Dominion Pt. 2 - Mistwalker | GA Dominion of Caamas

[Credius Nargath]

Spoiler: Tags

The Hound
Gala Geert
Loske Treicolt
Gedri Fehen
Leon Gallo
Din Marren
Jacen Nimdok
Allyson Locke
Maynard Treicolt
Bernard

tell me when I missed you

Field of Blades - Nearing the Gateway
Equipment: [X] [X] [X] [X] [X]

They had not left this place, in fact it seemed that more had come and more disturbances followed. He could feel how powerful entities interacted, how weaker forms within the force and the void moved towards the one place where most of the ghosts, wraiths and spirits did not dare enter: the fortress at the very center of the Field of Blades. That place was harrowing, filled with the haunting images of those that not just roam, but dominated the fields themselves, but more importantly, it housed something powerful, malevolent and downright dangerous within its black walls stretching accross multiple kilometers.

For a moment, Credius wondered if he had to go back on his steps to try and intercept those who either were on route to the fortress of those who had already entered it, yet he was closer to a group of what looked like...scientists...really, what in the force name were bespectacled, nonviolent, weak specimens like those doing here?

Well, since he was as mentioned, closer to those...fools, he had no reason to try and stop those who were foolish enough to get themselves into a heap of trouble. However, this only meant he himself wasn't going to stop those foolish or perhaps brave enough to enter the fortress, that decision did not include the spirits housed within his Vele Jivanikas Jewel. Tapping the jewel lightly, the mutated sith lord drew out the immaterial form of his forefather: Darth Mephis, forcing the powerful spirit to do his bidding. "I want you to go ahead to the fortress, try and find out what those fools are up to and when necessary...either stop them or guide them, I do not care which you choose," The masked man looked at the bearded, smokey image of a tall, robust man, kneeling down before him, yet his eyes blazed when he noticed a twinkle within the shade's own eyes."You wish for me to go into the fortress? That is suicide, even for those who have long since left their mortal coil,"

Behind the mask, the man's lips curled into a smirk, as his bright, glowing eyes looked down upon his forefather's spectre. "Who are you trying to fool? You've been wondering those halls long before you removed yourself from your physical form, now go...I will not tell you twice."

With a nod, the smokey form of his forefather whisked through the field, rushing towards the fortress to have a look at what fools dared to enter that place willingly, alive and apparently without much connection to the force to guide, let alone protect them. In the meantime though, Credius was now reaching up to speaking distance from those who still remained close to the gate, investigating the strangeness of this different plane of existence, revelling in its nothingness, its void, its chaos and its violence. "I really do wonder why people get so curious, they forego all meassures of safety," Letting out a soft, sinister chuckle, the man looked at those who were still at the gateway. "Now than...who's going to be the gallant, foolish hero trying to stop me from draining all of you pathetic beings?"

 

[Leon Gallo]

objective: Get out alive

_____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Leon's breath became heavy as the fear that gripped his mind loosened. Finally, gasping for air, he collapsed on the sand. How far had he run? Did the other's run too? Slowly, the young Jedi forced himself to stand. His body felt like it weighed a ton, and his legs burned. How did he run this far? His chest heaved for each desperate breath of air, and he stumbled, leaning on a sword for support. He looked around. No one, no one alive, at least, for as far as he could see. Another kind of fear gripped his mind: What would happen to them? What if they were attacked and overwhelmed?

A sound from behind him broke his worried thoughts. He turned, seeing a spirit form. It raised a blade high, ready to strike. Instinctively, Leon reached for his saber at his hip. But it wasn't there. Had he dropped while running? Panic seized him, and Leo leapt to one side, narrowly avoiding the strike. He rolled to avoid another. How was he supposed to fight it with no weapon? Could he fight it with one?

>"Move or die!"

Leon did not know where the voice he had just heard came from, but it's advise sounded good. Leon pushed himself to his feet and began to run again. The voice spoke again.

"Duck!"

He did so, and a blade swung just over Leon's head. Whatever Leon was hearing, it definitely wanted him to survive this fight. Leon dodged to one side, then the next. His legs were tired however, and his movements slow. The blade cut across his cheek, not deep, but enough to draw blood. The spirit stabbed at him again, cutting into Leon's armored suit. The Jedi dove for the nearest weapon at hand, a sword stuck in the sand. HE tried to pull it out of the sand as the Spirit readied to strike again...

 

[The Hound]

The Hound tipped his maw towards the sky, a sickly looking black arm ending in a large clawed hand reached up to scratch his chin.

