Hesper Calix
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Post by Hesper Calix on Dec 10, 2013 1:45:27 GMT -8
Hesper Calix's back stiffened as she heard footsteps in the metal corridor leading into the control room. Someone had breached through the Generator's archaeic defenses, and was now standing in the same room with her. Hesper was taken aback with what she saw. In her years serving the Jedi, she had seen conflict and chaos from one end of the galaxy to the other. Nothing could have prepared her for this.
"How's it going?"
Hesper froze where she stood. Had this man seen through her cloaking?! Impossible. She tried to keep herself composed. No one had ever seen through her cloak before, yet there he was. Gulliver seemed to be unphased by her presence. His eyes were fixed and locked on her location as if there was no cloak around her at all.
"You can see me!?"
The space around her began to shift and change; it contorted violently before it spat her out again.
Hesper appeared a few paces away from him and stared at Gulliver. He had the same freckles, the same chin, even the same hairline with the same cowlick that never seemed to disappear. She cautiously reached her hand out towards him to attempt to poke him in the chest.
"Absolutely... remarkable. You're the first person that I've ever met who has seen through my Cloak."
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Deleted
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Post by Deleted on Dec 10, 2013 2:20:37 GMT -8
Gulliver cocked an eyebrow as the illusion faded. The resemblance really was remarkable. The woman before him had the same height, remarkably similar features, and if she lacked the sheer bulk of muscle he had attained through years of boredom with nothing but weight lifting and reading to keep busy, she had the same gangling limbs that even his overdeveloped physique couldn't quite hide.
"Er, I didn't see through it," he said, tone light and conversational, completely at odds with the machine gun he held at the low ready. "You work with Force users enough, and you learn to greet empty rooms. It's a waste of breath most of the time, but it freaks them the fuck out on the rare occasion that one actually is hiding."
The big merc extended his hand-the right hand that had been sitting lightly on the grip of the oversized weapon.
"Name's Gulliver. I take it you're here as part of the defense?"
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Hesper Calix
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Post by Hesper Calix on Dec 10, 2013 11:10:12 GMT -8
Hesper eyed him cautiously as she walked around him. The likeness was incredible. She tried to find words to describe the feeling, but nothing came out in a coherent fashion.
"You... Are... You look like me, how can this be?"
Her eyes locked with his. Gulliver's eyes were a pleasant shade of hazel while hers were a deep hue of blue. She reached out and attempted to ouch him again, this time her hands accidentally found themselves groping his Nethers.
"YOU'RE A MAN!" She paled and leapt backwards in fright.
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Deleted
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Post by Deleted on Dec 10, 2013 11:19:37 GMT -8
"WELL NO SHIT!!! What the hell?!?!"
Gulliver kept backwards, fighting the urge to go soak in the shower until he stopped feeling dirty. Fortunately, he had a machine gun, which made him feel loads better in the grand scheme of things. He didn't exactly point it at her, but he wasn't exactly pointing away from her either.
"I don't know who the hell you are or what the hell you think you're doing, but now would be a good time to start talking."
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Hesper Calix
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Visiting Kuat City
Posts: 93
Affiliation: Former Jedi Guardian, presently Unaffiliated
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Post by Hesper Calix on Dec 10, 2013 11:44:35 GMT -8
Hesper kept her eyes locked on him. Her hand instinctively fell to the lightsaber by her side, but the moment she touched it, she felt dirty.
There was no such thing as coincidence; they were fated to meet each other.
"I don't recall having any siblings or cousins. Yet, you look exactly like me. Well, if I was a man."
She seemed to be completely oblivious of the what was happening around them until a series of high pitched alarms rang out from the console. She kept her eyes on him for a moment longer before she turned to walk to the console.
"We'll discuss this later. I'm not here to fight you. You don't need to point that thing at me. Besides, it looks like you'll need all the help that you can get. Computer, activate long-ranged scanners." Her eyes glowed with the Force while her fingers typed feverishly at the console.
Moments later, a holographic, blue projection of the surrounding topography was displayed before them on the computer's display matrix.
"Do you know who or what is attacking us? How many? Does this facility have any defenses?"
Her eyes moved to a rather large, red button on the center console. She furrowed her brow and pushed it. The sound of whirring motors could be heard followed by the sound of something creaking from down below. Metallic footfalls rang out through the entire station as compartments containing deactivated defense droids opened all around them.
"Well, this is something. Are any of them operational? They look old, can you activate them?"
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Deleted
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Post by Deleted on Dec 10, 2013 23:10:57 GMT -8
Gulliver rolled his eyes.
