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Nar Sha-DON'T - Open Skirmish

- - - - - Nar Shaddaa TSE Fight Fight Fight

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Kosu Goram

Kosu Goram


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Kosu riddled with holes hunkered behind some storage crates "huh... that didn't go as planned".

Five very angry Sith were bearing down upon him. there was not much time....


Three hours earlier. " Well that just about does it...Now to leave to scum-pit." Kosu had to make a pitstop On Narshadda for supplies, a task he was not fond of, much less in a place like this.


"Now... where is George?"George the small fluffy Jester. George the endless eater. George the Jester that ate all of the supplies in three days.


Where is George? George is hunting... well, more like waddling around eating anything mildly edible.

 And he managed to waddle a full fifty feet from the ship.


using his chair Kosu hovered away from the ship to search for his little friend/pain, that's when things sixty-sixed. Seven Sith were approaching, and they didn't look like they were coming over for blue milk.


Back to Present.


"Find the cripple and destroy him" one of the taller Sith ordered. 


Kosu felt secure behind the Storage crates, but then George found him, George was so excited that he let out a high pithed squeal and ran into Kosus' lap.


"There's the scum" Said Skrall a one eyed Sith with anger management issues "If you come out now we'll make it quick"He said as sincere sounding as he could.


Skrall walked around the storage crates to find...nothing, nothing except drag marks along the ground. "He can't have gone far"


Skrall followed the drag marks around a corner....Kshhh A dark blue beam could be seen coming through Skralls helmet for an instant before he crumpled to the ground.


"You should have called for backup" Kosu said from the shadows. "Now how do I get out of here?"
























    Machine Mind

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The machine intelligence was uncertain as to the combative capabilities of its organic compatriot, though a number of rapid simulations seemed to indicate that there was a high degree of success so long as the element of surprise was maintained up to the point of conflict, and so long as hostile reinforcements did not intervene in a direct fight between the two and their selected target. The Intelligence considered a number of these projections and simulations as the organic delivered a series of coordinates to it. 

Analysis of the acquired coordinates seemed to correlate well with the organic's assertion that it was a Sith landing zone, especially when compared retroactively with the known locations of hostile squads which had been encountered whilst attempting to rendezvous. While it was true that there were other potential centers of distribution, the Intelligence could not determine any others in the local area which were more likely to be utilized as landing points than the one provided, and further searching would ultimately be wasteful. 
The Intelligence did not grace the organic with a response, nor dictate acceptance of their idea. Its silent contemplation was all that would be given as a sign of its cooperation, followed subsequently by the locomotion of the Tanuki host as it set out towards the provided coordinates, acknowledging the added detail of further rendezvous along the north-most section of the locality only with the subtlest shift in direction. Once more, the issue of the organics taking far too long to transmit data arose, with the Tanuki having already begun its trek by at least three steps before the next interrogative arose. 
There was an implication that an outcome was possible for the Tanuki, though it was difficult for the machine to determine exactly what was referenced in the question. When the organic questioned what would happen to the Host, did they mean what would happen to it after the transference of control was given to the war-machine? Was the interrogative in reference to the possibility of the host's destruction should they fail? The most likely option seemed to be the former, especially given organics propensity towards thinking of physical forms as being absolute containers of consciousness; a narrow perspective provided by their biologic nature and subsequent confinement within flesh. 
The controlled Host did not turn upon its heel, or make eye-contact with its conversational partner, or follow through with any of the socially accepted norms of dialogue. It did not deem these mannerisms as necessary, nor was it obligated to follow-through with them as were organic beings whose sub-routines were laced with domineering and pointless routines not dissimilar to the maneuvering of the Tanuki. Instead, the machine simply transmitted its ageless monotone voice to the comm-system of the organic: "Following Host Control program initiation, both Tanuki and target host will be controlled." It explained, intentionally utilizing what it considered to be a great degree of detail to ensure no miscommunications post-control. 
Questions answered, the machine continued in its path, growing more distant from its organic companion as it steadily neared its destination, utilizing quieter methodologies of travel where possible, and occasionally transmitting hostile deterrents to Peyton Steele to guarantee her arrival. Assorted conflicts were detected almost throughout the entirety of the march. Typically, these involved poorly-outfitted thugs and denizens taking up arms against well-equipped and far more capable Sith legionnaires, though occasionally there was the flash of lightsabers clashing, of fire raining down from the sky upon distant palaces, and of all number of ravages, marring the locality. 
All which was perceived by the entity was transmitted back to its compatriot, and, when the infamous pirate captain's own comm-link was once again detected, the knowledge was sent to him as well, seemingly without any concern whatsoever as to where he had been or whether he was in a position to assist properly. 

