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Star Wars Roleplay: Chaos
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Ana Rix
Character
The world greeted Ana before the people did.
Zonama Sket's surface had a pulse—subtle, steady, traveling up through the soles of her boots like the echo of a distant heartbeat. She paused at the end of the landing ramp, letting that sensation rise through her, not startled by it, simply acknowledging it the way one notes a shift in temperature or the weight of a room. Living planets were rare, but not surprising to her; what mattered more than where she stood was why she had been called.
And why she came.
She stepped forward into the open sprawl of the festival, her long charcoal coat trailing behind her in a smooth, deliberate sweep. Its sharp, angular silhouette contrasted starkly with the bioluminescent architecture around her, blending cyber-noir minimalism with the organic pulse of Yuuzhan-Vong aesthetics. The Market opened around her first: stalls grown rather than built, ribbed with coral-like texture, their faint internal glow breathing like organisms at rest. Living tech pulsed on tables—organic conduits, whispering membranes, grown tools that reacted to touch. Traders watched her as she passed, their expressions unreadable, their scrutiny unhidden, yet she didn't slow or shift. She absorbed the environment the way she read a databurst—quietly, precisely, measuring patterns beneath the surface.
The roar of the Pit rumbled somewhere beyond the trees, carried on the wind like the promise of ritual violence. Ana's attention didn't waver toward it. Noise wasn't why she was here.
Purpose was.
And purpose lived in the Library.
The massive tree rose from the ground in a tower of luminous bark, its surface glowing in slow, deliberate pulses like a mind working through thought. The air thickened the closer she came—not with danger, but with intention. The sense of a collective will gathered tightly around the structure. At the base of the tree, framed in the soft organic glow, Queen Kiera Skell sat upon a throne shaped from the living world itself. She looked neither regal nor ornamental—simply inevitable. A still point amid motion.
Ana approached without hesitation, her stride even, each step absorbing the bioluminescent shifts around her. When she halted a respectful distance from the throne, she didn't bow or posture. She simply met the Queen's presence with her own.
Her brown eyes—warm in color but devoid of softness—took in the throne, the glow, the woman, and the weight of what this gathering intended. Depth lived behind her gaze, but no readable emotion. Only analysis. And a quiet, private curiosity she didn't allow to surface.
When she finally spoke, her voice was cool, level, and precise—the voice of someone who lived in shadows and understood how messages moved through them.
"Your signal traveled farther than you may have expected."
Her gaze shifted briefly toward the tree's surface, following a pulse of living light, reading it the way she'd read a shifting interface, then returned to the Queen.
"Even people who weren't listening heard it."
No accusation. No praise. Simply fact, delivered with that steady, grounded clarity that defined her.
Hands resting easily at her sides, posture balanced, she continued:
"I'm here to see whether the invitation matches its intent."
Nothing more.
No theatrics.
No hidden fear or eagerness.
Just Ana Rix—brown-eyed, sharp-minded, calm in the presence of power—standing beneath a living world's glow, waiting for the Queen of the Yuuzhan-Collective to speak.
Zonama Sket's surface had a pulse—subtle, steady, traveling up through the soles of her boots like the echo of a distant heartbeat. She paused at the end of the landing ramp, letting that sensation rise through her, not startled by it, simply acknowledging it the way one notes a shift in temperature or the weight of a room. Living planets were rare, but not surprising to her; what mattered more than where she stood was why she had been called.
And why she came.
She stepped forward into the open sprawl of the festival, her long charcoal coat trailing behind her in a smooth, deliberate sweep. Its sharp, angular silhouette contrasted starkly with the bioluminescent architecture around her, blending cyber-noir minimalism with the organic pulse of Yuuzhan-Vong aesthetics. The Market opened around her first: stalls grown rather than built, ribbed with coral-like texture, their faint internal glow breathing like organisms at rest. Living tech pulsed on tables—organic conduits, whispering membranes, grown tools that reacted to touch. Traders watched her as she passed, their expressions unreadable, their scrutiny unhidden, yet she didn't slow or shift. She absorbed the environment the way she read a databurst—quietly, precisely, measuring patterns beneath the surface.
The roar of the Pit rumbled somewhere beyond the trees, carried on the wind like the promise of ritual violence. Ana's attention didn't waver toward it. Noise wasn't why she was here.
Purpose was.
And purpose lived in the Library.
The massive tree rose from the ground in a tower of luminous bark, its surface glowing in slow, deliberate pulses like a mind working through thought. The air thickened the closer she came—not with danger, but with intention. The sense of a collective will gathered tightly around the structure. At the base of the tree, framed in the soft organic glow, Queen Kiera Skell sat upon a throne shaped from the living world itself. She looked neither regal nor ornamental—simply inevitable. A still point amid motion.
Ana approached without hesitation, her stride even, each step absorbing the bioluminescent shifts around her. When she halted a respectful distance from the throne, she didn't bow or posture. She simply met the Queen's presence with her own.
Her brown eyes—warm in color but devoid of softness—took in the throne, the glow, the woman, and the weight of what this gathering intended. Depth lived behind her gaze, but no readable emotion. Only analysis. And a quiet, private curiosity she didn't allow to surface.
