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Ria Misrani

It's a New Day

"There, there, there." Tellu Nysana Talon ordered several of the Confederate troops to move the wounded to a new tent. "Take them there, there's food and water in tent four. Wounded to the medical compound follow them." She took a deep breath and exhaled, Monastery had long been a standing place of healing. Even if it was still healing from its own set of horrors not so long ago. Many still came here to seek refuge and as the Galactic Alliance fell to the treachery of the Sith throughout their holdings. Wounded soldiers, officers, and civilians arrived and then the refugees it seemed to be ship after ship arrived. The borders that the Confederacy shared with the Galactic Alliance were finding themselves having to figure out where to put so many people. "Yes, I'm sorry the Sanctuary is full but we have a tent here, and another there - come, let's move this out of the way."

Camp Rogativa was just one of the many that now littered the river from the mountains all the way through to Vitalii. The once calm and peaceful planet now ran with the frail hopes of a people distraught. Bombs, shells, sithspawn, and more had flooded many of what these people called home. Now it was gone, where would they go? "I'm sorry, I'm sorry I don't know who's your brother?" Nysana suddenly found herself in the middle of a desparate place. "I'm sorry." She knelt down to the young boy, "I don't know if he's here young one, please go with the healers. They'll take you to where the other children are, we'll pray that your brother is there or will arrive soon."

Families had been torn apart in an instant, "no those medical supplies need to go there." She directed another set of people, somehow she had become the one people sought answers from. [member="Cyprine Talon"] and [member="Var Talon"] were around here she knew that much, most likely doing all that they could to help as well. "We do have healers, ma'am, please just-just hold on." The night had only just begun and already she could tell it would be long. Nysana knew their pain, knew of loss so deep and knew what it was to find yourself lost without a way to cope.



  1. Healers and Medics: Those gifted or who have knowledge of healing and medience are desparately needed, remember that Camp Rogativa is just one of many camps that need your help. The sick and wounded are coming in boat by boat and there are not enough hands to go around.
  2. Supplies and Support: Bring supplies and support those in need, clothing, food, anything you can bring to help the many refugees who have arrived here. Refugees are arriving faster than what we can keep up with.
  3. Comfort and Hope: Those who are here are rather distraught and need comfort, some are without hope and need guidance. Be their ear, listen and comfort them, sometimes a shoulder to cry on. Someone to talk to can be enough, sometimes its all that we can give to help someone get through a day, and another day.
  4. Give Me Sanctuary: Some may decide to stay in the CIS, talk with them help them find their place here.
  5. Come As You Are: You've arrived to help in one way or another, or perhaps you're here for other reasons...
[member="Adron Malvern"]
[member="Aedan Miles"]
[member="Ahani Najwa"]
[member="Alden Kyr’Nau"]
[member="Aleksander Miles"]
[member="Alessandra Creed"]
[member="Alistair Myre"]
[member="Alvarex Zambrano"]
[member="Alwine Lechner"]
[member="Alyva Terrix"]
[member="Amaya Cardei"]
[member="Amethyst Atreides"]
[member="Anastasia Vi'dreya"]
[member="Ancilla Lozio"]
[member="Anya Malvern"]
[member="Aoker Veru"]
[member="Arabella Darkhold"]
[member="Archim Calixis"]
[member="Ari Zanareth"]
[member="Aria Lyr"]
[member="Arken Lussk"]
[member="Arthur Pendragon"]
[member="Asher Malvern"]
[member="Asher Mossa"]
[member="Aston Jacobs"]
[member="Auswyn Nothrael"]
[member="Averin An'Arach"]
[member="Aya Clarke"]
[member="Bartic Myth'Rand"]
[member="Ben Mentel"]
[member="Bestion Darklighter"]
[member="BNI-Bella and BNI-Leo"]
[member="Bulthos Dorrir"]
[member="Cairyn Midore"]
[member="Causstik Rahn"]
[member="Chalim Vern"]
[member="Chek Zun"]
[member="Chikako Liona"]
[member="Cim Salro"]
[member="Cora deWinter"]
[member="Cyprine Talon"]
[member="Dakita Calfur"]
[member="Dalton Kenway"]
[member="Damien Van-Derveld"]
[member="Darth Atrox"]
[member="Darth Illisus"]
[member="Darth Inanis"]
[member="Darth Interitus"]
[member="Darth Malus"]
[member="Darth Metus"]
[member="Darth Nius"]
[member="Darth Phren"]
[member="Darth Rixas"]
[member="Darth Seraphic"]
[member="Darth Tacitus"]
[member="Darth Zurvan"]
[member="Daxton Bane"]
[member="Derek Dib"]
[member="Dinah Vekarr"]
[member="Eladia Laux"]
[member="Ella Nova"]
[member="Emberly Carrick"]
[member="Erin Tenel"]
[member="Eternal Ambition"]
[member="Eternal Muse"]
[member="Eternal Spark"]
[member="Eternal Vision"]
[member="Faustina Beryll"]
[member="Fawn Alzi"]
[member="Fiolette Yvarro"]
[member="Firenne Van-Derveld"]
[member="Galven Hansol"]
[member="Gerwald Lechner"]
[member="Hadashah Vi'dreya"]
[member="Hades Dai"]
[member="Hala Jast"]
[member="Hypatia Najwa"]
[member="Ian Sade"]
[member="Iris Issey"]
[member="Irys Arist'lar"]
[member="Isamu Baelor"]
[member="Iskander Verd"]
[member="Ithiel Verd"]
[member="Jack Anderson"]
[member="Jaron Lesan"]
[member="Jasmine Zittoun"]
[member="Jayce Pryde"]
[member="Jennifer Blanchard"]
[member="Jerad Lettiere"]
[member="Jia Darkhold"]
[member="Jorco Czeku"]
[member="Judah Lesan Jr."]
[member="Julian Valentine"]
[member="Jyoti Nooran"]
[member="Kaiah Sixsipita"]
[member="Kaiya Halycon"]
[member="Kal Jaii"]
[member="Kalee Bladesworn"]
[member="Karlie Lynn Destat"]
[member="Kas Varad"]
[member="Katria Vekarr"]
[member="Katrine Van-Derveld"]
[member="Kayla Wylen"]
[member="Kestrel Dray"]
[member="Ket Van-Derveld"]
[member="Khia Varad"]
[member="Khonsu Amon"]
[member="Kip Ridel"]
[member="Kurayami Bloodborn"]
[member="Kurenai Yumi"]
[member="Kyle Ajahn"]
[member="Lady Psyona"]
[member="Lear Shamalain"]
[member="Lera DeVana"]
[member="Lord Mettallum"]
[member="Losena Kyru"]
[member="Luna Terrik"]
[member="Lyla Quinn"]
[member="Maple Harte"]
[member="Marcus Arterialis"]
[member="Marcus Lund"]
[member="Marek Starchaser"]
[member="Maxerian Gron"]
[member="Miki Starfallen"]
[member="Minerva Vessia"]
[member="Minorous Traske"]
[member="Morgan Redeaux"]
[member="Muad Dib"]
[member="Nasho Vesh"]
[member="Nassier Zirfae"]
[member="Natasha Darkstar"]
[member="Nayru Wyndaru"]
[member="Nicholas Covosi"]
[member="Nilia Saavilin"]
[member="Nine Lives"]
[member="Noatyr Moldmerr"]
[member="Noviac Caligo"]
[member="Nysana Talon"]
[member="One-Eyed Jack Varren"]
[member="Orion Trex"]
[member="Paige Blossom"]
[member="Petra Cavataio"]
[member="Pitts Carnegue"]
[member="Qymaen sil Jurai"]
[member="Rale Elysar"]
[member="Rath Exigo"]
[member="Razelle Breuner"]
[member="Rebecca Jaeger"]
[member="Rima Orwray"]
[member="Rin Talon"]
[member="Rook Lokar"]
[member="Rosaline Rousseau"]
[member="Rujat Aola"]
[member="Ryker Wylde"]
[member="Rylan Kordel"]
[member="Saine Kela"]
[member="Samantha Jade"]
[member="Savoh Iaht"]
[member="Scherezade deWinter"]
[member="Shaden Vekarr"]
[member="Shandria Navin"]
[member="Sky'ito Yumi"]
[member="Sol Damerin"]
[member="Sol Ordana"]
[member="Sor-Jan Xantha"]
[member="Space Prius"]
[member="Srina Talon"]
[member="Super TD-T47"]
[member="Surnin Strenger"]
[member="Tamar M'Raki"]
[member="Taran Holt"]
[member="Tarssin Destat"]
[member="Thalira Kiing"]
[member="The Fallen"]
[member="The Slave"]
[member="Tiberius Royalblaze"]
[member="Tmoxin Temi"]
[member="Toran Fel"]
[member="Tyrande of Isobe"]
[member="Tyris Hayes"]
[member="Tytos Ardik"]
[member="Valessia Brentioch"]
[member="Valis Marr"]
[member="Valjan Hon'rey"]
[member="Var Talon"]
[member="Vee Toa"]
[member="Verd Skirata"]
[member="Veronika Fleischer"]
[member="Viktor Hawthorne"]
[member="Vinten Veers"]
[member="Vyra Silara"]
[member="Werah Unon"]
[member="William the Bloody"]
[member="Xero Wran"]
[member="Yuca Najwa-Keth"]
[member="Yuna Hart"]
[member="Zenva Vrotoa"]
[member="Zephyr Carrick"]
[member="Zhorin Cenvax"]
[member="Zyrias Pax"]
Aryn Teth

