The Battle raged on all around him, in any other situation he would have been at home here, in the thick of it. Only this was not his battle to fight and as such, he felt out of place, wondering what he should be doing. Chaos reigned all around him, Still lending his efforts to the Sith Lord Silas Karn whose power Warvanus could feel through the Force , he was dealing with the thought bomb, The Jedi known as Kenobi was fighting his former Master, which left him and his Master providing support. The Dragons fought all around them, he had not bonded with any of these creatures not like how his Master had. The Force was so potent in this place, not because of who once lived in these halls but with all these Force Adepts, one could almost see the Force in waves much like heat hitting the sand. Should he go and assist the Jedi Master , the temptation was great but one wrong move he could be fighting both of them, No it was better for them to fight it out and he stay out of it.
He looked at his Master as he could feel the pain rippling off of him through the Force. The Orbalisks he thought to himself. He only then realized that he had clipped his lightsaber so that he could focus his power to aid Silas. He unclipped it and brought the crimson blade to life. He looked again at his Master unsure what to do. Whatever he did, would be to ensure his survival and to assist his Master.
The Sith of old would have taken this as a chance to ascend to power, to turn on their Masters or die trying. However now, the Sith were very few in number, and any Sith death would be nothing gained. For that legacy Lord Blood and Warvanus brought new meaning to the Rule of Two. The Sith had to continue on, it was for this reason that they came here to begin with, to remove Tormentous from power, his former Master the one who had let the Sith grow stagnant. Today they would stake their claim to their destiny. Today would officially begin the new order of the Sith
For all of Warvanus’ musings would do him no good if he did not keep himself grounded in the mundane, in the present. He gave his Master a knowing look. The Sith Imparative had fallen on to them, and they would see it through at all costs.
A Life-Line in Hard-Times [BK hmu boo/Closed]
-
Kell Sangros
- Full Member
- Posts: 970
- Joined: Thu Sep 14, 2017 12:39 pm
Re: A Life-Line in Hard-Times [BK hmu boo/Closed]
===========================================
Darth Warvanus
=The Warrior King=
=The War Bringer=-
===========================================
Darth Warvanus
=The Warrior King=
=The War Bringer=-
===========================================
-
Ben Kenobi
- Staff
- Posts: 649
- Joined: Wed Sep 06, 2017 12:54 am
Re: A Life-Line in Hard-Times [BK hmu boo/Closed]
Blades clashed as Asori Spero and her good friend Ei’nar engaged in a battle fervently swathed in the depths of some nightmarish dream. They fought in a duel fierce and wild, Asori, an acclaimed student of Master Kenobi was solid of foundation with the sword, by contrast the Bothan was by far the lesser, though for whatever reason the sheer ferocity of his attacks were preventing any such proper stance and she was continually set to the back foot, unallowed to diverge from her course and she was steadily pressed towards the far edge of the courtyard.
She ducked and spun away from the driving attack and still she found no breathing room. Had she even made the right choice? Ei’nar could have slain one or more of the most terrible foes in the Galaxy and here she was defending them. This whole situation was ludicrous! Still she fought where she could, ever giving away ground to her friend… her enemy…
Though as fate wove its strings, it seemed the fates of these two friends didn’t end with blades hewn through each other. Instead outward intervention dealt them a devastating blow. Hurled from the mighty form of Kraujas Ntima, one of the dragons owned by the Dragon King was tossed like a rag and where it thundered down in crippled form it showered the area with debris. Precisely where though was amidst the duel of the twin Jedi Knights and a tail slammed between them, casting them away from one another while flailing legs clawed and scratched for freedom. Asori was tossed like a pebble from the force of the blow, she flew away from the courtyard and downwards the stories into the deep of the Valley of the Dark Lords.
Ei’nar was tossed backwards end over end where his fate clawed into his mind at the behest of Silas Karn. The tendrils of the Echani’s dastardly machinations split his mind and the Bothan knew no more, collapsing as a husk, alive but brainless, once the Karn was finished with his meddling…
***Throne of Skulls***
The imagery was so real that Ben had to take it in and he nearly flinched when he truthfully felt the deception. It was nearly too late but he leapt backwards as Tormentous came down with a thundering fury of a god. A god that nearly was. The elder Jedi danced away from the torrential onslaught and regained his footing, delivering deft parry after swift shunt. He gave Tormentous all the ground that the Tyrant of Dxun so desired, this early in the fight it held no effect though soon enough the monster would grow impatient and Ben would see his opportunity.
As a master of Soresu, the Form III, Ben Kenobi was a patient man who remained aware of his surroundings that he could use his footwork to avoid the direct confrontation until it was too late for his opponent; they all made mistakes eventually and he’d never been one to allow said mistakes to escape. Even if it was but a millisecond window, Ben was as fast as a viper when it came to the swordsmanship of his hand.
But fighting against Darth Tormentous was an animal anew in itself. He was a beast beyond measure and his physical form seemed to dominate from the start. Speed and strength without limit, or so it seemed, Tormentous was uncanny as a human being and he was mighty to behold. So mighty was he that Ben dared not block directly for such a blow would surely overpower him. While Kenobi was a fit man of athletic build, he was no match for the warrior born that was his opponent. No, he gave ground and parried, sidestepped and shunted away. Without blocking the attacks it never stole Tormentous’ momentum and so the wrathful visage of the Sith Lord continued to build in power.
Yet Ben Kenobi remained calm, impassive, and refused to lose his supreme focus. Around one of the stone pillars he moved, dancing away from the brute and into safety from a series of strikes too powerful to intercept. Jidai Maras seemed to call to Ben, taunting him to attempt an offensive, but Ben did not give in. He remained solid and ever giving the dreadful Lord of the Sith his due.
In a straight up fight head to head, Ben would lose. But in a battle given to his own terms, it was only a matter of time before Tormentous made his mistake and there the Jedi would make his move. For long moments they fought up and down the length of the chambers, they circled the hearthfire and met again in the midst of the gathered skulls. They fought a deadly dance of precision and endurance and soon, Ben found himself backing up the stairs. If not for his superior reach he would not be in a good state of things though instead he controlled the ascent of the steps and straight towards the Throne of Skulls itself.
She ducked and spun away from the driving attack and still she found no breathing room. Had she even made the right choice? Ei’nar could have slain one or more of the most terrible foes in the Galaxy and here she was defending them. This whole situation was ludicrous! Still she fought where she could, ever giving away ground to her friend… her enemy…
Though as fate wove its strings, it seemed the fates of these two friends didn’t end with blades hewn through each other. Instead outward intervention dealt them a devastating blow. Hurled from the mighty form of Kraujas Ntima, one of the dragons owned by the Dragon King was tossed like a rag and where it thundered down in crippled form it showered the area with debris. Precisely where though was amidst the duel of the twin Jedi Knights and a tail slammed between them, casting them away from one another while flailing legs clawed and scratched for freedom. Asori was tossed like a pebble from the force of the blow, she flew away from the courtyard and downwards the stories into the deep of the Valley of the Dark Lords.
Ei’nar was tossed backwards end over end where his fate clawed into his mind at the behest of Silas Karn. The tendrils of the Echani’s dastardly machinations split his mind and the Bothan knew no more, collapsing as a husk, alive but brainless, once the Karn was finished with his meddling…
The imagery was so real that Ben had to take it in and he nearly flinched when he truthfully felt the deception. It was nearly too late but he leapt backwards as Tormentous came down with a thundering fury of a god. A god that nearly was. The elder Jedi danced away from the torrential onslaught and regained his footing, delivering deft parry after swift shunt. He gave Tormentous all the ground that the Tyrant of Dxun so desired, this early in the fight it held no effect though soon enough the monster would grow impatient and Ben would see his opportunity.
As a master of Soresu, the Form III, Ben Kenobi was a patient man who remained aware of his surroundings that he could use his footwork to avoid the direct confrontation until it was too late for his opponent; they all made mistakes eventually and he’d never been one to allow said mistakes to escape. Even if it was but a millisecond window, Ben was as fast as a viper when it came to the swordsmanship of his hand.
But fighting against Darth Tormentous was an animal anew in itself. He was a beast beyond measure and his physical form seemed to dominate from the start. Speed and strength without limit, or so it seemed, Tormentous was uncanny as a human being and he was mighty to behold. So mighty was he that Ben dared not block directly for such a blow would surely overpower him. While Kenobi was a fit man of athletic build, he was no match for the warrior born that was his opponent. No, he gave ground and parried, sidestepped and shunted away. Without blocking the attacks it never stole Tormentous’ momentum and so the wrathful visage of the Sith Lord continued to build in power.
Yet Ben Kenobi remained calm, impassive, and refused to lose his supreme focus. Around one of the stone pillars he moved, dancing away from the brute and into safety from a series of strikes too powerful to intercept. Jidai Maras seemed to call to Ben, taunting him to attempt an offensive, but Ben did not give in. He remained solid and ever giving the dreadful Lord of the Sith his due.
