Dominion Planet-Wide Thunderdome | BotM Dominion of Avidich

[Derix Tirall]

P O W E R
HIGH REGENT OF THE FINAL DAWN
ADVICH LOW ORBIT | VINDICATOR

​

"You hardly speak falsehoods"

The response from the High Admiral was less than adequate. Shrewd, even. The posture she stood mirrored the definition of order, straight and unwavering even in the face of ultimate power. "Redeployments of our military might is unavoidable. The Galactic Alliance will seek us out-"

"No, they wouldn't. Exegol is impossible to access" The Captain would protest through gritted teeth, though his opinion was neither sought nor needed. The High Regent's gaze fell upon him alone, icy blue eyes piercing through the elders soul, seemingly ripping him to shreds from the inside out. His statements weren't necessarily rooted in stupidity however, the Jedi still posses a threat. One which had been severely handicapped by the operations of the New Sith Order.

"Why not?" Derix would ask, moving his hands awkwardly. A sullen frown was worn by the High Regent, perking up occasionally as he watched the feed of the hunt below. Surely Tu'teggacha couldn't have all the fun, for even Sularen had elected to join the landing party.

"The Supreme Ruler-"

"Did what?" Tirall demanded, annoyed at the senior officers apparent incompetence. "The Supreme Ruler is very much aware of the danger our facilities outside of Exegol are in. We will not withdraw from anywhere. This discussion regarding redeployment and withdrawals is over, and both of you are dismissed"

With a sharp salute, both officers exited the Regent's quarters, and his attention quickly returned to the holo before him

 

[Mishel Kryze]

The Princess Leia​

"I half expected you to watch with the rest of your pack," Mishel returned - she needn't turn around to know he was there. She'd recognize that presence anywhere. Kyrel was a relic of the past both figuratively and literally while the rest of the former Knights of Ren had moved on, either as Sith or Jedi. He remained devoted to the call - a call that was beyond darkness, beyond that of Seiger who did abandon them. As he had done to the Ren before the First Order's collapse. Mežsrožu took control of the shared voice and spoke. ​

​

They didn't give Kyrel the satisfaction of seeing their face, "as I have said, I did not come here for you. Rather, my mission lay elsewhere in this wasteland." They paused, momentarily, allowing the haze of the radiation to pass by. "I wonder if this reminds you of Kaeshana, it does to me. Remember when my mother threw down the Wrath from the stars? How Asharad fought off all those so-called Jedi? I do."​

​

Their words fell as silence once more fell between them. The next sound was that of the ground shifting rising to form a physical barrier between them. "When we meet again, it will not be here. Not on this world brother, for the fight between the Last of the Ren must not be conducted on this pathetic waste of a world." Mežsrožu would have been more than pleased to have indulged Kyrel in a fight, however; Mishel's needs were ever-pressing.​

​

I promise - we shall meet again.​

​

Mežsrožu echoed through the Force as they sped away from the physical and ceding control for the moment back to Mishel as she arrived closer. Closer to where the Force called out to her, on encrypted comms she called to the Selonian pilot. "Lav! They're gonna be shutting us out here soon, bring the boat. Once I grab this thing, we're not gonna have time for the last-minute two-step." ​

Kyrel Ren
​

​

 

[Molly Armstrong]

Fell on Black Days
Being hunted by: The Mongrel

​

The dogs were closing in. More of them than before. Every step on her burnt leg pained her, but it was the least of her concerns. Surviving with a wound was preferable to being torn apart like the poor SOB she'd encountered. There was one more plume of green smoke between her and big blue, assuming that was the place she actually needed to be heading. All signs told her it was. But it was quite obviously atop a mountain, which itself was on the other side of a wide freeway: the perfect spot to be killed. That's where the next supply cache was, and unlike the last she had absolutely no time to stop.

She clambered down the hill towards the supplies, knowing that she only had a few minutes at most until the dogs found a way around. Even with the stim giving her energy and two working legs she was at a disadvantage. Her last close call with the dogs had put her at and even greater one.

