Star Wars Roleplay: Chaos

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Annihilation Final Eclipse | GA Annihilation of Exegol

Xiveros

Guest
X


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Depths
Location: Exegol | Forbidden District
Target: Caedyn Arenais

The Jedi's words had a strange allure to them, and for a brief moment Xiveros could feel the faintest grace caress his very mind. In this very moment he was ready to accept his death, and failure as an instrument of the Sith; however, he found himself being spared - talked to as if he were still a human just like the man before him.

Strange a demon would shed tears, longing to put things right yet overshadowed and controlled by a more insidious calling. Horror was to be wrought upon the flesh that dared to deny the inevitable progression of the Sith Order - wretched dreams laced with venom for all to experience. None would be spared, there was no camaraderie among 'peers'. If there was one thing that Xiveros was taught well, it was that no Sith could ever truly be trusted.

From the day of conception, that was his first lesson. His first true understanding of this reality.

These miserable souls.

Perhaps, if able to survive the current predicament, he would seek out his own answers for the questions he had. Questions of his old life and the woman that obviously held a special place within his heart. He would find his reason to fight, and he would shape his own future.

In time.

Blinded, a bright flash engulfed everything in sight; a severe burning sensation spread throughout Xiveros' body - a pain so intense and unfathomable, the searing judgement of the Light as it cast itself among the damned and righteous; divinity absolute, a message to those that were unwelcomed in this realm of existence, and a blessing for the defenders of life.

Again, the jedi offered the enlightenment of mercy - his actions seen in full by the spawn of the Sith as he shielded them both from the unbiased shockwave of retribution. In that very same moment, the intrusive ideation of betrayal and bloodlust whispered to Xiveros, teasing at his darker impulses as he locked his gaze upon the Jedi, his vision beginning to fade into pitch dark.

No.

No.

He would stay true, he would learn on this day that he had a choice.

Xiveros bowed to no one.

 
if they're watching anyways
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THE HEART
Jedi | Asmundr Varobalder Asmundr Varobalder


"Quiet," she said, softly at first, before her tone became a roar over the situation room. "QUIET."

A moment of silence passed. One of the officers -- bravest of the bunch, which wasn't very brave, given they were here instead of Exegol -- protested, "Ma'am, we're-"

"If you have something better to do, you can leave the room," she snapped.

They all had better things to do. They could've been at Exegol, fighting alongside their soldiers, their Alliance. Part of Auteme had wanted to go; at such an important battle, it was only right that she be present. Every security officer, military official, and Senator she'd spoken to had told her not to. Her very body, exhausted after the fighting on Selvaris, told her no. She stayed back, and watched as thousands upon thousands died, streamed directly to a dozen screens in the safe room.

The updates and comms-chattered was streamlined into a perfect outline of every stage of the battle. Every unit was tracked, every engagement noted, every position marked, every arrival catalogued, every casualty counted. Yet, so far away, it felt incomprehensible. Every minute she was being updated with something she could not truly understand.

Her exhaustion was not limited to her body, but to her soul as well. This battle was a culmination of everything. An end worthy of legend; a tragedy and triumph for the galaxy. It just needed this last push.

The silence that now surrounded her afforded her a moment of focus. Then, she heard it again -- the call, so many lightyears away, tugging at her soul. A great Light grew, and she found herself drawn toward it.

"Pray with me," she said softly. She rose from her seat and put out her hands. Perav, her aide, paused a moment, before signalling that she'd spread the message. Auteme smiled and nodded, then closed her eyes to focus.

Someone took her right hand. Someone took her left. She could feel thoughts being sent out, to gods, to the Force, to friends, family, everything beyond, everything between. She breathed deep. She bore their weight, brought it into her palm, and pulled them with her beyond their mortal coils.

She did not know where she was. Everywhere, nowhere, Coruscant, Exegol -- yet her soul could reach forward and touch a trillion others. She sifted through them, until she found that tall, shining light.

Asmundr had been a reliable friend, a Jedi without peer. She was sure he could see her; some luminous projection from far away. She drifted forward and brought a palm to his chest. Not only was her strength given, but a growing symphony of silent voices. A reminder -- of what they protected, and those who could always be relied on for strength. In her small way, she brought the whole of the Alliance to aid them.

She dove deep into herself, finding recesses of strength that she had never realized within herself. How long had they been fighting? How much had they lost? It seemed to engulf the galaxy -- and yet between every person she could feel the impossible strength that bound all things.

Upon Asmundr, she imparted that greatest of all gifts: her love. Its width encompassed the galaxy, yet light enough to drape softly across his shoulders. Its height was enough to reach the stars, yet small enough to be held in his hand. Its pull was that of a black hole, and yet it demanded no strength to hold. It filled the body like fire and soothed it like water. It was, in truth, the only gift worth giving; and she gave it whole, undivided, to the Jedi Master. Through him she trusted it would find its way to every corner of that blasted, war-torn world.

She wanted it to spread to every heart he could reach. Love was the growth of the spirit, the great roots of a blossoming tree. She connected every soul she could and touched it with love, and brought theirs to Asmundr too. She felt impossibly large, just as she was a tiny creature holed up in a metal box on Coruscant. For the Jedi, for the Alliance, for the galaxy, she gave the only thing worth giving, in hopes that it would be enough.
 
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Objective: BYOO
Equipment: Beskar Armour, Lightsaber
Tag: Escape Jara | Brandyn Sal-Soren Brandyn Sal-Soren | Velda Nar-Donna Velda Nar-Donna | Cybelle Elyance Cybelle Elyance | Darth Temerant Darth Temerant | Briana Sal-Soren Briana Sal-Soren

The resistance was expected. Naga had claimed that these were no mere Padawans anymore. All of them were Knights, he could sense that confidence in their skills. But it was folly, it was their weakness. Wallgof would show Brandyn his failures.

"Such a rude mouth for a conversation between friends." Wallgof laughed deeply. The blade struck at the beskar armour, unable to pierce through as Wallgof pushed the blade with his own, ensuring the armour did not burn him as it got white hot. He was already inside the mind of Brandyn and he would only delve deeper, pushing in further. Attempting to depict horrific, painful acts of torture he would put Cybelle and Briana through while laughing. "You can remain calm all you want to Brandyn, but I am a storm. I am unstoppable."

Another Sith appeared, female. He assumed female from the way the cloak hung to her. Wallgof didn't care too much, he was focused on his task and assumed this Sith like many here was on a mission to kill Sith and help the Mawites as they called themselves. Pathetic name but one that Wallgof couldn't care about, he was Sith and he had his own mission, his own order to build. The only thing that caught him off guard was when her words were not directed at the Jedi, their clearly shared enemy. At least the shared enemy that he clearly thought they shared. No, she threatened to make this ship his tomb, to end him with Lightsabers drawn. She was protecting this boy, Wallgof couldn't figure out why a Sith would help a stranger, especially a Jedi stranger. Unless...

THIS IS NO SITH! SHE IS A BETRAYER! KILL THEM BOTH! SHOW HER NO MERCY, DEMONSTRATE THE POWER OF NAGA SADOW! Naga exclaimed in Wallgof's mind.

"Defending a Jedi? What would your fellow Sith think of you? Do you know this boy too? Do you care for him?" Wallgof's comments were snarky and attempting to be cutting, "there are many reasons a Sith would turn on one of their own. There is only one reason they would fight alongside a Jedi, that is love." Wallgof laughed mockingly, as if the notion of love was pitiful. "The Maw has truly made Sith like you weak, choosing to fight alongside this Jedi who will never respect you, never want you. In fact, I am sure if I delve deep enough I can find out that he claims to love another, a Jedi."

