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As the explosion rocked the bulkheads, Mordecai and Xahl braced themselves. Smoke and debris covered them both, their cloaks and clothes struggling with the speed of the wind as the cacophony reached it's peak, and then... Silence. Gunfire echoed through the station from other fights and battles, as well as the fleets engaging each other in Kuat's orbit, but the here and now was dead silent for a moment. Another passed, and Xahl raised a hand, reaching out with the Force. Pain filled the silence; Mordecai couldn't hear it, but he could feel it. Whatever Xahl was doing the the rebels was devastating. A sickening snap echoed through the hangars, and like a switch, the battle began once more. Mordecai ignited his blades alongside Xahl, content to let the Sorcerer have his fun as he softened the rebel troops. They couldn't see anything through the thick smoke, but they could feel the lives of the rebels on the other side, hear their panic as they retreated.

 

Lightning lashed out from Xahl's fingertips, dancing along the smoky mist in a mesmerizing show of violet-blue light as it arced from rebel to rebel. The pain, panic and death coming from the Rebel forces fuel the Sorcerer in his next strike, an explosion volley of chain lightning. Maybe it was the Force, maybe it was Mordecai's intuition, but before the Sorcerer's lightning had even cleared the smoke Mordecai knew something was wrong, diving away from Lord Xahl in a roll as the lightning shot back, blasting the Sith Lord. To his credit, Xahl didn't fall easily. He intensified the lightning, a soul-shattering wail erupting from the Dark Sorcerer's maw as he battled his own lightning.

 

"I... will not... be denied... my... vengeance!"

 

With a final push with the force, the lightning finally overwhelmed the sorcerer, launching him back with the force of an explosion, his limp body tumbling back into the hangar. Mordecai gazed at the smoking pile of clothes with shock, and then his rage broke through. Xahl, his friend, one of his most trusted allies among the Sith. With his defeat, the only remaining veteran of the last battle of Kuat was Mordecai himself. He rose, his sabers casting an eerie red glow in the fog of war as he approached, his metal boots echoing through the hangars as he approached. Xahl had gotten his vengeance, in the end. He could feel the corpses in the force, their essence torn asunder by Xahl's power. Now, Mordecai would avenge his brother.

 

He broke into a run, cutting through the vapor with a frenzied battle cry as he leapt through the air, directly towards Hunan in a frenzied dash for revenge. He landed a few feet before the Knight, his momentum carrying him into a charge to close the distance as he unleashed a flurry of heavy saber blows, his fury granting him strength, his grief granting him purpose as he stared into the Inquisitor's eyes.

 

His first blow swept overhead, intending to cut across Hunan's chest from his left shoulder to his right hip, his second blow an immediate mirrored follow up with his other saber. His third was a strike from both sabers, coming down right onto Hunan's head if the Knight couldn't avoid it.

 

Xahl's defeat would not be in vain. Mordecai would have his revenge, on the rebels, on the imperials, and on any who dared to stand in his path.

 

((Post One for Mordecai vs Hunan))

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The knives made contact of sorts, and one even scored a furrow across the mighty Hutt, but just as the vibroknife cut through putrid flesh, the force was filled with the terror of the innocent girl. Sandy kept control of that dagger as she stumbled against the sudden onslaught of the force. As much as she wanted to cry out to demand that he let the girl go, Sandy knew there was not the time. Every breath used to speak or even utter a curse was a breath wasted in a fight like this one. So she said nothing when the young girl screamed.  Flesh of two kinds ripped and bled, pain radiated like a storm through the force, and blood flowed bright red in the dark hanger.

 

The pain washed over her like a terrible flame, amplified by the evil will of the Hutt it beat upon her like a thousand fists. Battering at the light. Eating at it. She could feel every pain of that child, not just the nerves being cut and mangled but the unspoken horrors of her short years of service. And behind it all was His hunger. 

 

He struck at Sandy’s heart. Her care, her love. But pain, both physical and mental had consumed her before. She had cut deeply into her own flesh then, eating the sad poison of despair and wishing it would kill the pain while it ate at her heart.  Pain was something she had worked the last decade to stand against. She was not a child anymore, she had left the pain of Thalassia and her long captivity behind. That pain had blossomed into who she was today, she had accepted it, and built on that foundation of acceptance. And even the pain of another girl in such a situation would not break her. 

 

She let the pain bathe over her, letting it move through her. Accepting it for what it was. The pain could stop, but only when the Evil in front of her was defeated and in ruins. She could not save this girl, this hostage and shield that the Hutt had brought with him. If the girl died here, Sandy would accept that, even with the sorrow it hung on her shoulders. 

 

Acceptance. She accepted the pain and let it pass through her. Strengthening her light. 

 

And she moved, bringing the blade up, but in that moment she knew she had been too slow, the pain had been a divergence, a ploy, and it had worked. The blade caught the edge of the hutt’s weapon, reflecting it so that it bit into the flesh of her shoulder before it clattered to the decking behind her. Blood spattered red down her green tunic and she could feel her left arm throb in a sudden furious pain. 

 

But she persisted, letting the pain join the flow of the force. Letting the force grow in her until she could feel it pumping through her very veins. She brought the silver blade up and used it to channel that energy. That blade of the fallen knight Relmis. She struck thrice. Cutting for his lower abdomen, chest, and great staff. Letting her presence grow as she did so. The force following with the illumination of her pure white blade. A storm of light to blot out His darkness. For he could consume pain, shadow, and bile. But could he consume poison? 

 

Summary: Slowed by the mental attack, took damage in the shoulder/upper arm, counter attacked with three lightsaber cuts and the lightside. 

 

((2))

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Calix Meus Inebrians

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It wasn't a guaranteed plan, but Aidan was glad it had worked. A man had died to save his brothers, and his death was not completely in vain. Few Rebel troops, living or dead, could lay claim to downing a trained Sith. As the other rushed from the gaping maw left by the breaching charges, he hung back, watching, like he was supposed to. This was Hunan's fight, now.

((1))

Hunan met the oncoming storm with both eyes open. The yellow blades of his tonfas danced, singing a dangerous duet with the Sith's own, punctured only by the grunts and huffs as the two went at it. Physically, Hunan was bigger, but the Lasat knew well that meant nothing in the chaos of battle. An enemy with a weapon was dangerous, a trained one was deadly. Size mattered not. This Sith was driven, but Hunan was steadfast.

 

As the Sith moved in to strike at his left shoulder, Hunan blocked with his left saber, spinning right to avoid the next cut, which skittered across his pauldron in a shower of sparks. Finally he met both of the sabers in the overhead strike with a crossed block, reversing his tonfas to catch both blades. At the right moment, the Lasat drew back just enough to unleash a savagely powerful forward kick at the Sith's torso, aiming to knock him back from the saber lock. But more than that, Hunan had steered them both with his footwork to where directly behind his opponent was sharp debris left over from the initial assault into the hangar.

 

It was an introduction of warriors. Each was sizing the other up. It was far too early to move in for the kill, instead this would lay the groundwork for the crescendo yet to come.

Edited by Inquisitorius

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Mordecai was, in fact, thrown back towards the jagged metal, catching the boot to his abdomen with gritted teeth as his armor absorbed most of the impact. He twisted as he moved, his cloak catching on the metal and tearing off as it sparked against his own armor, a jagged piece of metal creating a shallow cut across Mordecai's left arm. He sneered, the pain sharpening his senses as he repositioned, making sure to keep the shuttle and its turrets on the other side of Hunan. He knew the rebels well enough to know they wouldn't risk killing one of their own, not this early or in this manner. He roared, leaping back into the battle with little hesitation, his respect for the opponent lost save for that he was a trained fighter. There was no honor to this duel, no banter between the light and the dark. His only purpose now was to kill this knight, and then, if he could, kill every rebel aboard that craft.

 

Another flurry of blows, fueled by the Dark Side as he poured his emotions into each strike. First, a lunging upward thrust towards the Lasat's chest. His second saber met an opposite thrust, looking to impale the Lasat's knees, seeking to cripple the giant knight. Two more quick slashes flew towards the Imperial Knight's abdomen as Mordecai pressed the offensive in a hatred and agonized frenzy. This... Creature would die. His cowardly apprentice, watching from cover, would die. The rebels trying to flee aboard their ship would die. Every last Jedi, Imperial, and Rebel he saw this day would die a thousand painful deaths before he stopped his onslaught. Defiance and simmering hatred bloomed in his chest as he embraced the pain for his cut arm. Is wasn't a debilitating injury, far from it. But he could use it, draw on it to enhance his blows and his movements. The beast had over a foot on him, but that didn't matter. With the Force bent to his will through his emotions, he would overshadow anyone who dared try to stop him.

 

((2))

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((2))

 

The Lasat's assumption was confirmed: this Sith was not ignorant to saber combat. Wisely he struck out at the larger framed Lasat's legs, an area a larger creature would naturally have difficulty protecting. In response, Hunan lowered his stance, catching both thrusting blades as he could, the lower with a reverse block, the upper managing to graze his unprotected neck before Hunan parried it off, cooking the purple skin to a charred black. The wound stung, but Hunan knew pain, and it was a flesh wound. There were larger concerns, bigger machinations at play. The Force would see him through this, as it had many times before for much worse injuries.

 

The swipes at his abdomen were easy enough to meet with vertical blocks, the yellow blades carving the air with delicate but meaningful thrumms, only to meet in a crash with his opponents'. Hunan maintained his economy of movement, never letting his gaze leave his opponent, even though he saw with more than just his eyes. This Sith would wear himself out quickly attacking in such a frenzy. Yet even before that happened Hunan knew that it was strategy, not perseverance, that would win the day here. Hunan backpedaled as his opponent pressed the attack, knowing that he had total control over where to lead his opponent in the expansive room.

