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Post by Whill Shaman Nyx on Apr 9, 2013 1:56:36 GMT -8
The planet is covered in dark dense forests of tall trees with leathery leaves, somewhat reminiscent of the rainforests of the planet Ithor. Most of the vegetation on the planet is dark blue-green, and the light from Pzob's sun bathed the environment in a golden hue. The planet's climate is temperate, and the atmosphere is breathable.
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Dragus
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Post by Dragus on Apr 21, 2013 12:42:09 GMT -8
A piercing shriek sounded as a razor edged spear of a star courier shot through the atmosphere, ripping through the clouds in a rapid descent towards the jungle below. Moments before striking the lush green foliage, the pilot pulled up, causing the craft to shoot over the forest roof as it further neared its destination. Ancient wood cracked as the sound wave caught up with the racing ship, showering the native gamorreans and blasting avian creatures from their comfortable perch. Inside the cockpit, a dark scaled beast fiddled with the controls, occasionally pausing to pick at the needle shaped incisors he called teeth. A serpentine tail flicked back and forth behind the seated saurian, dragging with it the glint of a wintrium dagger. The beast's mouth widened as its crimson orbs spotted the familiar black pyramid. Pzob's Sith temple, home to the Order. His Order. He eased on the throttle, causing the craft to slow before swinging it about and dropping down towards the slick vine covered platform just outside the ancient site of dark power. When the whine of the repulsor engines died away, a hiss sounded, signaling the lowering of the boarding ramp. Famine, for now it was clear who this being was, rose from his obsidian throne and paced towards the back of the ship. A clawed hand pulled at the hood of his shadowsilk robe, covering the black scaled features of the Sith as he strode down the ramp and stepped onto home soil.
"Smellsss the sssame." He hissed.
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Innon'Ruuk
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Post by Innon'Ruuk on Apr 24, 2013 15:27:13 GMT -8
The Beast from Byss is seen moving out to meet the vessel carrying his Brother Famine, it has been a very long time since the two last conversed, especially since the staging of his death.
Dressed in his crimson cloaks and robings, the hulking giant's heavy footsteps shuddered the ground as he approached, he spoke.
"Back From The Dead Brother."
Bacca stood like a pillar with his clawed hands clasped behind his back, he grinned a wicked grin at Dragus.
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Mortale
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Post by Mortale on Apr 24, 2013 23:50:23 GMT -8
<<How, convenient for you to have arrived here...brother>>
The words seemed to emanate from nowhere and everywhere at once. Then again, since this was all in the two Sith Lord's heads it was obvious who was speaking. Either they would remember that it was the way their brother, the lord of Death liked to speak. Or they would remember the damp chill which accompanied his presence...a chill that was not unlike walking home in January from a party after pissing yourself.
From the side approached the Lord of Death, his dark and bloodied red eyes glistening in the little light that was left in the sky as the sun set beyond the horizon.
<<This should prove interesting...pray tell, from whence did you come?>>
He hated it; the formalities which kept his saber un-ignited and the Famine lord's throat intact. Last these two High Lords of the OE spoke, it was shouting accusations of treason back and forth in the middle of an all-out brawl which had nearly brought down the temple itself.
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Dragus
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Post by Dragus on Apr 25, 2013 4:42:20 GMT -8
Dragus smelled his brother War before he saw him. That wasn't a dig, just recognition of the fact that each of the High Lords possessed qualities and attributes unique to them. Bacca smelled of rage fueled pheromones and old blood, Mortale of dust and decay, Kaan of some effeminate perfume, and of course Havok who smelled of some salty musk that the Lord of Famine couldn't quite place. Regardless, the saurian Sith was glad to see the hulking abyssin. It had been too long since their last engagement. Scaly lips split to reveal a razor tooth filled grin, appearing as always, hungry.
Whatever pleasant mood has risen in him was just as short lived, once the ice cold tendrils of Mortale's ethereal voice intruded upon his mind. Famine's slitted serpentine orbs turned from War and lay on Death. He too remembered their last encounter. It had not gone well, not at all. Part of that could be blamed on his condition, he supposed, but ultimately he held responsibility for his actions. Treachery came as easily to Dragus as breathing, his own scaled flesh was a fair reflection of the conniving serpent that coiled around his black heart.
