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The Matador

The Matador

Member Since 19 Jan 2014
Offline Last Active Today, 04:05 AM
*****

#1735037 Total War | The Confederacy Invasion of Galactic Empire held Tatooine Hex

Posted by The Matador on 18 February 2018 - 01:07 PM

Hurricane_Outpost.png
Location: GE Garrison Hallways
Objective: Decimate and Conquer
Allies: Darth Metus | Aryn Teth | Anastasia Verd | Kainan Wolfe | Katrine Van-Derveld | Katria Vekarr | Daxton Bane | Anya Malvern

Enemies: GE and buddies | Adron Malvern

 

​The sound of battle was dull inside the hallways of the facility, but one resounding noise was clear. Fear.​ Those who remained within the Garrisons inner levels were now very much aware that they were surrounded. Ancient Eye forces pouring into their Vehicular Bay, halting their retreat as CIS droids swarmed inward.

 

​The Matador stopped, turning a corner as the hallway ahead of his was full of Imperials. Maybe ten, maybe twenty. They were rushing about, grabbing their gear and preparing to leave. They were going nowhere. The walls appeared to darken, doors locking on all sides as the lights sparked and shuddered, metal waning in pain, groaning as all that would be visible to the eyes of the troopers in the hallway were two scarlet red eyes. Glowing in the darkness, standing almost two feet in the air above the rest; towering as the shimmering lights revealed a massive hulking metal form. The Matador activated the magnetic field of his armour, the muscles of his body growing taunt and stiff as the field pushed out from his skin, every molecule of his body was tugged at; ripped forward uncomfortable in a perpetual suffering as the magnetism wretched at his sickly heart.

 

The agony was impossible to quantify, the Giant shook; shrieking in a animalistic howl that could only be described as entirely inhuman. Dark, embroiled rage was personified in an instant as the agonising pain fuelled his power. The Dark Rage of the force, the accumulated negativity of one being. It all came to a boiling point in that moment, a century long life; ruled for the most part by a being of infinite power in the unknown regions, a violation of untold shame. A death sentence, a life condemned by the very nature of its being. A bottomless pool of rage and pain focused into a violent energy.

Twenty-Six.

 

​A telekinetic shockwave exploded from the Matador, knocking back the first four around to him. The blast caught them in their chests first, the full brunt of the blast shattering bone, small shards splintering into their organs; the kinetic pulse crushing their lungs, livers, and hearts like grapes under a boot. Twenty-Two.​Their bodies jolted backward, slamming against the confines of the Durasteel walls that they had hoped would protect them. The Matador dashed forward, a massive chrome foot crushing the foot of one of the fallen as Oribuir came to hand, the massive blade of Beskar exploded with a hot thriving orange plasma, the magma crystal sat within its pommel coming to light through the unorthodox weapon.

 

The blade cut through the first two like butter, the weight of the weapon causing it to slam into the wall to his right as the Matador swung his blade adeptly in his dominant left hand. Twenty. ​The Magnetic field pulsated from the massive armoured Chieftain, reflecting blaster bolts as they came. Catching not one but two, once in the throat and the other through the visor and into his eye. ​Eighteen. His right hand shot outward as the blade curved, turning at a vertical to cover his body as the plasma of the saber reflected bolts on his own. The force ripped a Imperial from his footing, pulling him towards the Matador as his right arm reared backward and collided with the Imperial as he was helplessly sprung forward; the massive weight of the Matador accelerated almost exponentially by the rage inducing enhancement of his strength and speed. The man was obliterated, his upper body was pulverised. Seventeen.

 

​All the Matador could see was a flood of red, the heat of their flesh as it twisted and writhed under his metallic grasp. The surge of their blood as it turned sour, like any animal. The meat was ruined by fear, the Chieftain used the momentum of his strike to propel himself forward; hunching his upper torso as he brought Oribuir to bare, his right hands momentum leading to the hilt as he skewered another; his body falling into halves. Sixteen. ​It seemed as though some had gained their courage, charging at him as they attempted to circle him in the corridor. The Matador pulled Oribuir close, half-swording the blades edge into the stomach of the Imperial on his right. His hands slid down to the edge of the weapon, ripping it from his chest and thrusting the hilt of his blade outward, swinging it like a hammer as the cross-guard crushed the chest of the Imperial to his left, causing his chest to cave in and blood to spurt against his visored face. ​Fourteen.

