Junction Event Horizon | GA & SO Junction of Terijo and Orax

[Jacen Breska]

OBJ2: CITIZENS OF THE SITH ORDER ​

WEARING:: Jacen’s Second Legion Armor
EQUIPMENT: DC-902d
HG-88 Hand Cannon
C-11 Combat Knife
LOCATION: :: TAKODANA - DEATHDROP ASSAULT ::
TAG: Aiden Rennek Ashley Nevermore

Jacen continued his frantic advance as he dodged blaster fire and debris kicked up by grenades, looking up to see his own he had thrown get shot mid-air.

Alright, he thought, that one's gotta go.

The pair of alliance troopers seemed to be skilled enough, important enough, to warrant his full attention. Perhaps even officers.
Disregarding them for the moment, Jacen slammed into the wall just beside the breach with an audible grunt. Around and behind him a small team of DeathDroppers gathered as they awaited his order. On the other side of the breach, another team of Droppers waited, with a soldier occasionally peeking out to fire.

"Once again," he looked around and nodded as he pulled a second thermal from his chest and primed it. "Toss, boom, in, copy?" The soldiers around him nodded and each pulled a grenade from their own chests as Jacen backed up from the wall a step, turned and threw.

No specific target, just creating their window to advance.

"NOW!!! PUSH PUSH PUSH!" He roared as he slammed back against the wall and a series of explosions began to rock the compound. A battle cry erupted from his men as they rushed into the breach. Jacen gave it a second, let them push in, and decided to follow. He knew who his targets were going to be as soon as he seen them.

As soon as he'd clear the breach, disregarding all others, Jacen'd raise his blaster and open fire on the pair of Alliance troopers that shot his grenade out of the air. Rude.

​

 

[Jonyna Si]

Dawn of Hope
​

TAG: Isoroku Spruance Darth Malum of House Marr

"Shields are down to 40%!"

"We've lost aft power to the engine!"

"Fighters are coming back for another run!"

Captain Gralla Gowasi chewed her nails as she always did under stress, watching the 15 ball turrets and myriad of heavy point defense lasers streak across the night in defense against the enemy fighters. The Commander of Red Six, and by extention the two other Astrocats, had been pulled into a no win situation. They knew it upon receiving the order.

At least, that would be true for any other type of ship. The Astrocat was a blockade runner. A ship designed for punishment.

Still, Gralla knew they were in a bind. The readings on her command panel said as much. Two of the three Frigates had their shields down below the midway point, and their engines were taking the strain from the power needed to keep the shields up.

"Launch the Escort Fighters. Get the B-wings ready!"

It was their only option to deal with those fighters reliably. The heavy starfighters that were normally reserved as a secondary escort vessel. "Get me 2nd Lieutenant Vrax on the horn!"

"Aye!"

"Ma'am, we're holding, but just. What's the order?"

"Aim all firepower at those cruisers. We can withstand the corvettes, but those cruisers outweigh us enough to break through the armor if they get our shields down. Point blank those bastards with Ion blasts from the Thunderers, then pump as many proton torpedoes as we need into them. And get the B-wings out there!"

"Aye! Relaying to Winds of Change, we'll hit them with everything we have!"

The six superheavy turbolasers of the Astrocats shifted, splitting the difference. Three aimed at one, three aimed at the other. Suddenly, the superstructure of the three frigates rocked, as the shields flickered for just a second, ion rounds designed to overwhelm Star Destroyers flying through space towards their intended targets.

Then, a second later, from under the shield, each launched a B-Wing that pushed out from the ship, opening fire with a turbolaser of it's own at the cruisers, before taking off towards the enemy fighters.

Then came the torpedos as another turbolaser hit Ye Olde Pub, another volley of 36 launched at the Cruisers.

Captain Gowasi prayed it'd work. They knew the moment those Star Destroyers swung around, they'd be done for.

​

Jonyna winced as they took another hit. Fighters were all over them, but the heavy point defense guns were doing exactly what they were designed to do.

"Ma'am, Spruance is taking a suicide charge at the star destroyers. We need to support!"

"Give me readings from the Lifeline. Port Side!"

"Shields are still online, 45%, but sustaining heavy fire. They're losing about 3% every minute."

