Dominion A Stab in the Dark | TSC Dominion of Obulette

[Madelyn Lowe]

A summer storm was sweeping across the Capital Region of Obulette when the Sith Covenant arrived. The scudding grey clouds filtered the already faint light from the system's dim star, and the harsh sound of the rain beating on the ashen rock disguised the arrival of the transports.

It was only when a shadow fell upon the Throneworld of the Mecetti Province that the people of Obulette realised their lives were about to change forever; They looked up to see a capital ship break from the clouds, rivulets of rainwater running down the vessel's flank and lightning arcing off its prow. Its arrival is heralded by silence, and fear.

The Sith had arrived in force.

OBJECTIVE 1 - HIDDEN BLADES (ASSASSINS)
Vestra Tane | Tamsin Starfall | Kyber | Shego Striga
​

Elsewhere, hooded figures slip into a dungeon connected to a half dozen basement tunnels. At the entrance, a trapdoor is lifted and a ladder lowered down, as the Assassins of the Mecrosa Order descend into their secret sanctum. Little do they know that their enemies are already gathering amongst them. Some are dressed as Assassins of the all-female Order. Others disguised as members of the noble houses the group has kidnapped off the streets as collateral against the Sith: Bankers, politicians, lawyers, doctors and administrators.

The ranking members of the Order gather on a dais lit by flickering lamplight. Five women in identical black-and-wine-coloured robes, the Order's most feared assassins. One leader, and four lieutenants, but it is impossible to tell which is which.

The Mecrosa Order has been wreaking havoc in the region for weeks, conducting kidnappings, assassinations and brazen attacks across the planet in an attempt to shake off Sith influence. So far, it has worked, but it cannot be allowed to continue any longer. The disguised members of the Sith Covenant have a difficult job. The Mecrosa Order is considered a valuable asset, and annihilation of its largest chapter is not an option. Instead, they must watch from the shadows and find a way to pacify the group and bring them into the fold.

OBJECTIVE 2: INQUISITIVE MINDS (SPIES)
Madelyn Lowe | Anet Raine | Allyson Locke | Acier Moonbound
​

While many of the Sith Covenant's members have recieved instructions to assist in acquiring Obulette, others have been handed a strange summons:

By order of the Triumvirate, Lords Mercy Star-arm, Arris Windrun, and Vestra Tane, a hearing has been convened regarding issues of loyalty within our Covenant. Your attendance is compulsory. Upon receiving this missive, report to Level 351, Mecetti Tower, Obulette. Complimentary drinks and canapes will be available on arrival.

At the top of Obulette's tallest inhabitable building, rain lashes the windows and the tower groans and sways in the wind. A circular revolving restaurant occupies the space, lined with floor to ceiling windows, with plush red carpeting, and table adorned with fine food, bottles of wine, and a selection of exotic spice in pewter vials. At the center of the restaurant, a space has been cleared, but nobody is yet there. In fact: the entire restaurant appears to be deserted, save for those who have received the invitation. One one table, a handwritten card is propped against a bottle of red wine: 'Please enjoy the refreshments. You will be seen soon.'

Rumours have abounded of a mole in the Covenant: a spy, or perhaps several loose-lipped Sith with access to information they had no right to know. The order has come from above: Root out the source, before they can cause any more damage. It is said there is a new branch of the Covenant, one that remains unconfirmed: An Inquisition.

OBJECTIVE 3 - IDLE HANDS (SCOUTS)
Arris Windrun | Mercy | Lysander von Ascania | Varin Mortifer | Milla
​

As the storm rages across Obulette, the Sith Covenant does not wait for the weather. They are in the business of waging war, and war is an activity that requires resources. Obulette, with its shipyards, its noble houses and its armies, was always going to be a target.

Across the planet, in starships and speeders and at the head of groups of soldiers, the Sith spread out to scout for assets that will benefit the Covenant. Three locations have been highlighted as being of particular importance: the shipyards orbiting the planet, the elites of the Mecetti House Guard, and the skilled spies of the House Ministry of Inquiry.

These are not the only resources to claim, however, and the Instructors have been clear- add something of value to the Sith Covenant's hoard, and you will be rewarded.

-

Not part of the Covenant? JOIN HERE
​

 

[Arris Windrun]

OBJECTIVE 3
Nilira Vornix

Arris Windrun was tasked with overseeing the scouting of an entire section on Obulette.

When she failed to show, Covenant ground personnel scrambled to learn the whereabouts of their wayward Triumvir. Calls went out, questions were asked, and no conclusive answers were given. Rather than press further - for fear of invoking a Sith Lord's wrath - they moved on without her... Though they would remember it.

At a service station in orbit, Arris walked the concourse with Neriah in tow. The scene was a mixture of chaos and apathy. Families cried, pleaded, and said goodbye to loved ones as bodies crammed their way into shuttles and transports bound for the Southern Systems. Spacers acted business as usual, anything to avoid scrutiny or care, as they've grown numb to the revolving door of galactic authority.

