to completely give one's self to it's will. There is no ignorance, there is knowledge: The common belief behind this tenet in the Circle of Will is that the Force is all knowing, existing in the past, present, and future simultaneously. To believe knowledge is attainable outside of the Force is to believe yourself above the Force. But to submit yourself to it's will and understand it's flow and teachings is to know the truest of knowledge, becoming one and the same. There is no passion, there is serenity: The common belief behind this tenet in the Circle of Will is that individuality brings imbalance to one's self. It is believed that everything is born and connected through the Force and that everything returns to the Force, imparting the experiences of each life into the whole. Imbalance creates the nature's of Dark and Light, and in doing so, breeds the duality of the connections. Only serene minds can truly understand the Force and it's true will, and must let go of their individuality and humble themselves to preserve it. There is no chaos, there is harmony: The common belief behind this tenet in the Circle of Will is that by shedding one's own individuality; including passions, emotions, and ignorance, can one truly obtain harmony with the Force and understand it as it truly is. Hanging onto things that set themselves apart from one another only breeds ignorance and chaos, even within the Jedi Order and is the reason why so many Jedi fall to the Darkside. To be out of harmony with the Force is to breed Chaos and fuel the Darkside. There is no death, there is the Force: The common belief behind this tenet in the Circle of Will is simplistic. You are born in the Force, and upon your death, your life becomes a part of it, imprinting your life into its history and flow. Some are capable of transcending their sentience into the Force and are capable of existing within it like a living memory, but few are capable of this level of understanding in the Force, and even fewer care to reveal themselves before becoming one with the Force eternally. Symbiosis with the Force Because of the mind frame of those within the Circle of Will, Practioners live a symbiotic life within the Force, letting it's flow act as a guiding beacon with little to no interference on their part. Instead, they act as the Force commands, and only act if the it's the will of the Force or the Force it self becomes threatened by the arrival of Darksiders. If the corruption of the Darkside within the Force leads to conflict, then they will. If not, they will flee or evade. Because of their rooted nature in following Force's will, they rarely engage in combat and usually stick to the flight rather than the fight portion of conflict. But because they have given up their own will to follow the will of the Force, the circumstance depends on the flow its self. They are blades to be wielded by the Force, commanded by their interpretation of it's will, and will not falter from it's course. If there is no presentation within the Force to flee, they will engage in combat. Those within the Circle of Will spend long hours in meditation and usually choose to see within the Force rather than use their own eyesight. They delve deeply into both aspects of the Force to intertwine their minds within the separate aspects as to understand it's will. They devote their life to it's will, resisting the urges of their own to be completely complaint to its own. Scholars, Mediums, Monks, and Seers are usually among their ranks.
  6. Mythos


    Smoke began to billow from the shot engine as gravity began to take over, Mythos and the entirety of the 432nd hanging in the moment of suspense as the pilot's grappled to regain control of the AIAT/I. With the surface water of Naboo coming at them quickly, the astromech droids rolled in abundance. But would they, could they, reach the engine in time? It wasn't likely. So what was the pilot to do? That's when he heard Mythos' voice through the comm. "Kill the engines and brake hard." Mythos' voice growled through the silent comm chatter, the pilot quickly reaching up to the kill switch and pulling back on the throttle to engage the air brakes. Their decent began to slow slightly as the pilot continued pulling back on the column, the nose starting to rise inch by inch. Impact began to chime eminently when Mythos' voice came through once more. "Sublight's to the max! Now!" Engaging the Sunlight's at max, the nose drove upward and the ship kicked it's full weight forward in an attempt to level out when it struck the water, skidding across the reflective surface with little resistance until physics took hold and the momentum sent the ship into a gliding spin. Every soul aboard felt the crash with jarring consequences, but most injuries were mild to moderate with limited casualties as the ship barreled into a nearby treeline sideways. Silence erupted as avian species flocked away from their position. And silence remained. Mythos climbed out of the wreckage with blood seeping down his forehead and about, a small gash above his furred brow. And behind him, five more emerged as the rest took to tending to the wounds. Across the lake outside Theed was debris of containers and astormechs as they bobbed upon the rippling water. And only two astromech droids remained within the ship its self. Looking upon Theed with blooded eyes, Mythos shook his head. They were too late. Suddenly a scent captured his attention, the wind blowing it their way, a scent of chaos and malice. "Grab what gear you can find. The rest of you, repair the ship and treat the wounded. You five, with me. Theed may be lost, but we're not. We move out in ten."
