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Mythos

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  1. Chapter 1: Awakening As the machines reading his vitals began to blare their alarming notifications, Coresec nurses began to rush to his side. His unknowing gaze shot around the room in a panic as one slid in a syringe of something into his IV, his parched throat gagging upon the slinder tube that reached into the depths of his lungs. He tried to reach for her in this moment of chaos, but as the orderlies restrained him, the peacefulness of unconsciousness once again took away his mind. When he awoke again, most of the mechanics that littered the room were gone, and all was noticeably more calm. He went to sit up when a soft and kind hand reached for his own and a soft almost childlike voice resonated with his heavy form. "Don't try and sit up, Gemini. You're safe. You've been out for months." Confusion littered his mind as he tried to comprehend the moment he existed within. Who was Gemini? Who was the voice he heard? Where was he? So many questions barraged his mindscape that his very thoughts pierced his mind like daggers. And so he remained laying, his gaze slowly shifting about his room and then toward the slender nurse at his bedside as her hand remained in his. And amidst the chaos his mind found its self in, he couldn't help but feel a sense of inconceivable safety. And as he drifted back to sleep, he mumbled a singular question. "Who is Gemini? The next morning, he awoke with a feeling of his strength returning, casually rising in the bed and gazing out across the landscape of Anaxis with wonderment and questions still plaguing his mind. When he attempted to think back any farther than his awakening, it was foggy and nearly incomprehensible, his mind either refusing to remember or unable to as his head would be overcome with intense pain. A sudden ruckus outside his room quickly brought his attention away from his memory back to the presence as voices were loudly overheard. "He's not ready." The first voice was that of the nurse from before, even at an higher pitched range, still was softly above a whisper. And yet the other, a deep and grizzled voice seemed to explode with an eruption that echoed throughout the compounds halls. "I don't care. He's in our Custody and Coresec demands his release immediately." The confusion only got worse from there for him, the questions plaguing his mind tearing at the flesh that housed his sentience. Too many variables. And not a singular moment to comprehend as a man of tall stature burst into the room, slapped a pair of handcuffs on his wrists, and escorted him from the safety he felt in the room to an awaiting transport shuttle atop the building. Outside the room, the area was devastating. Much of the building was reminiscent of abandonment, with little to no upkeep aside from the room he awoke in and very little lighting littering it's halls as they marched toward the room access. Exposed wiring and molded walls were a common occurrence and when the roof's access door was opened, his sight burned with the brightness of Anaxis's sky. As it settled, however, the world of Anaxis quickly focused and it's atmosphere mimicked the very building he had been housed in. Anaxis was in total ruin. As the lift of the shuttle came a close, an Anaxis became a living memory, a sense of dread encompassed his form as the shuttle shook with lift-off. And yet, his memory was still unfocused and blank.
  2. Episode IV Precipice of Life The Galaxy, long drawn into the eternal conflicts between the Jedi and Sith, lay beneath numerous levels of destruction and despair. Lawlessness runs rampant in an ungoverned assortment of worlds where the Republic and Empire once brought Order amidst the Chaos and the Jedi Order remains in shambles, distrusted and despised by those whom remember the many wars while the Sith holds sway over Unknown Regions and Outer Rim. On the Core World of Anaxis, only the remnants of Coresec remain the pathetic attempt at stability. It is here that our story begins anew as a lone stranger lays locked away within his own mind deep in the depths of one of Coresec's many undisclosed infirmary wards. As monitors gauge his vitals, alarms begin to ring, a singular finger flinching against the constrictive bindings of his bandaged form.
  3. Not much is known about these mystical creatures said to prey on the Purrgil and ships within the hyperspace lanes that traverse the Galaxy, only myth and legends of who or what they are. In fact, most cultures associate them with the Aurora Borealis that typically are seen in the northern atmospheres of most planets, shimmering lights of green, purple, and blue depending upon the planet's sun. But what are the Adaru truly, and where did they come from? This is a mystery as old as time it's self and many variants span to explain what they are. Photo of possible Adaru emerging from Hyperspace Few have claimed to see the mystical creature, random occurrences either while in Hyperspace or charting courses, but what tales that are told tell of a beautiful and yet terrifying serpentine creature that emerges from and back into hyperspace within the length of its body, leaving behind a fading crackle of storm like activity. There are notes of it chasing the Purrgil, whale like creatures known to frequent tales of the spacers, so it is theorized that Purrgil are it's main source of food. And yet, despite the records and lore about this creature, there are no true evidence of its existence. No remains have ever been found, but there are other known creatures of elongated lifetimes and even some that never seem to age at all. Nor have any true photographic proof ever been brought to light. To most, they are but superstitious legends or ramblings of mad spacers. But that isn't to say there is no fact to this myth, as most myths are somewhat based in reality in some form or another. Perhaps it's simply a event that has yet been touched upon concerning the mysteries of what Hyperspace truly is. Perhaps the Adaru really do exist. There is no evidence to the contrary no more than there is evidence to support its existence. And yet the Adaru are creatures based in lore found in almost all technologically advanced races, whether religiously or mythical, descriptions almost identical. Surely this no coincidence. - Excerpt from Imperial Librarian Geoffrey Bourne's Maddening Mysteries
  4. 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
  5. Mythos