"Forgive my absssence, brothersss." He hissed, his forked tongue flickering between dagger shaped incisors. "It waz not without due caussse. You all know of my endlesss hunger. Sssuch power doesss not come without consssequence. Bacca will recall the madnesss that crept into my mind during the chaosss crysisss that consssumed the City of the Eye, thankz to Jarypt. That frailty of thought never left, no matter the lengthsss I went to treat it. Ssso I sssought out an alternative method on Dorin. The Baran Do monksss have wayz foreign to our Dark arts, wayz that proved a cure for my ailment. However, they left me weakened for a time. The alchemical concoctionsss and dark magicsss employed to keep my cloned body ssstable were not enough, thusss the genetic curssse of my DNA took hold, and once more you sssee me sheathed in claw and ssscale."
The powerful tail connected to his backside flicked back and forth behind him, whipping with it the serrated wintrium blade he had strapped to it. He clenched his talons and hissed.
"It would ssseem that while you can take the Sssith out of the ssserpent, you can not take the ssserpent out of the Sssith." He waved a clawed hand dismissively. "No matter. I sssee much lookz the sssame as when I left. What mattersss of great-import have I misssed in my absssence? Doesss the galaxy ssstill ssstill tremble in fear before our gloriousss Order?"
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Innon'Ruuk
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Post by Innon'Ruuk on Apr 26, 2013 14:57:29 GMT -8
Ah, there he was, his Brother Death was never far from War and with the recent arrival of Famine, Bacca was not liking how things were already taking place between the two Lord's of the Eye, thou this time he could not and would not interfere, it is the Will of the Darkside.
Bacca listen to his Brother Death upon the force and in turn listened to Famine's word, he replied next.
Beastly growling tones, Bass filled. "You Two Must Settle This Conflict With Physical Combat, Hand To Hand, No One Dies. The Eye Can Not Move Forward With This Hanging Over Our Heads And Our Future Plans."
Bacca moved to stand off to the side and allow his Brothers room. Massive arms remained clasped behind his back as he allowed the Darkside to wash over him, heightening his predatory senses and become more focused on the event that was about unfold, the Temple thrummed with the Darkside behind Innon'Ruuk and whispered it's delight to him.
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Gaiscioch Dearg
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Post by Gaiscioch Dearg on Apr 26, 2013 17:28:05 GMT -8
Ahhh they are ever the same. Literally at each others throats.
=Korim=
But great one.. do you not also hate the one called Dragus? Should we not be glad that his fellow Dark Lord wishes to see him dead? Should we not be grateful for the opportunity to watch him die and suffer none of the other Dark Lords retribution?
Gaiscioch Dearg turned towards his highest acolyte with a snide grin. His eyes were eager, and transfixed on the scene ahead. He was strong, resourceful and, in most cases, smart. However this time the giant was glad of the distance between himself and the Dark Lords of the Order. At this range it was extremely unlikely that anyone heard the boldly treasonous words spoken by his student. The Lord of Destruction did not wish a confrontation now, and the Lord of War would not take kindly to a Lord, or a Lord's lowly apprentice, speaking such words. It was one thing for them to fight amongst each other, and even Dearg himself was once pardoned over besting Dragus in a short duel. Gaiscioch Dearg was not about to test the leniency of Bacca a second time however. Besides, Gaiscioch Dearg had, mostly, gotten over the hatred he held for Dragus. Gaiscioch Dearg lived again, and had even gotten Onderon back out of the deal. Dragus and Dearg both had decided to put aside their plots on each others lives. That truce still held for now. Although Korim was not entirely wrong. Gaiscioch Dearg would not exactly be saddened if Lord Mortale ended up killing the backstabbing Dragus.Even still.. better to cover his bases.
Korim, do not be ridiculous! This is a tragic moment for the Order. Whatever would we do if one of our leaders, our Dark Lords, died at the hands of another of his brethren? I for one am pleading for a.. peaceful solution to their differences.
