Star Wars Roleplay: Chaos

Register a free account today to become a member! Once signed in, you'll be able to participate on this site by adding your own topics and posts, as well as connect with other members through your own private inbox!

Populate [GA + Friendly Explorers] The Stars Between Us | GA Populate of Resource Hex

"Bah-Shi-Gan! AH-HAH!"

The pounding of feet and thumping of fists on chests could be heard even through the trees of Tython. There was little doubt that there was a group of people headed for the Jedi on their way to the Forge. A guttural war cry called out to announce their arrival, that this was no ordinary walk in the woods. The Forge was not undefended, it would seem, and that the rumors of the presence of Flesh Raiders was true.

A group of them, about a dozen, stood between the Jedi and the Forge. They were armed with clubs and barbed spears and jagged machetes. Each of them was thick in the chest, arms, and legs. They had mouths of sharp teeth, and their eyes were on protruding stalks out of the sides of their heads. Some of them had blasters in leather holsters, though none were brandishing these weapons. Most of them had deep scars that had scabbed over and become calloused, proud markings of battles won. All of them had fresh wounds, some of which were still bleeding. One of them had a spear head still stuck in their chest that they'd broken off, and just left there.

The largest of these Flesh Raiders had some kind of crown: The skull of one of his own kind, mounted upside down on the top of his head with leather straps holding it in place.

"Bah-Shi-Gan!" Two-Skull declared. His club was a large and wicked thing, full of spikes and jagged edges. Much of these spikes were teeth claimed either from enemies, or perhaps even his own mouth. He thumped his club's head on the ground as he stood before the Jedi, and gestured to the assembly of Flesh Raiders. He then gestured to the Jedi.

"Jed'aii - Re-Turn-Ners."

He pointed behind his warriors with his club, towards the Forge.

"Mo-Ko-Nan. Bah-Shi-Gan ot Jed'aii MOH-gawen!"

He pounded his chest at the Jedi, "Nu-Bop. Two-Skull! Two-Skull moh-gawen Bah-Shi-Gan ot Jed'aii, ak-AMI Mo-Ko-Nan!"

With his club, he pointed at all the Jedi in a circle gesture, "Jed'aii ech Moh-gawan?"

Whatever the Flesh Raider's intentions, ambushing and killing the Jedi right away was not it. This Flesh Raider was already known to the Jedi on Tython as being particularly curious, hanging around temples and watching and trading meat and skins for trinkets. Little was known about the modern Flesh Raider, or their language - Two-Skull seemed to be picking up Basic faster than the Jedi were comprehending his language. There was not a sense of malice, a sort of dark teasing. Rather, the Flesh Raiders were excited and eager, more like they were ready to play than ready to slaughter.

Aris Noble Aris Noble Razh Sho Razh Sho Everest Vale Everest Vale Reina Daival Reina Daival
Open to Objective I
 
"This is pointless," Bal grunted. He sat in his seat on the shuttle to the surface of Tython, ignoring his assistants and watching his son, Raz Tal, chew on a hunk of meat he had been given as a toy. For Rakata children of this age, there wasn't much of a distinction between 'Play' and 'Eat.' It made socializing with children of other species difficult, but it had to be done. Mostly they would keep some kind of fence or playpen between the children and let them play in the same space, or give them space to roll a ball back and forth or something. Bal kept up appearances as a family man, but the truth was he had six children with four different mates, who each had different children with different partners. Raz wasn't even the youngest of them. Psychologists didn't even understand if play and socializing had an innate role in the development of Rakata children. After a thousand years of keeping his people in effectively zoos, the Republic - whatever its name was now - knew next to nothing about his people.

Not that they knew much, either.

"It's a good move, sir. The Jedi play a big role in the Alliance, it's smart to court their cooperation," his chief adviser, a Bothan woman named Zardu, assured him.

"Not that. I'll kiss all the Lightsabers I need to if it means the Jedi don't give me a dirty look when they see me in the Senate building. The Flesh Raiders," Bal said.

"How is it pointless? Your people are cousins!"

"Exactly! There hasn't been a Rakatan on Tython in twenty-five thousand years. That's twenty five millennia of divergence. Even if Rakatan culture wasn't completely forgotten, the amount they've changed in that time would make us unrecognizable to them. If I spoke Rakatan fluently, which I don't, they wouldn't understand a word. Sending me to negotiate with them is a futile gesture," he insisted.

"Listen, we have the Command Staff. They might recognize it."

"It's a fake. It's just a metal spear. The real Command Staffs were tools of the Dark Side used to control legions of slave soldiers."

"So don't tell the Flesh Raiders that."

"I'm not waving a metal pole at them in hopes the Flesh Raiders decide to listen to me in a language they don't speak."

"They're savages, if you shout loudly enough-"

"So were my people when the Republic took them in. Tython is their home now. Shaking a staff at them isn't going to convince them I'm some returned God. And don't look down on 'savages.' Just because they don't kill using blasters doesn't mean they don't know what they're doing."