"You're the one setting off all the alarms. This is the shield generator. It has no long range scanners. It does, however, generate a shield, and it is very particular about who messes with it when it tries to work."
The big merc pointed to the droids, a couple of auto blaster turrets on the ceiling that normally covered the rooms only entrance, and then finally the machine gun in his own hand. They were all now rather pointedly pointing the dangerous ends of their weapons at Hesper.
"This particular facility does have defenses, which you'll be happy to note are not blasting you to itty bitty pieces. This does not make them happy, since you're clearly not authorized to be here. They will continue to not do so, provided you make no sudden movements until we can figure out exactly who you are and why you're here."
He didn't raise his voice. He didn't have to. If that much firepower wasn't enough to give the newcomer pause, Gulliver would have no choice but to open fire. The generator was more or less impervious to small arms fire, so that was one thing he wouldn't have to worry about.
"While I personally don't think you're a Mando, you are in a secure facility without authorization. I say this with a fair degree of confidence, as the terminal you've been messing with is a diagnostic computer for the generator. The Mandalorians are determined to wipe out all a Force users, and if they land, they'll almost assuredly try to sabotage this shield generator. For that reason, I'm going to have to ask you to step away from the terminal before you seriously fuck something up, slowly, and state your name and planet of origin."
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Lord Sinistra
Retired High Councilor 
VE Human Capital Management & Talent Acquisition
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Post by Lord Sinistra on Dec 11, 2013 17:19:53 GMT -8
The alarms suddenly silenced, and a shimmery blue holoprojection of a short, cross, brunette woman appeared in the center of the room. Her voice was frosty as she reviewed the situation. Her teeth gritted as she managed a taut smile at the pair.
Gulliver. Perhaps you can tell me why the deflector shield control module nearly scrambled? General Longstreet was about to dispatch a squad to your location, but I assured him that you would have the problem well in hand. So what in the blazing hells is someone doing in the generator facility messing with the defenses?
Her patience was wearing thin. The last report from orbit was that Taung's ships had arrived and golans were going offline like clockwork. The last thing she needed was someone messing where they shouldn't be.
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Hesper Calix
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Visiting Kuat City
Posts: 93
Affiliation: Former Jedi Guardian, presently Unaffiliated
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Post by Hesper Calix on Dec 12, 2013 2:39:17 GMT -8
-Hesper looked at Sinistra's holographic display then at her doppelgänger. She pulled her hands off of the controls. What was she doing here? She had no place in this war. She didn't need to be fighting here today.
"You're right. What am I doing here?"
Her days in the battlefield had been numbered. She wasn't dressed and ready for war anymore, all of that was in her past: the life that she had left behind, her legacy with the Order, all of it was little more than a shadow to her.
"My name is Hesper Calix, Jedi... Well, that part doesn't seem to matter anymore." She looked around at the defenses around the station.
"I was mistaken. You have this under control."
She gave him a polite bow and turned to walk out of the facility.
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Post by Walter Avius on Dec 12, 2013 18:58:18 GMT -8
The darkness of a shadow was the demon that conquered man and child alike, the unknown lurking deep within. Even behind the pane of a glass, the protection of a cinder block wall heavily decorated in tubes and machinery, a shadow will always dance as marionette to the will of a flickering light and licking flame. It wasn't that harm resided within, or even the fear of the chance of pain: it was the unknown that lingered deep within the folds of the mind. And it would begin as nothing, the subtle hint of something to come. But as the mind wandered, undisciplined and raised on the nourishment of imagination, the sound of boards swelling in the heat would become the growls of a monster. The echo of steps down the hall would turn into the menacing crawl of a hound of hell, the shift of the shadow a hand grabbing at flesh exposed. But now, the fear of the person behind the glass, that prowled in the small chasm of darkness, had been molested and turned towards something more, towards anger and focus. A man descended where a child once stood, mutated and trained for trivial experimentation and exploration, behind him the journey of a mind long ago mutilated and tainted. The man in his place would likely think himself something more, as all men hope to do, but he carried the fear with him just all others do. No amount of muscle or ability or resistance would change that, would change the person that Walter knew Ashrah to be.
The plan had worked, just as the Lord of Sorrow had expected. The shield blinked and he had passed through effortlessly, moving with relative ease along the path of least resistance. Gulliver had done well to arm the field but Walter’s attention was pulled away from the Estate, towards matters of more selfish desire. The vehicle he saddled was fast and agile, it pulled at him as he rode across the field to the east and the sight of the Estate disappeared in his rear view. He recalled Diathim’s fist, setting past Drebin’s pass. The mission that Raos Sosiri had been sent on, a name that seemed to linger in his mind despite no attempt to retain it, and the blood that poured out from the mountain afterwards.
