Nar Sha-DON'T - Open Skirmish

[Servant]

Servant had calculated that the devastation inflicted by the assaulting Sith forces would have lessened the further from the epicenter of the most likely targets of the city. It stood to reason that any armed groups which had been deployed to the outskirts of the assumed operational area would be little more than auxiliaries or freshly trained troops. Whilst it was impossible to determine simply from a cursory glance at the assorted squadrons marauding throughout the territory and cutting down the local criminal enterprises and their employees, it was quite simple to determine that the estimations made by the Intelligence had been incorrect by several degrees of deviation.

Where the machine mind expected only minimal defacement, it rapidly discovered entire neighborhoods cracked into rubble and desecrated to the point of unfeasible residence. Those structures which had housed resisting forces, such as those utilized by the Hutt Cartels as outposts throughout their vast crime networks had suffered even greater damage, at times having seemingly vanished completely from existence save for the presence of biological matter spattered across scorched stone and durasteel, and the occasional presence of organic flesh strewn hither or thither, hacked to pieces by melee weapons, or else so thoroughly blasted that the innards of the chunks had begun to thoroughly cook, turning an uncouth shade of brown.

The loss of life and property did not concern the machine mind, however, and it continued on its way, deftly diving through wrecked structures and vehicular husks as it made its way to what it had pinpointed as [member="Peyton Steele"]'s communication device. The trip was fairly uneventful on account of the fact that the entity was attempting to avoid any confrontation, though it was privy and witness to a number of slaughters and firefights, including the rare instance wherein the local overpowered the Legionaries, though this only occurred when these groups had been caught by surprise, and stricken with overwhelming firepower in the midst of coverless streets. Otherwise, the boots of the Sith forces marched onward, imprint upon imprint being left on soaked roadways.

Another communique reached the Intelligence, passed along the comm-link possessed by the organic companion, though this one was merely questioning why it had been present at the coordinates it had previously given. "Avoidance." It responded stiffly in the unflinching and uncooperative fashion that only beings composed of metal and electronics could truly deliver. Another communique, seemingly attached to the first, though enough processing cycles had flashed by that it was difficult to tell whether it had been an attached message or simply a secondary communication. Any pause among the organics was the equivalent of several dozen pauses to the Intelligence, though, it did not take more than a few picoseconds after the message had been broadcast to respond: "Negative."

The piratical captain known as Red Blade according to records stolen from a bounty hunting guild had not sent any form of communication to either of the pair, inferred the Intelligence. Perhaps the organic had conducted a faulty cost-benefit analysis and determined that their likelihood to suffer death at the hands of assaulting forces was higher than it actually was, and promptly evacuated from the premises. Such behavior was not atypical for those inclined towards material wealth, considered the Intelligence, calling to RAM a number of holovid programs and historical documents regarding the cowardice common among thieves and robbers.

Finally, visual confirmation was made of the location of Steele, and the Tanuki droid promptly dismounted from atop the smoking shell of what had once been... mechanical diagnosis identified it as a form of landrover, though its exact model was difficult to determine on account of its missing front-end. The Host sprinted across the distance between the two, cast a cursory glance around itself to ensure it was safe, rolled over, scratched at its non-existent itch; Tanuki droids had useless imitation routines which often needed to be exercised in order to perform more useful sub-routines, and then gazed upon Steele with the crimson glow which identified a machine under the control of Servant.

"Local patrols are organic. No targets sighted upon route. Projected locations of encountered squadrons has been determined, and these may be avoided." It transmitted in an instant, the deadpan and emotionless tone immediately identifying the sender. "Communication connection will not be suitable for Host Control program. Recommend immobilization of target so that I may establish physical connection." It explained, recognizing that the comparative knowledge of its abilities was largely one-sided. Whilst it was true that it could interfere with communication systems simply by locking onto the signals they were emitting, it could not access other devices through comms, and those systems would be necessary if it was to assume full control of one of the Sith battle droids.


Programs

Spoiler

• Biological Diagnostic - 3 PU
• Host Control - 10 PU
• Aggressive Virus Dispatch - Wireless - 10 PU
• System Control - Peyton Comms - 1 PU
• System Control - Sith Squad - 1 PU
• Universal Translator - 2 PU
• Dedicated Defensive Systems - 6 PU
• Mechanical Diagnostic - 3 PU

Remaining PU - 14

Tanuki Droid - http://starwarsrp.net/topic/146036-tanuki-droid/

 

[Darth Ophidia]

[member="Neri Rashal"] [member="Ivory"]

The bloodshine blade sheared through the shotgun right after it went off. Had Ophidia not ducked and weaved to the side, then she thought she might have been shot dead in the chest. But no, it was a near miss. The shot buried itself in a far wall as she melted back into the thick smoke, blending with the background.

She heard footsteps somewhere, someone lost and confused, not finding their way through the smoke. A gentle cough pinpointed the location, and with a flick of her arm she flung the tsaisibola. The serpent flattened itself to soar through the air, then clung to the victim and sunk its teeth down into a final bite. The moment, had distracted her, pulled her out of her routine. It made her presence shine for a moment like a blip on the radar

Fearing her position was compromised again, Ophidia slipped deeper into the smoke and shadow, sensing for the woman formerly armed with a shotgun. She couldn't dally for too long.