"Tell them to keep firing, and launch Longbow. Full CHOMP loadout. Hit that battlecruiser with everything we have. What's the word on the transports?"

"We're getting about 60% of them in, but all of them are heavily damaged. Sith Fighters are everywhere. We've lost about 45 percent of our fighters."

"Launch the rest, reinforce the guard. I want all LionXs in need of repair of fall back to Home Two. Open up an emergency landing bay, we'll rotate out and get remaining pilots into med-bay."

Back on the Lifeline, the Y-wing squadron known as Longbow was prepping for the mission of their life. Chomp Rockets loaded with heavy Ion bombs strapped to the underside for insurance.

The hanger rocked, as another heavy turbolaser impacted the Ray Shields nearby, while the pilots and mechanics, simply braced and got back to work. This was the job they had all signed up for. The war against the Sith.

With a green light filling the cockpits, the Y-wings took off out of the port side, flying directly at the Darr Itah, screaming towards it as they waited for the moment the enemy shields went down.

Jonyna herself watched the Venators, still under fire, switch targets as ordered previously. Aiming not for the star destroyers, but the corvettes and cruisers. The shields of the Shining Dawn flickered and died, and yet she kept firing.

The Sith had to be close to breaking. She could feel it.

The Dawn of Hope was at hand.

TL;DR

Spoiler

The three frigates, in a last ditch attempt to fight off the rear guard, have launched their single heavy escort fighters, and fixated on the cruisers, hitting them first with superheavy ion bolts, then a barrage of torpedos.
The Lifeline and Venators have launched their remaining CAP fighters, while the Lifeline launches it's Y-wing squadron in an attempt to assist Spruance's desperate charge.
The Venators continue to fixate on the smaller cruisers and corvettes, while holding the line.
The Lifeline continues to hammer the Sith Flagship.

 

[Adean Castor]

TAG: Drystan Creed

A dark brown rose, incredulous. "Really?"

For a moment, the sudden change in demeanor from bumbling technician to cool and confident...whatever he was didn't strike a surge of apprehension within Adean. Instead, her expression was the epitome of disbelief and hardly impressed.

"You want me to commit treason, so you can go on your merry way?" She was no stranger to using others to get ahead. And perhaps there was something to be said for his honesty, even if it was the footnote to a threat.

"Yeah. Suuuuper fair."

Meeting his gaze, she wasn't too much different from a cat making eye contact with a humanoid before knocking a vase over as her hand slammed the emergency lockdown button without another thought remotely in the faux technician's favor.

"You can, however, tell me what information you were after. And maybe, just maybe, my masters will be merciful." Nevermind the fact that he looked more than eager for a fight. Mayhap confidence alone would sell her as someone not to be trifiled with. Never the less, her gaze remained vigilant, her limbs loose, fully anticipating that she could be further on the move at any moment.

 

[Drystan Creed]

OBJECTIVE III

"Merciful? You got it all wrong, I don't intend to meet anyone else from your side during this operation." He gave a scoff, unyielding in his stance and given offer.

"You know, a small part of me wanted you to be uncooperative," Drystan said with a shrug. He didn't seem all that bothered by the refusal—in fact, the implication of conflict brought a faint glint to his eye.

"I suppose I forgot to mention that you'd be walking out of here without a scratch too—if you let me go. But I figured that part was implied."

He squared his stance, now facing her fully. Drystan noted that no alarms had gone off yet, and there was no lockdown in effect. Not a bad position to be in, all things considered—but he wasn't naive enough to assume that would last.

"So, what's it going to be?" he asked. "Gonna let me go? Try and take me down? Or are we just stalling until backup arrives?"

He raised one arm, palm open, fingers curling in a beckoning gesture.

"Either way... makes no difference to me."

Despite the charged atmosphere, Drystan's demeanor remained unnervingly casual. At a glance, he appeared unarmed—no blaster, no lightsaber. Just basic tools on his utility belt, consistent with his cover. Even beneath his clothing, there was no sign of hidden weaponry or combat gear.

An odd choice for someone this deep behind enemy lines. Anyone looking at him might assume an undercover agent would keep a holdout weapon concealed, waiting for the right moment to strike. But this man had none of those, instead his intent seemed to be defending himself with his hands.