Kosu Goram

Kosu Goram


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"You got yourself into a mess didn't you?"

Kosu looked up at his often insulting Battle droid

"Swivel will you just help me get back to my ship"

"Of course sir right away sir" 


"Can I kill that nuisance yet?'

"No, and you can stop asking...if anyone kills it, that person would be me."

Kosu being helped along by Swivel, and George who is more concerned with the recently loaded supplies make their way to their cruiser hoping that the coast would be clear.






Neri Rashal

Neri Rashal


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Darth Ophidia




There was no mistaking the ghoulish face in the smoke. Old bias died hard, but it's not like she was wrong after all. Sith, if there had been any doubt before. But then, why would there be? The Sith were a rot worse than the Smuggler's Moon itself, the black slime eating at dead flesh.


The fragments of the blade left in her side ground against bone and shrapnel from old injuries that had never been properly removed. It was enough to leave her gasping, white stars flecking her vision and threatening more. It was enough that she reacted too slowly to breaking the hold the other woman gained on her wrists. 


She couldn't break it, but even as she felt her body lifting, she centered the gun and fired- point blank with her opponent grappling her, could she even miss? The angle wasn't quite right and she knew it, but something.


The smoke disoriented but she could feel the whip of the wind, the strength of the throw and then the sickening suck of gravity as she flipped and landed with a lung emptying OOPH on the filthy pavement flat on her back. 


Even with her chest screaming for air, she started to roll- reflexive, muscle memory taking over- to surge back to her feet. But her mind screamed in the back that it was too slow. She'd reach her knees at least.....


Lorale Farmar

Lorale Farmar


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Nar Shaddaa

Unknown District


Raptious grunted as they rose from the debris mixture of glass and metal and stone, massive rebar and spears of ruin mere inches away from their body. The shattering of the skyscrapers and utter disintegration of the Hutt palace, caused by the ships above most certainly on orders from the Immortal Emperor, had caught the Sith Lord off guard, almost taking their life. Of course, Raptious would not hold a grudge against Darth Carnifex for such an action, knowing it was likely the best course of action.


The titan of a Sith grumbled all the same, however, as they marched through rubble filled cracked streets of the putrid orange lit city.


“Search for survivors,” the Sith suddenly heard. “Make sure you get anyone you find to the shuttles. We’re dusting off in twenty. You miss the shuttle, our prayers go to you.”


In spite of their size, Raptious was a novice sneak when they needed to be, quickly melding into the shadows of a debris wall to watch the militia search for any wounded survivors from the attack of the Emperor. Many themselves were injured, but still combat capable, armed with blaster rifles, gravity guns, and vibroswords. The lone Cathar of the group, was armed with one of its species’ Honor Swords, a weapon Raptious greatly desired for its craftsmanship.


Gripping the hilt of their blade light a child gripped its favorite toy, Raptious yelled in the foul language of the Sith and charged the militia. Most of them fell instantly, carved into pieces or sent flying to their demise via Force Screams/Pushes. Only the ones with the vibroswords lived the initial attack, but only the Cathar was the one that remained standing. Raptious smiled at the opportunity.


That smile fell when the Cathar managed to land several cuts and bruises and slashes and gashes on the Sith, much to their utter shock.


Yet, somehow, the smile came back during a brief moment of respite.


Packed with the bodies of fighters, civilians, warriors and all of both defender and invader, the only one the Sith found truly honorable of the whole bunch was this opponent, who stood at the edge opposite their own with her sword that glinted in the ever-burning fires around them.


This was crazy. Had it finally come? The one to prove the Sith right. That there is always the one in the galaxy to end the life of another. The Cathar blade looked almost pink in the dying light.


“You know how this ends?” The flesh mountain that was Raptious motioned their orange blade towards the warrior of Cathar whilst looking down at the carnage around them.


"Yes. With your head on the floor!"


And they were off. The light of the flames seemed to shy back as the opponent, all youth and lean muscle, leaped catlike from the edge of the carnage, waving the blade in figure eights multiple times before touching down on the cliff again. Raptious cracked yet another smile. For a brief moment, they could see uncertainty in their opponent’s eyes and felt grateful for the advantage.


Advancing. Advancing. The woman charged at the Sith with the blade upheld, going for a foreswing and following it with a backswing. Raptious dodged the first and met the second with their saber. The weight of the thing sent the Cathar’s blade back, back, back…but not far enough to knock the blade free of her hands.


