Foy

[Ulic Ri'Lo]

Ulic kept herself hidden for the moment as Draj shrugged of his wounds with a determined vigor reminiscent of a mandalorian. Ulic could now see he was indeed a humanoid as his armor came off. She was also pleasently enthused with the mans handling of the forest creature....They were all made to obey she thought.

 

The time had come though now, and Ulic could no longer stalk the man. Unceremoneously, Ulic walked out from her hiding spot, doing well to hide her saber. She eyed up the man and then spoke in a condescending tone.

 

"What are you doing here on this planet? Don't you know this planet is under Imperial control and is welcome to only those who crave power, the empire, the darkside of the force, or any who serve those three?"

 

Before the man could speak Ulic added one more remark. "Buuuuuut, you seem to have found that out the hard way already" she said throwing his battered vessel a sideways glance.

 

"Now to business, either I'll have to kill you or you can be trained in the dark side of the force. Simple enough, no?

 

Ulic brushed a few strands of her platinum hair aside as she stared the man down. Her left hand quiantlly placed in the small of her back with her finger on the lightsabers igniter button.

[Draj Haerin]

Throughout all of his confusion, Draj's mind was telling him one thing:

 

Say yes.

 

Whatever the reason, Draj said yes.

 

And felt like he condemned his soul to the Sith themselves.. Little did he know how right he was.

[Ulic Ri'Lo]

"Good," Ulic proclaimed with a sarcastic veneer in her voice.

 

Ulic stood still and took in the surroundings....Her eyes stopped at the smoldering hull of the ship no doubt crashed by this man.

 

"Well, I'm Ulic Ri'Lo, and that must be your...uhhh...ship. Get your belongings from the ship and I will wait here."

 

The serpent master clipped her saber back to her belt and waited as Draj entered the ship and retreived his belongings.

[Cineon Yahn]

A small droid was launched from the base and flew to Ulic's location. It landed down in front of her and a holographic display appeared, displaying a man she had not seen since he left Chandrila as but an apprentice.

 

"Ulic, this is Master Barabbas. The Serpents have assembled on Cardia... do not tell me why it is you have not come as ordered, what is important that your whereabouts have been discovered. Come to Cardia and seek me out... immediately. I have much I want to teach you my sister. Bring the one who shadows you. If possible, come in haste. Do you have any questions?"

[Draj Haerin]

Draj woke up.

 

What a dream, he thought.

 

He scratched his head, and looked around.

 

The forest of Foy surrounded him. Leaves crinkled and floated. Twigs bent and snapped. The forest life bustled around him, giving no second though to the third-rate bounty hunter.

 

Draj stood up and immediately fell. His head swam, sending the foliage into a deep blur. His eyes crossed, so the hunter slapped himself. It felt like his eyes were rolling. They finally came to a stop, and this time, when the Mandalorian stood, he only stumbled.

 

Where.... Again Draj searched, and this time he found: the Sixth lay only a few yards from where he lay. Testing his feet, Draj half-walked, half-shuffled towards his ship. Once inside, he set the autopilot, and crashed into the pilot's seat.

[Capt. Phillep]

While scanning old computer files, a young and enterprising Imperial Ensign comes across several Thrawn-era engineering designs that were disposed of during the Imperial High Command's arrogance and lack of desire to issue out expenses for a definitive military victory over the Alliance.

 

It takes moments for his eyes to truly grasp the ship designs and admire their ingenuity... "How can you hit something you can't see?" He expresses aloud and an Imperial Officer finds him looking at the designs, in one fell swoop with none the wiser, he draws his blaster pistol and kills the Ensign... he loads the files onto a datadisk and erases them. Attaching the file to a highly-encrypted, secret, double piggy-backed comminique to the source of the Imperial War Machine... the Kuat Space Yards.

 

Two advanced fighters... brilliant pieces of work, unfortunately... they had not seen much development, hopefully, powered by the invisible hand of capitalism and the Admiral's bloodlust they would see action and the doubly-enterprising Officer could hope for a promotion and a better position somewhere else...

[handofthrawn]

OOC: Is this the thread you had in mind, LAP?

 

IC:

The Night of Vengeance emerged from hyperspace over the planet called Foy. There it hung in the vacuum, awaiting a contact to show up. ShadowFett could not locate the discussed arena, but Lord Ar-Pharazon would be able to.

 

While he waited, he spent a few minutes preparing himself mentally for the battle that was to come. It would be a challenge greater than any he had ever faced, one that would bring him glory regardless of its outcome. This he was certain of.