Wallgof was furious to see someone claiming to be devoted to the Dark Side attack him, his accusations were baseless and wild but Naga Sadow had told him of the weakness that was love. How that could turn a person away from the mission, from the height of power into slaves. Wallgof snarled as this so-called Sith attempted to challenge him. "I shall show you how weak your Jedi friend is, woman."

His tight grip on his Lightsaber, as he continued to assault Brandyn's mind with his visions and attempt to corrupt any memories he found there, Wallgof's body moved into an aggressive stance. His Lightsaber attacking from his left hand, attempting to slice and maim the Jedi.
 



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Tag: Escape Jara
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"You will find I am not as easily swayed as before," Brandyn said through deep controlled breathes, "I have grown...learned much from people far greater than you...far wiser."

The entrance of the Sith woman into the fray was not what Brandyn had expected. But what left him in a series of increasingly perplexed double takes was her alignment against Wallgof. The machinations of the Sith were something that Brandyn could never quite understand. Perhaps it was some form of betrayal...master and apprentice?

But then she talked to him in a way that was generic and unfamiliar. No. They didn't know each other.

Brandyn stepped back from his clash with Wallgof, blade pointing at one Sith then the other, and then back again. The consistent indecisive loop set in motion by confusion over what was happening. I mean he wasn't about to look a gift trethlapod in its mouth, but he was also not about to trust a Sith.

"What the hell is..."

The insane Sith's new angle of attack left Brandyn struggling for words. What Wallgof said made less sense than a tauntaun on Tatooine, and left Brandyn dumbfounded. "...I don't even know it...her...that Sith..."

Even as the words left his mouth, Brandyn noted a slight familiarity to the female Sith's movement. Just the tilting of her head. There was not enough in it to put a name to the feeling of familiarity, but it left Brandyn feeling unsettled...nervous...his mental shield dropping just a little.

Wallgof's attack was not unexpected, but Brandyn moved to block it slower than he would have liked. Even as he did, an image of Briana flashed into his mind. His sister was pale, beads of water pulling in the hollow, sunken, dead eyes. She was cold. Lifeless. Some manner of Sith creation, a horned slug - dozens of them - slithered their way around her face and neck. As quick as the image was there, it was gone.

Brandyn found himself recoiling a step or two. His empty hand instinctively reached out for his sister who was absent from the battle...but his hand felt her shoulder even from the other end of the ship. She was OK. Alive. Well. The actual magnitude of what he had just done completely alluded him as he refocused back on his two enemies.

"You will never win, Wallgof. Your lies...only you would be crazy enough to believe them..."



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Wearing: Armor
Equipment: Lightsaber
Location: Maw Freighter
Tag: Darth Temerant Darth Temerant | Velda Nar-Donna Velda Nar-Donna | Darth Wallgof Darth Wallgof | Briana Sal-Soren Briana Sal-Soren | Brandyn Sal-Soren Brandyn Sal-Soren | Escape Jara

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"I appreciate that."

The quiet vow to remember her name was all that she could ask of an individual that had subconsciously or otherwise fallen to the seductive pull of the Darkside. It was far more than she expected in the dire circumstances they found themselves in. They were made to be the bitterest of enemies and yet—Cybelle felt no hostility. She could not feel the savage brutality that had slipped into his bloodstream, like poison, from the war-torn Exegol. She would never know, truly, how close he was to losing all sense of what it meant to be a living, breathing, sentient being.

But—She could see…Something.

The imperceptible changes that altered the way he held his lightsaber. In the crimson shadow that it created, she could his stance shift, enough, to offer a simple acknowledgment of the respect she had offered. Her head remained bowed, silent, as he spoke his truth. For all of the wishes and wants in the universe there was nothing that could have prevented this eventuality. It was a tragedy wrapped and ready to be gifted, hidden, by their responsibilities. His orders. His apathy. Her duty. Her hope.

There was no hubris in Cybelle. No illusions or boasting bravery that she could definitely handle the much taller Sith that stood imposingly before her. She didn't flaunt her prowess, nor, make claims that a prideful person would have. She appeared to be gentleness personified—Both in her treatment of her opponent and her opinion of herself. A wild rose, born of privilege, but raised with the notoriety of a very stubborn weed. As fair as she was of face and demeanor, her resilience, was likely the most important quality she brought to bear.

Her head remained inclined until keen ears picked up the subtle sounds of movement. For being far larger than she was, he moved like a whisper, leaning into her thoughts of his ghostly presence. Cybelle held reverence for all of the fighting forms, however, the limitations to Niman were built in. It was based on generalization, not specialization, and there would always be a chance to work around it as long as she remained focused. It was akin to threading a needle.

The first principle that she had ever been taught was shunned by many of the New Jedi Order. Scorned by the Sith who knew it existed. Form Zero. Choosing to draw on her lightsaber only when it was unquestionably necessary. When her life or the lives of others depended on it—When the mission depended on it. Defaulting to clashing heated blades of light was a temptation that many a Padawan fell into. It drew them into seeking a combat-oriented solution versus a peaceful one. At best?

The lack of it showed inexperience. At the worst? A potential for moral quandaries that only years of meditation and self-reflection would solve.

As the Sith came toward her he would find that she didn't move until the very last second. Until his weapon drew so dangerously close to her armored robes that it kissed across metallic scales in a way that was almost disconcerting. Like flat stones, or pebbles, skipping over water. The notion of Cybelle being agile or quick because of her small stature was correct. Though, he would have no idea how right he was until her form seemed to weave around his like the wind. Dodging, shifting, whirling out of the way. "…Have you ever regretted it?"

"…the trail of broken things…"
, she commented, briefly, while Cybelle fell into a defensive stance that would allow her power generation from the ground up. It was obvious while she settled that she was well-versed in how to keep her balance despite the fact that he was closing in. Her arms were tucked in tight—But she only barely remained out of reach. "You leave in your wake?"

It would only take one wrong move for her to become off-balanced. Typically, stationary objects required three points of contact with the ground to maintain stability. She imagined an equilateral triangle surrounding her, with her feet as two points, and the third point either directly in Infront of her or directly behind. He needed only to find a way to redirect her center of gravity toward the missing point of her self-imposed triangle. But, that would require him to move.

That was what Cybelle wanted. Movement. That was when she could look for opportunities his advance provided.

"Do you sleep peacefully through the night?"

Her breathless question was punctuated by her right foot sliding back until it felt comfortable. The friction grip and repulsors built into her boots would keep her from slipping too far. Cybelle found a toe-heel stance that would let her burst into action if needed, but, wasn't inherently threatening whilst they continued to circle one another. Her feet and body angled themselves so that important targets and vital organs wouldn't be immediately available. Her torso was tilted sideways just enough so that she was adequately closed off to him by not facing the shadowed man square.

Whether or not he would take a swing at her with his saber she would close the distance between them at a blinding pace and without warning. Action always beat reaction, and a well-aimed act could get the job done without any wasted time. Her hand flew toward his jaw, open, until it clenched closed just seconds before the point of contact. Only…That contact would never arrive.

Instead, Cybelle dropped into a slide and used Force Pull to try and yank Project Jareth away from where he'd latched the case to his utility belt. Quick movements, and unexpected feints, topped with the fact that her robes let her move even faster than what the Force could provide made her move all the more skillful. She could take more damage, hit harder, and her flexibility would show in the way she flowed back to her feet as if she were skating expertly across a frozen lake. The metal floor could not slow her down, nor could the hollow box they fought in burn her wings, and it showed. Her questions were poised differently than he had initially questioned her. Blunt—But there was nothing there to bait him. No malice.

