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

[Beltor "Bell" Cyrus]

The Purge.

The Jade Finch winked into existence, jerking as the interdiction field kicked in. Belter swore as he Jerked the controls and banked the aging freighter to avoid an incoming laser blast.

He kept swearing as he ducked, dodged, dove, and weaved through out the chaotic hellscape of a space battle. He flipped the shields up to full and armed the twin quad heavy lasers, going so far to arm and lock the two underslung heavy blasters, all slaved to his yoke.

He watched a EPO-1 come in to view, and recognizing it as friendly, he fallowed him in to the fur ball.

<<Jade Finch to Jedi Interceptor, thanks for the hole in!>> He transmitted over local as he kicked the big freighter in to after burner and shot past the EPO as it broke off for better targets.

He rode the big freighter in hard and fast, aiming for one of the Prosperity's main hanger bays. Standing on his rudders, he swung the old Dynamic class freighter in side ways and landed bow facing towards the bay doors. Leaving the engines running, he leapt from the seat and threw on the armor vest and helmet over his robes. Going to his room, he slung the rifle over his shoulder, and hefting the heavy rotary blaster before making his way down the ramp.

His vest was adorned a certain style of Starbird that put the guards at ease. "What's the situation?" "We've been boarded on multiple decks, and have started the evacuation process, but there are groups stuck behind and cut off." Bell frowned and looked around, "Give me three men and send me to the furthest out. When we get back, put them on my ship."

He charged the barrels and checked his gear as the guard nodded and summoned three further troopers. "Beltor Cyrus, Lt's Commission out of Anaxes, working for the Jedi Sect out of Dantoonie." The three troopers nodded and checked their weapons as he clicked his data pad, a small map projecting off it. "There's a group of younglings and padawans held up four compartments down. Likely to be several sith trooper boarding teams and likely sith them selves between us. Move with me, stick with me, do what I tell you and leave any wielding light sabers to my self, understand?" They nodded, and he thumbed the safety on the Z-6, setting the barrels to spin.

"Good, stay with me, and stay frosty."

 

[Novac Lyrikal]

as the wandering refuge arrived with its five pgem harbinger corvettes was travelling through hyperspace novac, in his armor, sent a message out to all of his droids.

"ok everyone remember, we're here to get to the prosperity and get as many people off it and to safety, we'll most likely be getting padawans as im sure the master and knights will be fighting. swarm and vulture drones do not engage the enemy unless they are attacking the ship. i dont need you all going out and getting destroyed, keep the ship safe. walker pilots get to the walkers, stay near the entrance. to everyone else on board, we'll be docked to the prosperity, im sure the sith are to. if any sith try to come aboard, dont let them live to regret it. if any allies come aboard get them to the safest place on the ship." ending the announcement novac turned to kairo, giving him a little nod, "your with me of course,"

once the ship finally entered realspace it began to get close to the prosperity to doct. as it approached a few sith fighters flew under the ship and in response the swarm drones attached to the underside of the ship quickly all fired at the fighters at once, overkill.

tye ship finally managed to connect to the prosperity, novac and kairo quickly went in and started to search for the ships passengers while the other droids stayed by the dock to protect it.

tags: open

 

[Beltor "Bell" Cyrus]

The Purge.

Beltor Cyrus

Fire Team Nexu, near Engineering.

The Four of them stacked up on the door, a blast door, and nodded as they breached it with a waive of the ident card over the reader. Blaster fire came to meet them almost instantly, and the big armored frame of Beltor Cyrus sprung in to view as he held down the trigger on the Z-6, laying down a torrent of fire that over whelmed the few sith troopers in the hall. One got caught out of cover, stitched up from the waist by the blue bolts as Beltor started to walk forward, keeping the other suppressed.

The last trooper sprung up at him from around a corner, and Beltor swung the heavy blast at his head full force, cracking his visor and sending to him to the floor. He let go of the handle of the big blaster and drew his slug thrower, putting two slugs through the shattered helmet and making the trooper go still. Holstering the 11mm hand cannon, he switched out the power packs of the Z-6 and motioned for the rest of the team to fallow as they neared engineering.

Turning a corner, he found what he was looking for. Just before the entrance to main engineering, a small hab block that had come to home a small group of Jedi Younglings and padawans. He saw two of them, barely teen agers, holding up a squad of red and black armored troopers. Grunting, he barked orders.

"Focus fire and secure the end of the hall." Pressing forward, he laid down a torrent of suppressing fire that sent the sith scrambling for cover. Running dry, he dropped the rotary cannon and shouldered the A-295, sighting the head of one in just as he popped out to check why the fire had ended, a bolt keyholing his helmet in return for his bravery. The rest of the team moved up with him.

The two padawans held him with a slight bit of suspicion. "How many are with you?" "Just us, and about a dozen younglings-" The padawan went silent, starting to gurgle and choke as she was lifted from the air and flew past him, impacting a bulkhead with a sick thud. He turned and saw two masked, cloak wearing individuals, each toting a read saber.

He frowned. Slinging the rifle, he reached for his sabers and ignited them. The Sith tilted their heads. "A brave one, barely even showing in the force." Bell dropped in to a guard and charged, a growl in his voice. "Shut up and fight."

