Operation Gothic Shield: House of Representatives

[Jiang Winters]

House of Representatives, 2200 Hours​

Night has fallen, and it's time for a fast raid on the Erwartung House of Representatives. This is a hostage rescue mission - Kunsan has taken captive two dozen of Konstallen's senate, and has made public his intention to torture them to death in a live broadcast. This cannot come to pass. Allied forces must storm the building and rescue the Senators and their aides, while the Guard, under strict orders to kill the Senators individually and as slowly and painfully as possible, have to hold back the Allies long enough to carry out their orders - something that, according to Kunsan, could take days to accomplish.

The House of Representatives has four levels, including the basement, and a large covered central atrium/courtyard for hosting receptions. The prisoners are held at the center, with thirty to forty of Kunsan's men guarding them, along with two torturers. The Republic Troops will be inserted via high altitude drop, and will use repulsorlift packs to decelerate their fall and land safely on the building's roof. From there, they will have to fight their way down to the courtyard and rescue the Senators.

FORCES:

Allies: 2 PC's + 3 GA Riflemen NPC's apiece.

Guard: 2 PC's + 3 Guard Riflemen NPC's apiece.

POSTING ORDER:
-Defender 1
-Defender 2
-Attacker 1
-Attacker 2

RULES: First round of posts is introduction, and to allow the defenders to establish what their defenses are. Defenders, PM me if you have any questions about what is available to you. Attackers, PM me if you need clarification on what your men have. Only rule is this: You are not allowed to attack either side in the first round. You are not allowed to call in reinforcements or support without the approval of the battle admin. [That'd be me.]

Now get in there and kick ass! Remember, this is all about fun, so don't focus too much on winning. Just have a good time, a'ight?

OOC thread here.

 

[Rom]

Strapped to a grandiose looking chair that was clearly imported from off-world, a shaking sobbing man struggled uselessly in his bonds, his fingers bloodied from clawing at his eyes and forehead as if he had been trying to dig into his brain. Dark red blood ran down his face and into his once immaculate suit, a pool of liquid running down from the seat of his chair towards the floor and the reek of a man who had soiled himself filled the air. Behind his chair was a small crowd of men and women clad in dressy business attire, huddled together in fear and shaking under the trained barrels of two men in fatigues and combat armor and broken camera equipment next to the body of Kunsan's technician.

Standing before all of this was a tall being wearing a dark cloak, the frayed and travel worn but still voluminous cloth draping around the beings entire body, hiding anything beneath the cloak. The deep hood obscured his face in shadows, leaving only pearly fangs stretched in a cruel smile visible in the light of the Senate Rotunda. His power in the dark side stood out like a beacon for anyone in the building with the ability to sense it as a dark aura surrounded him, his mind bending around the bound man and forcing him to face all of the horrors of the galaxy in one continuous stream of thought. Shifting from within the depths of his cloak, a long and thick tale snaked out behind him, the metal surrounding most of it gleaming in the low light and the wicked looking blade stretching along the tail causing one of the female senators to cry out in fright.

This being was Darth Vereor, and while all appearances indicated that he was getting nothing but pleasure from these actions, inwardly he was bored and frustrated. The reptilian Sith Lord had been sent here to turn Kunsan into a pawn of the Empire, his own plans and by extension that of the Imperial Military's, requiring a secret Forward Operating Base within the Core before the real war with the Alliance started. Since he had arrived on this miserable planet with Varek in tow however, he had been treated like nothing more than a lackey. Growling under his breath, ignoring the squeal of fear that emanated from the bleeding man in front of him, he reflexively clenched his fist. Battles were happening all over the planet, and he was here torturing and babysitting power hungry weaklings for Kunsan's viewing pleasure, whenever he happened to retrieve the holocubes out of the Rotunda camerabots circling the room.

Whipping around in frustration, Vereor swung his tail up behind him and buried the poisoned blade into the right lung of the Senator, not even smiling at the sudden screams from the other Senators as the poison set to work. The senator had started to sweat and shake, bubbles of blood bursting on his lips with each gasp as his eyes widened. The hallucinations began and through his struggles the chair fell over, the arm snapping as it hit the floor and allowed the senator to bring his hand up towards his face, crying out in fear as he gouged his own eyes out. After a few moments of struggling, the man's breath rattled in his throat, a copious amount of blood pouring from his mouth onto the marble floor before he slumped down dead.

Growling, Vereor flicked a clawed hand out lazily and gestured for one of the soldiers to drag the body and broken furniture away towards the side with the other already dead men and women. Looking up at the viewing balcony off on the other side of the rotunda, the Sith Warmaster nodded for the sniper stationed there to maintain his position before going to turn back towards the assembled Senators. "Do you know why the dark will win?" His voice was a cold hiss, menacing and terrifying as his aura flared, his powers bending in towards the Senators.

"The dark is generou......" His voice trailed off in a satisfied hiss as he turned towards the sky, his sharp predatory eyes focusing through the transparisteel towards the sky above. Something was stirring within the Force. "Varek... I do believe we may have... visitorz shortly."

 

[Mars]

Sometimes in life we're faced with situations that we just have no control over. It happens pretty often, in fact, sometimes these situations sometimes change the rest of our lives. That soldier who was drafted into the Empire's military. The child "blessed" with Force sensitivity that got dragged off to the Jedi temple for years of harsh training. That child who is sold for drug money. Those senators who are kidnapped and used as hostages.

Wait a second, those last two are oddly familiar...

The difference is that the former rebelled against his captives and overcame them, whilst the spoiled politicians patiently awaited their deaths. The life of a captive always generally ends with death, but an attempt to make that death the captor's is much more respectable.

