Falleen

[Sandy Sarna]

The Jedi master took a centering breath. Listening for the song. Though the breath stank of copper blood and fading fear. The force moved along the street, tracing to the foundations of a planet that sang out in a mighty cry for Justice. The song sang for redemption though the Sith lord spat and prattled against it. 

 

Sandy’s bright green eyes flickered across the street, across the brainwashed Linnorms who stood in rapt silence, and across the stains of death. Death itself was no unnatural thing, countless generations who had lived and died in peace were buried in the soil of this planet. Princely bones lay in their great tombs. Their family names and crypts wearing away under the thunderstorms that beat down upon the industrial city. But the Sith had brought the unnatural stain of mass murder. Cutting threads of fate like a farmer with his scythe. He had brought slavery and wickedness, a brutality that cut to the heart of every person that had walked upon the streets of Falleen. But still its people had maintained hope. Its earth carried that great hope though soaked in martyrs blood. 

 

The very planet cried out in the name of justice. For where blood had spilled its crimson tide, the rocks wept the names of the dead. She could hear its song, a chant, a plea. A lament for justice against the heavy yoke of slavery. For its people had been stripped of their identity, they had been enslaved, and now they were murdered and discarded in the name of power. But still they hoped. Trodai had claimed his wrath and rage, he had striven in shadow, to beat the brows of all around him. Wrapping himself in the short stinted glories of terror. While the very earth below his feet screamed a song of rebellion. It called the names of its martyrs. 

 

Khalen. The mechanic who lay in the gutter by his work. 

Preseni who had been cut down before the gates of her father’s house.  

Old and feeble Thrandria who had dared lift her eyes and spit in the face of the Masters of the Sith. 

 

Names sang in the Jedi Master’s ears, joining a chorus that echoed from street to street, to the glens and hills, and into the untamed valleys of Falleen. There would be justice, there would be hope, there would be Redemption for this Land.

 

For Trodai had made his pitiable choice and marked it with a thousand meaningless words. There was a finality in him. A complete surrender to the darkness. He would be brought to face the planet's song of justice and answer for its slaughtered children. Sandy reached to the force and it flocked joyfully to her call. It gathered around her, spreading out along the street as the force moved. With every breath the world cried for her to act, a deep voice keening in joyous thunder for the end of Sith perversion. Its joy and hope touched her heart and the Jedi Master would gladly join its song. 

 

With a twitch of her booted foot, the street split in its foundations and the very rocks and earth moved like a mighty wave, to dash the massassi upon the stone facade of the streetfront. The earth would subsume him and all his perversion.

 

((1))

[Keenava Dira]

     Keenava saw the flow of energy rush to contain the chaotic rush of bodies as they scurried away from salvation like nunas with their heads cut off. Because, regrettably, salvation meant death to creatures so far gone that they had no light left. The sounds of tissue sizzling and bones popping formed a macabre chorus around them. And though she was familiar with the sound, it still turned her stomach.

 

     "Stop them." Leena waved at the fleeing queen of the damned. "The city must be protected, lest our brethren Knights be overrun."

 

     Keenava’s head turned. She instinctively detached the cool metal cylinder from her hip with a flourish and activated its bright green blade. It was alien. It didn’t feel like her, but it would do. The snap-hiss was familiar enough.

 

     …Use what you know and combine it with who you are now…

 

      …Keenava disappeared, leaving a corona of shadowy darkness behind her. She felt her heartbeat fall into sync with the beat of the planet like a bead of rainfall rejoining a mighty river. She swirled her head and caught the dimming red energy of the usurper jogging through a small clearing nearby. The trees around him bent in his procession, breathing in his essence. She could hear their whispers… 

 

     Keenava felt the dry, hollow air of Umbara clawing at the crevices of her hands. Her mouth dried up, and her throat rasped. The shadowy beings that hunted her were replaced by the 'Consumed' around her. And the Jedi usurper’s bright red silhouette was replaced by their leader as she fled. Feelings of malnourishment and exhaustion clung to her muscles. Hunger and rage thrashed against each other and threatened to engulf her, but they found no purchase. She wasn’t desperate. She wasn’t drowning. She was in control. She grabbed the thread of her memory and followed the sensation to something she once knew. But, instead of relying on her id to twist the world to her whim, Keenava let her mind and body drift into the bright flowing energy around her. Like a leaf as it blew through the breeze, she fell into the force and let the healing mist embrace her, willing herself forward.

 

     The mist answered by blanketing her and mottling her shape. It was as if she were almost a cloud herself. Then, with force-enhanced speed and nimble movements, Keenava’s feet shot from the ground. Her departure cracked the air with the force of a slugthrower’s ignition, and she took off like a rocket. The Consumed attempted to cling to her as she made her way through the street, but she used their grasps to further her momentum. She flipped through the air and stepped on her assailants' heads, jumping from place to place. They were light movements, but her momentum would propel them to the ground as she moved if they didn’t brace themselves. She was a blur, the green beam of Leena’s lightsaber streaming behind her all the way.

       

     When she caught up to her quarry—the shepherd of the Consumed—she let her momentum carry her into a series of aerial flips and allowed the remaining kinetic energy to flow into the durasteel, cushioning her joints as she hit the ground a few feet ahead. The healing mist flowed around her body at irregular intervals, covering pieces of her form without pattern. With glowing purple eyes, and a glint of the red they once were sparking at the edge, Keenava held the burning green blade as a barrier.

 

     "I’m afraid I can’t let you do that. If you won’t stop, we must stop you." Keenava said, her voice measured and neutral.

 

     Keenava could feel the force of darkness that her target had been fleeing toward. If Leena hadn’t snared them, the potential chaos they would have achieved was a dangerous unknown.

 

     “Quick and clean. I’m no stranger to death. I would grant you life if I could, but all roads are closed. It is time to face your fanged god.” With a single elegant strike, Keenava leaped at the leader with the intent to decapitate her.

Edited March 9 by Keenava Dira

[Kadi Silan]

Kadi froze as the Consumed appeared. Hundreds of people, taken and possessed by the Dark Side. These were no cultists, they weren't Sith Lords. They were regular people, taken from their homes and forced to fight a war they had no hand in, robbed of control of their minds and bodies. She let out a shuddering breath, forcing herself to step forward. What was she supposed to do? The Sith had turned the very populace she was here to protect into unwitting living weapons. What was the right choice? If she struck them down, was she not just killing people who had no more wish to be the Sith's pawns than she did? But if she let them live, they would doubtlessly hurt many more before they could kill those responsible for this magic, and there were far too many to cleanse, at least for her.

 

Her eyes drifted to Leena as the healer leapt into the fray, offering a simple solution. She darted forward, swinging the haft of her lightsaber spear at an encroaching Consumed, knocking him to the ground.

 

"Master Leena, these people are not willing combatants. If we stop those responsible for this, we may free them all at once, but we can't just let them massacre people in the mean time. Please, let me find where this is happening and put a stop to it."

There was a plea in her eyes- She couldn't watch the Sith lay waste to an entire city, especially using the Jedi as their instruments of destruction as they sent bakers, workers, mothers and fathers into the fray in the hopes of slowing them down.

[Karys Narat iv-Adas]

Akheron waited, centering himself within the Force. Awaiting the first drum beats of battle as it travelled along the ground, in the air and the very fabric of reality, a familiar song he was accustomed to and knew well. One he revelled in, for the field of battle was his domain, the thrill of blade crossing blade, the sounds of terror and despair upon an enemies face and the last moments caught in their eyes up close. This is what captivated and enthralled the Sith Warrior. 

