Log:Knights of Ren: Move Like the Damned
Knights of Ren: Move Like the Damned
OOC Date: March 25, 2021
Location: Carkanis
Participants: Knights of Ren: Tamsin Cas, Sebek, Tarq Najjic, Imani, and Errod Zand
CARKANIS
It has been a difficult week for the Knights of Ren. Everyone here knows it. Everyone here feels it as the Night Buzzard swoops in low, diving beneath the waves as though being swallowed by the mouth of a watery crypt. The light of Alpha Prime closes behind them as the ship settles in, systems powering down, and Errod Zand wearily lifts himself from one of the seats. "We received another transmission," he winces, clearly feeling the weight of his recent injuries. "Our friend has been busy. Tracked the supervisor we ran into. Followed the logs."
His eyes are tired, face worn and thin, wrinkled skin creased deeply along his frown. "There's a group in the shipyards, the undesirables. Those who tried to leave, decided they didn't want to be here anymore. Only, this isn't exactly a place the Order can afford the rest of the galaxy to know about. So they're kept segregated, forced to work the worst jobs. That's where our saboteur is. Hiding among them." He slaps the landing ramp button and strides down the metal gangway into the shipyard. "We'll want to blend in, maybe, or just go in full bore and kill them all. Not sure who would stop us, or care. Maybe the folks next in line to do the dirty work."
Tamsin Cas had not been herself, since she had returned from Coruscant. She had been mostly absent from most activities save her duties in the medical bay, and long stretches of time spent in the oft-neglected garden, which she had decided was her own special project. She had spoken, for the most part, only when spoken to, and she did not speak on the trip over from the base to the planet.
As she made her way down along the ramp, her bag in place, for she was not so far gone that she would forget that, she finally did offer some words into the stale, recycled air, "I am not feeling in the mood to blend in. I want this over and done with."
This was the first time anyone had seen Sebek the Lost for any length since they'd returned from Coruscant, where he'd immediately stormed out of his room on the Night Buzzard to head to his domicile on Spearhead, and then from there back to the room on the Night Buzzard for the journey, and now he was forced into the social interactions that could possibly involve quite a bit of ultraviolence.
The Falleen was, in summary, a twitchy, awkward mess.
"Yes, let us end this farce with total bloodshed," was his voice, shifting and cracking like the colours of his skin, going between the oozy self control and unhinged hissing. "May they run rivers upon the dead soil and may they lay unburied, to be pecked upon by entropy. May they remain unmourned and forgotten. An unworthy sacrifice, but a sacrifice thus the same."
The Kuati has not been himself either. Tarq has been busy in the meditation chamber, in the training room, and in the workshop. He's been listening more, speaking less, and moving with a sense of dignity and, dare I say it, restraint. His cape shifts silently in the eddies behind him as he walks alongside Errod Zand down the ramp. "Not blend, but maybe something less than massacre. Workers still useful for a time, after seeing cost - of - betrayal." With that utilitarian take, he reaches his left hand up behind his back to the harness holding his cape. It returns bearing an ornate double-bladed lightsaber hilt that catches the dim light - rings of bronze and delicate inlaid designs cover the saber from emitter from one lightly shining emitter to the other. "Do not waste what is useful." Beat. "Unless is more efficient to deter /all/ who would leave by making example of these."
It's been a hard week. Hard enough that even Imani isn't her usual cheerful self. She's spent much of the trip slightly apart from anyone else, quietly passing a small phial with a deep purpleish blue liquid inside back and forth between her hands. When they arrive the phial is placed carefully into a small silver box, which is then put away. The edge of her helmet eclipses her face until only the unreadable hard edges of the helmet is visible, and then she rises. Errod disembarks and she tromps after him down the ramp. "Let's get this done quickly, and well enough to dissuade anyone from trying to sabotage the First Order's efforts here again."
"As you wish," Errod replies quietly, his harsh rasp low and mulled.
The group marches across the shipyard, the workers falling away from them as they have in the city, if they're noticed at all; there is much to do and not nearly enough bodies to do it all. Errod moves with a limp, eying the workers back just as suspiciously as they look at him.
It doesn't take too long to discern which direction to go: merely follow the scent of human misery to where it is strongest, sulfur, sweat, ash, the tingle of electricity. Down through the winding pathways, the scaffolding, the catwalks, down to the underbelly of the operation.
Down here the air is heavy with the weight of all that lies above, the bodies of destroyers, the gargantuan manmade cavern, the ocean itself. The workers they encounter are few and each wears a patch on his shoulder, permanently glued there, a broken First Order emblem, only the bottom half. Eventually they are stopped by one of them, a tired man in the same jumpsuit as all the others, marked in the same fashion, but there is a proud, defiant light in his eyes. "What brings you down among the lowly? You look like trouble, and we've plenty of that as it is."
