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Ash
Ash Ash Binks
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last online Jun 5, 2022 10:09:17 GMT -5
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Jun 2, 2015 13:25:52 GMT -5
Post by Ash on Jun 2, 2015 13:25:52 GMT -5
Lancer didn't like this one bit: there were much too many rakghouls: many more than the initial numbers showed. Damn the higher-ups to hell for employing this weapon. They could have at least evacuated the sith off the planet to fight another day.
Trouble...
Diarmuid spun, just in time to nearly catch a face-full of pale monster. His reflexes were much faster, and he caught the creature on his spear, flinging it around and out the opening he was near. Noise came of more to come.
So Lancer went up: well rather out the blown out wall, bounce off the ground, and leap to another building scaling it with the help of the force. He moved quickly, heading towards a crater not too terribly far away.
First thing first though was to see what he could from his new vantage point: and it was nothing pretty. Hundreds... thousands of these monsters were pouting out of... just about everywhere... He grabbed the Jedi radio off his belt, and keyed it.
Master, this is... slash. There is a break in the monster line to the south. Recommend sending any and all available forces there to keep it open for evac. I say again, hold the south li- SHI!
Once again, Lancer was caught off guard as rakghouls climbed up to where he was. He bailed off the tower, heading north towards the Republic line, as well as s a wave of the pale monsters. Maybe someone would listen and have things open for the rakghouls to attack. Maybe he could continue messing with them if he got a break.
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Rugs
The ring-dang-doo, now what is that?
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Jun 3, 2015 23:14:00 GMT -5
Post by Rugs on Jun 3, 2015 23:14:00 GMT -5
It took a few moments for a response to come in from Shatani, but come it did, in the form of one genuinely-relieved sounding Echani. Locke grinned, spreading his palms on the table as he leaned forward. “You know me, Snowflake,” he said, mouth twisting to a wry grin. “Always deliver, rain or shine, horde of mutant monsters or not. Would hate to ruin your nameday.”
Locke allowed himself a snorted laugh; the first genuine one he’d given up in quite some time.
“It’s what, your 70th, right?”
He was sure Shatani would deliver some fitting retort—later, if not in the heat of battle. But a bit of cheer could go a long way, Locke figured, especially when morale could — very reasonably — be plummeting with the rakghouls’ unforeseen arrival on the field.
The comms, or at least those directly linked to him, went quiet for a time again. Locke took the opportunity to study the map, pacing impatiently as he watched the white wave slam against Sith and Republic lines alike. Who would do this? he wondered. A sith, obviously; it made less than zero sense for the Republic to sabotage its own world-revitalization efforts by unleashing a long-dead plague.
Still, the Rakghouls don’t know anything about battle, he mulled, swishing the hard candy from one side of his mouth to the other. They just want to kill. Why open that devil’s box? A notification pinged that the attack wing had returned to base. He signaled his acknowledgement absentmindedly as he kept surveying the battlefield. Two chirps, one high, one low, signaled Admiral La Vie trying to get through to him again. Locke opened the channel, listening to her, rather than watching her projected face as he continued watching the battlefield.
“Noted, Admiral,” he said with a nod. “That should prove helpful, yes. I’ll notify Command immediately to put out an alert.”
A few moments passed, and word was sent. Portions of the Republic line morphed slightly as La Vie’s rain of fire began to fall from the sky. It was a desperate measure, to be sure, but one that would stem the tide for a time. All the while, another strategy started to brew in Locke’s mind. It was dangerous, and hardly ideal, but something might have to be done if all else failed to stop the Rakghouls.
Even it might not be enough…
“No worries, Charlie,” he answered as the report came in that they were being delayed. “Keep your head down, though. Don’t need any of that rain hitting you. Keep me posted.”
Locke was making his ninth circuit around the table when a trio of chimes came in from Korynn Dabrini, a Jedi Knight who, last Locke knew, was fighting somewhere on the front line.
”Master, this is... slash,” said the voice, which was most definitely not Korynn unless some freaky distortion was at play on Locke’s line. He furrowed his brow. Several Jedi were using call names, and he’d insisted that Levin and Jaidan especially use them. It was too easy to lose a comm on the battlefield, after all, and they were his two most trusted comrades.
Yet, those who took call names used something that was easily identifiable to them personally, if not an overly obvious choice at first. Snowflake, for Shatani’s hair, Shooter for Locke’s gun slinging and predisposition for spirits. Candyman for… well, Locke might have just given Levin that name, but that was here nor there. Slash was generic, given the weapons Jedi used, and for the normally-reserved Korynn, not at all fitting.
This “Slash” reported a break in the Rakghouls to the south and insisted that Locke order forces to fill the gap. A quick glance at his own map exposed the lie, and in fact, his fingers began to fly as he ordered an air strike to hit the beasts as they surged onto the field.
