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Nar Shaddaa - Rebel Alliance Headquarters


Raven Nasra

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The entire ride to the moon made the shard more and more excited. All this action, all this eventfulness,all this chaos… it was nothing like the time before ascension. Back then there were no changes. Nothing different. Nothing new. Just oblivion. 

 

Even as the Linnorms fear began to overtake, and even a little bit of his master, Solus’ spirit continued to soar, unlike the descending and crashing shuttle. The vomit that covered the floor, the rushing of wind outside, the blurring image of an enlarging landscape; all of these things flooded the Shard’s senses. Even his mind, as complex and fast as it was, could not comprehend all that was happening so rapidly.  

 

This…

 

This was heaven if heaven ever existed. Nothing but change. Nothing but chaos.   

 

Solus continued to laugh all the way, down to the moment that the ship crashed into the pad and skidded to a stop. Like the pilot, Solus and Tear were thrown from the shuttle, but had narrowly missed the pole.  

 

Solus picked himself up. Still chuckling, he glanced around. 

 

“Well, I wonder if that was a good landing or not? Do you wonder Tear?”

 

Tear, either temporarily deafened or plainly ignorant, didn’t answer. The hound, while bloodied, didn’t seem to be in much pain. The darkside was worming its way on the moon, and already its energy was flowing into the Hound’s joints, healing it rapidly. These same energies allowed Solus to help train and tend the beast on Korriban when its front legs where completely shattered. 

 

However, if Solus was bad at one thing, it was teaching obedience and discipline, as Tear suddenly took off deeper into the cityscape.

 

 

"Hey! Stop! Get back here you stupid...!"

 

Solus, without thinking, took off after the hound. Perhaps it was a mixture of being high from the excitement, or perhaps the hound knew something Solus did not. Either way, Solus took off, leaving Akheron to his methods. Besides, Solus felt like he could easily find his way back to his master.

 

The hound was harder to catch then first believed. While still relatively small, It had certainly grown to the size of a small pony. It’s senses were beyond what they once were when Solus had discovered the beast.  It could smell blood. Fresh blood. 

 

Young Blood. 

 

Past prefabricated buildings, down worn-down streets, the slobbering hound and the Robotic Shard ran, looking like some kind of exotic protocol droid chasing after an escaped exotic pet. Despite the choices of some people who were hiding in their homes instead of evacuating, Tear ignored them. His glowing red eyes were focused completely ahead. His nose had gotten the scent. The smell was too overpowering. The smell of younglings. The tenderest of all meats.  

 

Solus laughed a bit as he chased after the hound. He knew Tear had been getting anxious for death. Ever since Aaris, the hound had been antsy, missing such a delectable feast. He had only himself to blame. 

 

“There there Tear…” Solus commented, catching up with the now sitting hound. Before it, a run down building stood apart from the ones nearby. It was practically a hovel in the Shard’s eyes. Solus focused on his Hound. Perhaps he had trained it enough to know not to charge blindly without permission. 

 

Solus gave a sigh and patted Tear's still growing horns. “Yes yes, go on, get your snack. Then it's back to master”  Solus gave a gesture towards the building. 

 

Tear gave out a long, savage, blood curdling howl. Its hunting call echoed down the streets like a ghost. Any innocent soul who hid themselves and heard it recognized it in their soul. It was the sound of a predator. The sound of a hunt beginning. The Fanged God’s greeting personified. 

 

With this done, Tear charged and smashed through a front window and began to sniff the building out. 

 

Solus watched after  kicking a piece of a metal sign that read LITTLE REBELS ORPHANAGE aside. Somewhere inside, younglings were hiding. Perhaps they were hidden in a basement, or an attic room. Tear would no doubt tear the place apart until it found the succulent snacks. Until then, Solus would wait. 
 

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Even as the rays shone down, the Neti humanoid stirred, his consciousness pricked. Across the intermingling web of lives across the universe a singularity seemed to coalesce upon the very planet he was rooted to. With a flutter across his deeply lined face, Frond’s eyes opened. He inhaled, a dark wave was surging beyond sight in the skies above, a surge building into what could be a tidal wave of destruction if it was not broken upon the reef of goodness.

 

Slowly Frond righted himself from the seat he had taken in the sun. He could feel the gold and silver tendrils of the force criss-crossed across the world; the familiar Jedi and local religious leaders, the untrained carriers of life beyond the mortal coil; and newly added destructive vibrations of the Sith lords and leaders bearing down upon this world. The prophecy was being fulfilled and Frond carried by his visions stood ready to be the breaker upon which the dark tide surged. It had been so written upon the fabrics of time.

 

With a shuffling gait that did not belay any sense of urgency even as the world about him began to react viscerally to looming battle, Frond meandered away from his perch in the plaza. Back into the winding dusty roads and skyscrapers that reached into the sky like spindly gnarled fingers, Frond wandered. He found himself about the very same orphanage he and the Queen of the Naboo had visited before. The doors and windows were still boarded up, the squat structure overshadowed by the world around it.

 

Resuming his form, a large willowy tree loomed up beside the home for parentless children. His black leaves rustled in the winds generated by the shimmering force and he sat, unmoving in his anchored position until a dark swirl of chaos broke from the growing storm and moved like a snowflake tossed on the wind until it settled here, in front of the sanctuary of children.

 

The tree’s viney limbs shivered in response, his mind reaching out on the force, a wordless presence, a warning that portrayed a hedge of protection about the orphanage. Any who dared enter was promised sacred retribution and profane deliverance. It was an electricity in the air that surged to touch and repel any would be intruders. As the canine entered the home, the Neti’s mind reached out and sought to ensnare that of the simple beast, to enshroud it in fog and to drive it back. This place was sacred ground.
 

@Solus

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Within the mangled wreckage of starship armor and permecrete a Sith Lord walked, hobnail boots kicking sparks from the fractured flagstones. The Greatsword, Bloodletter seemed to shift and morph as an oily black shadow within his large hands, its flamelike edge slipping through the flesh of a defending trooper, lifeblood seeming to flow through it like ruptured dam. There had been relatively few defenders in the upper levels of the tower who had survived the shuttle’s impact, and those that had were little more now than mangled heaps of armor-adorned flesh. It stank of spilled blood and discharged Tibanna-gas. The air, which had festered blood-warm and stagnate seemed to take on a freshness, and the Sith Lord turned to meet the one that had come.

 

A Keshari, one whose scent dripped with equal parts the fragrance of one strong in the Force and that intoxicating odor of youthful beauty. Sulpheric-yellow eyes leered down at the girl, seeming to glow amongst the whisping curls of black smoke, highlighted by arcing sparks from cut wires. Blackmorne could imagine her small form, free of its armor, lithe and squirming in a pool of her own crimson lifeblood. The contrast of that purplish flesh growing paler, the resistance fading, the panic raising her cries to shrieks. The edge of his mouth curled slightly in a cruel smile before the edges set into a dark grimace. His Sith-Sword stirred in the shadows, its awakened voice mocking and heartless

 

A small, delightful thing…

 

The heat of passion seemed to cool as the Sith Lord reached past his baser passions to set himself into the sadistic ice of a soul bereft of any feeling. Lust had been the undoing of far too many Dark Lords. The air itself seemed to chill as the Dark Side twisted internally, the warrior drawing his feelings and presence into himself. He took her in, the small Jedi beneath him. A pair of lightsabers, held in the inferior reverse-grip, Imperial armor, grenades. He had killed this type of Jedi before. The Rhythm of battle always pounded the same with these, as was the momentum. The Sith Lord’s deep voice ground out from clenched teeth

 

“Sen-tin-el…”

 

The cold air turned frigid, the blood beneath the Sith’s boots beginning to turn to slush. Blackmorne’s mind focused sharply upon the diminutive Jedi, the rest of the world falling away to embittered numbness. He stepped forward, and the ice about his boots shattered with an earsplitting crack. He fell from the smoke-curled heavens towards that Jedi like a star of darkness filled with immortal hate. Bloodletter, that fell, awakened Sith sword, seemed to draw its strength from the Sith who wielded it, its edge encrusting itself with shards of crimson frost as it was drawn into a high guard.

 

The Warrior brought the greatsword in a sweeping arc to match his descent, his muscles straining from the effort, all its cruel malevolence brought into a cut that would enter the left of Jedi’s neck and exit through her right hip. The Lamellar armor that bound his body squealed in resistance, micro-shards of ice cracking and shattering. There was little time in the rhythm of war to allow the bantering monologues of other Sith. Momentum was all. He would have plenty of time with her corpse once the planet was won.

 

((1))

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Death is No Escape

 

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A pang of grief washed through Aidan as the Force whispered soft melody in his ear, bidding him to avoid the fate the others were sealed to. His eyes fluttered closed as he was in the middle of receiving his brief from the officer in charge. There was no time to consider the man's protest as Aidan crouched low, dipping into the Force as his legs recoiled him impossibly high into the air. Below him unfolded a cacophony of fire, smoke, blood, and death. A split second later, and Aidan would have been pulverized just like the rest of the personnel on the landing platform from the shuttle's impact. He knew what was here, and he knew he wasn't lucky enough to have the threat that now stalked him simply die in the crash. Controlling his descent was another simple application of the Force, but what he hadn't anticipated was being blown off his intended course by the winds above the surrounding structures. He landed nearly a hundred meters away from the pad, but his eyes trained intently on the wreckage as soon as they were able.

 

The Sith squeezed from a gash in the shuttle's hull like a viscous poison dripping down the edge of a knife. Had Aidan been closer, he may have been able to make use of the element of surprise, but dwelling on it now was meaningless. As they slowly approached at distance, sizing each other up, the Sith began to speak. Monologuing, really, but Aidan let him talk. It gave the Imperial Knight precious time to think and strategize. Still, in the back of his mind he knew no strategy in the universe would be as strong as the Force against a foe such as this. As the Sith finally made his offer, Aidan let the silence hang in the air a moment before replying. He could do him the favor of humoring him, at the least.