The two acolytes reacted fast, but still unsure. He didn't move like a jedi, the older man instead holding the two in a different style. He moved like rage incarnate, keeping the two offensively minded sith on the back foot as the violate blade swung, and the near translucent one guarded his openings.

 

[Alina Grayson]

Alina stood in the small common room of the homestead as the damaged signal played across the holoprojector, blue light flickering unevenly against the wooden walls while bursts of interference distorted the voices struggling through. Even so, enough remained to understand the truth. The Prosperity was trapped. Hunted across system after system until retreat itself had become impossible, the battered vessel had finally been cornered by the Sith and surrounded by boarding craft moving in for the kill.

Beneath all of it lingered something colder. The Sith wanted this message to spread. Compassion itself had become bait, weaponized by predators who understood exactly how difficult it was for good people to ignore suffering. Alina watched the flickering hologram in silence as another burst of static rolled through the transmission. Somewhere aboard the Prosperity, alarms continued to sound beneath the shouting voices before the signal weakened again.

For a few moments, she remained completely still. Aiden was gone, away from Naboo on matters of his own, and part of her was quietly grateful for it. If he had been here to hear the transmission himself, there would have been no force in the galaxy capable of stopping him from throwing himself directly into the center of the storm.

But she had heard it.

Alina exhaled slowly before turning away from the holoprojector and crossing deeper into the homestead. The familiar warmth of the place wrapped around her as she moved through it. Simple furnishings, soft light filtering through open windows, the quiet sense of peace she and Aiden had slowly built together here on Naboo. For a moment, stepping into the room they shared made the coming battle feel even farther away. Her armor rested carefully along one wall beside her weapons, not displayed like trophies but kept ready out of necessity. White and gold plating caught the fading afternoon light, while nearby rested two very different weapons born from two very different eras.

Her lightsaber.

And Auralis.

The ancient sword rested in its stand with quiet dignity, its songsteel blade reflecting soft silver beneath the light. A relic from a bygone age, older than many of the orders and kingdoms now fighting across the galaxy, yet still impossibly beautiful. The weapon carried a presence all its own within the Force, familiar and steady long before she even reached for it.

She began fastening her armor piece by piece. Only once she had it all on did she step closer and lift Auralis carefully. The sword felt balanced and alive beneath her fingers, the cool songsteel carrying the weight of history without ever becoming heavy. For a brief moment, she simply stood there holding it, blue eyes lowered toward the blade as the currents of the Force settled around her breathing.

Then she secured the weapon across her back before clipping her lightsaber at her hip.

By the time she finished, the woman standing in the room no longer looked like someone quietly building a life on Naboo. She looked like a knight preparing to walk willingly into war. Naboo remained beautiful. The late afternoon sun stretched across rolling green hills while distant waters shimmered beneath the breeze. The homestead behind her looked small against the landscape, humble and peaceful in a galaxy that seemed increasingly determined to destroy such things.

Her fighter waited silently within the modest hangar nearby.

Alina ascended the boarding ramp and lowered herself into the cockpit with practiced ease. Systems awakened around her in cascading displays of blue and gold light while the engines slowly built toward a controlled hum beneath the hull. Then the fighter lifted cleanly from the deck. The craft surged out across the open skies of Naboo, racing above forests, rivers, and bright waters before piercing through the atmosphere and vanishing into the stars beyond. Moments later, hyperspace swallowed her completely.

========== Arrival ==========

The journey passed in tense silence, even there, with starlines stretching endlessly beyond the cockpit, the Force refused to settle. Darkness gathered ahead like a stormfront vast enough to swallow entire systems. Still, Alina pressed forward. The Eight Currents flowed steadily through her awareness, grounding her against the fear threatening to rise within her chest. Courage had never meant the absence of fear to her, only the refusal to surrender to it.

Then hyperspace released her.

Stars snapped violently back into existence as her fighter emerged into the battlefield surrounding the Prosperity. Chaos consumed the system. The wounded Jedi vessel hung amidst the void, scarred and burning, surrounded by a tightening ring of Sith warships whose formations closed around it like iron jaws. Turbolaser fire streaked endlessly through the darkness in violent flashes of crimson and emerald while boarding craft swarmed toward the crippled ship from every direction.

She wasted no time, accelerating to maximum speed, she made for Prosperity, weaving in and out of Sith fire from starfighters and warships. She never slowed as she approached the hangar.

TAG: Allyson Locke
​

 

[Beltor "Bell" Cyrus]

The Purge.

Beltor Cyrus

Fire Team Nexu, near Engineering.

Beltor was...enjoying him self, for once. It had been a long time coming that he got to truly test him self in a life for death situation. The two sith were trained, competent maybe, but not good, not quite to his level.

He picked out the more aggressive of the two and focused his energy on him, forcing him to on the back foot constantly as he used the Ghostfire shoto, Echo, to force the more defensive minded on of the two to be on the attack. He poured him self in to the fight, using that anger and rage as a fuel, a highly refined fuel that allowed him to physically dominate the lesser sith before him.