 

The tonfas lashed out for the first time, whipping around in blindingly fast arcs, striking at unorthodox zones on his opponent. The upper left bicep, the right kidney, the forehead, the right calf. As fast as they leapt at their opponent, they seemed to be back to a guard in the very next instant. Nothing fatal except for perhaps the forehead, nothing incredibly powerful or strong, each strike coming as Hunan fought on the retreat. But they all had their purpose. The pieces on the board were poised, the music of combat began to swell. All that was left of this fight was the finale, and after, the victor would simply walk away from the corpse of his once-rival.

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Mordecai, while smaller, was build like a tank. In heavy durasteel armor, he was already large for a human, and with the Force bolstering his endurance, he was hard to stop. His bicep was lacerated by the saber strike, and as he pivoted to avoid the strike to his kidney one of the Tonfas just ever so lightly grazed his face, leaving an angry red welt across his features, something that was sure to add to his plethora of scars. the fourth blow was blocked by his saber, and he continued to press. It wasn't lost on him that his opponent was trying to control the environment around him, though to what end he didn't know. It didn't matter- he would kill the knight here and now in a final combination of blows. He flourished briefly before diving back into the combat.

 

His pain drove him, and he embraced it. What was a normal man's grievous injury was his flesh wound. The pain drove him, kept him on his toes. It fed into his anger, with further strengthened his blows and heightened his senses as he relied less and less on practiced maneuvers and more on the raw power of the Dark Side. He snarled, his first two blows aimed squarely at the Lasat's head. His third was a Force empowered kick from his durasteel-coated boot towards Hunan's kneecap, intending to snap it. He followed up with a furious strike from his right saber, intended to sever an arm, before finally swinging both blades in brutal tandem towards the Lasat's abdomen, seeking to cut the Knight in half,

 

This was it. The final strike, positioning himself where the Dropship couldn't shoot him without hitting Hunan. The culmination of his brutal frenzy- He'd defeated Jedi and Imperials with less- This was the culmination of his abilities, his each move augmented with the Force, the lightsabers in his hands extensions of himself, as he drew on his rage, his pain, his grief. Rage at the gall of these Imperials to dare strike at Kuat yet again. The pain from the injuries received during this duel. Grief at his friend's death. And one more emotion. One deeper, more carnal. One that drove him to battle any chance he got.

 

Bloodlust.

 

((3))

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Her masters words resonated in her very being, Pride, honour, ambition, and utmost respect filled her blood. She grinned wide as her chin lifted, her chest puffed and her heart raced. "And may our victory be swift, my master" As Mordecai left, Kahla paused to look out to rising battle. Her thoughts stewed, she was fixated on two truths. She had vowed never to once step foot on the damnable ring above her home world, lest be trapped there for eternity. But it seemed her fate was sealed, and her presence in this conflict demanded her... personal, intervention.

 

Like a great impenetrable wall she used the emotions instilled in her by Mordecai to keep back her fear of being lost to the drive yards, and her pride would serve an ally, a bridge for her connection to the force. She turned her back to the yards one last time, internally signifying the last brick of her wall, now immovable.

 

Her chin high, Kahla strode to the hanger, where awaiting her she would find her trooper squad, they awaited orders hesitantly. As she approached the Staff Sargent stepped forward from the group of six. "Squad is ready on your order." His voice was plain and uninspired. He was under her command, but did not look up to her. Kahla's head tilted, but she had little time for this conversation. Later she thought to herself before she spoke. "Get aboard, on our arrival at the drive yards, you're to sweep for ambush, then get a strong foothold deeper inside. Our previous ambush worked, but I can't be throwing lives at the enemy like droids." She intentionally left the malice and sternness out of her voice, hopefully she could earn the squads respect, rather than make them submit to her rule.

 

Before them resterd her interceptor, a true symbol of the Sith, and soon the silhouette of her dominance over the battlefield. As she and the troops stepped aboard they could feel the dark atmosphere glooming over them, as if the very air oppressed them. The squad tensed, but Kahla embraced the great weight of the evil dripping form every plate. Slowly she drifted, floated almost to the helm, taking in each step as if she were lifted and pulled by the force. As she sat at the helm, her hands hovering over the console, she felt so at place. She gripped the flight stick, squeezing it, she felt the blackish energy course through her as the engines ignited, and like the rising storm they were off.

 

Great tension was in her muscles as she slowly forced the throttle forward. She opted for the scenic route, to really appreciate her newfound love of flying. She moved the ship with grace and intent, touring her new fleet. That thought, that she had her own fleet of vessels, let alone The Phantom's Spear, her very own Dreadnaught. A prideful thought poured into her heart as she passed the bridge of the Harrower, I, Am, Sith.

 

She'd left Harris in command of her fleet, and with it almost every ounce of her trust rested on his shoulders. Though there was some relief, their maiden voyage, and first combat would be closely overseen by Captain Maran. And if Mordecai trusts him so well, then so could she.

 

Finally, her attention turned to the docks, most specifically a fighter construction yard. It was quiet, relative to the surging battle, and so to there, Kahla pressed. If there was nobody there, then surely a Fury Class interceptor would draw more than enough attention. She placed herself on a pedestal in her mind, A True Sith landing here? Who wouldn't take that bait..

 

They set down and the ramp burst open and her troops stormed out. Like clockwork they swept the abandoned docks. Hunks of Tie Fighter in various states of completion coated the landing. Up the walls, wings still in production, and hanging from the ceiling, two completed Ties. Kahla was curious, concerned maybe, that the two hadn't launched when the rebels arrived. Defective, maybe.

 

The Staff Sargent gave the all clear, and the squad pushed further into the yards. Kahla strode off, finding her way to the the catwalk at the back of the massive room, overlooking her makeshift hangar. Now, all she had to do was wait for her catch.

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((3, Good fight))

 

This was it. Everything came down to this one moment, strategized from the outset of their melee. The strikes had served to distract and focus the Sith on Hunan rather than his surroundings, and as far as he could tell, it had worked perfectly. The obvious danger in the hangar was the shuttle with its repeating blaster emplacements, but there was another large hazard: the slagged automated turret that now hung from above by a single cable. 

 

As his opponent lunged for his heat, Hunan blocked, fully aware of what would need to come next. As the Sith dove deep in the Force to injure him, Hunan dove into the Force to reach out and snap the cable at the same time as he sacrificed his own knee, his leg twisting sideways with a blindingly painful POP as he limped backwards a half step. His tonfas remained close, guarding his body from what would likely be the Sith's final strikes. Light-tonfas excelled at blocking, and Hunan relied on his knowledge of Soresu to keep him safe in these final moments.

The turret fell.

Edited by Inquisitorius

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The Great Mountain of Filth felt the subtle change in the light before him, a feeling of resolve, of detachment. A feeling of acceptance. The Jedi’s eyes were always turned from life. Always focused on a peaceful utopia, occupied by only the insane and robotic. The Hutt gurgled a laugh at the mockery of life it showed.

 

Acceptance… they pretended to care, but always referred their emotions away. Inhuman.

 

Words came, a whispering, devilish thing of grime and grease, sputtered through a haze of spit. Cruelty, the mockery of the light.

 

<<I’m so glad you can accept the deaths of others, I’m sure it makes them feel so much better that you’re okay with it. Just like the victims of Dark Sun Station...>>

 

He twisted the force and the child’s screams intensified, broken by tears and choking sobs to form into a pained frenzy. She tore at her flesh with nail-bitten fingernails as crimson blood blossomed from a hundred gaping holes, which had been punched through the freckled skin by the force. Her blood wept from the skin, turning to blackened ash as its essence was consumed by the force, giving the child the appearance of a molting, shivering insect.

He let the pain of the child wash into him, fueling his hunger into a feverish pace which was matched in turn within the conjoined heartbeats; those of the primitive worm, the shattered soul, the afflicted child, and his many own. It was delicious. The metal decking within the Hutt’s locus of control twisted, shifting to meet his starvation. The air echoed the child’s shrieking with the tone of contorting metal.  

 

Uriel’s heartbeat contorted, a maniacal lust reflected into the Force, for he had tasted the Jedi’s blood. Armalite had found a target. The blood that flecked the darkmetal of the blade absorbed into the alchemical matrix, bonding into the Force and into the void that was the Hutt’s hunger. The purity, that faux innocence within the blood whet the Hutt’s palate and it was like a sweet, dessert wine. It reminded him of the Snevrain Hajan Vintage he had once tasted at Ar-Pharazon’s table, and it had paired well with the roasted Ewok that had been the center dish.

 

As the Hutt relished the aroma of Jedi blood, the light struck at the flitmoth; the Jedi’s lightsaber swung at his bulk. The first strike drove a molten line across Sheog’s thick gut, puss and ichor weeping and burning against the heat of the lightsaber. The scent of boiling rot filled the air, and the Hutt hissed venemously, reeling back, off balance from the pain. Metallic decking crashed from where he had held it, passed from his control, falling away from the heartbeat of hunger.

 

The Jedi’s other strikes were met by the orange fire of his lightsaber, and a new heartbeat joined the hunger, that of his former master, Ason Antilles, from whose body and soul the lightsaber’s crystal were created.

 

Light burned through, a beam of silver against the shadows of his mind, and in his momentary weakness it startled him, The Maw had not held such a bedazzling star since before the recording of time. Multi-lidded eyes blinked and narrowed.

 

<<What are you... All the Jedi?>> 

 

Beyond the brilliance, rage blended into the pain, bleeding into the madness of hunger to form ravenous starvation. He had tasted the Jedi’s blood, now he would have it all. He passed his own pain into the child, enraptured by her sobbing cries. She held her own eviscerated stomach, her fingers tearing at bowels that felt as though they had caught fire. Her heartbeat was fading. 