"Yes, sir, sorry, sir."

Raz gave Zardu a gurgling shriek when she stepped too close to his playpen - and his meat-toy. She visibly shuddered, and took a step away from him. Their shuttle was landing now. Bal's nanny, a Kaleesh, managed to finagle him into his hover crib with only a minor laceration, one of many he'd given her since she'd started the job. He would not be parted from his meat-toy.

A member of his security detail - a surplus, even for a wealthy Senator, given how endangered the Rakatans were - handed Bal the Command Staff. He was to make a show of seeming like a Rakatan warlord, an official of his people, the first in a new line of leaders. He knew for a fact that most of the iconography on his outfit was ahistorical. But he doubted any but the most studious of the Jedi would even care, much less notice.

He stepped off the shuttle and into the Jedi Temple, with his retinue flanking him and his son at his side, feeling absolutely ridiculous. Even Raz's hover crib was covered in ridiculous Rakatan inspired scribbles. Bal had a hand in designing it all, it was all part of his Senatorial face. But it was still ridiculous, and felt foreign to him.

Raz began to scrape strips of meat off his toy and started to stuff them in his mouth. There was so little known about Rakatan child-rearing. Almost everything Bal had gone through had been based off of techniques derived for other, unrelated species. Bal wasn't even sure if he was supposed to feel a parental connection with his son. Did Raz feel any affection for Bal? Or was he just some little monster until he started to talk and comprehend?

Bal reached out to his son in the hover-crib as he gnawed on the meat. The boy looked up, but didn't make any indication of territoriality. Bal dared to touch the boy, rubbing Raz's elongated head. Not only did Raz not bite him, the boy leaned into it - although his focus did not break from his attempts to turn the hunk of meat and bone into as many pieces as he could manage. At the very least, Raz recognized Bal as being his father. Bal managed a smile.

He looked up as his procession stopped, and realized that he was not the only father having a moment with his son in the halls of the temple.

"Oh. Hello there, Master Jedi," Bal said to Caelan Valoren Caelan Valoren as he pulled his hand back, "I am Senator Bal Tal of Lehon. I am here to speak with the High Council."
 

Rg5WxV6.png

Deep Space, aboard the Benefacto
En Route to Tython
- Ashley Nevermore Ashley Nevermore - Open -

Ever since he'd been a city-planner on Alderaan, Alicio had given each of his projects a deeply personal touch.

He wasn't one to sit back and observe, after setting things in motion. If he were asking the Defense Force to spread themselves thin across the Alliance, pathfinding and securing trade routes, he would be right there with them, doing whatever he could to help it run smoothly.

It was fortunate, then, that he could help. Finding the way ahead was easy, when one could glimpse the Future. He'd planted himself on the bridge of the Benefacto, a Republic-class cruiser acting as his escort, staring into space with wicked intensity. Every once in a while, he'd say a string of coordinates, and off the destroyer, and the small entourage of ships from the 10th Sector Armada, would rocket. Every few parsecs, they'd drop out of hyperspace, eject a buoy, and continue.

Leaving a trail of breadcrumbs for others to follow.

It was slow, unglamorous work. Picking their way around the Deep Core was tricky. There were plenty of dangerous space phenomena here before the known paths were disrupted. Gravitic waves, black holes, amorphous, shifting nebulae, the list went on. But now, with the familiar routes distorted and shifted... well, it paid to be cautious.

They had just placed their last buoy. Finally, the novelty of having the head of the Alliance lead them to Tython had worn off, replaced by routine as they engaged their hyperdrives for the last time. Alicio finally allowed himself to relax, letting his hand graze his forehead with some amount of fatigue. Rest couldn't come soon...


"Oh."

"Excellency?" The captain of the Benefacto frowned, a young, reedy man, looked up from his command chair.

"...Raise shields. Now."

There was stunned, disbelieving silence on the bridge. Plenty of the naval officers had their doubts about the Chancellor's abilities, but most had been dispelled on their journey. But telling them they were going to be under attack, when they were so close to their goal... well, it was a bit unbelievable. The captain quickly pondered how to break the news to the Supreme Chancellor that there was almost certainly not an attack coming in the middle of a jump, without losing his job.

"Sir? We're in hypersp-"

"Captain!" One of the officers below began frantically typing at his datapad. "Something's wrong! We're being pulled out-"

The Benefacto groaned violently as they were pulled from their path, erupting from hyperspace with dizzying abruptness. Before they could even think to raise shields, explosions rocked their hull, peppering the ship's armor. Mines. Officers began sounding off around the room, reeling from the escalation.

"The hyperdrive is damaged!


"Sensors reading... stars, at least a hundred fighters. Make and model... slapdash. Closing fast."

Alicio set his mouth, giving the captain a dark look. Pirates. "Prepare for combat, Captain. Send all available troops to the hangar bay." He turned away, headed towards the hangar himself with confident steps.

He wasn't one to sit back and observe.
 