Striking. This arcing shot sliced the fabric of Raptious leather chest at the midsection. It missed the flesh behind it by perhaps a centimeter. A good blade.


Raptious sent a quick jab to the woman's forehead, causing her to stagger backward and swung. The saber missed, though not close enough to eat fabric or flesh. The opponent managed another smirk, this time at the spryness of her dodge. Raptious had to admit it was impressive, but this time, the sight only made them angrier.


Swing. Swing. Swing. The first two missed badly, but the third, a backswing off the one before it, found flesh. The heavy lightsaber ate through their opponent as easily as air. The Cathar fighter dropped to a knee, tried to stand, and dropped again.


Raptious looked at his woman. Honorable, yes, but the wound was bad enough to kill her. That and the Sith needed to relieve some anger at failing yet again. They raised their sword and smiled one last time before sending it tip first through the left eye of the Cathar until the blade hit the debris below.


“Pitiful,” they grunted after hooking their saber back onto their waist. “Time to leave, I suppose...5G, come pick me up.”


Within minutes, the Sith’s starship swung into sight with the rapidity only a ship of the Empire could possess, the cockpit opening to allow the Sith to leap inside and fly off back into orbit and the Sith Fleet.


The invasion of Nar Shaddaa may have continued in their absence, but the Sith Lord’s quest to find a proper challenger was over. Nar Shaddaa was simply another failure. And yet, despite this, the damage the Cathar had inflicted gave Raptious hope they refused to acknowledge. That there was indeed one out there. One that would be the ultimate challenge.


One that would kill them.

Darth Raptious, The 11 Foot Titan




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Thalliesin Bard

Thalliesin Bard


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Thalliesin Bard and his Vanguard walked through the carnage.... this violence is unexceptable.

At that moment four sith warriors came upon them.

the fight was quick, and brutal.


Gorganna the Wookiee ripped one apart with her bare hands, whilst two trandosians mauled another.


the other two... well they were Thalliesins' 


their sabers ignited as they charged at the armored warrior.


the first warriors saber came down towards Thalliesins head only for their arm to be grasped and broken, followed quickly by their skull.


the remaining sith warrior reached out at him through the force attempting to crush him.


"not so powerful now are you" 


"hehehe"that laugh was the last sound the sith would hear for at moment the timer had stopped on the explosive placed on his back.


"All too easy"


Lorale Farmar

















Edited by Thalliesin Bard, 06 August 2019 - 12:08 PM.

Peyton Steele

Peyton Steele


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Busy. Right, great. Busy. Fine, she and the droid can handle it. The blonde was definitely shaking her head, well, at least, internally. She had to keep moving with Servant, the currently-tanuki droid partner for her little cell of the Underground. She took the location she submitted to Servant and sent it ahead to Red Blade. “If you get time, we may need a ride.” Her ship was fine, but who knew if they were going to be experiencing a bit of heavy assault.


Her droid was set up for slicing, but that meant they were going to have to work harder to get themselves away from the LZ. As she was watching Servant, and hearing the response, that the Intelligence was controlling both droids, that was definitely interesting. She nodded as she kept her gun out, making shots at incoming baddies as they moved through the street, until she heard the call.


Angel… She looked around then up, the grav chute wearing Red Blade. She smiled and shook her head as she fell behind cover. “Where have you been?” She shouted, more just regular shouting than through the comms.