  7. Mythos


    Klaxons and radar alerts lit up like Life Day as targeting systems aligned and locked in, the Pilots alerting Mythos of the incoming fighters with the skies of Naboo in the forward view. The Colonel grimaced, but looked back at the men that littered the ship's innards with contemplation. He knew this entry would be difficult, but not so quickly picked up. Theed was still a few minutes away. "Make for Theed." Mythos guttered out as he turned to exit. "I'll handle to opposition. You two, get to the front turrets." He spoke to two of the 432nd that were close by as he made his way to the rear, open comms commanded. "Let's give em hell." Mythos, rather large even for his species, had little trouble climbing into the rear turret's seat, kicking his duster aside for leg room. His larger hands, on the other hand, engulfed the controls and forced the Shistavanen to use three of his overall digits. Lining up his sights, he swiveled around, and with a look of sheer determination on his face, let loose a volley of emerald bolts. His targets were simple, anything fired upon them or anything locked on. Minutes would pass like hours over the course of the next few moments as the AIAT/I entered Nabooan Airspace and rocketed for Theed. With sweat dripping from his furred face, he licked his lips with feverish vengeance. "Hit the water hard. I don't care if we have to submerge. Let's get them off our tails."
  8. Mythos


    A lone AIAT/I exited hyperspace and made for the planet below. It hailed no comm chatter, nor did it engage any opposition or it transmit any transponder codes to either side. It simply flew as fast as it's hyperdrive and sunlight engines allowed. Aboard this ship was the entirety of the 432nd Chandrillian Squadron, Veterans of Kuat. And in the lead, Colonel Mythos Von'Howlster of the Rebellion. ((Will make landing post tomorrow if no one has any objections))
  9. As soon as he asked his question, he received his answer... Loosely enough. His gaze shifted to the arrival of the Imperial Knight, her outfit and armor unmistakable and resembling the girl he met after his last loss at the hands of the Sith, Sandy. He grimaced beneath his blatant stare, knowing full well what this meant. If there was a Imperial Knight here in his room, it was back to the front lines. Rising, he took the first datapad. "You don't need to bow, child. Formalities are for the echelon, not us linemen." He spoke with a forced jest. The Imperial Knights had been adamant friends to him since he joined the Rebellion, and he considered them the most trustworthy of the Mystic Orders. "Thank you. I will do my best." With that, he began gathering his gear, Leeroy remaining at his side. From his peripheral, he could see the worry in his subordinate's eyes. He sighed. "Don't worry. I may have lost again, but it was of my own fault this time. It won't happen again." "We worry because we care, Colonel." Jibbs spoke freely, his gaze trying to catch that of Mythos' own as he gathered his gear. "They say you went feral on the battlefield, lost all sense of yourself. First Ghosts, now Hatred. You may be letting things become too personal....." The echo of Mythos slamming his fist into the locker reverberated throughout the ward as he turned to Leeroy. "It is personal. Thousands of dead lay at their feet and they use them against us like weapons." "I understand Colonel." Jibb's voice became almost pleading, his hands begging to Mythos. "But do we not do the same? Send countless soldiers to their deaths in the name of freedom and the preservation of liberty? Mythos' gaze turned cold in disbelief, a stern cold that sent chills down even his own spine. What had just left the lips of Jibbs was almost too cruel to bare. He wanted to strike the man for even thinking it. But he shook his head instead, calming his composure and his riled hair. "A life is a life. And this will be the last of it that I will hear. Am I clear soldier?" Yes Colonel." Jibbs replied with a clap of the heels and a firm salute, the evidence of his failure to reach the Colonel written on his face as he left the room. Soon, Mythos geared up as well, left the ward behind. As Mythos gathered with the 432nd Regiment out of Chandrila and boarded their transport, he sat in solace and thought upon the words Jibbs dare spoke in his presence. With a sigh he leaned back and closed his eyes for the journey ahead. "It won't happen again, Jibbs. I won't be careless again."