Roar of the incoming sandstorm and the distant, ever-nearing howls of the hounds made the freeway more alive and dangerous than it had been any other time on this bleak day. Without stopping, Molly scooped up the supply box under on arm and hacked away at the control panel with her vibroknuckler until the lid popped off with a spark and fell to the tarmac with a clink. She passed the box into the care of her other arm and with her free hand rummaged through. Grabbing first a breathing mask. Unwisely she stopped, dropped the crate, and pulled the breathing mask over her head, sucking in her first deep breath of the day that wouldn't destroy her insides. She felt like crying for joy while taking a painless breath. Leaning down to check what else was in the crate, she pulled from it a blaster pistol, one she would've kissed had she not already been wearing the mask. This might actually get her to the finish line, if indeed there was one and this wasn't some kind of sick game. Sicker than it already was, anyway.

At the edge of the freeway she heard the imminent barking of her pursuers, and turned to face the pack of five death-dogs. One for each bolt in her weapon, but the chances of that she felt were slim. One of the dogs, to the right of the the largest one she could only assume was the alpha, had its jaw hanging loose to one side, no doubt it was the dog she had hit with her knuckler.

The first one broke from the pack, and a well placed shot dropped it, encouraging the other four to charge. Molly's finger slipped as she leveled her pistol at the next, firing twice. One shot went wide and blasted the pavement, the next hit a dog in the leg and caused it to tumble. If the three still charging made it to her, as was likely given their lightning pace, she'd be dead. She knew what she had to do, a dangerous old trick and not likely to work. But it was her only chance.

Despite the pain she broke into the fastest sprint she could push herself through and slipped the vibroknuckler off her hand as she ran. Looking over her shoulder, she tossed it towards the dogs. The moment of life or death came when she turned, planted her feet, and fired off the last two shots of her pistol at the vibroknuckler as the dogs ran across it. The hot high-energy blast struck the small weapon on the ground... more importantly its generator. The vibro-generator overcharged and exploded underneath the alpha dog, sending shrapnel from both the blade and the alpha's metallic enhancements shredding into the dogs beside it. Molly kept on running. She was weaponless... defenseless, but she was alive for a little while longer and that... that counted for something.

She began her hike up the small and winding trail up the black-rocked mountainside. Maybe nobody was foolish enough to take the same route as her, or more likely given the circumstances she was one of the last survivors. But that's what she'd always been. A survivor. She'd lived through the worst Coruscant had to offer, and it seemed to her like she was living at the moment through the worst of the wider galaxy.

Her body was weary, fighting for a needed and deserved rest against the chemicals artificially giving her energy. She felt her legs giving way towards the top of the mountain. She collapsed and rolled onto her back, lying on the slope looking up at the hazy green sun as it set. She wasn't sure how long she layed there before a voice called out.

"Hey! Are you alive?!"

Molly weakly raised a thumb to indicate she was indeed alive.

"Oh thank the Force. I thought I was the last one."

She sat up to see a young man, disheveled but not nearly as badly as her, climbing the mountain trail towards her.

"Who... who are you?" she questioned, unsure if this was some kind of delirious mirage.

"Girar Handon, Junior Rep of Loronar." finally standing over her, he offered her a mud-caked hand to help her up.

"Junior what?"

"Representative? Of the Senate. Here, I have a little bit of water left. We're almost to the top." he handed her a rusty flask that didn't look the slightest bit appealing to drink from, but the promise of water was too alluring to worry about whatever else might enter her stomach in it. The Junior Rep helped her to stand, then together they began make the final ascent over the ridge.

The shuttle landing zone was strewn with wounded being loaded onto the ships by Mawite marauders. A few closer to the pair looked on as they hobbled towards them, but they didn't interfere with the course of the game. If Molly and Girar were to drop dead then and there, a mere 30 feet away from perimeter marked my blue smoke flares, the Mawites would've simply laughed.

