Faction Great Purge - Fall of Prosperity [Jedi/Sith]

[Darth Carnifex]

The Sith were relentless.

Hunted and hounded across half a dozen star systems, ruthlessly pursued from jump to jump. Every time they reverted to realspace, their hunters were right there behind them, turbolasers already firing coordinated volleys the moment they jumped in. Each hasty escape was near miraculous, their shields chipped away further and further before the next jump could be calculated. It was a war of attrition, and one the Jedi were losing. Their time was running short, and they all knew it.

By this point, jump-coordinates were only calculated up to the point that they’d avoid any mass shadows or stars in their path. They didn’t care much for where the jump took them, so long as they kept ahead of their hunters. Even so, the time it took to calculate the next jump incrementally grew longer, both from the Sith’s withering turbolaser barrage and the repeated strain on the hyperdrive from repeated jumps. By their next jump, they knew it would undoubtedly be their last. The Prosperity couldn’t sustain another barrage like that, they’d have to make a final stand.

In the end, the choice was taken from them regardless. The Sith were clever and had known that their foe were getting slower and slower at slipping away. As the Prosperity entered realspace, and its pursuers right on its heels, Sith interdictors swooped in and activated their gravity well generators. The Prosperity, for all intents and purposes, was now marooned amidst a pack of predators thirsting for blood.

As the Sith boarding craft began to close in around them, tightening like a noose, the Jedi made one last desperate act.

A call.

A plea.

Hurried along old Jedi channels, thrown to the farthest corners of the galaxy. Wherever Jedi were listening, wherever those who still believed in the Light of the New Jedi Order, the cry for deliverance was received. It wasn’t a matter of means, but a matter of will.

Were there any left who would heed the call?

The Sith knew that transmissions had been made, and had deliberately restrained themselves from jamming the Prosperity’s communications. They understood, as well as any seasoned hunter, that a trapped animal made the loudest noise as it was snared. The Jedi’s compulsion for compassion was like an itch, they could not help but respond to it. They would come rushing to the Prosperity’s rescue, only to find themselves likewise ensnared. A trap, baited by the Sith, for the Jedi to knowingly throw themselves upon.

Darth Carnifex watched the initial stages of the assault unfold from the command deck of the Yaldabaoth, a long blade-like capital ship bristling with technology derived from the ancient Rakatans and contemporary Sith. Cybernetic technicians, slaved to their stations, tirelessly adjusted and manipulated the minute complexities of the great ship’s internal systems. Towering Crownguard, resplendent in gleaming black, watched from the gangways above the data-pits; silent and severe.

Standing not far from the Eternal Father’s throne, Veyra Halcyon watched the data-feed with unwavering attention. As the first boarding vessels began to make their insertion, she turned to look at Darth Carnifex.

“They’re in. Advanced teams will prepare the way, my Lord. They’ll be waiting for you.”

At that, Darth Carnifex rose, His towering height dwarfing all else save for the Crownguard. They moved in concert with Him, moving to flank the Eternal Father as He strode forth. He said nothing, only staring out the viewport at the Prosperity as it was bracketed by squadrons of Kainate interceptors. Then, He pivoted and began to stalk away from the command deck, the Crownguard falling in like obedient shadows to trail after Him. Halcyon watched Him go, then she turned back to the monitoring screen.

The flight deck was expansive, filled with all manner of landers, gunboats, and maintenance craft. Yet, only one vessel truly stood out amongst them, the Crestfallen. It crouched upon the flight deck like a carrion hawk, angular predation given form. Already waiting for Him was the Mortarch, Darth Prazutis , also surrounded by his own complement of Crownguard. The two Sith titans met before the boarding ramp, only exchanging a few scant pleasantries before setting off.

Rising up from the deck, the Crestfallen’s long, dagger-like wings pivoted forward as the sublight engines burned bright purple. With speed unbecoming of such a large craft, the Crestfallen spun out of the Yaldabaoth’s hangar and made way for the Prosperity.

Open to Jedi / Sith​

 

[Kahlil Noble]

"Do not stop moving. Help will come." Kahlil was not sure if he believed it or not, but he spoke with an authority that few could undermine. Shield no more perhaps, he still lead many of the Jedi behind him in defense for the Alliance. For themselves. Green flashed as he lifted his blade, battering away bolts sent towards the fleeing Jedi through the halls.

Darth Carnifex hadn't shot down the ship the moment they trapped it. They would survive for now, but he knew just what was going to happen. A trap, for all of them. Rather than dwell on it however, the path forward and through was their only hope. Those who would survive, would. Trust in the Force. It swelled around the Jedi Master before he brought the roof of the hallway down on the assaulting squad.

He would ensure as many as possible could.

"Do not stop, do not look back."

 

[Corazona von Ascania]

Even against the yawing black maw of space, the Yaldabaoth loomed in the periphery of The Prosperity like blight overtaking a field of crops.

Cora observed this from the bridge's viewport. A hodgepodge convoy of transports and fighters had convened to evacuate what remained of the New Jedi Order.