 

​The blaster fire, continued as the Matador's right shoulder took the brunt of the attack, absorbing the brunt of the blaster bolts. His mag-coils were pressured, throwing his neural interface into overdrive as the Matador moved with the intensity of a starving animal. The Chieftains hands came free of Oribuir, dual Gladius' extended from his wrists as he pressed forward; leaping like an animal at the Fourteen remaining as they appeared to have began smouldering through one of the doors. His right Gladius sunk into the closest enemy, the blades broadness crushing his collarbone and causing his head to dangle as the Matador tossed his body spiralling over the heads of his enemies, causing a few to duck as they were soaked in his blood. ​Thirteen. The Matador ducked, using his momentary cover to change his position; striking his left Gladius into the stomach of another as he turned to move. The closest turned his gun on the Matador's head, firing a slug from his shotgun directly at his eyes.

 

The bullet breached the magnetic field, scrapping away at the Ceramic Laminate underneath. The Matador's right Gladius crushed his shotgun, his hand moving a few inches upward as a metal hand grasped around the mans face at a downward angle, allowing him to throttle him upward and slamming into the ground. ​Twelve. The Matador's upper torso twisted backward as he dodged a volley of shots as the door ahead finally came free of its hinges. Allowing a few to escape, his left Gladius carved through another as he pushed his allies back towards the door as they all turned to run. Eleven.​The Matador's massive strides carried him faster than they could all fit through the doorway, grabbing an Imperial in his right hand, pushing his chest over himself as he thrust his left Gladius into the neck of his prey, his body falling limp as the Matador's iron grip released him. ​Ten.

 

​Those that remained had made it through the door, with the Matador quickly following. Only a few foolish enough turned their bodies to save their friends. A total of three, turning to face the Giant in a triangle formation as the others attempted to run around the hallways curve and out of sight. The Matador propelled himself forward, over a thousand pounds of weight in momentum thrust forward as he swung both Gladius at the two adjacent to each other, thrusting both of their bodies over his shoulder as his foot knocked the third back, flying into the wall ahead and splattering violently. Seven.

 

​The Matador charged like a maddened bull, catching one as he turned around the corner with his weight. Crushing the Imperial against the wall, another was just within his reach; slashing down his back with his Gladius, taking the man off his feet as he began to crawl. The Matador took a single step forward, hunching as a metal hand grasped the Imperials foot and flung him backward carelessly, his body crashing into the curvature of the wall behind them, spattering just like the last. ​Six. The Matador drew to a halt for a moment, seeing those that remained still attempting to run. His eyes ran across them like a bloodhound on its prey, his left hand moving backward; arching behind him as he used the force to call on Oribuir.

 

​The blade danced through the corridor as it returned to his grasp; pulling the body it had been left lodged in for a few metres as it passed through the doorway. The Greatsword did not return to his hand, but rather spiralled down the longer hallway and cut down those who ran. One. ​A single Imperial managed to duck under the blade, rolling into a crouch as Oribuir pierced the door, holding it in place. The Matador stood, observing as the Imperial loaded his rifle, a low bestial growl escaping his metallic visage as he began to march toward his remaining enemy. The trooper fired, and the Chieftain raised his hand, reflecting the first volley back at the trooper at putting him down almost instantly. Only then, did he call for Oribuir to return to his grasp.

 

​Still, heated battle lingered on every corner of the Garrison. He could feel it, he could feel Srina Talon; amplified in some manner. A strange accumulation of foreign strength pressed form her essence like a morose sent. Perhaps the vile slaughter had driven her feral.




#1734944 Total War | The Confederacy Invasion of Galactic Empire held Tatooine Hex

Posted by The Matador on 18 February 2018 - 08:22 AM

Hurricane_Outpost.png
Location: GE Garrison Outskirts - Garrison Outer exist
Objective: Decimate and Conquer
Allies: Darth Metus | Aryn Teth | Anastasia Verd | Kainan Wolfe | Katrine Van-Derveld | Katria Vekarr | Daxton Bane | Anya Malvern

Enemies: GE and buddies 

 

​Warfare. Like many other worlds and undoubtedly tatooine before now, the very earth and rock of the planet suffered under the turbulence of war. Heavy boots of AE troopers, kicking up desert rock as they sprinted in the wake of the Chieftain. Massive, AM-AT walkers bipedal limbs slowly marching upward through the landscape as they fired upon whatever happened to be in their way.

 

​Hammer Artillery positions would now be firing on the Galactic Empires held positions, laying waste to whatever soldiers and vehicles that may have remained. Their were grossly outnumbered, pushed to the brink in all but an instant by a singular savage strike. Yes, their allies had lost many but were they stood now. The enemy was on the cusp of defeat. They had fallen so easily, so ill prepared that it seemed that the Confederates had to exude little to no effort in the face of such a feeble enemy.