The Talusian paid little attention to their lives, however. She marched past the crowds, and some knew to make way, for her face no longer carried the same anonymity or niche fame it once had. People knew her. To them, she was a killer, a thug, and a tyrant. Even if she disagreed on that last point, it didn't matter; her reputation was set.

"I hope you're hungry," Arris looked back at Neriah.

They stopped before a tiny food stand that specialized in roasted insects, rodents, and other pests found on the station. It was a stringent economy where nothing went to waste. The scent of dry rub wafted from the perpetual roll of kitchen steam, though Arris was incapable of smell.

"I've forgotten the last time I had a good meal."

Yeah, Arris remembered their conversation.

 

[Mercy]

Objective 3 / Lysander von Ascania / Varin Mortifer / Milla / Eurydice
​

The shipyards of Obulette were not comparable to those of Kuat or even Fondor for that matter. But the more time they were spending in these campaigns, the more understanding Mercy was getting about logistical nodes and how vital even smaller yards could be for a war effort. The strike on Coruscant had been brilliant and successful, but there was more to do.

Unrooting the whole Imperial machine from the Core Worlds was an operation that took time, effort and pressure. Even Arris Windrun 's stroke of genius with emulating the Emperor only went so far.

They were in control, yes, but control and domination were two different things.

"We take the yards intact." Mercy said over her shoulder to Lysander and Varin as the Obulette shipyards came into view. They were standing in one of the boarding shuttles aimed straight at the yard.

"Anything in it, fair game. Ships that are already done, feel free to take them. But I don't want to see any structural damage to the infrastructure. This is the last remaining node in the Tapani Sector. Once we have claimed it, we can start pushing deeper into the Deep Core." Mercy licked her lips as she thought about that.

"Windrun made an appointment for us. They believe we are engineers coming to look for some sort of issue with their waterlines." The smirk was pronounced there.

"I didn't take my fake mustache with me. So once we are on board, hit them and hit them hard."

Then Mercy looked back towards the station as the shuttles began to land.

"Get ready. This is going to be fun."

Then she remembered... the last addition to the team. Mercy paused there and then waved Varin and Lysander forward. "You two go along, enjoy." And then the large Sith Lord stepped back, standing by Eurydice, hand settling on her shoulder.

"Are you ready for this, child? You did not impress me on Coruscant." The tone was not unkindly, simply honest. "Do you think you can do this?"

 

[Milla]

Objective 3: Mercy Lysander von Ascania Varin Mortifer Eurydice ​

Milla loved Obulette. Just adored it. Perpetual twilight. Grey rocks. Sprawling dirty cities with equally dirty denizens. Minimal oversight. Honestly, why hadn't Mercy brought her HERE? A veritable playground of unpleasantly unfamiliar smells and free rein over her comings and goings?

Heaven.

Currently, Milla was hanging, upside down by her knees, from the belly of an older ship. She was merrily scrapping some weird goo - she thought it was a bacterial lichenizing exudate, which she found very exciting, since on this world it was PURPLE- and trying to get more of it into the vial she was holding than on the scarf she'd tucked around her neck and over her nose. No matter how interesting the smells were, they did get distracting when she was trying to work.

Ah the joys of being ones own boss.

She was completely oblivious to the political and influential machinations currently occurring across the planet. Even if she hadn't been, she probably wouldn't have cared. It had nothing to do with HER after all. But she did pause at the sound of shuttle engines, blinking as their descent kicked up dust into her eyes.

"Ugh its ruined, contaminated," she grumbled, peering at the soot that now coated the sticky substance. "Gross."

 

[Ives]

// nice art​

Obulette
Loading Docks, somewhere
Break time

Ives flipped a coin. Heads. Fifth time in a row. He was idly flipping it and catching it. If it wasn't for Bortrom cursing under his breath he wouldn't even have noticed the streak. Ives flipped it again. Heads.

"Zhuk, get over here," Bortrom, who sat next to Ives, called out to one of their colleagues also on break.

Zhuk, a burly Telosian, dropped his plate and stomped over to where Ives and Bortrom were sitting.

"Care for a wager?" Bortrom asked, grimy grin on his face.

Ives had been staring at the star-filled sky, dissociating away his break time, but he perked up at a mention of wagers.

"Five slivers if he gets heads twice in a row. Whaddya say?" Bortrom smirked.

Zhuk pondered a moment, but it didn't take much to convince the man. Chronic gambler, and most everyone on the crew took advantage of that. The fickle mistress that luck was, the Telosian still won as much as he lost because of it.

"Sure, I'm in," Zhuk sat down. "But no funny business, we play with my coin."

