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Post by Whill Shaman Erevis on Apr 9, 2013 11:47:35 GMT -8
Rwookrrorro was the capital city of the planet Kashyyyk. Founded thousands of years before the Galactic Civil War, this metropolitan center of the Wookiee homeworld was a kilometer-wide platform nested high atop a tangle of huge wroshyr trees.
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Post by Jaccien Ordo on May 5, 2013 18:02:17 GMT -8
Jaccien makes his way into Rookrrorro, it had been awhile since he had made his way to the town. He made his way saying hello to the wookiees he would pass. They no longer found him a oddity... The wookiees had grown accustomed to the Warrior walking around in his shiny armor, and would frequently make their way out to his small settlement to trade goods and drink Tihaar so that the city Elders would not find out.
This time around Jaccien had been experimenting with a new type of alcohol and was going to try to trade it for some supplies and goods. It was difficult to trade alcohol with Wookiees because they are not supposed to drink it. But behind closed doors they do partake.
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Deleted
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Post by Deleted on Sept 19, 2015 14:17:45 GMT -8
Totally oblivious to the developing situation so far above her, Momo finally landed the Boomer on the outskirts of the bustling city of Rwookrrorro. The decision had actually been her wookiee friend’s, which she only comprehended after much wailing and gesticulating, to which she immediately conceded on the grounds of not caring enough to offer any protest. After all, once she’d fed herself and her wookiee friend, she (and the wookiee) intended to leave the city altogether to find the nearest forest, so that she could win her bloody wager and be done. Although, the wager was more of a chore now, rather than a marvelous display of her inherent skill. And it was all thanks to that nameless captain from earlier, who she was convinced would have shot her out of the sky for no bloody reason... Save for... She didn't even know what.
But she was pulled from her thoughts by the curious wailing of her giant furry friend, whom she blinked at before declaring, "I think I'll call ya Bumchu from now on, yeah?"The wookie stared at her."I mean. I can’t understand a lick o’ what yer sayin’, so I can't ask her name... and I need somethin’ ta call ya by…”The newly named Bumchu wailed at her softly and nodded in approval. Momo also would have sworn that she saw the wookiee smile at her as well, in an amused-but-resigned way--as if the wookiee already considered her a close friend. The thought made her tail wave in absent-minded delight as she gestured for Bumchu to follow her off of the ship.
Once outside, the sight that greeted the unlikely pair was one of barely controlled chaos. Denizens of the city rushed this way and that in apparent distress. Likely, Momo thought it had something to do with the sizable army that hovered so ominously in orbit. In fact, it was most assuredly the army in orbit. The thought of them just floating up there made her wonder, for the first time really, whether or not her determined plan to win this wager was the smartest decision, given the current circumstances. But Bumchu pushed her forwards, and she gave up caring.
After all, she specialized in spur-of-the-moment thinking; and, as her sky-blue eyes took in the overwhelming size of the forests that surrounded the city, she found her fingers and toes veritably itching to explore each and every tree. So, she grinned and started hopping towards the nearest cafe.
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Darth Belial
Member
"The difference between gods and daemons largely depends upon where one is standing at the time."
Posts: 220
Affiliation: The One Sith
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Post by Darth Belial on Sept 24, 2015 20:25:56 GMT -8
Unbeknownst to the common soldiery of the False God, the hour of their doom was fast approaching. Their High Command had been fighting a losing battle with the rebellious natives of Kashyyyk, and had finally found the excuse they were looking for to withdraw their troops from the outlying villages to shore up the defenses of the major population hubs, where their tyrannical overlords still held sway over a majority of the subjugated populace. With the arrival of the Hapan armada, and the recent inclusion of their Jedi allies, the army had time to set up a plethora of defensive measures about the city of Rwookrrorro, and the Royal City itself.
Barricades and barriers were strewn throughout the suspended streets, creating man-made kill boxes that threatened to be just as deadly as the rapid descent into the shadowlands below. With the city being suspended in the air through a complex combination of technology and good old fashioned methods, there would be little room to maneuver heavy vehicles - or anything else that was not able to compensate for the lack of solid ground underneath their feet. Armour plating, stolen from several confiscated vessels, had been flash welded to several buildings in order to create an improvised bunker that would command an impressive view over a variety of avenues within their target area. The spaceport itself had been reinforced with what was left over though sadly was lacking the external weapons as Command had directed those to become additional emplacements about their Central Headquarters. It wasn’t pretty, but they had to make do with what they got. The Sith were more concerned with arming themselves with the best tech that money could buy, and many within the armed forces believed that was but one of the lengthy list of reasons that the populace was slowly rebelling against their dark masters.
In the moment of calm before the storm, an entire platoon of troopers had made themselves at home within one of the hangar bays at the Spaceport. They had been stationed with the orders to hold this location until reinforcements had arrived. Easy enough, provided that their comrades weren’t being shipped in from the furthest village away from the Planetary Capital, which as the reports had stated, was the case. So, with less than three dozen men, they were to hold the most important location in the city against the inevitable enemy vanguard and somehow manage to keep them at bay until the cavalry had arrived. Lieutenant Avery Naughton let out a hearty and disbelieving sigh. It was true that his men had cut their teeth upon the now rotting corpses of Wookiee rebels, but what they pitted up against was way out of their league. A collection of Jedi Knights and Warrior Women. Trained in the arts of death, whilst these common dregs had literally spent their lives shooting at walking carpets. What good were they? Each would break and have their bowels relieve themselves, before being mercilessly gunned down and left to rot.“Sir!” A voice called out, putting the speaker somewhere close by. Avery looked up from his improvised desk, only to find one of these disgraceful soldier’s standing afore the entrance to his improvised office with his arm raised in a sloppy salute. With a sour expression painting his face, the Lieutenant responded; “Yes?” Without hesitation, the man’s worried manner became apparent. Something had gone wrong. Even as the man had said the words, the colour drained from Avery’s face. No; No; No. It was too soon. His reinforcements wouldn’t be here for another hour! Now he would have to hold his ground against the enemy, rather than let the others fight for him. No, that cannot be. He must be wrong. “You sure that your information is correct?” The soldier nodded, promptly and without doubt plaguing his eyes. “Damn them all.” The Lieutenant paused for a moment to gather himself. “Fine. I want you to gather the men, have them meet within the Hangar Bay projected to be where the enemy will make planetfall. I want everything we have to face this foe, perhaps then we might have a chance.” As the soldier ran off to carry out his will, he said a silent prayer to his False God in hopes of garnering his favour. Perhaps, if he wished hard enough, Windu himself would descend from the heavens and deliver his people Heh. Who was he kidding, that man couldn’t give a damn if you twisted his testicles onto the top of a Wroshyr tree and kicked him off the edge. Letting out yet another heavy sigh, Avery gathered his arms and armour, only to set off to the Hangar bay thereafter. Once within that colossal chamber, he found himself surrounded by the dregs he commanded, and wished that he had stayed with Raith when the Empire fell - at least then he wouldn’t be leading a band of pretentious children. Several offhanded comments were flung in every direction as he approached the centre of their loose gathering, the one that stood out most came from the loudest amongst his subordinates It was something about his eventful night, and how he plundered a hidden valley in search of the mysterious Necktor. That would’ve made him laugh, were his thoughts not focused on simply surviving the next hour.“Alright men, listen up,” He shouted over their muffled conversations, getting a potent mixture of irritation and frustration as their attentions fell upon him. “I won’t fiddle around with fancy speeches, or anything inspiring to get you guys hyped for the coming battle, as I believe your hearts should already be aflame with the desire to survive. Do your duty, and defend this hangar - and I swear by the all mighty Windu, that if any of you break the line, I will shoot you myself.” His words were heavily coated in anger and venom as he spoke, implanting the fear of cowardice within their churning hearts. They knew their commander to be as serious as they come, so when he said that he was going to bore a hole through your eyes with his sidearm, that’s exactly what he would do. No one here wished to die like that. It would sully their honour, and mark them as a craven when they entered the afterlife. Thus, with his non-speech given, Avery ordered his men to their positions and to brace for whatever would come. Not long after they had done so, a deafening explosion resounded within the cavernous hangar bay. The soldier had ducked behind his makeshift barricade, covering himself from the red-hot shrapnel knifing into the flight deck. A blood-curdling scream followed after the echo of the blast subsided, someone had been caught out in the open. Stupid kid. There were more shouts, as the men tried to determine what had just happened, but as the smoke choked the breach - none could see what awaited them beyond the ashen mist.~ * ~ * ~ Crashing into the rupture created by the escorting Miy’til Starfighters, the Nu- class Assault Shuttle soared into the installation with all the grace of a drunkard. It’s wings were shorn from the hull as it blew through the hastily erected plating and the blast doors thereafter, leaving the hulking chassis to hit the flight deck with such force that it came to a shuddering stop mere inches away from the emplaced fortifications. Fires scorched the alabaster hull, tearing at the white enamel with a voracious hunger as it attempted to devour those within. The soldiers that were previously sheltering behind their defenses had rose with their rifles shouldered - expecting those within this shuttle to emerge and begin the assault. Yet, for a painstaking stretch of time, nothing happened. The Assault Shuttle just sat there, impassively looking at the soldiers arrayed around her whilst her corpse was being licked clean by the purifying flame. One man, who had earlier proven himself to be the loudest of the bunch, demanded to know if; “That was all you got?!” His words were met by the crackling silence that blanketed the hangar bay. Now this was strange. One would think that an enemy, as well trained as the Hapans and Jedi were supposed to be, would’ve taken the most conventional route. Blowing the hangar doors was a start, but crashing your shuttle through it, and hoping that it came out the other end intact? That was just madness.