The NJO had fractured after the Alliance's defeat at Coruscant. Though most Jedi had moved on to the Hidden Path, the High Republic, or a number of enclaves scattered across the galaxy, a few had elected to remain on Ilum. They continued the fight against the Dark Empire first on Arkania, and the aboard the Deathstar III.

Only when the Alliance fell did the remnants of a once great Jedi Order make their home aboard the Prosperity. Knights and Masters, mostly; younglings and Padawans had been sent to friendlier territory for shelter.

After each perilous hyperspace jump, the mobile temple sent desperate pings across a friendly frequency; but whenever someone arrived to investigate, the Prosperity was gone. It painted a desperate map across the galaxy until, at last, it came:

A distress beacon.

"Remember," Cora said those with her as she turned away from the viewport and made her way down the bridge, "We've come to evacuate those remaining aboard the Prosperity. I advise against seeking out direct combat with the Sith for the sake of it."

They had not come to exterminate the Sith in a glorious triumph of the Light; their numbers had winnowed, severely so.

"Our goal is to ensure the survival of the Jedi." The bridge door slid shut behind her, and Cora shifted her gaze to one of the younger Knights at her side. From even the way he flexed his fingers, as if palming the grip of his lightsaber, she could tell he was eager for combat.

Cora's voice didn't soften, but her expression did, just a hair, as they marched into the hangar. Already, the Force carried familiar signatures of both Light and Dark.

"For now,” she exhaled slowly, “we aid our brothers and sisters.”

Darth Carnifex Kahlil Noble

 

[Darth Empyrean]

Tag | Darth Carnifex // Darth Prazutis

Empyrean was not covered in armor, nor did he hold the imposing figure of the past Emperor's around him. They were cut from wrought iron, great titans dressed in black plates towering over their subjects. Almost by contradiction, Empyrean was no longer the Dead God he had become known for. There stood a man of average height, twirling a thin lightsaber handle in his hand, a bored expression on his face as he considered the coming battle. He hadn't fought much in this new body besides a few practice bouts - he certainly hadn't lost his edge, but without the Force he was a shadow of what he was.​

​

He sighed at the thought, but not for a moment did he regret the deal he had made to come back. Anything was worth holding Srina Talon 's hand with his own feeling flesh once more.​

​

"Do you two have any hobbies besides this?", Empyrean said with a quiet disregard for the Zambrano's he directed it towards.​

​

"Everytime I'm around you two, its always blood and battle. You need more variety in your life. Maybe if the Empress allows for guests - I'll teach you both how to cook. Wouldn't that be a sight?", he said with a coyness befitting a man who assumed no equal. That didn't ignore the fact he did find the thought humorous - it was already funny seeing the contrast of the man his reputation built, and the man who wore an apron around the kitchen so he didn't make a mess of his clothes.​

​

"After this blood and battle, mind you. Priorities and what not."​

 

[Tydeus of Tion]

A heavily modified TIE Avenger was ripped from hyperspace by the gravity well projectors of the Sith. The starfighter’s surface looked invisible against the void of space, painted in a layer of triprismatic Stygian polymer that made sensors slide off it like water.

The cockpit’s occupant did not look startled by the sudden reversion into real space. He wore the armor of a defunct Imperial knight, more for the utility than anything else. Dark haired and gray eyed, he stared out at the looming capital ships in the distance.

He had stood side by side with the Lightsworn and battled Sith on Dromund Kaas. After a crushing defeat by one of the Kainite lieutenants and being saved by Darth Empyrean of all people, Tydeus had trained relentlessly. Not a waking moment went by that he had not devoted himself to honing himself into a dagger.

And now, armed with the technique of the Treicolt bloodline, he at last dared to face the Iron Tyrant.

Not because he felt he was ready, but because if he did not countless more would die.

Inside Tydeus’ chest swirled the Force Wound created when Kainite forces autoclaved Tion, obliterating Tydeus’ family and everything he had ever known.

“This is Tydeus of the Lightsworn…” he broadcast on an open channel to those listening. “I will take the fight to the Sith.”

Let him hear.

Let him know fear.

“This is for Tion.”

He hit the SLAM booster and accelerated to maximum throttle toward the enormous Sith vessel from which spilled a presence so foul and diabolical that it could only belong to one being.

Darth Carnifex

 

[Allyson Locke]

//: Darth Carnifex //: Darth Prazutis //: Darth Empyrean //:
//: O P E N //:
//: Attire //:
//: Equipment in Sig //:

She should have expected this.

There was never any in between when it came to the Kainites. Allyson lingered on the edge of the meeting, listening to her Master and the Zambranos speak. There was a part of her that felt guilty. While most of the Jedi were narrow-minded, others didn't deserve this destruction.

Her hand reached and removed the eyepatch over her eye. Carefully, she tucked the leather straps within the wider patch. Never before would she have been this careful with the material, so often she was just ripping it off her face and tossing it aside. Today, though, the care she took with it only tucked it away in her jacket — perhaps she was buying herself time before going into the mess.

It was when her Master mentioned teaching the Zambranos how to cook that Allyson finally looked up and scoffed, amused at the thought.