But instead they cheered. The word Senate had made Molly sick to the stomach, or maybe it had been the water. Regardless, she'd always wanted to get her hands on a Senator. This guy wasn't quite what she'd expected, but it didn't matter much to her. What was clear was that the Maw respected violence and tenacity, which was the opposite of the very governmental body she had sworn to fight, which the shmuck holding onto her represented. As the Mawites watched the new arrivals, Molly reached around the man, auspiciously to get a better grip on his side so she could continue walking upright. She quickly placed her hand around the vibroknife sheathed to his belt and yanked it out, driving into his side. Girar screamed, quite literally, bloody murder, as she repeatedly shoved the knife in and out of his body as they both tumbled to the ground. The Mawites cheered and clapped at the display.

Splattered and soaked all up and down with his blood, Molly straddled his corpse and plunged the knife one last time into his chest. She released a cathartic scream of anger that had been pent up for the last few grueling hours. She ripped the knife from the stunned-faced corpse and turned to board on the shuttles nearby. Nobody said a word to her. As she limped between two perimeter guards, she mumbled "you &@$^@%&s owe me a new jacket."

 

[Zaka]

PRISONER

---

---

​

The rifle was only a stop gap separating him from the gnashing teeth and swiping claws that tried to tear him apart. Zaka could see where metal was practically one with flesh. The bloody joining that made this beast incomparable to anything he had faced before. His head jerked from side to side, forcing his body to wriggle back across the irradiated ground as he dodged the diving bites the Wardog tried to take out of him. Its claws slashed dragged across his forearms and his determined glare broke to release a raucous cry.

Slipping a hand down, he lurched to one side. A metal paw crashing down where had been, and he threw his hand up. Spawning forth a telekinetic wave that sent the raging beast up many feet in the air off of him as he panted. Scrambling up to his feet as he gathered himself. Half running, half limping as he shot a quick glance over his shoulder to see t he Firefang Dog hot on his trail.

He silently cursed as he threw himself forward, just as the Wardog leapt at him. It felt as if timed slow. The bloodied gnashing teeth, the claws dripping his blood. Even the crazed look in the creatures eyes, from torture and experimentation. The dog had built more momentum, and it was closing in quick. The rifle came around as he fell, firing the final bolt up into the revealed roof of the Wardog's mouth.

The charric bolt punched through its mouth, burning a hole straight through as the kinetic momentum carried upwards into its skull cap. The beast hit the ground a split second after he did, sliding past him as he panted, on the cusp of heaving.

His head rolled on the ground, looking up to eye the inert Dog.

Staring past it, he could see the blue smoke rising in the distance, and he slwoly rolled over onto his belly, and pushed up to his feet.

He wasn't off this hellhole just yet.

 

[Tu'teggacha]

​

Location: Avidich, Low Orbit
Tags: Darth Mori

Spoiler: TL;DR

• Tu'teggacha converses with Darth Mori

The Taskmaster considered Darth Mori's response, watching the happenings far below through cam droids just as she monitored them through the Force. It was true enough that the Jedi called Mikhail Grayson appeared to have potential. He had managed to survive this far even while hunted, evading the packs of warhounds and even setting an ambush for The Mongrel. Such a clever little specimen was clearly more than just another moralizing saber-jockey. He had untapped depths, skills and determination that could be unleashed only in times of greatest struggle - just as Darth Mori had stated. Grayson would have made a good Mawite, if he could be turned.

"Such is the gift of the Brotherhood," Tu'teggacha intoned in reply, an undercurrent of amusement evident in his words. "Strife, so that those with the potential to become strong are forced to do so. The protections of 'civilization' allow them to meander through life without ever discovering that they could be more if only they were forced to struggle. When we strip those protections away, well... we strengthen both ourselves and our enemies, and the battles that result force us to become stronger still." It was strife - and cold hatred - that had driven the Ebruchi to become what he was, after all. Why not put everyone though it?