Who, but the most insane, would try something so ludicrous?
Just then, a brilliant beam of amethyst speared through the assault ramp. It’s blazing edge seared through the white painted steel, cutting a large circular piece from the whole of the shuttle. Clattering to the deck, the glowing rim danced about as the echo shattered the silence and caused the soldier’s without the tense. This is what they had been waiting for. In unison, their fingers depressed upon their rifles triggers, filling the gaping maw with a storm of crimson-hued bolts. The violet blade, in response to the aggression, casually twirled about and wildly deflected the shots about the hangar. Many tore into the flight deck, whilst others narrowly missed the soldier’s who still fired. Several more bolts had been loosed, only to be flung back into the metallic expanse behind them, before the order to cease was given. There was no point in trying to fill that opening with shot, Avery thought, the Jedi was too well entrenched and his men were ill-disciplined. A fact that had surprisingly enough saved their lives as they unleashed the opening salvo. had they been more accurate, the blade would have redirected the energy and killed those that had opened fire.“You, are vermin. All of you.” Someone within the shuttle had said, the voice was clearly male and sounded tinny - as if corrupted by mechanical means - yet was strangely sonorous enough to boom from within that enclosed space. Avery felt a shiver of fear crawl down his spine. No Jedi would ever outright state something so demeaning. Could this be another Sith, one who had sought to end the reign of their ‘glorified’ master? No. His blade wasn’t the passionate red worn by the members of the order. It was a bright, and vibrant purple, one often attributed to one who walked the thin line between both ideological sides of the force. A Gray Jedi then, he figured. It didn’t matter in the end, for a towering God of ashen silver and soot-stained emerald cloth, the very manifestation of War incarnate, had come forth unbidden from the downed shuttle. His shimmering violet blade was held before him, it’s point tipped towards the Lieutenant.
Avery could feel that shiver permeate throughout the entirety of his body, causing the man to tremble uncontrollably as the War-God’s gaze fell upon him. Smouldering lenses of crimson glared right into his very soul, and within the span of a heartbeat, Avery had lost all sense of his surroundings. Fear had gripped his heart tight, and for once in his lifetime, he was unsure of what to do. His fingers wouldn’t move, arresting his one chance to catch this towering deity by surprise with a vicious storm of shot. The soldier’s feet had refused to move as his mind commanded them too, for his joints were locked tightly into place. He would die here, just as his men would. This was not how he wanted to die, yet his own body betrayed him. Why of all times would it be now that his training had failed him? Avery would never know the answer to that question, as a metallic blur surged forth - followed by a blistering pain in his chest. The soldier blinked and looked down, only to see that he was speared through the heart with a coruscating beam of amethyst light. A dry cough burst forth from his lips, as the man’s body began to slowly wither away and die. He tried to voice his confusion, to ask the man why he had to die, but all that came out were the wordless cries for mercy.
Deactivating his blade, and casually tossing the corpse of the soldier aside, Belial glared at the men still standing before him. He didn’t hate these men, for they were simply following orders. He didn’t overly like them either, as just moments ago they sought to hurt his comrades, and the Dark Lord couldn’t let such a slight go. “Know this before you die.” Belial had growled, before reigniting his blade with a *Snap-Hiss* “I am your Destroyer and the Eater of this World. Do not beg for mercy. Accept your death with honour, and willingly deny yourself the glory of a foolish death. Only then, will you find peace in the world after this. Defy me, and I will flense the very soul from your body, and fling it into the aether to be devoured by those that exist beyond.” Surprisingly, none sought to act out against the man that would end their lives. They were too stricken by fear to act. Sniveling cowards. One was brazen enough to draw his sidearm after he had discarded his rifle. Belial’s eyes narrowed, only to watch with interest as the nozzle pointed towards the man’s temple, followed swiftly by a brilliant flash of ruby light. Several others had taken the same route, whilst the other remained standing. The atmosphere, already laden with tension, was suddenly broken; as two Warrior Women scrambled forth from the destroyed shuttle and hosed the deck with the thunderous cannonade spat forth from their rotary blasters. An entire platoon of soldiers was slain within a few heartbeats, leaving Belial with an amused expression upon his shrouded, and damaged face. To think, he had actually considered breaking his covenant with the armour in order to slay them all with his immense power. What a waste that would’ve been. Turning his expressionless gaze upon the women departing the ruined assault shuttle, Belial wordlessly directed the squads to their objectives. From there, they would secure the spaceport, plant the charges on the fortified blast doors, and deny the enemy their only route into occupied space. No one would escape the coming fire unless they wished to brave the perils of the planet below - and the titan doubted that they would take that chance. Once he was alone within the crackling silence of the hangar bay, the Sith began to laugh maniacally, for the purge had finally begun...
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Darth Belial
Member
"The difference between gods and daemons largely depends upon where one is standing at the time."
Posts: 220
Affiliation: The One Sith
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Post by Darth Belial on Sept 27, 2015 15:57:49 GMT -8
In all the time, he had spent among the Hapan’s, not once was the Dark Lord free to express his true self. He had to be bound within the iron cage of his forged armour, sealed away from the galaxy to ensure they never saw the truth that lies beneath. The revelation would come at a later date when the purge had been completed and the Galaxy was tidied up. Only then could he be free to walk among them in his true form, only then could they embrace his divinity.Though he knew that this was to be the proper path, it still grated his nerves raw. A being such as he could only be trapped within this crude matter for so long before craving a release. Thus, as he had been left alone to revel in the most grandest of entrances ever made, the sensation of heartfelt laughter eagerly flowed through his body and tingled the senses. His masque was cast back towards the ceiling, and the plates bonded to his lower jaw stretched in mechanical mockery of mortal tittering. After what seemed like ages, Belial arrested his jovial expression in favour of returning to the task at hand. When the last Sith was slain and the Jedi claimed their petty victory, perhaps then he could laugh some more. Gathering his thoughts, the Sith walked among the carpet of corpses, eying each of them with the smallest measure of pity. These men would have been useful, provided they not preemptively hosed the interior of his shuttlecraft, though he figured - if he had ever gotten the chance to return to this world bereft of his lair’s cloak, their lifeless husks might prove useful. It was something that had peaked his interest during his incarceration aboard that Nova Cruiser so long ago, and their bodies would prove to be the most serviceable incubators.
One day soon, he mused, before taking his leave of the crenelated chamber.