Ophidia flexed her left hand, making the shikkar blade slide out of the sheath on her wrist. She activated the sabre again. The new snap-hiss and bright shine illuminated the smoke as she threw it, spinning off to the side. A shout was heard, then cut off as the blade embedded itself in something solid.

The whole motion was intended to draw Neri's eyes to it as Ophidia lashed out with the shikkar blade. A quick jab, aimed for the lower ribs. It was hard to be accurate in the smoke. In optimal conditions, the shikkar would pierce the heart or lung before breaking off inside. But if it got the side, perhaps a liver or kidney?Well that was just all the more excruciating.

 

[Darth Athora]

​

​

Lord Admiral Zahori Denko. Commander of the Second Fleet of the Sith-Imperial Armada, the Shield of Muunilist, the Breaker of Fleets, the God-Queen of Kulthis.

She had come not long after her victory in the skies above Pantora to further spread the Empire's violent terror upon a planet riddled with life's greatest lie: freedom. No one is ever truly free. They just don't know who the one controlling their lives are. Whether it be the media, planetary governments, or even one's dreams or fears. There is always an outside force that controls one's destiny. For one to believe they are free, they are burdened with making choices in their life without guidance, without the proper voice to show them the right path.

Many are cowards and hide the fact that they control their people. The Empire comes with the information most forthright.

Control is one of the Empire's greatest strengths. Control over it's worlds is what keeps the Empire strong. The enforced unity and powerful oppression has brought upon an everlasting wave of darkness known as the Sith Empire. The Sith may only control a fraction of the galaxy, but it's power is felt all over.

This has been proven evident by the people of Nar Shadda. Though they bow to their feeble Hutt musters, they provide aid to the Jedi, their true overlords. All while falsley flying the colors of the Empire. To think that they believed the Sith would not see through their pathetic ruse. IT was left alone for some time, but the Emperor would not allow it any longer.

The ground trembled as the battle in the streets began to pick up. Lord Admiral Zahori Denko was in the field, leading the 266th into battle from the front. No one was safe from Athora's wrath. No militia, no civilians, none could be saved from Athora and the 266th. "Keep moving!" Zahori roared out in command of the 266th. "I want the streets to run crimson with blood." Zahori knew not what fueled her with such intensity today. Whether it was her new armor or weapon, she did not care. She felt unstoppable.

"Lord Athora. We have a message for you." reported one of her elite troopers. She sunk her blade deep into the torso of an elderly man as he spoke, pulling it out slowly before turning to acknowledge him. "There is a rogue Mandalorian in the fi-" Zahori held a hand up, causing the trooper to halt before the end of his sentence. The notion of a Mandalorian outside of the Cadera regime was enough to draw Zahori's attention.

"Where...?" she asked, coldly.

[member="Karsan Calnov"]​

 

[Karsan Munin]

Elite troops.

Elite my ass.

They were checking doorways, pieing off rooms, the whole nine. But they weren't looking in a different direction. Kinetic as the battlespace was, there was a massive threat in an urban environment that many soldiers neglected to think of- and a massive war machine like the Sith Empire was unable to train their troops on constantly enough to reinforce into their minds. They were conquerors, predators.

Predators.

Predators never looked up.

He only had a knife at the moment- the Beskad was too heavy, too long for this environment. But the knife that he picked up? Just fine. The rear guard was only sweeping occasionally, now and again checking behind him. A pattern that was easy to identify. More importantly, easy to exploit. He jumped down, landing just softly enough that he only made a gentle thud. But, in a battlespace that was pocketed by screaming, explosions, and gunfire- well, someone landing behind you was even hard to hear.

He wrapped his hand around the eye sockets and dug the knife into the space on his armor, puncturing his lungs. People in the movies, in the books went for the neck. Sure, that was a guaranteed kill. That much was true- but they could make noise. Puncture someone's lungs- no screaming, no choking. He stuck the knife in twice, once in the lungs, then the other time behind his ear. He let the soldier fall, and hastily grabbed the rifle he was using. From the rear, he massacred the squad, before they were even able to react.

He squatted down, checking them for any identifying marks.

He found a regimental marking.

The 266th.

Never heard of 'em.

However, he knew from experience that Stormtroopers and soldiers alike had internal communication networks. He walked over to what he assumed was the squad leader- and correctly, he had the comm assets. He crouched over the dead soldier and picked up the helmet, yanking it off his head. The radio system was contextual, and still operational. Karsan never went for head shots, rarely. Aim small, miss small.

"You're gonna need more guys than this."

He knew that the IFF tag would pop up on whatever command module they were using. And if they were an elite outfit, that meant that they would have a visual of who exactly was talking, and if he had to guess, whoever this guy was- didn't sound like Karsan. Maybe they even had vital readers. They probably already knew that they were dead back in the rear.

Good.

More sheep for Karsan to slaughter.