Rg5WxV6.png


FALSE MESSIAH


Along the Lesser Lantillian Route, a particularly sinister group of pirates have been exploiting the plight of the stranded, posing as GADF Navy on the frontier to swoop in and hijack haulers worth billions of credits. More concerning is the disappearance of the crews of these haulers, feared to be vented into deep space or sold in Hutt Space as slaves.

GADF and the NJO were finally alerted to this scheme as one hauler crew managed to send off a burst transmission before being captured, warning of these pirates. A new audacious operation has been launched to end the scourge of these pirates, aimed to bring down the entire vile enterprise in one fell swoop.

It begins with the GA playing their own game of knockoff with repurposed freighters. Operation Fool's Gold is a go!


Location: Heavy Cargo Freighter Auric Venture, Alliance frontier space at the Mid-Rim.
Objective (III): Stakeout (Pirate Hunting)
With: Jedi Knight Consular Kaldor Vexis (NPC), OPEN (DM for details before joining)

The interior of the freighter was dim, bathed in a soft crimson glow from emergency light strips. There was a constant buzzing as various sputtering systems continued to try and fail to draw upon inconsistent power. The air reeked of leaking coolant and ozone from loose sparking cables. The floor was littered with loose panels and debris. It was an absolute maze of ruin within the Auric Venture, and the ship looked little better on the outside, marred by scoring and gashes along the hull like a rancor had taken its claws to it. Several of its cargo crates were either missing or crumpled on their racks.

All the damage was consistent with a ship that had narrowly missed being sheared in half by a gravitic eddy in hyperspace, now limping along through deep space with barely functional shields. Four other such freighters now drifted in similar sorry states within the sector as bait.

In the engine room, Mykel stood over flickering console, Jedi Robes traded in for a dull grey flightsuit streaked with grease. His lightwhip was gone, a hydrospanner in its place on his utility belt. His identification badge read as Rayle McCoy, Systems Tech Second Grade.

While his identity was fake, his job was quite real, playing a careful balance between making the Venture look vulnerable but still functional enough to spin its systems up to full power if needed. The technopath barely referenced the display, reading and manipulating the various pathways of the ship's circuitry directly. The Venture, with its own onboard droid brain, was quite fussy as it did not like being held in such a fluctuating state at all.

Just a little longer, he would coo to the ship.

In all reality he wasn't sure exactly if or when anything would happen. There were five teams, meaning there was a good chance he wouldn't see action at all. It was all a game of chance.

Secretly, he wanted to win.
 
Last edited:
T Y T H O N
A S H L A

It was not the High King of Midvinter that had returned to the ancient birthplace of the Order, but the orphan boy of seven without home or hope. It was not the fierce Warrior, the noble Lion, or the chivalrous Knight that trod these hallowed grounds, but the adoped son of Asha Seren, clad not in armour and armed not with cold steel but rather old robes of a bygone age and a lightsaber whose duty had long been fulfilled. He bore no sign or symbol of his homeworld this day, in honour of his humble beginnings.

He was a Jedi. Dubbed a Master by his peers at age 23. Made Grandmaster of the Silver Jedi Order at 25 — the second to ever bear that title, and bear it well he did, turning a splinter group of Jedi into the dominant force for good in the galaxy that would last for decades — a torch the Galactic Alliance would bear in their stead. He toppled Sith empires, fought alongside Mandalorian clans, and liberated countless worlds.

Old deeds. Old glories. He'd not come to relive them. Everyone from those days that mattered were either dead or missing.

Thurion lifted his gaze towards the heavens, seeing there the shattered remains of Ashla — the Twin-Moon of Light. For too long had Her sister Bogan laughed at her misfortune. She, not unlike himself, needed to heal. He could not bring back the fallen, or the lost. But this...

He closed his eyes, a build-up of howling wind and wintry chill enveloping his robed form, and by the time he opened them, he found himself on the cracked sphere, looking down at the beauty of Tython.

...This he could fix, and in the process, perhaps mend that festering wound in his heart. To bring back something good, in her memory.

Though broken and torn, the Moon of Ashla still radiated beauty and tranquility; a stark contrast to Her sister, whose darkness and gloom were so suffocating to the point of madness. Thurion knelt and buried his fingers in the white sand, suddenly overcome with emotion. Through touch, he felt the celestial's pain and anguish, crying out into an uncaring void. A lone tear fell upon the sand.

"Be with me," he spoke with eyes closed, pleading the spirits of dearly departed friends, colleagues, and comrades to stand with him one last time. "Do not forsake me, I beg of you; I am all that's left. Lend me your strength this final time, that I might set things right for once. Be with me."

OPEN
 
Wearing: Wild Knights Flight Suit

Flying: GIE/LN (Blue Color)

This was the closest Nathan had dared gotten next to Alicio Organa Alicio Organa since they had toured a medical facility all those years ago.

He had said precisely one statement in earshot of the man who eventually became Chancellor. Just one, and no other. Had he known the man would be Chancellor he wouldn't have said anything.

