Faction Chaos critters (Kiir)

[Milla Caranthyr]

The swamps of Bogden lay in shadows, cloaked in a velvety darkness that muffled sound and softened shapes. Murky waters rippled gently under a silver moon, reflecting fractured glimpses of the star-studded sky. Tall, gnarled cypress trees stretched their twisted branches upward, silhouetted against the pale glow. Behind the silence, the distant croak of frogs and the occasional splash of a lurking creature hinted at life thriving in the suffocating gloom. Lanterns of fireflies flickered intermittently, weaving gold threads through the thick, humid air. The scent of damp earth and decaying vegetation hung heavy, wrapping everything in a quiet, haunting stillness—an untouched realm of mystery and whispering shadows.

Amongst this darkened swamp, a shadow moved through the trees. Shrouded in a worn brown cloak. Hunting. Silent and deliberate it slipped through the tangled canopy of the cypress trees. Bare feet making no sound as they briefly hit the rough bark before launching to another branch.

The small shadow came to an abrupt stop on a large cypress branch. Tail wrapping around the branch to provide and anchor. The worn cloak blending in with the moss and matted browns of the tree trunk. Beneath the hood, bright blues eyes glowed softly in the darkness, burning with a predatory hungry. The hunter had finally arrived at her destination.

In the heart of the muck and shadow, almost invisible unless you knew exactly what to look for, the smugglers' base crouched low along the bank. Old freighter hulls jutted out of the reeds—parts welded to scavenged crates, bits of half-buried sensor arrays blinking softly in coded patterns. Rusted metal walkways twisted through the trees, slick with algae and half-swallowed by moss. A single battered starship sat in what passed for a landing pad—a wide raft of pontoons lashed together and kept afloat by pure determination.

What lay behind those rusted and muck covered walls, buried amongst the contraband, was the prize this hunter sought. No real coins or riches, just something stolen from her home planet. Creatures, some living and some no more, but taken none the less. If there was one thing these smugglers were about to learn, is that no one steals from a Kiir without getting burned.

 

[Eryndel]

The swamp breathed.

Eryndel felt it before she saw anything—the subtle constriction in the Living Force, the way the water and roots recoiled from what had been taken from them. Bogden was loud in its own way, a thousand small lives pressing and yielding in rhythm, but beneath that was a bruise. Old. Festering. Angry.

She moved without disturbing it.

Where the hunter's shadow leapt branch to branch, Eryndel flowed along the higher canopy, her cloak drawn close, fabric dulled and treated to drink in moonlight rather than reflect it. Her steps were slower than Zaytee's—measured, deliberate—each placement chosen with care, as though she were asking the trees for permission rather than taking it.

When she stopped, it was not because she had reached the smugglers' den.

It was because the Force tightened.

Her hand closed around the bark, fingers splayed, emerald eyes narrowing as she followed the threads inward. Fear. Pain. Confusion. The lingering echoes of living things torn from their rhythm and caged. Some voices were faint—too faint.

"Here," she breathed, not aloud, but into the shared space between companions. A guiding certainty rather than a command. This is the wound.

Her gaze tracked the welded hulls, the blinking scavenged sensors, the rusted walkways choked by moss. All of it felt wrong—not merely criminal, but disrespectful. The land itself rejected it.

Eryndel lowered herself onto a neighboring branch, tail anchoring her in stillness. She closed her eyes for a heartbeat and reached—not to strike, not to probe—but to listen. The swamp answered her with a low, aching chorus.

"They are alive," she murmured, more to the Force than to the others. "Some were frightened. Some hurting. Some are already gone." A pause. Then, quieter still, edged with steel beneath the calm: "None forgotten."

Her eyes opened again, sharp now, focused.

"We do not rush," she said, steady and unyielding. "The smugglers have numbers. Traps. Noise. Let them keep those." Her attention shifted toward where Zaytee hunted, all instinct and fire. "We move like the roots—slow, inevitable."

She let a faint current of reassurance flow outward, grounding, cooling, especially toward the younger Kiir. You are not alone. I am here.

Then, turning her awareness outward—toward the perimeter, the approach paths, the places where armor and discipline would matter—she left a space in the Force, an open door rather than a signal.

Someone else would feel it.

Someone trained to move through hostile ground.

"Whatever they took," Eryndel whispered, resolve settling like stone, "we will return it to the world. And whatever they broke… we will not let it stay broken."

The swamp seemed to be still around her.

Waiting.