Diathim's fist was a peculiarly named rock formation as it resembled more closely outstretched fingers than a fist. The plains extended to the nape of a mountain ridge in an easterly direction, met by an initially gently sloping hill. Tors collected in mass along the hill side covered in a moss grass and damp from the morning moisture and lack of sunlight. Wild flowers and briars were interspersed along the hillside and the air moved from arid to thick with every step upwards, slowly transitioned to a thick canopy of alpine and cedar. The peak came to a large standing wall that ascended into a monadnock, a seemingly unusual outcrop of stone carved away from the mountain by wind and rain. Atop, similar vegetation grew with an abundance of rain and soil carried upward by adiabatic storms. From the plateau, five butte's extended towards the sky, composed heavily of granite and limestone that shined crystalline in the sun and hued a dark gray. Due to the recent changes in the environment, with gradual increases in planetary temperature and precipitation, the peak was always covered in water and saw rain nearly half a year. All someone had to do was camp out for a week and they could be witness to sheets of stone plummeting down the mountainscape in response to the constant bombardment.
The speeder bike handled the gentle slope as well as could be expected, ranging from 20-25 meters off the ground. The vegetation and animals felt the pressure of his travel, cowering and squashing to the ground as he passed overhead. Just as he reached the plateau, he moved from traveling on the bike to a jet pack assist, hastily moving up the landscape. The initial plateau was the easy part, he thought, as getting up atop one of the pillars would be a more troublesome process. Nevertheless, with hands digging into the walls and feet kicking out step stones, he reach the top of the first pillar and looked back to the Estate, a beautiful structure of coordination protected by a pulsating blue hue, hardly noticeable against the cloudless sky. While he seemed to be rushed and pushed towards anticipation, he was an embodiment of cold calculation and patience. Flinging the jetpack to the ground, he removed his jacket and tossed it away from the pillar. A grip of wind caught the heavy garment and flung it violently into the forest. His armor adorned his body, hiding back the blackness that crept across his skin like a dark glossy tar.
He knelt down, one hand upon the mask, the other upon the ground. He rummaged through loose gravel, as if he had never seen such a thing, and looked up towards the sky. He could feel it, his heart beat faster and harder, and watched as the daytime sky was lit up by subtle explosions and thumps. While the atmosphere wouldn't allow it observation, not in its entirety, he knew that a war waged far above his head. And now all he could do was wait for his time. As he did, gaze piercing upon the sky, his mind turned to the dreams that he held captive within him. Of the women upon the river, house burning behind her. Of her tales of the planets he would impact, Mandalore being one of them. Was this what she meant, a clash? Or was it the past that she spoke of, the things he had committed, that now stirred the Mandalorian beast in such a way? He shook his head and laughed, louder than he had in a long time, at the notion that any of it mattered. Time wouldn't wait on his silent contemplation, no matter how tempting such inner dialogue might have been.
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Post by Whill Shaman Erevis on Dec 13, 2013 8:42:28 GMT -8
"Ah. The things that come back to haunt us, no?"
He was perched on an outcropping, just above and behind Walter, his penchant for the dramatic not an easy thing to push aside...His own ego would not allow it. He dropped down to his feet, landing like he had stepped off nothing more than the bottom stair of the tallest staircase. He walked up to stand beside Walter and stared into the cosmos with the man...seeing far more than the mortal beside him. The plain unadorned black mask on his face covered his mouth, the skin on his face black and smooth, his eyes a baleful purple......
"I wanted to thank you personally for all of this delicious Chaos....Walter. What is an all powerful being to do when the universe itself is 'peaceful'? "
He turned his head to the other man, and almost quizzical look in his eyes...curiosity, and more than a little mirth
"Are you prepared? To the victor go the spoils and all that?!"
He spun to his right, flinging his arms up dramatically as if to encompass the entirety of the universe itself. He stopped as he faced the other man once more, arms crossed over his chest. He was all heights and none, a rather disconcerting thing he liked to do. He spoke once more, shadow trailing off his frame as he did.
"And who do you suppose, exactly, wins in this scenario? You? The Dark Tide?! Jedi, Sith, Mandalorian? I will tell you who wins. Me. I win. I get what I want. What happens when HE gets here? I ask again. Are you prepared? Do you even realise the hate that man carries? I think it may run deeper than yours. Or mine......"
He then stood silently, staring at Walter, wondering what the man would say.
