Matsu Xiangu
The Haruspex
LOCATION: F7
OBJECTIVE: Break the line.
ALLIES: [member="Reverance"] | [member="Jareth Johnathon Holst"] | [member="Tanek Santii"]
ENEMIES: [member="Ryan Korr"] | [member="Kian Karr"] | [member="Jared Starchaser"] | [member="Dair Cotarin"]
Matsu could hardly be called a conventional Sith. She shared none of the draconian aesthetic that had become so common as to be cliché, did not enjoy the endless sound of her own voice, but most striking of all…she knew patience. Sixteen years she’d spent perfecting her ability to use sorcery and her mind at the cost of most other skills one would expect at least some knowledge of when it came to a darksider. The ability to cast without speech had brought her endless pain – and suffering was the path to perfection. She loved her dead and in some sense every action brought her closer to unheard-of mastery.
And the disturbance, that horror radiating off the Jedi, was fuel. When presented with stoicism she had reserves of situations both real and imagined, the image of muscle striation just beneath the surface of tattooed flesh removed. Rev’s tolerance for her experimentation was nothing short of inhuman and in the moments where she needed it most the promise of flaying him brought her strength. But this red-haired man’s struggle started a buzzing in her brain that left her focused despite the drain of reanimating his order’s youngest and brightest.
By the time he leapt for her the black motes had left her vision almost entirely, only a few floating across her field of view as she moved on instinct. The first deflected blaster bolt sped for her chest and she paid it the most attention, raising a phrik-laced cybernetic arm, the bolt bursting in green plasma against her countermove. Her motion forward saved her from the worst of the deflections though a hiss escaped her as one burned a shallow path through the back of her left thigh.
She knew little of lightsaber combat besides enough defensive technique to protect herself – it was foolish to meet a masterful practitioner head-on using his own craft. So instead she attempted to use it against him. She’d stepped enough in to his strike to meet him as it began, lifting her left arm bent at the elbow to catch his blade on the flat of her reinforced forearm. Even Phrik wasn’t meant to withstand prolonged contact with a lightsaber but that wasn’t her intention – she was willing to sacrifice a length-wise hole in her cybernetic, screaming as the blade slowly started burning downwards through metal and an artificial nervous system that allowed her to feel the pain that made normal creatures strive to preserve precious limbs.
She’d learned hers were replaceable.
She hoped the blade would get caught in the melting plexisteel and phrik, tangled in mechanisms, forcing the Jedi to wrench it free. But her move was double-fold. Her pain fueling her to unknown heights she sprang the talons in her right hand, exerting a telekinetic pull on the Jedi already in downward-motion to hopefully spear him on phrik claws that could easily pierce through light armors.
OBJECTIVE: Break the line.
ALLIES: [member="Reverance"] | [member="Jareth Johnathon Holst"] | [member="Tanek Santii"]
ENEMIES: [member="Ryan Korr"] | [member="Kian Karr"] | [member="Jared Starchaser"] | [member="Dair Cotarin"]
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=F1O2xEV8ohg
Matsu could hardly be called a conventional Sith. She shared none of the draconian aesthetic that had become so common as to be cliché, did not enjoy the endless sound of her own voice, but most striking of all…she knew patience. Sixteen years she’d spent perfecting her ability to use sorcery and her mind at the cost of most other skills one would expect at least some knowledge of when it came to a darksider. The ability to cast without speech had brought her endless pain – and suffering was the path to perfection. She loved her dead and in some sense every action brought her closer to unheard-of mastery.
And the disturbance, that horror radiating off the Jedi, was fuel. When presented with stoicism she had reserves of situations both real and imagined, the image of muscle striation just beneath the surface of tattooed flesh removed. Rev’s tolerance for her experimentation was nothing short of inhuman and in the moments where she needed it most the promise of flaying him brought her strength. But this red-haired man’s struggle started a buzzing in her brain that left her focused despite the drain of reanimating his order’s youngest and brightest.
By the time he leapt for her the black motes had left her vision almost entirely, only a few floating across her field of view as she moved on instinct. The first deflected blaster bolt sped for her chest and she paid it the most attention, raising a phrik-laced cybernetic arm, the bolt bursting in green plasma against her countermove. Her motion forward saved her from the worst of the deflections though a hiss escaped her as one burned a shallow path through the back of her left thigh.
She knew little of lightsaber combat besides enough defensive technique to protect herself – it was foolish to meet a masterful practitioner head-on using his own craft. So instead she attempted to use it against him. She’d stepped enough in to his strike to meet him as it began, lifting her left arm bent at the elbow to catch his blade on the flat of her reinforced forearm. Even Phrik wasn’t meant to withstand prolonged contact with a lightsaber but that wasn’t her intention – she was willing to sacrifice a length-wise hole in her cybernetic, screaming as the blade slowly started burning downwards through metal and an artificial nervous system that allowed her to feel the pain that made normal creatures strive to preserve precious limbs.
She’d learned hers were replaceable.
She hoped the blade would get caught in the melting plexisteel and phrik, tangled in mechanisms, forcing the Jedi to wrench it free. But her move was double-fold. Her pain fueling her to unknown heights she sprang the talons in her right hand, exerting a telekinetic pull on the Jedi already in downward-motion to hopefully spear him on phrik claws that could easily pierce through light armors.
