Junction Episode I: Shadows of The Mara Corridor | RNR & BSS Junction of Mara Mega Hex & Drogheda

[Balun Dashiell]

OBJECTIVE 3: Ticket to Ride - Plan: Stop the Train
INVENTORY: Spacer Apparel, K-16 Bryar Pistol & Lightsaber
OPPOSITION: V01D Ω (Void Omega)
ALLIES: Ala Quin

​

“But alright. Just don’t let him convert you to his taste in music.”

Confirmation. That was all Balun needed. The shift in Ala Quin 's posture, the subtle tilt of her blade, the tightening of her stance—it spoke volumes. She was moving into the offensive, and with it came silent permission: Handle the enemy. I'll handle the mission.

Balun understood immediately. His role was clear—draw V01D Ω (Void Omega) 's attention, disrupt his focus, and give Ala the opening she needed to slip past and continue toward the true objective. He adjusted his grip on the lightsaber in his right hand, its amber glow humming steadily in the storm of wind and distant thunder of the train.

His left hand crossed over to his vambrace, fingers tapping the recessed stud to activate his Combat Shield. In an instant, a shimmering field of blue energy erupted from his forearm—a coffin-shaped barrier of pulsing light, just broad enough to cover his upper torso in a forward arc. It wouldn't protect him from every angle, but it was enough to weather the storm ahead.

And Balun, as always, came ready for the storm.

He surged forward, boots pounding across the roof of the carriage as he raced toward the confrontation. Behind him, the rhythmic pound of metal music still echoed from the train's speaker system, a fitting prelude to the impending clash. His Master deflected the opening volley of blaster fire, her blade singing through the air in elegant arcs. But when she veered off, shifting her focus elsewhere, Balun was left to face the barrage alone.

There was no panic. Only movement.

He never stayed still—a mistake only made once by the untrained. Balun weaved through the incoming fire, pivoting on his heels, twisting his torso as blaster bolts came screaming toward him. When there wasn't time to deflect, the impact slammed into the combat shield, sending pulses of kinetic force rattling up his arm. Each hit staggered him slightly, a shudder of momentum, but he never faltered. Gritting his teeth, he pressed on, inching closer to his target.

Void Omega stood ahead, a wall of threat and mystery, but Balun's mind was now razor sharp. With Ala Quin gone from the fray, he could commit fully—no distractions, no divided attention. Just him and the opponent.

Lightsaber in one hand, shield in the other, Balun Dashiell closed the distance like a stormfront rolling in—reckless perhaps, but entirely in his element.

"Speech".
'Thought'.​

 

[Arcadian]

Tags:

[Black Sun] Brakkus​

[RNR] Agent Damocles | Dominique Vexx | Eleonore Zoltán | Ferren Vaal​

[CIS] Eight | Nihil | Victra Rinnel​

Objective 1: Sand Dollars
Location: Mos Algo, Tatooine

Arcadian watch with squinted eyes through his visor as Eleonore Zoltán and Dominique Vexx approached, guided to Mos Algo proper by Black Sun Guard units. “A Royal and a Corpo walk into a bar,” the Ubese mused with a cynical wheeze. Tatooine's dunes were taxing his atmosphere scrubbers, putting undo pressure on his lungs.

A voice in his helmet's integrated comlink distracted him from the discomfort, informing him that Brakkus was planetside and would be present for this... meeting, between Black Sun and the Royal Republic. One that Arcadian doubted they even knew involved the syndicate, ironically. He was unsure if the Republic intelligence apparatus was even aware of Black Sun's presence in the Mara Corridor, let alone their involvement with the neighboring CIS world of Geonosis. "Very well," Cade confirmed. "Brakkus can meet us at the hostel. I won't let the Royals deeper than that."

When the pair of less-than-wanted visitors reached him, Arcadian offered a curt nod.

"Welcome to Mos Algo," he greeted. "What brings the Republic to Tatooine?"

 

[Lossa Aureus]

OBJECTIVE THREE: Ticket to Ride
Skinsuit | Wayward Samaritan Gear
Lightsaber | Turmoil | Concealed Blaster | Nasty-Stabby | Dual Broken Core Daggers
​

Pushing ahead, Lossa kept her saber at a low ready and eyes scanning the surface.

