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

[Alicio Organa]

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

This was far too coordinated for Alicio's liking.

Interdicted along their flightpath, dragged into mines, with a swarm of small fighters... this attack was designed to immobilize and harrass a cruiser. Which pirates were well known to avoid. His involvement had been top-secret, and no privateer in their right mind would assume he'd be in the weeds and set this trap for him...

If he had to guess... some enterprising crews had banded together to snatch a ship from the Alliance while they were spread thin pathfinding. And they would find more than they bargained for.

The Chancellor was glad to be joined by Phoenix Platoon. He knew them by reputation, and by their acts of valor throughout the Core Wars. He'd never met their fearless leader before, but she was quick to banter, so he supposed he could respond in kind.

"I don't." Alicio's eyes darted to the side, seeing something in the Future. His lip thinned into a tense smile. "Nor will you stop me. Only question is whether you're throwing yourself in with me or not."

Without even pausing a moment, Alicio dashed forward, joining the Kel Dor Phoenix at the front, as they entered the hangar.

A few Alliance fighters had been able to exit the hangar, doing all they could to keep the marauders off the Benefacto. But most had been stuck in place as the pirate ships pierced into the hangar bay. Each of their ships was thin, built like a needle, sticking into the durasteel like darts. Each deposited a handful of nasty-looking individuals, who immediately got to work sowing chaos, blasting sensitive equipment, and attempting to diffuse into the ship. Thankfully, they'd been stopped so far, but each passing moment, another fighter would arrow into the hangar, depositing a new handful of threats.

Despite any protestations, Alicio planted himself firmly in front of Dominos, his blue and black blade erupting from his hilt with dark intent. For only a moment, the lightsaber rested... too closely to his neck, before Alicio frowned, and lowered it, bursting into action, deflecting blaster bolts with a duelist's grace, and allowing the platoon behind him the cover to advance without worry.

"Lieutenant! They're trying to access the maintenance halls," the Chancellor said, pointing to an access hatch on the far side of the hangar between blocks. "Over there."

 

[Corazona von Ascania]

Azurine Varek | Thurion Heavenshield | Reina Daival

Cora let her hand fall from Azzie's shoulder. The young woman had been through much in her short life – too much, she thought. And yet, ordeals like the one she'd been subjected to were disturbingly common among the Jedi.

She had come back. Azurine had returned to them, to the Jedi. Perhaps not the same as before, perhaps not even whole, but she'd answered Ashla's call all the same.

"I am glad you're here," she whispered. "No matter where you are at in mind and body, we are with you."

Healing took time, but time could not heal everything. Corazona knew that well.

As the gentle giant rose and took Azzie's hand, Cora could not help the cordial tilt of her head. It was a gesture of deference to a Jedi Master, but it was also the motion of an aristocrat recognizing a King. When Thurion next knelt to the ground, he conjured great spires of white sand. When the surface of the moon began to tremble beneath her boots, Cora sank to the ground.

Back straight, legs crossed, she meditated.

Purification had become a well-honed sill of the Jedi Knight, but Ashla was something that demanded more. This was not just the cleansing of a corrupted celestial body, this was the reassembling of an ancient moon. The heart of the Light. A reforging of Tython's balance.

Master Heavenshield was right; this was a gargantuan task that would take their collaborative effort.

As Cora poured herself into the Force, contours of light glimmered from beneath her skin. They trickled down her cheeks in rivulets, over the turn of her jaw and down her neck. They disappeared beneath the navy swath of her tunic, and reappeared along the wrist and fingers of her flesh hand. The Force shifted, swelling with the combined concentration of the Jedi, and Cora bolstered the efforts of those around her.

I am here, her presence imparted in the Force. We are here. Ashla is here. We are one.

 

[Dracken Pryce]

Churba Sector - New Cov
Aboard CDF Swordbreaker​

"I've been down this route a hundred times!" Captain Morgan said sharply at the navigator. "We can't be more than a parsec off."

"Sir, the Convergence-"

"Convergence my ass! I'll be damned if I can't find my way down the Corellian Kriffing Run!"

The door to the bridge hissed open and Diktat Dracken Pryce strode through onto the deck, flanked by two Darksaber troopers in their black armor and faceless green visors. The Diktat was dressed like a naval officer of Corellia ready for battle. A blast vest was drapped over his crisp black uniform like a giant bib, his ranks displayed via holotag on his left breast. A general's pauldron of black and orange rested on his right shoulder and red Corellian Bloodstripes ran down his uniform pants. His hair, kept long in his old age, looked wild, tied back in a Jedi warrior's bun. It ran to his shoulders now, white as snow.