The One he was battering swore at him and spat, just as Bell's saber struck the mask off his face, revealing a Zabrak of some type. He cared little, and pivoted on his foot in a combined motion that saw his back leg come out and kick the other away, and allowed him to duck under the Sith's guard and run him through just below the solar plexus with Reverence. The Zabrak sputtered and gasped, his saber falling to the floor, fallowed by him.

The other acolyte roared and pressed him harder. Bell spun to lock his violet blade on his red in a lock. "Your anger makes you stupid." The sith spat at him and tried to wrench back, only to find Echo pressed in to his chest. The both froze, and Bell gave a thought command that saw the cold blade ignite and sink in to him.

He let the other drop to the ground, collected their sabers, and turned back to the rest of the team as they attempted to corral the scared younglings. Bell extinguished his sabers and recovered his ranged weapons, reloading them.
He clicked on his comlink and spoke.

"Any allies this node, Fire team Nexu has times 14 precious cargo, heading back through blue lines, over."

 

[Lily Decoria]

Location: Prosperity
Outfit: Jedi Attire
Equipment: Arwr Da, Hydrangea Moonblade (concealed)
Tag: OPEN TO OPPOSITION

Lily had been tracking the massacre of remnant Jedi, following the path of destruction that the Kainites were carving through the old Alliance territories. She wanted to be more preventative, at times was able to rescue some. But the army, the intelligence that Carnifex had. It was too much for Lily to be able to counter. Instead, the Battle Master focused on what she could do. Then the calls for aid from the Prosperity came through. Gathering some High Republic Jedi that she could on such short notice, Lily immediately jumped into action. Her ship was going to be able to house a number of Jedi thankfully due to the space that was on the ship but not everyone, the only hope was that others would respond to the call for aid. Tying her hair into the high ponytail that she had it in for combat, Lily felt her finger tapping, twitching.

"What is our priority Battle Master Decoria?" One of the Jedi asked Lily, stirring her out of her thoughts.

"You guys focus on searching for everyone who needs to be evacuated. There are going to be Jedi, family members, civilian workers, priority is making sure they can get out and survive this attempted purge of our Order." The Jedi were not fallen, not yet and not while Lily continued to draw breath. "I will hold off as many Sith as I can," Lily found the calm within herself once again, letting the anxieties and fears on these attacks sneak into her mind. Breathing in deeply, she thought that this would be the best time to work on a Battle Meditation if she was capable of such things, but Lily was not that kind of Jedi. Not yet at least. For now, the best she could do was boost those around her with Force Valor. But she was saving that for when they were aboard the Prosperity.

Once the ship left hyperspace, Lily grabbed the controls and immediately took evasive action, the Sith were out in force. This wasn't just the Kainites. It was more than just that. Lily knew that they were going to be dealing with a lot. Flicking switches and diverting power where it was most needed, Lily kept a calm but focused energy. There was nothing to worry about and she would not allow the other Jedi being spiralling because this was a tough situation.

"Approaching the hangar now. We are going to be jumping into action. Remember, you guys focus on rescue and bringing as many here so we can get them back to High Republic space. Once they are safe there, then these people can decide where their fates will take them next." Lily mentioned, it was important for the people fleeing this to feel that they had agency and the ability to choose what they did next. Without feeling like things were being controlled for them.

The entry into the hangar was abrupt, a little hot, but it was too dangerous to be cautious at the moment. As soon as Lily's ship entered the hangar, the ramp was down and Jedi were descending from it onto the ground. There was no hesitation and Lily was switching things to the autopilot to join the strike team she had assembled. Grabbing her Lightsaber, the energy flowing through the crystal passed the familiar warmth over Lily. The Echani warrior hit the ground firmly and she ignited the cyan blade instantly. Feeling the strong hum of her Lightsaber, Lily nodded silently to the strike team as they all headed off in differing directions on the Prosperity.

Lily charged in her own direction, hearing the noise of combat, the Jedi Knight moved inhumanly fast as she hoped that there would be time to get everyone on board this ship to safety. Holding her Lightsaber firmly in her hands, she blocked the strikes from one Sith moved with her dancing grace into his guard before striking him. There was no time for her to talk, to be inefficient with her moves. She needed to carve her path through them as much as Lily could.

 

[Renard Fenn]

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.

The Amaran’s ears flattened back to his skull as he felt the effects of her power, catching his rush like a pool of molasses. Every motion took longer than it should have in that single moment as his Speed strained against her Slow.

In the same instant, she swung for him. This he felt with the Force before it landed, precognition moving him before he was even conscious of needing to move. Had he the full run of his speed he could have darted out of the way with ease, but the slowing effects drug him down and felt as though he moved with a hundred more pounds of weight on him.

Her violet blade carved through the air, crackling, and as he leaned out of the way, bending back, his shoto came up a millisecond too slow. The tip of her lightsaber burned a line through the fabric of his robes, charring the fur beneath before Ren’s emerald bar of plasma met it and stopped the advance of the blade that would otherwise have cut him in half.

His whiskers trembled. Too close.

Pushing back against the Force Slow, Ren nullified the effects but this left him at a speed less than what he had exhibited before.

So he changed his target.

He jumped onto the wall, then kicked off - shoto flicking out in an Ataru cut aimed for under her helmet - a decapitation strike, but only an illusory one meant to lure her hands into a higher guard. He redirected, slashing at her hands and wrists to cut between armor gaps again.