Leonasa, Monastery, Haserian Sector, The Mid Rim
Interacting With: [member="Srina Talon"]
One might have expected the Supreme Commander of the Galactic Alliance to still be on the battlefield, to still be fighting the Imperial hordes that had descended upon Coruscant, and the rest of the Alliance's territory in a fatal onslaught. If not that, one may have, at the very least expected him to be walking among the wounded and the refugees, offering what help he could, living up to the expectation that had come with his role, being the leader, the hero that the Alliance's propaganda had presented him as.

What one may not have expected was for the Supreme Commander to be siphoning what funds he still had access to from the Alliance into a private account. As far as Aryn was concerned, the fall of Coruscant, and the crusade the Imperials had launched into Alliance territory had been more than successful, it had been the killing stroke against the Galactic Alliance. Maybe some of those who had survived would choose to continue to fight, to push forward the agenda, the mission of the Alliance in some kind of resistance against the Imperials, but Aryn had seen what had become of the Alliance, how it had been infiltrated and torn apart from within. Aryn had fought, he had tried desperately to save what he could, save who he could, and his failure had been absolute. He had been rescued from the flames of Coruscant by [member="Srina Talon"] and her master, but he knew he would not be going back.

Peering over his shoulder towards the camp, Aryn's gaze lingered on some of the refugees, some of the soldiers, and the members of the Confederacy moving back and forth to help them. he sighed, and it wasn't long before he turned his gaze back away, eyes flicking back down towards the datapad in his hand as he began to activate the slave circuit on his ship, ensuring it would be making its way to pick him up as soon as possible, Aryn had no desire to linger.

The question was written across all of their faces.

Behind the grime of battle. Beneath the sweat and the tears. The question of what now was as clear as day. As the Vicelord moved throughout the ever-growing ocean of refugees, he found himself wondering the very same. Coruscant had fallen. Broken from the inside out by the Sith Empire. But, this was not the only world - nor the only defeat that the Alliance was dealt this day. Numerous worlds had spontaneously combusted. Overnight, one of the most powerful nations in the Galaxy had been brought to her knees. The future had never been more uncertain.

With this, it seemed that the Great Galactic War was entering into its final stages. The Sith had their victory over the largest bastion of "good" in the Galaxy...But surely this was not the end. Surely, there was some fight left within those camped upon Monastery's tranquil grounds. Surely, this was but the opening chapter to a new tale of rising from the ash. That was what the Jedi did after all - they refused to quit. Refused to kneel for too long. It mattered not how often they were laid low, by Sith - or even Mandalorians for that matter - they always managed to come back.

Always had some fight left in them.

For this reason, Darth Metus sought out one face in particular among the sea of displaced. One who had placed a shackle upon his Apprentice - but had also liberated her from the jaws of certain death. One who the Sith owed a debt...that was now paid in full. On Tatooine, he had saved the one who meant everything to him. And now, he had pulled that same Supreme Commander from the fire. Though the circumstances were far from ideal, Darth Metus could now look upon the man without feeling a shred of guilt.

"Teth." His greeting was as thunder, booming over the engines and voices attempting to organize. Long strides bore the Sith to the man's side, where he promptly placed a hand on his shoulder. "The refugees are settling in well here, but I've no intel on the other worlds' yet. What's the next play?"