 

He had made a lifetime out of battle and sending souls to damnation, this Jedi was to be no different. Only she would taste sweeter, for the taste of vengeance was a rare treat indeed. And he would savour it. She would not deny those deserving of Death. Those that had betrayed him, had refused all he had given, those who had not broken their chains. After he had offered a path to accept their sins and become stronger for it and be unshackled. Now, only the burning of Chaos would await them. 

 

The Sith Master laughed beneath his mask, a sinister guttural and primordial laugh. Revealing the monster for who he truly was.

 

As the ground shook and contorted with the sundering of the land, rended from whence it once had been by the Jedi Master, Sandy Sarna, Akheron acted. He found her opening gambit, at least to his mind somewhat predictable. It had been similar to what she had previously employed against him in a bout long lost to the years. And yet he recalled it vividly, a lesson learnt. As the now, contorted street, split wide and the earth and dirt moved like a deadly wave of death towards him, Akheron stretched out his left arm as he advanced. Knowing he would take some damage but it was worth the risk.

 

He focused his mind, set it upon his target of the mass of rock and dirt before him. Using the Darkness he sent forth destructive wave, after wave of raw blasts of the Force to Shatter the land. He channelled the concussion like blasts into attempting to obliterate and smash the larger rocks of earth and stone into deadly shrapnel like rain that would descend upon the battlefield. Although it was to destroy the obstacles rather than the person, he hoped it would do something to the Jedi Master. Behind this wave he advanced himself, attempting to force and cut his way towards his target as his pace quickened, attempting to avoid the rocks that he could not destroy. He felt the pain, savoured every moment, and enjoyed it, even as he locked his eyes, eyes of a seasoned hunter upon her.

 

His Wrath and Rage would be brought upon her and her soul would be his. He swore it.

 

Darth Akheron vs Sandy Sarna - ((1))

[Leena Kil]

The Mon Cal locked eyes with @Kadi Silan giving a knowing nod over the din of the howling and moaning of the encroaching spawn of darkness. What had been was no more and would need to be dealt with; but that was only a salve in the moment. It needed done, but that alone would not suffice. Whatever, whoever, corrupted these souls, consumed their very lives needed to be found and stopped. The dark side was unnatural and there was no one beyond the naturalist who bound off to find the abomination. To heal the world and it’s people, Leena would be glad to have the Jedi’s aid. For now, she was glad to have Kadi searching for the font of despair.

 

As Leena turned back to the closing horde, she more sensed than saw a shadowy form leap beyond her. Arcing through the growing cloud as it was bound about them, a snow globe of evil, Leena knew @Keenava Dira had found her way. Light and shadow, free of the clawing lust of darkness and yet hardened beyond steel ready to pierce the veil.

 

Entrusting that the Wookiee, @Tharnanion, had the child in his care, Leena brought her hands together. A thunderous clap echoed throughout the encompassing snare of solidified light side energies, its glow casting twisted shadows of the hellspawn inward. She did not stop though, moving before the thunder could even clear the air. The field would sustain itself for some time, empowered by the forces of light as they descended upon this world, their powers being fed by the sphere of light and in turn feeding the energized shield with their righteous light.

 

Leaping upward, Leena rolled backward through the air over the swinging arms of dark side shamblers as they grasped at thin air. Plunging back toward the decking, Leena was enveloped in a glowing spray of purity. Force energy crackled about her as she plunged back down at the horde amassing below. Landing like a feather at the last moment, the force whirled like a beautiful tempest about the Jedi Master. Leena’s closed fist lightly impacted the durasteel plating of the landing area and in that moment, the Living Force responded. An eruption of blinding energy leapt out in every direction, a cacophony of raw power bathed in light that billowed out with purgative energy. It’s purifying presence cleansed the cancer of darkness from all that it touched. It cut through and obliterated the shadows of the empty vessels of smoke that made up the Consumed until all that were left standing in a wide radius were the Jedi, agents of light.

[Wookiee Jedi]

Even as the Jedi Master observed the Sith before him, his heart spun emotions quicker than a spider could ever weave webs. He was having his own emotions stirred so easily by the Sith, as the words spoken out loud about this Darth Akheron whom Sandy knew and was engaging, was something very true to himself. But the line… the line he was now hoping was there and true for him, was that Jedi don’t focus their anger as a tool. They let it pass and be, like rain upon a mountain. 

 

The inner heat from his anger was rising within him as he began to realize that the Sith before him was present at Nar Shaddaa. He was one of those presences in space when Raven had passed. Was he connected to her death? The thought of avenging her dripped into his mind and heart, and even with himself pouring the Lightside into the Force around him, the darkness remained upon those thoughts. He re-adjusted his grip upon the hilt, but did not ignite the blade. A moment of strength for himself to resist. But it may have to be just that, each moment by moment. 

 

<< Anger clouds. It can be used to focus inward and use it like a tool. But when that happens, one only sees narrowly. Passion and strength from it provides blinders. A hindrance in battle as much as any physical hindrance. >>

 

Kirlocca let out a breath, slowing himself down. He had to resist as much as he could his own emotions, so as to not get provoked into making a mistake. But maybe here is where he could just as easily get the Sith to make a mistake before the battle even begins. The battle of words as it were. 

 

<< Interesting use of the word extermination. Jedi do not exterminate. And even if we did, extermination is for the lowly pests. You do not walk or talk like one who is lowly amongst the Sith. But perhaps it is within your fighting skills is why you assume such extermination is imminent? >>

[Mavanger]

Mavanger chuckled as the Jedi spoke, making an earnest- if unsuccessful, attempt to anger the Warmaster. The wookie spoke of anger as though he too knew it intimately. But how could he? He had never given himself to it willingly, made it an ally and a friend, a tool for vengeance sweetest. And yet... He closed his eyes, reaching out with the Force. He could feel it, just under the surface. Even if the Jedi didn't know what it was like to master his fury as a tool, he knew anger well.

"Fury sharpens everything. Every breath. Every twitch. Every trick, laid bare. It gives us the power to right the wrongs done unto us. A tool is only useful if the one wielding it knows what it's used for. It's something that many of the new generation of Sith fail to understand."

He waved a hand, looking to the surrounding Linnorm.

 

"Leave us. You will be more useful somewhere else- the two of us will be plenty sufficient to hold the plaza."

 

As the Linnorm filtered out, reinforcing the surrounding troops, Darth Mavanger turned to face the Wookie.
 

"But we aren't as different as I first imagined. I can feel it now- Loss. Anger. Hatred. You know the loss. You know what it means, what it does. Tell me, who did you lose? A friend? A brother? A lover? And maybe, if the Sith were responsible, I can grant you what I have claimed for myself already- vengeance. A name, a location. An opportunity to reclaim some small part of what you had."

[Wookiee Jedi]

The words spoken by the Sith Warrior brought forth memories to his mind. The time when he plunged his lightsaber into the back of Adi-wan Tinova, the chance to retaliate for being purposefully held back. His time serving under Ar-Pharazon since his killing of Adi-wan, and later fight against Sly Stevenson and Mes Tisserand. And then his memories of his fight with Hou-jo Poleb, which lead to his temporary exile as he watched helplessly as Hou-jo lead the Order to their slaughter. The darkness he felt during such times, to focus with clear purpose. Yes, his own anger was a tool, but one like he had already said, caused blindness to the whole picture. Adi-wan's death at his hands proved to have more consequences overall for the Jedi Order. His anger in fighting other Master's with Ar-Pharazon in the aftermath caused a downward spiral that he still wasn't sure that even now the order has recovered from. His anger blinded him against the better moves to make against Hou-jo. 