Adean Castor

 

[Aiden Rennek]

​

Aiden's jaw clenched as the first wave poured through the smoke. Figures emerged in a sprint, some already mid-fire, others barely realizing what they'd charged into.

He didn't wait and opened fire. Three down in seconds, their silhouettes dropping mid-stride. He adjusted, pivoted with military precision. Another bolt lanced through the smoke, but missed. Another, deflected by Ashley's shoulder cannon. They held the line.

"Keep that fire hot!" he called, raising his rifle for another burst. He saw movement just to the left of the breach. Someone bigger, armored, shouting orders and throwing grenades. More explosions rocked the wall. Aiden braced himself again, turning slightly to shield Ashley from the concussive force.

And that's when it hit.

A flash, a jolt. Searing white pain tore through his shoulder, and the next moment he was on the ground, rifle spinning away across the dirt. His back slammed against the stone, and he gasped, more out of instinct than breath. The bolt had punched clean through the upper plating of his suit. He didn't need a medic to tell him it was bad.

Still, his hand went for his sidearm.

"Ash…" he grunted, eyes flicking to her above him.

Pain clawed at the edges of his voice, but his eyes stayed sharp.

"Finish it."

Ashley Nevermore Jacen Breska ​

 

[Adean Castor]

TAG: Drystan Creed

"My side," Adean echoed, the reality of the words weighing heavily on her shoulders. Of course, the 'us vs them' mentality was very much in play. She was a perpetrator of it, too. "Then you shouldn't have come here if you didn't want to meet anyone else."

She pushed the emergency button again, twice now, a ping of panic sounding in the back of her head without any indication that it was working. Had he managed to deactivate it while he was left in here unattended? Or was it more of a silent alarm? Only time would tell, something she didn't have the luxury of testing.

"I'd hardly call doing my job being uncooperative," she muttered, fixing her opponent with a glare. If she acted like this was all an inconvenience rather than a cause of terror, perhaps the former would become the truth, right? Never mind how his eyes seemed to almost light up at the idea of a tussle.

In an act of defiance, Adean maintained eye contact as she pulled the stolen lightsaber from her belt, burying its crimson blade into the terminal. It almost physically hurt to see access to such information go to waste, and yet, she couldn't risk granting unfettered access should she lose this encounter. Perhaps, she tried to reason with herself, the terminal going offline would also garner someone's attention.

Emerald eyes narrowed, studying her opponent. He drew no weapons, only assumed a position as if he himself were the weapon. Either a bluff for the ages (and such a strange choice, considering who he was going up against, too) or she was in very real danger.

Pulling the lightsaber from the terminal's wreckage, she deactivated the cylinder with a slight look of distaste she couldn't quite hide completely. Nor could she hide how her fingers were perhaps a tad too quick to return it to her belt, trading it for twin daggers of the alchemized variety. For all the work she'd gone through to get the saber, she still felt as if it wasn't hers to wield. It was more of a showpiece than anything, a silent indicator of a position she'd snuck her way into.

With the terminal destroyed, rather than fly straight into attacking, she started to circle. If she could get to the door first and initiate at least the physical lock, that would buy even more time.

 

[Darth Morta]

Objective 4: BYOO
Location: Deep Maw, Unnamed Planet
Tags: CT-312 // Open

"Idiot," Darth Morta thought to herself as one of the troopers was grabbed and dragged towards a slow and painful death by digestion within one of the many carnivorous plants. The Dropper in charge of the squad, however, seemed to be much more merciful than Morta felt. She watched as CT-312 washed the surrounding jungle in flames, before putting the dying man out of his misery with a single shot. Effective and efficient.

Morta also appreciated the prioritization and on her feet thinking the Death Drop soldier exhibited, taking care of potential threats before turning to the trapped man to either provide aid or mercy. Perhaps she could make good use of this soldier and her other experienced comrades in the future. Darth Morta had big plans, and for them, she needed experienced and well-trained soldiers, ones loyal to her before anyone else. Though the Death Drop couldn't provide them directly, she could make use of them, provide her army's trainers with valuable battlefield knowledge that only came through hard-won experience.