 

​The Matador stood, marching as Ancient Eye clonetroopers began to flood onward to Anya Malverns previously held position. Their heavy bronze armour was like a tidal wave crashing upon the Galactic Empires defences, the brutality of it was amusing. Even still, the Matador marched slowly. Oribuir in hand as but a few stranglers met a quick end at the edge of his blade. His eyes observed the trodden bodies of the fallen. How his troopers had crushed bone and flesh in the wake of their assault, Thrawn tanks following not far behind.

 

​The Matador stopped as a frag grenade exploded adjacent to him, causing him to wince yet the momentum moved his little. He felt it, the thud of enemy feet, the resounding silence as the battle grew close to its finality. Yet, still the resistance continued viciously as those within the Galactic Empire made a final stand. Troops ushering hushed words to themselves, praying that they might survive. But it was to no avail, his men did not take prisoners. Still, it felt wrong. They were retreating.

 

​The Matador called a tank to his position, leaving the 10,000 to hold that position.. However, the rest of his men had another objective. Those who would retreat, they deserved no less than slaughter. The Matador spearheaded the attack of his soldiers, sprinting beyond the entry point into the garrison that Srina Talon had made. No, they wouldn't attempt to leave that way. Not where they suspected the enemy was in their fullest. Instead, to the back of the Garrison. The Galactic Empires forces appeared more and more minimal as they continued. Pressing past empty barracks and towards their vehicle bay.

 

​The Matador stopped short, watching as the Ancient Eye clones leapt from railings above the Vehicle bay, swarming the retreating Galactic Empire troopers as they attempted to power up whatever vehicles remained unscathed in the combat and escape however they could. 10,000 strong, backed by a total of 30 of the remaining Thrawn tanks, some destroyed by rocket positions.

 

​The Imperials scrambled, Novatroopers quick to protect the staff of the Garrison; throwing themselves in the way of a ocean of orange blaster fire escaping from the assault rifles of clone-troopers. The Matador felt no rush of adrenaline, no surge of swelling pain or hatred. His movements were slow, only acting in response to attacks. The Chieftain marched toward the centre of the Vehicle bay, watching as his own troopers held Novatroopers in place, using their Khopesh's to gut and remove limbs. Even nailing some to the walls of the hangar bay as a form of impromptu crucifixion.

 

​"War...Hmph.."

 

​The Matador growled lowly to himself, grunting as he almost half-chuckled at the thought that any being could consider this war. This was slaughter. Like lambs, the Imperials hurdled together foolishly in last ditch efforts to survive. It was a mistake they would not live to repeat. A throbbing impulse urged him towards the Garrisons heart, moving past his own men and the confines of their safety. Perhaps more formidably foes still remained within the confines of their command centre.




#1734212 Bryony Ferris

Posted by The Matador on 17 February 2018 - 01:26 AM

Bryony Ferris

 

"either hot or a hideous homunculus"

 

Naye! I am but swol!




#1732874 I. Magnus. (TAE & Allies)

Posted by The Matador on 14 February 2018 - 10:29 PM

ANKHYPT

​-----------

Palace Quarters -> Coronation

​With: Srina Talon

 

​Scarlet eyes observed the foyer, seeing the empty hallway as he felt the echo of Miss Talon. His eyes tracked the residual heat of her footsteps, his form turning as his head hung hunched between sloped shoulders as he observed the warmth left in her wake. There was some irony in that, for many he assumed she left a warmth behind her due to the presumed radiance of her identity. Yet, he saw her genuine warmth, the tiny fading presses of feet against the marble floor. He imagined he saw truth where others were blinded by their ignorance or in some case their gross overcompensation of niceties to balance their gaseous incompetence.

 

​At the turn of the corner, the light which came from the open balcony was muddled by her shadow. His eyes fell on the strange black and purple colouration that came to his vision, it made the gentle slopes of her form almost defined by comparison to the burning heat that pressed from the seeing eye. In a moment, all the light almost disappeared as the words of the God-King reverberated through the Matador. Such a spectacle was lost on the pragmatic beast as he turned the corner, watching as the Lady in white instinctively backed up as the rain descended. He lingered, on the edge of her shadow as his eyes wondered. Prescribing weakness to the curvaceous and soft form of her back, her sanctum deigning to make any definition at all. ​Soft.

 

The last soft thing he'd felt had been...

 

A shadow of thought condemned to the depths of his mind. The Matador or rather, Tathra Khaeus stepped a few feet forward, taking careful measure not to step on her luxurious dress.. With a name he'd chosen brandishing some form of identity for him. Yet still, she was absorbed in the feeling. As if the force echoed within every cell of her being, like a well stitched weave of armour. He felt it, waning from her shuddering lips as the power of the spectacle rolled over her. Her heat wavered, as if in flux with her own mind. So much yet so little in such a thing as this Echani.

