Mechis III

[Onderin Starlisk]

Communications jamming... Onderin thought. That would make the battle considerably more difficult on both sides. Ultimately, however, it gave the advantage to the Jedi and Alliance. The Admiral concentrated on the Force just then and formed a Jedi Battle Meld, inviting the other Jedi in the area to join.

 

In that way, they could communicate almost as well as they could with words and, in some instances, better.

 

"Alright," he said to his crew, "pull back. Disengage the Empire and regroup. We're going to make another run."

 

With surprising agility, the MC90a Star Cruisers pulled out of the Imperial formation, and the Sword of Justice followed with less haste, accepting the majority of Imperial fire for a little while and doling out just as much.

 

"Sir! We have incoming enemy fighters--we can't identify exactly what they are, but they're fast...and we don't read any life signs!"

 

Onderin frowned. He didn't like this. "If I know the Empire, those droids are for ramming," he said. He was about to give an order concerning their destruction, but paused, picking something up through the Force. "Let's not worry about them for a few minutes here.

 

"Form an Ackbar Slash and let's take this battle into hand."

 

Reformed, the Alliance forces formed a single-file line, the huge Sword of Justice in the middle, and plunged into the Imperial arrowhead formation line a line of cavalry into a crooked phalanx. This immediately presented several advantages of the part of the Rebellion--not only did the MC90a's have superior shielding for this close-range fighting, but their linked turbolasers were excellent for dealing out concentrated damage. They were between Star Destroyers, which meant the Imperial gunnery crews had to worry about hitting the Star Destroyer opposite them, and, while the Star Destroyers could only focus half their batteries to the fight, the Alliance forces were able to offer two broadsides into enemy ships.

 

"Very good. Hold here," the Admiral said. The Empire lacked the numbers to surround them, so things would work out alright....

[Dagon]

Hold off on strolling up to the bridge, Black, Ariane is the one posting ship defenses, not Onderin.

[Ariane]

((Yeah... hi?))

 

Commander Kyrie spotted the unmarked Corellian ship heading into the SSD hanger, and went to comm the troops onboard a warning, only to discover that communications were down, and, dammit all--that had to be why everything was so quiet. Military operations weren't supposed to be so much initiative as following orders, however, in the midst of a growing-heated battle, without communications now too, Ariane couldn't afford to take chances.

 

Since she couldn't signal troops to be there to greet their visitor, she would have to be there herself.

 

She sped to an X-Wing and out into the fray. Dodging shots and occasionally returning, Ariane headed towards the Alliance's SSD and the hanger the unidentified YT-2400 had landed in. Perhaps it was a friendly ship.

 

Rather than landing in one of those countless hangers, she landed in a hanger one bay off from the ship, leaving the X-Wing behind and drawing her blaster. Ordering a couple of Alliance troopers to follow her as she hurried through the hall to the correct hanger bay, she burst into the bay where the Trushot had landed.

 

Right, time to try look like you're a scary Alliance Commander... and not a small woman in a flight suit with a few guns playing Cops.

 

"Unidentified ship, identify yourself and your intent!" she ordered, stalking into the hanger with two meat shield””ah””soldiers. A man idly lounged in the room, well armed and a cigarette in his mouth, hands in his pockets. She dropped into an offensive stance, keeping him in her blaster's sights and the weapon set to kill. "Hands where I can see them! Who are you, and what are you doing on this ship?"

 

((But since that's not so likely, 3/3 modded duel? Or you could just surrender and let me arrest you. ^.^))

[Vladimir Faust]

The two half finished Star Destroyers, which had as of yet to be christened the Dragon's Hammer and the Scythe of Bast in honor of two previous Dark Lords, continue their full charge, moving in for the collision at top speed. Even as this goes on, a handful half finished TIEs mindlessly crash into the surrounding ships, their suicide run at an end, meant to soften the attackers up for Mechis III's real droid defenders.

 

The Dragon's Hammer crumples upon impact with the MC90a Crusader, the shockwaves traveling through the incomplete hull and exploding the SD's engines in the far back. The explosion of the engines did little other than incinerate the frame of the Star Destroyer, but the momentum of the collision rips out large chunks of the MC's hull, crippling its engines and sending it spinning. Left dead and facing away from MacLeod's Star Destroyers, it was spun around and left blind from behind.

 

The Scythe of Bast narrowly misses colliding with a the Imperial's own Star Destroyer, scrapping along the top edge of the MC90 Justice on the other side of Onderin's damnable phalanx attack. There are horrible explosions as it creens through the array of turbolasers and embedded cluster bombs hidden in the Mon Cal craft's hull, rapidly disintigrating the very structure of the half finished Scythe. The effects on the Justice are less spectacular, but far deadlier, taking out a full 20 turbo lasers on the nearest side, 10 ion cannons, and 1 proton torpedo tube. The resulting explosion jams a large part of the Scythe's hull into the Star Destroyer it was meant to defend against, an unfortunate side effect of the close proximity. That side of the battlefield errupted into a no man's land, with heavy debris from the half completed ship littering space between the Imperial and Alliance vessel.

 

On the surface, the commander mused at what the effects would have been had they been full ships- probably enough to wipe out both the Crusader and the Justice outright, but the kamakaze run still achieved its effect in breaking the flank that the Admiral set up against the Imperials. At this point the planetary turbolasers shifted focus onto the stunted and immobile Crusader, fully intent on ripping the damaged ship to hell, sending bellowing explosions from the ship's hull where they were able to break the MC's shields. Firing into the rest of the cluster was too risky at this point, but secondary surface fire was set up on the Justice, barely able to hit given the debris that their own attack made. The commander vowed that even if the rebels won this day, it would be a costly victory...

[BLACK1]

((Sorry about that. Thought it was Onderin defending his ship. I'd be obliged to duel you. I'll start it off. Let's have a good one.))

 

As expected, rebel forces met Black not soon after he landed. However, much to both his dismay and elation, there seemed to be only three of them. He felt almost...betrayed, insulted. His left hand rose out of his pocket as he inhaled deeply on the cigarette, exhaling the thick, bluish smoke as he flicked the superfluous ash to the floor.

 

"Unidentified ship, identify yourself and your intent! Hands where I can see them!"

 

A soft, half-hearted chuckle left his lips. Soldiers were too uptight, always barking orders, acting all organized. Though from the look of the one doing all the commanding, the rebel's taste in officers had certainly improved since the last time he and the alliance had crossed blades. Black tipped his head low enough to get a better look over his rimless sunglasses.

 

What's with the hostilities? I came to Mechis III for some trading and find myself in a firefight. It's natural for me to seek refuge, or did I break some new law? And I thought the Imperials were bad. What? You going to throw me back out in that mess? Oh! Or are you going to detain me? Which one of you is going to pat me down? Miss, I'll be more than happy to be detained if you'll be the one searching me.

 

Black couldn't help but smile at the thought. It had been so long since he was able to use such overt innuendo when trying to talk his way out of something. No doubt they detain him regardless of what story he fed them, but avoiding detention wasn't his goal. With each word, each insulting or comical phrase, their attention would be ebbed from watching his movement to listening to him talk. As long as he made no sudden movements and refrained from openly threatening them, their tension would be eased, if ever so slightly.

 

I tried to comm. Honest, I did, but communication seems to be cut. I'm guessing that's why there's only the three of you, but really I'm no threat. I know I don't look it, armed as I am.

 

Black rotated at his waist, showing the massive axe strapped to his back, thankful they could probably only spot a couple of the bulges in his jacket.

 

But you really have to be in my line of work. Ever work out on the rim? Whole place is a war zone. Here, look, I'll even set them down.

 

Black took a final hit on his cigarette before dropping it to the metal floor, smothering the remains with his boot. Slowly he reached up, taking Happy the Chainaxe out of it's half scabbard, placing it gently on the floor. He reached into his coat just enough to pull his blasters out by the fingerguards, placing them next to the axe.

