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

[Dominique Vexx]

Dominique smiled as she fanned her fingers off to the side as Marlon recognized there was a risk. Came with the territory.

It was easy to say, difficult to do, but Dominique didn't feel like surrendering Bonadan to a fate of obscurity because of its recent loss. Far flung as it might be, the Corporate Sector Authority's reach was in fact long indeed. Securing the trade routes only made economic sense. A fact she trusted the Black Sun recognized as well. Why curtail distribution of goods? It could slow it, but the galaxy was vast and the hypergates left plenty of alternative -- if slower -- means of delivery. Even so, convincing people it was in their best interest to let the corporations do what they did best could be challenging. When tempers flared cooler heads did not always prevail in the short term.

"Whatever the Confederation needs, Supreme Commander, I'm certain we can provide." A little stability went a long way. War could benefit certain industries, but peace benefited a wider variety. Besides, someone was always trying to destroy someone else so the weapons and armor manufacturers weren't hurting for customers.

"But what is it you might find of interest? If I might ask. Aside from the needs of the many, which will be met rest assured, is there something Denon might do for you?" Business could become so impersonal if you let it. Dominique hoped they might find something more personal to discuss. Something close to his heart. Not to exploit it, but to fulfill it. They might not be able to sate every desire, but there were countless products and services available. Why, it could be as simple as a walk away from all the talking heads that surrounded them.

Marlon Sularen | Open​

 

[Ronhar Tane]

LINE COMMANDER TERREN SELLFERR
OBJECTIVE III: MONEY LINE
MIN OBSERVER

"Form up on my position!", Sellferr ordered the four CR125A Corvettes under his command as they and his flagship, the MIN Observer, were ripped out of hyperspace by some sort of gravity well. Ever since Fleet Admiral Vorin Zonill had been injured in the line of duty, Sellferr had been picking up some of the slack, to the point where he had been temporarily promoted to the position of Line Commander. Whether or not he would maintain his position once the Admiral recovered remained to be seen, but Sellferr would do everything in his power to ensure that he kept his newfound rank.

Not that he had anything against serving under Zonill, of course. In fact, he had become one of Zonill's closest friends and confidants, and he had been the one to convince the Admiral to retreat in the face of his injuries rather than risk his life by continuing to stay in the fight. Still, Sellferr had his own ambitions, and those didn't include staying at Captain for the rest of his life. He he could get an opportunity to climb the chain of command, he would certainly take it.

Which is why he had been selected to partake in this mission. It was supposed to be simple enough, a standard anti-piracy operation, which is why Sellferr had asked the CR125A Corvettes to accompany his ship. Their rapid fire mass driver cannons would be perfect against any pirate vessels operating in the area, while Sellferr's D-1300 Star Destroyer would be able to outgun anything that might drop in unexpectedli. In all honesty, Sellferr had selected that ship as his command ship because it was one of the newest models developed by the Imperial Remnant and the N&Z Umbrella Corporation, and he wanted to see firsthand just what exactly it was capable of.

A bit overkill, perhaps, for such a mission, but one could never be to careful.

As Sellferr adjusted to the feeling of being forcibly pulled out of hyperspace, he had his ship begin scanning for any signs of enemy combatants or other lifeforms. A cursory scan of the area revealed the presence of gravity well mines. Someone knew they were coming in advance, and had laid out a trap for them.

"All hands to battlestations! Full alert!", Sellferr declared as alarms began ringing throughout the bridge of the Observer. He had already been surprised far to many times in his service career, and he wasn't about to let yet another set of unknown variables ruin his chances of obtaining a more permanent promotion.

No...whatever it was that was out there, Sellferr was going to crush it!

TAGS:
Squesha
Calin Rakel
Kaine Hamilton
Nero Drake
Aurellia
Hasuras Na-Gerra
​

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Spoiler: Summary

1. Sellferr's forces are forcibly pulled from hyperspace.​
2. Sellferr orders all hands to battle stations.​

Spoiler: Fleet Composition

• 1 D-1300 Star Destroyer​
  • 4 squadrons of STX-TIEs​
  • 1 squadron of Hyper-Jammers​
• 4 CR125A Corvettes​
  • 4 squadrons of AX-Wings​

​

 

[Tamsin Starfall]

Theme: In The Shadows
Direct Tags: Anet Raine
Indirect Tag: Marlon Sularen | Amalia Visconti | Mira Rhory | Dominique Vexx | Velzari Tharn | Judah Dashiell | Siv Kryze | Renn Vizsla | Scherezade deWinter | Riven

Tamin gracefully navigated the floor as she moved through the crowd, her heading firmly fixed. Even through the sea of giants compared to her, she noted as Anet Raine dismissed her male companion. He seemingly sulked away a bit almost like a dog that had been swatted for misbehaving.

She had seen it many times in her life, that form of dismissal of the lesser. To all these rich arrogant types of people of lesser standing were just livestock. Bought and sold their only value in their obedience to the master's word and ego. The man was not a slave in name, but he would be forever chained to a master's leash none the less.

It was funny to Tamsin, as she saw Anet spot her and wave her over. There was a time she would feel pity and rage at such a thing, but now she felt nothing for the man that attended Anet. He had the means to free himself but not the will, that made him weak. The leash he was so tugged around by was one he put on himself.