With the cloying stench of death no longer clinging to his robes, the Lord Belial moved towards the massively reinforced doors impeding his access into the city proper. It was there that he had halted his relentless advance, taking stock of the materials used to create this ancient door, and the mechanisms in place for it to operate. When he was done and after but a moment had passed, the Dark Lord reached out into the oily obsidian veil that bound everything together. There, he could see the flickering embers of emotion bouncing between those that stood behind and beside him. The anticipation fluttering within their hearts had stained their auras a deep and bloody Orange and threatened to create more of his siblings with their eagerness. The Sith did nothing to quell the fires of emotion within the forges of their souls, for the more these people felt - the stronger his powers had become. In fact, instead of routing their barely constrained hearts with a dismissive order, the Dark Lord decided to add an entertaining flourish to the movements to come. They would yet spark more passionate colours to discolour the force, giving life to beings upon the other side for the expenditure of emotions upon the other.
His lips curled into a smile, as the actor had taken centre stage. With both arms swept wide, Belial’s fingers pierced the veil of reality and slowly forced themselves into the sliver of immaterial space between the doors. He could feel the metal warping around his ethereal grip, and the very factory forged metals bending upon the atomic level. What was once durable and concrete within the laws of reality, the God made flesh had violated the rules of the physical universe in which to pervert the Force to his ends. The heavy metallic doors folded outwards under the barrage of the Dark Lord’s will, tearing themselves from their embedded iron tracks and throwing open the gate. No longer were the Hapan’s bound to the Spaceport, and shortly the true invasion would begin.
“Allow me.”
His words were said with the utmost care, ensuring that traces of the earlier outburst were wiped from his voice. Without turning his head to see if the warrior women had complied, the Sith Lord descended the ironbark steps and entered the plaza surrounding the Spaceport. There, he had found himself face to face with an entire battalion of those ensnared by Windu’s lies. Men and women that had found themselves in the service of one they believed was their better, in the hopes that he would choose the right path and utilise his strength for the betterment of their world. Sadly, much to these Wookiee’s regret, their faith had been misplaced and the False God they prayed to was nothing more than a Man with an inferiority complex. It was really tragic if you thought about it, but that was when Belial had asked why? Why would someone bother trying to make sense of one man’s madness? There would be no point in it, especially if that man was the one who he came here to kill. The craven wretches entire legacy would be destroyed before his very eyes, and the despair that would grip his heart would give birth to an untold measure of deviant beings within the aether. It was what many mortals would consider and win-win scenario, at least for all parties save that of the Tyrant of Kashyyyk.
Belial’s arms were swept wide once again, and a triumphant grin curled upon his hidden lips. He had drawn out much of the enemy’s forces within the planetary capital, and all he had done was crash land. It seemed that the commanders residing within the city feared for their lives and sought to drive back the invaders with an insurmountable wall of metal and flesh. How, unimaginative, thought the Dark Lord as his gaze scoured those arrayed before him. He saw squads of soldiers, an almost even mixture between the planet’s populace and human immigrants, standing in ragged formations with their rifles shouldered. Beside them, were the mechanized units comprising of various classifications of Hovertanks and Armoured Personnel Carriers. Behind the loose gaggle of soldiers and their metal boxes, were the mobile artillery units, slowly setting up in preparation to fire. A terrifying sight to behold, if he was but a lesser man. Instead, the Sith’s grin curled into an almost serpentine smile of satisfaction. Finally, a challenge worthy of his station.
“You have wrongfully invaded the sovereign state of Kashyyyk. Lay down your arms and surrender to our forces. Those under your command will be treated fairly, and you shall be put on trial for your crimes.”
Oh. The delicious irony. Yet another world that had sought to try him for his crimes of simply making an entrance. Was this how the entire Galaxy was to be, labelling him as a criminal for the sin of never following protocol? Well, he mused, I guess it is a good thing such things will not last.
“I’m afraid that won’t be happening, kind sir,” Belial had shouted back, “For you see, I have your world surrounded. Jedi from all corners of the Galaxy have come at another's beckon call and have laid their vengeful gaze upon your masters. Throw down your arms, and submit yourselves to my forces, and I can assure you that freedom shall be yours.”
From this distance, the Dark Lord could see an ever so subtle shift in the speaker’s aura. A deepening of the hue that had signified his jovial nature coming to the fore. How wonderful, the tin man jests. He is outnumbered, outgunned, and clearly outmatched. What can one man do, that an army couldn’t? Such delicious thoughts, Belial had concluded as his the oily veil was torn back from his etheric sight. So, they, believe me, to be a fool. Then so be it, as their corpses would make fine food for the worms below.
“Very well then,” He bellowed, “I invoke the time honoured challenge of command. Your blade, against mine in a duel for the fate of this city.”
A loud, audible scoff is heard through a vocabulator set to it’s maximum settings.
“Are you drunk? You cannot simply waltz into my city and demand that I duel you for command of it! You are alone, but one man against over three hundred. Yes, you may have powers and armour to supplement them, but that means little when an entire battalion of my best troops has you in their sights.You, sir, are a fool and I’ll piss on your ashes.”
Belial couldn’t help himself, and without his impressive will shackling his manic laughter in place, the soul deep hysterics blurted into reality.
“That implies you’ll have the right equipment in which to relieve yourself upon my mortal frame. So Commander, do not waste my time with these trifling cantrips of conversation. You know as well as I do, that you are beaten. The outlying villages have fallen, and your supply of reinforcements have been cut off. Face me with what dignity you have left, and let your soldier’s return to their families. We’re here to end this iron-fisted reign, and will not make the attempt to resort to violence at every turn. You stand before the face of your liberation, what say you?!”
His aura had changed several hues, adopting a bright and almost vibrant colour of crimson. Clearly, he was angered by Belial’s words. To say that was the response that the Dark Lord had wanted would’ve been an understatement. He fully expected the portly little man to retaliate against the venom in his words, and eagerly awaited his arrival with all the patience of an ecstatic lover. The Sith watched as his Kashyyyk born counterpart had been borne aloft by a procured speeder bike, and laughed as the man had ridden the steed only a short distance before discarding it like a child would an old toy. As the man approached, his hands went to the sash lashed around his waist and withdrew two saber-hilts from their resting places. With a flick of his wrists and a depression of his thumbs, the blades activated with the telltale sound of a *Snapping-Hiss* sending two barely contained pillars of blood red plasma into the air. Impressive, Belial thought as he withdrew and activated his own saber. One man, with a single blade, against One man armed with two. This would be no contest if they relied upon the numerical factors, as the short and stubby man would’ve garnered several advantages alone by having the second blade in hand. However, in duels such as these, numbers no longer mattered, leaving only one’s prowess to determine how this fight would end.
“You still have the chance to surrender, Sith. I will give you the luxury that was not given to the people of this world.Just say the word, and I will show you the mercy of the Jedi.”
The counterpart Sith shook his head, the vibrant humming hues of his blade now matching the vital aura staining his presence within the force. He would not bend, not when he had come so far away from the safety of the ranks. An admirable trait, but it was a shame that the Dark Lord had already made up his mind. The man was a weakling, and his soul would be the perfect morsel for those beyond the veil to feast upon. Oh, how they would love to flense the fibres of his being a part time and time again, only to immolate the remains thereafter.
“I won’t kneel to the likes of you.”
Such fire! Such vim! If only the man had shown these traits earlier, what a different situation they would be in now. In truth, Belial didn’t care for what could’ve been in regards to this circumstance. This man would die like all the rest that opposed him.
“Very well then. Your lo-”
Before he had a chance to finish his words, Belial was assailed by the short and stubby man. Both his blades had swung upwards during his reckless charge, only to spear towards his torso as they arced downwards. Kicking back, the Dark Lord felt his own smouldering fire build within his breast. Anger was the purest of all emotions, and it slowly began to pump through his veins. It brought about a twisted sense of clarity at the eye of the storm, where everything seen through the mortal lens was drowned in crimson light, and the veil of the force itself was discoloured with vibrant potential. The things he could do whilst at the heart of this emotional tempest. With both feet firmly biting into the ironbark decking, Belial brought his blade down to arrest the rapid ascent of his foe’s weapons. He wielded the saber with a single fist, leaving the other to shotgun into his Counterpart’s pudgy nose. Even though his clenched hand had been protected by a layer of alchemically altered metal, the impact still rang down the length of his arm. A cry of agony emanated out of the man’s ruined face, as he staggered back trying to get out of his foe’s reach. The flesh atop his nose was broken, but it was the cartilage underneath that had been shattered beyond repair. The tensile bone had fragmented under the strength of the blow, leaving nothing more than a sloppy mound of deflated flesh attached to his face.