Vereor systematically tortured and killed the senators one by one with a sharpshooter and a pair of the guard watching over them. Those senators still alive stayed where instructed, most shaking in fear of the big bad Barabel and his masked accomplice. While not as large as the Darth himself, his potential apprentice was still quite large compared to many. He wore robes over a set of heavily customized armor designed to provide protection whilst still being easy to move in. The one thing most would remember about was the ancient mask he wore at all times. It was imbued with a strange dark side energy that made Varek more vengeful and anger-prone then usual, allowing him greater ability to tap his inner beast and unleash hell on his foes. Similar to his gauntlets, which could catch lightsabers, it was oddly durable and could take quite the beating.

Whatever it was, it all meant nothing if the warrior wielding them was weak, and Varek had earned these artifacts through proving himself strong. He could feel Vereor's hatred of such a boring and sadistic task and the Zabrak felt the same way. There was no honor in this, no challenge or skilled required. Any acolyte fresh from the temple could have performed this task. A chill hit Varek's spine just as Vereor spoke of potential visitors. He nodded to him and moved from where he stood and spoke aloud to the slicer controlling the doors.

"Shut this building down. I want the doors to this room sealed and the power to the rest of the building killed."A skinny Twi'lek went to work from the center of the room, well protected by two guard riflemen and a thick durasteel wall that covered the electronic controls for the room and most of the building. Shortly after, the thick durasteel doors of the rotunda room slammed shut and locked up tight, leaving the ceiling as the only really practical method of entry for any would be attackers.

"You three will be with me should any trouble arise. For now, each of you stay on a door but keep in mind the ceiling. We know not where the enemy is coming from. Darth Vereor, I think we are prepared."

A rare grin hit Varek's face, the coming battle would be swift and violent.

 

[DeathToll]

...Thoughts, scenarious, statistics, variables, hints, clues, traps, doubts. He had to. There must be a way. He had to think of ...something, some way to save these people. The situation seemed so incredibly dire. A live broadcast had been threatened. Whether or not it meant anything more than misdirection was up in the air. Plans were already set in motion, and fears had crept into the corners of the mind. What if there is more going on here than first anticipated?

A voice boomed from somewhere unknown among the motionless silhouettes within these 'birds'...

"Pfft...ALRIGHT MEN!!!...Pfft. Pfft...KEEP _ UP _ APPEARANCES!!!...Pfft. Pfft...WHAT THE ENEMY DOESN'T KNOW, CAN AND WILL HURT THEM!...Pfft."​

Starring out the window, they were too far off yet. Aboard one of two jet-black aircrafts, code-named "RAVENS", more than this one man was worried; each craft was fully outfitted for missions such as these, though their take off was definitely rushed as things are in such hostage crisis'. At least a dozen bodies in each craft were lined up, ready to drop, along the insides of each tin-can. In fact, there seemed to be too many bodies. Each soldier was in exact black uniform, all heavily outfitted; save for two, though at face value they would look to be wearing exactly the same gear. Soldiers' armor was prepared against slug and blaster munition so that they would barely flinch if shot, thick enough and insilated to take heat from incendiaries, heavy enough to slow them down like the defensive walls they are, strapped with nearly every kind of weapon preparable (three waiste belts lined with utility pouches, two chest straps lined with compartments, one thigh strap lined with compartments, multi-capable weapons including repeaters/slug pistols/blades/various grenades/traps/gas canisters/electric-net launchers/grenade launchers/ammunition), and all joints were completely overlapped and covered. The two that were different did not look different, except the one that was considerably smaller; though these two were MUCH lighter. They all wore the same boots, gear, gloves, and helmets; all sparkling black. Though the two were not blaster proof, they were not heavy or insulated, and they did not have quite as many weapons on them to slow them down. Their armor was extremely tight and light, expecting to face some serious maniacs with weapons of all kinds. Actually, they didn't quite know what they were up against, and that was the problem. Their general "everything" gear was an overestimation of young minds, unexperienced enough to gather just what was nesecary for a mission such as this. They were using every tactic thinkable. Not one of their faces could be seen, behind the tinted visors.

Looking past his relfection, from inside the invisible 'birds' in the night, out to the nightmare that they flew towards ...this soldier was worried. He was one of the most confident there was in his class of capability, and he was capable to say the least. But his fears were swarmed about his head like a hundred insects, as he would not be happy unless total victory was achieved here tonight. All he could go off of was the vague threat to broadcast the deaths of hostages, and the knowledge of past hostage situations. Things almost never went well for the rescue attempts in these crisis'. Everything at his disposal was being thrown at this, overly prepared and getting heat from the higher-ups for it. Never before had he attempted anything like the things he had prepared for this night. And even though his best friend was with him, he could not escape this over-analyzing of the situation they neared. He didn't like that there hadn't been any demands made in a hostage situation. He was suspicious..

A helmet in silhouette turned towards this shortest soldier here, some kind of silver metal pole strapped to his back (Praetorian), and switched to channel two...

"Pfft...You sure this'll work?...Pfft."​

The short soldier's head turned lazily, almost falling to the side in the voice's direction, both wearing blank black shielded faces, and he shrugged without a look of care. Kemp Aeschylos then turned his head back to his reflection to return to his.. HUH!?!? NO! He could feel it! Kemp had guessed right, almost. There were -two- there. Kemp's head snapped right, in the direction of his best friend and nodded (as if to say: "yep, they're there alright." and "remember, stick to the plan" all in one silent nod). It would be impossible to distinguish which body was Kemp's friend to any other than himself, as Kemp was the only one who stood out from the rest due to his short size and silver pike. He had all his lightsabers equipped this evening, though only the pike could be seen. Kemp was standing so close to his friend, that they would incidentally seem as one pressence in the Force; though this was more intended to reduce the supposed size of the group as a whole against simple terrorists, working now also against the two Kemp felt below. At this distance there was only one Force user felt to be present among the two approaching crafts. And as they both attempted to hold in their focus, their singular presence would not seem like much of a threat.