He tossed aside the helmet, picking up the rifle and a few more charge packs. He left the stolen knife in the back of one of the Sith soldiers. A taunt, if anything. He turned his head, and vanished back into the streets, intent on carrying out his one-man guerrilla campaign.

But to a Sith?

He left a trail.

He was a maelstrom in the force. In the face of fear, there was rage. In the face of cowardice and begging for mercy, between panic and confusion, there was a razor-sharp edge of anger, focused on a singular entity. He was taking pleasure in his surroundings. He was in his element. And he knew that as much as they would-

He wanted them to find him.

[member="Darth Athora"]​

 

[BobertEZ]

Nar Shaddaa, Hutt Space
Arrival: Stardate ------ (Wiped from computer memory)

Nar Shaddaa. A cesspool of scum and villainy, braggarts and falsehoods, death and poverty. Raptious would feel right at home here. Towers of glass and brass, coated in blazing orange light and bright neon bulbs that could flash-blind even a Miraluka ascended outside the Sith Lord's fighter that descended with the righteous fury of the Empire.

A small landing pad that appeared to be housing a preliminary escape route caught the Sith Lord's eye and a smile cracked their face in half under their helmet. Such an opportunity could not be ignored, resulting in the Sith cutting the air as they quickly landed lengthwise on the bridge leading to the pad, crushing several seeking retreat against the sturdy metal. The cockpit shot open, allowing Raptious to leap out and ignite their lightsaber mid-air, the orange blade so deep and so vicious in its growl to life that a few of the civilians attempting to escape gave up on their lives, leaping from the bridge to avoid the pain of the Sith. The militiamen operating the ship that promised salvation immediately took aim, the most prominent of the four, a Houk male with a large blaster rifle, uttering a guttural challenge.

The Sith Lord responded with a masterful throw of their lightsaber, angling the blade in a way so as to only bisect the Houk's allies at the waist. The militiamen's remains fell off the bridge, joining the civilians they failed to protect.

"Sith ruin Garg's home! Sith pay with puny life!" the Houk shouted in response to the feat, firing off a blast from his rifle.

The Sith Lord dodged the blast effortlessly, leaping above it and landing directly in front of the militiaman, cocking their head as if confused. The Houk responded again with an attempted butt of their weapon, the Sith again avoided damage by simply leaning backwards and following up with a surge forward, sending their helmeted face into the clavicle of the massive beast, forcing him to his knees. A sharp crack resounded in the Sith's ears, much to their sadistic amusement.

"Fight me!" the Sith voxed through their helmet's voice-modulator, desiring a proper duel with this beast of prodigious size. The Houk were often regarded as the strongest humanoid race in the galaxy sans modifications, something Raptious greatly desired to experience in this fight. To emphasize their point, the Sith sheathed their saber, beckoning the great thing with a come on motion of their hands.

The Houk responded with a chortle and tossed his weapon off the bridge, charging the Sith with all his might. The Sith met the attempted grapple and both found themselves wrestling desperately to stay on their feet, the Houk clearly the stronger of the two based on raw strength, the bursts of Sith adrenaline failing to activate in the warrior. The Sith knew that if they went to the ground under the bulk of all that armor and muscle, they would not be getting back up. They knew it would be the end.

And yet, they did not seem to care. If they were to die, it would be worth it, the final fight they had spent so long searching for finally come to them, "Is this the moment? Are all the stories, all the legends of promised immortality, going to end here? Prove yourself, Houk!"

Truly, however, they had not thought a creature like this would claim that victory, but then again, even as they struggled, the Sith conceded grudging respect for the Houk's raw prowess. The creature had successfully overpowered them, something no other thing had ever done in combat with Raptious. But, as with all events like this, there was more going on inside the Sith's thick skull than they had been given credit for.

Without warning, the Sith uttered a Force Scream, knocking the Houk out of the grapple, and kicked out at the beast's supporting leg, their boot connecting sharply with the front of his knee. The beast went down hard, his armor crackling the bridgle underneath it. He flailed, his hands reaching back and forth, frantic swipes intended to grab the Sith. But Raptious didn't stay still long enough to get caught. They stamped down on the Houk's stomach with their left boot, raised their fist above their head, and punched straight down into the metal plate, knuckles passing through into the hot, bloody meat beneath.

The Houk howled in pain.

Raptious found what they were looking for and closed their metal digits around it and yanked hard. The Houk fell silent as the Sith raised their prize above their head and roared in triumph. In their blood-drenched gauntlet, Raptious held a large section of the Houk's spine.

Next stop: the towers where the Immortal Emperor sought ultimate vengeance against those that had harmed the Empire so.

 

[Rach'ta]

Location: Battlefield, Nar Shaddaa
Allies: None
Enemies: None
Equipment

Spoiler

Crimson Garments
Spiked Brace (R)

---

---

---

As Rach'ta slowed to a stop through the battlefield he observed, for the first time in his life, the gifts of war. The sacred struggle for victory was observable in very individual. A chapter, sometimes the finale, in each of their lives. Would they grasp victory or would it slip by them as they fell to a flash of light? It was all very poetic. Even those who were ignorant of the Force participated in its demand for balance. Rach'ta looked towards where he had seen the strong warrior from beforehand, who had mounted the wall. That one warrior was blessed by the Force and his story was one that the acolyte yearned to see play out in person. But how? Up to this point he had not been engaged by any of the soldiers, although this could rapidly change if they discovered that Rach'ta was not a member of their Empire.

