Star Wars Roleplay: Chaos

Register a free account today to become a member! Once signed in, you'll be able to participate on this site by adding your own topics and posts, as well as connect with other members through your own private inbox!

Dominion Ashes of a Fallen Empire [GA Dominion of The Ghost Nebula]

yOBUJrI.png





"Interesting contrast, Senators."

His tone was calm. Not mocking, not gloating—just watching the winds shift.

"One of you offers redemption. The other offers a gentler hand in regulation. Both paths sound very diplomatic. I just wonder which one this Alliance actually walks."

The delegation representing Ord Mantell found themselves in the crossfire of debate from the Galactic Senate and the Hutt. Perhaps the Hutt should turn the focus to the Alliance's delegation. A heavy handed approach would drive the Mantellian officials away; his history and implications of the Hutt's presence was the only reason the Kajidii was permitting in this discussion.
Whottoomuzz paused, resting a hand on the carved rim of his armor.

"Senator Dawson would see me reformed, scrubbed down, licensed and blessed. Senator du Couteau provides precedent for managed sanctuary on Denon."

He looked toward Damian’s side of the chamber, not with deference, but with measured interest.

"That is where the real question lies, isn't it? Not with me, with you all. The proposed Sanctuary is brought to the table by Ord Mantell, I am simply a party interested in the outcome."

His golden eyes slid across the room now—Senators unspoken, aides watching.

"You can outlaw sanctuary. You can strike deals. You can draw lines. But the shape of the Alliance will not be carved by me—it will be carved by how you decide to treat existing wounds festering jn the worlds you claim. The rot you already know is here."

His words were blunt, but not cruel.

"I am not the one to convince, nor am I the one to decide – and I presume neither of you are in a position to speak for the entirety of the Alliance on this proposal?"

He leaned back, massive arm outstretched to the Mantellian delegation as well as GA representatives, as if to say: Now let’s see what your consensus is.

Damian du Couteau Damian du Couteau | Mykel Dawson Mykel Dawson | Thexann Pehnataur Thexann Pehnataur | @Open

 
N9vw914.png



WALK WITHOUT LIGHT
iwUtOsZ.png
Objective 1
Outfit: Clothes, Earring, Bangle
Weapons: Walking stick / Lightsaber Pike


The light ended long ago.

But Aadihr did not need it.

The tunnels twisted, buckled, coiled around themselves like the fossilized throat of a dead god—and still he walked without pause. His blindfold was soaked with dust. The air vibrated with trapped heat and iron tension. careful filter of the force kept the dust from entering his nostrils. To him beneath the blindfold, the stone was translucent. The very walls shimmered with veins of life malice. Each ripple in the Force told a story.

Rebels bleeding behind crates.
Snipers poised above acid vents.
Imperials—thinning, retreating—consolidating like a wound trying to scab over.

He followed the blood-bright trails of motion, the afterimages of steps taken and fear spent. Every soldier’s presence left an echo—some flickering like candles, some howling like dying stars. He didn’t need maps. The Force had already drawn one. Behind him, a new ripple. Four arms. Fierce empathy. Tyron Khan Tyron Khan

The Besalisk was close. Closer than expected. He brought an extra breath mask—practical, thoughtful, loyal. He would fight well when the storm broke. He already was.

Aadihr didn’t slow. Just shifted his wrist to the rebreather, catching it without looking.

“Thank you.”
He replied simply.

He kept walking. Into shadow.

Far above, Stormpiercer Command flickered through static.

"Rebel morale is dropping. Requesting tempo increase."

He heard them. He heard all of them. Ysennia’s frustration. Vulpesen’s precision. Tyron’s hope. He did not rush.

To go faster is to trip the wrong wire. To strike harder is to bring the ceiling down. Inevitable is the junction where their malice ends... and pain begins.

He pressed a palm to the wall. The camouflage matrix dispersed.

A narrow fissure opened sideways—no more than shoulder-width, laced with sensor wire. Aadihr exhaled once and slipped in sideways, robes folding like wind into stone.

A heartbeat later: the passage widened. Ahead, through three turns of earth and hidden doors, he saw them. The deepest holdout. Imperial remnant, heavy-breathing. Scans wouldn’t catch them here.