 

There, disarmed. Now can I stay? Name's Ki, by the way.

 

He held out his arms, wrists up, showing his willingness to be cuffed and taken to a secure place. Feeling he had done everything in his power to bring some ease to their anxieties, he decided the charade had gone on far enough. Heaven and Hell erupted from their respective caches up his sleeves. He squeezed off a few rounds in a tight pattern, their unique customizations making them sound like cannon fire. For some reason he consciously made an attempt to avoid fatally wounding the woman, the two flanking her getting the brunt of his assault. After laying down cover, he strafed to his right, taking refuge behind a group of crates before what was left of the trio returned fire.

 

((1))

 

((Character Sheet is up to date if you have any questions about my weapons.))

Edited October 30, 2007 by Guest

[Cerulean Fox]

Apparently, there was.

 

The Jedi were certainly awake now. He moved rapidly through the battle, flying evasively to help mitigate the damage of the Jedi's ship. The heavy Mon Cal plating combined with his redundant shield kept the Foxbite flying safely in spite of several hits. With the hornets' nest kicked, it was time to change the pace.

 

Fox flew toward the rebel fleet, trying to get near the first Alliance warship he could find. His bomb bay opened up again, spitting out another warhead. She was flying to evade the cluster bombs now, and coming up on the fleet there was a good chance they wouldn't stick to the Ghost Breath, even ignoring the possibility of a repeat of whatever had protected them the first time. Instead he what he dropped was a high yield concussion bomb, a heavy-duty bunker buster that if nothing else, would make it impossible to trail him closely without a high probability of death. When the bomb exploded Fox charged the nearest Hangar on front most ship of the Republic Firing line, using the minor diversion to buy him precious seconds.

 

He swooped through the blue magnetic shield, deploying his six chain guns to light up on the personnel that worked the hangar. The AI core of the Basilisk War Droid kicked in; finding warm bodies in the area and making sure they had extra holes in them. Volleys of missiles swirled around the room, decimating the docked craft that remained in the hangar. Fox turned the ship around for a full 180, firing a missile at the edge of the hangar bay entry--aiming to disable the projector for the magnetic shield that held in the atmosphere. His reasons were two fold, first to vent the hangar into space thus clearing it of enemies, and second to activate the automated hangar lock. In seconds, the doors slammed shut, ensuring that he'd have plenty of time to set up phase two of his plan.

 

As the Ship went on an automated killing spree, Fox turned off his jammer and broadcast a holo of his bomb bay, revealing that he had more than enough concussion bombs to level the entire MC-90 from the inside. Fox's mechanical voice came in narration.

 

”œFace me, or this craft's destruction will be on your hands. You have five minutes.”

[Ary the Grey]

Aryian's pupils dilated to tiny dots as he realized what was just about to happen, nearly the entire sequence of events playing in a snapshot instance through his head before it actually did. His body reacted before he did, flipping a few switches before gunning the throttle to full and giving chase to the small starfighter towards one of the larger capitol cruisers. The small canister fell out of the bomb bay like he had seen, a powerful concussion bomb. His ship reacted to his thought pattern before he had time to vocalize a command, taking AI autopilot controls into its own computerized hands while Aryian's aura intensified, taking command of the cosmic powers he had been trained to use well.

 

The Force barrier in front of his and Armiena's vessels changed shape very rapidly, forming a cone that barely began to plow through the explosion before Aryian's control over it shattered, hurtling through like a bat out of hell. Quite fortunately for him and his wife, it took the brunt of the damage, only jostling both craft slightly, his AI more than capable of correcting course using the Blur's high maneuverability jets on each of its four fins. e punched in a sequence of commands as his vessel began a dive bomb run at the hangar opening, already laserfire lancing out from the lead starfighter to take out the shielding and seal himself inside. Not on this Jedi Master's watch...

 

He unbuckled from his crash webbing, jostling up and out of the cockpit area to grab something behind him before just making it to his boarding ramp, hitting the emergency override as he and his ship moved in perfect harmony. The rapid decompression sent his body flying out of the door just as his craft pulled up, sending him like a missile through the gaping hangar entrance. Oxygen inside the hastily summoned Force Barrier around himself rapidly became the least of his worries as he again shoved out with the Force, trying to slow his descent as he (or rather the barrier) slammed into the floor with enough impact to jar the most masterful of Jedi from their concentration.

 

Luck had always ran in the Darkfire lineage, atleast asfar as Aryian's life had gone, and it now played aprominent role as he 'bounced' once, finally landing in a large pile of soft plastic tubing behind a ship that had been destroyed just prior to his initial impact. For a moment he stared up at the ceiling as he heard chain guns and secondary explosions going off, wondering why he was even still alive and doing this. A few seconds later, when he finally caught his breath, he stood to find he was intact, but missing what he had grabbed from his ship. Still...he had his weaponry, and he had the Force. This renegade was as good as neutralized. He dusted himself off, slowly making his way to the middle of the large hangar, looking and reaching out with his senses for his wife. She was a critical part of his vision, and he was sure she was here by now...

[Ariane]

((Yeah, it's okay. I read it. x_o I have no character sheet link, but Ariane has fairly standard weaponry. But she's hot! Lol.))

 

He checked her out. But Ariane didn't think his gaze was just because she was hot, and she didn't think his gaze was just to eyeball a pretty soldier who'd come to check out the landing. Comms were out. That was a fact. No, she was fairly certain he was checking her out for weapons--after all, she returned the favor. He seemed to be positively dripping with weaponry, or, at the very least, bulges that could have been weapons. She wondered how, exactly, he managed to lounge around carrying that much metal in his trench coat as he took out an axe, and some blasters, placing them on the floor.

 

"But you really have to be in my line of work. Ever work out on the rim? Whole place is a war zone. Here, look, I'll even set them down."

 

Does he honestly think he's no threat? No, hell, does he think I'm no threat?

 

...And yeah, I've been down to the rim.

 

He was tall, not as tall as her husband, but tall enough. Black hair, dark green eyes. All black clothing, a slightly inhibiting trenchcoat... her suspicions had set in, and though he talked smoothly, Ariane wasn't going to be talked down yet. She wasn't here because she just accepted that it was all under control.

 

"There, disarmed. Now can I stay? Name's Ki, by the way."

 

She watched as her men relaxed. She wished she had more with her, but in the firefight, the dogfights, the chaos outside--these were the only two she had met along the way to the hanger. Star Destroyers were large. Super Star Destroyers were even larger. And this man came with charisma +5, and it looked like probably a hell of a lot more weapons, or he wouldn't have suggested she pat him down. Probable some sort of spines...

 

"Commander Kyrie," she replied almost instinctively. The rank was now part of her name... "But since we're on such lovely terms, you can call me Ariane."

 

He raised his hands. She almost relaxed there””almost lowered her blaster to step forward and take charge. But someone who worked on the Rim wasn't going to just surrender to the Alliance like that unless he was telling the truth, or else, buffing. At the first loud eruption of sound as two revolvers appeared in his hands, she was diving down the stairs, somehow avoiding fire and slamming into the floor. It was no normal fire. It was deafening, like cannon fire. She had barely landed before returning fire, blasts of red piercing the air where the man had stood. But he wasn't standing there any longer””like her, he was in motion, moving towards the scattered crates around the landing bay. The crates that would shield her from fire for now.

 

Firstly. He's got some sort of modified weapon...

 

The first of her companions joined her. Ariane cast a glance back up, and the other was down, dead or wounded””right now she couldn't tell.

 

...And it shoots projectile bullets. Man after my own heart! She ducked behind the crates, edging towards the left, further away from him. She slid her hand down her holster, drawing a different gun. The blaster she transfered to her right hand, the other she flicked the safety off on. Her injured companion was already returning fire, and a few weak shots had been fired by the other soldier. Assumably, they had missed. She peered around the crates, chancing a glance. He was gone. Probably behind other crates.