The Twi'lek felt the pull towards the Victorious Warrior's previous location then towards the others around him. This was a crucial moment in his life as well. Would he show the Dark-side he was not afraid and go after the desires he held. Or would he take the safer and arguably weaker path? Rach'ta took a step forward then another "Guide me." he muttered as continued to walk towards the compound which had recently been breached by the Victorious Warrior and their allied forces.

As he did so Rach'ta could feel the critical glances from the troopers. Would they discover him as a third party or would he go undiscovered?

 

[Darth Athora]

There was a thick cloud of darkness that followed Zahori's prey. She could feel it. It was like the aroma of dying meat to a coyote. She did not know who it was. She did not care, either. Just like the rest she cut down today, they would just be added to the ever expanding list of bodies Zahori has left to rot. Another trooper walked up to Zahori, saluting her upon catching her gaze. "Lord Admiral. We have the mandalorian's location. Should we engage?" he asked. Zahori sighed and thought for a brief moment.

"No. I'll handle this myself. Captain, keep the 266th on track with the mission at hand. Inform them that if they get eyes on the mandalorian, they are to inform me and not engage. Is that understood?" Zahori's grip tightened on her sword as she said this. Her hunger for this mandalorian's blood on her blade grew stronger in intensity as each moment passed.

"Yes, my lord." the captain replied before running off.

Zahori was on the hunt. Her eyes looked about sharply. The distant sounds of blaster fire began to fade away as she moved further from her troops. She knew how the mandalorian's liked to operate. After spending much time among her mando allies and see how those mandalorians who ran to the Confederacy for safety and comfort, Zahori had a good insight on their philosophy. Each one was different in their own way, but they all shared one thing in common: their savageness and brutality. She believed that's why the Emperor kept them as allies. If they were good for anything, it was their way of cutting through an enemy on the battlefield and not care how they do it.

"Come on out. Wherever you are." Zahori whispered. Using the Force, she had a sense of the mandalorian's location, but it was clouded by all the carnage strewn about. His, however, was a unique kind of darkness. One that pulled her towards him. Every step she took, she could feel it growing stronger. "I know you're out there. I shall give you but only one chance to surrender. I suggest you take it." Zahori called out.

[member="Karsan Calnov"]​

 

[Karsan Munin]

At her feet, rolled a head.

Karsan emerged from the shadows, the last Sith trooper in one of her squads, fell over- or what was remained of his mangled body. Karsan wiped the blood from his Beskad on his forearm, pacing around the Sith, sizing her up. She was like a ballerina, eloquent and poised, even in the way that she talked, much less the way she moved. Probably fought about the same.

Karsan, was a brute.

Not that he wasn't calculating, or lacked intelligence- but his brute force, and pure violence was more of the reason he found success in combat. He was a violent, hateful man. It showed when he fought. He never fought to wound, to hurt. Everything he did- he did with the intent of murdering that person, of taking their life.

So that's why he wasn't afraid of the Sith before him, or for that matter- any Sith. Not anymore. He knew how they fought. How they operated. And what to exploit as their weakness. He stopped just shy of lightsaber distance from her, cocking his T-shape visor at her.

"Between the two of us, lady- the only thing that you'll be taking is an ass whoopin'."

Karsan might have spoken like an idiot, or a simpleton, but it was far from the truth. His accent did him no justice in his ruthlessness, his tactical expertise.

[member="Darth Athora"]

 

[BobertEZ]

Nar Shaddaa, Hutt Space
Hours after Skirmish began
Unknown Disctrict

The sheer speed that Raptious swung their blade against the militia and common rabble at this point made time seem almost like an illusion around them, as if it slowed to a crawl compared to the rush it normally had. Rapid thunder and lightning of the blitzkrieg above slowed to an almost lazy dance in the sky, while the pouring rain of debris and fire became more like a curtain. Noise from the battle ceased to exist, though rushing winds could be heard in the distance making it's way toward them. Raptious had entered their euphoria, eyes blazing, smile splitting their cheeks. It was glorious.

A sudden surge of pain shooting through their side ended that euphoria and replaced it with confusion. The Sith Lord turned, their eyes widening with surprise at seeing a young man, perhaps eighteen years of age, holding a bloodied knife, a look of fright breaking the attempted bravery.

Raptious's confusion gave way to building anger, a frustration at this boy's stupidity, "You did this..." They hissed lowly and threw an arm out to point to bloodied knife, dropping on the corpse ridden floor. "And attacked me..." Their breathing picked up heavily, along with their heart beginning to race to like a speeder during their slight pause. "From behind like a COWARD?!"