The Sith’s crimson lightsabers deactivated as his thumbs went to probe the damage that had been inflicted. A foolish mistake in the midst of a duel, and recognizing this - Belial strode forward and brought his saber across his chest. The amethyst edge tore through the air, severing the short and stubby man’s head from his shoulders with a single stroke. Within a heartbeat, the coup de grâce had been given, and the city of Rwookrrorro had fallen to the might of a single man. Though there were sure to be cells of resistance throughout the city, as it was the largest population centre upon the planet, they would be disorganized without the most powerful of their number to bind them into a cohesive fighting unit. That meant the liberation of this city would take less time than he had projected, saving even more lives in the process as none - save that arrogant platoon within the hangar bay - had been slain in acts of retaliatory violence. Kicking the headless corpse of the Sith aside, Belial moved towards the battalion tensing up upon the horizon. Their fear had become palpable in the air choking the city, and the darkest parts of the Sith Lord’s soul had devoured the sensation without remorse. Having walked through the silence of the suspended city streets, the metal bound warrior scholar found himself standing before the terrified assemblage of soldiers and armoured fighting vehicles. His saber still thrummed with the lingering edges of violence, wordlessly craving that these gathered men and women were foolish enough to seek revenge for their fallen commander. Instead, one by one, they threw down their arms. Some, out of spite or a measure of twisted respect, whilst others had simply followed along with the sentient herd instinct ingrained within their genetic coding.
No matter the reason, his Hapan’s now had an entire battalion of enemy soldiers as their prisoners, and he wagered that they would be slightly disappointed with the news. They craved action, and he deprived them of it for the sake of saving face. Damn the plan and all of those yet to be wrought. Nevertheless, he had his staging area, and that meant he could order the Commodore to begin her landings in preparation of the big event. And what an event it would be. The Kashyyyk Sith Order, after three long decades, had finally come to meet its twilight hours. An achievement that he doubted would’ve been able to be accomplished without the generous support of the Hapan’s, nor their Jedi allies.
“What a day,” He said, with his eyes coming to rest upon a small corner shop café, “What a lovely day.”
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The Shepherd
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Affiliation: Yavin IV Praxeum
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Post by The Shepherd on Sept 28, 2015 17:21:58 GMT -8
There were very few places on the arboreal world of Kashyyyk where one could reasonably land a ship the size of a Corellian corvette. Fortunately, with the recent taking of the city by Jedi coalition forces, the port of Rwookrrorro was one such place. It was a tight fit, to be sure - more than a few dozen branches had been snapped upon their approach - but it was tactically sound. And more to the point, it brought more guns to the fight. It brought a sizable air superiority advantage. And most of all, it brought the least scrupled Jedi of the gathered forces into the fray.
Rutil Iorek stepped onto the still-gentle ground of the spaceport, almost awed by how efficiently the operation had taken place. Troops moved this way and that, herding captured loyalists and their dark masters. As he walked, it was like a flame that burned through a match, his very presence seeming to repel the Sith and their furry friends. They were demoralized. Weakened. They had been brought to heel, their flights of fancy snuffed out by the torrential downpour that was the will of the Force coming to call at last. Inwardly, it made the Zabrak smile from under the hood of his burgundy cloak. He had always known the Sith to be spineless and afraid. But had he known - if he had been able to relay to the council just how this felt - he would have been able to set this operation in motion years ago.
Fanning out behind him, the multiple soldiers he had brought along moved in, getting in where they fit in. The rank-and-file soldiery assisted their comrades in maneuvering their captives while the commandos - twenty-five in total, organized into five squads - moved towards the perimeters of the city, taking up positions to alert those within of any retaliatory efforts by the Sith foot soldiers.
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Deleted
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Post by Deleted on Sept 29, 2015 16:25:31 GMT -8
... His saber still thrummed with the lingering edges of violence, wordlessly craving that these gathered men and women were foolish enough to seek revenge for their fallen commander. Instead, one by one, they threw down their arms. Some, out of spite or a measure of twisted respect, whilst others had simply followed along with the sentient herd instinct ingrained within their genetic coding.
No matter the reason, his Hapan’s now had an entire battalion of enemy soldiers as their prisoners, and he wagered that they would be slightly disappointed with the news. They craved action, and he deprived them of it for the sake of saving face. Damn the plan and all of those yet to be wrought. Nevertheless, he had his staging area, and that meant he could order the Commodore to begin her landings in preparation of the big event. And what an event it would be. The Kashyyyk Sith Order, after three long decades, had finally come to meet its twilight hours. An achievement that he doubted would’ve been able to be accomplished without the generous support of the Hapan’s, nor their Jedi allies.“What a day,” He said, with his eyes coming to rest upon a small corner shop café, “What a lovely day.” While a clash of titans resolved itself just outside of that same corner café, an entirely different clash was taking place therein...
The place was entirely empty--save for two oblivious hirsute individuals, and the table they were currently circumnavigating. Over-laden and impatient, said table groaned in weary protest of its heavy load: bowls of mixed fruit gleamed coyly around large helpings of barely-cooked meat. Mounds of cooked rice obscured perfectly chilled beverages--alcoholic and non-alcoholic alike--and small bowls of various nuts filled up what little space there was left. It was a heady abundance of food that would have depleted both parties’ savings entirely, save for the fact that no one was left present to collect the bill.
It was an unexpected perk that both rivals would have enjoyed immensely, were they not at that very moment more occupied with their covetous contest. The larger of the two, a wookiee, wailed territorially at his/her/its counterpart, the shorter lurmen, who only chittered back as she flicked her tail in defiance of the wookiee’s warning. Under normal circumstances, such differing creatures would not be found in open conflict. Wookiees were too big and too mean; and lurmen were too small and too cagey. But in the case of these two semi-friends, the food that sat so enticingly between them was the first either of them would have since their drunken revels the day before, and both of them were equally keen to ensure that they got the bigger share.
So, as she continued to stalk on all fours around her prize, Momo watched her adversary intently, sky-blue eyes narrowed in close scrutiny of the wookiee’s every infinitesimal movement. And Bumchu watched her just as closely, fangs bared, as his/her/its much longer legs carried him/her/it around the table in much bigger strides.
One moment trailed into another…
Then--finally--in a blur of orange fur and brown leather, she pounced on the table. Bumchu reacted by lunging, but Momo was already gone with one of the bowls of fruit. The wookiee roared and was left grasping at thin air, while she scampered over to climb onto the vacant bar. Once settled, she curled protectively around her stolen prize, just in case Bumchu got any bright ideas, and hurriedly stuffed a piece of fruit into her mouth, laughing triumphantly as she chewed. “Haha! Ace!” she crowed, “I’m too bloody fast for ya, mate!” Her only answer was another wail as the wookiee tore into a juicy-looking haunch of some sort of meat, making her cringe a little as she popped another piece of fruit down her gullet.
Unseen by the approaching Dark Lord, a rogue sith slipped into the café through a conveniently unlocked back entrance. Using every ounce of agility he possessed, the human male bent and contorted himself into every shadow of the kitchen he snuck through. He was angry enough at his Commander’s utter defeat to see red, but he had to make doubly sure that he stayed unnoticed, lest someone hand him over to the ‘conquering hero’ outside, before he was ready…
… all he had to do was come up with a way to save his brothers and sisters in arms in the next minute or so, and--preferably--do so without dying in the process.
Child’s play.
But then, the unmistakable wail of a wookiee in distress made him freeze and bite his own lip to keep from cursing aloud.
Thinking fast, he rolled into a somersault that landed him crouched up against the door that would lead into the café proper. Slowly… oh, so slowly… he slid backwards up the door by inches… just... high enough to see what was going on… whereupon his eyes widened in a mixture of surprise and utter confusion.
