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Mon Calamari/Dac


Nikolai Kolchak

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Kessel:

 

Mythos had heard of the devastating happens of Mon Cal and the Sith's current occupation of it's surface ports. But he wasn't sure of it's strategic value in the war with the Sith. This caused him to sit silently in the background as he thought upon it's purpose, his attention darting back and forth between the Jensaarai and Lieutenant Andromina in between his own thoughts. When the Jensaarai, Mantis, made his departure, Mythos rose to make his own without word, his mission clear cut. It mattered little the reason it was chosen, only that the higher ups demanded it. He would make sure it was liberated from the Sith War Machine.

 

Once headed back to the city, he commed ahead to Jibb, requesting a team of five lined up as work detail for the cruiser and two personal escorts for himself. Wasn't much of a detail, but Mythos very rarely operated outside his skillets, the former Alliance Marshall using his strengths to his advantage. And with SaberCats, it was a variety tailored to suit his needs. They were capable of becoming ghosts without the Rebellion's aid and each had been trained to fit various roles in times of need. This is why he chose to bring them, and now it was time to prove themselves.

 

After arriving at Von Howlster's Reach, Mythos made sure his weapons were placed in separate unmarked crates, but kept his armor for personal reasons. The two who accompanied him dressed in civies while the five that were to labor aboard the cruiser departed with their gear and his own, safely storing it aboard the cruiser with the affects of the patrons. When it was time, Mythos, Grenn, and Altos departed for the cruiser as well, and Kessel became a blur in the distance as Mon Cal became their next destination.

 

Mon Cal:

 

The air of Mon Cal stunk with the putrid stench of the Sith occupation. The outbreak that once razed it's surface had left behind the entrails of oppression and socialism under Imperial Law. And even the surface layer still bore the mystical wounds of the Force upon it's civilians, the broken spirits lingering in an almost decaying and ruined state. As soon as Mythos disembarked the cruiser, the aroma of Mon Cal churned in his stomach and burnt his sense of smell, causing the Shistavanian to cover his about as best he could. For most travelers, it was an odd thing. But for those who knew his race would almost instantly recognize their heightened senses. Humans were lucky creatures.

 

Meanwhile, as Mythos, Grenn, and Altos made their way away from the starport and toward the security terminal, the five Marines began unloading the personal affects of the patrons. For now their job was simple, observe their surroundings. Learn the movements of the Sith patrols and safely hide away their gear among the others. And when the time came, retrieve it.

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At the security port station, things went as expected for Mythos. After their carry on luggage was checked and revealed nothing out of the ordinary, a change of thin clothing for lounging, a pack of smokes, a handheld gas torch for striking said cigaras, and a few miniscule items unworthy of note, Mythos and his escort were allowed through. Pocketing his identification he was granted, he made his way toward the recreational district and pleasure plaza where he had a hotel room booked for the next few days. All in all, it seemed like any other Shistavanian vacationing such a world. And that was the point.

 

After taking a little time settling his things away after check in, Mythos made his way around the pleasure plaza, keeping of the appearence of vacationing while scouting the area for his move. For most vacationers, he appeared out of place, a towering wolf man escorted by two humanoids. And all shrugged it off as an alien with diplomatic status, exactly what his identification personified him as just earlier in the day. Mythos Fenrir, Shistavanian Prince, a title he rarely used after leaving his pack behind so long ago. After all, sometimes the best identity was one that held some half truths to it, similar to the greatest of lies.

 

After walking the plaza's boardwalk and enjoying a few morsels of local cuisine and a few alcoholic drinks in big vertical glasses topped with cocktail umbrellas and fruit, Mythos made his way into one of the local casinos for a few games of chance. Visual surveillance was a great start, but local chatter always held deeper information, and drunken gossip held half truths. With the right amount, one could always strip away the lies and find the truths hidden within. And it had been a long time skill of his, dating all the way back to his time as a Marshall.

 

A few hours later, and a few drinks down the hatch, Mythos was on to a potential target. He nodded to his escorts and excused himself from a pazaak game, Mythos took the moment outside for some fresh air. Lighting a cigaras and taking a drag, he began a solemn and quiet stroll outside the city's pleasure plaza and toward the planet's shipyard, cup in hand and song in heart as he stumbled and swayed, his eyes ever alert. He was intrigued to test their security and alert levels, and a drunken Shistavanian would stick out like a sore thumb, especially in a no smoking zone as he clumsily nearly fell into a mineshaft entrance.