In a straight up fight head to head, Ben would lose. But in a battle given to his own terms, it was only a matter of time before Tormentous made his mistake and there the Jedi would make his move. For long moments they fought up and down the length of the chambers, they circled the hearthfire and met again in the midst of the gathered skulls. They fought a deadly dance of precision and endurance and soon, Ben found himself backing up the stairs. If not for his superior reach he would not be in a good state of things though instead he controlled the ascent of the steps and straight towards the Throne of Skulls itself.
-
Jacobi Wylcott
- Full Member
- Posts: 515
- Joined: Thu Sep 28, 2017 8:41 pm
Re: A Life-Line in Hard-Times [BK hmu boo/Closed]
---Moraband - Orbit
The Malevolent rocked again and another set of terminal banks detonated in a shower of sparks followed by raging flames and the screams of the dying. Emergency droids rushed onto the scene with extinguishing equipment to spray thick foam in order to douse the roaring flames. Cracks blistered the port side view screens though the shutters were folding overtop of them to prevent an inevitable breach and vacuum. Damage reports had ceased coming in concerning the smaller non-crippling areas of the dreaded Sith Cruiser as they’d become too many to count - only the reports of gun batteries going silent due to entire gunnery decks venting into space or main drives going dead due to coolant leaks or major torpedo damage to the housing networks. Already the sensory arrays were down and only presenting targets at twenty percent efficiency and at rates like that the hope of shooting down the swift Imperial fighters was next to nonexistent.
It seemed now, the only thing keeping the Malevolent in orbit was - an explosion rippled out from the bow as an Imperial Scimitar Bomber was shot down and slammed into the surface armor only seconds after a deck officer reported that the capital ship’s shields were down. The bomber crashed into the armor and its own magazine erupted into blue green flame, clearly the bomber penetrated a gap in the armor likely caused by a previous torpedo attack and reports were now coming in of how deep the damage was rent.
Flames scoured the interior of that bow section and within moments two turbolaser batteries fell silent as gouting flames burst from inside and blew out huge sections of armor. The Cruiser, being this low in orbit was low enough that the explosions weren’t snuffed out by total vacuum but they remained along with the trio of smoke stacks that reported the first internal damage that the Malevolent had suffered within the breadth of this short yet bloody engagement. “Sir!” A young bloody faced female officer screamed, “we’re losing our position at high anchor! Moraband is pulling us in!” The Captain knew this was true already even without the reports as the mighty warship had begun to list ever so slightly to starboard.
They still had time if they engaged the main drives to pull away from Moraband and break orbit. But he’d be damned if he was going to give up the Throne World of his Lord to the Imperials of all factions! If the Malevolent was to die, then they’d take every scalded Imperial dog that they could with them. “Disengage power to the shields, they are down already and there is no need to recharge them. Transfer shield power to the batteries and tell the gunners to fire at will into the density of the dogfight! Load missile batteries and fire as well.”
“But sir! We’ll hit our own!”
He nodded, “We’ll hit theirs as well. We have reserves. Attack!”
Moments later the Malevolent had dropped another three degrees on its axis to starboard but suddenly there came a thundering of energy as a full fusillade pounded from her guns alongside a full barrage of concussion missiles.
It was the last vestige of fight from a vessel that had terrorized the galaxy, mainly the Imperials. The flagship of Tormentous himself. She was foundering, and the Imperials still needed to press home the attack, but now it was up to them - would they be able to stomach the task after this furious counter attack? Or would they fold? Just as this ship had made its’ merciless debut, so would it make its finale, with the cascading cries of fire and death, oh how they echoed, oh how they wrought their fury.
So shall the name Malevolent be remembered and held forever with trepidation.
---Moraband - Valley of the Dark Lords
Fortress of Darth Tormentous
How infuriating!?! Despite the sudden strike the Jedi had managed not only to survive but put up a progressively strengthening defense. It seemed at this point that regardless of how severe Tormentous struck out at the Master before him, the Jedi managed to expertly parry or evade. It brought memories of Silas Karn’s duel with Tormentous long ago though the comparisons were clear, where Silas was a master swordsman and acclaimed Form II Master, he didn’t hold nearly the experience that this opponent did. The finesse with which the Jedi Master maneuvered and handled the fight was like nothing Tormentous had ever seen. The word Master held so little detail in how Kenobi was artistically fighting.
There and then did Darth Tormentous truthfully realize how outclassed with the blade he was here. He’d managed to fight Karn to a stalemate and even Xavius Bain on the same footing. But Kenobi was of another caliber all on his own.
Of course this only enraged the Dark Lord further and Tormentous in turn drank on the fury in his heart as it fueled him to more heights of speed and power. They fought their way through the entirety of the throne room and even around the hearthfire. The clashing of cursed steel to plasma echoed off every wall and surface. Onward Tormentous pressed and ever did Kenobi give ground only to scold the Dark Lord with lighting thrusts and sharp parries that surely kept the Darth honest for if he overstepped himself or opened his guard, he sensed that Kenobi would be right there to exploit it with devastating results.
Up the steps they dueled until they came to the apex of the dais where the Throne of Skulls sat surrounded by a mountain of skulls, both of champions and vile enemies alike. Tormentous roared in anger as he clashed with Kenobi’s blade, holding it in place and with his free hand he reached out and telekinetically pulled on the mountain, it roiled and rumbled with shattering bones as a wave of pale doom came towards Kenobi to either bury him alive or at least to knock him from his feet where the superior speed and dexterity of the far younger and brutal Tormentous could pounce on him and deliver the final attack and end this assassination attempt once and for all.
The Malevolent rocked again and another set of terminal banks detonated in a shower of sparks followed by raging flames and the screams of the dying. Emergency droids rushed onto the scene with extinguishing equipment to spray thick foam in order to douse the roaring flames. Cracks blistered the port side view screens though the shutters were folding overtop of them to prevent an inevitable breach and vacuum. Damage reports had ceased coming in concerning the smaller non-crippling areas of the dreaded Sith Cruiser as they’d become too many to count - only the reports of gun batteries going silent due to entire gunnery decks venting into space or main drives going dead due to coolant leaks or major torpedo damage to the housing networks. Already the sensory arrays were down and only presenting targets at twenty percent efficiency and at rates like that the hope of shooting down the swift Imperial fighters was next to nonexistent.
It seemed now, the only thing keeping the Malevolent in orbit was - an explosion rippled out from the bow as an Imperial Scimitar Bomber was shot down and slammed into the surface armor only seconds after a deck officer reported that the capital ship’s shields were down. The bomber crashed into the armor and its own magazine erupted into blue green flame, clearly the bomber penetrated a gap in the armor likely caused by a previous torpedo attack and reports were now coming in of how deep the damage was rent.
Flames scoured the interior of that bow section and within moments two turbolaser batteries fell silent as gouting flames burst from inside and blew out huge sections of armor. The Cruiser, being this low in orbit was low enough that the explosions weren’t snuffed out by total vacuum but they remained along with the trio of smoke stacks that reported the first internal damage that the Malevolent had suffered within the breadth of this short yet bloody engagement. “Sir!” A young bloody faced female officer screamed, “we’re losing our position at high anchor! Moraband is pulling us in!” The Captain knew this was true already even without the reports as the mighty warship had begun to list ever so slightly to starboard.
They still had time if they engaged the main drives to pull away from Moraband and break orbit. But he’d be damned if he was going to give up the Throne World of his Lord to the Imperials of all factions! If the Malevolent was to die, then they’d take every scalded Imperial dog that they could with them. “Disengage power to the shields, they are down already and there is no need to recharge them. Transfer shield power to the batteries and tell the gunners to fire at will into the density of the dogfight! Load missile batteries and fire as well.”
“But sir! We’ll hit our own!”
He nodded, “We’ll hit theirs as well. We have reserves. Attack!”
Moments later the Malevolent had dropped another three degrees on its axis to starboard but suddenly there came a thundering of energy as a full fusillade pounded from her guns alongside a full barrage of concussion missiles.
It was the last vestige of fight from a vessel that had terrorized the galaxy, mainly the Imperials. The flagship of Tormentous himself. She was foundering, and the Imperials still needed to press home the attack, but now it was up to them - would they be able to stomach the task after this furious counter attack? Or would they fold? Just as this ship had made its’ merciless debut, so would it make its finale, with the cascading cries of fire and death, oh how they echoed, oh how they wrought their fury.
So shall the name Malevolent be remembered and held forever with trepidation.
---Moraband - Valley of the Dark Lords
Fortress of Darth Tormentous
How infuriating!?! Despite the sudden strike the Jedi had managed not only to survive but put up a progressively strengthening defense. It seemed at this point that regardless of how severe Tormentous struck out at the Master before him, the Jedi managed to expertly parry or evade. It brought memories of Silas Karn’s duel with Tormentous long ago though the comparisons were clear, where Silas was a master swordsman and acclaimed Form II Master, he didn’t hold nearly the experience that this opponent did. The finesse with which the Jedi Master maneuvered and handled the fight was like nothing Tormentous had ever seen. The word Master held so little detail in how Kenobi was artistically fighting.
There and then did Darth Tormentous truthfully realize how outclassed with the blade he was here. He’d managed to fight Karn to a stalemate and even Xavius Bain on the same footing. But Kenobi was of another caliber all on his own.