 

No, the Sith Warrior was indeed wrong. And yet somehow, the words being spoken were beginning to set his grief stricken mind free. Slowly, he lifted he narrowed and locked his eyes upon the Sith before him. With the others being dismissed and sent away, Kirlocca moved to stand square with the lone remaining person before him. The words spoken seemed to recall even more memories that really cemented his own security in what he knew to be true. Keeping the lightsaber hilt unactivated within his paw, he tilted his head just slightly to the left. The Sith before him now truly revealed his own overall weakness. Lack of Wisdom. There was much wisdom in understanding the history and past. To know of what came before you. He did not know who he was, nor how long he had actually lived. 

 

<< Losses far greater than you. My Grandfather, my father, my adopted daughter and son. Perhaps I could include my Master, Mari or my mentors, Ara-lai Kappi, Tares Vortex and Lei-Kim Ness. Friends and peers like Andon Colos, Jaina Jade Skywalker, Aryian Darkfire, Kitt Fitt and Skye Organa. Or my many padawans, too many to even name. >>

 

Kirlocca now turned his body slightly by letting his right foot take a step backwards. Even as he spoke the names of all of those whom he had lost, the weight he felt in loss with Raven began to lift, knowing that she joined so many others. He could almost feel her presence near him, giving him more quiet strength. He paused for a moment before continuing on. 

 

<< Or maybe you don't know history enough to know such names. It's easier to think you know the weight of loss and anger when you can sit within your own small world. But you cannot even begin to offer anything that I would want with what I lost with my last one. Raven Nasra. Her death hit the hardest, but her death also carried vision, hope and the future. What could you even possibly offer up in regards to regain those things? What could you offer up when no one else has within my entire life? >> 

 

Kirlocca lifted his left paw just slightly, almost coming to a full ready stance for Wru'torr. He refused to activate the lightsaber though. 

 

<< My life has seen so much disparities and loss, that the most anyone can offer is temporary but would never fill me. But that is indeed where we are fully separated. My life goes to a much higher purpose. I know that full well. Through the Force Raven brought me back to inspire hope and a way out from the darkness. So even within her death, when the night is the darkest... >> 

 

Kirlocca then activated the blade of the lightsaber, fully standing in the ready stance of Wru'torr. 

 

<< ... I can be the light for others. >> 

[Mavanger]

Darth Mavanger's face contorted with the Jedi's words. The fire of rage was started with a spark, a denial of his loss and his hurt. His hands went to his blades and the Jedi spoke, taking a step forward as the Wookie positioned himself for a showdown.

 

"The Dark Side is much more than rage and anger. It is love, hatred, anger, joy, all in the pursuit of passion and freedom. We open ourselves to everything so that it might grant us the power to change the galaxy. So when those are taken away, piece by piece, so that all that is left is anger and rage, that is true loss. That you still proclaim your people's sacrifices as worthy, their memories honored, means you will never feel the pain of losing everyone and despite everything, all your work, your blood, your tears, you still lose."

 

He drew his blades as they called out in the Force for blood, for vengeance. One, in his right hand, was the incarnation of his fury, the reckoning that he had sworn upon the alliance the day Jarvus had been slain over Mon Cal, Imeall Sceimhle, the Edge of Terror. A harbinger of his fury, of his rage. A promise of vengeance, and of death.

 

But the other in his left, equally important to the pair, was the incarnation of his grief. A reminder of who he had been, of what he had lost. Imeall Dólás, the Edge of Sorrow. It was his bittersweet memory turned into the weapon that would avenge it. A sign of what it had taken to turn him from a level headed conqueror, who's only goal had been to solidify the Empire in the Outer Rim, to the malevolent specter of wrath that he had become, laying waste to planets and empires alike.

 

"But I can show you."

 

He reached into the compartment of his armor that housed Raven's soul, crystalized to prevent her return, pulling it out attached to it's pendant.

 

"I promised a name. A location. The murderer of your Empress stands before you. She hasn't joined the others in the afterlife. She hasn't found peace. She is here, suffering, for eternity, a victim of my vengeance, a consequence of my grief."

 

He stowed the crystal back in his armor, taking a fighting stance, his blades held to either side.

 

"If you will not willingly claim yours. I will take any choice you have."

 

He charged forward, an inferno of dark side energy, burning away all that it touched, his blades wounding the very fabric of the Force itself as they sliced through the air, severing any remnants of the light. The ground thundered under his feet as each step cracked the pavement with the force of his advance, and the space between them faded away. His blows carried with them all of his anger, his hatred, his sorrow. With each swing of his swords, he would show the Wookie the despair he felt.

 

His first strike was a driving thrust from Imeall Sceimhle, carried forward by his anger and his momentum, meant to impale the Wookie's heart. His second, only starting a moment later, was a rising slash from Imeall Dólás, seeking to split the Wookie from groin to collar. Every blow lethal in it's means and execution. Every strike, leading into another potentially killing blow. Another attack, a familiar one that had worked well against previous opponents, further using his momentum to drive his knee towards the Jedi Master's gut, and another strike as he tried to enter the Wookie's guard, a pommel strike from Imeall Dólás's raised position at his head with enough force to smash skulls.

((1))

Edited March 14 by Mavanger

[Sandy Sarna]

The Jedi Master took another breath as she felt the force move. A violent and evil movement from the Sith warrior that split rock and stone with explosive vigor. His laughter echoed above the sharp reports of the shattering stone and moving earth. Dangersense pawed at the back of her neck and alongside the half heard laughter came also stones, sharp and propelled by the vicious nature of the dark side. Trodai was only a mass of fury and malice. A bright beacon of anger in the force, standing in stark contrast to the song which called in chorus for a turning to redemption. A song that the Massassi would never hear.

 

Her body moved almost of its own accord, following the rhythms in the force and pushing off with her booted feet. She moved quickly, the force guiding her steps and letting the majority of the shards pass her by as they wasted their hated energy against the air and fell harmless to the broken street. But two found purchase, one cutting a furrow along her jawline and the other skipping off her left arm. Both drew blood, and Sandy could feel its warm wetness oozing down her neck. Mixing with the dirt and sweat to stain her tunic a ruddy crimson. There would be time for pain and recovery later. Her own pain could wait until the Sith had been laid low and Falleen redeemed. Laughter died in her ears as she let the force flood her senses. 

 

The chorus sang again names of those that had had their fate cut short by the childish rage of Trodai and his men. So many names that reverberated in bass undertones. A song of mourning that would raise to a hopeful conclusion. 

 

Jin-har, the last of her family who died only minutes before.

Kaelin who had held a blaster for the first and last time in her life

For little Fenra who did not live to see ten summers and had been cut down in crossfire.

 

Bodies that would sit open eyed under the turning of the stars as their people were ravaged by the Sith. A people enslaved that cried for justice with every voice. Sandy raised her hand. Her fingers running across the threads of the force that tied the world to its foundations. She let the song direct her hand and the force flowed in a joyous chorus.