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Steam and gas rolled and bellowed around the area as the three Deepguard Monitors strolled up on Mythos in his 'drunken stupor', the towering beast leaned over and regurgitating the alcohol he had consumed as their voices echoed across the landscape. Mythos had chose this place for a reason, his intent hidden behind false presentation. Civilians were minimal, if not non-existent in the area. Patrols were automations, non sentient and expendable. And the only thing local besides the mines were a nearby powergrid that powered most of the surrounding sectors. If this hit was successful, it would cascade. Now was the time to sober up.

 

"My, the mannerism programmed into you lot." Mythos spoke with heavy breathing as saliva drooled from his maw, metallic clawed gauntlets digging into the duracrete beneath his hands. Lunging his bipedal feet forward in a primal motion, Mythos connects with the first of the three droid's and sends the trio toppling over one another. "I think I've got it from here."

 

In the same fluid motion, as his feet return beneath him, Mythos kicks off the ground and toward the enemy, sparks of electricity igniting before him as the droid's programming kicks in an attempt to subdue the Shistavanen flicker in the darkness and off his unmasked visage. Quickly his grasp hinders one of the prods aimed from atop the pile of mechanical humanoids, struggle of beast and machine ensuing until Mythos manages to drive the prod into the circuitry board of the machine and it seizures, the two below glowing with personal shields. Mythos recoiled, his fangs snarling in response to the heat and radiation. They were more resilient than he had thought as chatter echoed about. He knew he didn't have long before backup would arrive.

 

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After Mythos departed, Grenn and Altos waited awhile before excusing themselves from the casino as well, their mission greenlit and ago. Whether or not the Colonel succeeded or not mattered little at this point and they headed straight for the starport for the rendezvous with the others. A small trek and a few back alleys and they arrived, Creole and his men geared and ready for Grenn and Altos.

 

"The Colonel?" Creole questioned as he threw a gun to each. Grenn gazed at Altos before chuckling. "He overdid it a bit, but you know the Wolfman. I'm sure he can drink us all under the table."

 

A stifled round of chuckling between the seven erupted as Grenn and Altos suited up in the enclosed storage facility. Once geared and ready, the seven departed, George carrying the Colonel's gear across his back. Just as they cleared the fence line and drew to the shadows, an eruption forced a brief halt in their movements. It seemed the invasion had begun. With that, Altos lingered out alone and accessed the local holonet through a local line and began slicing through the comms. A few moments and communications would be down.

 

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Mythos knew he had to avoid the shields directly and limit their prods connecting through his armor and fur as much as possible, limiting his actions to mostly defensive measures. He had knowledge of most droid's due to his past experiences, but these models were unknown, not even modified submodels. And this made his severely nervous. Combined with his being unarmed, and it seemed fruitless. At least, until an explosion a few kilometers away brought a moment of distraction, a distraction he could use.

 

Explosions were a common place on the battlefield, a reality of war. So much so that veterans like Mythos were rarely effected by them in the heat of combat. They had grew to expect and accept them, use them to their advantage, and react like they didn't exist. Especially if they were distant. Even in his past life as an Alliance Marshall, although not as common, did tend to occur. Add that part of his life to the part as a member of the Rebellion, and it accounted for two thirds of his life living through them. So when the droids inquisitive nature responded to the distant explosion, Mythos reacted.

 

Lunging forward on all fours, Mythos used his wide shoulders to plow through the shielded droids as the radioactive shields heated up his armor just briefly, melting the leathered hide and turning the durasteel a glowing orange. With the torch in one hand and the force of his momentum, Mythos collided with one of the loader droids. Placing the lit torch into the crate it carried as it began to topple, Mythos recoiled backwards just as the droid fell into the open mine, it's repulars unable to correct it's course.