But Aadihr could see their panic like fire on water. He stepped lightly. No sound. No blade.

One soldier looked over his shoulder and froze.

"The war has ended," Aadihr said quietly, staff in hand. Emerging from darkness, Tyron Khan Tyron Khan not far behind. "As is your Empire's grip on this mine."

A bolt fired, seemingly ricocheting into a wall without cause. Then he moved.

 

wjujCZT.png
"I surrender."

"Excellent."

There was just enough skepticism for her tone to sound, Ashla forbid, politely sarcastic. Her gaze was quick to sweep over the droid's metallic body and clock both the weaponry and lack of raised hands.

Cora almost sighed. She found droids frustrating to deal with as opposition, always possessing some sort of hidden component to shock, stab, or concuss even when they were bound. Perhaps she'd feel differently if she were a technopath.

With neither speech nor pomp, the Jedi reached for her utility belt. She retrieved an emp grenade, pulled the pin, and tossed it Antipater's way.

"Catch."
Dc6pDtW.png
 



xmyG2HT.png
Objective Two: Ord Mantell, New Beacon of Diplomacy, or Hive of Scum and Villainy? (Senators)

Well this is ridiculous.

Nothing more entertaining than a houseguest who makes demands on the grocery run. Thexann was a man of principle, but he was also a realist. Moreso than his brother Arcann is anyway. The problem is that this can often be confused for pragmatism, or worse naivete. So as he stood there, taking it all in, all Thexann could think about was cake. Yes, they did not want empty promises, and were more than skeptical, sure, but the delegation was looking for their cake and eating it too.

Give and take… Letting the words hang in the air for a few moments, he let all eyes befall him.

While no one here has the outright authority to say “yes” or “no”, I believe that arrangements can be made. However they will need to come at a price. If you want sanctuary, accommodations like no[/B major crime continuing on the planet. While we all realize that you cannot control every aspect of life without it being a police state, which no one wants, you must realize that the Alliance cannot tolerate a proverbial “Den of Thieves”. What you would do outside of Alliance space is your business, but none of it “comes home with you”.

Now, when I say “you”, I of course speak in generalities, not accusations. If you are not willing to look at the idea, I suggest the notion of those seeking sanctuary to become “undercover informants”. They do what they are going to do, to an extent, but keep their ear to the ground and if there is information we need judicially, it’s brought to law enforcement.


He held out his own hands and shrugged. Thexann had not thought the idea through yet, so there would need to be more in place, but it was a start. If they wanted to take, they needed to give.



 
Machines Making Machines
kowmf6C.png

O9Z8R6B1_o.png


CADEMIMU V - CONTROL BUNKER
WAR CHASSIS

The Jedi went for something on her belt. It didn't matter what it was - Antipater took his own opportunity to grab the rifle and fire exactly one shot from the hip - aimed at the Jedi's center of mass.

A wave of concussive force tore through the air towards her, traveling across a few control consoles and shattering the displays. It did nothing to stop the EMP grenade from arriving at his feet. He expected it to be some rudimentary Jedi-issue thermal detonator (something which complied with Senate regulations would be harmless to this form), so he began to generate an appropriate taunt.

And then the grenade went off.

Arcs of bright-blue ionic energy traveled up the war droid's form, prompting uncontrollable shuddering and complete servomotor failure. He was locked in place.

The taunt played anyway: "KrrrrrrfffZZZzZZrrrrrngooOOnnNNNrrRRRrrrr." Nothing but unintelligible, distorted static noise.

The excess energy would take several moments to vent. Antipater remained helpless in the interim.

rMuVBdiW_o.png

 
Last edited:
Objective 2:

Jedi Robes

Senator Damian du Couteau spoke and more or less echoed what Mykel had said, though packaged in the syrupy words of politician. That was fine, actually. He would pivot of off that - the good ole' good cop bad cop routine.

The only thing he disliked was mention of Denon, creating a fresh reminder that it was no longer part of the GA and giving some credence to Chantin's point about reliability. As the Jedi saw it, for all the leeway given, Denon had still chosen the Naboo Republic. Realpolitik to the point of appeasement ultimately did not benefit the Alliance or its ideals.