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Deleted
Deleted Member
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Post by Deleted on Dec 14, 2013 18:13:13 GMT -8
As the battle had been joined in the space above the Drive Yards, the three silent W-165 planetary turbolasers had sprung to life. Their reactors, having been warmed up previously when the alert status had been given, surged with new purpose as fresh targeting data had been fed from allied forces in orbit. Rotating within its thickly plated housing, the emitter cannon of the emplacements had turned to the stationary target in orbit. It hung above the Andrim yards, seeking to bust open their intended target to garner a foothold upon the orbital station. While the gunnery commander had been thankful for such an easy target, he couldn’t help but worry that something else was afoot. Why would these Mandalorians seek to garner a foothold on the Drive Yards, when the true threat had been waiting for them upon the planet itself. He thought that to rid yourself of the greatest form of opposition, which had been the forces stationed upon the ground, the forces that had survived the planetary assault would have a much easier time taking out the remnants of the Dark Tide that were aboard the planetary drive yards. Though in hindsight, who was he to judge to tactics of his allies and his enemies. The gunnery commander had only one job, and he sought to enact it with precision and alacrity.
Who knows? If he survives the coming apocalypse, the gunnery commander may find himself in a position of honour. Medals of all shapes and sizes could adorn his breast for valiant service in the face of insurmountable odds. When he had issued the orders to his fellow gunnery commanders, they had come to an agreement over the selection of targets hanging about the drive yards. Having clearly spun their guns to face the direction of the Andrim Shipyards, it made sense to make a minor correction in the course their condensed laser beam would take. Choosing a ship his allies above had identified as the ‘Hardpoint’ the gunnery commander and his allies had made the necessary adjustments needed in order to get a clear shot. Aside from the massive Mandalorian vessels that had moved into a dangerous position, that Nebula –class Star Destroyer had proved to be a prime target for their wrath. It was the warship they could utterly destroy with combined volley, which would have done nothing but scratch the paint upon the massive Mandalorian terrors.
It had been all a part of Logan’s plan from the very beginning, cull the weak form the opposing forces and focus everything they had left against those that remained. Smiling, the gunnery commander issued the order and watched with heavy interest as the massive beam of condensed and superheated plasma spilled forth into the chaos above. The act was mirrored almost synchronously among the sister stations as they unleashed their deadly payloads into the unsuspecting enemy in orbit. It had been mere moments after the order to open fire was given, that the massive generators began their swift recharge cycle. Beneath the planet's very crust, preparations had begun to fire another volley into the vessel above. A safeguard, if the infinitesimal chance the targetted vessel had somehow survived the energetic onslaught of the planetary turbolasers. When the guns had charged in the seconds after the first volley had been shot, the other immense bolts of emerald energy would be loosed into the darkness of the void, intent upon rectifying the apparent errors they had made mere moment ago. With the amended calculations entered into the system and the cannons themselves rotated to launch their bolts, they only awaited the order to be given before opening fire once more...
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Post by Walter Avius on Dec 15, 2013 9:21:22 GMT -8
"Ah. The things that come back to haunt us, no?" He was perched on an outcropping, just above and behind Walter, his penchant for the dramatic not an easy thing to push aside...His own ego would not allow it. He dropped down to his feet, landing like he had stepped off nothing more than the bottom stair of the tallest staircase. He walked up to stand beside Walter and stared into the cosmos with the man...seeing far more than the mortal beside him. The plain unadorned black mask on his face covered his mouth, the skin on his face black and smooth, his eyes a baleful purple...... "I wanted to thank you personally for all of this delicious Chaos....Walter. What is an all powerful being to do when the universe itself is 'peaceful'? " He turned his head to the other man, and almost quizzical look in his eyes...curiosity, and more than a little mirth "Are you prepared? To the victor go the spoils and all that?!" He spun to his right, flinging his arms up dramatically as if to encompass the entirety of the universe itself. He stopped as he faced the other man once more, arms crossed over his chest. He was all heights and none, a rather disconcerting thing he liked to do. He spoke once more, shadow trailing off his frame as he did. "And who do you suppose, exactly, wins in this scenario? You? The Dark Tide?! Jedi, Sith, Mandalorian? I will tell you who wins. Me. I win. I get what I want. What happens when HE gets here? I ask again. Are you prepared? Do you even realise the hate that man carries? I think it may run deeper than yours. Or mine......" He then stood silently, staring at Walter, wondering what the man would say.
These two men, if you could call Erevis a man, lied on opposing ends of the spectrum, one focused entirely on the future prospects of a universe brought to its knee and the other supping upon the path of chaos that would lead to such endeavor. But inwardly, highlighting a life overrun by specters of the past, Walter knew the taste of such convictions and like an addict, knew all too well the woes of falling prey to it. And now, this formidable figure, contaminated by a lust and hatred that rivaled his own but centered upon opposing aspects, burdened Walter with questions of the future and turned his mind from the purpose at hand.