 

For Trodai had named himself Wrath and Anger. He had named himself Monster and the very planet raised itself in rebellion to his yoke of slavery. It only took a nudge of the force and a casm split and opened under his feet, to break and falter his spiteful advance. Falleen could not bear such malice to tread upon its streets save to open him a grave. She gestured with her hand and the crumbling stone facade of the buildings next to him tremoured in the force. What great buildings they may have been before the occupation of the sith, when all business and leisure were driven from its tall shadow. Abandoned now and rotting under the beating rain.  Great chunks of load bearing hewn stone and blast molded durasteel reinforcement split from the abandoned great structures and sped at Troidai with the awesome power of the force. A deluge to bury a pitiful monster in his grave.

 

((2))

[Wookiee Jedi]

Even as he spoke the words, Kirlocca began to understand why the Force led him to this planet. The crystal echoed Raven, but it felt off. Perverted beyond a sense of what he knew. Or maybe it was the Dark Side surrounding her through the Sith is more of what he felt. He held it out for a second and spoke to prove his point, only to prove his own. But such reasoning the Jedi Master understood was beyond reaching at this moment. What he held and placed back inside his armor was not at all who Raven was, nor could she ever be from such a thing. 

 

But even as he fully placed the crystal away, Kirlocca felt something in the Force, a rise in Dark Side energy. It was familiar, the rage and anger felt within the Force. And then it happened, the Sith Warrior charged at him with reckless abandon. With calmness in his mind, and readiness with his body, he fell into the default position of Wru’torr, allowing for a very slight moment of preparation to the coming onslaught. The Sith, wielding swords instead of lightsabers, would prove to be a step onto Kirlocca’s final path, but one that was beyond the Jedi Master’s own vision and mind. The rage and anger that came with each coming blow gave insight and wisdom, even more so with the Wookiee pushing his own presence into the fray, making the strikes telegraphed a bit more than usual. 

 

The first sword went directly at him, a blow with strength, but even for the most skilled warrior would know such a blow would never land except against a novice. It was the second blow that Kirlocca sought to seek out, one that came upwards on his back, as the Jedi Master turned to avoid the first blow, only barely using the lightsaber he received from Sandy to move it away. The upward one took a long cut into his back, but not deep. It cut enough to have his ceremonial battle cross belt off. 

 

The positioning of the defense left him open to the next landing blow, a knee into his gut. The air inside his chest left for a moment, which was replaced by pain. Had the Sith Warrior been stronger, bones or ribs could have been broken. It was a brute move, one that he had not seen in a long time, but almost as he bent from the pain, knew to turn to look for the next opportunity. The face turn helped him in only catching part of the pommel of one of the swords, cutting into the corner of his left eye. As it struck, the Force whispered to him to make his move. 

 

Using the momentum from the Sith, along with his own, he made a quick spin, making a move with his left foot, but at the last minute dropped his foot and kicked at the the other knee of the Sith with his right foot with enough force to break the shin. His foot went down in such a way that he was moving forward and going through something regardless. The kick was designed around the movement of protecting the other foot, the only reason to strike the way he did. Upon planting his foot, he used his right paw to punch at the gut of the Sith, bringing to bear his natural brute force, along with Force energy. He would get the Sith to back away slightly through the strike, or the energy of the Force behind the strike would push him backwards. Either way, Kirlocca would get some space. 

 

As he finished the blow, he took a small step backwards to reset himself into the default starting position of Wru’torr. A small smirk came to his face, blood dripping from his left eye and his back. He knew at this point what his tactic was. Keep the Sith angry, and keep him charging at him. He would play to the strength of Wru’torr. It was the way that Kirlocca would show both Raven and the Sith why he was brought back. 

 

((1))

[Non-Playable-Characters]

So the thralls had been laid to dust. What power was this? They had seen it before, ages upon ages ago, where eons stretched back and reality became myth. An old enemy that they had been sure was defeated. A power that had gone out of the universe! And now this girl, this fish and her friends was wielding it against the thralls? The dark presence in the temple reached out its own senses focusing on the trio of Jedi. 

 

What had brought them here? What fate had given them this mission to defeat him? He had consumed and he would consume. Blood demanded it. 

 

In the temple a half dozen priest began their incantations, staining the alters with blood of unwilling victims. There was little time left and the Jedi were close

[Tilt07]

On 2/21/2023 at 6:16 PM, Non-Playable-Characters said:

 

 

For Kirlocca, Tilt and Squad, and Sandy

 

The young woman smiled wanly at the clone, her face close enough to his to kiss him if she had felt the inclination. Her voice dropped to a low tone, sensual and dark. 

 

“We need young blood for His ascension. The children and whoever you bring to us will be sacrificed on the alter of the Fanged God.”

 

She said it as if it were common knowledge, and though she was about to speak again she gasped instead. Her eyes unfocusing for a moment as their dark pupils shifted and changed before the clone’s gaze. Their natural dark stillness replaced with a raging fire of red. She dropped his arm without adding the blood mark and turned towards the door. 

 

For those Jedi that remained inside the bar, the darkside was in full swing now and their blood marks urged them towards the fight. For vengeance, for blood, for Him. The Fanged God who sat upon his throne of blood. 

 

 

"Oh... That's neat..." Thumper said as he kept his pokerface as to not arouse any suspicion. . He said it as of it was a weird statement more than anything, and the crazy occultist had a hold of his arm. Then there was a look of fury upon the woman's face which the Clone merely raised his brows, she dropped his wrist abd started for the door which the trio merely looked to each other abd shrugged. 

 

While the woman's back was turned Tilt gave a few habd gestures to signal that they get ready... For whatever. They put on their helmets, uncertainty about their thoughts now. Tilt approached the woman but kept a good two foot distance. He asked, "Ma'am... You alright?"

[Solus]

After so much waiting, filled with pacing and occasional groaning, Solus began to get fed up. 

 

“What in the Force’s name is taking them so long?” Solus griped as he turned around for the 100th time to pace the room further. “My message was perfect, was it not? It was succinct, it spoke of desperation, and it had the perfect lure!”  

 

In his slow rantings to himself, his grip over his Madness loosened, and several eyes began to form in the crevices of the walls. Somewhere, an gurgle came from the shadows. 

 

“Oh no, I made sure everyone could hear it…” Solus replied to the gurgle, as if he understood. “From what I know, the Jedi are always rushing into the rescue. And the Imperials will want a stable government so they don’t have to commit forces here long term! So why is nobody here!”

Solus glanced at the equipment that was used to send the recording. 

 

“Perhaps I need to resend another message to…”

 

A blaster shot interrupted Solus’ thought. From the ground, a Falleen soldier had just recovered from his wounds, and overhearing the Shard’s plot, sought to prevent the plan from succeeding. 

 

Unable to hit the Shard, he did the next best thing and destroyed the control panel. Three shots rang out before Solus even registered what was happening. 

 

“You stupid kriffing idiot!” Solus shouted as he reached out with the Force and pulled the blaster out of the Falleen’s hand. “You are the dumbest piece of rusted scrap to ever walk the planet! Why you little…”

 

Solus walked over and placed a metal foot on the Falleen’s chest. Unable to talk much, the Falleen only spat out some spit and blood at the Shard. Solus didn’t outwardly react, only gripping his hands into fists as he stared the Falleen down. 

 

“Well, at least you are providing something useful to me…” Solus sighed. Holding up his hand, he revealed the Scomp-link in his finger. “Maybe you have some info on your compatriots, hmmm? Nah, I doubt that. But at the very least I’ll get to enjoy your pain…”

 

From inside the control room for the communications array, screaming could be heard. 