 

Seconds later, the ground shook and flames erupted below as the gas ignited, Mythos hugging the ground as if it would fall away, the gas vents around them lighting up the darkened Industrial Sector as much as they did the remaining two Deepguard Monitors. Mythos did not wait a second longer than he had to and quickly got out of there as another explosion rocked the nearby powerplant and sent half the city into darkness. His part here was done and there was bigger fish to fry. Hopefully this was enough a distraction for the Rebellion forces to take the opportunity.

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Mythos panted as his speed began to increase, the bipedal Shistavanen now crossing the threshold on all fours as he shifted gears. His ears shifted atop his head as he heard the sounds of persuit, but paid little heed. His part was done and as darkness fell over most of the city, Mon Cal's liberation had begun. He only hoped his escapades caused little inconvenience for the planet's natives.

 

Above Mon Cal, drop ships began dropping like fire and brimstone across the canvas, the Rebel Alliance intent on freeing the oppressed with hostile intent. Like the hammers of heaven, they screamed across the upper atmospheres and laid a crimson trail of fire in their wake until they slammed across the city's surfaces like judgement, SaberCats at the helm. Operatives of MoonCall, their Colonel the infamous Mythos Von Howlster, they were trained to be the ultimate culmination of both the Imperial Remnant and Galactic Alliance Forces under the Rebellion's banner. And Mon Cal would soon see their might.

 

In the Pleasure Sector, Green, Altos, and the others were making their way to Mythos. With communication down and now the darkness falling over the city, chaos would erupt and they knew that they had to act fast against the ensuing mechanical oppressors. As riots erupted and drunkereds stumbled across retaliation, bursts of automatic weaponry and surges of ionic blasts favored salvation for the unfortunately sentients that found themselves at the blunt ends of the Deepguard Droid's malware. Their jobs may have been to regroup with the Colonel, but none could stand by as Innocents were terrorized.

 

Throughout the city, Squadrons of SaberCats and other Alliance Forces engaged Deepguard Battle Droids with vengeance. The SaberCats, engulfed in modified Katarn Class Battle armor with the infamous hilts of Lightfoils dangling from their hips, were a force to be reckoned with, even for Sith Lords. This was Mythos' intent, not only as a Colonel in the Rebellion, but from his years of experience as a Alliance Marshall as well. And here, on Mon Cal, they were designation was to hinder and cripple to opposition and clear a path to the Royal Palace. There, Mon Cal's Liberation would be paramount.

 

------------------------------------------------------

 

Meanwhile, hidden in a vault of the old shipyards, a Dark Soul began to stir and drift upon the currents of the Force. It's intent, a body to possess and let it's will be remembered.

Edited by Mythos
Oni
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It was absolute darkness that began to plague Coral City, the local Alliance Forces and SaberCats forced to use Night Vision to separate friend from foe. The Deepguard droids stood a reinforced wall against the Rebellion, uniform in the plight of their Masters, unequivocal in their concept of death as they fell only to be replaced by others, unbothered by the meaning. They may have well been the living dead for all they felt. And yet, for the Rebellion, there was purpose and reason behind their own, intentions they lived and died for with pride and fear. The emotions were grandiose, flowing chaos across the unbeaten drums of their shared plight. They accepted their fate, for it was one soul for the many rather the many for one.

 

Mythos could hear the onslaught that chased after him, the clammering and whizzing of the mechanical oppressors on his heels as he panted in the darkness of the frozen tundra, the crunch and instability of ice beneath his hands and feet. Turning through alleys and side streets, Mythos made sure to correct himself and stay ahead of the Deepguard droids that pursued him, holding off just long enough to gather his company and face the threat head on en masse. It was the only way he would survive this day, and he held no intentions on losing any more than what was necessary. He knew this was war, but the idea of losing a single man sickened him to the core. Any sentient who could stand loss of life under their command were no better than what they fought against.

 

YOU WHO DEFY ME SHALL SUFFER WITHOUT MY FAVOR.

 

He heard the buckets echo in unison all around him, an uneasiness settling in the air as Coral City plummeted into complete chaos and fear in the encroaching darkness that followed, only the light of the night sky and the assault lending any light against the chill. Up ahead laid the edge of the Pleasure Sector and his men, the skidding of boots and lightning of his metallic claws scraping duracrete heard in the darkness before the towering Shistavanen let loose the first round of his refounded Scatter Rifle, sending the lead Deepguard unit down as Grenn and the others followed in suite amongst the others. Yet, what followed next sent chills down even the Colonel's furred spine.