Someone’s trying to be clever, he thought, wishing for a moment to sit in. Your arms too short for this boxing match, buddy.
“Thanks for the heads up, Slash,” he said, silently entering a command to triangulate the radio’s position. “How goes the fighting where you are? It’s been some time since I heard an update from you?”
He let the line die, then; it’d beep back to life when a reply came. If one came.
Instead, he turned his communications to the main command group, deciding to take a step forward in the idea he’d been mulling.
“Command, tell me, what’s the status on our incendiary munitions for the bombers?”
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Neology
Damsel out of Distress
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addicted to bad ideas and all the beauty in this world
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Jun 7, 2015 16:57:52 GMT -5
Post by Neology on Jun 7, 2015 16:57:52 GMT -5
Novus flinched back as the Jedi's thoughts brushed her mind, muttering a short invective under her breath. His impatience was irritating. Why couldn't he see that it didn't matter? Her grip on her saber hilts flexed and tightened, solid menace weighing her down. Undeniably real when nothing else quite felt that way.
“Yes. They cut all of us twice. There wasn't time for tests.” Her voice went sharp with frustration. Quickly, she turned toward the tower and peered up at it through a tangle of bloodstained hair. A wave of vertigo threatened to overcome her and she choked it back down. No, no, no. I can't climb that again.
“I'll help you, Jedi, but poke at my brain again at that will change.” She shook her head, shedding the brief contact like a dog might shed water. “'Besides, you wouldn't like what you found. Or maybe you would. Hard to tell with Blades.” She giggled, the sound starkly out of place, and started to pace a slow circuit around the tower.
“Can't cut the power; it's hooked into the planetary grid. That much electricity would overload your saber, blow off your hand if not kill you outright.” She picked up light in her periphery and cocked her head toward it. Orbital fire. Someone trying to contain the threat, she supposed. “Tunnels below us might have a manual shut down of some kind, but I don't think it's a good idea to go down there right now.”
“Have you been bitten?” Novus asked without looking at him and hooked her offhand hilt back into her belt. Her eyes stayed on the tower, studying the supports thoughtfully. Slowly, she drew another autoinjecter from her coat pocket. The second of three.
“No. I don't want to know. It'll happen.” She offered it to the Jedi, her grip loose, nonthreatening. “Rakghoul serum. Take it now or not at all because I can't let you take it back to the Republic. Then we cut this thing down.”
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Fromikeable
Keeper Of The Techxts
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...and I'm comin'! *guitar riff*
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Jun 8, 2015 23:12:48 GMT -5
Post by Fromikeable on Jun 8, 2015 23:12:48 GMT -5
Do something.
Vance’s legs shook more and more with every step. He’d been having enough trouble supporting himself on the way to the unconscious Master, let alone getting over all of the debris and rubble, let alone doing the same with a 200-plus pound man now in tow. But he refused to give in, demanding his legs squabble like gelatin if it meant… meant…
DO something.
He would stumble over an unseen chunk of pavement, his arms burning in pain as the weight they supported jostled in their grip. His fingers demanded a respite from their grips, his shoulders a respite from their load, his lungs a respite from their demand. He tried not to listen to any of them, squinting through the physical protest like walking through a snowstorm. Just over that little hill, and… Just around that next corner, and… and…
DO SOMETHING.
Finally his legs did do something, snagging again on a crack on a particularly vertical piece of duracrete and bringing the ex-padawan down to the ground, his passenger falling below him. Groaning as the pain finally poured over his determination and swallowed him for a moment, his mind was set to every curse, swear, profanity, and expletive he could think of.
What in the Force did he think he was doing?
For a couple minutes, he simply couldn’t beat down his body’s demands enough to move, laying limp, his nose bleeding thanks to a nice smack into a small bit of road. His arms finally managed to stop shaking long enough to sit him upright, a sleeve barely covering his face as his steely blue eyes looked at the comatose Levin before him in half demanding anger, half overwhelming sadness.
He’d abandoned the Order. He’d willingly helped a Sith Lady. He’d even fought a High Council Member. And what could he do to try to make amends?
Absolutely nothing. Not even haul a man who should have been the greatest hope on a planet of death back to his comrades.
Fat lot of good he’s done. The sour thought wasn’t lost on him, and its very presence made him cringe and do his best to shake it off. He wasn’t about to start pointing fingers when literally everyone was facing their demise.
Looking just to the side, Vance found a small respite; a broken fountain, its main sculpture crumbled and decimated, but its water relatively clean and slowly leaking through a few cracks on the sides. Summoning a small will to crawl over toward it, the padawan managed to bend over the edge and rinse the blood from his face, his nose finally starting to stop bleeding so profusely. Starring as the clear water turned pink with its newfound composition, he tried to focus on practical things, like where to go next, and who to-
That’s when he heard that blood-curdling noise. The savage cry of a rakghoul.
