Junction [BSS, ME, SO, TIC] PROPHET MOTIVE | Junction of Voss & 3 Empty Hexes (see thread)

[Velzari Tharn]

FACTION HEX CLAIMS:

BLACK SUN SYNDICATE: Empty Hex above Kiskua
MANDALORIAN EMPIRE: Empty Hex right of Odacer-Faustin
SITH ORDER: Empty Hex between Aur Diamonds and Quila
THE IMPERIAL CONFEDERATION: Voss

GUEST FEATURING: The Sith Covenant!

OBJECTIVE 1
LOCATION: VOSS​

Voss-Ka has fallen to Black Sun mercenaries, and Sith hold the Mystics hostage in their Tower of Prophecy in what must seem a bleak day for the Voss people. However, the prophetic rulers have seen even this attack and have shrewdly let the enemy within to spring a trap. The attackers have only discovered this within minutes of the impending battle - revealed to them by a Mystic's own damning words.

The mountain fortress remains within Black Sun and Sith control, despite the trap, but the plans have changed. Voss will not be held, but the Mystics are more important than their planet. If the enemy can be contained long enough, the Mystics can be taken off-world and placed into "protective custody" elsewhere.

Of course, one additional complication has presented itself... Who gets to keep 'em?

OBJECTIVE 2
LOCATION: DOBWAREN ESTATE, BONADAN
​

Corporate Oligarch, Necal Dobwaran, has died. The elder statesman has been credited with the Corporate Sector's independence and stability despite galactic tensions and the expanding borders of Mandalore. However, the venerable negotiator has died without a single living relative, with his vast assets to be placed in stewardship until The Board can agree on what to do with them. More concerning are the rumors surrounding his death. There isn't just one, either. Perhaps a hundred different reasons have been offered up at this point, but all The Board have denied, calling it the product of market sharks and other fraudsters.

Still, the prominent figure's death is a big deal, and his funeral is "one for the centuries" according to headlines, and will host some of the galaxy's biggest players... All to honor his legacy, of course.

Incidentally, every member of The Board will also be present, and many of them are worried that Corporate power will be undermined without a stabilizing influence. Without a clear contender, such a role may very well be left to outside intervention. But this is a funeral! Who would scheme at a funeral?!

Enter the guests.

OBJECTIVE 3
LOCATION: MINING POST 3143
​

The balance of trade has shifted dramatically while war rages in the Core, diverting unprecedented wealth to the Rim lanes... wealth that swiftly fell prey to smuggling and piracy, with the Perlemian experiencing the worst of it.

The crux of this interference comes at the beck and call of Wulf Wulback, rogue foreman of the Axis Mining Company, who has hijacked and occupied Mining Post 3143 in an apparent act of a worker's revolution, transforming the station into a shadowport with secret backing from the Black Sun. The AMC board has pleaded with the Imperial government on New Alderaan for intervention, while, perhaps more troubling, credible reports of Beskar smuggling have found their way to Mandalore.

Officially, the Black Sun cannot act directly while their allies in the Sith Order seek a diplomatic relationship with the Mandalorian Empire. So they have turned to Mercy Star-Arm and the Vahlan Warlord, Hasuras-na Gerra, of the Sith Covenant to intercede on their behalf. The request was quite simple: destabilize the trade route and support Wulbuck's "revolution" in the Maldrood Sector. Even if the Confederation annexes the region, they will find it difficult to uproot the Underworld - the Beskar must flow!

 

[Darth Strosius]

​

Objective: Implied Odds, Steal Foresight
Equipment: Lightsaber - Sword - Dagger - Robes
Tags: Naamino Zuukamano / Drego Ruus / Isobel Serraris
--------------------------------------------

Voss-Ka hadn't fallen easily, even with clever tactics from the mercenaries employed by the Black Sun and the raw might of the Sith that had accompanied them. As it turned out, having a glimpse or two into the future ensured well placed defenses and ambushes even after an overwhelming show of force and a fairly swift victory. Thankfully the Black Sun had plenty of bodies to throw into this particular endeavor, or rather Darth Strosius was more than willing to throw them in front of the defenders who had tried to cut Him down.

Every wretch of the Black Sun that died was simply one that He and His cult wouldn't have to contend with later, and if they could do so whilst making His own advance easier then all the better. He hadn't come to the aid of the Black Sun, certainly not, He had come for one reason only. The same reason that their assault had hit any snags at all actually. The Voss Mystics were renowned for their prophetic abilities and incredible techniques of the Force. They were seers with few peers elsewhere in the galaxy and they held their visions with such clarity and confidence that most of them hardly even trembled or cowered at the sight of the Sith storming into their Tower of Prophecy.

For all their foresight however, the pair that Darth Strosius knocked out and threw over His shoulders when He made His way into the Tower were certainly surprised by the armored fist impacting their heads. Still, combat viability aside, their prophetic power was something that He couldn't simply let go to waste. And now that He had a pair of Mystics, He could leave the Black Sun and the rest of the Sith to their own devices. With any luck they'd all see sense and just start shooting one another.

One could only hope. "Zuukamano, call for a shuttle. We have what we need." Given the nature of their, at least on His part, reluctant partners for this particular operation Darth Strosius couldn't trust any of His followers not to shoot any of the Black Sun mercs on sight as they were well within their right to. Thankfully though the Kor'ethyr Academy was happy to loan Him one of their students when He offered the chance for "on the job" experience. He turned to the young Zabrak and nodded to the unconscious Voss slung over each of His shoulders. "And do keep an eye on our flank, if you would. My hands are a bit full at the moment."