 

YOU WHO DEFY ME SHALL SUFFER WITHOUT MY PROTECTION.

All across Coral City, the city grew quiet and cold, like the silence of a necropolis, as the Deepguard forces retreated. Some sounds of early celebration echoed across the battlefields, but for the Veterans of War, it was eeriely suspicious and frightening. Even for Mythos himself as he stood and gazed at the retreating Deepguard automations, his fist held up in the halt position. His eyes shifted in the dark, the presence of the air was colder than the chilling wind, and the voice that echoed in the darkness from the automations only made the moment colder. 

 

YOU WHO DEFY ME SHALL SUFFER WITHOUT MY MERCY.

 

It was so quiet. Only the beating of their hearts filled the vacancy of the noise that once pierced the veils of Coral City, and the breath they exhaled, like steam from the culverts that lines the streets. Even the Recruits and Militias could feel the unnatural presence in the silence, even as memories of Nyrys contemplated in Mythos' mind, the silent melody of ghosts that nearly drove the Shistavanen insane. He did not like it one bit, and it plagued his thoughts until screams began to echo in almost uniformed unison. Mythos grimaced. He had hoped what he felt in the wind was natural, but his gut knew better. The Sith were at Mon Cal and he knew the power they possessed at their disposal. Nyrys had taught him well in their last engagement.

 

"SaberCats,..." He spoke into the open comm within his helm, an ominous tone groaning from his coarse voice. "...Illuminate."

 

Across the city, the brave souls of the SaberCats Company grasped at their hips and activated the very tool that separated them from the rest of MoonCall and their glow ignited against the shadows of the encompassing darkness as the Lightfoils came to life. They may not have been as powerful as Lightsabers, especially in the hands of trained Jedi and Imperial Knights. But they had been trained in combat by the very Jedi and Imperial Knights they fought along side in the use of them, which made them deadly enough. Now only stood the question of whether fear of the unknowingly encroaching dead would set in or would they truly hold up to the faith Mythos placed in them. Darkness had fallen on Coral City and Mon Cal, more metaphorically than figuratively, and now came their true testament. Whatever forces the Sith would present, they held the numbers to combat it.

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It was something straight out of holovid horror that was wrought this night upon Mon Cal. The Heroes seiged onward with hopes of Victory, of Liberation, only to have the horrific reality to swipe in and squash such dreams and hopes. Screams erupted across the silent city, the night driven darker by the blinding fall of snow as abled bodies struggled against frostbite and the undead. SaberCats stood as beacons of light for those brave souls who wished to aid in the liberation and those unfoul ghouls who hungered for the lives they once lived, the Rebellion's pride growing into nightmares.

 

As MoonCall's elite unit threatened to separate the Deepguard's from their hollows and free the homes of the oppressed, soon found themselves fighting on two fronts: against the hidden machines and the undead as they clobbered to claim life they could never succeed. Forms of both enemy and ally alike would find themselves in pieces against the unholy plight that pilgrimaged through Coral City, the undead claiming no true allegiance and only adding numbers to their growing masses. It was chaos, and it was beyond what Mythos could have imagined.

 

Strobes of silver would dim and reignite as fallen members became the enemy, and Mythos standing near it's center could only hear the howl of the wind, his gaze fixated on the tower above. He had arrived at the City's center, his intentions set upon the spire that housed the King and his captors. He grimaced and tossed aside the comm that echoed the screams of the fallen and the gnarls of the condemned. He stepped forward, the weight of his boot crushing the exoskeleton of a Deepguard unit as more appeared before him, his gaze shifting to the seven that followed him and then back to the Deepguard that secured the Palace.

 

"These Sith have no gall nor morale." He spoke with disgust, his memory of Nyrys and now churning his stomach at the concept that even death wasn't a formality to their desecrations. It was sickening. "We need to end this now."