    Naboo

    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.
  6. Mythos

    Naboo

    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.
  7. Mythos

    Naboo

    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.
  8. Mythos

    Naboo

    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.
  9. 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.
  10. Mythos

    Naboo

    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."
  11. Mythos

    Naboo

    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."
  12. Mythos

    Naboo

    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))
  13. 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."
  14. 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?
  15. 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.
  16. 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?
  17. 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.
  18. 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.
  19. 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...
  20. It was absolute darkness that began to plague Coral City, the local Alliance Forces and SaberCats forced to use Night Vision to separate friend from foe. The Deepguard droids stood a reinforced wall against the Rebellion, uniform in the plight of their Masters, unequivocal in their concept of death as they fell only to be replaced by others, unbothered by the meaning. They may have well been the living dead for all they felt. And yet, for the Rebellion, there was purpose and reason behind their own, intentions they lived and died for with pride and fear. The emotions were grandiose, flowing chaos across the unbeaten drums of their shared plight. They accepted their fate, for it was one soul for the many rather the many for one. Mythos could hear the onslaught that chased after him, the clammering and whizzing of the mechanical oppressors on his heels as he panted in the darkness of the frozen tundra, the crunch and instability of ice beneath his hands and feet. Turning through alleys and side streets, Mythos made sure to correct himself and stay ahead of the Deepguard droids that pursued him, holding off just long enough to gather his company and face the threat head on en masse. It was the only way he would survive this day, and he held no intentions on losing any more than what was necessary. He knew this was war, but the idea of losing a single man sickened him to the core. Any sentient who could stand loss of life under their command were no better than what they fought against. YOU WHO DEFY ME SHALL SUFFER WITHOUT MY FAVOR. He heard the buckets echo in unison all around him, an uneasiness settling in the air as Coral City plummeted into complete chaos and fear in the encroaching darkness that followed, only the light of the night sky and the assault lending any light against the chill. Up ahead laid the edge of the Pleasure Sector and his men, the skidding of boots and lightning of his metallic claws scraping duracrete heard in the darkness before the towering Shistavanen let loose the first round of his refounded Scatter Rifle, sending the lead Deepguard unit down as Grenn and the others followed in suite amongst the others. Yet, what followed next sent chills down even the Colonel's furred spine. YOU WHO DEFY ME SHALL SUFFER WITHOUT MY PROTECTION. All across Coral City, the city grew quiet and cold, like the silence of a necropolis, as the Deepguard forces retreated. Some sounds of early celebration echoed across the battlefields, but for the Veterans of War, it was eeriely suspicious and frightening. Even for Mythos himself as he stood and gazed at the retreating Deepguard automations, his fist held up in the halt position. His eyes shifted in the dark, the presence of the air was colder than the chilling wind, and the voice that echoed in the darkness from the automations only made the moment colder. YOU WHO DEFY ME SHALL SUFFER WITHOUT MY MERCY. It was so quiet. Only the beating of their hearts filled the vacancy of the noise that once pierced the veils of Coral City, and the breath they exhaled, like steam from the culverts that lines the streets. Even the Recruits and Militias could feel the unnatural presence in the silence, even as memories of Nyrys contemplated in Mythos' mind, the silent melody of ghosts that nearly drove the Shistavanen insane. He did not like it one bit, and it plagued his thoughts until screams began to echo in almost uniformed unison. Mythos grimaced. He had hoped what he felt in the wind was natural, but his gut knew better. The Sith were at Mon Cal and he knew the power they possessed at their disposal. Nyrys had taught him well in their last engagement. "SaberCats,..." He spoke into the open comm within his helm, an ominous tone groaning from his coarse voice. "...Illuminate." Across the city, the brave souls of the SaberCats Company grasped at their hips and activated the very tool that separated them from the rest of MoonCall and their glow ignited against the shadows of the encompassing darkness as the Lightfoils came to life. They may not have been as powerful as Lightsabers, especially in the hands of trained Jedi and Imperial Knights. But they had been trained in combat by the very Jedi and Imperial Knights they fought along side in the use of them, which made them deadly enough. Now only stood the question of whether fear of the unknowingly encroaching dead would set in or would they truly hold up to the faith Mythos placed in them. Darkness had fallen on Coral City and Mon Cal, more metaphorically than figuratively, and now came their true testament. Whatever forces the Sith would present, they held the numbers to combat it.