 

"You come to our homes as conquerors and invaders. You pillage and murder indiscriminately. You treat your own as dogs on a taut leash. What kind of a choice is that? What kind of cruel irony has fate twisted upon you to believe even in the slightest that any of us would be willingly inclined to such an offer? No... you made the choice in coming here—and you can still choose to leave, but that window of opportunity is closing quickly. Yet, I get the feeling that's not going to happen. I wonder what exactly will."

 

Slowly, deliberately, Aidan reached down and grabbed his saber hilt in hand, and began steadily walking toward the Sith. His senses bristled, his eyes locked on his foe.

 


The Force sang.

Edited by Aidan Darkfire
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The Chassis of Solus tilted its head as Tear suddenly seemed to stumble around inside the little orphanage.

 

“Tear? What is the matter?” The Shard asked, taking a step forward towards the broken window. “Are you ok?”

 

Tear suddenly bolted out of the building, crashing into the street and dragging its head on the ground. Nearly shoving Solus off his feet, the hound was not in pain but some form of fierce  confusion. Snarling, panting, whining, and growling, the hound acted as if it was possessed. 

 

Solus watched for a moment then focused back on the building. A few steps closer to investigate, the Shard stopped, hand outreached for the door. 

 

“Well…thats…different…” Solus muttered and turned. With his face turning and looking around, it appeared the robot-like being was looking for something. 

 

“I…sense that there is something…” Solus took a few steps away from the doorway, hand feeling forward like a blind man.

 

“I can…see your presence…” Solus continued. “It's different than what I'm used to. Your shapes…they are brighter than my master. They are singing softly. Like a lullabye. Or a hymn. They are in harmony. They are…quite beautiful.”

 

The shard’s other hand clenched into a fist as a flash of envy surged from the being. Now, he faced where the tree stood, with outstretched hand returning to a position closer to his saber. 

 

“You have no right to such a thing.” Solus' voice rose in volume, betraying his emotions. “Show yourself now!”

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((For @MSA))

 

“For my part: Aidan, twenty-three years and eleven months; stuffed thranta; and… I think he’s a little more like his father. And a Dantooinian plains flu. Thank The Force for grandparents.” For a instant, Armiena smiled–an actual smile, untouched by the grimness of war and the distant tremors of sapients dying thousands of kilometers above them. Then the cranium-piercing whine of repulsorlifts being tested caused her to wince and her facial scars to twist and wrinkle. “The things that we do for love.”

 

“For my part: Aidan, twenty-years old and eleven months; stuffed thranta; and… I think he takes after his father a bit more than me. And a Dantooinian plans flu. Thank the Force for grandparents.” For an instant, Armiena smiled–an actual smile, untouched by the trauma of war and the distant tremors of sapients dying thousands of kilometers above them. Then the cranium-piercing whine of repulsorlifts being being brought online caused her wince and her facial scars to twist into a grotesque spiderweb of lines. “The things that we do for love.”

 

“I’ve no information of your activities until now, but I can tell you that this is a matter of survival, the best chance that this galaxy has at a government that doesn’t treat its people like things. If Kakuto Ryu were to walk through those doors there and offer his assistance… I’d at least point him towards the front.”

 

The veteran Jedi placed the lukewarm cup of caf on her starfighter’s wing and squinted towards the unfamiliar Force-Sensitive. There was a familiar stain that was lingering about his presence… “You were near my old Padawan not too long ago, weren’t you? Genesis Stormhelm?”

 

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The hanging viney limbs of the tree rustled within an invisible wind. The wizened Neti heard the being’s voice, felt his conflicted passions. This was no ordinary droid sent on a mission of carnage from it’s master, to leash the dog that now ground it’s face in the dirt-packed road as if that would appease his conundrum. To Frond, this was a soul borne forth upon a skeletal deception, as unnatural as the conflict and confusion that radiated from it’s chest. The crystal seemed to glow as it spoke, his feelings betrayed by his own presence, his imprisoning vocabulator.

 

Frond turned the words of the crystalline being over in his mind as the ageless warrior blanketed the area in a peaceful and strong aura of protective energies. A sharp crack, as loud and sudden as a thunderclap, cut through the air as a blinding flash of yellow light erupted from the tree to cover it entirely. It was as sudden as it was brief, an erupting whirlwind that twisted upwards into the sky, before it returned to the ancient calm that permeated the area in a soothing warmth.

 

Where the tree had been now stood a twisted and ancient humanoid. Its feet were planted firmly in the churned dirt and dust connecting it to the world and her inhabitants. He could feelnevery true soul, every life worth living, every life worth protecting. Nearly three meters tall and wrapped in a cloak of shimmering black leaves the ancient present manifested itself as a focal point in the glowing energized peace of the protective hedge of the force that covered the orphanage, plaza, and beyond like a creeping vine.  He gazed in curious fascination upon the metallic form as it stepped from the shadows of the building.

 

Extending a hand from the cloak of viness and leaves that grew from and as part of his humanoid form, Frond motioned to the world around them, to the orphanage and then the sky, “Flowers in the heat.” He spoke of the beauty of the innocence before the surge of the Sith forces and the hellfire they bore before them with few words, but his deep playful voice carried the wisdom of the ages on it. “Bloom in the waters of peace.” The peace of the force pressed outwards against the darkness that tried to invade the world about them.
 

The young and their wars. Fighting over this material plane like it was a prize.
 

Regarding the cocooned being shrouded in a prison of metal, Frond slowly and deliberately shook his head. He had so much to learn and a lifetime with which to be taught. He just needed to be offered a hand, to be shown a world beyond the dogmas he was ensnared within. “Drink.” Frond turned his extended hand towards Solus, palm up, viney fingers reaching for the darkness-shrouded creature inviting him to step further into the light of the sun and out of the grasp of evil. “from the garden.” A warm lopsided smile creased the deeply wrinkled barky face of the tree-being.  His body was open and welcoming. He hoped that the Shard would take him up on the offer. The imbalance threatened by the convergence of darkness needed rebalanced lest it fall too far to be redeemed and the souls of the cosmos be wrought. To bring another from the starless inky night into the glittering light of day would do more to right the scales than it would be to strike him down. If the young stone could be shown the truth, Frond would have found a fellow sojourner towards the truth.
 

Yet, this Shard had much to learn, to give up the shackles of this mortal existence. As open and inviting as he was, his intentions pure, Frond was prepared to rend the manacles that the Sith had placed on the young spirit of power before him. Resting within his wrist beneath his cloak, Velvueti, the redeemed Sith saber sat, a coiled cleaver cobra ready to strike in a whirlwind moment.

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Akheron couldn't help but laugh beneath his mask, loud enough that the young Imperial Knight before him could hear. How naive were his thoughts and how little he knew or so the Sith Warrior believed. As with many Jedi and those affiliated with them he spouted the same hypocritical nonsense, accusing him and the Sith with a barbed tongue, like venom from a viper.

 

As the Imperial approached, Akheron instinctively held his saber in his right hand, ready to pounce should he advance further. He wasn't fearful, it was more caution. He sensed out in the force trying to get a feeling for his would be opponent if he continued to resist and persist with a accusing finger.

 

"That's far enough. You know that is funny coming from a Jedi outcast and that you think there is a choice. There is never a choice just the illusion of it. You have no idea how hypocritical you sound. Your hands and those of the Jedi and your allies are hardly clean, the blood of many coats your hands too, it cannot be denied. An eye for an eye Imperial... this is not murder, it is justice and equal vengeance. No-one is innocent. We do not forgive or forget, not like you. This is the price paid, a blood debt for the blood your kind and the Jedi have spilt for decades. Ziost will be avenged, Kuat will be avenged...need I continue the list. The Fanged God will have his due and this planet shall be purged, forfeiting the souls of the condemned to be devoured. You cannot stop the tied of Darkness young Imperial Knight, you cannot escape fate. 

 

You insult a path of learning with no understanding. One must first be broken if they are to remade, stronger, capable of surviving a unforgiving galaxy. While you reject the outcasts, those refused by society we welcome them. While you refuse knowledge of how to bring life from death, we welcome it. To face the deepest Darkness in the void and become one with it. Only the strong survive, this is the eternal law of the universe and we accept that as part of us. Accept that and there is redemption for you also, refuse and there is no return. Yet I also wonder, what will happen. Regardless of this it appears unlikely we shall agree, thus the dice have already been cast, the bell rung.

 

I can see it in your eyes, sense it within you...you will never accept the truth I speak. A pity, but fear not even in death your soul will not go unwasted. Krath Inmortos would love a soul such as yours. A memento of this world from a friend and I will at least honour you with a quick death if you prove worthy of such. Come, let us see who shall survive this night, who will succumb first. The Light or the Darkness. I allow you the honour of first strike young Imperial Knight, let us see who's soul shall feed the Fanged God."

 

Igniting his saber, Akheron knew it had begun. 

 

((First post goes to you Aiden))

https://jedirp.net/topic/4851-trodai-narat-iv-adas-darth-akheron/

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 "Only in my pain, did I find my will. Only in my chaos, did I learn to be still. Only in my fear, did I find my might. Only in my darkness, did I see my light." - Darth Akheron

 

I survived the Great JNet Outage of 2012

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((1))

 

There were no words, no grandiose speech. A battlefield was no place for oration.