Tamsin did not notice those falling away. She did not notice the noxious fumes, the fetid airs, the dirt and grime that coated each and ever surface and caked the ground so well that it crunched beneath her boots. She did notice the worker who made to meet them, and perhaps to block their way, as they made their way into the lowest level, and the tilt of her helmet was a slight thing, pointed, as was the clipped tones of her voice, even distorted as it was. "Trouble you have brought upon yourselves? Or trouble you hope to visit upon others?"
With zero fanfare, pretense, or even warning, the fallen Falleen clamped a hand down atop the skull of the tired looking man and /squeezed/.
The only real way to determine what Sebek was forcibly yanking from the mind of the worker was the fact that his flickering-between-greens-and-yellows skin was slowly settling on a deep sorta-mustardy colour, and his expression (exposed, She Who... Somethings had irreparably damaged his second helmet) was morphing into one of sheer indignant fury. "The rot here is deep. This defiance is unacceptable. Your allies are countless."
The red beam of Tei Tenga burst through the man's midsection, right where his heart used to be.
"Knights of Ren. Our foes are many, we leave none to chance." There was a terrible sizzling sound as Sebek withdrew the blade and let the man clump to a dead heap on the ground. "The purge begins."
Tarq looks over these leavings of loyal workers, the cast-off detritus shorn from the mass for disloyalty. "Is worker who startled when saw us- will handle him." He separates from the group, activating his lightsaber as he walks towards a metal culvert, towards a man whose response to the challenge was far stronger than the others. "Do not run. Will not escape, and will be more painful. You will tell Tarq Najjic about sabotage you did to Resurgent cruisers." His voice is flat. "Now."
Imani isn't among those who can read minds, so for the moment she keeps back to observe the interactions taking place. Then there's a saber slashing Sebek and she wastes no time pulling her own weapon free from its sheath, not yet moving to try and attack or menace anyone, but ready to.
"Who says there needs to be-" the worker is cut off abruptly as Sebek's clawed hand lands on his head, the manicured digits feeling as though they bore into his very brain, which is highly uncomfortable and disconcerting in a way that is difficult to accurately put into words. Then he is summarily executed for what is found there, a fact that is even more uncomfortable and causes his eyes to shoot wide before he falls down dead.
The worker Tarq approaches stammers dumbly, staring past him at where his fellow has just been murdered. "I- I- get the- JONAA, get the guns!"
Guns?
They must have known this day was coming eventually. It had to happen, sooner or later. And so at the call, somewhere between half and a dozen workers scatter into the construction site, ducking into the bones of the ships being built, and reappearing shortly afterward with weapons ready, aimed at the Knights. There's no point in negotiating, is there? "ONE CHANCE, go back up or go down for good!" a woman yells, one scarred eye poking around the corner of a girder.
Quite likely, it was always going to end like this. But, perhaps it was a sign of how very unlike herself Tamsin was, that she did not even bother to search for a more elegant solution. One that did not involve the casual removal of limbs or the wading into the front lines of battle. But today was not that day, and Tamsin who had drawn her weapon as soon as Sebek had given the order, strode ahead, heading for the female worker who was calling our, demanding the Knights leave off their course. Yes, try to tell them what they would do. She Who Rages was in need of a challenge. Tamsin, moving with her best speed, lashed out at one of the workers who had not quite gotten into cover, the blade, humming with some of her anger, leaving a deep slash along his front. Not down, but that was alright. Perhaps she wanted them to fight back.
"For that," Sebek's head whipped around faster than a gunshot to behold the scarred woman, turning past the 100-degree point that most humans found impossible, "you shall live. But I will see to it /personally/ that you scream for the alternative." And, boiling over with fury he marched into the fray. The worker he'd targeted, next to She Who Rages, was slippery. That, or Sebek was swinging like a whackball bat again. The first chop went overhead but the second went through the man's right leg. Then quickly he turned and aimed a slash at empty space, a foot away from the third guy.
As the worker he was speaking to calls out for guns and heads for one himself, Tarq looks across the room. Old rifles, some of them, but a few have the new ones, the good ones that the First Order's own stormtroopers carry into battle. He spins the blade around once as he lunges for the more dangerous fighters. The first thrust goes right through the chest of one supervisor, who is still standing for a moment when he pulls the blade out. The next supervisor of this firing line of F-11-carrying firing line backs away, leaving the Kuati's next thrust a few feet short. But he springs forward, dashing and swinging a horizontal arc that cleaves the supervisor neatly in two.