______

 

Shortly afterwards, Solus was rushing towards the central palace. In the time since he had sent out the first message, the Linnorms had completed their goals of going underground and committing to guerilla warfare. The evidence of dead bodies, scorched buildings and destroyed utilities certainly were proof of that. 

 

Standing before the palace, Solus saw smoke coming from several of its towers. The Falleen forces had begun their own attacks inside in preparation for the Imperial forces, and the palace was still the icon of the people. From the looks of it, Falleen forces were already inside and dealing with the Linnorms.

 

“Hmmm…it is so tempting to hunt everyone…” Solus thought out loud. “To commit death on a scale to please the Fanged one himself. But…I have a different mission. Killing is not the main goal. Stealth first, then…we shall see, yes?” 

 

The Madness gurgled at the Shard’s reasoning. With that acceptance, Solus charged forward. 

 

Utilizing abilities of the Force and his own training, Solus became a blur of a droid. While using the ability of Force speed was a given, so too did the Shard have to utilize the shadows, sensor blindspots and Force Flash for areas with no blindspots, acrobatics, distractions via moving objects and creating noises, and even playing dead once as a group of Falleen militia. Much to his pleasure, his efforts were rewarded with no one noticing the Shard. Neither Linnorm nor Falleen took notice of the blurry droid with a cape and music instrument.

 

But all the while, Solus had to deal with the Madness. 

 

“Yes, yes, soon soon…” Solus told himself as he ran down a set of stairs towards the basement where the records were kept. “I promise I will kill someone after I…

 

The Madness growled into Solus’ ear, a hint of maliciousness aimed at the Shard. 

 

Solus threw his arms up. “Gah! Of course, I’ll drive someone towards insanity, my apologies oh vile one. Just…let me…”

 

Solus stopped halfway down the stairs as he gripped his head where his Shard form laid. The Madness inside was growing restless with the Shard, and was eager to spread and expand. Solus needed to appease it soon, or its images would plague him without mercy. Even with his training, he could not restrain the Madness forever. 

 

“There!” Solus heard a cry. At the bottom of the stairs, a Linnorm appeared. Dressed in raggety cultist robes and clutching a bleeding wound at his side, the Linnorm had seen better days.

 

“Thank the Fanged one you’re here…” the Linnorm gasped as he made his way upwards towards Solus. “Our numbers are unable to maintain the Palace for long. But perhaps with you…”

 

Solus didn’t hear anything the Linnorm said. He was too focused on the Madness inside. 

 

“Atlach-Nacha '' Solus said out loud as he raised a hand towards the Linnorm. 

 

The Linnorm stopped and looked at the shard in confusion. “My lord?”

 

“Em ni esoht hsinab ot dna etubirt ni eno siht tae. gneL ni rellewd , Atlach-Nacha. This be my ritual…” Solus continued. The Force around him shivered slightly as the Impossible Geometries opened up. The vile dark shapes that plagued Solus’ form in the Geometries slid out on ethereal winds. With focus, Solus pushed the Madness towards the Linnorm. 

 

The Linnorm’s eyes widened as he witnessed Madness take shape. Before him, a new thing had formed. Numerous hairy, jointed legs stretched across the stairs propping the massive carapace in the air. From its twin abdomens protruded large stingers that dripped ethereal poison to the ground. On its front was a humanoid large face, looking strangely baby-like, save its numerous eyes and maw of teeth.

 

The Linnorm screamed as the thing descended on him. Solus kept his sensors focused on the poor soul, knowing that if he broke vision, the ritual of the Wyyrlok would be broken as well. He had given life to a hallucination, and now that the Linnorm, weak minded as he was, believed it,  everything the hallucination did was real to him. 

Solus finally broke his concentration and stepped over the twitching body. Blood dribbled from its nose and eyes, and its mouth opened and closed noiselessly. The Madness had infected this soul, and in time, would kill him. 

 

“Not bad…not bad…” Solus chimed to himself as he left the body behind, the Madness returning to him in full. The gurgling was less vicious now, and more constrained. It would not hunger for a while now. At least, long enough for Solus to find the data room and erase everything inside.

 

“Pity that my master couldn’t have seen that. Or that it had to be one of my own. Oh well.  Now, time for those plans…” 

[Keenava Dira]

 

Only after the beam of plasma finished its arc, did Keenava see.

 

     The roadway sat motionless in her mind. The feather-light touch of the force tickled at her nose and spread throughout her body, mingling with fragments of her torrid past, manifesting in a technique that she didn’t understand. She let out a breath she didn’t know she’d been holding, and one of her knees fell to the cold road. Soil and gravel bit up at her through her jumpsuit. The planet felt cold. Death was no stranger here.

 

     The leader fell, and her head fell beside her. But the glimpse held in her blue eyes as the moment drew on was almost relief. The frail form of the woman as she crumpled to the ground was not the demon she was a scant second or two ago. In death, though corrupted, it was as if she’d had one breath of clean air—a breath of clean air in a coal mine. Before the final act carried her to her grave.

 

     A somber silence masked the next few moments as Keenava held that pose. The beam of verdant green still fizzled and spat as the healing mist continued to shroud her.

 

     Dust was all that remained. Dust is all that persisted as the thralls of darkness continued to fall around her. Even the cult leader had been banished to this macabre ashfall. In her somber state, Keenava saw the particles hanging in the air, falling gently as the light cleansed them: mothers, fathers, sisters, and brothers. Their deaths were justified, but now that Keenava could think, now that her conscious soul had been purified from its inky black, she could feel the weight of them. 

 

     If she had the choice, she would do it again to protect the future, the balance, and her friends. But it felt different. Something about Keenava was happier that she could feel this sad. If the choice to end a life was effortless, what meaning was there in life to begin with? If you don’t value life enough to stay your blade, what kind of life do you lead?

 

"May the force be with you." Keenava breathed as she bowed her head and extinguished her blade.

 

The Twi’lek felt rumbles and concussions as powerful figures clashed on the paths ahead. She could feel the chaos of the world around her as the somber moment passed. And as she let the shroud of mist fall from her shoulders, she could feel her master in the distance, effort pooling in the force as she struggled.

 

Keenava did what she could to send good thoughts to her master and bolster Sandy in her fight, but now was not the time for hesitation. Stretching her quads for good measure, she ran back to Leena and Kadi to regroup.

 

Edited March 16 by Keenava Dira

[Mavanger]

The world seemed to slow as Darth Mavanger closed the distance with the Wookie. His first two strikes fell upon a stalwart defense, a testament to the Wookie's abilities, albeit only a temporary one as his knee drove into the Jedi's ribs and his pommel cracked across Kirlocca's face. It was in this brief moment of bliss, as his blades tasted their first drops of blood since Nar Shaddaa, that he saw the Wookie's play, a foot driving towards his shin. The very move he had used against the Imperial Knight over Kuat, the move that had almost claimed victory. He leapt, shifting his momentum into a spin, intending to drive two cuts into the Wookie's body, but as his own turned midair and he met the Wookie's eyes, he realized his mistake.

 

The blow didn't pierce his armor- It was a solid Sith alloy, designed to stop everything short of a blow by power armor. Unfortunately, it didn't need to break the armor to be effective as he was caught midair by the force-powered punch. Pain reverberated across his chest as he was pushed back through the air, interrupting his plans for attack as he hit the ground and rolled, driving his blades into the ground to slow his movement. Had he tried to brace himself, the blow would likely have caved in his chest through his armor. It had taken him by surprise- He'd never fought an opponent that could match his strength, his power, blow for blow like this. He would have to be careful to not allow another blow like that. He stood, correcting his chance as he took the briefest moment to catch his breath from the Jedi's blow.