  21. Mythos panted as his speed began to increase, the bipedal Shistavanen now crossing the threshold on all fours as he shifted gears. His ears shifted atop his head as he heard the sounds of persuit, but paid little heed. His part was done and as darkness fell over most of the city, Mon Cal's liberation had begun. He only hoped his escapades caused little inconvenience for the planet's natives. Above Mon Cal, drop ships began dropping like fire and brimstone across the canvas, the Rebel Alliance intent on freeing the oppressed with hostile intent. Like the hammers of heaven, they screamed across the upper atmospheres and laid a crimson trail of fire in their wake until they slammed across the city's surfaces like judgement, SaberCats at the helm. Operatives of MoonCall, their Colonel the infamous Mythos Von Howlster, they were trained to be the ultimate culmination of both the Imperial Remnant and Galactic Alliance Forces under the Rebellion's banner. And Mon Cal would soon see their might. In the Pleasure Sector, Green, Altos, and the others were making their way to Mythos. With communication down and now the darkness falling over the city, chaos would erupt and they knew that they had to act fast against the ensuing mechanical oppressors. As riots erupted and drunkereds stumbled across retaliation, bursts of automatic weaponry and surges of ionic blasts favored salvation for the unfortunately sentients that found themselves at the blunt ends of the Deepguard Droid's malware. Their jobs may have been to regroup with the Colonel, but none could stand by as Innocents were terrorized. Throughout the city, Squadrons of SaberCats and other Alliance Forces engaged Deepguard Battle Droids with vengeance. The SaberCats, engulfed in modified Katarn Class Battle armor with the infamous hilts of Lightfoils dangling from their hips, were a force to be reckoned with, even for Sith Lords. This was Mythos' intent, not only as a Colonel in the Rebellion, but from his years of experience as a Alliance Marshall as well. And here, on Mon Cal, they were designation was to hinder and cripple to opposition and clear a path to the Royal Palace. There, Mon Cal's Liberation would be paramount. ------------------------------------------------------ Meanwhile, hidden in a vault of the old shipyards, a Dark Soul began to stir and drift upon the currents of the Force. It's intent, a body to possess and let it's will be remembered.
  22. Steam and gas rolled and bellowed around the area as the three Deepguard Monitors strolled up on Mythos in his 'drunken stupor', the towering beast leaned over and regurgitating the alcohol he had consumed as their voices echoed across the landscape. Mythos had chose this place for a reason, his intent hidden behind false presentation. Civilians were minimal, if not non-existent in the area. Patrols were automations, non sentient and expendable. And the only thing local besides the mines were a nearby powergrid that powered most of the surrounding sectors. If this hit was successful, it would cascade. Now was the time to sober up. "My, the mannerism programmed into you lot." Mythos spoke with heavy breathing as saliva drooled from his maw, metallic clawed gauntlets digging into the duracrete beneath his hands. Lunging his bipedal feet forward in a primal motion, Mythos connects with the first of the three droid's and sends the trio toppling over one another. "I think I've got it from here." In the same fluid motion, as his feet return beneath him, Mythos kicks off the ground and toward the enemy, sparks of electricity igniting before him as the droid's programming kicks in an attempt to subdue the Shistavanen flicker in the darkness and off his unmasked visage. Quickly his grasp hinders one of the prods aimed from atop the pile of mechanical humanoids, struggle of beast and machine ensuing until Mythos manages to drive the prod into the circuitry board of the machine and it seizures, the two below glowing with personal shields. Mythos recoiled, his fangs snarling in response to the heat and radiation. They were more resilient than he had thought as chatter echoed about. He knew he didn't have long before backup would arrive. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ After Mythos departed, Grenn and Altos waited awhile before excusing themselves from the casino as well, their mission greenlit and ago. Whether or not the Colonel succeeded or not mattered little at this point and they headed straight for the starport for the rendezvous with the others. A small trek and a few back alleys and they arrived, Creole and his men geared and ready for Grenn and Altos. "The Colonel?" Creole questioned as he threw a gun to each. Grenn gazed at Altos before chuckling. "He overdid it a bit, but you know the Wolfman. I'm sure he can drink us all under the table." A stifled round of chuckling between the seven erupted as Grenn and Altos suited up in the enclosed storage facility. Once geared and ready, the seven departed, George carrying the Colonel's gear across his back. Just as they cleared the fence line and drew to the shadows, an eruption forced a brief halt in their movements. It seemed the invasion had begun. With that, Altos lingered out alone and accessed the local holonet through a local line and began slicing through the comms. A few moments and communications would be down. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Mythos knew he had to avoid the shields directly and limit their prods connecting through his armor and fur as much as possible, limiting his actions to mostly defensive measures. He had knowledge of most droid's due to his past experiences, but these models were unknown, not even modified submodels. And this made his severely nervous. Combined with his being unarmed, and it seemed fruitless. At least, until an explosion a few kilometers away brought a moment of distraction, a distraction he could use. Explosions were a common place on the battlefield, a reality of war. So much so that veterans like Mythos were rarely effected by them in the heat of combat. They had grew to expect and accept them, use them to their advantage, and react like they didn't exist. Especially if they were distant. Even in his past life as an Alliance Marshall, although not as common, did tend to occur. Add that part of his life to the part as a member of the Rebellion, and it accounted for two thirds of his life living through them. So when the droids inquisitive nature responded to the distant explosion, Mythos reacted. Lunging forward on all fours, Mythos used his wide shoulders to plow through the shielded droids as the radioactive shields heated up his armor just briefly, melting the leathered hide and turning the durasteel a glowing orange. With the torch in one hand and the force of his momentum, Mythos collided with one of the loader droids. Placing the lit torch into the crate it carried as it began to topple, Mythos recoiled backwards just as the droid fell into the open mine, it's repulars unable to correct it's course. Seconds later, the ground shook and flames erupted below as the gas ignited, Mythos hugging the ground as if it would fall away, the gas vents around them lighting up the darkened Industrial Sector as much as they did the remaining two Deepguard Monitors. Mythos did not wait a second longer than he had to and quickly got out of there as another explosion rocked the nearby powerplant and sent half the city into darkness. His part here was done and there was bigger fish to fry. Hopefully this was enough a distraction for the Rebellion forces to take the opportunity.
  23. At the security port station, things went as expected for Mythos. After their carry on luggage was checked and revealed nothing out of the ordinary, a change of thin clothing for lounging, a pack of smokes, a handheld gas torch for striking said cigaras, and a few miniscule items unworthy of note, Mythos and his escort were allowed through. Pocketing his identification he was granted, he made his way toward the recreational district and pleasure plaza where he had a hotel room booked for the next few days. All in all, it seemed like any other Shistavanian vacationing such a world. And that was the point. After taking a little time settling his things away after check in, Mythos made his way around the pleasure plaza, keeping of the appearence of vacationing while scouting the area for his move. For most vacationers, he appeared out of place, a towering wolf man escorted by two humanoids. And all shrugged it off as an alien with diplomatic status, exactly what his identification personified him as just earlier in the day. Mythos Fenrir, Shistavanian Prince, a title he rarely used after leaving his pack behind so long ago. After all, sometimes the best identity was one that held some half truths to it, similar to the greatest of lies. After walking the plaza's boardwalk and enjoying a few morsels of local cuisine and a few alcoholic drinks in big vertical glasses topped with cocktail umbrellas and fruit, Mythos made his way into one of the local casinos for a few games of chance. Visual surveillance was a great start, but local chatter always held deeper information, and drunken gossip held half truths. With the right amount, one could always strip away the lies and find the truths hidden within. And it had been a long time skill of his, dating all the way back to his time as a Marshall. A few hours later, and a few drinks down the hatch, Mythos was on to a potential target. He nodded to his escorts and excused himself from a pazaak game, Mythos took the moment outside for some fresh air. Lighting a cigaras and taking a drag, he began a solemn and quiet stroll outside the city's pleasure plaza and toward the planet's shipyard, cup in hand and song in heart as he stumbled and swayed, his eyes ever alert. He was intrigued to test their security and alert levels, and a drunken Shistavanian would stick out like a sore thumb, especially in a no smoking zone as he clumsily nearly fell into a mineshaft entrance.