Ives watched the two impassively, fingers poised to flip his coin again, while Bortrom grumbled and Zhuk produced a Huttese Wupiupi. Ives played it off like he wasn't interested, but he certainly had skin in the game. If Bortrom's wager bore fruit, he inteded to get his cut. His friend certainly wouldn't mind.

Bortrom took the Wupiupi, made a show of inspecting it for any tampering. When he was satisfied, he slid the coin Ives' way.

"Two heads in a row, that's the deal," Zhuk confirmed again. Bortrom nodded and the two shook hands on it.

Ives picked up Zhuk's coin. The bronze metal bore signs of wear from age and use. It felt pleasantly cool between his fingers. He set it carefully on his thumb and index, then tossed it in the air. It twirled from one side to the other as it flew in an arc onto the table.

"Heads. Again."

Ives picked it up and tossed it again. Something about the toss seemed strange to him. Like he knew for certain it would come up heads. Some part of him anticipated it the way he anticipated gravity to pull the coin out of the air and onto the table. Any other outcome seemed...wrong somehow.

"Heads!" Bortrom laughed.

Zhuk grumbled a few curses. "Triple if he can hit three heads in a row?"

 

[Madelyn Lowe]

Anet Raine | [OPEN]​

Soft, melodic music drifted throughout the restaurant, and Madelyn swayed to it as she stared out at the city below, a sea of twinkling lights and grasping skyscrapers that never quite managed to reach the soaring height of Mecetti Tower. The room was empty, save for her, but her guests would soon be arriving. The chime of the turbolift warned that the first of them would be there momentarily, and Madelyn assumed her position, just by the lift, looking around as if she had just got there herself.

With a ding the turbolift doors opened, and the first group of people to be examined stepped out. They would see a luxurious revolving restaurant, a lounge bar lit by lamplight, and tables heaped with food and drink, as well as a single solitary woman, dressed in a tailored white blouse and formal black pants in the old Imperial fashion.

Some of the group might recognise her, but she doubted it. She didn't know much of the Covenant, but from what she had seen of them in briefing notes and on the holonet, they didn't seem the type to pay attention to history or politics, and these days Madelyn was both.

Maybe that is why she had agreed to assist them, some measure of boredom, or curiosity, or both. Who were this people who had so brazenly taken hold in the Core? She wished to know more, so she had offered her assistance, and to her mild surprise, they had said yes. It seemed that the Covenant had something of an information problem, and that was something Madelyn was intimately familiar with.

Madelyn turned to face the group and gave her best warm smile, which after so many decades of practice had become rather convincing. Her emerald eyes flashed as she regarded the group, gaze flitting to the mousy-haired woman with pale blue skin at the front.

"Hello." Madelyn held up a manicured hand, the same invitation the others had received pinched between her fingers. "Did you get one of these too?"

 

[Varin Mortifer]

OBJ:3

EQUIPMENT: Eye of the dragon | Blade of Chandrila | Heavy Sith Mace​

His armor was already on. He had been practically living in it more often than not, only removing it in his private quarters for maintenance and cleaning. The invasion was a massacre. Not only did the Covenant overtake control of Coruscant but the Imperials destroyed one of their headquarters, hoping to get a last laugh of sorts. It was futile.

Not long after that their sights were on the Obulette’s shipyards. He had made his way onto the shuttle, another mission, more blood to spill, more opposition to literally crush. It was almost like any other mission, he was already dipping into his own mind’s space for prayer until someone had caught his eye.

He hadn’t seen Eurydice since his time on Illum. He froze for but a quick moment. His helm clung loosely in his fingers, the glow of his eye finding her. He was silent at first. He looked at Lysander then to Mercy, then back to Eurydice.

“How did you get here?”

The confusion in his voice could easily be heard as he stood near her.

“..It’s been some time.”

The shuttle finally took off heading towards their new target. After some time the shuttle finally reached their destination. His rosary of bone wrapped around his forearm as he continued his normal ritual before any mission. Prayer. Not for strength, not for help, and certainly not for thanks. He prayed for opportunity. Opportunity to show the opposition they are not to be trifled with. He finished up just as Mercy spoke.

Varin listened to instruction. Minimal structure damage, take their ships, take anything that isn’t bolted down, and if it was, rip it out. They were clear. He watched Mercy step aside to have a private moment with Eurydice and he watched for just a quick second before he finally stepped off the shuttle.

Already approaching were a few technicians to check in on the vessel, Varin stepped in front of them and flexed his hand. They barely let out a scream before their bodies were crushed under the might of his power.

Though he cared for Eurydce, he could not risk showing hesitation here. She would finally see his true nature. Every mask has two sides, and she only saw the gentle side on Illum.

He stepped over their corpses as he continued forward.

Lysander von Ascania | Mercy | Milla | Eurydice​

 

[Anet Raine]

OBJECTIVE TWO
Madelyn Lowe | OPEN
Wearing: Acolyte Robes (no helmet) & Training Choker

Anet stood proudly as the turbolift carried her and a small group up into the restaurant. Like them, she was dressed in all-black robes, marking her station as a Sith Acolyte. Of course, hers were well-tailored and made from finer materials. Not something easily noticed unless scrutinized.