[member="Aryn Teth"]
She's a total blam-blam
Not everyone who got out of Alliance space had made way towards the Outer Rim Coalition. Peyton wasn’t over with evacuating her people. She got some people from Lothal and took a shuttle, moving people from several Alliance planets and safe houses out to where they need to be. Getting them up to friendly ships, Intelligence agents who had worked to reestablish the network. She was hoping to find more and more people, but by the time she had made her way across Alliance space, the mutineers seemed to be taking over. At least in that region. Meant one thing.

A jump to safety.

Blind jump, really.

The Confederacy of Independent Systems was an allied nation, and while Peyton didn’t care for the rule of the Force, Sith in their numbers made it a risky jump. But the Sith had shown up to help on a number of missions. She was under the impression that [member="Aryn Teth"] was more than willing to work with them. Good enough for her. She had gotten the location of the camp and her ship had shortly arrived in system.

“This is Alliance vessel AA-23 requesting clearance.”
How many times would his planet burn?

His father was killed by the One Sith, burned alive beneath the collapsing rubble of a building that fell atop of him. Now, his mother was incinerated in the crossfire between what remained of the Alliance and the vile creatures that came to burn his world. For little more than fanfare and bravado, for pride. Always pride. Always pawns in the game between Jedi and Sith. And it was people like Wedge that got hurt in the process.

He had barely made it out alive, his fighter sustaining massive damage in the space battle overhead- and a piercing wound in his side. He was carried on a stretcher by equally destitute-looking men, who placed him outside of a medical tent.

The bolt that went through his stomach was a clean hit. Through and through. If there was such a thing as a 'clean hit'. The young pilot gasped for air, clinging to life by a thread. He squirmed on the stretcher, in massive amounts of pain.

Where is that force that we always pray to now?

Has it forsaken us? The common folk?
The Storm King
Beaten, battered, and bloodied, Rylan made his way through the crowds of refugees, trying to help families come back together, taking wounded and injured people to the medical tents, and when possible moving supplies to where they would be needed. How many hours had passed since the battle? He wasn't sure anymore, he didn't care, at this point he was six stims in, there was to much to do, and not enough bodies to get it done properly, and so he chose to ignore his own injuries and limitations and aid the people who actually needed it, after all, they lost their homes.

Passing the loading dock, he heard a comm crackle to life and approached it, listening to the words breaking over, more refugees apparently, "Alliance vessel AA-23, this is loading dock 6, you're cleared for landing. Come on down." he replied on behalf of the actual dock controller, taking note that the person in charge was over worked and looking stressed. Truthfully it wasn't his right to take control like that, but he had to make sure the people on board this ship got any of the aid they needed, so he stopped and waited for their landing, hand above his wrist comm, ready to call for any response units that could come and help with this next batch of refugees.

@[member='Peyton Steele'],
Well-Known Member
A Silver Jedi transport set down on Monastery.

It wasn’t the first time the Valae Kitra had been here, she’d stayed here briefly during her service of the Sacred Lotus – long before her days as Grandmaster. Today she hadn’t come empty-handed; she had food, clean water, and medical supplies provided by the Silver Services Corps. A large part of her passion was the resettlement of those displaced by tragedy. And of course, as a healer, she would do whatever she could to help today.

In addition to this small gesture of aid, she would also offer up shelter on one of their own worlds – Durkteel. Having partnered in a previous effort with the refugee resettlement movement, they had made that world a haven for refugees. It was there that many had already begun to rebuild their lives.

Stepping down the ramp, she looked to find a few familiar faces. Valae was aware that members of the CIS would be present; she had hoped very much to greet [member="Darth Metus"]. It had been quite some time since the two had met, but their factions had continued to work together on a number of fronts – it was very encouraging in these dark times. Valae would also seek out members of the fallen Galactic Alliance, she had been there on Coruscant to assist with the evacuation efforts… and she would continue to stand by their allies.

It was important to remember that there was still hope, even now.
Aspiring Jedi Doctor
Camp Rogativa
Leonasa, Monastery

Following [member="Valae Kitra"] down the boarding ramp of their Silver Jedi transport with a large medkit slung over her robed shoulder, the apprentice healer with the Silver Circle wished that they were visiting Monastery again for more pleasant reasons. The lush Mid Rim planet was home to the Order of the Sacred Lotus. The world with its rainforests beamed before with the hum of the Living Force in a positive way when studying with the healers at the temple rebuilt by Jedi Master Bethany Kismet located there.

But today... there was so much pain, anguish, and despair. Though, hope still flowed in the stormy currents of the Force in and around those gathered. One just needed to reach out to feel it and let it lift one's spirit and resolve. Hope would help to heal the mind, body, and souls of the people affected by the devastative acts of the Sith Empire and their dark allies at Coruscant and other targeted Galactic Alliance held worlds and Jedi temples that were attacked ruthlessly.

Who will be next... Us?

Wistful thoughts of the Antarian Ranger that had befriended her came to mind. Sam often worried for [member="Tyrell Caphey"] as the soldier medic was already on the front lines generally, but even more so against the Dark forces if they came... Well actually they all would be soon enough if this rout was any indication of the hell-bent desire of the dark side to stomp out for good the light and what it stood for.

Samara gave a respectful nod to the Grandmaster as she quickly moved past the brunette to make way to the wounded. Sea green eyes surveyed the scene before her leaving the young Jedi shocked. Gods, so many! Oh where to begin? the Liann thought with anxiousness before reminding herself to calm down and just focus on the task at hand in front of her -no more, no less. Healing and giving compassionate care was her job at the moment.

With that mental prompt given, the Silver Jedi padawan shut herself off from all the raw emotions threatening to overwhelm her senses, then got to work... An injured Alliance pilot was wreathing in pain on a stretcher from an abdominal wound. The honey blonde laid a gentle hand upon his arm and offered a warm smile while sending a wave of soothing comfort through the Force to ease the man's suffering like a cool breeze relieving the insufferable heat of a summer day.

"Hi... I'm Samara. I am a Jedi healer here to help you," she said with a caring tone to [member="Wedge Draav"], then Sam began to assess the flyboy using a medscanner grabbed from her medkit first to get a general idea of his overall condition before attempting to heal him further using both the Force and conventional medical means.