 

He fed upon the child's pain, reveling in it, casting it about the paltry light, focusing his hunger upon the Jedi before him even as pain rippled through his body. He would sup from her energy like a ravenous parasite, just as the Maw devoured the stars of heaven themselves. Nothing had ever escaped the event horizon of the Maw, and nor would this Jedi escape his. He wanted all of it. All the light would be his to consume, to pervert and to defile. A storm was growing within the Maw, crackling with the energy of pain and madness. Ason's heartbeat twitched along, the orange light throbbing to waves of the oncoming storm. Electric fire crawled about the handle, leaping in arcs from the Soul Reaper. 

 

From his churning stomach blossomed a fountain of corrosive acid, propelled by the madness of the Force. It spewed forth between malformed lips, given a life of its own by the pain and starvation. The Hutt had given birth to a hypercaustic wave of bile which aimed to strike against the Jedi who had made the mistake of coming so close to a mountain of filth, so close to the Lord of Gluttony himself. It would consume and destroy all in its path.

 

From the decking into which its blade had bit, Aramlite leapt, driven then by dual madness of both its master and the soul that had been laid into it at its creation. Uriel wanted to taste of her again, to apply his lust. The bearded ax whipped through the air in a high arc, aiming to smite the head from the body and to feast once more of the Jedi’s blood before it returned to Sheog’s awaiting, greasy palm.

 

The storm grew. None would escape his hunger.

 

((2))

 

((TL;DR: Took damage from the lightsaber strike, planned metal-plating based telekinetic attack disrupted. Attacked with Force-Vomitus and with Armalite in a pincer maneuver))

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King Kheldar vos Correlli said:
Sheog, I have to ask, overkill much?
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Banebridge adjusted her plasteel armor, tugging at the manufactured strapping to get the fitting tighter on her lithe frame. She felt dwarfed by the ARC-Trooper armor, an antique handed down from the Clone Wars that had been issued to her by Pelltaen, the Armorer of the Order of Captains for the Imperial Knights. The assault shuttle shook beneath her feet, and the Rebel forces about her surged forward, causing her to stumble.

 

The soldier hit a bulkhead, knocking her helmet askew and the shuttle’s interior darkened before she ripped the oversized helmet free from her head. She was younger than most of the soldiers that had rushed ahead of her, and her auburn hair was kept long, in defiance of the normative Rebellion fighting style. She didn’t much care for the Alliance itself, a longstanding hatred from the Rebellion’s actions under Saikat and Starlisk had killed her entire family at Coruscant, and the tattoo that adorned her lower lip and chin spoke to her mourning.

 

The Imperial Knights had taken her in after the fall of Coruscant, and she had grown up amongst them, passing into their fighting ranks with her seventeenth birthday.  

 

The girl hefted the CZR-9001 rifle in her hand, a relic even older than her armor, and retrieved her flask with the other, her fingers playing across the pair of fragmentation grenades that were beside it. The bitter tang of lukewarm stimcaf made her grimace, but it focused her mind. She spat a stream of the dark fluid onto the decking as a salute to her fellows and ran into the maze of hallways before her.

 

Kenna heard distant blasterfire, the sound grating on her exposed ears and causing her to grasp the medallion she wore about her neck. It was a simple piece of silver, engraved with the symbol of the Jedi mirrored on the other side with that of the Empire, and was the first gift the Imperial Knights gave their acolytes, be they blessed with the Force or not. Out of habit, the girl placed the silver onto her tongue, biting it softly as she pressed forward, the taste of the metal bringing her to a place of peace.

 

Raising her rifle, the girl stepped slowly to the door of a large assembly hanger, peaking out behind the yawning blast door to observe from a place of relative cover. It was mostly empty, but for the scraps of half-assembled TIE-fighters, but something felt off and she was ill-at-ease. She bit the silver harder, setting her jaw and stepped out into the hanger, her boots clicking softly on the decking.

 

…So loud… So much for stealth.  Where is everyone? 

 

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  • Wow...this was a hard one. On the one side, you have a Sith duelist whose preferred style is pure aggression, enhancing his blows and speed with the Force. On the other side you have a Jedi of equal rank whose preferred style is Soresu, the defensive style a Jedi would pick to repel such aggression. Both sides played their preferred styles to the hilt, with Mordecai throwing everything at his enemy while Hunan stayed on the defense, only mixing in a few attacks here and there as he instead played the long game. Mordecai upped the stakes by seemingly getting stronger with each injury as he channeled the pain into his attacks. Also, both sides did an excellent job of respecting the other. This felt like a respectful duel between two competent RPers, with no bad feelings on either side.

 

  • I would have liked to see some acknowledgement from Hunan that Mordecai was enhancing his blows with the Force. It wasn't heavily emphasized in Mordecai's posts till near the end, but it would have been good to see that it was having an effect. Mordecai also didn't do much to acknowledge his opponent or his skill. These aren't requirements, but I would have enjoyed seeing what each opponent thought of the other's unique/unusual attributes.

 

  • Just as an aside, neither side godmodded that I could tell. I don't believe Hunan's positioning of Mordecai was godmodding, particular since Mordecai made it clear he was going straight for Hunan and was therefore leaving Hunan to control their positioning through strategic retreating.

 

  • I'll say it again, this one was hard. Hunan's sacrifice of his own knee to create a trap for the Sith, a trap built up over the fight, was excellent and exactly the gambit I'd expect to see from a Soresu using Jedi. Mordecai's pure aggression and constant flurry of attacks, turning pain into power, was the blend of passion and skill that make Sith such monsters in a fight. The turret that Hunan dropped wasn't mentioned previously in the duel or preceding posts (at least nowhere I could find), which I frown a little at. It works better here because Mordecai was so single-minded on attacking Hunan and acknowledged he didn't care what kind of trap Hunan was setting up, which was entirely in character for the Sith and his style.

Final ruling…

 

TIE

 

I'm not a big fan of ties in duels like these, but here I didn't really see another way, including a sudden death round. Both players did an excellent job playing to their character' strengths and staying in character. Hunan was the more creative of the duelists with his trap, and Mordecai's willingness to acknowledge that his character wouldn't metagame caution when his player knew a trap was coming but would instead continue to throw himself at his enemy was a maturity you don't always see in duels.

 

It will be up to each player how they leave the area of the duel.

 

Excellent writing on both sides.

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Mordecai had won. Or so he thought. The Lasat fell to his kick, his knee shattered, but before Mordecai could sate his bloodlust his attention was drawn to an ear-piercing cacophony above him. He glanced up just in time to see the slagged remains of a turret rocketing towards him. He sneered, darting back and out of the way as the hulk of metal tore through the durasteel floor and into the hangar below. Snarling, he glanced up at the knight who nearly killed him, charging the wounded fighter. His chance was over, though. The turret aboard the dropship swiveled to face him, firing his direction. The explosion beneath him sent him tumbling towards where he'd made his entrance, and as he stood, he saw the rebel troopers rallied, pouring from the safety of their dropship with a hail of blaster fire.

 

This, combined with the newest set of burns from his most recently survived explosions, meant that he couldn't finish the Inquisitor. He roared with frustration as a second volley forced him into cover, the hangar shaking with the explosions. The victory had been his, he's defeated the Knight, he'd been ready to claim the fool's head. And now, it was stolen from him. Rage filled his soul even as Sith reinforcements arrived to battle the Rebels. It didn't matter- by now, Hunan would have retreated with the help of his forces. Even he couldn't fight through those forces fast enough. Instead, he glanced back at Xahl's corpse. It wasn't smoking anymore, but the awkward angle at which the body lay told him everything he needed to know- Xahl was dead. He limped to the man's corpse, picking up his lightsaber and placing it in the dead Sith's hand.

 

He lifted Xahl's body in his arms, grief coming over him. Xahl had been more a mentor to him than any other Sith, and after his ascension to Lord, had been like a brother to him. His own family had cast him out, and yet, amongst the Sith, he had found a true family. Lord Valinor, Lord Xahl, Captain Maran. Even Kahla, his apprentice, had earned his respect. And now, he'd lost one of those bonds. Before, his snarls and battlecries had been out of rage and anger. But now, as he held his fallen brother, he let out a wail of grief and loss. Tears fell, the first time he'd genuinely wept since his induction unto the Sith. When he'd left his family, his heart was hardened. When he'd killed his former allies and friends on his arrival to Korriban, his heart had been hardened. With every victory and defeat he'd remained stoic and strong before his allies and enemies. 

 

He stood, hefting the corpse with him as he walked towards the shuttle they'd arrived on. He would not leave Xahl surrounded by rebel scum, discarded on the hangar floor like an expendable slave. With a hiss, the shuttle sealed behind him. He gently laid Xahl's body on the ground, moving to the pilot's seat. He keyed the comms, his voice quiet.

 

"Captain Maran, prepare the hangar. Retrieve my honor guard. Lord Xahl has fallen. He will receive the honors he is due."

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Failure.

 

The Sith noticed the trap at the last second, and Hunan had sacrificed his knee for nothing. The terrible sound of the heavy turret ripping through the deckplates and plummeting downward only echoed a cacophony of chaos, not an overture of triumph. It was strange, here, at the end of things, even despite the ruthless pain of his shattered knee, Hunan was at peace. This was the will of the Force. As the Sith charged, Hunan lowered his guard with arms outstretched, and closed his eyes.