Darth Virelia

 

[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

“All good things…”

The Prosperity had become, for all intents and purposes, the last bastion of the New Jedi Order. Not a temple. Not anymore. A lifeboat with engines. A sanctuary with failing shields. The final straw clutched in the hands of those who had already lost too much and were still somehow expected to carry more.

It was only a matter of time.

Everyone who knew Connel Vanagor’s history knew what happened to him on Vendaxa. They knew about the surgeries, the cybernetics, the enhancements forced into his body because survival had demanded a price and refused to negotiate. That had been the beginning of one testament. His will to survive. But The Prosperity was where something else had happened. This was where Connel Vanagor died.

Not his body. Not his heart.

The path.

The version of him that had kept walking toward his own ruin because stopping felt too much like surrender. Here, aboard this ship, he had been forced to choose: remain on the road that was killing him, or take the leap of faith that would alter the course of his life forever.

So no.

Not again.

Connel would be the last Jedi to die on this ship. Like many of the New Jedi Order, he knew The Prosperity well enough that the corridors felt less like architecture and more like old scars. He moved quickly at first, cutting through familiar junctions and service passages until he reached the arteries near Engineering.

There, he slowed.

Deliberately.

The Sith were coming fast. So he would make the ship slow them down. His comm clicked once as he transmitted across an old Jedi channel, encrypted beneath a pattern the Sith could intercept but not understand.

[Alpha Wave. Code Tython.]

Simple. Two corridors.

Only two, if they could help it.

The evacuation routes would narrow. That was dangerous. But it would narrow the Sith as well, forcing their advance into lanes where numbers mattered less and timing mattered more. A bottleneck could become a slaughterhouse. Or a shield. It depended on who controlled the pressure.

Connel began pulling EMP blinders from his kit.

The devices were not meant to destroy. Not really. They were flashbangs with teeth, built to blind sensors, scramble targeting, and punch just enough force into panels, ceiling fixtures, and wall housings to turn clean corridors into debris-choked problems. No reactor breach. No catastrophic collapse. No damage that would threaten the evacuation. Just enough obstruction.

Just enough confusion.

Just enough delay.

The first charge disappeared beneath a wall unit. The second behind a ceiling panel. The third into a maintenance junction where the Sith would have to choose between slowing down or stepping blind into a corridor that suddenly hated them. Then he felt them.

Not Jedi.

Not Cora’s team.

A scout element had already reached Engineering.

Brutal troopers. Professional spacing. Heavy weapons tucked into disciplined angles. At their center moved an Acolyte, too confident for the dark, blade not yet lit but hand close enough to make the threat clear. They had chosen their position well. Good sight lines. Clean retreat. Access to critical systems. Enough cover to punish anyone trying to push through the open.

A proper ambush.

Connel watched them from above the maintenance lattice, silent behind the mask. They did not know Ariel was there. That was the only mistake they would live long enough to make. The first blinder went off behind them.

White light swallowed the corridor.

Targeting optics screamed. Helmets sparked. The Acolyte turned too late, reaching for a weapon that was suddenly no longer where his hand expected it to be. Connel dropped into the center of them like the dark had finally remembered it had weight. One trooper struck the wall before he knew he had been hit. Another lost his rifle to a twist of the Force and met the deck hard enough to stay there.

The third fired wild. Connel was already gone, a black shape moving between muzzle flashes, one hand driving into armor seams, the other redirecting the barrel down and away before the burst could chew through the bulkhead. The Acolyte’s saber snapped to life.

Too slow.

Connel’s forearm caught the wrist. His shoulder drove in. The Acolyte’s breath left him in a broken sound as he hit the wall, blade skittering across the deck in a wash of red light. Connel held him there for half a second. Long enough for the mask to become the last thing the Acolyte understood. Then the young Sith folded unconscious at his feet.

Alive.

Out of the fight. That was enough. The ambush was gone. Their escape routes no longer mattered. Connel was already moving when another group rounded the junction ahead. His hand went to his saber.

~Snap-hiss.~

Then he stopped.

Not Sith.

Militia, maybe. Troopers from another front. Hard-used, hard-eyed, carrying themselves like people who had learned survival from ugly instructors. At their head stood a man strapped into a rotary weapon harness, the kind of portable cannon most soldiers had the common sense to mount on a vehicle.

Behind the mask, Connel blinked once.

He should meet Raphael.

The thought passed quickly. The mission did not. He lowered the blade by a fraction, just enough to make the difference clear.

Get moving. Taking a breath. The ship shuddered as another impact rolled through the deck.

I’ll slow them down.

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

 

[Darth Virelia]

"Vengeance."

- TAG: Renard Fenn

The creature was formidable.

No sooner had the Amaran broken free from the grasp of her Force Slow than he moved again, a blur of motion snapping toward her head exactly as she had anticipated before. Only now, Virelia understood the danger properly. His speed was no longer incomprehensible, but it remained lethal.

Her wounded knee throbbed violently beneath the armour, a constant reminder of her earlier miscalculation. The Jedi fought with deception layered into every movement, so Virelia made a choice.

She risked her face.