"But the Jedi and his ilk already have the Force as a tool," he said, gazing at the progress the various Jedi prisoners were making toward the shuttles. "It is the other one that surprises me. Truly promising." He was referring to Molly Armstrong, dripping with the blood of the man she'd killed for her spot in the landing zone. She would be granted safe passage, if she desired it, for she had proven strong enough to survive... and had done so ahead of most of the others, in spite of her apparent lack of Force abilities. Truly impressive. Perhaps she could be persuaded that there was a place for her in the ranks of the Brotherhood. She had more than earned it.

 

[The Mongrel]

Location: Avidich, Surface
Tags: Mikhail Grayson

Spoiler: TL;DR

• The Mongrel takes a tumble

In the wake of what happened next, The Mongrel could have made excuses. He could have blamed the Jedi's sorcery for allowing his foe to get the drop on him. He could have claimed that he was still adjusting to his hulking body, no longer suited for maneuvering on such narrow terrain as the sandy Avidich cliffside. He could have called Mihkail a coward, unwilling to face him openly and accept a final duel with courage. But he did not. He accepted that he had been outmaneuvered, that he had become overconfident in his hunt for his barely-armed prey.

He would learn from this humbling experience.

Mikhail leapt out at him, slamming into his durasteel body with tremendous force... enough force to shatter his tenuous balance. The warlord tumbled from the cliffside, plunging down over the edge of the irradiated crags. It was a fall that would have killed any ordinary man; he struck many a sharp and jagged rock spire on the way down. But The Mongrel was strong and durable, far more than any organic being, far more than he himself had been only weeks earlier. He felt no pain with each bounce, each impact, only white-hot rage at being outplayed.

When at last he came to rest, scuffed and dinged up but otherwise astoundingly unharmed given the distance he'd fallen, the warlord immediately regained his feet. He punched a durasteel fist into the rocky cliff wall, then latched on with a taloned foot, starting to haul himself up. He would track down Grayson and rip him limb from limb for this indignity! But the top of the cliff was a long, long ways back up. By the time he made it back, the Jedi would've had ample time to make his escape, perhaps even to get all the way to the shuttles.

Accursed mage. Revenge might be delayed.

 

[Rebirth]

​

In the end, Kasan's problem was that she had been too cautious.

At first, she simply took her time, picking her way carefully around all of the supply drops so that she wouldn't encounter any ambushes there. If it had worked for her, she figured, it would also work on her. Better not to risk it. But all of her detours, climbing hills of sand and maneuvering around fields of jagged rock, took longer than she'd thought... and as it turned out, she had a time limit, one that came in the form of a flesh-stripping radioactive sandstorm. The closing eye of the storm drove the former security officer onward, forcing her to abandon her earlier caution, leaving no room for any mistakes. Under such pressure, a mistake was all too easy to make.

One moment, Kasan was sprinting, trying to keep ahead of the howling wind wall at her back. The next, she was tumbling downward, slamming her limbs and head against jagged outcroppings of rock. A bomb crater, hidden by a mass of twisted, dead vegetation, had been in her path, and she hadn't realized it until she was already falling. She screamed when she hit bottom, watching her leg twist at an impossible angle with a jolt of agony and a horrific snap. She couldn't get up. She couldn't even crawl. The pain was too much. Her compound fracture jutted through her skin, staining the leg of her pants crimson. If only she'd found a medpac, something to splint it with.

But she'd avoided the other supply crates, and now she was paying the price.

As the howling storm bore down on her, Kasan reflected on the futility of it all. She'd killed a man, a man she knew, in cold blood just for a chance to survive... and now that chance was gone. In a few moments, the raging sands would overtake her, and the gale-force winds would rip her apart. She didn't want to go through that, didn't want to spend her last moments screaming her lungs out as her flesh was scoured from her bones. With shaking hands she racked the scattergun, turned it to her own chest, and fired. The powerful weapon did its grim work, ripping through her ribs and shattering her spine in an instant. She slumped over quietly... and then the storm took her body.

For a moment, it seemed she might have been strong enough to escape... but the tests of the Maw were harsh indeed.