Ghost ships, almost entirely dead in the air and moving towards their objective; they would spring their own trap. The layout, the logic, and the light-side of the Force ...was on their side.

 

[TriDaan]

Jarak felt it too. Sith... more powerful than either of the two friends. Jarak had been worried about something like this. He had no idea how they were going to save the hostages now. It was one thing for two padawans go up against highly trained soldiers, another to take on the Sith. Still, they'd have a better chance of success than ordinary soldiers. Besides, this is what both he and Kemp had wanted. As soon they had heard of the upcoming battle they both volunteered their services to the Alliance as temporary Jedi agents, available for special missions. Well, this was their shot. Jarak imagined the planetary senators being murdered over a live recording, it made his blood boil. If the Sith really were there though, they'd be sure to be at the center of such things and that would complicate the matter. Kemp had a complex and well thought out plan and Jarak would follow it to the letter... unless the whole operation went to hell, then he'd just try to make sure Kemp made it out alive. He had to admit though, Kemp had outfitted them well, the armor the two Jedi wore looked much like the soldiers armor, but was actually very light, not inhibiting at all, while still offering a lot of protection, Jarak hoped it would be enough. His grip closed around one of the thermal detonators that hung from the ammo belt over his shoulder, modified to only arm itself if his thumb print touched the added scan window, making it impossible to trigger the weapons with the force. He wouldn't let the hostages suffer , if he couldn't save them, at least he'd give them, and hopefully the Sith a quick, fiery death.

In his arms he cradled a heavy repeating slug rifle, heavier than a blaster but with much faster velocity... almost impossible to deflect with a lightsaber and hard to dodge with the force. Transferring the weapon to one hand, Jarak patted the hilt of his lightsaber that hung from his belt, well not his saber, but a training saber he'd taken from the temple and modified to reduce the containment field, making it a functional weapon. Not pretty, but practical. Jarak hit a button on the side of his visor, raising it, he turned to Kemp,

"This is it buddy!" he yelled over the engines, flashing his signature grin,

"Lets show these bastards how we do things!

They were still a ways out from the target, but it would only be a matter of minutes before they arrived.

 

[Rom]

Looking up at the roof on the second level of the Rotunda, Darth Vereor slowly closed his sanguine eyes in concentration as he levitated his lit lightsaber up towards the ventilation duct, the reinforced metal of the roof spitting sparks as the hot bar of plasma came into contact with the edge of the duct. The reptilian Sith Lord had been doing this for the past ten minutes since he had sensed the approach of a bright Force signature coming from the sky, the other three ducts all sealed and then bobby trapped. Satisfied with the ad hoc welding job, the Barabel reached out and pulled a desk towards him with a careless pull, the wooden structure trampling the corpse of a senate guard. Jumping up onto the desk, the Barabel stretched to his full height and slapped one of the fragmentation grenades from the soldiers to the roof right next to the welded duct cover and securing it with a few pieces of adhesive. Ripping off a strip of his robe, Vereor tied it carefully around the grenade pin and then attached the other end to the duct. Should anyone try to come into the rotunda through the ducts, they'd meet a scene just like this; an undetectable trap with painfully surprising results.

Pushing the desk away, Vereor heaved himself over the edge of the balcony and dropped to the ground, his robes billowing out behind him as he walked quickly over to the main door door where Kunsan's soldiers were trying, and failing, to create a trip wire trap with the remaining 6 fragmentation grenades. The strip of cloth was too visible and obvious, any trained soldier would see it and know to avoid it. Turning back around, the reptilian Sith Lord smirked and stalked over towards the Senators, his eyes locked on a panicking woman wearing gaudy jewelry. Whipping his tail forward, Vereor buried the blade in the woman's chest and ripped off her gaudy necklace, the quadruple rings of metal balls flying away as he eyed the clear wire that held the necklace together.

Cutting it into four long strips, the black scaled Barabel grinned widely and tied two fragmentation grenades together and stretched them across the first doorway. the wire was invisible and ran at calf level towards any normal human. The grenades were ontop of a sloping stack of books. Whenever someone crossed the line, they would pull the pin and the grenades would roll off the stack directly into the middle of the doorway, taking out anyone who entered.

Motioning at the setup towards his two soldiers, Vereor instructed them to booby trap the other doors leading into the Rotunda before walking back to the senators, his cloak open revealing heavy pistol slugthrower holstered at his calf, twin lightsabers on either side of his belt, a dangling pouch, a magnetized bandolier across his chest that held seven weak thermal detonators, a print activated powerful thermal detonator and magazines for his pistol. His tail cracking out in excitement, the Barabel casually rolled his thermal detonators across the floor, the small metal globes disappearing with some nudging of the force under desks, chairs, and under the corpses around the room.

Sidling up alongside the Marauder, Vereor muttered to Varek, "They will be here soon, my Apprentice. Talk with your slicer, see if there are any other defensive optionz we can set up... And above all else... if it looks at all like they're going to get away with the hostagez... set them ablaze."

 

[Mars]

Varek relayed his master's orders to the slicer and the Twi'lek got to work adding to their already fortified base.