Her thoughts turned away from that as she moved towards the woman beckoning her forth towards the bar. As she made her way towards the historian she took another sip of her wine. "I must say Lady Raine…." She looked out at the crowd of people for a moment before turning back to Anet. "You fit in well here." It was a compliment, but it had a slight bit of jade in its tone not towards Anet but towards the whole of upper-class society.

"Though from what my sister has told me, I wouldn't think you would find much intellectual stimulating conversation among these people. So, did you know the deceased?"

 

[Srina Talon]

Tag: Jorryn Fordyce | [OPEN]
Location: Dobwaren Estate, Bonadan

____________________________________________________

It was her first time on Bonadan.

She would have been considered late by most standards, but true to form, the Dread Queen only ever arrived at anything in the moment she meant to. The pale woman found the air too warm, too perfumed, too heavy…But duty, always and forever, called like the most insistent siren. The Dobwaren Estate was glittered with corporate excess upon approach, but she had long since grown used to opulence existing in her orbit. It made her long to return home.

Aureate orbs of molten gold swept across statues of men who mistook profit for purpose while chandeliers refracted light overhead. It was like a thousand hungry eyes, winking in rapid succession. Even death seemed to have been bought, polished, and put on display. It made her begin to rethink her will…Perhaps, cremation was best. She moved through the crowd rather seamlessly with a silvery hood drawn low. Her gown was plain by comparison to most—Just plain, dark silk. Fine enough…

But it was all basic, unadorned, and not the mantle of anyone considered nobility.

It was with a distinct lack of fondness that she imagined the Sepulchral trying to ring her neck for presenting herself in such a way. Did she not like the things they picked for her? Was she just dead set on rebelling against the etiquette that an Empress ought to display? Too often, in the past, they had raged quietly because of her brazen disobedience…But things had changed. Without Darth Empyrean to pin their hopes and dreams of galactic domination on? They had no choice.

This was the kind of anonymity that she preferred. To be unseen was to observe. To be unseen was to be able to learn the truth of things without pretense. Her reflection lingered for a moment in a mirrored column, holding on with a delay, disappearing only after she was gone.

She had not come for Necal Dobwaren.

His name meant nothing to her, but power was often akin to a river. The diminutive woman had learned to watch where it pooled rather than to focus on where it came from. The board would likely squawk and scramble over inheritance. It was to be expected…But Srina? Srina, was there to listen.

A servant passed with a tray and offered her a beverage. She took something at random, something she did not want and wouldn't drink. It was merely a measure required to keep blending in as one of the many people mourning the passing of an old man. The champagne bubbled away merrily, but the smell was all too familiar to what existed on Jutrand. It had the aroma of flowers that were bred without soil…Synthetic. Like everything else.

She drifted through the sea of bodies and eventually passed through the tall doors that led to the garden terrace. The air was cooler there, even though it was still touched with Bonadan's vaguely chemical wind. Srina set the untouched glass on the balustrade and let her gaze fall to the lights below…There were so many voices, loud and soft, boisterous, and somber.

So much noise…But not a single thing was worth listening to. Nothing worth hearing.

Still.

Something drew her from her people, which was rarely a coincidence. It wouldn't be the first time she'd followed the Force, and it wouldn't be the last. The Darkside whispered to her in ways most would never be able to comprehend. This was just one more whisper, one more secret, one more path to follow. She would know what she was looking for the moment she found it…But until then?

She would wait.

 

[Arris Windrun]

OBJECTIVE ONE "IMPLIED ODDS"
Direct tags: Jared Starchaser | Bob Taric

"Arris-sama, can you confirm the meeting point? Thanks you, this is Bob Taric. "

<"Bob?"> It took her a second to recall the reporter's name. <"Oh, right! Just come inside the main entrance. Tell 'em I sent for ya.">

The acolyte dragged the Mystic off to another part of the room, while the cyborg paced anxiously for confirmation that this was all some kind of trap. Of course, the sound of distant fighting did little to convince her that things were juuuust fine.

“Maybe not the best move you could have made.” He called from his spot in the shadows, a ways above, on a ledge.

His voice cut across the commotion of Sith and Mystics, and rang familiar to her ears. Arris looked up with a grin. She already had an idea who it was, even before her brain had fully processed it.

As soon as all the pieces clicked, she exclaimed. "Beach boy! It's you!"

The cyborg's energy was night and day compared to then. On Kattada, shit was serious. She had just betrayed Tilon Quill , killed her first Jedi, and experienced early tastes of Sith life. Hell, it wasn't like she even knew what any of that really meant back then... Violent and ignorant, but since the Conclave? Things had changed, and today on Voss, she was in her element - no matter how much she seemed ready to unspool.

She switched back to her comlink. <"Hey, Bob? Find me if you want, but I've got a Jedi to deal with.">

Then a thought had occurred; the Talusian recalled a detail about that fancy right eye of hers. With a twitch of synthetic cheek muscle, she activated its holocamera and fed the feed directly to Bob. First time she's ever live-streamed a fight.

Arris drew an Ambassador and waited for the half-Mirialan to make a move.

 

[Varin Mortifer]

VOSS​

The mace shattered her vibroblade like heavy stone on glass. Varin followed through with a swipe towards her. Pieces of her blade like razors flew towards him. Some making contact into his arms and his chest, before his saber connected with her blade. Pain ruptured through his body as blood flowed to the floor, hissing as it melted through the tiles. Slowly his wounds began to bind, pushing heated bits of metal out of his flesh to the floor. The mace made a loud crash into the wall behind them creating a massive crater that shook the hallway.