It was a lie, and anyone who heard it would know it. However there it was, out in the open and officially spoken by Gaiscioch Dearg himself. To anyone present or listening in, the Lord of Destruction himself hoped these two didn't kill each other. Sometimes Gaiscioch Dearg hated the politics that were so deeply embedded in the ways of the Sith. It was why he completely volunteered for front line operations. Most other Sith in the Order preferred to work from behind closed durasteel doors deep below the surface and far away from trouble. Gaiscioch was always on the bridge of a flagship, or in the heart of the battles. It was simpler out there. Not like.. this. On the battlefield you split open your enemy, in the dark world of the Sith he had to pretend that he hoped his enemy made it through the next hour alive. Dearg eased his axe in its belt loop over and over; his pleasure at the scene before him completely obvious. His words may be a lie to keep him safe, but his expression spoke how he truly felt.. and he didn't care.
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Dragus
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Post by Dragus on Apr 28, 2013 7:36:31 GMT -8
Typical of War to think their feud could be resolved with something as simple as combat. Due to the aspect of the malevolent fey that Innon'Ruuk had chosen, he was forever drawn to conflict. But in the same way he could only find absolution in battle, so too were the other High Lords challenged. Mortale would only ever be satisfied with Dragus' death, and Dragus would never be satisfied because he was by essence of being, insatiable. The best they could hope for was a threat so great that they would be forced to put their aggression aside and join in uneasy truce. As always, the high council was a deadly alliance. Even so, the Abyssin played a dangerous game. Though he openly stated that the contest was to be conducted hand-to-hand, both Sith were equally capable of inflicting a fatality without relying on weapons. No death? Ha. As though such a rule could be enforced.
However, since you all know the Famine Lord so well, his following actions should hardly come as a surprise.
"I would like nothing more than to put an end to the bad blood between usss by way of physssical combat, alasss, I am afraid it iz not to be. During the flight here I waz engaging in sssome early morning calisthenicsss with my beloved flock, when I fear I may have pulled a hamssstring. I admire my brother Death too much to dissshonour him by making him fight a wounded opponent. He dessservesss far more ressspect than that. Ssso that being the cassse, I will have to choossse a champion to fight in my ssstead. But who to choossse?"
The answer to that question had been formulated the second Dragus had spotted a familiar sight. The Barabel's snout turned from side to side, predatory eyes looking from one side of the obelisk to the next. Finally those two crimson orbs settled on...
"Gaissscioch." Hissed Dragus in an oh-so-satisfied manner. "What excellent timing you have." He pointed a clawed finger at Dearg, then turned his gaze back to his two brothers. "I choossse him."
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Mortale
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Post by Mortale on Apr 29, 2013 2:51:14 GMT -8
*The Death Lord knew, as they all knew... that Brother War had nothing but the best intentions for suggesting physical combat as a means of settling differences, to be honest: most male societies would be able to do just that. Smack one another around a bit, then forgive and forget.*
*Such was not the way of the Death Lord, he still viewed Dragus as weak; And the strong do not suffer the weak to live...Save that they serve some purpose beyond the scope of their existence.*
*Which, at this point the Death Lord was having a hard time thinking of a purpose that the Famine Lord served.*
*Mortale spun at the mention of Dearg's name, last time he saw the Lord of Destruction it he had found himself allied by chance to him. This was the same confrontation that the Jen'Derriphan had last seen Dragus.*
<<Strange, brother
He hissed harshly into the Saurian mind
I knew you were a coward and a weakling. But even I did not think that you would cowardly enough to sic your rival upon a fellow High Lord of the Order. This is not about honor it is about whether or not you are of use to myself, and your brethren in the Order.>>
*Mortale knew, as they all did. That Dearg had but to accept (and why would he not? It was considered a show of cowardice by many to refuse to be a proxy) and they would engage in a physical challenge that could last hours. However, he would not allow Dragus to have his small victory in squirming himself out of yet another challenge of his right to remain a High Lord.*
<<Perhaps instead, you can use your talents of squirming from the light and hiding in shadow to further our goal. If brother War has not informed you yet I shall now: The Council has voted to erase our order's presence from the known galaxy. We shall still possess the wealth given of our current status. But to the public face, the Order of the Eye will be nothing but the imperial remnant faction who inherited their domain from the Sith empire of the NOE>>
His dulled and bloodied eyes turned their gleam toward the hulking Abyssian and surveyed his reaction; the words he had spoken to Dragus were not quite the truth. The decision had not yet been finalized.