His attention is already off of them. He is eyeing their comrades and holding his saber in a ready stance before him. Malik had constantly told him to be more cautious, to be wary, to not overcommit. Maybe it took his death for Tarq to finally take it to heart.
The word guns isn't even completely out of the worker's mouth before Imani is on the move. The hope was to resolve this quickly, and that's what she aims to assist with. The point of her weapon drives into the chest of the first worker she encounters, yanking it back with almost as much force. The momentum of that yank is used to swing her weapon at another worker, the blade of it passing just barely above the ducking head of the worker who also evaded Sebek's leg slash.
The construction area erupts with blaster fire as the Knights bring the battle. A few of them are killed almost immediately, and it becomes clear that giving a chance to the servants of Ren was the same as giving away their chance at winning. The woman with the scar over her eye fires at Tarq, the one who struck down two of her comrades, and hits him somewhere in the body, while Tamsin's injured opponent stumbles back shooting in return.
The remainder fire but have worse luck, and Errod limps in quickly, favoring both of his legs somehow, to swing wide of the one shooting at Imani before managing to skewer the poor fellow on the next attempt. Too tired in mind and body to make commentary, he just pulls his weapon free and looks around quickly so as not to be shot unawares.
Tamsin, who made no move to avoid the shot she knew her target would take if she gave him the chance, which, to be fair, she had by not killing him outright, if only because it would mean that she might lose track of him in the chaos, caught her breath, teeth clamping down to prevent herself from screaming as the blaster bolt dug deep into the meat of her left leg, leaving her favouring her right as she continued to advance. She did not scream. She refused to allow even one ounce of her pain to escape. She simply continued on, striking out at her enemy, that final blow bringing him down, though she had not enough skill to turn and engage another.
Tamsin, who made no move to avoid the shot she knew her target would take if she gave him the chance, which, to be fair, she had by not killing him outright, if only because it would mean that she might lose track of him in the chaos, caught her breath, teeth clamping down to prevent herself from screaming as the blaster bolt dug deep into the meat of her left leg, leaving her favouring her right as she continued to advance. She did not scream. She refused to allow even one ounce of her pain to escape. She simply continued on, striking out at her enemy, that final blow bringing him down, though she had not enough skill to turn and engage another.
Two left. Very good. Very good indeed. "Leave the leader alive, should battle permit!" barked the burnt-orange Sebek the Lost, coated in the ashes left by the man he'd killed. "If such cannot be achieved, it is understood." And now, speaking of the leader, there was a faint click in Sebek's jaw and his mouth flung open wide. Very wide.
There was definitely no human that could do that.
From deep within the Mileena Jaws came a deafening scream. A promise of death, doom, consumption, and all sorts of things that set off prey instincts in the brains of the feeble. The cry of the predator to paralyze his meal in fear.
Tarq takes a blaster rifle bolt to the lower abdomen with as much grace and fortitude as you can reasonably expect - he stumbles sideways into a crate, but keeps his feet, his lightsaber still waving in a failed attempt to deflect the shot. He swings at the scarred woman once, twice, three times, taking a small step towards her each time, but each swing is slowed by his injury, the movement telegraphed in plenty of time for her to dodge and retreat. "Ufff." The thin layer of armor he is wearing underneath that purple shirt is smoking; the burn is definitely straight through it, and you can smell Tarq smoking too.
Might make Sebek hungry.
It's as much luck as it is skill for Imani as she manages to avoid being shot, but Errod exacts revenge and so she turns her focus to one of the supervisors. The nearest one, who gets savagely bashed with the hilt of her weapon first, and as they stagger back, they too are skewered with it. "Are you two alright?" she asks, head turning to shoot a glance over at both Tamsin at Tarq.
Sebek's bizarre physiology, while upsetting and probably cause for a doctor's visit, is not enough to disturb the woman with the scar over her eye; she had seen terrible things, and a parlor trick like this was not going to cow her. "Go to the bottom of the yard!" she screams her fury in return, blasting back three rapid, precise shots at the Falleen.
Errod makes use of the opportunity to close the gap between them, coming up on her right and lashing out with his chain-whip. The first swipe takes her by surprise, laying a nasty cut over her shoulder, but the worker woman is quick; she's spent years down here, doing the worst jobs in the most dangerous conditions. Her reflexes are sharp. The next slash meets only empty air.
Tamsin, having struck down her enemy, twisted, as she heard Imani's call. She had not been turned in the ight direction to see Tarq take injury, but she saw it now. And for now, she left the last enemy that they could see, her free hand pulling a hypospray from her bag, which she stabbed into her leg. Numbing and temporarily sealing. It would have to do. She moved then, heading in the Kuati's direction, perhaps leaving herself open to attack, but such was life in this post apocalyptic world.