Senator Penhaunter was also pragmatic, but keen to stress that there were limits to what the Alliance would accept from its constituent worlds. He was more direct and Mykel appreciated that.

Chantin correctly pointed out that ultimately the negotiation was between the Alliance and Ord Mantell, with the Hutts presenting themselves as a convenient third way to smooth over the wrinkles in Ord Mantell's peculiar security situation. However, Mykel's discussion with Chantin had been to prove to the Alliance that it didn't see everything in black and white, and compromises could be made. Though it took two to tango. Ord Mantell would have to give up something in return for acceptance.

Mykel turned his attention directly to the the Ord Mantell delegation. He parsed their surface thoughts, ranging from neutral to positive. A mixed bag, but one that was beginning to lean in their favor.

At the head of the delegation was Prefect Kord of the Ord Mantell's transition government council. The pale middle aged woman had a thin and sharp figure nearly the point of appearing gaunt, with high cheekbones that seemed to be cut from stone. She was dressed just as sharply, in a dark navy slim cut business suit that carried the expensive sheen of spider silk. A thin necklace of aurodium hung peaked out from her ivory band collar. Her hair was woven into an intricate braid, black hair streaked with lines of silver. Everything about her appearance was immaculate. Which was what made the jagged white line of scar tissue down the left side of her face all the more stark. Her glassy blue eyes were matching, but the technopath could sense that one was a cybernetic replacement.

No one who had dare resist Dark Empire was spared from its cruelty, not even the powerful shipping magnate.

Her expression was stoic though not severe, matching her neutral attitude. She was the shatterpoint here - the rest would fall in line with what she chose.

"Prefect Kord, what are your concerns?" Mykel asked her.

"It was never our intent to become a so called crime hub, but at the time we were desperate for a security solution. For a time, our arrangements with these paramilitary groups and...other organizations has sufficed our needs, but the generous security and economic offerings of the Galactic Alliance are certainly one to consider." Her blue eyes scanned the room, briefly pausing to lock eyes with each Alliance diplomat before continuing. "I believe that...compliance with Alliance statutes can be satisfied to the liking of your ruling bodies, though I must express that due process be respected as it pertains to our own legal system. We would be open to extradition arrangements if such respect is shown. We would also like to reserve the right to employ private security forces as we see fit, in addition to any martial support that the Alliance would provide."

Mykel perked up at that. Finally, an acceptable track. It wasn't necessarily that Ord Mantell welcomed the criminals, but they needed assurances that they could still provide for their own defense outside of the Alliance framework. That was more than workable.

"Of course, Prefect Kord. The Galactic Alliance is governed by the rule of law. Unless there was an imminent national security threat to the GA or its people, then there would be no scenario where the federal government or the New Jedi Order would just waltz onto Ord Mantell without your express permission. However, I must make it known that we do expect you to prosecute the law with sincerity and fairness. Certain obscene activities, such as slavery and trafficking will have zero tolerance. I will also note that while constituent worlds are given leeway in domestic affairs, federal laws still apply to intrasystems relations within Alliance space, which includes customs check for contraband deemed illegal by the federal government. A bill of rights is also in place to protect all sentients of the GA from violations by both the federal and local governments."

"You would be provided with a grace period to achieve compliance, and a time table for which can be developed in detail today or in future discussions. What we need now is to know if you're willing to try."


Kord leaned back in her seat, eyes closed for a moment in thought. Mykel felt the rising tension among the rest of the Ord Mantell as they awaited her decision with bated breath.

Finally, she opened her eyes and straightened up in her chair, the deliberation made.

"Such conditions would be...acceptable. We will respect your standards if we are afforded some amnesty to set our affairs in order."

She became quiet, leaving the floor for Chantin, and the rest of the Alliance diplomats to add anything.

Whottoomuzz Chantin Whottoomuzz Chantin Thexann Pehnataur Thexann Pehnataur Damian du Couteau Damian du Couteau
 
Last edited:
yOBUJrI.png





“Ah, informants.”
He let the word linger on his tongue like something bitter. “An elegant idea, in theory. In practice…? A whisper becomes a funeral. One snitch poisons a dozen streets.”