 

Either you're lucky, or he really does think you're hot. That was stupid. Stupid. S-T-U-P-I-D! Ariane's mind stressed. ...Also, you can probably handcuff him for assault of an officer, you know? That's so kinky. Unless, of course, you kill him. That's way less kinky.

 

She squeezed off a few more shots in his general direction, plotting whereabouts he had went. If he started there, and dove that way...

 

"Cover me," she hissed to her companion, rising up far enough to shoot a couple bullets into some tanks near the crates. They would be mostly empty gas tanks, but even a small spark might be enough. The bullets ripped a hole into the tank, and she changed gun hands to fire a blaster shot into the hole she left. The tanks ripped up into flames, a small explosion shuddering the area near where she had last seen Ki.

 

She didn't really want to fatally wound him yet. Hell, where was the fun in that?

 

But now he knew where she was. He'd return fire, and probably worse than before. She dove to the left, rolling behind a few more crates (and carefully avoiding the ones marked to contain volatile liquids, fuel, or charges, in case he got any ideas). She began slowly edging backwards on her stomach as the automatic fire sprinklers came on, raining down on their assault.

 

((1))

[BLACK1]

As Black rested against the crates, he pulled out another cigarette. He listened to the direction the blaster fire was coming from.

 

Cover me!

 

She's at my six. One at five thirty, one wounded at five fifteen.

 

Funny how military training sticks with you beyond your service. The mind is tricky how it remembers certain things. He turned his head to light his cigarette when he saw it. A nicely printed, bright yellow warning sign on the tank to his right. He stared in disbelief for a second, cursing karma for it's sense of humor. He rolled to the left just as the tanks exploded, the small explosion giving off enough force to toss him the rest of the way to the thankfully non-explosive containers next to the others. Black recovered from the little experience, again leaning against the crates for cover, this time making sure they weren't explosive. A small patch on his shoulder was on fire. He tilted his head to light his cigarette from the fire, the exhale of thick, carbon dioxide saturated smoke enough to put out the small flame. Another hail of blaster fire hit the crates behind him. He started to count, waiting for the right moment. When people shoot at a general location, they expect retaliation, taking only a few quick shots before ducking for cover while their opponent returns fire. The volley ended. They would be ducking for cover right about now. Another few seconds and they'd expose themselves just enough to start the cycle over again.

 

One...two...three...

 

Black popped up from his cover, now running for the group of crates on the other side of the hanger. He squeezed off three rounds at the crates Ariane would be behind, dumping the remaining nine rounds at the two by the door. He made a point of shooting the crates instead of her, just enough to keep her pinned. The sound of explosions rang through the metal walled rooms as he fired. Black loved the modifications he designed for the gun. Normally, slug throwers would be nearly silent, the magnetic propulsion making little to no sound by themselves. He made the guns boom as the did on purpose. It gave a sense of terror and confusion, making the guns sound much worse than they really were. Half way to his destination, Heaven and Hell returned to their hidden cache up Black's sleeves, freeing up his hands. He cartwheeled over the spot he previously left his axe and blasters to rest, grabbing the axe hand in mid-rotation. His thumb flipped the switch, starting the sinister whirring of the chain. Coming out of the flip, he spun his torso around, throwing the angry axe at the remaining unwounded soldier accompanying the commander. Finishing the spin, he continued his sprint to the crates, again sinking low, leaning against them. He heard the axe hit something as the revolvers produced themselves again. With a unique flick of the wrist, the guns hinged apart, the chaotic splatter of empty shells reaching the ears of all who weren't dead or potentially had an axe buried in them. As he started to reload the revolvers, he yelled out over the whirring chain axe.

 

Come now, kitten. It doesn't have to be like this. You can just get on my ship, I'll conclude my business with the admiral, and we'll be off. I'll even take you out for dinner afterward. Ever eat at La Mareaguerra? Best dianoga pie in the system.

 

Another harsh flick brought the guns back into working order, once again fully loaded.

 

Or, if you're feeling frisky, it can turn out to be breakfast.

[Ariane]

Fire supressing foam rained down to restrain the fire Ariane's explosion had started. First, she knew he'd dash away from the explosives. No one was stupid enough to stay near by anything that could cause them harm. From her left, probably moving towards the right... the commander exposed herself enough to take a few shots where he had been, and a couple more blasts of red where she expected him to run. Her companion also fired in that direction. Retaliation wouldn't be long in coming; they ducked back behind the crates and began creeping away, this time back towards the door and the stairs.

 

One... two...

 

...Three.

 

He popped up from his cover, and between crates, Ariane saw Ki run for the other side of the hanger. Little sonic booms exploded over the hanger from his modified weapons, each slug screaming and echoing in the metal room as they slamed into the crates. She counted each shot as they slammed into the crates, though if he modified it for sound--it was probably modified to have one more shot than the standard model.

 

But they're just normal guns. They just sound worse.

 

And they shattered the crates, pinning her too close to the wall for comfort and limiting her movement, and the wounded soldier still at her side.

 

Ariane spared a glance to the other, still on the steps. His chest rose and fell, but barely enough to notice. Wounded. If she won this battle, she might be able to get him to med in time to save his li””

 

A screaming axe embedded itself into the soldier at her side, ripping his arm from his shoulder. Blood and gore splattered over the wall and the floor. It carried on its course, hitting the wall, carving into it before hitting the floor, vibrating as the chains whirred around.

 

She swore autably, risking loss of cover as she ran the short distance to the wounded soldier. Yet another down. His eyes were closed. Unconscious. Breathing. But barely.

 

He's got to have to reload sometime...

 

She chanced that he was doing that now and grabbed the bloody axe, using it to carve her way out of the crate entrapment. Shrapnel, pieces of metal and wood and blood flew around her as they broke apart.

 

...Wanton property destruction, threat and dismemberment of Alliance officers...

 

"Come now, kitten," he yelled over the loud whir of the chain axe. "It doesn't have to be like this. You can just get on my ship, I'll conclude my business with the admiral, and we'll be off. I'll even take you out for dinner afterward. Ever eat at La Mareaguerra? Best dianoga pie in the system. Or, if you're feeling frisky," he added suggestively, "it can turn out to be breakfast."

 

Embedding the head of the axe into one of the crates, she hit the switch before it could rip apart. It deactivated, the handle of the axe protruding on the wall side of the crate. She hunched behind the pile of ruined crates, still not liking her position.

 

"Ever meet a kitten?!" Ariane yelled.

 

It'll give away your position...

 

...He already knows where you are, just like you know where he is.

 

"Kitten's got claws! Sure, I'll 'take you out'. Maybe even before breakfast."

 

She sheathed her gun, and drew a small orb from her purse. A flick activated it. Beepbeepbeepbeepbeep... Ariane hurled the gernade with surprising force towards him. Not with the intent of catching the miscreant in the explosion, but with the intent of catching the crates in the explosion. She drew the second from the set, and threw it also.

 

One... Hell, I'd take him up on that if I wasn't married...

 

She drew her repeating blaster in one smooth movement, the safety off, and made ready to run.

 

Two... three!

 

A voip of plasma exploded. He would've backed away by now if he knew what was good for him. And with the white hot explosion, the crates were splintered, sending wood and metal fragments into the air. Ariane held down the trigger of her weapon as she sprinted towards the next set of crates, a new place to hide, a new angle on the battle. Her laser shots dashed towards him, and her path was peppered by return fire. But she moved fast and was a small target to hit. It didn't make her impossible to hit. One shot shredded through the front of her shirt, exposing her stomach and leaving a long burnt streak from the hot metal. Another cut past her neck.