 

He charged again, channeling his emotions and sensations. The pain from the Wookie's blow sharpened his mind, opened his senses to incoming attacks and malicious deceptions. The frustration at his attacks being interrupted drove power into his strikes, merging with his rage and his lust for vindication. The Jedi had rebuffed his offer of kinship, the opportunity to avenge his grief. Darth Mavanger's sorrow had burned entire planets, slain entire populations. He'd slain a monarch to right the wrong done unto him, and yet still he felt it so succinctly. And yet, the Jedi claimed his own grief as greater as though one history of loss negated another. He declared the Sith Warmaster's grief as lesser, as less deserving of empathy because because his list was not known, all the while refusing to bring the perpetrator of such personal sorrow to justice.

 

These things drove him forward, a hardened hammer of darkness to fall upon the brittle shield of light. His empirical truth against the shallow protections of false comforts and self deceptions. A crushing miasma of loss and despair to swallow hope, happiness, and peace wherever it went. His life was a testament of the weakness of the light. How many times had they the opportunity to kill him, to stop his rampage, his crusade? Kuat, Trulalis, Naboo, Nar Shadaa, and now Falleen. All testaments to his wrath, his hatred. All carried with them scars of his passing.

 

He let out a cry that was as much for battle as it was for loss, grief, and sorrow. A harbinger of rage, fury, and hatred. Of guilt and regret, of bloodlust and violence.

 

He feigned the same opening, a false blow to shield his intentions, his true target of the Wookie's outstretched palm, extended past the easy defense of a lightsaber. He stepped to the Jedi's left, bringing down Imeall Sceimhle towards Kirlocca's bicep, intending to either disable it, or sever the arm entirely. The second blow came from Imeall Dólás, a horizontal slash powered by his momentum and his rage towards the Wookie's midsection in an attempt to bisect him, a cruel cut that if it connected would likely debilitate the Wookie if it didn't outright kill him.

 

Another vicious attack followed as Darth Mavanger attempted to get behind the Wookie, a diagonal cut from should to hip from Imeall Sceimhle, followed by one more combined swing by both blades, a crushing blow from above as he looked to demolish any defenses the Wookie could muster. Speed and power were his allies, his weapons, his tools. His trade was battle. His art was war, and he was a master. A potential prodigal son long lost to the dark.

 

((2))

[Leena Kil]

As the eternal echoes of the force reverberated into silence, slowly, Leena opened her eyes. She felt the outpouring of force energy from her body. She had been but a conduit for the energy of the cosmos, for life, and while it invigorated her, her every nerve tingling with purity, she felt the raw drain of energy such a display had carried with it. Caught up in the torrent of the never ending oceans that made up the galaxy , Leena had to strain to not allow herself to be lost in the break as eternal met the present, washing the darkness away in a riptide of purifying light.

 

From her crouched position, Leena slowly stood, stretching out her hands, arms and legs as she willed feeling back into the extremities. She surveyed the world about her. The chaos of the dark side boiled in the distance, an agitated swamp, even more lethal as it churned and was purged; a necessary event nonetheless. The Jedi would have to ensure that the people

of Falleen, their people and culture, were not destroyed in the process. Around Leena; however, there was a stillness as the ash of a thousand fallen dark side wraiths were blown on the breeze, their tormented souls free to finally journey into the great beyond, to find peace now that their nightmare was over.

 

The Mon Cal brushed a tear away from a bulbous eye, grief at the loss of life, even as the cancer of the dark side was culled. Sacrifices necessitated by the perversion of the darkness. The Jedi Master inhaled deeply, steeling herself as she remembered that these lives lost were not by their doing, but by the machinations of the disturbed and deranged, perverse acolytes of sin and evil. And yet, it was not wrong to morn the senseless losses the enemy had inflicted. Staring out at the gently wafting ash, Leena closed her eyes, bowing her head in a moment of solemn silence for the memories of those long since destroyed by the darkness, finally able to rest. As she did, the blinding barriers of light that separated the ash and the Jedi began to fade to a shimmer before dissipating on the breeze. The immediate threat of pressing evil over, the world beyond still cried out for salvation from the darkness. In the distance, like a beacon of twisted blackness, Leena could feel it; their work was not yet done.

 

As @Keenava Dira loped toward her, Leena offered up a half-hearted smile; a smile, nevertheless, that shone in her pained watery eyes. She was proud of how the newly uninitiated Jedi had handled herself. Surrounded by darkness, Leena could only imagine how easy the temptation would be to revert back to past knowledges and old habits, even in the name of rightness. “Well done,” she offered as a sign of her approval accompanied by a knowing nod, “but our work is not yet done. The darkness still holds firm to this world. Even as the light seeks to extinguish it, I fear that the shadows of darkness will take root amongst the forces of liberation and good. We must guard ourselves, watch out for others, and extinguish the unnatural flame of shadows. Reach out, feel the darkness my friend. We must go to it and stop whatever profanities they are even now pouring upon the soul of this world.” 

Leena nodded toward the city in the distance, spiraling towers even now cloaked in unnatural shadowy clouds that seemed to crackle with dark energy. Somewhere within lay the font of darkness that even now corrupted the world around them. Looming to the others she pointed, “The force will be with us and guide our steps.” And with that, they set off, back toward the city and the temple of darkness within.

[Karys Narat iv-Adas]

Akheron looked on at Sandy Sarna, his vision fixed upon her until he felt the familiar feeling of impending danger soon to be upon him. His own Dangersense alerting him as the ground began to shake and crumble beneath his feet. Even as blood dripped from a cut upon his head after being struck by one of the rocks previously thrown at him, shredding the robes off one arm to reveal the red skin beneath it and bruised his body. It was painful but he used the pain as more fuel to his ever burning fire. He had barely moments to react before the breaking of the ground was followed by the felling of buildings next to him and the carnage of the debris and durasteel that threatened to engulf him.

 

Shattering the silence of the storm above with the sounds of twisting metal and breaking stone. Any Linnorms inside were instantly upended, spilling out across the field of battle either dead or maimed from the fall. Bodies lay strewn across, but it did little to impede the Sith Master's advance, for he was a destroyer. A chaos bringer who brought Death wherever he went in service of the Sith and the Fanged God. Akheron could feel the Light from the Jedi Master, repulsive as it was too him and this only drove him to become further enraged at the thought this puppet of Light and of the Enemy, hated above all else, thought she could bury him like some ancient exhibit in a tomb of dirt and steel. He would not be so easily diswayed.

 

As the Jedi Master stood where she was creating the chasm, as the Sith Master observed her, the hewn stone and blast molded durasteel came crashing at him like a tidal wave of death. Akheron leapt, Jumping with the fury and Speed of the Force hoping to avoid the premature burial, twisting girders and stone aimed at seeing to his doom. His hope to meet his foe face to face, saber to lightsaber as was his intent. To bring the fight close and into his realm. That of the Sith Warrior, where he was akin to a god of war. Or so he thought. A master of his craft perfected over a lifetime of battle and trials by fire. 