His head shooting up, Vance’s weariness suddenly seemed like a distant afterthought, adrenaline and a beyond-primal desire to survive overriding his body once again and forcing him to focus on the surrounding buildings. His attention was rewarded with another scream, and then another, each getting just a little closer.
Then it occurred to him that he had brought them a virtual Force-rich rib-eye.
Scrambling to grab Levin up and onto his shoulder again, the first rakghoul would peek out of a window a few dozen stories above the fountain, its mangled face searching for what must have seemed like the sweetest treat since wonder bars. Vance commanded his legs forward, but found that they would only travel so fast, limping a little under the weight of two human beings. Another rakghoul appeared further down the street, likewise searching, sniffing, sensing...
The moment when it found the Jedi and the young man was notable. As if a gun aimed at their collective heads had just been cocked.
Oh fu- The thing was suddenly upon them, and Vance was jogging, no, running down the street with Levin in tow, his nostrils flaring violently as his lungs tried to keep up with every muscle in his body demanding oxygen. Try as they might, they were simply too ravaged and too weakened by the day to meet the quota, and again muscles began twitching and failing as the world grew a little dimmer.
His grip slackened a little. The building ahead was a little less clear.
His knee buckled, making him stumble. The cries of the rakghouls were a little quieter, far more than one behind them now.
His shoulders slanted, their load slowly beginning to slide off…
… do something? Please… please do something. The only thing the ex-padawan could do was make a pained, soul-crushing sound as his desire to live swallowed him whole. He didn’t want to die here… not like this…
His shoulder slackened a little more, and with the most desperate of afterthoughts, Vance barely managed to demand that his arms call on what Force would come, hurling the pale Jedi Master far, far to the side.
He told himself it was to save Lev. A far less characteristic part of himself laughed, knowing it was to save himself.
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last online Mar 7, 2022 19:56:23 GMT -5
Knight
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Jun 16, 2015 12:29:57 GMT -5
Post by DreadPirateMike on Jun 16, 2015 12:29:57 GMT -5
There wasn't time? As excuses went, he'd heard better. Not that he understood how exactly they'd go about testing such a weapon prior to landing here to begin with. Anyway, Jaidan figured it counted for something that the Arkanian chose to offer an excuse at all. Any way he looked at it, unleashing something like this on people was unquestionably monstrous, but he hadn't forgotten himself so badly as to stand there and pretend an incendiary bombing was civilized. Clean hands, it seemed, simply weren't to be found here.
So, if he had to work with a Sith, it was therefore of some comfort to know she hadn't simply thrown her own troops into this meat grinder on purpose. And he DID need to work with her. A Weapon Master was a formidable presence on the battlefield, but calling himself that required that he understand his weapons capabilities to the utmost, and that included limitations. His swords could not stop all this, at least not unless he knew all the right targets to hit. And for that, he needed the woman who'd been in charge of placing them.
In fact, he suspected she was behind this whole mess. Meaning, thanks to intercepted Imperial communiques, he at last might have a name to put to the Teta roof jumper. How helpful she'd actually be, in spite of her conditional pledge, remained to be seen. He didn't know this woman, but he rather doubted she was ordinarily a giggler. And the comment which had preceded the outburst, about what he might find in her mind...was actually a lot more intriguing than it ought to have been under the circumstances, though there were any number of ways to take it, many of them less than complimentary.
"We don't aspire to be predictable." was all he offered out loud, accompanied only by the ambiguous arching of a snow white eyebrow.
He listened silently, then, as Novus laid out their predicament. He was about to suggest using a blaster rifle on the power coupling, thereby sparing both foil and the hand holding it, reasoning there must still be at least one intact among the shredded remains of her droid guard. But then, abruptly, her analysis gave way to an inquiry as to his condition. He had time only for a silent shake of his head before a hypospray was thrust toward him. He didn't bother to point out that the Republic would have no use for the serum she carried; one vial could doubtless be used to make more, but even if they had immediate access to the time, facilities and the billions of credits needed to mass produce the stuff and distribute it to every Republic soldier on Taris, it still wouldn't save them from the immediate threat. But he DID accept the vial, while wearing a half smile at the prospect. Despite Novus' condition, it might yet be possible to bring something of value back. If he was immune and made it back to a Republic med lab, perhaps they could synthesize a cure from his antibodies. More than that, however, he smiled because the implied threat tickled him just a little. A Sith Lord's confidence was never baseless, but to threaten a Jedi Knight while standing there a bloody mess, and visibly having trouble standing at all? That took a certain style.