When she finally spoke, her voice was cool, level, and precise—the voice of someone who lived in shadows and understood how messages moved through them.
"Your signal traveled farther than you may have expected."
Her gaze shifted briefly toward the tree's surface, following a pulse of living light, reading it the way she'd read a shifting interface, then returned to the Queen.
"Even people who weren't listening heard it."
No accusation. No praise. Simply fact, delivered with that steady, grounded clarity that defined her.
Hands resting easily at her sides, posture balanced, she continued:
"I'm here to see whether the invitation matches its intent."
Nothing more.
No theatrics.
No hidden fear or eagerness.
Just Ana Rix—brown-eyed, sharp-minded, calm in the presence of power—standing beneath a living world's glow, waiting for the Queen of the Yuuzhan-Collective to speak.
Location: Zonama Sekot
Objective II: The Pit
Tags:
Tzhaal Kraal'tor
Kiera Sifdin-Skell
Fhaige was always intrigued to see the dance of combat play out, and today's batch of fighters were particularly skilled! She sat high in the viewing area, overseeing the battles. Today's rules were a modification of the usual Vong brawls. Killing was strictly prohibited, though no one would bat an eye at a good maiming! Thanks to the biological mastery of the Yuuzhan Vong, there was a guarantee that any lost organs/limbs would be replaced.
But what was it the fighters in The Pit would be rewarded with? A single word, glory! Winning a fight in The Pit meant winning the favor of The Warmaster, and by extension Queen Skell! Perhaps it was a bit low-stakes, but it was enough to draw in a crowd of barbaric fighters.
Fhaige stood from her seat, a stalk of fleshy biomass rising in front of her. It was linked to a system of receptors that thrummed to life around the arena. Thanks to this network of receptors, all gathered around The Pit could hear the booming voice of Warmaster Fhaige! Her address would precede the first round of combat.
"To all who have blessed us with the strength of their flesh, I thank you!! Your sacrament of blood shall be acknowledged by all who witness today's bouts! Go forth, show The Queen your fury, your power, but most of all, your devotion! Let there be no question today who among you is the greatest warrior!"
After finishing her address, The Queen's hand sat back down, her eyes glancing over the gathered warriors. She had her eyes on one particular warrior, a beast of a man even by Vong standards. He was a specimen quite obviously capable physically, but there were four other warriors wielding ceremonial blades and fighting claws.
Fhaige knew that in fighting rings, the largest and most imposing specimens were usually the first culled. They were the obvious threats after all, and taking them down would bring better odds for those that survived. It was yet to be seen whether or not this massive warrior would survive the onslaught of his competitors!
Objective II: The Pit
Tags:
Tzhaal Kraal'tor
Kiera Sifdin-Skell Fhaige was always intrigued to see the dance of combat play out, and today's batch of fighters were particularly skilled! She sat high in the viewing area, overseeing the battles. Today's rules were a modification of the usual Vong brawls. Killing was strictly prohibited, though no one would bat an eye at a good maiming! Thanks to the biological mastery of the Yuuzhan Vong, there was a guarantee that any lost organs/limbs would be replaced.
But what was it the fighters in The Pit would be rewarded with? A single word, glory! Winning a fight in The Pit meant winning the favor of The Warmaster, and by extension Queen Skell! Perhaps it was a bit low-stakes, but it was enough to draw in a crowd of barbaric fighters.
Fhaige stood from her seat, a stalk of fleshy biomass rising in front of her. It was linked to a system of receptors that thrummed to life around the arena. Thanks to this network of receptors, all gathered around The Pit could hear the booming voice of Warmaster Fhaige! Her address would precede the first round of combat.
"To all who have blessed us with the strength of their flesh, I thank you!! Your sacrament of blood shall be acknowledged by all who witness today's bouts! Go forth, show The Queen your fury, your power, but most of all, your devotion! Let there be no question today who among you is the greatest warrior!"
After finishing her address, The Queen's hand sat back down, her eyes glancing over the gathered warriors. She had her eyes on one particular warrior, a beast of a man even by Vong standards. He was a specimen quite obviously capable physically, but there were four other warriors wielding ceremonial blades and fighting claws.
Fhaige knew that in fighting rings, the largest and most imposing specimens were usually the first culled. They were the obvious threats after all, and taking them down would bring better odds for those that survived. It was yet to be seen whether or not this massive warrior would survive the onslaught of his competitors!
.Resurgere ex Cineribus.
There is always a certain peace out in space.
Sure, it was a terrifying endless vacuum that could obliterate you and your ship at any moment, but that dark void made for good company when there was no one else.
Accompanied by only his thoughts and the familiar hum of his ship's engines, Leo had been contemplating what it would be like to live out in space unabetted, to physically swim through the stars and wander from planet to planet. He supposed, in a way, that he was doing something similar, wandering from place to place with no definitive goal in mind. He was yet to master the whole breathing in space part though.