"What is your name? Do you know where you are? Can you tell me what happened to you?"

Kayla Wylen

Saving Light
By the time the news of what happened on Coruscant reached the surface of Monastery, it already had been too late for Kayla to provide direct aid herself. The fact she wasn't able to be of any direct help had troubled her, but in the end had to concede to herself that there was nothing she could have done to prevent it. With many ships originating from Galactic Alliance space now touching down here, however, a chance to do more than merely sitting idly by presented itself. Many in dire need of medical attention and she simply could not turn a blind eye, she never had done so before and would not do so now. The s'kytri was used to the pressure such a situation brought, having done her part in them on many occassions, and as such she was able to immediately get to work the moment she arrived at the camp.

Kayla had been on Monastery for some time now. The tranquil surroundings had helped her to regain her footing in the galaxy after getting lost in the sudden freedoms she had gained after relocating to Confederate space, leaving her unable to work out what role she was going to fulfil in aid of the Confederacy now that she stood with them. It was her visits to the Order of the Sacred Lotus and Sanctuary that brought clarity and answered that question- and in truth it would not bring any drastic change. She would be there for the wounded, soldiers and civilians, but where she would approach things differently is how she viewed the Force. Or, rather, how she wanted to learn how to view it. Instead of conforming to another's philosophy, Kayla would develop her connection to the Force in the way she felt was right for herself and the first steps had been set through many days of meditation to find who she truly was. She was not there yet, but being there for others had taken priority for now.

"I-is he going to be okay?" A woman who was very clearly worried about the situation of the boy being tended to by Kayla stood and watched as the s'kytri checked to see the IV drip was set up properly. He was unconcious and it had not taken long for Kayla to conclude he had been pinned under something heavy enough to crush his bones under its weight. "He is being kept in a coma for now," she replied with a calm yet sympathetic tone, "but I regret that I have to say that only time will tell if he pulls through. Although I wish I could bring better news, there is not much that can be done at this moment." Instead of words, the reponse came in the form of tears. Despite having seen many worried faces it never got any easier to see the mental anguish they had to go through, and seeing a mother worry for her child was among the most heartbreaking scenes of all. "I have done what I came to do here. I will leave you in peace, but if anything happens please come find me immediately." The nod was all Kayla needed to know the woman understood and with that, she did as she said she would do.

I currently do not have a posting partner yet, so certain details have been left vague in case that changes. Message me on Discord (R4v3rguy#1997) if you're up for writing with me!
Wedge found himself at ease. Like he was laying in a shallow pool of cool water on a beach somewhere.

Wedge, in reality- was in bad shape. A plasma bolt had pierced his fighter and gone through the fuselage, hitting the pilot through his suit and going straight through- luckily the bolt had diminished in power by the time it burnt through the X-wing's hull and his cockpit to not do a significant amount of damage to the man.

But, it was still there. Enough to go straight through him.

The plasma burn was a third degree around the entrance and exit wound, but it had cauterized itself on impact, causing no bleeding, luckily- as lucky as one could be in this situation. He grimaced when she spoke. His dislike of Jedi was not exactly a thing to be discussed in the Alliance, but Rogue squadron knew of it. Like he was a hurt child.

"I'm Wedge Draav and this is my least favorite place to be in the galaxy, that's who and where. As for what- I got shot by some nerf herder!"

[member="Samara Raine"]

Adron had accompanied the refugees to Monastery on [member="Darth Metus"] orders. Of course, his new Master had been present as well, yet Adron was tasked with seeing to the organization of the temporary refugee camps. Some miles from Camp Rogativa, Confederate droids were setting up several temporary shelters for the more healthy survivors of the battle on Coruscant. It had been a bloody battle, of which even Adron had not come out unscathed. He glanced down to his shoulder, which had been tightly wrapped with a bactapatch. The wound he hosted had been a parting gift from a ravenous Sithspawn on the burning battlefield of Coruscant. He made a silent sound that was some odd union between a scoff and a sigh.

"Minister. The first three camps are operational and ready to be inhabited. Camps four through ten are still under construction." A B1 Battledroid stalked up, it's metallic skeleton letting off a soft clanking as it did.

Adron turned his attention back to the path to Camp Rogativa. In the distance he could see there was already a large crowd making their way down to the refugee camps. With the back of his hand, he slapped the droid's chassis before gesturing to the oncoming crowd. "Captain. Send a few units to keep them back. I want to keep this neat and orderly, understand?"

"Roger, roger." The droid sounded off, it's loud clanking erupting once again as it trotted back to it's company of droid brethren. Adron stared at the scene before exhaling softly, muttering under his breath. "Droids..."


Srina had been coughing up the most disturbing phlegm ever since they’d landed on Monastery. The CIS had swept through the ruins of Coruscant as carefully as they could. From Jedi to the everyday civilian it seemed that the Sith Empire had spared none. No one was innocent in the Alliance. They didn’t come for their homes, their credits, or their land. The mass attack had simply been to watch the most expansive nation this side of the galaxy burn. The soot-smudged Echani held a handkerchief over her mouth to avoid getting the tar-like substance all over the place. Too much inhalation of smoke, dirt, and dust. It had taken the Echani some time to find her bearings, but much less time, for her to find her sister, [member="Nysana Talon"], giving orders like a drill sergeant.

At least that was mostly familiar.

“Nysana—“, she called out to the woman who looked so much like her, yet, was actually quite different. The way she handled the lost child was something Srina almost envied. There had only been one youngling that she was capable of dealing with, almost effortlessly, and she was no longer among the living. At a loss for words, she simply reached for her Tellu, willed her to feel her heartache, and wrapped her arms around her. Her normally melodic voice sounded like she’d swallowed rocks. “It’s gone. Coruscant. It’s all gone.”

Srina felt so selfish. Almost despicably evil, for several long moments, when all she could do was thank the Goddess that her siblings had not set foot on the burning hellscape that had replaced the proverbial center of the Core. The eldest Talon present could only continue on. Covered in grime, blood, and other unmentionable things the only thing she knew she couldn’t do—was stop. “We need to do headcounts of CIS personnel that went down. Some of them…”

Some wouldn’t have made it back.

“Droids. We can have the droids begin that.”