"Is there something wrong, Captain?"

Morgan cleared his throat, but didn't stand to salute. No one did on the Swordbreaker, save for the cold and ever-serious Darksabers.

"No sir. We were just having issues finding the old beacon. You know how it is with the Convergence and all-" Out of the corner of his eyes, Morgan saw his navigator roll her eyes. "B-but we will find it soon!"

Dracken nodded.

"Good. Finding where the Duros Space Run connects the Corellian Run and the Hydian Way is extremely important. I promised Hydia we'd reconnect the three, and Alliance vessels can't come out this far into Naboo space. Even if they could, they're spread thin as it is trying to repair the hyperlanes within Alliance space. Its up to us."

One of the Darksabers leaned close to the Diktat and whispered something, indicated by his helmet flashing. The words came out garbled, the scrambled Olys Corellisi unintelligible.

"Right..." The Diktat's face darkened. "I'll be in my office behind the command room. Let JESS know if you need me. I'll be in a meeting on Fondor. It sounded 'urgent'."

When the doors hissed shut behind the Diktat off to the side of the bridge, Morgan let out a sigh.

"Alright, show's over folks. Back to work. Someone get one of the mechanics on coms and make sure that tech we plugged in is working! This is taking too damn long. And someone get me connected with the Renegade! I wanna see if we can piggyback off their readings."

 

[Nathan Bloodscrawl]

Nathan had just finished blasting away the mines closest to hitting the ship, when he saw the boarding vessels and immediately switched gears in his GIE/LN, and began shooting and blasting them into oblivion, watching bodies fly off helpless into space. It wasn't long before he was targeted by enemy fighters, though his fighter's advanced defenses made it difficult to get a lock on him. He jerked the controls, performing a turning corkscrew and fired his plasma cannons at pursuing fighters, blasting them apart as he dodged and weaved through streams of return fire, sticking close to the hull and blasting away as many approaching mines and boarding ships as he could, in between frustrating the assaults of enemy squadrons.

Sometimes, he missed the Wild Knights Squadron. Being amongst them had been where he had really started to collect his thoughts and get some perspective on this new era. Part of him had been tempted to just disappear into the role of Fighter Pilot and forget the past.

But the hatred for the Cult of The Brain Demon, the trauma of Lysandra's demise and the need to avenge the destroyed soul of his wife, always drove him on.

The system reported someone had finally obtained a lock, he veered off when the Force told him to, only to find the enemy pilot has already veered off to avoid his target lock. An Ace. He tried to pursue, but the enemy fighter had backwards firing launch tubes and he barely managed to destroy them in time, veering away at the last possible second before the wave from the proton explosion could damage his craft. The Fighter was behind him suddenly.

Nathan spotted a large chunk of debris from a destroyed boarding ship and teleported it behind him.

The other fighter, caught by surprise, could not pull away in time and slammed right into it, exploding and killing the pilot instantly...

Nathan resumed targeting both mines and approaching boarding ships filled with people bent on making sure Alicio Organa and Ashley Nevermore had a bad day...


Dracken Pryce

 

[Caelan Valoren]

"I can imagine so," Caelan said with a nod. "I'm sure those who know of you are also somewhat wary given your history, as well. Probably makes getting to know people difficult."

Kastiel continued to try and reach for the alien, but Caelan kept him in his arms to make sure he couldn't reach. The kid probably wanted to glomp all over the alien's head. Understandably so. The shape of his dome was reminiscent of a lot of teething toys they had at home. Didn't mean it was appropriate, though. He didn't want his son, the Prince of the Kingdom of Devit, to be gnawing on the heads of foreign dignitaries. That wouldn't look very good.

The actions of the younger Rakata were certainly interesting, but given they were different species, he didn't mention the detritus the younger Rakata was letting fall to the ground. It would get cleaned up. Besides, he didn't know if that was normal in their culture or not and didn't want to be offensive.

"It was more of a 'what turns a Prince into a Jedi,' than a Jedi into a King. I was born into the royal family, my parents were killed by outsiders, I fled and trained as a Jedi so that when I returned, I would be strong enough to fight, and with the help of the Alliance and my fellow Jedi I was able to push the invaders out. So I guess you could say it was a matter of necessity."

Kastiel humphed and sat back, going back to playing with Caelan's beard since he couldn't reach the Rakata senator.

"Out of curiosity, what brings a Rakata senator to speak with the Jedi council?"