She noticed the difference with Empyrean, but that didn't change her standing with him. He was still her Master, still the one person who had welcomed her without expectations. While she would usually act on her own here, her eyes still looked towards the man, wondering if there was anything he deemed necessary for this particular moment.

But even then, he often let her manage herself — another thing she wasn't always used to.

"Is there anything you want, Empyrean?" Titles, she remembered the last time she tried to be formal with him, didn't seem to be much of his style — even more so now.

A little smirk curled at her lips; she had her own plans for what awaited on the Prosperity.

"I'll head down," She paused, she was uneasy about what she knew needed to be done.

"I'll stop the distress signals."

 

[Renard Fenn]

A dimunitive Amaran squared his shoulders, black eyes shimmering with fear but also hope and determination. His earth toned Jedi robes swished as he came near @Kahlil Noble’s knee.

“I’m with you, Master Noble,” Knight Fenn nodded, reaching into the Force to obtain a sense of calm that he did not otherwise feel. His ears flattened a moment, then stood up, one swiveling. Alert.

He could feel those looming presences in the gulf of starry void between the ships. Terrible presences. And they were getting closer.

Ren tightened his grip on his light shoto.

He would be ready.

 

[Dalvos Thrakan]

Davlos held up one hand to his right, making sure his fingers were visible down the center aisle. He counted aloud as the hyperspace scanner registered the interference ahead. "Four... Three... Two..." His hand dropped, grabbing onto the armrest of his chair just before they hit the edge of the interdiction bubble.

He'd had barely enough time to switch on his emergency conversions when the word came down about the Prosperity. His ship was flying under a stolen transponder - The Sith Empire registry Snapdragon - hopefully causing enough confusion in the melee that they could get in close enough to the Jedi ship. The bottom of the cargo bay came off entirely, allowing the brackets for storage containers to be reconfigured to accept several independent machines; three extra shield generators, and a dedicated power unit for them. They were nowhere near as effective as proper ship-mounted generators would be, but with the extra juice they nearly tripled the defensive fields that the Snapdragon had to call upon. The most critical alteration, of course, was removing the shrouds around the extra four engines externally mounted to the hull. No internal fuel lines meant once they were out, they were out; that was fine though, they weren't meant for long-term use. In fact, they were only intended for very specific, very short-term use.

"Last chance to buckle up!" He shouted back, voice amplified by his helmet. The interior of the ship had already been vented to vacuum, ensuring a chance hit wouldn't cause catastrophic loss of pressure. The only transmission of sound was by the earpieces they all shared. Time had been short; too short to call in the crop of favors and network of allies he held amongst the Protectorate worlds; in fact, he'd only had a bare handful of responses, most prominent among them the one sitting just on the other side of the open bulkhead. Seo, she'd introduced herself. Said she was some kind of Jedi. Davlos didn't care much; she had the right codes and permissions, so she was an ally, and she wanted to help.

Another half-dozen Protectorate-aligned people had joined the mission, packing themselves aboard into the cramped (and armored) internal quarters before he hit the jets and cleared the station. He was going to have to scrap the Snapdragon registry and acquire a new one once this was over, but that was a tomorrow problem.

Suiting word to action, Davlos re-checked his own straps, buckling his helmet to the backrest as they arrowed in toward the beleaguered Prosperity. A handful of fighters twisted in their direction, and a nearby Sith vessel seemed to have broken through their disguise; several turbolasers had begun tracking them. Oh well. The Protectorate-transponder fighters that had crowded around them split away, moving to distract the fighter screen while Davlos prepared his ship for what may very well be a final flight. But hopefully not.

"Boosting... Now!"

The ship lurched violently as the four external rocket motors ignited, slamming them all into their seats with bone-crushing force. It wasn't uncommon to black out during a burn of this intensity. Eight, ten G's? Davlos clenched his thighs, feeling his suit doing its best to keep his heart pumping and the blood flowing even as darkness crept in at the edges of his vision.

It was a good thing the automated systems had been hardened against this eventuality, because there was no way he retained the awareness or range of motion to trigger the retrorockets. A much briefer surge of angular momentum sent the ship into a brief spin, engines cutting out for a moment until the other set of retros straightened them out, back end of the ship pointing towards the battle-damaged hull for a handful of seconds as the external engines flared bright as newborn stars, arresting just enough of their momentum for the nose to swing back around and.

"Brace brace brace!" He shouted, then bit down hard on the mouthguard hanging inside of his helmet.

The ship, scarred from several near-misses, shield generators straining under the weight of so many attacks that filled the space around them, slammed nose-first into the Prosperity's side, roughly amidships. The environmental seal grabbed onto the outer hull, forming a temporary connection even as the 'cargo door' at the front of the transport strained open, revealing the compartment within, where Seo and the others rode.

He slapped the emergency release and lurched to his feet, grabbing the heavy two-handed sonic rifle that was strapped in next to him, pulling on the backpack carrying the rest of his 'tools'. He slapped down on the external speakers, announcing their presence in an echoing tone in the passage they'd burrowed into like a giant metal tick.