He had to admit, to the small degree he could afford such an ill-advised sentiment, he found he somewhat liked this woman. Perhaps that was why, after a moment's consideration, he injected the concoction into the side of his neck, despite the very real possibility that the action was disastrously stupid. If he HAD just been tricked into poisoning himself, he offered himself silently by way of assurance, he had trained in purging such things for a reason. And that would certainly be one way of deciding how he should ultimately proceed here. Nodding once more as he discarded the empty applicator, he activated his foil once more, and proceeded the rest of the way to the tower, carving two horizontal slashes through the nearest support leg before tearing that section away from the structure. All they'd need to do was repeat the operation with the next leg over, make a single cut to the opposite two, and then gravity would do the rest.
"How many more of these devices are there?" he asked once his voice could be heard over the crash of the structure's collapse, even as he did a comm check to ensure the interference which had prevented him from answering Locke's earlier jibe had subsided.
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Neology
Damsel out of Distress
1,489 posts
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addicted to bad ideas and all the beauty in this world
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Jun 26, 2015 9:59:13 GMT -5
Post by Neology on Jun 26, 2015 9:59:13 GMT -5
Just like that? Surprise lifted her brows. Either this particular Jedi was unfamiliar with her reputation or he judged the serum worth the risk. Curious either way.
“Should be good for a little while.” Novus nodded, satisfied that this temporary ally wasn't likely to turn into a drooling monster the moment she turned her back. She'd thought about that and it was not entirely without merit. Rakghouls were much easier to kill than Jedi, and she knew firsthand that this Echani was annoyingly persistent. Something to worry about on another day.
He began cutting and she left him to it, hefting herself over the railing. Novus jogged along the the ridge, careful to stay clear of the falling structure. She covered her ears, wincing at the crash of steel on stone. It slid downhill, a grinding that she felt in the soles of her feet and in her joints, and then it stopped. Bristled transmitter buried in the mud, metal legs askew … Novus suppressed another errant snicker in the shredded cuff of her bloody sleeve. Wrong side up. Everything was.
She ignored the Jedi's question as if she had not heard it. The prototype was one of a kind; the sole receptacle of the frequency. Nothing else came close to influencing the rakghouls – the other eleven devices were imperfect copies. She could not let the Jedi recover it. She could not let herself.
Novus leapt off the ridge, drawing on the Force to brace her fall. She rolled to her feet and approached the ruined tower. Lightning filled her hands and she turned it on the prototype transmitter, frying the components into useless cinders. Tangy ozone stung the back of her throat burned her sinuses, intensifying her headache by several fold.
“There now.” The Dark Lady muttered to herself, staring at the ruined bit of scrap that, only a few months ago, she'd spent millions of credits and half a dozen lives to obtain. She rose her good arm and flicked her headset back to life. Various chatter filled her ears - useless. Her view on the battle was too disjointed. She swapped immediately to a private channel and glanced skyward. If she focused, she could feel Levin out there, on the other side of so much rage and hate. The Force ran between them still, a macabre red leash.
“The situation has advanced faster than we anticipated, brother.” She spoke into her microphone, voice steady. “Begin the evacuation. Do not wait for me.”
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Apillis
Poonikins
1,153 posts
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Cotton candy, sweet and low, let me see that tootsie roll!
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last online May 10, 2023 15:20:37 GMT -5
Master
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Jun 26, 2015 12:51:56 GMT -5
Post by Apillis on Jun 26, 2015 12:51:56 GMT -5
"So...", uttered the ragged, husky accented voice of woman as its possessor stepped out of the shadows not but ten or meters from Novus. What remainder of Hervor's clothes that hung off her in blood stained tatters, utterly hazed from head to toe in blood and sweat, her red locks in their asymmetrical hair style dripping wet. Beads of sweat idly running down her brow and body, at times droplets of blood as well, though most of it--not her own, "Who do I have to blame for this clusterf--"
Her words interrupted mid question as a rakghoul came lunging for her with its claws first. With an almost swift and blinding motion, with a flourishing cross-slashg of her already ignited blade of orange light. Its clawed hands departing from its body before grabbing it by the by the cranium with her free hand slamming the back of its head to the ground with all the finesse of an enraged ogre. The creature in the nest instant belt out a bestial cry before being silence as a beam of glowing orange light was driven right into its gaping jagged, sharp-toothed maw.
"I... really, really... hate this planet...", she muttered with shaken voice.
Rising to a stand once again turning back to Novus, with a lazy-eyed gaze regardless of the utter frustration and anger over the ordeal they-the Sith found themselves, she was clearly tired and worn down; and so at this point found herself no longer caring.