"The Mortis Dagger," the creature rumbled. The sword that had been inching out of his side was fully exposed now. He drew the blade, his eyes suddenly falling on the mortal and lashed out with the black blade. "I don't know it," he declared. The creature shivered, the hair rustling and shuddering seemingly independently. The blade hissed through the air, crashing into the ground inches from the Commando's helmet.

"I am sorry," It muttered as its vine-like tentacles slithering about the commando's ankles.

Din Marren

 

[Gala Geert]

Objective 3 - Welcome to the Filler Episode // Camaas // Outside the Portal
Jacen Nimdok ​

She hadn't seen the girl's face until she looked up, red-faced and bleary eyed. Despite the upset, the kid seemed friendly enough, and it could talk. Maybe this wasn't going to be as painful as she originally suspected it would be. Except for the snot and sniffling, that was still pretty gross and Gala vowed not to leave her rock and attend to the facial leaks on her own accord. It was also good to know the man that had been carrying her was indeed the girl's father, though his actions were pretty careless for someone who was supposed to be paternal. She couldn't suppress the eyeroll at the machoism that must have been required to think he could tout a youngling in his arms through the scorching desert of hell that was made for slaughter.

"Well, Miri, I'm Gala." A few tips of grass snapped off in her fingers, and she rolled them through her palms, distractedly letting them drop through the breeze that picked up. The ends were carried away without further thought.

How long would the people be? Who were the people? The questions from the kid were reasonable.

She reached down to loosen some of the straps against the back of her leg, reducing the compression on her calves. Didn't need this much plating for babysitting.

"Not sure how long he's going to be, kid. He and a bunch of nosy folks have literally walked into hell to find something to help The Alliance.

Do you know what hell is?

Eh, it's supposed to be a place where bad people go after they die. Or, that's what some people think anyway. Lots of people think lots of things that end up not mattering in the long run."

How old was this girl?

"Your dad's gonna be fine. He's got a good lot in there and they'll have each other's backs. You...can't go in there..because you're too small." Despite her earlier condemnations, she rose from the rock and withdrew her vibrosword and placed the tip of the blade in the grass next to Miri. The display was to show that Gala's weapon was lengthier than the spawn. "See? You gotta be at least.." she tapped her hip. "This tall to go inside the portal. Anything less than that is a no go."

 

[Vaulkhar]

// ? // ? //
// FIELD OF BLADES // HOME //
// ? //
// FOCUS // ? //

---

---

The amaranthine blade flashed left, felling another warrior in a well-placed blow to the throat, before reversing direction to drop another, alongside their head. Over a dozen bodies littered the ground surrounding the white-haired warrior. Fifteen warriors from across time met the man within his arena, only to fall, struck down by the superior blade work cultivated across thousands of battles. It would likely be days before these men rose to face him once again, or another roving band of killers made the mistake of approaching the fortress gates. That strange power pulsed once more, drawing the isolated swordsman's attention towards the open gates. A part of the being buried deep and nearly forgotten, called out to him. It reminded him of what he was in life. The rest of him ignored it, driving him away from the fortress towards the sounds of another battle. ​

​

Bleeding feet carried the lone man across the jagged plains. It was in the silence after each struggle; he found his mind wandering too far from his new purpose. The life provided to him by the Nether did not come with more significant meaning. He fought every day, cutting down upwards to hundreds in the selfish quest to prove himself the greatest warrior to ever exist. This quest had seen him taking on some of the greatest names ever to grace the battlefield. An ancient Sith Lord known for slaying more Jedi than any other met a pitched battle in the white-haired warrior, only to face the blade as all the rest. Another warrior, similar to this loner, caught between the grip of shadow and light crossed blades with the wintry warrior. This walking juxtaposition, more potent than most, put up the greatest of efforts against the blue-eyed man. Though, he too fell to the purple forcesaber. ​

​

A huff escaped the scarred man. Unknowingly, the fortress pulled him back once more. When he looked up to see where he'd wound up, it was not another battle or a group of soldiers facing him. Instead, the large, shadowy gates taunted him.​

 

[Bernard]

Objective ???
// ??? ????? ????
// ?????????

"Here, come to grandma. She'll make sure to teach you some manners!" the gossam's voice came through twisted and with an echo imparted upon it by an ethereal cavern the Jedi couldn't physically see.

Bernard's jaw clenched as he attempted to wrest free of the sabre one last time, still, his efforts were rebuffed by invisible hands firmly crushing him to remain frozen in place. He could feel his muscles strain to give all that they had, even with the zeal of the Force running through them. Back on Peace, he had felt he could move mountains with this power, but now he was unable to even move a finger.