"Good work 312," Morta said, knowing that a little praise went a long way when it came to motivating her underlings to work harder. Fear needed respect to balance it out, to know that good work was to be rewarded as generously as failure was to be punished.

She pushed them through the jungle harder, Darth Morta wanting to get to the ruins before she lost the rest of her escort; she needed them to be her eyes while she did her business at the ruins. Rather than let them handle what came at them, Morta took a more active role in pushing back the jungle, her sabre clearing a path through the jungle like a machete.

After a couple of hard hours bushwacking and hiking over the edge of the extinct volcano, the ruins came into view, a heavily overgrown arcade. At the center of the courtyard the archade surrounded was a spot where the plants seemed to stop growing in a near-perfect circle, a dozen meters across, was a fountain surrounded in thick a yellow mist, the stink of sulphur in the air around it, and the few columns not covered in plant matter were covered in faded Ophidian Grotesques.

"Here we are." Morta said as she turned to the Droppers, the ones still with her anyway, "Do not approach me or the fountain until I am ready to leave or call you over. Keep the plants at bay, AND do not damage the ruins."

 

[Ashley Nevermore]

Objective II
Tag: Aiden Rennek Jacen Breska
Equipment: Lionheart Armor | Shoulder Mounted Blaster Rifle | Blaster Carbine with Underbarrel Grenade Launcher | Sidearm​

It all happened so fast. First, Aiden went down. Then the bastard that did it charged forward.

She would meet him, without a second thought.

The woman blitzed forward, disregarding her blaster rifle and instead leaping into the air with a flying knee to the man's face. She could feel a bolt hit her chest, but the thickest part of her armor did it's job. Still, that was gonna be a bruise later. It shouldn't matter, because she intended to bury this man in the dirt first.

And if Aiden died here, she would get him a medal for it. Something, anything.

 

[Drystan Creed]

OBJECTIVE III

That was inopportune. He could only exhale in slight irritation.

Drystan had hoped to extract more information before absconding. He had only half of what he needed—give or take—but the moment he saw the crimson blade ignite from her hilt, his suspicions were confirmed.

A Sith, in some form or fashion, stood before him.

He didn't know the nature of his opponent's capabilities. But rather than fear the unknown, something in him stirred—excitement.

He watched her begin to circle him. Were it anyone else in his position, it would've felt like a predator enclosing on its prey. But Drystan showed no sign of worry. No tension. Calm and still, he made no effort to shift into a proper stance. His hands remained flat at his sides, his head simply turning to track Adean's movements.

"Leaving so soon?" he asked, tilting his head—clearly inferring her intent to cut off his only exit. A rudimentary tactic, but an essential one in detainment. Drystan knew it well, having used it countless times as a Shadow.

Yet he made no move to stop her.

"Or are you keeping me from doing so? I promise you, I have no intention of leaving... not yet."

From his relaxed posture, his right hand suddenly coiled upward in a sharp uppercut, slicing the air with a whistle as his arm blurred from speed. The strike was aimed at her chin—a precise, surgical attempt to end the encounter with a single, clean blow.

It was in this moment that the truth became evident.

He had already been in a combat stance. A no-guard stance.

Unlike orthodox stances that raise the arms to form a basic guard, Drystan deliberately kept his arms low. In this instance, it served not only to disguise his intent, but also to eliminate the telegraphed wind-up that usually precedes an uppercut. The strike came from nothing—direct, immediate, and violent.

And beyond that, the low positioning widened the angles from which he could strike.

It was unassuming. Efficient. Deceptive. A stance befitting Shadows.

Adean Castor

 

[Azurine Varek]

Edge Of A Razor

Outfit: Clothing/Armor | Glove | Right Arm | Talisman | Purple Bracelet
Weapons: Lightsaber 1 [x] | Lightsaber 2 [x] | Hook Swords

Azzie saw it coming but barely had time to register the sound before the Force slammed into her chest like a freighter's shockwave. Her body flew backwards gracelessly, hitting a jagged boulder with a sickening thud. The impact punched the breath from her lungs. Air escaped in a croaked gasp, and for a short moment, all she could do was lie there, ribs rattling, mouth open but unable to draw breath. Her vision swam. Cool, sharp rain hit her face, and her fingers twitched against the dirt. She coughed once. Then twice. Finally dragging air into her lungs through clenched teeth.