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Dragus
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Post by Dragus on Apr 29, 2013 4:42:57 GMT -8
Weakling, coward? Personally he preferred the term 'politician'. While it was important to make a showing of one's physical prowess every now and then, Famine tended to avoid direct confrontation whenever possible. A dagger in the back or a glass of poisoned wine served his purpose much better. And when that rare moment came where direct confrontation was necessary, he had lackeys and pawns to perform that bit of dirty work. It wasn't that he was afraid, although he did fear many things, it was just that he felt it was beneath him. He was not some mewling Sith tyro or barking dog begging for a place at the table. Dragus had earned his position, having risen from nothing to the highest seat in the land. Conquered star systems, a bolstering of their ranks with Sith and other malcontents, and direct involvement in open war conflicts against both the Mandalorians and Jedi served as evidence of his worthiness. The high council consisted at times of three, four, even five high lords of the Eye. But if he was honest, which he almost never was, he would admit there was only one of them that was fit to rule. Himself of course.
Despite his certainty and conviction, Famine did seethe with anger at Death's accusation. The others might have felt the brief psychic connection between Famine and Death, but the words had been for Dragus' ear alone, and he had no intention of making a scene in front of the others because of them. That and it was likely that Bacca would force the confrontation if he saw them bickering openly. Instead he simply stood there passively, the corners of his lips displaying the smallest upwards twitch. His eyes switched between Gaiscioch and Mortale, though his mind was partly elsewhere.
It was the second thing Death had stated, about the vote Famine had clearly missed. A pity, as he would have moved against such a decision. It felt too much like taking a step back. You bide your time, build your resources, and then reveal yourself in the most grandiose of ways. One did not simply step down from the position of great galactic power and vanish into the shadows. Then again, the Jedi and their precious Republic had grown by several leaps and bounds in the last decade, whereas the Sith appeared in fewer number with each passing year. They were a dying breed. Still, Mortale was right in that this decision would play to Dragus' strengths. Even if he hadn't been given a say, he'd still make the most of the situation. Already his conniving mind began to scheme and plot. With their Sithly side hidden, the opportunity for building new alliances was greater than ever.
If the Eye willz it... He responded in kind. ...who am I to argue? Though it will take sssome ssseriousss effortsss to convince the ressst of the galaxy that it iz ssso. I can think of few thingz that may ssspeed the processs.
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Innon'Ruuk
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Post by Innon'Ruuk on Apr 29, 2013 5:46:22 GMT -8
Bacca nodded to Motale in agreement, then looked back to Dragus and waited for the fight to begin. Standing firm and awash in the darkside energies of Pzob and the Mighty Temple behind him.
The Warlord motioned without looking to Dearg to step forward and stand with him, He spoke to his fellow Brothers.
Beastly growling tones still. "Lord Dearg Will Not Stand In Your Place Brother Famine, For Lack Of Better Words, Let Me Make This Clear, You Two Will Pound The Ever Luv'n Rancor Shit Out Of Each Other Until The Temple Is Satisfied."
With that said Bacca slightly turned and looked upon Famine's furry friend and began force crushing the fuzzy lil being ever so slowly, first the toes and finger tips snapped and crunched, Innon'Ruuk knew how to play on Famine's real weakness, this would either bait Dragus into the fight or he would sacrifice his pleasure toy to long and very torturous death before his eyes.
