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."
________

Equipment — Coded datapad, his Lightsaber.

Clothing — civilian clothing underneath dark jedi robes.

Theme — SimpsonWave1995
________​

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

​

​

 

[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

 

[Emery Lloren]

Crown of Shadows

"Crime never sleeps."
________

Equipment — Coded datapad, his Lightsaber.

Clothing — civilian clothing underneath dark jedi robes.

Theme — SimpsonWave1995
________​

Emery shifted along the catwalk, boots light on the durasteel as he moved into the shadow of a support beam. Heat shimmer rose from the ducts below, warping the outlines of crates and workers in the haze. He paused near the edge of the platform, taking it in.

The rhythm of the site was functional, but not clean. Movements repeated too precisely. Routines too tight. The Nautolan near the weapons crates worked in silence, absorbed. Not part of the crew. The two humans scraping off serials looked worn down, barely glancing at each other. Subdued, not partnered. Disposable.

A faint metallic scrape echoed upward. Vibrofiles on alloy. Emery’s gaze lingered.

His attention flicked to the upper office. The Weequay from the shipment had wandered up, too weird, too fast. Already drinking.

Emery stepped back into cover behind a weather-worn pillar, tracking the spacing of cameras overhead. He started to angle around the upper platform, keeping to the blind spots. Quiet. Watching.

Below, the containers were still open.

He didn’t need to read the contents to know they didn’t belong.

Tag — Diarch Rellik

​

​

 

[Caelus Vire // NIHIL]

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

As Nihil was going to enter the managers office he took one last log of the facility. He noticed just how run down and out of shape this place was. The urge to kill the manager himself and put someone competent in charge crossed his wires but it was not his duty. - what he noticed was that they did not care for safety protocols. The Smelters were working over clocked. With the flow lever slightly pulled further down there could be a catastrophic event that destroyed the whole facility. What fools. Luckily next to the managers office was a switch - marked MANUAL OVERRIDE – COOLANT QUEUE. Stating in case of emergency an alarm would sound and the facility would go into cooldown within minutes. Giving the workers a chance to flee.

He turned from the switch.

The light above the manager's office was still flickering. Inside, voices had begun to rise. Nihil stepped closer, standing just outside the doorway. He did not announce himself. He listened.

The Weequay was angry, louder than before.

"You think this'll hold? This whole place is one accident away from turning into slag!"

The manager didn't look up from his desk. "Your job was to receive the shipment, not evaluate engineering conditions."

"It's not about engineering," the Weequay snapped, jabbing a finger at the console. "You brought in crates we aren't supposed to touch. You told me it was Black Sun. That's what you said. Now I see high explosives in a facility full of heat. On this transaction page is a ten sided star, just who in the spice was that guy who dropped this all off?"

"Shut up."

The words came not from the manager but from the corner of the room.

Nihil had stepped inside.

The Weequay froze mid-step. His eyes widened at the sight of the armored figure. His mouth opened, then closed.

He turned and shoved through the door in silence, the conversation over.

As he staggered out onto the catwalk, still gripping the neck of the bottle, he slipped something from his jacket, his last grip on whatever it was he had tried to confront the manager with.

A single sheet of folded paper, damp from sweat and drink, caught on the crossbeam near the railing. He didn't notice. He kept walking. He was supposed to burn it somewhere. - The paper remained tucked there, barely visible creased at the corner, marked with a ten sided star of the Diarchy. The payment order and the only piece that linked them to this operation.

Emery Lloren