Dominion [Black Sun] Dark Harvest || BSS Dominion of Kashyyyk

[Velzari Tharn]

D A R K - H A R V E S T
A - B L A C K - S U N - S T O R Y

O B J E C T I V E - 1
O P E R A T I O N - I R O N - H O W L

(Open to Operation Cinder)​

Deep in the mist-shrouded depths of the Shadowlands, a pact is struck in the shadows. A forgotten Wookiee tribe long exiled from the treetop cities of their kin seek to reclaim their place in the sunlight. Their chief contacted the Black Sun Syndicate with a desperate proposal: in exchange for aid in their violent reclamation of territory, they offer the surrender of their enemies into the chains of offworld servitude. Their rivals, a league of dominant clans that form a planetary council, have forced them into generations of seclusion and humiliation. But now, with the right weapons, intelligence, and firepower, they can tip the balance.

Black Sun does not pass on such opportunities.

With backing from agents of the Dark Empire, the syndicate supplies arms, saboteurs, and advisors to the insurgent tribe, igniting a brutal conflict in the trees above.

O B J E C T I V E - 2
T O O T H - A N D - C L A W​

Elsewhere on the Wookiee homeworld, hidden among the canopies of Kashyyyk's uncharted southern hemisphere, Black Sun operatives establish a covert staging ground for a new venture: high-value poaching. Rare and endangered species roam this untouched wilderness, and already, stealthy dropships arrive under cover of thick mist. They aim to haul away exotic beasts to be sold across shadow markets from Hutt Space to the Deep Core. Cages are constructed, sensors are deployed, and the first of the hunts begin.

But this isn't mindless slaughter, it's a carefully planned operation.

Even the dark tribes of the Shadowlands would frown upon Black Sun's ventures in the wilderness. Only the uncharted nature of the region prevents prying eyes from discovering the poaching camps. Every capture must be coordinated, every creature tagged and bagged alive before extraction.

O B J E C T I V E - 3
B Y O O​

From the coastal city of Kachirho on the Wawaatt Archipelago to the mysterious Shadowlands, Kashyyyk is a vast and mysterious world that is just as dangerous as it is beautiful. The planet has a long and storied past, one that is no stranger to war and strife. The Wookiee tribes have suffered Hutt Cartel dominance, Mandalorian invasion, and now it faces the hungry maw of the Underworld itself: Black Sun.

Certain tribes seek to resist the syndicate and its Imperial comrades, while others see opportunities. The enemies of the Shadowlands are targeted for enslavement, but Black Sun extends promises of safety to those who help overthrow the exclusionary planetary council. Promises of trade, protection, and aid are offered to those who will help Black Sun stake its claim on the planet. Quietly, a new order is evolving on Kashyyyk.

Where will you fit when the pieces come together?

 

[Tuchanka]

O B J E C T I V E - 2
T O O T H - A N D - C L A W​

​

Tuchanka loved the hunt.

Since she was a young hatchling, she loved nothing more than chasing flying things. Their hearts beat much faster than walking things, and they moved much quicker, too. They were a fun challenge to hunt, and made a tasty snack when she managed to snatch one from the branches before they could flock away.

Unfortunately for her, the Vigos were clear - the animals they hunted today should be kept alive for the black market. Kashyyyk’s exotic birds fetched a high price in the Core. She would follow her orders out of principle… but the dangerous wildlife? The beasts that would put of a fight? The ones with claws to maul and horns to gore?

They were fair game.

“I can sssmell the quarry,” Tuchanka hissed as she stepped over a massive log that had long since fallen and missed over. Were it not for its cylindrical body, she’d have easily mistaken it for a small hill.

“Firssst to kill it getsss one hundred creditsss.”

Based on scent alone, the Trandoshan had identified the creature as a katarn - a dangerous predator that many gangs used to torment their victims. It she could get her hands on one to domesticate, she’d try… but killing one for its horns and teeth was an equally tempting idea.