Her words echoed in his ears, but his eyes shadowed over. Almost like he was no longer there. The pain spread throughout his body, and he drank it like wine. Embracing it. Using it. A tool that carved a path into his psyche. His eyes flared like fire as a yell erupted from his throat, flames jetted out of his back almost like wings. The room began to elevate to higher temperatures.

His eyes met hers and what she would only see is an animal. A beast starving for battle. Lusting for blood. Craving the struggle of pain and laceration.

Slowly he placed his hand on his saber blade, sparks erupted as he began to push down on his blade in an attempt to force her on her knees. This was something entirely different than what he had displayed moments prior. Where before he was trying to be more calculating, this was pure instinct and aggression.

A moment after the push he swung his saber to the side to deflect her blade, swinging violently with his fist towards her jaw. The mace in the other wall began to resonate with his fury, as if being called to him it swung back towards Varin with the same velocity that he used to throw it before.

Reina Daival​

 

[Ronhar Tane]

CAPTAIN RONHAR TANE, TK-3301
OBJECTIVE I: IMPLIED ODDS
TOWER OF PROPHECY

This was exactly the reason why Ronhar hated the Sith.

They never gave you a straight answer, no matter how many times you might ask them for one, and they always seemed to hide their true intentions or feelings behind some misguided sense of pride of bravado. That was what this so called Vestra Tane was doing at the moment, strutting her way toward Ronhar without an apparent care in the world. Of course, as she did this, there were two things that caught Ronhar's attention.

Firstly was the fact that her last name was apparently "Tane" as well, though Ronhar chalked this up more to coincidence than anything else. After all, to the best of his knowledge, he didn't have any siblings or relatives that he didn't know about, and he sure as hell wouldn't marry one of these Sith even if given the chance to do so. Plus, with as large as the galaxy was, it was more than likely that Ronhar would eventually encounter someone with the same last name as him, someone with whom Ronhar had no previous relationship with.

Still...what if? What if their meeting was some strange "will of the force", or whatever it was that those Sith and Jedi so desperately clung to? For a moment, Ronhar wasn't exactly what to do about their chance meeting. Then, he noticed that second thing, the fact that the Sith was now resting her hand on the hilt of her lightsaber pommel. Ronhar was sure that the Sith was going to attack him and his men regardless of what he said or did, so he might as well at least take the initiative.

Ronhar slowly removed his left hand from the bottom of his Acid Rifle, though his right hand remained holding the weapon's grip assembly and trigger. He then slowly began to bring his hands up, almost as if he were surrendering or at least indicating that he wanted to talk.

Almost.

Because as soon as his left hand brushed over the device that was hanging on his blast vest, he activated it. It screamed to life, emitting neurosonic and EM pulses that Ronhar hoped would disrupt the Sith's ability to use the force. Ronhar than leveled his Acid Rifle back toward his opponent, firing a stream of acid as he slowly began backing up toward where he and his men had originally entered the hallway.

"Fall back! Prioritize the mystics, I'll fend her off!", Ronhar yelled as he continued to blast the Sith Lord with multiple streams of acid. His men immediately complied, with the back half of the column behind him turning around to run back to the entrance and the other half walking backwards while facing Ronhar and Vestra Tane , ready to open fire should she try to get past Ronhar or kill him.

Naturally, it wasn't as if Ronhar was completely defenseless or anything, even against a force user. His equipment and weapons had been specially tailored to fight someone like Vestra Tane , and Ronhar himself was a well trained, highly skilled, cybernetic commando. If anyone had a decent chance against this Sith Lord, it would be Ronhar.

Of course, the question that remained hung heavily in the air, stagnant above everyone's head: would it be enough to stop the Sith, or was Ronhar doomed from the moment he had walked through that door?

TAGS:
Vestra Tane

 

[Jorryn Fordyce]

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

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The affairs of suit and tie held little appeal for the Echani these days, continuing to waive off money grubbing crops that sought to pull ears their way in defending a claim to Dobwaren's estate. The funeral veil had done little to dissuade those from encroaching on her personal space, and seemed to weaken her ability to stare them down until they fled.

The scent of perfume and cologne penetrated the air violently, easy smiles falling across the faces of all gathered. Far too joyous an event to be considered a funeral, more like roaches scurrying from the feast.

She found her stomach churning at the imagery and decided this event would be best enjoyed from a distance, though didn't escape the chance to grab some refreshments before her retreat.

As she decided the night was to end early, something more appealing pulled at the corner of her senses. It was akin to catching the scent of something delicious, though it pulled at senses unfamiliar to her. A connection with the force that she did not hold in a previous life.

Dark energy coalesced against her skin, raising the hairs along it. Her amber eyes fell backwards, looking for what called her. The bright lights and swarming of bodies made it difficult to catch, but a soft pull of her chin guide her towards a silvered hood absconding through tall doors.

It wasn't clear who it had been, the covering pulled low enough to hide away any distinct features. But the air that coalesced around the woman felt... familiar, though the former Lord Inquisitor couldn't put a finger on it. She was still new to this sensation and differentiating signatures proved troublesome.