The problem with being shouting and screaming is it only works when it works. When it doesn't, well, you take a blaster bolt straight to the stomach. His scream was interrupted by such and he stumbled back, clutching the brand new hole he'd been issued by corporate. That was unfortunate.
When he looked up, it was with the steely gaze of defiance. His left hand raised, coated in the green of his blood seeping through parts of the wound that hadn't been seared shut, and made a pinching motion with thumb and index finger.
Airways were a small thing, and just the slightest amount of pressure... "You will be silent," he oozed (figuratively and literally), his skin fading into the green as the blaster-bolt knocked him out of his rage for a time. "And you will sleep. And when you awaken you will find the nightmares you have beheld are naught in comparison for what awaits."
"No," Tarq answers Imani, gritting his teeth. "But will keep till survivor-" He waves a hand at the scarred woman with the F-11D. "-is secured." He pulls sharply at his cape and it tears off at the intended pull-away points on his harness. He slices off one half and holds against the burn - a bit off center but in the general region of his stomach. He sees Tamsin approaching, and Sebek choking out the last survivor. "Imani, need to get her out with us, and you - are only one - unhurt." He takes a deep, painful breath. "Need to know what she knows." He takes ginger steps towards Tamsin, holding up his saber to ward off shots against either of them.
Imani is already moving toward the woman that Sebek is choking out when it's made clear they need answers. There's a pause and her chain-whip is angled down just enough to not be a threat as she moves closer to both Sebek and the woman. She twists around to look back at Tarq, then back to Sebek. "Get what you need from her mind," she says to the Falleen. "Do your whole..." A lone gloved hand taps against the side of her helmet a couple of times, then transitions into a swirly gesture. "Then we don't need to bring her with us."
Being choked by an invisible hand has a way of rapidly reordering one's priorities, and the scarred woman drops her rifle to grasp uselessly at her throat. A few moments later, as this continues and it becomes harder to breathe, perhaps it flashes through her mind that it might have been more useful to shoot Sebek again than to drop the gun, but that thought is crowded out by the panic and spots in her field of view. "Stop," she gasps, hands clambering around her neck as though looking for something to pry open, but there's nothing... there. "Stop..."
Errod just watches, his chainwhip hanging from limp fingers. "Didn't need to be like this, maybe, but you were all so quick to grab your guns. But it always had to be like this, didn't it? There's no other way it happens."
Tamsin continued across the way, pausing, only for a moment, to stare the woman's way, "Tell is all that you know, and we will let you live." Not that her voice was much to fear, indeed, and it held none of the command she had hoped for. Well, it had been a poor attempt, with her mind distracted by those Knights who needed her. They were her priority now. The woman now ranked as most likely to be Sebek's next meal was not.
"Correct, She Who Slaughters. Yet alas, it is with heavy heart we defy your purpose today." There was not one single note of sarcasm or wit from the lost Falleen, he was one hundred percent sincere. Releasing his grip on her throat, and sheathing a protesting Tei Tenga, Sebek resumed clutching the sanity-inducing wound in his torso and clamped his other hand down on her head.
There was silence, for a time.
And then there was laughter. It was small, at first, a low chuckle, but it intensified, and escalated, and grew, until the booming filled the vast cavern. "Oh, He Who Cares, how I wish you bore our gifts. You could drink everlong from this well of despair!" Then he let go, ending his forced intrusion, and bore a smile wide in its wickedness on his face. "It is done. The adversaries are no more. Behold the final survivor!"
Tarq Najjic half-smiles. "Good. Do you - still - intend - torture?" He tilts his head towards Imani. "Or as she says, leave her body here? Less - cleanup." He has no stake in this either way - his voice is neither judgmental nor peremptory. The red blade of his lightsaber hisses as it draws down and extinguishes into the hilt, and he tucks back into the intact harness at his shoulder blades.
Imani stands there patiently waiting as Sebek does his swirly magic mind dive trick and digs out the information that's needed. When he smiles and announces that the woman is the only survivor of the group, she nods. There's little else beyond the way the tip of her weapon ticks upward just enough so that she can drive the point into the woman's back, past ribs, through lungs, angling for the heart. She's careful not to push too far and endanger Sebek, stopping when enough damage is done that she can yank the chain whip back again without risking survival. "Good. Now the traitors are all dead."
Errod gives a little shake of his head as the body falls to the ground, expiring as the blood leaves it, if the life isn't gone already. "We've finished our task here. The First Order's shipyards are secure, and can continue to make the galaxy a safer place, or terrorize it, depending on your point of view. Bit of both, for my money." He hasn't been wearing his helmet, and his wide, staring eyes consider the body for a moment longer. "Always had to be this way," he decides, moving off and heading back the way they came to return to the ship.