"Allies incoming, people! For the Protectorate! Death to the Dark Side!"

The extra distance meant he wouldn't be the first person off the ship, but it wasn't for lack of trying.

Seo Linn

 

[Silas Westgard]

Location: The Prosperity
Objective: Help the last of the NJO
Tag: Kahlil Noble / Darth Carnifex

"W-what are you doing up so late?" a sleepy Imogen Solace murmured from beneath the bedcovers as Silas hurriedly gathered his equipment for the rescue mission. Earlier that night, he had received word that The Prosperity was broadcasting a distress signal after becoming trapped by Carnifex and his forces. Silas hadn't hesitated for a second. Even if no one else answered the call, he would.

"Distress signal," he replied, clipping his lightsaber to his belt. "I wouldn't be able to live with myself if I ignored it."

Imogen let out a tired groan and pushed herself upright against the headboard, frowning at him. "I thought we promised each other we'd start taking things easy," she mumbled, her eyes narrowed in disapproval.

Silas sighed softly and shook his head. "Not when family's involved…"

For a moment, Imogen was silent, piecing everything together. Then she gave a reluctant nod.

"I won't ask about it now. Just tell me everything when you get back, okay?" she said with a weary smile. "And don't make me get out of this bed just to save you too…"

​

Breaking out of hyperspace, Silas's aging X-wing came hurtling toward the battered Prosperity. It had been years since he'd last seen her, yet countless memories still clung to its scarred hull like ghosts of another life.

Now the once-proud vessel limped through space under relentless assault.

Sith warships continued to hound her from all sides. Worse still, boarding craft swarmed around the cruiser like vultures, no doubt spilling Carnifex's forces into her corridors even now.

Then, in the distance, reinforcements arrived.

Corazona von Ascania had answered the call, bringing support ships to aid in evacuating those still trapped aboard. Their arrival cut through the chaos like a beacon, offering the stranded jedi their first glimpse of hope.

Silas tightened his grip on the controls, eyes fixed on the failing flagship ahead.

The Prosperity wasn't going to fall.

Not today.

 

[Seo Linn]

The impact reverberated through the transport hard enough to make the entire hull scream in protest, the collision slamming through the crash webbing first and then through Seo's ribs a heartbeat later as the ship locked itself against the battered flank of the Prosperity. Loose equipment rattled violently somewhere deeper in the compartment while warning indicators flashed red against emergency lighting already strained by the abuse the vessel had endured just reaching the trapped Jedi cruiser, yet despite everything, they had made it barely, but enough.

The restraints snapped open with a sharp mechanical release, and Seo surged to her feet alongside the others packed into the armored compartment, one gloved hand bracing briefly against the bulkhead as the ship groaned around them. Vacuum suits, weapons, adrenaline, and the grim knowledge that every second they hesitated meant more people dying aboard the Prosperity all pressed in at once.

Davlos's amplified declaration thundered down the newly breached corridor, rallying the volunteers with the force of a man who refused to let fear take root. "Allies incoming, people! For the Protectorate! Death to the Dark Side!"

Seo didn't shout with him. She simply moved.

Her compact carbine came up automatically as she stepped through the forward hatch into the damaged corridor beyond, boots hitting scorched deck plating littered with sparks, shattered conduits, and the bodies of both defenders and Sith boarders. Smoke drifted through emergency bulkhead seals in uneven waves while distant blaster fire echoed deeper inside the vessel in overlapping bursts of panic and resistance. The Prosperity was already bleeding internally, a wounded ship fighting to stay alive.

Ahead, two Sith troopers rounded the intersection at a sprint, likely racing toward the impact point before Davlos's boarding party could establish itself. Seo fired first, two tight shots that dropped the lead trooper instantly, his momentum smearing blood across exposed circuitry as he hit the wall. The second managed half a return volley before she slipped behind a warped support strut and put a round cleanly through the gap beneath his helmet seal.

The silence that followed lasted barely a heartbeat.

"Push inward before they seal sections around us," Seo called back, her voice steady despite the chaos. "They'll try to isolate breach teams."

Another explosion rolled somewhere far deeper inside the Prosperity, the shockwave trembling through the deck beneath their feet. Seo glanced once down the smoke‑filled corridor stretching toward the ship's interior, her jaw tightening as distant screams tangled with blaster fire and emergency klaxons.

Then she advanced, moving deeper into the dying vessel beside the Protectorate volunteers who had answered a call most of the galaxy had been too afraid to hear.