Her target had ducked into cover, and even her scanner was struggling to do more than inform her that a lifeform was somewhere up ahead. Thunking, awkward steps forward had her leaning into each one as her helmet chimed a warning before it quieted.

Her entire body freezing in place as she tried to figure out what had tripped the alert before a blue beam caught her eye.

At first thinking they'd come out to fight proper.

Before realizing it was coming at her without a body behind it.

Her reaction almost automatic to flick her own blade forward and down before making the opposite motion to throw the offending blade over her head and behind her.

The action done, she blinked as her brain processed what she had seen finally.

"The feth!? That's a museum piece!" Half turning now as she reached through the Force to draw back the blue bladed saber toward her.

Keeping a camera in her helmet pointed forward while her blade resumed its low ready in her other hand.

Spoiler

Lossa deflects the blade only to try and draw it back to her with the Force. Seeming to open herself up to further attacks halfway to Jerec.

Jerec Asyr
​

 

[Jerec Asyr]

"The feth!? That's a museum piece!" Half turning now as she reached through the Force to draw back the blue bladed saber toward her.

Keeping a camera in her helmet pointed forward while her blade resumed its low ready in her other hand.

This wasn't a master plan so much as a split second recognizance of an opportunity for a stunt. With both hands occupied, she might have trouble grabbing things — handles, ridges, structural elements — should a situation demand it.

Should, for example, some jerk put his hands against the roof and force enough Force Lightning skittering along it to scramble those mag boots or fry them outright.

Jerec did so. The train's bulk and electromagnet field wanted to eat the current, and shoving it at her boots was about as far as he could push against the electrical path of least resistance, so he couldn't fry her. The goal wasn't to fry her, thankfully. The goal was to send her skidding and pinballing down the roof of the train — or off it, Mother Jungle bless — while Jerec figured out his next move.

SUMMARY: Jerec tries to deactivate or break her mag boots.

 

[K4-ZAN]

[Obj 3] Ticket to Ride
Tags: Morex , Lorn Reingard , Bastila Sal-Soren

The first strike made its mark, though it did not lop an arm off as was typical. Clashing brilliantly against metal, a shriek in protest eliciting against bladed vibration. “Good. You haven’t lost an arm.” Metallic words to elicit, just as they moved to compensate for the movement into its center. A play of footwork that it was well acquainted with, a diagonal taken with a lean of its head back to graze metal assembly.

A more instinctual reaction, than anything else—it had half a mind to let it hit, for it had no idea why an organic would want to try to punch a droid. “Attempting to use your bare body would likely damage you more than me-” At least, that was the thought process before sudden, unexpected movement occurred of a swung pipe into its knee.

Organics. Ever-so unpredictable and predictable in equal measure. That attack was far from efficient. Foolish, even. Yet it worked all the same. The pipe caused the leg to buckle, briefly falling to its knee. It was quick to follow-up—suddenly dipping further with its to try to sweep the man’s legs out from under them. In the motion, aiming to spring to a stand either above him or aside—from the opposite side of the Thyrsian. “Fascinating, what desperate measures your kind takes in the right circumstance. Surely you did not come this unprepared?” Kayfour droned on, just as the precise flash of its blade motioned in a thrust towards their legs, prepared to clash with them in the movement that followed in an upwards flourish.

 

[U40a]

Magdalena opened fire, not used to fire arms, her shots spraying somewhat wildly, but enough to threaten the sphere and potentially the droid at the ranges she was spraying.

Even then, it was clear the sphere was having an effect. It was just that the creature whose flesh rippled and shuddered in an utterly disgusting manner was no ordinary Force User. She would not go down as quickly as others might.

A blaster shot impacted the sphere. Euphortia registered this as a sudden loss of weight from its small manipulators and as a rapid increase of green light, followed by a rapid decrease in visual interference, all consistent with the sphere having been destroyed in some way beyond its sensors' ability to measure. It could now receive visual data from its primary photoreceptor.