[Lord Ar-Pharazon]

OOC: Yes. That's the one.

 

IC: The dark clouds were dismissed as Lord Ar-Pharazon's ship tore through the atmosphere of Foy. His gray ship looked like a huge skull sailing to the ground. His computer locked on to another ship in the near proximity. Sure enough, it was ShadowFett's. He sent him a communication.

 

"Follow me. The arena is not far." Ar-Pharazon's ship glided over hills and ducked through more low cloud structures. After a mere minutes of high speed travel, his ship set down on a damaged and dirty landing strip. Ar-Pharazon exited his ship and waited for Fett. Next to the strip was a large stone structure. It was a ruined Arena, several hundred feet in diameter, but sufficient for a duel between two warriors.

[Piccolo]

Piccolo's Firespray ship exited hyperspace, and headed for AP's location on the surface of Foy. He chastised himself when he saw that Fett had already arrived. He did not trust the Mandalorian to conduct this battle honorably. His ship landed near Ar-Pharazon's. Piccolo exited, blaster rifle in hand.

 

If Fett permits this to be a fair match, Ar-Pharazon will crush him. I will enjoy watching that.

[handofthrawn]

ShadowFett guided the Night of Vengeance down to the surface, closely following the Sith Master's ship. He landed nearby, but not before getting a good arial view of the arena. It was old and crumbled, but it was a suitable enough environment for a duel between two combatants such as these.

 

Enough of it was crumbled that some possible cover could be derived from rock and rubble, but for the most part it was open, leaving plenty of room for ranging blaster fire and offensive Force powers alike. It would ultimately be quick and deadly.

 

The Mandalorian emerged from his YT-2000 and entered the arena itself, slowly making his way to its center, where Ar-Pharazon joined him. "Alright, Sith," he said, "this is going to be a fair fight. Use whatever powers are at your disposal, but we will have no external intereference of any kind. Also, I agree not to leave the arena if you comply."

 

ShadowFett drew his assault rifle--a good starting weapon--and entered a relaxed posture that let him quickly and easily go through a full range of motion. The rifle was now plated in phrik alloy, so he had no fear of it being destroyed by an attacking lightsaber. He was as ready for this fight as anything he had been through in his life of combat.

[Lord Ar-Pharazon]

OOC: Alright? 3 Post Duel-Three Posts Each. Since, I officially challenged you, I'll make the first post of action. KVC has agreed to provide a ruling. I can't stop outside interference, but I don't have anything planned. Finally, the actions in this post have been mod approved.

 

Ar-Pharazon looked to Piccolo. It was impressive to see this Black Sun operative so eager to take place in the events about to unfold. Piccolo meant business.

 

”œYou heard the man, Piccolo. I'm going to have to ask you to step aside for the time being. But be careful. Things can escalate quickly. Keep your head on a swivel. That's what you've gotta do when you're in a vicious cockfight.”

[Guest]

”œNow the fun begins.”

[Reagan McGreggor]

Reagan grabbed the communicator with the force and held it in the air and then brought it to her hand. She looked at it after he left and rolled her eyes... "Great... now I sit here and friggin wait for him... Men, he better not get himself killed, I do not feel like trying to hot wire this thing and bypass all his little toys to do it."

[handofthrawn]

OOC: Even a mod can't give permission to break the rules....

 

IC:

One moment, ShadowFett's feet had been planted on the ground and his variety of weapons had been in reach, at his disposal. The battle had been very real, very tactical, and quite possible to be overcome with solid and honorable fighting, seizing the advantage as it came to him and making good use of the training and specialized equipment that he had available.

 

He had been listening quietly to a long, blasphemous monologue by he that deemed himself more powerful than any Sith. Ar-Pharazon had been mistaken on many points, but Fett had to accept that even if he was victorious this day, he would be unable to change the man's opinion. Perhaps his death would penetrate his delusions of grandeur, but Fett didn't think so. He would fight for his honor and his life, not to press his morals on this character of no apparent conscience or grasp on the true realities of the galaxy.

 

The next moment, the entire battle had passed into the realm of a sort of dream-like unreality. Fett's weapons had been removed from him altogether, removing the advantages granted him by his vibroswords, both of which would have a positive effect on a Sith lightsaber. But this battle would not be against a lightsaber, he soon realized, but against the Force itself, the energy field that bound the universe together.

