Private Crown of Shadows

[Diarch Rellik]

There was a war in the Mid Rim and the Diarch had plans to capitalize on it.

On paper, it was all easily explained. A syndicate growing bold. A Republic defending its sovereignty. On the edges of that chaos on the planets near Mimban, Emberlene, and Sepan the Diarch had put in his work to increase illegal smuggling, narcotics, and propaganda into the Galactic Alliance and High republic space. Beneath a refinery, unmarked crates with no registration were being unloaded. Stims laced with adrenal spice. Low-grade arms. A backroom door swings open. A Weequay broker comes out to meet a man cladded in form fitted armor from head to toe. As he counts credits he glances around nervously.

A datachip passed from gloved fingers to his palm.

"Shipment's cleared," he mumbled. "The Jedi should think its the black sun's. No problems there."

The armored figure gave a single, almost imperceptible nod. Then he left, fading into the black of night.

Yet, his work was not done. Once he was far enough away the second phase of the plan was to begin. The Diarchy was not only undermining the war but also looking for Jedi to perhaps ambush and kill if the time was right. So Rellik's personal Silentarri - Caelus Vire // NIHIL - NIHIL had been sent to relay a message under the guise of reporting the crime.

His voice would sound shaken, young, and scared. "Uhm hello, I just left the Nosva Refinery south axis, about two klicks off the old Mining Guild grid and I saw some men transferring shipping containers of what looked like weapons into the facility. At first I thought it would be for security with all of the black sun problems going on nearby but I think they might be looking to cause trouble or be black suns themselves. I just wanted to leave a report in case. I felt it was the right thing to do. Thank you."

Then the line was terminated with Caelus going back to his perch to watch the facility from afar. All this time, the Diarch would be being informed on all the happenings of the events. His ship a few jumps away from making down to the sector himself.

Emery Lloren

 

[Emery Lloren]

Crown of Shadows

"Crime never sleeps."
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Equipment — Coded datapad, his Lightsaber.

Clothing — civilian clothing underneath dark jedi robes.

Theme — SimpsonWave1995
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The message was short. Nervous voice, vague details. A location barely mapped to any recent Alliance scans. South axis. Old Mining Guild grids.

Emery stared at the coordinates for a long second, thumb hovering just above the comm interface before slipping the device back into his coat.

Refineries like that didn’t usually attract attention. Which meant someone wanted it seen.

He moved without urgency, but with direction, cutting through low service corridors, avoiding the traffic lanes where patrols clustered. The sky over this quadrant was already dimmed from smog bleed, refinery exhaust dulling the stars. The kind of place where things slipped by unnoticed. Forgotten.

Near the ridge overlooking the site, Emery slowed. Shapes moved far below. No official insignias. No Black Sun flags, either. Just shadow, metal, and the careful discipline of those who knew better than to be seen.

He crouched at the edge of a broken walkway, letting his presence slip quiet through the Force—dampened, not withdrawn. Watching. Listening.

“People usually want to be seen for a reason,” he murmured to himself, eyes narrowing. “Or they’re baiting someone who does.”

He didn’t descend. Not yet. Instead, he traced the energy signatures, marked the guard rotation, and looked for a thread worth pulling.

If this was staged, it was done carefully. But everything left a seam.

And Emery had patience.

Tag — Diarch Rellik

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[Caelus Vire // NIHIL]

Armor - Phantom Skin" Infiltration Armor - NIHIL (Never worn under the Caelus persona)

Caelus stood at the southwest overlook. His armor absorbed the heat shimmer that rolled off the exhaust ducts. From here, he had a clear line of sight on the two main buildings: the central smelter and the logistics hall. Both were surrounded by stacks of crate towers, loader droids, and rust-burned grav sleds. A loading bay yawned open beneath a loose canvas canopy. Its landing pad was barely rated for the light freighters that kept coming.

The workers were a mix of locals and offworld transients. Three Rodians handled intake each in soot-covered coveralls, one of them coughing dryly every few minutes. A Twi'lek woman oversaw the droid teams, her voice clipped and direct. She kept her slate in hand, barking serials and correction codes without lifting her eyes. A grizzled human in his sixties, probably ex-military by the posture, ran the night crew.

At the bottom of the factory was a wide, sunken loading chamber built into the rock. The space had likely been a maintenance zone once. Now it served a different purpose. Three crates sat open. Not industrial supplies. Not alloy sheets. Weapons. One Nautolan handled the intake, solid frame, scarred hands, quiet. He didn't talk to the others. Just lifted the crates, scanned the contents, and made careful marks on a private pad. A pair of humans worked cleanup duty, scraping identifying marks off the sides of the containers with vibrofiles.

Caelus noted the weak links before moving again to get unto the upper platform near the managers office. He wanted to check in on the upper echelon of the operation.

The human scrapers kept glancing at the floor. Perhaps abused into subservience.
The Nautolan didn't check behind him once. Rigid routine. Easy to track.
The Weequay who accepted the shipment had left his post entirely and was now beginning to drink near the office of the manager.

Emery Lloren