She was inquisitive.

If they were to truly become enemies...She would at least know her killer, or, whom she was supposedly meant to kill.

"Or…Do the dead haunt you?"


 
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Location: The Netherworld
Tags: Keilara Kala'myr Keilara Kala'myr


What will be the fate of Taskmaster?

Kallan thought on Mercy's question, turning it over and over in his mind. Tu'teggacha had taken everything from him, stolen away the life he could have lived, made him a prisoner in his own body and used that body to do terrible things. He would always feel grief for what he had lost, and for the atrocities had been made a part of. Nor was he the only one. The Ebruchi had been with the Maw from the very beginning, a key player in their every conquest and act of destruction. His crimes were too many to list.

Only the likes of the Dark Voice, Darth Mori, or Kyrel Ren could be said to have done more evil than he had. He deserved harsh justice.

But forever was a long, long time. Did anyone, no matter how awful their misdeeds, no matter how deep their wickedness, deserve to suffer forever? If Mercy left that crystal here in Otherspace, on this dead husk of a world where no one would ever find it, the Taskmaster's punishment would be eternal. Would a million years trapped in that tiny space be justice for all the harm he'd done? A billion? Or was that just revenge, victor's justice? Did Kallan really want to condemn any soul to infinite suffering?

~ It's over, ~ Kallan said again, this time to Mercy. ~ He died a messy, violent death, a fitting end after all the violence he unleashed on the galaxy. He got what he deserved. ~ He took a long breath in, then slowly let it out, releasing the knot of terror and loathing that had gripped his soul for so many years. ~ I don't hate him anymore. I don't need to think about him at all. ~ With the shadow war ended, they could all begin again. They could build new lives, free of fear and hate. They could let go.

As Mercy lapsed into sleep, letting Kallan take control of her body, he gently picked up the crystal - now tinted green by the Taskmaster's rotted soul. Then he turned toward the Netherworld gate and threw the crystal with all his might. It sailed through the portal at random, whisked away by the currents of the spirit realm. Kallan had no way to know where it would land... but he knew that, in time, some spirit would find it. Tu'teggacha would suffer in that isolated prison for a while, but not forever. Forever was too much.

When the crystal broke, his soul would be released in the Nether.

It would go wherever dead evils are meant to go.

It wasn't Kallan's problem anymore.

He felt a further weight come off his own soul as he watched the crystal vanish. ~ We're not like him, ~ Kallan told Keilara. ~ His death was enough. The Force can decide the rest. Whatever happens, he's gone. The galaxy is free of him. ~ Somehow he knew that the Ebruchi would never return from death, even once the crystal released him. His essence would scatter on those same Netherworld winds, and he would know the peace of oblivion - a peace the twisted creature had never found in life.

Stepping over to the caretaker droid, Kallan gently took the twins from its metal grasp, cradling each of them in one arm. They might not mean much to Mercy, but to him they were everything. They were the reason he had been willing to risk it all by returning to fight Tu'teggacha; only their safety, their chance to grow up and live the kind of peaceful life that the Maw had taken away from him, had been worth the chance of an awful, messy death. ~ We're a family again, ~ Kallan said, smiling down at them.

~ There's just one more person to reunite. ~

Turning his back on the cold, awful blankness of Otherspace, Kallan stepped through the shimmering gate. The warm winds of the afterlife buoyed his spirit, drawing the three bodies - and the many minds who shared them - out of the darkness and into the light. Kallan's next step set him on a gently glowing pathway. He stood in a city of white marble, its spires decorated with silver and gold. Amid the grand towers, though, there was a much more humble building: a single-story machine shop.

The garage doors were open, and the buzzing sound of welding drifted from them. Kallan stepped closer, looking through Mercy's eyes, knowing what he would see next. A tall, well-built man was hunched over an old-model swoop bike, a fusion cutter in his hand. He was gently soldering together two pieces of curved metal, rejoining them into a single unified chassis. At the sound of approaching footsteps, the man looked up. He raised his welding mask, revealing a face now free of burn scars.

"Mercy?" Asher asked, eyes lighting up, mouth forming a smile.

"I knew you'd come. I've been waiting for you."
 
Lady Eina L'lerim-Vandiir
The Light of Ashla

Champion and Avatar of Ashla || Empress Regent of the Eternal Empire
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Objective: Wait till the Avatars show up and send them back to the Netherworld.
Location: Surface, Exegol
Equipment: Sverð Fyrstr (swords) | Ljósspjót (spear) | Skrúð Engill Fyrstr (armour) || Empyrean gland | OPBC-01m || Current appearance
Writing With: DECEASED Aron Gowrie DECEASED Aron Gowrie | Closed
Enemies/Allies: Nukth Kelga'an Nukth Kelga'an
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[ Valkyrjan ]
<"High Nelvaanian"> | ["Essonian"] | ~ telepathic communication ~ | << comm. channel >>

Eina #1
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It was surprising and strange to Eina that Lord Gowrie answered verbally. The woman was used to receiving a telepathic response, or on the radio in such a way that she heard it in her head as if it were a telepathic message. This was the case with Ashlan Crusade and Eternal Empire. In the first group, it was also because she often worked with crusaders, and by the way, most of the soldiers in both places had HPI biochips. With which one doesn't even have to speak to communicate. And of course there was the fact that Valkyrja and the Children of Ashla were constantly communicating telepathically, with thoughts and feelings.

This didn't seem to be typical of the Empire area. Or maybe she just didn't work with them enough and the Wildcats were an exception. Eina couldn't know. But it wasn't that important at the moment. She saw and felt that the big one controls the little ones like a puppet master. Then another man spoke; and Eina looked at him.

"The big one, i.e. the brain, is what controls the drones. But I think the big one has shields and other physical and mental protection. Thus, the drones should be destroyed first, because they can cause problems if only the brain remains. I'm going to do everything from here so that the brain can control the drones as little as possible while you attack." she promised.

And this is where she needed concentration. So the woman walked to the wall to be covered and sure that no one could easily attack her, then she sat down on the ground, similar to how the Jedi do when meditating.

"You can start!" she told them.

The moment the Wildcats opened fire, it became apparent that someone really needed to attack the brain as well. Because the drones, like trained and battle-hardened soldiers, started to attack and shoot back at the team. What might have been surprising was that they were fast, even though they were in a human-like body, they were quite quick and reacted well to everything. Until the point when Eina successfully attacked the brain. At that moment, the movement of the drones became slower, much more human-like, and in some moments even fragmented, as if a network was lagging.

"This creature is very powerful!" she said, though she didn't know if anyone else was next to her because she kept her eyes closed to concentrate.

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O B J E C T I V E
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Wearing: Black Hooded Cloak
Equipment: Lightsabers x2
She saw the look of confusion with Brandyn at her entrance onto the scene and found it rather amusing. Oh, he knew her, he knew her quite well in fact.

Within the shadows of her cloak, the curl of her lips grew wider when the other sith claimed Brandyn had a rude mouth.

Then the sith remarked on the kind of unstoppable storm he was. And it didn't seem Brandyn had anything to say about that, but Velda surely did. "All storms wither and fade, but black holes are forever."

This Sith appeared to be particularly taken aback by Velda's apparent defense of Brandyn. And while she did not necessarily feel that she was defending him, she could not deny that she was biased with this encounter. "Perhaps, they would see it as a brilliancy of the evocation of Dun Möch on a Sith drowning in the bleak ocean of his own hubris. Perhaps, they would be aghast of such an abomination of allies, it matters not. A sith will always do as they choose, and I will always do, as I please."