 

She threw herself back into the safety of the crates, hitting the ground hard and skidding. She caught herself in the tumble, elbows and knees burning from the friction, and hunched back along the crates. The explosive ones were nearer than they had been before, crates containing fuel for ships””but Ariane stayed to the left of them, just left of the short staircase leading up to the door... his right. Ruined crates there prevented her from making a fast escape. And ruined crates prevented him from making an easy cover.

 

She took a few more seconds than normal to catch her breath before returning fire once more.

[BLACK1]

Black didn't flinch as scores of blaster fire hit the crates behind him. Instead he just laid back, taking the small break in pressure to enjoy his cigarette while it lasted.

 

Ever meet a kitten?! Kitten's got claws! Sure, I'll 'take you out'. Maybe even before breakfast.

 

A scratcher...kinky.

 

And then there was silence. Where blaster fire should have been, there was nothing, meaning she was either helping the wounded or preparing some other attack. But she didn't have much else but the blaster and...

 

Shi-

 

Black dashed behind the set of crates directly behind the ones he was just at. From the angle, the first set of crates would mask his movement, giving the illusion he never moved. A hard thunk rang out as the grenades hit the crates she thought he was at. The explosions rang out through the hanger, the sound of shrapnel pinging against the crates Black rested against a little unnerving.

 

AAARG!

 

Black had noticed the grenades just in time, but she didn't know that. He screamed out as if the grenades struck true. More plaster fire shot through the smoke and flames. She had switched to a light repeater. Black squeezed off a few disparate shoots over his shoulder, missing her horribly. The shots weren't really aimed, probably flying far off what she assumed to be his intended mark. They would appear to be shots of a wounded man, firing only go give himself some hopeless escape. A second volley came at the crates behind him. Now she was just spraying the smoky area. The fire came from only one source this time. It would seem either his hail of bullets or his axe had hit their mark, eliminating the threat the other two soldiers presented. Instead of returning more desperate fire, Black did nothing, as if he truly was dead. For what felt like hours, there was silence. If it weren't for the gravity of the situation, Black would have to make an effort to avoid chuckling at the cruel joke he was pulling.

 

He reached in the folds of his coat, pulling out two grenades; one frag, one G- 20 Glop. He would take her alive. If not for a small chance of a date after this hit, then for the challenge it presented. Taking people alive wasn't a luxury life allowed him all the time. Too much blood was on his hands. He needed to know he was capable of saving life instead of only taking it. Killing was a necessary act of battle, this he understood. He wasn't afraid to kill, he just needed to prove to himself that wasn't all he was capable of. It may make each death he caused after this much harder to bare, knowing he could have avoided it if he wanted, but he still needed to know. Ever since Ronin did his little experiment on him, taking his 'soul', he's felt hollow inside. This was perhaps his one and only chance to prove he wasn't a monster.

 

Through the smoke, he tossed the frag grenade toward the door. The grenade would take care of any remaining opposition while forcing her to flee to the right of her cover. He left the protection of the crates, now walking past the smoke and fire toward the crates Ariane had taken cover at. He tossed the G-20 glop to where she would be had she dodged out frag grenade's path. He raised his left arm, readying his grapple. Should she dodge the frag and the G-20, the grapple should be able to tie up her arms enough to take away her "claws".

 

Please don't do this.

 

Black removed his sunglasses, showing his rich emerald eyes. Hopefully it would in a way prove his sincerity, showing his willingness to take off the dark mask life had forced him to wear. Her life meant more to him than she could ever realize.

 

((3 Good Luck. Honestly the most fun I've had in a duel to date.))

 

((Here's the LINK to the G-20, should you not know it off hand.))

[ObliviousKnight]

Although a freakish miscalculation on the part of the Ghost Breath's AI caused that seemingly innocuous crate to miss the formation of unfinished TIEs””damn the 5% margin of error””it deployed on schedule.

 

The Sunburst Device consisted of three main components. The first was a sonic detonator, calibrated to release sonic waves that, through long and arduous experimentation by the Jedi Order, were ideal for cutting and shattering the more durable crystals used in lightsaber construction. The second was a more mundane explosive, which released the vast majority of its potency in the form of kinetic energy.

 

The third, and by far the most difficult component to come by, was a massive crystal, roughly the size of a grown man's torso. And yet, its power was not in its durable lattice structure, but in the fact that it had spent millennia forming in a cave that had been regularly visited by reverent, determined Jedi on their path to construct their first lightsaber, and more recently had been nearly surrounded by Jedi in a state of peace for more than a year.

 

Some of the Jedi in the battle had already felt an unusual presence in the Force. Not unpleasant, simply”¦ strange, albeit familiar.

 

And that presence was about to get big. Really, really big.

 

The first detonator to activate was the sonic device, shattering the crystal into millions of razor-sharp fragments. Then, the explosive blew up in a rather pretty yellow-red fireball, simultaneously destroying the armored shell of the bomb and casting the said fragments of Jedi-visited crystal in every possible direction. Most of these fragments would fall down to the atmosphere of Mechis III, where they would blaze like crashing meteorites before a tiny sliver, a fraction of their already miniscule size, hit the ground. Others would simply wander off into the stars, where they would eventually be sucked into a star, black hole, or some other destructive phenomenon.

 

Some of these shards would present a miniature collision hazard in the firefight””not large or momentous enough to present any danger to a shielded ship, but capable of ripping gashes into the hulls of unshielded TIE fighters.

 

But this physical damage, dwarfed by the sheer destructive power of thundering turbolasers and rushing missiles, was as nothing compared to the more esoteric effects of the unorthodox bombs. Within milliseconds, the aura of the battlefield was transformed from that of the darkest hells of Sith territory to the warmer, more familiar welcome of a Jedi Temple. The laughter of a triumphant comrade, elated after holding off one more seeker drone than their friends could possibly manage replaced the nervous chatter of coordinating squadrons. The familiar chill of the caverns of Ilum replaced the frostbite of space. The scent of bland, though nutritious food replaced the bloat of the recently deceased.

 

It was different for every Force-sensitive, whether their midichlorian count rivaled that of some of the Jedi Order's greatest Masters, or they barely even had two of the microscopic organisms to rub together. Perhaps it reminded them of home, or conversations and food with old friends”¦ or shaking their head with mild disapproval as two Jedi Masters got nauseatingly lovey-dovey while digging through their personal arsenals.

 

Regardless, it was a moment of perfect calm””perfect, transparent clarity.

________________________

 

The pilot of the MC-18 freighter was good; that much was evident as he managed to carve his path through the chaos of space combat, managing to evade my unerring aim to the point that most of my blasts merely glanced off the edges of his shields, rather than delivering heavy blows into his engines. However, I knew that our craft were relatively easily matched in speed and maneuverability””I had lengthy experience in flying an MC-18, even in combat””and unless he had a trump card stored somewhere in the highly-customized interior of his vessel, this fight would have inevitably turned in my favor. Either my blasts would wear down his shields and begin to score punishing strikes into his hull, or I would finally give into the temptation to end his life in a blaze of anticlimax with a barrage of concussion missiles”¦ or an opportunistic pilot would dive into the fight and even it with an ill-planned ambush.

 

Space, unfortunately, was positively swirling with trump cards at the moment. The bounty hunter””there were no doubts concerning his profession by now””decided to hold an MC90 cruiser hostage, threatening to destroy it and himself in a suicidal explosion. It was idiocy for a man of his profession. There was no way that a bounty hunter would sacrifice himself in service of another man's cause. I was aware of the tremendous bounty on my head, but this man couldn't spend credits if he wasn't alive to receive them.

 

But what if he wasn't bluffing?

 

Damn me and my pride. If he wasn't bluffing, I would never hear the end of it: Armiena Darkfire, choosing to the crew of an entire cruiser, thousands upon thousands of men and women, to destroy a single mere bounty hunter.