 

Aidan took decisive step. And then another, more quickly. In the blink of an eye he was practically at a sprint, closing the distance between them in short order. His unignited hilt remained in his hand but the Force surged through him as he moved to block the obvious opening defense with quick telekinetic barriers. Instead of engaging the Sith saber-to-saber, Aidan reserved his hilt, lashing out and igniting the leading blade at the last second, and deactivating it just as quickly. Four strikes total in rapid succession interspersed with staccato Force barriers and Aidan disengaged from the extreme close range, bringing him back into a guard as he slowly circled back around, surveying the results. Aidan didn't expect this Sith to go down that easily, few did, but he knew there was an edge here. 

 

This was a simple battle with a singular outcome for him: survive. The quickest way to achieve that objective was to eliminate his opponent, and Aidan knew if he could keep the Sith from anticipating where his attacks were coming from, he had a chance. But for now, this part of the dance was a mere introduction.

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When the tree-thing emerged and became its more humanoid form, Solus was forced to take a step back. Even as unique as his own being was, Solus couldn’t help but admire the creature slightly. To have multiple forms to switch between. To be an immobile object one moment, and then a humanoid form the next…

 

Again, another flash of envy. 

 

One focus at a time Solus reminded himself as the being spoke. 

 

“Flowers in the heat.” it said, gesturing to the world around it. Solus nodded to these words. While he wasn’t too familiar with speech that dealt in metaphors, he understood what the tree meant. The battle that was raging nearby. The Sith invasion was no doubt the heat the tree referred to. 

 

“Bloom in the waters of peace.” was a little harder to understand. If Solus was correct, the tree was indicating the Sith were in the wrong? No that wasn’t right…after all, the Sith served the Fanged God, and Death remembers all, so how could that be wrong? Whatever, it didn't matter.

 

“Drink. From the garden” the tree finished, hand and smile extended. 

 

After a brief pause of silence, Solus’ face shifted. His ‘eyes’ now turned into a glowing glare at the thing's hand.

 

“And why would I do that?” Solus started, taking a few steps back towards the street where his hound was beginning to recover from its fog-infused brain. “I said your presence was beautiful, but not desirable. My master’s presence is stronger and purer than yours, as will be mine. After all…”

 

Solus raised a hand to himself, and then a pointed finger at the tree thing. “I am the Dragon, and you are a tree. A literal man of moss. Heh, a moss-man. What could you offer me that my clan could not? An orphanage to protect? Protect from what? Death?” 

 

Solus turned his head back slightly, as if to imitate laughter. “Ha! Death remembers all. So I ask again, Mossman, why would I do a thing like that?” 

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Frond’s smile grew larger, accentuating his aged lopsided face. He stared kindly at the chassis-bound Sith as he listened to his mechanized words. They were words, Frond felt, were not his actual own. 

The distant sounds of battle seemed to fade into nothingness. The din of the city drifted into the distance as if it was a lifetime away born on the galactic winds. All that mattered was right here, in this moment. It was not this physical realm. Nothing so petty. They were two spirits about to engage in an eternal battle for the fate of the lesser. It all weighed heavily in the silence that fell about them. Frond’s welcoming hand remained extended to the Sith Apprentice as he pondered over the young stone’s querries.

 

Schvrmmmmmmm

 

the saber nestled beneath Frond’s arm slid forward into his hand, his tendrilled fingers closing gingerly about the vine-wrapped blackened steel of Veivueti as it’s deep purple blade crackled to life, extending towards the bound soul.
 

“Knowledge,” he spoke simply, an answer, in the beginning. 
 

Kwishuuuuuuu

 

A second beam of light burst forth from the Neti’s second arm; a leaf-green blade pointing outward from his body angled slightly upwards like the tail of a porcuspine ready to strike.

 

”Power,” he continued as his mind meandered in a complex foreign pattern of lifetime upon lifetime.

 

The air about the the ancient force-wielding Mindwalker crackled with energy as he sank deep into the cosmic flow of the lives that pulsated all about the planet, the fleet above, and the cosmos beyond. He could feel those in touch with the force their tendrilled powers strong and vibrant. He could feel the mere shadows of the rest as they existed bound in meaningless to one plane. Letting the tendrils of the truth flow around and through him, Frond’s ancient mind and worn body were strengthened and accelerated, given over to the force in it’s entirety. The valor of the force coursed through his sap-filled form.

 

Kvrishhhhhhhhhh 

 

a short red blade arced forward from beneath the blackened leafy robes about Frond’s chest, a third limb twisted in hiding until it exposed itself bearing a Sith-chained shoto.

 

“Correction.”

 

Frond’s smile warmed the charged air as he stood motionless, the dull thrumming of the Neti’s blades all that broke the silent heavy air about the plaza. Goodness and truth, light and shadow, all were present in the moment. Frond’s answers were simple and yet what was left unspoken sought to convey volumes of that which was and could be. The knowledge and the power of the cosmos, the correction of minds shackled and bound, led astray. 
 

Frond’s smile conveyed his open offer that still stood. His blades, another story; that he would not sit by idly while this young soul-shackled Sith threatened those who could still be reached.

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Gazes met with ire as the world around them stood still but for a moment as the Sith above was met with the stone cold gaze of the Imperial Knight Lady Tay'Lor of House Charlemagne. One silver blade in one hand, the other holding an orange blade with both held in reverse grip, Lady Tay'Lor smirked amongst its illumination as she brought both hilts to her center. So this was the Sith that had plunge her homeworld into subservience. The moment she had waited for was at hand, and his head would suffice to lay at Lady Raven's feet upon victory.

 

Focusing her breath and centering herself as the air around them grew cold and sleet began to accumulate, Tay'Lor drew upon the Force to reinforce her form. She could feel the warmth of her form resisting the bitter cold of the DarkSide as it tried to envelope her as her muscles tightened and tensed as the moment that swallowed them had come to pass. And pass it did as his guttural growl whispered upon the wind.

 

Lady Tay'Lor was no Jedi. She held no qualms with war nor with death. For it had always been a part of her life. There was no falsehoods of peace nor did she care for those who would likely die this day as collateral. No. Tay'Lor was an Imperial Knight under the banner of Lady Raven Nazra, and her will was the only path she followed. From her time in the Imperial Navy until now, her will had always been Tay'Lor's to make reality. That was her oath and that was her law. Sentinel be damned. She was an Imperial Bailiff.

 

As the Sith's charge came, Tay'Lor shifted into her stance, the orange blade to her front and the silver blade to her back. Closing her eyes, she exhaled. As the Force reinforced her form, she brought the orange blade up to meet his own and brought her right hand holding the silver blade around as a wave of energy blasted in his direction. She would not be slain so easily.

 

((1))

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For a brief moment, Scorpio saw the Armiena her knew so long ago shine through the visage of age, bringing about his own brief smile and relaxing aura briefly crossed his form. It was hard to believe that nearly two decades had passed since Manaan, the Eternal Vigilance,  and Nom Anorus. So much time, so many lifetimes. And yet, in that brief moment, it didn't feel so long ago.

 

"I was, indeed. " Scorpio spoke after a sigh as reality of the moment sank back into play, the rough of engines and lingering war awakening them. "Good kid. Rough life. Had a part of himself that he couldn't accept. Needed to see the consequences. Your mother was there as well. Stubborn, but I can see where you get it from."

 

Scorpio could barely remember his parents, only the strife he endured after their loss. He has his mother's build and his father's looks, but that's all he could remember. It brought joy to see others retain a relationship with their own for him that he rarely spoke upon. Which is likely why he took to Genesis so warmly, kindred spirits of distant pasts. "I'm glad you gave him the Rank of Knight. We need more Jedi like him. Is he well?"

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The four random ships that the Mandalorians of House Solus used came screaming into the main atmosphere of Nar Shaddaa. They were accompanied by 6 Fang Fighters and took a wide formation. Tros used his HUD to address them all. "Alright crew. Bloodlust and The Trident are to get as close in to the main Headquarters as possible. Hit the ground a fan out away from the building. Draw troops out. The Tyrant Adventure will use the chaos and land a bit further away to complete their mission. Everyone on the Swift Justice is to fan towards the docks. Fangs, provide air chaos and cover. More damage and noise, the better. We rendezvous back at the docks upon the signal and return to Almas. You know your assignments. Today is the day the galaxy will remember, Ke nu'jurkadir sha Mando'ade!" 

 

He gave Sutu a tap on the shoulder and then turned to walked back towards the main hold to lead the rest of his men onto the battlefield, when multiple responses started to flood in on his HUD. They all were the same, almost to be expected by this point. The simple phrase that now a very strong part of House Solus. Strength is life. Honor is life. Loyalty is life. Death is life. Haat, Ijaa, Haa'it. The ship was slowly powering down as he got back towards the landing ramp. All stood ready with their Westar Assault Rifles ready to go upon leaving the ship. Tros opted out for the two Westar 75 Heavy Blaster pistols gifted to him as the first test run. He'd get a chance to use the Assault rifle he was sure, but for now, it was time to let the galaxy truly know that House Solus was a different breed of Mandalorians then what they were used to getting. 

 

The door of the landing ramp opened up before the ship even touched the ground. It was go time. Tros blasted out using his jetpack and began to fire at anything that wasn't a Mandalorian. Although, he was certain that with the noise his House would be making would draw the attention of the one whom he used to follow. Terra. But that was a bridge he'd have to cross when the time came. For now, it was all about showing off House Solus. 

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To say Solus was intimidated at each lightsaber was an understatement. For the Shard, who spent a great deal of energy and ritual to craft his own, it made him wonder how much effort the tree-thing had put into crafting three. 

 

“Well…that's one way to try to convince someone…” Solus started, recovering from the instinctual steps he had taken back. 

 

Solus glanced towards the orphanage. Whatever powers the tree had, they were great. There was no doubt about that. Somehow, the tree-thing that made Tear go into an addled state. 