Nathan had come aboard the vessel to help with ship defense in case it came under pirate attack. His experience with the Wild Knights in the fallen Trade League made some do a double take. It wasn't widely known in the NJO, his background as a fighter pilot in a special unit.

He had been asleep in assigned quarters, alone with his nightmares of his wife's death, the memories sloshing against those of Syd.

He had woke up after the ship was ripped from Hyperspace, followed by multiple impacts on the hull.

His experience assaulting starships told him what was going on. Mines.

A trap. Interdiction field had pulled them from Hyperspace more than likely.

He was out and in his armor in minutes, rushing to the Hangar with other pilots.

His fighter was so similar to an ordinary TIE Fighter in shape that it didn't draw much attention beyond its blue color with a white alliance starbird on the solar collection panels.

Internally, it was almost nothing like a TIE.

This one was a GIE. A Gravity Influenced Engine fighter. He hopped into the high tech fighter. It had taken him months to figure out. He powered up the systems, which tuned themselves to his preferences.

He needed to get out there now...

Nathan took off with a number of other fighters, and immediately targeted incoming mines still moving towards the hull, destroying them with the ship mounted electromagnetic plasma cannons before they could get any closer, on the lookout for enemy fighters. For now, preventing more damage to the ship was essential...
 
BP9MQYZ.png
wHxnyHV.png

TYgqR4f.png
Objective One - Enroute to the Forge
Outfit: x x x x x | Equipment: x x x x x x | Weapons: x x x | Companion: Domxite
Interacting with: Loomi Loomi

Zaiya's opal blue eyes shimmered with concern as Loomi spoke, the swirling colors across her skin shifting into softer hues of grey flecked bronze. Even with the Lovalla's mental shields in place, Zaiya could see how the Force around Loomi was thick with emotional resonance, painting her in muted hues, but still difficult to read clearly without intruding too much. Zaiya could sense that something was wrong, but Loomi's words didn't quite match the weight she felt. It wasn't the right time to press for answers, certainly not with everyone around, and especially not with the Fleshraider threat lurking somewhere nearby. Still, the concern settled deep within Zaiya's chest.

She stepped closer to Loomi, offering a gentle squeeze on her shoulder, a silent promise of support that was all she could give for now. Loomi's small smile eased her worry slightly, but the Lovalla Padawan was still concerned.

Zaiya took a quiet breath, trying to focus, to push aside the swirling mix of emotions that threatened to resonate too strongly with her own.

"So, are you planning to stay on Tython then?" she asked, keeping her voice light, the question a simple one, one that felt safe for the moment.

She caught the glance of the Jedi Knight leading them, motioning for them to stay close and stay alert. Zaiya nodded, her eyes flicking briefly toward the darkened path ahead. The Fleshraiders could strike at any moment, and she couldn't afford to get distracted. Either way, Zaiya could only hope that her friend would find the peace she needed, whether that came from returning to Tython or facing whatever troubled her head on,

For now, though, she settled for being there, quietly offering her strength in the small moments between them.

qXrM5Mv.png
xBoI1s8.png
 

wjujCZT.png

ASHLA
Azurine Varek Azurine Varek Thurion Heavenshield Thurion Heavenshield Reina Daival Reina Daival

The moon of Ashla had been broken. Shattered, scarred, and defiled.

The chunks that could be salvaged - great slabs of composite minerals that had rained down on Tython's surface or had been caught in its gravitational pull - had been stabilized. With the aid of a few carefully placed and precisely attuned gravity wells, the pieces of Ashla now fit together like a ragged puzzle.

It wasn't perfect. The surface was still jagged in some places, and it would be some time before the moon shaped itself into a cratered sphere again. Until then, artificial gravity would be their friend.

"Our task is to help the pieces of Ashla bond back to the surface of the moon. This will take time - and patience and connection - but it'll help to cleanse the darkness that lingers, and allow for the healing of Ashla."

Cora's gaze panned over the moon's white sands to the shadow of her sister, Bogan. It was said that long ago, Je'daii who moved too close to the light would be sent here to meditate with the darker moon in view. Her focus moved first to Reina, then to Azurine with a gentle smile.

In the near distance, a figure knelt. The Lion King of Midvinter, a Jedi of legend. Thurion Heavenshield was as much a myth as he was a man. Cora had heard stories of both his valor in battle and his love for his people and family. He was said to be a gentle giant, a man of humble nature with a kindly heart.

Blue eyes fluttered closed as her senses drifted into the Force, letting each ebb and flow carry her awareness.

"Azzie," she murmured. "You have a connection to this place. To him. I believe…"

When Cora next opened her eyes, they were fixed on the Zabrak. Her gaze was steady, but not intrusive. Kind, but knowing.

"I believe you'd be most suited to healing, here."

Whether she meant the healing of Ashla or the healing of Azurine, she did not specify. Still, Cora placed a hand on her friend's shoulder and gave it a squeeze. Touch did not come easily to the blueblood, but she'd make exceptions where she could.
Dc6pDtW.png
 

dcJDf9K.png

Mandalorian Space

A series of alarms on the console sounded indicating failure. Try as he might the figure looming over the console was not successful. Frustration began to show on his features.