 

It really wasn't a choice, and defeating this mercenary would also result in ending the comm. jamming that had so far crippled my ability to spearhead the attack on Mechis III.

 

While I looped the Ghost Breath about the hull of the Mon Cal cruiser to land in the hangar directly opposite to the one he had disabled, I caught a flash of the charge of my husband's Blur””of all things, he was going to try to make it into the hangar before the emergency blast doors completely shut.

 

Your husband is””

 

”œ””insane”¦”

[Onderin Starlisk]

"Damage report," Onderin Starlisk requested.

 

"The Crusader is heavily damaged and immobilized. The Justice is also damaged, but to a lesser extent. Both ships are quite threatened."

 

The Admiral nodded. "Position the Sword of Justice and to cover the Crusader's port and the Dodanna on its starboard. The Justice should tuck in close as well and put its weaker side inward." A squadron of couriers was immediately launched to disperse his orders through the fleet with great haste.

 

As his orders were being carried out, the crews of the damaged Star Cruisers were working with great speed to get shields back on their damaged portions. One of the greatest advantages of Mon Calamari starship design was the ease with which damaged shield generators and other important systems were swapped out, giving the ships a second, third, and even fourth wind as needed to simply outlast their foes.

 

Already some shields were being restored, the process aided by the defensive formation of the Alliance capital ships and the immense broadside of the Super Star Destroyer, which was seven times as long as any of the Star Cruisers.

 

All the while Onderin paid close attention to the Force. It was, then, hardly beyond his perceptions when Armiena's "bomb" went off. Onderin's spirits were lifted, and he poured his sudden resolve into the Force. Memories flooded his mind of people and places...his apprentices...friends long gone.

 

"We've got a battle to win here. And nothing the Galactic Empire has at its disposal will stop us."

[Ariane]

Didn't try hurting him...

 

Ariane breathed slowly from behind her crates. She heard him scream as if he had been hit, a horrible sound. She had already seen her escorts go down, both horribly wounded. And even though this man had been the one to wound them, it almost bothered her to think: she was as bad as him.

 

Didn't mean to hurt him. It shouldn't bother me. It shouldn't really bother me at all. He's a horrible flirt and he shot first... But life meant more to her than he could have ever realized. She'd lost her entire family to the Empire. If he was part of the Empire, he... Does anyone deserve to die?

 

NOT the time to be questioning your morals!

 

It felt like hours passed.

 

Perhaps she had killed him. It seemed so... ignominious. She risked peering out of her cover, edging to the left, closer to the gas tanks to get a better view of where he was. If he was down, the explosive tanks offered no threat to her any longer. If he was up, he'd expect her to resurface from her right... farther from the danger. Don't ever do what the enemy expects.

 

She worked her way closer... carefully closer...

 

Through the smoke...

 

There was a small clunk as a familiar sized round object landed near a crate to her right, fairly close to the door. It would take out the one soldier, as well as force her to flee to her left, his right. He--

 

Was alive, and knew exactly that you'd be forced that way...

 

Fortunately, she was already heading that way.

 

Bang.

 

Fragments and bits of fire, bits of smoke hurled themselves across the immediate area. Ariane hurled herself past the tanks, rolling hard and shoving her blaster forward so her hands were free. It slid across the floor. She slid across the flor as there was another little click, another gernade hurled too close for comfort. Now her only protection was explosive, she prayed dearly to the Force or whatever other diety was out there that this was not a plasma or a frag or any other sort of really, really explosive gernade...

 

"Please don't do this."

 

Through the smoke, his words.

 

...There's already enough flame...

 

...Wood...

 

Ariane gave up her cover. She dashed towards the tanks and shoved one. It rolled, the shrapnel that had slammed into it breaking a few small holes into it. Gasoline drizzeled onto the floor as it rolled in Ki's direction, lodging against a crate.

 

She drew her last gernade from her utility belt, this one more powerful than the rest. This one was fire.

 

She couldn't throw far enough to hit him, but...

 

Click.

 

Blue glop splattered around in a ten metre radius, whirled from the bomb like a sprinkler. Adhesive foam. It would harden as soon as it made contact with her legs--but it wouldn't light things on fire and it wouldn't make things explode.

 

Ariane threw her gernade. It caught a splatter of the adhesive glop, slammed into a wooden crate a couple metres from Ki, and close to the tank.

 

It stuck.

 

Click.

 

He took off his sunglasses. Intense green eyes hidden in the smoke...

 

Click.

 

A grapple spun out towards her. Ariane twisted, threw herself down as best she could with one foot lodged solidly into the glop, the other foot hostage enough with one boot caught in a layer of glop. It caught around one arm. Circulation faded. She tried to draw her knife to cut herself free...

 

Click.

 

BANG!

 

Fire splattered around the already smoking area. The air shuddered in the sudden extreme heat. Ariane was caught in the backlash. Ki was caught in the backlash. She stumbled, unable to fall with one foot firmly lodged into position, and one arm entangled in the grappling rope. Crates burst into flame, and where there were metal and durecrete crates, ropes lit on fire. It caught the leaked gas, and a powerful, but quickly contained explosion lit the area. Fire supressant foam shot from the automatic system, covering the undestroyed crates, covering the tank, covering the fiery remains, covering the ground, and covering Ki.

 

Humans weren't made to come into contact with quick freezing, low temperature foam intended to suck away all the oxygen and heat sources that made fire fire. Ironically, cold burned. Cold also hardened. Ariane was splattered in places with it, but she had been futher from the fire. Ki had been right in the path--both of the fire, and of the ship's response to the fire... an artic foam, intended to extinquish fires, and, Ariane hoped, extinquish attackers...

 

((3, and that's it. That was crazy fun. Haven't had that much fun in a duel in ages.))

[Dagon]

Victory goes to Ariane, fire retardent chemicals ftw!

[Cerulean Fox]

((OOC: We're posting ABCABCABC order, correct?))

 

Beneath Fox's helmet, he allowed himself a faint smirk. The Jedi had walked right into his trap.

 

Two grenades dropped to the floor, a pair of loud clanks preceding a loud whistle as the room was enveloped in a cloud of white. The first cloud was harmless smoke, a mere diversion to act as visual cover for Fox and more importantly, the second grenade--which released deadly Fex-M3 Gas into the air. Fox's helmet kept him safe from his own poisons, while the thermal sensors in his visor kept his enemies visible in spite of his own attempt at visual cover.

 

He stalked from his poisonous cloud coverage, taking aim at what his bounty scanner assured him was the male Jedi. They hadn't linked up yet, and given that he was closer, it seemed natural to take the first shot at him. Fox was going to attempt an experiment with his sniper rifle. He twisted a nob on the side way down, turning the power on the gas chamber down and thusly reducing the cohesion of his blast. The end result would be a sort of energy "Spray," and while it lost a great deal of range, it also became unstable to the point where it'd quickly lose blast cohesion, resulting in a sort of splatter effect when it impacted a surface. The surface he had in mind: a lightsaber blade. Instead of bouncing off harmlessly, it'd explode into a cloud of hot plasma. It had a weaker penetration factor, but the sustained shots of the rifle would ensure it was just as deadly and more importantly, unblockable.

 

Fox's visor began to glow red as his in-visor targeting homed in on Aryian's torso, sure that the relative inaccuracy of this firing mode would need the safer shot. His scanner tracking the approach of Armiena, he pulled the trigger and launched a blast at the Jedi. With a little luck, he'd disable the first right off the bat, and only have to worry about the second fighting back.

 

((1))

[Ary the Grey]

((Yes, I'll be the B and OK can be the C. Good luck.))

 

Aryian felt it before anything else, keeping his pace to a normal stride. Psssshhh... Gas grenades to his right as he began to walk out from behind the wrecked ship to the majority of the hangar. Something didn't feel right about them, and as a precaution Aryian mentally grasped onto the Force, using the technique he had learned long ago as a Padawan under his old Master Ben'a to not only conserve his breath, but to filter what air did enter his lungs with the Force, a lesser but important technique he knew.