Khonsu Amon

Khonsu Amon

    =] IMPETU ☼ SOLIS [=

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Mid Rim // Hutt Space // Nar Shaddaa.
New Vertica // City Streets -> Club Vertica Casino // Thyrsian Reavers.
The blade didn’t come clean. Despite the powered armour Khonsu wore, and the creature finally drawing its last breath, the beast’s wretched carcass still clung onto his sword like a jealous lover. It took the combined might of his arms, and a firmly placed boot to wrench the weapon free. When the plasmatic edge tore free, a fountain of ichorous fluid sprayed outwards; partially coating the Warlord’s gilded frame.
As his visor was retracted, revealing the face beneath, the gushing shower of the beast’s essence painted the Mercenary’s weathered flesh. The man recoiled in disgust. It tasted foul; like rotten fruit left out too long beneath the Sun’s unflinching gaze. He spat, trying to rid himself of the unmistakable scent of decay. Yet, no matter how hard he tried, it wasn’t enough to get rid of the taste.
It was something he’d have to endure for the time being.
Pushing aside the cloying stench, the Thyrsian pulsed a command through his armour’s neural ports - forcing the actuators of his helmet into action. The gilded plates snapped closed, and sealed soon after; bathing the Warlord’s darkened eyes in the false-firelight of his heads up display.
He had hoped that the swathe of data scrolling before his eyes, as well as the armour’s atmospheric scrubbers, would be enough to take the scent of Xenos filth away - but alas - it was not. That brought a string of Thyrsian curses to the man’s lip.
The man needed something more. Something that would wash away the foul taste. Yet, all around him were a collection of ravaged buildings, and scattered debris. Nothing within reach that would cleanse the palette of the alien’s blood. He’d have to wade through the rubble-strewn streets further to find his newfound prize.
Without provocation, the shard of his starship’s artificial intelligence flickered to life; materializing in the top-right most corner of his visor’s display.
:: Club Vertica Casino is located directly above your current position. There is a surface-based force cylinder in a nearby building, which doubles as a proprietary expansion; no doubt that there are refreshment facilities within.::
“You don’t say.”
:: I am still learning your parlance, < Designate: Khonsu,> was that sarcasm? ::
“Yes,” he said drily. “Yes, it was.”
As the image of Vindicta blinked out and was replaced by a newly materialized waypoint marker, the Sun Guard quickly thumbed the activation plate of his sword. The re-ignited plasma field flash-fried the creatures’ blood caking its metallic flesh, turning the dripping ichor into flakes of colourless ash.
Once cleansed, Khonsu deftly slid the blade back into its scabbard and took off towards that sector. There were already friendly forces reportedly located in that sector. Sun Guards who took to the streets slaughtering those that wished to deny them their prizes, and capturing those too weak to resist. It wouldn’t be hard to link up with that Warband and have them join him as they made their way inside the Casino.
While it was, in many ways, considered overkill to have more than a Lance of Sun Guard in a single building; it would expedite the process of garnering refreshments. As well as whatever loot that building had within.
He need merely think about establishing an encrypted connection with his comrades, and they’d fall into line. However, the man became distracted. A bright spear of energy materialized upon the horizon; lancing down towards the planet some distance away. 
It was a magnificent sight to behold.
Though it was some distance away, Khonsu could feel the slight tremor ripple through the city streets. Usually, such an occurrence would only come from a kinetic bombardment, but the targeted structure - whatever it was - was massive. When that distant building collapsed, it tore into several of the surrounding Starscrapers; causing several levels to cascade down into the depths of Nar Shaddaa.
Thus, such callous violence and fury would doubtlessly be felt - in some fashion or another - by all who inhabited this sector of the Smuggler’s Moon.
:: Distance to Waypoint Marker, Three Metres. Additional Sun Guards en-route. Advise caution when entering the Casino.::
Unwanted as they were, Khonsu silently thanked the artificial voice in his head for drawing him back to the mission at hand. He also cursed her for returning his senses to the forefront of his mind; filling his nostrils with the cloying scent of corruption. 
“Damn your caution, Vindicta,” Khonsu growled. “Activate my shields, and keep the corona skintight. That should ensure your safety from whatever lays within.”
In the time it had taken him to blink, his suit’s defensive bulwark flickered to life and encapsulated him within its plasmatic embrace. Satisified, the shard of Vindicta that resided within his skull voiced her approval, before falling silent once more. 
As the doors to the Casino’s ground floor came within reach, the Sun Guard withdrew one of his sidearms from the magnetic plating that kept the weapon to his thigh. After checking the magazine and racking the slide, the Warlord tore one of the glasteel doors off their hinges and made his entrance.
Without hesitation, several of the Casino’s security guards raised their blaster pistols and opened fire. They wouldn’t bother demanding that the man surrenders into their custody; for they already knew what the answer would be. Thus, they sought to take him down through strength of arms, and superior firepower. 
Well, at least what they believed to be superior.
Turns out, those advantages turned to ash mere moments later. As the projected deflector screen that surrounded the Sun Guard drank in the discharged violence and spat it back from whence it came; incapacitating or killing the guards outright. It was a small mercy, to be slain by their own weapons, rather than forcibly subjected to the acidic bite of the slugs his Dissuader chambered. 
An audible click resounded in the silence that followed, coupled with a near-flawless representation of the Thyrsian Warlord’s voice.
“Those of you who wish to leave this Casino alive will have to pay the toll. Any and all valuables will be accepted, and you shall find yourself under the benevolent protection of the Sun Guard as you make your way off-planet.”
If only they could see the serpentine grin painting his filth-stained lips.
“However, if any of you seek to leave before you pay your dues? You’ll share the fate of your would-be protectors.”
“Oh,” the Mercenary said as casually as one could whilst threatening an entire Casino with a drawn pistol, and powered armour wrought from shimmering, blood-stained gold. “The first one to bring me a drink and a wet rag shall find themselves exempt from this tithe, and shall have my gratitude.”