When the doors opened, she stepped off and kept pace to make sure she was ahead of the others, and stopped before a blonde who appeared only a few years older than her, yet carried herself with an age-defying wisdom - or was it jadedness? The scholar never quite knew the difference anymore.

"Yes," she answered curtly and held her missive as proof.

Her presence in the Force was suppressed, but not invisible, though noticeable enough to be odd.

Unlike the others, she wasn't nervous, concerned, or spiteful. Something said she was glad to have received an invitation, and not in the sort of way one might, having misunderstood the subtext. There was even a quiet smirk she kept subdued.

"Anet," she introduced herself, but conveniently withheld her last name.

It was entirely possible (if not likely) that Madelyn knew Anet's true identity, but that didn't mean the half-arkanian gave it gladly.

Her eyes drifted over the empty restaurant. The lavish food and table dressing was certaintly unusual. Was it meant to make one comfortable or uneasy? Anet wondered, because she only felt the latter.

She looked back at Madelyn. "I take it I'm not here for a date." Delivered dryly.

 

[Nilira Vornix]

Tag: Arris Windrun

Neriah looked down at the people they walked past, her expression neutral as always when in public, not having a single ounce of sympathy in her heart for them. These...sewer rats may have been starving, may have been saying goodbye to their loved ones, but they were free. They weren't trapped like Neriah was. They were learning of the cruelty of the Galaxy first hand. It would make them stronger in the grand scheme of things. They wouldn't be stepped on like she was. They should be grateful for what was happening to them.

"I hope you're hungry," Arris looked back at Neriah.

"I'm not."

She was never hungry anymore. Never cold. Never uncomfortable. It all blurred together for her now. It was a state of existence. Not a feeling. Good food, food that you had for taste, and not for nutrients, not for survival, was lost on her. It was a comfort she wasn't allowed. Same with heat and warmth. Things that promoted healthy growth. They weren't needed for her. For she didn't see anywhere for her to grow. She was stagnant. Neriah did not believe she could advance as a Sith, or as a person. And so she was simply a tool. It was why she was surprised as to why her and Arris were...here, instead of doing their jobs.

​

 

[Acier Moonbound]

Location: Obulette

Equipment:
Acolyte Robes | Lightsaber | Cybernetic Arm

Ace stepped out of the turbolift and let the doors close behind him without a glance back. Anet was already ahead. Of course she was. She always moved like she owned the place.

His eyes moved immediately. Exits. Sightlines. Reflections in the glass. The absence of staff. The fact that the music was just a little too soft to be ambient and just a little too loud to be ignored. He registered the cleared space at the center of the room and filed it away without assigning meaning yet.

Then he saw her. White blouse. Black trousers. Old Imperial cut. She stood near the lift like she belonged there, posture relaxed, expression open in a way that felt practiced rather than careless.

Ace slowed, not stopping, just enough to take her in. He didn't recognize her. That alone put her on the list. Her greeting came easy, the invitation pinched between her fingers like a shared joke.

Ace's gaze dropped briefly to the card, then lifted back to her face. No visible reaction. No reach for the Force. No reflexive tension in his shoulders. Just a measured breath, taken like someone who had learned the value of not answering questions too quickly.

Anet spoke first. Answering the blonde woman, then introducing herself and making a dry remark after. Whatever this was, it wasn't a briefing. And it wasn't a summons that made sense yet. But it had been issued from above... that much was clear.

Ace waited, still as the slow rotation of the room, alert to every shift in posture and tone around him, already certain of only one thing: you didn't invite people this high up just to offer them wine.

Not one for pleasantries or beating around the bush, Ace cut straight to it.

"Why are we here?" He asked, tone more blunt than a club.

Madelyn Lowe | Anet Raine | OPEN​

 

[Darth Amaymon]

Tags: Madelyn Lowe Acier Moonbound Anet Raine | OPEN
​

From a different section of the room another hiss sounded aloud. Metal doors retracted and in a rather hunched posture Darth Amaymon exited the turbolift with a deep hum. It sounded more like a growl. The Sith lord was adorned in heavy plate armor, no doubt alchemical, but his chest and torso region had been purposefully left exposed. Dense musculature shown, along with strange scars and tattoos in the language of Ur-Kittat. He looked akin to a gladiator.

An appearance that Kezeroth came to know as a casual look.

His presence in the force no doubt could of been felt before his arrival. It felt like a shroud of hatred and bloodlust. In one large hand, he held a crumpled piece of paper. It was an invitation. Yet in his other hand was un-doubtly the hilt of his lightclub. Each step he took sunk into the red carpet with his weight and his eyes scanned the room briefly, a scowl seemed to be etched over his visage and with a raised brow he continued forward.