 

At the correct time, he lept, shoving up with more than his legs to neatly flip over a strange wide blaster bolt...spray? He knew it would come before it did, his senses perfectly attuned to the universe around him. His lightsabers weren't even ignited, much less even in his hands. They swung limp from his belt, only symbols and not tools. For this battle, he would not need them. They were really in case he ever needed them for defense, as from here on out he solidly made the choice to rely more upon the Force. He was a Jedi Master...it was time he stopped being a soldier, and became a Jedi...his final step towards the light.

 

He slowly rose from his crouched landing, continuing to walk across the hangar to Armiena's side. She was the grandmaster, he was her husband. But he was also her equal...and he would stand by her side no matter what she did, in whatever setting. He might not wish to fight, nor to bring the fight to the Imperials (no matter how deserving they were of it), but the fact was that he was here, now. And he would protect his wife.

 

He stood by her side, looking directly at the Mandalorian, though he hid in the smoke. Already he knew there would be no reasoning with this man, negotiation was not an option. This left one alternative, and Aryian would make sure his wife survived this skirmish, no matter what the cost. The Force intensified around the two as their auras merged briefly, catching the full calming effect of the sunburst device. No matter what the outcome at Mechis, Aryian was content to merely protect.

 

((EDIT- forgot the number. =P))

 

((1))

Edited November 3, 2007 by Guest

[ObliviousKnight]

This was”¦ anticlimactic.

 

I had only begun to approach the Mandalorian when he set off the two grenades, filling the air around him with concealing smoke. The other grenade must have spread a poisonous gas about his body””even though the gas had no color or noticeable odor, at least at this range, my senses were rebelling at the hint of danger that began to emit from his body.

 

He used gas grenades at this range?

 

I wanted so badly to waste a second, even if only a second, to savor the moment and mock him for such a poor tactical decision. Surely, he had to know that, as Jedi Masters, we both had some resistance to poisons. Naturally, I didn't dare spend more than any length of time that was absolutely necessary in the released gas, but I trusted my abilities to withstand the chemicals long enough for a sudden, slashing strike and retreat from the deadly cloud.

 

I took a deep breath, letting the potent chemicals mingle with my respiratory tract before the Force filtered them out, leaving only an intoxicating aftertaste of danger to linger in my spirit. I could feel that my husband was employing the same technique as me, even offering me an unspoken appreciation of the Sunburst Device's effects as the warmth of the strewn crystal shards passed over the length of the MC-90 cruiser.

 

Try to spare him, if you can. The Force protects fools, children, and lovers.

 

I couldn't help but offer a smile, out of amusement at Lachelle's sarcasm. I snapped my left hand up to the level of my eyes, sighting in through the stubby barrel of my pistol as I instinctively stepped clear of my husband's flight to maintain a cautious interval of distance between our bodies. I fired once, eliciting a quiet whine and vibration from the metal of the weapon. Due to the relatively low muzzle velocity of the projectile, the booma round came out as a barely-visible streak of blue against the armored grey of the hangar, but that made little difference on its accuracy at such a close range.

 

I didn't take the time to watch the effect of my first shot after a squeezed off a single blast, aiming towards the bounty hunter's center of mass. I knew, even though the round””and the weapon that fired it””was better suited for disabling droids en masse with the modest EMP effect of the booma round, it was still deadly against humans. The round would simultaneously deliver a powerful, stunning, but non-lethal electrical shock into the flesh of its victims”¦ and it would also play havoc with the subsystems of his armor.

 

The rest of the rounds I fired, I had no idea where they went; I simply trusted the Force to guide my aim while I swept the length of the hangar at an unassisted sprint to take cover behind the torn ruin of a blasted Lambda-class shuttle. However, I left a small parting gift for the bounty hunter. Throwing my right arm back as though lobbing a grenade in his general direction, I reached into the Force and implanted an image of a primed frag grenade bouncing along the debris-cluttered floor of the hangar.

 

Even a blind man would have noticed the considerable number of grenades I was packing. Hopefully, the rush to get out of its path and the shrapnel it would throw out would draw him out of the distraction of the expanding poison.

 

((Apologies for the edit--I only removed a closed attack in the 8th paragraph. 1))

[Ariane]

When there was no gunfire, Ariane finally managed to work her knife out and slash at the grapple still wrapped around her arm. Her fingers had lost most sense of feeling and she was beginning to feel a bit dizzy. Awkwardly, she pulled her foot out of her boot and kicked the other one off to even it out, she strode over to where Ki had been. He was on the floor, still breathing, although slowly. Being hit with freezing cold chemicals could do that to a person.

 

Ariane pulled him out of the foam, pulling his trenchcoat off to make it easier for him to breathe and depositing it on the ground. If he had been conscious, she was sure he would've enjoyed being felt up for a weapons search. This time she wasn't going to get attacked by a weapon she hadn't seen. All of his blasters, gernades, knives, and other assorted weapons went onto the ground.

 

Kicking him in the head just to make sure he'd stay out for a while, Ariane handcuffed him and dragged him closer to the door, through the shrapnel. He'd probably live. Not necessarily nicely, because obviously he had some motive besides just landing on their ship.

 

One of her companions was alive. He'd need medical attention for his arm and bloodloss, but...

 

Ariane dragged in a couple other soldiers passing by. One of her men needed immediate medical attention, one of them needed a letter to his family, and her prisoner needed to be locked up in a high security cell and interrogated for a few hours.

 

Ariane made certain that Ki was given a cursory look-see to make sure he wouldn't die before he regained consciousness and was secured in a secure cell for interrogation. She'd also have to let the Admiral know about this...

 

But Ariane was more immediately worried about making sure she wasn't too badly wounded from the firefight and had a few bandaids first. There was still a war going on out there, and just because one no-gooder was out of it, didn't mean everyone else was. She still had to be prepared to fight, even more than she had been before.

[Cerulean Fox]

Fox dropped his rifle upon being hit with the EMP device, his hands shaking violently as the electricity coursed through his body. The boomer had struck his chest, and given that he was quite fortunate. With his helmet linked to his breastplate only by his body and some straps, the electrical damage to his HUD would be minimalized. Unfortunately for him, it still needed some time to reboot and run an automated repair. Until that could complete, he'd be fighting without his targeting computer.

 

Fox's ears perked up as he heard the phantom grenade bounce toward him. Instinct kicked in, and though it wasn't real he reacted with the precision he'd inherited from generation upon generation of warriors. With his rifle now hanging at his side by its strap, he kicked on the graviton pack and shot himself upward to evade the expected explosion. As he rose he clamped his fingers down on the handle of his grenade mortar and ripped a grenade off his bandolier to jam in the weapon's chamber.

 

When his flight finally put him through the smoke cloud, he had his grenade launcher extended before him, his free hand rapidly turning a dial to try to calibrate his shot up by what he saw and what he remembered from his thermal view. He only had one shot for the time being, so he needed to make it perfect. When he pulled the trigger a small grenade with a red stripe on the side arced gracefully, exploding far above their heads into a nebulous cloud of flaming jelly, set to rain down on them from above.

 

Meanwhile, Fox let himself fall back down into the visual cover of his ever-expanding smoke cloud. In moments it would encompass the whole room. His HUD's thermal scan reactivated, but the rest of the system was still bogged down with the repair protocol. He let his grenade mortar fall to his side, gripping his trusted rifle once more. With his targeting computer still offline, he set his rifle to burst fire and began to fire at the Jedi. Volleys of the spray styled blasts began to fly in groups of three, the trajectory changing as fox strafed steadily through his cloud of cover.