 

[Reina Daival]

Tag: Varin Mortifer
Location: Voss

Reina had long awaited the day she could respond to a cry for help. The day she could be a hero. A beacon in the dark. It appeared this would be the day. In all truth, Reina did not care for the Black Sun's shenanigans, nor was she fully opposed to the Sith. One could say that it was wrong for the Sith to hold claim over the mystics, but morality was something that Reina had found very much not to be...black and white.

She adjusted the sheath of Whisperwind for a moment, resting her arm atop the hilt of the blade, alongside the hilt of the vibroblade she wore alongside it. It always paid to carry a back up, especially as she was yet to be fully accustomed to Whisperwind. It was doubtful that she'd be able to do much in rescuing the Voss herself, but she play the role of a momentary distraction to allow some of the Mystics a chance to escape. It had been hard work for her to sneak her way into the Temple, working on both reducing her presence in the Force whilst cloaking herself. Sooner or later she'd have to reveal her position to kick herself into action...

Yet for a moment, she found herself stopping midstep. Her head slowly turning off to an alternative corridor, her eyebrows raising for a moment out of curiosity. The Force was nudging her in that direction. A direction which did not lead to the meditation chambers. At least, that was what she presumed. It wasn't as if they were handing out maps at the front door to this place. Now here came a choice for the Ersansyr however. Did she continue onwards to the meditation chamber, or did she make her way off towards the corridor...

With a swift turn on the heel of her foot, Reina meant her venture off down the corridor, doing her best to keep her presence as concealed as she could. Eventually however, she arrived at where the Force had sent her to. There was a distinct atmosphere of...aggression. Rage. It was a somewhat familiar atmosphere for Reina. One that Reina was very accustomed to, and had to try and figure out how to deal with. Well. Now was a better time than any, right?
​

 

[Marlon Sularen]

P R O P H E T_M O T I V E
Objective II : Dead Man's Hand

IMPERIAL CONFEDERATION
BONADAN, OUTER RIM TERRITORIES

​

The Corporate Sector. A region of the galaxy that had become a playground for Corporate entities, unshackled by the restrictions of galactic governments and unaffected by the galactic wars that had constantly ravaged the galaxy. Since the fall of the New Imperial Order and the Ashlan Imperium, it had remained independent avoiding the gaze of galactic governments that was until now. Recently the key architect of the Corporate Sector's continuous independence, Necal Dobwaran had passed away leaving a large power vacuum that many would undoubtedly seek to fill.

Dobwaran had died without any living relative to inherit his assets and as such the ruling Board of Directors had placed Dobwaran's assets under their stewardship until they could decide what to do with it. Naturally this would attract the attention of numerous parties all of whom would mostly attempt to claim the late Dobwaran's fortune and expand their respective faction's influence over the Corporate Sector.

Among thee parties was the Imperial Confederation, who under the direction of Supreme Commander Marlon Sularen had already begun building a minor presence in the Corporate Sector even before Dobwaran's death through corporate deals and acquisitions largely aimed at inviting more companies to invest within the Confederation and building the Confederation's reputation within the corporate world, a far cry from the draconian policies implemented by the Galactic Empire and it's predecessor the Dark Empire.

In time, the Confederation would be made aware of Dobwaran's funeral and as a result the Supreme Commander would proceed to quickly make his way towards the site of the funeral, that being the estate of the deceased oligarch, bringing Governor Amalia Visconti with him so that he could get an extra hand before diving deep into the intrigue and subterfuge that would be the main highlight of this meeting as gossip and rumors would inevitably rapidly spread like a contagious disease giving the Imperial pair the sharpened tools they would need to sway the Board to their interests.

​

Marlon Sularen stepped out of the repulsorvehicle as it came to rest right infront of the Dobwaran estate signaling his and Governor Visconti's arrival. Unlike most occasions, the Supreme Commander was wearing an all Black military uniform without his traditional rank insignia or the golden epaulettes in order to show some respect to the deceased Dobwaran even though his priority was to secure his assets for the Imperial Confederation or alternatively one of the companies affiliated with the Confederation.

After stepping out, the Supreme Commander would wait for Governor Visconti to emerge before the pair would soon walk into the estate ready to mingle with the many guests present. "I must thank you for agreeing to accompany me, Governor Visconti." Sularen said. "It is quite rare that i find myself at these types of social events and i usually tend to get overwhelmed or disinterested in these events alone" he added. "Hopefully we can give a good impression to the Board and get their favor to secure Dobwaran's assets for the Confederation as our treasury could use the monetary boost."

Tags | Amalia Visconti | Mira Rhory | OPEN ​

 

[Arris Windrun]

​

Tags: Jared Starchaser | Bob Taric
Gear: x2 KXP-2 revolvers | x2 Tenloss Ambassadors

Ka-Voss was different than Kattada. The city, the tower, and the world's government had fallen in one swift strike. Black Sun mercenaries poured throughout the street like rats, claiming whatever wasn't nailed down and then some. By all accounts, it wasn't a raid; it was a successful occupation. Inside the Tower of Prophecy, where Arris was, the Sith held their precious Mystics hostage. They were to be the real prize, and yet... Why did they seem so unconcerned?

"Something doesn't feel right, boss." The words came over the comlink. "The city is like... empty, and we encountered little resistance."

The cyborg listened in as another chimed. "Ain't they supposed to have legendary commandos or somethin'?!"