[member="Aryn Teth"] was here somewhere. She could feel him among the crowd of terror, fear, and agony. She could feel something within him that had changed. Broken. He was desperate to get away from what he felt to be a sea of failure. He could not look at the faces of people that would look toward him for safety, security, and guidance. Srina’s eyes closed as she hugged her sibling tighter for a moment. Her jaw tightened. @Dart Metus, her Master, was with him. Perhaps he would be able to talk some sense into the Supreme Commander before it was too late.

A voice came through over the general comms and Srina pulled back from Nysana to respond to [member="Peyton Steele"] and send the proper coordinates, but another voice beat her to the punch, someone that she didn’t realize was actually [member="Rylan Kordel"]. Her expression was empty. Not exhausted, not tired, or frightened—simply empty.

The white-haired woman, whose pristine locks were currently a shade of dusky gray, felt as if the weight of the universe was calling. There were so many people on Coruscant. So many. They had saved some but it wasn’t enough. They’d been too late. Silver eyes flickered toward her sisters face and she tried, so hard, not to let her see what the wanton carnage had done to her. Srina Talon thought. She did not feel. “Thank you for doing this. You didn’t have to—But I’m glad it was you.”

The comms crackled to life in order to alert CIS command that the Silver Jedi had arrived and some of the burden lifted. Not all of it—but it was a steady reminder that they were not alone. Even if the Alliance had fallen, the Silver Jedi, and the ORC, were still friends. They would still come to aid their allies even if they had nothing to gain because it was the right thing to do.

Among the new arrivals, there was one that she recognized more easily than the others. The Grandmaster of the Silver Jedi had come herself? Srina breathed deeply, as deeply as her injured lungs would allow, and did her best to find her center. To find balance. She breathed in through her nose and out through her mouth. She glanced toward Nysana, uncertain if she would be able to accompany her, but headed toward the area she felt the strongest light from.

“Grandmaster Kitra?”, Srina greeted, ignoring the fact that she sounded quite unlike herself. If the woman had been on Coruscant, and she very well may have been, she would understand. The Sith Apprentice was battered, bruised, but otherwise less damaged than most of the refugees. “Thank you. Thank you for coming. Your presence alone will mean a great deal to those that have made it this far.”

It was true. [member="Valae Kitra"] was light. Living, breathing, light. Many of the Alliance would balk at being treated by a Sith. But, if endorsed by the Grandmaster of the Silver Jedi? They might actually be able to make some headway.


Alessandra did not like venturing from Geonosis. She did not like venturing from her comfortable, modern, secure office in which she had been hounded by the Office of the Vicelord for the past seventy-two hours. Anytime their fearless leader went off to do something ridiculous, either heroic or murderous, depending on the day, they seemed to clamor at her door. This was frustrating for a variety of reasons. The only Exarch at the moment had a tendency to follow [member="Darth Metus"] headlong into danger. Her fellow Minister, [member="Adron Malvern"], did the same thing.

Which left the Viceroyalty a choice. They could either seek her counsel or that of the Minister of Science (@Xenro) which didn’t always go as planned. The system that the Vicelord had put into action not long ago worked. There was a chain of command to be followed, and for the most part, everyone adhered to it. The caramel-skinned beauty simply did not enjoy it. Her aspirations of grandeur and making a name for herself had never included babysitting a nation while its leaders were otherwise occupied.

That being said—the entirety of the Confederacy was watching. News of Alliance worlds being lit aflame, torn asunder, and rendered into husks was breathed through every home. Everyone knew. Alessandra hoped that it was being blown out of proportion. For the sake of the people involved, and even her own family, she prayed that they hadn’t held a part in this debacle. It was messy. Public, tragic, brutal fighting never ended well. This was not an unexpected act of aggression, however, Alessandra felt strange. Had she lost her taste for war completely? She’d been raised a fighter, though, she’d chosen to sharpen her wit over strengthening her fists.

She was certainly her mother’s child.

The clearance codes for her rank checked out and sooner than later her personal transport, an X-70B Phantom-class, flanked by several other ships, broke the atmosphere. Storm Fleet was patrolling the space around Monastery, searching for signs of hostility, or any sort of signal that the Sith Empire had followed the Confederacy home. Hours prior they had been given the all clear, which, allowed the Minister of Commerce to approach in the first place.

Alessandra was only traveling to Monastery to get to the heart of the matter. There was no way she could have been worried, concerned, or otherwise bothered by the reports that were coming in. Not in the slightest. The half-epicanthix woman found herself soon swarmed by very visceral and very real sadness and pain. Droids buzzed here and there, rushing supplies everywhere, while people were milling about everywhere. It was chaos.

Moving toward the first encampment she could see the raven-haired woman looked for familiar faces. So far, nothing but refugees, Silvers, and droids. She must have arrived at nearly the exact same time as the SJO. She fell into a crowd that seemed to be ambling slowly from Rogativa and much to her relief, she did, finally, find someone she knew. The Minister of War. A B1 Battledroid tried to stop her, initially, but as facial recognition kicked in she was allowed to pass. “Adron!”, she called for the man, surprisingly, not wearing four-inch heels. Instead, she was clad in black leather, from head to toe, with a blaster pistol holstered on her hip. “Adron…”

“You’re hurt?”, she questioned as she approached, chocolate eyes flickering, before she unconsciously reached for his arm. It had become a habit. Alessandra didn’t know what to think about the concern that fluttered around in her head but she knew an injury when she saw one. Though, it wasn’t as if she could do much about it. Healing had never been a skill she had acquired during her training and her knowledge of medicine was limited to only the most basic of field application. Unthinkingly, she reached for patch, before pausing a hairsbreadth from touching it. “Bacta? How bad is it?”

Alessandra was allergic to bacta in all its many forms. She instead let her hand moved to his face, briefly, brushing his hair back. “I’m glad you’re alive.”

Not everyone had been so lucky. Her focus slowly returned back to the problem at hand. All of the refugees that he’d been directing. Yes, she had her reports to make, but truthfully, she knew all of the official business could wait. “Let me help you here. Then, you can tell me what happened.”


Outside of the temporary refugee camp, a large crowd of people had gathered. Slowly but surely, families we're being led to medium sized shelters. Within these structures was food, clothing, and fresh water. All they would need until they could be relocated to a more stable environment. For now, this would do.


Hearing his first name be called was odd enough, however without a title or rank to accompany it the sound was nearly foreign. Uncrossing his arms he turned to the source of the call, his cold eyes softening a bit when he saw who was calling out to him. Alessandra. He had not expected to see the Minister here, not this fast especially. As she reached out for his arm, he eyed her closely, as the gesture was rather… Surprising. The woman was being very… Warm towards him.