  10. Mythos' gaze shot open with a muzzled snarl, his heightened vitals alerting the medics of his awakening as he fought against the entangling wires that encompassed his form. Inmortos was all the ate at his mind, his thoughts, as the feral beast attempted to claw himself out of the bacta tank, his feral form scaring some of those around him into quick action as sedatives were quickly administered. Clawing at the mask that covered his snout was the last thing he remembered before going back into the sedated state he had awoken from. When he awoke the second time, his head throbbed with pain as he gazed around him, his hand attempting to reach his scarred scalp only to find themselves bound and restrained. He lifted his head in temper, his voice growling as he questioned the meaning of this. "You're no longer on Mon Cal, Colonel. We were barely able to drag you out alive, and only after the Sith Magic was dealt with." A familiar voice calmly speaking as the matching face of Leeroy stepped into view. "Honestly, if you didn't have your regenerative capabilities, you would have been lost for sure." "I see. Mythos responded in a more controlled tone, his vitals returning to a somewhat less irritated state. "And Mon Cal?" "A success..." Leeroy spoke with pride that quickly followed with an unspoken regret. "But we lost most of our men. I'm in the middle of training new recruits. Mythos fists balled up as his blood boiled, his gaze still reveling in a feral state, but his mind conscious. Inmortos, that Sith Magician, had done the damaged he wantingly caused. And he was powerless against it. Tears began to leak from his ducts, yet his face remained unchanged. He had failed yet again to protect those under his charge. He was beginning to doubt his own leadership when Leeroy grabbed his restrained hand. "We were all left unsuspecting. No one could have called that unless they were Jedi. Don't blame yourself Colonel." "Inform the families and ensure they will taken care of. I don't care if it breaks this rebellion. Their lives should not go unjustified." Mythos spoke as Leeroy released his bonds and allowed him to sit up, his balance off due to the loss of hearing. After Leeroy caught the Colonel and steadied him, he stepped back with a honorable salute. Any word on where the Sith retreated?
  11. It was a battle of darkened hearts, Mythos driven by hatred and disgust of the Sith and their magicks, his opponent driven by disgust and disdain by any that he felt beneath him. Both had fallen into the frenzy of the primordial, and both had succumbed to it, Mythos likely lesser than his opponent, but it would still taint his heart nonetheless. Only he had yet to realize the consequences nor the permanent mark he would receive as a reminder, their fates intertwined in this singular moment as their battle continued. Feeling the shift of his opponent's form and weight against his attack, his gaze shifted toward the bladed hand as the enemy swept it toward his head, causing Mythos to veer away and hinder his full attack. Coldness swept atop his head and a burning sensation soon took it's place, a portion of his scalp and ear removed to reveal the skull that laid beneath. As soon as Mythos felt the ground beneath his feet again, the onslaught of cold wind began to accumulate and rush against him as the blade continued it's assault, Mythos upon the retreat. This enraged the Shistavanen even more, his armor growing cold against the blows until the fur and skin beneath became burnt with frost, using his hands and arms to protect against full contact. Unarmed and on the defensive was not where he wanted to be, especially against a Sith, the reminders upon his back and now his head burning in remembrance as his blood boiled even more. And then came the contact, the Sith grasping as his arm as he felt it begin to freeze and his energy began to wane. "No." Mythos grumbled as he fought against the cold that sought to overtake him. "It will not end like this. I refuse." Mythos eyes glazed over in his weakened state, a glaze of complete anger where tunneled vision is the only course of action, basic instincts and attack of a primordial beast. Reaching out with prosthetic arm Lady Sandy had graced him with on Nar Shadaa, he grasped the Cyromancer's bladed hand and squeezed tightly, an almost frightening smile adorning his snout and chops as he opened his maw once more and went for the Sith's carotid artery. Now it would be over, one way or the other. If he was to die this day, this Sith was coming with him. ((3: Great Duel bro, no matter the outcome. Mod is of your choosing.)) Actions: Avoided Inmortos' Stillblade, but at the cost of being partially scalped. Has several onsets of frostnip and superficial frostbite in unarmed defence. Grasped Inmortos' bladed hand in defiance before lunging open mouthed at his carotid artery.