A second shot struck Euphortia and removed one manipulator arm. Euphortia assessed the quickest escape routes and selected the portal on the floor, which it interpreted as a ragged hole in the deck.

It accelerated for the portal and attempted to squeeze itself through.

 

[Lossa Aureus]

OBJECTIVE THREE: Ticket to Ride
Skinsuit | Wayward Samaritan Gear
Lightsaber | Turmoil | Concealed Blaster | Nasty-Stabby | Dual Broken Core Daggers
​

She'd managed to draw the relic back to her hand despite the whipping wind. A familiar feeling of uncomfortable cold settling in the base of her neck as she turned to see—something—crawling across the train toward her.

Her helmet tilting while tracking the oddity that crawled its way up to her boots. At touching that shared space, a surprising jolt made her yelp out of surprise rather than pain. The feeling like sitting on her leg for too long and trying to take off running.

The realization of what had been done not hitting until her next attempt at moving forward.

The sure footing gone now as the purple blade waved violently for a breaths time through air. All the while Lossa fought against the air current that wanted to make her a tree ornament.

Whoever it was had a dabbling in force powers, or some kind of foreign tech weapons.

Eventually able to catch a hold after sliding backwards a ways. A slide that had her very nearly cartwheeling over the end of a train car toward the ground below. The old saber secured in a pouch for the time being as she pulled herself up to stare over the rim of the car toward the hidey-hole.

"When I get my hands on you..." A deep rumbling grumble clearing away the final words from her mind as she deactivated the purple blade and put it to her belt.

Pulling herself up with one arm and drawing her hidden Blaster to start taking pot shots at whoever was causing her so much grief as she crawled forward.

Spoiler

Got the museum lightsaber belted. Fell backwards but caught herself. Put lightsaber away and drew her Blaster. Is crawling forward while taking pot shots at Jerec if she sees him.
More focused on keeping on the train than hitting him.

Jerec Asyr
​

 

[Jerec Asyr]

Now, Jerec's training was bog-standard utility, from a disillusioned ex-Inquisitor. The one real exception was how he'd trained on Qi-Ko with a certain tea-loving monk to wrap energy and will around objects or around his fists, making them more resilient to things like sabers, blasters, fire.

He took a running jump and skidded with the torrential wind right down the train, wrapping the Force around his big wide feet.

The blaster hit harder than a little gun like that should do; some of the heat and impact got through to smack into the soles of his feet but didn't threaten anything more vulnerable. He was at this point already sliding.

He zipped past at close range, almost within hand's reach. Not close enough to punch or shove, sadly, and he'd sunk enough attention into protecting his big toes that other Force emanations weren't practical.

He did, however, reach up and grab a vine.

SUMMARY: Jerec goes sliding rapidly along the top of the train. As he passes Lossa he grabs a vine and tries to clothesline her but leaves himself vulnerable at relatively close range.

Lossa Aureus

 

[Morex]

​

| Location | Train, Monastery
| Objective | III - Ticket to Ride

​

K4-ZAN was pushing its advantage as Morex closely followed behind, advancing on the Jedi. The Thyrsian's eyes closely watched the man's movements with a practiced eye; the manner in which he moved - timing, endurance, strength, speed and reactions. The narrowness of the train made it difficult for the both of them to come at the Jedi at once, so instead they'd have to make it work with a relentless assault or manage to get on both sides of him. Without a spoken word, the two seemed to move with the same intent in mind.​

​

"I got a better idea tough guy." Morex said in response to Lorn's quip at him waiting. There was no fun in that, and the last thing Morex gave a shit about was upholding some notion of an honorable one-on-one fight.​

​

Morex had eyed the pipe being held in the man's free hand, anticipating the feint and subsequent strike to the droid as he began to move into a short distanced sprint. As his droid compatriot buckled and moved out of the way, over two hundred pounds of hulking flesh and armor moving at alarming speeds as he leaps forward above the droid with an arm cocked back for a superman punch as K4-ZAN moved to reposition itself to make the fight more oppressive.​

K4-ZAN | Lorn Reingard | Bastila Sal-Soren

 

[Lorn Reingard]

​

The blow came from above, sudden and brutal. Lorn felt it before he saw it. the shift in air pressure, the tremor of boots on the train car's steel, the split-second ripple in the Force like a coming storm. But by then, it was already too late.