First there was the wild looking one. Blue skin and a womp rats nest for hair. Anet Raine . This one Amaymon had seen once before during acolyte training but that time had long since past. Then there was the other adjacent to her, another acolyte he had seen, no, heard of before. Till this very moment Amaymon had never met the boy. Based off his body language the boy seemed alert and the Sith Lord could not blame him. Lastly there was the other female. Calm, seemingly collected and pleasant to the eyes.

For human standards.

With slow brooding steps Amaymon stalked closer to the group. Sulfuric eyes scanning over them in an attempt to gain more information about what was going on, but also to provoke a response. A subtle grin revealed as he uttered " Ah the chosen....few." He let the last word pause, letting his tongue do the bluffing.

But obviously Amaymon had little clue of what was going on as a invitation was in his offhand. But who of the group would slow down enough to recognize that fact in the midst of his looming presence?

A curious thing.

 

[Lysander von Ascania]

Mercy Milla Varin Mortifer Eurydice dydice
​

Most days, when permitted, were spent on Thrantin, a planet that pulled him back with its raw brutal honesty. Training there felt real, as if every drop of sweat had a purpose. This was his first time on Obulette. From what he gathered thus far, the other planets in the sector bore their lineage like armor.. until the Covenant reshaped everything.

At least it wasn't Desevro.. that name tasted bitter on his tongue. No matter what, anywhere was better than Desevro.

During their journey he was always within sight of Varin. His brother took up space like a storm.. without apology. He didn't have to look at him either. Years of experience had tuned him into the cadence of his brother's presence. By now, it was like reading notes of a familiar song.

When his Master finally broke the long silence.. something shifted. He didn't just hear the words; he felt them ripple through his being. A tilt of the chin steadied, homing in on her voice. In truth, he'd expected another raid, perhaps, something harsh he'd grown used to. But this would be different.

Lysander’s voice drifted. "You'll have a functional shipyard when this is over."

Taking something just to spend the next year patching it up didn’t exactly sound like winning.

Being given this meant trust. He wasn't about to waste it.

Within a matter of seconds after the shuttle touching down, bodies crumbled beneath Varin's violence. Ignoring the corpses, Lysander navigated on, detached, careful not to draw attention. A few others were already moving quickly toward reinforced doors. So, Lysander became a ghost in their periphery. With each step, he closed the distance.

Just before the threshold, one of them shot a wary glance back. The first seam had just begun to open. And in that instant, the blonde burst forward. A crimson blade flared to life, carving through them.

A minor obstacle, and then they could disappear inside.

 

[Vestra Tane]

Tamsin Starfall | Kyber | Shego Striga​

Vestra lurked, silent, as assassins glid past her in subterranean darkness. The Mecrosan Sanctum was a sparsely decorated circle, a far cry from the Tapani Sector's usual excess. It made Vestra's skin crawl. It was too stale, too lifeless. She missed the mayhem topside.

And the Mecrosans themselves got on her nerves, though in this moment she didn't let it show. They were too rigid. Too hierarchical. But for their flaws, they valued tradition, and they valued history - and the Sith found those qualities endearing. Endearing and deeply exploitable.

History of service to the Sith. Millenia of upheld oaths and sacred loyalty. Used to being on the back foot. Comfortable when faced with overwhelming odds.

The Knight traced her fingers along the hem of her robe, while, silently, she went over everything she knew about her targets. She felt exposed, vulnerable - without her coat, with only her lightfoil at her side, wearing the colors of an order she had no love for.

This really wasn't her forte. She should've been off cracking heads, or giving a lecture on the history of Sithspawn.

Lousy operational security, apparently.

Ah, well. Someone had to be here. The Mecrosans were too valuable to just butcher, no matter how much she was itching for a fight.

She waited, and turned her attention to the women on the dais. They all had the look of someone who felt like they had something very important to say.

 

[Seren Gwyn]

Seren had been there long before the trapdoor opened.

She sat among the captives with her wrists bound and her posture carefully measured, neither slumped in defeat nor held too rigid in defiance. Close enough to be seen. Ordinary enough to be forgotten. The kind of presence that slid beneath notice once the room decided what mattered.

The dungeon breathed around them, damp stone, old iron, the faint metallic tang of fear that never fully left places like this. Lamplight wavered as the ladder was lowered, shadows stretching and folding over one another as hooded figures descended into the sanctum. Seren did not look up at once. She listened instead to footfalls, to the cadence of movement, to the way the air shifted when purpose entered the room.

Only when the voices began to gather did she lift her gaze.

Five figures took their places upon the dais, identical in cut and color, their presence carefully curated to deny distinction. Leader and lieutenants made one shape together, symmetrical, controlled, rehearsed. It was effective theater.

Seren did not search for the one at the center.