---

ATTIRE: Link | WEAPON: Lightsaber | COMPANION: BD-F8 and Kastiel | OTHER: Sigil Bead (Necklace), Prosthetic Left Arm

TAGS: B Bal Tal ​

 

[Everest Vale]

Outfit: Robes
Equipment: Lightsaber, Bracelet, Earrings
Companion: Isari
Tag: Vera Noble

Eve adjusted her grip on her saber hilt. Still unlit. Still silent. For now.

They moved in tandem, Eve veering off around one side as Vera took the other, both angling toward the slope's natural rise. The Flesh Raiders were moving in a staggered line through the clearing below, unaware, for now. Their hulking forms hunched and gnarled, limbs heavier than nature meant them to be. She could feel their minds like oil slicks in the Force: fractured, hungry, twisted beyond reason.

Eve's footfalls were soft. Measured. Her breathing controlled. She let her senses bleed out into the trees, reading every step, every break in cover. When one of the Raiders lagged too far behind its pack, turning to sniff the air—

She struck.

Her saber hissed to life with a white snap-hiss, cleaving clean through the creature's side before it had a chance to scream. She caught it as it slumped, gently easing the bulk to the ground with a touch of the Force. No noise. No flare of panic. Just one less threat.

Another came into view ahead, and she darted between tree trunks, taking the slope's cover to her advantage. This one was armed. The sharp glint of a vibroblade flashed through the leaves. Eve crouched, waited for the rhythm of its steps. Then—

She lunged. The saber flashed. One stroke across the back of its knees, another to the chest. It hit the ground hard. She didn't linger.

Through the bond of battle, she could feel Vera nearby, a flicker of motion, the hum of energy. The Noble girl was holding her own, as she fully expected. Eve pressed forward again, melting into shadow and into rhythm.

One by one, they fell. The forest echoed with the hush of swift, necessary violence — the kind that protected. The kind that meant peace could take root again.

And in the stillness between strikes, Eve felt it: not fear, not hate... but a solemn kind of tranquillity.

 

[Azurine Varek]

Pieces Of One Whole

Outfit: Clothing/Armor | Glove | Right Arm | Talisman
Weapons: Lightsaber 1 | Lightsaber 2 | Hook Swords

Azzie had never done something like this before. Back before her long stay in carbonite, she wouldn't have even thought it possible. She sat in the sand, her legs folded beneath her, fingers lightly pressed into the grainy white surface of the moon. Ashla's pain pulsed up through her palms—soft at first, like a ripple on water, then deeper, heavier, as if the moon remembered every fracture, every scar.

Just like her.

"We do this together, as is the Jedi way."

Thurion's hand had been warm and strong when it clasped hers, his words filled with conviction. She found herself giving it a soft squeeze like she used to with her grandfather when she was young. That should have comforted her. Instead, she felt that familiar pang—a hollow echo somewhere in her ribs. Do I even deserve to stand here?

The Force surged around her like a living tide, crashing through the space they all shared—Reina, Cora, Thurion, and others around she hadn't learned the names of—but when she reached for it, truly reached for it, it was like trying to catch mist. Her connection was there. Distant. Wispy. Barely clinging to her fingertips before slipping away again. Nothing like it had been most of her life, or how it had felt to stand in the moon's light on Tython the last she was here.

Why...?

She knew the answer, even if she didn't want to name it. The scars on her back itched faintly beneath her robes. Phantom pain. Or memory. The sigils Darth Carnifex had carved into her flesh still lingered beneath the surface. Old wounds layered over with a ritual mark by Kahlil Noble , a rune seared into her skin to cage the darkness, to suppress the corruption left behind. Even sealed, she knew it was there. Sleeping. A cold rot at the edge of her soul that had danced with the demons she carried long before.

She saw it still, tall, gnarled, obsidian black, ash falling from its twisted branches like snow. That image had burned itself into her mind. Ashla's broken body echoed that same despair now. A shattered moon.

Maybe I shouldn't have volunteered, should have told Master Valery Noble I'd work on the temple or something...

Even Cora's words, "We are with you", felt like kindness she hadn't earned. A flicker of guilt passed through her. She should've said something. Thanked her. But what would she even say? She looked toward Cora now, watching how the Force flowed through her like starlight made flesh. Even Reina, with her uncertainty and bristling edges, was connecting, her hands sunk into the sand like she belonged to it.

You came back from the void, didn't you?