“His hatred, his malice, is a derivation of my own. You only say this now…” He stood from his position and looked the Whill in the eye, those purple orbs missing the momentum he had expected from a figure such as this. “Because you do not know my hate.” Or maybe Erevis did, more than likely equipped with the knowledge and foresight to pierce into the hollow place of Walter’s core, where all his secrets lied covered in dust and darkness. Walter’s was an identity long ago thrown away for his own potential, his own purpose, and turned towards the plotting of forever burying the being away with promises of satiation. And until now…even now, it had worked, and none had been the wiser to it. And now, brothers were standing in preparation on the battlefield, ready to stifle this threat with one sweeping gesture, for a man they didn’t know and didn’t understand. His sermons on discipline were more self intended than they could have realized.
But Walter would not let this figure bully him with his cosmic power, an attribute he was likely not born with but instead ascended towards. In his own way, Walter admired the being in all its chaotic disproportions, so caught up in his ego that he felt the universe fed him with every action. The more things change, the more they stay the same, and Walter felt the slightest pang for opportunities missed. And who knows, perhaps this would be the day that those dreams would be forever removed from the compartment where he stored the things he regretted. How could one regret if one didn't exist?
His attention was quickly grasped by the reflection of lasers piercing the atmosphere, climbing from the shields of the Estate and looking to show the Mandalorians that even the ground might have place in this fight. He silently mourned his absence from the field, an emotion quickly overturned by the knowledge that he had prepared these men for the encounter. It was their time to fight, not his. He wouldn't fight, not in the way they would. They would vanquish their fear and he would embrace his and break it upon his knee.
Clicking his tongue, he looked back to the monster, the chaotic iniquity of his being seeping from his gestures and words, and Walter tilted his head.
“We have skated around this subject before, have we not?” Walter felt it, the slightest hint of déjà vu. And in that instance, he knew all too well the context of this conversation. “Yet you break the ice with your words of contemplation and foresight. I have heard it all before, the voices of my past haunt me in multitudes. You are indeed all knowing, just as you had always expected. So break your words upon me and leave me to fester.” |
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Ashrah
The Mandalorian Assembly
Posts: 329 
Affiliation: Mandalorians
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Post by Ashrah on Dec 16, 2013 9:10:32 GMT -8
Fuckballs. That would have been his first thought. Had it not been 'This is going to be one hell of a landing'. Even in his mind he refused to use the term Crash. Mandalorians did NOT crash. They landed violently. The armed freighter, named Fortuitous for reasons that will become apparent a little later in this post, bucked and fought, trying desperately to come apart as she blasted through the atmosphere in a hellish fury. It was as if Kad himself reached out and lit her up for all of Kuat to see....A fiery beacon for the Mandalorian onslaught......Headed right for the Fist.....
Grunting, he hauled back on the yoke, the freighter shrieking in protest, saying 'WHY ARE YOU DOING THIS TO ME?!?!?! HAVEN'T I ALWAYS BEEN GOOD TO YOU!?!'. He screamed, using the exhalation to get the damn ship basically back on track....At which point the flying ball of metal slammed into the ground smashing him against the crash webbing, his boys silently taking the brunt of the crash.....The Fortuitous slid sideways in a shower of hot sparks, screaming metal and fits of steam. She came to a stop side on to one of the fingers, almost gingerly tapping the rocky outcropping. She was damaged but repairable, one wing smashed up pretty good from the asteroid, a few dings a couple scrapes...Nothing some 800 grit and a wet sand wouldn't buff out.......He popped the crash webbing and got to his feet, a little wobbly but none the worse for wear. The 2 Mandos in the back however...well. They would be unconscious for quite some time. How.....Fortuitous. See? See what I did there?
He climbed out of the cockpit and kicked the boarding ramp open, as it was a little....well....Um...Fucked. It flew off and landed with a loud KRRANG!! Becasue Onomatopoeia!!!!!! He stood and looked around, getting his bearings before he did anything....And I have to drive a customer to work...sooooo...BRB!