 

Temporary as it was Solus thought to himself as Tear, now recovered, faced the tree and began to growl. This thing was not part of the darkness. It was a subject of the light. It deserved death. It had no meat, but even branches could make decent chew toys. 

 

Solus thought for a moment.  He needed a moment. Thankfully, the meetings with the Sith had taught the Shard the value of words.

 

Solus spoke again, holding both of his hands up and open in a surrendering pose.

 

“I have a path to knowledge and power, and I’ve seen corrections before. Whatever kind of correction you have in mind I doubt my master would approve of. And honestly, what would he say if I abandoned his teachings now, like…like common dirt? If I abandoned his ways, who’s to say I wouldn’t abandon yours so easily in a cloud of dust? Now, now, now, there’s no reason to draw weapons, no need to get violent. After all, you are a jedi, correct? You aren’t blinded by hunger like Sith are, correct? A servant of the light or something like that? Or is the reason your shapes sing more harmoniously than my master’s is because they are a mixture of light and dark, like your green and red and purple blades?”

 

At this last statement, Solus refused to let the tree respond. Instead, the Shard clenched his hands into fists. Through the impossible geometries, he had focused on the dust and dirt that was between the two beings. Some of the words in his speech may have revealed his intention.

 

Solus threw his hands upward and let go. The dirt and dust between the two flew upwards violently, creating a small but blinding cloud targeted at the tree-thing. If it had eyes, Solus figured he could blind or stun it momentarily. 

 

Solus turned and ran, flicking Tear’s ear as he passed, signaling it to follow. 

 

“Get back to master. Then we’ll kill everyone” Solus commanded, loud enough for both the hound and the tree-thing to hear. There was no way the Shard would win a fair fight with this being. His victory over Innmortos had proven that much. 

 

Obediently, the Hound took off towards the presence of Akheron. Whatever plan Solus had, Tear would obey as well as he could.

 

Solus followed as well as he could in a mad sprint, wondering how the tree would try to catch him. If the tree would try to catch him. Hopefully it would take the bait and give pursuit.   

(1)

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((1))

 

The final words had been spoken and the Sith Warrior saw no further need to embellish or talk further, they both had passed that point of diplomacy. Only battle was to be had now. The Sith sighed as he stepped into position, it was a shame the Imperial Knight was so short sighted, at least he thought so, yet he would not be wasted, he would make a fine offering to the Fanged God and to the Darkness.

 

As Aiden made his first steps, Akheron stepped forwards defensively, his lightsaber held in his right hand at a reverse grip. As the young Imperial Knight before him headed into a sprint, the Sith Warrior focused within the Dark side of the Force, drawing upon his own dark thoughts to access the deepest parts where the Light could never penetrate and where compassion and mercy was nowhere to be found. What emerged was something deadly and sinister, something truly monstrous.

 

There was soon no emotion, no warmth...just a being of cold, where nothing or no-one could reach the man that once was and had been just moments ago. This was soon echoed in the very atmosphere around as where he stood dropped to freezing and ice begun to form along the ground into treacherous patches of frozen tundra. Akheron was now a being devoid of anything save a heartless calculus and a cold objectivity towards one purpose. Such was the state he had entered within his mind, such was the mental state of the Cold Mind where a warrior such as himself traded his emotions for fortitude in internal distance, hardening his or her heart against loss and forgoing the usual emotional inferno of the Sith psyche. Akheron begun moving with the mechanical efficiency associated with this particular mind state. And all was so he would hopefully bring his opponent to his doom.  

 

At first taken a little by surprise by his opponent's unorthodox approach, Akheron brought his saber up, managing barely to deflect the first strike, narrowly avoiding the second but receiving the third across his left arm as he turned, bouncing off one of the Force Barriers his enemy had dispersed in front of him, and sending him backwards slightly, forcing him adjust his footing to compensate. The strike sent a shot of pain upwards but the Sith Warrior simply shrugged it off, his current mind state numbing him to the sensations, he used them instead to further feed and fuel his focus within the Dark. Intensifying his calculating and mechanised approach.

 

Adapting quickly, Akheron likewise circled his opponent as he batted away the final strike, again bouncing off a invisible barrier. A smile gripped his lip, his eyes stared intently at Aiden, now black as midnight as the Darkness took full hold, icey and transfixed as if staring into his very soul, or through it. It was difficult to ascertain which.

 

Within moments he issued his counter offense.

 

Switching his saber to be other hand, his left one with razor fingers, Akheron made his advance, this time with caution, knowing his opponent was not to be underestimated...he would not repeat his first mistake. Indeed now he has a vague idea of the measure of the man before him. For he knew the truth of every Warrior. You did not truly know someone until you fought them. The Imperial Knight had made his introduction, now the Sith Warrior would make his. Entering a brief run, he stopped just before Aiden and struck his free hand into the ground with a Force enhanced blow, sending a trembling wave of dirt and debris forwards before him, uprooting any all in the way along it's path as the earth was shattered beneath it (Tremor Impact). The ripples forwards after the initial strike, acted like a tsunami of death that was aimed at interfering with the footing of Akheron's adversary.

 

To set him up as he would unleash a torrent of pain in the form of four short ranged telekinetic grapples aimed at bring this opponent either down or within range of his lightsaber. Known as Chwit’Jen’Itsu by any Sith Warrior familiar with the techique, they were composed of rapid joint hyperextension and lightning fast TK throws, ones that took advantage of his opponent's potential mental vulnerabilities, extreme pain and overextension of their own efforts. He hoped it was the case here that his opponent, one who appeared worthy despite his youth, had overextended his use when erecting the Force Barriers, and he had opened himself to attack by it.  

 

 

((Just to clarify for the Moderators and yourself. Akheron is currently using the Cold Mind state, in combination with the Tremor Impact as written in the Sith Warrior guide to hopefully perform a series of four TK type grapples/throws in the form of the Chwit’Jen’Itsu ability and make Aiden more vulnerable to saber strikes. ))

 

Edited by Karys Narat iv-Adas

https://jedirp.net/topic/4851-trodai-narat-iv-adas-darth-akheron/

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 "Only in my pain, did I find my will. Only in my chaos, did I learn to be still. Only in my fear, did I find my might. Only in my darkness, did I see my light." - Darth Akheron

 

I survived the Great JNet Outage of 2012

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((For @MSA))

 

“He seemed less distracted when we last met, more focused. Growing up did a lot of good for him, better than I…” Armiena’s sentence trailed off. Confessing her initial fears regarding the disappearance of her Padawan in the middle of his training seemed far too personal a subject for a Jedi that she barely knew. “Better than I managed when I was his age, for certain. He’s safer than we are. Although, if we aren’t able to slow the Sith here on Nar Shaddaa, he will soon have just as many troubles as us.”

 

Just behind the younger Jedi Knight, the sublight engines of Draygo’s interceptor whined to life and a jet of superheated plasma flared towards the armored wall of the hangar, The jet quickly receded, leaving a red-hot glow that emanated from the starfighter’s engines. One of the yellow-clad deckhands knelt under its wing, pointing towards the opened doors of the hangar and rotating one hand forward in approximation of a wheel.

 

As the starfighter inched forwards, there was a shout from the cockpit: “She’s ready for you, Grandmaster!”

 

Draygo paused in her next breath. Something seemed to set within her, an almost-imperceptible stiffening of her shoulders and an unseen compartmentalization of happier memories. “We’ll speak again later, assuming we’re both still alive at the end of the day. But I need you to understand: this battle is going to be… horrible. Urban warfare is always terrible. My objective is to ensure that the Rebel Alliance is able to keep the attention of the Sith Empire fixed on this moon for as long as possible. The Alliance must survive this initial assault. We may be stuck here for a long time.”

 

Edited by ObliviousKnight
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((2))

 

Surprise. It was the one advantage Aidan had going for him, and one he aimed to maintain. If he could just keep his opponent guessing, or better yet, lull him into a false sense of security... His thoughts were shattered by the Sith's quick surge forward, his senses prickling as his other dropped down to punch the ground. Instinctively Aidan had jumped, knowing that if his legs were compromised, he was dead, but the Force only wailed stronger in his head. It didn't take long to figure out why.

 

In the air, Aidan was perfectly primed for the telekinetic attack. Luck was the only thing that allowed him to avoid the first blow; he had turned to see his enemy instead of twisting to land properly as his enemy had telekinetically grabbed him, barely giving him the positioning and time to be able to deflect the first blow which otherwise would have bisected him. As the Sith yanked on him again, keeping the Imperial Knight airborne and pulling him into a spin, Aidan twisted out of the way of the saber as it skittered off his thigh armor, cutting a decent chunk out down near his knee. His ankle was the obvious next maneuver, and Aidan attempted to use this to his advantage, pulling into it and using his inertia to bring himself around, easily blocking the disabling blow. Too easily. Once again his mind flared with pins and needles as his opponent aerially spun him by his ankles.

 

This wasn't an inexperienced Sith, some meager Lord's apprentice. This Sith was a tactician. This was the planned endgame from when Aidan's foot first left the ground. This was the lull of overconfidence, and the price would be death. Or it would have been had the Imperial's survival instincts not kicked in at the last possible second, summoning a violent Force blast between them as the lightsaber began to dig into his side. A half second longer and the pain would have sealed his fate, but he managed to hurl himself back, impacting heavily against the wall of one of the gunnery platforms behind him.

 

Get up.

 

The air was gone from his lungs. He tried to inhale, but his body didn't want to cooperate. An inch wide stripe of cauterized flesh on his left side was now plainly visible past his plasteel armor. His head swam.

 

Get up. Now.

 

The taste of blood welled in Aidan's mouth, he'd bit the side of his tongue pretty hard when he'd impacted and from the feel of it, it probably went through part of it. He spat, some of it staining his armor and dripping down his face. Deliberately, forcefully, Aidan made himself breathe, made himself start moving his legs.