Of course this only enraged the Dark Lord further and Tormentous in turn drank on the fury in his heart as it fueled him to more heights of speed and power. They fought their way through the entirety of the throne room and even around the hearthfire. The clashing of cursed steel to plasma echoed off every wall and surface. Onward Tormentous pressed and ever did Kenobi give ground only to scold the Dark Lord with lighting thrusts and sharp parries that surely kept the Darth honest for if he overstepped himself or opened his guard, he sensed that Kenobi would be right there to exploit it with devastating results.
Up the steps they dueled until they came to the apex of the dais where the Throne of Skulls sat surrounded by a mountain of skulls, both of champions and vile enemies alike. Tormentous roared in anger as he clashed with Kenobi’s blade, holding it in place and with his free hand he reached out and telekinetically pulled on the mountain, it roiled and rumbled with shattering bones as a wave of pale doom came towards Kenobi to either bury him alive or at least to knock him from his feet where the superior speed and dexterity of the far younger and brutal Tormentous could pounce on him and deliver the final attack and end this assassination attempt once and for all.
-
Silas Karn
- Full Member
- Posts: 303
- Joined: Wed Oct 11, 2017 1:15 pm
Re: A Life-Line in Hard-Times [BK hmu boo/Closed]
It had not been Silas’s intent to slay the Jedi Knight or to rob them of sentience. However, such matters were far from the thoughts of the Sovereign’s mind as darkness choked out the light of his consciousness. The very gate, the anchor to the pinnacle of Sith Sorcery, that Silas had conjured soon dissipated. The Lord of Eshan remained immobile, his fist still embedded in the ground in front of him. Silas’s body temperature cascaded down as seemingly the famed adept had been felled by his own exertions.
Within the realm of the unseen Silas’s own presence seemed to vanish. Within this torpor images hailing back to an invasion that seemed so distant and had been culled so efficiently the galaxy at large had all but forgotten. Yet, it was these flickering moments that haunted the past of the once proud mercenary. Silas’s breathing slowed and grew faint as the last vestiges of his strength eluded him. It was then the former battlemaster felt a familiar hand to his right shoulder. ‘Argus,’ Silas spoke aloud albeit likely drowned out by the conflict playing out around him. Just as Silas was ready to let go, ready to finally unburden a life of hardship, perhaps ready to accept his spirit’s release, a thunderous tremor spiked across the living Force. The vibrations from the Jedi Master’s lightsaber contacting Jidai Maras seemed to echo directly to Silas’s core.
Like the striking of iron upon an anvil every matched swing offered by the duelist sparked a fire deep within the heart of the Lord of Eshan. The very pulse from the titanic contest reverberated in waves throughout the cold flesh of the Echani monarch. Finally, with a charge powerful enough to outright slay even the strongest of Jedi Knight’s, Tormentous locked blades with Kenobi. The shockwave through the Force shook Silas to consciousness as his eyes snapped. Awake but not by any means restored physically Silas raised his head with great effort. Without need of the supernatural to feel the immense discharge of power emanating from the Throne of Skulls, and the swift realization that not one of the four adepts that had involved themselves with Tormentous last stand had yet taken a step toward the Dark Lord Silas felt renewed fury. Anger returned to Silas in a powerful reunion further igniting the fire at his core.
With pained, forceful, and strained efforts Silas pushed off from his stance. His body fighting him for every inch of the rise Silas stood once more. With labored breathes Silas drew his infamous curved hilt from its rest and began to slowly walk toward the warring pair. If Blood and Warvanus lacked the will, if the Jedi Knights were wanting of resolve, Silas would see this through to the end…whatever end.
Within the realm of the unseen Silas’s own presence seemed to vanish. Within this torpor images hailing back to an invasion that seemed so distant and had been culled so efficiently the galaxy at large had all but forgotten. Yet, it was these flickering moments that haunted the past of the once proud mercenary. Silas’s breathing slowed and grew faint as the last vestiges of his strength eluded him. It was then the former battlemaster felt a familiar hand to his right shoulder. ‘Argus,’ Silas spoke aloud albeit likely drowned out by the conflict playing out around him. Just as Silas was ready to let go, ready to finally unburden a life of hardship, perhaps ready to accept his spirit’s release, a thunderous tremor spiked across the living Force. The vibrations from the Jedi Master’s lightsaber contacting Jidai Maras seemed to echo directly to Silas’s core.
Like the striking of iron upon an anvil every matched swing offered by the duelist sparked a fire deep within the heart of the Lord of Eshan. The very pulse from the titanic contest reverberated in waves throughout the cold flesh of the Echani monarch. Finally, with a charge powerful enough to outright slay even the strongest of Jedi Knight’s, Tormentous locked blades with Kenobi. The shockwave through the Force shook Silas to consciousness as his eyes snapped. Awake but not by any means restored physically Silas raised his head with great effort. Without need of the supernatural to feel the immense discharge of power emanating from the Throne of Skulls, and the swift realization that not one of the four adepts that had involved themselves with Tormentous last stand had yet taken a step toward the Dark Lord Silas felt renewed fury. Anger returned to Silas in a powerful reunion further igniting the fire at his core.
With pained, forceful, and strained efforts Silas pushed off from his stance. His body fighting him for every inch of the rise Silas stood once more. With labored breathes Silas drew his infamous curved hilt from its rest and began to slowly walk toward the warring pair. If Blood and Warvanus lacked the will, if the Jedi Knights were wanting of resolve, Silas would see this through to the end…whatever end.
-
Professor Mors
- Full Member
- Posts: 801
- Joined: Tue Sep 19, 2017 11:58 pm
- Location: Unknown
Re: A Life-Line in Hard-Times [BK hmu boo/Closed]
Vassyl couldn't believe his eyes. On the heels of a fierce and fiery, single sacrificial soul had seemingly delivered the blow that broke the metal beast's back. Vassyl watched with pride and melancholy as great plumes of flame erupted across the cruisers ventral hull. As the Malevolent's two-pronged nose began to dip down into the Sith homeworld's upper atmosphere, the Captain felt a misplaced sense of ease at the battlefield development. Then, in a move that almost perfectly mirrored the previous Xillkarth Campaign, the dying juggernaut unleashed all that it had, its vectors indiscriminate to friend and foe alike. A split-second move to vent all auxiliary power to the front deflector shield may well have spared Vassyl of a grizzly: the same could not be said of his compatriots.
There was little to be done regarding the turbolasers. While such large-caliber armaments usually were unreliable when brought to bear against fightercraft, a tightly-packed cluster of such vessels were as vulnerable as frigate under similar circumstances, TIE's, Toscans, and an unlucky handful of Scimitar Bombers were all vaporized in an instant. Those that managed to evade- even survive the flashing maelstrom were then left at the unflinching mercy of innumerous proton torpedoes. Doren's compatriots in the other XM-1 models, flying on instinct at this point. Running on hormone alone, many chose flight over fight. That was an error. While the heat seeking element on the warheads was faint, the sudden corrections of the missile boats drastically altered the original trajectory.
Now, the Imperials and Sith were seemingly enveloped in a volatile shroud of explosives, which soon began to bear down on the slower, less-fortunate vessels. The corrosive orange-yellow glow of detonation streaked across the onyx backdrop of space. Cockpits shattered, wings buckled and snapped to pieces. Even for those who were not directly hit or received glancing blows, shrapnel ricocheted out at a speed to make hyperspace seem tame. Out of the corner of his eye, Vassyl watched with paralyzing anguish as one of the bomber was briefly rendered a metal pincushion, before its salvo erupted and engulf the chassis in full. The Sith had ordered a massacre, and, at the cost of both parties, their malcontented wish had been granted.
Vassyl mind was spiraling into a full panic. Liquid gloves born of sweat rendered his hands useless, and if his heart were to beat even a second faster, the young Captain was certain it would burst right there on the spot. Then, at the height of Doren's mania, a hoarse voice gargled through the Proudclad's communications hub, [Forward!]. Bewildered, Vassyl observed what he could only assumed to be Major Frass' TIE Avenger barreling straight towards the front of the engagement zone, with two wingmen covering on both flanks. [Major that's suicide!], Doren protested with all the strength he could muster. [No Captain], Frass countered, [We shall meet the missiles head on, and clear a path towards their source]. The line then fell silent, leaving Vassyl alone with his frenzied thoughts.
For a time, the Captain was still, almost to the point of mimicry. An onlooker, were they to squeeze their way in the cockpit, might think the human officer was imitating one of the more famous Jedi statues in older Coruscant galleries. Then, that brief, zen-like complexion broke, and crumpled up into an unwavering scowl. Bellowing to no one in particular, Vassyl let loose a primal war cry, and gunned the XM-1 ahead at maximum throttle. In his attempt to keep pace with the Black Lances, a stray Toscan, unfazed by the wanton death, came strafing right at the Captain. Hollering once more, with greater volume, Doren depressed the trigger for his ships main turbolaser. His shot hit the mark. And, as he engaged the missile boats SLAM system, the Proudclad zoomed right through the shattered remains of its most recent challenger, pressing on and on towards the source of the sustained carnage.