 

Across the City, enmasses of SaberCats, Rebellion's Soldiers, Mandalorians, and Civilians continued their efforts despite the horrific death that awaited them. But that wasn't their care anymore. It was the fight for others to survive that begin to matter, fate being accepted as a price. Silver Blades took blows from Silver Blades, crimson and emerald bolts met both living and dead flesh, ancestors fought descendants, and brothers in arms fought brothers in arms. Even though both sides hungered to live, only one was perverse and defiled. Finally, the Mandalorians had their Holy Crusade, but not in the manner they had once prayed for. And for the Rebellion, life was meant to be cherished and fought for, not hungered and deprived of. Death was the ultimate sleep, and these poor souls could not find their rest.

 

Mythos unsheathed his jagged saber, his mask fixated on the enemy before him rather than the ones that surrounded him. If death wanted to claim him, it would have to chase him, right up to the bastard that claimed to command it. Eight stood at the gates of hell and presented themselves. And as the battle of the Palace commenced, only time would decide the victors. It was time to end this, to let sleeping dogs lay and the dead in peace. It was a firefight...

Edited by Mythos
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It was chaos as Mythos, Grenn, Altos, and the others fought to get into the central Spire. These veterans of multiple wars were well versed in strategic engagement, but found it hard to move the line. Even with the Colonel at the head, using his skills as a Marshall combined with the skills of a Shistavanen, could barely keep the enemy at bay. Deepguard units laid at their feets, collecting snow and freezing against their coolant fluids, Mythos' jaws laying sliced and his teeth riddled with metal as more showed up. Wave after wave rolled from the steps of Palace to replace those that fell to the Rebellion, endless hordes gathering at front and rear. Tomas looked up at Mythos as he handed the Colonel his scatter gun reloaded, hopeless fear meeting the Shistavanen's gaze as he glared down at the man. This only enraged the beast.

 

Another line of Deepguard units fell in almost synchronous timing as Mythos and the others peered over their wall and let loose another volley of pellets and blaster bolts, more encroaching in an endless tow as Mythos threw his gun back to Tomas and shot out into the open field. The emerald and crimson bolts illuminated the snow as the Shistavanen drew down to all fours and raced to meet the enemy, attempting to push past the gates and away from the wandering dead. He would not rest, nor would he perish, until this line sank into the bowels of the Palace and Mon Cal was liberated. He refused to fail again. Claws lashed out, his jagged blade decapitating, as he pushed forward with ferocity. And behind him as quick as they could, came the seven that followed him into the depths. And as Mythos stood past the gate, blood and saliva salivating from his torn gums and heated claws steaming in the cold, it grew eeriely quiet even amongst the undead as the Deepguard stopped coming.

 

The air had smelled of death and decay for awhile now, and the air howled of it's unnatural cold. But now it became putrid beyond remorse, the unnatural cold still and silent, and for a brief moment, Mythos once again questioned his own sanity as he removed his helm and took to sniffing the air in disgust. Then came the sound, his ears twitching upon the top of his head as it came louder, shifting in the direction it shuffled. And so he turned, the three marking across his visage narrowing with his eyes as he looked into the darkness and saw the unholy. With the crunching of his bipedal feet, he stepped to the rear of his confused men, placing his arm and blade in protection as he caught sight of the Sith.

 

"I leave the King in your capable hands." He spoke with a grim tone, his confused men looking at him with worry, unable to see what he saw at the moment. "I will handle things from here. Move out men."

 

And so they did, rushing off into the Palace ahead and soon the sounds of blaster fire once again rang in the air in the distance. But Mythos stood at the ready, one final shot in the scatter rifle at his feet and his blade extended to his side. At first his mind wandered to Nyrys, questioning if she had finally come to embrace her death at his hands. But this one's scent was different. It smelled of death, of chaos, no purpose to it's existence save for it's enjoyment. Nyrys had held a scent of revenge and blood seeped hands. He knew her reasons for her fall, no matter the hypocrisy. But this scent held fumes of remorse nor of life. It stunk to its roots of death, and Mythos knew this was the one who had robbed Mon Cal, his men, and the poor souls he ensnared of resting in peace. He was a blight upon this world, and to the Galaxy as a whole. He held no qualms about ridding them of it.

 

"Come on out of the shadows, Sith..." He groaned out of his throat, the hoarseness of his deformed vocal cords straining to overcome the howling cold. "Let these old eyes see you better."