A few emergency generators, controlled by the slicer, kicked on and he routed power to the rooms added defense. Hidden cameras gave him a good view of the hallways leading to the four rotunda entrances. Gravity traps were located on either side of each entrance and would rip at least the first person at the door in half from the opposing forces. Fire doors had slammed down throughout each of the halls at various points once the power went out, the buildings way of preventing a fire from spreading if the power went down. Combined with Darth Vereor's precautions, the Alliance would be hard pressed to enter without causing serious damage to the building and potentially the hostages.

A light sided force signature flickered near by. Jedi were coming, and they would all die.

 

[DeathToll]

Kemp nodded to Jarak beneath his jet-black sheathed helmet, reflecting Jarak's own face back at him, jabbing a fist into the air for a quick thumbs up.

Turning his head back to their upcoming target, he was soon able to see what had become of the building. It seemed that the entire glass structure had been sealed off by a protecting metal. At first, Kemp was surprised. Then, he remembered his plan. It hadn't changed since they first took this mission, and would work perfectly still. He let his wide eyes tighten from the pressure of his rising cheeks, growing a smirk of satisfaction. He pointed to the side of his helmet, for the others to follow suit, then pressed the air filtration system on.

The two crafts, Alfa Raven and Bravo Raven, had reached their respective positions; Bravo Raven over the centered apex of the structure, and Alfa Raven off centered to the right. The next moments seemed to happen within seconds...

Both teams counted down from three, dropping their clusters of puddied thermal detinators; Bravo Team's timed for five seconds, Alfa Team's timed for five and a half. Bravo team's explosives were centered right over the hostages, Alfa's over the third level and behind the seats of that level. Alfa's explosives were designed to be unnoticed in the wake of Bravo Team's larger explosion. All explosives were designed to disintegrate and evaporate any and all possible shrapnel and debris, causing no harm to any below or above.

. . BOOM!!!
. . .BOOM!!!

Immediately after the explosions, as the red light and smoke expanded out, nearly the full two dozen soldiers ("The Decoy Men") were shoved out of the hovering crafts and ziplined down into the main chamber. Though, they would not be seen for several reasons. Just as "The Decoy Men" were being shoved off and into their line of trajectory into the blinding blast of smoke and evaporating flame at the apex of the ceiling, three soldiers opened fire and rained down dozens of knock-out/visual-cloud gas canisters from above; the cans knocking over obstacles within and settling throughout the main chamber, the thick spraying gas filling the chamber even before they hit the ground. And due to the terrorists' efforts to most effectively seal off the room they were in, the thick cloud would settle without any way of escaping. The hovering crafts above, with their engines running, would not allow any gas to rise up to the two holes; nor would the soldier's bodies, dropping into the thick-dark cloud of smoke - already having rapidly filled the room before their feet plopped to the ground.

Simultaneous to this, Kemp and Jarak (otherwise known as "Alfa Team") ziplined down into the secondary blast and landed quietly in unison and close together (still only felt as a singular, "one", presence) behind the third level seats all stealth like.

Further, Sergeant Stout (otherwise nicknamed for this mission "Lighthouse") ziplined down to the rooftop over the apex hole and began setting up shop. His duties were many, though first he opened fire with a repeater just after the "Decoy Men" ziplined through the hole; randomly firing with a high aim for his shots to miss everything, yet sling projectiles through the air and cause a panic - as well as sell the deception of the "Decoy Men", whom might appear as the ones shooting. He'd soon toss that repeater back over his shoulder and securely prepare two new remote activated "Self-Pells" (Self Propelling Zipline Extraction Units) over both holes of the roof, for possible extraction points. And finally, he'd ready his sniper rifle.

The only two of Bravo Team, Lietenant-Master Brug (the title 'Master' being bestowed by Kemp for the duration of this mission) and Lietenant Teages, whom both had done most of the shoving-off of the suited dummies of "The Decoy Men", then ziplined down into the main apex hole during the commotion and swung themselves to the opposing side of the upper third level. All who ziplined down immediately detached themselves from their cords, just as the crafts mechanisms also released the chords and were no longer attatched to them; the lines dropping onto the rooftop for "Lighthouse's" use.

As soon as Teams Alfa and Bravo landed, all four of them clamped down an over-amplified spot light onto the railing of the third level; battery powered, and switching on as soon as their clamps slapped onto the railing. Pointed down and aimed at the center below, the powerful blinding lights would further thicken the strength of the gas visually. And though it was not planned, a perk of those lights would be that if the Sith below used the Force to somehow clear away the smoke, they would find themselves blinded by the power of the four spotlights that covered the entire radius of the first level and anything else that may come in their paths.

Bravo Team, listening for their go-ahead, immediately primed their electric-net launchers on the under-barrel side of their repeaters.

Kemp, in a squat, lifted out the Phrik hilt of "Aegir" from the holster upon his upper right thigh - but did not ignite it, as he whisper into the earpieces of the four men tasked with this mission.

"...Alright. Bravos. Do what you have to..."

Kemp turned his head over his shoulder, the slight sound of his words not carrying outside their thick helmets.

"...Jarak. Stay close..."

Kemp returned his focus forward, already beginning his crouched crawl of a walk; the gas having filled all three levels, his hand guiding his direction holding the line of seat backs.

"...Lighthouse. Update."