The gossam let out a quiet cackle.

"Now now, don't be afraid, it'll be over before you know it."

Bernard let out a muted scream. The blazing strength of the Force he felt within buckled under the pressure of eldritch fingers wrapping around his very being. The solace he found in the heat of his inner flame began to warp and distort as a venom began to seep within his mind. The warmth within his muscles began to turn rotten. The very blood within his veins felt like it turned to acid slowly chewing its way through sinew and flesh alike.

As he watched the blade before him snap in two under the gossam's faded blue skin, he felt the heat of the plasma as it spewed forth from the light that still remained protruding from his sabre's hilt. The heat felt oppressive; sizzling air turned to ozone as the off-white blade's lifeblood seeped into the ground in large droves.

The gossam continued to simply cackle, though her voice soon began to be faint in his mind. As the blistering pain reached a crescendo he let out another scream. A small part of the affliction left him with the air he forced out of his lungs, as though the act of bellowing out his torment itself had eased it. The reprieve did not stop unfolding throughout his nervous system when he had no more air to scream, however. Soon enough the pain turned to numbness and with it came encroaching darkness.

The last thing he saw was the gossam's wrinkled lips curled into a smile.

// The Field of Blades //

The body of an arkanian Jedi was flung upon a dusty field from seemingly nowhere, kicking up quite a cloud. The Jedi lay there dormant for several moments before a deep breath announced his return to consciousness. He shot up, immediately trying to ascertain his surroundings.

Bernard still felt the echoes of heat scorching his body as he stared upon the basalt walls before him. Confusion gripped him as his mind still attempted to recover from whatever it was he had just experienced.

"Sarn? You still there?" the Jedi called out, voice unsteady.

"Your friend can't help you here, you are alone now, Jed-" an unfamiliar voice retorted from behind him, though it paused and continued into a different direction with a slight hint of uncertainty in its tone, "who are you?"

Bernard strained his neck to turn towards the voice. He found the sight of a hysalrian, its body only half there as reality seemed to ripple in a wave down its torso, making manifest the rest of its body as it moved. Its attention seemed to be entirely focused elsewhere. Following its gaze, Bernard saw a more human figure closeby, standing alone by the blackened walls. The white-haired warrior carrying an unfamiliar sabre appeared consumed in his own thoughts, though still there was an unmistakable aura of death around him.

Vaulkhar

 

[Din Marren]

Netherworld // Field of Blades
Objective 1 - Recover the Fragment

Spoiler: Tags

Loske Treicolt
Amea Virou
Jacen Nimdok
Leon Gallo
Allyson Locke
Gedri Fehen
Zavier Octavious Delane
Vaulkhar
Credius Nargath

The commando watches the Hound warily as it looks skyward to ponder his question. His finger twitches at the trigger, eager to unload on the abomination. Despite thinking he was prepared, Din can't help but flinch out of surprise when a blade suddenly embeds into the sand next to his head. This had been a stupid idea -- he should have just shot the damn thing from the get-go.

<"Yeah, you should be,"> if these were to be his last words, he'd be proud of them. Regardless of how hollow the threat was in reality.

He squeezes his finger, unloading a burst of explosive rounds from the particle blaster toward the creature's center of mass. He had doubts that such a mundane attack would stop the monster outright, but it at least gave him a chance to slip free and spring back to his feet.

<<Master Locke, what's your status?>> his tone easily shows his stress. He fires another burst while taking several steps backward, then turns to try to put a short distance between the Hound <<I got a hot mess out here. Not sure how long I'll be able to hold it. We need that fragment!>>

Pulling a hand from his weapon as he dashes across the sand, he unclips a CryoBan grenade from his belt and primes it with a flick of his thumb. "Alright, ugly," he mutters to himself, "Let's see if I can make it out of this one alive."

 

[Allyson Locke]

Netherworld // Field of Blades
Objective 1 - Recover the Fragment

Allyson had remained quiet during the entire excursion. She wasn't the biggest fan of dealing with ghosts and monsters, especially with her past lingering in the back of her mind. For the most part, Allyson had come to terms with her choices and the death of her family and Arisa. As much as she missed seeing the lost, she didn't want to see them - especially not this hell hole. As they moved, Allyson started to feel something familiar, and it was a bond she had only felt glimpses of and had trained herself to try and not handle it. It was an impossible feat, for the K'paur hybrid, those bonds were very much apart of her as her soul was. Exhaling Allyson kept her mind on track; she didn't want to think about those that had left her. Continuing to wander towards this Fortress, Allyson could hear the whispers of the Kirbian's voice and her Mother's. Allyson pressed on, keeping a reminder that the voices weren't real - they weren't here. Good people didn't come here.