"You know what...", Hervor sighed with a deadpan tone, "Nevermind... it doesn't matter. How about leaving this damned planet.", said as a statement more than question, "Kill a few more of these along the way...", she then kicked the carcass of the rakghoul she had just slain to reiterate what she was referring to, "Get to the shuttles. Get back to base. Take a shower. And vent our frustrations. What do you say?", there was not much innuendo behind what she meant by 'frustrations', there seldom ever is with her, and with Hervor's tone given how a-matter-of-factly and deadpan she spoke, if she was being serious or joking out of her wry sense of humor, is hard to say. Then again, given her quite impulsive nature, and how purposeful she tends to be--it was likely something of a mixture of both.
With a faint smile showing a bit of her vulnerability through her exhaustion, though all the same, she still did have a lingering spark in her behind those fiery orange-yellow eyes, "So?"
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Ash
Ash Ash Binks
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last online Jun 5, 2022 10:09:17 GMT -5
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Jun 28, 2015 19:53:10 GMT -5
Post by Ash on Jun 28, 2015 19:53:10 GMT -5
Lancer ripped his spear out of the carcass of the rakghoul he just felled, spraying its blood everywhere. He had a rather grim look on his face as he looked around him at the death he caused these animals.
Through the force, he didn't feel anything sane around him: only the animalistic urges of the rakghouls. He was cut off now from everyone, and didn't know if anyone was left alive on his side. He tried to key the mike for his headset, but heard no tone. He checked the comm unit itself, and it was fine.
The problem itself was the wire running to to the earpiece, which was cut among the fighting. He cursed and yanked the thing out of his ear, then out of the comms, and it came to life with chatter. Somehow, he was moved over to the common channel as well, and switched it over to the command channel.
Command, this is lancer: anyone still living outside the wire and needs help to bring them back in?
He turned the volume up after he keyed off and stuck it back on his belt to await a reply, if any. Now he went back to his stolen Republic radio and keyed it back on.
Yea, these rekghouls are all over us and tearing everyone apart. Jedi are falling left and right while you sit there nice and comfortable. Every hand counts and you just aren't doing your part...
Just like on Dantooine
Why his mind went back to Dantooine, he didn't know: maybe it came because he was talking to a jedi, and he felt like he did when the attack on Dantooine was going on. That feeling of abandonment kicked in again, and agitated him. He keyed the mike again.
This is like Dantooing again: except for instead of Sith, there are Rakghouls. You still hide away while good people are dying, getting ready to hop on the first transport out of here and...
Diarmuid began to feel more emotions: anger, sadness, regret, pain. He was choked up for a moment as his mind flashed back to Dantooine, the land aflame, and before him a fiery building right after an explosion. His hand gripped tighter on the radio, knuckles going white.
And people are dying: better people than you who fight: Master Grog and... and Isi`alect. Isi, who fought for you while you escaped like the scared children... Its people like you who I need to thank for never allowing me to see my apprentice again...
Lancer unkeyed the radio, and lessened his grip on it: the plasteel case had grip marks on it from him squeezing, most likely with the force behind his hand. Moving slow, he put the radio back on his belt and began his movement away from the area, heading towards the Republic base; an emotional and angry man now rather than the cool and collected one he normally was in most situations.
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Fromikeable
Keeper Of The Techxts
1,616 posts
628 likes
...and I'm comin'! *guitar riff*
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last online Jun 22, 2023 19:35:57 GMT -5
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Jul 1, 2015 20:31:36 GMT -5
Post by Fromikeable on Jul 1, 2015 20:31:36 GMT -5
And like magic, life had come full circle. Vance was alone, his only company corpses as he ran by, his breathing ragged and tired, but his body panicked and fighting for his life. His mind was an array of anger, sadness, and resultant confusion, only double fold now that he had failed something important, something meaningful.
And, as per usual, all of these thoughts were being forced down, down, down as his legs kicked up, up, up. The rakghouls at his heels (the only new addition) made damn sure of that.
Even despite his exhaustion, his mind’s focus was on their ghastly presences following him, their airs of… of inhumanity, or nonsentience, of just pure… desire to kill. He could feel it as one of those desires spiked and one launched itself at him, barely missing his shoulder and landing to his side, preparing to do it again. It was all he could do to jump a bit to the opposite side, his saber igniting and slashing wildly, his arm too tired and too unprepared to make an effective slash. Even still, the beast’s desire for self-preservation was almost non-existent, and even as one of its shoulders was cleaved off like a slab of meat, it only roared and began to run again.
Of all of the evils Vance had witnessed this day, this one was all too familiar and most certainly the most terrible.
But he could feel people ahead, somewhere along the next ridge. Around them… smoke? Dust? Hard to tell at a distance through presence alone. Fallen structures, bombed craters… just another part of the warzone.. More importantly, the lot of them were Force-sensitive, their presences clearly conscious and controlled. Friends or foes? It didn’t really matter; with half a dozen hungry maws chomping at his back, Vance would welcome either if it meant life over death.