 

Many would deny its existence, but long ago the Mandalorian developed a respect for it that had never been lessened in any way. It was very real and very powerful, and it was his enemy because both Sith and Jedi and everything in between used it against him.

 

Things became even more unreal when he was launched up into the lower atmosphere, friction overcoming the cool air and heating up his Mandalorian armor until it begin to glow in a pulsing, bright cherry red. It had been designed for this very purpose, ironically, the alloy first being created thousands of years prior, back before the Mandalorian Wars, in the time of Da Werda Verda.

 

Despite the unreality of the situation, Fett responded with focus. Losing focus due to fear was the kind of mistake common scum made--fear was a necessary emotion, for one who fought without fear was killed, but he would not allow it to control him and cause him to lose faith in his abilities. Massive boulders began to be hurled with some accuracy towards his location. He activated his repulsor pack, which had not been removed (nor could it, easily), and began to maneuver on repulsor power. He tracked the incoming trajectories, which often altered due to atmospheric conditions and Force guidance. Occasionally, when one grew close, he bounced himself off it with a quick repulsor thrust, jarred but not injured.

 

After one such bounce, he deactivated the repulsor pack and entered a freefall which lasted until the next boulder approached and he reactivated the pack to evade or bounce off of it before entering a freefall again. He needed to distract the Sith Master, so he fired his concussion missile--his only one--down towards the powerful man. It lit up the skies around it as it streaked down and hit the ground near the man, creating a massive concussive explosion. The distraction was enough, and Fett neared the ground once again.

 

Before he touched down, he was formulating a possible offensive course of action--while he could survive for some time on full defense, Ar-Pharazon would never be in any danger himself and would eventually win by default.

 

Lesson #1 for Ar-Pharazon--a Mandalorian is never truly disarmed.

 

ShadowFett fired his wrist laser several times at the Sith, who had already recovered from the missile's near-miss. The weapon wasn't terribly accurate, but it was more a cover for Fett, who approached at a run as his feet came into contact with the somewhat-scorched earth. His largest and best weapon in this fight would be only his boldness--he would only be able to land a blow on Ar-Pharazon from a distance, where the Force was most effective. Even at close-range, the Sith carried a lightsaber and maintained the advantage, one more advantage Fett would learn to overcome.

 

ShadowFett rolled as he neared and came up on his feet, bringing his knee up into the evil man's gut and bracing himself for the inevitable counter-attack that he would simply have to weather.

 

((1))

[Piccolo]

Piccolo adjusted his temperature control slightly to compensate for the volcanic planets scorching atmosphere. The heat wasn't too bothersome. He was a half-Doshan and as such had a slight affinity for warmer climates. It was the cold he hated. Piccolo did not focus much on the battle at hand. He had more interest in fighting than watching. Piccolo felt it is duty to protect Ar-Pharazon from traps Fett or others might spring.

 

The chance that Ar-Pharazon will lose is too slim to measure. He's a Sith, and even though I dislike their tactics, I can't deny their results.

 

Nevertheless, Piccolo also knew Fett to be a surprisingly apt fighter. His lose to Fett still burned in his mind. Piccolo had trained the man that was now turning against every Black Sun ally. Everything Fett did was a mark against Piccolo.

[Guest]

After abandoning his mount, Rane Scando had entered the ancient arena through a side passageway. It had taken the old bounty hunter less than a minute to find his way to the arena's heart ”“ like the heart of any good arena, a horribly bloodstained battling ground. There, Scando stuck to the shadows as he moved silently along the ground's perimeter, blaster pistol drawn. The smell of scorched earth filtered into Scando's battered Mandalorian helmet as he gazed at the combatants before him. One in particular caught his eye, one wearing a suit of phony Mandalorian armor ”“ the fool who called himself Fett. Scando's grip on his blaster pistol tightened as he watched this ”˜Fett' knee his opponent, the Sith Lord Ar-Pharazon. It was a foolish move, Scando decided, as it left this ”˜Fett' vulnerable to what would be a no doubt ferocious counterattack.

 

”œLong have I desired to kill you and strip you of your false armor, my young bounty hunter,”

[Reagan McGreggor]

Reagan sat and looked at the communicator for a bit and then looked around the cockpit... she turned on the music and put her hands over her ears... "Leave it to Rane to listen to heavy metal... yuck... " she tinkered with the dial till she got come good country rock on and was pleased...

 

Piping the music through the ship, she got up and went into the kitchen... "well, I guess I could make me something to eat..." she looked around and rolled her eyes... "you have got to be kidding me... this guy as probably never cleaned this place... ewww... " Taking extra care not to get infected with anything in the place... she quickly fixed herself a BLT and got a tall glass of correllian ale...