The wookiee he heard was standing in the center of the café in all of its glory, just adjacent to a table that was so full of assorted foodstuffs that he was amazed at the fact that the table was still standing. The wookiee held aloft a bitten-into piece of barely-cooked meat, and was continuing to roar in what he could only assume was anger--but then, all wookiee calls sounded the same, and he’d become more interested in the victim of said cacophony anyway. For all intents and purposes, that victim appeared to be an orange furball of some variety, who was perched atop the bar and laughing--laughing!--at the wookiee.
It was like he’d stumbled into some discordant, outlandish fairy-tale.
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Aerandir Calmcacil
The Jedi Order
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Post by Aerandir Calmcacil on Oct 3, 2015 18:35:51 GMT -8
"Get me eyes on the situation— er, ears I guess," *Aerandir requested to his pilot; there wasn't much of a view from the troop bay, so he had to rely on sense and chatter through his earpiece to keep tabs on the situation. Michelle didn't seem entirely comfortable with this, but she had enough self-control to keep from constantly pestering him to relay what information he was hearing. Apparently Varro's men—er, women—had already dispatched one group of loyalists, with Varro himself moving on to another group. Master Iorek and Marris' men had also entered the city, and from what Aerandir could pick up on through chatter, it seemed things were already progressing well for the invasion team, and better yet, they were keeping casualties to a minimum.
He nodded to himself, then raised his commlink to his lips, addressing the pilot again.* "Get me Titus' location." *He waited a few moments as the pilot gathered the necessary information as Aerandir mentally assessed the situation.*
"Moving upon the outer fortress defenses," *came the reply at last.
Aerandir pursed his lips and assessed the numbers brought with him once more, then spoke to his entire unit.* "Alright, here's what we're doing: Troops of the Inertia, you're hopping out here to help secure the city, and I'll defer you to Captain Marris and Jedi Iorek. We'll also dispatch two LAATs for air support. The rest of us, we're joining up with Master Titus to help secure our approach to the fortress." *After acknowledgments were given, from both over the comm line and even from the troops in the ship with him, he opened a new line to the forces currently within Rwookrorro.* "Forty troops and two LAATs will join the fray; for the time being, Master Iorek, consider these under your control as well. The rest of us will aid the efforts near the fortress. Force be with you."
*And so the Inertia, covered by a handful of X-wings, drifted toward the suspended city, hovering above a platform large enough so that both hydraulic troop bay doors could be opened. As the air rushed in through the opening, Aerandir got a good look at the state of the city, not quite in shambles but neither was it in very good shape; various buildings seemed to have been converted into makeshift bunkers and battlements, there was damage everywhere...
He resisted a comment as the men disembarked. Both CR25s had spared one gunship each, and these rocketed overhead. Once this was done, all ships sealed up their doors once more, and the transports, along with the fighter escorts, departed towards the Chistori Jedi's location...*
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The Shepherd
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Post by The Shepherd on Oct 3, 2015 20:51:06 GMT -8
"And with you."
Master Iorek wasn't entirely sure that Calmcacil had heard him return the greeting. But such things rarely mattered to the Jedi; the sentiment was a common one, and often reciprocated without words in any case. The Zabrak surveyed the city, now teeming with coalition forces, taking note of those now operating under his command. Forty soldiers. Two airships. Newfound mobility and more firepower. It would be a great asset in the times ahead. But for now, there was still the matter of the captives; Sith and Wookiee alike, each taking active roles in the subjugation of their people, and neither group could be allowed to remain planetside any longer than necessary.
Captain Marris, Rutil said over the comlink, bring the ship back around for prisoner transport. Thirty or so.
It only made sense, after all; the Spearhead was the only ship in the area with the speed, proximity, and size to house their prisoners then and there. Each of them could be moved to more suitable accommodations after the final blows were landed, of course, but Master Iorek wasn't about to afford the Sith any more opportunities to harm Kashyyyk, nor their turncoat allies any chance to see their home again. Standing stock still in the center of the elevated wooden city, he saw some of his new troopers - clearly having heard what he told Captain Marris - beginning to round up their prisoners and taking them to the only dock in the city that could handle a CR90 corvette, which was already visible in the sky as it returned from orbit.
Rutil's jade eyes looked over each prisoner as they were marched in a single-file line towards the now-landing corvette. They went quietly. Not willingly, perhaps, but quietly. There were more than enough weapons trained on them and more than enough Jedi about to put a quick end to any sudden uprising.
"Put them in the ventral cargo hold," Rutil shouted to the sergeant that stood at the landing ramp, "I will deal with them there. Personally."
Not long after giving his ominous command, the Spearhead was once again in the sky, this time making its way towards the the Sith stronghold.
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Darth Belial
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"The difference between gods and daemons largely depends upon where one is standing at the time."
Posts: 220
Affiliation: The One Sith
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Post by Darth Belial on Oct 7, 2015 17:56:43 GMT -8
The Battle of Rwookrrorro had ended abruptly as it started, with the Rebellion and their allies claiming a decisive victory over the Sith. It came as no surprise to Belial that the enemy forces had crumbled after he struck down their Master, for they had claimed to be Sith - and all knew that these dark prelates were suckling babes mewling for the teat of the strong. Thus, deprived of their wellspring of power, they resorted to the petulant natures festering within their hearts. Many had fled from the battle, hoping to regroup with their comrades around the Temple-Fortress, yet were cut down by the staccato of cannon fire erupting from the guns of Miy’til starfighters soaring through the trees. Their near-silent roar had torn into the enemy lines, tossing dozens of broken men and hover tanks from the platforms to cascade towards their second-deaths below. They stood against the rising tide, and that meant that no quarter would be given. A chance was given, many times before this invasion had even occurred, yet time and time again those words went unheard. Death was the only thing that remained to them now, and so - as killers, reapers of flesh, the soldier’s had harvested their souls impunity. The Sith were gunned down in the street, making a mockery of the crushing blow that had dealt with the Jedi in times long past. It was a site that stirred the beast within Belial’s heart, as he achingly wished to take part in the slaughter.
However, he had done well in entrusting the command of this operation to his Captains, for they ensured that only the natives that stood apart from their fallen “allies”. Less political backlash for him to deal with once this farce was over and done with. His wife, and adopted sister believed that this was a mission to strengthen the Consortium as a whole - ridding themselves of the bad blood tainting their recent history. In a roundabout way, they were correct, yet such a line of thought had missed the complexities staining the bigger picture. The Dark Lord offered an insidious smile to the interior of the faceplate, as he knew where such a train of thought would lead him. Distracted and left behind. Such a travesty could not occur here, at least - not yet.
With his mind free and clear, the Hand of the Ereneda had crossed the ironbark plaza and swiftly entered the cafe’ he had spied in the chaos just moments ago. The tension in his muscles nearly tore the door from it’s deceptively ancient hinges as he had made his entrance, however, the sight that had greeted him had halted him in his tracks. For a fleeting moment, the Sith Lord was bereft of words to describe what he had seen. Then they came to him in a flurry, almost too fast for his own eidetic mind to piece them together. A Wookiee of impressive size and strength, stood before a table utterly covered in copious amounts of food, and feasted upon a haunch of something only partially seared. From his first glance, Belial could tell that this walking carpet was a male. It was the way he bit into the flesh of the dead thing, and how he had chosen to present himself that had tipped off the Sith. Though, as this beast’s attentions were upon his food and something more pressing gnawing at him in the distance, the Dark Lord was unable to tell if he was loyal to the Masters of this world, or one of the many rebellious souls stalking the tree-bound streets outside. It wouldn’t matter if either facet had proven true, as on his own - the Wookiee posed little threat to the self-styled Herald of the End Times.
Tossing the mental image to the male Wookiee aside, the metal bound warrior’s eyes flicked towards the curious little being mounted atop the vacant bar. Whatever this… thing was, had seemed to be the focus of the rising ire within the native’s heart. Something about being an annoying arsehole or the like, Belial couldn’t really find himself caring enough to pull the thoughts from the carpet’s mind. Nevertheless, he had found himself drawn to the curious little creature and entranced with how it’s laughter despoiled the aura within the force. Everything in her path was painted with bright and vital pastels, and the mere sight of it had turned his insidious smile towards one of a more jovial nature. That was when he noticed that the rambunctious rapscallion was female. Could it be that this Wookiee had taken a smaller… almost primate-like she-creature as his mate? No, the Dark Lord mused, there wasn’t any sense of attraction between these two. Thus, after coming to such a realization, the Sith knew that they were simply traveling companions as the bonds of fellowship were still forming and not yet complete.