The Sith Lord's fist collided with the side of the young man's face, cracking out a thunderous echo that was swiftly followed by another as they continued to swing. A feral snarl was the only warning the young man received as he rose crippled from the floor before he was Force Pushed backwards as mach speed. His travel was only slowed to a stop by colliding with an abandoned cantina, staining it with his gory remains.

Yet it was not over for the Sith Lord. A burst of blaster fire cracked overhead, followed instantly by a hard boom of explosions, and Raptious only just turned to the sound of rapid feet to barely summon their saber back to their hands, deflecting a strong swipe from a vibrosword. For the next several minutes, Raptious and their unseen assailant traded blows, the assailant moving quick enough for Raptious to fail gaining a solid glimpse of their appearance.

Yet, where there would normally be either destruction or deadly wounds, there was uninjured skin. Perhaps it was the green crystal adorning their armor, or their practice of Force Deflection, but Raptious stood uninjured save for the wound upon their side, awaiting the chance to strike flesh and slow down the attacker.

Yet, their patience grew thin quickly, "Is this what you want? To jump around like a bug?" Raptious prepped to extend their blade upon the assailant's next rotation, hoping to slice their body or force them to slow down. "You want to fight me, right? Then fight me!"

The orange blade was suddenly extended as the dual-phase feature of Bittersweet activated, and for a moment, time stopped once again and Raptious knew they had them. The assailant slowed and ducked under the blade, sliding on their knees to stop their momentum. A cloaked figure rose instantly, eyes locked with the blazing pupils of the Sith Lord, grey beard bent in a frown.

"A rogue Jedi? Here on Nar Shaddaa. My lucky day." The two met blades, striking and striking and sparking, the Jedi outmatched in strength yet faster, agile like a Cathar, and dodging what he could not block or lead away from his body. Neither held the upper hand, surprising the Sith Lord who had only encountered shame and weakness in this invasion.

"You have skill!" the Sith Lord praised. "Why hide out here, of all places? Why not lead the charge into battle?"

"I made an oath to protect these people, to protect tho who cannot-"

"Oh spare me that shlock, I have no use for it!"

Blue streams of lightning shot from the Sith Lord's fingertips in impudent frustration, Raptious hoping for the Jedi to respond with his own anger and rush towards them with savagery. Instead, many of the streams struck the Jedi's vibrosword, but a few still connected with his body, licking the skin open through his cloak and charring tissue. The Jedi lowered to his knees as the shocks coursed through his body like rivers, eventually falling to his hands, forcing the Sith to stop their assault in pity.

"Get up, Jedi. Get off your knees and fight me!"

Fight. The Jedi knew what he had to do, truly. The Sith Lord saw this, felt this, and smiled under their mask, cocking their head to the side in anticipation. The man would try one last attempt at defeating this great foe. Raptious desired this. Wanted this. They wanted to feel possible danger. This Jedi had to give it.

With a shout of courage and defiance, the Jedi leaped forward and put every last thing he had, both physical power and Force strength, into one final strike. For what felt like minutes to Jedi (but was a split second in actuality) his mind raced in panic over what would happen if he were to miss.

He didn't.

Yet, it was not successful either. The Sith Lord had met the vibrosword with their own blade, fiery sparks flying in multiple directions from the sheer impact and scorching the ends of the Jedi's beard like kindling in a fireplace. Before the assailant could follow up their attempt with a hopeful yet feeble strike, they found themselves thrown backwards by a powerful Force Scream, their cloak flying off to reveal their old and faded clothing, a testament to their equally faded glory. They attempted to rise, to continue to fight, but only found the tip of the Sith Lord's blade embedded in their eye socket, an old wheeze escaping their throat as the sizzle of flesh resounded in the ears of Raptious.

"Another failure."

 

[Kuzo]

Nar Shaddaa
Back Alley
[member="Darth Ophidia"]

Not a Forcer, Neri was unaware of the momentary blip that betrayed Ophidia's location to her apprentice. Good for Ophidia- bad for Neri.

With blaster in hand, Neri tried to navigate the smoke. The wall to her right had been closer, so she started drifting in that direction. Blaster in her left hand, her right reached out, searching for the bricks that would orient her in the haze. Fingertips brushing the rough stone, stepping in and letting her shoulder, then back, then opposite shoulder brush it as she pivoted, continuing to move in the direction she had initially planned. It was a small comfort, having something solid at her back. Something that blocked off at least once direction as an avenue of attack.

The snap hiss of the lightsaber to her left brought the blaster up in a reflexive snap, a pair of bolts aimed at the spot it ignited- the blade MOVING and it took a critical moment to register the type of motion. Not held. A heartbeat needed for Ophidia to close that distance. But Neri sidestepped farther down the wall toward her destination

(move, in the back of her mind, always MOVE after taking a shot, long habit, old habit, die hard habit, survive habit)

Which shifted her out of position just enough- a hissing grunt as the blade sliced through her shirt and deep into the flesh of her side, skipping off of the rib rather than finding purchase between and beneath.

Edge of blade, warmth of hand and shadow- all enough for Neri to know where to aim. Another pair of shots fired, this time at point blank range as she tried to twist away, to pivot on her lead foot off to the side.