 

Sitting down in the lounge she ate it and finished off the ale... "God, this man is taking too friggin long... I have things to do like watch paint dry that would be more interesting... "

 

She moved to the door to find it locked, and sighed... one thing she had going for her that Rane didn't know was that she was not the same Reagan he knew years ago... she most definitely had changed... reaching out with the force, she closed her eyes and saw the lock... it took lots of concentration and a good deal of time, but suddenly she heard the lock snap open and the ramp went down...

 

"Well, that was easier then I thought... " she looked at her watch, and realized exactly how long it had taken her... "damn, more then an hour... maybe it was not so easy after all... I'll definitely have to work on that..."

 

Making her way down the ramp, she stepped outside and looked about... she remembered something on the ship and ran back in for a second and grabbed up her pack... she also opened the cabinet that housed the power packs for her own weapons... once outside again she took the time to put the power pack back into her lightsaber and the blaster... and started off in a direction...

 

"Hell, I am on Foy... and this is the Imperial Captial... and I am a Colonel in the Imperial Army... not to mention that there is bound to be sith here too... I'll just head this way..."

[Lord Ar-Pharazon]

OOC: I didn't break the rules. I was pointing out that my actions were approved within the rules. Now then, this particular post has also been mod approved.

 

IC: The Legendary Sith Ar-Pharazon looked high into sky at his enemy. How quaint! ShadowFett had fired a missile at him. There was something about shooting a missile at an enemy that Ar-Pharazon could respect. In the heat of such battle, the great Sith turned around and leapt back, away from the torpedo induced blast, a quick moment later. Ar-Pharazon always appreciated the raw firepower of a simple blast missile, but today he also appreciated its raw inaccuracy as well. As the weapon struck the terrain, an explosion occurred, forming a brief sphere of fire and destruction. The edge of the sphere practically rubbed the Sith's face, as Ar-Pharazon felt and absorbed the soothing heat of the comfortable flames.

 

As the blast quickly subsided, Ar-Pharazon looked up to check his enemy once again. This time Fett was shooting something else. Damn it. How many weapons did this bounty hunter have? They must be mounted to his wrist, considering the firing style and trajectory at which the weapons were being used.

 

Who does he think I am? Some common Jedi? Meeting laser bolts with a lightsaber blade is something covered in the first week. Oh well, the kiddies love it when I deflect these blaster shots. I bet it looks cool as hell in slow motion too.

 

Ar-Pharazon hissed a low contemptuous sigh. He had done this a thousand times. With the most instinctual of force-enhanced reflexes, his hand flickered ever so briefly-and instantly a lightsaber appeared in his fingers. He met each shot at a different angle, deflecting them at various points outside the arena, causing miniature explosions and thunderclaps in the distance. Finally, with a baseball-bat-style-grip, Ar-Pharazon swung and connected with the final shot, sending it directly at the pile of scrap metal that was formerly ShadowFett's ship. The metal piece, which was directly struck by the deflected shot, flared up for a brief second.

 

The Sith Lord made the brief mistake of looking at the ruined ship as it flared up, followed by more maniacal laughter. In that instant, ShadowFett made his move, with a swift knee to Ar-Pharazon's gut.

 

”œUghhh,”

[handofthrawn]

No sooner had ShadowFett dealt an adequately-damaging physical blow to the Sith Master's stomach did he receive the inevitable counter-attack. He had prepared himself for it as best as his training would allow, but there was truly nothing in the galaxy that prepared one for a blow that held the power to dent the combined strength of Mandalorian Iron and phrik alloy, possibly the two strongest metals in the known galaxy.

 

As his visor was shattered, the Mandalorian stumbled back, his spinal column near breaking point. He was certain that his neck would have snapped had he not been wearing the armor that he was. Amazingly, as it was, his helmet stayed on, though with a shattered visor, it no longer his his features.

 

Before he could even spend a moment of thought on that, however, his features themselves were electrified and practically melted. Unbelievable pain erupted through his head as his skull strained to avoid countless fractures. Electricity, raw, shot through his strong, compact body, sending him staggering further. Sight itself failed, plunging him into a realm of eternal, unyielding darkness, where only his hearing and feeling could give him any clue of where his opponent was located.