It was then, while quietly drifting through the fringes of the Outer Rim aboard Kathol's Dishonour, that his ship picked up the transmission; an invitation of sorts, some coordinates, and a call to come home…
A brief moment of disbelief and hesitation, surely it couldn't be the Coalition back from the dead, right? But then again if he could do it, they could too… and he was in Outer Rim space, stranger things were possible. He had spent some time in an attempt to track down any leads on his old comrades, with little to no results, but there was no point in getting ahead of himself. Still, the hesitation had turned to curiosity, he had to find out who had sent that message and luckily for him, they'd transmitted their exact location.
Leo arrived on Zonama Sket in the Dishonour, touching down on a planet he had never once set foot on, gazing out at all the unfamiliarity before him. A distance away from the quickly filling port, sprawled out and bustling with people of all sorts was an impressive market, clearly set up with the purpose of conveying the grandeur of this planet's people. It would make a good starting point for his investigation into this place and would hopefully reveal its reasoning for why such a large display of power was warranted.
Ensuring that he was fitted with all of his equipment, Leo decided to forgo the mask before setting out into the market, it was a very public space after all and it would unnecessarily draw attention were it wasn't needed. If he played his cards right, he would find some answers as to what exactly was going on and maybe even snatch up some useful trinkets along the way…
Sure, it was a terrifying endless vacuum that could obliterate you and your ship at any moment, but that dark void made for good company when there was no one else.
Accompanied by only his thoughts and the familiar hum of his ship's engines, Leo had been contemplating what it would be like to live out in space unabetted, to physically swim through the stars and wander from planet to planet. He supposed, in a way, that he was doing something similar, wandering from place to place with no definitive goal in mind. He was yet to master the whole breathing in space part though.
It was then, while quietly drifting through the fringes of the Outer Rim aboard Kathol's Dishonour, that his ship picked up the transmission; an invitation of sorts, some coordinates, and a call to come home…
A brief moment of disbelief and hesitation, surely it couldn't be the Coalition back from the dead, right? But then again if he could do it, they could too… and he was in Outer Rim space, stranger things were possible. He had spent some time in an attempt to track down any leads on his old comrades, with little to no results, but there was no point in getting ahead of himself. Still, the hesitation had turned to curiosity, he had to find out who had sent that message and luckily for him, they'd transmitted their exact location.
Leo arrived on Zonama Sket in the Dishonour, touching down on a planet he had never once set foot on, gazing out at all the unfamiliarity before him. A distance away from the quickly filling port, sprawled out and bustling with people of all sorts was an impressive market, clearly set up with the purpose of conveying the grandeur of this planet's people. It would make a good starting point for his investigation into this place and would hopefully reveal its reasoning for why such a large display of power was warranted.
Ensuring that he was fitted with all of his equipment, Leo decided to forgo the mask before setting out into the market, it was a very public space after all and it would unnecessarily draw attention were it wasn't needed. If he played his cards right, he would find some answers as to what exactly was going on and maybe even snatch up some useful trinkets along the way…
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Zuna could hear it from the moment she left the cargo ship and set foot on Zonama Sekot.
It whispered to her.
The Jedi and Sith called it the Force, a faceless energy field that they divided crudely into light and darkness.
A simplified view ruled by the mind rather then the vibrant nerv endings. It was not just "The Force". It was magic, spirits sharing secrets with those willing and available to listen.
Zonama Sekot was alive alright but at the end of the day it was just a bit more alive than any other planet. It had a sentience and a soul but so had Dathomir, … and Tatooine … and Coruscant … and .. and … and…
Around here it was just more obvious and universally acknowledged by anyone who had ever hear about Zonama Sekot. Like the value of a truth wouzld depend on the willingness to accept it.
And it was not just "the planet". This ecosystem, this living brething entity was the sum of countless spirits living and working together. Every tree, every rock, the soil, the grass, the mountain peaks they were ll alive, a myriad of beings each with its own personality, soul and purpose.
Zuna could not have ignored their presence even if she had wanted to. The art was not to feel it and perceive it, the art was to filter and select to avoid immediate sensory overload, to tune in to certain frequencies while asking the others in all politeness to hold back until Zuna was ready.
As she communicated with the very soul underneath her feet the young Dathomir witch made a mental note that these whispers could be weaponbized if the need would ever arise to overwhelm someone with sensory stimulus.
Not that she asked for such a situation but she had learned to be cautious and prepared.
The ground told her how it had allowed a part of itself to harden out into the equivalent of a landing pad so that ships could land without sinking into the mud. The ground whispered softly how unreal this unloving thing – this machine called a starship – felt to the spirits of the planet. It did not belong but it was tolerated as long as it remained friendly and did not pollute the world.
Zuna stopped for a moment and took of her shoes. She continued to walk barefooted seeking direct contact with the soil and the multitude of spirits. The ground responded with a sound like harp strings in her mind acknowledging her gestures of trust and exchanging trust in equal measure
Zuna could walk in safety with her shoes tied to her belt and almost forgotten, sharp bladed grass leaves seemed to bend out of her path, a small golden snake with ridged slithered safely aside.
Zuna thanked the planet and its many souls for their courtesy while she approached the Yuuzan-Vong marketplace without haste without hurry. As astonishing as the work of the Vong was, the planet was an even greater miracle and Zuna intended to savor very moment here.