A Droid approached, its mechanical voice reaching out to him...

"Sir, according to calculations the reactor is operating at a thirty-seven percent capacity."

Grunting an acknowledgement he attempted to run an override on the console, bypassing systems that were negligible or would straining the dying reactor to unacceptable limits. There was finally some success. He managed to activate the sensor arrays; a trivial system considering the ship was suspended dead in the black.

At least he wasn't blind anymore, Interdictors tended to have far reaching sensor arrays.

Turning his head towards the droids he'd have commanded...

"You stay here with me, the rest of you attend engineering. See what you can do to disable the interdiction fields."

The Bridge cleared, he was left with the single droid he'd commanded to remain.

He took a breath, the air was stale. Life support was operational but with extensive power drain was not operating at high efficiency. No matter, there was enough air to sustain one person indefinitely and a larger number for a lengthy period of time.

An alarm went off drawing his attention to a holographic screen that flickered with information. The sensors had picked up activity already. Republic Ships, it didn't take them long to begin moving in once the Clans had scattered...
Open
 


aDQmzpD.png

HAIuSyi.png


Outfit: Combat Jumpsuit | Wedding Ring
Weapons: Blasters | Lightsabers

Valery listened in silence, letting the words settle around them. She watched the way his hand met the stone, not as a stranger seeking comfort, but as one who had earned the right to touch it. One who belonged here. His voice held reverence without fragility — strength tempered by memory, by pain, by purpose.

A soft smile tugged at the corners of her lips — not born of amusement, but of certainty.

"That's exactly why I asked you here," she said, her voice low, warm, and unwavering. She took a step forward, so they stood nearly shoulder to shoulder, both framed by the dawnlight stretching across Tython's horizon. Her hands clasped in front of her now, and her eyes didn't waver from his.

"You don't see this place as just stone and walls. You see it for what it is — memory, meaning, responsibility. You feel the weight of history, but you don't let it anchor you. You carry it forward." She drew a slow breath, letting the words find their place.

"I want you to serve as the Temple's Warden, Caltin." She let the words hang there, unembellished, but full of intent.

"Not just its protector. Its voice. Its soul. You understand what this Temple is to us now — not just what it once was. That matters more than ever. We're rebuilding, yes. But we're also remembering. And I can't think of anyone better to help guide that balance." Her smile deepened just a touch.

"And I trust you to defend it with the same fire you've always carried."

A pause. Then, quieter — but no less sincere.

"Will you accept?"






 
More than just a blunt instrument.
VVVDHjr.png
RELIC OF A JEDI ON A RELIC OF A WORLD
TYTHON
AKAR KESH



For a long moment, Caltin didn’t move.


The wind rolled low through the highlands of Tython, tugging at the edges of his tunic (he hated cloaks, and would not wear them unless ceremonial “they itch like crazy”). The mountains, the landscape all painting the windows like a beautiful expensive picture, stood behind them — ancient, wounded, enduring. His gaze never left the horizon.


Warden.

He said the word like it had dust on it, like it had waited centuries to be spoken again.

I have never truthfully been one for titles. No shame in them, don’t get me wrong, but it’s like my time with one, I always felt like people listened to the “the title” and never truly to me, or anything I had to offer. It is probably why he rarely ever had put himself into consideration for a Council position anywhere, always feeling he was a better "leader" out in the field and not up in a tower. No shame to anyone who held the position it was just never truly for him.

His voice was steady, not defiant — just honest.

Not then. Not now.

He turned, slowly, to meet her eyes — not questioning, but measuring.

But this Temple... this world... it doesn’t need a name on a door.

He tapped his chest once, over his heart.

It needs someone who remembers, who gets it. Every Temple is important, to be sure, but this one He clapped the stone one more time. This planet, Ashla really created something here. It is important to understand that.The weight of his words lingered in the air, as if the very stones of the Temple echoed his reverence. He turned back, his gaze softening, as though the ancient walls themselves whispered their silent agreement. Yes, this place is more than a name—it is a legacy, and will be again.

He looked back toward the mountains where the sun was beginning to break, casting golden light across the stone.

Thank you for the kind words. You’re right. I don’t see walls. I see oaths. Sacrifices. Lessons bought with blood and time. His jaw tightened. A memory passed behind his eyes.

I’ve buried friends in and from these halls. Saved lives in them. Bled for them. I know what this place means, and it would be my honor to help others understand this as well. Another pause — not out of doubt, but reflection. Then, he nodded once — solid and final, like a hammer against anvil. It was a look, a steely resolve he had not held in a long time, but the Grandmaster had seen it a few times on him in the past.

I may not be one for titles, but this one is different. So my answer is unequivocally Yes . I’ll gladly serve. It would be my privilege to.

He stepped forward, placing his palm fully on the temple wall now — not as a gesture of reverence, but of belonging. Not just to defend it. But to remind every soul who walks these halls why they were built in the first place.