 

If you don't get up in the next three seconds, you're dead.

 

He kicked, pushing him to his side and catching himself on his left arm. Immediately after pain radiated from his side, but remembering Sandy's meditative lessons, he put it out of his mind. He had to. 

 

Two.

 

A scream. Pained, but guttural. Not rage, but effort. Power. Aidan pushed himself up, catching himself on one knee. Smoke lightly obscured much of the landing pad, but Aidan saw his opponent stirring.

 

One.

 

As he stood, Aidan pushed off into a stride; he was more concerned with meeting his opponent's threat than he was the integrity of his side. He could feel it slowly oozing, the cauterization had helped but the movement could easily reopen fresh small tears in the char plugs. Aidan needed to end this and soon, his opponent would wear him down in a prolonged engagement.

 

While he didn't break into a sprint, he did break into the same set of movements and strikes he'd used previously to lash out at the Sith, but this time on the second strike, Aidan intentionally reached out to summon a barrier meant to trip his opponent. If Aidan could fool his opponent into seeming weaker than he was, he could easily take advantage of his opponent's overconfidence, just as his foe aimed to take advantage of his...

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Sabers held at the ready, the force buzzed with power and anticipation before the brewing storm. Frond was awash in the flow of the ancient and eternal force. A being of the cosmic force, he maintained a deep a vibrant connection to the living force. He stood patiently, hoping that the young stone would accept his offer and avoid the wasted loss of life.

 

It was not to be, Frond felt a tingling in the calm aura of the force that bubbled about them. It was but a moment before the hard pack earth erupted before him, between them. Whereas many creatures would have instinctually blocked their eyes or batted fruitlessly at the assault on their ocular organs, Frond was different. He was not a creature, but a plant; and so he reacted in such a way. With the moment’s forewarning of the force, Frond closed his eyes, weapons held at the ready, relying on the force itself to see for him.

 

He had not been able to respond to the young soul, to answer him and bring him into the truth. The shackled Sith had chosen another path, the path of many deceived. And yet, he ran? Tearing away from the confrontation. Very unSithly it seemed. Frond heard the robotic cry of murder and mayhem between the droid-bound and his beast. He tasted the temptation to give pursuit and yet he remained still, his feet planted in and on the dry packed dirt. Outside their area of stillness and calm a battle raged for the chaff of the galaxy, for meaningless real estate and title. Even so, the balance of the cosmos hung in the balance. That was not for Frond to decide. Armies of faceless warriors and material sought to bring about peace through mutual destruction. That was not Frond’s place. If that was the path the Shard chose, Frond would mourn for him, a soul lost to the noise of this worthless plane.

 

However, if it was something more, as the force vibrated a warning, Frond would be prepared.

 

As the Sith and his dog disappeared and Frond’s eyes opened to the dust that hung in the heavy air, the Neti sighed. It was the sigh of an elder, exasperated  with the antics of the young, but not able to make them see their folly. As one, each of his sabers hissed to silence as they deactivated, hanging loosely in his hands as he brought them back to center. He stood within the center of the open plaza, the warm sun beating down.

 

Closing his eyes again, Frond inhaled deeply, an ancient and slow breath. Then he exhaled. H is mind focusing beyond his own form. In a whispered voice he spoke,


“There is none but the force.” Frond’s mind settled into the flowing stream of the force itself.

 

“I am but its disciple.” His mind emptied as he found a peace that transcended the chaos all about them.

 

“Those who seek to bend the force are still but vessels of its will.” Frond saw himself, a single thread in the infinite tapestry, a shimmering pinprick of light within the grand design.

 

“The will of the force will right all wrongs.” He felt his own aura, his body, his weapons, and the world about him. All coalescing into one as the force enveloped them all. His sabers became an extension of his being.

 

“The force guides all,” Frond sank deeper into the force allowing it to cleanse the deepest recesses of his mind.

 

“but each is free to choose right from wrong.” He was nothing more than an extension of the will of the force; his mind, body, and soul but a vessel to channel it onto this mortal plane.

 

“All knowledge and power is of the force.” The Neti’s aged limbs and mind were rejuvenated with the force’s power. 

 

“The force is life.” Feeling all about him, Frond waited, a tree along the river of the force. He would stand a millennia if he stood a day purified and nurtured by the waters of truth and life.

 

“The force is death.” He would defend this place; his body relaxed and poised to respond in an instant to the guidance of the force.

 

((Frond v Solus))

 

Augmented Force Valor from the pre-duel prep post and meditated on the force for Center of Being so as to be prepared to better defend against the next attack and respond with force-imbued quickness and reaction times. LINK 

 

((1))

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"The Life of a Jedi... Scorpio began to reply, but the roar of her sublight engines overpowered his voice, causing him to stop briefly with a quick look to his rear until the engine's roar quieted down enough for him to finish. "... is always hard for the young. Especially for those of us who knew previous lives before coming to the Order."

 

Scorpio's words held knowledge of the subject, as he himself, knew nearly twenty years of life as an indentured servant before he found his way to Coruscant and Manaan. Perhaps it led to his inevitable fall to the Darkside, Scorpio wasn't completely convinced. But it did present a challenge of adapting to the ways and tenants of the Order, and the wars that he fought in. Perhaps there was wisdom in taking younglings in at a younger age, but given the Order's need and requirements over the last two decades of war, such wisdoms weren't an available option. It was either replenish the Ranks or perish.

 

Scorpio's brow furrowed as Armiena finished her words. He knew the inevitable as much as the alternative, but her wisdom as his elder was welcomed. War had been a constant for over the last two decades, his own childhood a byproduct of such things. Even in the moments of Galactic Peace, the Sith War Machine was never far away. The many scars the riddled his body was evident of that singular fact. His life as a Jedi began in war, his life as a Sith began in peace, and his life as an exile began in what was considered a final battle. And yet, here stood another at the precipice as he returned from exile. Placing the palm of his hand upon the butt of his sheathed hilt, he smirked.

 

"I have walked in the Light, and hid in the Dark. I have known more time at War than I have ever known Peace..." Scorpio spoke in return, the essence of his warrior ways coming across cocky and yet wise, as someone who once reveled in his lust for blood but sought to shed none this day. And in his tone, came across a hint of the will to survive no matter the cost. His voice spoke his decision to fight for the freedom he sought for his daughter, free of Sith Imperial Rule. "Even if we do not survive, know the Alliance will. We may be products created by war, but let us ensure that our children know a life without it, one parent to another. If I must unsheath my saber, then I will do so for that singular goal."

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The somewhat distance, yet close ranged sounds of blaster fire and all sorts of other noises filled the somewhat empty halls of the Imperial Base. Beck eyed the windows, which gave sight to the distant space battle overhead, causing a greater noise level for those outside of a building. Noises of battles that raged all over seemed to be a very steady thing at the moment. It was what motivated him to work and get the files out. They were in no position to join and aid until such a task was completed. The current crew working was Beck, Captain Isiah, three other datafile workers, eight troopers and twelve personal special commandos trained under the Admiral's own program. 

 

They were slowly moving a few final boxes from the weapons and ship catalogs with a distance reporting going on of the fighting at the docks, which was close, yet not enough to put their current objective in danger. Explosions and blaster fire became to steady background noise that kept everyone busy. They pulled the final few crates out into the hallway and towards the turbolift with a steady pace. They were about halfway through the hallway when a loud CRACK-BOOM-THUD filled the air. The commandos of Vanx and Gundark squads quickly raised their blasters and scanned the room. It didn't take a genius to realize what they heard. The invading forces had breached the building. "Hold your positions squads. Our objective hasn't changed. Isiah, let's move these NOW!" The words were about all that were needed. Two troopers moved ahead to open the turbolift to get it ready to safely transport the datafiles out of the building. Beck pulled his comlink up and alerted the network. "Attention Imperial Allied Command, This is Admiral Beck Pilon. The walls of R&D have been compromised. Repeat, intruders have breached the walls."

 

He put his comlink away and began to aid in pushing the datafiles when blaster fire could be heard down a hallway not far from them. The two troopers who opened the turbolift quickly moved to aid Beck who was the closest to them with his files when around the corner they came. Two Mandalorian warriors. They both had helmets that displays narrow eyes alone, unlike the standard T-Shape visors. It was about all he could muster to view as he moved to help flank cover for the others moving their files against the very quick and sudden output of blaster fire. His own quick trigger finger blasted a few shots off, but they did nothing to the opposing two Mandalorians. Not even a flinch from stray fire that would get the most seasoned veteran. Leaning against a wall, Beck went to take aim on the furthest one, only to have a shot quickly come and knock his own blaster out of his hand. With a slightly loud verbal curse, he looked down at his left hand which was singed beyond his own battle hazy first glance. 

 

He glanced around to see some of Squad Vanx perform a maneuver he developed, a quick draw fire sequence designed to get a shooter comfortable to poke themselves out enough to get targeted. He was greatly anticipating seeing how it would work, only to see targeted Mandalorian poke out and take aim at the secondary commando, who in the process had exposed himself to the shot. The other commando made the fatal error of poking his own head up in some attempt to take the Mandalorian, only to have it backfire and take him down in the process. Sithspit! Beck didn't want to admit it, but these Mandalorians were well trained, beyond what was currently in the hallway. They needed a Jedi to compete. 