For now, all she knew was that the energy around the hooded figure called to her, and that she must answer.

Weaving through the crowd like a suture through flesh, the Echani followed in the steps of her bounty. The path took her to the tall marbled door blocking the way to the gardens before parting them with a lithe hand. The world was calmer out here, though everything remained manufactured. Even the plants that decorated the platform had been trimmed and pruned to display control and wealth.

A shame, considering their beauty was in the growth they showed in the wild. A hand brushed a flower, feeling the way it choked on Bonadan's air and it's attempt to grow towards a blotted sky.

Tragic...

A small pity formed in her chest, but she wouldn't allow it to distract her.

Amber eyes softly turned away to instead fall upon the pale figure sat upon the edge of the gardens, her hood softly billowing in Bonadan's chemical winds. Jorryn drew ever closer, searching memories for where she had sensed this feeling before and, as she turned to lean herself against the railing of the garden, a spark of memory would flicker in her mind.

"Good evening, Mother."

The Echani had the decorum not to remove the anonymity the Empress of the Sith carried today, and the title presented held double meaning. Srina acted as the mother of all Sith, after all, and the similar appearance of their people would allow the conversation to carry on without suspicion.

"What has brought you to this sad corner of the Galaxy? I would have presumed such events beneath your notice."

There was still much Jorryn didn't understand about the Empress, but after the display on Alvaria, she craved to sate her curiosities about the woman more than ever. To sup upon the wealth of knowledge that the other Echani held.

It was clear in the glimmer of the former Lord Inquisitor's amber eyes that she intended to drink deep.

 

[Kito]

//: Mercy //: Lysander von Ascania //:
//: Heist //:
//: Sword in Bio //:

From the shadows, a figure hid within the Force. She was hidden from sight and presence, but she was aware. The hulking brute of a woman spoke, teasing the other as he seemed occupied. Before the young Jedi could do anything, warn or interject, one of the guards found their neck twisted in a way that only meant death.

The woman was strong; Kito could feel the Force bleed off of her, its dark cloud utterly familiar. She could taste its malleable terror; this woman wanted to be feared and worshiped for power. Her jaw tightened; the presence and the desires weren't new by Sith standards, but Kito hated them.

She moved to intervene this time, as the second guard had noticed the woman. Flickering into existence, the Jedi drew the blessed blade, and flames ignited the darkened hallway. She was alone; there were no other Jedi in the area, and no one to fight at her side. It was normal, Kito was used to this, but she was unsure of the strength of the second that joined the mountain woman.

It didn't matter.

A hand clutched at the thin necklace around her neck, her thumb glided along the curve to the tip. Its sharpness ground her, bringing Kito's focus forward. She wasn't really alone, not anymore. Even if physically, she was.

"Let him go," her voice commanded the Sith. Her eyes flickered to the guard as she nodded her head, trying to tell him to take the moment of her appearance as a chance to get away.

"I thought the Sith wanted to prove their power? Why pick on the weak?" Kito mocked the woman, realizing who she was. The face of the Kaggath champion stared back at her. She had seen the brutality of her fight. Kito had once looked up to Kyric — but it seemed after the battle with this woman, the swordsman cowardly ran away.

A disappointment, but Kito didn't hold it against him. She just learned to put her faith somewhere else.

Fire spat from her lips as she exhaled deeply, letting the natural abilities of her long-gone people churn in her belly. She felt it, the warmth spreading from her core mixing with the will of the Force.

The odachi burned brightly as she drew it upward, her hands in a split grip as she waited.

"Fight someone who can actually fight back, coward." Probably not the best thing to say, but Kito wanted to draw the ire of the fire-headed woman. Her eyes only looked towards the man for a moment, wondering where he would fall into this.

Kito was prepared for an uneven fight, one she believed, at her core, she could win.

She had to win, she had to survive.

 

[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 Prophets orders
Additional Objective: Kill the Jedi
Opposition: Drego Ruus | Isobel Serraris

Together, the pair of Sith made promising headway toward their extraction point. Lord Prophet and student soldier, cutting the most direct course with their prize. Opposition was expected when it did come, but the source was somewhat surprising.

"They shall not grant you their secrets, unless destiny demands it." A flawed interpretation of the ambiguity the Voss lived in, yet it was all her mind could conjure up. "What I mean to-... Let them go, please." Did she truly say that?

"Acolyte, ready your weapon." There was little room to argue with His tone yet of course there was no malice towards Naamino in His words

Weal's royal purple light hissed to life before the Prophet finished his sentence.

"Jedi," growled the zabrak with vitriol that left no doubt as to his opinion of one such as their foe.

She sounded young. Naamino's fist tightened upon Weal as he resolved to make her demise quick. She was clearly old enough to have chosen the wrong side, old enough to die.

A boom temporarily drew all of their attention away from the increasingly tense standoff. Naamino's head snapped around with less eerie speed than his counterpart but just as much intense focus. Swearing under his breath, the young man comm'd their backup who were lying in wait an unfortunate distance from current locale. He gave them the swift order to "start engines, hold for now" before his attention shifted back to the Jedi.

Contrary to the rather calm and polite rebuke Darth Strosius offered, the imposing acolyte barked across the clearing— voice augmented with the Force as his form slowly began to vibrate and blur.

"Call me Fate then, if it'll usher you more readily to your grave. These Mystics leave with us."