 

Still, despite the sheer pain and stunning loss of sense, Fett did not cry out. He did not give in to his pain. He did not collapse. His training had been too long and too vigorous. He had spent every moment of the last decade honing his discipline, the most important off all things to a Mandalorian or any warrior. All things came into play in this moment, when instinct itself took over.

 

Fett could not think for the moment, but emotions flooded his head. He felt the warning pulse of fear, his most archaic senses telling him that the man he fought was incredibly powerful. Another emotion was a grim acceptance of what his fear told him--maybe Ar-Pharazon was incredibly powerful. But it was a third emotion, a third sense, that Fett acted off of--defiance. It didn't matter how powerful Ar-Pharazon was, nor what he thought he had done. He was a mortal and therefore could be defeated. With nothing to lose and everything to gain, ShadowFett forced himself to fight on, even by sheer instinct.

 

He didn't even notice the blast rifle's shot impacting with his back as he spun and attempted to regain sense of direction.

 

It would be Ar-Pharazon's overconfidence that would be his downfall, now in a more literal sense than ever before.

 

Ar-Pharazon spoke after dealing the heavy hit. He spewed his arrogance verbally at Fett, comparing himself to a god. A god, a being of perhaps unlimited power. But a god couldn't be hurt, and Ar-Pharazon had already been physically damaged in this fight. And he would be again.

 

Reacting to the sound with one of the few senses he had left, ShadowFett fired two darts, one from each extended gauntlet. The first one was full of toxic gas, and it hit the ground at Ar-Pharazon's feet. The second came a split-second later, before the unexpecting Sith could react to the first one. It was an explosive dart. On its own, the explosion was small. But when it detenated, the gas from the first dart compounded the explosion exponentially, making a massive ball of fire that expanded around Ar-Pharazon.

 

Fett's sense of direction and balance told him that he was almost horizontal, still stumbling, so he used a quick thrust from his repulsor pack to right himself. Again relying on the direction of the loudest sound that met his ears--the explosion--Fett opened fire with his wrist laser, firing repeatedly, hoping that one of the blasts hit the Sith while he was still offguard from or reacting to the explosion.

 

There was something inside him that warned him that Ar-Pharazon would, indeed, attack again, and that without his vision he would have a heck of a time reacting to it. But he would do as much as he could to survive. Somehow, he knew he could survive long enough to put this heartless killer to justice. If he failed trying, immeasurable glory would be bestowed on him.

[Piccolo]

Piccolo felt the impact against his synthetic shoulder. His heavy armor managed to absorb most of the blaster bolt, but if his arm had still been flesh and bone he'd be in severe pain right now. Luckily that was not the case. Piccolo was extremely surprised that Scando would show his face here of all places. He was also somewhat embarassed he hadn't noticed the Mandalorian. It was his job to notice such things.

 

I'm beginning to hate Mandalorians. I thought for certain he was dead by now.

 

The hunter's eyes followed Rane as the warrior landed behind him. Piccolo hit the activation button on his wrist. His spring loaded blaster pistols flew into the air. Piccolo grabbed the weapons in mid-air and turned toward his opponent, launching a furious counter attack. He ran as he fired, Rane's own rifle sending shots whizzing past his helmet. Piccolo concealed himself around the corner, behind the stands of the old arena. He adjusted his helmet increasing the volume of his voice while he simultaneously communicated with the Howling Runner.

 

"Listen to me Rane Scando. I don't know what dung heap you crawled out of, but I had no intention of attacking Ar-Pharazon. I was hired to keep worms like you from taking a cheap shot at such a high ranking Sith while he's engaged in battle. You haven't been around for a long while. Fett is my enemy now, he betrayed the Black Sun. I guarantee I hate him even more than you do."

 

I know Scando has to already have this knowledge. He's always annoyingly informed on these matters. He has an alterior motive here, I feel it in my bones.

 

Either way, Piccolo hoped Scando would not listen to reason. His hate for his first and most vicious enemy was still as strong as ever. The hunter had finished his work. The Howling Runner had locked onto Rane's position. A homing missile flew into Rane's field of vision from outside the other end of the arena. It headed straight for Scando's head.

 

"Time to die old man."

[Guest]

”œEveryone dies,”

[Lord Ar-Pharazon]

OOC: Sorry for the flashbacks. I get nostalgic. They're from ”œ13 Aug 2002 7:57 pm Post subject: Sith Temple”

[handofthrawn]

It was apparent to ShadowFett from Ar-Pharazon's false, mocking words of defeat that his firey attack had had very little or absolutely no effect. In fact, it only seemed to encourage the Sith Master to spew still more arrogance at his overcoming of a blast that would greatly injure other men and beasts. His blaster bolts were, however, just as unexpected as he had deemed that they would be, and he could tell that at least one hit the powerful man.