Her attention moved sideways, slipping past the obvious, resting instead on the woman who spoke least. The one whose stillness was not absence, but restraint. When tension flickered between the others, it was her posture that eased it. When decisions were framed, her silence allowed them to stand.

The Force shifted around that presence, not dark, not light, but weighted. A quiet compression, like something bearing more than it should.

Interesting.

Seren let her fear show just enough to be convincing. A shallow breath. A tightening of her fingers against the cord at her wrists. Nothing theatrical. Nothing false.

She had not yet reached for the Force.

There was no need.

This was not about understanding who these women were. That would come easily. What mattered was locating the hinge, the place where pressure already lived, waiting for the slightest nudge to decide which way the structure would fall.

And Seren was very good at finding hinges.

She lowered her gaze again, blending back into the shape of a captive, already certain of one thing.

This Order would not break by force.

It would loosen from within.

Vestra Tane Tamsin Starfall Kyber Shego Striga

 

[Rae Cooke]

//: Madelyn Lowe //: Anet Raine //:
//: Acier Moonbound //: Darth Amaymon //:
//: Attire //:

The invitation was either a good sign or a bad one. She figured either outcome would work in her favor.

She looked it over once more before shoving it back into her jacket pocket, flicking aside the nub of the cigarette she pretended to smoke. It was mostly for show — a deterrent. Most people didn't like the smell, so they kept their distance. A bad habit she had no intention of actually indulging.

Still… From her records, that Mercy gal looked good with a pipe. Maybe she'd get one of those.

Aesthetic. The good stuff.

The turbolift took its time. The Corellian sighed softly as the methodical melody hummed through the speakers — a clumsy attempt at calming nerves. The tune was annoyingly catchy, and she hated that it lodged itself in her head as the doors slid open.

Hands in her pockets, old aviators slipping halfway down her nose, the Corellian stepped out and into the room.

They were already whispering. Of course, they were — trying to figure out why they'd been summoned. Then a voice chimed, one she'd recognize anywhere.

Her stomach dropped.

Peering over the rim of her glasses, the brunette spotted the golden crown of Madelyn Lowe.

Interesting…Why, of all places, are you here…?

She filed the thought away with care and moved toward the Minister and the woman she was speaking with — just in time to catch the tail end of whatever Anet thought was clever.

Leaning forward, the mercenary brushed past her.

"I sure hope not," she said, brown eyes locking with the white-haired woman, then back towards Madelyn, mischief already hinting in her gaze.

"The boss here would have some explaining to do.

It was a quick cover and explanation. Madelyn would easily recognize the darker-haired brunette as Rae Cooke, a Legionnaire in the old Empire and now a mercenary sharpshooter. The leather jacket typically would be a dead giveaway, but most in there had never met Allyson Locke.

Still, she gave the Minister a Cheshire grin as she stepped closer and stood beside her, her posture showing her station in comparison.

"Thanks for waiting for me." She lazily looked over the blonde carefully, "You know, you shouldn't go too far ahead of your guard like that."

 

[Tamsin Starfall]

Theme: Play With Fire
Equipment: Twin Omens | Multi-Tool | Stars Enchained | Mind Crown
TAGS: Vestra Tane | Kyber | Shego Striga | Seren Gwyn

They had led the nobles down into a maze of a dungeon, Tamsin among the Mecrosa Order dressed as they were. As they had walked the nobles to their impending demise, she could only think of how if this went south this place would be crap shoot to escape quickly and easily. That to her meant they would have play this tight and neat, very little wiggle room for mistakes.

Outside of Vestra Tane she didn't know any of the others on the team. That in itself could be a problem, as she wouldn't know how they operated. This could easily turn into a chaotic mess, then again when in her life had things not turned out that way. As she followed the coven of assassin's they eventually came to a more central room or at least Tamsin assumed it was central it was hard to tell they had twisted and turned so much to reach this final place.

Her dark eyes watched as the sisters of the Mecrossa order moved into standing to attention. She followed suit among them as one of the top leaders stepped up to dias. About to speak, maybe some final rites to the executions that were about to take place, Tamsin wasn't exactly sure.

In a way Tamsin admired these women, strong in the force standing defiantly against the perceived oppressors. So willing to slay the corruption that ate at their worlds even if it meant they would have to kill their own people to do it. They were like witches of her blood; they would die for what they believed in.

In a way it made her feel regret for what they had to do this day. They would have to try to force them under the thumb of a rising sith cult. Under the rule of the very corruption, they wanted to cut out to preserve their ways. That regret, however, did not change Tamsin's mind, because mixed with it was that memory of who she used to be. That memory telling her everything must end and everything must change or be lost to stagnation and decay.

Her dark eyes looked up to the dais, to the one about to speak at attention. As she tried to think what their next play might be. They were trapped in a maze, killing everyone was an option but not a good one, and talk would be hard with people set in their ways. Perhaps plying the mind weaken the will but who to do it to? Even though her dark eyes were staring ahead towards the Dias she was peering out the corners looking for someone among the sisters she could use as a puppet.