Azzie had never been good at stillness, but she closed her eyes. Not to forget, but to remember and face it. The Force didn't flood into her. It didn't embrace her like an old friend, not yet. It didn't run from her, either.

A flicker. A thread. She grasped it with trembling focus. For a second, she felt the whispers in the back of her mind that reminded her of the Ukatis River. Unlike then, she couldn't quite make it out, but it was still there.

"I'm still here, dammit..."

The sand near her hand shivered, only slightly. It was nothing compared to Thurion's rising pillars or the glow that danced across Cora's skin. She would give it everything she had anyway, everything she could spare. Because if Ashla could be broken and still worthy of mending, maybe—just maybe—so could she.

Corazona von Ascania | Thurion Heavenshield | Reina Daival​

 

[Bal Tal]

Bal straightened his back to make it clear to the infant human that he was not to be used as a climbing post. Bal had a hard enough time with humans as it was, and he had no experience with their pups, either. Bal gave Raz's mess no mind - he was contained in the hover crib and adequately distracted. One of his assistants would ensure that any litter would be attended to later, and there was no point in interrupting their conversation.

"I suppose I can sympathize with your story, though I did not mean to conjure any painful memories. I appreciate your telling me the story. It is always nice to have...Perspective on the plights of others."

Bal looked up at the head of the Command Staff - which made it a spear, of course, but that was hardly the point. He didn't know how to use it either way.

"This is a Command Staff. Rakatan Generals would wield it to amplify their power and force armies of slaves to do their bidding through the Force, and it was used as a means of identifying commanders by their rank. Those who wielded them were considered the most powerful leaders in the Infinite Empire. It was suggested that perhaps, even without the power of a real Command Staff - this one is a powerless replica - that the Flesh Raiders might recognize it and come to heel. Given that Flesh Raiders are the descendants of modified Rakatans, their fate is of interest to me. I doubt it will work, but it's worth trying, anyway."

He looked back to Caelan Valoren and gave a half-shoulder shrug, "That, and there are a number of items I wish to discuss with the Council - permission to conduct archaeology on Tython of Rakatan artifacts, for one. I am also hoping to convince the Council to build a temple on Lehon, to help provide guidance to my people and those who are coming to live there. There is very little Rakatan culture left, and what we know of it is...Not worth preserving. Those of us who are left have very little identity of our own. Some of our ancestors were pirates, others lived at the bottom of Galactic society and did not even know the name of their own species. The only thing that binds us together now is our struggle against extinction. That kind of a struggle requires a lot of friends."

 

[Razh Sho]

Objective: 1
Subobjective: Secure Forge
Tags: Aris Noble B Bal Tal
Location: Tython Wilds, at the Foot of the Forge

Razh did not move at first. He stood as still as stone, rain tracing clean lines down the ridges of his cloak and lekku, listening. The cadence of the Flesh Raider tongue had grown less foreign in rhythm, if not yet in clarity. Moh-gawen. He had heard it more than once now. He repeated it softly under his breath — testing the sound, the weight of it. A title. A role. A rite.

Then his gaze flicked to the club — discarded. The spiked instrument thudded into the earth, and with it came a hush that rippled through the raiders like a held breath.

"Very well."

Razh unhooked his cloak. The movement was fluid, ceremonial almost — no bravado, no delay. It slipped from his shoulders like the last remnant of a different age, folding into itself as he set it aside on the grass. His saber remained at his belt, untouched. The moment didn't call for it. It wasn't about power. It was about understanding.

He stepped forward.

Two-Skull stood taller, broader — built like a creature hewn from tusks and old stone. His arm extended, fist out, the other behind his back. A gesture of challenge. Not to the death. A ritual. One Razh had seen echoed across hundreds of worlds: warriors testing one another not in malice, but in measure.

Good.
Better a contest of fists than fire.

Razh mirrored the posture precisely — left fist forward, right arm tucked respectfully behind. The motion was elegant, controlled, like every piece of him had been carved into exact readiness by years of practice. He tilted his chin upward just slightly, meeting Two-Skull's intense gaze with calm grey eyes.

And then — the strike came.

Fast. Brutally fast.

Two-Skull's fist shot forward like a piston, aimed squarely for Razh's head. But the Jedi was already shifting. His weight turned on the ball of his rear foot, upper body rotating just enough to slip the punch by a hair's breadth, the air between their faces disturbed by the sheer force of it.

Razh did not counter immediately. Instead, he stepped back, shoulders square, unfazed.

Then, his voice — low, dry, gravel-worn — offered the only reply needed.

"Again."