 

Even that seemed to do very little. There would be something that could overcome Ar-Pharazon, and Fett would find it or be destroyed in the process, again something that he did not fear. Fear was necessary to survive, but fear of the status in which it no longer mattered was foolish. Death was not to be feared.

 

Unable to see, Fett was unsuspecting of the next attack, which came from the opposite direction that the Sith Master's voice had come from. The back of his head was slammed with incredible force, adding to his headache and the pain that decreased his thought efficiency. Again the Sith Master began taunting him meaninglessly, demanding for Fett to cower in defeat and beg for an easy death. Most would have done it then, but Fett did not want an easy death. He wanted to be slain a warrior, and he would be, if he was to be slain this day.

 

Next came cacophony, a mindless babble of uncontrollable voices bouncing around inside Fett's already-confused mind. It would have been incredibly easy to just listen to the voices, try and figure them out as was instinctual for the human mind. It would have been so easy to let them overcome him and leave him in a state of overtasked distress. It would have been so easy to collapse in confusion.

 

But Fett held his concentration, forcing himself to focus his mind and not become overcome with the words. He stayed alert, trying to analyze Ar-Pharazon further one more step by paying attention to every step he heard and every twitch of motion he could detect with his limited senses. But the worst was far from over.

 

The Mandalorian's neck was strained repeatedly as he was inverted and repeatedly slammed into the ground. Mostly due to his lack of vision, he was more disoriented by the inversion than the pain itself, which he had received a wealth of in the past several minutes and had accepted. He would receive more, and he would bear it.

 

The battle took one more step into unreality when ShadowFett felt what seemed to be at first a projectile weapon capable of punching through his armor. He quickly attributed it with much larger size than any other projectile, and the sensation that followed revealed it to be a fist. This can't be real! a sense screamed at him. No man can punch through Mandalorian Iron and phrik! The force of the blow would have sent you tumbling through the air before penetrating the alloys!

 

It occurred to Fett that the pain that he felt as one of his ribs was torn free could be nothing more than an illusion, a trick of the Force. He had experienced firsthand what it could do to one's mind when he had battled a Dark Jedi on Ilum, one who had seemed to claim to be a Jedi Master. The coward had fled him, but not before damaging his mind with the Force itself, leaving him temporarily unable to prevent the Dark Jedi's escape.

 

Everything came down to one statement that rang clearly through Fett's mind, overcoming all confusion and chaos. Illusion or not, having a hole punched into one's armor and having a bone removed does not disallow combat to continue. It is a source of pain and distraction, a deterrent, not a disabling factor.

 

Then, at that moment, the Mandalorian's internal battle was won. No longer would he be plagued with emotions, confusion and pain. No longer would he allow anything to keep him from becoming, physically, this day's champion. He had been killed towards the beginning of this battle mentally, but now life again sprung into his veins.

 

His own bone was shoved into his mouth, but he didn't notice. He was covered in blood further as he reflexively vomited. To an observer, it seemed impossible that he still lived. He had a massive hole in his chest, a somewhat crumpled helmet with a shattered visor, a sightless gaze and a rib protruding from his bloodied visage. He was seemingly unarmed, shining red in his own blood, and had more injuries than one could easily count.

 

But he turned to face Ar-Pharazon and erected his posture. He stood up straight, apparently a warrior that had died in epic battle and come back in his old, destroyed body to fulfill vengeance on his killer. He was like a zombie or, more appropriately, a wraith. But, most importantly, he was alive. And he did not press on due to vengeance, old angers, tainted morals, or hateful wrath. He knew none of those things. He only knew justice and the Mandalorian Codex.

 

Had he been able to cry out, he would have screamed, "For eternal glory!" It would have signified that he was ready to die if he failed to vanquish his opponent on this final change, this last, epic stand in defiance of the limitations of flesh and blood. He was no longer a being of flesh, but a being of the discipline that had been developed over the decades. His mind had overcome its tests and challenges and now would defy his body and strike a killing blow.

 

ShadowFett, against everything the galaxy knew as truth, charged towards Ar-Pharazon. Combat spikes flashed out of his gauntlets and his right arm swung to a forward position. Immense pain shot through his chest, but he didn't know how he knew this. He felt as if he was watching the end of the battle from an observer's position, the locations of those on the field of battle determined in truth by his hearing. He could almost see himself charge, and could almost see a flaw in his aim with his wrist laser. He consciously corrected the flaw and fired repeatedly.