Her eyes found the figure of Luka just in time to see the wound in her neck. She watched Luka's healing with a mounting sense of dread. She'd never seen anyone pinch their own flesh, spark controlled arcs of Force lightning between two bleeding arteries, and stitch themselves back together as if it were mere thread. That should have killed her. Yet, the banshee simply rose, whole enough to fight on. Azzie's gut turned. The scream, or whatever that was, still echoed in her head. Just anguish, not really sound. She swallowed the fear clawing at her throat and forced herself upright, gritting her teeth as she staggered to her feet, just about to flicker out of view again—

Then, the figure that finally revealed themselves, who had been referred to as Allyson, spoke. Val? Allyson had said her name like she knew her. Not just in passing, but as if there was some tangled history there, hidden under sarcasm and smoldering rubble. What the hell was going on?

Her amethyst gaze snapped to the woman standing in the open, bow now raised again. Azzie watched the plasma bolt begin to spark into being. She didn't understand. Allyson had destroyed their transport and shot Luka through the neck, which could have been seen as a coincidental miss, but now she was also targeting her again? Was she helping them or hunting them? The bolt was aimed for Luka, not at Azzie or Valery. For a heartbeat, Azzie didn't move. She shouldn't care. That woman had hurt Aadihr—cut pieces from his soul and buried them in scars. The thought of protecting her made something sour boil in her gut. Luka deserved justice, didn't she? But... this wasn't really justice... was it? It was execution.

"No-"

Luka's aura wasn't just dim or clouded. It was fractured, shattered into shards that flickered erratically in every direction, like broken glass caught in a cyclone. There was no cohesion or center. The woman knelt in the mud, barely shielding herself, practically unarmed despite the weapons in her hands. She was too lost inside herself to see anything coming.

The pain in her lower back, exactly where the Sith runes had been carved long ago into her skin, flared hotter, a grim reminder of what cruelty felt like, as well as the blackness that still lay caged there. Images of the blackened tree flashed before her eyes. Then, Aadihr's voice came to her mind. Gentle, insistent. Compassionate even to his own harm. He would've tried.

"NO!"

Her palms burned with Force energy that was warm yet still wild and barely tamed. It certainly wasn't elegant. The Force didn't obey like it once had, and it took so much of her energy just to pull off such a feat as forcing a bolt of plasma to move. Her push hit the bolt a hair too late, but just enough. It veered down; only a small nudge was all she could muster, hopefully heading it's course to slice across the back of Luka's shoulder instead of piercing her skull.

Azzie gasped, falling to one knee from the sheer amount of effort it took. In the end, she wasn't sure if that was salvation or a mistake. The only thing she did know was she would cling to that idealistic faith in true justice, to hoping for better in the galaxy. Lead by example.

Valery Noble | Luka Felcado | Allyson Locke​

 

[Allyson Locke]

//: Valery Noble //: Azurine Varek //: Luka Felcado //:
//: Attire //:

"Tch"

Allyson clicked her tongue against her teeth as she watched the dramatic efforts of the Padawan. The girl was strong but foolish in the Corellian's experience. In any other scenario, the death of a Sith outweighed the latter option - had the shadows grown soft? Maybe she was outdated.

The question lingered in her mind. She knew Valery, the woman who saw redemption in many, but they both knew the one who was just saved was a lost cause. The Banshee was a cancer and needed to be eradicated.

Fingers gripped the bow tightly again; she could attack once more. She doubted the girl had enough strength to muster up another feat like that. Allyson's eyes flickered to Valery, trying to read the Grandmaster. If anyone could stop another attack, it would be Val.

Instead of attacking, the Corellian stowed the bow and slowly clapped for the girl.

"Impressive." She almost laughed and began to walk forward as the applause finished.

"Haven't seen one of my shots miss in a long time," Allyson let her gaze wander from the Zabrak to the Keshian again.

"I think it's a mistake to let this one live, but that burden is on you, kid." She stopped before the tree and looked at the shocked Luka.