Tags: OPEN
​

 

[Thomas Barran]

TAGS
Tuchanka Maestus R Remus Adair

NEW THEME

BLOODHOUND - PART 1​

Mawsworn Camp, Ruins of Sector 7 HQ,
The Shadowlands, Kashyyyk (902 ABY)

'We good t'broadcast?'
'We're rolling already, Great Khan-'
'Ah, well....'
​

Standing before his Holostreaming plinth, complete with the mask of the Golden Skull worn over the face, Bloodhound Khan straightened his posture in preparation for his moment of opportunity, it was high-time the Heathen Saint administered his blessings on the Galaxy's Rogues and Outlaws. The Khanate were ready to ingratiate with a collective not-too-dissimilar to their own, but like with all things plunder and vice, the Masworn were fully willing to make transactional, and executive links through similar means, maximizing profit as good grace for the potential-insults caused in seeking categorical variance to the Black Sun's poaching endeavours.

<"Good afternoon, my peers of the Hunt.... How fares the trail out there? I hope - fortuitous. Auspicious, even.">
​

The one-eyed Woad was taking great risks in his convergence on Kashyyyk, and not only in his white-knuckling nearness to the Galactic Alliance's borders again, but also for the fact their contracted bounty hunters often embedded within safe reach of the Galaxy's many cartels and large-scale syndicates. Yet the Heathen Saint, for all his great need to bless his chosen peers in criminality, finally decided, in his obscure wisdom, to brave the peril of detection. After all, there had been a growing suspicion that elements of former captors had refrained from the doomed endeavour on Durace, that the Daru Collective still operated behind the scenes.

<"But here's the thing, you wonderful crimelords! I want to make everything worth your while, an' especially for the insult of suffering this sudden distraction. So here's what I'll do, here's my - pitch, so to speak.">
​

Whether by directive or by personal obligation, there was no chance the wiser ones would risk incarcerating Barran for the third time, the kill-order would clearly remain for as long as the Khan drew breath. Much to their great chagrin, however, the Bloodhound was never an easy man to kill, not even in his first life was he ever an easy quarry for assassins, nor would he be in the second, not even in the quick approach to elderly, atrophied years. A living lesson for all who play the game of Kill or Capture, as some bounties are just never high enough for monsters of Barran's wraith-bound sort, no matter how pretty the credit-value appears, and Thomas was beginning to live for days when he could freely impart these harsh, bloody teachings.

Getting an itch to express new, and near-unprecedented levels of infallibility, it had already been a few months since Daru Fett's demise - irritating Barran's boredom like those pangs of hunger he felt on Kolene.

<"For all the wiliest of the beasts you bring to the ruins of Sector7 HQ, alive an' healthy, whatever your masters would pay you to poach them - I'm willing to double the current premiums for their capture.... I'm lookin' for the meanest beasts you find, not the biggest, so when I say,"The meanest", send me the wildest of all. Send me stubborn, send me terrifying, an' I'll make it worth yer while.">
​

Fully aware that the tribes would be mobilizing for war again, and soon at that, the Khan had since accepted the truth that the horde would need every beast imaginable, adding to herds of burden, warmount retinues and even the enclosures that already hid monsters of nearly every imaginable variety. All would find some form of utility in the wake of the Dark Voice's return, and after sensing it on the horizon like the glow of the morning sun, the Khan's thoughts would soon be dwelling on other planets, looking to biomes near and far in the slow march to mobilisation.

<"I am Bloodhound Khan, and I duly invite all poachers to Kill and Capture, playing both games in tandem.">

 

[Fenn Stag]

BYOO: Wayfaring Stranger

En Route to Silver Jedi Temple, Silver Rest

SEARCHING FOR THE PALE RIDER​

In shadowed stars where silence rings,
Past worlds long lost to crumbling kings,
A vessel hums through void and flame—
One soul aboard who bears no name.
At least, not one he dares to speak,
For names are gifts, and gifts are weak.