As they approached a colossal beast came for them. The team started the encounter, and Allyson ran forward, knowing her mission. She ran as fast as the Force could take her and headed towards the Fortress. Nimdok seemed to have become distracted, and there wasn't any time for that. She made the rash decision to continue, and she would keep in contact with him as she continued. <Nimdok, you okay? This stuff isn't real - don't let it suck you in.> She paused as she felt that tickle in the back of her head tugging on that old bond of hers. <I'm heading further in.> Allyson continued through the Fortress; she could feel the cool breeze of death as she moved along its stone walls. The entire place was a giant labyrinth of stairs and walls; people could easily get lost here. Feeling out with the Force, she tried to trust her senses, and something was interfering. Allyson stopped to try and clear her mind of the disturbance and realized it wasn't one at all. Someone's signature she hadn't felt in ages was here.

Why would she feel that aura here of all places? Allyson clung to the wall behind her, feeling the darkness swallow her up. What had happened during the time they were separated? What path did she walk? Her chest tightened as the questions spiraled, spinning different stories, creating different narratives that all ended here. A voice echoed in her comms, and Allyson was pulled from her destructive thoughts. It was a reminder of the mission she was tasked with, and it was something that would save those that were still alive. A hand over her heart she tried to calm down, none of this could be real - she couldn't be here. Allyson did her best to push her emotions aside and quickly responded.

<Just hold out a little longer. I'm close.> Allyson remembered Nimdok and knew she needed the man's help. <Nimdok, Nimdok, please confirm you're okay.>

Din Marren Jacen Nimdok Amea Virou Loske Treicolt Leon Gallo The Hound Credius Nargath Gedri Fehen

 

[Jacen Nimdok]

Warped by static, a female voice penetrated the silence of the fortress.

<<...a little longer. I’m… Nimdok, Nimdok... you’re okay.>>

Nimdok paused. He thought he recognized the voice as belonging to Allyson Locke, one of the team members. The signal was poor, but as long as he could get something…

<<I am all right,>> he replied. <<I am proceeding to the fragment.>>

He thought he heard a garbled reply—something along the lines of wait until I reach your position. He was tempted to ignore it, continuing in his quest for the Dagger on his own, but he stopped himself. Perhaps Arimanes would have kept going, but not Nimdok.

The labyrinthine halls of the fortress were endless. It seemed like he had been wandering for hours, going in circles, seeing the exact same rooms and passages. He wondered if Miss Locke would be able to find him, let alone reach the fragment by herself. Hence why he was hesitating—not because of cowardice. The man now standing in the chamber where an impostor and a ghost had conversed minutes earlier was no coward, nor was he callous.

<<Affirmative. I will await your arrival. Take care—this maze is difficult to navigate. The ghosts in it are quite real. I can attest to that.>>

***​

Back at the Babysitters’ Club​

The green lady had a name, Gala. It had two syllables, like her own.

She almost asked Gala how her name was spelled, but the green lady was busy loosening the straps on her legs, and then she started talking, answering her questions. Miri’s brow furrowed and her nose wrinkled at the mention of hell.

“My daddy died a while ago, but then he came back.” Her expression changed, on the verge of becoming upset again. “Is he going there ‘cause he’s going to die again?...”

This line of reasoning bewildered and frightened the little girl. She was old enough to think about these things, but not old enough to truly understand them.

As Gala drew her sword, Miri blinked rapidly, flinching, but she didn’t move from the spot where she was standing. Gala’s demonstration of the height requirement made the little girl put her hands on her hips and stick out her bottom lip in defiance.

“I’m almost seven, I’m growing every day,” she insisted. Standing on tiptoe, she nearly reached the height Gala indicated. “See? I’m already almost there!”

Allyson Locke Gala Geert Din Marren The Hound Gedri Fehen Leon Gallo Loske Treicolt Maynard Treicolt Amea Virou Vaulkhar Credius Nargath Ashin Cardé Varanin

 

[Loske Treicolt]

Caamas // Field of Blades
Monster tango: Din Marren // The Hound
Maze hunters: Allyson Locke // Jacen Nimdok
RIP & Tear: Amea Virou // Maynard Treicolt // Leon Gallo // Gedri Fehen
IDK: Credius Nargath // Vaulkhar ​

The fear was a nagging form at the back of her mind. With a concentrated exhale, Loske pushed it aside to focus on the present. That, or someone had called off the spell. She blinked back to the situation while everything fell apart in the hellscape. The group had splintered.