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Post by Whill Shaman Erevis on Dec 16, 2013 10:15:07 GMT -8
"Ah. The things that come back to haunt us, no?" He was perched on an outcropping, just above and behind Walter, his penchant for the dramatic not an easy thing to push aside...His own ego would not allow it. He dropped down to his feet, landing like he had stepped off nothing more than the bottom stair of the tallest staircase. He walked up to stand beside Walter and stared into the cosmos with the man...seeing far more than the mortal beside him. The plain unadorned black mask on his face covered his mouth, the skin on his face black and smooth, his eyes a baleful purple...... "I wanted to thank you personally for all of this delicious Chaos....Walter. What is an all powerful being to do when the universe itself is 'peaceful'? " He turned his head to the other man, and almost quizzical look in his eyes...curiosity, and more than a little mirth "Are you prepared? To the victor go the spoils and all that?!" He spun to his right, flinging his arms up dramatically as if to encompass the entirety of the universe itself. He stopped as he faced the other man once more, arms crossed over his chest. He was all heights and none, a rather disconcerting thing he liked to do. He spoke once more, shadow trailing off his frame as he did. "And who do you suppose, exactly, wins in this scenario? You? The Dark Tide?! Jedi, Sith, Mandalorian? I will tell you who wins. Me. I win. I get what I want. What happens when HE gets here? I ask again. Are you prepared? Do you even realise the hate that man carries? I think it may run deeper than yours. Or mine......" He then stood silently, staring at Walter, wondering what the man would say.
These two men, if you could call Erevis a man, lied on opposing ends of the spectrum, one focused entirely on the future prospects of a universe brought to its knee and the other supping upon the path of chaos that would lead to such endeavor. But inwardly, highlighting a life overrun by specters of the past, Walter knew the taste of such convictions and like an addict, knew all too well the woes of falling prey to it. And now, this formidable figure, contaminated by a lust and hatred that rivaled his own but centered upon opposing aspects, burdened Walter with questions of the future and turned his mind from the purpose at hand.
“His hatred, his malice, is a derivation of my own. You only say this now…” He stood from his position and looked the Whill in the eye, those purple orbs missing the momentum he had expected from a figure such as this. “Because you do not know my hate.” Or maybe Erevis did, more than likely equipped with the knowledge and foresight to pierce into the hollow place of Walter’s core, where all his secrets lied covered in dust and darkness. Walter’s was an identity long ago thrown away for his own potential, his own purpose, and turned towards the plotting of forever burying the being away with promises of satiation. And until now…even now, it had worked, and none had been the wiser to it. And now, brothers were standing in preparation on the battlefield, ready to stifle this threat with one sweeping gesture, for a man they didn’t know and didn’t understand. His sermons on discipline were more self intended than they could have realized.
But Walter would not let this figure bully him with his cosmic power, an attribute he was likely not born with but instead ascended towards. In his own way, Walter admired the being in all its chaotic disproportions, so caught up in his ego that he felt the universe fed him with every action. The more things change, the more they stay the same, and Walter felt the slightest pang for opportunities missed. And who knows, perhaps this would be the day that those dreams would be forever removed from the compartment where he stored the things he regretted. How could one regret if one didn't exist?
His attention was quickly grasped by the reflection of lasers piercing the atmosphere, climbing from the shields of the Estate and looking to show the Mandalorians that even the ground might have place in this fight. He silently mourned his absence from the field, an emotion quickly overturned by the knowledge that he had prepared these men for the encounter. It was their time to fight, not his. He wouldn't fight, not in the way they would. They would vanquish their fear and he would embrace his and break it upon his knee.
Clicking his tongue, he looked back to the monster, the chaotic iniquity of his being seeping from his gestures and words, and Walter tilted his head.
“We have skated around this subject before, have we not?” Walter felt it, the slightest hint of déjà vu. And in that instance, he knew all too well the context of this conversation. “Yet you break the ice with your words of contemplation and foresight. I have heard it all before, the voices of my past haunt me in multitudes. You are indeed all knowing, just as you had always expected. So break your words upon me and leave me to fester.” |
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Post by Walter Avius on Dec 16, 2013 11:19:26 GMT -8
And with that, the Whill was gone, as quickly disappearing as he had initially formed. And right on cue, it would seem, the reckless entrance of the man with as much apparent anger as himself. With an ejection of the ramp that sent the sheet of metal flying from the ship and plummeting to the plateau below, Walter looked forward to the King of Mandalore, a stumbling and fumbling Ashrah. With his appearance, Walter, standing a pillar away and unmoved by the crash, released the control and the spell from his body. The black gloss and tar pulled away from his body like a sheet pulled from a bed, revealing tanned skin coated in thick tattoos of tribal origin. Interlaced between the tattoos, scars formed deep ravines within the muscle of his body. Around his neck and chest, in the shape of a necklace, the skin was embossed and raised, as if the flesh had overcome ornament to forever hold the decoration within his body. Where the main center piece would have been, condensation formed as if ice met fire.