 

Blasts struck Ar-Pharazon in the shoulders repeatedly. A repulsor pack activated and feet left the ground. A liquid cable launcher fired and the cord wrapped around the Sith Master. A luma dart was fired, its contact creating a shockingly bright flash of light, dazing Ar-Pharazon. Distance closed. Impact jarred both opponents and the bright blades of a gauntlet closed with Ar-Pharazon's neck.

 

The end was now, or, more accurately, now was the end.

 

((3))

[Piccolo]

(You're on Rane. Good luck)

 

Piccolo fell back as the concussion missile exploded before him. Shards of debris embedded themselves in the cortosis layer of his armor. He brushed them off, feeling grateful he hadn't been killed right there. Rane was as resourceful and enigmatic as ever. His suspicions about Scando's intentions seemed justified. He had not even responded to Piccolo's claim that he had no malice for Lord Ar-Pharazon.

 

He was looking for any excuse to fight me. Has he been following me? Why did he choose now to attack?

 

These were questions he intended to find out after he had incapacitated Rane. This was unexpected. Piccolo had believed he would never get his vengeance against Rane. He thought Scando dead. But now Rane has come to him for a purpose Piccolo intended to discover. His memory flashed back to their first encounter. Piccolo had modeled himself after the Mandalorians then. Even now he used some of their tactics, but then he was just a carbon copy of Fett. This was a stark contrasting to the loathing he felt for the ancient warriors now, after the modern Fett had turned on him. It seemed all his enemies were dressed like Mandalorians these days. Nevertheless, Rane seemed to have taken an instant dislike to the hunter. He demanded the young recruits armor. Piccolo was very naive then. He opened himself up to attack, believing Rane to be more honorable then he was. He tried to resolve the conflict peacefully. Instead, Rane shot a defenseless Piccolo and stole his armor. If it hadn't been for Smash, Piccolo would be dead right now.

 

Instead Smash turned me into a barely humanoid monster.

 

Well, Piccolo had every intention of defeating Rane this time. In each of their battles, he'd come out short. Rane had been a thorn in his side for too long. But now the old man had made a mistake. He'd attacked Piccolo alone and in an open arena. He didn't have his elite mercenaries or Piccolo's inexperience to protect him any longer. Now it was time to show Rane what he'd become. The time of Rane Scando's position as the most elite of the galaxy's bounty hunters was long since complete. This was Piccolo's galaxy now. He'd earned it. The hunter picked himself up as Rane did the same. Their visors prevented each opponent from seeing the face of his enemy. But both knew the animosity they felt for one another was still strong.

 

I intend to find out what's behind that mask. I will strip him of his armor. Or maybe I'll just kill him. So many possibilities.

 

Piccolo moved first running toward Rane, straight at him. He wanted this to be a direct confrontation, no games. He already knew Rane's style, it was patterned into his brain now. There was no need to feel out his opponent. Piccolo drew his force-pike and swept it toward Rane's helmet. His opponent easily dodged the maneuver. Piccolo used the other end of the pike to block Rane's counter attack. Their first exchange was fast paced, Piccolo swinging his weapon expertly. Piccolo was faster and stronger, but Rane was frustratingly skilled. No one landed a blow. Piccolo realized this was more serious than he thought. Rane was as vicious as ever. Piccolo used his rocket back to vault over Rane's head landing a few paces behind him.

 

"Just like old times, eh friend?"

 

Piccolo's arm wound back, the metallic parts could be heard whining loudly as the hunter pulled his arm as far back as he possibly could. With incredible force, he threw the vibrating pike like a javelin straight for Rane's heart. The weapon whistled through the short distance between them.

 

((1))

[Reagan McGreggor]

Reagan walked for a few miles and started to feel the presence of others in the area”¦ heading in the direction, she came out of the shadows only to role her eyes”¦

 

”œI can't friggin believe this”¦ here I am and I stumble on the idiot”¦ fighting”¦ it would serve him good to get his ass beat”¦”

[King Kheldar vos Correlli]

At the end of a long watched and anticipated fight, I found myself in need of consulting both Tarrian and BLCKCLONE in making this ruling. The unanimous decision of the mod triumverate is as follows:

 

Strong opening posts by both parties- despite AP's disarming, Fett countered and stayed competitive. The second posts for each party was the cruxial turning point. AP's bashing through Fett's helmet and broiling out his eyes was brutal, nasty, and a real crowd pleaser. Fett's follow up attack, using fire on AP, was defeated by a long established immunity his opponent had to fire attacks. The third attacks followed up on the establish strengths and weaknesses left by the second post. AP had a strong finisher, but Fett's going ape final attack was very impressive....