Then he turned to her again, voice quiet but unshakable.

You have my fire. The Jedi always have. And now you have my word.A faint breath left him, somewhere between resolution and relief.

Let’s rebuild it right. Tapping his chest one more time, he offered a handshake to seal it.

pHjD5Dp.png

Valery Noble Valery Noble TAGS
[Text in Brackets is spoken on Comm-link] ~Like this is through the Force~​
 


aDQmzpD.png

Tython
PpBs3gB.png

Tag: Everest Vale Everest Vale
Vera pressed on, boots crunching louder now as the trail narrowed and the brush thickened on either side. Her braid bounced behind her with each step, and she didn't bother hiding the grin spreading across her face. "Oh, heroic, huh?" she called back over her shoulder to Everest, voice bright with mischief. "I'll make sure they put it on the memorial: 'Devoured by a tree goblin. Went out swinging.'"

She laughed and used her lightsaber hilt to poke aside a stubborn branch that smacked right back into her. Still, she loved this. Being outside. Being free. She felt alive out here, like the world was breathing with her. Even if Mom had given them instructions about patrol routes and perimeter sweeps and "responsibility," Vera had every intention of making this into an adventure.

But then she stopped. Like someone had yanked the air from her lungs. Her foot caught mid-step, and her shoulders stiffened, eyes going distant. The world... shifted. She wasn't in the forest anymore — not entirely. For a heartbeat, everything felt too quiet. Like sound itself had taken a step back.

Then it came. Fire. Smoke curling through trees. Vera blinked hard, sucking in a sharp breath as the vision cut out as quickly as it came. She staggered a step forward, hand instinctively tightening around her saber hilt.

"…Something's ahead," she said, voice lower now, more serious.

Her eyes turned toward Everest, all playfulness gone — not in fear, but in focus.

"We're not alone out here."


 


u2MAAui.png

The wind moved differently on Tython. It did not rush or howl as it had on the shattered worlds Zephon had walked before. It drifted, slow and steady, threading through the colonnades of the temple like breath through ancient lungs. He stood beneath one of those arches for a long moment, cloak still, face angled toward the ridgelines that crowned the horizon in blue mist. Much of the temple remained under reconstruction. Scaffolding clung to the outer towers. The rhythmic cadence of labor rang faintly through the air. Yet even unfinished, this place breathed with memory. There was no ceremony to mark his return, and there was no need for words. He had not come seeking affirmation. He had come because the time for wandering had passed. The war had scattered many. Some never found their way back. But he had. And the temple, for all its silence, had waited.

His quarters had been set aside near the eastern wing, close to the threshold of the archives. The room was small, square, and austere. Stone walls with fading carvings, a narrow mat for rest, a desk built of reclaimed wood, and an alcove set into the far wall for meditation. Zephon stepped inside with quiet deliberation, the door whispering shut behind him. The scent of plaster and old stone greeted him. He set down his satchel on the desk and began to unpack. A forged crystal tool from Anil Kesh. A worn leatherbound journal. A datapad containing fragments of ancient Je'daii texts. He unwrapped a cloth bundle with care, revealing the lightsaber he had forged by hand years ago. The hilt bore no decoration. It was blackened steel, heat tempered and plain, a tool of purpose rather than vanity. He set it beside the journal and stepped back, letting his gaze pass over the room not as a critic, but as one who had chosen solitude deliberately. There were no distractions here. No clutter. Only the essentials.

The window offered a view of a partially cleared courtyard where several knights unloaded some gear under the supervision of a master. Zephon stood watching them for a moment, arms loosely crossed. He remembered being that age, though the memory felt distant, wrapped in haze. The temple was not a sanctuary. It was a crucible. Here, trials did not always come with sabers or grand pronouncements. Sometimes they came in the form of stillness. He had chosen this place not just for proximity to the archives, but because he knew knowledge would again become central. The war had burned through much. Records lost. Context severed. Now was the time for reconstruction. The Force within the room moved like a current beneath the surface, soft and cool. Zephon turned from the window, crossed the floor, and lowered himself into the meditation alcove. His hands rested on his knees. His breath slowed. He was no longer on the path. He had arrived.



 
Wearing: Ritual Gown, Circlet of Light

Armed with: Bloodscrawl Lightsaber


Objective: Resettlement


Magdalena Bloodscrawl, The Sorceress of Ossus, walked the world of Tython, a figure in shimmering blue.

Now that the Jedi had reclaimed the world, it was much easier to pinpoint exact disturbances.

Like the Flesh Raiders, for instance...

They had begun their attacks in certain sections of the planet, these ones close to the temples. Dozens of cave systems to hide in the wrecked looking wild lands, and dozens more actual ruins.

Magdalena had not come here with the intention to kill. Beyond Sith and their direct underlings, The Sorceress never killed unless left with no other choice.

Besides, she was here on a mission of mercy.