 

The Jedi had proved resilient, but so far relatively harmless. He would continue to play it defensively as he had studying carefully the enemy's maneuvers, and when the break in their defense opened--he would strike.

 

((2))

[Ary the Grey]

((I can't post until thursday night, Going on a field training exercise. IE just ate a beautifully large post I wrote, and it's far too late and I'm too pissed off to start again. Just remove me from the duel. Null my last post. Sorry to OK and KR both... ))

[ObliviousKnight]

Aryian, take cover!

 

The second the Mandalorian bounty hunter ignited his graviton pack and took flight, I shouted out that silent compulsion to my husband. Height was going to give this bounty hunter a tremendous advantage in using grenades, as the height advantage would allow the shrapnel that resulted from the grenades to rain down directly onto our heads. Fortunately, such cover was plentiful in the hangar, even after his freighter had visited it with its particularly effective brand of explosive mass-murder.

 

Very fortunate, then, that I was already ducking beneath the burned wreck of half of what used to be a Lambda-class shuttle. Even still, the Force shouted a word of warning, and the air around my body suddenly began to heat to the point of burning. Reaching into the Force, I wrenched down the wing of the destroyed shuttle and summoned a physical barrier around my extremities, only just in time so to erect a serviceable shield against a wave of the superheated gel.

 

Napalm!? I cursed to myself as flecks of the burning gel caught the hem of my robe and droplets that splattered from the wing struck the edges of my sleeves, setting the white cloth ablaze in an instant. Shrugging out of it before the flames could spread up my legs and onto the torso of the garment, I simply sacrificed it to the flames and let it burn to cinders.

 

I could only hope that Aryian had managed to reach cover, but”¦ I mentally cursed. His presence had suddenly withdrawn from our bond, and not willingly; somehow, he'd lost consciousness in the last heartbeat. Again, I hoped that this was only a source of embarrassment, not of grief. Maybe he'd managed to take cover outside the expanding cloud of poisonous gas. Maybe, just maybe, the tremendous heat rising from the thin layer of burning jelly had rendered the poison ineffective””I was no expert on such matters, but maybe this toxin was among the many poisonous chemicals that readily decomposed in elevated heat.

 

All I could do for my husband, unfortunately, was hope.

 

That bounty hunter, on the other hand, was a completely different story.

 

Perhaps he thought that because my physical eyes had been blinded by smoke, from both the grenade and the burning napalm, I couldn't find him. That was his loss, and my gain””any half-competent Jedi was trained to fight with more than their physical body, and rely on more than their cruder senses. As far as I was concerned, this man was just a glowing beacon of remarkably calm violence and Mando determination..

 

In the next few seconds, a lot of things went flying.

 

I reached down to my belt and gripped the machined hilt of my lightwhip. With a single, swift slash of my arm, I ignited the slender, silver blade and sliced through the joint of the wing that had so recently saved me from the napalm grenade. Before it had an opportunity to fall free, I grasped it in a steady winch in the Force.

 

Then we went flying. I charged the bounty hunter, holding the wing section in front of me with the Force to absorb the repeated sprays of fire from his blaster. Gritting my teeth, I took aim and hurled my shield at the armored hunter's head. Certain that he would see that hopelessly obvious attack coming and possibly dodge it in time to save his worthless carcass from an anticlimactic end, I whipped the hilt of my lightwhip about in a wide arc, so that the slender strands would wrap around his knees and bring him to his feet””or possibly sever his legs off at the knee, if the lightsaber blade penetrated his armor.

 

I was done playing by his rules, done with the random skirmish that caused us to skitter about the hangar like a pair of hyperactive children playing at war. It was time to demonstrate how I fought””overbearing, brutal, without any pretense of mercy or even civilization. It was just as well that my husband had fallen unconscious; I didn't want him to see me at my worst, when I was most determined to hurt and maim and kill.

 

((And that makes two.))

[Jidai Geki]

*The Lich re-enters realspace, her presence there cloaked almost immediately by the array of electronics designed specifically to mask her from the prying eyes of the Jedi. Her pilot follows suit, shrinking his presence in the Force until he is virtually invisible, and begins the descent down onto the surface of the planet below.

 

Unfortunately for Geki, masking his presence in the Force goes both ways; he is unable to survey the situation below, and this must wait until he has reached the surface.

 

The Lich pulls into the atmosphere, licks of flame coursing from her hull, and continues the descent...*

[BLACK1]

Pain rang through Black's skull as he awoke. And everything was bright, so bright. He sat up reflexively, his head spinning from the slight over exertion.

 

I'm clothed, my head hurts, and I'm not covered in goo. Guess that means they didn't kill me.

 

He checked himself over. Nothing else was wrong with him. Just a terrible headache. He reached for his cigarettes, only to find they were missing.

 

Oh Christ, not those.

 

He stood up, swaying slightly.

 

"Hey! Motha' Fragga's! I want my gawd damn cigarettes! And I want to see Commander Kyrie. Now!"

[Cerulean Fox]

Almost there...

 

Fox's helmet was close to regaining full functionality, something he was stalling until he could regain. As the Jedi approached, he loosed his grip on the rifle. His gloved fingers clamped down on the hilt of his Sith Sword, sure that he'd need it soon. The Light whip was far more intimidating than even a normal lightsaber, given the extreme difficulty of predicting its attack.

 

Almost there...

 

Dropping his rifle, Fox threw his arm in the path of the Lambda Wing, letting it nearly shatter his elbow in an attempt to protect his head. When the whip's wide arc reached Fox, it was cut short by the relatively sloppy but effective placement of his Sith Sword in its path, forcing it to wrap around his own weapon and reduce the injury it was to cause to a deep slash in his calf. It was a painful and costly wound, but it was more than an effective tradeoff to losing the entire leg.

 

It's away!

 

The Jedi had failed to count on many things. Fox knew all along that his best bet was to evade hand to hand combat, as he wasn't prepared to defeat a Jedi with naught but his Sith Sword. After all, ranged warfare was his specialty. Fox had dropped the gas grenades to make it difficult to strike at close range. He had sealed off the hangar so they couldn't summon their ships. He had fired a fire grenade at them to force them out of cover. He had taken it slow, shot by shot, trying to wear down both their defense and their expectations until this one moment. Using a line of sight transmission from his freshly rebooted helmet, he ordered the Foxbite, which held the core of a Basilisk Wardroid and had, indeed, never left view, to destroy the Jedi. In moments, it would become very clear that they had drastically underestimated his strategy.

 

Fox's Graviton pack rocketed him upward and away from the Jedi, taking his sword from the loose grasp of the lightwhip.

 

In an instant the six chainguns that had lined up on their target and began unloading a storm of lead in the direction of the Jedi. Danger sense couldn't give her the time to stop the instantaneous storm of bullets that began soaking her position: six guns a piece were taking randomized sprays to cover not only their location, but nearly every inch of space they had around them to try to evade. The growl of the Wardroid was muffled only by the thunderous sound of the chain guns pouring bullets into his bounty.

 

Fox hovered high above the Jedi with his sword in one hand and his disruptor pistol drawn in the other, watching for the Jedi to make her move, and fully prepared to finish her should she escape from the trap she'd walked into...

 

((3, contact Chad when you're done))

[Ariane]

"Commander Kyrie, your prisoner wants to see you."

 

Damn, I guess I didn't kick him hard enough. Ariane had finished patching up her small wounds and had been planning to see the Admiral about further orders as to this situation--her prisoner had killed an Alliance soldier, after all.

 

She headed down with her NPC to the blocks and leaned against the wall, examining her roughed up prisoner with critical black eyes.

 

"Heya, Ki. Looks like our date plans got a bit sped up," she remarked unprofessionally. "But think of this as spending the night with me, hey? Officially, you're the prisoner of the Alliance until someone higher than me says otherwise. Shall we talk?"