He offered Thexann Pehnataur Thexann Pehnataur a polite nod, but the edge in his smile was unmistakable. The mask that must be worn. A boast for the benefit of the Nikto's morale.

“I don’t make a habit of training Corpses. That arrangement may suit smaller outfits — but I doubt you’ll find many volunteers where it counts.”

And then the boy spoke once more. Directly to the Mantellian Delegation. Diplomatic, seeming to be what ruling body of Ord Mantell would want to settle for.

But Whottoomuzz knew a vulnerability, an opportunity when he saw one.

“Curious.”
The word slithered out smooth as oil, accompanied by the faint creak of armor as Whottoomuzz adjusted his massive frame.

“I had assumed this discussion was in the hands of the Alliances Senators and Diplomats”
His golden eyes flicked toward Mykel Dawson, unreadable but unblinking.
“Yet it seems the final terms are being offered by a Padawan.”

A pause. Calculated, quiet. The words were directed at the Alliance, but were meant for Mantellian ears – to sow doubt, leverage for a better position.

“If the Jedi Trainee now speaks for the entirety of the Alliance, let that be clear. But if not… I would prefer to hear from those elected to decide such matters. I am not here to negotiate faith. Or are the people of Ord Mantell so gullible to agree to the first offer presented without scrutiny? Surely a people as weak-willed as such would turn at the first profitable offer once a few decades of safety has made them lax. Greedy. Fat with decadence."

A bitter parallel to his own kin, Whottoomuzz thought.

The Hutt called out, allowing a tone of indignation to flavor his words. To redirect his insult at the populace towards the Alliance's delegation.
"Tay jee-jee stuka che da odda pateesa!"


 
Last edited:

Dfq5wBr.png

Obredaan, Classified Location
Objective 1
- Connel Vanagor Connel Vanagor -
It was then that the room received a hail on their holotable, the timing a little too perfect. It was an SIA line. Top priority. Proper credentials, but no tag describing who or what might be calling. The encryption was labyrinthian. Concerning, had Officer Tora not been informed in advance of a call from an infil specialist.

//Shadow Vanagor. Omega Squad.// A dark, metallically-distorted voice would find it's way to the Jedi's ear as an... interesting sight would greet the briefing. It was a hologram of a helmet, gaunt and skeletal, with glowing eyes and twin bladed horns growing from the temples.

//I'm a consultant with Alliance Intelligence. I've been assigned to assist you and your squad.// Not entirely untrue... but a bit off from the mark. He had technically assigned himself. //You have... quite the egg to crack. I believe I can be of use to you.//

//Here are coordinates. Lip of the valley, shallow cave. Should be safe to stage from here.//
Though the modulator roughened the voice, it was easy to tell the man was speaking quietly, and all too calm. And, perhaps, with a bit of humor. //Don't make me wait too long.//

The voice cut out. And Alicio waited. Surely, the delegation to Ord Mantell would be just fine without him for a day.
 

yO08PsK.png
Obj. 1 - Obredaan Fallen Industry

"Nobody yearns for the mines. Don't let them tell you any different." Ran said to her fellows over comlink as she inserted herself into a once cortosis rich fissure. With no rope, no gear, safety or otherwise, Ran relied solely on the strength of her bare hands and feet to transport her sturdy frame down the rocky crevasse. Several precarious hand and footholds later, Ran had found herself in an abandoned subterranean branch mine. Her feet planted on cold stone and the powdery remnants of the natural and brittle cortosis so common in the Obredaan mines.

Ran continued down the abandoned branch of the mine, her lightsaber lit the way. Sounds from her comlink came in garbled the further in she went. She couldn't understand what was happening, only that it wasn't good. The sound of blaster fire was the only real sound she could identify. "This is Jedi Knight Ran Serys- do you read me?" She volunteered into the communicator. "I repeat. This is Jedi Knight Ran Serys- do you read me? Confirm." She waited and then the garbled sounds turned into silence.

"Well that isn't good." Ran said to herself as she switched the communicator to short range signals. She thought maybe there was a chance she could establish a connection to one of the other units entering through the mine's abandoned branches.