  12. Even for the furred Shistavanen, the immense cold he had forlorned into Sent immediate shivers down his spine and attacked the circulation of his boiling blood as their blades interlocked. Mythos hates the Sith and their magicks, despised them with all his heart, and in this moment, he was reminded why. Though he disliked the Jedi, theirs was useful. But these Sith only cared for themselves and their glory, cowards compared to the Mandalorians he had faced. There was no competition when you held an unfair advantage. Being driven back and forced to drop his freezing blade as his opponent retreated, Mythos wiped the frozen moisture that attempted to blind his sight. This was enough. He had had enough. Reaching into his coat again, he flung forward another grenade, this one a flash grenade meant to obscure the field of sight with a bright blinding light so he traverse the field of battle and end this once and for all. Lunging forward on all fours once again as the flash grenade exploded in the air above him, Mythos adverted his eyes. But this move was not without it's cost, the Cyromancer Inmortos capable of raising not only the dead, but the ice as well as the spikes began darting up from the earth beneath his form rapidly and forcing the Shistavanen to panic in the moment. From the ominous flickering of the well lit area, Mythos emerged, bloodied and slower as cuts littered his form and blood mixed with ice. Some gashes were deep and beyond his healing capabilities, but some like the others before them would take time to close completely. But like any wild beast, Mythos was on a path of survival, driven by instincts and malevolence, and would not be denied his prey. He would emerge the victor and end this occupation of Mon Cal even if it ended his life. The citizens would know their freedom again. He would make sure of this. As the flash grenade began to lower and dim, Mythos' would reemerge visibly as claws and gaping maw would be inches away from the form Inmortos, intent on devouring the Sith with extreme prejudice. ((2)) Actions: Mythos' vision and blade began freezing due to Inmortos' Still blade and use of Darkness Reigns. In anticipation of Inmortos' Glare of Cruel Disdain, prelaunched a Flash Grenade, but overlooked the Maw of Inevitability and got caught up in it. Reverting to primal instincts and actions, lunged at Inmortos with claws and gaping maw. ----------------------------------------------------------------- NPCs "Got him" Altos called out, motioning the others to follow him. With that, the seven began their trek to the Sublevel where the King was being held prisoner. But with each level they traversed, Grenn became more suspicious. The firefights were few and far in-between, the numbers of opposition low, and his bones ached with an uneasy feeling. He didn't like the ease of their plight. Finally, they arrived with the Enhanced Interrogation Chamber dead ahead. Grenn stopped, looking around with suspicion, arms at the ready. What exactly were these Sith and their machines up to?
  13. Mythos glared upon the hooded figure with his own disdain, his fist clutching his jagged blade with animosity and rage. These Sith were all alike to him, hiding in the shadows, using their mystical powers like the Galaxy owed them something, selfish creatures with no remorse for the lives they affect. It was pitiful. It was disgraceful. It was pathetic. He was a warrior of peace, a being of sacrifice, and he cared little for what awaited him in the afterlife, so long as his death was in the service of others. Yet, with this Sith, he would not go quietly. He saw this being of Death. And he would not be enthralled. He would force this creature to destroy him first. With each step that he drew closer, his snarl only grumbled more. Like a rabid dog protecting his pack, he watched and waited, giving the man the opportunity to converse his sentiments before he lunged. And yet, he spoke not a word, instead giving a glare of his own from beneath his cloak, a glare that sent shivers down Mythos' spine and froze his form in place against his will. Mythos glanced from his legs back to the being before him, noticing his hand raising as he fought against his hindering, feeling the stiffness of his muscles and skin, his anger only growing in the moments that past. No. He would not be controlled. Whatever magicks this Sith had enthralled upon him would not work. He refused. And then came the attack, Mythos watching in horror as one of his SaberCats came to the forefront, watched as his soul became the weapon, and grew furious as the soul was lunged in a screaming horror toward his former Commander. It was almost too much to bear for the Shistavanen and as the memories of Nyrys flared in his mind, he roared a chilling howl, breaking free just moments before the soul imploded and riddled Mythos with shrapnel. Mythos