 

​"If you always let the waves roll over you. You will drown Srina."

 

​He was unsure why he had chosen to use her name, why he felt some measure of obedience to her words. It was all too similar in feeling to what he had endured. He was not capable of allowing such a thing to happen once more. Perhaps she like The Keeper was some form of enchanter. Perhaps she had conquered the art of control. Ironically, only of others. Most certainly not of herself.

 

The force, felt like something that had been burned into his flesh. Like every other part that made up his giant form, it had been torn and twisted until it was unrecognisable. His very form seemed, inhumane. A contrast to hers to be sure, he felt like he was in the presence of simply another victim. The adversity was born of a memory of children, afraid and confused. Taken from their families, and turned into tools. His mind felt as turbulent as the weather before them, a mixture of pride and something else.

 

​Still, scarlet eyes fell on Srina Talon as his features softened almost unconsciously, however hardening as he expected her to address him.




#1732817 TAE: That's Why It's Called Babel | Dominion of Haven (AM-32)

Posted by The Matador on 14 February 2018 - 08:57 PM

Objective: B | The Peak

Post: 04

Passive Objective: Try not to stare!

​Attn: Mythos | Zet Anaa | Asteria deWinter | Sekhet-ka-nefer | Salij-Nekt | Braith Achlys

 

 

 

​The Matador marched onward, his eyes falling on Mythos as his back turned; seeing the King arrive. Valiantly, he attempted to break the veil yet to little effect. It seemed whatever held this strange influence over this plain, was more powerful than what any individual could muster alone. Even when it seemed like this entity was at its weakest, it still overwhelmed, pressing at the mind. Lightning struck close once more, reflected and bounded backward as it seemed Mythos defensive abilities prevailed somewhat. The Matador turned around the edge of the mountainous ramp, leading the party upward as the ramp lead to a small spot of flat land, faced against a massive steep rock-wall. A few feet beyond that was a thirty foot gap, with a the haul of a crashed ship on the opposite side. It was perched up against some rocks, it looked movable.

 

​On their side, a few scraps of metal with skeletal bodies, wrapped in rags from ages past. The Matador stopped, observing one of the cold bodies in front of him, worn Plasteel had faded into dust and ashes, he could perceive one distinct feature, a cracked StormTrooper helm rested on its shoulders, strange. He turned, feeling a presence; individual from what he had felt before. Whispers almost, taking a step forward; his eyes saw nothing. His infrared vision picked up no signs of life at all. He stretched out his feelings, the force enhancing his senses but it was met with a dense fog of cryptic thought.

 

​"Up here."

 

​The brute barked back down, his hand instinctively reaching for Oribuir strapped to his back when suddenly a hand rose out from under the earth, tight knotted skeletal fingers grasping at the Matador's ankle, with a swift motion he moved. The fingers snapping into pieces as the massive giant side stepped away, Oribuir coming to his hand as the skeleton he had saw before, wearing a Imperial Helm launched itself at his back, driving bone into metal. Many more began to emerge from the ground. Skeletal beings.

 

 

SKELETON WARRIOR ATTACK




#1732722 Wendigo-4D1

Posted by The Matador on 14 February 2018 - 06:41 PM

WENDIGO-4D1

 

5a3898baeb6c70c9512c3b89928d512e.jpg

[Source: Artstation: Aleksandr Bobrishev - Aspid]

 

 

OUT OF CHARACTER INFORMATION

 

  • Intent: Create a standard issue rifle for Ancient Eye personnel
  • Image Source: ​X
  • Canon Link:  N/A
  • Restricted Missions: N/A
  • Primary Source: ​N/A

PRODUCTION INFORMATION

  • Manufacturer: The Ancient Eye
  • Model: Wendigo-4D1
  • Affiliation: The Ancient Eye
  • Modularity: N/A
  • ProductionMass-Produced
  • Material: ​Blaster Components, Durasteel

TECHNICAL SPECIFICATIONS

  • Classification: Blaster Assault Rifle
  • Size:  Large
  • Weight: Average
  • Ammunition Type: ​Power Cell/Gas Cannister
  • Ammunition Capacity: 68 (Power Cell) 240 (Gas Canister)
  • Reload Speed: Average
  • Effective Range: Average
  • Rate of Fire: High
  • Stopping Power: High
  • Recoil: High

SPECIAL FEATURES

  • Extended power pack capacity
  • Under-barrel laser sight
  • 2x Scope
  • Multi-Fire Options (Single/Burst/Auto)

Strengths:

 

 

- ​Rate of Fire:​ The rate of fire of a Blaster Assault Rifle is always its greatest feature, in fully automatic fire the 4D1 unleashes a torrent of powerful blaster fire.