There was little to be done regarding the turbolasers. While such large-caliber armaments usually were unreliable when brought to bear against fightercraft, a tightly-packed cluster of such vessels were as vulnerable as frigate under similar circumstances, TIE's, Toscans, and an unlucky handful of Scimitar Bombers were all vaporized in an instant. Those that managed to evade- even survive the flashing maelstrom were then left at the unflinching mercy of innumerous proton torpedoes. Doren's compatriots in the other XM-1 models, flying on instinct at this point. Running on hormone alone, many chose flight over fight. That was an error. While the heat seeking element on the warheads was faint, the sudden corrections of the missile boats drastically altered the original trajectory.
Now, the Imperials and Sith were seemingly enveloped in a volatile shroud of explosives, which soon began to bear down on the slower, less-fortunate vessels. The corrosive orange-yellow glow of detonation streaked across the onyx backdrop of space. Cockpits shattered, wings buckled and snapped to pieces. Even for those who were not directly hit or received glancing blows, shrapnel ricocheted out at a speed to make hyperspace seem tame. Out of the corner of his eye, Vassyl watched with paralyzing anguish as one of the bomber was briefly rendered a metal pincushion, before its salvo erupted and engulf the chassis in full. The Sith had ordered a massacre, and, at the cost of both parties, their malcontented wish had been granted.
Vassyl mind was spiraling into a full panic. Liquid gloves born of sweat rendered his hands useless, and if his heart were to beat even a second faster, the young Captain was certain it would burst right there on the spot. Then, at the height of Doren's mania, a hoarse voice gargled through the Proudclad's communications hub, [Forward!]. Bewildered, Vassyl observed what he could only assumed to be Major Frass' TIE Avenger barreling straight towards the front of the engagement zone, with two wingmen covering on both flanks. [Major that's suicide!], Doren protested with all the strength he could muster. [No Captain], Frass countered, [We shall meet the missiles head on, and clear a path towards their source]. The line then fell silent, leaving Vassyl alone with his frenzied thoughts.
For a time, the Captain was still, almost to the point of mimicry. An onlooker, were they to squeeze their way in the cockpit, might think the human officer was imitating one of the more famous Jedi statues in older Coruscant galleries. Then, that brief, zen-like complexion broke, and crumpled up into an unwavering scowl. Bellowing to no one in particular, Vassyl let loose a primal war cry, and gunned the XM-1 ahead at maximum throttle. In his attempt to keep pace with the Black Lances, a stray Toscan, unfazed by the wanton death, came strafing right at the Captain. Hollering once more, with greater volume, Doren depressed the trigger for his ships main turbolaser. His shot hit the mark. And, as he engaged the missile boats SLAM system, the Proudclad zoomed right through the shattered remains of its most recent challenger, pressing on and on towards the source of the sustained carnage.
-------
Sa'ato Mors
Sa'ato Mors
-
Master Buggie
- Staff
- Posts: 1053
- Joined: Sun Sep 03, 2017 7:03 pm
Re: A Life-Line in Hard-Times [BK hmu boo/Closed]
The greying Jedi Master had, up until this point, countered every punishing strike that Darth Tormentous had levied against him. Fury boiled within the dark warrior, as he knew this battle had dragged on far enough. Kenobi was once Tormentous' plaything, broken and whimpering; he had no right standing against the Dark Lord of the Sith on equal ground for this long. As he directed the mountain of bones to crash down, he knew this battle would not be decided by the combatants' skill with the blade, it would come down to physical might and mastery of the Force. Seizing upon his opportunity as Kenobi's yellow blade locked against the gleaming Jidai Maras, Tormentous kicked Kenobi away, directly in the path of the bones he had called forth.
Within a moment, the Jedi Master slammed on his back hard against the dias and was concealed with all matter of bones, sourced from enemy and champion alike. The skeletal remains of a thousand species lay upon the recently reinstated Jedi Master, and his own corpse was soon to join them. Perhaps, Tormentous briefly considered as he advanced upon the avalanche of bone and skull, he would reclaim the Jedi's skull and send it back to the Jedi; a personal message that the Dark Lord of the Sith was back, and the Jedi were powerless to withstand him.
That moment of self satisfaction, that fragment of a second that Tormentous had chosen to take his focus off of the Jedi Master's vital signs, would cost him dearly. Kenobi was proficient in seizing upon the smallest windows of opportunity, both in bladework and in all other manners of combat. There was a reason the Jedi Master had lived this long, and had survived the tortures inflicted upon him by Tormentous. The man was a survivor, and even when the odds were stacked against him, fortune seemed to favor him. Was it purely the favor of the Force keeping him alive at this point? Could the man have died a hundred times over, if not for defying the probability of death?
Tormentous only needed to thrust the screaming blade of Jidai Maras into the mound of bones to end this duel, and Kenobi, with finality. Instead, a supercharged blast of telekinetic Force energy emerged from the makeshift ossuary that had piled upon the Jedi Master. Skulls, femurs, metacarpals, and ribs, most importantly, ribs, burst out at Darth Tormentous like a cannon filled with grapeshot. The bones were of course no match for the runic armor that the Dark Lord wore, but as if the slain enemies of Darth Tormentous had risen up once again to take their final, exacting revenge, the mass of projectile bones found their way into the gaps of the Dark Lord's armor. The confidence that Tormentous exhibited to not wear a helmet failed him at this moment.
Lu'Thak, the massive Massassi Berserker had been slain some time ago, and Tormentous had seen fit to preserve the semi-sentient berserker's gargantuan skill. As Tormentous shielded himself with a gauntleted arm from the hail of bones, his mind registered the image of the Massassi's skull rocketing toward him. With a resounding crack, the skull shattered across Tormentous' forehead, recoiling his head to the side, where a fortuitous rib bone lodged itself into his neck, and an accompanying rib bone found purchase within his exposed flank.
Jidai Maras had fallen from his hands at this point, and the Dark Lord found himself laying upon the dais surrounded by bones of his enemies and champions, laboriously struggling to breathe with a rib bone lodged into his neck. His eyes followed the shadow that loomed over him and, in his momentary daze, he soon recognized the form of the Jedi Master, now prepared to pass his judgment upon him.
Tormentous did not say a word at this point. There were no words. He pushed himself up off of his side, and suddenly the armor he hefted into battle felt leaden. Heaving, the Dark Lord got to one knee and attempted to raise himself, but to no avail. He crashed down upon his knees. It was time to receive the holy reckoning that he knew Kenobi would pass upon him, robbing his being of the Force that he had once commanded with nearly unrivaled mastery in his time.
Kenobi, for his part, never took the act of severing one's connection with the Force lightly. The Force was life, it was everything that connecting the living beings of this galaxy together, despite all of their many differences. Tormentous would become nothing once he had finished his lightside ritual, but there was no doubt in his mind that this was what the galaxy needed. The chapter of Tormentous needed to close; the mire of blood and flesh in the courtyard was testament enough to that. With conviction, Kenobi raised his hands at the enemy that he had brought low and called upon the light side of the Force to wall him in.
A sarcophagus of blazing light surrounded Tormentous, so pure that even Kenobi needed to avert his gaze, lest the afterimage be burned into his retinas for several minutes after the ritual had concluded. Purifying light energy coursed throughout the box, burning away the wickedness that resided within. Kenobi could feel the dark side of the Force writhing within Tormentous like an eel attempting to wriggle from his grasp, but there was no escape. Tormentous' aura had been punctured, much like his body by the bones of the fallen, and it was burning away like flimsiplast to a flame. Before long, the ritual had concluded, and a man-- just a ruined man-- resided within the prison of light that Kenobi had created.
The Jedi Master took a deep breath through his nose and, once the brilliance of the Force construct had begun to fade to a more palatable intensity, he approached. Tormentous would be taken before the Galactic Alliance and he would be tried for his brutality. The Jedi Master imagined that a number of systems directly affected by the one-time Dark Lord would want their hands on him as well, but a man could only pay for his crimes via termination once. The path would end, one way or another. Kenobi stood before the golden confines and--
A gauntleted hand shot out and closed around his throat.
Raising him up off of his feet, Tormentous strode out of the Wall of Light, a wicked expression in his eyes as he looked upon Kenobi.
"Did you not wonder what purpose my disappearance played? Did you lead yourself to believe that mastering the Thought Bomb had rendered me so weak, so empty, that I needed to hide away, biding my time until I had regained my strength? Or were you so foolish, so relieved by my absence, that you fell complacent?" Tormentous called, loudly enough for all within the courtyard to realize the error of their judgment.
"I allowed myself to be bathed in the light side of the Force, letting it eat away at me, burning my powers away time and again, but I grew stronger from it. I survived the poison of the light side, and now you'll find I am quite immune to the ability you so rely upon to neuter the rabble that serve me," Tormentous boasted.
As Tormentous' outstretched arm carried Kenobi over the edge of the dais, he declared, "Kenobi! The last thing you will see is me standing atop this citadel. Remember this! You were the last hope for this galaxy and you have failed!"