 

He looked back to see that the final datafile crate was almost in the turbolift. Beck without any hesitation stood up and ran to aid in the push of the crate, which only had one person pushing until Beck got involved. As soon as he put his shoulder to it, it began to move a lot faster into the turbolift. As they moved, Isiah suddenly jumped out in front of the two, took a few shots, only to get hit directly in the throat dropping him almost instantly. Beck pushed with all his might from his legs and forced the crate into the turbolift. Upon hitting the ground, he shouted, "THE DOOR!" One of Gundark squad used his elbow to slam the door shut and Beck turned to get out of the way of eyesight and to observe the damage done. As the door shut, he took notice of the one single datafile officer, the two troops and the one commando of Gundark Squad with him in the turbolift. The commando spoke to the Admiral as he himself looked at his damaged hand. "Sir, we can regroup with incoming backup and prevent them from the other files." Beck only shook his head as he looked at his blackened fingers. "No. It would be suicide. We stick to our assignment." He then slowly stood up and used his right hand to pull out his comlink.

 

"This is Admiral Beck. Intruders are Mandalorians, and have far superior training to anyone moving to engage. Use extreme caution." Beck then put his comlink away and looked back at his left hand, full of blackened fingers. God help whoever attempts to stand in their way...

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The four speeder bikes screamed through the streets, their charges safely deposited at an alternate drop site, with an unflagged band of refugees bound for the Outer Rim. The battle was unfolding all around them. The four scouts had taken to making wide patrolling arcs about Imperial HQ, blasting any invaders with the cannons on their 74-Zs. Up until that point their orders had simple and vague: by any means necessary, keep the enemy at bay.

 

So as they maneuvered to the tops of buildings to rocket across the rooftops and drop onto encamped nests of allied forces, lending a sudden and awe-inspiring salvo of explosive inspiration, the Scouts did what they did best, improvised, adapted, and overcame. In truth, some might have questioned their judgement toppling what amounted to the parapets of an aged Hutt palace into the roadway and atop an advancing column of Sith cultists; but there was no doubt it had been effective; at least until the undead started crawling from the rubble, bones broken and limbs and heads lolling at odd angles. A withering barrage of fire seemed to do the group in well enough though before they raced onwards, their engines purring like prowling sand lions beneath them. 
 

Two commands came in that changed everything. As high of stakes as this invasion was, and as intense snd dedicated as the men of Trill Scout Squadron were, they were, not that they would admit, enjoying themselves. Free range nerf herders, riding herd.

 

The first: “Attention Imperial Allied Command, This is Admiral Beck Pilon. The walls of R&D have been compromised. Repeat, intruders have breached…” *static* “This is Admiral Beck. Intruders are Mandalorians, and have far superior training to anyone moving to engage. Use extreme caution.”

 

Lance Corporal Christoph Sokol canted his head at the transmission. “Gunny?you getting this?” His voice serious with uncharacteristic concern.
 

At the point of the diamond, Gunnery Sergeant Benjamin Wood raised a hand in a thumbs up before he swirled his pointer finger with a lasso and pointed to the right. It was a wordless response, but all three that followed him knew what that meant.

 

”Roger that. Can’t let the bean counters spill too much.” Corporal Ragnar ‘Rags’ Kran echoed, the sarcasm in his voice apparent even over the comms. Of the team, he knew the most about what might all be in R&D and he knew it was no laughing matter. The enemy could not be allowed to get their hands on any of it. If protocols were followed, there was little chance of that; but that radio transmission…one had to be sure. “Them Mandos and their outdated ways. Won’t be no match for us.” He grinned beneath his helmet as the group banked hard around the corner and screamed towards R&D.

 

Christoph laughed aloud over the comms, “They taught the clones, who perfected the old Mandalorian war fighter ways, they taught it to the Corps. The Corps turned it into a legendary skillset. Lets extinctify those mythosaurs.”

 

”Make them go extinct,” Private Steve grumbled as he brought up the rear. His comment went ignored as the group bore down on the breached walls of R&D. Their comm jammers signaled their advance. At nearly 500 km/h, there was little more than a moment’s warning anyway. A gaggle of Mandalorian troops stood watch outside the breach. The whine of speeder engines drew their attention as blaster cannon fire erupted from the hurtling engines. Diving for cover the Mandalorians returned fire; but even as they did the Scouts of Trill Squadron were upon them. Past them. Through them. Into the building as they slowed rapidly, their bodies lurching with momentum as they tore single filed into the breached vehicle bay.

 

Steve and Christoph each unholstered a dropgun from their ankle and quite literally squeezed off several shots. Benjamin blasted the door into the hallways of Imperial R&D off it’s hinges with the cannon afront his bike. “Inside. We’ll ditch the bikes further in.” 
 

Barely idling the bikes squeezed into the walkway. Thankfully they were wider to accommodate all manner of being and passing datasled. Inside, an abandoned cafeteria of sorts became a makeshift garage as the four parked their bikes, angling them towards the doorway for a quick getaway. Killing the engines, the men grabbed their carbines and made for the door. 
 

Admiral Beck, this is Trill Scout Squadron. We are in the R&D. What still needs secured?” Rags growled into his helmet mounted communicator.

 

Blinking, Benjamin scrolled through planetary intel feeds, maps, and data. Scans and layouts of the R&D building gave them at least a base layout. With Christoph on point and Steve covering the rear, they moved lime a well-oiled machine, smooth and quietly; eyes and ears and scanners alert for any sign of these would be invaders.

 

”For all the Mandos outside, sure ain’t none to be seen in here,” Rags grumbled.

Trill_Scout_Squadron.jpg

Benjamin Wood

Ragnar Kran
Christoph Sokol

Krilst’eve’nuruodo

 

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((2))

 

His attempted strike was in part successful, illeciting a slight smirk as the Sith Warrior delighted in catching his prey. The thrill of the battle was like a drug that could not be easily sated by Darth Akheron, it was where he found his purpose and calling in life. Like a sweet nectar it enthralled and called to him, here he was in his element. The Imperial Knight was on the operating table and Akheron was the surgeon.

 

And yet despite his success it was not to last. As Akheron plunged his lightsaber into his opponent's side he felt a twinge in the force, a feeling that let him know to prepare for a incoming strike, and strike it did. Flying backwards from the violence of the unexpected Force blast, the Sith Warrior was sent into a spiral in mid air before coming to a stop, impacting violently with a sickening crunch against the side of one of the damaged and burning shuttles. 

 

Just like his opponent, he too had suffered from the impact. His lungs struggled for breath and when he did he found only pain with each breath he took. Feeling his side, he felt the source, prodding his sides, at least two broken ribs and one fractured along his left side. Internal only it appeared but a unwanted irritation, one easily remedied by a Sith Warrior such as he was. Focusing the Darkness he called forth the chilling numbness of ice that was drawn from the wellspring of the Cold Mind, focusing the energy he enveloped and numbed his senses and pain receptors, bathing them in a chilling agony and dulling the pain. At least temporarily. Any blood seeping out would soon clot with a icey rime that would leave massive scarring, but he didn't care. It was a small price to pay for his survival.

 

He would make the Imperial Knight pay for that. 

 

Struggling at first, he stood up to see his opponent likewise rising from where he had come to rest. Locking eyes, Akheron noted that his enemy appeared to be attempting to employ the same unorthodox approach he had used from when they had first begun their bout. Smiling beneath the mask, he found it a foolish notion...thinking that a Sith Warrior would fall for the same trick twice, no he would not be so easily fooled. Not like a some meager apprentice or young Lord who had not seen battle. He learnt from every mistake and grew stronger because of them. 

 

As Aiden made his advance, Akheron feigned falling into the trap. As the first strike came, he at the last moment, used the force to propel himself upwards and twist around, using a Force Jump to attempt to go over and above, slashing his saber towards Aiden's back and hoping to land behind his opponent for another lightsaber strike horizontal across the back of the Imperial Knight's knees. He would attempt to continue the barrage with a series of progressively heavier and harder strikes starting with four initially.

 

Strikes empowered by his Rage and frustration, his Wrath. The intensity would increase the longer that it went on, so long as his target remained not dead, a self sustaining loop of attacks fueled by Akheron's emotions of the previous strikes failing to be lethal would be created. A series of strikes that to his opponent would look like a series of hacking attacks where form was sacrificed for power. A fact which was a lie. Each strike carried a preternatural momentum and force, with each successive blow striking heavier than the last. He would punish his opponent and show him the fury of the Sith.

 

((Initially used The Indifference of Titans as written in the Sith Warrior guide, then a Force Jump/Slash to the back and the knees hopefully to continue with a Sawblade Strike.))

Edited by Karys Narat iv-Adas

https://jedirp.net/topic/4851-trodai-narat-iv-adas-darth-akheron/

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 "Only in my pain, did I find my will. Only in my chaos, did I learn to be still. Only in my fear, did I find my might. Only in my darkness, did I see my light." - Darth Akheron

 

I survived the Great JNet Outage of 2012

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Solus slowed to a stop. 

 

He had no other option once he realized what the tree was doing. He couldn’t help but stop and turn back towards the orphanage. While the distance was fair, no greater than a quarter mile, Solus’ sensors could eye the details quite well.

 

The tree was just standing there, doing nothing.

 

“What’s the matter tree?” Solus shouted, a tint of rage in his voice. “Are you so old that you are no more than mold? Or are you too rooted in the ground?”

 

Solus clenched his fists. This wasn’t how it was suppose to go. The tree was suppose to follow. Solus was going to lead the moss-man on a merry chase through the cityscape, and use guile to his advantage. It was to be a game of stealth and wits. An Assassin's playground for an Assassin in training. 

 

But the tree was simply JUST STANDING THERE! 

 

Solus growled like his now absent Tukata. 

 

“Don’t you realize what is going to happen? My master will see my hound, and come find me. And if you hope to beat him, you can’t afford to have another being attacking you at the same time, you stupid of moss!” 

 

Solus growled again and glanced around. The street he was on was mostly abandoned. However, a little further ahead was a parked, albeit old, civilian landspeeder. 