- ​Stopping Power:​ The Wendigo-4D1 is more robust than a typical lightweight blaster and carries a heavier punch with its thicker blaster bolts, granting it more stopping power than a traditional blaster such as an E-11.

 

Weaknesses:

 

 

- ​Recoil:​ The recoil of the 4D1 makes it most optimal to be used in burst fire mode. Due to it having a higher stopping power with slightly more powerful blaster bolts than a typical blaster rifle, the weapon tends to incredibly inaccurate in untrained hands and difficult to control even in the hands of a soldier without proper care.

- ​Overheat: ​ The 4D1's rate of fire and power when used in full automatic has one consistent issue throughout all combat scenarios, if used continuously will overheat and require a cool-down period of sixty seconds before the weapon can be used again. Additionally, when the weapon overheats it fries the power cell in the chamber.

- Automatic Panic:​ When used in full automatic mode, the weapon loses accuracy through continued use. Therefore, it is advised to use the full automatic mode sparingly.

 

DESCRIPTION:

The Wendigo-4D1 is extremely efficient at close range, being able to shred enemies at close range with little effort, with burst fire the weapon can be handled at a medium range to deal sufficient and precise damage to enemies, anywhere from typically clothing to Durasteel can be ripped apart by this weapon at close range. The single shot mode allows the weapon to fire with a lesser recoil, therefore allowing more precision however the weapon is inertly less accurate than an a-typical rifle and therefore it is not advised that the weapon is used at long distances.

 

The weapon is the staple rifle of Ancient Eye military forces, and it used most often by Clone Troopers under the Matador.




#1730387 Wendigo-E81

Posted by The Matador on 11 February 2018 - 04:59 AM

OUT OF CHARACTER INFORMATION

6836b85416c38e8014af04fc8f1d1b5f.jpg

[Source: Hand Cannon 2 Destiny Fan Art - Ivan Lavretsov]

  • Intent: To create a simplistic blaster by use of all Ancient Eye military regiments.
  • Image Source: https://www.artstati...m/artwork/dVWo1
  • Canon Link: ​N/A
  • Restricted Missions: N/A
  • Primary Source: ​N/A

PRODUCTION INFORMATION

  • Manufacturer: The Ancient Eye
  • Model: Wendigo-E81 Blaster
  • Affiliation: The Ancient Eye
  • Modularity: N/A
  • Production:Mass-Produced
  • Material: ​Blaster components

TECHNICAL SPECIFICATIONS

  • Classification: (Blaster Pistol
  • Size:  Small
  • Weight: Average
  • Ammunition Type: Power cell
  • Ammunition Capacity: 50x1
  • Reload Speed: High
  • Effective Range: Average
  • Rate of Fire: Average
  • Stopping Power: Average
  • Recoil: Very Low

SPECIAL FEATURES

  • ​Accuracy:​ The E81 has a built in laser dot that can be activated via a small switch similar to that of a safety switch, this laser sight assists with accuracy at longer ranges. But can also give away the position of the user.
  • Colour:​ The E81, like much of the military equipment under the use of the AE's soldiers fires orange blaster bolts to individualise them from other military groups.
  • ​Keyed:​ The E81 is keyed to the IFF transponder of Ancient Eye affiliates so that only there people can use the weapon.

Strengths:

 

 

​Handy:​ The E81 is a light and compact blaster pistol with a high ammo capacity, making it easy to carry and even easier to use in an ambush or a skirmish. The E81 can be worn anywhere on the body and anyone of any size within the Ancient Eye can use it.

 

Weaknesses:

 

 

Boxer Blaster:​ The E81 is a good close range pistol, however at anything beyond a medium range of fire the pistol becomes far less reliable by comparison to various other kinds of weapons.

 

DESCRIPTION:

The Wendigo-E81 is a very typical by-product of progression, the Ancient Eye was initially brought together as a conglomerate of ideologies, identities and smaller factions. Through the process of solidarity, an identity must be attained. This is gained through the streamlining of armour and weaponry. The E-81 is the first line of personalised weaponry to be used as a side-arm for all Ancient Eye personnel, and is customary for military personnel. The E-81 is a personal defence weapon, reliable and capable of taking down droids or Plasteel or Durasteel armoured opponents depending on the configuration of the opponents armour.  




#1730026 Nefrahasias [Sith Princess of the Undead]

Posted by The Matador on 10 February 2018 - 06:06 PM

Nefrahasias

That avatar is a straight up 20/10

Also princess of undead?