Tormentous made to release his hold and cast Kenobi out and away from the ledge, if not for a fiery orange blade that coursed through the air like a lance, clipping the top of the Dark Lord's bicep. With a grunt of surprise, Tormentous released his hold upon Kenobi, who, despite his own shock and the fact that he was nearly at the point of unconsciousness from the chokehold, managed to clutch the edge of the dais. Tormentous staggered back for only a moment, and that was where Kenobi sensed his opening. Moving now on instinct, Kenobi launched himself up into the air, leaping over top of Tormentous' substantial frame. A younger Jedi would have flipped and landed gracefully, but Kenobi landed and was forced to roll forward, lest he smash his knees upon the hard surface of the dais. This allowed Tormentous the fraction of a moment he needed to call Jidai Maras to his outstretched hand.
Similarly, Kenobi called the long-handled lightspear to his own palm, and it appeared for one moment that the battle was back where it had once begun. This time, though, there was a wild card in play, and Kenobi could only see the Force guiding his body to the final conclusion. The light side had laid out a path for him, and every motion he took fulfilled that future that was playing out before his eyes.
The pommel of the lightspear landed crisply in his palm, and, rather than igniting it, Kenobi spun around, rising to his full height, and used that momentum to strike home with the bottom end of the hilt. The lightspear never ignited as Kenobi firmly cracked the end of the rib bone sticking out of Tormentous' neck as if it were a mallet striking a stake. Tormentous, for his part, had moved to dismiss Kenobi with an overhead smash, but the rib bone now protruding out the back of his neck had all but stopped him in his tracks.
Blood spewed out from Tormentous' mask, as his eyes betrayed his own shock. A gurgling noise could be heard as the Dark Lord once more fell to the ground, his gauntleted hands reaching up toward his neck, unsure of how to address the latest wound. In the distance, a figure lay atop the steps, clearly in distress or exhaustion himself. The silver-haired Echani lord, weak as he was, nodded to Kenobi. Solemnly, Kenobi nodded back, in recognition that it had been his intervention that had made this hard-earned victory possible. Kenobi studied the Dark Lord for a moment, unsure of how to proceed. Once more, he had defied death, that much was clear, but he was still far from safety on a world full of treacherous Sith, all poised to feast upon the defeated Dark Lord that rested atop the dais for all to see...
Within a moment, the Jedi Master slammed on his back hard against the dias and was concealed with all matter of bones, sourced from enemy and champion alike. The skeletal remains of a thousand species lay upon the recently reinstated Jedi Master, and his own corpse was soon to join them. Perhaps, Tormentous briefly considered as he advanced upon the avalanche of bone and skull, he would reclaim the Jedi's skull and send it back to the Jedi; a personal message that the Dark Lord of the Sith was back, and the Jedi were powerless to withstand him.
That moment of self satisfaction, that fragment of a second that Tormentous had chosen to take his focus off of the Jedi Master's vital signs, would cost him dearly. Kenobi was proficient in seizing upon the smallest windows of opportunity, both in bladework and in all other manners of combat. There was a reason the Jedi Master had lived this long, and had survived the tortures inflicted upon him by Tormentous. The man was a survivor, and even when the odds were stacked against him, fortune seemed to favor him. Was it purely the favor of the Force keeping him alive at this point? Could the man have died a hundred times over, if not for defying the probability of death?
Tormentous only needed to thrust the screaming blade of Jidai Maras into the mound of bones to end this duel, and Kenobi, with finality. Instead, a supercharged blast of telekinetic Force energy emerged from the makeshift ossuary that had piled upon the Jedi Master. Skulls, femurs, metacarpals, and ribs, most importantly, ribs, burst out at Darth Tormentous like a cannon filled with grapeshot. The bones were of course no match for the runic armor that the Dark Lord wore, but as if the slain enemies of Darth Tormentous had risen up once again to take their final, exacting revenge, the mass of projectile bones found their way into the gaps of the Dark Lord's armor. The confidence that Tormentous exhibited to not wear a helmet failed him at this moment.
Lu'Thak, the massive Massassi Berserker had been slain some time ago, and Tormentous had seen fit to preserve the semi-sentient berserker's gargantuan skill. As Tormentous shielded himself with a gauntleted arm from the hail of bones, his mind registered the image of the Massassi's skull rocketing toward him. With a resounding crack, the skull shattered across Tormentous' forehead, recoiling his head to the side, where a fortuitous rib bone lodged itself into his neck, and an accompanying rib bone found purchase within his exposed flank.
Jidai Maras had fallen from his hands at this point, and the Dark Lord found himself laying upon the dais surrounded by bones of his enemies and champions, laboriously struggling to breathe with a rib bone lodged into his neck. His eyes followed the shadow that loomed over him and, in his momentary daze, he soon recognized the form of the Jedi Master, now prepared to pass his judgment upon him.
Tormentous did not say a word at this point. There were no words. He pushed himself up off of his side, and suddenly the armor he hefted into battle felt leaden. Heaving, the Dark Lord got to one knee and attempted to raise himself, but to no avail. He crashed down upon his knees. It was time to receive the holy reckoning that he knew Kenobi would pass upon him, robbing his being of the Force that he had once commanded with nearly unrivaled mastery in his time.
Kenobi, for his part, never took the act of severing one's connection with the Force lightly. The Force was life, it was everything that connecting the living beings of this galaxy together, despite all of their many differences. Tormentous would become nothing once he had finished his lightside ritual, but there was no doubt in his mind that this was what the galaxy needed. The chapter of Tormentous needed to close; the mire of blood and flesh in the courtyard was testament enough to that. With conviction, Kenobi raised his hands at the enemy that he had brought low and called upon the light side of the Force to wall him in.
A sarcophagus of blazing light surrounded Tormentous, so pure that even Kenobi needed to avert his gaze, lest the afterimage be burned into his retinas for several minutes after the ritual had concluded. Purifying light energy coursed throughout the box, burning away the wickedness that resided within. Kenobi could feel the dark side of the Force writhing within Tormentous like an eel attempting to wriggle from his grasp, but there was no escape. Tormentous' aura had been punctured, much like his body by the bones of the fallen, and it was burning away like flimsiplast to a flame. Before long, the ritual had concluded, and a man-- just a ruined man-- resided within the prison of light that Kenobi had created.
The Jedi Master took a deep breath through his nose and, once the brilliance of the Force construct had begun to fade to a more palatable intensity, he approached. Tormentous would be taken before the Galactic Alliance and he would be tried for his brutality. The Jedi Master imagined that a number of systems directly affected by the one-time Dark Lord would want their hands on him as well, but a man could only pay for his crimes via termination once. The path would end, one way or another. Kenobi stood before the golden confines and--
A gauntleted hand shot out and closed around his throat.
Raising him up off of his feet, Tormentous strode out of the Wall of Light, a wicked expression in his eyes as he looked upon Kenobi.
"Did you not wonder what purpose my disappearance played? Did you lead yourself to believe that mastering the Thought Bomb had rendered me so weak, so empty, that I needed to hide away, biding my time until I had regained my strength? Or were you so foolish, so relieved by my absence, that you fell complacent?" Tormentous called, loudly enough for all within the courtyard to realize the error of their judgment.
"I allowed myself to be bathed in the light side of the Force, letting it eat away at me, burning my powers away time and again, but I grew stronger from it. I survived the poison of the light side, and now you'll find I am quite immune to the ability you so rely upon to neuter the rabble that serve me," Tormentous boasted.
As Tormentous' outstretched arm carried Kenobi over the edge of the dais, he declared, "Kenobi! The last thing you will see is me standing atop this citadel. Remember this! You were the last hope for this galaxy and you have failed!"
Tormentous made to release his hold and cast Kenobi out and away from the ledge, if not for a fiery orange blade that coursed through the air like a lance, clipping the top of the Dark Lord's bicep. With a grunt of surprise, Tormentous released his hold upon Kenobi, who, despite his own shock and the fact that he was nearly at the point of unconsciousness from the chokehold, managed to clutch the edge of the dais. Tormentous staggered back for only a moment, and that was where Kenobi sensed his opening. Moving now on instinct, Kenobi launched himself up into the air, leaping over top of Tormentous' substantial frame. A younger Jedi would have flipped and landed gracefully, but Kenobi landed and was forced to roll forward, lest he smash his knees upon the hard surface of the dais. This allowed Tormentous the fraction of a moment he needed to call Jidai Maras to his outstretched hand.
Similarly, Kenobi called the long-handled lightspear to his own palm, and it appeared for one moment that the battle was back where it had once begun. This time, though, there was a wild card in play, and Kenobi could only see the Force guiding his body to the final conclusion. The light side had laid out a path for him, and every motion he took fulfilled that future that was playing out before his eyes.
The pommel of the lightspear landed crisply in his palm, and, rather than igniting it, Kenobi spun around, rising to his full height, and used that momentum to strike home with the bottom end of the hilt. The lightspear never ignited as Kenobi firmly cracked the end of the rib bone sticking out of Tormentous' neck as if it were a mallet striking a stake. Tormentous, for his part, had moved to dismiss Kenobi with an overhead smash, but the rib bone now protruding out the back of his neck had all but stopped him in his tracks.