Rather than fully committing to protecting her head, she anchored herself and denied him clean disengagement. Her armour could endure glancing lightsaber strikes far better than flesh could endure exhaustion. That had always been her strength. From Padawan to Sith Queen alike, she trusted in her craftsmanship, in her skill in the force.

In her complete and unconquerable will to power.

The emerald blade came screaming toward her gauntlets instead, targeting the vulnerable joints of the wrists with frightening accuracy. One strike landed clean across her left wrist, purple-black ichor spilled immediately from the wound, a foul yet powerful imitation of the blood that lesser beings carried.

Her left hand spasmed as numbness spread through several fingers, motor control degrading instantly. The vibroclaw mechanism within the gauntlet died with a sharp flicker of sparks. A precise and painful hit, but that pain only fed her hatred.

Virelia tightened her grip upon her saber until the metal groaned beneath armored fingers, sacrificing finesse for raw force as Rage flooded through her ruined body. The Dark Side surged violently through cracked veins and dead flesh alike.

Then she charged.

She hurled her full armored weight directly into the Amaran as he completed his strike, seeking to smash the tiny Jedi into the deck and deny him the distance his form relied upon. The corridor thundered beneath her advance as she followed immediately with two brutal, heavy swings of her violet blade.

She knew the strikes would leave openings, but that was the point.

If she could keep him committed, give him openings to tempt further engagement, keep him reacting, keep him trapped within her reach, then eventually the little Jedi would tire.

 

[Beltor "Bell" Cyrus]

The Purge.

Beltor Cyrus
Connel Vanagor
Fire Team Nexu with younglings in tow.

He stood still for the shortest of moments, the barrels of the Z-6 spinning before going still, he turned back and motioned for the team to move past him. One trooper herded a gaggle of scared younglings, while the other two carried the wounded but still living padawan past down the corridor, back towards the haven that was his ship.

He took a step closer and rendered the man a salute, a proper one. "Force be with you, friend."

He paused for a moment, before tossing him is spare thermal detonators, a knowing smile on his face. "Use'em well." He turned and broke in to a jog to catch up with the rest of them...

A short while later.

They arrived, thankfully, with little further fan fare as it seems the man had effectively cut off any further entry by boarding teams. He nodded to the Guard Captain as he boarded the Finch, escorting the kids and the troopers up the ramp.
Closing it with a his, he barked orders to the three troopers he had effectively adopted. "Get the kids belted in, toss a Bacta patch on her head and hang on, we are leaving!"

Tossing the Z-6 to the side, he bolted for the cockpit and slid in to the seat, belting him self in as he spooled the drives and lifted the old girl off the deck plate. He didn't even wait to fully retract the landing gear before punching the throttle and rocketing out of the Prosperity at speed.

The situation outside of the ship wasn't much better. Sith fighters and strike bombers buzzed as multiple small craft attempted to escape. He set the twin heavy blasters to auto track and to cover his rear while powering on the heavy quad lasers. He had tails almost as soon as he broke from the hangers, the alarm of missile locks and incoming target paints made him swear. He threw the old freighter in to a corkscrew spin and then a sharp left bank, trying to break the nearest fighter on his tail.

<<Jade Finch to any escorts, I've got times three bandits on my tail and a hold full of younglings, some help would be appreciated!>>

 

[Aveline Cuiléin]

Location: Space outside the Prosperity
Nearby tag: Corazona von Ascania | Silas Westgard | Ko Vuto (+ anyone else in space)
Opposition: Open​

The Galactic Alliance was no more. Coruscant had fallen. The New Jedi Order had disappeared. The Galaxy had moved on, and left Aveline behind.

She had been there for none of it. Out on some foolish personal mission, Aveline had found herself trapped and later encased in carbonite. Missing, presumed dead. It was only very recently that Jasper Kai'el had managed to pull her out, by accident no less.

The shock of what she had returned to had knocked the life out of her.

Everything she knew was gone. Everyone she knew were probably dead. Until the distress signal came in. The NJO wasn't gone yet. Some of them were still out there. If this was to be their last stand, Aveline would not let them stand alone. For all the times she had not been there, this time she would fight.

Aveline dropped out of hyperspace and joined the chaos. Her old and trusty A-Wing was long gone, probably turned to scrap. She hadn't been back long enough to really get her bearings and get herself set up again. All she had were her robes, her lightsaber, and some old snubfighter she had kind of borrowed, kind of stolen. It wasn't her A-Wing, but it fast, it was agile. It would do.

The situation seemed to be this: Sith ships were trying to choke the life out of the station, while a convoy of transports were trying to evacuate the station. A lone starfighter wouldn't do much against the capital ship of the Sith. Her mission then? To offer support to the evacuation effort, and if needed, board the station and hold off the Sith. Maybe lop a few heads off while she was at it. She was in the mood.

She banked towards the convoy, picking up speed towards another starfighter seemingly set to do the same. She hit up her comms, trying an old NJO frequency. "This is Aveline Cuiléin, Padawan of the New Jedi Order. I'm on your wing." Not knowing who the pilots were, she was chasing Silas Westgard , though he had a significant lead on her. The starfighter of Ko Vuto wasn't far off either.

She would do what she could. She was ready to die. In a way, she already had.