Zaytee Milla Caranthyr

 

[Zaytee]

While Eryndel still tried to keep a calm facade, all under control and suffocated by stillness, Zaytee's anger only grew by the sight before them, turning into a bloody red fury that burned out every other thought in her mind. A low, resonating growl left her throat while her tail swang back and forth ferociously and her nails dug into the treebark under her fingers, ripping out chunks of it.

"Speak for yourself." The young Kiir lowered her front by balancing with her tail backwards, hanging low on the branch, ready to jump down in any second. "I want to kill them, the quicker the better."

Her eyes followed along the outlines of the dark shadows, the scent of metal already making her face twist with disgust, tail thumping against the branch with irritation from the noises under them.

The hopeless chirping of smaller birds, lizards, and tiny rodents in uncomfortably cramped cages, with dozens of them kept in one of these boxes, endlessly shoving and trampling over each other for the tiniest bit of place to lay down, the smell of rotting meat, smoke, and animal parts that were rolled in herbs to keep them fresh, and the lightless, dull colored trophies, all of them previously loved and respected by the Kiir... it all just fed her madness until she started feeling the bitter taste of her own venom in her saliva, ready to bite through at least a dozen necks before anybody could stop her.

"How could they even trap and kill this much without anybody noticing them? How could nobody smell all this blood?" She whispered, trying to keep herself from screaming while her tail lashed around like a whip. "All of this... all the animals, the birds, the critters, these are all OURS!"

The branch under her creaked painfully as she leaned even further down, hissing toward the smugglers like a feral beast, her usually kind and playful long lost under the blinding rage.

Milla Caranthyr Eryndel

 

[Dankaia Virkenn]

[]

Stripped Dreams - Marilyn Manson / Depeche Mode / Tove Lo (Kill_mR_DJ Mashup Remix)​

Tag: Milla Caranthyr / Eryndel / Zaytee

Dankaia moved through the dense, mist-choked swamps of Bogden with the silence of a shadow, her eyes tracking the tiny movements of a small, furry creature darting between twisted roots and hanging moss. Each step she took was careful, deliberate, calculated, until the animal's path narrowed into a clearing where she could strike without hesitation.

In one swift, fluid motion, she captured the creature, its wide eyes reflecting a flicker of terror before her teeth drained its life force, feeding the vampiric hunger that pulsed like fire through her veins. The Anima left the creature's body in a silvery, curling wisp, absorbed into her being as she felt the raw vitality surge through her, sharpening her senses and stoking the power she wielded with such precise purpose.

As the creature's body slumped, lifeless, Dankaia knelt briefly, bowing her head in the shadows of the forest canopy. A soft, whispered prayer passed her lips, honoring the life she had taken even as she drew sustenance from it. "May your spirit find peace, small one, and may your essence guide me to the truths I seek," she murmured, her voice blending with the whisper of wind and leaves.

Rising, she let the swamp reclaim the still form, the hunger abated but the hunt far from over, her path leading ever onward toward the smuggler's operations that pulsed like a dark heart somewhere beyond the veil of Bogden's mists.

Dankaia continued to move through the choking swamps of Bogden with methodical precision, each step calculated, each breath measured against the mist-laden air that threatened to betray her presence. Her thoughts were as sharp and cold, not wandering to the morality of her pursuit, nor to notions of justice or retribution against the smuggler's depravity.

No, her purpose was far more personal, an obsession forged in the fires of loss: she sought not to right the galaxy's wrongs, but to reclaim what had been stolen, what had never belonged to the petty criminals and mercenaries flitting through the underworld. Every rustle of reed and splash of water was cataloged, a piece of the intricate puzzle she was unraveling, each clue bringing her closer to the hidden cache where her former Jedi Master's legacy had been misappropriated.

As she stalked the shadowed edges of the swamp, Dankaia's mind was a torrent of recollection and strategy, each memory of her Master sharpening her purpose. She recalled the teachings and the trust placed in her hands, the silent bond of the Force that lingered even after death, and how those echoes now demanded restitution.

Her determination was not born of righteousness, but of loyalty, a grim and unyielding devotion to a memory too precious to leave in unworthy hands. Every careful movement through the murky waters, every observation of the smuggler's subtle signs, was fueled by that singular intent: to retrieve what had been taken, to honor what remained of her Master's life through the reclamation of that which was always meant to be hers to protect.