​

 

[Maestus]

A lone shuttle descended through the atmosphere. A late arrival it would seem. Surely not another prisoner, they would have been in a drop pod. The shuttle touched down gracefully, the ramp lowered.

A lone figure strode down the ramp. Wearing a black hooded robe. Were one to squint, crimson stitching could be seen.

Lord Maestus had arrived.

She moved roughly 20 meters away from the shuttle before stopping. She raised her hands to waist level, palms up. Her head tipped back as she called on the power of the Dark Side of the Force. She opened herself up fully to the violent streams of energy. She felt her mind and body become invigorated. Augmented by the unholy power.

Commanding the Force, she stretched her senses out. Hunting for life signs. The Dark Side obeyed her every command with a ferocity few could endure. The influx of power exhilarated her. Before she drew a breath, a glow appeared.

Zaka

She whirled and began advancing towards the prisoner called Zaka . She was armed solely with Maestus Fury, her light whip. She left both of her sabers on the shuttle. She wanted to thoroughly enjoy this.

It had been too long since she had hunted anything. She frowned as she stalked towards Zaka. Her only concern being that time since hunting. Perhaps her skills had diminished? What if she could not subdue her prey?

She bellowed out violently in frustration. A scream that echoed across the wasteland.

And promptly, she banished such foolish thoughts. She would not allow shaken confidence to cause her to fail in her quest to hunt.

 

[Vesta]

She waved her hand, dismissively, the flaming effigy of Mikhail Grayson disappearing with the gesture, and shrugged at the counter posed to her by Tu'teggacha with an expression nearing curiosity. In truth several of them had caught her eye, at least in regards to her mantra of survival of the fittest, but there was a clear bias in her interests that leaned towards the change in people as they accepted the animal inside of them and fed it in order to survive. Molly Armstrong was, indeed, an interesting and rather successful individual - but it had nearly been expected from the onset. "The weakest often adapt the best." She answered, thinking back to the child soldiers she'd seen kill grown adults, trained adults, out of a primal need to exact revenge.

"I suppose I am interested more in the transition, from one frame of mind to the next, rather than the accomplishments they've made. She is impressive, though, I can't deny it - quite like our own, with that unwavering resolve."

She uncrossed her legs to lean forwards, a hand moving in to smother the flames at the center of the basin they danced in.

"I suppose time will tell."

 

[Raxtos]

OBJECTIVE: KILL
Location: Getting closer....
Loadout: Old blaster pistol- 5 shots. Grapple hook and cord.
Status: Gleeful​

Something was very wrong.

Raxtos wrestled in the dirt with a Maw Warhound, rejoicing in the way the animal strived desperately to latch its teeth around his throat. Why was he enjoying this? He'd finally gotten his own ship, made a real friend, and now it was all going to end here on this ugly scar of a world. Shouldn't he be terrified? Desperate? Angry?

But he was angry. He was furious. And that was exactly why this-

He snapped the mad animal's neck with his bare hands.​

felt so damn good.​

Standing, the young man took a deep bracing breath of that toxic Avidich air. When had he stopped coughing? When had the ash in the air become like sweet fragrance to his senses? The poison festering in his body felt like a drug burning in his veins. He wanted to run, he wanted to fight, he wanted to kill something else. Where was this energy coming from?

An enormous wall of storm ate at the horizon, and Raxtos regarded it as if it were fine art. Death, marching on. Unstoppable. But he needed to be faster. Not to escape the storm, but to beat it to the others. It would be no fun if the storm did all the killing today. He needed to find prey.

A scream blasted through the wasteland to Raxtos' ears, and a surprised smile leapt to his face. He knew that sound. Not that voice, no, but the sound....

An idea came to him then, as a sulfurous fire began to smolder in his eyes. Forget pathetic prey, this was far more interesting. I'm not the only one who's this angry.

The source of the scream couldn't have been far; it was in the general direction of that huge blue smoke plume. Running like a jackal on the hunt, the young thief set off, leaving the hound's shattered corpse to twitch in the dust.

Maestus I hear you​