 

Instead, what rang true was the unexpected sound of a heavy repeating blaster canon, the same one mounted to the exit ramp of the shuttle he'd landed on, meant to give the troops covering fire as they disembarked. In an instant, it was over. There was no winner, only the brief turbulence of war, two dancers separated on a crowded dance floor, two ships passing in the night. Aidan's hand was the next thing Hunan felt, as the young man braced the Lasat on his smaller frame, helping him hobble back to the shuttle. More reinforcements from both sides were on the way, it was time to leave. This fight, their fight, was over.

 

Silence hung in the shuttle on the return flight, save for the low moans and groans of the injured. It gave Hunan time to think, to reflect on the skirmish. He wondered if he would ever see that man again. He imagined it would be very different the next time they fought, if there was a next time. As they left the shuttle back on one of the medical frigates near the fringes of the fleet encounter, Hunan told Aidan something very important, something the young Knight had been waiting to hear, but was prepared to wait much longer to do so.

"I absolve you. Go, rejoin the ranks of your brothers and sisters. Join the fight only if you desire, there is no shame in tending the wounded, and my report will be filed after regardless."

 

This time, Aidan didn't say anything. He gave Hunan a smile, not particularly wide or exuberant, but content. War was ugly, but in its fires fine warriors were forged, and today Aidan was tempered. He helped Hunan to the medical ward, and began healing him like Sandy had once taught him.

((I have enjoyed writing Hunan immensely, but now it's time to jump back to Aidan's story. For the time being, Hunan is now an NPC, and Aidan is back to being a PC. In the future, I may bring Hunan back to a full PC, but for the duration of this battle it would be unfair.))

Edited by Inquisitorius

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The dropship shuddered as it neared the hangar. The Krayt's Fury was in the midst of an engagement with the Rebel fleet, and it showed. Fighters and bombers streamed through the stacked hangars of the Harrower, and as Mordecai maneuvered his shuttle to the lower hangar, he could see troops streaming past his Honor Guard into their own shuttles and starfighters. He wasn't an expert pilot, far from it, but he'd landed on Korriban at the beginning of this journey. It was fitting that he landed his shuttle now, as an end to Lord Xahl's. As the shuttle's landing gears locked into place and the rear of the shuttle split open to reveal its contents, he stood. Moving from the pilot's seat, he carefully lifted Xahl once more. His brother, the first true family he'd had since he defected. His steps bore a weight beyond that of his physical body, sounding off through the hangar with the intensity of his grief.

 

Sergeant Yolan, the man in charge of his guards, shouted a command, and they moved from a rest to attention, before giving a crisp line of salutes. He walked forward, flanked by the elite fighters of his powerbase, his presence carrying a looming darkness with him that all could feel. He wish he could tell Xahl that he'd had his vengeance in the end, but he hadn't. Not yet. Not until the Rebels and their Imperial allies had been wiped off the face of the Galaxy. He's kill Hunan for this. Then Cassandra and Ismael, and then the damnable leader of their order, Kyrie. None would survive his wrath. none would dare stand against him now- if they did, he would kill them himself. The time for mercy was over. His crusade renewed, he vowed vengeance of his own. This wouldn't stop until he had the False Empress Raven's head at his feet, severed by his saber.

 

Captain Maran was yet to appear- he was still needed to command the fleet. Grief wasn't a luxury that the Captain could afford right now. He would break the news to the rest of his commanders in time- for now, he suffered alone, his soul isolated from anything that could possibly save him. There was little goodness left in his heart. His stoic facade was crumbling, and his control of his emotions, prized within as the iron chain he used to control the Force, was rusting. With each step, his hatred grew. Everywhere he turned, the Excorcists would stand in his way. They stopped his ascension at Borleais and scarred him permanently. In the last battle of Kuat, they stood against him once more, Cassandra taunting him with her escape. And now, again, one of their knights slipped through his grasp after slaying Lord Xahl. He vowed revenge against them all.

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Dark Sun had come from a man disgraced in her order, a shadow of a man she once had known. Who had followed the much treaded path from Kuat, to Kamino, to Dark Sun. If there was a hell, like the Corellians had surmised some eons before, Sandy was sure it would be filled with Jedi Masters. But she was not one of those Jedi Masters. She had sinned enough to get into hell, everyone had, and she had long fought that part of herself, but she was no mass murderer. She had never stood on a lonely bridge of a battleship and watched orbital rings melt into a planet's surface. No one in her order had. 

 

All of them were long dead. And nothing the Sith Lord could say would shake her of the convictions that had brought her to Kuat. And so, like before. She said nothing in response to the Hutt’s taunting words. Even as his orange blade leapt from his great staff and tangled with her own. But he did not press his attack. Instead, the force moved like fire through him and he opened his great mouth. She gasped as she pulled her lightsaber back and threw forward her wounded arm. A blast of stench presaged the eruption from the great Hutt. And she let the force flow through her in return. She stretched her arm out, biting through the pain, the fingers streaked bloody from the shoulder wound, as all calamitous hell was birthed onto her. 

 

Instincts and resolve brought the force to bear in front of her. As she had done before in the cavernous depths of Scarif. The force flowed from her fingers and palm as they were coated with the bile. A shield forming itself in the air in front of her, its curving sides awash in white energy. Pain, a hot as fire and deep as coal played itself across her palm as the acid made its mark. But it did not coat her body, instead flowing on either side of her as if she was a rock in the Scarif tides. Caustic bile breaking and flowing against the curved shield as she pushed forward against its mass. 

 

She could not last even an hour against the waves, and the dulling pain in her hand told her that it would not even be a minute before she would have to yield to the great sith lord. She took a staggering step forward, the shield pushing the vomit apart so she could get within reach of its source. Then as she planted her foot on the decking against the horrifying vomit, the right side of her hearing became a whine of tinnitus. As the great axe spun its way from behind her, cutting through her soft blond hair, and taking her right ear along with it before it returned to its towering master. Leaving the side of her face covered in bright red blood. 

 

But she did not need to hear to feel the force. And as His storm grew, so did hers. And she did not not to feed of the deaths of children to survive.

 

The shield at her hand crackled with expended energy as it fought its own duel with the Lord of the Krath’s great hunger. And she moved that hand, the pain shrieking down her arm in jolts. Perhaps she was screaming as well, and she could not hear herself if she did. For there was nothing else but this fight, for if she failed here, the armies, the fleet, and Aidan would all be lost. Slowly the fingers of her hand parted as the vibroknife that had once cut the Sith began its quick return. Beckoned by the mind of its wounded Jedi Master. Its red covered blade flicking for the Sith Master's back as she made her last attempt. Little specks and filaments of the acid began to emit from the hole that was opening between her middle fingers, splashing down her tunic's sleeve. THere was a reason for the opening in the barrier-shield, one that Sandy sunk her hopes into. 

 

With a cry of determination, Sandy brought the lightsaber up, twisting her arm until she could push it through the small hole between her parted and burning fingers. The saber coughed and sputtered as it made contact with the bile and vomitus of the great Sith Lord. But it stayed true and she pushed it up and up, until both hands met behind the shield. For she had weathered his storm. Though blood made long rivulets that dripped from her chin and jaw. She had survived his hunger. And if her aim was true, she would cut his gullet with the silver-white blade. 

 

((3))

Summary: Hand half melted, ear cut off. Vibroknife at the Hutts back, lightsaber to his throat

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Calix Meus Inebrians

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She couldn't keep herself from pacing as her anticipation rose. Typically she was well reserved, but just standing around and waiting for something to happen ate away at her. Kahla focused on that gnawing feeling, she started tapping rapidly on her thigh as her nerves grew. Ambushes had started waring on her, and her impatience was slowly becoming a far worse enemy. Blasterfire echoed distantly in the halls, starfighters screeched by and the unmistakable boom of ship batteries shook the station.

 

But finally, a new sound entered the room, boots lightly thumping against the plating. Her heart raced as she darted her attention to the hall where the shadow entered. In cover well enough that Kahla knew she couldn't do anything from here, not yet. And so she continued waiting, watching diligently. But nothing came, for long enough that she felt safe in revealing herself.

 

She turned to the wall behind her and let her voice bellow and bounce off the walls. "A little lost, Friend?" Her voice like a rolling thunder, neigh omnipresent in the giant space. She turned back, her heart ready to explode out of her chest, her muscles more tense than ever. Do something! Her mind repeated in her head as she continued to wait.

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The Mountain of Gluttony’s anger increased, paired in equal with his mounting hunger. Even the lifeforce of the child could not whet an appetite for long. Not even the Jedi Master before him would satisfy him now. Perhaps not even all the lives of Kuat, of the paired and dueling fleets above, would abate that which drove him, that unyielding greed.

 

Yet the Jedi still lived.

 

Jedis and their shields… Name a more twisted pair. Preserving themselves and accepting the deaths of the innocent.

 

Uriel’s heartbeat contorted again, lust sated for the moment as an ear was taken from his prey, but as always with lust, it was never calmed for long. The handle of the great bearded ax, Armalite, found its purchase in the awaiting palm of its great master, leaping and jittering with the excitement of a Kath hound treeing an Ewok.

 

Pain came then to the Great Hutt, shearing against his flank as a vibroknife bit into his tender, rotten flesh. It tore into the muscle of his great tail, causing it to spasm and weaken, and the Hutt felt unsteadiness seize his overlarge form. He turned his pain to rage, forcing it upon the child as he sagged backwards, the wave of acid subsiding, for there was no joy in the digesting of a meal before it was eaten.

 

Blackened blood slipped into ash as life was consumed, transformed into the energy of hunger. A heartbeat faded, a last high mewing scream, one of pure pain, and the Child was past the event horizon, her fate sealed by the acceptance of the Jedi. The pale canvas of flesh, so torn with holes, melted away to reveal sinew and muscle before that too was transformed into the energy the Hutt desired. There was no longer breath in the child’s lungs to scream, but the soul reflected her torture until its end within the Force. Her heartbeat was now that of the storm and her body was no longer but bleached and gnawed upon bone scattered upon shattered decking.  