Spoiler: Loadout

• Cybernetics / Bionics
  • Left Hand
  • Cybernetic Brain Chip
  • Cybernetic Heart
  • Cybernetic Spine
  • Cybernetic Rib Cage
  • Cybernetic Limb
• Weapon(s)
  • Lightsaber

 

[Milla Caranthyr]

A subtle shift in the force caught Milla's attention. A familiar tug that pulled her back to the forests of home. Her sense stretched out for a moment, cautiously probing the surrounding area. Was there something here from her home planet that was not trapped in the smuggler base?

The sound of boots crossing metal made her attention snap back to the base. Predatory blue eyes landed on a Weequay casually moving across the outer catwalk that pressed up against the tree line. All Milla's senses focused in on the smuggler. A low snarl escaped her lips at the sight. He moved like there wasn't a care in the world. Like he wasn't one of the many who held living beings captive. Like he wasn't being watched by a fierce hunter a stones throw away.

Her hand rested on the lightsaber hilt at her waist. Worn bone and smooth dark metal felt familiar under her fingertips. The blackwing crystal that rested inside hummed with a song of lethal intent. Gripping the hilt and ready to strike.

The Weequay grew closer with each step, unaware of what lay in ambush. Each step was counted as Milla prepared to launch from her hiding spot. Almost.....there! With the smuggler bow level with her, she shot forward. Not a sound was made as she left the branch and cleared the distance. Her lightsaber activating only moments before striking, it's ashen blade roaring to life as if it was born from smoke itself. The blade cut clean across the Weequay's neck before deactivating. As Milla landed, she reached out with the force and caught the smugglers body before it hit the ground, as not to alert anyone else.

With a quick glance around, she jumped upward and onto the roof. The best way to get in and offers the best view for scouting.

Zaytee Eryndel

 

[Eryndel]

Eryndel felt it immediately, the sharp flare in the Force as Zaytee's anger surged, hot and feral, like a spark cast into dry moss. The swamp itself seemed to recoil, its slow, patient rhythm disrupted by the sudden violence of the younger Kiir's emotions.

She turned toward Zaytee, not abruptly, not in alarm, but with the deliberate stillness of something ancient settling into place. Her emerald eyes caught the rigid line of Zaytee's body, the way her claws tore into bark, the way rage had narrowed her world to blood and retribution alone.

For a moment, Eryndel said nothing.

Instead, she anchored.

She let her presence sink deep into the Living Force around them, cool and steady as roots gripping wet earth. The current she extended toward Zaytee was not meant to smother her fury or deny it, but to brace it like hands closing around a spear shaft that had begun to shake with too much force behind it.

"Zaytee," Eryndel said at last, her voice low and firm, cutting through the growl without rising to meet it. "I know."

Her gaze followed the same sights Zaytee could not tear herself away from the cramped cages, the lifeless trophies, the echoes of terror and suffering that screamed through the Force like open wounds. For the briefest moment, the calm in Eryndel's expression tightened, and something cold and immovable stirred beneath it.

"What they have done here is unforgivable," she continued, her voice carrying a deeper weight now. "Every life trapped in those cages matters. Every sound you hear is real. Your anger is not wrong."

She shifted closer along the branch, careful not to block Zaytee's line of sight or challenge her stance — placing herself instead within her awareness, a steady presence beside the storm rather than against it.

"But if you leap now," Eryndel went on, "you give them exactly what they expect. Noise. Chaos. Fear." Her eyes hardened. "And they will kill what they cannot carry."

The truth of it settled heavily between them.

"They do not fear claws," she said more quietly. "They fear silence. Precision. The moment when their grip slips and the cages are opened before they even realize they are being undone."

Her tone softened then, meant only for Zaytee. "You are a protector, not a butcher. Do not let their cruelty decide who you become."

The branch creaked beneath Zaytee's weight, and this time Eryndel reached out, placing her hand against the torn bark near the younger Kiir's claws — grounding her not only through the Force, but physically, tangibly.

Then the air changed.

Eryndel's awareness snapped outward as a clean, controlled death rippled through the swamp, a sharp absence rather than an explosion of violence. Jedi work. Disciplined. Silent. The Force carried the echo like smoke dispersing in still air.

"…We are not alone," Eryndel murmured.

Her gaze lifted toward the roofline just in time to sense Milla Ordo's presence taking position above the smugglers' den, a hunter now watching from a place of advantage.

Good.

Eryndel exhaled slowly, recalibrating the moment, drawing the tension into something focused and lethal.