 

Woah <3




#1729934 I. Magnus. (TAE & Allies)

Posted by The Matador on 10 February 2018 - 02:54 PM

ANKHYPT

​-----------

Palace Quarters -> Coronation

​With: Srina Talon

 

​The Chieftain sat hunched, hands braced against his lap; the digits of his left hand lapping over the plated armouring that shot a few inches above his knee. His thoughts were his own and the ornate chrome and black of his exterior hid his temperament almost too well, the constant visage of aggression bore upon the beautifully designed armour was a thing of war, of blood and of hatred. Yet, inside was a melancholic calm and indifference. Even to the golden spires that stretched towards a blue sky, mirrored by rivers and gold glazed in purity. Their warmth of homeliness or achievement was lost on him.

 

​What he saw was entirely different, he saw the primed batteries of the anti-air batteries as they sat hidden under bronze plateau's. He saw the ebb and flow of the suns rays as they made those gold spires a dull blue or purple, their delicate intricacies lost as his blood red eyes observed them from afar.

 

 

  “At any rate…You may address me by my first name. We both know that you’re aware of what it is.” 

 

Red eyes adjusted to the white glimmering form for a moment, shifting downward and away as his hands slid backward, reclining a little in his seat. Names. He didn't understand the importance of them, why did it matter what they were called? The word Srina, it was just that. A word of no meaning, pulled from the air of some farce of happiness between breeders who deigned to name their child. Yet, in the end had allowed her to be hunted and chased. If the women in white had been in some form his own people, if she had been Tol Varen. He would have destroyed those whom had dared to subjugate those of his Pride to something unjustified, to think how her life had changed since that.

 

​Light shimmered in the air almost as if cast by some spell, strange reflections of light that seemed to puzzle the Giant. His eyes fell upon Srina, observing her as the light seemed to burn from her form. The light was equally as alluring as it was irritating, his eyes shifted away again as the shuttle drew to a halt. The Coronation was close by, but first he needed to change. As he stood up, his eyes fell upon her first. A shadow, was what stood before him. A lie. This pale visage believed itself to be a survivor, she had no idea what it meant. Since she was forced to leave her comfortable life with her family, everything since then had been beyond her control. She had no hand steering the wheel of her destiny, it was a happy coincidence that she was where she was. He saw it, he saw that clearer than any creature with normal eyes could see what was a foot in front of them.

 

​She was lucky to be alive. Lucky. No man may never step in the same river twice, but she hadn't even got her feet wet.

 

​"You are not required to venture near your rooms at any time. However, I must visit my own before we go to the Coronation. A few minutes later won't change much. Will it, Srina?"

 

​Even as his thoughts cast a negative veil upon the head of the Echani. He still obeyed her wish, using her first name. However the comment was a test, there was no reason for her to wait outside of his chambers while he attended to things, but he imagined she would. He wished to know just how dependent she was.

 

The Chieftain did not travel far, moving only a few feet forward as his hand pushed upon a large oak door. Half open as his head moved to view the Confederate. "I will be a moment."

 

​The Matador half-heartedly pushed the oak door back towards it frame, walking a few feet forward as the black marble shifted beneath his feet, a total of six mechanical arms rising from the ground as they slowly removed the heavy laminate plates, the armours magnetic coil system slowly deconstructed and removed as the armourweave and tarentatek body glove came free from his form and in all of a few moments the Giant was free from the constraints of armour walking but a few feet forward as he opened a golden crate that sat atop a humongous bed. Inside, a grey robe with a viridian lining was folded up. The Matador lifted the outfit from the chest, putting the ornamental clothing on with an absent mind.

 

The robe hung neatly over his shoulders, his arms were bare, save leather grieves around burnt wrists. The upper half of his chest was bare, his fingers running down the length of his throat as he felt the faded orange gem sunken into his chest. The thud of his Dravalan heart could be easily felt through what almost acted as a additional organ for his species. The robe fell into a cloak at his back and around his waist, defined by thick viridian edges. The robe fell on either side of his chest, covering the sides of his ribs and waist. The Dovah turned for a moment. observing himself in the reflection of a eight foot mirror. Examining the stitching of ankhyptian letters on either side of the robe covering his chest.

 

​"Tathra Khaeus."

 

After the fall of the Jedi Order of Ashla, when there temple had becomes ashes at his feet. The Ankhyptians had called him the Son of War. Tathra Khaeus was a ankhyptian translation, another name. At least it meant something. The Matador's eyes shifted to his face, those aged red eyes staring back at him. They were nearly the only part of him that reminded him he had been on this plain for nearly a century. For nearly all of which he had been a disposable tool for the Kepper, no more. His eyes shifted to the scar on his chin and the adjacent scar on his lip. They sat out with a pink and vibrant heat by comparison to the dullness of the rest of his form, his eyes moving to his arms. His eyes following the veins on his arms that looked like wire cables running down his body, following his left arm to the crafted skin, where his arm had been burnt. It had happened when he was a child, when his skin had not matured.