@open Dalvos Thrakan

 

[Connel Vanagor]

Protect Prosperity
Deep Space
Prosperity

Omega Squad Every Day Gear Locations

• Michael, Gabriel, Raguel, Sariel, Raphael, Jeremiel, Connel
  [Any text in brackets signifies comm-link usage and not face to face conversation]
• 
  Rides
  
  • "Enterprise" Station Ship
  • Vigilant Reaper
  • Null Vector
  • Speederbike
  • Iron Psalm
  Gear/Armor
  
  
  • Gear(“Bodycam” Datapad, UAD Drone, link to Seraphim AI included)
  • Lightblaster
  • Shortsabers (“Night” and “Day”)
  • 5 Throwing Lightknives
  • 3 Force Blinding Flashbangs
  • RI-17 Rifle-w-MS-0412 Grenade Launcher
  SURGICAL - CRYBERNETIC IMPLANTS
  
  • Repli Implants that would be for the limbs
  • Bonemer enhancements to strengthen structure of the body
  • Muscle enhancements.
  • Hemo enhancements for blood flow
  • Hawkeye implants for eyes
  • Advanced Medical Implant
  • Scentzy
  • Injected Nanotech upgrades
  
  
  
• Shadow Sanctuary - Enterprise

Cora was speaking.

Connel had not been paying attention at first. Not because he dismissed her, but because he already understood the shape of the room. Fear. Anger. Duty. The particular silence that came when Jedi knew they were walking toward a trap and chose to move anyway. Then Cora looked toward the young one.

The Knight’s hand hovered near his lightsaber.

Connel knew what she was going to say before she said it. He stood among the others without leaning against a wall, without trying to occupy the edge of the room the way he normally did. He was simply there. One Jedi among those gathered.

That young one, though.

Connel understood the impulse. Wanting to get into the fight. Wanting to answer terror with steel. Wanting to make the Sith pay because someone had to, because the galaxy had become very good at taking from the Jedi and calling it balance.

He understood it because he had lived it.

Vanagor still hated it.

It felt empty. Unending. Bottomless. A hunger that never filled, only widened. There was a place for those feelings, perhaps even a place for those among the Jedi who could carry them without being consumed.

But not everyone was meant to walk that path. Some were meant to guard. Some were meant to heal. Some were meant to survive. So the goal was not holding the ship. Survival.

That made things easier.

Not cheaper. The price of survival was often higher than the price of victory. It was paid in scars, silence, blood, and the memories no one applauded afterward. Memories such as Coruscant.

Coruscant, the center of the universe. The heart of the once-Republic, once-Galactic Alliance, once-Empire, and now the Sith Covenant’s prize. The name itself felt like a wound that refused to close. The Imperial attack on the Jedi Temple came back to him in pieces. Fire. Screams. Broken stone. The smell of burnt flesh and ozone. His father’s death. The betrayals. The faces of those who could not be saved.

The memory did not drag him backward. It put weight in his hands.

When she brought up the primary objective being evacuation, he didn’t flinch. Evacuation routes first. He then paused Everything else is just noise. Sending a text message, he simply typed

Michael, stay out of the fight until I call

I can help you.

By staying safe until I need to get people out.

He had an ace in the hole, no need to show it yet. No need to give the Sith another target.
Not until it mattered.

It was time.

Connel pulled the mask over his face. The seal clicked into place, familiar and final, and the ritual began in the quiet place behind his eyes.

You will feel no remorse for those who would show none to you.
You will feel no fear beyond the fear of failing those behind you.
You will seek no reward beyond mission success.
You will feel no pain until death.
You are not wrath.
You are not vengeance.
You are the Light’s wraith.

The world changed. Not disappeared.

Changed.

The hangar became movement, spacing, exits, vectors, pressure points. Cora was in command. This was her operation, her evacuation, her field. Connel would execute her plan as she called it. But every evacuation needed someone watching the dark hallway no one wanted to name. When the door shut and the attention shifted fully to Cora’s plan, Connel spoke just loud enough for the eager young saber-happy Knights to hear. If the Sith want to make the Jedi run, then someone has to make the Sith slow down. She’d want him for that. Not stop them. Not defeat them.

Slow them.

That was enough.

He knew where he was going. The maintenance and engineering artery. The bridge was too obvious. The hangars would become killing floors. The Sith would expect defenders to gather around the places that mattered most. They would expect heroics. They would expect panic. They would expect Jedi to meet them blade to blade in the open and call it courage. Connel would not give them what they expected. This was a trap. He would not spring it.

He would make it bite wrong.

One look at Cora was all he needed. Not permission. Understanding. Then Connel Vanagor stepped away from the light of the hangar and vanished into the artery of the ship.

Ariel moved.

Corazona von Ascania • Kahlil Noble • Darth Carnifex
Personal Effects - Omega Squad Loadouts​

 

[Lysander von Ascania]

Darth Carnifex Darth Prazutis Darth Empyrean Allyson Locke​

Armor | Helm of the Twin Suns | Nightstar
​

For a time, the Covenant's emissary transcended flesh as hyperspace jumps blurred through the cosmos. Diplomacy was but an illusion today; words would not be exchanged between sworn enemies. Beside towering shoulders that could rival fortress walls, armor caught the violet glow; even the barest hint of Light fractured into shards of predatory fire. Familiar shadows stretched around them, forged not moments ago; nay, but in agreements upon Coruscant's Senate rotunda.

Encased within his personal helm, Lysander's consciousness shuddered. Present and somehow distant. The world before him filtered through a corona of gold. Every breath exhaled by the rebreather sang a hymn akin to winter's breath. How many times had he heard this song? Too many; yet it wound tight around his sanity like a noose.