Kiera Sifdin-Skell Warmaster Fhaige
Ana Rix
Leo Vandermolen
It whispered to her.
The Jedi and Sith called it the Force, a faceless energy field that they divided crudely into light and darkness.
A simplified view ruled by the mind rather then the vibrant nerv endings. It was not just "The Force". It was magic, spirits sharing secrets with those willing and available to listen.
Zonama Sekot was alive alright but at the end of the day it was just a bit more alive than any other planet. It had a sentience and a soul but so had Dathomir, … and Tatooine … and Coruscant … and .. and … and…
Around here it was just more obvious and universally acknowledged by anyone who had ever hear about Zonama Sekot. Like the value of a truth wouzld depend on the willingness to accept it.
And it was not just "the planet". This ecosystem, this living brething entity was the sum of countless spirits living and working together. Every tree, every rock, the soil, the grass, the mountain peaks they were ll alive, a myriad of beings each with its own personality, soul and purpose.
Zuna could not have ignored their presence even if she had wanted to. The art was not to feel it and perceive it, the art was to filter and select to avoid immediate sensory overload, to tune in to certain frequencies while asking the others in all politeness to hold back until Zuna was ready.
As she communicated with the very soul underneath her feet the young Dathomir witch made a mental note that these whispers could be weaponbized if the need would ever arise to overwhelm someone with sensory stimulus.
Not that she asked for such a situation but she had learned to be cautious and prepared.
The ground told her how it had allowed a part of itself to harden out into the equivalent of a landing pad so that ships could land without sinking into the mud. The ground whispered softly how unreal this unloving thing – this machine called a starship – felt to the spirits of the planet. It did not belong but it was tolerated as long as it remained friendly and did not pollute the world.
Zuna stopped for a moment and took of her shoes. She continued to walk barefooted seeking direct contact with the soil and the multitude of spirits. The ground responded with a sound like harp strings in her mind acknowledging her gestures of trust and exchanging trust in equal measure
Zuna could walk in safety with her shoes tied to her belt and almost forgotten, sharp bladed grass leaves seemed to bend out of her path, a small golden snake with ridged slithered safely aside.
Zuna thanked the planet and its many souls for their courtesy while she approached the Yuuzan-Vong marketplace without haste without hurry. As astonishing as the work of the Vong was, the planet was an even greater miracle and Zuna intended to savor very moment here.
Kiera Sifdin-Skell Warmaster Fhaige
Ana Rix
Leo Vandermolen
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Ana Rix
Character
Ana moved through the festival with the same quiet precision she brought into every unfamiliar territory, relying only on eyes, instinct, and analysis. She didn't need mysticism or intuition to understand momentum; she watched how people behaved. The Pit's roar carried across the grounds—Warmaster Fhaige's voice, amplified by the living biomass system, her proclamation resonating among the assembled fighters. Ana noted the reactions around her: excitement, reverence, and bloodlust. Vong culture didn't hide its teeth. It celebrated them. She didn't linger. The spectacle wasn't why she was here.
As she approached the great tree that housed the Library, Ana caught sight of others filtering toward it. A man with a mercenary's build, moving with that slow vigilance of someone who'd seen more battlefields than beaches. A young woman walking barefoot through the soil, her posture strangely serene, as though the world itself offered her guidance. Neither of them had anything in common at first glance—except that they were drawn here by the same call that had brought Ana across half a sector.
She stepped beneath the carved arch of the Library's entrance just as Queen Skell descended her living throne.
Ana stopped at a respectful distance, shoulders relaxed, posture open but never submissive. She listened to every word—not because they swayed her, but because the Queen spoke with the kind of conviction that could reshape a people. Skell's philosophy was delivered like a weapon: the Force as a flaw, the galaxy as blind, the Collective as the new way forward. It wasn't rhetoric. It was a strategy. And strategy always deserved attention.
When the Queen's gaze swept across the newcomers—lingering with clear intent—Ana stepped forward a deliberate half-pace. Enough to show she had heard, and enough to signal she had something to say in return.
"You speak of weight as though it crushes everyone who carries it," Ana said, her voice low and smooth, meant to be heard without cutting into the Queen's authority. Her dark eyes remained steady on Skell, unreadable but fully present.
"Some people are dragged down by it. Others learn how to move with it. Some turn it into leverage."
She let her gaze drift—not with mysticism, only with a tactician's attention—across the surroundings: warriors still pressing toward the Pit, curious visitors drawn to the market, the man and the barefoot witch near the Library. So many different faces converging on a single point, not by instinct, not by fate, but because the Collective had made a spectacle designed to pull them in.
Ana returned her focus to the Queen. "Truth doesn't come as revelation. It comes after you test every claim, every assumption, every promise." Her posture shifted only slightly, hands folding behind her back, tone even and measured. "If your Collective has found something new—if this truly is a different path than the one your people walked before—I'll see it for myself."
A beat of silence. Calm. Intentional.
"But I didn't come here seeking a banner or a belief." Her voice softened, not in warmth but in clarity. "I came because movements like yours reshape the galaxy—one way or another. And I want to know which direction you intend to push."