Morex crashed into him like a meteor, the thoomp of his armored fist slamming squarely into Lorn's sternum mid-rise. Air exploded from his lungs. His back hit the decking with a teeth-rattling clang, his ribs blooming in white-hot protest beneath the impact. For a breathless moment, everything else: the pounding music, the whine of metal, even the droid's blade, fell away into a vacuum of pain.

But he was still conscious. Unfortunately. He didn't try to stand. Not yet. Instead, he twisted on instinct, rolling with the pain as K4's blade speared downward, catching only the floor plating as Lorn slid just wide of the thrust. His free hand, still gripping the pipe, swung upward, not toward the droid, but toward Morex. It was a desperate arc aimed at the side of the Thyrsian's head. Not clean. Not clever. Just vicious.

The same motion carried Lorn into a backward crawl, trying to reset his position, draw the two enemies apart. He winced, breath wheezing through grit teeth. "Okay," he rasped, coughing once. "Now I'm awake."

He could feel the bruise blooming under his chestplate. Couldn't afford to take another hit like that. His saber was still on his belt, untouched. But his fingers brushed it now.

Just in case polite conversation ran out entirely.

Spoiler

TLDR Actions: Lorn takes the full hit from Morex's superman punch, landing flat and winded. He narrowly avoids K4's thrust while downed by rolling aside. Still on the floor, he counters with a desperate swing of the pipe at Morex's head. He uses the moment to crawl back and regain space, clearly hurt, but alive and still fighting.

K4-ZAN | Morex | Bastila Sal-Soren​

 

[K4-ZAN]

[Obj 3] Ticket to Ride
Tags: Morex | Lorn Reingard | Bastila Sal-Soren

The sudden thunder of steps as the droid repositioned, to see the other man soaring over him. Perhaps there was even a tinge of surprise that the organic had taken advantage of an opening so effectively, in such a brash movement. The question now was whether that was a mere fluke due to its own antics, or something that could be repeated.

Regardless of the answer, Kayfour had moved to capitalize on the stagger caused by the meathead. Though his motion had shifted in its demeanor—from a regathering strike to a intent capitalization. It had narrowly missed the man, who fortunately scrambled away from what would have impaled their leg. An instinctive adjustment of the blade was made for the pipe, but he was not its target.

“Are you, now?” Came a bland query, almost sarcastic in return, just as motion had moved to maintain pressure. He had never met a meatbag so unnecessarily noisy in the heat of combat. Either they were incredibly cocky just before death, or they had a reason to be. There was only one way to find out. Steps had proceeded in yet another surge of motion. A sidelong stride, arcing diagonally towards their left shoulder. Seeking, rather purposefully, to force them to turn just enough so off-center in the train car—if only out of curiosity that the Thyrsian could actually do what they did again.

The receptor had narrowed, and widened, as it made its stroke. “They have a lightsaber.” It observed pointedly, a comment moreso directed towards the Thyrsian. It didn't need more than that to deduce.

They were a Jedi.

A proper opponent.

 

[Bastila Sal-Soren]

Kudau had left her. His parting words had been welcoming enough, but now that the moment had passed, Bastila could only take a breath and wonder what she had really done. Maybe she’d just recruited a potential Jedi to the cause. Maybe she’d let an enemy go. The Force tugged gently at the edge of her thoughts; this was its will, and she obeyed it. But the doubt lingered like fog.

A thud echoed from beyond the dark. It had been solid, then quickly swallowed by the murmur of voices. Her head rang with a strange fullness, as though pressure were building behind her eyes. A sound too low for the ear but felt in the chest. She didn’t like it.

She started to move. Pace quickening, boots hammering durasteel, cloak snapping sharp in the air. The wind caught at her shoulders as she vaulted the next coupling before heading through the hatch and into the chaos.