 

((Pre-Duel set up for Mythos and Inmortos, sent NPCs ahead to attempt rescuing the King. Duel will be PC vs PC, no NPCs. NPCs will be controlled throughout duel separately from Duel Posts like so))

 

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Once inside the Palace, it didn't take long for Grenn and the others to encounter more of the Deepguard. Altos began hacking into the Palace's mainframe in order to locate the King's whereabouts while the others began engaging the enemy, laying suppression fire down. Confused my the Colonel's actions, they went about their job with intent while the rumors of Mythos' mental breakdown at Chandrila plagued their minds. Had he fallen prey to it once again? They could not tell. But they had a job to do, and would fulfill it whether he had or not.

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Mythos glared upon the hooded figure with his own disdain, his fist clutching his jagged blade with animosity and rage. These Sith were all alike to him, hiding in the shadows, using their mystical powers like the Galaxy owed them something, selfish creatures with no remorse for the lives they affect. It was pitiful. It was disgraceful. It was pathetic. He was a warrior of peace, a being of sacrifice, and he cared little for what awaited him in the afterlife, so long as his death was in the service of others. Yet, with this Sith, he would not go quietly. He saw this being of Death. And he would not be enthralled. He would force this creature to destroy him first.

 

With each step that he drew closer, his snarl only grumbled more. Like a rabid dog protecting his pack, he watched and waited, giving the man the opportunity to converse his sentiments before he lunged. And yet, he spoke not a word, instead giving a glare of his own from beneath his cloak, a glare that sent shivers down Mythos' spine and froze his form in place against his will. Mythos glanced from his legs back to the being before him, noticing his hand raising as he fought against his hindering, feeling the stiffness of his muscles and skin, his anger only growing in the moments that past. No. He would not be controlled. Whatever magicks this Sith had enthralled upon him would not work. He refused. 

 

And then came the attack, Mythos watching in horror as one of his SaberCats came to the forefront, watched as his soul became the weapon, and grew furious as the soul was lunged in a screaming horror toward his former Commander. It was almost too much to bear for the Shistavanen and as the memories of Nyrys flared in his mind, he roared a chilling howl, breaking free just moments before the soul imploded and riddled Mythos with shrapnel. Mythos was able to react, using his armored forearms to protect most of his vitals as the shrapnel littered across his form, slices forming across the rest.

 

And yet, this was nothing new for the former Marshall. Wounds come and go. But the spirit of the warrior ran deep in his veins. In his past, he had dealt with rogue Jedi, criminals of the Alliance, and even a Sith that left an scar upon his back that would never heal. This being would be no different. As the air began to clear, the onslaught of the undead trio rapidly approaching, Mythos took no bother in removing the shrapnel from his wounds as they began to heal, and instead took to the offensive; headlong into the approaching undead.

 

Removing three spherical devices from his coat, he tossed them into the air as mounds of smoke began to bellow forth from them mid air, his blade slicing at the trio of undead in passing, his intent to cleave them in half as his gaze at the Sith became savage. As smoke began falling around them and the canisters fell to the ground with a dotted clank, Mythos took a chapter from his encounter with Nyrys and used the bellowing smoke as cover. When he reemerged from the smoke at the Sith's rear, his jagged blade lunged forward, Mythos' form low and balanced by his free hand.

 

((1))

 

Actions: Mythos took the brunt force of the Soul Shatter under the assumption that it imploded before connecting with him after willing himself free from the Glare of Cruel. Not sure on Soul Shatter due to the wording in the Guide and that fragmentation grenades usually explode around the target than in connection. If I am wrong, then this is a learning experience or I can correct, depending on Inmortos' preference. Left damage to the Undead up to Inmortos, as well as Mythos' attack to his character.

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Even for the furred Shistavanen, the immense cold he had forlorned into Sent immediate shivers down his spine and attacked the circulation of his boiling blood as their blades interlocked. Mythos hates the Sith and their magicks, despised them with all his heart, and in this moment, he was reminded why. Though he disliked the Jedi, theirs was useful. But these Sith only cared for themselves and their glory, cowards compared to the Mandalorians he had faced. There was no competition when you held an unfair advantage. Being driven back and forced to drop his freezing blade as his opponent retreated, Mythos wiped the frozen moisture that attempted to blind his sight. This was enough. He had had enough. 