A bolt of wrathful darkness exploded from his outstretched palm toward her center mass and at the last syllable, while the zabrak's blurred form suddenly seemed to split. One of him was sprinting to close the distance, rushing to engage the Jedi directly, whilst the other version of him remained beside the crumpled Mystics. That version of him struck a defensive stance, wielding fuchsia bladed Woe with eyes on the sky in search of whoever shot their shuttle down.

 

[Seela Leini]

Location: Oort Cloud, Unspecified Star System - Perlemian Trade Route
Thread Objective: 3
Mission Objective:

• Intercept beskar smuggling convoy that is en route to Imperial space.
• Disable the beskar freighters for capture by the Kainate.

Dialogue Legend: <<Ghoul-Speak>> │ “Galactic Basic”
Tag: Van Trask
Call Sign: Fragile Dancer

<<Contact recorded. Positive identification.>> Seela intoned softly as her eyes pored over the sensor readout in her HUD. Her comms were off, of course. However, affirming the development aloud was part of the ritual, which encompassed both marking the freighter’s coordinates and the time of contact.

Her gaze swept across the other sensor contacts on her HUD. Her target was not alone. A constellation of eyeball-shaped fighters had taken station around the larger vessel: quartet of TIE fighters, a heavy assault TIE, and a gunship. The odds weren’t impossible, but given the fact that she was alone (for the time being), the challenge was evident.

And yet, Seela knew it was why she specifically had been tasked with a mission of this nature. She was a proven ace with a record that stretched all the way back to the Third Imperial Civil War. That fact alone lent credence to her being given a mission of a special forces pilot, even compared to the elite, Force-sensitive Sith aces of the Flight Barony.

Pulling back on the yoke, Seela set power to the combat systems—weapons, engines, active sensors, and shields. A low, thrumming vibration surged through her starfighter’s frame as each system awoke from its slumber. She emerged from the shadow of the asteroid she had been hiding behind and locked onto the two contacts on the opposite side of the freighter. A single Fearburst missile roared from the pod, which accelerated on a serpentine trajectory towards the two TIE fighters, aimed for a position in space between the two craft to catch them both within the radius of its metaphysical payload.

A payload, that within such a densely packed ice field might prove just as deadly as any concussion blast if the ensuing panic led to catastrophic collisions.

All the while, Seela vectored towards the freighter, Voidflare engines streaming crimson exhaust in her wake as she fired a pair of Ripple Shock missiles towards the vessel's aft, intent upon leaving it stranded in the void!

Spoiler: Loadout

Craft: Xarûl-class Sith Starfighter Mk. II

• Status
  
  • Shields: 100%
  • Hull: 100%
  • Structure: 100%
• Armament
  
  • Abyssal Lash Cannon Mk. I (2) - Wing Mount
  • Qorrak Heavy Lash Cannon Mk. I (2) - Ventral
  • Shriekfang Swarm Pod Mk. I (2) - Ventral
    
    • Ripple Shock Warhead Missile (6)
    • Fearburst Warhead Missile (6)
• Pilot Equipment
  
  • FAE/A-09 Anti-G Suit
  • KIIR-24 'Stormclaw' Gauss Pistol
    
    • Attachments
      
      • 1-5x FAE/S-08 Electro-Sight
    • Ammunition
      
      • 64 Round Quad-Chamber Magazine (4)
        
        • GC-01 Slugs (64)

 

[Jared Starchaser]

Objective 1: Gunning for Revenge
Arris Windrun Bob Taric

The Force gave him the right amount of power when he needed. It wasn’t about being the brightest Force user, not like his father, it was about being the one that was there, but others didn’t realize it until the time was right. He had the power to navigate between worlds, but more importantly, he had the ability to remain hidden until he was ready for others to see him.

A hunter, a stalker, he preferred to be the one to spring traps. Not like the last time.

The fact that this Sith seemed to have a sense of fun? Well, that endeared the cyborg to Jared. But what they were doing here, to the mystics? Not so much. Still, she did earn a smirk from him.

He watched her for a moment, she was speaking to someone else, but he didn’t get the vibe that it was a call for reinforcements. No the vibes weren’t that off. Her hand on a blaster, Jared took his lightsaber and threw it, end over end, as if he was at a cantina with axes. At the same time, he was rushing towards her, other blade in hand.

 

[CT-312]

//: Allies: The Imperial Confederation //:
//: Enemies: Black Sun & Sith Order | Drystan Creed /:
//: Voss-ka , Voss //:
//: Attire //:
//: EQUIPMENT: Halcyon Armour| M.I. 'Halo' jump boots | Contact Lenses | Ancile Shield | Navi/Barca //:
//: WEAPONS: VW 864 Maser Rifle | LK Sweeper | LO-22S //:
//: 2 x Stimpak | 2 x adrenaline booster | 2 x stim-shot //:
//: DROIDS: 2 x LK War-X | 4 x LK Pred-X //:
//: ADDITIONAL EQUIPMENT: 2x Kushute Grenades | 6 x Shiva Knife | S.A.N.D. Powder //:
//: 2x Ion Grenade | 2x Flash Grenade | 2x Incendiary Grenade | 2 x Smoke Grenade //:
//: 1 x Arrow head of Absence | Taozin amulet | LK Spider Slicer Droid //:
//: Objective I - Implied Odds //:
//: Bounty Hunting - Ephraim Labors Mercenary Contract 004 [Voss] //:​

The dropship bucked hard as it punched through Voss-Ka’s upper atmosphere. Clouds lit up with steaks of red-orange tracer rounds. Descending into chaos, the turbulence made the hull groan. Below, the city of Voss sprawled into ruin. Each jolt rattled the harness across CT-312’s chest. Gloved fingers drummed against the edge of her thigh plate. Her eyes scanned across her helmet’s HUD, going through the assignment, while the pilot shouted something half-lost under the engine roar. They were close.