She answered, "Who knows! What matters is we have what we came for, yeah? Prepare the--"

An acolyte dragged one of the Mystics up to her. The Voss appeared annoyed by the treatment more than she was afraid of the situation.

"Tell her what you told me," the acolyte demanded with the unignited blade pressed against her throat.

The Voss, jaw tight, held a defiant glare. "Useless... Your arrival has been seen as we see all things. You will have no victory today!"

Angry, the acolyte threw the Mystic to the floor. Arris hadn't a clue what to make of it. They were supposed to be prophetic rulers, in that it was the whole point the Black Sun wanted them alive, but surely they couldn't see everything, right? Not to mention the implications of "free will" and all that. The whole thought made Arris uncomfortable, who double checked her weapons, and sighed with frustration.

She spoke into the comlink again. "Also, where the hell is that reporter, yeah?"

Maybe it was poor timing to have scheduled an interview. If Mauve were here...

 

[Dominique Vexx]

OBJECTIVE II: Dead Man's Hand
Dobwaren Estate, Bonadan

Bonadan. The venerable Perlemain Trade Route. A lavish and thriving hyperlane... in the middle of nowhere. Honestly, Necal Dobwaran was a capable negotiator to keep such a remote region of the galaxy thriving as well as it had been. Dominique Vexx felt the accolades of his achievement under the banner of the Corporate Sector might be a touch overstated, but not by the man's own actions. More peoples' desire to elevate him so that their acquisitions in the wake of his passing would be seen as crowning achievements.

Or was it confusion over which Corporate Sector people spoke of? It had Dominique question whether it was time for a rebranding.

Regardless, Dominique looked forward to the opportunity. There would be plenty of opportunities for an enterprising woman in the wake of these 'terrible' times. For one, she might further building relations with the Mandalorians. They were a metal nut to crack, and while they eventually showed interest in what she had to offer, 'good enough' wasn't good enough. You had to seal a deal. Get people to commit. Have them acknowledge your value and why a lasting relation was in their best interest.

Of course, she wouldn't mind establishing relations with a few others present either. Credits didn't care about borders and politics, after all.

Not to mention the political intrigue. Dominique liked a good murder mystery.

The hovercar drifted into place before the Dobwaran estate and the passenger door rotated upwards. A high-heeled boot lifted itself over the frame and set down on the landing area. Slowly, Dominique rose from the luxurious interior to her full height bound in the supplest, darkest leather money could buy. Precise tailoring fit the outfit to her body snugly with padded accents giving it a shadowrunner vibe. The only skin besides her face was a small window at the top of the chest. What could she say, Dominique liked showing off fashion from back home?

Clicks followed as Dominique strode toward the entrance with a smile perched beneath her lilac glareshades. It should be a most... enlightening engagement. She'd already spied Marlon Sularen nearby. Well, the Imperial Confederation should make an appearance. What major government near this edge of the Rim wouldn't want to stake their claim or make sure their bitterest rival failed in securing their own? Dominique hoped to reach some sort of... beneficial arrangement by the time the day was done.

Marlon Sularen | Amalia Visconti | Mira Rhory | Open​

 

[Anet Raine]

​

The atmosphere of Bonadan was so heavily polluted that spacers would sometimes joke that it was where they sent old ships to have their paint stripped. It would have been quite deadly and inhospitable were it not for massive weather generation systems, located in proximity to its main cities. Even still, it wasn't a remarkable contrast, and today it rained. Thankfully, Dobwaran's Estate was protected by a state-of-the-art shield generator and advanced climate controls.

As soon as her airspeeder passed the threshold, Anet Raine was presented with a rare sight indeed: elsyisan foliage and imported wildlife. The vehicle landed among the others, to be collected by the valet, and she herself was escorted inside, past weapons scanners, and into the massive foyer.

Officially, the daughter of Alabaster Raine was here to represent her family's interests, as they held a major position in Hydian-Wyl.

"Ma'am."

Right on cue... Some middle manager from the firm itself, undoubtedly sent to chaperone Miss Raine as if she needed to be watched.

Oh, it was a smart move, and one she would've concurred with in their shoes, but not for the reasons they thought they knew. Anet wasn't some helpless heiress bleeding in a small ocean full of sharks, but her motives today would be anything but helpful to her family's name or business positions.

She offered him the fakest of smiles born from training and repetition. "Ah! Am I most glad to see you..." He expected her to know his name.

Oh no. They had met before. I don't remember your name... She turned to the tactic she knew best. Act aloof.

"Honestly, I am tired from my flight. Let us head to the bar, shall we?"

His face paled at the thought of her turning to liquor immediately upon arrival. Decorum demanded certain procedures! In fact, he had a list and retrieved a slim datapad with shaky hands. But that cold stare she gave cowed him into submission. With a wordless gesture, he offered to lead the way. She would have to keep him on his toes, so he never questioned which route was most likely to get him fired.

They walked to the bar.

 

[Varin Mortifer]

VOSS​

Orders were clear and simple. Grab some Voss Mystic and get out, maybe smash some heads in. Varin rounded the corner as he pursued his prey. It seemed to be a male in fine clothing. Though he didn’t seem like a mystic. However he may know where Varin could locate them.

As Varin turned the corner the man had come to a dead end. The door at the end of the hall was but a broom closet. Desperately he hid behind the tools and cleaning utensils as a small service droid attempted to bypass him, the little thing kept ramming itself into his foot.