"Jedi Knight Ran Serys, here. Do you read me? Come in." She barked into the communicator once again as the narrow mines opened up into a larger cavern chamber lined with oddly colored cortosis deposits that stretched out ragged and sharp from the ground and ceiling. "This is different." She examined. "But why?"


Tags: Open

 

kowmf6C.png

eAERo4S.png

TAG: Marlon Sularen Marlon Sularen

The SIA had been tracking him for months now. Really, they had never stopped. Ever since Byss, he had always been kept tabs on. He would dip in and out of their radar, but they'd always kept him as a high priority.

But it was always down to a jedi to deal with him. Sularen had always been one to surround himself in layers of defense. Fleets, Commandos, Droids. Anything he could do to hide behind those more competent than he was.

And even on his own, he wasn't to be underestimated.

But The Panther had a plan.

The SIA had given her coordinates to the base, and Jonyna had tracked it from afar. Seen where the transports were coming in and out. A massive gorge that hid away the lone hanger into the side of a cliff. Any sane person would attempt to infiltrate the base itself from below.

Not The Panther. Not Jonyna.

She stood atop the opposite cliff, the canyon near a hundred meters across.

And she jumped, using her own pyrokinesis to rocket herself towards the target. The hanger bay.

She reached near mach two before she impacted, cratering the floor of the hanger as she looked over to the spec dev commandos. Without a word, she charged forward with a bit of Force Speed, before impaling one with Claire by slipping it between the plates, simultaneously piercing the ysalimari cradle behind it, before holding another hand up and firing a beam of concentrated cold at an adjacent commando, having done her research since last time. The commando's armor locked up, before The Panther sent a blast of telekinetic force at him, shattering him then and there.

She held no sympathy for men like this. Anyone this close to Sularen was no innocent man, following orders. Every single man in this room was a war criminal.

But she was looking for the big fish. The grand prize. Sularen himself.


 
"Duty. Discipline. Serenity."

Chapter Two: A Mask of Death and Shadow


Ran Serys Ran Serys

Dust lingered in the recycled air like a memory—faint, persistent, inescapable. Even behind the rebreather clasped across her mouth and nose, Ilaria could taste the metallic sting of cortosis residue. It clung to every surface like ash from a funeral pyre.

She moved with surgical precision through the narrow shaft, descending from the secondary breach point where the support beams had long since given way to decay. Her gloved hands brushed the jagged edges of a carved stone ledge as she landed lightly in a crouch, pale eyes glinting in the flickering half-light cast by the torch clipped to her belt. The sound of her boots contacting the mineral-stained stone echoed for a moment too long.

Hollow.

A fitting metaphor for the state of this world. Hollowed out. Stripped bare. Once bled for its worth by tyrants, now bled anew by rebels who fancied themselves liberators. There was no freedom in fire. Only chaos waiting to take its next shape.

Ilaria rose slowly and scanned the darkness ahead. Her lightsaber remained unlit, unnecessary in the dark for someone who had trained to see through more than light. She had studied the mine layouts before departure, of course—every level, every cross-hatch, every ventilation shaft. Predicting the erratic behavior of insurgents came naturally when one understood their psychology: passionate, volatile, short-sighted.

Her lip curled ever so slightly at a thought.

A soft chime in her ear alerted her to the faintest trace of another signal. Short-range, erratic, partially encrypted. A Jedi signature code, mid-range clearance. Female. She didn't need to confirm the ID.

"Jedi Knight Ran Serys, here. Do you read me? Come in."

The voice cracked in static, just audible enough for recognition. Ilaria did not respond.

Not yet.

Instead, she took a long moment to adjust her gloves, flicking a stray thread from the stitching as though it personally offended her. Then she continued, methodically, through the deeper veins of the mine, her movements graceful yet devoid of urgency. Every step was calculated—footfall placed where no sound would betray her presence, shoulders held straight even as the walls narrowed.

She knew who Ran Serys was. Of course she did.

She came upon a split in the passage and paused, eyes flicking toward the faint energy signature left lingering in the walls—residual heat from a lightsaber, most likely Ran's.

Ilaria chose the opposite tunnel.