<:// BOUNTY NOTICE //:>
<:// Bounty Hunter ID: CT-312 //:>
<:// Location: Tower of Prophecy, Voss-ka //:>
<:// Client: The Imperial Confederation //:>
<:// Target: Mystics //:>
<:// Liberate & Recover Hostages //:>

Exhaling slowly through her mask, ‘The Imperial Confederation.’ A first. A new flag. Different colors, but the same work. It had been a while since she’d accepted a bounty. Longer since she’d fought under another alias. CT-312 unbuckled her harness. Mag boots activated, securing her in place as the ship continued to jostle. ‘Extraction. Not extermination.’ A pat down followed. Gear check. A habit. ‘In and out. Quick.’ The gear and equipment she had this time was not her usual set up. The loadout was lean. Enough to be effective and not give herself away. Appearances mattered.

“Touch - and - go!” the pilot shouted over the comms. The dropship lurched forward, then steadied into a hover. A hydraulic whine filled the bay as the rear ramp cracked open. CT-312 dropped down to the ground. THUD. Boots sinking into the dust. The landing zone was in ruins as the courtyard was littered with broken statues and rubble. Two more dropships followed closely behind after. Heavy and massive shapes descended. Two packs of LK War-X and LK Pred-X battle droids hit the ground. THUD. THUD. Rippling dust outward. The battle droid’s armor gleamed dully beneath the soot and shrapnel scars. CT-312’s HUD pinged.

[ BARCA ]
[ Tower of Prophecy - Active Marker]
[ Coordinates: xx, xx ]

The waypoint pulsed in light blue. CT-312 looked towards the direction. Towering silhouette rising through the smoke and fractured buildings. Visor shifted, scanning her surroundings. The city burned and screamed. Battles had already passed through this sector. She turned toward the two War-X droids. One of the large battle droid's plating was weathered and scarred. Slightly discolored. Her old companion. It let out a low mechanical rumble, lowering its head toward her. CT-312’s gloved hand brushed across its worn armor in acknowledgement. “Go.” ordering quietly through the comm. “Fan out. Support the Imperial Confederation’s ground push. If you can’t, stay in the dark and move for the objective.”

Twin metallic roars answered. The group of Pred-Xs’ claws dug into the stone as they pivoted away, while the two War-X lumbered off into the smoke. In moments they were gone. CT-312 began to move. Hugging the shadows. Every step was calculated to avoid the larger conflicts that were lighting up her HUD. The amulet on her masked her presence against the Force. As she advanced, twice the Scout had to duck into cover as Black Sun patrols swept past. Their voices were harsh and panicked. A straggler lingered too long. CT-312 took a silent shot with her rifle dropping him. Then, another firefight in an alley. Short and decisive.

As CT-312 neared the Tower, its massive doors were visible through the haze. Along the way, she nudged over a body with her boot. Visor looking over at the insignia. Black Sun Mercenary. A few meters ahead another corpse. Sith Order markings. A chime drew her attention to the HUD. Eyes reading through the scrolled text.

[ BARCA ]
[ Imperial Confederation Ground Forces – Beacon Detected ]

“Finally.” CT-312 muttered, exhaling through her teeth. Adjusting her rifle, she turned toward the signal. If the Imperial Confederation forces had any intel on the Tower’s defenses or what was left of the Mystics, she would prefer to know.

 

[Van Trask]

Oort Cloud, Mid Rim Territories
​

Trask watched a display linked to one of the helmet camera of the boarding teams commander. It all seemed fairly mundane: an uncooperative crew, a search that obviously turned up beskar and now a manhunt for an unaccounted engineering team. As he prepared to settle into a long and uneventful flight a single blip appeared on his radar. Before he had even realized what was going on two more blips streaked out from the first. Eyes widened and adrenaline started pumping.

<"I'm being locked!"> his wingman shouted over the radio.

Trask's own RWR started flashing wildly and filling the cockpit with beeps and warnings from the flight computer. He pushed the control stick down and throttle to the max, afterburners roaring in the void. His thumb instinctively went for a small black button above the trigger and he held it down, his TIE Brute now spewing countermeasures as it raced away from the missile.

He watched as the first missile raced passed him harmlessly before exploding in the distance. His wingman was not so lucky and his track on Van's radar turned into a messy blob as the missile detonated. Then something he didn't expect happened. A sense of dread he couldn't explain washed over his body. He wasn't sure why, this was hardly his first battle.

Suddenly his vision began to blur, the squadron net was awash with the voices that seemed to melt together into something undiscernible. Then the faces, faces of old friends long dead, people he had betrayed appeared in his cockpit. He was sweating profusely under his helmet and he breathed so fast he could see warnings flashing on his HUD.