 

[Leona Hart]

Nar Shaddaa
Club Vertica
In Scene: [member="Daro Tarsi"]
Outside: [member="Khonsu Amon"]

Her back teeth set. Her smile was sweet but there was flint in her eyes. Hard and sharp.

"Oh, but I learned from the best," her tone was honey and she batted her eyes at him.

Him, she meant. Fake people came in all sorts of flavors. His was just dusty and stale. Maybe the lessons she'd learned from him hadn't been what he'd intended to teach but in its way, that made it worse. She had learned how to handle her own needs, safety, protect herself despite him. He had taught her that no one could be trusted- but most especially the people you called family.

Fool her once, shame on you. Daro had been her twice, and shame on her. She hadn't learned the first time around. Had wanted, more than anything, to have that have been the anomaly. But no, he had taught her better.

There was no genuine self to be wasted on anyone she couldn't trust. And she couldn't trust anyone farther than was in their best interest.

Give a chit about the opinion of Daro Tarsi?

Please.

"Looking for a lift?" Eyebrow arching. She didn't think he meant out of concern for her. Tarsi didn't care about anyone but himself. Oh, he tried sometimes. Just that in the end, he didn't care who he hurt when he lashed out. She believed he'd cared about people. She just no longer believed that mattered. It wasn't enough, just to care.

"Desperate times and all that, might be able to arrange something-"

A pause then, frown flickering over her lips. Golden armored individuals, sauntering through the street. Didn't have to be an info-broker to recognize the Sun Guard. Who were they working for this time, what side lined their pockets? She suspected, with a certain cold knot, that it wasn't the Hutts.

"Maw and double Maw," she muttered, far more to herself than to Daro. "Yeah, I can get you out if you need."

It'd cost him later. Leona Hart did nothing for free.

 

[Darth Athora]

Zahori stood there in her armor, staring him down as he moved about, not averting her gaze from him for a moment. "Tough talk. For a mandalorian." she retorted. As he moved, she could feel the darkness that followed him. He was a man of experience. Dark experience. He had seen his share of war. Many bodies lay rotted across the galaxy because of him. He grip on her sword tightened. "I'm going to enjoy cutting you down, little man." Zahori taunted. She lifted her blade and readied herself. A wicked grin grew on her face. Her Darkside-tainted eyes could burn a hole through him the way she looked at him.

With unbelievable swiftness, she lunged at him, the blade of her sword aimed at his face while her other hand channeled the Force at his torso, sending a shockwave of energy at him to launch him back.

[member="Karsan Calnov"]​

 

[Peyton Steele]

Peyton always found it interesting working with a variety of different people. Being part of the intelligence community also meant she had to keep her options open for whatever friends and comrades. Today it seemed that Red was off doing his own thing, but it was really up to her and [member="Servant"]. She could deal with that, but it also meant working for two. Red was a fighter, and he knew how to deal some damage. For her and Servant? The blonde was hopeful she could keep everything in line and hunt down the droids owned by the Sith Imperials.

Right, droid speech. She was happy it wasn’t in binary, but it might as well have been. Avoidance, and no word from Red. Great. Great.

Cool cool cool cool.

“Roger.” She tucked herself into a corner and pulled out her wrist-top data pad. Well, pulled it out more like called it up and was scanning the area. She shook her head and moved the 3D map, trying to hunt for where they could be, but Nar Shaddaa was a challenging place. She saw the landing zone and moved her hands o the 3D layout to send the coordinates to Servant. “Found a Sith LZ. Rendezvous on the north side. See what we can get. You can go ahead, see what we can find. What’ll happen to the Tanuki?” Moving forms was useful, but it could be challenging for logistics.

 

[Karsan Munin]

He laughed when the sword came for his face. It was a painfully telegraphed move, a jab that was easily riposted by the man's blade.

He wasn't laughing when he felt his Beskar-laden feet lift off the ground, carried by an invisible-

Force.

The unpredictable nature of a Sith, was often not so much in how they fought, but what they chose to fight with. He felt the impact first, the layer of gel in his armor doing little to deter the pure concussive force from rolling his body over mid-air. The close proximity of their battleground prevented him from gaining too much velocity- but the impact from being shoved into a wall was nonetheless not as much as he would like. His jetpack sputtered- crushed beneath the weight of his armor and body and the plaster he was against.

He was dazed, but not out or too hurt- but down a crucial asset for his escape and perhaps leverage in the fight.

He slid the Beskad onto the vertical sheath onto his back and rolled his crushgaunt adorned fists. Adopting a Shockboxing stance, to throw her off. Karsan was an expert in Teras Kasi, among many other martial arts. But boxing someone with crushgaunts- that was his ultimate goal. He paced towards her. His shoulders flinched forward, trying to bait her to think that was the arm he was going to hit with. His left shoulder flinched, but his right hand came up in a lightning fast strike- towards her shoulder. He was trying to disable her weapon-holding arm. He kept his hands tight, and in a protective stance to prevent or perhaps counter an immediate counterstrike.

Now this- this was a fight.

[member="Darth Athora"]

 

[Jairus Starvald]

[member="Amon Vizsla"]

Now Ivory had the control.