 

The shard moved towards the vehicle, its chassis reflecting in the direct light from the battle above.  An idea was forming.  He had killed an Acklay for his master once. And he did it by using the weapons that the environment naturally provided. 

 

“Or maybe you are just too attached to those orphans!” Solus continued to shout as he came alongside the vehicle. “Maybe I need to make those beautiful shapes of yours ugly! Bring you closer to darkness!”

 

 A reach in, a quick flip of a switch inside, and a step back; The old V-40 chugged to life. It staggered momentarily, its repulsorlifts barely keeping it off the ground. 

 

“Let's see how you do without those stupid kids! Death remembers all!” 

 

Solus reached both hands out and focused.  Through the Force, the Shard concentrated on the vehicle’s ignition pedal. With his rage and envy fueling his thoughts, he mentally slammed the pedal. The landspeeder’s turbine engines roared to life, making the vehicle shoot itself towards the tree and the orphanage behind it. 

 

(Frond vs Solus)

(2)

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The Sith Lord was close enough now to take in her scent, the hints of subtle spices upon her deep violet hair, the undercurrent to that vile perfume of death that clung to the stale air. When she moved to oppose him, her lithe body seemed to twist and contort in that unnatural way only the Force seemed to bless. The orange flame of her lightsaber twisted about her, highlighting the beads of perspiration upon her young flesh. Simply, she was breathtaking in person, but she would look far more alluring when the spirit of life had been crushed from her delicate veins.

 

Blackmorne’s fingers dug into the leather-bound handle of Bloodletter as the greatsword locked against the Jedi’s shoto. It would be all to simple to overpower a child such as this, but the Sith Lord released the building rage into the Force, letting it flow as a raging river bound in its surface with ice. His teeth ground together, and he let out a half breath. His sword tasted of the orange flame, seeming to draw sparks of the fire into its swirling darkness. The Sith Lord could feel the opposing weapon’s power, and to it alone he spoke promises of that power yet unrealized in the arms of a simple Jedi’s service.

 

Pity, I was hoping to hear her cries. Such small things can make such pitiful wails in their final moments…

 

Ice cracked upon The Warrior’s armor as the air seemed to change from its bitter staleness. The Force concentrated in that air, rushing forward as a great wind, meant to smash the Sith Lord like a flitmoth against the tearing of a hurricane. There was a choice within that wind, an invitation to stand against it as mountain or let it take him. The Sith chose to follow the momentum, letting his right-hand fall limp while the other held fast to Bloodletter. The rest of his body he let drop into a tumble, letting the blast of energy carry him instead of breaking him. The blast ripped his hair free from its bloody binding and his long mane of white became a windswept tangle.

 

The sulpheric stare of glowing yellow never left the Jedi’s as Blackmorne allowed himself to fly a few meters upon the Jedi’s wind, stretching it to his advantage like the reptavian Hawk-Bats once harnessed the jetties of air from passing speeders in the skylanes of Coruscant. Bloodletter he allowed to rest upon his left shoulder, tucked into the tumble. His right hand reached from the air, catching the bloody strapping of cloth from the ground, twisting it in his fingers as he guided his armored form into a landing. Frost clung to the cloth, crimson crystals leaping from it as he lashed it into his domain. It was the trophy that remained of that beautiful Grandmaster he had slain on Lehon. His boots slipped to a solid footing as he came fully from his tumble amongst the trampled remains of Imperial troopers slain in his initial assault. The air here was rank with the astringency of spilled blood and bowel. The crimson crystals seemed to grow about his right hand, pulling in the remnants of terror and death with it.  

 

His jaw set. From within that fetid tangle of bodies, The Sith Warrior strode towards his next victim, the girl who would soon lie broken and lifeless amongst those she had sworn to protect. His right hand reflected the pathetic light of her duel lightsabers within a wine-dark mirror of ice. He joined his hands together as Bloodletter seemed to dance and shiver on his left shoulder, grinding against the gathering of ice upon the darkmetal. The Sith advanced in long methodical strides, the hobnails on his dark-plated boots cracking on the forming ice. Bloodletter shrieked into the force, its voice a wicked, thirsty thing.

 

Give her no pause, no mercy

 

The Sith Warrior brought the greatsword up with his left hand, its orange-flecked blade twisting in the darkness, his fingers twisting white around its handle as if it were the Jedi’s throat. His right hand wrested on the weighted pommel, to guide its momentum for the quickening of the kill. The sociopathic cold seemed to twist its way through his veins, drawn to Bloodletter itself, attuning it to the methodical beat of his heart. The Jedi looked so small, highlighted on each side by orange and silver. The Sith warrior cut downwards with the timing of his left foot’s advance, hefting Bloodletter in an arc towards the right of the Jedi’s head, aimed the maim that beautiful face before cutting her into unequal halves with the strength of the Force.  The advance of the Sith would never be abated.

 

 She shall have only the doom and violation of the grave.
 

((2))

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Death is No Escape

 

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The moment the two blades met, his dark intentions became known, vibrating upon the Force and in his strike. Visions confiscated her thoughts, of her dead and toyed, her pale violet skin a massacred blue. And in that moment, their eyes locked simultaneously as warrior summed up warrior in their brief exchange, and as he departed upon the wind, it never wavered, Lady Tay'Lor feeling his power and determination within the echoes of his soul. For she had faced the Darkness before, and his was no different.

 

As eyes stared coldly upon her petite form, her muscles strengthened to fight back the bitter cold, and flexed as small bumps raised upon her noble skin. Reaching into the Force amongst the moment of breath, she warmed herself internally as her breath became fog and flowed forth. For a brief second, she felt the pull upon her saber, the darkened call as it beckoned false promises, her grip tightening as she centered her mind and body. His very presence aimed to destroy all that she cherished and enjoyed as the air around them combined frost, fire, fuel, and stagnation. But she would not allow this transgression to unfold.

 

A shiver flung from her form that air of the moment as he made his advance, raising his Sith Sword to claim her soul as his own. Shifting into her stance, she awaited his arrival with her mind centered and her eyes focused. And as he made his strike, she shifted her weight into her form to distance herself from his arc. And yet, not timely enough as the blade tasted the hue of her blood and stained her armor.

 

Pain claimed her momentum, and her gaze boiled at the sight of her blood. Her mannerism faded and a beast came into place. As an Imperial Knight, composure was taught to be had. But in her youth, her tendency was of a brash nature despite her adopted lineage. And in her moment of weakness, her youth came to the forefront. Her feet shifted in her retreat as the ire in her eyes blazened, an internal scream beckoning release through the moment of anguish and anger.

 

As her arm holding the orange blade reached out, grasping at the Sith Lord's form with the Force through its attunement, Tay'Lor grasped at the one who dared bleed her form and attempted to drag him close in the Force for his atonement, and preparing his hands to met the silver blade of his repentance. For it was a crime, both in her eyes and the eyes of the Skyborn to blemish perfection and steal its beauty.

 

((2))

Edited by Charlemagne
Edited for Clarification
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Frond stood awash in the force. Slowly he opened his warm eyes to regard the bound young slave of darkness down the street. As the mechanized insults echoed in the heavy air, a warm lopsided smile crossed the tree’s wrinkled face.

 

He paid little heed to the insults, allowing them to be washed away in the current of the force that held him. Such profanities were but signatories of a undeveloped mind. Yet still, some of the Shard’s words did ring true and Frond took note of them as he stood silently. Perhaps he was too attached to these children. The force had called him to this world for balance. As he waited, he had intertwined his existence with these of this place. A mistake of the young and ine yet that he was bound to by his tether to this plane.

 

Yes, out of the mouths of babes, perhaps he had grown too attached to these younglings. Younglings whose existence mattered little in the grand scheme. What mattered was balance. It was a balance the Shard and his ilk were seeking to undo. That, they, were Frond’s destiny; called by the force to contain and stop. It did not matter the consequences.

 

The force swirled like a jetty, filling Frond with an energy even envied by the young, an awareness that bordered on the supernatural. As the Sith tinkered with the speeder and the engines roared to life, Frond knew. This was his test. Not the Sith, no, the children. Would he upset the balance or would he maintain it?

 

The throbbing pulsating howl of the derelict open-topped speeder filled the air as Frond set his mind to his task. He took one, two, three strides forward, weapons tucked up into the grooves of his body, ready to spring forth like hidden claws at a moment’s notice. 
 

He would be the balance. He would bring that balance back.

 

The howl of the speeder was drowned out by the sudden crash of a megaton bomb behind and overhead of the Neti. Somewhere in the distance the first of the Sith’s nuclear munitions were touching down. Instantly, Frond could feel the death it bote. It carried on the force, echoes of the dark side’s unbalanced appetite. Breaking into a swift gait, Frond charged forward carried by the force, it’s guiding hand carrying the Mind Walker as the blast of the explosive lent even more speed to his momentous purpose. He surged forward towards the inbound unmanned speeder. Leaping upward, Frond flew through the air until his knees crashed into the hood of the craft, denting it as they collided and his aged wooden-frame cracking beneath the surface of his thick viney legs.

 

He landed atop the left side of the speeder’s hood, striking with his knees as he landed hard. His weight and momentum drove the corner of the speeder downward. The prow of the hurtling vehicle sparked against the hard packed ground as it’s own momentum pushed it onward still, the anchoring point spinning it off course by a wide angle. 

 

Frond was still moving though. He stepped forward his other knee still firmly planted against the top of the speeder amidst it’s dent. His rooted lower limb stepped onto the steering column as he pulled himself forward with a grasp of the viewscreen. He  forced the speeder around even further as the accelerating vehicle righted itself;  the weight-distribution being regained by the craft’s internal dampeners.