 

The Mountain of Filth was bleeding puss and ichor, pain seeping deeper into the storm that brewed in the Maw, but still the Hutt stood in all the glory of his filth and hunger. It was hard to move now, to propel himself, but he would not break to some Jedi girl. The electric fire began took on the hue of crimson, and the hum of its creation took on the screams of the broken child.

 

The Hutt chortled a mimicry of the child’s death knell, a gasping withering laugh that echoed against the crackling of the electric fire that was the storm that brewed. Arcs of green and amethyst curled across the greasy staff, for it was the heart of the storm; that soul reaper with its wicked blade humming the reflections of death. The Maw was feeding, engorging itself with the life of the child as an aperitif before the main course of Jedi Master.

 

The Jedi’s silver light came, but the flitmoth was ready and it was met in its turn by the orange fire of the Hutt’s lightsaber, streaming from the storm that was his ceremonial staff. He drove the silver light from where it desired to strike his throat, allowing it to furrow along the side of his great mass instead, to split the skin and boil away excess fat. It burned as it passed, burning away ichor and puss, but it was all madness now. The silver light was locked with the orange fire of his own. Pain and desire matched together as the great parasite moved to devour his prey, driven so by the Maw. The storm was unleashed.

 

Driven by his hand, Armalite hammered down towards the hilt of the Jedi’s blade, at that heart of the shield, to smash away the pain and to utterly defang his prey. The great ax whistled as it flew, its heartbeat in the Force leaping with pain-filled lust; the howl of an uncaged demon.  

 

From the tip of his staff, on the opposite of his great lightsaber, from that soul reaper itself spat the curses of the darkside. The storm erupted into lightning of crimson, amethyst, and malachite, reflecting in the spilled ichor and slime, brighter than even the Jedi’s lightsaber. The power of the Master of the Krath spilled into the night, arcing in one cataclysmic blast aimed for the seat of the Jedi’s soul, her heart.

 

He would consume her, the world below, and the fleets above.

 

((3))

 

((Took slicing damage to the Hutt’s tail, lightsaber damage to the side. Attacked with a blow from Armalite followed with Sith lightning. Great duel, loved it.))

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King Kheldar vos Correlli said:
Sheog, I have to ask, overkill much?
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Round One Fleet Results

 

Attackers Defensive  Actions

 

|Alexandra| Guards |Anastasia|

|Phobos| Guards |Aeneas|

|Fleet Commander Starfighter Action| Interception(Forward Deployment)

 

Attackers Offensive Actions

 

|Romanova| + |Sairdonga| Attack |Vulcan| 6 total DPS |

Death Harvest Catchers| Attack |Wings of Glory| Dealing 4 dps and reducing Incoming DPS by 2

|Sith Eaters| Attack |Phantom's Spear| Dealing 4 dps and reducing Incoming DPS by 2 (Intercepted by Net of Hate)

|Aeneas| attacks |GSDP| 8 DPS resolved next round

|Anastasia| attacks |Phantom's Spear|2x Bombers inbound 6 dps (Covered by Net of Hate, turning hull damage to shield damage)

|Fleet Commander Starfighter Action| Bombers Inbound on |Sith Resurgent| 3 dps (Covered by interceptors, reduced to shield damage)

|Fleet Commander Starfighter Action| Bombers Inbound on |Sith Resurgent| 3 dps (Covered by interceptors, reduced to shield damage)

 

Defenders Defensive Actions

 

Defense Heavy Brawler Escort: Hammer and Anvil (Colossus) is covering Golan

Engineering Support Cluster: Bucket Brigade (Chariot) is covering Golan

Mobile Disruption Escort: Net of Hate covering Destroyer Group [Rail guns]: Phantom’s Spear

Interception (Focused Deployment) on Heavy Brawler Escort: Hammer and Anvil (Colossus)

Interception (Focused Deployment) on Destroyer Group [Missile TF]: Sith Resurgent

 

Defenders Offensive Actions

 

|Vulcan| attacks |Aeneas| 8 points of DPS resolved next round

|Sith Resurgent| attacks Carrier |Anastasia| but is intercepted by |Alexandra| which takes 6 damage

 |Phantom Spear| attacks Carrier |Anastasia| but is intercepted by |Alexandra| which takes 4 damage (This includes the minus two penalty for stacking fire)

|Through Power, Victory| attacks |Romanova| for 4 damage

|Golan| attacks |Aeneas| for 2 damage (Damage against artillery halved, rounding up)

Bombers Inbound on |Sairdonga| (Veteran Destroyer), Forward interception shifts damage to shields

Bombers Inbound on |Aeneas| (arrives next round) Forward interception shifts damage to shields

Bombers Inbound on |Aeneas| (arrives next round)Forward interception shifts damage to shields

Technical errors reduce shields on the |Sairdonga| by one, it's probably nothing...

 

No cloaked ships detected

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______________________________________________________________
Overall Fleet Command Raven Nasra
Rebel Alliance Fleet Command Flagship |Romanova|

KDY-Imperial II-Class Star Destroyer Misericordia |26/30|

Axial Weapon Upgrade

Pocket Dreadnought Upgrade

 

Rebel Alliance Light Defensive Escort: Suppressing Fire |Alexandra|

Task Force Experience: Green (1xp)

RSD Praetorian-class Frigate Krasnoyarsk |3/3|

RSD Praetorian-class Frigate Voronezh |3/3|

RSD Praetorian-class Frigate Vladivostok |3/3|

RSD Praetorian-class Frigate Sevastopol |0/2|

NRE Senth-class Corvette Volga |2/1|

NRE Senth-class Corvette Nakhodka |2/1|

NRE Senth-class Corvette Voskresensk |0/0|

NRE Senth-class Corvette Kiselyovsk |0/0|

 

Rebel Alliance Precision Strike Carrier Group |Anastasia| 

Taskforce Experience Green (1xp)

KDY Pelta-class Frigate Thessalonica |3/3|

KDY Pelta-class Frigate Adrianople |3/3|

RSD Paladin-class Corvette Thrace |2/1|

RSD Paladin-class Corvette Corinth |2/1|

SSC Quasar Fire-class Cruiser-Carrier Constantinople |9/9|

_________________________________________

Taskforce Commander Leena Kil

Rebel Alliance Destroyer Group [Turbolasers] |Sairdonga| [Infected]

Task Force Experience: Veteran (2xp)

MCS MC75-Class Star Cruiser: Imperial Momship |21/25|

 

Partisan Militia Force : |Death Harvest Catchers|

Task Force Experience: Veteran (2xp)

Squib Needle Ship: Catcher 1 |2/1|

Squib Needle Ship: Catcher 1-2 |2/1|

Squib Needle Ship: Catcher 1-2-3 |2/1|

Squib Needle Ship: Catcher 1-2-3-4 |2/1|

Squib Needle Ship: Catcher 1-3-3-4-5 |2/1|

Squib Needle Ship: Catcher 1-2-3-4-5-6 |2/1|

Squib Needle Ship: Catcher 1-2-3-4-5-6-7 |2/1|

Squib Needle Ship: Catcher 1-2-3-4-5-6-7-8 |2/1|

Squib Needle Ship: Catcher 1-2-3-4-5-6-7-8-9 |2/1|

Squib Needle Ship: Catcher 1-2-3-4-5-6-7-8-9-10 |2/1|

Squib Needle Ship: Catcher 1-2-3-4-5-6-7-8-9-10-11 |2/1|

Squib Needle Ship: Catcher 1-2-3-4-5-6-7-8-9-10-11-12 |2/1|

 

Partisan Militia Force |Sith Eaters|

Task Force Experience: Veteran (2xp)

Squib Needle Ship: Sith 0-1 |2/1|

Squib Needle Ship: Sith 1-2 |2/1|

Squib Needle Ship: Sith 2-3 |2/1|

Squib Needle Ship: Sith 3-4 |2/1|

Squib Needle Ship: Sith 4-5 |2/1|

Squib Needle Ship: Sith 5-6 |2/1|

Squib Needle Ship: Sith 6-7 |2/1|

Squib Needle Ship: Sith 7-8 |2/1|

Squib Needle Ship: Sith 8-9 |2/1|

Squib Needle Ship: Sith 9-10 |2/1|

Squib Needle Ship: Sith 10-11 |2/1|

Squib Needle Ship: Sith 11-12 |2/1|

_________________________________________

Taskforce Commander Kyrie Eleison

Imperial Knight Expeditionary Light Defensive Escort: Suppressing Fire |Phobos|

Task Force Experience: Veteran (2xp)

Star Galleon-Class Frigate Clermonte |3/3|

Vengeance-Class Frigate Chartres |3/3|

Interceptor-Class Frigate Francorum |3/3|

Consular-Class Frigate Tancred |3/3|

Sphyrna-Class Corvette Guiscard |2/1|

Sphyrna-Class Corvette Dorylaeum |2/1|

Paladin-Class Corvette Yağısıyan |2/1|

Free Virgilla-Class Corvette Alexandretta |0/1|

 

Imperial Knight Expeditionary Incendiary Artillery Battery |Aeneas| 

Taskforce Experience Green (1xp)

KDY Corona-class Frigate Hebron |3/3|

KDY Dreadnaught-class Heavy Cruiser Tripoli |10/20|

 

Rebel Alliance Search and Destroy Cruiser |Antioch|

Taskforce Experience Green (1xp)

KDY-Republic-Class Star Destroyer Damascus |25/25|

_________________________________________

The heavy rebel fleet began its desperate fight as the great turbolasers thundered in the deep of space. Two corvettes exploded into stardust as the returning fire caught two captains unawares.  