 

[Lucianus Adair]

Arris Windrun • Nilira Vornix
​

When the realm above and below was his domain, the only need he had for peering out of the station's many viewports was a matter of appearance; a sliver of focus gleaned all across the dim world of Obulette. Across its region in space.

There was no shred of concern that eclipsed his idle curiosity about the ministrations of the interlopers, a Host that may very well clear the slate without his intervention. No concern about the denizens calling this realm home, nor the countless amongst them who carried the trace of his blood in their veins. Judgement arrived in its own time.

Adair turned away from the viewport and walked the concourse at an unhurried pace, passing faces he didn't spare a look to. While they knew to make way for the leaders of this Host by reputation, from him they steered well clear on instinct, as if they could sense the violent thread woven into to his displeasure should they impede him.

"I hope you're hungry," Arris looked back at Neriah.

The lane continued to widen while he fell into the step of the Triumvir's wake.

"I'm not."

He caught up with them, the natural length of his unhurried stride making short work of the distance, their scant conversation picked easily out of the discordant soundscape of the station.

"Go ahead and starve, then."

Cold, flat, quiet words — not that this was his fare, either — while his unnaturally pale gaze centered on the blonde, unblinking, narrowing slightly. He might as well have been observing an insect. He'd been following Covenant movements as they bled through the Sector, and was aware of how they worked. What business did they have on a simple service station?

"You're not where you're meant to be."

Voice Sample #1 — Elias (Diablo 4)
Voice Sample #2 — Margit, the Fell Omen (Eldin Ring)​

 

[Skael the Patient]

Objective 3 / House Ministry of Inquiry
​

Skael was perched high up on the wall overlooking the courtyard of the suspected headquarters of MI.

This was now the sixth nondescript building that Skael was asked to investigate. Anyone else would have given up a long time ago, but Skael had everything he needed to continue his existence up here. A fresh breeze, rain and an errant pigeon every once in a while. Creatures such as Skael could be remarkably satisfied with quite little.

It was what made them excellent scouts and acolytes for that matter.

This building had much more potential then the last however.

Most regular buildings around this district did not have a courtyard, for one. Secondly, most regular people did not get visitations at every hour of the day by people in cloaks. It could be something else, of course. A criminal outfit, or a perpetually embarrassed land lord gathering, but every once in a while his sharp avian eyes would notice a Tapani house sigil under the cloaks as they moved.

He could have left it there.

Simply go back and report his findings. But Skael the Patient wished to rename himself to Skael the Ambitious. You did not attain a strong name such as that without showing some back bone every once in a while.

As such, he pushed himself off of the wall, allowing the air currents to carry him towards the balcony. There was a meeting in progress there currently.

 

[Ives]

Obulette
Loading Docks, somewhere
Break time gambling

Ives had just thrown six heads in a row with the same coin, earning a hefty sum from the steadily increasing wagers.

Zhuk grumbled. His eyes betrayed a glint of frustration. "One cycle's pay. Winner takes all."

That got Bortrom to perk up. He licked his lips, hand already out to shake on it.

"But," Zhuk continued. "The kid has to toss the coin so it lands on its side."

Bortrom laughed. A boisterous bellow deep from his guts. He recognized the gambit for the dead man's plea it was. They must have robbed him of half a cycle's pay by now and Zhuk was getting desperate, risking so much to get back his losses. No way would Bortrom take the deal. He opened his mouth to dash Zhuk's hope and demand the money he'd rightfully gained.

"Deal," Ives spoke the first time this evening.

Bortrom gaped. He turned to Ives. The shock on his face slowly turned to realization, and leaned in close and pulled Ives by his shirt collar.

"What do you think you're doing, kid?" Bortrum hissed through grit teeth, close enough that the stench of his last meal stung Ives' nose.

The coin's edge was thin and worn to the point of being round in most places. It wasn't even certain if it could stand on its side, the astronomically slim chances of even balancing a coin on its edge aside. Bortrom was seeing the credits slip through his fingers as he looked at Ives' face. He fixed him with a glare that could have killed, and very well still might.

Ives met his glare, defiant. On any other night, he'd back down and acquiesce to the elder worker, but some strange rush had him posessed.

"I can't lose," Ives whispered back.

Bortrom's face twisted with fury. His fingers coiled tighter around Ives' collar.

"Don't break the kid," Zhuk cut in. "He took the wager. He needs his head intact if he wants to toss the coin."

Bortrom held Ives another moment. Rage played over his features, barely contained beneath his muscles. Ives started to get a sinking feeling, like Bortrom might actually let that anger out. The moments dragged on. Eventually, at the behest of Zhuk, Bortrom relented and let go of Ives.