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Gaiscioch Dearg
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Post by Gaiscioch Dearg on Apr 29, 2013 7:28:54 GMT -8
Gaiscioch Dearg threw his head back and laughed at Dragus' proclamation that he was to take the Famine Lord's place in combat. All the while his hand squeezing the handle of his axe until his massive knuckles cracked and grew white. His laughter only lasted for a few moments before he began to stride towards the pair, meaning very much to take Dragus' place. If only to not seem a coward, like his so called rival before him.
Gaiscioch Dearg could not deny the Famine Lords brilliance. He may be a schutta who sneakily got the upper hand on him once or twice before, but he was a smart schutta as well. Lord Bacca may want a clean and honorable physical fight, but that impossible in the upper echelons of the Order of the Eye. Especially with those currently involved. Dragus was as slippery, and as dangerous, as the most poisonous of snakes in the galaxy. Twice as crafty as well. If he saw an opportunity to kill Mortale or Dearg in this scenario than he would. Likewise, Mortale was the Lord of Death himself. As vile and evil a man the Lord of Destruction had ever met. Mortale would kill Dragus beyond the shadow of a doubt if he saw the opening. He would enjoy it as well. So you had Dragus, who would kill on an instant, being told to fight another Dark Lord who will also kill him just as quickly, so what does he do? He forces Gaiscioch to fight instead. A man who is also seen as a rival, a man who will also kill even one of his leaders. Why should Gaiscioch not land a killing blow if he was given the chance? Dearg liked Mortale, he didn't know why. But Gaiscioch also knew that Mortale would kill him, probably quicker than he would kill Dragus. What did he matter to the Dark Lord after all? No, this would be a fight to the death no matter what Bacca wanted. No matter who fought. And the Lord of Destruction was NOT going to back down like Dragus. He would fight, he would fight hard, and he would either win this battle, or a die a true warrior.
Or he would have, if the Lord of War had not been feeling particularly stubborn on this day...
Beastly growling tones still. "Lord Dearg Will Not Stand In Your Place Brother Famine, For Lack Of Better Words, Let Me Make This Clear, You Two Will Pound The Ever Luv'n Rancor Shit Out Of Each Other Until The Temple Is Satisfied."
Gaiscioch loosened the grip on his axe slowly as Bacca finished his declaration. He moved slowly towards the hulking beast, the only here of like size and build as himself. Beckoning Korim, his student from the temple, to follow and stay a respectful distance away, Dearg stood behind and to the left of the Dark Lord of War. He could not help but notice the significant looks that passed between the Dark Lords. They were clearly communicating with each other somehow. Through the Force most likely; a technique lost upon the more brutish styled Sith Lord. What were they saying? Was there strife between them? Were they plotting together? Gaiscioch Dearg cursed, not for the first time, his inability to listen in to the subtle conversations had with the Force..
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Mortale
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Post by Mortale on Apr 29, 2013 13:21:44 GMT -8
It looked as though Mortale would not get the rise out of Dragus he had hoped to achieve. But then again, what was his expectation? That he could out-manipulate the master puppeteer? If the truth were laid bare, the casual observer would note that there was a glimmer of admiration within Mortale's being for the Famine Lord...if nothing else he possessed the uncanny ability to wriggle his way through anything and to inspire others to do it as well. .Beastly growling tones still. "Lord Dearg Will Not Stand In Your Place Brother Famine, For Lack Of Better Words, Let Me Make This Clear, You Two Will Pound The Ever Luv'n Rancor Shit Out Of Each Other Until The Temple Is Satisfied."
Of course, Dragus would find a way out of the confrontation. If he failed to deter the fight itself, he would find some underhanded way to end it before it became too violent or risky for him. This was something that Mortale knew in his heart to be fact and not speculation. But it would be interesting how Dragus would keep Bacca from killing his fuzzy 'wok.
This would be most intriguing indeed.
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Dragus
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Post by Dragus on Apr 29, 2013 14:27:40 GMT -8
Damn that blighted Abyssin and his insistence on the duel. It just went to show how different they really were. Where Dragus would be willing to bend until almost the breaking point, Bacca was as rigid and unbending as a brick, unwilling to compromise even over something as trivial as this. Ordinarily it wouldn't have bothered the Hungering One who had a dozen more tricks up his sleeve to get out of the fight, but Bacca had overreached when he did harm to one of Famine's furry flock. You could mess with the Sith all you wanted, but as the Eye was his witness, no one messed with one of his bloody ewoks. Any anger the Barabel might have been feeling towards Death was quickly transferred onto War.