“It's just a small cut. Nothing to worry about.” He told her, withholding the part where he nearly lost his arm. Of course, he couldn't say that, he did have an image of strength to maintain, especially around her. It was not until her hand went to his face that he gave her a reassuring smile. “You're not getting rid of me that easy, you know?” He returned, offering a sly smile at her words before his tone turned a bit more serious. “I'm fine, Alessandra.” Her name danced over his tongue perfectly, and he realized just how perfectly it fit the woman.

When she offered her hand, he inclined his chin towards the crowd of people moving along to their temporary homes. “We’ve set up ten camps to hold the refugees. Each camp has thirty or so shelters and each shelter can house about twenty comfortably. It's a start but I think we’ll have to set up at least another ten after the main camp is filled.”

Just then, another battledroid approached Adron, handing him a datapad that held the official count of refugees still awaiting shelter. Adron eyed the numbers for a moment in silence before exhaling a bit. “Make that another twenty.” He muttered, before handing the datapad back to the droid and shooing the metallic being away. His eyes returned to Alessandra before gesturing over the next ridge. “I need to see how the other camps are coming along. Come with me.” He said, more telling her than asking, for reasons the man either could not understand or chose to ignore, her company was comforting.

He would make his way onto the trail, speaking softly as he looked back to the growing group of refugees. “Most of them should be fine. It will take time, but they can rebuild what they lost.”
[member="Alessandra Creed"]
Aspiring Jedi Doctor
Medical Area
w/[member="Wedge Draav"]

Well... From the youthful flyboy's response, snarky as it was, Samara could tell at least he did not have any cognitive deficits, and the body scan confirmed Wedge did not have a head injury.

But, he did have a penetrating abdominal wound from the laser blast he caught while flying. The heated bolt had gone straight through, searing the tissues surrounding its path from entry to exit; kinda like what a lightsaber would do to a degree if thrust through an opponent.

How it never hit a vital organ or major vessel was beyond the apprentice healer... Sheer damn luck? It was to the far lateral side and not on the medial lines otherwise he'd be dead. Maybe it was the Force giving a helping hand... but the Jedi padawan had a feeling the young man had a bad experience with the latter. That look of hatred and disgust in his eyes when Wedge glared up at her from his supine position on the stretcher. You know that old saying, 'If looks could kill...'.

To be honest, the Alliance pilot's initial hostility at her open wiliness to care for him did take Samara aback little, though the young healer pushed pass her own uneasy personal feelings of the situation and focused on what positive things she could do for her patient - willing or not. After all, this wasn't about Sam's comfort, but rather his. Wedge's misgivings about the Jedi could be addressed later, but right now it was paramount she start his care.

Sea green orbs glanced up when an IM-6 battlefield medical droid floated over to the bedside on its repulsorlifts. Samara gave the silver and gold plated droid with purple and green sensor eyes an appreciative nod.

"I'm glad you were able to find me in all this organized chaos... If you would please give a hypospray of pain med, then start a line for fluid resuscitation and piggyback a broad spectrum antibiotic. Even though the wound was cauterized upon impact, I don't want to give infection a hair's chance to take a hold down the road."

"I concur, Doctor Raine. As you wish," answered the feminine mechanical voice of the IM-6.

With that said, Samara turned her golden head back to her patient with nothing but care and compassion centered about her features.

"This is Stitcher, my companion medical droid. She will place a very small tube in your arm to give vital intravenous medicines to stabilize your condition. While the medical droid is doing that, I will begin healing you... If that is alright? I promise I won't hurt you or do any funny business other than treat the wound you sustained in the battle using the Force as my tool. Nothing more, nothing less," Sam offered sincerely.

While waiting on the young man's answer, the blonde pulled out from within the confines of her dark-hued Jedi robes a necklace with a set of three clear crystals attached - the Silver Sigil used by the healers of the Silver Circle.

The healing amulet helped to focus the Force and amplify the healing process the Jedi healer was trying to achieve. With the severe degree of internal and external tissue damage Wedge's body received, the apprentice healer would need all the help she could get. Even after treating the wound, it would take time to completely heal with probably a nice scar to show the ladies for his brave efforts. With bacta scarce and tanks limited, this was the pilot's best option for a quick recovery.
Alessandra realized her mistake too late. The typically calculated and collected woman was a little flustered in the wake of the tragedy that had befallen the Alliance. She was no outsider when it came to conflict, to bloodshed, or to a nihilistic way of thought when dealing with an enemy. Yet, it was one thing to be the cause of the destruction, but another thing entirely, to see the aftermath. The stricken families, the broken bodies, the wails that pierced the air. The Confederacy had ships arriving every few minutes with supplies but the Minister was beginning to think it might not be enough.

Her aforementioned mistake, revolved around calling [member="Adron Malvern"], by his first name. Alessandra never called him by name. It was always Minister, Malvern, Mr. Malvern or some such variant. His surprise was fairly evident but she swallowed her folly. He seemed to be going with it well enough and her jaw tightened as she forcefully tried to regain her equanimity. She was the Minister of Commerce. Alessandra Creed. Not some doe-eyed civilian. “Why is it that every time someone tells me it’s nothing to worry about—it’s exactly the kind of thing I should be worrying about?”

His smile helped. Some. But, she had a feeling he would smile in the face of death itself. He wasn’t the Minister of War because he was a sniveling coward that would back down at the slightest sense of discomfort. Sinfully red lips formed a frown, dictated by the fact that he kept telling her he was fine when she was literally looking at an injury. He was lucky that she avoided bacta like the plague else she very well might have taken a peek. The sound of name from his lips caused her appearance to become more pliable, softening, despite herself. “If I wanted you gone I would have had you assassinated the moment you walked in the door.”

Don’t—, she paused, trying to find the words, and her elegant brow furrowed. “Don’t try and take my choice from me.”

It was her way of telling him that she hadn’t given him permission to die yet. Nevertheless, they began to move on to the work that needed to be done. Alessandra could do that. Organizing large groups of people and telling them what to do? It was her bread and butter. Another B1 ambled over to pass Malvern a datapad and the Minister looked vaguely more annoyed than before. He instructed her to follow along, and she listened, considering she’d offered to help.