But it was almost as if the ghouls picked up on the small glimmer of hope that sparked in the young man, as if that little light of life was all the more appetizing. All six of them, even the dismembered one, bounded ever faster, gaining, gaining. The distance between them and Vance closed, their claws whisking his hair, nicking his robes. How could he get down? He couldn’t, there was no path, there was no time to find one. How could he signal them, how co-
Suddenly he could feel sharp claws latching onto his shoulders, an undead roar in his ear. Fumbling as his arms raised to try and grasp at the jaws going after his neck, his feet ran directionless…
… right off the edge of the landscape of the ridge. The only thing Vance could hear besides the sounds of the beasts jumping after him was the intense beating of his own heart.
He landed in the center of them, smashing into the beast on his back as a hard, rough cushion. Pain shot up his side and back as he yelped, his hand white with strain trying to keep his saber in his hand. The other ghouls came down around him, three aimed straight at the ragged-looking woman, the other two aimed directly at the other with the white hair…
… white hair? As his saber slashed backwards at the beast that had “saved” him, he couldn’t help but quickly feel her presence.
For Force-sake… He could meditate on the amazing/terrible luck later. For now, he scrambled to get up, his mind picking the only memory that mattered and practically smashing it against her presence and hers alone, guarding it from the others.
It was the single memory of Levin on his back, Vance’s body under strain, and the subsequent toss of his limp body. It was accompanied by a lone, desperate message.
Do something!
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Rugs
The ring-dang-doo, now what is that?
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Friendly neighborhood CEO
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Jul 6, 2015 19:42:45 GMT -5
Post by Rugs on Jul 6, 2015 19:42:45 GMT -5
“Supplies are ample, Nemsee. We’ve not used any yet, this battle.” This was the voice of Zulara Polo. Locke’s table flickered for a heartbeat, and the Roadian woman’s face shimmered into focus before him. She was a general, low-ranking as far as generals went, but far and away more experienced a commander than Locke. “Why?”
Locke folded his hands behind his back with a heavy sigh that was thoughtful, rather than exasperated. He wasn’t sure she’d approve — wasn’t certain he approved on the hazy plan taking shape in his mind, but yet... Desperate times, he thought as he watched the white slowly surge ever forward, desperate measures.
“I mean, quite simply, to lit the field aflame, General,” he said, looking up with a snappy motion. “These creatures, the Rakghouls — I don’t think it’s shortselling any of us to say their arrival was unexpected. Putting it midly.” He scratched his beard as he spoke, eyes flicking to study the map before him. “Problem is, they’re tearing our men up in most of the places we’re running to them. Benefit, though, is that they’re stupid. Really,really stupid
“They just rush forward in a giant wave, looking for food,” he went on. “La Vie had the right idea. Pound ‘em. You can take out big chunks of them in one go. Give me a wing of bombers. Load them up with incendiary and we can slow the advance.” His fingers pressed two dials on his holotable and he knew the same map he looked at was projected in the war room for all of command to see. He swiped his hand across it, using forefinger and thumb to highlight a broad swath of land sprawling along the crater’s eastern edge.
“Their numbers are highest here,” he said. “I propose hitting them hardest here first, then spreading out to smaller pockets, where our own soldiers aren’t mixed in. We can take out a lot in one go and slow their advance until we can get thing rerouted. And if a few Sith get caught in the process, well, that’s too bad.”
Locke’s stomach turned at the thought of that. The incendiary was a gruesome thing that clung to just about anything it touched and burned for hours. It was incredibly hard to put out, once lit, and the fumes it produced weren’t exactly welcoming.
Protect those who can’t protect themselves, he thought. His parents’ faces flashed in his minds’ eye, from that terrible revelation he’d had about their deaths during his Trial of Spirit. Stand for the defenseless. Is this how you want to do that, Nemsee? By setting men on fire?
His jaw clenched. This was war. His first loyalty was to the Republic, and its people. Always.
“If we’re going to do it, we have to act quickly,” he added, voice solemn, “before they can mix in among our forces any more.”
Silence hung in the air for a long moment. So long, that Locke began to grow uncomfortable with it.
“Very well,” Polo said. “We are placing Bomber Flight Epsilon under your command. They are being outfitted with incendiary munitions and should be ready to launch shortly. We will adjust troop positions on the ground to keep our forces clear of the target area.”
Locke nodded, a deep motion that bordered on a bow. “Thank you, General. Nemsee out.”
He yearned for a chair to fall into as Polo’s face disappeared, but no such luck. The battle lurched onward, like an overburdened speeder, and he still had a role to play. He focused on his map, drawing potential paths to get his squads to safety, when a familiar voice crackled over the comm.
“Yea, these rakghouls are all over us and tearing everyone apart. Jedi are falling left and right while you sit there nice and comfortable. Every hand counts and you just aren't doing your part...”