This woman, this Countess, this Sith Lord, was without repent in every way imaginable.

Then somehow, someway this Sith clued in on her feelings for Brandyn. Impressive. Except, one must ask, what kind of love did Velda's black heart harbor for Brandyn? Was it the sweet wholesome kind, that Brandyn found within the arms of his current partner? Or was it like that of sweet indecent forbidden fruit? Only time would tell.

The mentioning of Brandyn's current love interest was something she was already quite aware of. And was a topic she was not at all concerned about, everything was proceeding as Velda had foreseen. She would even endorse such an arrangement, as difficult as that was. Until such time that flame is extinguished, a flame of a candle that burned at both ends.

As for the rest of how Brandyn may feel, that seemed to be a feeble attempt at trying to get to Velda mentally. And yet she gave an answer of her romantic interest in him, and at the same time remained cryptic and didn't offer an answer.

"Love is a battlefield, where all hearts of purity shall fall on their poisoned swords in the end."

Then the Sith, who was clearly enraged, threatened to show her just how weak Brandyn was. And Velda remained calm throughout. "You have been granted an audience for your demonstration. But do not be surprised if this Jedi proves to be your better this day."

Velda still did not make any hostile moves toward the Sith…yet. Still, she reserved the right to strike at her discretion, and as she felt the need.



 
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TAGS: Escape Jara
The way she moved was remarkable. Not a single misstep, coupled with full situational awareness. And she was quicker than anticipated... A lot quicker. Clever, too, using his own tactic against him, forcing him to close in to attempt to disrupt the tight-knit pattern that allowed her to so deftly dodge his attacks. It was almost brazen, facing a master of the blade in such a fashion, not even bothering to pull out her own saber. Despite her meek and gentle demeanour, she was a warrior. If there'd been any doubt earlier, she had fully dispelled it.

Still, she was barely keeping up, his saber coming into contact with her armour, grazing it: the more she tried to keep this up, the more she'd be sealing her own fate as she allowed him to adapt to his patterns and find a disrupting move. Her queries hit hard: if she was trying to distract him, it was working. Still, he focused on the task at hand. A quick feint, followed by an abrupt change of direction should do the...

He grunted as she suddenly came onto the offensive, delivering what seemed an unarmed strike. His Force sight gave him no warning, no familiar sense of danger. But he had been taught never to rely solely on the force, his training kicking in as he tucked his chin in an attempt to have her smash her knuckles against the hard surface of his helmet... before she dove, pulling a fast one on him as she pulled Project Jareth from his belt.

"HRN!" the man's dominant foot repositioned to follow her trajectory, quickly turning as he shot an arm towards Project Jareth, engaging her in a tug-o-war, like two magnets vying for control of the same object, the woman ending her interrogation on a poignant note.

"Does the vornskr lose sleep over its prey?" he countered. "Or does it do what it has to to ensure the survival of his pack?"

The words tasted bitter as they rolled off his tongue. His pack. He had been a lone hunter for as long as he could remember. When he came to the Tsis'Kaar, they gave him a home and a purpose. They honed what was already there and gave him a sense of achievement with each mission he embarked upon. But at the end of the day, it was a mutually beneficial arrangement: he needed a smoke-screen to hide from himself, from his own past, always snapping at his heels, and they... Well. They could always use another secret blade to sink into the hearts of their enemies. He was perfect, in that regard. He was no one, a spectre, moving unseen between the masses, doing the Order's dirty work.

But the Emperor had seen through him, had he not? He had sensed his desire to leave a legacy, to be more than he was. His willingness to fight and bleed for the Imperium. He believed in what the Order had built... In his vision for this new Empire. He had to. They were his people now, and there were no lengths he would not go to protect them. And yet, he remained in the shadows, now dancing over the sharpest of edges as he played both sides, sinking further and further as the lines of his loyalties blurred and came undone. Brother fighting brother, the little folk paying for the hubris of those who had transcended such menial things such as mortality. And there he was, caught right in the middle of it all.

And what did he have to show for it?

Anyone who was remotely significant in his life was shackled to him by circumstance and necessity. Arya was a patsy, much as he was for her. Her loyalty to him stemmed from his ability to provide her with wealth and station. Sofiel Sofiel , his own Apprentice, was a supranatural entity, capable of simulating but not comprehending human emotion. He doubted she even understood how seriously he took his role as her mentor. Their relationship too was one of convenience: her loyalty extended only so far as the terms of their deal, and she likely regarded him solely as a means to an end. Terror was a cub, an animal who had lost everything because of him, and who latched onto his person on instinct alone. He was the only family he had left and didn't truly know anything else. How eagerly he had taken to Capris Halcyon Capris Halcyon , to any chance to form attachments with someone else, and how sad and confused he'd been when she'd left. And X3... Was his only friend. And yet he was a machine, constructed by himself to maximize his own efficiency. The droid didn't really have a choice, did he? He was programmed to be his reliable confidant, to counsel and protect him. No matter how alive he seemed, it was nothing but an illusion. A binary compulsion, instilled into him by a man who truly trusted no one, who had made solitude his flag and pushed away anyone who so much dared as trying to get close to him.

Because eventually, he would break them too.

"Stop trying to get inside my head, Cybelle. You cannot shake my resolve," he gruffed.

Perhaps there was no malice behind her curiosity, and normally, he would have simply shrugged it off, giving her nothing in the way of insight. The Sith had their own gods, but discipline was the Knight Inquisitor's true religion; control, his dogma. And yet, the longer he remained upon the doomed sphere, the more his emotions bubbled under the surface. To him, her questions might as well have been cracks of a whip upon his bare back. "You said so yourself: we do what we must. How I sleep does not matter. What I feel does not matter," he attempted to convince her as much as himself. "The galaxy will always need people like me. Willing to do the difficult things. The ugly things. To shoulder the sacrifices... So that others don't have to."

With that, he used the Force to give Project Jareth a push, making use of his refined control over telekinesis to make it dart back around her and straight towards him, like a cuboid boomerang, coming to hover over his free hand. He took in a deep breath, exhaling slowly.

Stop playing into her hands. Remember your training. Finish this. Focus.

"You insult me by not wielding your weapon," he let her know, returning the asset to its rightful place. "The only way you are getting this is by prying it from my cold, dead hands. Are you willing to do what is necessary for your beliefs?" he asked her then, switching to a double-grip stance. "Let us find out."

She had the mobility advantage, and using battlemind right now could prove dangerous. His grip on his own control was already tenuous, but he didn't need it to match her: he had studied the art of movement. He had mastered the secrets of inertia. And as a last resort, he could always couple them with Force speed, though he did not wish to exhaust himself: he could feel the others on the ship engaged in their own conflict; who knew how much more he'd need to fight to get out of there. His lethality had to prove efficient.

He activated the suit's servo-motors for an extra boost, further enhancing his physical prowess. His knees bent, his fingers cascaded over the hilt of his weapon as he readied himself... and like a predator pouncing upon her, he suddenly closed the distance, coming to an abrupt stop with a precise Shiak strike towards her center of mass.

The Sith was no longer playing around. His footwork matched her own, every strike full of deadly intention as he relentlessly followed her center of mass. After all, fool me once... Shiak, sai cha and sai tok made the bulk of his attacks as he looked for a swift end, each strike precise and never over-extending, flowing from one to the next with a brutal kind of grace, attempting to subvert any attempts at the technique she'd utilized moments earlier, trying to throw off her balance and put an end to the fight. If she wanted to stand a chance, she'd have to do far more than simply dodge.
 