They called him Fenn, the charts would say,
But Mantis—that name he never claimed.
A brand, a scar, a buried shame,
A father's ghost, a myth, a flame.
He never met the man who gave
That name now carved on data graves.
He only knew the stories told,
Of Mandalorians and hearts gone cold.

The temple rose on Kashyyyk's peak,
Where whispers stirred the walls to speak.
Stone split by time, yet somehow whole,
Alive with Force—its breath, its soul.
He walked alone through ash and moss,
A seeker wading through the loss.

His boots kicked dust from sacred floors,
Past crumbling halls and broken doors.

He muttered low to only himself:

"You never knew.
You lived your life. You passed straight through
The galaxy with axe raised,
While I—your mistake—watched unfazed
From cold Republics and twisted mines,
A shadow born from tangled lines.
I hated you. I still might do.
But here I am. And that shames you."

He reached the inner sanctum door,
Where air grew thin and silence wore
A different weight, a sacred hush—
The kind that made the boldest blush.
No lock. No guard. Just glyphs that spun
In languages unknown to sun.
Yet still, he entered, heart half-dead,
Chasing a book he'd never read.

The chamber flared in Silverlight,
No brighter than a starless night.
A box lay at the core,
A shape he'd only guessed before.
His hands—uncertain, rough with sin—
Hovered near, afraid to begin.

Was this the thing he came to seek?
A phrase, a breath, the smallest leak
Of warmth from one who'd never known
That far away, a child had grown?

He left the chamber, heart half-stilled,
The silence in his chest refilled.
He bore no riches, gems, or lore—
Just haunted steps on temple floor.
He didn't bow. He didn't cry.
He didn't ask the stars why.


Fenn kept walking further into Silver Rest- intent on finding what Preliat Mantis left behind here. There was no one to stop him, no one to challenge him. Just ghosts and empty rooms, Jedi knowledge tucked away in shadows and corners full of dust. At one point, the Silver Jedi stood at the Guardians of Peace in the galaxy. Perhaps, in hindsight and with the current iteration of Jedi to Fenn... they appeared less warmongering monks and more of the peacekeepers free of the burdens of politics that they were now subjected to.

But perhaps he was wrong.

But his father came here, the man who gifted him everything but love and a name. He took everything for himself, or made it for himself. He had only his own merits to live by. Preliat knew that his clones existed- even records of a good relationship with one a few of them. But not Fenn. Never Fenn. A perfect clone. A perfect copy. No rapid aging, no muscle enhancements. A perfect copy of Preliat. And now, in his mid 20s- he was physically the spitting image of his father.

But lacking all of what made Preliat, Preliat.

And so he sought understanding. He came here.

He had to.

He pressed on, into the empty temple. He had something to find.

 

[Allura Kahli]

OBJECTIVE III BYOO - Silver Rest​

The Silver Jedi Temple, Silver Rest, on Kashyyyk had once been Allura's home. As much of a home a woman like her could have, anyway. She'd been surrounded by a family that wouldn't do what was necessary to secure what they desired most, and so Allura had done it for them. There were countless meetings afterward in an effort to change her, but there'd been nothing worth changing. Sadly, even being their Black Sheep and willing to excise threats at any cost did little to stop the end of their tenure.

One could argue little had changed. Allura still lived in the shadows. Still excised threats. But the people around her were different. They were always the criminal, the scum, and the beasts of the galaxy now. There were so many that she had to walk among them just to decide which of them to topple first. Flailing blindly at a blob of flesh wouldn't slay such a horrific creation any time soon -- surgical precision was her hallmark and this time was no different.

In this case, her time in the shadows revealed a sudden surge in interest of Kashyyyk. The Wookies were a strong people though; she would trust them to their own affairs with advance word of the Black Sun's arrival hopefully enough. It was the Temple, however, that drew her in. The thought of looters, grave robbers, and avid "collectors" bothered her. That they might find something useful upset her. The Silver Jedi had taken efforts -- she'd been part of it -- to secure that which mattered when things were drawing down, but that didn't mean something got overlooked. Perhaps an Artifact someone felt was too powerful wasn't put on the inventory, tucked away in some secret cove. Whatever the case, Allura couldn't risk it falling into criminal hands.