A sudden shockwave rattled the TIE and a bright flash of light poured out from the freighters engines as it combusted. It was enough to break lose whatever foul magic had taken a hold of Van Trask.

He pulled up on his stick and the Brute roared around the side of the freighter, revealing a gaping hole where the engines should be. Trask looked out his cockpit, the rest of his flight were flying erratically, whatever was in that missile still gripped them. He looked back to his radar to see the single hostile radar track that circled them. He gritted his teeth as rage began to swell inside him.

"Just one ship?!"

As he sat there staring a voice called out over the comms form the Commander. <"This is the Colonel Cronus, what the hell is going on in there Hitman?!">

Trask ignored the call as his attention narrowed on his foe. His TIE turned tight until he was now facing the Sith fighter, the ships targeting system letting out a series of beeps as it tried to get a lock. A low warble filled his helmet when it did and the external flechette cannon swivelled as the radar fed it targeting information. He held down the trigger and the cannon spewed out a volley of high explosives shell straight for Seela.

Seela Leini ​

 

[Bob Taric]

All those conflicts were breaking out faster and fiercer each time. I'd have to move quickly if I didn't want to get caught in the middle of the battle. Still, I was somewhat reassured the woman on my comlink seemed to be my contact. She mentioned she had a Jedi on her hands? Well, that's her business, not mine. At least, not yet. I have to prepare my interview with her.

Arriving at the base of the tower, I announced myself as agreed, waiting for someone to come and escort me. Having official clearance makes it a lot easier to enter a high-risk, conflict-heavy zone. Naturally, I was searched but all I carried were my lights, my microphone, my camera. Nothing compromising. I also had the key to my ship and my speeder, nothing too wild.

Once cleared, I made my way inside the tower.

"I'm here for Lady Arris. Take me to her."

With that, I began to ascend the tower calmly to meet her. My suit was impeccable, my appearance neat always professional. I was ready for anything. The conflict involving the Jedi didn't concern me much, though perhaps I should interview him too, get his perspective. It would make for great footage for my show, and the audience ratings would skyrocket for sure. People love intergalactic conflicts so I figured I was exactly where I needed to be.

When I finally approached Arris Windrun , I stood before her, switched on my camera, and settled it on my shoulder, keeping it steady with my other hand.

"Good day. I'm Bob Taric, reporter for Galactic News Network. Do you have a moment to spare? I have a few questions for you. We can set up the lights and microphones whenever you're ready."

 

[Reina Daival]

Tag: Varin Mortifer
Location: Voss

There we go. Varin was proving to Reina that he was not anything like the Sith she respected. Losing control in this way, giving into their anger instead of using it to their advantage. It was disappointing if she was being honest to herself. Anger made you predictable. Made you nothing better than a base animal. Though with the temperature getting hot, and Whisperwind starting to lose its edge, she needed to start kicking things into gear. There was plenty of doubt that she'd be able to defeat him in a straight up fight...but that's why you used your brain against an enemy.

She did not crumble at the increased force against Whisperwind. Reina had fought against much worse opponents than this. Gammoreans, Sithspawn, other Sith. Strength didn't always apply when it came to proper form or technique. As long as she kept the strong edge of her blade against Varin's, she could keep her structure. Had to keep her structure for as long as it took her to come up with a plan. Her victory condition wasn't defeating Varin if she thought about it...

And so, Reina flowed like water itself as Varin threw her blade off to the side, she went with it, throwing herself off to the side as well to slide along the ground. Managing to avoid the return of the mace, whilst returning Whisperwind once more to her sheath. She was getting into a pattern. A pattern that she was sure that Varin even in an animalistic state, she presumed he would know what she was about to do...which is why her actual next plan of attack would come off as a surprise.

Reina used the Force to grasp onto the door that had been locked, that the Voss man had been locked behind...and she ripped it off the hinges, to toss towards Varin. Whilst it was meant to seem like she was using whatever she could to attack him, in reality, it was part of her plan to "win". She needed the Voss to escape. With how aggressive Varin was, and how focused on blood he was, it'd just be a matter of keeping his attention on her. Which...was going to hurt. But as long as the Voss got out, that was fine.​

 

[Lysander von Ascania]

​

Tags: Hasuras Na-Gerra Nero Drake Ranna Sejast
Sketchy Ally: Mercy
Foe: Kito
Weapons: Lightsaber | PGEM SMG

The words clung to him long after the datapad had gone dark. That faint blue glow was burning itself into the back of his eyes, an image that simply refused to die. It shouldn't have lingered, for he’d trained himself to not compartmentalize, to lock things away.. but now it just pulsed like another heartbeat. Naboo, tea.. softness. Wrong place, wrong time.

And of course, the red-haired woman noticed.

He exhaled through his nose to bleed the tension out of his frame. Shoulders rolled back, spine straightened, an aristocrat reasserting himself. The mask slipped back into place. By the time Lysander’s voice came, it was low, dry, and of course, carrying a little curl of irony. “Cowboy? Mercy, you wound me. Truly. If I’m to die from your.. chaos, at least let me die as a gentleman.”

One moment she was beside him, the next the space was empty. His head turned sharply, eyes narrowing as he caught the malicious twist of her arms around the guard’s neck.

The crack echoed..

Once, such a sound would have haunted him. Now, it was only another note in the dirge. Death had become background music, a rhythm that Korriban taught him to walk in step with.