At his side, Nightstar hung sheathed, aware of the battleground it would soon serenade with its own song. Fingers twitched, forever aching to grip the hilt that whispered of spilled blood.

Outside the viewport, the void yawned infinite. But inside, within the cradle of darkness, was another deity of this doctrine. Darth Prazutis. An even colder chill soon slipped beneath the layers of ebony plates; these were shifts in pressure signaled by the warping energy around the Eternal Father's presence. Once, perhaps, that proximity was like standing on the cusp of a blackhole, a terror surely known to seize the heart of many. So it came to this, with only calm spreading through the veins like poison. This was his path; this was the end written so long ago.

Distress spilled through threads of the Force. Thus, one truth remained: death awaited, his or theirs, on whatever ground fate had carved. The Kainate stood beside him through many infernos, from loaning their bastions upon Byss and beyond, to strength in shared struggles within the Core worlds. They had always answered the call. Now, the debt was due; a sword must be lent. With the Crestfallen surging onward and the Prosperity drawing near, his visor settled on Lord Carnifex. "Point me toward the first to die."

 

[Darth Virelia]

"Vengeance."

- TAG: -

A heavy thud slammed against the corridor wall, followed by the dull collapse of a body striking the deck. The lights in the young Jedi's eyes flickered weakly before vanishing into nothingness. Another extinguished soul left cooling upon the metal floor.

In such chaos, she had finally shown herself.

How satisfying it was to stand revealed amongst the dying remnants of her old Order, the fear, the weakness, the desperate heroics of those still foolish enough to believe courage alone could halt the dark. She reveled in watching them witness the collapse of everything they had devoted their lives toward, seeing realization dawn in those final moments that the galaxy had finally weighed itself against them and found them wanting.

It was intoxicating to the Tyrant Queen.

This was what she had hungered for, for so very long. To stand before the young and gifted of the Jedi and watch them tremble beneath her shadow. To see their disciplined minds fracture as they struggled to comprehend that the darkness before them was no wild beast, no frothing monster, but something infinitely worse.

Someone they could have become, who understood them completely.

She could feel their thoughts turning against themselves already, panic slipping beneath meditation, terror coiling through every practiced mantra as the Dark Side pressed inward like cold water flooding failing lungs.

She advanced further down the corridor as two braver Knights finally stepped forward to shield the others.

The first lunged with an overhead strike born from desperation masquerading as conviction. Virelia merely raised one hand above her head, halting the blade effortlessly mid-swing. The Jedi strained against the invisible force imprisoning him, panic widening his eyes as his weapon trembled inches from her.

The second attacked from the flank.

Virelia allowed the lightsaber to strike her armour deliberately.

The cyan blade screeched across obsidian plating and violet veins of living energy, yet failed to bite deeper than the surface. Sparks cascaded between them as she slowly turned her head to meet the young Knight's horrified stare, letting him fully comprehend how insignificant his strength truly was.

Without so much as a step backward, she opened herself to the Dark Side and casually drained them both.

The corridor filled with choking screams, skin shriveled, flesh withered, their bodies folded inward as life itself was torn from them in violent strands of invisible hunger. One collapsed first, reduced to little more than a husk clutching at his own throat. The other reached desperately toward his comrades before he too crumbled lifelessly onto the deck.

Virelia did not even break stride.

Nothing stood before her now. At the far end of the corridor, the remaining Jedi huddled in terrified silence, utterly at her mercy. Yet among them, three faces caught her attention immediately. Around her age, very familiar indeed.

Once, long ago, she had known them within the halls of Coruscant, back when she had still been nothing more than Serina Calis. She remembered whispered conversations during temple excursions, the quiet arrogance shared between gifted students, mocking the failings of their peers while dreaming of greatness none of them yet understood. Here they stood, together once more.

A soft, amused laugh escaped her lips.

Oh, she could not resist.

Slowly, deliberately, Virelia reached upward and removed her mask, fastening it against her hip as obsidian armor hissed softly around her movements. Cyan eyes gleamed beneath blonde strands of hair untouched by time, her features still cruelly beautiful, still achingly familiar.

The shock that followed was almost musical. They knew the rumors after all.

"Serina…" one of them whispered breathlessly.

How wonderful it felt hearing the name again. Virelia smiled then—just as if she was an old friend finally returning for the reunion.

"Oh," she purred softly, her voice flowing through the corridor like an incantation of ruin, "look at you three…"

Her unnerving gaze lingered over each of them possessively or hungrily. Perhaps both.

"You will make such beautiful apprentices."

It was almost hypnotic how quickly they fell.

 

[Renard Fenn]

"You will make such beautiful apprentices."

“No,” said a stern but small voice from the end of the corridor, “They won’t.”

A bar of emerald green snapped to life, illuminating the determined features of the Amaran Jedi Knight Fenn.

He’d dueled Darth Solipsis when Coruscant fell and managed to survive. He would not let this Sith take his fellow Jedi to a life of misery and suffering. Even if it cost him his own life.