The space stank of ozone and scorched plastoid. She landed in a fight already in motion and it felt tipped hard against someone she didn’t recognize, but recognized enough. The man was Jedi, or near to it. His body language said it all. He was down, winded, and fighting to breathe. The Force around him swirled in panic and defiance.

Her own saber was already in her hand from the encounter before. It had been extinguished yet not holstered. She entered slow, calm, every step measured.

A streak of violet light flared to life from her saber with the ever familiar crack-hiss, spilling color into the red-lit shadows of the car. In that moment, she took in the scene.

The droid; a modified K4 unit by the looks of things, was sharp and efficient, pressing its attack. The other figure, large and fast despite it, was already repositioning for another strike. The Thyrsian, she guessed. She didn’t have time to think.

Her blade sliced toward the droid’s arm, not aimed to finish, but to warn. To draw a line in the fight that said: back off. The heat of it lit the corridor in a harsh pulse, and the scent of burning metal stung her nose.

Bastila stepped forward, forcing herself between the two attackers and the fallen Jedi.

That was enough.

“Need help?” she asked, voice cool, not turning her head.

Lorn Reingard Morex K4-ZAN

​

 

[Morex]

​

| Location | Train, Monastery
| Objective | III - Ticket to Ride

​

His fist made contact with Lorn as he sent the man to the ground, satisfied but also upset that it simply connected without much resistance. His boots clanged against the floor as he landed, rotating his arm as his fingers flexed, the Thyrsian eyeing him as he watched Lorn. He was still conscious after the hit, something that pleased him; it meant the fight would last longer, if only just a little bit more. ​

​

The Jedi was moving to avoid getting sliced up by the droid and was followed by a vicious pipe swing to the side of his head; metal connected with his helmet as his head snapped in the direction of the blow. His vision spiraled for a moment as his hand shifted to his head, his body shifting as he grabbed at a seat to keep himself steady and upright. The blow was solid, and much more intense than what he was used to, and had he not been wearing a helmet would have most definitely knocked him out. ​

​

His hand rubbed against the spot that was struck briefly before he shook his head and growled in response to K4-ZAN's remark. "Then do something about it bolthead." He raised his arms up as he advanced, swinging with his hip as he threw out a hook in the opposite direction that K4-ZAN swung in an attempt to catch the Jedi again.​

K4-ZAN | Lorn Reingard | Bastila Sal-Soren

 

[Lorn Reingard]

​

The violet of the saber lit the compartment, snapping Lorn's head around just enough to register the silhouette stepping through the smoke and chaos. A woman, focused, carrying herself like someone who belonged exactly in the center of a firefight. She didn't look at him when she stepped between him and the killers. But the line she drew was unmistakable.

Lorn blinked once, hard, sucking in a steadying breath through clenched teeth. "Help's good," he wheezed.

There was no time for introductions. The droid's blade came for his shoulder, sharp and humming with murderous intent. But the newcomer's saber intercepted with a hiss and a flash, just enough to disrupt K4's rhythm. Lorn didn't waste the opening.

He twisted low again, but this time his motion was halted, Morex's hook came in from the side, brutish and fast. Lorn didn't have room to dodge. The blow caught his jaw, spun his head, and dropped him again to one knee with a grunt. His vision blurred.

That one would definitely bruise. But his hand moved anyway, snapping down to his belt. The metal rod clattered to the floor as Lorn's fingers found the familiar hilt. With a flick of the thumb and a single breath drawn through pain, the snap-hiss of his lightsaber filled the compartment, gold light pouring into the air.

He didn't hesitate. From the kneel, he launched upward with a Force-assisted surge, blade flashing in a low, arcing strike aimed at Morex's midsection. Not a killing blow, measured and controlled. A message. Back off, or I stop holding back.

The pain in his chest and jaw flared again as he moved, but he used it, channeled it like heat into the cut. Bastila's presence at his back gave him just enough certainty to act.

"You pick the wrong train," he murmured.

K4-ZAN | Morex | Bastila Sal-Soren​

 

[Lossa Aureus]

OBJECTIVE THREE: Ticket to Ride
Skinsuit | Wayward Samaritan Gear
Lightsaber | Turmoil | Concealed Blaster | Nasty-Stabby | Dual Broken Core Daggers
​

Her shots landed.