A short detour, yes, but preferable. She had no interest in stumbling directly into Ran's path unless absolutely necessary. There was no strategic benefit to immediate reunion. Let the Knight fumble about in isolation, waving her saber like a torch and shouting into the void. Ilaria preferred to arrive when it mattered. If it mattered.

As she walked, she reflected—not emotionally, but analytically.

Ran's presence here was unfortunate.

Obredaan was important, not because of what it was, but because of what it represented: a lever. One could force an entire region of space to shift alignment with the right resources. Cortosis was not merely a mineral; it was bargaining power. Whoever controlled the mines could dictate policy. Influence shipyards. Determine who lived, and who died, in conflicts yet to be born.

And the Jedi had been sent.

Ilaria exhaled through her nose. The noise barely disturbed the air.

She entered a wide chamber, untouched by recent movement. Here, the cortosis formations jutted from the floor like petrified spears, catching the dim light in strange refractions. The color was… off. Pale, yes, but with a faint violet sheen. An impurity, likely. Something the Dark Empire had ignored. Something the rebels wouldn't understand.

They don't see the layers, she thought. They dig for ore and miss the pattern beneath.

Her hand hovered over the surface of one formation. Cold. Dense. Resonant.

There was something beneath this world's crust that whispered of deeper wounds. Not merely exploitation, but desecration. The Dark Empire had mined the body. But someone—something—had touched the soul of this place.

And it remembered.

Ilaria turned from the deposit and activated her communicator—not to respond to Ran's broadcast, but to scan for interference patterns. A low-frequency pulse, artificial in origin, was pinging intermittently through the cavern system. Not rebel. Not Imperial. Something older. She marked the frequency and began moving again, filing the data for analysis later.

She did not believe in omens.

But she believed in leverage.

Her pace quickened now, as much as her carefully disciplined stride would allow. She allowed herself a slight flicker of anticipation—professional, impersonal, like the cold edge of a scalpel. There were answers in these mines. Not just about the future, but about the past. And perhaps, if she was exceptionally fortunate, there might be opportunity.

The signal pulsed again. Stronger.

And with it, she felt something else—something that brushed against the edge of her senses like the breath of a memory long buried. A familiar presence. Dim, faded, but there. She did not pause, but her fingers briefly curled.

She would find it.

She always did.

The communicator chirped again—now an actual message, rerouted through the emergency relay. It was Ran.

"Jedi Knight Ran Serys, requesting confirmation. Is anyone receiving this?"

Ilaria exhaled.

Then, finally, she pressed the transmit key.

"This is Padawan Morvayne," she replied, her voice smooth, clipped, precise. "Your position is acknowledged. Advise you maintain current location. I will reach you shortly."

It was time to say hello.


 
joaXddg.png


nGPMKK4.png



OBJECTIVE I - OBREDAAN: FALLEN EMPIRE

Dfq5wBr.png



nGPMKK4.png


The Besalisk continued to wait for a further response over the comms from Ysennia Lee Ysennia Lee in regard to further assisting the Rebel forces that had been enduring the Imperial's onslaught within the mines. For the time being he went to meet with Jedi Knight Aadihr Lidos Aadihr Lidos to provide him with the extra antiox rebreather mask he managed to get. Tossed it over to the Jedi Knight and remained patient in what to do next.

"Master Lidos. Brought you this. Vulpesen Vulpesen said we should take precautions out here. I've sent a comm transmission over to Lieutenant Colonel Lee. Said the morale and shape of the Rebels isn't good."

Tyron had made it to be within a good proximity range with Aadihr Lidos Aadihr Lidos while he communicated with the blind Jedi Knight. After a stray blaster bolt had been fired and redirected into a wall causing no impact. The Padawan Learner paused in advancing further hearing another comm call transmission coming through.

[Padawan Learner Tyron here. Checking in. Is everything alright Master Serys? I'm with Master Lidos currently.]


After hearing fellow Padawan Learner Ilaria Morvayne Ilaria Morvayne also responded to Ran Serys Ran Serys that brought some reassurance over his mind. However, he remains on stand-by in case any other New Jedi Order members needed any support to defuse the Imperial threats on Obredaan in the mines.






 

Users who are viewing this thread

Top Bottom