A ship containing Knights and Padawans had crashed close to a canyon newly formed from the titanic impacts of orbital fire. Witnesses described it has having been deliberately shot down by rocket fire. And Flesh Raiders had been sighted minutes before the ship had entered the area.

Wanting to do a nice thing for the Jedi Order, Magdalena had ventured out into the Wilds for a One-Force Spawn-army Rescue Mission.

Her son, Nathan, had thrown himself back into his work. She personally thought he should have taken it easy a little while longer, but she knew him and knew he didn't like to sit still. The more work he did, the less he thought of Lysandra's death in The Gulag Plague.

One day, the full recount of it had been described in ghastly details to her, and for the first time, Magdalena truly understood in her own inhuman way of understanding, just how badly traumatized the murder of Lysandra Crownwraithe had left him. It had haunted him in his death and beyond. Even after remarrying, the trauma stayed. He never dared talk about Lysandra to his new wife unless left with no choice...he feared making her think she was would always be second best.

But he had started talking to Magdalena about her. Frequently.

She lamented never having gotten to meet Lysandra. She realized how truly special Lysandra was to him...

It wasn't long before she came under attack from the savage tribes of Flesh Raiders. She had seen the smoke signals in the distance that communicated her arrival.

Thick stocky warriors armed with a combination of vibrospears and swords rushed her from several different angles, popping up from hidden foxholes in the ground. Magdalena did not react at first, instead letting them get within striking distance. She whispered a spell at one, and altered his blood chemistry to suppress his aggression, making him stand still, looking very confused while she side stepped a spear thrust from behind, grabbing it and charging it with green, light side based lightning that traveled down the shaft stunning and knocking out the Raider holding the spear.

Cuts opened of their own accord on her exposed left arm and her glowing green blood flowed out in long tendrils, solidifying into blades at the tips that parried brutal sword thrusts before cutting the swords in half, the tendril ends transforming into hands that delivered quaint slaps across the faces of her opponents. She hadn't truly hurt anyone yet. This was a simple warning. She was going out of her way to avoid mutilation, even though it would have been absurdly easy to kill them all.

The ambush team seemed to take the hint at least, and retreated after another ten seconds of fruitless assault. Magdalena allowed them to run, as she had lives to save.

However, that didn't mean she wasn't going to screw with them and harass them in her own special way.

Magdalena concentrated and her face began to bubble, a border forming around it that leaked green blood and the face separated from the black skull and twitching, glowing green muscle tissue, sprouting thin muscled tendrils that crawled down her body as the bubbling face scurried off after the raiders in silent pursuit, it's silent, screaming countenance warping into that of another persona within her, The Sorceress of Odessan (See Bio)

After a few moments, Magdalena's face regrew fully and she continued on her way to the crash site, knowing more would be on their way, and in greater numbers.

Let them, she mused. As far as she was concerned, they were gnats attacking a Rancor.

She soon came across the crash site and her heart sank. It had made a deep, dark gash against the bottom of the canyon. She approached very quickly, any fires made from the crash having long died down.

She had lived through the plague. She was not afraid of getting her hands dirty. She immediately began pulling away wreckage with her bare hands, trying to find survivors. The adult bodies and those of the Padawans, had been badly mangled by the crash. Almost all had been killed on impact. All except one.

It would not do to describe the state of the female Padawan who was still alive. They barely clung to life though, and it was fading rapidly. Magdalena did not bother calling for medevac. She knew the girl would die before it could get here.

Let it be said that Magdalena did everything she possibly could have done in the short time she had. She resorted to every traditional and exotic Force healing method she knew of to stabilize the mangled Padawan's condition, all to avoid the possibility of resorting to the nuclear option. She tried everything to save this Padawan. EVERYTHING.

But it was no use. The damage to the tissue was too severe. It was a miracle she wasn't dead already. But her life slipped away further and further, and Magdalena had a decision to make...

The Sorceress had visited Morris Crownwraithe (AKA Nathan Bloodscrawl), her adopted son, in his sleep once more. Since she had mutated him, he no longer slept like normal people. He stood in the corner of the quarters she had given him on the ancient med star station she controlled.

She was less human in her thought process in those days. It was the days before she had created the Magda Crownwraithe persona to interact with him.

He was wearing dark gray training robes, dark hair in a messy pattern all over a pale scalp, eyes whited out like he was blind. The red bandana covered his face, as always. Like all those mutated by the Sorceress (which effectively made her the Gethzerion to his Savage Opress) he slept with his eyes completely open.

HIs quarters were spacious. His food was brought to him daily by her and she often spoke to him of her life and what she knew of his during her imprisonment. He never responded. Not because he didn't want to. He simply no longer knew 'how' to respond.

"Morris?" she called out softly.

A blink told her he was awake. Dead white eyes instantly focused on her like a laser.

The Sorceress smiled, gesturing to a tray of food on a desk.

"I brought you breakfast..." she said.

Morris slowly reached up and pulled off his bandana. The Sorceress, not even human enough in her thinking to appreciate just how horrific the side effect of his mutations were, only widened her smile.