“Your people cut off their escape, and you cut off their breath. Very efficient.”

His gaze lingered on the second guard, the one whose mouth was just beginning to open. The datapad’s glow pulsed again in his mind, absurdly.. mocking him.

“Well, try not to enjoy it too much,” the teen added, focus flicking sidelong to where Mercy stood over the corpse. “Subtlety, thy name is not Mercy.”

If this was partnership, he could only imagine what betrayal looked like.

Just after, orange bathed the hallway, heat searing at the edges of his vision.

A Jedi.

Of course.

Nothing made a room feel more crowded than righteousness..

Lysander caught the glow of her blade, the glint of a necklace at her throat pulsing with energy, the way she looked upon as if weighing the worth of his very soul.

With a lifted chin, he did not shy away.

The weight of a bag upon his shoulders suddenly deepened, though a hand soon found refuge inside his coat, fingers closing tenderly around the familiar curve of his lightsaber's hilt. For a second he dwelt there, cradling its solid presence. Then, slowly, his arm relaxed at his side, thumb tracing the emitter's edge. A sudden hiss split the silence as fierce blood red light burst forth.

"The galaxy does love its symmetry, no? Three players, one stage. Etiquette leaves us little choice but to indulge the duel."

 

[Kryos]

IMPLIED ODDS
Location: Voss-Ka
Objective: Capture Mystics
Opposition: Laphisto

The smell of fear permeated his senses as Kryos closed in. But something else now. Something . . . Unfamiliar. It radiated of fire and sulphur. An unusual signature that the hunter did not recognize. This excited him, stirring his blood, and he quickened his pace through the maze of cobblestone streets.

When he rounded the corner, Kryos immediately identified the source of this unusual signature. A looming figure stood before him, talking to the prey he was pursuing. Leathery wings stood beyond the green armor, horns penetrating from beneath the crown of his head. Some sort of dragon in the flesh. But nothing would stand in the way of the Dark Jedi.

“The clerics are mine,” Kryos spoke as he approached the trio, his voice dark and growling. “Move out of my way, Devil.”

His right hand reached for the hilt on his belt, and he drew it to his side. Snap-hiss! The red blade sprang to life, tip angled toward the ground as he stood firmly in his place. His eyes moved back and forth from the mystics to the monster, carefully gauging the situation at hand.

 

[Anet Raine]

OBJECTIVE TWO "DEAD MAN'S HAND"
Direct tag: Tamsin Starfall
Others: Marlon Sularen Amalia Visconti | Mira Rhory | Dominique Vexx | Velzari Tharn | Scherezade deWinter | Siv Kryze | Judah Dashiell | Renn Vizsla | Riven | Quinn Varanin | Mauve du Vain

"Miss Raine," she corrected with a smile. "I am just an Alliance citizen like any other..."

She glanced at her drink as it arrived, then back at Tamsin. "No titles."

Anet tapped her fingers on the free seat beside her - an invitation to join her - then took a sip of her cocktail. That the woman thought she fit in well here made the scholar smirk.

Pale eyes glanced around the room, appraising the guests as if they were livestock. There were admirals and crime lords, statesmen and corporate femme fatales.... at least that was how she would categorize the masses. Form assumptions, then test the waters. That is how she operated.

"Though from what my sister has told me, I wouldn't think you would find much intellectual stimulating conversation among these people. So, did you know the deceased?"

Her head turned back to Tamsin. "I'm here on business," was her answer.

No, she knew Dobwaran by reputation alone. The man was notoriously tightfisted and operated behind closed doors. Yet, in contrast to his reclusive nature as a corporate workhorse, he had developed a public image as a strongman who could lead risk-averse executives through troubled times. Even as others abandoned the Sector in crisis, he fortified their economy and established Bonadan as its de facto capital.

That all aside, the mention of Tamsin's sister had successfully occupied Anet's thoughts.

"I will say, you two are quite different at a glance."

This one did not seem as dramatic as her senior counterpart. At least, the half-pantoran's impression of Anathaemous was that of an impulsive woman with terrifying power. A very dangerous combination - especially in a Sith Lord, she believed. That was to say, Tamsin did not strike her as so, but little had they interacted until now.

Throughout their conversation, Anet had been constantly glancing towards a cephalopodial alien housed in a spherical envirosuit who appeared alone in his corner of the bar.

 

[Arris Windrun]

Direct tags: Jared Starchaser | Bob Taric

"Good day. I'm Bob Taric, reporter for Galactic News Network. Do you have a moment to spare? I have a few questions for you. We can set up the lights and microphones whenever you're ready."

"Huh?" She turned to the reporter. "Oh, ri--"

The Force alerted her to the Jedi's impending attack.

Arris widened her grin at the thrown lightsaber. It was the same opening move he used in their last fight. She drew, in her other hand, a separate revolver from her small armory of holstered handguns, and fired at the flying weapon. Her shot contained cortosis dust, which could short a lightsaber out for a few seconds.

She was so ready to fire at him with her manstopper next, when she saw the second blade in his other hand.

Shit!

There wasn't enough time to think, so the cyborg tossed herself out of the way and rolled across the floor. One of the acolytes was ready to assist her before a second Jedi jumped down right on top of him and engaged in a duel.

"I guess the Mystics are psychic then, good to know!"

A very incorrect statement: "psychic" and "prophetic" were different things.