was able to react, using his armored forearms to protect most of his vitals as the shrapnel littered across his form, slices forming across the rest. And yet, this was nothing new for the former Marshall. Wounds come and go. But the spirit of the warrior ran deep in his veins. In his past, he had dealt with rogue Jedi, criminals of the Alliance, and even a Sith that left an scar upon his back that would never heal. This being would be no different. As the air began to clear, the onslaught of the undead trio rapidly approaching, Mythos took no bother in removing the shrapnel from his wounds as they began to heal, and instead took to the offensive; headlong into the approaching undead. Removing three spherical devices from his coat, he tossed them into the air as mounds of smoke began to bellow forth from them mid air, his blade slicing at the trio of undead in passing, his intent to cleave them in half as his gaze at the Sith became savage. As smoke began falling around them and the canisters fell to the ground with a dotted clank, Mythos took a chapter from his encounter with Nyrys and used the bellowing smoke as cover. When he reemerged from the smoke at the Sith's rear, his jagged blade lunged forward, Mythos' form low and balanced by his free hand. ((1)) Actions: Mythos took the brunt force of the Soul Shatter under the assumption that it imploded before connecting with him after willing himself free from the Glare of Cruel. Not sure on Soul Shatter due to the wording in the Guide and that fragmentation grenades usually explode around the target than in connection. If I am wrong, then this is a learning experience or I can correct, depending on Inmortos' preference. Left damage to the Undead up to Inmortos, as well as Mythos' attack to his character.
  14. It was chaos as Mythos, Grenn, Altos, and the others fought to get into the central Spire. These veterans of multiple wars were well versed in strategic engagement, but found it hard to move the line. Even with the Colonel at the head, using his skills as a Marshall combined with the skills of a Shistavanen, could barely keep the enemy at bay. Deepguard units laid at their feets, collecting snow and freezing against their coolant fluids, Mythos' jaws laying sliced and his teeth riddled with metal as more showed up. Wave after wave rolled from the steps of Palace to replace those that fell to the Rebellion, endless hordes gathering at front and rear. Tomas looked up at Mythos as he handed the Colonel his scatter gun reloaded, hopeless fear meeting the Shistavanen's gaze as he glared down at the man. This only enraged the beast. Another line of Deepguard units fell in almost synchronous timing as Mythos and the others peered over their wall and let loose another volley of pellets and blaster bolts, more encroaching in an endless tow as Mythos threw his gun back to Tomas and shot out into the open field. The emerald and crimson bolts illuminated the snow as the Shistavanen drew down to all fours and raced to meet the enemy, attempting to push past the gates and away from the wandering dead. He would not rest, nor would he perish, until this line sank into the bowels of the Palace and Mon Cal was liberated. He refused to fail again. Claws lashed out, his jagged blade decapitating, as he pushed forward with ferocity. And behind him as quick as they could, came the seven that followed him into the depths. And as Mythos stood past the gate, blood and saliva salivating from his torn gums and heated claws steaming in the cold, it grew eeriely quiet even amongst the undead as the Deepguard stopped coming. The air had smelled of death and decay for awhile now, and the air howled of it's unnatural cold. But now it became putrid beyond remorse, the unnatural cold still and silent, and for a brief moment, Mythos once again questioned his own sanity as he removed his helm and took to sniffing the air in disgust. Then came the sound, his ears twitching upon the top of his head as it came louder, shifting in the direction it shuffled. And so he turned, the three marking across his visage narrowing with his eyes as he looked into the darkness and saw the unholy. With the crunching of his bipedal feet, he stepped to the rear of his confused men, placing his arm and blade in protection as he caught sight of the Sith. "I leave the King in your capable hands." He spoke with a grim tone, his confused men looking at him with worry, unable to see what he saw at the moment. "I will handle things from here. Move out men." And so they did, rushing off into the Palace ahead and soon the sounds of blaster fire once again rang in the air in the distance. But Mythos stood at the ready, one final shot in the scatter rifle at his feet and his blade extended to his side. At first his mind wandered to Nyrys, questioning if she had finally come to embrace her death at his hands. But