"Echoes grow to test our will
I wonder what drew you still?"

Allura's voice echoed down the empty hallway from deeper in Silver Rest. The ashen Umbaran was adept at remaining unseen and hunting people even in urban environments. But nothing said Fenn Stag was one of those she lay in wait to slaughter. Sometimes people came in peace. Sometimes to remember. It did little for the departed to have well-meaning visitors, but for those that remained it showed they were not forgotten; that all their valient effort could be felt and heard to that very day. Was it sentimentality that had drawn her there? That didn't seem much like Allura; she'd think of it as mere prudence to ensuring a potential enemy didn't acquire power they weren't meant to have.

 

[U40a]

O B J E C T I V E - 1
O P E R A T I O N - I R O N - H O W L

Music, on the nose but apt, percolated from canopy into benighted dirt. Syren-plants turned their tendrils to the sky they had no way to see. Petals fluttered rhythmically around the dead.

 

[Maestus]

Kashyyyk
Shadowlands
Mawsworn Camp
Thomas Barran

Back to old habits...

Tommy's words from weeks prior rang in her mind today. Ominous, they teased the promise of possibility. Thankfully, being the Khan was the originator of said words, Maestus could rather easily narrow down the list of which habits the One-Eyed Woad referred to. And that pleased her immensely. A certain...Stagnation had taken hold of her in recent years. Decades spent in relentless pursuit of ideals that failed to culminate into anything with fortitude. Not flawless and perfect, those delusions chased by the young and weak. Fortitude. To withstand, endure. No, there was stagnation now, outwardly. Too many years of research, traveling where ever the next freshly deciphered text, restored memory bank or artifact studied pointed next. But in search of what?

An unconscious and quite guttural growl slipped past her lips, which were curled into a sneer on one side. That question haunted her, not even sleep gave dependable relief. She'd recently created a serum to administer when she was too many days without sleep. A shadow slithered across her flame rimmed eyes, the flames themselves dying to a smolder, rather than the writhing flames as usual. Eyelids were closed and she inhaled slowly, steadying her thoughts. Doubt and question had no place here.

She held a datapad in her hand, some distance from Barran's holovid's range to be seen. At her side, the Leader of her Chosen. Dark skinned and bald, black tattoos could be seen on the back of his head before disappearing down his spine and under his armor and clothes. He wore multispectrum goggles, which ideally would aid them in their hunts. The Shadowlands were well named, and the various members of the hunting parties were ill designed to function optimally in these circumstance. Maestus clearly intended to provide the good guys as many advantages as possible. Crates had been taken to all the campsites she had been given advance notice of, Mawsworn and Black Sun alike. They wouldn't pierce the deepest darkness of the abyss, but their abilities for night vision and infrared should help.

Further supply crates would also be delivered to the Mawsworn camp, only. Containers of various shapes and sizes. Specialty containers as well; Those that prevent light and moisture, as well as tanks, tubes and canisters for securing any species with liquid requirements for survival. A few more crates held restraints. Shackles, chains and ropes. The depths of the Shadowlands held many mysteries, and such things were accorded their due respect. They were capturing, not killing. Restraints would be necessary.

As would the contents of a small case near Barran's plinth. Inside, 6 vials of a serum crafted with the intent of sedating a Terentatek or Shyyyo Bird, should the situation arise.

On the datapad she held, she finalized her "Shopping List". Saava, a snake-like and highly interesting plant, was of great interest. As well, Kshyy Vine has unique properties to be researched.