“Darth Virelia, by the authority of the Jedi Order I am placing you under arrest,” breath in, breath out.

Serenity.

“Please relinquish your weapons and surrender yourself to my custody… or I will do what I must.”

The Jedi Knight advanced down the corridor toward her. Resolution in his small, dark eyes.

Darth Virelia

 

[Ko Vuto]

Location: Orbiting around The Prosperity
Allies - NJO
Opposition - Sith | Seela Leini
Ship - EPO-1 DELTA-CLASS LIGHT INTERCEPTOR

Hey, wanna lsiten to some tunes?

The Kel Dor felt like a fool. He hadn’t actually known that The Prosperity was still in use. After the fall of the Galactic Alliance and painful fracturing of the NJO’s Jedi Ko had presumed that The Prosperity was lost with it. Either destroyed or rotting away in some neglected dockyard.

Ko would not, could not back down from this fight. As a Temple Guard of the NJO he still had a duty and a responsibility to the vessel and those it sheltered. This time he wouldn’t be caught off guard and find himself missing an arm or any other parts of himself. The NJO and those whom have moved on from it were his family, and he cared deeply for them even if he wouldn’t like to admit to such an emotional attactment.

The swirling blue maelstrom of cosmic background radiation that passed Ko’s starfighter finally gave away as he exited hyperspace. Giving way to the abyssal darkness of real space and the chaos of the assault. The Kel Dor internally likened it to a scene often found in nature. Where a large animal was finding itself preyed upon by smaller predators. Like a pack of womp rats chewing away at a struggling batha, or a great and mighty beetle being swarmed by ants.

“Lets get more power to the weapons and thrusters.” Ko communicated to the astromech slotted into the vessel near the rear. The droid spoke back with some concern to balance their power more to the shields as well. “No only a minimal amount, just for particle shielding. We don’t need a loose screw, bolt or particulate punching through the hull or cockpit.” The vessel was geared more towards avoiding damage rather than tanking it. With only one arm he needed to rely a little more on the astromech, or reach out with the force to manipulate the controls telekinetically that weren’t on the joystick that his left hand was gripping.

With everything ready Ko finally rushed to the defense of The Prosperity.​

 

[Darth Virelia]

"Vengeance."

- TAG: Renard Fenn

Karablast. Of all the things fate could place before her, it had chosen this.

She had not been given the honour of some towering, imposing Jedi. Instead, it was something small. An Amaran.

The creature stood there with maddening professionalism amidst the carnage, calm in a way that unsettled her more than outrage ever could. Virelia knew the species. Years ago, deep within the underlevels of Coruscant, she had dealt with an Amaran spice broker shortly after her battle with Valery in the Archives. Even then, she had found their size strangely disarming.

Now, however, there was nothing amusing about it. If he was sent to stop her, then she already feared just what he was capable of.

The corridor around her still smelled of scorched metal and death, yet the moment she had carved out for herself had already begun to sour. Her vengeance, her triumph, her certainty of control; all of it felt thinner now, fraying at the edges beneath memories she had long tried to bury.

The Jedi had always done this to her.

There had never truly been room for acceptance within the Order. No matter how hard she had tried to walk the path they demanded, there had always been distance. Judgment. Fear. She had spent years convincing herself that if she endured long enough, if she mastered herself enough, they would finally see her as worthy of admiration rather than scrutiny.

And now, standing amidst the dying remnants of that same Order, she could still feel the old wounds clawing at her thoughts, as they sent this rodent against her.

Virelia steadied herself before that weakness could spread further.

"No."

The word emerged low and firm, carrying through the ruined corridor with new found resolve.

"I am done letting my past chain me."

With a subtle motion of the Force, her lightsaber tore free into her waiting gauntlet, the weapon igniting instantly.

Violet light spilled across obsidian armor and bloodstained walls alike, bathing the corridor in an eerie glow. The hum that followed felt almost ancient to her ears. It had been far too long since she had wielded the blade herself, but it was necessary.

It was time exorcise this demon from her past, once and for all.

 

[Naniti]

Lysander was well acquainted with at least some of those present. Perhaps all. He was a very dynamic part of the Covenant's inner workings. Tireless even. She'd like to think she could make so many connections and be more than a humble Apprentice or even a Knight; but someone had to deal with shadows. More importantly, had to stalk Lysander whenever he prowled into the reaches of the void on missions. Especially when he started dabbling in the underworld directly.

Today he was supporting the overworld. Those of reputation. In return for their support elsewhere, perhaps. For their lack of civil strife turned against the Covenant. Possibly. Naniti's only agenda, however, was supporting Lysander. A limited scope, yes. Not the grandest of plans conceived by Sith, true. But she was used to working in the shadows to support him in whatever way he needed.

Today it was a little more overt in nature. The violet Togruta stood on the other side of Lysander so he could converse with his partners. They needn't talk across her as if she weren't there if -- in fact -- she wasn't. Not between them, anyways.