 

[Renard Fenn]

She hurled her full armored weight directly into the Amaran as he completed his strike, seeking to smash the tiny Jedi into the deck and deny him the distance his form relied upon.

Caught mid-air, Ren could do nothing as she charged her full armored weight into him. A lowered shoulder crushed into his torso and he squeaked, wind rushing out of him. The collision knocked him from the air and to the deck.

He immediately somersaulted backward, a violet blade skating through the air where he had been. The follow through chopped off the hanging right sleeve of his robe, leaving the edges smoldering.

Ren scrambled backward, struggling to breathe and trying to create space as she advanced. Up close, her weight and size would play too great of an advantage. His chest hurt where her lightsaber had left a shallow burn and he knew he could not stand up to a serious blow.

Reaching out in the Force, Ren tried to yank on the armor weave cloak she wore with telekinesis in order to tangle it around her arms and prevent her from properly parrying for the briefest of moments. Darting in, he thrust for her uninjured ankle, trying to ram the blade into another gap.

Darth Virelia

 

[Katarine Ryiah]

"Never Hide Your Heart"
​

Location: Prosperity - North Living Quarters
Tags: Open

What was she even doing here?

The question had haunted Katarine since the moment the transport had dropped from hyperspace into the burning edge of the system. It lingered now as she stood inside the dim corridor of the Prosperity, surrounded by the sharp scent of overheated circuitry, fuel, and fear. Red emergency lights pulsed along the walls in uneven intervals, bathing the crowded passageway in flashes of crimson that made everyone look half-wounded already.

Outside the reinforced viewport near the loading bay, space had become a graveyard of drifting debris and fire. Turbolaser streaks tore across the darkness in violent bursts of green and red while distant explosions blossomed silently against the stars. Every few seconds the ship trembled beneath another impact, metal groaning like a living thing under strain.

People rushed past her in waves, pilots shouting coordinates, medics hauling supply crates, frightened families clutching belongings to their chests as security officers guided them toward the transports below deck. Somewhere deeper in the cruiser, an alarm wailed continuously, harsh and shrill enough to scrape against her nerves.

And still, Katarine could not quiet the question.

What was she fighting for anymore?

She had spent so much of her life believing there was clarity in service. That if you followed the light, listened to the Force, and gave enough of yourself to others, purpose would reveal itself eventually. But the older she became, the more the galaxy blurred into contradictions. Governments spoke of peace while feeding wars. Leaders demanded sacrifice from people who had already lost everything. Even the Order she had once trusted without hesitation felt distant now, weighed down by politics, expectations, and endless conflict.

She wasn't even sure where she belonged anymore.

Recent events had hollowed something inside her. Doubt lingered in places where certainty used to live, quiet and persistent as a shadow trailing at her heels. She felt disconnected from herself, from the mission, from the people giving orders on the bridge. Her thoughts drifted at the worst possible moments, and she hated herself for it. A distracted mind got people killed.

Another violent shudder rippled through the ship.

The lights flickered.

No matter how uncertain she felt, no matter how lost she had become, one truth remained impossible to ignore: people were suffering. Innocents were trapped aboard failing ships while the enemy closed in around them. Fear echoed through every corridor of the vessel.

Katarine had never been able to walk away from suffering. That had always been her weakness. Or maybe it was the only thing about her that had ever truly been strong. She drew a slow breath and adjusted the gloves at her wrists, steadying herself as another explosion rattled the cruiser. Her heart still felt divided, torn between duty and exhaustion, between who she was supposed to be and who she might become once the fighting finally stopped.

But those questions would have to wait.

Right now there were people who needed her.

 

[Beltor "Bell" Cyrus]

The Purge.
Beltor Cyrus
Flying like a bat out of hell.

Connel Vanagor

The Finch was not a overly agile bird. Sure he could throw the old bucket around with the best of them, but she was an original production run Dynamic class freighter, meaning she was well over a few thousand years old, though he doubted any part of her was actually that old.

He came out of that left bank with two bandits still on his tale, new Sith fighters he didn't recognized. The heavy blasters did their best, training back and spiting fire at the incoming, but he had more tricks up his sleeve. Decoupling the throttle, he shove one forward and yanked the other back, canceling thrust to the latter while dumping speed from the other. The Finch yawed hard, spinning in the vacuum of space as he swung the big guns around and spat a torrent of heavy lasers at the pursuers. One ate multiple shots to the cockpit and disappeared in an inferno of fire, the other jinked up, trying to force in to the vertical where his smaller craft could out rate the older, bigger, denser finch.

He tried, couldn't keep the second fighter in his sights and found the Finch bleeding speed. That was bad, speed was life in these types of fight. He tried to right the Finch only to have a bracket of laser fire impact his shields. This was worse. The Finch's shields were good, but civilian, with a slow recharge rate and only so much tolerance to fire. That one burst shaved off a quarter of its health.

His Hyper-drive was primed, but he couldn't get a good bearing for Naboo when a savior appeared. A YT-1300, one heavily refitted to a standard he didn't recognize, came blasting from out of no where and vaporized the second bandit before it could weave out of the rate turn.
<<Your clear to bolt, Jade Finch. Turtle out.>>

He whooped and clicked his mic.