 

He did not make it unscathed, paying a price to avoid damnation. While he did avoid death, as he landed on safer ground and finally got within striking range, he felt pain in his left leg and along one side. Looking very briefly, he noted a smaller durasteel girder had impaled the left leg at a diagonal angle and lodged itself, while there also seemed to be at least two broken ribs in addition to his previous injuries. While the leg was prosthetic in part, it was also flesh and bone and as such he could feel pain from it. The Baptism of Blood had made it possible, combining metal and flesh. Akheron still wasn't entirely sure quite how only that he had achieved great power from it. The pain was a discomfort all too familiar. He knew, the Jedi Master was likely to use this against him, as years ago she had irritated his wounds. But it did not stop him from continuing on, instead Akheron used his lightsaber and quickly sliced the girder where it had entered, and exited to shorten it and ensure his enemy had less options to effect the wound. Or so was the idea. 

 

He used this additional pain to further give purchase to his Wrath and Rage. To fuel his energy and allow the Darkness to come quickly even as he snarled and winced slightly at the discomfort. 

 

Advancing the last steps, he closed the distance and finally met her. Finally he could see directly into her eyes, that of his rival. His nemesis. He would look into her eyes and watch her last moments with pleasure and delight in her Death. Encompassing her in his Wrath and Rage. For he remembered the words of the House of Dragons, the clan vividly. Death, remembers all. And he would remember her death even if she didn't his.

 

He brung his right arm down, lightsaber within as he stepped to the Jedi hoping to quickly get within her defence, bringing the lightsaber down diagonally, he intended to either leave a grevious wound of some sort or bi-sect her in a attempt to overcome his foe. He followed this up with a second blow, twisting the lightsaber, despite the discomfort to his wounds, and slashed the other direction trying to cut from shoulder to hip in a X pattern. He decided he would continue, and use his strength and power to turn the tide with blow after blow. She would either submit or perish, he would see to it. For he was Wrath and Rage incarnate, the destroyer of worlds. A Juggernaut of the Sith.

 

Darth Akheron vs Sandy Sarna - ((2))

Edited March 18 by Karys Narat iv-Adas

[Wookiee Jedi]

The atmosphere was charged with emotions, fueled by the Sith. Kirlocca held his own in check, as they were clearly not serving the Sith, at least not in a way that he could see. Yes, the emotions in the air were allowing more adrenaline and power to be pulled from; But the mistakes of the big picture were being missed. The Jedi Master made no illusion that he wanted the Sith to keep charging recklessly at him, and that seemed to be okay with the Sith to keep on charging and playing into his hands.

 

The one who killed Raven made a loud cry after recovering from the blow, or simply feeling it, and began to charge again. A small inhale of breath quickly allowed for him to center himself as he prepared for the next flurry of attacks, all of which seemed to be coming from a dark place from the Sith. Even darker than perhaps anger. He could feel it due to the blood ritual on his wrist from the priest in the cantina earlier. 

 

The flurry of attacks came like rain during a hurricane. Intense, rapidly and misleading in the damage that they could deal. The Sith first stepped to his left, which began the dance of the two. One of the swords came at his arm, a small yet simple move, to which Kirlocca was able to move a bit toward the Sith, allowing for him to spare his lightsaber for the next move, which he could already feel within the Force. But as he moved to block the other sword, the one aimed at his left cut into his elbow, sending a very sharp pain echoing through his arm, which changed the direction of how he wanted to avoid the swinging wild sword to his right. 

 

With the pain, he managed to barely get the lightsaber in defense of the second sword and kept it from doing as much harm. The slightly weakened state had the blade of his lightsaber push back just slightly enough to burn some of his fur, but not enough to make a cut. Luckily though, it forced him to truly step into the Sith attacker, putting himself almost on top of him, which then would aid heavily in the defense of follow up attacks from the Sith, as he just simply would not have enough room with two blades to make anything effective enough against someone being so close and with a lightsaber defending. 

 

As he then stood almost on top of the Sith with him thrashing about, causing now strong flurries of attacks that couldn’t truly hit or find a mark, Kirlocca decided to get more offensive in his nature, lifting his knee into the gut of the Sith. As he did, he quickly lifted his blade, bringing it in a downward motion, while simultaneously lifting his leg through his knee. The double pronged attack potentially would make Raven’s murderer choose between being forcefully kicked backwards and away, having to recharge at the Jedi Master again, or having a blade take him clean out.

 

((2))

[Mavanger]

The Wookie's mistake had been hard earned- In an attempt to halt Darth Mavanger's flurry of blows, he had stepped into the Sith Master's guard, trying to emulate his own earlier attack with his knee. But without the momentum, the power, the fire of rage and anguish to drive it, it wouldn't prove nearly as crippling. His ribs ached where the knee met he'd taken the previous blow, pushing him back the precious few steps he needed to strike once more at the Wookie as his lightsaber carved through the Warmaster's shoulder.  It had found a chink in his armor, a necessary point to allow for his movement, and in doing so, seared both his body and the fabric holding his should plate attached as it his the ground with a heavy clang of metal against pavement.

 

The Wookie had made a critical mistake- He had underestimated Darth Mavanger. It was clear in his bladework and his intentions. Simple cuts and spacing blows, an attempt to tire the Sith and to keep him at an arm's distance. He hadn't considered that the Warmaster had earned his title through bloody battle and conquest, that he had anything behind his movements beyond a tantrum thrown by an apprentice who didn't yet know how to harness their rage and pain into something dangerous. If he had dueled Mordecai Valar, the young, ambitious Sith apprentice, over Borleais, he would have found the same success that Ismael had. The scarred tissue that coated a large swathe of his face was a grim reminder of that lesson, though.

 

He'd learned many of those.

 

In the years since, he had transcended blind, pointless attacks. Every cut fed into the next, every strike fueled by his malice. Every assault designed in the moment to kill his opponent. He remembered what he had learned, each fight bringing with it their own cavalcade of emotions and sorrow. On Kuat, he had learned never to underestimate his opponent. Doing so had nearly cost him and Xahl their lives. On Corellia, he had learned the follies of the Jedis' defensive fighting when the young padawan was defeated. On Kuat again, he had been taught the error of blindly following where his opponents led him. That had cost Xahl, his best friend, his life, and had nearly crushed Mordecai with a slagged turret.

 

Trulalis had taught him the dangers of overextending when the Rebels counter attacked Mon Cal, and took everything from him.

 

And so many more. Every foe, felled by his blade. The number of people that had survived him were countable on one hand, both friend and foe. This was his path. A firestorm of hatred, of rage, of vengeance and anguish, that left nothing but charred remains in its wake. All of this loss, this sorrow, spit upon by the great Jedi hypocrisy. The preaching of empathy, without the ability to empathize. The belief that the Dark could never defeat the Light, regardless of the number of times the Jedi had nearly been made extinct by the Sith.

 

The Wookie, as powerful as he was, only had one weightless blade and an injured arm. Darth Mavanger would shatter his defense in one final flurry of blows. A sweeping attack low, an outlet for his wrath, towards the shins from Imeall Sceimhle. His momentum carried his spin into an anguish-filled blow from Imeall Dólás as he rose merely a fraction of a second later, another cut towards the Jedi's midsection in a second bisection attempt. A third strike, an overhead swing from Imeall Sceimhle in an effort to split the Jedi's skull in his fury. Another swing brought forth his grief, a cut towards the Wookie's ribs from Imeall Dólás that would tear the Jedi's heart asunder as the Rebels had done unto the Warmaster. Every attack, meant to overwhelm. Yet another blow flashed towards the Jedi Master, carving a path through the Force as  Imeall Sceimhle moved to intercept his Lightsaber, in an attempt to make the Jedi as defenseless as one frozen by terror would be. And then, the final blow. Into it he poured everything. All of his pain, all of his loss, his rage. But more than that strike his very will to live, his resolute promise that he would avenge Jarvus through blood. Imeall Dólás drove down unto the Jedi everything that Darth Mavanger could muster.