The possibilities for creatures here was equivalent to a kid in a candy store, or a drunk at happy hour. Pick your poison, they've got everything. Maestus intended to collect as many Flame Beetles as they could manage. Finding she placed Kinrath won't come as a surprise to anyone, least of all Barran. And there was a kinda wish list addition, one of those "if we can" deals. The Mykal.

She handed the datapad to her Chosen's leader, instructions given to disseminate as needed. Her attention shifted around the Mawsworn Camp, her own Chosen interspersed with the Khanate as preparations were finalized. Equipment given a thorough check, weapons and armor in ready positions.

She strode towards Barran, watching and listening as she approached his back. Coming to a stop on his left, well short of becoming a focal point in his pronouncement. Given how deep the shadows are and how pervasive the dark here down in the Shadowlands, it would be her eyes that caught in the background. Burning over Barran's left shoulder, palish amber held in place by red flames belied no thoughts or emotions. They were focused on the hunt before them. Maestus had little doubt but that many things would retrieved from Kashyyyk on this hunt.





​

 

[Fenn Stag]

BYOO: Wayfaring Stranger
Allura Kahli
Forgive me for what I have done, and failed to do.

​

He didn't seem stirred or alarmed by the voice. Just a slight turn of the armored helmet- the one that belong to Preliat. His father's armor, of the old ways- turned and looked in the direction of the voice. A mechanical hand, perfect in it's design, mimicking perfectly his natural arm, made of beskar mostly, ran along the fading, nearly ancient walls of the once-pristine temple.

He looked down at a piece of paper- a sketch made by his father, one of the many things he was able to procure from his brother, Thal. The duality of the brothers wasn't lost on him. Perhaps it pained Thal too much to be here. Perhaps Thal simply didn't care.

Or, maybe, Thal wanted Fenn to experience this for himself. He glanced at the paper, removing his helmet and staring towards the sound of the voice, a woman, with an accent. Faint, but there.

"Of all the ones that came before, the ones that passed beyond the door. I seek not treasures hidden or books written, but what is mine to claim in my father's name."

He did not say it as a threat, just a statement of fact. Fenn had an unusual.... softness about him nowadays. A lack of ferocity, perhaps. Something changed in him in his time away. Something made him... calmer. But not any less dangerous. He laid the helmet gently on a bench, taking a seat. There were lots of seats, couches, places to speak, relax. Third spaces no longer occupied. He turned his head, trying to picture this place in its former glory. Overgrown weeds, bushes, and nature trying to reclaim the space. Light poured in through windows and breaks in the ceiling, and fountains and streams ran through it as time laid a claim to each facet of the building.

Fenn took a deep breath, then thought for a moment. He disarmed himself, feeling... unkind to bring weapons into here. He himself, was a weapon, truly, but. There was no need for any of that here. Not at Silver Rest. He laid his rifle, his pistols, his father's tomahawk neatly beside his helmet then stood up again. The voice did not call him to danger, nor spring him into action. No, this was a protector, a guardian of what was once mighty. He turned his head back to the paper, seeing the map his father left, a sketch of the temple's interior from his travels.

And he waited, waited for that woman to speak again.

 

[Rhys Swynol]

Theme Song​

Objective: 2 - Earn some credits on the Hunt
Equipment: Armour, Blaster rifle and blaster pistols
Appearance: Armoured
Tag: Open

It had been a while since the owner of the infamous galactic dating app had stepped out of his large estate to take part in an actual mission. What were the reasons for this trip to Kashyyyk? Was he showing favour to the growing crime syndicate? Did he feel that there might be potential rivals that would steal the profits he had been garnering for a while now? Or was it simply out of boredom? Rhys was finding the easy life very boring now, there was no challenge in his life, nothing that made his heart race. Nothing that gave him the thrill that near death experiences tended to do.

So yeah, he was visiting the Black Sun Syndicate and their hunt on Kashyyyk as a chance to see if these people were going to be people who would give him that thrill once again. Stepping out of his ship, his body bounced and danced as his helmet could be heard blaring music. Clearly announcing his arrival to all those around, the guitar building in the background. Rhys was loving this feeling of being back in the field and who didn't love hearing some music while they were doing a job, and he had discovered the perfect song for Kashyyyk. Almost written to be about Kashyyyk, Rhys was sure of it. He did need to figure out who had made the song.