As they exchanged pleasantries in only way Dark Siders did, Naniti's blue eyes were forward. A small frown touched her lips. There was a complication. A storm. Not one Lysander hadn't weathered before, but it was a variable. A deviation in the way futures might progress. Not a good portent.

A bat of the eyelids and the Togruta heard a curious statement about cooking from... Empyrean was it? Alright that wasn't customary small talk before the butchering started. It almost sounded like she had something in common in which should could discuss with a Lord of the Sith that didn't involve conquest. Well, there wasn't time to indulge in that just yet. Couldn't make Lysander look bad, for one; and for another, Empyrean likely wouldn't recognize her to bother responding if she'd tried.

What was important was that Lysander sought a direction. Naniti stood ready to hear what that would be as well. They were both fighters and she would give him his room, but the Togruta didn't mind cutting down swathes of people to keep Lysander free of needless complications.

Lysander von Ascania | Darth Carnifex | Darth Empyrean | Allyson Locke

 

[Renard Fenn]

"I am done letting my past chain me."

Purple light cascaded from her lightsaber, as much an answer to Ren as her words.

He heaved a mournful sigh, drawing in the sorrow of this moment in a breath as he saw what had become of her and understood that he could not permit her to persist. She was walking violence and hate, corrupted by the Dark Side, and would have to be put down.

Ren exhaled out all of those emotions: his trepidation at facing one so strong; his fear at having to take a life; his sadness at the being she must once have been and might still be. All of it rushed out of him, replaced with the calm of the Force that filled up his whole being, flowing through and around him.

“As you wish.”

Then he attacked, blurring forward so fast he seemed to be there one moment then running along the corridor wall beside her the next. His paw rose and he let loose a burst of brilliance from his palm that flooded the space between them, an attempt to temporarily blind her momentarily - searing corneas, or get her mask to polarize its lenses if she replaced it in time. The added darkness in the corridor would not be blinding, but it would be a disadvantage - however slight.

Sliding down from the wall at the level of her knees, Ren stabbed once, twice, three times in a flurry of strikes all aimed at the joints of her armor around the knees and ankles.

Darth Virelia

 

[Darth Virelia]

"Vengeance."

- TAG: Renard Fenn

The space between his sigh and his words was all the time Virelia had to think.

Small opponent usually meant fast opponent, either endure the assault, or fail to predict it.

Endurance by far was a safer bet.

Her mask snapped back over her face a fraction before the attack began, six violet lenses narrowing as she anticipated a killing strike aimed for her head. Instead, brilliant light erupted directly into her vision. The Amaran flooded her optics with the Force itself, forcing her attention upward for a single, crucial mistake.

The real strike came low.

Searing heat bit into the exposed joints of her armour as the tiny Jedi carved at her legs with vicious precision. The plating held, but the vulnerable gaps beneath did not. Pain lanced through her right knee and the limb nearly buckled beneath her weight.

Fast, far too fast.

But speed demanded commitment, said commitment created openings.

Virelia endured the pain with a low hiss through clenched teeth as her free hand curled inward, hatred gathering at her fingertips. The Dark Side twisted outward in invisible strands as she began weaving a crippling Force Slow on the Amaran, seeking to drag him down beneath the suffocating weight of her will.

At the same time, her violet blade snapped downward in a tight defensive arc, sweeping low to dominate the space around her legs.

Then she adjusted.

Right foot came forward as her knees lowered, gutting her teeth at the pain present on the right. This would ensure her lower guard tightened, either forcing him to fight a losing battle beneath her, or attempt to begin probing the other parts of her body.

 

[Lestra Thairk]

Tags: Not interacting with anyone yet so no tags!

His spear twirled through the air, as Lestra shoved a Sith trooper's blaster off line, sweeping his leg under theirs and knocking the trooper up into the air before plunging his spear into the trooper. He had been part of the New Jedi Order before the last fall of Coruscant, and whilst he didn't hold any attachment to the organisation as a whole, there were younglings here who needed protected. Younglings stuck in a corridor with blaster fire raining down upon them, with Lestra weaving through the shots and lashing out at whatever he could reach.

"Kick yer rears into gear."

It was the duty of the strong to protect the weak. As much as he was getting more and more blood on his hands at a young age, the Padawan cared little. His path had been one he had travelled alone. Every lesson imparted on by strangers he'd never meet again. He had been alone, but these younglings would not be left to their own devices, as he rummaged into his pocket, pulling out two gemstones.

"Malachite for the earth...Amethyst for the wind...Crush 'em together and..."

With a flick of his wrist, and a little touch of the Force, Lestra sent out a clump of crushed up gemstones which mixed together, forming a potent cloud of Force-imbued spoke that seemed to float in place, even as the troopers wafted their hands through the air in an attempt to disperse. With a moment of hesitation, Lestra spun around on the heel of his foot, reaching down to grab the two youngest younglings and chucking them over his shoulders.

"Lets get a move on!"

And so he made his escape, running straight for the hanger. Lestra wasn't a pilot himself, but he was sure there'd be some people ready and waiting to help evacuate. If not...well, he could always improvise.


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