 

His fingers felt at it, eyes flickering as he recalled how it had happened. As if on instinct his hand moved away, eyes open once more as he turned on his heel, relaxing a strained brow as he opened the oak door enough to allow himself through. Stepping out into the hallway.




#1729909 Cordial Invitation: Abelain Narv'uk

Posted by The Matador on 10 February 2018 - 01:39 PM

​The Matador did not stir, merely listening as the two spoke their minds. The Matador tapped large digits against the throne's armrest, red eyes observing the two as they spoke. How the smaller of the two appeared more diplomatic, and in truth more intelligent. In many ways there was something to be mirrored between a verbal conversation and combat.

 

​Miss Sarn had no intention of seeing who could create the larger vibration in the pool with their paddle, only a mind for business. Like a warrior, bravado would help her little here. Where as the insectoid Sith seemed more concerned with how his social posturing might be interpreted. The Matador thanked the Gods that he was only half Dovah, being able to stomach the disrespect rather than launch into a frenzy of rage.

 

​"I am the Chieftain of the Ancient Eye, I reside as the enforcer of the governing of our worlds. And as such, am both involved in military and politics. Your investment? Resources, access to planets and whatever your heart may desire if you prove deserving."

 

​His eyes shifted to Abelain Narv'uk directly, moving from the small frame of Lyra Sarn. The red spectacles falling on him as the Giant's chin moved only slightly, the ornate features making his temperament entirely guesswork. ​"You represent yourself. I am not acting as broker to discuss an alliance here, I am inviting you to join us. Become our ally, to serve to our means and in return gain more than you could alone. As much as one's personal feats are to be commended; unity is equal in its power."




#1729430 Persistance in Assistance | Sucellus

Posted by The Matador on 09 February 2018 - 08:34 PM

Location: Sucellus | Enki Coastal Forest

​Objective: Observation of Hand of Light Compound

​ATTN: Rhane Varless | Jyoti Nooran | Preliat Mantis | Jerit Kolomor | Novan Kolski

 

​The Matador thrust Oribuir's pommel into the throat of a trooper, the momentum of his weight crushing the man's neck as he swung the blade handily in his left hand, his right palm outstretched as he reflected blaster bolts directly at a group of troopers as they came, bounding forth to one with the edge of Oribuir piercing his stomach, twisting the blade so its blunt faced his ribs, with a simple twist of the wrist thrusting his body to the side as his right hand grasped the pommel, slashing at a vertical angle as Oribuir caught a few bolts, the magnetic field reflecting others as he pressed forward slashing through the shoulder plate of another as his Gladius extended from his wrist as he used the weight of his opponents body to pull him forward, leaping a short distance as his Gladius entered the chest of another, the blade retracting immediately at the command of the neural network within the armour.

 

​The Matador felt the ebb and flow of the battle, the force causing his to instinctively weave and flow with the momentum of the fight; ensuring a consistent dominance. Using his precognitive abilities; using the force and both the on-board neural interface to increase his speed, the Matador turned; bringing Oribuir into a readied stance as both hands held the blade. A massive being leapt towards him, arching through the air with great speed with dual staff sabers in either hand; intending to deliver a flurry of strikes. The Matador would use his own momentum against him, using the full near seven feet of Oribuir's length to strike at his opponent, tapping into the force for increased speed.

 

​The Matador swung Oribuir at the Jedi Master's abdomen as he bound towards him, taking a single step backward as he threw the full weight of muscle and metal into the strike, all 1,000 or so pounds of muscle and plated armour swinging the greatsword with the turn of his body, his right leg sitting outward and bending at the joint; tensing his leg to hold steadfast as his opponent leapt directly into the strike of his weapon.




#1729318 TAE: That's Why It's Called Babel | Dominion of Haven (AM-32)

Posted by The Matador on 09 February 2018 - 06:16 PM

Objective: B | The Peak

Post: 03

Passive Objective: Don't break anything

​Attn: Mythos | @Sekhet-ka-nefer | Zet Anaa | Asteria deWinter

 

​The Matador stopped for but a moment, his chrome chin anchoring to the left in acknowledgement of the High Adjudicator's words of encouragement, noting his steadfast mentality; hungering for the challenge to come. He admired that innate conviction within the hearts of the Anubian race, that sense of pride in facing adversity with all of their might. The gods had truly blessed them, as they had him. One of the last of his kind, if not the last.