 

[Rom]

Staring up at the roof with an unfocused gaze, Vereor exhaled slowly as he felt his power rise up within his body; the Hungry One was baying for blood, and feeding that desire into his own power. The dark side answered his call, the magma hot rage kept simmering under the surface bursting forth from the furnace in his heart and filling every part of his body. Blinking slowly, the reptilian Sith Lord grinned evily, the sharp points of his white fangs glistening in the low light as he gathered more and more Force energy to his body, as his right arm spasmed, the amount of energy filling it kept tightly wound to his body like a coiled spring. Turning his head to the side, the Barabel whispered to Varek as his tail cracked in excitement, “Follow this one'z signal.... and be ready for a mental link.” Leaving his apprentice looking confused, Darth Vereor closed his eyes and muttered “Three...two... one. Show time!” before gathering the Force and leaping high into the air, his fang hilt lightsaber slapping into his left palm and activating with a thunderous snap hiss. As he neared the roof and appeared as if he were going to imminently smash into the hard surface, the spot just above him vanished in a sudden flare of light.

Growling at the back of his throat, Vereor opened his eyes as he cleared the hole and climbed higher, his blood red eyes locking onto the terrified visage of an Alliance Commando in the midst of grabbing what looked like a mannequin. Barring his fangs, the Sith Lord flared his aura briefly at the sudden channeling of energy and slammed his hand forward, the two feet of empty space between his hand and part of the hovercraft crackling with power as the Barabel flipped backwards and fell through the air away from the coming blast. Force Destruction... a powerful Sith technique, the massive energy field he had directed at the hovercraft capable of vaporizing anything within it's radius – he had been too close for any real efficient method of dodging the large radial energy field, and anything caught within the blast would be instantly vaporized. The shockwave from it would be to knock the other nearby craft off balance as black shapes began to zipline down, and Vereor rode the remnant of the blast down back into the building, safely cocooned in dark side energy as he sped towards the ground floor.

Snapping his arm out, Vereor caught that hand rail of a third floor balcony and flipped himself up onto it, his saber held defensively infront of him waiting for any return fire as he reached out with the Force, pausing a moment to touch the mind of his subordinates. The sniper had his orders, and was already lining up a shot on the man shooting from the roof, two powerful blast shots issuing forth from the X-45 sniper rifle aimed at the roof man's throat and chest while the infantry men dived behind the cover of several desks amongst the group of refugees with each holding a thermal detonator on their flak jacket – the rescuers would have to risk shooting into the hostages to kill the soldiers and even if they succeeded the life locked thermal detonators would explode if either one of them died. Finally, he directed a powerful probe into Varek's mind and anchored himself within it, creating a powerful bond between them as he cemented a part of his presence within. “This iz the battle meld of this one'z people, and through it we will be able to communicate and gain energy and insight from the battle within a split second'z notice.”

Looking across the way, Vereor glared at two beings of the Light Side surrounded by soldiers, his own dark side energy flaring out powerfully in an aura of fear designed to confuse and terrify the soldiers and Jedi facing him. Holding his saber diagonally across his body, his tail snapped out in anticipation as he waited to move onto the offensive. This assignment suddenly didn’t seem so tedious.

 

[DeathToll]

((Mars gave me permission to skip him))

The detonators were dropped, and the countdown completed. The roof burst open at two points, but just as they were about to shove those suited mannequins out - the demon arose from the depths of hell...

Bravo Raven shredded into a half disintegrated mass of malfunctioning machinery and splashing flesh, with a jolting rock through the air before swirling back into a blazing crash into the side of the building top. One of Bravo team managed to survive, freazing in a bottled fear of doubt and disbelief as his teammate stand half man half gushing red skeleton - broken and missing pieces of limbs. This sole survivor barely managed to leap from the diving craft and onto the rooftop, almost tugged back and off of the surface by his harness; though luckily snapping from the stress and already inflicted damage of the Force attack.

The crashing craft shook the entire building, perhaps even knocking out any or all systems and even security; previously programmed traps and settings might go nuts or simply shut off, and any fire protection systems would trigger into default: possibly sprinklers, opening doors for emegency proceedures, alarms, and the like. The likelyhood of a broadcast possibly fell to a minute percentage. At least that much had been foiled... Broken mannequins fell like a muiltitude of dead birds, charred remains of a failed plan raining down into the center floor. No cans of gas were shot and no lights were planted.

Alfa Raven shook back from the driving pressure of the Force attack, vearing off course uncontrollably. As Kemp and Jarak already leaned forwards in their leap, the jolt slammed Jarak's head into the upper lining of the craft's opening; knocking him back into the craft as it fought for equilibrium. Kemp, however, had already jumped ship, though his zipline pulled him back and landed him onto the rooftop some feet away from the opening. He rolled out of his landing and ignited 'Aegir' with a snap-cut of the cable, and he was freed. Lifting to a stand out of the roll, Kemp looked up as the craft stabilized; and he sighed. Jarak might be okay... Snapping his head back to the others, he saw that 'Lighthouse' had been the only one to keep the course set - already in position to take aim. Yet, in that moment of gripping his weapon into a steady aim, his throat ripped open with a spray of red coupled by the trailing sound of a projectile. He looked up and over in desperation to Kemp, who could do nothing but stand there in shock of the whole disaster, then the shot to the chest finished him and he collapsed through the center opening. His limp body would fall straight into the bottom center floor.

Watching in horror, Kemp found a hope with the sight of the sole remainder of Bravo Team sprinting up towards the top opening. The soldier had his sights on the demon Sith now pulling himself (Vereor) up into that flip sending him up to the third level where he hesitated. The Bravo survivor opened fire from a limited angle in a rage, roaring a vengful war cry; his blaster rifle repeating in a furry.