Blood spewed out from Tormentous' mask, as his eyes betrayed his own shock. A gurgling noise could be heard as the Dark Lord once more fell to the ground, his gauntleted hands reaching up toward his neck, unsure of how to address the latest wound. In the distance, a figure lay atop the steps, clearly in distress or exhaustion himself. The silver-haired Echani lord, weak as he was, nodded to Kenobi. Solemnly, Kenobi nodded back, in recognition that it had been his intervention that had made this hard-earned victory possible. Kenobi studied the Dark Lord for a moment, unsure of how to proceed. Once more, he had defied death, that much was clear, but he was still far from safety on a world full of treacherous Sith, all poised to feast upon the defeated Dark Lord that rested atop the dais for all to see...
-
Master Buggie
- Staff
- Posts: 1053
- Joined: Sun Sep 03, 2017 7:03 pm
Re: A Life-Line in Hard-Times [BK hmu boo/Closed]
vs.
Darth Tormentous
Victorious
Ben Kenobi
20 EXP
40,000cr
Moderate Wounds
Defeated
Darth Tormentous
5 EXP
50,000cr
Near-Death Wounds
-
Jacobi Wylcott
- Full Member
- Posts: 515
- Joined: Thu Sep 28, 2017 8:41 pm
Re: A Life-Line in Hard-Times [BK hmu boo/Closed]
---Moraband - Orbit
Turbolasers burned bright red-orange with heat even in the vacuum of space, though finally they went silent as the tortures of stress overcame their magazines and automatic failsafes shut the big guns down before the stresses pushed them into the critical point of detonation. Fighters on both sides died en-masse and what few loyal Sith fighters remained did not have the stomach to hold their ground after such an onslaught. 9/10 of the survivors turned tail and ran - perhaps they logged hyperdrive coordinates in their capable craft or sought birth at another Sith Warship or even they fled to the surface of Moraband, but the cost was clear here. Very few would remain in this combat.
The Malevolent though roared with anger, every gun blazing with hatred and final defiance. A trio of Imperial TIEs and a following XM-1 Gunship were seemingly all that was left of a tangible Imperial offensive - though as it stood the daunting Sith Warship was on its final thread and staring death in the face. Though it would not be said that such a legendary warship would fall into history without a final say. Forward firepower intensified and engaged the incoming assault. Rays of angry red danced into the forward screen to fill the void, gunners were whipped for missing their marks even though their weaponry was meant for greater targets of mass and firepower - some were executed, the left TIE took a clipping shot though even that was enough to obliterate it into atoms by such incredible firepower meant for capital ships. It disintegrated and erupted into a tumbling fireball.
But only too late.
The oncoming TIE formation broke away and exposed the final XM-1 face to face with the unshielded and unguarded bridge of the Malevolent itself. Time slowed and stood still. So much blood had been shed to build up to this very unlikely moment. From the distant Red Nebulae unto the debris strewn orbit of Spintir and the terrible tolls of Xilkarth - here above Moraband did this heavy cruiser with her standard held high, bearing streamers of dozens of campaigns, have her fate held within the cockpit of a single man.
Time - it indeed was standing still - and not a breath was taken.
---Moraband - Valley of the Dark Lords
Fortress of Darth Tormentous
A gurgling cough, it was all he could manage. Blood spat from the grill of Darth Tormentous’ face mask, the measure of it was thick and dark for the mask itself was holding gobbets of it in - choking the wearer in its depth. Eyes rolled backwards as his knees hit the ground - right arm shooting out to support him though as soon as tension was delivered the severed gash screamed out and he tumbled down onto his side in a growing puddle of sticky red liquid. His left hand grabbed his neck, weakly pulling as the shard of bone - the strength sapped from his body as if he were as infirm as a cripple.
Another attempted cough to no avail as blood spattered upward from the mask, covering the right side of his face with ropes of it. His skin tone fell almost instantly from the already tainted pale to ghostly white, the skin itself becoming cold and clammy. Another cough and drag of air, though too much blood clustered in his throat and only blood was drawn in. The mechanical lungs in his chest clogged, guttered and seized. The artificial heart in his breath thundered heavily as it made to compensate for the depressurized blood levels only to gout more red fluid from the rent wound in his neck.
Gripping at the hilt of Jidai Maras, his right hand held no purchase on the weapon, he could not summon the arm strength to clench the leather bound hilt for Silas’ handiwork had prevailed. The left hand stopped pitifully clawing at his neck - so it seemed his mind was still strong enough for conscious thought that he forced himself to keep as much dignity as he could produce. Instead his left fell to the ground and pushed himself to his back where he could better see once he arrested his rolling eyes. From there his final moments glared at the Jedi Master who’d found victory out of defeat - but then his eye fell upon Silas Karn.
How?
How had this come to be? He’d bested Karn in single combat and proved himself the better man. But he’d not slew the Echani that day, feeling his purpose not yet done. Was this the finality of that purpose? Did Jacobi keep Silas alive knowing that he’d be integral to put Tormentous down someday? Another cough - the weakest yet - blood spat forth and pooled beneath his neck on the ground.
What was Tormentous undoing? Had it been arrogance? Hubris?
Did it even matter anymore?
No - it didn’t. He continued to glare at Silas though. His yellow eye burning with hatred and his blind eye looking upon Silas and showing Silas where his own fate would lie. Someday, Silas would find himself lying down in a growing pool of his own blood. A pity that Tormentous wouldn’t be able to see it. Such was the destined fate of all who tread this life - such was the fate of this galaxies’ evil men - of which Silas was certainly accounted for.
Weakness took hold of the tyrant, his accusing glare diminished yet it remained steadfast upon both Silas Karn and Ben Kenobi. His gnawing grip of Jidai Maras ceased and simply came to rest on the stone floor. The left hand now fallen down to his side and unmoving. In that moment Darth Tormentous - no - Tormentous - thought of Darth Blood. He’d not been conventional in his defeat of Tormentous, in the end it hadn’t been power or strength, but cunning that had won the day. Partially it disgusted him that his heir was too weak and needed many to bring him low. The Sith were suffering today, carving a strong hand away from the throne and casting a whelp upon it. No - he thought as the blood began to slow - those days were over. Or they were just ended prematurely?
Did the Sith Rule of Two shine true here? Had Tormentous allowed the weak many to fell the rightful Dark Lord? A final spat of blood coughed from the grill and the struggling calmed as the cold began to settle in and his thoughts stopped racing to things left undone.
It didn’t matter anymore - what was done - so shall it be done.
No words were needed, they were unnecessary and pointless. As darkness took him, his left eye receded and closed, the right eye - pearl white - just kept staring outward in defiance.
Turbolasers burned bright red-orange with heat even in the vacuum of space, though finally they went silent as the tortures of stress overcame their magazines and automatic failsafes shut the big guns down before the stresses pushed them into the critical point of detonation. Fighters on both sides died en-masse and what few loyal Sith fighters remained did not have the stomach to hold their ground after such an onslaught. 9/10 of the survivors turned tail and ran - perhaps they logged hyperdrive coordinates in their capable craft or sought birth at another Sith Warship or even they fled to the surface of Moraband, but the cost was clear here. Very few would remain in this combat.
The Malevolent though roared with anger, every gun blazing with hatred and final defiance. A trio of Imperial TIEs and a following XM-1 Gunship were seemingly all that was left of a tangible Imperial offensive - though as it stood the daunting Sith Warship was on its final thread and staring death in the face. Though it would not be said that such a legendary warship would fall into history without a final say. Forward firepower intensified and engaged the incoming assault. Rays of angry red danced into the forward screen to fill the void, gunners were whipped for missing their marks even though their weaponry was meant for greater targets of mass and firepower - some were executed, the left TIE took a clipping shot though even that was enough to obliterate it into atoms by such incredible firepower meant for capital ships. It disintegrated and erupted into a tumbling fireball.
But only too late.
The oncoming TIE formation broke away and exposed the final XM-1 face to face with the unshielded and unguarded bridge of the Malevolent itself. Time slowed and stood still. So much blood had been shed to build up to this very unlikely moment. From the distant Red Nebulae unto the debris strewn orbit of Spintir and the terrible tolls of Xilkarth - here above Moraband did this heavy cruiser with her standard held high, bearing streamers of dozens of campaigns, have her fate held within the cockpit of a single man.
Time - it indeed was standing still - and not a breath was taken.
---Moraband - Valley of the Dark Lords
Fortress of Darth Tormentous
A gurgling cough, it was all he could manage. Blood spat from the grill of Darth Tormentous’ face mask, the measure of it was thick and dark for the mask itself was holding gobbets of it in - choking the wearer in its depth. Eyes rolled backwards as his knees hit the ground - right arm shooting out to support him though as soon as tension was delivered the severed gash screamed out and he tumbled down onto his side in a growing puddle of sticky red liquid. His left hand grabbed his neck, weakly pulling as the shard of bone - the strength sapped from his body as if he were as infirm as a cripple.