 

 

 

 

 

 

Drum roll please....

 

 

 

 

 

But given the events of post 2 by both parties, AP earns the victory and the final post in this battle.

 

Good fight gentlemen, and good RPing on both of your parts.

[Lord Ar-Pharazon]

In the climax of the battle, the large blast of light momentarily blinded the Sith, and he was caught in the grappling clutch of his opponent. He used his might and flipped Shadowfett onto the ground and then leaped high into the air, letting his impaired vision recover. He fell to the ground, and with his left hand, grabbed ShadowFett by the neck. Ar-Pharazon lifted the hunter off of the stone surface. The great bounty hunter's tricks had run out. His weapon ammunition was depleted and his moral was waning.

 

”œI've decided this particular moment is to be your last, Fett. Thou shalt die!!!”

[Guest]

One moment, the Mandalorian and the mercenary had each been successfully, and quite frustratingly, Scando noted, deflecting one another's blows ”“ the next, Piccolo had obviously used a burst from a rocket-pack or some such device to leap over and behind the masked bounty hunter. As sweat trickled down his furled brow, a quickly tiring Scando had no time to ”˜thank the maker' for the break ”“ with his back now to his opponent, the Mandalorian did the first thing that came to mind... a good old drop and roll. A moment later, Scando, his heavy breathing inaudible to Piccolo, rose to his feet, his rifle drawn and aimed at the mercenary.

 

I can hardly breathe.

 

”œYou have breathed your last, snake!”

[Reagan McGreggor]

Reagan watched as Rane and Piccolo fought, and she noticed that Rane seemed to be a bit off... she didn't like that one bit... there definitely was no love loss there, but first... he was her ride out of here, and second... she wanted to be the one to kill him, and to be honest... it just didn't seem like a very fair fight... but she was sure that Piccolo didn't realize that there was something off about Rane...

 

Noticing that the Sith's fight was over, and once again the sith was victorious, Reagan got comfortable and watched the two left...

 

"if he is going to get himself killed, he better damn well make it a good show... "

[Piccolo]

Piccolo felt the impact strike his stomach. But was shocked to feel the intense pain of the blow. He physically felt it enter his body, not merely reverbate off his armor. Scando was using armor piercing rounds. He appeared to have prepared for this battle ahead of time.

 

He actually shot me.

 

Piccolo fell to one knee, blood visibly on his gloved hands. The wound was not yet fatal. He was half-Doshan, and it took a lot to bring him down. But he wasn't immortal. A slug like that could kill him if it had hit the right spot. His bleeding was already slowing as his Doshan DNA worked to clot the gaping hole. Piccolo could only hope his internal injuries were minor. He had underestimated Scando's resourcefulness. That had been nearly fatal, Scando was much more prepared for this battle than he was. He had a plan, Piccolo was merely reacting. Piccolo had determined the extent of his injuries and admonished his mistake in a matter of seconds. But as he moved to stand, he felt an armored fist smash his faceplate, cracking his visor. He staggered backward as Scando tackled him.

 

Is he out of his mind?

 

Piccolo pushed Scando away with ease, and loomed over the other bounty hunter. Scando's fist flew fast. Very fast for a human. But Piccolo was more machine than man. At their last encounter, Piccolo had his cybernetic implants. But since then, the hunter had undergone other alterations. He had his arms and legs sliced off by a Jedi named Jade Dragon. Piccolo had survived, and had been forced to replace his appendages. He was not quite the same as the last they met.

 

It seems Rane hasn't quite prepared for everything.

 

His metal hand caught Rane's wrist. He snapped the arm backward, and backhanded Scando sending him to the ground.

 

"You have a better shot if you stay back Scando. Ranged weapons are the only way you are going to win."

 

But Piccolo wasn't about to let him escape that easy. Clutching his bleeding abdomen, he picked a stunned Scando up under the shoulder with one hand. Piccolo released his wound, bringing his other arm up. Each hand held Scando's arms, pinning them to his side with the force of his hold, the hunter's legs dangling in the air. The servo motors in his arms where audible as the hunter began to crush his enemy.

 

((2))