She fell quiet once more, expression steady, gaze fixed on the Queen's in a level exchange that neither challenged nor yielded.
Ana Rix did not bow. She did not provoke. She did not declare loyalty. She observed. She evaluated. And she waited—ready to see what the Queen would reveal next.
Zuna Vobara Kiera Sifdin-Skell
Leo Vandermolen
Warmaster Fhaige
As she approached the great tree that housed the Library, Ana caught sight of others filtering toward it. A man with a mercenary's build, moving with that slow vigilance of someone who'd seen more battlefields than beaches. A young woman walking barefoot through the soil, her posture strangely serene, as though the world itself offered her guidance. Neither of them had anything in common at first glance—except that they were drawn here by the same call that had brought Ana across half a sector.
She stepped beneath the carved arch of the Library's entrance just as Queen Skell descended her living throne.
Ana stopped at a respectful distance, shoulders relaxed, posture open but never submissive. She listened to every word—not because they swayed her, but because the Queen spoke with the kind of conviction that could reshape a people. Skell's philosophy was delivered like a weapon: the Force as a flaw, the galaxy as blind, the Collective as the new way forward. It wasn't rhetoric. It was a strategy. And strategy always deserved attention.
When the Queen's gaze swept across the newcomers—lingering with clear intent—Ana stepped forward a deliberate half-pace. Enough to show she had heard, and enough to signal she had something to say in return.
"You speak of weight as though it crushes everyone who carries it," Ana said, her voice low and smooth, meant to be heard without cutting into the Queen's authority. Her dark eyes remained steady on Skell, unreadable but fully present.
"Some people are dragged down by it. Others learn how to move with it. Some turn it into leverage."
She let her gaze drift—not with mysticism, only with a tactician's attention—across the surroundings: warriors still pressing toward the Pit, curious visitors drawn to the market, the man and the barefoot witch near the Library. So many different faces converging on a single point, not by instinct, not by fate, but because the Collective had made a spectacle designed to pull them in.
Ana returned her focus to the Queen. "Truth doesn't come as revelation. It comes after you test every claim, every assumption, every promise." Her posture shifted only slightly, hands folding behind her back, tone even and measured. "If your Collective has found something new—if this truly is a different path than the one your people walked before—I'll see it for myself."
A beat of silence. Calm. Intentional.
"But I didn't come here seeking a banner or a belief." Her voice softened, not in warmth but in clarity. "I came because movements like yours reshape the galaxy—one way or another. And I want to know which direction you intend to push."
She fell quiet once more, expression steady, gaze fixed on the Queen's in a level exchange that neither challenged nor yielded.
Ana Rix did not bow. She did not provoke. She did not declare loyalty. She observed. She evaluated. And she waited—ready to see what the Queen would reveal next.
Zuna Vobara Kiera Sifdin-Skell
Leo Vandermolen
Warmaster FhaigeTzhaal Kraal'tor
Character
Objective 2
Tzhaal quite literally stood out among the contestants in the arena, towering above most of them by a good foot or so. His sheer mass was an impressive thing by itself, but when the viewers saw his physicality in battle, he was sure it would blow them away. He twirled his unusually large amphistaff in his right hand, almost feeling the snake creature's hunger for battle. He wore his Vonduun Skerr Kyrric, proud of the scratches on its shell that told the story of his previous victories.
When Warmaster Fhaige rose from her seat, Tzhaal looked up at her with great reverence, determined to impress her with his combat skill. And of course, the Queen would hear the outcome of the fights. This was his opportunity to prove his devotion to the cause of the Collective. Tzhaal kneeled in the sand for a moment, closing his eyes. He murmured, "Great Yun-Yammka, give your servant strength and deadly focus. Lead me to crush my enemies. May the blood I spill today honor you and give you glory."
Tzhaal slowly got to his feet, renewing his grip on his amphistaff and eyeing his opponents. He rolled his shoulders with a low grunt, his armor straining to contain his muscles as he picked his targets. Despite not being the smartest, he knew that the other fighters would likely try coming after him first. He took it as a compliment that they saw him as being too dangerous to be left in the game. His face lit up as he broke into a grin, like someone had cracked a funny joke. To others, he might have looked insane. No one had said anything funny. What did he have to laugh about when he was about to walk into a fight where he would be hurt?
Warmaster Fhaige
Tzhaal quite literally stood out among the contestants in the arena, towering above most of them by a good foot or so. His sheer mass was an impressive thing by itself, but when the viewers saw his physicality in battle, he was sure it would blow them away. He twirled his unusually large amphistaff in his right hand, almost feeling the snake creature's hunger for battle. He wore his Vonduun Skerr Kyrric, proud of the scratches on its shell that told the story of his previous victories.
When Warmaster Fhaige rose from her seat, Tzhaal looked up at her with great reverence, determined to impress her with his combat skill. And of course, the Queen would hear the outcome of the fights. This was his opportunity to prove his devotion to the cause of the Collective. Tzhaal kneeled in the sand for a moment, closing his eyes. He murmured, "Great Yun-Yammka, give your servant strength and deadly focus. Lead me to crush my enemies. May the blood I spill today honor you and give you glory."