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Equipment | In Bio
Location | Outside the cathedral
Tag | Dreidi Xeraic Dreidi Xeraic

"My
mission? You think I am Maw? No no, my objective is both ongoing and yet also done. It is amazing what all these eyes have seen, fragments of their earliest memories and even moments before their death."


If the Jedi were to glance around, she would notice that every body was missing their eyes. Every pair had been scooped out, yet there was no sign of where they went.


"I wonder what all your eyes have seen, if you claim to have fought lords then this intrigues me greatly... All that fighting must have left you with ample muscle, stronger skin."

She grins, surrounding embers would reflect off the woman's sharp maw.

"Yes yes I failed to surprise you, such was evident the moment you realized I had been watching you this whole time, no?"

As the Jedi grew closer, Adeline twitched a single finger.. Causing several surrounding bodies to reach out in order to grab them by the legs. Adeline herself vanished into a dark mist, soon appearing behind Dreidi with the use of a teleport. Adeline herself strikes at their neck with a saber slash, while her other hand had extended its claws, going for their right kidney section in a violent jab.



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Ziare Dyarron | Keilara Kala'myr | Mercy | Freedom
Mongrel's Shadow and his widow; Matriarch of the Scar Hounds Tribe; Guardian of Mongrel's armour and sword
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Objective: Rescue the twins and find her way to Asher
Location: Secret Prison Facility, Exegol | Otherworld | Netherworld
Equipment: FS-18-UP2 Assault Rifle | 2x Sunfury Pistol | Light Armour | Viper Mk. I Skinsuit | 2x Vibrodagger | 2x Riftblades | Promise of Freedom | Ring of Wishes and Dreams || Cloaking Device | 5x ASBF Probe Droid || OPBC-01m
Writing With: The Mongrel The Mongrel and Kallan | Closed
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[ Come back… ]
"Galactic Basic" | ~ Telepathic communication ~ | << comm. channel >>
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Mercy/Keilara #1
Tut #1
Manifold #1
Mercy/Keilara #2
Manifold #2
Tut #2
Mercy/Keilara #3
Manifold #3
Tut #3
Mercy #4
Manifold #4
Tut #4
Mercy #5
Tut #5
Manifold #5
Mercy #6
Tut #6
Mercy #7
Tut #7
Manifold #6
Mercy #8
Tut #8
Mercy #9
Asher #1

~ Mercy ~
She sleeps in the mind palace.

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~ Keilara ~
I'm not sure Mercy even heard what Kallan said to her. However, what was immediately apparent was that it was not so easy to keep my shape and Kallan also remained in Mercy's body. The ring didn't seem to work in this world. I didn't really want to stay here any longer than I had to. This place was terrible. I listened proudly to my husband's words as he spoke to Mercy; I was happy that he was finally able to take the step that I did. It's true, I already had experience with it. Me or Ziare, I'm not sure anymore, I had to forgive Asher first.

This was necessary for me to accept Kallan as well. When I found out who he was. I remember he didn't want me to forgive him, but even then I could see the victim in both Asher and Kallan. This did not change. That's why I was able to let go of the hatred for Tu'teggacha as well.

"I'm so proud of you, Kallan!" I squeezed his arm and smiled at him. "If you forgive me, I won't hug or kiss you while you're in Mercy's form. It would looks like very strangely."

I said with a bit of confusion as at the moment he was just like me except for a few differences. I also approached the twins, although I did not try to raise them in this world. I was afraid I would drop them because it was hard to stay out here. After those words, I would have liked to give Kallan a kiss on the cheek or forehead. But now I didn't, instead I hugged the twins in the mind palace. I did it over there, their father out here.

"Yes, we are finally a family. The dream you said on Tython… will finally come true." I said happily.

Those two distant cages in the endless darkness when we first met were so far away. And now we went further. To be honest, I thought it would take a lot longer to find Asher. But it seemed that Mercy and Asher's soul and mind were connected, and taking advantage of this, the souls were able to take us right to him. And after Kallan's steps, we were in a beautiful city and in front of a workshop. I went behind him, we could be like twins. And there was someone inside. Even I had no doubt who it was. He was like Kallan. Of course he was...

However, a little pain tore through my soul when he called Mercy…my husband.

"No, Asher, I'm sorry, but she's not Mercy right now. Mercy is sleeping… she… he is Kallan. Mercy lets him use her body. It's just… the shapeshifting ring didn't work where we came from, that's why he looks like Mercy and not himself.."

I stepped forward during my words, I still had long hair and my eyes were not golden, but green.

"I'm Keilara, we haven't met in this form before, I was Ziare on Carlac, partly... Mercy is sleeping now. I'm about to wake her up, but in the meantime ... Kallan and I want to talk to you. And we want you to meet Abi and Little Asher." I said with a kind smile.

If Asher looked at them, the twins also reached out telepathically in the direction of their other father and addressed him in the mind palace, in the form of a teenager. I know Asher could have remembered them looking like this in that alternate life as well.

~ FATHER! ~ they both exclaimed happily and jumped on Asher's neck and hugged him.

Meanwhile, I also spoke in reality.

"We need to talk about Mercy." my voice was not happy now, but rather troubled and sad. " You can already see in the body that she is not well… she has always been thin, but now she is anorexic. All her bones are visible under the armour. She has lost her shine you gave her. Guilt and self-loathing consumed her. She already wanted to kill herself when you died, Kallan wouldn't let her. It's the only reason Mercy didn't kill herself. But she planned… she wanted to kill her soul, not her body. After you died, she found no joy, no happiness, no meaning in anything. She had smiled once in the past year and a half when Kallan said she spoke like you. You didn't take a single smile from her, you gave her all. She blamed herself that she couldn't save you, that she was not enough, that she was good for nothing, that she was a nobody and nothing, and that she wasn't even good enough for you to live on because of her. That she wasn't enough, that she wanted to hate you for life because you left her alone, but she couldn't. In the beginning she was driven by hatred and pain, but the hatred disappeared and only pain and emptiness remained. Like a walking dead, she was. She didn't eat, she didn't drink, she spent almost all her time sleeping. She has learned to control her dreams so she can escape to where you are. She tried to dream with you every night, she tried to get back to the memories, to the alternative world you spent together. She has lost her confidence, she is not sure of anything, not even of herself. She was afraid that you had forgotten her or found someone else who was more worthy than her. She hates herself because she always let you down by not even being able to live normally after your death the way you wanted her to. She doesn't feel worthy to be with you, even though she wants to be with you. She is afraid that you hate her because she is weak and has always let you down. When your minds connects again, you will feel his pain, his fears, everything…"

Here I was silent for a moment and looked at Kallan to see if he wanted to say something to this. I know it was cruel to tell Asher this, but he needed to know before we woke Mercy up and they met again.

"She is only a shadow of herself who needs you. Maybe more than you did when she kissed your brain jar on that ship. She can't bond with the twins either… sorry to be cruel Asher, but you had to know this. Maybe Kallan has something to add, he knows her better than I do. They talked to each other. You may need a few minutes to digest this now. But let me know if you want us to wake her up and… you know…" I smiled sadly. "But if you need a few minutes after that, I totally understand. You have to be prepared; it probably won't be easy for you either to see her in the state she is in now. And I want you to know… I don't blame you, and neither does she. We only blame the Maw and Tu'teggacha, and they both paid for what they did to you and others. The Maw falls apart in these moments and Mercy killed the Taskmaster."

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Master San Tekka plunged his crossguard blade through another Maw raider. Fallen marines littered the ground in every direction. Alliance strike teams were spilling into the unholy city, crashing against barbarian hordes. Both sides fragmented into dozens of pitched skirmishes. He could almost grasp its full shape through the battlemeld. Scorches pock marked the Jedi's duraplast armor and age was beginning to wear on handsome patrician features. His left arm still gleamed for the chromium plated augmetic was not so easily tarnished by Exegol's shadow.