As his mind had absorbed the details of the cafe’s interior and come to the various conclusions within the time it took his heart to thunderously beat once, the metal bound warrior closed the door behind him and became one with his surroundings.
“I hope you don’t mind my intrusion,” He had said, his sonorous voice flecked with the premature exultations of victory. “But it seems the scent of that spread has drawn my gaze. May I partake in this… jovial feast?”
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Deleted
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Post by Deleted on Oct 8, 2015 6:36:45 GMT -8
The sudden voice startled the pair. Bumchu dropped his/her/its gnawed-on meat popsicle, shifting his/her/its focus towards the intruder, and Momo followed suit. Though, neither one of them really knew what they were looking at.
The stranger looked and sounded male, and he possessed a gravitas that one couldn’t help but to notice and respect, and his voice only helped to further said authoritative presence. He stood nearly as tall as Bumchu, which Momo found droll for some reason, but not half so droll as his decidedly metallic choice in… attire? armor? body?... The lurmen couldn’t tell exactly to which category the stranger’s metal suit belonged, but she didn’t let her confusion stop her amusement of it. Instead, popping yet another piece of fruit into her mouth, she hopped off of the bar and over to the stranger, whereupon she extended towards him a friendly hand. “Dunno who ye are, Tin Man, but I don’t see why ya can’t join us.” She gave him her best toothy grin, and continued, “The name’s Momo, and I call the big furball behind me Bumchu.”
At this, finally, the wookiee put his/her/its two-cents-wail in.
Momo turned to look at Bumchu over her shoulder, telling him/her/it to “Calm down, ya bluey, yeah? It’s not nice to make such a racket in front o’ guests.”
Bumchu’s only response was a derisive snort, but the wookiee bent to pick up his discarded meat chunk. He/She/It bit into it with some vehemence, turning away from Momo and the stranger, but wailed no more.
Momo shook her head and turned back to the Tin Man, “I would advise ya to stay away outta Bumchu’s way, but--I dunno--maybe yer metal fashion choices can withstand the beast.” She winked at the stranger, ignoring Bumchu’s second snort at his/her/its latest appellation, and stepped aside to allow the stranger to enter the café as he liked.
Meanwhile, our friend the Rogue Sith, was now on the verge of panic.
Instead of finding the brief sanctuary he needed, he found the very thing he was trying so desperately to triumph over--or rather, the thing found him. Of all the cafés in the city, the stannic Jedi Conqueror just had to choose the one he, himself, had chosen. He took a deep, silent breath and slid back down the door just as slowly as he’d slid up it a few moments earlier. Desperately, he tried to will his signature in the Force to dwindle, so that it would--hopefully--go unnoticed by his Commander’s bane.
And he tried to figure out some kind of escape...
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Darth Belial
Member
"The difference between gods and daemons largely depends upon where one is standing at the time."
Posts: 220
Affiliation: The One Sith
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Post by Darth Belial on Oct 14, 2015 18:27:58 GMT -8
Of all the things he would be, and has been called in his life, Belial had never suspected a children’s holobook character would be one of them. Sufficed to say, within the short time he had known this Lurmen, the Dark Lord had begun to like her immensely. He even entertained the idea of keeping her around, after his soldier’s had secured the planet and executed every last Sith that dared to show their face in defiance. She might brighten the place up with her lovely commentary, and hell - even his wife might get a kick out of her boisterous presence. Though, that left him with the thought of how their first meeting would play out, and all the things she would say in return. Most likely something about rodents, infections, and possibly a myriad of other colourful terms. Having entertained the thought for longer than he should’ve, the Sith offered a hidden smile and chided himself for embracing such a trivial distraction. With his conscious clear, the armour clad titan entered the cafe’ proper and had ensconced himself near the feast adorning the abysmally small table.
“My choice in fashion has little to do with strength, young one.” Belial had said, his was voice mockingly patronizing akin to the tone many Jedi Masters had taken when counseling their padawans. “I think even if I was bereft of my suit, I’d still be able to go a few rounds with… Bumchu.” Though he knew that was not the beast’s name, the poor thing couldn’t speak a lick of basic; thus leaving him with the option of simply wailing in discontent. His fault, to be sure. Bumchu should’ve brought one of those universal translator units most Wookiees had with them when they went off-world, but having only met this being, he still could be a native who was drawn here just as the Sith Lord. Nevertheless, if needed he would act as a translator. Sure, he didn’t know how to speak Shyriiwook, but that was where his mastery over the force would come into play. He could easily strip the knowledge from Bumchu’s mind and implant it into his own, whilst doing the same with basic - had the Wookiee shown signs of bewilderment. However, Belial felt he could easily read the beast’s aura so that communicating with it would prove to be of little consequence.
“As for who I am. Well, that’s another story entirely.” Looking past the two, and out towards the streets, the Dark Lord continued. “My name is Varro, and I’ve come to Kashyyyk at the head of an army to liberate the world, so that it may be run by the people, for the people.” Stopping himself before he believed he would require a soapbox, Belial tilted his head as his gaze once again transfixed upon the iridescent Lurmen.
“I -”
And that was when he had noticed it. The slight spike in fear that bordered upon the verge of blooming into panic resonating from within another room. At first he had believed it to be a lingering trace that belonged to the owners of this establishment, but as he had taken his seat and had the time to adjust, the Sith started to feel a kindred spirit within the Cafe’. Making the attempt to hide within the boiling tempest of emotions had betrayed his presence, making it more noticeable than ever before. He should’ve kept himself still, and he should’ve known better.
Kashyyyk Sith...
“I see that we are not alone.”
Standing in a single motion, casting aside the chair he had previously occupied, Belial cast a predatory glare at what he had realized now was the kitchen door.
“You can hide all you want, dear cousin, but I’m afraid that I must ask you to step into the light. We have unfinished business, You and I, and I would hate to be rude to our beloved hosts.”
To ensure that his point was made, the Dark Lord unclipped the silvered hilt from his belt and rested his armoured thumb upon the activation stud. With a single flourish of his wrist, the blade sprung to life with the iconic snap-hiss. It illuminated his surroundings, bathing everything in a brilliant violet light. As the thrumming point was directed to the deck, Belial waited with baited breath to see just what his brother in the dark would do in response to his veiled threat.
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The Shepherd
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Post by The Shepherd on Oct 15, 2015 16:18:17 GMT -8
...The gunships were loaded up and began their long ascent, jerking on occasion; apparently the pilots were less than thrilled about almost being struck by lightning. And as soon as Rutil even thought he would have a signal, he spoke into his comlink.Attention all hands. Attention all hands. Be advised, the shield is down. I repeat: the shield is down.
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Deleted
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Post by Deleted on Oct 18, 2015 10:23:38 GMT -8
So, in addition to being strong enough to spar with a wookiee--no small feat, by any means--this Varro character was also a big damn hero…
And, apparently, while Bumchu and she had been stuffing their faces--oblivious to the world--a whole damned liberation effort was going down just outside, right under their noses. Dazedly, she watched as the man situated himself at a table, and she started to wonder whether or not she needed to work on being less oblivious in the future--but then, the metalloid giant sensed company. Naturally, his glow-sword came out and buzzed to life with all of the dramatic flair of any force user, making the wookiee and her both tense and wait for whoever to come out from wherever.
For added effect, she had her teeth bared in an intimidating grimace, while her long, prehensile tail stayed in a close curl around her body. She was ready to spring up and away, the very minute that danger presented itself--
Unless, of course, that danger was clever enough to lift her off of the floor entirely, in one hell of a force choke--which, as it turns out, he was.
While her air was slowly cut off under the combined strain of gravity and invisible pressure around her throat, the rogue male slid out of the kitchen with a hand raised in her direction, and an undeniably desperate gleam in his eyes. Momo anxiously lashed her tail to see it. She’d been in enough hairy situations to know that desperation always spelled trouble.