"We move now," she said, calm restored but edged with iron. "Quietly. Together. We free the living first. The dead…we honor later."

Her eyes returned to Zaytee, steady and unyielding, voice low with promise rather than restraint. "Stay with me. When the time comes to strike, I will not stop you."

And beneath her words, carried in the deep currents of the Force itself, was a certainty that left no room for doubt:

None of this will be left unanswered.
Milla Caranthyr Dankaia Virkenn Zaytee

 

[Dankaia Virkenn]

[]

Stripped Dreams - Marilyn Manson / Depeche Mode / Tove Lo (Kill_mR_DJ Mashup Remix)​

Tag: Eryndel / Zaytee

Dankaia moved deeper into the swamp, each step a measured negotiation between flesh, machine, and the living mire beneath her boots. Vines recoiled from her passage, not from fear but recognition, as though the swamp itself had learned to respect predators that walked with purpose.

Through the Force she tasted unfamiliar currents: industrial heat, ionized residue, the metallic tang of engines abused and overworked; signatures that did not belong to this place. Somewhere ahead, hidden behind walls of mist and warped trees, the smuggler's den pulsed like a foreign organ grafted into the body of the wild.

The camp revealed itself in fragments before it appeared in full: surveillance drones hovering low and silent, motion sensors lashed to deadwood, trip-mines half-submerged in black water that reflected false skies. Crude durasteel barricades rose from the mud, reinforced with scavenged starship plating and powered by humming generators wrapped in camouflage netting.

Armed silhouettes moved in disciplined rotations, their rifles augmented with targeting optics and neural dampeners to resist intrusion of mind or signal alike. Floodlights cut surgical cones through the fog, sweeping in precise intervals, while elevated platforms bristled with heavy cannons repurposed from downed gunships.

Dankaia watched from the treeline, calm and unreadable, knowing this was not a hideout born of desperation, but a fortress built by those who expected war and intended to survive it.

Dankaia let a thin, amusing smile cut across her face as her eyes traced the patrol patterns, murmuring, "Well…this is going to be interesting." She sank back into the fog, voice dropping to a cold whisper, "Stealth and precision, anything louder would be a waste."

Dankaia rose into the canopy with silent efficiency, boots finding purchase along massive, interwoven branches that arched above the swamp like the ribs of some ancient titan. From this elevated lattice she moved laterally, body low, cloak and armor shifting hue to drink in shadow and leaf-glow alike.

The camp lay beneath her in fractured glimpses, oblivious to the threat threading its way through the living ceiling overhead. Here, among creaking wood and whispering leaves, she became a rumor rather than a target, advancing not as an intruder, but as a thought descending toward inevitability.

Spoiler: Loadout

• Cybernetics / Bionics
  • Left Hand
  • Cybernetic Brain Chip
  • Cybernetic Heart
  • Cybernetic Spine
  • Cybernetic Rib Cage
  • Cybernetic Limb
• Weapon(s)
  • Lightsaber

 

[Zaytee]

As the smell of freshly spilled blood hit her nose, Zaytee smirked with contentment, and followed Eryn's gaze up toward the roof of the building, noticing the small, quickly moving shadow on it, which slightly eased her tensed muscles. They were not alone in their quest, someone else had similar bloodlust toward these smugglers like they had... and they seemingly already started the fun.

Turning toward her companion, the young Kiir nodded silently, tail easing around the branch with emotions still burning in her chest.

"We can't free them here." She shook her head after a moment of thinking. "This is not home... if we open all the cages, they will be free here, but only until they meet with the first predator of any kind. They wouldn't know what to expect, what to do... from one trap into an other, similarly deadly one. Or what if they fit into this ecosystem too well, and kill out everything that's not from Okarthel?" She sighed quietly. "We have to disarm or kill each one of them without breaking any of the cages. Then somehow get all of them home."

She glanced down toward one of the guards who left their station with a slow walk, getting close enough to them that Zaytee could clearly see the small metal box in their hands that they fiddled with, trying to light up one of those smoking sticks that emanated a putrid scent, while quietly swearing under their breath. First, she thought that maybe they heard something from their conversation, or anything else... but it seemed like they were totally unaware of the Kiirs sitting above their head.

"But maybe... we can start small. One at a time." The youngling whispered, crawling down onto a lower branch without making the smallest noise with her moves, not blinking, and not even breathing in the meantime. She stared, wide eyed and steady, each move deliberate and short, following the noises of the surroundings to mask every little sound that could expose them.

Then, she lunged.