Varin’s coal-like eyes burned in the direction of the closet. Slowly he began to walk towards the individual, his footfalls echoing through the hallway. His saber roared to life as its bleeding edge coated the white blade, bathing it in crimson.

“Tell me where I can find these mystics. Your death will be far quicker and sparing compared to what the others will do.”

His voice was quiet but it carried. His mace in the other hand burned at the very end over the flanges.

“Waste my time, and I will start with your feet.”

Smoke began to trail to the ceiling from Varin’s back. The Voss male grabbed a light metal pole to defend himself. His stance was pathetic, he seemed like he had no prior training to defend himself.

Varin stopped in front of him.

“Admirable, I will give you that. Dying with your boots on. Tell me, have you ever burned alive before?”

Varin held the mace up, pointing the flames towards the stranger.

“Is that something you are willing to do for your mystics?”

Varin’s back was turned towards the newcomer whose signature was hidden to him. But he wasn’t the only one in his body to have eyes.

Boy, you have a guest.

Ignati’s voice rumbled in Varin’s head as he slowly looked behind him, his eyes full of rage and hatred, glaring at the new stranger that dared approach.

“And who might you be?”

Reina Daival​

 

[Naamino Zuukamano]

Outfit:
Belt of Strength, Field Com-Scan Link,
Weal & Woe
Kor'ethyr Issued Kainate Trooper Armor
Stun Baton
Armor Permissions

Ojective: Assist Darth Strosius with Exfill of Mystics
Assets are to be retrieved alive, per the Prophet’s orders
Opposition: Drego Ruus | Isobel Serraris

Prologue​

Field work and the tests one faces on a true field of battle were much more common coursework for Naamino these days, rather than sitting in classrooms or labs. He was of course still a student of Kor'ethyr but that chapter of his life felt like soon it would be ending.

Elmindra Xitaar had formally taken him on as her apprentice, he'd begun student teaching lightsaber basics to first years at the academy, and he'd started taking command of platoons for the various skirmishes their Order engaged in. Not to mention the more clandestine missions he and Haro Aven were occasionally sent on by Darth Caedes as Hands of the King.

The summons he'd received this day though seemed different from all the others. Rather, it did not appear that his duties would be within the realm of anything he'd yet been deployed for. At just eighteen years of age, the young man had seen countless battlefields, slain many enemies of the Order, and even culled traitorous members within the Order's ranks. Not once though had he been called upon to extract living assets.

The sturdy zabrak arrived for the summons exactly on time, fully equipped in armor, and ready to follow the command of his new temporary commander: the Prophet of Wonosa.

Present
​

They'd made great time, working well in tandem as two experienced combatants— one with decades under his belt in the realm of command and the other, well practiced at following orders.

Thankfully his helmet visor concealed the raised eyebrow Naami sported at seeing the method by which Darth Strosius chose to subdue and carry out their quarry. The zabrak never normally would've bothered with a stun baton, but his orders to preserve the life of the mystics were clear. It would seem his commander wasn't fussed with the state of them though, provided they kept their pulses.

More than anything, he was impressed. A feat like rescue-carrying two near humans would be possible for Naami, but challenging indeed despite the years of training he'd put in so far. He merely had to assume that the Force worked in mysterious ways and the Sith Lord's mastery over it granted him exceptional strength.

As ordered, Naami spoke into comms.

"Prophet and Horns en route with payload. Prepare for exfill, stand by with engines running."

Then he nodded to the sangnir and rumbled agreement of the plan, right hand reaching for Weal even as his left remained open and ready. The very beginnings of dark, destructive energy beginning to pool in that gloved palm.

"Affirmative, Sir. I can take a turn carrying them if need be."

Then they set out, marching at a quick pace wherein Naamino was ready to fire off a Force blast and ignite his saber at the first sign of opposition.

 

[Reina Daival]

Tag: Varin Mortifer
Location: Voss

"Huh. So you can see me...or at least something can see me."

Reina let out a soft sigh as she let the cloak fade, throwing her hands up into the air with a small shrug, before resting her arm atop the hilt of Whisperwind once more. Her voice gently echoing through the corridor, like a soft and somewhat melancholic melody. Her eyebrow perking up once more as she looked over towards the Voss behind the man, trying not to break out into a smirk.

"Really? The Sith have stooped to that level? I get needing the Mystics, but getting your kicks from hurting someone who can't put up a fight."

Now, that wasn't something Reina would be able to wrap her head around. She could understand the need for the Mystics and their powers, but the idea of harming innocents for...what? Information? It seemed pointless to her. Of course, she had the advantage of the Siren song that came with what she was now...but that wasn't important for this.

"What happened to the whole world devastating space lasers, the undead monstrosities? The big picture. The thing Real Sith do?"

She let out a sigh at that, running a hand through her hair making sure that it was still tied up in a small bun, before brushing her cloak down. Her eyes glanced behind herself for a moment in thought. The Voss wasn't a mystic. He wasn't exactly the objective right now. The main plan was to save the Voss Mystics. Reina wasn't sure how many Jedi would be showing up, if any. Would she be the only one? Who knows. Reina was used to being alone in a fight.

"All you need to know about me, Sith-Lite, is that I can put up more of a fight than some guy with a broom."

With that, Reina kept her hand placed atop of the hilt of Whisperwind, breaking out into a grin. Using her spare hand to summon some wind through the Force, to blow some of the smoke amongst the room.