A living disturbance in the Force clouded Zark's thoughts with its presence.

"I will not play to your fantasies. Surrender yourself to my strength and serve, or allow your corpse to become my tool in breaking fate. Do not dally, Jedi, I have little time for matters of philosophy and ideology."​

Dark power radiated from the approaching dread lord. Just as hope seemed lost Master Zark sensed the presence of Asmundr Varobalder Asmundr Varobalder reaching down from the heavens to lift his spirit from perdition. A faint smile touched the Jedi's lips.

"All is as the Force wills it."

Zark raised the azure blade he held aloft.

Lightpoint Station split the sky in half. Its massive shining hull displaced oppressive thunderclouds. Basking in this radiance he felt a new resolve surging through tired old bones. San Tekka leapt at the Sith Lord, bringing his lightsaber down with inhuman strength in a swing meant to tear the dark sorceror's staff asunder.
 
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The scorching red of Nyaeli's saber only served to deepen the scowl on her face. A haunting tapestry of emotions, hatred chief among them. More hatred than a Jedi probably should feel.

Not like that crossed her mind in the heat of the moment.

Packing every modicum of raw strength behind her parries, Capris still fell victim to Nyaeli's superior experience and skill, slowly ceding ground all while the Sith wormed her way into her head. Metaphorically this time.

"I don't need saving, you piece of sith-rot."

She didn't have Kahlil Noble Kahlil Noble . She didn't need Kahlil. Her competency could under no circumstance fall into question. She simply wouldn't allow it. Even if that meant she had to kil-

It was then, somewhere in the midst of her animosity, a light broke through. The force blanketing the stronghold and its gladiators in a purifying luster.

Kahlil.

Somehow, somewhere she felt his interference, Valery Noble Valery Noble ’s too. Drawing her out from the depths. Back to what mattered. To who mattered.

Taking the calculated risk to look back at Rhemti, reflex had her reaching for the beast. For its mind, in some split-second, instinctual scramble to seize control. To stop it in its frenzied approach. A trick Darth Temerant Darth Temerant had taught her in a much less drastic sense, more voluntary sense.



 


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"Parents are supposed to outlive their children."
The heavy, wet, squelch of flesh torn open was muffled by the ripping of fabric and the splash of color on the gray floor beneath her.

Sorry, she mouthed - best as her weak lips could - before the light left her eyes.

The visceral sound was punctuated by the heavy thunk of steel anchoring itself against her spine, the crossguard of her sword preventing the telekinetically wielded weapon from flying entirely through her.

In the blink of an eye the world shattered.

Everything exploded like tempered glass. For all the giants supreme attributes even he caught the singular moment too late, not fast enough nor prepared for it when the blade rent flesh. "NOO-" It was all he could get off before everything went black, fading away behind the shape of her delicate face. In that moment he'd locked eyes with her then father and daughter, as he watched the light darken behind them. Countless times, certainly far too many to count he'd been in this singular moment to watch the lives of friends and foes alike breathe their last in this realm. It had been a fascination for a time and he'd been here so much they often called him the final moment made flesh. For the satisfaction this reaper took in watching his enemies leave this realm. But in this moment? Now? It was a raging storm that had taken the infamous Lord of Lies and irreparably shattered him, doing what had built for so long and taking the person he was and turning him into dust on the wind.
In that moment he would've given up everything to rewind and change the outcome, to switch places with her. The guilt was an unbearable titan crashing him beneath its waves like the oceans at high tide. A father who victimized his own daughter by poisoning her essence with his malice, who threw her into the fires instead of sheltering her and raising her to face the world, to give her a full life she was denied, a proper home. It was never her job to pull him back from the edge of the abyss, it was his job to pull her. How could he do that to her? To force her to this point. Where he saw only the surface of her rise in power and climb to the throne of the Brotherhood of the Maw, he was so blinded by his own pride and arrogance, he couldn't see the pain she was in. In his supreme arrogance he was so blind to her pain he could only see the potential of an heir for his empire. One who may eclipse both her father and her cousin. Someone to complete their plans and reign unchallenged over the galaxy and accomplish what they could not. It took this moment to remove the partisan blinders from his eyes and it broke him into smaller pieces then.
"Do what I could not. There is more to life than surviving, fighting. Put down the sword and live."


As his late brother once said at the moment of his death he was too focused on the fight, instead of putting down the blade and choosing to simply live. For a time he'd thought it was a mistake after tragedy struck, he consigned living to being a mistake, opening himself up exposed him and his family to weakness because he wasn't ready. But it wasn't until he watched the light fade from his precious daughter's eyes that he understood. In that moment he would've given any entity in the cosmos everything he had, every material bit of fortune, success, the Kainate itself, his force sensitivity to see it reversed. Such bargains were dangerous to strike as he'd learned but in this moment he didn't care. There was nothing too costly to spend if he could have one more chance with her. One more chance to say what needed to be said, beg her to reconsider. She was supposed to outlive him. But her entire life was one more chance that he'd wasted pointlessly. As had happened before no such opportunity came and it smothered him in the crushing grip of reality that she was already gone.
"Kid, he loved you like a son. In this mad world we live on even the greatest legends and gods die. None of us know how or when our end is gonna come but make no mistake it comes for all of us. He lived an extremely long life and had the rarest luxury to punch his own ticket, write the end of his story. Never forget how precious that is. Honor it for you'll never see it again here. Only a true legend such as he could accomplish that."


Time had frozen on that gaze into her eyes then and only slowly, inevitably advanced as his precious daughter began to come apart, her essence unraveling. Every ounce of energy she drained within had suddenly, abruptly begun to force its way back out of her. It almost caught him off guard in blasting the giant away from his child forever. But he'd been ready this time and dropped his weight down, pushing back at the gradually escalating force as reality slowly began to unfold for him. In this moment he had a choice as few ever did. He could've abandoned her one more time, how many times had he left her abandoned and alone before? She came into this world alone. To take what some would say smart, others cowardly decision to flee or let the wave carry him through the citadel's walls, his body could take it. It had long been hardened from experience and manipulation to resist such pains.
"All this power you've gathered Darth. Its trivial compared to what truly matters in this world. When the end comes, and come for you it will, it'll never be how you expect. All of your carefully laid plans will unravel and you'll be cast into the darkness you belong." - Veiere Arenais


No more running.
"I won't abandon you again."

Step.
The words fell hard into the air as he took a titanic step towards her. The devastating vacuum began to press its dark fury over him eroding away the darkened zeyd cloth, blazing his flesh with soul searing agony. The immediate area of his fully tattooed, muscular chest darkened with its burning fury as it blazed into his skin and began to peel its layers back. Its fury set his hair alight and started to burn it off his skull. The carefully designed tattooes that told his story from his time on Panatha, his life on Maena, and his career as a Sith. A beautiful tapestry immortalized on flesh burned away before the unstoppable fury of her death. The giant stood his ground and wielded the force in one simple reason, to corral her eruption into one simple direction: straight forward. He blew the sword out of her back and yet the titanic fury of energy still kept coming, holding her upright.
Step.

The forceful, destructive energy pushed harder as the first walls of flesh burned away and started slaughtering its way through the muscular system beneath. In his face it started peeling to reveal the hardened, skeletal pockets beneath. The body's regenerative capabilities long since overwhelmed. In his determination his grief flowed freely off his face, tears started welling as boiling droplets of fire sending off trailing, evaporative smoke. In his long life he only ever processed through pain and grief one way: Fighting. So the man known as Braxus Zambrano roared. The absolute soul gripping conviction was unlike any other utterance into the open air. It combined with the unbearable sound of a parent who'd lost their child and its own destructive fury sundered the earth around him. It shouldn't have been possible for him to resist such force and yet here he stood undaunted.
Step.