  24. Kessel: Mythos had heard of the devastating happens of Mon Cal and the Sith's current occupation of it's surface ports. But he wasn't sure of it's strategic value in the war with the Sith. This caused him to sit silently in the background as he thought upon it's purpose, his attention darting back and forth between the Jensaarai and Lieutenant Andromina in between his own thoughts. When the Jensaarai, Mantis, made his departure, Mythos rose to make his own without word, his mission clear cut. It mattered little the reason it was chosen, only that the higher ups demanded it. He would make sure it was liberated from the Sith War Machine. Once headed back to the city, he commed ahead to Jibb, requesting a team of five lined up as work detail for the cruiser and two personal escorts for himself. Wasn't much of a detail, but Mythos very rarely operated outside his skillets, the former Alliance Marshall using his strengths to his advantage. And with SaberCats, it was a variety tailored to suit his needs. They were capable of becoming ghosts without the Rebellion's aid and each had been trained to fit various roles in times of need. This is why he chose to bring them, and now it was time to prove themselves. After arriving at Von Howlster's Reach, Mythos made sure his weapons were placed in separate unmarked crates, but kept his armor for personal reasons. The two who accompanied him dressed in civies while the five that were to labor aboard the cruiser departed with their gear and his own, safely storing it aboard the cruiser with the affects of the patrons. When it was time, Mythos, Grenn, and Altos departed for the cruiser as well, and Kessel became a blur in the distance as Mon Cal became their next destination. Mon Cal: The air of Mon Cal stunk with the putrid stench of the Sith occupation. The outbreak that once razed it's surface had left behind the entrails of oppression and socialism under Imperial Law. And even the surface layer still bore the mystical wounds of the Force upon it's civilians, the broken spirits lingering in an almost decaying and ruined state. As soon as Mythos disembarked the cruiser, the aroma of Mon Cal churned in his stomach and burnt his sense of smell, causing the Shistavanian to cover his about as best he could. For most travelers, it was an odd thing. But for those who knew his race would almost instantly recognize their heightened senses. Humans were lucky creatures. Meanwhile, as Mythos, Grenn, and Altos made their way away from the starport and toward the security terminal, the five Marines began unloading the personal affects of the patrons. For now their job was simple, observe their surroundings. Learn the movements of the Sith patrols and safely hide away their gear among the others. And when the time came, retrieve it.
  25. As Mythos and the stranger were led into the compound, the Shistavanian let his eyes wander about as the flinching of his ears occasionally perked up or pressed back depending on the levels of noise they encountered. Such was the nature of his beastiality, heightened senses that tended to be more weakness than strength, capable of being used to disarm him. This was the necessity of his helm. This was why he wore a metallic visage of his own face. A warrior adapted, and he had many a year to make such a leap. As they were led into the solitary room where they were instructed to wait, Mythos laid his mask down upon the table and laid his shoulders upon a nearby wall, his ears folded backwards as he lowered his gaze and licked his teeth. The dust had a way of settling in the most uncomfortable of places, and drool overcompensated his desire of clearing his gumlines. As he shifted, the dust upon his duster and fur shifted, his gaze raising upon the being across from him and he sneezed briefly. "It's been many moons since I came across Jensaarai." He spoke in an attempt to pass the time and hinder the silence, his graveled voice rumbling against his scarred voice box. "I am surprised to see your kind still exist outside the Jedi Order." Just as he finished speaking, a small female pilot entered the room, followed by a small droid, her introductions rushed behind the tone of her accent. Mythos simply bowed, and offered her the lead as he grabbed his mask and fell in behind her and the Jensaarai, his massive form towering over both. For most of their journey to the briefing room, he was silent, carefully observing both the Lieutenant and the Jensaarai as they walked and listened to them as they talked. After all, he hadn't been a part of the Rebellion for all that long and with the presence of Jensaarai, some of whom he had hunted himself as an Alliance Marshall under the Republic, some studying needed to be done. "I am Colonel Mythos Von Howlster of MoonCall." He finally chimed in when he got the chance after their arrival. "Former Marshall under the New Republic and Lieutenant in the Alliance Marines. I've been recently promoted and tasked by Admiral Slaughter and Lady Zynthos to create a unified front of Galactic Alliance and Imperial Marines. While I'm not keen on being pushed back off the front lines, I understand the necessity. Old bones like myself are needed to teach the recruits."
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