"Of course, if you want to continue to prey on small-fry, go ahead. I'll go find a real Sith to fight."
​

 

[Ranna Sejast]

Mining Post 3143
Kom'rk-Type Fighter-Transport
Tags: Mandalorians

Engines humming with power, the Kom'rk swept through the cast off debris of the asteroid field, dodging errant rocks rebounding from one collision on their way to find another. Taking the mapped trade lane to the mining post would have been safer, but Ranna wanted to get the drop on Wulf Wulback's new shadowport, and the expected route in would have scanners set along it.

Rounding the last of the large rocks giving them cover, Ranna's gauntleted hands smoothly leveled out the yoke as she thumbed the controls to level the wings either side of the ship's elongated fuselage. The mining post glinted faintly in the distance, still a speck hanging in space. Clicking the comm on, Ranna broadcast ship wide, "Two minutes to drop, kiddos. Check your seals and put your butts in their seats." She grinned to herself, liking the experience of having a ship full of other people compared to her usual cramped fighters. Might be why she was growing more playful.

A minute later and she was toggling on the SLAM drive, no point in trying to be stealthy this close, might as well ring the bell. Red fire bloomed around the leading edges of the wings as she fired off a full flight of four gel torpedos, hoping that their payloads would burn a way inside the shadowport for the troops waiting in the belly of the Kom'rk. In the hold, the ready light came on to signal those waiting in the racks of drop seats as Ranna put the ship into a one-eighty flat spin so she could use the main thrusters to brake.

The belly of the Kom'rk split open and the twin rows of seats descended, clearing the waiting Mandalorians off the ship and letting them disperse on their personal jetpacks. "Bye! Have fun storming the castle!" She called after them before easing the throttle back up. This new ship was fantastic, but something this large would make a great target sitting still.

 

[Darth Carnifex]

Voss. The blue-green marble hung suspended amidst the light of it's native star, idyllic and calm to all known sensibilities. Yet, it's doom had been writ. For too long, the world's punishment had been averted and delayed, the abnegation of justice prolonged. That respite was now drawing to a close, as the noose was tightened around the neck of all Voss. Prophecy had been their sanctuary for eons, warning them of impending danger and lurking disaster. None could dare imagine it would be turned against them.

He came without warning and without premonition, a dark gap in the awareness of their Mystics. The power of prophecy had been bent to His designs as well, for Mystics of His own from this wretched world served at His every discretion. Dark Mystics, bathed in the power of ultimate shadow, weaved the tapestry of fate so carefully that He could not be so easily prophesied. Cloaked in negated prescience, the Dark One descended upon the world of the Mystics with flame and the sword.

They came in the form of despoilers, great hulking monstrosities of fire and metal that churned the ground as they passed; devouring all into their insatiable maws. The capital of Voss-Ka was spared such devourance, but became host to His own machinations. Pods of battle droids peppered the city, while landing craft disgorged black-plated warriors carrying banners of a drawn blade blackened by blood. None who crossed their path were to be spared, all were to be sacrificed.

"There was nothing to be gained from resisting my truths," mused the Butcher King, Darth Carnifex, as He walked amidst a ruined street. His heavy cloak hung from His broad shoulders, concealing His armored form behind shimmering beskar scales. Qabr'azm fanned out behind His head like a radiant halo, softly chiming a wretched, discordant melody. Occasionally, it's elongated shards broke formation and disappeared into structures or down alleyways, returning slick with fresh vitae which it seemed to drink into itself.

Pausing at the center of a broad intersection, the Dark Lord looked to ponder quietly to Himself. Without celerity, He half-pivoted towards a nearby structure, it's interior darkened.

"Still playing games, are we?"

Allyson Locke ​

 

[Siv Kryze]

.​

DOBWAREN ESTATE, BONADAN​

​

Bonadan sat close enough to Mandalorian space that Siv didn't need a nav chart to feel the proximity. The air here was heavy with the pulse of industry—spice refineries, shipyards, and markets that never slept. For a world this close to the Empire's frontier, it was astonishingly self-assured. The death of Necal Dobwaren would test how long that confidence lasted.

The Kryze retinue arrived under gray skies and acid rain. Siv's armor reflected streaks of light from the estate's shimmering climate shield as he passed beneath it, boots silent against the marble walk. He'd dressed for diplomacy, not war—armor polished but unarmed, cloak drawn close. The Mandalorian Empire had no quarrel here. Only interests.

Inside, the estate was crowded with power. Confederation officers, Sith courtiers, corporate heirs, and the occasional masked stranger whose wealth bought them silence. Dobwaren's passing had turned Bonadan's elite into carrion birds, circling his fortune before the pyre had even cooled. Siv didn't blame them; opportunity rarely survived grief.

"We're close to home," he said quietly to the aide walking at his side, helmet still sealed. "Close enough that whoever inherits Dobwaren's networks will matter to us—whether they know it or not."

The aide nodded, understanding the implication. Mandalore didn't need to claim the Corporate Sector, only to keep it friendly. Trade routes, supply contracts, political goodwill—those were as valuable as any fortress.

Siv moved among the crowd with deliberate calm, offering the occasional nod or few words of courtesy. Most of the guests avoided his gaze, uncertain how to handle a Mandalorian in beskar at a funeral. One didn't.

Dominique Vexx was easy enough to spot—stylish, poised, and very much at home among opportunists. She carried herself like someone who understood the value of timing, and Siv respected that. When their paths crossed near one of the bar's circular lounges, he inclined his head.

"Vexx," he greeted, voice even but cordial. "Seems the galaxy doesn't waste time turning a funeral into a marketplace."