He breathed a sigh of relief as he let the final constraint go, the inner locking of his own force signature, that crawled out of him like a pack of bitches released from the leash and collar. It was the red spray of a muggers blade, the glee of a world destroyed, the genocide of an entire people, the fear that hastened step in the dark alley. It was an uncontrolled tyrant of dual philosophy, the red translucent aura that licked and kissed at the ground like a sentient flame. Waves of heat radiated from him, bending the light against the surface of the ground near his feet, giving the image of shimmering as his skin seemed to smoke from the affects of the alchemy spell. The pillar beneath his crushing presence cried showers of pebbles and scree from the foundation in protest of his release, in protest of the quickly forming revelation of who he was, what he had been, and the lengths he had gone to hide it. It rained upon the plateau below, a mixture of stone and water as showers began to form, as they are often seen to do. He held out his hands, the force collecting to his body, as he was suddenly equipped with the tools of his trade. With the invisible press of the button, Reebas ignited with a red blade and snap of explosive energy, while Roecnar bled out a column of shoto blood, blue electricity circling it as if a tesla coil. Beneath his mask, a smile curled against the rugged and unseen features of his face. Within his mind, the inner demon struggled to push itself out, to claim the name long left in the ash and rubble of an Empire lost.
"Come and claim your legacy, child." He nearly yelled, his accent completely lost, revealing that it was not the mask but merely a practiced trait. He coerced the force into him, pulling the sickening aura back into the cage, lassoing a nuclear explosion if only temporarily. He centered his weight into his core, forsaking everything that he had ever known or completed, and prepared himself to lose it all. And in that moment, with the sudden realization that his time may quickly be upon him, he would become more powerful than imaginable, far beyond the power of a man who claimed pain as his only ally.
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Ashrah
The Mandalorian Assembly
Posts: 329
Affiliation: Mandalorians
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Post by Ashrah on Dec 16, 2013 12:05:41 GMT -8
A voice.....A voice from the darkness. A voice from the void that was his past....Now apparently his present. His head snapped as if on a swivel, and he reached up slowly, in near over dramatic fashion, and removed his buy'ce. His dark hear was matted to his head, his emerald green eyes blazing from the darkness of his soul. The orbs focused on the man across from him...The one who spoke, and his vision slanted, a violent shudder and a shaky cam snap, blinding him to his surrounding for a moment....Not a trick of the Force...A trick of his own mind. Static....Sudden ferocious clarity........
He thrashed, bounded against a table, upright, his body strapped in tight. Masked surgeons...Arkanians...bustling around him....In the darkness a voice...commanding...Nay...DEMANDING that the process be repeated once again. He hated this part. It was equal parts pain and humiliation coupled with elation and breathless excitement. It hurt. It always hurt..His body spasmed....Every muscle going taught, and he screamed silently, his own green eyes suddenly fixed on a single red orb in the darkness....The source of the voice.....
More static....His surroundings snapping into focus in a dizzying wave.....He shook his head, pushing himself to his feet, having fallen to one knee.....
"You."
He reached over his right shoulder, pulling his beskad from it's sheath, the slim, sleek and slick blade (alliteration ftw) glinting darkly in his hand, his left hand snapping the handle of his chain, still wrapped around his left arm, into his palm, the 3 inch hooked blade sparkling.... He stared at the other man....his 'father'. The man who's twisted genius created the avalanche that was Ashrah.......
"I have no legacy.......Father"
All the hate in the universe was put into that one...single....word. As if all the years of violence were injected into one phrase. He began to move forward slowly, gauging the man across the plateau from him.....His face a mask of emotionlessness...Even though inside he was nothing but turmoil
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Post by Walter Avius on Dec 17, 2013 8:39:29 GMT -8
Father. That was a word he had not heard in a long time, not since the fires had swept across his home and taken his family from him. The fires to which he started, the realization of which took a lifetime, a journey centered around the cognitive denial of the act that first turned him. And now this man, seething towards Walter on an opposing finger, called him Father? Progenitor would have been more appropriate, as portions of Ashrah found their origin within the Lord of Sorrow. That's what happens when one contributes so highly to an experiment, they often get to dictate portions of the process where others would find no such privilege. And so, when given the chance, he injected genetic samples of himself here and genetic samples of himself there. Perhaps it was a chance at immortality, an idea that should the flame of his existence be extinguished, embers of his presence would live on in the annals of history, forever moving as pawns to his subconscious efforts. Perhaps that was the biggest irony of this situation. When attempting to run from a life of self hate and malice, Walter was really fighting parts of himself on this battlefield.
"Your legacy runs through your blood, my blood! You have abandoned everything!"