 

He would make him understand his pain, one way or another.

 

((3. Excellent duel! Can't wait for the outcome.))

[Wookiee Jedi]

The few steps that the Sith had taken backwards from his attack was enough. The lack of power driven into the attack was also sufficient enough to maintain his own energy. The Sith carried with him a great sense of pride and position. His tactics like one who had waged war many times, his presence assured of knowing he carried the momentum for the battle. The slow security he needed the Sith to have, as he knew for a fact that he never once faced the form of Wru’torr. But how could he? None of his apprentices ever mastered the form, save one. Dahar. And Dahar’s death was a premature one. So long as the Sith kept charging with blind focus and creating pain, he was playing into the form’s hands. 

 

The next flurry began quickly, with a wild swing of one of the swords towards his shins. A sweeping blade that carried with it some momentum. Being such a large creature that he was, a simple step backwards avoided the blow altogether without having to involve his lightsaber. The fast spin from the Sith warrior off his momentum also brought with it a side swing again, a threat of catching him midsection. A step backwards would end up resulting in himself losing the ground he needed to disarm the Sith. So he took a half step in towards the Sith again, dropping himself on the lower side to catch the blade. A bit of precognition kicking in. 

 

The precognition from the Jedi Master proved to be spot on, as the follow up swing by the Sith was an overhead one from his other blade. Catching the first swing on the lightsaber, Kirlocca ended up placing both paws upon the hilt, and swung it upwards to defend against the downward strike as a fast follow up. The defense shot pain through his left elbow of the strike against it, along with pain that shot across his shoulder blades from one of the first strikes of the Sith to even land. The pain felt like stretching a muscle that just wasn’t ready to be pulled as fast as it was. It gave the immediate reaction of longing for withdrawal. 

 

Kirlocca surrendered to the withdrawal feeling, taking a step backwards as he stood up to bend over slightly to provide relief for his shoulders. His slight withdrawal proved to be a small saving grace from the wild swing at his midsection again, this time catching some of his flesh in a steady cut from one rib to the other. The cut went without any defense as his lightsaber remained a bit to the side from his own withdrawal away from the Sith. The pain felt like fire across his midsection, with fast stinging from his own blood and sweat that almost immediately entered the cut. It forced him to take another step backwards. The step backwards was met by a wild swing from one of the swords that went nowhere. Clearly the Sith had expected for the Wookiee to step up and use his lightsaber, but the cut forced a different option. 

 

It was then that he saw it, a driving downward blow. Instincts told him to step backwards, but the Force whispered for him to step into it. It was what Wru’torr was built around. Using the momentum and energy of the opponent against them, whilst saving your own only for when it was needed. nNd he could feel it, the moment he had to end this conflict. Placing both paws upon the hilt, he stepped into the driving downwards blow, catching it head on. But upon meeting the blades, Kirlocca released his hilt and spun towards, not alongside the Sith. The false catch he hoped would carry the Sith’s own momentum downward, leaving him exposed to what was coming next from the Jedi Master.  

 

As his body came around, that’s when he unleashed it. His right paw went downwards towards the Sith’s neck, with every bit of energy and Force strength he could muster, as he used very little of it thus far. The strike upon any normal person would have separated their head from their neck, even with armor covering it. He knew the Sith would be able to prepare for it somewhat, so the blow would not be lethal. It would however still have very devastating consequences.

 

((3))

(Fun duel! Loved writing this story with you. Thanks Mav!)

Edited Friday at 03:20 PM by Wookiee Jedi
Everything changed to every

[Sandy Sarna]

The monster had been injured but not destroyed, but as with all great works, nothing was instant. A great work of symphony could take any minutes, hours even, to get to the crescendo. And the Force moved heavily as Sandy and the pitiable monster began their last chords. A clash of bright light and utter darkness. Threads of Redemption against bitter anger and brutalism. A planet and people long scarred by an oppression that had stolen everything from them. Trodai in his blind passion had destroyed the identity of an entire species, kidnapped their youth, and had led them to a slaughter. And for what? A crown that had already slipped from his brow? He was no Dark Lord. Others had seized that title and had dispensed of their entire galactic might leaving Trodai without the power he had sought so hard to find. 

 

Even in revenge there would be no relief. There was no final satisfaction in such an act, for a life consumed with rage and passion could never be truly fulfilled. There must always be an objective, a center of the rage, or passion or lust. For if there was none of those it would turn upon itself. It was a pitiable lifestyle. A snake eating the world until it had eaten all but itself. Turning to eat its own tail. A story, a song, as old as humanity itself. And somewhere beneath the song and the movement of the force Sandy felt her heart weep for Trodai. Even as he bounded towards her, his lightsaber reaching for her soul. For though there was a righteousness in the defeat of such an evil, he had still been at one point a man. Before bitterness and rage had filled every ounce of him and burned him beyond recognition. 

 

He had gotten close, and the song filled her ears as she began to move in concert with the Sith Lord. She could not defeat him blade to blade, that was not her battle. So the Jedi Master began to move as the song directed her. A thousand opportunities and a thousand more possible directions, most ending in almost instantaneous death. All required a sacrifice of pain. 

 

She took another steadying breath and let the force guide her, there was little time and the song was coming to its crescendo. She took a step back and pushed off with her right leg, letting the force flow through her to amplify her push away. The Sith would not find the easy delight of her death. 

 

The first and second blows found purchase, cutting through the light cloth and scoring a wicked burn across her midriff. The flesh burned painfully and the second blow caught her outstretched left arm as she pushed away. Burned to the very bone, a sudden stiffness catching at her tendons. Another wound that would take a very long time to heal. Just like the world that she was trying to save. 

 

Distance was what she needed and the threads of the force now lay arced to where she once had been. Where the Sith Lord glowered in malice. A malice that had led him into a deathly trap. The force moved heavily in anticipation. And the Jedi master let it guide her. 

 

Sandy flexed her uninjured hand, gathering the threads that the force had connected to her, and with a pull the song did the rest. 

 

The names were too numerous now, thousands and thousands. Those countless sons and daughters of Falleen that had been led to their doom above Nar Shaddaa. Whose bones would never settle in the earth of their home world. An unnumbered loss, which the planet cried out for justice. Tens of thousands of memories, of childhoods, of lives lost for useless wrath and useless rage. 

 

Justice the song sang in ten thousand voices. 

 

And the buildings all around where she had been echoed the song. How many joyful days the great stone buildings had seen. When avenues were full of smiles and laughter. Now long gone and the streets full of rot. Full of the one who had brought damnation to the world and its peaceful inhabitants. 

 

The buildings themselves fractured, their edifices already torn and their foundations shattered. The tall buildings came down as fast as the force could pull them onto the pitiable Trodai. The planets song reaching to smite him for his evil with every brick and stone. With effort Sandy lifted her injured arm and let the force flow through it. Letting it form a bubble of protection that expanded out before and above her. A shield of the bright white light of Justice. 

 

The Fanged God would be defeated even if it’s twisted minion threw himself upon her shield. For Justice had called his name and Falleen would be redeemed. 
 

((3)) ((Great Duel my friend))