[Jidai Geki]

*Geki lands on the surface and, for a brief moment, allows the Force to flood his mind again. Nothing. The Jedi must still be in orbit.

 

Cursing his mistake, Geki starts back into space, heading this time for a craft he recognises all to easily: the Sword of Justice. His craft and Force presence cloaked once more, the Lich streaks towards the docking bay of the massive vessel...*

[BLACK1]

Ariane's lack toward seriousness of the situation eased Black a little, but just to the point of avoiding the gratuitous swearing.

 

Yes we can talk. Now, I understand taking my weapons, armor, trinkets, devices, and anything else I may use for an escape, but my smokes?!?!? Come on.

 

Anxiety caused him to run his hands through his hair as he turned and walked back to the prison standard cot that barely suited his needs. He sat down, sighing heavily. He didn't mind being held prisoner, especially in republic control. He had been on this side of the laser door many times and as far as he could tell, this was the best. On the other hand, he had things he had to do. Being imprisoned tended to slow down your work. He looked up, finding himself staring into the commander's eyes.

 

Look, can we just get the interrogation under way? The sooner you find out who I am and who I work for, the sooner I'll be set free, and the sooner I get a stiff drink and a cigarette.

 

Calm down. Now is not the time to loose your head and start demanding things. Besides, you're alone in the cell with her. Conjugal visits may apply.

 

Unless, of course, you'd rather send your guards away and punish me properly?

 

He smiled as he leaned back in the cot, grateful he managed to avoid killing her, regardless of the current state it put him in.

[ObliviousKnight]

Oh, fierfek.

 

At least, that's what I would have thought, if I was not already in motion and in great danger of being ripped to shreds by a swift burst of unrelenting gatling gun fire. Several factors were pertinent here: the precise placement of the guns on the hull of the MC-18 freighter; the seemingly random layout of the characteristic white bulges of Mon Calamari engineering, which would determine the firing arcs of each turret; the caliber, muzzle velocity, and accuracy of each cannon.

 

My plan was a little more direct though.

 

In essence, it was as follows: get the hell out of the way.

 

I immediately flipped to one side of the vessel, trying to minimize the number of turrets that could maintain constant fire at any second. Too late; although it saved my face from being thoroughly punctured by approximately twenty rounds traveling at somewhere above the speed of sound, my flight carried my torso directly into the line of fire from another of the turrets. I considered it a miracle that the breastplate I now wore held under the withering flood of fire, but that didn't stop the force of each impact as each round flattened against the plate from hurting.

 

I was going to have a spectacular row of livid bruises beneath my rib cage, if I lived through this, to say nothing of the bones that I felt cracking under the barrage.

 

Although the impacts hammered heavily on my body, their considerable momentum had the side effect of driving my flip into a crazed flight away from the ship. I struggled to control my flight, reaching into the Force to adjust my trajectory and rotation with minute adjustments. Occasionally, I felt””vaguely, as I was a bit beyond feeling at the moment””bullets rip through my pants, occasionally grazing the unprotected flesh of my legs, sometimes landing a lucky strike against my protected torso that drove my flight into further confusion, sometimes skimming over the skin of my arms and face and leaving bloody but relatively harmless streaks where they passed.

 

When I finally landed, however, I was in my element. I'd long trained to make use of my agility and ability to increase my speed with the Force, and now”¦ that freighter might as well have been firing tracers, their paths blazed so brightly in the Force. As cleanly as I might have dodged each shot from the few turrets that I allowed to fire upon me, though, it was a losing battle””eventually, I would make a mistake, or slow down, and my existence would be wiped from the galaxy in one bloody burst of fire.

 

The Machine Spirit”¦ trust the Force, for once in your life!

 

I'd always believed that machines possessed a certain spirituality””maybe even analogous to sentient souls. However, I had only begun to believe that their spirits were tied to the Force just as mortal beings. Surely, what Lachelle was suggesting was impossible””to Mind Trick a ship, made of steel flesh and electric nerves?

 

Trust the Force, before you die for your pride!

 

Having little choice, I obeyed my ancestor's exhortations. I simply slipped away, giving my body and mind to the whims of the Force, joining with its turbulent currents. Thought slipped away. Pride evaporated. Fear became an unpleasant, fading memory, somewhat like waking up from a frightful dream.

 

No more pain.

 

No more me.

 

Just we.

 

It was simultaneously one of the most exhilarating and terrifying experiences I'd been through since I joined the Jedi. As the Force took hold of my limbs and replaced my physical senses, I might have noticed tears running down my face, salt stinging against the open cuts on my face.

 

I felt myself fly into a roll along the floor of the hangar, a narrow miss shaving away an inch of my hair. As I rolled, I looked beyond the burning traces of chain gun fire and directly into the heart of the bounty hunter's ship, bound to the Mandalorian by commitment and the technology within its hardware and the Mandalorian helmet. It was all part of the Unifying Force, just like any living creature. It was just”¦ different, that was all.

 

This also made it similarly vulnerable to the Force. Staring into its thrumming heart as the turrets gradually refocused on my body, I willed it to peace.

 

She's dead now. Target eliminated””good work, treat yourself to some maintenance.

 

With a definite air of anticlimax, the hammering thunder of the turrets subsided into silence. The gunship seemed almost satisfied, as though a machine was capable was such a self-congratulatory emotion. Its mission had been completed, and I had not merely been killed””I had been so thoroughly riddled with bullets that my flesh had evaporated into gory nothingness. Nothing remained of my mortal body save for an incoherent, undetectable cloud of rapidly expanding molecules.

 

After the nonstop barrage of high-caliber bullets, the silence was deafening.

 

My only reaction to this was to return to my feet and indulged myself in a deep breath of the adulterated air. The toxins were all but harmless to me now; I'd so thoroughly immersed myself in the Force that it was difficult to discern where my flesh and thought processes ended and the Force began. I was the Force, and the Force was me; it would see to it that I made it through this fight until its end.

 

Dropping my pistol, I fished a pair of unremarkable crystals from my belt and held them between my fingers before infusing them with a fraction of the power that I now enjoyed. They immediately came to life, burning with a sudden life and chittering madly, searching for the target that threatened their holder. There was only one sentient in this hangar who wished me harm, and they immediately shot away from my left hand with an incoherent babble of sound. Swiftly, they closed in on the hovering bounty hunter like tiny, armor-piercing missiles, bent on ramming straight through the Mandalorian plate, until either they or their target stopped moving.

 

End game.

 

((Even if I lose, thank you for finally giving me a reason to use the advanced Guardian and Ace powers. Three.))

[Gren Sairdonga]

Twelve E-Wings popped out of hyperspace on the edge of the battle. The man who was Gren Sairdonga flying in the lead fighter. Still uncomfortable. Feeling like he was occupying the body of someone else. But at the sight of the sprawling dogfights and capital ship duels he felt a thrill of excitement... His remaining human body parts twitching in anticipation of something his mind didn't remember.

 

Activating his com he contacted Colan.

 

"So which one of these bigwig battleships am I trying to get a line on?"

 

Colans reply came in the fractured and distorted buzz well known and loved by Alliance pilots.

 

"The Sword Of Justice. It's the big Star Destroyer not getting smacked around by Mon Cal Cruisers-

 

Flash

 

A battlescarred E-Wing descended into the main hangar of an equally battlescarred Mon Cal cruiser. The name Justicar emblazoned on the hull. Squadron's of fighters... Many missing companions were landing whilst hangar crews desperately refueled and rearmed them for the waiting Imperial threat.

 

Flash

 

-, it has the Alliance insignia on the hull. The Admiral'll be on that one."

 

Nodding the man who was Gren patched a channel through to the Sword Of Justice.

 

"Sword of Justice this is Commander Sairdonga. Where do you want me?"

 

It still felt like he was stealing someone elses life... But at least he wasn't lost without any clue whtsoever...