He grabbed her then. One hand wrapping around her torso and the other the back of her head, pulling her tightly into an embrace and tucking her head into the crook of his lowered neck. The giant faced the back wall and unleashed his bellowing fury once more as his fury combined with the explosion of energy ripped the wall down. To choose this chapter of his story was a gift he wouldn't pass over. To escape and drown in the grief of his failure every moment of his existence. For what? What would it feel like without her? To imagine life in the reality where he'd failed her. To fight one more war, one more death. To scorn life and fate itself by robbing them of a life taken too soon. She who had grown as close or closer as only two others had. It was in this moment that he'd thought of them. Braith. A love lost and returned to him in an unexpected gift by his blessed child, who felt like she would never be enough to fill the void of her mother. She was enough, and he was so blinded he couldn't see that. It was an unimaginable reunion but in this moment he thought of her and what he'd say. She was still picking up the pieces of her shattered life, all the time she'd missed - years, and he was scared. Braxus Zambrano - scared of leaving her alone. How much had he abandoned her over the years to fight the wars of the Sith instead of being there for her? How many times had he been blind to see her?
Kaine.


Student, Teacher, Friend, Nephew, Brother. They'd forged a Dark Dyad together. A lifetime spent by each other's side - well over seventy years constantly by one another. They hadn't ever been separated. Together they built an empire out of the darkness, uplifting House Zambrano from disgrace to a supreme throne of galactic dominance, built an unmatched bastion of power. Together they'd done the impossible and eclipsed the light, irrevocably changing the galaxy. So many completed plans and so many unfinished. Their bond had eclipsed everyone he ever met in his extremely long life - and he knew he would feel every bit of what was happening. A brother who accepted his life teachings and rose to the highest wrungs of greatness. Together they made life worth living for him at least. Long had he been his nephew's protector from the threats that might face them, destroying them before they approached him. In this moment he was terrified. Terrified of what may happen if he wasn't there to protect him - of leaving him alone. Apologetic for not being able to be there and failing his nephew in the promises he gave. "Brusrar." Braxus spoke through their Dyad directly to his nephew. The word in Epicanthix had no direct translation. Perhaps brother or bonded one came closest. It was only spoken among two individuals with the deepest bond with one another, perhaps even soul mates would share such a thing. "I won't leave her, not again. I've failed her too many times. I am writing this chapter myself. Remember everything. Remember I will always come for you. I ruqa aeui. I'k kurrae."
The last words he'd speak were directed straight at Quinn Varanin - his daughter's precious lover. Every word was a struggle to let out into the air at a level she'd be able to hear it "Go Quinn. Leave this place. Live your life for my daughter. I shall care for her now. As long as you breathe - you shall never fear violence from any sworn to Zambrano. So I have decreed so shall it be." Then after a lifetime of fighting - holding his precious daughter? He let go, darkness came and the fury of her destruction tore him apart and unleashed his own.

Death is not the end. But the beginning.



 
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Wearing: Armor
Equipment: Lightsaber
Location: Maw Freighter
Tag: Darth Temerant Darth Temerant | Velda Nar-Donna Velda Nar-Donna | @Darth Wallgo | Briana Sal-Soren Briana Sal-Soren | Brandyn Sal-Soren Brandyn Sal-Soren | Escape Jara

___________


"Are you a man? Or an animal?"

His not-answer to go with his non-existence was delivered on broken ground. Cybelle could not feel his bitterness as she might have, were he not so deeply hidden, but she could hear it. The slight edge that hinted at something more that he buried expertly behind shadows and mystery. This veneer of being dark and terrible seemed to have cracks, places, where light might be able to interlace and blend with cold reality. Tawny orbs flashed with a momentary glint of understanding. Beneath his words?


Loneliness.

It was obvious that the Sith did not have the pack he spoke of or else he wouldn't be operating on this freighter alone. He wouldn't balk at the simplest inquiry, bark at her, as if she had plunged a dagger into his heart, and proceeded to twist the hilt. This danger…It was too great for any one individual. There were too many moving parts and elements that could not be accounted for. Cybelle had two trained Jedi Knights watching her six who built bright blocks of hope and confidence in the back of her mind.

This unnamed stranger had a droid. A machine, that could only obey.

It was equipment.
Not crew.

The unnamed warrior pulled Project Jareth back to his side just as easily as she had stolen it in the first place. Fair enough. Cybelle stepped to the side and fell into another practiced dodge that took her just beneath his reach, even though, she could feel the cauterizing heat of the lightsaber swinging overhead. He was adapting and learning even though she did her best to keep her movements fluidly erratic. Cybelle landed down on her haunches with two fingers touching the metallic floor for equilibrium. Lithe muscles were coiled, ready, to keep this careful game of evasion and omission in place. Her head tilted and a pin-straight curtain of auburn hair settled around her shoulders like a cloak of polished mahogany.
"So…Man or animal? Both, I'd wager…But…Even the wolf cries for the moon."

Surprise would flicker through honeyed orbs, though, he might miss it while she whirled away and slid into a standing position, flowing backward, to keep weaving around his crimson blade. The notion that she was trying to get into his head caused an elegant brow to furrow. Confused, by the conclusion he had drawn. "None of that may matter to you…But ignoring the unspoken is what you chose. It is what you have decided that you must do."

"Not what I must do."


Cybelle would not be baited by the transient thought of his corpse, cooling, at their feet. It was a planted seed of the Darkside that tried to thread its way into her from Exegol just as much as the Light tried to offer some level of protection against its antithesis. Her head shook slowly, however, that moment of slowed momentum would cost her a precious piece of high-minded kindness. She was able to keep moving while her opponent went on the offensive for a time. Yet again, against her will, he was correct. The young Jedi Knight could only defend for so long.

She did not want this. Cybelle would
never, want this.

Her right hand lowered just slightly so that when her saber leaped toward slender digits on its own accord she was able to draw it inward, across her chest, so that a blaze of brilliant green erupted
just in time to clash with violent red. The blades would feel as if they were drawn toward one another, locking, and Cybelle pushed back with the Force just enough to combat the enhanced physical prowess he had displayed. The might that could easily break her bones if she made a mistake. Despite the fact that she was half his size he would feel supernatural strength allowing someone so diminutive in stature to stand tall.

At that moment the stranger was symbolic of darkness rising, with Cybelle, poised as the Light ready and able to meet it. To stem the tide of a wave that could swallow them both if they weren't careful.

Green and red illuminated their features and for the first time she found that she could see at least his helmet clearly.


"Does this lessen the insult?", once again, soft words, without an ounce of scorn or cruelty. They were delicate. As if they might soothe wounds she would never see. The magnetically-bound areas of plasma between them sparked and wept into the void as magnetic fields interacted, and the resulting eddy kept the blades from passing through one another. Cybelle pushed back harder to rise to her full height despite the subtle vibrations running between their weapons making her hand feel numb. The sheer physical exertion it took to maintain grip strength and the force of will to maintain contact was staggering. Lest one of them slip—And wind up cut in half.

"If I was trying to peer within your mind…You would know."