Tail coiled still coiled around the branch, she pounced down into the neck of the guard, not leaving even a moment for them to react before she quickly pulled back, arms tightening around their neck, and within a second, the disgusting, wet noise followed from inside the guard's body, as their neck broke from the pressure within.

Her hands changed position as she grabbed the metal box before it could fall onto the ground and make any noise, and slowly, she lowered herself once more, placing the body in the muddy ground below, her head tilted low with pain.

This was her first REAL kill... something that she did not do only out of the need of self preservation, or hunger.

Eryndel Milla Caranthyr

 

[Milla Caranthyr]

It rippled through the force, then silence. Milla came to a halt as she felt a another life slip from the world of thw living into the force. This wasn't something she was expecting, at least not a death so quiet. One that momentarily attached itself to that familiar feeling again. Could it be, another Kiir was here?

Whatever the cause, it was one less gaurd and problem to deal with. For now, though, she would focus on the task at hand. Sharp blue eyes turned back to the roof she stood on. It was solid enough to keep the rain and other elements out, but poor enough that there were gaps in places. Another sign of the smugglers complacency, the lack of roof guards. Moving like a shadow, she crept to a small gap in the roof. From the limited view, she could see dozens of crates and cages of all sizes. Each with an animal or contraband in them. The young Kiir's blood boiled some at the sight.

Finding a larger gap a short distance away, between a cooling unit and a support pillar, she slipped into the structure. The inside of the facility felt oppressive. The air was thick and muggy, the smell of the animals filled the room with a strong scent, and the fear was almost tangible. The question now was how to release them all without causing to much of a commotion. The simple answer was to hunt each one down one at a time, even if it was time consuming. From her perch, she could see almost twenty guards. A larger operation than she expected.

Zaytee Eryndel

 

[Eryndel]

Eryndel felt the moment the guard's life went still.

It was not the violent flare she had feared. There was no scream in the Force, no panic tearing outward. Instead, there was a sharp intake, then silence, like a candle pinched out between careful fingers. The ripple passed through her awareness and settled, heavy and irreversible.

Her eyes closed for a single heartbeat.

When they opened again, her gaze found Zaytee below, crouched in the mud with blood on her hands and pain written into the set of her shoulders. Eryndel descended without haste, moving down the trunk and lower branches with quiet, deliberate grace until she was close enough to be present. Not looming. Not distant.

"You are right," Eryndel said softly, answering Zaytee's earlier concern first, grounding them both in purpose. "We cannot simply open the cages. Freedom without understanding would be another kind of cruelty. This world would claim them just as surely as these walls have."

Her eyes flicked briefly toward the dead guard, then returned to Zaytee. There was no judgment in her expression. No flinching.

"And what you did," she continued, voice low and steady, "you did to protect lives that cannot protect themselves. That matters."

She knelt, placing two fingers against the damp earth beside the body, a quiet gesture of acknowledgment rather than forgiveness. "But that does not make it easy. Nor should it."

Eryndel's hand came to rest on Zaytee's forearm, not restraining, simply anchoring. "The pain you feel now is not weakness. It is the part of you that still knows the weight of life. Hold on to it. It will keep you from becoming what they are."

Her awareness widened then, stretching inward through the structure.

She felt another presence inside the facility. Disciplined. Precise. Moving with intention rather than rage. The Force around this unseen hunter was tight and controlled, like a drawn blade held steady in a practiced hand.

"We are not the only ones here," Eryndel murmured. "Someone else moves within the walls. Careful. Skilled. They hunt with purpose."

Her gaze lifted toward the roofline, toward the dark spaces between metal and shadow. "They will thin the numbers from inside."

Eryndel rose slowly, composure settling fully back into place. Not cold, but resolute.

"You were right again," she said. "We do this one at a time. Quietly. We disarm where we can. Kill only when we must."

Her eyes hardened just enough to promise resolve.

"I will move to the eastern side," she continued, already mapping blind spots, power lines, and patterns of complacency. "There are control junctions there. Locks. Power conduits. I can silence sections without alerting the rest. When the cages open, it will be when and where we choose."

She looked back at Zaytee, her voice softening once more. "You are not alone in this. Not in the hunt. And not in what comes after."

Then Eryndel slipped back into the shadows, a calm and inexorable presence moving to cut the heart out of the operation piece by piece. Above, below, and within the walls, the smugglers' den had begun to close in on itself.

It simply did not know it yet.

Zaytee Milla Caranthyr