Another attempted cough to no avail as blood spattered upward from the mask, covering the right side of his face with ropes of it. His skin tone fell almost instantly from the already tainted pale to ghostly white, the skin itself becoming cold and clammy. Another cough and drag of air, though too much blood clustered in his throat and only blood was drawn in. The mechanical lungs in his chest clogged, guttered and seized. The artificial heart in his breath thundered heavily as it made to compensate for the depressurized blood levels only to gout more red fluid from the rent wound in his neck.
Gripping at the hilt of Jidai Maras, his right hand held no purchase on the weapon, he could not summon the arm strength to clench the leather bound hilt for Silas’ handiwork had prevailed. The left hand stopped pitifully clawing at his neck - so it seemed his mind was still strong enough for conscious thought that he forced himself to keep as much dignity as he could produce. Instead his left fell to the ground and pushed himself to his back where he could better see once he arrested his rolling eyes. From there his final moments glared at the Jedi Master who’d found victory out of defeat - but then his eye fell upon Silas Karn.
How?
How had this come to be? He’d bested Karn in single combat and proved himself the better man. But he’d not slew the Echani that day, feeling his purpose not yet done. Was this the finality of that purpose? Did Jacobi keep Silas alive knowing that he’d be integral to put Tormentous down someday? Another cough - the weakest yet - blood spat forth and pooled beneath his neck on the ground.
What was Tormentous undoing? Had it been arrogance? Hubris?
Did it even matter anymore?
No - it didn’t. He continued to glare at Silas though. His yellow eye burning with hatred and his blind eye looking upon Silas and showing Silas where his own fate would lie. Someday, Silas would find himself lying down in a growing pool of his own blood. A pity that Tormentous wouldn’t be able to see it. Such was the destined fate of all who tread this life - such was the fate of this galaxies’ evil men - of which Silas was certainly accounted for.
Weakness took hold of the tyrant, his accusing glare diminished yet it remained steadfast upon both Silas Karn and Ben Kenobi. His gnawing grip of Jidai Maras ceased and simply came to rest on the stone floor. The left hand now fallen down to his side and unmoving. In that moment Darth Tormentous - no - Tormentous - thought of Darth Blood. He’d not been conventional in his defeat of Tormentous, in the end it hadn’t been power or strength, but cunning that had won the day. Partially it disgusted him that his heir was too weak and needed many to bring him low. The Sith were suffering today, carving a strong hand away from the throne and casting a whelp upon it. No - he thought as the blood began to slow - those days were over. Or they were just ended prematurely?
Did the Sith Rule of Two shine true here? Had Tormentous allowed the weak many to fell the rightful Dark Lord? A final spat of blood coughed from the grill and the struggling calmed as the cold began to settle in and his thoughts stopped racing to things left undone.
It didn’t matter anymore - what was done - so shall it be done.
No words were needed, they were unnecessary and pointless. As darkness took him, his left eye receded and closed, the right eye - pearl white - just kept staring outward in defiance.
-
Ben Kenobi
- Staff
- Posts: 649
- Joined: Wed Sep 06, 2017 12:54 am
Re: A Life-Line in Hard-Times [BK hmu boo/Closed]
Pain speared through his weary body once the adrenaline began to subside from the physical beating he’d taken during the duel. Nevertheless, there lay the Dark Lord of the Sith in an expanding pool of his own blood. Ben watched with nigh-on disbelief of how swift the endgame had been reached, the suddenness in the termination of the threat. Though when he came to his senses he lowered his lightspear and resumed his poise as a man leaning upon his staff with wisps of heavy laden exhaustion escaping his lungs. Glancing over to Silas Karn, he saw a similar if not more fervently set in exhaustion and for the Jedi Master’s assessment he supposed that Karn had given his last with his intervention and he’d be no longer a viable instrument in this unfolding saga. At least for the immediate future.
Returning to Tormentous, Ben saw the life receding from the tyrant though his mind began to sweep through the import of his mission. To arrest and bring Darth Tormentous before the Jedi Council for judgment and sentence; that was his mandate, that was his purpose. However, this man laying upon the soiled stones of his own temple was a man dying, a life measured not in minutes but in mere moments. He would soon fade away.
It was over was it not? Already Ben’s mind rebelled at these thoughts for he held the power to sustain the receding life. He couldn’t just walk away could he? Tormentous had resisted Ben’s demand of surrender thereby forgoing the Jedi’s mandate to arrest the Sith Lord alive. Even then Ben’s efforts to seize Tormentous had fallen short! The Wall of Light had been inefficient to lock this monster down and instead of deciding the bout it had nearly spelled doom in the end for the Jedi. Thus, Ben’s means of arresting this horrible man was limited in scope for if the Wall of Light wouldn’t work, what would stop Tormentous from rising right back up once he’d regained some measure of his own presence?
He was too dangerous to be left alive…
Ben’s grip tightened upon the haft of his lightweapon, his hand motioning towards the activation stud. Execution… the mercy stroke… he was certainly within every right to deliver the Force’s blessing of peace to a dying man. This thought perhaps lingered the most within Ben’s heart for the sentiment that ’He didn’t have to save him’ fell apart like ash in the Master’s mind. There was no room for such emotional charges here. A cough of blood surged from the monster upon the ground and Ben delved swifter into thought for Tormentous was falling further into oblivion every moment.
Once more he saw Silas in his gaze. The Battlemaster of Eshan was unmoved by Tormentous’ state and he supposed that in his death Karn would be better off. It came to mind that if Ben would keep the Dark Lord from perishing then he’d deliver Karn into the realm of newly created opposition where otherwise there wouldn’t be. Again back to Tormentous and he knew that Silas couldn’t be a part of his decision here. What would be done must be done to his own beliefs and his own clear mind.
A clear mind… Ben sighed and his hand lessened on his staff. With a clear mind he voided his own emotion of being imprisoned and tortured for years on end by Tormentous and as well he denied the thought of Tormentous being too dangerous to be left alive. These were not decisions that were his to make.
Execution was no longer an answer.
Leaving him to die was no longer an answer.
His fingers began to tingle with the sensation of heat and before he’d known what he was doing he’d stepped slowly to Tormentous’ side and there he knelt. For one final moment he hesitated; was allowing this murdering fiend to live the right thing to do? But the clinging feeling in his mind never left him; ’he had the ability to action, he was therefore obligated to act’. A mournful sigh left his lips, he was still unsure of his current course of action… He still didn’t believe this was the absolute right thing to do. But he knew the alternatives were unacceptable. His mind was at war with his will and his will at war with his heart.
The murder of millions on Tormentous’ hands… the life of one within Ben’s… he was not the same monster as this man.
And so he reached his hand out to rest upon the dying chest of a man soon to expire. Surely this was the most difficult decision that Ben Kenobi had ever been forced to make and likely the hardest he’d ever be forced to endure… The warmth of Ben’s healing passed from his own hand and onto the King of Demons himself.
As he made this action the future began to tease the edges of his mind. The Wall of Light cannot sever him, no prison could hold him. Surely, the future beheld grim tidings and the coming days were very uncertain indeed.
Returning to Tormentous, Ben saw the life receding from the tyrant though his mind began to sweep through the import of his mission. To arrest and bring Darth Tormentous before the Jedi Council for judgment and sentence; that was his mandate, that was his purpose. However, this man laying upon the soiled stones of his own temple was a man dying, a life measured not in minutes but in mere moments. He would soon fade away.
It was over was it not? Already Ben’s mind rebelled at these thoughts for he held the power to sustain the receding life. He couldn’t just walk away could he? Tormentous had resisted Ben’s demand of surrender thereby forgoing the Jedi’s mandate to arrest the Sith Lord alive. Even then Ben’s efforts to seize Tormentous had fallen short! The Wall of Light had been inefficient to lock this monster down and instead of deciding the bout it had nearly spelled doom in the end for the Jedi. Thus, Ben’s means of arresting this horrible man was limited in scope for if the Wall of Light wouldn’t work, what would stop Tormentous from rising right back up once he’d regained some measure of his own presence?
He was too dangerous to be left alive…
Ben’s grip tightened upon the haft of his lightweapon, his hand motioning towards the activation stud. Execution… the mercy stroke… he was certainly within every right to deliver the Force’s blessing of peace to a dying man. This thought perhaps lingered the most within Ben’s heart for the sentiment that ’He didn’t have to save him’ fell apart like ash in the Master’s mind. There was no room for such emotional charges here. A cough of blood surged from the monster upon the ground and Ben delved swifter into thought for Tormentous was falling further into oblivion every moment.
Once more he saw Silas in his gaze. The Battlemaster of Eshan was unmoved by Tormentous’ state and he supposed that in his death Karn would be better off. It came to mind that if Ben would keep the Dark Lord from perishing then he’d deliver Karn into the realm of newly created opposition where otherwise there wouldn’t be. Again back to Tormentous and he knew that Silas couldn’t be a part of his decision here. What would be done must be done to his own beliefs and his own clear mind.
A clear mind… Ben sighed and his hand lessened on his staff. With a clear mind he voided his own emotion of being imprisoned and tortured for years on end by Tormentous and as well he denied the thought of Tormentous being too dangerous to be left alive. These were not decisions that were his to make.