Definitely not Korynn, Locke thought with an annoyed sigh as he rubbed his temple. But before he could get a word in edgewise, the angry man on the other end of the mic kept going, accusing him and railing on about Dantooine, of all things. Korynn hadn’t been at Dantooine. Nor had the Jedi yet taken on a student.
More pressing than that though, was that this obviously-distressed person seemed hell-bent on venting his frustrations in the middle of a pitched battle.
“Listen,” Locke said, voice perhaps a bit more curt than it should be, “I don’t know who you are, or what in the Galaxy you’re talking about. I don’t know those people you’re talking about, but last I heard, they were alive. Either way, this isn’t the time or the place…”
He paused as a red light blazed to life above his table. Epsilon was ready. His fingers flew over a floating keyboard, sending the command to the squad: LAUNCH.
“Now, who are you?”
The battlefield was tranquil, in a way, from so high up. Shiri’Tar thought, so anyway, from her place in the lead bomber’s cockpit. The lasers, crisscrossing this way and that, were mesmerizing if you could forget that each blast could signify a life ending.
The firefight soon gave way to a roiling, angry mass of white pouring out of holes in the ground. “There’s got to be thousands,” came one pilot’s reaction from another bomber.
“Probably are,” she said. “Guess it’s good we’re here.”
The seven bombers in Epsilon squad and spread out to a wide wing. The bombers, flying wings themselves, were carrying enough munitions to light have of Aldera on fire. Today, though, they were concentrating it. Burn the rakghouls and get the Republic Army some time—that was the plan, as they’d been briefed for the sudden mission.
“Entering airspace over target. Approaching first drop point,” she said to her squad. Her voice was eerily quiet. A thrumming came from deep within the ship’s belly as the bomb doors opened. The craft shuddered ever so slightly as they locked into place.
Shiri’s co-pilot left his hand hanging in the air, just over the drop button. She felt a twinge of anticipation. There was no putting this dragon back in the cage once it broke free. We do what we must. For the Republic.
“Bombs away.”
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last online Mar 7, 2022 19:56:23 GMT -5
Knight
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Jul 12, 2015 3:25:06 GMT -5
Post by DreadPirateMike on Jul 12, 2015 3:25:06 GMT -5
Jaidan allowed himself a mildly exasperated sigh as Novus scrambled off without a word, personally of the opinion that his question had been far from trivial, but he otherwise managed to keep things in perspective. Of all the unpleasant mannerisms he'd expect from a high ranking Sith, dismissiveness was about the most benign. Their little alliance may be fast hurtling toward its expiration date, but it hadn't necessary collapsed just yet. Still, the successful comm test was more encouraging; a quick call might just gain him a bit of insurance.
"Shooter, Snowflake again. I need you to lock on to my grid coordinates, and initiate a full spectrum scan. Top priority. Immediate priority!" The urgency owed to the tell tale sight of an outstretched hand, even before the electricity began to visibly arc between her fingers and outward. Hopefully, either Locke or the technician he passed that task off to was quick with the console. He knew yelling for her to wait would just be wasted breath, even if she heard him; the urgency with which she set to her task was unmistakable. "Right. Well, if you saw that anomalous signal, or you can find it in sensor logs, I need to know if you find it anywhere else. It's calling the horde."
The alarm thus sounded, he began picking his way down the ridge to rejoin her and...he wasn't even sure what he wished to say to her. Probably something sarcastic about Sith subtlety. Technically, he suspected her property damage DID dwarf his, at least in the credit figure. These promising beginnings were interrupted, however, as was his descent, when his vantage point allowed him to spot a few interesting details. First of all, the woman...in the shadows, naturally, where poor lighting made Krayt Dragons into masters of stealth. At least, he was pretty sure it was a woman, though between environmental factors and Hervor's appalling condition, he wasn't certain until snippets of her introduction reached his ears. Something about going off to relieve frustrations.
The commotion off to his right and approaching at high speed, however, proved of significantly greater interest. A young man fled this way for dear life, and the lightsaber in hand was apparently no proof against the terror of the Hell he brought with him. Ah well, he'd known the peace and quiet was a passing thing.
"Oh, and Shooter? I very much look forward to seeing which of us wears it more gracefully in 35 years."
Then, he found a hand hold to steady himself, and waited for his moment to act. Mainly, this involved holding position even as the Rakghouls picked themselves up and went after their prey to confirm that for the moment, they had indeed overlooked the extra warm body overhead. Good; best make use of the element of surprise while the enemy was still few enough for it to matter. Launching off from the slope into a high, Force assisted flip, he made a few subtle corrections to his trajectory, and Hervor's three attackers became two when he landed - boots first between a Rakghoul's shoulder blades, snapping its neck as he crushed it to the ground.