 

As the vehicle turned back towards it’s benefactor, Frond clung to the viewscreen half in and half out of the cockpit allowing it to straighten out as he removed his foot from the steering column and planting it firmly in the driver’s seat. His knee-downed leg flexed with thick muscle-like vines to push him to a crouched stand. His warm eyes focused on the Shard with a new grim determination. So it would be.

 

The speeder bore down towards the Sith, Frond’s aged body invigorated by the force as he leapt well before any potential conflict. As he leapt the deep royal purple of Veivueti erupted in one hand as the leafy green energy of Wähanga Tuarua sprang to life in the other, both freed from their grooved recesses in the Neti’s palms and wrist to be grasped once again in his choking palms. Frond was not one for aerial acrobatics as he leapt for the Shard swinging both of his blades, one high swinging downward, one low swinging up, one from each side. His intent was as simple as the focused slash of the Djem So he had taken to committing to bodily memory and willed into manifestation on the waves of the force. He would end this here and now, and if the force-fueled blows did not dissect the Shard’s robotic prison into pieces, it was his hope and goal to overwhelm the Shard’s capacity and capacitors ability to respond.

 

An attack and response, the opponent’s energy redirected and multiplied into a response. This was the way of Djem So and was the way, in many regards, of the Mind Walker himself. He held his third blade deactivated, hidden, and ready to lash out at an attempted gutting response.

 

Not a word was spoken, the time for words had long since passed. Any prattle would be a detriment and nothing more. And as the shockwave of the not-so-distant bomb radiated about them, buildings began to shake and the empty streets roil.


 

((Frond v Solus))

 

Utilized the preparations from the prior round to aid in the defense of the rogue speeder attack and Djem So art of redirecting the attack into a counterattack. Leaping from the out of control speeder to slash at Solus with two blades in an attempt to slice him into several pieces and/or stun him using the Focused Slash of the Djem So combat form.

 

((2))

 

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Solus' rage intensified. As the Shard watched the tree carefully, if not gracefully, redirect and utilize the landspeeder attack. 

 

“No! That is not right!” Solus shouted, drawing his lightsaber and charging towards the approaching speeder carrying the tree-thing. “You are supposed to die! You stupid son of a stump! You moss-covered mold!”

 

Even as the tree jumped into the air, Solus was trying to follow suit. The rapidly approaching speeder provided just the opportunity, as the shard’s mechanical legs bent at the knees and leapt forward, landing on the landspeeder’s hood. This was immediately followed by a jump upwards towards the now falling tree being. What Solus lacked in formal dogmatic training, he made it up with instinct and mechanized limbs. Speed was the advantage of his small chassis.

 

However, in the air approaching the tree, Solus’ lack of formal lightsaber training became obvious. The tree had drawn and activated two of its lightsabers. With his own blade in hand, Solus swung it wildly across, hitting and deflecting the downward swinging green blade with a crackle of energy.

 

The other blade found its mark and dissected Solus’ left arm just above the elbow.

 

Solus screeched with pain as he crashed into the tree like a bullet, losing hold of his own lightsaber. This pain fueled his anger further. It gave his mind a sharp, singular focus. Nothing mattered in this world of worlds except for the end of the being who, with beautiful shapes in the Impossible Geometries, had damaged his chassis gifted by clan Bragsanu.  

 

Solus’ voicebox became a blaring speaker of static and ear-piercing pitches. Completely enveloped in his own rage, Solus opened his palm at the thing’s face. The impossible Geometries around Solus’s shapes rippled as the Shard attempted a Force push. His singular focus, sharped with rage and honed with envy, made this one test of power, while draining, possible. It was unlikely the Shard would be able to move much after this feat of power. A few moments of recharge would allow him to walk, and a few minutes more would allow him to fight, albeit poorly, especially with missing one of his limbs. 

 

To Solus, the price didn’t matter.  All that mattered in this moment was sending this tree-thing crashing into the orphanage it sought to protect. 

 

(3)

 

(Frond vs Solus)

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The crash of Wähanga Tuarua’s verdant herbal blade against the Sith’s crackled with electricity as Frond’s blade was deflected downward from his bisecting blow. Still as the weapons were deflected, Frond held the weapon tight, his chlorophyll-filled body crashing into the metal prisoner’s as he severed the droid’s other arm. Veivueti continued it’s descent towards the Shard’s core even as their bodies clashed. The force would guide his blade.

 

Swirling in a cacophony of colors and ripples of power, the force shone through the chaos, an order that transcended their battle. Frond winced at the mechanical screeches of pain that seemed to garble from the vocabulator of the machine. An assault

on his senses, intended or not, that seemed to gray his connection to the force. The Neti’s heavy wooden body creaked and cracked with the midair collision; their bodies plummeting towards the ground. 
 

Frond activated his third saber. Prepared for defense, Frond had not expected the mechanized being to throw himself bodily into the tree. He did not even need to swing it as he sought to drive the weapon into his foe’s  gut. The battle was fluid; however, and in the struggle the droid’s hand was shoved against Frond’s twisted grained face. 
 

He felt the rage swell in the core of the crystalline Sith. Like a volcano, a font of uncontrollable power that surged powerfully in whatever direction it chose, a dangerous aspect of the will of the force itself. It was even more dangerous in the hands of an untrained acolyte. Frond felt the claw-like appendage of the droid on his face. He felt the rage boil over in the force as the explosive surge of power erupted from Solus’ hand.

 

Frond felt his face crack and in less than a second shatter. Half of his face was immediately blown away, thrown back into the air in chunks of timber and billows of sawdust. The Neti’s back-arched as his tendrilled body sought to wrap and cling to the metal chassis of his opponent as they crashed to the earth.

 

Like the Sith’s metallic prison carried distinct advantages and boundaries for the soul it bound, so too did the mortal form that contained Frond’s essence to this physical plane. In this case, it was Frond’s flora-based composition. Unlike the greater number of animal-based sentients in the galaxy, Frond’s body did not contain organs; each cell of his body was a self-contained entirety of the Neti himself. 
 

And so, as pain wracked his splintered face and fractured body, Frond’s entire form continued to process and act; his one remaining eye and jagged half-face twisted into a horrifying sap-dripping smile as he made to drive all three of his shimmering blades into the metal body of his foe. If he was to die here, he would be free and in doing so, he would right the balance one last time.

 

 

((Frond v Solus))

 

Crashed into Solus from his attack, continued his unblocked downward slash as he sought to drive his third blade into Solus’ gut while trying to cling to the droid-bound Sith with his amorphous tendrilled body. 
Took a blast of rage-fueled force to the face, shattering half his face and cracking his wooded body as he sliced at Solus with all three of his sabers.

 

((3))

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Tros swung his own body to the left, choosing to instead utilize cover of a post on the landing ramp from incoming fire from allied forces. While his armor at such a long range would have held up against whatever shots they may have fired, he decided to preserve as much of it as he could. Distraction was the name of the game for the moment, and he knew that such a distraction would cause eyes from others who carried a much higher profile in the galaxy than perhaps himself. A few pings here and there made it clear that splitting up as the distraction force did was a good idea, as it kept the many forces attempting to either stop them or protect the innocents a far harder game. With a smile hidden behind his own buy'ce, he bent slightly low and poked more of his body out from behind the cover of the post to return fire at the incoming allied troops. The Westar 75 heavy blasters gave a very loud and distinct sound, almost like a mix between a pop and a thud. The sound of impact against different things was also distinct. For instance, against anything metal, a loud ringing thud. Against armor, a cracking thud. Against flesh, a sizzling thud. It made it super clear when he hit something versus when he did not. The orange and yellow color of the blasters energy was also very bright, unlike most dull yellow or red blaster like energy. Overall, they were becoming his new favorite toys. 

 

Until the heaviness of them began to take effect. He only got through about ten minutes into the stand off when both blaster ran out of ammo, needing to be reloaded. Luckily, he had about three more ammo packs for each blaster, but it meant he would really have to pick and choose his shots. Not wanting to reload now with incoming troops, he instead used the rocket missile on his Z-6 jetpack to have the bridge like walkway they were using to collapse with them on it. The explosion was loud yet very effective. Now that I made it hard to get to me, I should find somewhere new to cause trouble I guess....

 

 

**** Within R&D Department ****

(( Kot'dral ))

 

Kot'dral could hear the movements of others within the building. His own HUD showed heat signatures of others entering, from the looks of it on crafts of some kind. He didn't bother to use verbal communication, but instead sent a message display to every Zealot's HUD. It simply read ::There is opposition. Rain Contingency active.:: He then signaled his counterpart, Kollu Vipid to take the downward breech position. They would not let a few foolish allied troopers stop them. They were here to for the sole purpose of being successful. He kept his own eyes watching his HUD to observe what sort of movement was taking place within the building. The allied forces had yet to take any actions against their equipment, which he wondered if they were half expecting to lose the building to begin with. If that was the case, it would make things much easier for him and his team. The soft sound of the liquid line launcher from Kollu brought him back to what was happening. They were about two floors above where their target was at, and Kollu cut through the floor as silently as he could, catching it before it fell. Once he hauled up the durasteel floor piece, Kot'dral jumped through the hole and began to scan and clear the area. Part of him salivated for the chance to engage a jetiise

 

((Beck Pilon))

 

Beck watched as the turbolift door opened up, revealing the long tunnel towards the landing pad, where his ship, Heaven's Taint was waiting to load the final few crates of datafiles on board. As the crew quickly moved everything that way, he responded back to the troops who moved to intercept the Mandalorians. "Trill Scout Squadron, all that remains are personnel files and weapon files. Prioritize the weapon files. Be careful when engaging. They are well armed and trained." The admiral hoped the squad would heed his words. His own commando teams that went through rigorous training didn't hold up against them. He didn't want them to lose their lives in vain. 

 

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