The raven-haired woman took two of her steps to keep up with his one once they hit the path, but, she understood the need to save time. If they could settle all of the refugees quickly, efficiently, the wounded could be tended more easily. “Storm Fleet is still heavily patrolling our northern borders. As an ally of the Alliance we haven’t ruled out whether or not the attacks may continue here.”

“So far—it’s been silent.”

God willing. Alessandra knew that many in the Confederacy were simply waiting for an excuse to tear into someone else but now was not the time. They were spread thin trying to cover the remains of the Alliance. Adron spoke of the people that had come to Monastery and the caramel-skinned woman sighed gently. It almost felt as if he was speaking from past experience. “You’re more optimistic than I would have thought, Minister.”

Events like this could break a nation. The way she saw it, at least, from an outside perspective—the Galactic Alliance was broken. They could rebuild anew somewhere else, perhaps, but it was difficult to start over. Their lives were entirely destroyed. Alessandra’s eyes fell to a fixated point ahead of them. For the moment, at least, she couldn’t stand the sight of so much pain.

“I hope you’re right.”

"You'd be surprised how many people have tried and failed to assassinate me." He remarked, yet after a brief moments of reflection he realized it isn't too hard to think of how many people who would want to kill him. Had he been alone Adron may have smiled at the thought of how many people had tried and failed to kill him.

As the two of them moved down the path, Adron listened to Alessandra's report on the situation. Her words sent his mind into a flurry of thought, yet in the end he came to a single realization. "Any attack by the Sith after this will be superficial. Small strikes or glancing battles. After Coruscant they won't amass an open invasion for some time." He believed, based on what he had seen about the Sith in the past.

"When they attacked my homeworld it was a dedicated invasion like Coruscant, it was months later before we were hit again."

Adron and Alessandra came to the peak of the path, and over the hill there was a large valley where battledroids scurried about like ants in a colony. Each one set to a certain task, they were moving effectively, yet not fast enough.

Adron glanced over to Alessandra, his eyes turning cold for a brief moment. "You misunderstand me, Minister. These people have been ripped from almost every foundation they have ever had, most of them, forever. They will survive this or they will die. The luxury of option was taken from them." Turning back to the valley, Adron peered at what lied before him, taking a moment to consider his next plan of action. "We'll need more droids." Adron pointed out over the next hill, where just below it a group of droids seemed to be starting one of the camps. "That will be camp ten. Hopefully we can erect the camps and fill them in the next few hours." He said, feeling his arm tighten as he pointed. He would return it to his side, glancing back to his wound before turning to Alessandra. "We also need more droids for security, in case of probes or spies."

[member="Alessandra Creed"]

Aryn Teth

Leonasa, Monastery, Haserian Sector, The Mid Rim
Interacting With: [member="Darth Metus"]
Over his shoulder, the resounding boom of the Vicelord's familiar voice echoes in Aryn's ears, followed by the feeling of the man's hand upon Aryn's shoulder. Aryn had known Metus since he had taken up his position among the high command of the Alliance, and the two had always held a relatively amicable relationship, at least professionally. Aryn was a Jedi, well, he used to be, now he was more or less unsure what exactly he was, and the Vicelord was a Sith Lord, bird of a feather with the individuals that had destroyed what Aryn had once held so dear. Yet, there had always been something different about Metus and the Confederacy in Aryn's mind, perhaps it was just the fact that they fought the same enemies.

Indeed, unprofessionally Aryn had always gotten the inclination that Metus didn't exactly approve of Aryn, or the Alliance he represented, though perhaps that was merely a result of the bond he shared with the man's apprentice. Either way, they were on the same side, and Aryn knew that the man held a genuine intent and desire to assist, to help his people in this troubling time, and from his words - the Vicelord still held a desire to push back.

A desire Aryn had all but lost.

"Raaf was the traitor, took half the Alliance with her back to the Empire." There was another sharp stab of guilt at his core, and Aryn was momentarily brought back to his first meeting with the woman. She had been the agent the New Jedi Order sent to determine if their new Supreme Commander was enough of a 'Jedi' to hold such a position, and she had of course found him appropriate. He wondered, had she noticed weakness? Realized his failings? Perhaps she had only allowed him to take such a position because she knew it would help fulfill her own dark plans. Aryn sighed, it wasn't like the thought mattered for now.

"Wasn't just Coruscant; Fondor, Lothal, Sullust, Empress Teta... They were all hit almost simultaneously, government and military is in disarray, New Jedi Order has all but ceased to exist, I don't even know what's happened to Sovv." The man sighed again, and his gaze shifted down to the datapad in his hand once more. Reaching down, he pulled a small credit chit from it, loaded with the vast majority of the credits he had just siphoned.

Turning towards Metus, Aryn gazed back towards the crowds of refugees, of the wounded, for only a moment, before his gaze met that of the Vicelord's. "This time, there's no next play." Holding his hand up, he proferred the credits towards the man. "We've never seen exactly eye-to-eye, but use these to help who's left from the Alliance. It's just about the last good thing I can offer them."

The Supreme Commander was a wolf.

Once proud, he among one of the mightiest packs in the Galaxy. They howled against the Darkness - bit back the scourge of the One Sith and their remnant. They did so much good and brought peace to countless worlds. But in this...the wolf had been battered. Kicked. Broken. His will to snap his jaws at the enemy had been extinguished. Before the Sith stood not the zealotry of the New Jedi Order, but rather a shell of its former glory.

But above all else, [member="Aryn Teth"] was anathema. As an ally - as a Jedi - yes, there was value in his life. To the unity between the Confederacy and the Alliance, there was necessity. Yet, when all that was taken away, the Commander...was not among the Sith's top ten favorite souls. The reason, as it will always be, was the shackle he placed upon his Apprentice's life. A "bond." A chain. An obstacle.

Yet perhaps more than most, Darth Metus could understand. He knew what it was like to see everything he cared for set ablaze. He knew what it was like to taste monumental defeat. He knew what it was like to feel the sting of betrayal, the hopelessness and despair...The Sith had been laid low many times before. But every time, he had picked himself up. And in this moment, he smelled...weakness.

"I'm surprised that she was able to go undetected for so long." came his admission. For a Sith to hide within the dominant bastion of Light for so long? Impressive. To pull off as much devastation as she had? Most impressive. "But that is neither here nor there. Your next play - and yes there is one - is to take that chit and put it to solid use. You are still the ranking officer, rally whatever is left. If there men and blasters, you can fight. You must fight."