 

Reaching into his coat again, he flung forward another grenade, this one a flash grenade meant to obscure the field of sight with a bright blinding light so he traverse the field of battle and end this once and for all. Lunging forward on all fours once again as the flash grenade exploded in the air above him, Mythos adverted his eyes. But this move was not without it's cost, the Cyromancer Inmortos capable of raising not only the dead, but the ice as well as the spikes began darting up from the earth beneath his form rapidly and forcing the Shistavanen to panic in the moment.

 

From the ominous flickering of the well lit area, Mythos emerged, bloodied and slower as cuts littered his form and blood mixed with ice. Some gashes were deep and beyond his healing capabilities, but some like the others before them would take time to close completely. But like any wild beast, Mythos was on a path of survival, driven by instincts and malevolence, and would not be denied his prey. He would emerge the victor and end this occupation of Mon Cal even if it ended his life. The citizens would know their freedom again. He would make sure of this.

 

As the flash grenade began to lower and dim, Mythos' would reemerge visibly as claws and gaping maw would be inches away from the form Inmortos, intent on devouring the Sith with extreme prejudice.

 

((2))

 

Actions: Mythos' vision and blade began freezing due to Inmortos' Still blade and use of Darkness Reigns. In anticipation of Inmortos' Glare of Cruel Disdain, prelaunched a Flash Grenade, but overlooked the Maw of Inevitability and got caught up in it. Reverting to primal instincts and actions, lunged at Inmortos with claws and gaping maw.

 

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NPCs

 

"Got him" Altos called out, motioning the others to follow him. With that, the seven began their trek to the Sublevel where the King was being held prisoner. But with each level they traversed, Grenn became more suspicious. The firefights were few and far in-between, the numbers of opposition low, and his bones ached with an uneasy feeling. He didn't like the ease of their plight.

 

Finally, they arrived with the Enhanced Interrogation Chamber dead ahead. Grenn stopped, looking around with suspicion, arms at the ready. What exactly were these Sith and their machines up to?

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It was a battle of darkened hearts, Mythos driven by hatred and disgust of the Sith and their magicks, his opponent driven by disgust and disdain by any that he felt beneath him. Both had fallen into the frenzy of the primordial, and both had succumbed to it, Mythos likely lesser than his opponent, but it would still taint his heart nonetheless. Only he had yet to realize the consequences nor the permanent mark he would receive as a reminder, their fates intertwined in this singular moment as their battle continued.

 

Feeling the shift of his opponent's form and weight against his attack, his gaze shifted toward the bladed hand as the enemy swept it toward his head, causing Mythos to veer away and hinder his full attack. Coldness swept atop his head and a burning sensation soon took it's place, a portion of his scalp and ear removed to reveal the skull that laid beneath. As soon as Mythos felt the ground beneath his feet again, the onslaught of cold wind began to accumulate and rush against him as the blade continued it's assault, Mythos upon the retreat.

 

This enraged the Shistavanen even more, his armor growing cold against the blows until the fur and skin beneath became burnt with frost, using his hands and arms to protect against full contact. Unarmed and on the defensive was not where he wanted to be, especially against a Sith, the reminders upon his back and now his head burning in remembrance as his blood boiled even more. And then came the contact, the Sith grasping as his arm as he felt it begin to freeze and his energy began to wane.

 

"No." Mythos grumbled as he fought against the cold that sought to overtake him. "It will not end like this. I refuse." 

 

Mythos eyes glazed over in his weakened state, a glaze of complete anger where tunneled vision is the only course of action, basic instincts and attack of a primordial beast. Reaching out with prosthetic arm Lady Sandy had graced him with on Nar Shadaa, he grasped the Cyromancer's bladed hand and squeezed tightly, an almost frightening smile adorning his snout and chops as he opened his maw once more and went for the Sith's carotid artery.

 

Now it would be over, one way or the other. If he was to die this day, this Sith was coming with him.

 

((3: Great Duel bro, no matter the outcome. Mod is of your choosing.))

 

Actions: Avoided Inmortos' Stillblade, but at the cost of being partially scalped. Has several onsets of frostnip and superficial frostbite in unarmed defence. Grasped Inmortos' bladed hand in defiance before lunging open mouthed at his carotid artery.

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