"Sorry." he offered to Hervor by way of greeting, even as he reached out telekinetically yanked a second beast back away from his ally and the unexpected company, and into a thrust from his newly ignited foil. He'd have to hope the Laitra didn't hold his priorities against him, but he had to focus on safeguarding the one who might still help him stop this madness. Besides, the woman's familiarity with Novus was telling, and he only had a standing agreement of truce with one representative of the Sith Empire. If she had to wear herself down a little further before Jaidan had to deal with her...he could live with that. "For the moment, she's with me."
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Ash
Ash Ash Binks
835 posts
103 likes
Comic line loading.
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last online Jun 5, 2022 10:09:17 GMT -5
Guardian
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Aug 16, 2015 14:28:46 GMT -5
Post by Ash on Aug 16, 2015 14:28:46 GMT -5
The time is long passed now... Do some homework, and you may learn a little about recent history.
Lancer cut the comms right there, his voice full of hate and sorrow. He stopped for a moment, shaking his head to clear it. His usual demeanor and swagger was gone, and he felt... different. It was hard to put into words. Thinking back on the pain of Dantooine was almost physically painful after these years, and it wasn't something that he can easily turn into strength. No... He would need to go out and take some time to collect his thoughts.
But now was not the time to be thinking of that. A sharp sound began to touch his ears, and it took him a moment to realize that it was a squadron of starfighters. They weren't too close to him, but he was able to make out that these things were dropping something.
The fire and smoke, however, he saw very clearly. His eyes widened at the bombs being detonated. As quickly as he could, he made his way up as high as he could, and saw that they were trying to burn everything. Incendiaries... It had to be. Pretty damn destructive, even for the Jedi and the Republic.
So this is their plan? That would just get the ones on the surface.
Other bombs maybe would have been more useful to collapse the actual tunnels rather than just burn the damned monsters. On the Sith comm side, he heard traffic about them dropping bombs, and that some of them were caught in the fires. There was also noise about the rakghouls not being deterred by the flames.
He was barely aware of the Republic side again: it was the Jedi he let loose on... Of course he wouldn't know who he was. He was sure most Jedi thought he died on Dantooine like so many others. When he spoke to answer the Jedi, his voice was dripping with sarcasm... at least at the end.
My name? Its Diarmuid Ua Duibhne. I hope we can become good friends in the future.
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Rugs
The ring-dang-doo, now what is that?
6,347 posts
1,102 likes
Friendly neighborhood CEO
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last online Jan 12, 2024 11:24:20 GMT -5
Administrator
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Sept 15, 2015 14:54:16 GMT -5
Post by Rugs on Sept 15, 2015 14:54:16 GMT -5
A sort of silence surrounded Locke as he awaited word on from his bomber squadron. The sound never truly stopped—radio chatter grew steadily more frantic in the time since the Rakghouls’ appearance—it faded to a sort of white noise as he waited for a response.
“Bombs away.” Shiri’s voice crackled ominously over the comm. Another silence fell, this time for perhaps a half a minute. “Denotation confirmed. Returning to base.”
Locke sighed. “Good job, Epsilon. Head on home. We’ll be waiting for you.”
He ran a hand through his hair, holding the motion at the base of his neck. That will slow them, he thought, but not stop them. Beggars couldn’t choose, however, and at any rate, it’d give a Republic forces thrown into disarray by the Rakghouls’ unexpected appearance a buffer to regroup and reorganize. The fires would burn for some time.
“My name?” a voice crackled through a separate line and Locke was briefly reminded of his conversation with the faux Jedi. “Its Diarmuid Ua Duibhne. I hope we can become good friends in the future.”
“Of course,” Locke said, smiling in spite of himself, until a flashing “URGENT” message appeared on his display. “However, I’ll have to take a rain check, I’m afraid…”
He closed the line and opened one to the main command. “Ah, General,” he said, nodding to her as her face projected before him, “how may I be of assistance?”
“Our people report that the fire is spreading quickly, Locke,” Zulara said. “It was an effective first deployment for the incendiaries. However, that won’t be enough.”
Locke furrowed his brow. “…Ma’am?”
“We were prepared for the Sith,” she explained, “but not the Rakghouls. We’ve taken heavy casualties already, and cannot successfully sustain our current casualty rate.”
Locke spoke slowly, choosing his words carefully. “So what you’re saying is…”
“Yes, Locke, we’re giving up Taris,” Zulara said. “We need you to assist in organizing organizing our retreat. Withdraw from your post and come to central command immediately.”
A tinge of regret slid through Locke, but orders were orders. He took a last look out his little window, to where the battle was still too far away to make anything out, and nodded.
“Yes ma’am. I’ll be there shortly.”
{Fin for Locke}
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