<<Your a sight for sore eyes, Turtle. Finch is jumping out, force be with you.>>


With that, he recoupled the throttles and bolted for speed, shooting out of the engagement before jumping to light speed...

 

[Kadann]

IMPERIAL KNIGHTS​

Tydeus of Tion

This was not his fight.

Kadann stood on the bridge of the Ardent-class frigate Freedom as it dropped out of hyperspace on the edge of the battle.

The Prosperity hung in the distance, battered and bleeding air, hounded by the Sith.

His Imperial Knights have been corrupted by Darth Solipsis and then the core had been hollowed out by the Sith Covenant. He needed to regather any Imperial Jedi Knights that still existed. He needed to gather any imperial ships to the cause of the Fel emperor in Exile.

"Keep our distance," he ordered the captain. The appearance of an Imperial frigate was going to add confusion, but he didn't want to risk the long guns on the sith capital ships.

"Initiate friendly IFF tagging to all forces evacuating Jedi. Prep all shuttles for launch, but keep all escorts tight until we know Republic forces aren't going to shoot us out of the sky."

"Remember, we are here for evacuation, not glory for the Emperor."

He turned and strode toward the hangar deck, white hair still neatly in place despite the journey. His red and white Imperial Knight armor gleamed under the overhead lights, lightsaber hilt resting at his hip.

He made it to the deck, flanked by three more Imperial Knights. Multiple shuttles and landing craft began their launch sequence, loaded with medics, security teams, and empty seats for survivors.

Kadann boarded the lead shuttle himself, standing at the front of the ramp as the last of the equipment is loaded.

"Focus on the wounded first," he said over the shared channel, plain and direct.

"And any younglings," he added.

Kadann didn't know that none were left and that most of the Jedi had left the core when the Empire took Coruscant some time ago. Long before the Sith Covenant conquered it.

"Captain, you're on diplomacy now," Kadann confirmed. "Find whatever ships are leading evacuation and make whatever promises you need to. We'll make a drop at Republic space or any neutral territory. We're just here to help."



OOC: Open for a skirmish on the Prosperity if anyone wants!

 

[Darth Virelia]

"Vengeance."

- TAG: Renard Fenn

She could feel exhaustion beginning to claw at the little Jedi. Not enough to break him yet, but enough that every movement now carried weight, every burst of speed demanded a greater price from his body.

Even so, Virelia refused to underestimate him. His talent for deception had already punished her twice. Her guard could not falter for even a heartbeat, lest another precise strike tear this duel away from her entirely, for the pain in her own body was beginning to rear it's ugly head.

Her left wrist still oozed, the hand practically unusable for a short period.

Then her own cape turned against her. The armored weave twisted sharply around her arms under the influence of the Force, constricting like binders as the Amaran attempted to stall her reactions for the next attack. A clever move. Desperate, but clever.

And in that moment, Virelia saw the answer. She feigned struggle, instead of wasting her time going against the current. Her arms raised high as if genuinely trapped, exposing her legs once more while her lightsaber subtly rotated within her grip, hidden in the posture of panic. Through six violet lenses, she tracked the Jedi's approach.

The Amaran lunged for her legs again. Virelia moved at the last possible instant.

She released her saber.

Dropping hard onto her wounded right knee with a cry of pain, she felt the enemy blade punch through the plating protecting her left leg. Searing agony tore upward through ruined nerves and scorched flesh alike as her mechanical vox allowed out a real and terrible grunt, nearly collapsing her entirely as she slipped on the ankle.

But the strike had cost him commitment.

Freed from her grasp, the violet blade fell like an executioner's axe, driven downward diagonally with the full momentum of gravity and her collapsing body behind it. The descending strike ripped straight through her own cape as it came screaming toward the Amaran's head with murderous force.

At the same instant, her right hand, now free of her sabre, clenched shut.

Pain flooded the Dark Side. Both ruined legs. Every screaming nerve. Every ounce of fury and humiliation. Every spec of ichor that had oozed out of her wrist. All of it collapsed inward into one brutal Force Choke aimed to crush the breath from the tiny Jedi's throat.

 

[Darth Prazutis]

The Prosperity filled the void in impossible immensity: an ancient temple-ark of stone and steel, once consecrated to survival, now caged beneath the shadow of the Kainate's wrath. Its shields still flared in broken coronas where turbolaser fire walked across them. Its wounded hull burned in scattered places, luminous scars cutting through sacred architecture that had endured times passage only to be brought low in a single, deliberate hour. The culmination of a perilous chase brought to a swift and sudden conclusion, as the jaws of a trap snapped shut. Around it, the Shadow Armada closed like a ritual circle. Interdictors held the ancient vessel in place, and warships bracketed every vector of retreat. Boarding craft swarmed its outer skin like carrion insects finding purchase in the flesh of a dying beast. The Jedi had called for aid. But the Sith had allowed them such a breath, a kindness shown by hunters who wished the den to empty itself before they preyed on everyone.