Choking, she struggled to look over to see why Bumchu hadn’t done anything yet. It was hard to make out, what with all of her blood pounding right behind her eyes, but friendly sasquatch appeared to be dithering between coming to somehow rescue her and going on an all-out wookiee offensive against the unwelcome newcomer. Momo would have to remember to curse at him later, but for now, she had to close her eyes and fight mightily for even the smallest trickle of air as the unseen vice tightened. She didn’t hear him, but the rogue finally spoke, “We have no business, Freak, save for my killing you and your weird friends.” He punctuated his point by squeezing her neck still harder, thus prompting her to offer her two cents in the form of a strangled squawk as she brought up her hands to begin clawing at the intangible force, in her own, rapidly growing sense of desperation.
Bumchu rumbled a growl and stepped towards the stranger, to which the man in question shrieked a quick, ”Keep that damned wookiee in check, or I kill the monkey!”
Another squeeze, another gurgling protest from Momo... and Bumchu growled once more, but stayed put--frustratingly impotent, and aching to tear the stranger to pieces.
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Darth Belial
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"The difference between gods and daemons largely depends upon where one is standing at the time."
Posts: 220
Affiliation: The One Sith
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Post by Darth Belial on Oct 22, 2015 18:27:50 GMT -8
As the Sith Warrior had stepped forth from the shrouded alcove of the Kitchen, Belial found himself momentarily entranced by the revealed figure. It wasn’t the cut of his simple ebony robes or the unlit lightsaber dangling about his waist; it was his profound ineptitude for discerning hostile targets. The Monkey; of all things, why did it have to be that creature? She posed little threat though the Dark Lord held no doubts her pearlescent fangs could rend this Sith’s flesh if she got within range. That, however, was a mighty large if.
He was about to let loose a heavy sigh of disappointment when his instinctual reaction to futile acts had been interrupted by an unsubtle insult, followed swiftly thereafter by an overtly aggressive threat. Silence, save for the sounds of the Lurmen gasping for air, hung heavily upon the air of the Cafe’s interior.
Like with Momo’s words moments before, Belial was unsure how to react to being called a Freak. It was a dreadfully simple term to describe what, exactly the Sith Lord was, but like many things on this benighted word; it lacked the artistry to encapsulate the entirety of the picture.
“Freak,” He whispered, rolling the words atop his tongue and tasting every syllable. “Yes, perhaps that’s what I am to a mind as small as yours.” In his moment of near-silent reflection, Belial had narrowly missed the following sentence spawned forth by the sudden flare of anger - which painted the muddied forest green hues of desperation with a vivid and vital pulse of crimson.
“My sweet summer child; I could keep my friend here leashed, but I’m afraid you are in no position to make demands of me.” Though he could care less about the well-being of the flame kissed creature, this Sith had offended Belial in oh so many ways - petulant name-calling notwithstanding.
“You stand alone, in a City that loathes your kind. What will you do after you’ve ended this poor creature’s life, Escape?”
The Dark Lord chuckled then, however, the sound was so distorted that as it was forced through his metallic mouth grille it was warped into a menacing cackle.
“Death is all that awaits you outside these walls. My soldiers have gunned down your comrades as if they were simply threshing wheat back home. What makes you think that you can succeed where they did not? Is it because you think yourself Sith?” He scoffed, “Bah, you are nothing more than a pretender to such a title.”
Belial sniffed the air then and felt his lips curl into an insidious smile.
Fear, so exhilarating!
“Now. Release the Lurmen, and mayhaps your life would be spared an agonizing death.”
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Ambar Calmcacil
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Post by Ambar Calmcacil on Sept 9, 2016 13:50:01 GMT -8
*So, it was war, then? And so soon after the Mandalorians' failed attempt at a crusade on the galaxy's Force-wielders. Sure, they'd dealt some heavy blows, but were ultimately dealt with. Ambar almost felt bad; the Mandalorians were likely only following their leader, with many of them not wanting to be caught up in all this nonsense but having no choice. They were left in recovery, with much of the rest of the galaxy no longer trusting of them—apart from sympathizers, of course.
But both sides had their own wounds to heal; still healing, seeing as the Republic had dissolved. And now, some offshoot of the Imperial Remnant had risen up in an attempt to capitalize on the power void. The "First Order"... right. Whose order, exactly?
He shook his head as he stood on one of the many Rwookrrorro walkways, peering into the thick jungles of Kashyyyk, hands planted on the railing. On either side of him stood Samantha, his now-teenaged sister, and Baylee, his daughter. All three of them clones... and yet with their own identities and personalities. Still, that hadn't stopped many people in the Wookiee capital to mistake him and Samantha for Aerandir and Michelle; they'd even asked where he got that scar, postulating some heroic tale against the Sith or First Order between now and the planet's liberation. The truth had shocked and sometimes amazed them, though every one of them had apologized for the misunderstanding.
Ambar was used to it.
The city had been a major battleground during said liberation, and the damages hadn't entirely been repaired yet. Yet the Wookiees were all too eager to lend their support to the Alliance. After all, they were eternally grateful to the Jedi for their part in releasing them from the tyranny of the Sith; the last thing they wanted was to fall victim to yet another hand of tyranny.*
"Pfeh!" *The noise came from Baylee, who choked and coughed before spitting over the edge, then scraping her tongue with her fingers. Examining them, she made a disgusted face and flicked her wrist several times over the railing and then wiping her hand on it.* "So much hair..."
*Samantha snickered and giggled. Ambar was amused, but mostly confused.* "How do you even get Wookiee hair in your mouth?"
*Baylee was silent for a moment, but her hesitance and rising embarrassment were palpable through the Force.* "... I may have sniffed one..."
*He was so shocked by the answer he stood in silence for several moments, as though in disbelief the answer had even come. When he finally realized it had, he blurted out,* "You what?"
"I wanted to know what they smelled like!" *she explained defensively, now facing him with her hands up, open palms facing forward. She slowly lowered them, looking to the side as she added,* "And it wasn't very good..."
*Samantha giggled, leaning forward to look across Ambar at him.* "I could have told you that without even getting close!"
*Baylee stared blankly, then lowered her head.* "I wanted to be sure..."
"Hey now, easy," *Ambar said while raising his palms in attempts to silence them.* "No need to be so insulting, someone might hear you!"
*Baylee looked up at him questioningly.* "But if they do, won't they know they stink and take a bath?"
*Ambar's palm met his face, an action one could set their chrono to. He groaned softly as he shook his head and lowered his hand, sighing.* "Not the point. We're here to help these people and protect them. If they hear us doing nothing but criticize the locals, they're not exactly going to trust us. ... or think we're very competent if we're just walking up to Wookiees and sniffing them."
*Baylee seemed to shrink some, pouting as she mumbled,* "Sorry, Daddy."
*Every time, every time Ambar heard that word, it tugged on his heartstrings. It almost made him want to forgive all of Baylee's transgressions. Almost. He put a hand on her shoulder, a small smile coming to his expression as he replied,* "Just try not to upset them. We're here to look after these people, help them finish rebuilding, and make sure the First Order doesn't come knocking. The Wookiees are already on our side, but we need to get along with them too, makes it easier to keep them on our side. Granted, we'd have to screw up pretty bad if they'd want to even consider switching sides..."
*Baylee thought about this a moment before perking up again.* "Right! So why does it matter if I call them smelly?"
"Baylee!" *Ambar hung his head, sighing again.* "One day you'll get it. Just please, be nice, okay?"
*She nodded.* "Okay, Daddy."
*There it was again. Ambar lifted his head, staring out across the vast treescape of the planet. Ambar almost wished he could have been here for the liberation from the Sith; such a matter was pretty personal to him. But he was here to ensure there was no return of the Sith... and possibly to sniff out stragglers. Heh, sniff, Baylee... No. Focus. They had their mission.*
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Ambar Calmcacil
Member
Posts: 29
Affiliation: The Jedi Order
Traffic Light: Green
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Post by Ambar Calmcacil on Jan 5, 2017 0:39:08 GMT -8
"Again."
*Ambar stood in the training room of the Alliance barracks, watching as Samantha brandished her saberstaff, only one blue beam active, and brought it down upon Baylee in a series of practiced strokes, most of which the small girl only narrowly defended with her own blue weapon.*
"Baylee, you need to be more certain of yourself," *Ambar directed, sounding somewhat exasperated.* "For one thing, the weapons are on low power mode."