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Pretender to the Galactic Throne

Leader of the Rebel Alliance

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SHEOG v. SANDY DUEL RULING

 

GENTLEMEN,

 

THANK YOU FOR LETTING ME RULE ON THIS DUEL. BRINGING TWO MASTERS Of THE FORCE TOGETHER IS ALWAYS A PROMISE OF GREAT THINGS. THIS DUEL TOOK SOME TWISTS AND TURNS THAT ONLY THE USE OF THE FORCE CAN OFFER. IT WAS FUN TO WATCH HOW BOTH OF YOU MANIPULATED THE FORCE, DIFFERENTLY FOR YOUR CHOSEN SIDE, AND WORKED THE SHIFTING FORCES TO YOUR ADVANTAGE.

 

AS I READ, I NOTICED SEVERAL GRAMMATICAL ERRORS THROUGHOUT THE DUEL. SOME OF THEM HAD ME GOING BACK TO REREAD AND TRY AND INTERPRET WHAT WAS ACTUALLY MEANT. I THINK I GOT THROUGH THEM ALRIGHT. I AM STILL CONFUSED BY THE USE OF THE TERM ‘FLITMOTH’ AND WHAT OR WHO IT EXACTLY APPLIES TO.

 

I AM NOT SURE I FULLY UNDERSTAND SHEOG’S USE OF COLORED TEXT. SOME WORDS ARE BOLDED WHILE OTHERS ARE NOT. THE LINES ARE NOT CONTAINED IN QUOTATIONS ALTHOUGH THERE ARE AT LEAST TWO INSTANCES WHERE THE WORDS ARE BRACKETED BY << >> INSTEAD. I ASSUME THOSE ARE MEANT AS SOME FORM OF QUOTATION TO DENOTE COMMUNICATION ON SOME LEVEL. IT IS HARD TO TELL EXACTLY WHAT IS MEANT BY THEM AND THE OTHER NON-BOUND COLORED TEXTS.

 

SHEOG’S FLYING SHOCKWAVE IN THE DUEL WAS WRITTEN AS AN ATTACK. IT WAS NEVER NOTED AS AN ATTACK IN THE POST SUMMARY; NOR WAS IT EVER PROPERLY ACKNOWLEDGED BY SANDY AS SHE CLOSED THE DISTANCE TO ATTACK, YET IT STILL PLAYED INTO ACTIONS FURTHER INTO THE DUEL. THIS SINGLE INSTANCE, AND THE ATTACK IT STEMMED FROM, HAD A SUBTLE YET PROFOUND EFFECT, OR SHOULD HAVE, ON THE DUEL AS THE RESULTS FROM THIS ATTACK GROSSLY ALTERED THE PLAYING FIELD FOR BOTH SIDES.

 

SHEOG HAD AN ALCHEMICAL ATTACK FROM HIS FORCE-SPIRIT IMBUED AXE. THERE WAS NOTHING IN THE POST THAT INDICATED WHAT THIS ATTACK WAS; THE ATTACK WAS FRAMED MORE AS A NORMAL ATTACK. IT WAS NOTED AS AN EFFECT OF THE ATTACK ON THE CHARACTER SHEET. 

 

I WOULD HAVE LIKED TO SEE SANDY’S LIGHT SIDE BASED ATTACK IN ROUND 2 DESCRIBED IN MORE THAN A SINGLE LINE. THIS MADE THE ATTACK SEEM SOMEWHAT VAGUE ESPECIALLY AS IT WAS DESCRIBED AS A “STORM” WITH VERY LITTLE BUILD UP.

 

THE USE OF A SHIELD BY A JEDI IS A MORE RECENT RE-ADDITION TO THE JEDI ARSENAL AND I APPLAUDE SANDY FOR IT’S USAGE. IT IS POSSIBLE FOR SHIELDS TO FUNCTION AS A SINGLE DIRECTIONAL FORCE FIELD, ALLOWING ATTACKS TO PIERCE FROM ONE DIRECTION BUT NOT THE OTHER. I QUESTION THE ALLOWING OF A HOLE IN THE SHIELD TO DRIVE A SABER THROUGH AFTER THE ALLOWANCE OF THE SITH AXE TO PERMEATE THE SHIELD TO RETURN TO SHEOG’S HAND.

 

THE AXE, WHAT A TOOL. IT DEFINITELY POSSESSES A LOT OF POWER TO DO A TON OF DAMAGE AND SOME TWISTED DARK SIDE VOODOO. WE CANNOT DISCOUNT LIGHTSABERS THOUGH. THEY MAY BE THE STEREOTYPICAL WEAPON OF JEDI, SITH, AND MANY FORCE USING GROUPS; BUT THEY ARE BRUTAL WEAPONS FOR A MORE CIVILIZED AGE. FAT ROLLS, ARMOR, MUSCLE, WEAPONS, NOT A LOT CAN STAND BEFORE A GLOWING ROD OF FORCE-ENCOURAGED PLASMA.

 

ON THIS SAME NOTE, FORCE LIGHTING CAN BE AN EFFECTUAL OR SHOWY TOOL. SHEOG’S FINAL ATTACK WAS A SINGLE DARK SIDE INFUSED BOLT OF DEATHLY LIGHTNING AND THE WINNER OF THIS DUEL WILL HAVE TO TAKE THAT INTO CONSIDERATION ALONGSIDE THE MYRIAD OF WOUNDS RECEIVED BY BOTH SIDES AND THE DEATH OF SHEOG’S MINION, GWEN. BOTH PARTICIPANTS HAVE SUSTAINED INJURIES THAT WILL REQUIRE SOME SORT OF ATTENTION POST DUEL AND I CANNOT SEE EITHER PARTY MAKING IT TERRIBLY FAR WITHOUT MYSTICAL OR MEDICAL HELP ONCE THE HIGH OF BATTLE SUBSIDES.

 

THIS WAS A FUN DUEL TO READ BETWEEN TWO TITANS OF OUR SITE. BOTH OF YOU PUT AN ABSOLUTE GRADE A EFFORT INTO THIS THING. I HOPE THAT EVERYONE ON SITE CAN ASPIRE TO DUEL AT THE SAME LEVELS AS YOU TWO.

 

CONSIDERING EVERYTHING, THE WINNER OF THIS DUEL IS: SHEOG

 

CONGRATULATIONS!

 

THE NEXT POST GOES TO SHEOG.

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Destroyer Group [Missile]: Sith Resurgent

Assigned PC: Mordecai Valar

Task Force Experience: Green, 1XP

Harrower-class Dreadnought Krayt's Fury 19/25

 

Advanced Warfighter Cadre: Through Power, Victory

Assigned PC: Mordecai Valar

Task Force Experience: Green, 1XP

Interdictor-class Cruiser Korriban’s Retort 9/9

Terminus-class Destroyer Kressh’s Lance 3/3

Gage-class Transport Juggernaut-1 2/1

Gage-class Transport Juggernaut-2 2/1

Gage-class Transport Juggernaut-3 2/1
Gage-class Transport Juggernaut-4 2/1

 

Shadow Warfare Pod: Shadow of Dread

Assigned PC: Mordecai Valar

Task Force Experience: Green, 1XP

Interdictor Cruiser Sadow's Wrath 9/9

 

FLEET COMMANDER EXODUS

 

Artillery Battery: Incendiary (Vulcan)

Commander: Exodus, Inquisitor Barca

Task Force Experience: Green, 1XP

Onager-Class Artillery Cruiser, God of Cinder |10/20|

Imperial II-Class Frigate, Gremlin |0/0|

 

Engineering Support Cluster: Bucket Brigade (Chariot)

Commander: Exodus, Inquisitor Barca

Task Force Experience: Green, 1XP

Providence-Class Carrier, Blood Merchant |9/9|

Interceptor-Class Frigate, Maiden |3/3|

Interceptor-Class Frigate, Iron Moth |3/3|

Interceptor-Class Frigate, Little Wasp |3/3|

Raider-Class Corvette, Left Hand |2/1|

Raider-Class Corvette, Right Hand |2/1|

 

Heavy Brawler Escort: Hammer and Anvil (Colossus)

Commander: Exodus, Inquisitor Barca

Task Force Experience: Green, 1XP

Gladiator-Class Star Destroyer, Colossus |35/25|

 

Golan I Space Defense Platform |25/25| (GSDP)

Destroyer Group [Rail guns]: Phantom's Spear

Assigned PC: Kahla Zendrin

Task Force Experience: Green (1XP)

Harrower-class Dreadnaught Phantom's Spear 19/25

 

Mobile Disruption Escort: The Net of Hate

Assigned PC: Kahla Zendrin

Task Force Experience: Green (1XP)

Crusader Class Corvette 2/2

Crusader Class Corvette 2/2

Crusader Class Corvette 2/2

Raider II 2/2

Raider II 2/2

Raider II 0/0

Vigil Class Corvette 2/2

Vigil Class Corvette 2/2

Vigil Class Corvette 2/2

Vigil Class Corvette 2/2

Vigil Class Corvette 2/2

Vigil Class Corvette 2/2

 

Precision Strike Carrier Group: Wings of Glory

Assigned PC: Kahla Zendrin

Task Force Experience: Green (1XP)

Gladiator Star Destroyer Devout Cardinal 9/9

Terminus Class Frigate: Trident of Raxus 3/3

Terminus Class Frigate: Galvanized Spirit 3/3

Terminus Class Frigate: Crimson Crescent 0/2

Edited by Mavanger

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A voice boomed across the hanger, lashing across walls and reflecting from the scattered pieces of partially assembled TIE-Fighters. Kenna’s flushed face drained of its blood, blanching into a sickly, pasty complexion.