"You're going to work double shifts, no, triple shifts until you pay me back twice what I'm about to lose," Bortrom growled. He resigned himself to his fate, leaning back with a scowl.

Ives breathed in and gathered the coin, determined to prove him wrong.

 

[Shego Striga]

SNAKES IN THE GRASS
Objective I

Kyber | Tamsin Starfall | Seren Gwyn | Vestra Tane

V.E.N.O.M | H.Y.D.R.A​

The Sith had come in force.

And far from the eyes of the city, Shego worked.

The laboratory was a lie.

A temporary thing. A parasite bolted onto the bones of an abandoned fortress in a classified exclusion zone beyond the capital's sensor net. Plastic sheeting, portable lights, a folding surgical rig. Everything designed to be burned, scrubbed, and forgotten within minutes.

At its center, a chair.

The man bound to it strained uselessly against carbon-fiber restraints, breath rasping through clenched teeth as his eyes followed her every movement. He wore the scars of the Mecrosa Order proudly once. Ritual cuts. Devotional etchings. Now they only made it easier to read his pulse.

Shego stood with her back to him, calm, methodical, drawing a syringe full of luminous green fluid from a sealed vial. The liquid moved like it was alive, clinging to the needle with a viscous reluctance.

"Biometrics steady?" she asked through her rebreather, voice filtered into something cold and insectile. Shifting her gaze towards Kyber who assisted with the setup of the lab.

"I need him within survivable thresholds. Psychological resistance remains high among these types, we might lose him sooner the harder he fights it."

Shego smiled without warmth.

"Going in blind has never been my style," she murmured. "But time is a luxury we don't have."

She set the syringe down carefully and adjusted her glasses, then smoothed her lab coat over the black bodysuit beneath. Every motion deliberate. Controlled. The captive's breathing hitched as she rolled her chair closer and finally turned to face him.

She pulled her glasses down just enough to meet his eyes.

"This will be extremely unpleasant for both of us," she said softly. "I need you focused. Kyber, stay on his vitals."

She leaned in. The air between them prickled as the Force stirred around her, radioactive and hungry. He tried to harden his thoughts, to retreat behind the mental bulwarks drilled into him by the Order. Prayers. Mantras. Pain discipline.

Shego felt them like thin paper.

The needle sank into his neck.

VENOM entered his system.

At first, nothing.

Then his pupils dilated. His breath stuttered. Thought began to lose cohesion, edges softening, certainty leaking away. The venom worked fast, unraveling the mental safeguards woven into him by the Mecrosa Order. Not domination. Dissolution.

Shego followed.

She pressed into his mind as it began to fog, slipping past crumbling defenses and into the architecture beneath. Hallways of memory. Training chambers. Stone stairwells slick with blood and rain. A subterranean sanctum accessed through half a dozen basements. A trapdoor. A ladder. Flickering lamplight.

Five figures on a dais.

Identical robes. Identical stillness.

No hierarchy. No marker of command.

"Rotational authority? Or something else..." Shego muttered aloud, sweat beading at her temple. "Leadership masked by ritual. Asset preservation through anonymity."

The man screamed as hallucinations took hold. The venom advanced through its phases, tearing open feedback loops of fear and pain. His body convulsed violently, restraints biting into flesh.

Shego felt it all.

Every spike of terror jolted through her nervous system as the mental link deepened. She clawed at the arm of her chair, hissing as her breath hitched and green light bled into her vision.

"Kyber," she snapped. "Stabilize. Blue injection. Now!"

Shego forced herself deeper.

She tore free the essentials.

Passwords spoken only under low lamplight.
Biometric locks keyed to scar patterns.
A hidden fault line.
Fear of Sith annihilation warring with terror of independence.
A desire to survive that outweighed ideology.

"Pacification is viable," she whispered. "They want leverage. They want relevance."

Blood trickled from the captive's nose. His mind began to collapse, memories sloughing into incoherent noise. Shego severed the link with a sharp gasp, ripping herself free before VENOM could finish the job.

She sat back, chest heaving, rebreather whining as it compensated.

The man sagged in the chair, alive, but emptied. Burned out.

She didn't look at him again.

"Transmit everything," she said, standing on unsteady legs and peeling off the lab coat. "Encrypted burst. Covenant channels only."

She needed Kyber to begin firing the stolen intelligence into the void where Sith infiltrators waited, blind seconds ago and deadly now. If for some reason communications were sabotaged however, they may need to deliver the information themselves.

Elsewhere, beneath Obulette's streets, hooded figures descended into darkness.
Assassins gathered.
Hostages were herded.
Five leaders took their places beneath flickering lamps.

They did not know why the timing felt wrong.
They did not know why their sanctum suddenly felt smaller.

And far from the city, in a lab that would soon be ash, Shego wiped green-stained gloves clean and exhaled slowly.

"Oh girl," she murmured to herself, voice raw behind the mask. "What have you gotten yourself mixed up with."