Signature made by Bambi 

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    Machine Mind

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The landing zone had been effectively secured. With every perceived outpouring of violence, with every interjection of conflict which had wrought itself before the photoreceptors of the Host form, the Intelligence had begun to compile an analysis on the most likely status of its rendezvous target. At first, the statistics had seemed to favor a relatively minor group of semi-alert defenders as had been found countless times in numerous piratical and privateering operations. The brutish majority of the Rim worlds had taught the Intelligence to perceive organic battle-groups as little more than forces of overwhelming strength with little focus or direction, ravagers set forth upon worlds in order to take whatever they desired with an animalistic mentality. 


Further observations quickly proved this hypothesis to have been entirely misguided, however, and as the droid finally reached its destination, it had statistically determined that it would be facing a veritable stronghold in its own right, albeit a temporary and hastily constructed one filled with technical possibilities of exploitation. Technical was a key term, however, because the Intelligence did not believe it could subtly infiltrate the premises without at least several hours of preparatory work, and by that point, it was quite likely that the raid would have ceased entirely, and the objective would be lost. 


If the machine entity had been capable of admiration, it might have felt a measure of it toward the efficiency displayed by the organic guards, their eyes cast in wide arcs, ensuring that there were no blind spots from which to easily approach. The presence of landing and departing dropships further guaranteed that there was always a steady presence of hostile forces within the locality, and thus, the statistical likelihood of an armed conflict succeeding continued to steadily drop by a rate not altogether dissimilar from the plunging effects of gravity.


A majority of the target droids appeared to have been part of the arriving and subsequently departing ground forces, though at least one unit had been left behind to serve as support for the assigned garrison militants. The Intelligence counted a total of sixteen persons, though roughly six of that number appeared to be focused primarily upon the logistical and technical work involved in coordinating the arrival of reinforcing and departing soldiers. 


The trick which the Intelligence had deployed previously in order to incapacitate the organic patrol would not work to as great an effect here. Whilst the garrison would likely be unwilling to open fire in the span it would take for the Tanuki to cross the distance between itself and the target Sith droid, the hostile machine entity would almost certainly not be effected by the change, and a series of calculations determined that the amount of time lost avoiding the most likely areas of blaster impact would be substantial enough to allow for a recovery of at least a portion of the organics. Subsequent simulations ended quickly in the eradication of the Host, followed by the likely failure of Peyton Steele and the newly re-contacted @Deacon. 


With the stillness that only corpses and machines could manage, the Tanuki observed from a safe distance, concealed within rubble detritus, attempting to determine a plan of attack which would result in a successful operation, and minimal casualties. Eventually, an interesting point revealed itself in the form of a small line of wounded personnel being shipped back to the landing zone for immediate departure. At least a few of those who had been hurt were not so severely damaged as to be entirely incapable of movement, but the medical scans of the Intelligence revealed a majority were suffering from broken bones at the least, and serious burns, anatomical damage, and internal deviations from peak performance. 


It was the sudden failure of complete focus which alerted the Intelligence to a shift in the behavior of the garrison. They were certainly trained and capable warriors, as had been witnessed many times throughout the raid, but they were still organics, and nearly all biological entities held a modicum of fear towards the cessation of existence. The sudden interruption in routine caused by the appearance of the dying and wounded companions had drawn attention from the nearby organics, who were almost certainly captivated by the grim scene. Here, the imagination and creativity of flesh worked against it, for who among a band can look upon his companion and not see himself in their blood-soaked shoes?


"The security of the landing zone is exceptional. A direct firefight will result in imminent destruction according to all current models. Organic units are distracted to an acceptable degree by the presence of wounded fellows. I will be able to reach the hostile droid in an adequate time-frame if you can wound a substantial number of Sith affiliated soldiers within the premises surrounding the landing zone." 


The machine entity spoke across its communication systems to its organic companions, speaking in a dull monotone as it always did. 


"Subsequent extraction will require further distraction. If you are able to critically wound an organic, and attach a detonation device to it, it is likely you will be able to provide this distraction. This is the most optimal strategy I have determined within forty simulations."