Furious, the Saurian Sith's eyes narrowed, focusing slitted pupils on the Cyclops. "It iz important that you know, Bacca, that you can not compel me towardz any undesssired action. I have cared for a great many thingz in thisss life, more ssso than haz alwaysss been wissse. But there haz yet to be one thing that I wouldn't sssacrafice in favor of ssself pressservation and my own agenda. A homeworld (Tynna), a..." He turned and looked at Gaiscioch, but only for the length of the following word. "...friend, a woman (???), and yes..." Famine slowly strode over to the tortured ewok, offering the poor critter what amounted to a look of sympathy. It pained him to see it in such a condition, its whimpering causing grief to swell in his heart. He put his clawed hands upon the furry fella, drew it in to his scaly embrace, then squeezed. This was not a gentle hug, but a constricting grapple, with all the Sith's strength put into it. There was a crack and snap, followed by a wet rattle as the life ran out of the unfortunate ewok. Dragus released the furry one and allowed it to fall back onto the old stone of the landing area. Sighing, he stood back up and turned to Bacca, finishing his statement. "...even the mossst prized among my flock."
It wasn't the first time the ruthless reptilian had killed an Ewok. His rough love making had often been too much for their little hearts to handle. The chakrams he had crafted in the forge were alchemically created by draining the life force of two of his flock. Dragus detested killing ewoks, they really were the superior species in the galaxy, possibly even descendents of the Celestials if his theory about their origins was correct. But if they were going to be harmed, only he who tended to the entire race like some angelic guardian shepherd, had the right to do it.
Perhaps it was the sacred soil of Pzob upon which he stood, perhaps it was the proximity of the great black pyramid, or perhaps it was the fury he felt as yet another fuzzy lover had gone to meet the Eye in the afterlife...but at that moment, the Darkside seemed to flow through Dragus in greater supply than ever. Blood red eyes became bales of insidious witch fire as Famine stared down War.
"I have and will continue to sssacrifice it all az provesss necesssary. You have no power over me. And if I will ssso easssily sssacrifice that which I care for, do not think for a sssecond that I would hesssitate to sacrifice what you care for, brother. You have just az much to lossse az I, perhaps more." He hissed in wicked delight. "A pet, a busssinesss, a wife..." He let those last words linger.
When this was done he turned back to Mortale and offered the Lord of Death a casual shrug, as though to say, 'I guess we might as well get this over with'. Without further adieu, Dragus began to strip out of his clothes. Off came the robe, pants, shirt, belt, and all the weapons connected to said garments. Lastly he whipped his tail around, grabbing the end so that he could unstrap the wintrium shikkar tied there. With a tug it came free into his hands, then dropped to the floor with the rest of his things. There he stood, as naked as the day he was born, albeit...with far more scales. You needn't worry about his scaly man-parts getting in the way. Like most lizards that stuff stayed internal until called upon. Swinging his arms from side to side, Famine began to loosen up.
Alright, Mortale. Dessspite my bessst effortsss to ssspare you sssome embarrasssment, it ssseemsss apparent that we won't move on until thisss iz sssettled, ssso we might az well get on with it. I'll try not to kill you." He cackled mirthfully. "No promisssesss."
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Innon'Ruuk
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Post by Innon'Ruuk on Apr 30, 2013 6:42:05 GMT -8
It was with great pleasure that Bacca watched Dragus kill his beloved 'Wok, and his success in baiting Dragus to fight Mortale, unflinching with the hollow threats from Dragus, he stood firm, radiating Darkside power as the Temple thrummed more, all became eerily quiet, even the trees stopped rustling. using just his mind, the cowl of his crimson cloak moved to cover his grotesquely handsome face in shadow, his arms move from folded behind to crossed over his chest.