Tzhaal slowly got to his feet, renewing his grip on his amphistaff and eyeing his opponents. He rolled his shoulders with a low grunt, his armor straining to contain his muscles as he picked his targets. Despite not being the smartest, he knew that the other fighters would likely try coming after him first. He took it as a compliment that they saw him as being too dangerous to be left in the game. His face lit up as he broke into a grin, like someone had cracked a funny joke. To others, he might have looked insane. No one had said anything funny. What did he have to laugh about when he was about to walk into a fight where he would be hurt?
Warmaster Fhaige
.Resurgere ex Cineribus.
The force a flaw? That was quite the interpretation. Leo was vaguely read on the ancient history of the Yuuzhan-Vong and well aware of their innate force-nullification, kark, he'd even encountered a rare one or two in his time, operating in underground cells and networks where no one would think any better.
However the woman standing before him spouting this rhetoric was most definitely human by all appearances. Had she been brainwashed? Forced to be a more palatable figurehead for a reemerging Vong empire? Or perhaps she had genuinely come to these beliefs of her own accord and truly wanted to see the rise of another empire with admittedly different ways of governance.
Either way, Leo remained unconvinced. It all seemed like an anti-force cult to him and a desperate grab for power in an already tumultuous galaxy. True, Leo had seen what the force could do when in the wrong hands, the oppression it could inflict on a people. He himself had been subject to the whims of Sith playing as gods and been touched by the corruption of the dark. But an empire leading a galaxy-wide crusade to eradicate it would lead to the same results, countless innocent people caught in the crossfire as the galaxy went up in flames.
He had also experienced firsthand the good that the force could do when wielded with care. Thinking back to what had drawn him to this planet in the first place, the far-flung hope that some of his old comrades may still be out here, doing their best to make the galaxy a better place for all people.
No. While the woman before him was undoubtably good at orating and her promise of a united galaxy free from the tyranny of war admittedly a compelling premise, Leo was already beginning to find the cracks, this was no place for him. "While I would love to subscribe to your great and mighty plans for the galaxy," Leo began, "I'm afraid I have to agree with her." He indicated toward the woman who had also joined him at the foot of the great tree in this strange, alien library.
"I'm not naïve, I know that the galaxy is always changing and that you and your people might have the ability to change it further. I also know that while your list of enemies might have significant overlap with mine, I'm sure that a lot of my friends are somewhere on that list too." Having said his piece, Leo made a turn to leave, before adding another remark, "I will, if you may be so inclined, take the time afforded to me to enjoy this display of hospitality you have put on for everyone. I'm sure that despite any misgivings in the differences of opinion, we can put that aside for the moment to enjoy these celebrations, can we not?"
Regardless of what happened in this room, regardless of what was to come of this fledgling empire, Leo was still intent on enjoying himself and if anything, he will have been able to say that he was there, today, on the day the Yuuzhan-Vong reintroduced themselves to the galaxy at large.
However the woman standing before him spouting this rhetoric was most definitely human by all appearances. Had she been brainwashed? Forced to be a more palatable figurehead for a reemerging Vong empire? Or perhaps she had genuinely come to these beliefs of her own accord and truly wanted to see the rise of another empire with admittedly different ways of governance.
Either way, Leo remained unconvinced. It all seemed like an anti-force cult to him and a desperate grab for power in an already tumultuous galaxy. True, Leo had seen what the force could do when in the wrong hands, the oppression it could inflict on a people. He himself had been subject to the whims of Sith playing as gods and been touched by the corruption of the dark. But an empire leading a galaxy-wide crusade to eradicate it would lead to the same results, countless innocent people caught in the crossfire as the galaxy went up in flames.
He had also experienced firsthand the good that the force could do when wielded with care. Thinking back to what had drawn him to this planet in the first place, the far-flung hope that some of his old comrades may still be out here, doing their best to make the galaxy a better place for all people.
No. While the woman before him was undoubtably good at orating and her promise of a united galaxy free from the tyranny of war admittedly a compelling premise, Leo was already beginning to find the cracks, this was no place for him. "While I would love to subscribe to your great and mighty plans for the galaxy," Leo began, "I'm afraid I have to agree with her." He indicated toward the woman who had also joined him at the foot of the great tree in this strange, alien library.
"I'm not naïve, I know that the galaxy is always changing and that you and your people might have the ability to change it further. I also know that while your list of enemies might have significant overlap with mine, I'm sure that a lot of my friends are somewhere on that list too." Having said his piece, Leo made a turn to leave, before adding another remark, "I will, if you may be so inclined, take the time afforded to me to enjoy this display of hospitality you have put on for everyone. I'm sure that despite any misgivings in the differences of opinion, we can put that aside for the moment to enjoy these celebrations, can we not?"
Regardless of what happened in this room, regardless of what was to come of this fledgling empire, Leo was still intent on enjoying himself and if anything, he will have been able to say that he was there, today, on the day the Yuuzhan-Vong reintroduced themselves to the galaxy at large.
