Star Wars Roleplay: Chaos

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Private Are We Blind? Deploy The Garrison!





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"Breaking and Entering."

Tags - Aris Noble Aris Noble

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The crimson winds screamed like flayed throats across the basins of Sevarcos II, clawing at the blackened spires of the Eviscerant Yards. Floodlights cut narrow wounds into the storm, silver and violet streaks that illuminated towers belching iridescent smoke, conveyors rattling with crates of volatile spice, and the skeletal silhouettes of mercenary watchtowers. Here, industry was not progress; it was domination. Every shriek of a droid drill and every crack of a guard's baton testified to the same truth: this place was owned, and that ownership had a name.

Darth Virelia.

She stood at the highest landing platform of the Calis Central Overseer Tower, her armored silhouette haloed in the sulfurous glare of refinery fire. The mask turned slowly, surveying the hellscape below like a goddess appraising her altar. Her House's altar. Her fortune, her inheritance, her triumph. The mines might have been cut into the bones of Sevarcos by desperate laborers and digger-droids, but the wealth they bled into the galaxy flowed first through her hands, her ledgers, her will.

The Overseer Tower itself was a monolith of brutalist intent—obsidian angles, blast-shielded windows, and comm relays thrust skyward like spears in defiance of the planet's constant storms. It was fortress, counting-house, and throne all at once. And today it was stage.

"
Productivity has increased seven-point-two percent since last quarter, my Lady," droned the overseer AI, its voice filtered through a drone escort at her shoulder. "Refinery yield at Crucible Ridge remains stable. Section B reports eighty-three percent labor survivability."

The masked woman tilted her head slightly, and even that delicate motion felt deliberate. Calculated. The sort of grace that made hardened soldiers swallow against a dryness in their throats. "
Eighty-three percent." The words were velvet-wrapped steel. "Do you know what I hear, darling machine?"

"
Compliance, my Lady?"

"
I hear waste."

Her gloved hand drifted across the guard-rail, fingertips dragging lines through the dust gathered there. Beneath the mask, a smile cut sharp and indulgent. "
Spice veins care nothing for sentiment. Laborers are flesh, replaceable. Each corpse enriches me as much as each survivor—sometimes more, if I am creative. Waste," she repeated, "is the only crime. And you will ensure there are no crimes at my Yards."

Below, floodlights revealed the Spiral Cut, a pit vast enough to drown a city. Heavy digger-droids crawled its slopes like iron beetles, burrowing into veins of glittering spice that shimmered with lethal beauty. Beyond it, Crucible Ridge Refinery belched its smoke, churning out crystalline sticks and powder under mercenary guard. To most, it was hell incarnate. To
Virelia, it was elegance. The order of her dominion carved into a world of chaos.

But sometimes, chaos likes to remind the galaxy why it's in charge.

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He'd been following a trail of Spice since meeting Rheyla Tann Rheyla Tann all that time ago. The package she had, the scent, it was something he'd become too familiar with. The wrong dock, passing an alley near the lower levels of a city, a slum. It bothered him how much more he'd noticed in his time with the Hidden Path. People were turning to all the wrong things in their desperation.

So Aris decided to do something about it.

The refinery was his main target. The harder it was to get Spice, the less it'd be spread. Supply and demand. There were other problems that would crop up, but- this was the best solution in the short term so he could focus on the long. He walked around the outside, keeping hidden despite his larger side. Being able to hear the patrols and machinery of droids and sentries from quite the distance away made it easy to avoid.

Cameras would see him, but he moved fast enough to confuse where exactly he'd be once he did get inside. His form flickered once e neared one of the larger refineries. Alarms blared now that he was in proper sight, but it wasn't going to stop him now. He raised a fist, and punched the vessel of gases before it erupted in flame in quite the cacophony of an explosion.

Fire should've consumed him, but heat and flame were Aris now. He idly shook out his fist as he stepped from the burning embers, his eyes shimmering gold and green as his state of being flickered between man and fire.

He was going to destroy this whole facility if he could.

Darth Virelia Darth Virelia


 




VVVDHjr.png


"Breaking and Entering."

Tags - Aris Noble Aris Noble

Z1g3sfwP_o.png

The tower shuddered as the refinery vessel went up—a deep, obscene percussion that rattled glass and bone. For an instant, even the storm outside seemed to hold its breath.

Virelia did not.

"
Overseer." she said, voice smooth, unhurried—only the faintest tremor of delight beneath the silk. "Hard seal Crucible Ridge. Argon-flood the ruptured arrays; vent the surplus to the leeward canyons. Cauterion Wall to alert—pattern Nine. Any fire that moves against us, teach it manners."

"
Acknowledged. Hostile signature registering as… anomalous."

"
Anomalous," she repeated, amused. "How intimate."

She turned from the observation pane, and the armor turned with her: Tyrant's Embrace—sinuous, merciless, sovereign. Liquid obsidian frozen into a predator's geometry. The breastplate's crystalline heart pulsed once against her sternum, violet rhythm quickening as alarms folded into a single, hungry tone. Her helm's six slanted eyes came alive in the smoke-haze, insectile facets sampling heat and motion. The cape's layered synthweave whispered as it fell, filaments twitching like sleeping vipers tasting the air.

Shock lived inside her as a precise, pleasurable voltage—transmuted instantly into calculus. This was a strike at her. Intolerable. Delicious.

"
Lock Section B," she added, already walking. "No traffic in or out. If anyone tries to be a hero, break both the hero and the attempt. Patch me to all unit leaders."

"
Channel open."

Her tone cooled to steel. "
This is Darth Virelia. Hold positions and contain. I will remove the problem."

Doors peeled before her like petals. Elevators begged. She denied them, taking the service spine instead—narrow, hot, its ribs of durasteel thudding to her tread. She preferred to smell the burning, to count the errors, to remind the Yards that their mistress was not an accounting line but a woman with hands enough to close around a throat. Heat surged through the corridors—alive, roaming—and the armor drank it, the runes along her flanks humming in low, predatory pleasure.

"
Track the hostile," she said. "I want paths, not guesses."

"
Vectoring from the outer tanks toward Crucible Ridge main. Patrols cut off by thermal shears."

"
Then they're cut off by me."

She descended into the transit artery: a long, grated catwalk spanning black depth and slashing light. Far ahead, flames licked up in sheets, breathing like an animal. The Yards groaned; the Spiral Cut answered with a cavernous, angry echo. She rolled one wrist; her gauntlet's talons clicked once, delicate as a promise.

Whoever had come to burn her house would find the house wore fangs.
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They were moving away. Aris's expression tightened some as he looked around, listening as the heartbeats that had been closing in seemed to change their mind. Orders, perhaps? The refinery was advanced, but surely these were just criminals without the experience of fighting Jedi, let alone an oddity like him.

He didn't pursue, not yet. Calculations were already running through his head on how to do the most damage now without over exposing himself. Footsteps, not heartbeats, caught his attention. Someone was approaching, who's heart he couldn't hear. Machine, perhaps? Or armored. His eyes shifted, watching where they would appear from.

Zaiya Ceti Zaiya Ceti wasn't going to be happy that he'd dove this far into a situation that turned out to be something much more than the basic spice peddling he'd assumed it for.

Darth Virelia Darth Virelia


 

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