Execution was no longer an answer.
Leaving him to die was no longer an answer.
His fingers began to tingle with the sensation of heat and before he’d known what he was doing he’d stepped slowly to Tormentous’ side and there he knelt. For one final moment he hesitated; was allowing this murdering fiend to live the right thing to do? But the clinging feeling in his mind never left him; ’he had the ability to action, he was therefore obligated to act’. A mournful sigh left his lips, he was still unsure of his current course of action… He still didn’t believe this was the absolute right thing to do. But he knew the alternatives were unacceptable. His mind was at war with his will and his will at war with his heart.
The murder of millions on Tormentous’ hands… the life of one within Ben’s… he was not the same monster as this man.
And so he reached his hand out to rest upon the dying chest of a man soon to expire. Surely this was the most difficult decision that Ben Kenobi had ever been forced to make and likely the hardest he’d ever be forced to endure… The warmth of Ben’s healing passed from his own hand and onto the King of Demons himself.
As he made this action the future began to tease the edges of his mind. The Wall of Light cannot sever him, no prison could hold him. Surely, the future beheld grim tidings and the coming days were very uncertain indeed.
-
Silas Karn
- Full Member
- Posts: 303
- Joined: Wed Oct 11, 2017 1:15 pm
Re: A Life-Line in Hard-Times [BK hmu boo/Closed]
Looking down upon his oldest rival Silas witness the seething hatred Tormentous held for him. ‘Betrayal,’ Traya’s voice seemed to echo within Silas’s mind as he attempted to make sense of the Dark Lord’s fall. In truth Silas had sought for a moment of superiority with the Jedi Master and the Dark Lord diminished by each other. However this outcome, the potential death of one of these men had not entered his thoughts. Silas’s goal had not encompassed the fall of his master as the title of Dark Lord was as a matter of logistics not something the Sovereign desired.
All of these aims seemed to vanish in the light of Tormentous turning against Silas. For the Dark Lord to be allowed to lead the vast armies of the Sith once more with a new found vendetta against Silas and by extension his people was a reality the Echani could not abide. The root of all of his efforts to mitigate the potential disaster of Tormentous’s ultimate technique and even Silas’s intervention in the climatic duel was sourced in this horrific outcome. It was by this joined effort to slay Tormentous that Silas arrived at the truth of whom he had allowed past him, the catalyst for the Dark Lord’s fury toward the Black Hand. Though a moment of his past had been taken it was an event Silas had all but purged from his thoughts that held the greatest truth. ‘We’ve done this dance before, the three of us.’ Silas could sense even as he reconciled a fragment of his own memory that Tormentous was fading. Removing his helmet Silas looked upon the fallen tyrant with his waking eyes for what he believed was the last time. If the Wall of Light harnessed by a true follower of the light could not sever Tormentous’s connection to the Force, then obviously there was nothing more to do for the man once known as Jacobi. Though even if the entity called Tormentous could be culled from Jacobi it was likely that instead of a Sith fleet a Mandalorian fleet would arrive at Eshan.
It sickened the warrior in Silas to think he was seeing the end of a power so great as to shape the galaxy as a whole. Yet, the monarch knew that any form of reconciliation was simply beyond reach. As such Silas turned to depart expected Ben to follow in kind. Instead, the Jedi Master knelt before the broken form of the Dark Lord and placed his hand on Tormentous’s chest. This action demanded Silas’s complete focus. The Sovereign was brought to shock and his eyes visibly widened while Kenobi slowly began to channel the Force in order to heal the Dark Lord of the Sith! A citrine gleam returned to Silas’s eyes his body seemed to react before even being granted permission.
In fluid, serpent like movement, Silas rotated his left arm, arching toward Tormentous’s body. The famed silver hilt of the once proud battlemaster rapidly dislodged from its resting place at Silas’s right side. With seamless precision Silas ignited the fiery blade and telekinetically launched it into the neck of the Dark Lord. The swift discharge of the lightsaber hilts was as rapid as a throwing knife and equally agile. “Looking back, this is the fate that should have found HER at Koda.” Silas spoke as the final images lit within the consciousness of the Dark Lord lingered know within the deepest corner of his own thoughts. In truth, Silas did not wish for this end. Yet it seemed whether it was Jacobi Wylcott or the Dark Lord Tormentous the wishes of others fell away or were swayed in his wake. Even as Silas withdrew his hilt and disengaged its blade with not but a sweep of his right hand the aftermath of the titanic struggle on Moraband was far from concluded.
Looking past the Jedi and the Dark Lord, the relics of Tormentous’s greatest power remained. Allowing a pained sigh Silas spoke to the Jedi, “I don’t suppose you have a more efficient means of disposing of those?” Even as tired as he was and as conflicted his mind had become over the fate of former rival, inspiration sought the mind of the Sovereign. “You know, this leaves me as the most powerful ‘Sith’ in the galaxy. All that remains is Blood. I’d be willing to depart their company should we deal with the upstart here and now. I have no need of titles or armies. I’d be quite content to simply continue to augment my own strength. While we may both have been diminished by this conflict there would be very little Blood could do to contest us both. The entire top of the hierarchy could be ended here and now.”
It was a rare opportunity, one the Sith had enjoyed enacting upon the Jedi to such a degree as to alter the entire structure of their order. No single enclave now held too much prestige and significance as to be irreplaceable. If Kenobi declined Silas would tarry longer than he had originally planned to guide the hand of the Sith. Regardless of the Jedi Master’s decision Silas would not allow a third avatar to rise.
All of these aims seemed to vanish in the light of Tormentous turning against Silas. For the Dark Lord to be allowed to lead the vast armies of the Sith once more with a new found vendetta against Silas and by extension his people was a reality the Echani could not abide. The root of all of his efforts to mitigate the potential disaster of Tormentous’s ultimate technique and even Silas’s intervention in the climatic duel was sourced in this horrific outcome. It was by this joined effort to slay Tormentous that Silas arrived at the truth of whom he had allowed past him, the catalyst for the Dark Lord’s fury toward the Black Hand. Though a moment of his past had been taken it was an event Silas had all but purged from his thoughts that held the greatest truth. ‘We’ve done this dance before, the three of us.’ Silas could sense even as he reconciled a fragment of his own memory that Tormentous was fading. Removing his helmet Silas looked upon the fallen tyrant with his waking eyes for what he believed was the last time. If the Wall of Light harnessed by a true follower of the light could not sever Tormentous’s connection to the Force, then obviously there was nothing more to do for the man once known as Jacobi. Though even if the entity called Tormentous could be culled from Jacobi it was likely that instead of a Sith fleet a Mandalorian fleet would arrive at Eshan.
It sickened the warrior in Silas to think he was seeing the end of a power so great as to shape the galaxy as a whole. Yet, the monarch knew that any form of reconciliation was simply beyond reach. As such Silas turned to depart expected Ben to follow in kind. Instead, the Jedi Master knelt before the broken form of the Dark Lord and placed his hand on Tormentous’s chest. This action demanded Silas’s complete focus. The Sovereign was brought to shock and his eyes visibly widened while Kenobi slowly began to channel the Force in order to heal the Dark Lord of the Sith! A citrine gleam returned to Silas’s eyes his body seemed to react before even being granted permission.
In fluid, serpent like movement, Silas rotated his left arm, arching toward Tormentous’s body. The famed silver hilt of the once proud battlemaster rapidly dislodged from its resting place at Silas’s right side. With seamless precision Silas ignited the fiery blade and telekinetically launched it into the neck of the Dark Lord. The swift discharge of the lightsaber hilts was as rapid as a throwing knife and equally agile. “Looking back, this is the fate that should have found HER at Koda.” Silas spoke as the final images lit within the consciousness of the Dark Lord lingered know within the deepest corner of his own thoughts. In truth, Silas did not wish for this end. Yet it seemed whether it was Jacobi Wylcott or the Dark Lord Tormentous the wishes of others fell away or were swayed in his wake. Even as Silas withdrew his hilt and disengaged its blade with not but a sweep of his right hand the aftermath of the titanic struggle on Moraband was far from concluded.
Looking past the Jedi and the Dark Lord, the relics of Tormentous’s greatest power remained. Allowing a pained sigh Silas spoke to the Jedi, “I don’t suppose you have a more efficient means of disposing of those?” Even as tired as he was and as conflicted his mind had become over the fate of former rival, inspiration sought the mind of the Sovereign. “You know, this leaves me as the most powerful ‘Sith’ in the galaxy. All that remains is Blood. I’d be willing to depart their company should we deal with the upstart here and now. I have no need of titles or armies. I’d be quite content to simply continue to augment my own strength. While we may both have been diminished by this conflict there would be very little Blood could do to contest us both. The entire top of the hierarchy could be ended here and now.”
It was a rare opportunity, one the Sith had enjoyed enacting upon the Jedi to such a degree as to alter the entire structure of their order. No single enclave now held too much prestige and significance as to be irreplaceable. If Kenobi declined Silas would tarry longer than he had originally planned to guide the hand of the Sith. Regardless of the Jedi Master’s decision Silas would not allow a third avatar to rise.