Zuna Vobara
Character
Originally drawn towards the market, her instincts had diverted Zuna´s path to a great tree, one of the pulsing hearts of the planet and seat of the library.
She had listened to the speech delivered with conviction coming from deep within the soul, the speech depicting the Force as the greatest flaw in the galaxy.
But the flaw was not in the Force. It was in the way it was seen. Zuna wondered how one could stand in the middle of this living, pulsing organism that was a self-aware planet and still deny that an energy of life existed. The Yuuzan-Vong in themselves were sort of a paradox, denying the Force yet growing biological devices that were the very embodiment of life.
No, the flaw was in the arrogance ns short-sightweness of those who wielded what they called the Force and never really comprehended it.
The essence of life was it, the spirit in evwerything animate oer not. Itr was the magic that an attuned soul could tap into. Sure enough both Jedi and Sith h<ad done < rottren jobv at point or another to do that. But what needed replacement was the machinery <nd not the fuel because that would have meant eradication of all existence.
"How about educating the users of the so-called Force and make them see the error of their ways?" Zuna proposed with a soft voice "That seems better than stop the engine of life itself."
Rather than argue academically any further, Zuna made her point in practice.
The humming started dep in hr throat and became a witches chant. She sang to the tree and for the tree.
And the tree responded.
With a crackling sound one of it root rose from its place, stretched itself and leaned down to Zuna. It looked like the tree was listewnbing to her chant because thatr was exactly what it did and Zuna in turn could hear the trees deep hum as it joined in.
"I do not call this the Force. I call it magic. And I call it real."
Warmaster Fhaige
Ana Rix
Leo Vandermolen
Kiera Sifdin-Skell
Tzhaal Kraal'tor
She had listened to the speech delivered with conviction coming from deep within the soul, the speech depicting the Force as the greatest flaw in the galaxy.
But the flaw was not in the Force. It was in the way it was seen. Zuna wondered how one could stand in the middle of this living, pulsing organism that was a self-aware planet and still deny that an energy of life existed. The Yuuzan-Vong in themselves were sort of a paradox, denying the Force yet growing biological devices that were the very embodiment of life.
No, the flaw was in the arrogance ns short-sightweness of those who wielded what they called the Force and never really comprehended it.
The essence of life was it, the spirit in evwerything animate oer not. Itr was the magic that an attuned soul could tap into. Sure enough both Jedi and Sith h<ad done < rottren jobv at point or another to do that. But what needed replacement was the machinery <nd not the fuel because that would have meant eradication of all existence.
"How about educating the users of the so-called Force and make them see the error of their ways?" Zuna proposed with a soft voice "That seems better than stop the engine of life itself."
Rather than argue academically any further, Zuna made her point in practice.
The humming started dep in hr throat and became a witches chant. She sang to the tree and for the tree.
And the tree responded.
With a crackling sound one of it root rose from its place, stretched itself and leaned down to Zuna. It looked like the tree was listewnbing to her chant because thatr was exactly what it did and Zuna in turn could hear the trees deep hum as it joined in.
"I do not call this the Force. I call it magic. And I call it real."
Warmaster Fhaige
Ana Rix
Leo Vandermolen
Kiera Sifdin-Skell
Tzhaal Kraal'torAna Rix
Character
Ana let the speeches unfold without interruption. Leo's calm refusal, the witch's chant, the living tree bending toward her song, the Queen's sermon about the Force as a flaw—each voice layered atop the last, each perspective clashing or aligning in ways that seemed almost ritualistic. But Ana didn't flinch at the rising root or the hum of magic; she didn't shift under the Queen's burning conviction. She observed with the steady patience of someone who had built her life on reading systems rather than mysticism. Everything here—the rhetoric, the spectacle, the orchestrated symbolism—was information. And information, in her hands, became clarity.
When the tree settled back into the earth and the final echoes of the chant faded, Ana stepped forward just enough to speak without raising her voice. Her tone was level, composed, carrying none of the fervor or disdain of the others. Only precision.
"You speak of the Force as a flaw," she began, her gaze finding the Queen without accusation or deference. "But what I hear isn't a flaw in the Force itself. It's a flaw in how people fight over it. Jedi, Sith, cults—every faction that's ever weaponized what they don't fully understand. Remove one power, and another takes its place. That cycle predates all of us."
She shifted slightly, acknowledging the others with a faint tilt of her head. "He's right," she said, nodding toward Leo. "Power—any kind—breeds conflict. Even shared enemies don't guarantee shared futures." Then her eyes moved to Zuna, though not with awe at the living tree. Ana looked at the display the way a mechanic might look at a finely tuned engine—interesting, impressive, but not mystical. "And she's right too. You can call it Force, magic, spirit—it doesn't change the fact that life expresses itself in ways no doctrine fully captures."
But Ana didn't linger on the philosophies swirling around her. She turned back to Queen Skell, her posture straightening subtly, not in challenge but in analysis sharpened to a point. Her voice softened, gaining clarity rather than volume.
"What interests me isn't your theology," she said. "It's your intent."