"Next time, my shot won't miss." Her words were only for the Sith. Standing a few feet from Valery, she grinned, "I always seem to run into you on jungle planets—guess it's our thing."

Allyson's face softened momentarily remembering their past fondly while the grin turned into a genuine smile.

"Take care of yourself, Valery," Looking past her to the Padawan, "Get a babysitter next time so we can have a proper date on another jungle planet."

Stepping back, Allyson laughed at her little joke along with a little wave. She needed a moment to prepare herself for the one thing she hated the most.

The heavy feeling started in her stomach, and then the rest of her body followed. In the blink of an eye, the Corellian was gone and zipped through whatever Taeli Raaf Sith alchemy was used to create the bow and enchants.

Allyson appeared back into the forest, back into the shadows of the tree she had started from. Behind her, the arrow she anchored with a bit of force power fizzled out of existence. Allyson crouched on the branch, holding her stomach, and in one moment, she lost its contents.

"Ugghhh, I'm never going to get used to that…" The Corellian groaned quietly as she wiped her mouth with her sleeve.

"Just had to show off, frink halle…"

 

[Luka Felcado]

Azurine Varek | Valery Noble | Allyson Locke​

There was no warning this time.

No pulse in the Force.
No whisper.
Just heat.

A line of pain seared through her back—left shoulder, deep and high. She didn’t see the bolt. She didn’t register the shout. She only felt the burn. A thin, precise arc of plasma slashing through armor, muscle, tendon. The air filled with the scent of scorched flesh and polymer. Her vision tilted.

Then the noise stopped. No follow-up. No scream. No footsteps. Just rain. And pain.

Luka stayed kneeling.

The wound cut right through her, not even enough resistance cutting through to knock her down. She hadn’t had the strength to move. The shock held her upright. The lightsabers – hers and his... Both were no longer ignored, no longer casting pale red light across the muddy crater. The water at her knees had soaked through the rags that she had been frozen it. The puddle rippled. As he right arm trembled. The left refused to move at all.

She stared down, jaw slack. Steam coiled from her shoulder, mixing with the mist that clung to her lips. She breathed shallow. Blood loss, maybe. Force fatigue certainly. Her neck still ached the hole opened moments ago, the flesh barely fused, fragile as paper yet she lived.

She mouthed a question silently to the sky.
Jo’Han still didn’t answer.

Her fingers flexed. Then curled. Nothing.

Static filled the gaps. Her own heartbeat in her ears. Her mouth dry, breath shaky, she scraped the walls of the echo chamber that was her mind as her body remained still. Nothing. Catatonic.

She somehow tilted her head. Her eyes flicked toward the Zabrak. The Padawan. The weapon. The lure. But the look was not hatred. It wasn’t anything. She looked at Azurine the like a corpse still living. Glassy. Lost.

She couldn't speak. She couldn’t move. She couldn't even call on the Force now.

The only sound were words exchanged by Valery's implement of betrayal before they vanished. Then, nothing but the rain and the hum of the Jedi's weapons.

Luka could only hold one fleeting, pleading thought before returning to her daze.

Give him back...​

 

[Adean Castor]

TAG: Drystan Creed

The lack of posturing from Drystan, despite his words suggesting otherwise, did little to quell the anxiety burrowing in Adean's gut. Perhaps he was as inexperienced or unenthused about conflict as she was, or perhaps it was an indicator of just how out of her league she was.

The slight pause in his words, before the "not yet," was her only tangible indicator of the attack to come. No, it was more a vague feeling that saw her pulling back just enough to avoid an immediate knockout. The arm missed her chin by maybe hairs, with Adean very much feeling the rush of wind generated by the sudden movement.

"Forgive me if your promise doesn't inspire confidence."

Her knees bent, settling into a more basic combat stance. Eyes that'd widened with the first thrown punch now narrowed in concentration, mind whirling to determine how best to approach the unconventional stance.

Speed, no, that was faster than me...She found herself very much missing the presence of the winged familiar she'd left at the Academy, for an extra set of eyes would've been a boon. No wind-up means getting close is bad too...But choices were limited, too. Some moves, even if unwise for her personal wellbeing, had to be made.