It was like putting a massive ball of tinfoil in the galaxy's biggest microwave. There was an intense amount of heat being generated that almost made it hard to breathe. Invisible wind, banding, to move their hair and clothing as if they were caught in a mighty gale. Cybelle shifted suddenly and pulled her blade back in a grip that reversed and solidified to something better suited for one-handed combat. A pocket of telekinetic force would simultaneously aim to push away his saber arm, with a recently freed hand, so that she could use that same momentum to rotate her body before throwing a powerful kick to his midsection. Whether it hit or not, she reoriented herself and fell into a well-known Djem So stance.

Her style, like his, was mixed. Cybelle focused on a few forms more than others but she full well knew what his way of the rancor implied. She held her left hand out, palm extended and aimed low, with her feet spaced evenly apart. Her saber was raised defensively in her right hand but she was prepared to create an opening if needed. Only…
If needed. She would keep to her word regardless of whether or not her lightsaber was active. She would do her best not to harm him, no matter, the deluge of strikes or fury he turned in her direction. "…You spoke of sacrifice…Of shouldering the weight that no one else can…"

"Do you know who you sound like?"


 

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Exegol
Lightsaber | Outfit
Battlegroup Kenobi
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Light engulfed the dark world of Exogol.

Familiar Jedi all across its surface reached out to lend their strength to the Wall of Light— from her own Padawans to friends who were struggling in their own battles. It was through their combined support, as well as the station commanded by Arage Bao Arage Bao , that the Jedi gained the power to ignite the planet's dark side corruption and slowly but surely purge it from existence. By her side was her husband, whose focus had been on shielding those down below, and she knew that without him, this would have been impossible for her.

But he wasn't the only crucial pillar of support.

On the station itself, she felt Asmundr Varobalder Asmundr Varobalder 's presence straining under the immense pressure that this Wall of Light demanded. Prior to the battle they had talked about how this could consume a Jedi, and somewhere deep down, she knew that what he was putting himself through helped make sure that this wouldn't be her end.

"I can... feel it weakening," Valery said, as more and more of the dark vergence was cleansed. "But so am I..." Sweat ran down her forehead, her muscles were tightened and her words and breathing were strained. Even though she'd survive initiating this ability, it was going to demand everything of her body, mind, and energy.

A spirit of perseverance would keep her going until no darkness remained.


"We have to see this through until the end."


 

Amani scoffed, "And you really believe that?" The Light was calling. She could sense it through the fog of war that surrounded them. But there was no chance to safely lend her strength in the midst of a duel. There was barely even a chance to protect herself from the wave that crashed around them. The Jedi had raised a barrier, but not before some of the Rot had gotten through the closing field.

Even still, Amani remained undeterred, "Haven't you ever wondered…?" When the wave dissipated, she swiped up, as if to bisect Surea vertically, "Despite all our encounters… I've never once been infected by your Rot?" It wasn't a rhetorical. She didn't have an answer of her own hidden away. By all accounts, Amani should have fallen to its effects by now. Did she have a genetic immunity? Did her Force-sensitivity purge the illness from within before it could take hold?

Every chance to study a sample of Surea's Rot had been taken from her. In truth, they, and perhaps no one, would ever know. Not when Surea's kill-or-be-killed mentality blocked the path to progress.
 
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TAGS: Escape Jara
The emerald of her blade finally coming to bear, he weighed down upon her... and yet,she kept up with his strength and speed. He had honed his body to be perfectly suited for combat, every muscle and fiber trained, incessantly punished to achieve perfection. And yet this little thing, this leaf blowing in the wind, this candle flickering in the dark dared... she dared to match him. She was strong in the Force. But then again, so was he.

You could be stronger.

He supressed the voice in the back of his head, the seductive call he knew all too well. So many had given in before him and lost themselves to it. The power it offered was a collar, a leash through which to bend him to its cosmic will. Countless before him had grabbed it before, thinking they could control it before they were ready to master it. They thought themselves powerful. They thought themselves free, unable to see the strings that made them dance, mere puppets in the grand design of the living Force.

He would not allow that to be his fate. He would become stronger still, but on his own terms. He would master it in the same way he strived to master himself. He would conquer it in the same way he did his fears. He would dominate it, much as he did any who stood in his way.

And maybe then, he could let go of the pain. Maybe then... He would truly be free.

She backed out then, keeping a deadly blow at bay with the Force before launching a flawless spinning kick, the impact tremendous as it connected. Even through the armour, he could feel it: it would leave a nasty mark, to be sure, the man forced to take a step back to retain his balance as he tanked it.

"Do not say the Jedi," he growled in warning. "I am not some weak sycophant shackled by paper thin philosophies."

No. He knew who he wanted to sound like, even if he kept his memory deeply buried within the depths of his psyche. To liken the Jedi to him was near-blasphemous.

He recognized her stance immediately. Finally, she showed initiative. Even if she stood defensively, Form V was one of aggression, when all was said and done. Good. There was no glory in taking out an enemy that did not put up a fight. His own stance shifted to a Djem So opening stance, dominant foot sliding back as he held his blade high and behind him, slanted at an angle.

"You could not look into my mind if you wanted to," he remarked then. "...And even if you could, you would not understand what is there. You are too bogged down by your narrow view of things. By your naïve and hopeful understanding of the galaxy," he suggested. "You want to talk about ignoring the unspoken? Because I can see it in your 'light', Cybelle. You seek to fight suffering, yet you do not understand it. You have not been to the dark places. You have not walked the shadowed paths. The darkness can never be dispelled, only embraced. Accepted. Integrated. This is as much true for the universe as it is for the self. This is why your Order will never achieve its purpose. Why you never learn," he continued as he paced slightly, looking for his own opening. "Peace is a lie. And to face the truth as you are... You would become unraveled."

Not that it mattered anymore. She had been wrong about one thing. He had no moon to cry for. Nothing to lose. And that made him all the more dangerous.

"I'm done talking," he let her know. His blade had always been more eloquent, anyway.

With that, he launched another barrage of strikes, but this time, he did not hold back from using the Force. He switched between one and two handed grips, his free hand beginning to incorporate sharp, abrupt movements that delivered short bursts of the Force, aiming to strike with small but blunt, localized impacts, meant to disorient her and disable any attempts at offense; to overwhelm and put her on the retreat. There were elements of martial arts in there, some Teras Käsi evident to the trained eye. And still, there was something else, his hand resembling a swiping claw at times, as if he slashed, rather than striked with it. It was a furious advance, yet meant only to conceal his intention: to catch her off-balance in a backstep as she attempted to hold back the unorthodox assault. To force her to seek a pattern... and subvert it, his fist closing at his side as he caught a feet moving backwards, attempting to pull her body towards him in order to impale her.
 
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Steeling herself mentally for the rest of the fight, Ala braced to repel the strong attack from above. To her surprise, the dark one stopped. Words and names were said, but Ala could not recognize any of them personally. She simply filed the information away in her memory, repeating what he said to himself even as she strafed to the right and moved away from him.

It was then that Ala saw beyond the moment, and her immediate surroundings. She chastised herself immediately for not keeping track of the war beyond her encounter with the giant Sith. The Wall of Light had begun. Exegol was being reforged in the light. She could feel the collective presence of her fellow Jedi as the light itself was turned to a weapon. There was a certain feeling of awe mixed with trepidation over the process.

"Wherever your kind spring up. We will always be there to put you down again," Ala called out as he walked away.

He would have won. Eventually. But it was not mercy that stayed his hand, rather self-preservation. The Jedi Master's nose wrinkled a bit as she took a half-second to consider what it would take to increase her abilities and best one such as this. Slow-gradual steps forward.

The dark side created wall behind her faded, and Ala stepped beyond it. Her back turned to the retreating Sith and she bounded over the carcasses of beasts and the fallen in an effort to make it back to the drop ship.



 

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