She let the weight of that sit for a heartbeat before continuing, her tone calm but unmistakably direct. "A message broadcast across the Outer Rim. A gathering of the unwanted, the displaced, the disillusioned. A festival showcasing a home for the tired and the cast aside. A promise of truth the galaxy supposedly forgot." Her eyes narrowed slightly—not suspicion, simply recognition. "This isn't chaos. It's recruitment."
There was no hostility behind the observation. No awe, either. Just truth stated plainly by someone who had seen enough movements rise and fall to understand the anatomy of a cause. "And recruitment built on absolutes—'the Force is a flaw,' 'the galaxy is blind,' 'only we see truth'—that's not new. But it is effective. People want something to believe in. They want clarity when everything else feels like noise. You're offering them that."
Ana stepped forward—not enough to challenge personal space, but enough that her words reached the Queen without needing to be spoken twice. Her voice remained steady, composed.
"I'm not here to join a cause. I'm not here to abandon one either. I deal in systems, not faith. But I'm here to listen."
She turned slightly, letting her gaze sweep across the tree, the roots, the gathering space, the curated harmony of spectacle and ideology. When she looked back at the Queen, her expression had sharpened—not combative, simply discerning.
"If your 'New Way' is more than rhetoric… if it has structure rather than dogma… if it offers stability rather than just condemning old systems…"
She held the Queen's gaze fully now, the quiet steadiness of a woman who didn't bluff and didn't bend for theatrics.
"…then show it."
The final line came without force, without demand—an expectation, not a challenge.
"Truth doesn't need speeches. It needs proof."
With that, Ana fell silent again, her features composed, her posture grounded. She wasn't captivated, converted, or repelled. She was waiting. Measuring. And the sharpness in her eyes made it clear:
She would see the truth behind the New Way—whatever it was—long before its followers did.
Leo Vandermolen
Kiera Sifdin-Skell
Tzhaal Kraal'tor
Zuna Vobara
Warmaster Fhaige
When the tree settled back into the earth and the final echoes of the chant faded, Ana stepped forward just enough to speak without raising her voice. Her tone was level, composed, carrying none of the fervor or disdain of the others. Only precision.
"You speak of the Force as a flaw," she began, her gaze finding the Queen without accusation or deference. "But what I hear isn't a flaw in the Force itself. It's a flaw in how people fight over it. Jedi, Sith, cults—every faction that's ever weaponized what they don't fully understand. Remove one power, and another takes its place. That cycle predates all of us."
She shifted slightly, acknowledging the others with a faint tilt of her head. "He's right," she said, nodding toward Leo. "Power—any kind—breeds conflict. Even shared enemies don't guarantee shared futures." Then her eyes moved to Zuna, though not with awe at the living tree. Ana looked at the display the way a mechanic might look at a finely tuned engine—interesting, impressive, but not mystical. "And she's right too. You can call it Force, magic, spirit—it doesn't change the fact that life expresses itself in ways no doctrine fully captures."
But Ana didn't linger on the philosophies swirling around her. She turned back to Queen Skell, her posture straightening subtly, not in challenge but in analysis sharpened to a point. Her voice softened, gaining clarity rather than volume.
"What interests me isn't your theology," she said. "It's your intent."
She let the weight of that sit for a heartbeat before continuing, her tone calm but unmistakably direct. "A message broadcast across the Outer Rim. A gathering of the unwanted, the displaced, the disillusioned. A festival showcasing a home for the tired and the cast aside. A promise of truth the galaxy supposedly forgot." Her eyes narrowed slightly—not suspicion, simply recognition. "This isn't chaos. It's recruitment."
There was no hostility behind the observation. No awe, either. Just truth stated plainly by someone who had seen enough movements rise and fall to understand the anatomy of a cause. "And recruitment built on absolutes—'the Force is a flaw,' 'the galaxy is blind,' 'only we see truth'—that's not new. But it is effective. People want something to believe in. They want clarity when everything else feels like noise. You're offering them that."
Ana stepped forward—not enough to challenge personal space, but enough that her words reached the Queen without needing to be spoken twice. Her voice remained steady, composed.
"I'm not here to join a cause. I'm not here to abandon one either. I deal in systems, not faith. But I'm here to listen."
She turned slightly, letting her gaze sweep across the tree, the roots, the gathering space, the curated harmony of spectacle and ideology. When she looked back at the Queen, her expression had sharpened—not combative, simply discerning.
"If your 'New Way' is more than rhetoric… if it has structure rather than dogma… if it offers stability rather than just condemning old systems…"
She held the Queen's gaze fully now, the quiet steadiness of a woman who didn't bluff and didn't bend for theatrics.
"…then show it."
The final line came without force, without demand—an expectation, not a challenge.
"Truth doesn't need speeches. It needs proof."
With that, Ana fell silent again, her features composed, her posture grounded. She wasn't captivated, converted, or repelled. She was waiting. Measuring. And the sharpness in her eyes made it clear:
She would see the truth behind the New Way—whatever it was—long before its followers did.
Leo Vandermolen
Kiera Sifdin-Skell
Tzhaal Kraal'tor
Zuna Vobara
Warmaster Fhaige