 

​Though he bore no heed to that call, their end was not his. His red eyes attempted to pierce the veil ahead, massive feet heaving upward as he climbed slowly up the steep ramp like rock formation ahead. The Matador braced his right hand against the mountains rock, pulling himself upward as his eyes caught a slender form nearly a mile apart from their current position, like a shadow lingering on the edge of a cliff that held perch over the steep black valley. His eyes squinted as the Matador urged himself a little closer, his pace quickening as he pulled himself closer to the turn of the passage. His eyes re-adjusted as lightning struck down some few hundred metres away. As the light faded, the silhouette had disappeared.

 

​His eyes re-adjusted as his body slightly hunched, head observing the cliff ahead. He returned to a straightened stance for a moment, his upper torso slowly turning with the sound of churning metal as he faced his compatriots.

 

​"I doubt we are alone. Through this malevolent force, the gods have sent spectres to challenge us."

 

​The bestial electronic words came out slowly as his eyes shifted back to what laid ahead. He had no preconceptions as to what tests may lay ahead, only that there would be many.




#1729229 Persistance in Assistance | Sucellus

Posted by The Matador on 09 February 2018 - 03:34 PM

Location: Sucellus | Enki Coastal Forest

​Objective: Observation of Hand of Light Compound

​ATTN: Rhane VarlessJyoti NooranPreliat MantisJerit Kolomor

 

 

​The Hand of Light. A tiresome group of fledgling Jedi that had evaded total annihilation once more, the Jedi Order of the Ashla System had been uprooted, torn from their stagnant rule and thrust into the dirt. The people of Nibelungen, of Edemar, of Caradim and so many other worlds now under their rule had become enlightened. They had witnessed the presence of true power, the power of conviction and the might of a will to act upon it.

 

​They had grown stronger in knowing that, indebting themselves in servitude to the Gods and seeking ascendancy. Soon the people of Sucellus, and all the neighbouring systems would fall under the reigns of the War-Chieftain and only then would they understand what the gift of Ancient Eye rule. Whether it was forced upon them or not, they would thank the Eye in the end. But now, was not the time for such things. The fiendish curs of the Hand of Light had taken up residence in the neighbouring forests unbeknownst to the natives of the planet. In truth, the Matador intended to eliminate their presence on this planet without the knowledge of the native populace, they had a foolish and pointless emphasis on personal freedoms and it was doubtful they would take kindly to a hostile force wiping out a peaceful one, regardless of their residence going by unknown.

 

​He had arrived with a small force, of NSF troops taking vantage points just beyond the patrolling perimeter of the Hand of Light compound, a total of four alongside him as they drew nearer to the compound itself. The black and chrome Giant stood along the length of a massive tree, the weight of the Ceramic heavy plate pressing against the wood as it cracked slightly, the massive weight of the Giant causing small particles of wood to splinter and fall as he moved against it, raising a fist as the NSF troops were in position; two thick fingers rose, gesturing for the four beside him to move closer. His, the Matador spotted a small vehicle sitting on a landing pad; from which they were unloading supplies.

 

​Rather than waste their supplies, best to use their surroundings.

 

​The Matador's hand instinctively moved for Oribuir, taking the hilt of the blade in his hand as his metallic feet carried him backward; Oribuir falling homely into his grasp as he swung the blade at his waist, activating the plasma of the blade; igniting in a hot orange plasma and cutting through the thick of the tree like a knife through butter. Chips of the tree's brown oak skin jolted outward as the Matador de-activated the saber component of Oribuir, throwing it back onto his back; hands outstretched as the massive tree anchored and fell with a loud groan as roots strained and tore.

 

​In that moment, the NSF troopers opened fire, beginning to decimate the unsuspecting heretics. The Jedi among them activating their blades, eyes desperately looking for the identity of the shooters. However, their attention was drawn to the Chieftain as the massive tree rose as metal pincer like fingers tossed it like a massive spear, spiralling through the air and colliding with the supply shuttle.

 

​"Wipe them out!" ​Came the bestial words as the Matador quickly raced towards the combat, the mag-coils activating as the Matador drew close; using the force to dash forward toward the Compound. The Matador flanked, crashing through the duracrete wall as his blade cut cut through the abdomen of a heretic, throwing his body a few feet backward.




#1729180 Well, ain't life a b**ch?

Posted by The Matador on 09 February 2018 - 02:34 PM

Katrine Van-Derveld

I know he's not now. But he made a comeback at some point and was fat.

 

And I'll touch whatever I want missy.

 

​grabby hands




#1729151 Guess this is where I say hi!

Posted by The Matador on 09 February 2018 - 01:03 PM

Lilla Syrin

Welcome.

Sweet bio too, looking forward to seeing you around!

If you have any questions feel free to ask. C: