This! Is! Wroona! | CIS Dominion of Wroona

[Eternal Wholesomeness]

The Emperor had a puzzled look on his face, to put it simply. The chain of words required to accurately describe his expression would be far too long to realistically use. This blind man had to, by far, be one of the most insane of all the mentally challenged he had ever met and fought. To be marched in chains into an Emperor's palace, then claim to control the fate of his namesake? A foolish man to say the least.

"What is this utter nonsense you speak, vile, deserting rodent? What right have you to demand an Emperor to plea for his legacy?"

The guards attending their regular duties made a shift, and began to patrol the rest of the palace's upper floors. Leaving a more than sufficient compliment to protect the Emperor. Those that had been infront of the prisoner grimaced under their mask, as their Emperor gave them the order to punish the prisoner for speaking heresy. These were not new guard, no. These were the guard that had served the Old King. Providing sufficient disobedience to their new ruler for an opening in his defence.

[member="Scherezade deWinter"] [member="Voph"] [member="Isadora Lycinius"] [member="Irma Olanthe"] @​

 

[Kyyrk]

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Equipment: Rags, Chains​

Objective: Overthrow the Emperor​

Status: Free​

Tags: [member="Isadora Lycinius"] [member="Irma Olanthe"] [member="Scherezade deWinter"]​

​

Voph watched the Emperor for a moment. Not saying anything. Then a smile began to creep into his face. "Whatever power you think you have here...You are mistaken." Voph's smile widened. "When you die, understand that you were shown mercy." Voph bowed his head. And in that moment, a rattling sound echoed through the throne room. Voph drew a deep breath. The Force began to move and swirl around him. For a moment, the world went still. Then Voph exhaled. The force reached out to the sniper, implanting a single word within her head. Kneecap. Then the smile faded from his face. It was time for this charade to end.

"Now."

The rattling sound ended suddenly as a sword flew from its sheathe across the room. In a flash of movement, the chains around Voph's hands shattered, falling to the ground amidst the sounds of clinking metal. As he lunged to his feet, the shackles around his ankles shattered as well. He was free. His right hand extended, and the sword he had called to him found its home within his hand. It was not his lightsaber, but it would do. Already, five of the guards had drawn their swords, and were charging him.

The Force swirled around Voph, flooding down his arm and across the length of the sword, as blue arcs of lightning began to dance across the blade. He spun, deflecting the sword of one of the guards, before parrying the thrust of another. A hand flicked, and another guard lost his balance as he was pulled to the side. Voph was more than a match for the guards, even as they surrounded him. The battle for the fate of Wroona had begun...

 

[Scherezade deWinter]

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Wearing: Armor | Pathfinder Boots | The Forgemaster's Ring | Ring of Stasis | Sofitor
Wielding: 10 Czerka knives | 2 Nastirci Combat Knives | Copero's Wail | Fire and Smoke (lightsabers) | Combat Gauntlets | Knight Obsidian Sword | 2 Dissuader K-30 Pistols with Glitter Bullets
Tags: [member="Irma Olanthe"] [member="Isadora Lycinius"] [member="Voph"] [member="Eternal Wholesomeness"]

If the conversation that was happening between the Emperor and [member="Voph"] held any interest to the Sithling, there was not a single expression upon her face that betrayed it. She had carefully maneuvered her features into what is known as an RBF, the glow of her eyes resting not on the centerpiece of the hall, but on the guards that were stationed around them. With hired help, and with what she knew Voph could do, the Crow knew that it was either fight for the kill and then argue amongst themselves about kill steals, or slide into a more supportive role.

But he was going to owe her one once it was all over and done with.

For a moment, her b-expression paused to smile. <<The kind of guards on a planet so backwater that they don't realize how backwater they are.>> she whispered into the commdevice.

Looking back to the exchange between the Emperor and [member="Voph"], Scherezade simply shruggd when at last the signal came. Now. A simple, to the point, way to signal them.

"He's doing his thing," Scherezade said to [member="Isadora Lycinius"] as the commotion began, "the hired help is going to do her thing. You want to shine, this is your chance. Slay 'em dead. Scream if you need help."

Turning around, Scherezade walked up to two guards, the hologram that made her outfit entirely disappearing. Her armor was now in plain sight, the vibrant green sticking out like a sore thumb among the crowd. The smile on her face was hard to miss; the smile of a predator.

Over a dozen blades slid from her body, flying into the air. Yet unlike usually, their pointy ends were not aimed forward – but back, daring anyone to try to intervene as she took the two guards down. Her body moved fast, almost a flurry to the naked eye, the two guards finding themselves quite literally tossed into the air before they could even pull their own weapon out.

There would be no mercy.

Scherezade's hands came forward then, and she pulled. A Blood Hound, there was one thing she was greater at than anything else. The blood beneath their veins called to her, and she grinned, knowing exactly what to do. Any spot that was not covered by armor or cloth began to swell, the skin turning first pink and then a deeper and deeper red. The guards screamed, horrified, having never experienced such a thing before, as Scherezade called their blood right out of their veins and bodies. It pooled just beneath the skin at first before it erupted, liters upon liters turning into a near comical fountain of blood.

"Dead," she smiled innocently and turned around, her blades fanning around her now as they accompanied her as she walked to the next victims.

 

[The Girl In Green]

Objective: Overthrow the Emperor
Attire: Something Roomy over her normal gear. Shoulder brace already locked into place.
Wielding: Spot, 1 Utility combat knife
Tags: Isadora Lycinius, Voph, Scherezade deWinter, [member="Eternal Wholesomeness"]


Forcies. Of course they were all karkin' Forcies. And of course they'd send the cue to fire through the Force instead of using the open channel they'd set up like normal people.

Irma shook her head once, dispelling the echo of the white-haired man's signal from her mind. For all the subtle powers she'd heard the Force could include, Irma Olanthe had never met a single Forcie that wasn't flashy as a hand-dyed tauntaun. Why was that? Did all that training just give them a penchant for theater, to the point where there was no such thing as a simple kill?

It must have done that for these guys, at least. One of the women in the crowd hadn't even waited five seconds to jump in, wave her hands at a pair of guards, and make them explode like a pair of overfilled flesh balloons. The guy in white was sparking blue lightning, and had produced a sword out of nowhere to start dancing with three of the others. Irma had to admit, it was a hell of a show, but...seriously? The flesh balloon trick was disgusting. A couple of quick shots was much more elegant, and left far less mess.

Speaking of which...

She adjusted her chair slightly, just enough to allow her to change her angle. The cue had come so fast that Mister Emperor hadn't had time to fully rise from his throne, let alone reach for a helmet or a weapon. When the signal had come, however, it had been for Irma to kneecap Mister Emperor instead of taking the easy headshot--once again, opting out of a simple kill in favor of some kind of ridiculous justice-porn theater. It wasn't the call Irma would have made, but then, it wasn't her call to make. Not if she wanted to get paid. In addition, Mister Emperor had managed to make one smart move before the cue had come, and sent guards towards the upper floors. In the sudden chaos, she hadn't seen whether any guards had managed to obey the order, but it was usually safest to assume the worst-case scenario.

Which, here, was that she only had a limited amount of time before she had to leave her perch. Not enough to argue for a headshot, but enough to do quite a bit of damage.

Time to get to work.

She adjusted the focus of her scope, zooming in on the exposed kneecaps of the man who, to his credit, was already calling for a guard to arm him. The butt of her rifle fit neatly into the brace on her shoulder; she hooked one foot against the chair legs, bracing her thighs for impact. The rest...well, that was just muscle memory.

Irma exhaled, her eye never leaving the scope. Her trigger finger squeezed once, then after a half-second's adjustment to the left, squeezed again. In the scope she saw the telltale pops of red, and grinned.

Mister Emperor wouldn't be able to fight his way out of this now that his legs didn't work.

 

[Srina Talon]

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Location: Balcony​

Tag: Open [Come Play!] - In the Area: [member="Kerstan Blackmoore"] | [member="Hisashi"] | [member="Áine"] | [member="Alden Akaran"]​

Standing With: [member="Adron Malvern"] | [member="Krystal Estain"]​

Wearing: XoXoXo​

​

Srina felt the rolling dark within her being quell when resting against the side of her fellow Exarch. He was one of her closest friends and confidants. Once upon a time they had fought, they’d been on opposite sides of the war, and he’d driven a sword through her chest. She’d plunged one into his back. They’d beat each other senseless. Now? She couldn’t imagine a galaxy without him in it. His pompous, smug expression, wasn’t even something she saw. The ivory haired woman saw him—only him. Not the show he put on for the rest of the nation.

She frowned softly when he assumed that she would take the man’s head from his shoulders. Silver eyes trailed up his form, gaze silent, though touched with genuine confusion. “I wasn’t going to kill him.”

“He would just…Have difficulty walking under his own power ever again.”

His smile told her that he understood. Still, she wished that he would have let her teach the disrespectful slug a lesson. At least before he suffered an infarction and died of natural causes. With his relative girth she could only assume that his blood held the consistency of panna cake batter. Death was imminent with or without her intervention.

Srina grew silent while the man spoke of his home-world while the disgust rolled from him in invisible waves. She could sense that Adron wanted to leave. No doubt so that he could get home to [member="Alessandra Creed"]. From what the Echani knew she was fairly far along in her gestation. Soon—There would be a youngling running around Golbah City with his face. That made her feel…Something. Happy? She wasn’t certain.

She lifted her head from his shoulder as they turned to the young woman that had tried to intervene on her behalf. The glass of alcohol had been accepted, to replace what she had lost, and Srina found herself thoroughly examining her would-be-savior. She was taller, lithe, with a pinch of a fighter in her. Srina couldn’t say what type of combat she may have practiced on sight alone but she could see it in her all the same. Echani eyes were like…It was all about the details. Generally, they missed nothing.

It was strange how quickly her ire could rise and fall. Lord Ashlan had triggered a rather intense response, almost instantly, but she was far softer toward Krystal and Adron. It wasn’t soft enough to be called nice, because the Exarch rarely was, but it was truly night and day. “It is nice to meet you Krystal.”, she intoned, offering a pale, ghostly smile. It wasn’t frightening…It just lacked something. Emotion. The white-haired woman was like a painting without color.

She pointed out that their hosts seemed to be fairly distracted by her presence and Srina couldn’t disagree, though, she didn’t understand why. Her genetics weren’t original in the slightest. She looked like her mother, and her mother before her, and so on and so forth. To an Echani? She wasn’t even the fairest among them. Srina was average, at best. “Men, with rare exceptions, are created weak. Forgetful, greedy, hasty and boastful. They say with their tongue what is not in their hearts and tend to covet most what they cannot have.”

“This—”, Srina trailed off softly, sweeping a hand down her frame, in possibly the most delicate of gestures…”—They cannot have.”

The more she tended to shy away from the advances of others the more they tried. The rather large and colorful engagement ring on her finger, especially to cultures that understood the significance, often seemed to provoke a challenge rather than to hinder romantic overtures.

Adron asked a little more about Krystal and Srina settled into his side to listen. She rarely got the chance to meet others outside of a small circle, and despite her nonchalance, Srina was intensely curious. The Echani could see much with her eyes—But there was always something else hidden away.

At the very least—They were serving their purpose. She’d definitely been a distraction.

 

[Alwine Daye]

Wearing: Obsidian type Strike Armor | "Executor" Boots Exclusive
Wielding: Obsidian Knight Sword | WindWhisper
Direct Tags: [member="Roy Americus"] [member="Morgan E. Longstreet"] [member="Romulus Revnar"] [member="Jari Valnora"]

Alwine stared around as the fighting against the beasts began and resumed. She squinted, not yet moving from her place. It was… Barbaric. There was no other way to describe it. None of those animals should have been in the arena. None of those in the arena were there as punishment for crimes against the Emperor or as part of their execution. This entire debacle was… For sport. For entertainment.

And this made the petite woman angry.

The memory flashed in front of her eyes as though it had happened only a day or two ago. Standing in the corner of the Lord's dining room as what was placed on the table was not for dining. Not at all. Alwine had been a child at the time, a tiny eight year old. They had placed her in the corner so that she would watch the events unfold.

Every time she attempted to avert her gaze, they would scream at her. Pinch her. One time, they had beat her with a pillow, knowing it would not leave a mark. That was always the deal they struck with the mother. Watch, but do not participate. Punish if they must, but never leave a mark that would not vanish. What power her mother held over them that they never broke that deal, Alwine would never learn.
The phantom screams rang in her ears, and Alwine blinked, her mind back to the sandy arena again.

"I refuse," the Lupine said, though she was more than certain that not a single person upon the sands heard it. It did not matter. The words were not for them - they were for her.

Crouching, the blonde picked up a handful of sand, and began to walk in a circle large enough to comfortably fit four fully grown humans. The beasts they were fighting were naught but animals, incapable of putting together sentient thoughts. So she would use that about them, to protect herself and her allies from the beasts, and to protect the beasts from those who for some reason had chosen to harm them.

Standing in the middle of the circle, Alwine closed her eyes, and concentrated. Bringing fire from air was simply when there was something to burn, as it merely required a good enough level of concentration. To bring fire without having some base for it to feed, such as wood or anything else that was flammable… The strain on her energy conserves would be considerable. But she could do it.

When Alwine opened her eyes after what felt like an eternity, the ring of fire had taken flame. It was burning high and strong, kept alive only by her sheer will. Will, she knew, that would not be enough to keep it up if anyone or anything decided to fight her.

"Confederates, to me!" she roared above the flames, calling her allies. Them, the fire would not burn - they would be given small openings to enter the ring safely. The beasts, she knew, would fear the flames too much, and would keep away.

It was as close to a win as she could bring the entire arena to. And hopefully, the rest of the Confederates, the ones who were inside the Emperor's palace, would be quick about finishing their part of the day.

 

[Krystal]

[SIZE=10.5pt]Objective: Distract the Lords[/SIZE]​

[SIZE=10.5pt]​Wearing: Something Scandalous[/SIZE]​

[SIZE=10.5pt]Tags: [member="Srina Talon"] [member="Adron Malvern"][/SIZE]​

[SIZE=10.5pt]Wielding: A small DL-44 is holstered at her side, but other than that Krystal appears unarmed, despite several blades concealed in the folds of her skirt and her tall boots. [/SIZE]​

[SIZE=10.5pt]~~~[/SIZE]​

[SIZE=10.5pt]Krystal was… a little bit out of her league, to be honest. The smooth figures she stood with had not only the political power the surrounding lords could only dream about, but also the sheer strength of the trained warriors fighting in the pit -- and many times the finesse. As much as she could pretend to belong and don her formal gowns, it was simply that: a game of dress-up. But if it was a game, she would play, and she would excel.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=10.5pt]Standing straight she responded to Adron’s question in a pompous, confident tone, and anyone almost out of earshot would assume a young socialite bragging about her parents’ status. “I am absolutely no one, Exarch," she announced. She would refer to Adron as such unless he corrected her in the same manner Srina had -- it was better to not risk offending the man. “I am new to the Confederacy and quite simply I have no duties, inside or out.” She laughed softly. “That is not to say, of course, that I do nothing -- in fact I tend to do many things with purpose, simply none that are my [/SIZE][SIZE=10.5pt]duty for as of now, I serve no one.”[/SIZE]

[SIZE=10.5pt]Krystal hesitated. She had gotten a [/SIZE][SIZE=10.5pt]little [/SIZE][SIZE=10.5pt]carried away in her superior tone and really did not intend to offend the Exarchs. “But of course, today I come to aid in the [/SIZE][SIZE=10.5pt]diversion[/SIZE][SIZE=10.5pt] -- though it seems that yourself and Srina are attracting ample attention as it is.” And indeed they were -- as Srina noted, the shallow creatures were nothing more than weak. Her eyes flicked quickly to Adron and back to Srina (and the ring on her finger). [/SIZE][SIZE=10.5pt]Friends. [/SIZE][SIZE=10.5pt]What she wouldn’t give to hear [/SIZE][SIZE=10.5pt]that [/SIZE][SIZE=10.5pt]story -- most people who tried to stab Krystal didn’t live long enough after to repent. She felt Srina’s eyes sweeping over her and instinctively slid her thought shield back into place. Hopefully she wouldn’t come across as rude. [/SIZE]

 

[Isadora Lycinius]

[SIZE=9pt]Objective: Overthrow the King[/SIZE]​

[SIZE=9pt]Wearing: Light armour underneath a black bomber jacket. Combat boots. Small leather bag.[/SIZE]​

[SIZE=9pt]​Wielding: Verpine Shatter Rifle, DL-44 Pistol (modified), and KC-95 Ace of Spades Blaster, as well as various knives and small explosives.[/SIZE]​

[SIZE=9pt]Tags: @[/SIZE][SIZE=9pt]Kelsie Sylvan[/SIZE][SIZE=9pt] @[/SIZE][SIZE=9pt]Voph[/SIZE][SIZE=9pt] @[/SIZE][SIZE=9pt]Scherezade deWinter[/SIZE][SIZE=9pt] @[/SIZE][SIZE=9pt]Irma Olanthe[/SIZE]​

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[SIZE=9pt]~~~[/SIZE]​

[SIZE=10.5pt]Get out of my head. [/SIZE][SIZE=10.5pt]Isadora could put up with the force, she could appreciate it when it was used [/SIZE][SIZE=10.5pt]reasonably [/SIZE][SIZE=10.5pt]-- just look at her and Scherezade’s entrance into the palace -- but the man in the center of the room seemed to be using it in a way that was simply a little bit overkill. The sword would have worked perfectly fine without the fancy blue magic along it, she was sure, but similar to his flowery words earlier she assumed he wanted the maximum aesthetic impact. [/SIZE]

[SIZE=10.5pt]By the time Isadora registered Scherezade’s words to her, the woman had already begun the bloodfest. Resisting the urge to scream, she darted away from Scherezade when the guards started [/SIZE][SIZE=10.5pt]literally [/SIZE][SIZE=10.5pt]exploding. [/SIZE][SIZE=10.5pt]Does the Force corrupt you into needing to be a theatrical masterpiece, or did that just come before? [/SIZE][SIZE=10.5pt]She drew her eyes away from the veritable fountains exploding from the men. Before she would start the killing, there was one thing further she intended to do, and she stumbled backwards until she hit one of the wood railings lining the room. Seemingly off balance, she spilled some sort of liquid she had been carrying in her small bag all over the banister. She closed her pack and stepped back into the madness. [/SIZE]

[SIZE=10.5pt]Her methods of killing were usually far more subtle than this complete bloodbath, but she couldn’t say the slaughterhouse wasn’t fun. Leaving Scherezade to her own cluster of guards, Isadora hadn’t yet let down her holographic disguise, and maintained her initial look of horror and disgust as she approached one of the guards. The petite woman looked up at him and seemed to shy away. “Sir, sir please, I don’t feel so good…” [/SIZE]

[SIZE=10.5pt]The man shoved her aside to go to help his comrades, and Iz responded sharply, “That’s no way to treat a woman.” [/SIZE]

[SIZE=10.5pt]Two gunshots rang out, and another man was on the ground. [/SIZE]

[SIZE=10.5pt]Pulling off the bracelet Scherezade had given her, she spun to face the rest of the guards. She smiled and holstered her pistol in favour of the blaster she held, and dove into the fray. [/SIZE]

 

[Eternal Wholesomeness]

The four spear guards around the prisoner backed up, spinning their spears elegantly, then in unison, they began blocking Praetorius from going near Voph as he began his storm dance. When other Praetorius began to get more violent, and tried to knock the spears out of the way, they found themselves being impaled, then thrown off the spear to bleed out as the spear guard refused to bow to their new lord. Some guards pulled out pistols, and began to take shots at the new threats. The blood fountain lady, the flame girl, and a group of them already positioned on the balcony drew their swords, all charging from a single direction to the sniper, now made aware to them. Captain Horus, one of the most skilled and experienced of all the guards present drew his golden sword, and raised his shield, and started circling around to behind Voph, sneaking through the spear guard's defense.

The Emperor stood, grabbing his shield and sword hastily. He was nearly pushed back onto his throne as a careless guard running to the escaped prisoner fell on him, shot in the knee. He held the body with his sword hand, while quickly raising his large shield, that pushed back on him as the shot hit. Shrugging off the body and the impact, he began a steady jog towards the Blood Witch. He raised his sword up like a spear, his shield providing even more protection to his light, but very effectively armoured legs and torso. He threw his sword in the air, then grabbed a thick and incredibly sharp throwing dagger, quickly aiming a precise throw at the thicc lady's back, right in the middle, neither up or down, nor left or right. He then caught his sword, and held it low, concealed behind his shield.

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The Abomination looked around, the gladiators bodies laying all over the blue sand of the arena. The sounds of battle stopped suddenly, and as he looked around, he saw a woman projecting a ring of fire around herself, gladiators fleeing towards it. One of the larger Acklay and the remaining Bull Rancor were staying away from the fire, scared like the filthy maggots they were. He began to spin his gigantic axe and spear combination, that would have taken a wookie two hands to hold, with just one arm. He then started spinning his iron flails like a lasso. He then started to run, closing on the group of gigantic beasts. He hurled his flails at the Rancor, which then hit the Rancor,, wrapping around it's leg. The force of the hit alone bringing it down. The Abomination then jumped at the Acklay, and landed on it's back, piercing it's hard carapace with the spear part of his weapon.

He shoved the spear deeper and further, bringing the Acklay down. With a final thrust downwards, he delivered the final blow, right to the creature's spinal column, causing paralysis to the lower segment of the creature. He then yanked his weapon out, causing blood to start pooling out of the large wound as the beast writhed, flailing it's front lays randomly. The Abomination then walked forward, stepping over the Acklay's head, not even phased. The Rancor had broken the flail around it's leg, and gotten back up. It then swung a clawed hand at the Abomination, that raised it's weapon, and swung. The axe blade cut into the Bull Rancor's hand, and pushed it away.

The Abomination then yanked it's weapon back, and jumped forward. The Rancor lowered it's head, and let out a deafening roar right at the Abomination's face. He then raised his gigantic axe with all three arms, and swung it, cutting off one of the Rancor's tusks. He then spun the weapon, and stabbed the other way with the spear, catching the beast in it's open jaw, and forcing it to the ground. He placed a metal boot in the Rancor's mouth, keeping it's head there. He stabbed the spear further in, then let go, and caught the Rancor's other hand, and yanked it forward, then sharply twisted it, breaking it at the wrist, fingers, and fracturing it in several other places over the hand. The beast raised it's head, roaring in horrendous pain. The Abomination then pulled it's spear out of the beast's cheek, and spun it again. With a downward swing, and several cracking sounds, the beast laid dead, the Abomination's axe in it's skull.

The Abominationem Dominus then heaved it's axe out, and turned to face the gladiators in the fire circle.

 

[Scherezade deWinter]

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Wearing: Armor | Pathfinder Boots | The Forgemaster's Ring | Ring of Stasis | Sofitor
Wielding: 10 Czerka knives | 2 Nastirci Combat Knives | Copero's Wail | Fire and Smoke (lightsabers) | Combat Gauntlets | Knight Obsidian Sword | 2 Dissuader K-30 Pistols with Glitter Bullets
Tags: [member="Irma Olanthe"] [member="Isadora Lycinius"] [member="Voph"] [member="Eternal Wholesomeness"]

The scene had finally turned into fun! She knew [member="Voph"] was there, doing his thing with the Force, and she knew that [member="Isadora Lycinius"] was more than capable of handling herself. Their sniper, she did not know, but if she'd been hired, she must've had the credentials to back her abilities up or she simply would not have been there. Panic ensued in the chamber, with soldiers and pretend-innocents running back and forth. Scherezade took a deep inhale and smiled, enjoying the carnage.

Turning around, there were two more guards that she could deal with. This time, she did not bother with the fountain scene. Instead, her daggers found their ways to their exposed necks, from which they cut into and downwards, the guards' armors effectively trapping their flesh on the inside, keeping their chests from opening like a spring bloom by the will of the Blood Hound. That was fine though. There were so many other ways for her to get flashy.

No matter how subtle the wizard, a knife between the shoulder blades will seriously cramp his style.

Scherezade blinked, not understanding why that specific line suddenly jumped to her mind. It was a quote from a book, one that her grandmother had adored and read to her children often, but it had lain dormant in the mass of memories, popping up only now.

Turning around, it was just in the nick of time to see the sword flying through the air towards her. It was almost a shame that it had been flying so low; a few more inches upwards would have made a nicer dramatic moment. So did what any sensible person would do; she bent her knees. Just a little bit.

The dagger came to a half just as its tip touched the base of the Sithling's throat, and green glowing eyes landed on the emperor, the smile upon her face hard to ignore now; there was nothing human about it, nothing that even resembled it. It was the pure and lazy smile of a predator, of a murderous beast that was just granted an even more official reason to slaughter you. She paused, letting the tip advance ever so slightly, drawing a single drop of blood from her porcelain neck.

And then she shook her head.

Long fingers wrapped around the hilt of the dagger as she now took it out of the air, at last holding a single blade in her hands, the remaining fifteen still floating around her. The Sithling was on the march. Guards were being handled all around her by the rest of the team, and she could hear shots and screams as well as body parts being torn, but she ignored them, only once or twice slitting the throats of those who attempted to stand in her way and block her route to the emperor.

And at last, she stood before him, her own blades still in the air, pointy edges all turned to him. Scherezade gave the man a mock curtsey.

"Shall we dance?"

 

[Kyyrk]

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Equipment: Rags, Sword​

Objective: Overthrow the Emperor​

Status: Angry​

Tags: [member="Isadora Lycinius"] [member="Irma Olanthe"] [member="Scherezade deWinter"]​

​

Voph spun between the guards, his borrowed sword flashing in the light, blue tendrils of lightning arcing from the blade with each contact. But as he danced and wove, he was unaware of the guard captain moving to strike him from behind. He was locked with another guard, forcing their crossed blades closer to the man's throat. When the struggling stopped, Voph paused for a second to catch his breath. The fighting was beginning to wear on him. He could see the activity within the palace, the guards running this way and that. He could see the squadron beginning to rush their sniper. He could see the Guard Captain right behind him, sword raised to plunge through the back of his chest.

Voph turned, lunging to his feet, left hand out stretched to take the guard captain by his throat. His face, twisted into a sneer, faded to the anger and determination of a seasoned warrior. Whatever action this mere guard captain had seen, Voph would have simply considered training. And as his fingers tightened around the man's neck, Voph felt his own chest growing tight. The world spun around him, and Voph pulled the captain closer to whisper in his ear, "You should have run."

With the sound of wind rushing past their ears in a gust, Voph threw the man backwards with all his might, and that of the Force. Straight into the guards that were charging [member="Irma Olanthe"] . Voph called out audibly, now that he was standing right behind her, "Weapons free. I'll deal with them." Voph stepped forward, raising his sword to flip it around underhanded. To some, the lightning dancing across the blade was just show. Intimidation. But not Voph. As he stepped forward, the sword raised over his head, and slammed down into the balcony, and unleashing the torrent of power within towards the guards, halting them in their tracks with a consuming tempest of lightning. Voph released his grip on the sword, leaving it embedded in the balcony. As lightning began to arc around his fists, he grinned. This was going to be fun after all...

 

[The Girl In Green]

Objective: Overthrow the Emperor
Attire: Something Roomy over her normal gear. Shoulder brace already locked into place.
Wielding: Spot, 1 Utility combat knife
Tags: Isadora Lycinius, Voph, Scherezade deWinter, Eternal Wholesomeness

Well, poodoo.

Irma shouldered her rifle again, her eyes racing to take in the sudden flurry of movement. Turned out Mister Emperor was more competent than he'd let on-after the first guard had tanked her shot, he'd tanked the second himself, staggering but not going down. So the armor was tougher than it looked, which wasn't much of an achievement, but still had managed to do its work. Mister Emperor was now posturing at the Flesh Balloon lady, throwing a spear then somehow brandishing a sword a second later.

Mister Emperor didn't worry Irma. Mister Emperor was shabuir. What worried Irma more was that right as she'd squeezed the trigger for her first shot, Mister Emperor had shouted some kind of order, and a small squad of guards had ignored all the carnage to make their way up the stairs.

The implications were obvious.

The employer--one of the people in the throne room below--had been the one to mark out the mark point for this assassination.

The order to move was far enough ahead of her first shot that she couldn't have given herself away.

Meaning that Mister Emperor had told the guards where she was before she'd fired.

Mister Emperor was not a Forcie.

Irma had not been seen coming in.

The only people who could have leaked her position were people who'd already known where she would be.

"Of all the--"

The resulting flurry of profanity was loud enough to make the comm channel audibly crackle.

This job was karked. This stupa job was absolutely, drukking karked. She'd seen this kind of MO before--not often these days, but there were always the kinds of idiots who put saving a few credits over professional honor. Hire an assassin, set them up to make the kill, then 'alter the situation'. After all, one didn't have to honor a contract made with a dead woman.

She'd underestimated these people. She'd thought them idealists. But if they were really the type to go so low...

Well then. Once she finished the job--like the drukking professional that she was--somebody was going on her list.

...Although that was gonna be irrelevant if she died in the next few seconds.

Fine, then. Let them see what Oleander could really do.

Irma counted the steps to herself as she acted. There was a procedure for this kind of scenario, when one's advantage had been lost and the mark point was threatened.
First, secure the exits. With a small room, it only took a few seconds to cross the room, bolt the door to the parlor, then make her way back to her perch.
Second, assess her tools. She had three shots left in the magazine, and three additional magazines squirreled away in her jacket pockets. That was seventeen shots, plus the knife strapped to her leg. She drew the knife and laid it next to the rifle, ready for a quick pull the second she heard banging on the door.
Third, reassess the marks. In the small gap of time when she'd been away from the scope, the squadron rushing the stairs weren't nearly as far as she'd anticipated--apparently, one of the Flashy Club downstairs decided to throw their captain at them like a projectile. The result was a tangle of limbs and knocked-loose helmets only a third of the way up, now little more than a pile of easy shots.

Step four: Kill any obstacles to your escape.

"Weapons free, huh? Bit late," she said, not bothering to hide the ice in her voice, and started taking aim. As she fired, fired again, reloaded, fired again, she counted the kills into the comms.

A shot to the exposed neck of the Captain at the top of the stair pile. Second shot timed to take advantage of the opening in the face plate.

"One."

Reload.

Six shots (quick reload after shot five) to take out the pile on the stairs. The ones at the bottom only left openings at the feet and knees, but enough headshots at the top that nobody was moving any time soon. They'd bleed out soon and block others.

"Two, three, four, five, six. Seven."

Two shots for a pair of guards attempting to get behind the Walking Armory. Follow the trajectory, shots taken at gaps just under the helmet.

"Eight. Nine."

One shot. One more down.

"Ten."

One shot. One more down.

"Eleven."

Reload.

"Taking aim at the primary target."

 

[Isadora Lycinius]

[SIZE=9pt]Objective: Overthrow the King[/SIZE]​

[SIZE=9pt]Wearing: Light armour underneath a black bomber jacket. Combat boots. Leather Backpack.[/SIZE]​

[SIZE=9pt]​Wielding: Verpine Shatter Rifle, DL-44 Pistol (modified), and KC-95 Ace of Spades Blaster, as well as various knives and small explosives.[/SIZE]​

[SIZE=9pt]Tags: @[/SIZE][SIZE=9pt]Kelsie Sylvan[/SIZE][SIZE=9pt] @[/SIZE][SIZE=9pt]Voph[/SIZE][SIZE=9pt] @[/SIZE][SIZE=9pt]Scherezade deWinter[/SIZE][SIZE=9pt] @[/SIZE][SIZE=9pt]Irma Olanthe[/SIZE]​

​

[SIZE=9pt]~~~[/SIZE]​

[SIZE=10.5pt]Iz pursed her lips and let out a breath. The emperor was uninjured, it would seem, but certainly wouldn’t last long against the veritable army that was Scherezade. Voph seemed to be… electrocuting the soldiers near him with a blue lighting? [/SIZE][SIZE=10.5pt]You would think that a simple stabbing would be sufficient -- [/SIZE][SIZE=10.5pt]but Isadora’s train of thought was derailed when the group of soldiers stopped dead near the old man and were consumed by the lighting. [/SIZE]

[SIZE=10.5pt]Oof. [/SIZE]

[SIZE=10.5pt]She spun to engage a guard that had taken an interest in her, despite her [/SIZE][SIZE=10.5pt]entirely [/SIZE][SIZE=10.5pt]innocuous position on the edge of the fighting. He brandished his spear at her, daring her into a duel.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=10.5pt]No, thanks. [/SIZE]

[SIZE=10.5pt]A shot to the head and an extra to the chest just to be safe, and he joined his comrades on the ground. As much fun as blades were, unless you were Scherezade and whipping them around with the force, bullets worked much quicker. She flinched slightly as the channel came to life again -- with all the force communication going on here, she had honestly forgotten about it -- and the paid help seemed to be running into a bit of trouble. [/SIZE][SIZE=10.5pt]Serves her right. [/SIZE][SIZE=10.5pt]Isadora wasn’t too worried -- any hired gun must be able to protect themselves, at least -- and a smirk crossed her face as she watched the room, spilling a little more from that black bottle as she did. “You all good up there, lady?”, Iz said to the channel, a little bit of amusement and adrenaline colouring her tone. Not bothering to wait for a response, she pulled out her Ace of Spades and took up a position behind Scherezade -- while she engaged with the Emperor, Isadora would watch her back, just in case. Even though the floaty spears seemed to be doing a damn good job.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=10.5pt]She’d wait until Scherezade and Voph had killed most of the bad guys before anything else. [/SIZE]

 

[Srina Talon]

​

Location: Balcony​

Tag: Open [Come Play!] - In the Area: [member="Kerstan Blackmoore"] | [member="Hisashi"] | [member="Áine"] | [member="Alden Akaran"]​

Standing With: [member="Adron Malvern"] | [member="Krystal Estain"]​

Wearing: XoXoXo​

​

Srina found some sort of perverse entertainment in watching a little spitfire stand tall, and speak her mind, against the debonair man that stood at her side. Primrose lips curved, slightly, and most people that knew the pale haired Exarch would likely die of shock to see her smile in any capacity. Especially, when there was no blood or gore involved. Combat was the only thing she truly seemed to have a passion for. That was likely the reason for her unpitiable mood. Some of the Confederacy fought in the arena below, enjoying themselves, while others were dealing with a menace on Wroona in the form of an unqualified Emperor.

His people spoke; He did not listen. Now, the Emperor would soon fall.

Perhaps, in his final moments, he would hear those he crushed beneath the boot of an entitled and misguided Monarchy. Srina was only disappointed that she wasn’t able to see it.

Cause it. Death, was her gift.

“I like this one…”, Srina trailed off, blankly, and without any sort of inclination that she actually did like the young woman before her. It would take time to get used to her personality. It was void of anything that would give in to the fact that she actually was, despite genetic modifications, entirely near-human. Though, some of her dialogue, caught the Echani by surprise. Serve? “To exist within the Confederacy does not require any notion of docile servitude.”

Their general duties were far more, and far less, complicated than that.

“I am only subservient if and when I choose to be.”

That wasn’t because of her title, nor, her station. Oh, definitely not. She had been opinionated from the very moment she had first landed on the doorstep of one [member="Darth Metus"]. Her flavor was particular, hard to come to grips with, but she usually had a method to her madness, unless, really, she was actually mad. Then…The gloves were off. All bets, entirely, were off.

Her lips curved again, half in irony, half in amusement. Had she known previously that she would have attracted that much attention, despite being clothed up to the neck, she world have worn a lot less. A body was a body. In simplest terms—A tool, like any other. If the fool Lords of this world fell for pretty wrapping paper and favorable genetics? They deserved anything she did, or didn’t do, when they couldn’t keep their eyes above her shoulders. “Your features are pleasing. Symmetrical. Your purpose is served, as certainly, you are also a diversion.”, Srina intoned, before jutting her chin forward, toward a noble that seemed to be quite distracted by Ms. Estain.

The Echani saw things in a very simple fashion. [member="Adron Malvern"] was one of her closest friends. She did not shy away from him, not through touch, or anything else. Her race was more adept at body language than verbalizing their thoughts. Adron understood that. Even her Master, Metus, understood that. Most others? They generally assumed that he was dallying with the Minister of Commerce and his fellow Exarch.

If only they understood the levels of jealous his wife-to-be could reach. Fireballs were her specialty.

“Do you not wish for something more? Purpose?”

It was an innocent question. Srina required it. Having specific duties gave her a way to move forward. A way to avoid thinking about what she had lost on Kuat. Briefly, the young woman tensed when an distant vision flooded her minds eye, as well as the sound of weapon-fire, that didn’t belong to this area. She brought her wrist to her lips. “Report.”, she demanded, not bothering to explain, while she waited for a response from her Holo-Comm in her ear piece. The group [[member="Kelsie Sylvan"] [member="Voph"] [member="Scherezade deWinter"] [member="Irma Olanthe"]] that was tasked with dealing with the Emperor…There was movement.

The Emperor would die today. One way, or the other.

 

[Eternal Wholesomeness]

The Emperor stared down into the emerald eyes of the blood hound before him.

"We shall. And it shall be the Danse Macabre"

Out of nowhere, he lashed out, striking low at the woman's knees, raising his shield up. When he had struck out far enough, he pulled back, then swung up, lowering his shield down. He had struck several of the knives out of the air. He then rolled to the side. He spun, and purposefully decapitated one of the Praetorius who had attempted assassinate the one he was meant to protect. He then raised shield, as several knives flew into it, glancing off the metal with a shriek, which he then swatted and knocked to the ground. He then threw the shield to the ground as the knives all flew away. He then pulled out a second sword, and twirled both in his fingers as he stabbed the other into the neck of another rebelling guard, pulling it out.

With both blades sufficiently bloodied, he threw them up into the sky, and grabbed his helmet, throwing the clunky piece of metal to the side. His brown, slightly grown out, buzz cut hair revealed, and with it the Kyr'bes, tattooed onto his right cheek, and on his forehead, the Jaig Eyes. Finally, complimenting the other two Mandalorian symbols was the Iron Heart tattooed onto his left cheek. He then took a step forward, pulling another large throwing knife from his belt, and threw it, striking into the right eye of a guard that had snuck up behind his opponent, sending him back a few feet, bleeding out.

He then pulled his swords from the wooden floor they had embedded themselves in, holding them by his side, waving his thicc, and admittedly pretty opponent forward tauntingly.

[member="Scherezade deWinter"]​

[SIZE=10pt]Epic Music[/SIZE]​

 

[Scherezade deWinter]

​

​

Wearing: Armor | Pathfinder Boots | The Forgemaster's Ring | Ring of Stasis | Sofitor
Wielding: 10 Czerka knives | 2 Nastirci Combat Knives | Copero's Wail | Fire and Smoke (lightsabers) | Combat Gauntlets | Knight Obsidian Sword | 2 Dissuader K-30 Pistols with Glitter Bullets
Tags: [member="Irma Olanthe"] [member="Isadora Lycinius"] [member="Voph"] [member="Eternal Wholesomeness"]

To be honest, Scherezade had not noticed the rebelling guards at all. Her sole focus was on the Emperor that was in front of her, the one who had promised her a Dance Macabre. She'd been ready, feet at the correct amount of space apart, swords and blade in air and hands, waiting for him to strike first. The first launch he sent towards his knee was met with a swift and graceful movement backwards of the Sithling.

Testing his reflexes and speed, Scherezade sent a few knives towards him, the ones that were so easily blocked with the shield. She laughed as he did so, swatting them to the ground. Did he think that knives were living things, once on the ground to never rise again? Without a blink she launched tam up again, and back into him, only to stop and change direction.

Now she noticed the rebelling guards. Why were they rebelling? Were they with the Confederacy? She did not know. She did not have the time to know. Her knives changed direction and began to chop at those that would harm those who were rebelling. Scherezade was almost ready to vomit on herself. Helping the good guys. Pheh. No, she wasn't about to think that her line of work with the Confederacy dictated that she so often did just that. It was a pheh all around.

The Emperor threw his helmet away. What. Why? Scherezade's green glowing eyes settled on his face, and she allowed him to see. There was nothing human about her expression in that moment. The similar look at had shown on her face earlier when she was facing the guards, but that earlier look had been a pale shadow compared to the face of the predator she showed him now.

Only one of them would come alive out of this throne room today. Scherezade was going to ensure it was her.

Giving into his taunt, the Sithling launched forward, Copero's Wail in her hands. She swung it forward, the sword releasing a Force Wave, the wave taking on a tangible appearance in the form of pale blue light headed directly for the Emperor. With her left hand, Scherezade ignited Smoke, her lightsaber, and went directly for the Emperor's lower stomach. She was certain that if she could maneuver it just right, she could get beneath the armor and burn his intestines in ways that no medic could ever hope to fix.

 

[Eternal Wholesomeness]

​

The Emperor studied the woman's face. The Mandalorian studied her predatory expression, the face of one with nothing but pure hate and loathing, one who sought to not just kill the one before them, but to obliterate them, to wipe bits of them off of their boots. To cause them so much pain they couldn't even compare it to the most painful thing in existence. He had thrown his helmet off to allow his opponent to see. To see the marks he had carved into himself as a sign of his pride for his people. Perhaps it also allowed a greater range of movement, something especially useful against a large blade wielded by his opponent. He expected her to do nothing but try her absolute most damnedest and then a fair bit more just to kill him.

What he did not expect when she swung her greatsword quite a few metres away from him, was for the icy wave that flew from it. This wave hit him right in the chest, making him stumble backwards as his armour scarred with a frosty finish in the shape of a blade. He then regained himself in time to block her lightsaber with his second Phrik gladius, he then delivered a stabbing action downwards, towards her porcelain neck, a particularly hard attack to block. He then pushed her lightsaber blade away, overpowering her with his better toned and strengthened strength from wrestling with beasts, and swinging kilograms of heavy metal in each hand for years. Plus factoring in the natural strength advantage a male typically had over a female that so often made mixed sports unfair.

After pushing her blade away, he stepped back to the right, over a less obvious couple of bodies, piled on top of each other. An unintended trap for his opponent.

[member="Scherezade deWinter"]​

​

 

[Scherezade deWinter]

​

​

Wearing: Armor | Pathfinder Boots | The Forgemaster's Ring | Ring of Stasis | Sofitor
Wielding: 10 Czerka knives | 2 Nastirci Combat Knives | Copero's Wail | Fire and Smoke (lightsabers) | Combat Gauntlets | Knight Obsidian Sword | 2 Dissuader K-30 Pistols with Glitter Bullets
Tags: [member="Irma Olanthe"] [member="Isadora Lycinius"] [member="Voph"] [member="Eternal Wholesomeness"]

She saw the marks upon his face. Yet, it held no meaning to her. She did not know what the tattoos signified to his people, to the culture the Emperor hailed from. She had no tattoos of her own, but she knew of things that hurt the body and skin much more than those needles ever could. She had skinned herself, while fully alive, while fully in pain. She had removed the skin off her back, and the only thing that had dulled the physical anguish of it was the mental one. It had been… Almost a year. And now her back was clean and clear, as though it had never received as much as a scratch.

Scherezade moved swiftly. Where one moment her attack had been blocked and the next a blade came for her neck, she turned her body sideways, narrowingly avoiding the attack. The Emperor was lucky that he did not speak of his theories of male vs female physical strengths; such strengths became null and irrelevant when at least one of the people in question was a Force User who used the Force to add strength, speed, stamina and other perks to their physical prowess. If the Emperor thought he was overpowering her, it was because she let him. If he thought he was stronger, it was because she was pretending. The Blood Hound was one with the Force, and the Force was one with her.

As he took his final step to the right, Scherezade smiled again. Perfect. She was going to enjoy this. While she feigned another attack with both her blades, she was working on something much more sinister, that had most of her attention at present. She was a Blood Hound, an affinity that gave her control of a very bloody domain of… Well, blood. But his death would not be as quick and as easy as his guards' had been. No. She was going to boil his blood from the inside. All she had to do was keep him distracted enough until it was too late.

 

[Eternal Wholesomeness]

The Emperor studied the predatory woman with the eyes of a scrutinising snake, waiting for her to slip up, and make one mistake, one careless movement that put her at his mercy. He spotted her weakness, she was planning something greater. Something you didn't do in combat. You flowed with the fight, you planned plays, you improvised fights. One unexpected move and it all went up in flames and this unlucky predator had just set the stage for her demise. He had to admit, he was going to thoroughly enjoy this part of the danse macabre. He threw his swords to his sides, and they knocked over vessels filled with a native, flammable oil, typically found in the homes of nobles and the rich, as it signified purity and banishment of evil. The vessels spilled their holy contents onto the floor, puddling at the feet of the predator.

Something to note about the liquid was it's very similar appearance and consistency to water, yet the flames it created were harmless. He smirked at her, giving her the grin of the devil as he slid on the oil, around her, stealing her sparkly sword. He wiped his feet on the lush carpet, nothing that couldn't be fixed later. He then swung the sword, knocking down a burning brazier, the burning hot coals spilled out, the heat and flame sparking a fire that nearly exploded around the woman, a perfect distraction, and improvised smoke field as he circled around her, kicking her feet out from behind her.

As the flames died down, forming an almost satanic circle around the duo, the Emperor raised the sword, tip pointed down, aiming for the gap between the ribs of the woman, which would guide the sword to impale her heart, an almost certain death.

"And so the dance ends, the curtains close on the life of a creature of shadows. It truly has been simply a wonderful experience to deal with you. Your skills are impressive, I must say. But now, it's time I banished the monster you are back down to the darkest, deepest pits of Hell where filthy vermin such as you belong, using the holiest methods I know of. Fire, Holy Water, and Blood."​

The speech was long, unnecessary, made him vulnerable, but most of all, dishonourable. He would make amends for the pleasure he took in dictating this foul blood rodent's demise later, when he had cleansed his Palace of the other rats. Guard and Assassin alike. He placed a boot on the woman's stomach, pushing down, just enough to quell any hopes of her getting back up with regained breathe. He gave the woman a final vile grin, and five parting words.

"See you in hell, mutt."​

​

He then lowered the sword, to go for a much cleaner stab to the heart than the gruesome execution he had originally planned.

[member="Voph"] [member="Scherezade deWinter"] [member="Irma Olanthe"] [member="Isadora Lycinius"]​

 

[The Girl In Green]

Objective: Overthrow the Emperor
Attire: Something Roomy over her normal gear. Shoulder brace already locked into place.
Wielding: Spot, 1 Utility combat knife
Tags: Isadora Lycinius, Voph, Scherezade deWinter, Eternal Wholesomeness

Mister Emperor was a little harder to get a bead on than his lackeys had been. His movements were irregular, less level--he lunged and stumbled and juked around like a jawa on way too much caffeine. Flesh Balloon Lady fighting him was another factor, throwing around waves of the Force that wrecked the target’s trajectories every few seconds. A fight so unpredictable made it tricky to lock in a shot in a spot as small as the strip of flesh under the helmet, the soft spots in the back of the knees, the exposed toes...

But then Flesh Balloon Lady switched tactics. There was a momentary lull in the pace of the fight.

And Mister Emperor--clearly as obsessed with pageantry over safety like the rest of these karking people--took off his helmet mid-combat.

Clearly, she’d made a mistake giving this man some credit. Irma almost had to laugh.

Almost.

She retrained her sights, her eye following the bobbing circle of hair, and waited. Their movements were still quite fast, the trajectories complicated and erratic, but the overall pace of the fight was circling to the right--perfect for a clear shot.

Then, the moment hit. Mister Emperor tipped a brazier of coals over the floor, which caught quickly. The resulting puff of smoke, while blurring details like the color of his hair, didn’t obscure the two figures to be a problem for a decent sniper scope. The following blaze, however, DID bring the rest of the fight to a grinding halt. As the target paused, clearly proud enough of his performance to pause for a monologue--

Well, Irma did what any practical killer would do.

She fired.

“Twelve.”

She held position only long enough to watch the body fall nerveless at Flesh Balloon Lady’s feet. Then Irma stood, kicking back the chair, and slung Spot’s strap back over her shoulder, pulling the collar of her jacket up over her face. It took less than a minute to clean up her empty magazines, step over the bodies, retrieve her cloak and unlock the door, her knife in her free hand. Between the count of the remaining guards and the sheer bloodthirstiness of her employers, it likely wouldn’t see any action, but hey, safety first. With two fingers she pulled her hood up over her hair, and engaged the comm one final time. Fortunately, the white-haired man was now in the room--she could address him as directly as she could the other two.

“I’ll be in contact regarding my bill. Oleander out.”

Irma then sidled past the white-haired guy, careful to keep her face shielded from his eyeline. She turned into the left-hand corridor, and vanished into the first crowd of screaming palace staff she saw.