With one hand reaching back to hit the locking mechanism, the other hand moved to fling its dagger in the rough direction of Drystan, but more importantly, the broken terminal. If she could create some shrapnel, anything to take visibility out of the equation, she might stand an inkling of a chance.

 

[Drystan Creed]

OBJECTIVE III

In that moment, it became clear why Drystan carried no weapons.

Even through the tightness of his jumpsuit, his frame was unmistakable.

His neck—thick and corded—could be likened to a tree trunk, just as one might compare a fighter's torso. Durable enough to withstand blows that would knock out the average person.

His arms were as thick as cannon barrels, promising explosive force with every strike. His elbows—where upper and lower arms joined—resembled the massive fangs of a krayt dragon when bent. And like those fangs, they could pierce through armor just as easily.

Attached to them were fists, clenching and unclenching—miniature cannonballs that could move just as fast and hit just as hard.

Even from a glance, it was easy to tell what kind of engine ran under the hood. And that was without accounting for the techniques and principles he had stored in his mind, waiting to be unleashed.

"You're giving me mixed signals here," he said.

The dagger flew toward him—but instead of dodging, Drystan raised his left prosthetic hand, catching it cleanly between his fingers. Sparks burst from the impact.

"You're running away from me... yet you've locked us in this confined space."

He inspected the dagger, balancing it in his hand to test its weight. It was a finely made piece—something its owner would likely miss dearly if it were taken from her.

I should return this.

And so he did.

Stepping into a heavily loaded motion, Drystan hurled the dagger back at Adean—a stark contrast to her throw. His was a full-body toss, more akin to launching a javelin. The speed was staggering.

He hoped it would find its mark. Something to pin her down. He'd much prefer it was himself doing the pinning, but she seemed intent on keeping him at a distance.

That wouldn't do. Especially with his limited ranged options—and the ones he did have were loud, unwieldy, and prone to causing devastation. In this confined space, that was far from ideal.

Adean Castor

 

[CT-312]

//: Darth Morta //:
//: Deep Maw, Unnamed Planet //:
//: Attire //:
//: Weapons: CR-24 Flame Rifle, E-11 Blaster Rifle , & Vibroblade Knife//:
//: OBJECTIVE: BYOO//:​

Praise. From a Sith Lord. CT-312’s brow lifted slightly beneath her helmet. It was unexpected. Most of the Sith she’d been assigned to during missions gave nothing. Not even a glance. Only orders. Aside from one other Sith Lord she had encountered to give praise, Darth Morta would be the second. The Scout had taken note of the Lord’s decision and spoke directly to her. That alone set her apart from the majority of the other Siths. CT-312 didn’t linger on the praise. She was only doing her job.

As the Lord increased her pace. Darth Morta effortlessly cut through the jungle like a blade through a cloth. The remaining Trooper and CT-312 followed close behind. Her boots sank slightly into the wet ground with every step. Flame rifle angled forward, her posture remained steady. The jungle didn’t stop pressing. Occasionally vines slithered across the path behind them. Trying to erase their presence.

The Camo Scout answered with a burst of flames. Forcing the foliage back with sizzling screams. She kept one eye on Darth Morta, studying how the Sith Lord moved. It was precise and deliberate. Eventually the jungle gave way. The ruins emerged. Massive stone columns, cracked and overgrown. There stood a wide courtyard at the center. The sulfur-stained fountain shrouded in yellow mist. They’ve reached their objective.

"Here we are." Morta said as she turned to the Droppers, the ones still with her anyway, "Do not approach me or the fountain until I am ready to leave or call you over. Keep the plants at bay, AND do not damage the ruins."

“Understood.” CT-312 nodded sharply in acknowledgement. She turned to the last remaining Trooper. “Take up position on the opposite side. Wide perimeter. Eyes up and safety off. A vine twitches. You light it up. Check in every five.”

The remaining Trooper snapped at attention and saluted nervously. Moving hurriedly to their position. CT-312 watched as he left. She stood nearby, but wisely keeping distance from Darth Morta. As the Lord set out to do what they needed to do here. Adjusting her own stance, back to the wall of a column. CT-312 kept her flame rifle low but ready.