Balance shaken, her edge starting to cut, even Amon's sudden burst of fury wouldn't be able to save him. Already twisting- trying to evade his seeking hand, but then her eyes went WIDE. A snarl escaping her as that infernal ping ran through her spine. [member="Darth Ophidia"]'s presence washing over her for a split moment. The shortest breath between them, but it was enough to lose balance herself. Amon managed to grab her wrist, keep her in range, and there?

Well, Ivory didn't have much she could do there.

Her elbow twisted, clashing the thrusting saber to the side. Instead of impaling her through the gut, it burned straight through her side. A whimper of scorching pain past her lips.

Then purpose as they were locked that close together.

His hands? Occupied.

Her hand?

Free.

It swept to the side, the alchemized edge moving to cut through the wrist of his grasping hand. A clean cut that would go straight through armor-weave, flesh and bone, if hit home. Setting her free from both his grasp and from the lightsaber.

If successful Iv would follow it up by elbowing him in the face.

Create more distance.

 

[Arage Bao]

Nar Shaddaa
Club Vertica
In Scene: [member="Leona Hart"]
Outside: [member="Khonsu Amon"]

"Best?"

A snort there.

He doubted that, since 'Leona Hart' was still as readable and transparent as the day he met her. Small girl then. Still small now, because putting on six-inch heels and acting all aloof didn't make one big. Just made them small in other ways. None of the pumpkins and sweeties in the world could change that.

When she started asking him though-

That was when Daro blinked, glancing to the side. "Me?" Then a glance through the viewport. Golden Guard. Oh, Daro Tarsi had a working relationship with the Sith Empire.

If working meant he stayed out of their way. Usually. And they stayed out of his.

But something told him the Golden Guard wouldn't give a chit about that. Would shoot him, or enslave him all the same. Just another old man on the docket. "Girl, I am talking about you." Daro Tarsi didn't need anyone's help. Didn't need anyone. Never had and never would.

That was a lie.

Only one person.

"I can get you out of here, before that-" A gesture to the columns of professional soldiers outside. "-is gonna sweep over these rich arsefaces like a tide."

A slow stretch there. Old bones cracking, a soft groan escaping his lips as he put the glass down. Still full. Rare moment, when Daro Tarsi didn't finish a drink, but this time it seemed to be necessary. He'd have to make up for it latter. Already turning away from the viewport.

"Coming or you back at gawking at shiny armor?"

 

[Darth Ophidia]

[member="Neri Rashal"]

It was funny how much a fight could teach you about your opponent. For example: An amateur shooter, and even some professionals, stood their ground after firing a firearm. To fire and move in the manner that her opponent just did was a military tactic. She could also have been law enforcement, but Ophidia did not sense that was true.

No, this smelled like a foe long vanquished.

When the blade skipped off Neri's rib, it chipped rather than shatter. There could still be parts left in the wound, but nothing with the desired effect. This left the point of her blade changed from a needle to a clip, but it could still penetrate.

Ophidia weaved, ducking low and rising again as she sensed the air and smoke moving. She ducked under Neri's arms as she pivoted to fire on where Ophidia had attacked her. The blaster went off right next to the rattataki's ear. Close, too close. Her ears were ringing, disrupting her sense of space. She was right in Neri's face now, that much she could tell. Neri would be able to see clearly the burning eyes set in an ashen face, under a hood which seemed to melt into the smoke itself.

Ophidia's hands were quick as she closed the distance further. Not a stab this time, but an attempt at grabbing Neri's arms. And if her grab succeeded, she would twist and pivot as she rose to her full height, aiming to throw the woman over her shoulder and into the ground.

 

[Zef Halo]

Fighting melee was one thing, fighting melee someone up to or above your skills was a special thing. The intimacy created between two opposing forces each intent on killing the other seemed to create rifts in time and space. Metaphorically. Just as everything in such fighting happened in the span of moments, so did every moment seem to go on forever. Or so Amon wanted to explain this odd feeling in his gut brewing in the middle of a life and death situation. Otherwise, the logical explanation, was too weird to accept.

The Rattataki was equally hellbent on killing him as he was her but whatever he saw in her eyes or beneath her bloodthirst attracted him in every wrong way possible. It didn't really affect his combat capability, or maybe it did, but it did affect his internal state of mind. His darksaber ripped through her shoulder like hot knife through butter but klaxons blared in his mind when the magical shiv screamed at him as it went for his wrist. Everything seemed to go in slow motion, it's that same sensation when you see the inevitable coming your way like the lights of a vehicle coming straight at you faster than your reaction time.

Just like his darksaber a mere moment before, the alchemized dagger slit through his wrist spraying the two of them in warm Mandalorian blood. Klaxones ceased replaced by a deafening silence of the process of acknowledging really bad news. Warrior's instincts, or perhaps the disappointed face of his father, controlled his other attached wrist to grab the hilt of the darksaber out of the Rattataki. A kick came into her guts which made it worse for him than for her. With the heilroom in his other hand and the momentum of the kick sending him back, Amon suddenly found himself tumbling over a conveniently plotted railing beside the two of them. Just as he was going to fall over the edge, the Mandalorian heard himself say.