The force collected around him, eating away at the atmosphere. He was equipped with the knowledge of several things that would aid him in this fight: force push, projected fighting, and spear of midnight black. Living in a vacuum of a pastless life, Walter was oddly in a place to appreciate the hard work of a life he once lived. Training, studying, practice, meditation, focus. These were the tools that allowed him to push his presence out, an almost blood red pressure extending from his body as he lunged forward, his hands pushed as if he was pushing Ashrah in front him. Arms of energy extended from his body and flung themselves out, focusing on hitting his opponent on the chest, followed by a left and right punch to the weak spots of the armor near the diaphragm, before withdrawing back into the practitioner. Walter was well aware of Ashrah's strengths, his utility against the force, as it was a strength he had helped develop. But this was a different force technique, one of force power moved into the realm of physical combat, and focused on using Ashrah's armor against him. It would test the water and the visibility of the Enhanced Force Projection would go to show this to a skilled practitioner of the ability (the visibility indicates that it's a weaker variant). Of course, there were only two who knew of this force ability. Walter and the other, a man who he considered brother, who had been ripped from the universe by Ashrah himself. Another bit of irony slapped Walter in the face as Ashrah was given another chance to remove knowledge from existence, forever erased by a single sweeping blow.
The show of the ability gave a beautiful impression of power, sanguine energy intermixed with the dropping of rain that had begun and arrived with a foreboding coincidence. Water splashed in heavy droplets against Walter's helmet, remaining intact at least for now, though the mystery that hid beneath had been all but unnecessary for this foe. He felt the body of the dathomir ice crystal beneath his skin pulse, a shiver ran up his spine as it found itself in sync with his own heartbeat. Despite his outward presence of anger and hatred, his was calm and level headed, a practiced trait that took deep hold within him. Live or die, he cherished these moments, this fight of fantastic influence, and felt the slightest hint of pride for the man before him. How much he had accomplished, his strength and attributes, were all an artifact of Walter's mind. Maybe father was the appropriate word after all.
"Accept who you are or I will break you upon this fist." The idea of destroying something he helped create sent a wave of anger through him, an outcome forced upon him. He hated being forced to do something, the idea of someone dictating his pace was a foreign notion that he chose to live without.
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Ashrah
The Mandalorian Assembly
Posts: 329
Affiliation: Mandalorians
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Post by Ashrah on Dec 17, 2013 11:14:42 GMT -8
Walters arms pushed, and to an outsider it would look as though the man was doing nothing more than stretching. To Ashrah, who had fought the Master of Projected Fighting, it was a fitting opening. His right arm swept up and out, intercepting the blow, deflecting it away. Which did nothing for one of the punches to the diaphragm, but his body had moved in such a way that the first blow slammed into his chest plate, knocking him a half step to his left, the second blow deflected as Ashrah angled his right arm, elbowing the blow aside. He growled, low and gutteral, the rain picking up, plastering his hair even more to his forehead. His eyes would seem as twin flecks of emerald light in the gathering storm, his breath like the very steam of hell. He spoke to the man who was his creator..
"You fight like all the rest. Like a coward. I have abandoned NOTHING!"
Time seemed to stop, the slow motion camera kicking in....rain drops seeming to hover, his face a snarling mass of seething anger, his right foot planted then pushed off, launching himself forward, speeding his way across the plateau. Time caught up, and he was like a streak of light. A mountain of Beskar. He shook his left arm almost imperceptibly, the chain loosening in a move he had perfected what felt like eons ago. He needed to get within punching distance. He knew that eventually he would abandon his weapons and just beat the life out of this man...With his bare hands.
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Lord Sinistra
Retired High Councilor
VE Human Capital Management & Talent Acquisition
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Post by Lord Sinistra on Dec 17, 2013 20:20:16 GMT -8
Sinistra stalked out of the protection of the Estate, the troops moving from her path as she made for the command tent. She couldn't find Walter by sight, her eyes scanning the crowd of commanders screaming troop movements to subordinates. Her presence quieted the men and women who looked to her with determination and expectation. She didn't hesitate as she strode to the table where the battle plan were laid out, looking over the fortified positions of the artillery. She spoke with the weight of authority and a seriousness that underscored the events blazing over their heads.
"Where is Walter?"
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Deleted
Deleted Member
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Post by Deleted on Dec 18, 2013 15:19:31 GMT -8
Gulliver, after having sent the ditzy Jedi on to parts unknown, was back in the control room, just in time for Sinistra to walk in. He pulled up a holographic map of city, with a slowly pulsing blip of light to show the Sith Lord's location. A sidebar showed what appeared to be real time footage of the battle that was unfolding.
"He took off for the city, M'lord. Wasn't much we could do to stop him, short of getting the guys slaughtered trying to shoot his ass, so I let him go. He's currently engaging a Mandalorian, intel says it's Ashrah. Apparently, there's some history there."
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