 

"A little lost, Friend?"

 

The soldier scrambled, nearly tripping over her oversized boots to find some semblance of cover. She bit the medallion harder, her teeth gritting against the silver, a metallic taste spreading over her tongue.

 

Oh spast! Oh Kriff!

 

She tore headlong past a pile of black-painted solar panels, hexagonally cut for their application to the trademark wing design that the TIEs were known for and was spun on her feet by the catching of an ill-fitting pauldron on the jagged edge of a solar panel. The whole grouping of them crashed to the ground, the teenager skipping away to not be crushed in the deafening cacophony of falling panels.

 

Kenna winced, slowly backpedalling in an embarrassed fashion as she raised her rifle, waiting for a hundred blaster bolts to smite her from the ceiling.

 

Center yourself.

 

Her mind leapt at the remembrance of training protocols and she began to check her corners, scanning for incoming targets. Nothing came, so she raised a nervous voice, muffled by the silver in her mouth. It had a high-coruscanti accent, and she spoke in a jumbled rush of nerves

 

“Not lost, just out here takin’ Sithy scalps.”

 

She flipped her eyes to the ceiling and frowned. She could almost see a form on the catwalks above.

 

Here goes nothin.

 

The soldier’s hands shook with adrenaline as she raised her rifle, setting the butt of the ancient blaster rifle into the askew pauldron. She licked her tongue across the raised ridges of the medallion, finding the symbols of her Empire and tightened her finger on the trigger, tripping the firing pin and loosing a stream of blaster bolts towards the shadowed figure that stood astride the catwalks above.

 

((1))

 

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The fear ripened the air, and Kahla's heart raced with the drive of a predator to its prey. Flashes of a fantasy streamed into her mind, everything so vivid. The thought of chase, capture, and destruction of her enemy caused her to salivate as she grinned widely.

 

The trooper bolted clumsily from cover to cover, the smashing of debris echoing loudly caused a restrained chuckle to spill from Kahla's voice. What a Mess she thought to herself, this one would be more than just prey, this one would be a toy, a plaything for her power.

 

Finally the trooper spoke, and the voice that rose from the crashing of wreckage surprised her, if only just for a moment. "Not lost, just here takin' Sithy scalps." A girl, young too. Her voice was jittery, and sounded almost like she hadn't finished chewing her food. No matter, a soldier is a soldier, and she still carried a semblance of threat. At least now her clumsiness was explained.

 

While lost and taken aback, Kahla failed to see her enemy raise a blaster against her. The sound of the bolts that flew towards her resonated in the hollow room, drowning the battles happening orbit-wide. Her attention focused as Kahla leapt to her right as an intense heat singed the hair on the back of her neck. By her third step the rounds tracked her with trained precision, a few bolts more came dangerously close to ending the 'True Sith', and her heart thundered in her chest out of excitement and fear.

 

"BLUE ON BLUE!" Kahla screeched as she put one of the derelict fighters between them. She grinned wide in high confidence as she made her way down from the catwalk, making sure to remain concealed. Her neck burned from the near graze and her shoulders stiffened. She peered out from behind the remains of a 'wing' on the flank of the trooper. With a closer look she recognized the armour she wore, and its size relative to the child. Clone wars era plasteel? Seriously? Kahla reserved herself, started to force herself not to underestimate the trooper. Besides, she'd already tagged her neck.

 

Kahla now bore a toothy grin as she drew her pistol, the very same SE-44C issued to her as an officer. A relic, and a reminder of where she came from, not to abandon the things she's learned, despite turning her back to those that taught her. "You know what?" She bellowed. "Nah, you were right the first time!" She cackled as she let her blaster overheat in the general direction of the trooper between cover. she continued to shift around in the shadows of the Tie carcasses, only visible very briefly in the light between shades.

                                                                                                                                             ((1))

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The Maw consumed all life that came before its wrath. Once caught within the Event Horizon, there was no escape, and so it was for the Jedi Master. Flesh to lifeless ash and bone to dust, just as had happened to the Child before. So was the desire of that maddening hunger, and so the Jedi passed beyond, with neither pain no conscious thought.

 

There was no soul to reap, for the great Master of the Jedi had escaped that fate and met her end peacefully.

 

The Lord of the Krath paused, his furious hunger momentarily checked by the substantial meal. Crimson eyes blinked, multiple lids narrowing as he began to comprehend that the battle had finished. A smile twisted his malformed lips as he stretched out a hand, the Jedi’s lightsaber jumping into his grasp.

 

It rebelled against him, screaming to unify itself with its consumed master, but he did not give it peace. A Jedi’s weapon was said to be part of their soul, so it would be his to hold for now. Perhaps it would give him better usage as a gift to Lord Exodus, or as a bargaining chip to some Jedi Grandmaster in the future.

 

The Hutt’s overlarge bulk labored beneath him as he pushed his way back towards Le Morte de’Shadowfett. He had taken many wounds in this battle and he would need time to reknit his rotten flesh. He slipped away his morose mask, his rotting flesh appearing as though that of a more alive Hutt, and not as one so deeply corrupted by the Maw.

 

The charade with the Lord Mavanger would continue.  

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King Kheldar vos Correlli said:
Sheog, I have to ask, overkill much?
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THE MANY MINDS OF THE RABID BATTLE SQUIRREL
 

Breaking from the crowds of scurrying civilian traffic about that planet that began to seek cover as soon as salvos began to fly, dozens of hodge-podged needle ships, each unique in size and form but identical in purpose, raced towards the Sith formations. Bloodthirsty high pitched squeaks and squeals called for blood over nearly every comm channel. As they neared the ultra-evil super-big-bad darky-darkness heralding Sith-stinkers, the salvaging experts unleashed their tractor beams. Like furred space-born piranha beetles, they began to ravage the enemy forces. Armored plating and exposed circuitry were torn assunder. Aiming trajectories and sight lines were obscured by the darting ravagers. All the while, any crewman that dared catch the eye of a squib aboard his craft was met with a toothy gaping maw that one need not hear to understand; the squirrel people were there for maximum damage and nothing would stand in their way, not even life.

 

Meanwhile, aboard the Imperial Momship, the green-furred commander, Reaper Joe, surveilled the battlefield. As opening salvos began, he ordered his crews to add their deadly array to the cacophony of chaos. He giggled darkly under his breath. 
 

That giggle was cut short; however, as one of his tribesmen called out from her station, alerting the bridge to some sort of odd electrical pulse that seemed to be coursing through the ship.

 

Joe’s eyes narrowed, “The big-bad’s have released bombad demons!” he cried, using a term he had picked up from Gungan spacers some time back. He had liked it. Even if he was not sure what it meant, it had the words bomb and bad in it, so it clearly was meant as some sort of deathly curse. 
 

Slapping a large red button on the armrest of his oversized captain’s chair, the green squirrel whirled about to the heavily armored guards standing watch at the entry to the bridge. “Keep the most-terrible demonic forces of bad-baddy demons off the most high holy decks of the commanding commander’s bridge. Make most-quickly alert to all high-squibian royalic securing security forces to find with most hastening the defiling demons and violently violent execute them with extremest of prejudices at most hurried times before we are overcome entirely most by the nether-hell forces in dark space.”  The bridge was bathed in rotating red and amber hues as klaxons began to wail throughout the ship. All forces not on duty, for they were Squibs and there were many more of them aboard than allowed by galactic standards, grabbed all manner of weaponry and bits of shielding and armor as they streamed from their nests. They began to swarm the ship searching for the invisible imposter that wrought havoc aboard their holy Momship.

Edited by Leena Kil
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Aidan paused as he tended to Hunan's wounds, feeling a ripple in the Force that reached out to his very center of being.

 

Sandy had fallen.

 

A moment's hesitation passed before he continued his work. It had happened, no power in the galaxy could undo it. Acceptance for what things were and perseverance to continue moving forward, these were ideals shared by both the Imperial Knights and the Jedi, and Aidan was no novice to the teachings. As soon as he finished up, he left the medbay, quickly finding the hangar and requisitioning a small shuttle not fit for use in the conflict as it had no mounted weapons. In moments, the battle at Kuat was behind him as he flung towards the far reaches of the galaxy at superluminal speeds. There was only moving forward from here, and the Jedi had ways of dealing with such events. Aidan didn't relish going back to Nar Shaddaa with its hustle and bustle and constant low level anxiety in awaiting the next battle, he needed somewhere quiet. Somewhere like...Ossus.

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Training that had been drilled into the young soldier sprung to life, changing scattered thoughts into focused instinct. Adrenaline shook her hands, but her grip on the rifle remained true, the stock pressing hard into her shoulder, sending nerves into a frenzy of reported pain. Kenna was surprised when some of her shots, even when fired at a shadow, had at least come close to hitting, or perhaps they had.

 

A voice, the same one from earlier, this time overcome in its dignified mocking by rage and worry.

 

“Blue on Blue”

 

The soldier’s eyebrows narrowed into a frown.

 

Had she just shot an ally?

 

The silver tightened in her teeth as thoughts of official reprimand and a very disappointing end to her blossoming career of service with the Knights.

 

“Nah you were right the first time”

 

Oh, she must have moved.

 

The soldier blinked rapidly up at the catwalk and then down at the TIE-Assembly yard’s scattered material as a line of shots came at her from the shadows. Several bolts skittered across the soldier’s cover, one ricocheting off a solar panel and sending her sprawling with a smoking scar across her left pauldron. She spat out her silver medallion as her armor crunched into the decking, pain running up from her bruised shoulder.

 

Spast.