"Ugh." Loske moaned through her teeth. There was an insatiable desire that burned in her bones to strike out at the roaming spirits that howled and growled in the overbearing heat, the sounds of forewarning cries ringing out cacophonously. There were no hills for these creatures to spring from, so their near-shapeless forms bounding toward the remaining cluster were well showcased from their kickstart.

The shots from the soldier rang out in a noisy burst toward one of the mask-wearing wraiths. It slumped to its knees noiselessly.

It was hard to tell if they were corporeal or not, but she suspected they were about to find out.

Loske reached out and wrapped her hands around the hilt of a nearby blade, created from Chaos itself. It felt sturdy enough, and she was of the mind that a weapon created in here would do well against those damned to spend forever roaming the rocky terrain.

"Yeaah..." She drawled, testing the weight of the weapon and preparing to receive the onslaught and protect the labcoats and remaining Halcyon soldier. Was there consequence here? To slaughter relentlessly? Her blood chilled at the thought, but ideas conceived not of her own volition, but the miasma overhead, encouraged her to: "Do it, Amea."

The silhouettes - about five of them - were humanoid in shape, but not of mind. Wraithbound warriors caterwauled and leapt forward, their weapons held high to strike into those on the perimeter.

The Jedi slid forward toward one that was charging in, planting one foot and swiping upward to cut into their stomach with the chaosborn blade. It pierced through the stomach, and she ripped it out without taking time to check if the stomach stayed sliced, or if it was just a figment of her imagination before pivoting from that planted foot and rising to cut into another. No success -- the weapon of the wraith met hers in a tangle and held it. In a struggle of strength, she realized they were tangible. Her free hand wrapped around her hip, snapping her golden blade to her palm and bringing it around to the exposed strike zone two of the parasitic creature. The contained plasma rod seared through flesh with a sizzle, and she kept up her strength to push through the rest of its structure before kicking it backward to fall amidst the rocks.

 

[Vaulkhar]

​

// ? // ? //
// FIELD OF BLADES // HOME //
// ? //
// FOCUS // Bernard //

---

---

The sudden appearance of another body caught the pale warrior as he stood in place. He'd seen thousands of people suddenly appear within the Field of Blades, dropped by whatever cosmic force determined where one belonged after death. Still, it never became a normal thing to witness, especially when the typically busy battlefield lacked anyone else for the fallen Jedi to engage. Seeing as the younger Jedi lacked any bearings or understanding of his surroundings, the isolated man remained where he stood, watching the affair in silence. As he watched, he allowed his mind to wander back to the power pulsing from behind him. What purpose did it hold in the madness of the Nether? Surely, something as powerful as this strange piece of history meant something more than just a means of entrapping him to the fortress's entrance.​

​

He tore his eyes from the fortress once more, searching for something of interest. He failed to find anything worth his attention until he noticed the equally pale-skinned Jedi looking in his direction. The Gatekeeper regarded Bernard with an upturned brow, seemingly unimpressed by the new arrival. In his time within the Nether, the Gatekeeper boasted meeting and defeating much more frightening individuals. Yet, something about the young Arkanian caught the dead Jedi's attention. Perhaps it had something to do with Bernard being the first Jedi he'd encountered since his death on Kintan. Thinking back, the stranger couldn't recall meeting another. The closest had to be the strange man, garbed in a Mandalorian mask, toting both a crimson and purple saber. While he was no Jedi by the end of his life, the Gatekeeper knew by the use of both the brighter aspects of the force, the masked man may have practiced such philosophies once.​

​

With nothing better to do, the Gatekeeper once more abandoned his post, this time moving to the midway point between him and the young Arkanian. The amaranthine forcesaber carved a line in the jagged earth before the stranger pointed downwards.​

​

"I do not know who you are, but you trespass within my arena. If you attempt to cross this line, I will strike you down as many times as I must to scatter your being across Chaos permanently."​

 

[Gala Geert]

Objective 3 - Welcome to the Filler Episode // Camaas // Outside the Portal
Jacen Nimdok ​

Gala blinked heavily, as she looked down at the little girl. Her father had died and come back? She spoke of the topic so readily, and the casualness of her tone was..unsettling. It was flabbergasting to suggest such a thing. Was it true or was this...just an out of the mouth of babes sort of thing?

How did he die? More importantly, how did he come back?

"Your dad...has already died? Like the dad that..what?" Does she have two dads, maybe?

"I mean, Miri, he's probably not going to die." Ah, so this is what it felt like to lie through your teeth "And if he does, sounds like he's got coming back to life under wraps. So there's no need to get upset." Please don't cry, please don't cry.

There was an opportunity to act excited, so Gala prompted herself to draw out a faux surprised gasp. "Seven!" What did that mean on the whole scale of maturity? One digit probably meant small maturity. Gala went with that.

The word released from the earth's grip, and she twirled it in one hand - the one not nearest to Miri - before sheathing it once more. She rested her hands on her hips and looked down at the brown-haired girl.

"Sorry kid - doesn't count. Almost only counts for dancing.

I have a feeling.." with a resurrected father figure "You're not short on adventures in your lifetime anyway."

 

[Amea Virou]

T A G S

Loske Treicolt
Maynard Treicolt

S T U F F

Strike Team Armor

D O O M S L A Y E R

The scatter-rifle leveled by her waist with a finger on the trigger. The anger that burned beneath her skin didn’t feel right and yet at the same time it didn’t feel wrong either. Part of her understood that this place fed off of her anger and hate, and yet she would do very little to stop it. Some part of her would push through and try to temper the wave of emotion that soared through her. But when even Loske herself seemed to encourage it, when one of the people that made Amea care not to do give in, the walls would crumble and break in.

Amea let herself drown in a focus she had reserved for a precious few people she had let into her life so far. A murderous, unrelenting sense of clarity beset her and with it she felt the slow descent that took her piece for piece away from who she had thought herself to be. With each squeeze, each pump, and each emptied husk of a shell that parted from her rifle there was a growing sense of smug satisfaction. The shots did precious little to the beasts she aimed them at, but the catharsis of letting go was undeniable.

The rifle in her hands fell to the floor with a throw. One of the warriors swung for her and Amea reached out to grab it by the wrist. With a sickening crack she tightened her grip until the blade in the warrior’s hand fell towards teh ground. Though the monster remained unmoved by the gesture, Amea would grab the sword as it fell, and thrust it into its side.

“We need to secure their exit!” Amea shouted at the other two. “Conserve energy, rely on each other. Kill every motherfether that stands between us and success.”

The wraith-bound warrior that died upon her blade faded into ash as she withdrew her blade. She pointed it towards the next one and then the one that came after it as if to set up an order of engagement. Force over precision was an irregularity for Amea, but she was nothing without flexibility. She dashed into the side of another one to throw it at the ground and let Loske finish it up. It felt wrong, it even felt strange to be enjoying this but there was no denying that Amea very much did enjoy it. In many ways it was a cathartic release. Her relief from the tension of the last few months.

In this moment their purpose here became all the more clear. As much as Amea wanted to stay and fight there was no winning in a place where immortal spirits reigned supreme. Host upon host wandered this place, none of them too keen on letting the trio and the rest of their companions get a hold of a critical piece of equipment that they needed in order to ensure their own survival outside of this forsaken wasteland.

… But that didn’t mean they couldn’t enjoy this while it lasted though.

Spectre after spectre crept from the cracks and shadows of the field at the sign of worthy opposition. Amea looked at Loske and gave her a nod before she readied herself to hold her position. At this point the group had splintered but that didn’t mean that Amea, Loske, or even Maynard lacked a purpose.

“We can distract them.” Amea said to Loske and Maynard. “If we keep the focus on ourselves, it should buy our friends breathing room. We just have to fight. A lot.”

Amea looked at her two friends with an indifferent shrug. “It’s either that or we lead every single creature to our friends. Way I see, we’re doing them a favor.”

 

[Leon Gallo]

Leon struggled to pull the blade free. His muscles were burning, and it seemed this task as just beyond their reach. Despair gripped his heart. He was exhausted, and his opponent could not tire. He was going to die here, among the souls of those forever locked in combat. How could he win even if he wasn't so tired? The spirits of the field had eternity to hone their skills, while Leon wasn't even regularly practicing. Just as the Jedi was about to give in to his fate, the voice offered him a way out.

"Use my knowledge. Draw upon my hate and anger to fuel yourself. You did it with your own fear. I know you can use mine."

That didn't sound very Jedi-like, but it was his best option. As the spirit closed to strike, Leon reached out to the spirit with the force. He felt a wave of dark emotions flow through him, before he channeled that into energy. His lungs filled with the air of the desert, burning as they did so. The hole in his helm was letting it all in. AS he exhaled, filled with rejuvenated energy, Leon brought the tip of the blade free from the sand that held it for so long.

With both hands on the sword and a cry on his lips, the Jedi whirled around to face his foe. Their blades met mid air, then separated an instant later. Again, they met and broke away, then again. It was heavier than Leon was used to with a lightsaber, but it was far from overly heavy for him. He parried another blow, but rather than letting his blade swing wide as they separated, Leon let go with his off hand. He rolled his blade around the other, and brought it forward as his off hand retook its place to drive the swing.

The cut landed around what Leon guessed was the spirit's neck. It was hard to tell, as it was shifting form constantly. However, the blow was enough to drive off this opponent. Leon stood still, breathing heavily. The burning desert air filled his lungs. The filtration systems of his helmet were useless not, so Leon cast it aside. What ever protection value it had meant nothing against the blades of this places denizens. Leon turned around, unsure of what to do next.

"Who are you, and why did you help me? I mean, thanks for the help, but I'm not sure I can trust you."
The voice chuckled in response.
"I have been in this place longer than most. I've forgotten who I was. But do not worry, Leon Gallo. You will leave this place alive. This Time."

 

[Bernard]

Objective ???
// ??? Chaos ????
// ????????? Vaulkhar

The scorched trail of glass the sabre left in its wake brought with it unpleasant parallels to events that had occurred mere moments prior. These parallels, in turn, implied an overwhelming aggregate of questions that Bernard's thoughts had yet to and likely would not be able to address.

For the moment, the warrior kept Bernard's full attention. The Jedi considered every detail about the man as he approached. Any peculiarities in his gait or posture, the unusual nature of the weapon he bore, possible indicators to identify techniques or theory the warrior had adopted and put into practice, as well as what philosophies they derived from.

Most of the analysis was redundant, and he knew it, he had no weapon to defend himself with, the lack of cool metal's sensation against the back of his right hand confirmed as much. Would it come to blows, the warrior would make short work of the arkanian, he was under no illusion when it came to that matter, but still, the mental exercise helped centre the padawan as he stared down what felt like death itself. Yet, similarly, he felt an unmistakable reassurance as he observed the man. An inherent connection that bound them both to the Light, though the warrior's appeared far more refined than his own.

It took an unexpected amount of effort for Bernard to lift his body off the dusty rocks. The few steps he took towards the warrior also made him wobble slightly, as though all the nerves in his body had been rewired. He didn't dare to step too close to the boundary the warrior had drawn between them.

"My apologies for trespassing I ... it wasn't my in- uhm, ah ... it's a little difficult for me to quite put events in order. I don't actually know how I ended up here." He pondered for a moment, taking a look around. Chaos, he'd come across that term before, but could conjure no associations. "I bear no ill will towards you, I'm just ..." he took another moment to consider the exact word, "lost."

He could hear the serpentine body of the hysalrian slither through the dust behind him. The warrior seemed to make no indication of acknowledgement for the creature, which prompted Bernard to think the serpent may just be an illusion conjured by his overloaded senses. Now that he gave it some thought, most everything felt off in the smallest ways, as though the world around him lacked the same physical anchors that gave weight to reality.

 

[Allyson Locke]

Jacen Nimdok

Allyson paused for a minute and pressed her ear to her piece, Nimdok was cutting in and out. Using the Force sparingly, she enhanced the tech and picked up what Nimdok was saying. He was waiting for her, which was a good thing - thank the Force. Allyson quickly responded, affirming the decision. She moved through the maze, keeping her mind steeled against the specters that spoke to her. Feeling the familiar signature, she wanted to explore it - find out if her gut was telling the truth.

Coming to an end, Allyson found Nidock waiting, as he had stated. She smiled and felt relief watch over her as she approached him. "Hey, Nimdock." The Corellian stretched and shook her hands after realizing she had kept her hands in fists the entire search. Crossing her arms, Allyson looked around and the back towards Nimdok. "You have any idea where this fragment is?" She removed her saber from its clip and prepared it just in case. "I'll walk in first, and you just tell me where to go?"

She made a motion for her to protect the scholar. He didn't seem well-armed or prepared for this excursion. The last thing she needed was a dead scholar. Allyson tried to keep a smile on her face, hopefully keeping Nimdok in the right place.

 

[Jacen Nimdok]

It was indeed Miss Locke who now appeared at the other end of the passage. Nimdok stood empty-handed in the archway, watching her remove her lightsaber and peer around cautiously. She clearly hadn’t met any hostiles yet, but had little hope that they would have a clean, peaceful walk to the Dagger.

“It is logical to assume that the fragment would be in the heart of this maze,” he replied. He couldn’t exactly tell her that he was possessed by a spirit that knew where the Dagger was, so an educated guess would have to do. “I’ve been trying to get through. So far all I’ve encountered is ghosts and echoes.”