Surprisingly anyway.

It helped she wasn't having to squint against the wind but that didn't mean her body wasn't still reacting naturally to her environment when she felt heavy gusts or vibes whip across her helmet.

Which was partly how she missed the Ithrorian, as it turned out, grabbing a vine.

His attempted clothesline landed. Her arm with the Blaster extended upward against the vine as his arm wrapped round her and slammed her against the carriage behind them.

A large Lossa shaped dent appearing as she tumbled down. Dropping her blaster as the hand reached for another hand hold. The ground rushing up to meet her as she grit her teeth and punched into the sidewall of the carriage and swung down.

Dissappearing below the carriage body and out of sight as she clung to a clump of ducting or pump tubes.

"Not what I meant–" Words hissed as she tried to keep from becoming part of the scenery.

Spoiler

The clothesline landed and knocked Lossa down nearly to the ground. Managed to make a handhold and is hanging below a carriage belly.

Jerec Asyr
​

 

[Ariadne]

He was strong. But not that strong. The smile on Ariadne's face did not slip for a moment. It was subtle, with serpentine grace.

Her arm finally locked into place, pushing back against his pressure. She did not move the blade from pushing slightly into the underside of her chin. Only the slight hum of servos in her arm indicated that she was having to exercise an increased degree of resistance.

"I have move functions than just breaking arms," she whispered.

Heavy lidded eyes cast a glance downward, and then back to refocus on his eyes. She could see the conflict. Men like him were not easy to break, but she could tell when they were close.

She leaned forward, removing the tiny gap between them. The sword's tip pressed dangerously against her synthetic flesh. And then her lips brushed his.

"But you could kill me if you wanted too," she said, words breathed out across his face, "you are in control."

He wasn't.

| TAG: Roman Vossari |​

 

[Roman Vossari]

Lieutenant Roman Vossari
Obj 2
TAG: Ariadne
GEAR: X | X | X | X | X

Roman's grip didn't loosen, but the war was no longer in his hands. Her lips had touched his like a secret, like a dare. And it undid something in him that no blaster bolt ever could. He didn't breathe. She was right there with that impossible composure, the blade hovering beneath her chin like a lover's threat. Her eyes told him she didn't fear death. Not from him. Maybe not from anyone.

He wanted to believe he was still in control. He needed to. But her words came soft and cruel: You're in control. He wasn't. She knew. And now, so did he. The fingers at her waist flexed involuntarily, digging in. His other hand tightened around her wrist just a little too long. Not enough to hurt. Just enough to keep feeling her there. Real. Present. Alive.

Roman's face twisted, barely, into something that might've once been a snarl or a sob or both. But he buried it beneath the only armor he had left, his voice. "Control's a lie," he whispered, bitter and broken.

He stepped in even closer, so their foreheads touched. The sword still pressed her throat. Still idle. Still waiting. "I followed you because I wanted justice," he said, his voice rough now, scraped raw by something old and awful. "But maybe I just wanted to see if you still remembered me."

His hand moved. Not to strike. Not to shoot. It rose to her face with excruciating care, thumb brushing the line of her jaw, just below the edge of her blade. "You should've killed me back on Serenno," he said.

His eyes shut for half a second. Then opened again. "You wanted to ruin me?" He let her go. All at once. "Go ahread."
​

 

[K4-ZAN]

[Obj 3] Ticket to Ride
Tags: Morex , Lorn Reingard , Bastila Sal-Soren

One Jedi was interesting. Two, a crowd. He supposed it evened the odds, somewhat—but he could hardly consider his convenient partner-in-crime anything near a ‘duelist’ that would make for fitting analysis thereafter to improve upon aging subroutines. Nonetheless, it would have to make do.

Droid-like reflexes caught movement in the corner of its receptor. A violet blade that forced a redirection from its intended target to meet it in a shriek of blades—footsteps turning in an adjustment to partially face the newly-emerged woman, grip having tilted the edge into the way of the strike towards its arm. A meeting of blades that was purposefully held and locked against, until it noticed the original one they were fighting starting to get up. It was prepared to have to disengage entirely from the clash for the others’ follow up, until Morex managed to subvert it once again. “That prospect has grown more complicated.” It spoke in return to its partner-in-crime. “I have not seen these in some time. Now I have the pleasure of dealing with two, of such vivid colors. If you can keep up, we will triumph.”