Kemp could not see the Sith from his angle, but knew he had to act now. Kemp stuffed his free hand into his belt and yanked out a frag as he sprang into action, priming the grenade before releasing it to shorten the 'safe time'; then dunked it down the hole with a blind attempt to catch the Sith off guard, hopefully too distracted by the repeating blaster bolts on his back - as Kemp's speed was able to get the frag off and out of his hand just after the soldier had blasted off the first few shots. And though there was still solid durasteel left beneath the glass between Kemp and the Sith below him, Kemp dived away from his throw to keep moving along the rooftop; now overestimating his opponent's abilities at all costs after that display of power.

The blaster bolts would hopfully catch Vereor from behind as he flipped up over the railing or immediately there after in hesitation and connection of telepathic comunication. Kemp's grenade would hopefully burst into its explosion sooner than expected and intercept Vereor should he either dive away from the blaster fire or block it. It would most likely bounce off of the floor at its angle and straight at Vereor, as Kemp could most definitely feel Vereor's broadcasted signature and thus his exact location. The lone survivor from Bravo team, who was now unloading all of his rifle's shots at Vereor, was not in their sniper's line of sight by any means; and Kemp was not in anyone's line of sight but the Bravo survivor standing at the apex of the structure. The crashing craft still burned with a ferocious mass, causing an incredible amount of damage to the building's structure and possibly more.

Kemp's reactions were instictual and quick, his adreniline kicking him into gear... He was in over his head.

 

[Rom]

Snapping his lightsaber up lazily in an classic Soresu move, Vereor dismissively batted the stream of blasterbolts away from him, misdirecting the red bolts of death into the ground and walls behind him. The man continued his charge, screaming at the top of his lungs about the barabel Sith Lord being a demon only to be silenced mid shout as a flaming desk hurtled through the air curtesy of his apprentice right infront of where the charging soldier would be - if it hit he'd be severely burned and struck to the floor. Smirking, the Barabel frowned at a sudden warning and flung his hand back, the frag grenade dropping towards him suddenly flying out into the middle of the room directly over the hostages and exploding, shrapnel flying everywhere, some slamming into the hostages while small flecks of it slammed into his own scales.

The Sith Lord concealed a quiet hiss of pain and dug a particularly long shard out of his arm and glared up at the running Jedi padawan. Gathering a massive amount of dark energy into his palms, the Sith smirked as the energy grew into long spears of crackling darkness and flew out of his hands, bursting through the transparisteel in an explosion of light and flying shards of glass. Leaping through the empty space, Vereor snapped up his lightsaber in an en garde position and hissed out in anger, "Face me Jedi... stop running and meet your fate."

 

[DeathToll]

The lone soldier, crazed in his anger could not see behind the scattering bolts of his rifle; nor did he foresee the flaming desk that slammed right into his advancing body, crashing into his face and chest. Though his armor was heavy, it was not flame resistant. His helmet was slick, so his face was momentarily saved as his body lit up; the melting material soon searing his cheeks stuck inside his constricting body-prison. The soldier stumbled back loudly with horrific screams of insanity, his rifle lifting to an aimless spray of blaster bolts in Vereor's direction - now having lept up to the roof before Kemp.

Kemp slowed his pace as he witnessed the rupturing transparasteel and Vereor follow. Kemp lifted his already ignited lightsaber 'Aegir', the blue light etching shadows where there were none into his face. 'Volos' was still in its strap at his lower back, as was 'Praetorian' along the entirety of his back; both unable to be taken off of his body without a certain knowledge of their holster's designs.

Hunched over, Kemp readied himself. He was not ready for this...

"I can't let you hurt those people down there..."

He bobbed back and forth with his hands upon the hilt, fingers relaxed and ready to release for any neccessary freedom. His breath was steady, his eyes wide like that of a child. Should he run? Kemp could not turn away. He'd been pleading with every opportunity that came up, seizing every chance he could to take part in combat. He'd gotten what he'd asked for, and then some. Kemp's head shook subtly back and forth, a mixture of meanings unbeknownst even to Kemp. He couldn't give in! He couldn't loose!!!

"...I can't!"

 

[Rom]

Smirking as he poured more power into his Horror aura, the dark side power bending around the young padawan and attempting to drag his fears and bad memories into the forefront of his mind, disturbing his senses and crushing his spirit to fight, Darth Vereor shrugged out of his cloak and stood in front of the young Jedi. Pitted and scarred krayt dragon scale armor covering his chest intermixed with a tattered black inner tunic, a kama and vambraces protecting his legs and arms. Obsidian keratin scales gleamed in the firelight of the shattered hovercrafts, reflecting the fires of hell in the sanguine eyes of the reptile. A fang saber hilt matching the one in his hand was secured at his side along with a second saber, covered with sharp edges and dried blood, a calf holstered pistol and some fingerprint keyed explosives, a plain leather sack containing unknown items hung knotted at his belt. Stretching out behind him was a long and thick tail covered in a dull metal, the tail getting progressively thinner and more whiplike until it ended in a curved and serrated blade, looking deadly and coated in some sort of brown paste.

"Oh didnt you know young one? You already hurt them for this one. This one could feel them die, peppered with the fragmentz from the grenade you tried to throw at thiz one.... couldn't you tell? A man and a woman... particularly gruesome, a fragment az long as my finger went directly through her throat. And into hiz eye. You've made this one'z job much easier...."