From her perspective, he looked like a perfect angel, a champion.

The lower half of his face was translucent, and that included the muscle tissue. This side effect went down to his sternum, revealing the lower half of his skull and neck bones.

She noted with curiosity that he seemed to retain some self consciousness about his appearance, as he moved slightly faster than normal to the desk, hunched over, so she couldn't get a good look any further at his features, and began silently eating.

"I wanted to ask if you were getting along well with the other deputies. Are you?"

Morris looked up from his meal to her, shadows covering his face save the eyes. He nodded.

The Sorceress knew she was missing things as an adoptive mother. She didn't know what she didn't know. Connecting to him was difficult. But she was certainly trying.

"Morris..." she spoke softly. "Do you... remember...your old life?"

No distinct answer, only a few blinks.

"If I ever figured out how to restore you... would you want to be?"

No answer. Only blinks.

She sighed. He didn't understand the question.

"Morris...I...I want you to know...if there had been another way...ANY other way other than letting you die...I would have taken it without hesitation."

Only blinking from Morris, thinking as only Deputies do.

She stayed with him in silence until he finished eating. Then she began to leave so he could prepare for the training session against his fellow deputies.

Morris caught her by the right arm with a firm grip, surprising her as he slowly pulled her back.

The Sorceress blinked, and for a split second saw a flicker of humanity in her son's eyes as he slowly, hesitantly embraced her in a short hug to her shock and surprise. His hug was the hug of someone who barely remembered how to.

Her mouth fell open slightly as the Bandana went around his face again. She brushed his forehead lightly with her thumb, fingers gliding through his hair before she departed.

As she left his quarters, guilt in small sparks flashed in her mind for the first time over what she had done to save his life from the devastating internal injuries he had suffered on Ession...


Present...

She had tried to reach her. Communicate with her telepathically. Nothing. The girl was on the verge of Brain Death. If it was going to be done, it had to be done now...

Her thinking had evolved since then...she better appreciated the ethical ramifications of what she was about to do.

She didn't do it lightly. But she had exhausted all other options beyond simply letting the Padawan die.

For a second, she almost did. Perhaps it would be for the best.

But perhaps some good might yet come of doing what she did next. And perhaps...just perhaps...with her son's help...

The girl might regain her humanity someday.

She found a natural pit of earth created by the crash from ship debris and cut open her palm with shrapnel, chanting the ancient spells as she dripped it into the pit of dirt.

The glowing green blood soaked into the dirt, and the dirt began to bubble in a slurry of earth mixed with Force Spawn Blood.

There wasn't much time left.

Gently gathering the wounded Padawan, she laid the girl in the pit of bubbling dirt blood, green lightning arcing off the surface as the young teenager was fully immersed.

Minutes passed. The girl's fully healed, now pale hand shot out of the pit, the rest of her still under the liquid.

Magdalena saw the tattered remnants of a cloak and tore part of it off and tossed it to the fully healed Padawan, whose arm disappeared back under the liquid for a minute...

...and a female Deputy, newly made, rose out of the pit in an almost zombie-like manner, sightless white eyes staring up at Magdalena, silver hair matted to her scalp.
"What...is...thy...bidding...?" The newly made Deputy asked in a whisper...

Magdalena extended her arm and pulled the Deputy out of the pit.

"Not today, but someday..." Magdalena trailed before finishing her sentence...

"You shall rip...and tear...until it is done..."

(BFG DIVISION BY MICK GORDON PLAYS OOC)
 

Tython
Tags: Zaiya Ceti Zaiya Ceti

Fj8rIWR.png

"So, are you planning to stay on Tython then?"

"I... I'm not sure," Loomi admitted. "You see, I've... well, I was reconnected with my mother recently. I've been on Sellia II, one of Ord Providence's moons. After the planet's domes failed my people departed there... I was separated from her as a child, so this is a very new thing for me... I think I'd like to bring her here in any case."

She was coming to find that she and her mother were a lot alike, similarly dutiful and gentle natured. Her mother, Elder Lunaria, was a lot more reserved than she was. It reminded her of when she had first come to the Jedi Order and how awkward she was. It made sense. After all, her mother was raised in an elite caste that required ritual separation from the rest of the galaxy. There was a lot that she was experiencing for the very first time, a strange thing for a grown woman.

Not that Loomi blamed her for this. She had manipulated and used for her bloodline, which linked back to the founders of Ord Providence.

"I've... also been considering attempting to complete my trials," she stated to her friend. "I suppose that's what's been weighing on my mind the heaviest. I used to feel like I was always behind everyone... but I've been through a lot lately. Maybe it's time I give it a shot."

She gave Zaiya a more earnest smile. There was something in her demeanor that clearly spoke to a newfound confidence in her own abilities. Loomi wasn't oblivious to her friend's concern as well. She was, likewise, a strong empath.

"I suppose you can feel my emotions like I can feel yours, huh?" the Godoan remarked with a laugh. "All my thinking probably have you concerned."


 

Users who are viewing this thread

Top Bottom