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Gaiscioch Dearg
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Post by Gaiscioch Dearg on Apr 30, 2013 9:13:49 GMT -8
It was all very infectious. The two combatants facing off with each other, ready for a fight that was sure to go beyond what was intended. The air itself seemed to stand still, nothing moved in the shadow of the Sith Temple, not even the grass. Gaiscioch Dearg was caught up in the silent thrill of it all. The Sith Temple behind him seemed to surge, almost as if in reaction to the blood that was sure to be spilled before it. He felt the Force gather within him. He didn't use it, he didn't prepare any attacks. He simply reveled in it. Allowed it to fill him completely. The Sith Lord felt the others around him all do the same, and mentally steeled himself for any... unexpected attacks. One could never be too careful with so many Sith gathered in one place after all...
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Kalosis
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Post by Kalosis on Apr 30, 2013 12:12:03 GMT -8
*A dark figure slowly paced towards the unfolding scene of violence. The figure dawned jet black hooded robes, basic in their design, much like ancient dark jedi and sith lords from ages long forgotten. No fancy cloaks, no awe inspiring armor, just blackened fabric. The figure was a man, his pale face covered save for his demented eyes that shined like little pools of lava. This man was not overly tall but he had some height to him and his build was that of a warrior, toned and athletic. His stride was swift and deliberate and soon he was standing next to the hulking Lord Bacca.*
*Kalosis didn't say a word, only looked towards Dragus and Mortale as they stood in confrontation of each other. Like all sith the only true way to settle differences was to engage in combat. The victor would break the chains of the moment and hold the power. This fight would be an interesting one, a momentary display of the strength within the OE.*
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Mortale
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Post by Mortale on May 1, 2013 22:03:13 GMT -8
Mortale's eyebrow raised as Dragus slew his own 'wok. It was not something that he expected the extremely greedy and spoiled Sith to do, even so...it was done in response to Bacca's threats.
Mortale mirrored the actions of the Barabel, save that he kept his trousers and boots on. However, he removed his tunic and robe, his lightsabers and his gauntlets. So too, the mask came off.
As his garments and gear were removed, the flesh exposed was aged and marked with the scars of countless battles. His Necromancer's mark remained burned on his skin, left there by his master long ago.
Dragus --"Alright, Mortale. Dessspite my bessst effortsss to ssspare you sssome embarrasssment, it ssseemsss apparent that we won't move on until thisss iz sssettled, ssso we might az well get on with it. I'll try not to kill you." He cackled mirthfully. "No promisssesss."
At this, the Death Lord couldn't help but to grin a bit. He rolled his neck to one side, then to the other. With this motion his neck cracked slightly, loosening the joints.
<<You flatter me, to be concerned for my safety.>>
He shook his arms, warming the muscles as well. He drew the power of Bogan to himself and began storing it. Stepping forward he set himself and gestured for Dragus to make the first move.
<<The Honor of engagement goes to you>>
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Dragus
The Sith Eternal
In front of the Empire, to all you Vader haters out there. We'll blow your planet up.
Posts: 1,409
Affiliation: Sith Eternal
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Post by Dragus on May 2, 2013 4:46:02 GMT -8
Dragus shook his head. "No, no. Pleassse, I insssissst. The honour iz all yoursss."
In many a scenario had the saurian Sith made the first move, only to suffer poor effect. Maybe that was because he had fought so many defense heavy opponents. In any event, he had learned the hard way that when he couldn't cheat to tip the scales in his favor, his true strength lay in attrition. Ferocity of the first charge had occasionally worked in his favor, but that was when he had been equipped with his lightsaber and tail dagger, not fighting hand-to-hand, or in his case tooth to claw. Take the defensive, that's how it had to be. He certainly didn't expect the Death Lord to become tuckered out after exchanging a few blows, but in fending him off there was a very real possibility that an opening could be found. That was the theory at least. He'd see how it played out.