"Welcome to the jungle!" Rhys exclaimed, continuing humming the song as it continued to play in his helmet. Not fazed at the notion that they were here to track and hunt exotic yet dangerous creatures of Kashyyyk. There was no point doing a mission all stressed or anxious, that was no fun. And to Rhys, a mission had to fun, otherwise why should any of them do it. "Have any of you heard this one, the guitar riff goes hard. Wait for it... wait for it.... wait nearly here. Here!" Rhys started to air guitar, nodding his head to the beat of the music. "Ya gunna die!! Welcome to the jungle!"

Rhys started laughing deeply, finishing the song and looking around, seeing what others were getting up to now that he had made his grand entrance. His hands on his hips as he wondered who was going to be the one getting the biggest beast today, or the best haul.

 

[Remus Adair]

OBJECTIVE I
Sector 7 Ruins
Thomas Barran

It was on the boarding ramp of the shuttle that Rear Admiral Remus Adair realised he had made a titanic error in judgement. "Oh fuck me running." The imperial muttered as the first wave of humiditiy hit him. It was almost like an inivisble thickness, which near immediately triggered the hurried production of sweat. Remus looked to his armpits, black, moistened patches already forming. "Oh bloody Hell..." He grumbled as he descended toward the Sector 7 ruins. He was trailed of course by an entourage of both security and assistants. With one poor ensign relegated to carrying his field armour and helm, just in case the camp was attacked. Visibly scornful of the denizens of the camp, Adair lead his group to the sort of ad hoc command centre. Making sure to give every Black Sun operative he passed the typical condescending glare.

Upon entering, he took a deep inhale. Fresh, cooled air. Not like the stickiness above. That was the ideal, was it not? The imperial looked around his settings, until he saw it. The one eyed man. The Maw Khan. Adair was not quite sure what to make of him. Ranks within this ramshackle military were.... Loose. And given the reputation of the gentleman, it would be important to both impress but dignify. Even if he looked worse than some of these pirates Approaching rather briskly, the imperial stood to attention before the warrior, "The Bloodhound Khan." He saluted, before his right entered quite slickly to offer a handshake, "And in the flesh no less."

"I heard your broadcast but I am not here for a safari." The naval officer informed him, "I was rather ordered by those above to... Well... Assist in proceedings." His courteous nature quietly slipped with a momentary scowl. "And, given you have so generously offered booty for captures, I may inquire as to how I may oblige my own assistance to your cause."

 

[Allura Kahli]

"Not all children are worthy of those that came before," Allura called out from her seclusion. "I never was one for tradition." Legally they might have a claim, but the Umbaran woman had literally made a lifetime of ignoring the law. Or morality.

Her pale eyes regarded the display and how the man had disarmed himself. A nice offer, but having lived among Jedi she knew an unarmed person could still be incredibly lethal -- even at a distance. But they weren't going to accomplish anything by speaking to thin air were they?

Slowly, the black-clad woman pivoted around a corner further down the corridor from where Fenn Stag stood. Her ashen figure and pale eyes should be enough indication of her heritage. "If it isn't an artifact or book you come for, prodigy, then what is it you've come to retrieve?" Her own hands were free of weapons, though Allura had not dropped the kukris at her back under the long, black coat.

 

[Hraavusst]

O B J E C T I V E - 2
T O O T H - A N D - C L A W

Hraavusst let out a snort, a harsh, reptilian noise. "A hundred creditssssss for a katarn?" he exclaimed loudly from atop a fallen branch near the underbrush of the Shadowlands before addressing Tuchanka more directly.