 

Kenna scuttled backwards like an overturned kelpcrane, turning it into an awkward scramble to her knees as she regained cover. Her armor scraped and began to move awkwardly, the antique straps loosening. The pauldron itself was fractured and fell from its harness in a bang of ceramic on steel plating. Thoughts flashed through her mind as pain ran through her shoulder and up into her neck. She flipped her rifle to her injured arm, flexing it swiftly and finding it still somewhat in fighting shape.

 

Not a Sith then, just a soldier using a blaster.

 

The trooper of the Imperial Knights slipped a fragmentation grenade from the loop on her belt with her good hand, flipping the activation switch to a three second release and peaked around a stack of dutrenium wiring on large coils. She wound up like a Fluball pitcher, just as she had seen on the holomovies, with the grenade beside her head.

 

The soldier watched for a moment in the direction of where the original shots had come from, and when a flash of movement came between the partially assembled TIE-Fighters, she tossed the grenade overhand in a tight arc, leading her target like a good pitcher would.

 

Teach you to shoot at me you kriffin’ mangy kath-hound

 

((2))

 

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Round Two Fleet Results

 

Attackers Defensive  Actions

 

|Alexandra| Guards |Anastasia|

|Phobos| Guards |Aeneas|

|Fleet Commander Starfighter Action| Interception(Forward Deployment)

 

Attackers Offensive Actions

 

|Romanova| + |Sairdonga| Attack |Wings of Glory| 12 total DPS

|Death Harvest Catchers| Attack |Phantom's Spear| Dealing 4 dps and reducing Incoming DPS by 2

|Sith Eaters| Attack |Sith Resurgent| but are intercepted by |Net of Hate| dealing 4 dps

|Aeneas| attacks |GSDP| but is intercepted by |Colossus| which takes 8 DPS, launching ordnance at Wings of Glory that will land next round

|Anastasia| attacks |Phantom's Spear|2x Bombers inbound 6 dps (Covered by Forward Interception, turning hull damage to shield damage)

|Fleet Commander Starfighter Action| Bombers Inbound on |Sith Resurgent| 3 dps (Covered by interceptors, reduced to shield damage)

|Fleet Commander Starfighter Action| Bombers Inbound on |Sith Resurgent| 3 dps (Covered by interceptors, reduced to shield damage)

 

Defenders Defensive Actions

 

Defense Heavy Brawler Escort: Hammer and Anvil (Colossus) is covering Golan

Engineering Support Cluster: Bucket Brigade (Chariot) is covering Sith Resurgent

Mobile Disruption Escort: Net of Hate covering Sith Resurgent

 Interception (Forward Deployment)

 

Defenders Offensive Actions

 

|Vulcan| attacks |Aeneas| 8 points of DPS, launching ordnance at Sairdonga that will hit next round

|Sith Resurgent| attacks |Alexandra| which takes 6 damage

 |Phantom Spear| attacks |Alexandra| which takes 2 damage (This includes the minus two penalty for stacking fire and the partisans)

|Through Power, Victory| attacks |Anastasia|, but is intercepted by |Alexandra| for 6 damage

|Golan| attacks |Romanova| for 4 damage

Bombers Inbound on |Sairdonga| (Veteran Destroyer), Forward interception shifts two damage to shields

Bombers Inbound returning from artillery deployment

Bombers Inbound returning from artillery deployment

Bombers Inbound on |Romanova| for 3 damage(Two of which is converted to shield damage by forward interception)

Technical errors reduce shields on the |Sairdonga| by two, it's probably nothing...

Technical errors reduce shields on the |Anastasia| by two, must be a bad motivator...

 

 

No cloaked ships detected

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Overall Fleet Command Raven Nasra
Rebel Alliance Fleet Command Flagship |Romanova|

KDY-Imperial II-Class Star Destroyer Misericordia |20/29|

Axial Weapon Upgrade

Pocket Dreadnought Upgrade

 

Rebel Alliance Light Defensive Escort: Suppressing Fire |Alexandra|

Task Force Experience: Green (1xp)

RSD Praetorian-class Frigate Krasnoyarsk |3/3|

RSD Praetorian-class Frigate Voronezh |0/3|

RSD Praetorian-class Frigate Vladivostok |0/0| 

RSD Praetorian-class Frigate Sevastopol |0/0| 

NRE Senth-class Corvette Volga |2/1|

NRE Senth-class Corvette Nakhodka |0/0| 

NRE Senth-class Corvette Voskresensk |0/0|

NRE Senth-class Corvette Kiselyovsk |0/0|

 

Rebel Alliance Precision Strike Carrier Group |Anastasia| [Infected]

Taskforce Experience Green (1xp)

KDY Pelta-class Frigate Thessalonica |3/3|

KDY Pelta-class Frigate Adrianople |3/3|

RSD Paladin-class Corvette Thrace |2/1|

RSD Paladin-class Corvette Corinth |2/1|

SSC Quasar Fire-class Cruiser-Carrier Constantinople |7/9|

_________________________________________

Taskforce Commander Leena Kil

Rebel Alliance Destroyer Group [Turbolasers] |Sairdonga| [Infected]

Task Force Experience: Veteran (2xp)

MCS MC75-Class Star Cruiser: Imperial Momship |17/24|

 

Partisan Militia Force : |Death Harvest Catchers|

Task Force Experience: Veteran (2xp)

Squib Needle Ship: Catcher 1 |2/1|

Squib Needle Ship: Catcher 1-2 |2/1|

Squib Needle Ship: Catcher 1-2-3 |2/1|

Squib Needle Ship: Catcher 1-2-3-4 |2/1|

Squib Needle Ship: Catcher 1-3-3-4-5 |2/1|

Squib Needle Ship: Catcher 1-2-3-4-5-6 |2/1|

Squib Needle Ship: Catcher 1-2-3-4-5-6-7 |2/1|

Squib Needle Ship: Catcher 1-2-3-4-5-6-7-8 |2/1|

Squib Needle Ship: Catcher 1-2-3-4-5-6-7-8-9 |2/1|

Squib Needle Ship: Catcher 1-2-3-4-5-6-7-8-9-10 |2/1|

Squib Needle Ship: Catcher 1-2-3-4-5-6-7-8-9-10-11 |2/1|

Squib Needle Ship: Catcher 1-2-3-4-5-6-7-8-9-10-11-12 |2/1|

 

Partisan Militia Force |Sith Eaters|

Task Force Experience: Veteran (2xp)

Squib Needle Ship: Sith 0-1 |2/1|

Squib Needle Ship: Sith 1-2 |2/1|

Squib Needle Ship: Sith 2-3 |2/1|

Squib Needle Ship: Sith 3-4 |2/1|

Squib Needle Ship: Sith 4-5 |2/1|

Squib Needle Ship: Sith 5-6 |2/1|

Squib Needle Ship: Sith 6-7 |2/1|

Squib Needle Ship: Sith 7-8 |2/1|

Squib Needle Ship: Sith 8-9 |2/1|

Squib Needle Ship: Sith 9-10 |2/1|

Squib Needle Ship: Sith 10-11 |2/1|

Squib Needle Ship: Sith 11-12 |2/1|

_________________________________________

Taskforce Commander Kyrie Eleison

Imperial Knight Expeditionary Light Defensive Escort: Suppressing Fire |Phobos|

Task Force Experience: Veteran (2xp)

Star Galleon-Class Frigate Clermonte |3/3|

Vengeance-Class Frigate Chartres |3/3|

Interceptor-Class Frigate Francorum |3/3|

Consular-Class Frigate Tancred |3/3|

Sphyrna-Class Corvette Guiscard |2/1|

Sphyrna-Class Corvette Dorylaeum |2/1|

Paladin-Class Corvette Yağısıyan |0/0| 

Free Virgilla-Class Corvette Alexandretta |0/0| 

 

Imperial Knight Expeditionary Incendiary Artillery Battery |Aeneas| 

Taskforce Experience Green (1xp)

KDY Corona-class Frigate Hebron |3/3|

KDY Dreadnaught-class Heavy Cruiser Tripoli |10/20|

 

Rebel Alliance Search and Destroy Cruiser |Antioch|

Taskforce Experience Green (1xp)

KDY-Republic-Class Star Destroyer Damascus |25/25|

 

_________________________________________

And so the battle dragged on. Death was thick in the air, and the smell of scorched wiring filled Raven's nose as the shield generators of the mighty Pocket Dreadnaught struggled to keep up. 

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Pretender to the Galactic Throne

Leader of the Rebel Alliance

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Kahla continued her lurking, her heart raced with excitement. She was enjoying this, having fun, playing games like a child in a schoolyard. She had this overwhelming feeling of being at the top, She knew the battlefield, knew her enemy, where everything was, and she loved it.

 

With a smile on her face, she made a leap to her next hiding place, not hearing, or maybe ignoring the clinking of metal against the backdrop of distant battle. Instead, she tripped slightly on something she hadn't seen when she moved, and at her feet she felt the immense burning. Everything felt so slow in the moment, she could feel every piece of shrapnel as it tore through her clothing and flesh. With her other foot down, Kahla pushed into her momentum, turning the blast into a propellant forward. She landed into a roll, out and into the open.

 

She rested on one knee, only for a moment; a staggering feeling of sickness came over her, as though her insides hand been turned to mush, her ears rang obnoxiously loud. She looked up to the girl with a metallic fury coursing through her, blood trickled down her aching legs. Although now torn, her robes were readily visible. No more playing soldier.. she thought to herself in that frozen moment. For either of us.

 

Kahla lunged into a sprint. pouncing, slaloming left to right. She flung her saber out, igniting it with an unholy screech as it cut into the decking. She sprung into the air, the force pushing her now, mirroring her, flowing with her. She brought her saber down like a mighty hammer, hoping to cleave the trooper in half. She slammed down into the floor with a thunderous boom, not taking her eyes away.

 

((2))

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