"If you think the Sith are done with your Alliance, then you are sorely mistaken."

The Mother of All Psy-Pires
Wearing: Progenitor's Robes

Armed with: Hundred Handed Giant, Progenitor's Sword.

Came to Monastery in: Saotome Light Freighter Frieghter "Demeter" (

Soundtrack: Kylie Minogue, "Can't get you out of my head."

"Wake up, Captain Forrest."

The Sith trooper, a light skinned man with red hair, muscular, clad only in his underwear shook awake from the bucket of water splashed on his face in the lounge. His brown eyes stared at the tall woman clad in flowing green robes with a flower print of white roses on them. Two purple glow dots stared at him from under a hood. He could see her face, but saw her hands in a clawed gesture.

"What...what is this? Who are you?"

"It never ceases to amuse me, you asking that."

Captain Forrest. "How long have I been here?"

Nine smiled under the hood. "You always ask that as well."

"Drugs then? Torture? I'll tell you nothing! For the Lady of Shadows!"

Nine didn't get the new terminology of a lot of this era. She just shrugged, rolling with it.

She instead knealt, down, stroking his face almost lovingly.

"You..." the trooper blinked as he came aware of mental gaps. "I...can't...I can't remember what my mother looks like...what my sons look like...what did you do to me? Memory rub? Is that your angle?"

Nine chuckled menacingly in that deep contralto. The ships lights were darkened. They were above orbit above Monastery.

"Something like that."

"The One Sith will not be intimidated. I'll never tell you anything!"

Nine knealt down and Captain Forrest got a good look at her beautiful features. Obsidian eyes, save for the purple glow at the center, stared at him in hunger. She eaten up his memories of his mother, now it was time to start on his father.

"You don't have to tell me anything, Captain Forrest." Nine said removing her hood, opening her mouth and letting him see the black, metallic-like fangs slide into place. She duct taped his mouth shut before he could spit at her like last time. She clutched the bound and struggling man on the floor of her lounge area by the head, turning his head even as he struggled, starting to scream under the duct tape.

"The reason you don't have to tell me anything." She said with a frown, "Is because I'm not even going to ask you any questions..."

Nine sank her fangs into him violently, hating herself for having to feed normally, and even now, even with this war criminal she did not like it, merely waking him only to create that tasty, fresh fear emotion after she'd bitten him the first time and saw that he had gunned down civilians on Coruscant.

Nine had spent the next fifteen minutes in orbit above Monastery drinking the precious stuff, engorging herself, clad in her green flower printed ceremonial robes. As he had murdered many civilians with his blaster during the invasion, she had felt no guilt nor apprehension consuming his mind. Some "ordinary" civilian minds sometimes turned out to be much more perverse than any war criminal's.

Sometimes what she saw made her stop eating and kill the target. This guy? Regular bloodshed, and Nine hadn't been a stranger to that since...ever, actually.

As she stared down at the now unconscious trooper, his blood having a velvety, cherry taste to her perception, (which revolted her) Nine felt sated, genuinely full for the first time in months. She wanted to kneel down take another month or two. She resisted. She was full. She wanted more.

She'd taken three months of his life. Not the memories of his crimes, of course--he could live with those forever--but she had taken some of the really happy stuff, and sometimes she would witness profound changes in someone when a particular memory was consumed. Some became happier. Some became bitter. That was why she didn't often eat the richer ones, in spite of being able to. For men like this, though, she made exceptions. She would not kill a prisoner of course. That would be dishonorable. But by the time she got done with him, tired of amusing herself listening to his angry vows of revenge every time she explained what she had done and taken, and dumped him in some Confederate Prison grounds that man would be missing the gamut of happy memories. She limited her intake of food. Take more than a year and a halfs worth of food...and the Lovely Nine came out. And the last time that had happened, Nine had ended up with a new coven of vampires.

The first Psy-Pire left the unconscious trooper in the galley, and the six and a half foot tall woman stared at what supplies she had managed to gather. At this point this frieghter was her only base of operations. A silent and lonely vessel she was barely competent at flying. She loved ships but she sure wasn't good at them.

Joining the Confederacy had not just been about much needed supplies. She might have gone to the Jedi for such but the shame of her illness made it an unbearable idea to try tugging on the coattails of her former brothers and sisters.

But after Coruscant, after she had gone berzerk on what Sith Forces she could, she figured she had at least re-earned the right to walk up to them and offer supplies. She had gotten that lawyer she had seduced to help with supplies...he'd secured twelve large crates of bacta and medical tools, along with rations. She'd picked up the One Sith trooper adrift in an escape pod. 'Happy' circumstance.

Before Nine descended into the atmosphere she made sure the trooper was completely secured, and locked him in her bedroom closet after treating his wounds with bacta. She'd eaten his ninteenth birthday a few minutes ago. He'd never have that last happy memory of his father again.

As she landed the ship, Nine begin moving the crates from the small field she had landed in off the ship and into the field somewhat far from it. Her hood was up as she glided through the crowd of injured and crying refugees and civilians. Some had this glazed look in their eye. One of pure disbelief and shock. Others had a cold-murder glare. Those ones would choose the path of bloodshed and revenge. She knew those glares. They were her father's. She went past a sea of her father's glares and made her way to the medical area, her ceremonial robes made in such a way that they hid the motions of her legs expertly, making it seem like she was gliding rather than walking. The fact that she did not move her arms only added to the optical illusion (As well as being incredibly creepy). Her swords, secured to her left side snugly made her feel safe. Or as safe as someone like her got. She had taken Hundred Handed Giant for familiarity: Million-Handed Collosus was a sharp sword a good sword, but Nine wanted the heft and weight that came with her murderer's sword.

She glided towards one Jedi, noting distantly the peaceful aura. Deep breaths Nine, deep breaths. She had never been to Monastery. This world was brimming with Light. She felt very small, and was for a second reminded that under the robes, she was a tick.

She stopped a respectable distance [member="Samara Raine"], forcing her hands from going into that clawed gesture that signalled her body detected prey. A ton of prey. Her movements, and her head, were like those of a bird, face hidden under the hood but not her eyes, not even here, in this glare of sunlight.

"Pardon me." she spoke in her deep contralto, fingers flexing involuntarily. "I have brought extra medical supplies. Large. Where might they be best distributed?" She kept it short, nervous about being in the presence of so many of her ex-peers.