Spinning his lightsaber with a lazy flick of his wrist, Vereor suddenly sprinted forward, blurring as the dark power of the Hungry One filled his body and made him swift; his saber swinging low towards the ground before suddenly slashing up diagonally in an unexpected feint. Should the strike be blocked or avoided, the reptilian Sith Lord would pivot around to bring his saber up in a whirling block against any oncoming strike, a staple of Soresu. Should the move score a hit, he would continue with an slash across his forearm before bringing the saber up across his chest defensively. The entire motion meant to test the Padawan's defenses.

"Do you know why the Dark will win, young... foolish... very much doomed Jedi??"

As the terrifying "demon" circled the young Jedi, a blade of crimson fire held unwavering against a trembling flair of blue, a small cambot floated up through the wreckage of the roof and focused in on the movement in front of it across the roof.

 

[DeathToll]

Kemp's worst memories flooded the forefront, as he let listen to the evil Sith before him. His first memories of family, a broken household of his mother's transgressions; her husband's reminding words to him of lacking worth and mudied taint. That man telling him he can't, and all others who told him he can't; it boiled inside of him as he listen to the Sith describe the two deaths below. Kemp's lip shivered.

"N-NO!! I ..I don't believe you!"

The young Jedi boiled over. He was of a different sort; the competitor, the victor. The Sith's attempts only made Kemp feel a dark pull, unable to doubt himself when so many others had before. And the Sith's outright attempts at putting on a show of scare tactics pushed Kemp to want. If this was to be his end, he would face it ...as a Jedi.

And then the Sith attacked, like many others had against Kemp in his endless duels within the temple. It seemed both Sith and Jedi tact had their similarities. Force Speed. And though Kemp was not used to such a level of mastery, he reacted as he always did; and when most expected others to retreat from attacking speed, Kemp advanced. He'd learned how to read the initial spasm, how to sense the incoming burst of movement, and how to gauge the intended direction. Closing the distance, as he often did, surprised even the most experienced - as they were locked in their advance before attack, and unable to counter or change direction in such speed. And being ambidexterous helped Kemp even further.

Just as Vereor had punched into the straight dash towards him, Kemp lept forwards into a flip to pass Vereor's left side - as Kemp's left hand overtook his blade and cut out to the side through Vereor's trajectory and through a diagonal, thus cutting up through Vereor's throat as Kemp unknowingly passed through and inbetween all planned attacks; too wild to find a precise hit, and so targeted further forwards that Kemp had already rotated through the air. As Vereor sliced down with a feint to further cut upwards, Kemp would have already used Vereor's speed against him and cut his open throat; Kemp landing almost where Vereor took off from with a turn back to the Sith, and with his saber somewhat out and infront of him to catch any possible incoming threat.

Kemp reacted first and thought about it later, thus living in the moment and making it more difficult for others to foresee his attacks in battle. He was an aggressive volatile, wishing to punish evil. And he'd give his best!

 

[Rom]

Grinning widely at the sudden move of the padawan, the barabel Sith Lord immediately dropped low into a curl and rolled, his years spent traveling through tight air ducts and tunnels on his home planet of Barab 1 making him surprisingly lithe and flexible for someone his size. Still, as he tucked into the roll he could hear the sizzle of scales crackling and burning as the saber burned a long gouge along the shoulder plate of his armor. Continuing in the roll, the barabel's long tail flicked out behind him, the wicked blade slicing toward's the padawan's exposed side as he moved through the air past the barabel - the position of his arm and the saber leaving the young Jedi wide open and helpless to dodge midair as the blade came crashing towards him.

Hissing in satisfaction, regardless of the hit or not, Vereor dug his claws into the concrete bit of the roof and used the momentum to pivot himself around, crouched low as the padawan continued his leap towards the end. Fangs glittering in the firelight, the Sith Lord threw out his hand and sent a burst of Force energy forward into the Padawan's back, aiming to propel him into the burning hover craft that the Darth had destroyed earlier. Hissing in laughter, the Barabel gathered energy to his hand and again formed a spear of dark energy in his grasp. Hauling his arm back, the reptilian Sith released the energy with a grunt and watched as the spear of midnight black sliced through the air - should it hit it would go through stone, energy, flesh and bone. The only way to stop it was to avoid it hitting you and letting it dissipate.

Bringing his saber up across his chest in a defensive gesture, the Barabel continued to speak as though he were sitting at a table casually drinking with a friend - the low hissed tones echoing menacingly across the wreckage strewn roof. "The dark is generouz. It's first gift iz concealment. Our true facez lie in the dark beneath our skins, our true heartz remain shadowed deeper still.... Thiz one can sense your heart, young Jedi... and it iz darker than you can imagine."

 

[DeathToll]

The tail blade scratched at the outermost layer of Kemp's atire as he sail away from reach, both too focused on their opposite directions in movement to have made any solid blow. Though, as Kemp barely land, he was sent flying over the wreckage of the crashed Raven and through the smoke. Vereor's follow up attack was sent in blindly after Kemp and would be felt too vague to have made a hit. As Kemp had crashed into some still burning yet broken pieces thus putting the flames out with rolling contact, a curved doorway ended his roll away and he gathered himself as he hear the Sith's voice from across the rooftop.

"Ya?!? Here's another -gift- from the bottom of my heart!"

Kemp's youthful inability with words led to a quick retaliation. From behind the pillar of smoke, Kemp was a mere flicker compared to the blaring Sith presence; Kemp let loose his shoto with a surprise attack, throwing it with the rising anger in his short tempered soul. It was by no means his best attack, but it was a surprise to both himself and Vereor from behind concealment; just as the Sith had said. Kemp would move for the offensive next, knowing the exact feel of his shoto as the yellow beam fly straight for Vereor's face.