He lingered rather than moving on, letting the tension of the moment breathe. The hum of conversation carried around them—hushed deals, discreet laughter, the faint clink of glass.

"I imagine you've already noticed who's circling the corpse," Siv continued, his tone still light. "Half the room pretending to mourn, the other half pretending not to count credits. Bonadan always did breed pragmatists."

He studied her posture, expression, the way she took in the room. There was value in knowing who Dominique Vexx chose to watch.

"Mandalore won't interfere," he said after a pause. "But when the dust settles, someone will have to manage what Dobwaren left behind. We'll be watching to see who handles it with steadier hands than the rest."

Siv's helmet tilted slightly, reflective visor catching the dim light from the bar. "You strike me as someone who appreciates a clean transition of power," he added, not quite a compliment—more an observation, or perhaps an opening.

He didn't wait for an answer. Instead, Siv turned slightly toward the panoramic windows beyond the lounge, watching the acid rain bead and hiss against the shield. His reflection stared back, faceless and silent amid a sea of ambition.

"Funerals," he murmured to himself. "The galaxy buries one man and unearths a dozen ambitions."

Tag: Marlon Sularen Amalia Visconti | Mira Rhory Dominique Vexx Anet Raine + OPEN

 

[Jorryn Fordyce]

// Lady Jorryn Fordyce //
// Objective // Patience //
// Focus // // Srina Talon //

---

---

Necal Dobworon...

A name that the Echani had never heard before seeing it plastered all over the holonet, and one she cared little to remember after this event. Even now, his photograph seemed to mock the Sith with his self-importance. The very image of corporate scum that would be forgotten once dead like the carrion he now was.

Jorryn couldn't judge those that had come to sway the members of the board towards their claim of his fortune. It was a vast sum, even as a Lady of the Sith Jorryn had to admit she craved his riches.

But today was a more important event for the silver-haired woman as her eyes scanned the room for her actual bounty. This event sought to bring out all the players of the Galaxy, not the least being the Sith and Black Sun.

It was her relations with the latter that had secured an invitation to this event, celebration of a great life coming to an end and a joyous celebration for how they would carve the corpse. Jorryn was so hungry for a slice, yet greater ambitions lay within those that had come to the event.

A black veil covered the Echani's face as she gazed across those gathered, obscuring the absolute apathy she felt regarding the event. Her eyes looked across the room for some more appealing company than the bureaucrats she was with now, the conversation only spinning in circles as greed led the men and women in a line of self-interest.

A quiet excuse would give Jorryn the freedom she sought, instead moving away to seek some refreshment. Whoever was in charge of the late statesmen's estate certainly didn't feel the need to make Necal's death any less lavish than his life had been, grand golden statues and decorations lining every hall of the mansion they had all been gathered in.

A lithe hand took a small glass of champagne from the staff serving the event, treated more as a celebration than any funeral the former Lord Inquisitor had been before.

Stepping off to the side of the room, Jorryn would wait for someone or something that could pull her from the boredom of such an event. The glowing of her eyes peering through the black veil signified her more trouble than many of the statespeople cared to approach.

And so she would take her lonesome company to the patio garden, waiting for the processions to move forward past the simple wagging of tongues and exchanging of false promises. Instead finding flowers and plants to keep her company during these hours, awaiting someone that could turn her boredom away.

 

[Glissara]

Location: Voss-Ka - Voss
Objective:

• Pursue and eliminate a group of fleeing Voss mystics.

Tag: Tibera Jessen Joseph Torson

The cobblestone streets of Voss-Ka made for a lovely racetrack. Glissara flowed through them like a predatory feline absorbed in a chase, elongated legs carrying her with such violent speed that she was a blur to those who might have caught a glimpse of her in motion.

Like all Shatter Vectors, Glissara had been created to run.

To the perception of an unfortunate Voss commando tasked with guarding one of the checkpoints at the edge of the city, she simply appeared mid-sprint, erupting from behind the corner with inhuman acceleration. The Jango Jumper's raptor-like feet barely kissed the ground before she kicked off of it at a perfect 47° angle, inner ear stabilizers allowing her to maintain awareness of her position in space. Mid-air, her body twisted sideways as she brought up her disruptor pistol, threading a firing solution between two stacked containers.

A sharp, suppressed pop sounded out. Faster than the blink of an eye, the commando ceased to exist as invisible waves of nonharmonic energy atomized his torso and head. Only his legs were left intact, which crumpled listlessly to the ground like a discarded marionette.

Glissara landed in a graceful crouch, bleeding momentum though never breaking stride. Her pistol fired again, delaminating two commandos in just as many shots and reducing their forms to clouds of shimmering dust. A fourth commando stepped out from the guard station, blaster rifle raised. Glissara ran past him, before vaulting over a landspeeder, planting one foot on its hood while mid-air, and redirecting her momentum upward in a soaring leap.

She descended upon the commando just as he turned around. Her vibroblade plunged downward with surgical precision, piercing the crown of his helmet. The mono-molecular tip met bone with a wet crunch, shearing through the skull and burying itself deep within the brain. A spray of crimson and gray matter misted the air as she withdrew the blade with a vicious twist. In the same motion, Glissara kicked off his shuddering corpse, throwing her body into an acrobatic backflip that landed her back in a sprint.

Her gaze snapped forward. It was there, just outside the city’s limits, that the convoy containing a small group of Voss mystics’ had fled towards in an attempt to escape from the violence.