"You're...good." was it a compliment? a statement? words of affection? what the hell was it? he did not really know. The shock and awe of losing his hand was replaced by the absolute horror of falling into the cityscape of Nar Shaddaa.

Amon would later find himself conveniently falling on massive hammock spread out (reason: unknown. logic: less known) by one [member="Dash Kessler"] on a lunch break from his TOTT machinations. The Mandalorian would never meet someone so irritated their peanut butter jelly sammich was slung away to the depths of Nar Shaddaa due to Amon crashing onto the lunch break hammock.

[member="Ivory"]

 

[Darth Carnifex]

As the smoke had cleared, the palace was in ruins.

Strafing starfighter fire had carved great smoldering rents in the building's outer edifice, smoke billowing out like blood from a gaping wound. The banners which once fluttered from its battlements had been consumed by the conflagration spreading throughout the complex, tattered ruins remaining to mark where they had once been. Corpses littered the grounds, many of them blasted apart by laser fire while many more had been dissected by the blade of a lightsaber.

By the time the Sith Emperor and his retinue had left the now desecrated Hutt palace, all that remained was fire and blood.

It was not enough.

"Inputting coordinates." A pause of several seconds, "Target acquired."

Among the flotilla of warships that had stopped above Nar Shaddaa was an Autarch-class warship, one of the Sith Empire's premier weapons platforms and dedicated artillery battleship. The overall length of the vessel came in around four-and-a-half kilometers, with the prow defined by an elongated hammerhead design parted down the middle almost to the center of the ship. The primary weapon of the Autarch was located within this indention, a pair of superheavy composite beam turbolasers, which were powered by banks of kyber crystals in a manner similar to the Emperor's own command ship. As the firing crew acquired the warship's target, the trio of stabilizing rings that ran down each side of the weapon partition began to glow red hot as power was coalesced and routed through the firing mechanism.

The energy discharge came a second later, with one weapon firing slightly ahead of the other. Twin streaks of fiery orange energy soared down through Nar Shaddaa's atmosphere, collided squarely with the Hutt palace that the Emperor had assaulted. In a flash of unbearable light the entire palace complex had been reduced to slag, rivers of molten metal streaming down into the lower levels like waterfalls. The seismic impact broke several nearby skyscrapers, their upper levels collapsing and sloughing off to fall into the levels beneath them.

Emperor Carnifex watched from a safe distance many miles away, quadnoculars pressed against his face as he surveyed the destruction.

 

[Fulcrum]

PROFILE // AGENT DARKSWORD, CODENAME DEACON​

COVER IDENTITY // RED BLADE, PIRATE CAPTAIN​

GEOTAG // AUTARCH-CLASS WARSHIP​

PERSONS OF INTEREST // [member="Peyton Steele"], [member="Servant"], [member="Darth Carnifex"]​

"Damnit Blade, where the hell are you?!"

"A little busy right now," he muttered to himself, switching off the comm link and zipping up his purloined Sith Imperial issue work coveralls.

Deacon nodded with what he hoped was the appropriate amount of intimidation at the legionnaires standing guard outside the Autarch's main gun deck. This would have been easier with some backup, but explaining to his crew why a simple 'pirate' would go to the trouble of infiltrating a Sith warship was a conversation for another day. This was not the self-interested behavior of the Red Blade. Lives were at stake, and even if he no longer officially existed he still felt the call to service.

"Target destroyed. Zambrano be praised!" the ship's main gunner shouted in triumph, only for his eyes to widen suddenly in alarm, "Energy spike in the power distribution systems! Lock it down!"

When the man standing at the corresponding station did not turn and respond, the Sith officer marched over to dole out some corporeal punishment. Agent Darksword turned around and shot him in the chest, then kept at the controls until he was certain the warship's main planetary aligned turbolaser batteries were well on the path to complete overload. The guards from outside burst in, drawn by the sounds of las fire, and Deacon drew his blackout baton.

He ditched the blaster pistol on his way out, and used his cybernetic implants to avoid incoming patrols. It was a short escape through the Autarch's service crawlways down two decks and through the breached airlock on the other side of which waited his Shadow transport. Still on silent running mode, he disengaged the ship's maglock clamps and it fell away into void. Rotating the ship on minimal thrusters, Deacon allowed himself to glide through Nar Shaddaa's toxic upper atmosphere until he was outside of weapons range.

Plotting an automated course to safety, he grabbed one of the ship's emergency grav chutes and waited for the auto-pilot to slow down enough so that he could throw open the airlock and hurl himself out into a glittering skyline marred by Sith plunderers.

"Steele, this is Blade," he said after reactivating his comlink, "Anyone call for a guardian angel?"

The grav chute started to kick in, deploying long bursts of counter-thrust to slow his descent. Deacon was already working out his cover story. He had tried to abandon them, stole a ship, gotten into a disagreement with some Sith TIEs, and had to bail out. Peyton would probably buy it, but it was the droid that worried him. It was difficult to tell how much insight into organic life their strange companion truly had.