He breathed in through his slitted nostrils, and out through his razor tooth filled maw, causing his forked tongue to flicker back and forth. His right leg shifted back, gouging the stone patio beneath him as his talon tipped foot secured a hold on the ground. He turned his left side towards Mortale, and gave his knees a slight bend, offering his opponent a smaller target. Dragus' left arm lifted, bending at a ninety degree angle so that his clawed hand was pointed towards the sky. His fingers pressed firmly together with his thumb tucked in, curving slightly at the tips to form a cup with his palm. His right arm dropped and cocked back at the elbow, resting at his side with his hand held in an upside down fist. Meanwhile the ruthless reptilian's tail swished back and forth behind him, scraping the pavement and kicking up dust.
From this position the barabel could block high, low, or middle, then follow up with a hard right. If he was feeling lucky he might even be able to pull his opponent in, clamp his teeth down on his neck, and tear out his throat. Although the prospect of wrestling with Death was less than thrilling, and undoubtedly his blood was foul. The crimson juices of the wicked were never quite as palette pleasing as that of the innocent. Too bitter.
With his body prepared, Famine focused the rest of his attention on what couldn't be seen with the naked eye. Mental barriers rose, and he prepared to manipulate the currents of the malevolent fey for the purpose of deflections. The air seemed to chill as he drank deeply from the well of infinite power that was the Darkside of the Force, temporarily sating his endless hunger while setting his blood a boil in his veins. He licked his lips, wiping away the salivation that was beginning to spill from his mouth and drool down the chin of his snout.
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Mortale
Adventists of the Eye
"I am a thief and a stealer of souls, I have done grave things in my quest to possess the galaxy."
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Affiliation: Order of the Eye
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Post by Mortale on May 2, 2013 14:29:51 GMT -8
There had been many times where Mortale would have been content to simply wait and force his opponent to make the first move. In fact, he had infuriated many Jedi and Sith alike with his Niman-like attitude toward dueling or fighting in general. The Jen'Derriphan did not waste effort or motion, and he preferred to weigh his opponent before engaging. Often, if the opponent engaged first it would be a quick way to rundown on the strengths or weaknesses of his foe. Equally revealing, was his opponent's decision to ready himself defensively. Mortale could feel the invisible mental barriers go up, and the combat veteran within him easily analyzed his opponent's stance. The Lord of Death had fought with many species before; Humanoids, giants, Taung, Shistavanens... he'd even tangled with a Herglic or two. All provided their own set of unique obstacles to complete victory. The Giants had superior reach and muscle mass, Taung possessed unparalleled stamina and combat prowess, Shistavanens had the natural weapons of teeth and claws and the bound sinews like wire cabling, and Herglics...well they were bipedal whales -- what else is there to say?
With each obstacle the Death Lord was able to adapt and achieve victory, with the Barabel form of Dragus it would be no different. Mortale knew he would have to stay clear of the gaping maw of the Famine Lord, as well to be careful as to the claws of his opponent. But for each, he had a solution.
He drew closer to his opponent, staying well beyond reach of any sudden lunges or tail swipes. He began to circle Dragus, walking to the right he arced slowly around looking for an opening in his opponent's defense. Never once breaking eye contact with those lackluster red eyes of his, a morbid Cheshire grin spread wide across his face, breaking the realm of physical possibilities for a human.
Two paces, three paces, four... Mortale silently counted each step as he nearly completed 180 degrees of circumference around the saurian Sith. He was all the while drawing heavily on the power of Bogan, drinking from the eddies and currents as they washed over the planet.
Six, seven, eight -- he was nearing 320 degrees, then he switched back and began working the other direction. Always with the eyes, always smiling.
Within his mind, the Great Sith Necromancer completed calculations and finished analysis of Dragus. A plan was formulated and decided upon, and he would take action.
Releasing his pent-up stores of Bogan, Mortale washed his body with the rage of the dark side and stepped in with his left foot, planting it he rotated his hips right to left and brought his right boot around for a snap-kick aimed at the thick neck of his foe. Followed by an Ataru-like corkscrew spin aimed to bring his left heel just above his right foot and into his opponent's temple.
At this point, he had committed to the attack and there would be little he could do to alter it. Hew knew this, and he knew Dragus knew this...the real test would be to see what the Famine Lord was able to do in response.
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