this one's scent was different. It smelled of death, of chaos, no purpose to it's existence save for it's enjoyment. Nyrys had held a scent of revenge and blood seeped hands. He knew her reasons for her fall, no matter the hypocrisy. But this scent held fumes of remorse nor of life. It stunk to its roots of death, and Mythos knew this was the one who had robbed Mon Cal, his men, and the poor souls he ensnared of resting in peace. He was a blight upon this world, and to the Galaxy as a whole. He held no qualms about ridding them of it. "Come on out of the shadows, Sith..." He groaned out of his throat, the hoarseness of his deformed vocal cords straining to overcome the howling cold. "Let these old eyes see you better." ((Pre-Duel set up for Mythos and Inmortos, sent NPCs ahead to attempt rescuing the King. Duel will be PC vs PC, no NPCs. NPCs will be controlled throughout duel separately from Duel Posts like so)) --------------------------------------------------------------------- Once inside the Palace, it didn't take long for Grenn and the others to encounter more of the Deepguard. Altos began hacking into the Palace's mainframe in order to locate the King's whereabouts while the others began engaging the enemy, laying suppression fire down. Confused my the Colonel's actions, they went about their job with intent while the rumors of Mythos' mental breakdown at Chandrila plagued their minds. Had he fallen prey to it once again? They could not tell. But they had a job to do, and would fulfill it whether he had or not.
  15. It was something straight out of holovid horror that was wrought this night upon Mon Cal. The Heroes seiged onward with hopes of Victory, of Liberation, only to have the horrific reality to swipe in and squash such dreams and hopes. Screams erupted across the silent city, the night driven darker by the blinding fall of snow as abled bodies struggled against frostbite and the undead. SaberCats stood as beacons of light for those brave souls who wished to aid in the liberation and those unfoul ghouls who hungered for the lives they once lived, the Rebellion's pride growing into nightmares. As MoonCall's elite unit threatened to separate the Deepguard's from their hollows and free the homes of the oppressed, soon found themselves fighting on two fronts: against the hidden machines and the undead as they clobbered to claim life they could never succeed. Forms of both enemy and ally alike would find themselves in pieces against the unholy plight that pilgrimaged through Coral City, the undead claiming no true allegiance and only adding numbers to their growing masses. It was chaos, and it was beyond what Mythos could have imagined. Strobes of silver would dim and reignite as fallen members became the enemy, and Mythos standing near it's center could only hear the howl of the wind, his gaze fixated on the tower above. He had arrived at the City's center, his intentions set upon the spire that housed the King and his captors. He grimaced and tossed aside the comm that echoed the screams of the fallen and the gnarls of the condemned. He stepped forward, the weight of his boot crushing the exoskeleton of a Deepguard unit as more appeared before him, his gaze shifting to the seven that followed him and then back to the Deepguard that secured the Palace. "These Sith have no gall nor morale." He spoke with disgust, his memory of Nyrys and now churning his stomach at the concept that even death wasn't a formality to their desecrations. It was sickening. "We need to end this now." Across the City, enmasses of SaberCats, Rebellion's Soldiers, Mandalorians, and Civilians continued their efforts despite the horrific death that awaited them. But that wasn't their care anymore. It was the fight for others to survive that begin to matter, fate being accepted as a price. Silver Blades took blows from Silver Blades, crimson and emerald bolts met both living and dead flesh, ancestors fought descendants, and brothers in arms fought brothers in arms. Even though both sides hungered to live, only one was perverse and defiled. Finally, the Mandalorians had their Holy Crusade, but not in the manner they had once prayed for. And for the Rebellion, life was meant to be cherished and fought for, not hungered and deprived of. Death was the ultimate sleep, and these poor souls could not find their rest. Mythos unsheathed his jagged saber, his mask fixated on the enemy before him rather than the ones that surrounded him. If death wanted to claim him, it would have to chase him, right up to the bastard that claimed to command it. Eight stood at the gates of hell and presented themselves. And as the battle of the Palace commenced, only time would decide the victors. It was time to end this, to let sleeping dogs lay and the dead in peace. It was a firefight...
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