"But it stings!"
*Ambar shook his head in disbelief at his "delicate little flower." While the girl was far from cautious, she had a strong dislike of pain; borderline fearful of it. Not a good attitude to have, in either case, considering what kind of risks the lifestyle of a Jedi brought. Getting an idea, he looked up and smirked.* "Good. Fear that sting, then. The only way to keep it away is to be sure of yourself and hold that weapon with your full strength. If these weren't practice swings, meager parries like that would have brought a lot of stinging."
"Well, strictly speaking, if these weren't practice swings, she'd get cut up," *Samantha provided.
All this did was elicit a short, high-pitched squeak of fright from the younger girl.
Ambar sighed, rubbing his face with his palm.* "Thanks, Samantha." *He looked at Baylee and added,* "But sure. Exactly. I was trying to motivate you on a lighter note..." *He cast a sideways scowl at Samantha, which was met by an innocent smile.* "... but I suppose there's that, too. Learn how to defend yourself or you could lose a limb. Or worse."
*Baylee gulped, then, as though to deflect the focus from herself, pointed at Ambar, declaring,* "And that weird triple lightsaber you got might take off your limbs!"
*Ambar frowned, left hand patting the cross-shaped hilt at his hip, the odd weapon Morgan herself had recovered from the raid on Garqi that Ambar had taken a strange fascination in. A crossguard wasn't unheard of on a lightsaber but was still uncommon; perhaps that was what had appealed to him most. It did not replace his previous weapon, which still hung on his opposite hip, nor had he taken up the art of dual-blades—an idea that seemed incredibly foolish with the design of the second lightsaber, not to mention his lack of complete skill with it—but he nevertheless had taken to training with it and brainstorming various battle applications with it.
He smirked at length, replying,* "Well, I'm not worried, because I dedicated myself to my training. That's all you need to master the blade: Dedication. I'm surprised you singled me out for this weird thing instead of Samantha's saberstaff. But look at her, she's still in one piece. Hell, I've heard legends about Jedi who've used two of the things! They turned out fine! So c'mon. I know you can do this."
"But..." *Baylee trailed off and nodded reluctantly, then, as though annoyed at the conversation, gripped her small weapon even tighter and stared down Samantha.*
"Again," *Ambar gave the command.
Samantha then repeated the process: A high strike, followed by a pair of strikes to either side of Baylee, a low sweep, a rising strike from the opposite side, and finally a swipe from the left. This time, while still clearly showing a little panic, Baylee fared much more admirably, though still not quite perfect.*
"Good!" *Ambar called out.* "But what are you so annoyed about?"
*Baylee hesitated before blurting out,* "What if I don't want to be a Jedi?"
*Ambar's eyes widened as he was stunned by the notion. Was that why Baylee had been so meek in her training? She certainly never had taken to it with nearly as much enthusiasm as Samantha had, but she had seemed fascinated enough when she got started. Honestly, Ambar had taken it for granted that Baylee would be trained; not once had the thought crossed his mind that she didn't want it.*
"Why not?" *was all he could manage to say as his mind still processed this.
Baylee shook her head.* "I... I don't know! But I don't want to fight! I don't want to be a fighter! Why are you making me?"
*And now he felt stung. He stepped forward instinctively as Samantha stepped back, deactivating and lowering her blade to make way. He knelt down in front of Baylee, putting a had on her shoulder gently and looking into her eyes... before realizing he hadn't yet thought of anything to say. He looked at the ground a few moments, then at last sighed and looked up.* "Because that's just what I'm used to. Jedi train their apprentices and their children, I trained Samantha; I thought I could just train you too."
"Why? I didn't ask you to!"
"You should've said something!" *Not a good time to sound defensive. He sighed again.* "Sorry. But I do want you to be strong and to be able to defend yourself. I mean, look at Morgan—"
"I'm, not, Morgan..." *she replied with a scowl and gritted teeth.*
"Of course. Not my point. But you have that same potential. I've seen her; strong in the Force, knows how to use her weapon, can even use a bow—primitive as it is—and has even built a new weapon to train with. She hasn't given up on taking care of herself. I'm not saying you have to do the same things, just that you can be a strong warrior if you put your mind to it."
*Baylee shook her head.* "But I don't want that! Aren't you listening to me?"
*... right. He wasn't paying attention. He groaned at himself and lowered his head.* "Sorry. I just want my little girl to be safe."
"I'll be safe with you here..."
*But Ambar didn't want that. Of course he would protect her... but he wanted her to be able to protect herself. So that he never had to worry about her, about leaving her to her own devices, or, Force forbid, being taken from her entirely. It was especially prominent on his mind because he knew she was capable of great things. But if she didn't want those things...
He had no idea what to do. He had to think it over. Sighing, he stood, announcing,* "No more practice for today. Let's go check the daily reports."
"Are you mad, Daddy?"
*He paused a moment before shaking his head.* "No. Uncertain, definitely. Let's talk about it later, okay?" *He forced a smile, which seemed to work for the moment. This would only be temporary respite however, and he knew it.*
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Ambar Calmcacil
Member
Posts: 29
Affiliation: The Jedi Order
Traffic Light: Green
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Post by Ambar Calmcacil on Nov 12, 2017 14:39:26 GMT -8
"I guess all I can say is I'm glad I switched sides," *Ambar murmured, smirking in disbelief as he watched the satellite-captured footage of Aerandir's one-man assault upon Caamas.*
"Are you sure this isn't a movie?" *Baylee asked skeptically.
Samantha shook her head.* "Movies have better camera angles."
*Ambar chuckled, leaning back in his chair within the Galactic Alliance barracks.* "I'm in similar disbelief, but he'd said he's been up to something. Just didn't realize it was... this."
*Baylee squinted at the footage.* "I still don't get it."
"Somehow, this absolute madman has tapped so deep into the Force he can basically become a vessel for it. And he's using it to show the First Order he means business... Gotta admit, I'd be pissed off if I were still his enemy."
"Only because you'd be envious," *Samantha teased.
Ambar's eyebrow twitched.* "Would it kill you to be a little less accurate sometimes?"
"Not what you taught me!" *The girl beamed both proudly and smugly.
Ambar sighed but couldn't resist another chuckle.* "Yeah, that's fair." *He looked out the nearest window, past the bustling Wookiee activity of the city and at the trees beyond. He had to admit to himself that, truthfully, he was a little envious of such power. It would ensure he was never again messed with... and that his small, close-knit family was safe for as long as he drew breath.
He sighed again and shook his head; he knew such skill was beyond his reach. It required a commitment he couldn't make and a temperament he didn't have. He had a calling here, with his sister and child, protecting an important holding of the Galactic Alliance and fighting against tyranny. He would just have to accept that his method was different from Aerandir's.*
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Post by Zordo The Hutt on Feb 24, 2019 8:42:46 GMT -8
Six shuttles and a dozen or so fighters acting as escort, descended upon the Wookiee capital of Rwookrrorro. Scattered ground fire rose up to meet them, but the two Kossak-Class Frigates that had been following the ground teams silenced them quickly. Plumes of smoke rose up from several destroyed emplacements. Behind the Kossaks, a single Chelandion followed them in, strictly for fire support. The Cartel invasion of Kashyyyk had begun in full...
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Post by Zordo The Hutt on Mar 3, 2019 11:27:05 GMT -8
As the first shuttle set down, Kargesh Vizla stepped off the transport, blasters in hand. Firing into the few Wookiees that were resisting, Vizla signaled up to Kodra as several Gamorreans charged forth, followed by several Hutt Security Droids and two AR-34 Enforcer droids.
LZ will be clear, momentarily, if you want to join us. Wookiee resistance is at a minimum right now. I don't think they were expecting us. Let's get their Chieftain and end this quickly...
Ducking as a bowcaster bolt whizzed overhead, Vizla discharged his pistols in that direction. Glancing over to where it had come from, the Mandalorian watched a Wookiee collapse with two smoldering holes in it's chest. Snorting beneath his helm, the Mandalorian pressed onwards, leading the Cartel forces deeper into the village.
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