After the Voss had so long evaded punishment, Glissara had been unleashed as an agent of the Dark One's vengeance—a swift and final sentence to be delivered upon their treacherous souls!

Spoiler: Loadout

• Slipstream Zero Exoskin Mk. I
  
  • Arms
    
    • Modular Attachment Point - L
      
      • FAE/M-02 Energized Forearm Vibroblade Mk. II
  • Energy Shield
    
    • Phase III “Force Avenger” Energy Shield
  • Face Mask
• Glissara’s Enforcer
  
  • Attachments
    
    • 1-5x FAE/S-08 Electro-Sight
    • Phase I “Susurration” Anti-Sonic Silencer
  • Ammunition
    
    • FAE/AM-01-S2 Energy Weapon Cartridge - Ethaerium X Gas and CryoBan Coolant (20)
• Void Helix-type Aerial Vibrostar (16)
• FAE/MDE-01-S1 Semiautonomous Seeker Thermal Explosive (2)
• Miniaturized Infrared Smoke Grenade (2)

 

[Amalia Visconti | Mira Rhory]

​

It was rather strange for Amalia to be brought alongside the Supreme Commander, let alone be placed in the same vehicle as him, but since their goals were the same and they did come with the same endresult in mind, the woman who would now be present as both the Governor of Corvus and CEO to the immense N&Z Corporation calmly exited the repulsorvehicle after Marlon Sularen , still somewhat surprised he wasn't wearing his usual crimson colored imperial outfit with all the additional regalia, but had in its stead chosen for a more neutral black ensemble.

"Supreme Commander, perhaps I could have some of our designers from Ambrosia whip up a nice new wardrobe for you if you wish for it," A rather funny remark, considering she wore what by some accounts could be described as something of a sober looking outfit herself, a simply black turtleneck combined with a slender profiled auburn jacket, and ofcourse her signature black gloves. "Still, I do understand your choice for today...very sober, very unsuspecting...sir."

Clearly those strange, somewhat shadowy members of the Black Sun would probably show themselves as well, pity though they'd be seen as adversaries, considering her master's fondness of their networking and smuggling strengths. While her predecessor and current chairman of the N&Z wasn't a fan of criminal activities of any kind, even he had to admit that there was this gray area in which many of the Black Sun seemed to thrive and in which Section C was slowly pushing itself into.

"Could I get an update on what we seek to achieve exactly, Lord Commander?" Amalia suddenly asked, pulling at the edges of her gloves, while straightening her jacket just to avoid her holsters from being seen. "I'd rather not be making any assumptions in a situation like this."

Marlon Sularen | Dominique Vexx | @open

 

[Velzari Tharn]

B L A C K - S U N - S Y N D I C A T E
D E A D - M A N ‘ S - H A N D​

​

Considering Castor Crane and much of the Corporate Sector Authority had fled to Denon after their nexus, Etti IV, was Planeshifted into the Slice, Prince Velzari was honestly surprised many of the Corpos remained. The ones who fled took even the regional name with them, establishing a new Corporate Sector on Denon and the surrounding systems. He would know—Wielu, once the target of a Black Sun blockade, was one such world in the reconstituted CSA.

But the galaxy was nothing if not a strange cauldron bubbling with pretenders and chaff. If the Republic and Sith were the proverbial meat and potatoes, Black Sun was the exotic blend of aromatics that gave the whole pot flavor. Perhaps this Corporate remnant would taste that this evening.

Velzari arrived over Bonadan in style. His star yacht, the Soaring Fortune, hung in orbit with a complement of Elite Black Sun flying Z-95 starfighters. Like many others, the Underlord traveled planetside in a personal shuttle which touched down at the Dobwaren Estate posthaste. He emerged from the Nune-class shuttle with the pride of an alpha lion peering over his domain. In his mind, Bonadan was already a piece of Black Sun’s ever-growing territory—a shadow state that neither map nor government would admit exists.

The swirling air surrounding the shuttle gave rise to Velzari’s robes, an elegant garment sewn with Hapan dreamsilk and adorned with aurodium beads. His attire was a tangible reminder of Black Sun’s swift and uncontested usurpation of the Hapes Cluster from the Alliance, a showcase of political subterfuge that would make conquering the Corpos seem like child’s play to those who were aware of the syndicate’s hand in Hapes’ secession.

Velzari strode with the swagger of a man on top of the galaxy toward the estate, where mourners and opportunists alike were already gathering. The Underlord would pay his respects to a man he’d never heard of before, then focus on stealing the deceased’s fortune with a silver tongue and a few handshakes. He knew how to speak the language of corporate greed. After all, what is a Corporate Authority if not a sanctioned criminal enterprise?

Tags: Vigos | OPEN
Nearby, probably: Amalia Visconti | Mira Rhory | Anet Raine | Dominique Vexx | Jorryn Fordyce | Marlon Sularen | Srina Talon
​

 

[Fenn Stag]

WHAT WAS ONCE A MAN, NOW A MOUNTAIN

War.

The books and poems of the galaxy had an infantile view of the word. Those who had not ever experienced or conducted violence had a view of it, a fantastical idea of what war was like. What combat was like. What the requirements to conduct it were. What they thought of it. How they wrote about it in their books, in their stories, their movies and their plays.