Miss Locke slid automatically into the role of armed escort, for which he was grateful—not because he truly needed the protection, but because he would’ve had to abandon his suit in order to skinshift. He couldn’t do that at all now that she was present, as it would blow his cover. Hopefully she could protect them both.

He gestured through the archway leading deeper into the labyrinth. “After you.”

***

Now that she had caught Gala’s attention, Miri was determined to bask in it for as long as possible. Her offense at being considered too short to go to hell forgotten, she raised her chin and began to imitate her father’s know-it-all lecturing tone. The problem was, the words coming out of her mouth didn’t make much sense.

“Mommy and Daddy were in a accident, a big explosion. Then the police came and got me and said that they had died. And then the social worker came and got me, and took me to the orphanage. And I was there for a loooong time, like forever almost. And then a man and a lady came and got me and took me on a ship, and we went to a spaceport that was so far away, it took forever to get there. And then I saw Daddy!” She raised her hands in the air, bouncing on the balls of her feet. “He wasn’t dead anymore! But then the man and the lady tried to take me away, so Daddy called a Jedi, and the Jedi beat up the man and chased the lady away.”

She held her arms out as if taking a bow before a captive audience, a smile on her face at the end of her convoluted yet exciting story of explosions, orphanages, abduction, and rescue by a Jedi. But it wasn’t long before her smile abruptly dropped.

“...I’m not supposed to tell you about that.” She waved her hands frantically in the direction of Gala’s head, as if initiating a literal mind wipe. “Forget I said anything!”

Allyson Locke Gala Geert Din Marren The Hound Gedri Fehen Leon Gallo Loske Treicolt Maynard Treicolt Amea Virou Vaulkhar Credius Nargath Ashin Cardé Varanin

 

[The Hound]

The bolts connected center mass on the beast. He didn't scream or show any signs of pain but the red light in his eyes flickered and then went out before the writhing mass of tentacle and bones turned to black smoke and blew away with the wind to be reformed somewhere else on the endless Field of Blades. All that was left behind was the shining black Sith Sword.

 

[Gala Geert]

Objective 3 - Welcome to the Filler Episode // Camaas // Outside the Portal
Jacen Nimdok ​

Blink.

Blink blink blink.

What in the seven realms of the galactic core was this kid on about?

Cocking her head to the side in obvious confusion, she appraised the girl in front of her for signs of insanity. She quickly reached the conclusion that the differences between insanity and youthful ignorance would be difficult for her to discern.

"Hum." She huffed, running her gloved fingers through the strands of her hair that weren't tied back. It was hard not to guffaw at the tale. "That does sound like an adventure. Good thing you weren't in that explosion."

Quickly, Miri realized the error of her ways and waved a hand in front of Gala's knees in an attempt to do some sort of Jedi mind trick or something. Still pretty perplexed, the mirilian put her hands on her hips and looked at the girl. "Look kid, I don't even know what I'm going to do with the background you told me, so, chill with the hand waving whatever.

What's the harm in knowing your story? As far as I'm concerned, we're just killing time until everyone gets back. So---" she folded her legs again and plunked down on the grass next to the rock she'd been perched on earlier. She pat the seat next to her, if Miri wanted to sit. If she had to spend time with the girl, at least she could get some entertainment out of it. "You got any more stories you wanna share? I won't repeat them. I've got a terrible memory."

 

[Din Marren]

Netherworld // Field of Blades
Objective 1 - Recover the Fragment

Spoiler: Tags

Loske Treicolt
Amea Virou
Jacen Nimdok
Leon Gallo
Allyson Locke
Gedri Fehen
Zavier Octavious Delane
Vaulkhar
Credius Nargath

Din's eyebrow raises as the mass turns to smoke and fades on the find. "Wha-" before he finishes his words, he realizes the grenade was still primed in his hand "oh- feth!"

With only a few seconds to spare, the commando lobs the orb into the sky, watching it explode into a blueish-gray mist. Close one. The T-visor slowly returns to where the writhing beast had one stood, lingering on the umbral blade in its place. Had he really killed it? He shifts his rifle around, searching the area for any sign of a surprise attack.

<<I, uh, think I got that ugly one,>> he says over the team's comms, confidence lacking in his tone.

He takes a fourth and fifth survey of his surroundings, carefully eyeing the distant shadows watching on the horizon, <<Alright, I'm going to move back toward the gateway to cover your retreat. Let me know when you have the fragment, or if you need backup.>>