"You squander your breath on trivial matters, hatchling. The real credits lie in bigger fry such as the fearsome Walluga. That will bring much honor to the Sssscorekeeper." His three-fingered claws curled, the scales on his knuckles rough and battle-worn. This so-called "uncharted southern hemisphere" was merely another swamp, another patch of greenery ripe for exploitation.

He favored the grit of the city personally, the odor of unwashed masses and desperate negotiations. Yet, contracts were binding, and the Black Sun had assured him they would cover his costs. He adjusted the heavy blaster carbine slung across his back, its familiar weight a comfort.

He detected a dozen more intriguing scents as he adjusted the heavy blaster carbine slug across his back.

Such as the metallic tang of fear emanating from some of the inexperienced Black Sun recruits, the sickly sweetness of exotic plants likely harboring potent toxins, and the faint, nearly undetectable aroma of wet fur from the Wookiee Exiles down here.

 

[TK-818]

TK-818
Stormtrooper Corps
​

The jungle moaned, Kashyyyk's canopy heaved above head, choked by ash clouds from distant burn sites where fire still gnawed at the treetops. The towering wroshyr trees stood in silhouette, ancient bark scorched and smoldering from signs of recent warfare, a telling sign of what was to come. In the shadow of one such ruined colossus, TK-818 stood guard. His armor still bearing scorch marks and deep gouges from the Core Wars, he had marched alongside the Emperor's finest into the bleeding heart of the Galactic Alliance. The once-pristine plastoid was now dulled with soot and battle grime, but it still clung to him like a second skin. His helmet, cracked along the temple, wheezed softly as the filters fought the thick humid air.

TK-818 turned, his head sweeping from side to side as Imperial sleds hovered across the jungle floor, weapons crates stacked high and secured with magnetic seals. Each crate was marked with the sigil of the Empire, sliding forward like silent coffins toward the depot nestled beneath the roots of a collapsing tree.

"Keep them moving."

The sleds came to a halt as stormtroopers ushered the crates down, passing them off to members of Black Sun. They didn't talk much. They didn't need to really, a handshake here, a datapad scanned there. The deal was dirty. But so was the war.

Behind him, the second phase began. Shackled Wookiees, beaten and hauled into long shuffling columns. Single file, chains tight. The youngest stumbled. The oldest snarled, but none dared resist. TK-818 stood unmoved as one of the Wookiees roared at him, it's chains rattling. The stormtrooper raised his blaster slightly, tilted his head as if considering.

"You're going to a better place," he said, voice modulating behind the grill of his helmet, "Move along."

The Wookiee bared his fangs and roared.

TK didn't flinch, he simply stepped aside as the line was herded past, up the ramp of the transport like cattle.

He turned back toward the depot as one of the Black Sun operatives gave him a nod of approval as another sled began to rise.

The Empire moved on.

 

[The Madclaw]

OBJECTIVE 3 - BYOO

RUINS OF SILVER JEDI RESISTANCE BASE
​

Not in decades had the Madclaw of the Claatuvac visited his homeworld. He stood upon it now, silver-white fur rustling in the breeze, and drank in the scent of Wroshyr wood, the long-familiar birdsongs rising up from the trees, and the way the light shone through the canopy.

The circumstances of his return did not escape his notice, but he brooked no doubts. Better the infiltration of the Black Sun, ceding power to the conquering clan, than a Sith incursion that would enslave them all, or an Alliance rule that would purport to do justice while ignoring atrocities. But why should he care, either way.

His thoughts darkened.

They banished him, long ago. If they persisted in defying nature, then perhaps they would always be a conquered people. Only the strong survived in this galaxy. How many times must the lesson be re-taught?

He had not come here for them, or for this world. Only for what lay before him: the charred ruins of an abandoned base, built upon the idea of a better dream.

Where was their dream now.

Cooked all to ash.

He could feel the echoes of the dead masses here in the Force, as if a wound in the fabric of space and time.

"This is the place," he rumbled to the others. "Who has the relic?"

Antar | Meliant | Eryndor Thorne