They were fools. Weak, cowardly fools hiding away in their offices, villas, houses. They were not willing to see the reality of their fantasies. They were not capable of understanding. They were simply unable to comprehend without seeing. They could only play at the ideas of war, of violence. Of what it took to kill, to wage war, to fight.
​

But for men like Fenn Stag, war was not just a fact of the galaxy. It was his design, his purpose. He was not a scholar, he was not a philosopher, a planner, a leader. He was a killer. Warriors, soldiers, all by any other name, they all boiled down to a single fact: They were killers. Fenn Stag was a killer. Quite literally made for war. Every facet of his life reflected it. His disciplines, his gear, his reading at night. He was practiced and disciplined, without theatrics like the Sith or reservations like the Jedi. He was an emissary of death itself.

And the trap that was laid on Voss at the fortress fell short of its success, partially due to his tenacity, his violence. The Black Sun remained strong. He took his helmet off, blood splattered across his visor. His warpaint-covered eyes, looked harshly up at the sky, blinking even as the war around him raged on. He wiped the blood off, picking up the rifle he used to kill those that were sent against him. The Black Sun needed those mystics for reasons he did not care to understand or need to. They were simply facts to him. He did a quick check of his gear, and put a fresh charge pack into his rifle from his webbing.

So, he made his way back towards the inner sanctum, towards the mystics. And Sith, Voss- whoever stood in his way, was simply that.

 

[Varin Mortifer]

VOSS​

"Really? The Sith have stooped to that level? I get needing the Mystics, but getting your kicks from hurting someone who can't put up a fight."

Varin’s brow tilted. A smirk came to his lips.

“A palace is built one brick at a time. Small purposes to fulfill a bigger purpose. Anyone who would have the information that I need is simply fair game. That is the Law of Nature itself. The fact that he is trying to defend himself-”

His words were cut short as the Voss quickly ran at him thinking he was distracted to try to get a solid hit. Varin dropped his mace embedding it to the floor then reached out his free hand grasping the Voss’ throat and began to squeeze. The broom clattered to the floor as the Voss gripped his wrist trying to pry himself free, but Varin didn’t budge.

“-Tells me he can fight. I would grant him the greatest gift and mercy for his bravery. A warrior's death and a remembrance in my mind.”

The newcomer asked him what of the big picture, what of the old Sith, the Real Sith. Varin was quiet for a moment, the sound of the Voss struggling to breathe, wheezing through a tightened windpipe. Varin was not choking him to death, not yet at least, just merely holding him by the passive strength of his grip.

“You know little of the Old Sith, the Real Sith you would call them.”

His eyes burrowed into her.

“Evolution is what happened. The old ways didn’t work. Planet obliterating space lasers were not enough. In order to survive you must change and adapt. The second Law of Nature.”

A fight? Well Varin’s interest was piqued. He could tell she was a fighter. Though his first and second objective was to gain information of the mystics and then either grab one or kill them. His third objective was to kill any who stood in his way.

A chuckle left Varin’s lips.

“Seems the Jedi are not quite that high and mighty anymore as well.”

His eyes fell to the Voss, the glare burning into his soul as fear spread over his eyes, the crimson hue of the saber bathed the hallway.

“Your precious Knight in flowing robes would rather see you die, than to lift a finger to help you.”

With a quick shove the Voss was sent back into the broom closet. Varin flicked his hand forcing its door shut, locking the Voss in.

“I will be returning to you later, informant. I can promise you that.”

Varin finally turned his body to face the Jedi, with ease he ripped his mace back out of the floor.

“I suppose some fun is in order.”

His stance seemed casual, open. But it would all be a ruse. Varin was born, bred and trained to be a warrior. He was ready.

Reina Daival​

 

[Reina Daival]

Tag: Varin Mortifer
Location: Voss

Reina let out a soft chuckle, flicking her index finger out towards the Voss for a moment, keeping her eyebrow raised.

"You think that counts as being a warrior? A fighter? The Sith have fallen far since the days of Woostri if this is how they've "evolved". Any fool who can pick up a weapon is a fighter now? Shameful."

The fear she had felt on Woostri, being faced against the Dark Side was far different to this. This moment felt more like dealing with a typical thug as opposed to some Sith. Even Serina was never on this level. Valaine hadn't been on this level. They were far higher. Shaking her head for a moment at the comment about Jedi, a small grin spreading across her face, even as she let out another chuckle.

"Old Sith? I wonder how the Sith Order would feel to be called old. You talk about some grand scheme, the law of Nature, even though you're wrong. Nature has no rules. It does not care what justification you give yourself."

A small dismissive wave of her hand, as she spoke. Yet another chuckle escaping her lips when she was referred to as a Knight. It was amusing almost, something she had always wanted to be called yet she knew how wrong it was.

"I am no Knight. Never have been. Though I do believe him dying would be a far better fate for him than living under Imperial control."

The entire conversation, Reina was taking in as much information as she could. A mace implied strength. It was good she wasn't relying on her guardian armour anymore. Anger was a given. The implication of a rule of nature implied that the Sith wouldn't fight honourably. Perfectly fine by her standards. She kept her hand resting atop the handle of Whisperwind, a smile still gracing her face.

"Oh. I'm not a Jedi. A Jedi would think you deserve a second chance. That you deserve redemption. Myself? You can find redemption in your next life. Now hurry up, I don't want to die of old age."

She had learned not to make the first move. Not anymore. Wait and see what happens. React. The difference in height was not one that intimidated Reina. She had dealt with larger. The Spirit of the Sea would aid her, as always. Letting the Force flow through her system like a gentle stream, invigorating herself. Tapping into the Force's enhancing power, to let it passively flow whilst she kept her focus on the foe in front of her.
​