 

[Rom]

The Barabel snorted dismissively and reached out, his Force prescense clamping down on the flying saber and reaching with all his power to yank the blade out of the mental grasp of his young opponent; he was drifting closer to the dark side, giving in to his anger. His usual connection to the ebb and flow of the light side would be disrupted by the rage pulsing from his heart like a beacon. To the Sith Lord, the Padawan stood like a beacon in the force, his light presence flaring and spitting at the darkness rising from within it; to see someone on the cusp of darkness was always a satisfying moment, and to have pushed a Jedi to such a point made the Darth nearly hiss in pleasure.

Should his superior power be enough to capture the shoto from the young padawan's grip, the Barabel would simply deactivate it by manipulating the crystal within, twisting it sharply out of focus before clipping it to his belt. Should he prove unsuccessful in wrestling the shoto from the man's slipping light side presence, the Barabel would simply sidestep and bring his lightsaber up in a simple cut, slicing the hilt in two and ending the threat that way.

The Barabel did not need to move in to attack... with his lost focus, the Jedi would come to him. The Jedi would make mistakes. And that was all he needed. "It's second gift iz comforting illusion: the ease of gentle dreams in night’z embrace, the beauty that imagination bringz to what would repel in the day’s harsh light. But the greatest of it's comfortz is the illusion that dark is temporary: that every night brings a new day. Because it’s the day that is temporary. Day iz the illusion.... and the twilight of your life is approaching as fast as your fall, young Jedaii. Nearly az fast az the death of your friend...." With a wicked smirk as his sentence trailed off, the Sith Lord calmly reached out a hand and pumped the other crashed craft with Sith Lightning, the blue arches of energy streaming into the metal and beginning to electrocute the unconscious occupants within. His eyes were focused on the arid black smoke plume the Jedi had disappeared from, but his senses were everywhere, his saber held prepared. He was ready. He was waiting. The consummate hunter who had finally found the prey.

 

[DeathToll]

Kemp's lightsaber was taken from him, having lost it so easily and almost releasing it at the Sith's tug. Kemp's focus was on the Sith himself; searching, studying. He readied himself for his next attack to find the shatterpoint.

But then, the blasted Sith began to spout off again. Again with the gifts. Kemp was loosing it. And finally the bit about his friend, Jarak. Kemp combusted.

"NOOO!!!"

He threw out a piece of electrified metal straight at Vereor, large enough to conceal Kemp as he blasted forth right behind it. As he neared Vereor, Kemp ducked underneath the metal with a twist upwards and a slash cutting up through the beast's legs. Because of Kemp's lack of height and his ducking motion in quickness, there would be no sending the electrified metal back at him as he neared. It would simply fly right over him. Kemp was determined and rocketing through the Force. He felt the need to engage this threat head on.

 

[Rom]

Leaping into the air at the last moment, Vereor flipped and slammed his hand down towards the metal plate, unleashing a powerful buffeting Force push to slam the electrified metal piece down ontop of the padawan. Coming to the ground in a roll, Vereor pivoted quickly and brought his saber up defensively to block any incoming attack that may result from the Padawan's changed movement if he avoided being crushed by the heavy sparking metal.

Should the padawan be pinned down, the Sith Lord would continue lashing out with lightning, aiming to paralyze the young Jedi or at least get his hand to spasm enough to cause him to drop his saber, which would be summoned away and neutralized just like the shoto. Should the padawan have avoided it, Vereor would smirk and wave for him to come meet his fate with a lazy 'come hither' gesture. "Its third gift is the light itself: as dayz are defined by the nightz that divide them, as stars are defined by the infinite black through which they wheel, the dark embraces the light, and bringz it forth from the center of its own self. With each victory of the light, it is the dark that winz."

Standing with his legs spread and planted, his lightsaber held diagonally across his chest in the higher tier Soresu stance, the obsidian scaled Barabel smirked, the firelight dancing in his blood red eyes. "Can you even feel your light anymore, young Jedi? Or haz it finally dawned on you that this one haz already won, and it iz only a matter of time.... Either by your death, or your fall... the Dark will win. The Dark always winz..."

 

[DeathToll]

Kemp's speed took him into a roll, just barely grazed by the slamming metal; his ducking slash morphing instead into a shift of weight in pushing off for another bolt straight for the landing Sith.

Kemp was in a rage, only building through heated flares that snapped out but didn't retract; as all he could think about was saving Jarak. He was Kemp's only friend in this life, and the only one to have respected him as a fighter and thus, in Kemp's eyes, his true self. The more that this Sith mocked Kemp, the more he -needed- to prove him wrong. Never had Kemp faced a lose lose situation, not believing in them. This was different. Even if he beat the Sith in combat, he would loose his soul to the fiend. Though Kemp's ferocity grew, the Sith's words were not quite bringing their desired effect; Kemp's speed only bostered, his strength nearly doubled. Kemp could not let the Sith win, even if it meant loosing in the end.

As Vereor rolled to a pivot, Kemp was already on his way to him; and as the Sith Lord brought up a Soresu block, their blades crashed together - the sounds lost behind Kemp's battle cry. Though, as Kemp's strike came up to contact one way, he moved against the Darth's twisting body and away from the tail's sway. After coming up with that first strike from his left, Kemp let Darth Vereor's saber have the right of way to fall through its momentum as Kemp's blade swung round to the other side for a similar diagonal strike from his upper right to lower left; though the strikes were quick and tight, Kemp's body moved from side to side - hoping to bait a tail strike from his prepared angle. And with this second strike, Kemp's left hand had barely released from the hilt unnoticeably with the palm still in contact with the butt of the saber - invisibly preparing a quick instictive counter.