A twist of the blade suddenly saw it lever towards Bastila Sal-Soren 's face, an advancing cut that would’ve seen it cleaved in twain had it not been dealt with appropriately. Pushing momentum back with a step to the side, prepared to interweave movements into an intricate dance he’d not been able to have in some time. “You should be more concerned with yourself, at this moment.” Idly spoken thereafter.

Following the cut it fell into a step sidelong, the crowded train car making it difficult to maneuver in full range of motion—he doubted it could put too much stock in the meathead’s capability in following the dance, but perhaps it would be able to intervene if needed. A dual fight would be most bland if it was simply one duel next to another. The next motion saw his blade twist into a diagonal cut once again, immediately angling for their own arm wielding the lightsaber- as if in a spiteful retaliation. Though, it was hard to imagine a droid could exhibit such.

 

[Ariadne]

Her sword dropped to ground. The clatter of the electrified blade breaking the tension for but a moment. The moment was brief, as both of her hands came up to take Roman's face in her hands, clutching him like a possession.

And she kissed him. It was a kiss of training. Of programmed seduction. Every movement of her head, the pressure of her soft full lips, taking what she wanted of him.

The hand that was clearly mechanical strayed down his neck, his chest, clutching at his shirt. "I don't make mistakes. I rarely show mercy," she whispered between presses on his lips.

A new hum filled the air. An energy blade extended from her artificial arm, on the back of her wrist, and pierced his chest, between the lower two of his ribs.

She pulled him close. Pulled her blade out, and pushed it back into his chest a second time.

"No more mercy." Her expression didn't change, still the seductive lustre that accompanied the kiss. And she pushed him, throwing him across the room and towards the bulkhead on the far side of the room.

She gave him no second glance, instead she stooped to pick up her sword, and sauntered casually toward the exit.

| TAG: Roman Vossari | EXIT |​

 

[Roman Vossari]

Lieutenant Roman Vossari
TAG: Ariadne
GEAR: X | X | X | X | X

Roman hit the bulkhead. The impact stole the air from his lungs and the fire from his spine. He slid down the wall, armor scraping, breath rattling in his chest. Blood spread in a slow, deliberate bloom beneath him. Like it knew it was leaving for the last time. He stared at the ceiling, vision blurring, and the first thing that came wasn't pain. It was Serenno.

The breeze in the high gardens. Sunlight catching on marble. The sound of the bugs in the distance. The smell of his Mother's spiced tea brewing in the eastern wing.

Then to Corazona von Ascania . Her presence, steady in his time with the Jedi. He had let her down and he hated himself for it.

A flicker again, Anneliese Kaohal , laughing in a field with him. She'd worn his jacket that night. The one he left on the balcony when they kissed like they were young and stupid and war was just a rumor in someone else's galaxy. He'd let her down too.

And Aiden Porte . Force. His best friend, he had told him he would see him soon. Would he wonder where Roman had gone?

Roman coughed, and the taste of iron and heat filled his mouth. He blinked once, slow. His hand twitched toward the hole in his chest, as if pressure alone could hold everything in. Blood trickled through his fingers. It was warm. So terribly, terribly warm.

Across the room, her silhouette was already fading, leaving behind nothing but ruin. A sob tried to escape his throat, but it got stuck. Turned into something quieter. Something like surrender. He rested his head back against the wall, eyes fluttering half-shut. The lights above him flickered. A failing star in a dying sky.

"I'm sorry," he murmured to no one. Or maybe to Cora. Or Aiden. Or himself. "Should've…" His eyes drifted skyward, but there was no sky here. Just rust. And silence.

Roman Vossari, the man-shaped container of inevitability, exhaled, slow and ragged. And didn't breathe in again. Or maybe he did. Maybe.

The room was quiet. Too quiet to say for sure.
​