Darth Prazutis stood within the Crestfallen's vast hold, immense and silent, His armored form occupying the chamber with the gravity of a black monument. Qâzjiin'vraal drank the low light from the walls, its obsidian plates alive with faint crimson murmurs beneath their surface. The living warplate moved with Him in minute, predatory shifts, not clanking as armor should, but breathing, flexing, listening. Its runes pulsed in slow cadence with the slaughter unfolding beyond the hull. Xûl-Karzaan enclosed His face, the abyssal helm rendering him not a man, but death itself. No expression could be seen beneath the black maw of its visage. No humanity disturbed the terrible stillness of him.

Beside him stood Carnifex. The Eternal Father. His nephew. His brother in blood, doctrine, empire, in life itself, and in all the long atrocities by which the Sith had shaped the age, by which they shaped the age together. There was no need for speech between them. They had hunted together across too many worlds, broken too many thrones, and buried too many nations beneath the weight of their will. Prosperity wasn't merely a target. It was a relic of defiance, a moving shrine to everything the Jedi still believed could outlast them. So it had to die. Prazutis inclined His helmed head slightly toward Carnifex, the smallest gesture of acknowledgment between titans. "Their sanctuary becomes their pyre." He said, His voice emerging through the helm in a deep, layered resonance. "Let every Jedi who answers that call understand what compassion has purchased them."

His gaze shifted briefly toward Darth Empyrean. There had been a time when such proximity would have meant only suspicion, calculation, hostility, and the edge of old wars left unfinished. The Eternalists and the Kainites had once stood in the embrace of civil war that only the thinnest threads of connection and political necessity had held the Sith from devouring themselves. But the age had changed. Empyrean had changed. He stood diminished from the terror he had once been, yet not discarded. There was still power contained within the flesh of the Emperor, a farcry from the Dead God, but you would be a fool to underestimate the destroyer who led the Eleventh Sith Empire for over thirty years. Not treated as a ruin. "Darth Empyrean." Prazutis said, the title given with deliberate weight rather than empty courtesy. "The Jedi will remember that the Sith came united. When our business is done, perhaps we all may break bread together on Jutrand." Prazutis left the circumstances of what that entailed, up to the Emperor.

Then his attention passed to Allyson Locke. Once, she had been a knife in the dark for the Jedi. A shadow cast against the Sith to pull them down from within. The actions she'd taken, the arrangement she made to sell those once close to her into oblivion surprised Him, intrigued the Shadow Hand at such a simple request for such a large betrayal. To have the Jedi's greatest hunter in the service of the Sith was something He'd never quite gotten used to, after so many years of chasing Allyson Locke across the stars. When she spoke of stopping the distress signals, the Shadow Hand didn't interrupt her. He simply observed her brief exchange with the Emperor. He only looked upon her for a moment through the black crown of His helm, and the silence itself was recognition. "Then sever their last illusion." He said. "Let them scream into emptiness." His gaze moved lastly to Lysander von Ascania, the Covenant's emissary, the blade lent in fulfillment of bonds forged in darker halls than this. Ukatis had produced noble blood, but the Sith had refined it into something colder, sharper, and far more willing, rising above his heritage. The Covenant had opened roads to the Kainate. It had made bargains in the shadow of empires. It had stood close enough to the Dyarchs to understand that alliance with them was never a soft thing. Lysander asked to be pointed toward the first to die.

For the first time, a low, almost approving sound passed through the abyssal modulation of Prazutis' helm. "Destroy everything." He answered. "Let none survive. They cling to hope, Emissary Ascania. Rip it all away." The implication needed no further explanation. The Crestfallen shuddered as hostile fire lashed across its shields. A moment later, the shuttle rolled beneath a storm of point-defense fire from the Prosperity's wounded flank. Its wings adjusted with predatory precision, folding and angling as it punched through the chaos toward one of the great temple hangars already breached by Kainate assault teams. Outside, Sith interceptors screamed past in disciplined arcs, hunting Alliance craft that tried to contest the approach. Burning debris spun away into the void, hulks of vessels transfigured into burning graves. A crippled boarding pod tumbled end over end, venting flame and bodies before vanishing beneath the Crestfallen's shadow.

The Prosperity's hangar yawned ahead. It had once been a place of departure and return, a sanctified threshold where Jedi relief craft, starfighters, and transports had come and gone beneath beautiful stone arches and modernized docking pylons. Now it was a battlefield. The Blackblade Guard had already made landfall. They were visible through the forward ports in flashes. Towering figures in black plate advancing through smoke, blaster fire, and saber light. They were a ceaseless tide, a relentless horde of annihilation, disciplined and merciless, driving into barricades of temple security, Jedi defenders, and Galactic Alliance remnants who fought with the desperate ferocity of those who knew no second retreat would come. White and blue blades cut through the haze. Rotary autoblasters hammered from broken alcoves.

Its landing gear struck the deck with a sound like a hammer. For one suspended heartbeat, the battle seemed to recoil from its arrival. Then the forward assault ramp began to descend. Smoke rolled inward as klaxons screamed their deafening cries like an orchaestra of distress. The hangar's emergency lights washed everything in violent pulses of red and white. The Shadow Hand was the first to move. It was as if the very deck trembled beneath the weight of Him as he emerged. His cloak followed in a spill of living darkness, dragging through smoke without being stained by it. The runes of Qâzjiin'vraal brightened as the air filled with pain, not blazing wildly, but awakening with the patient hunger of something that knew the feast had only begun.

A full cohort of the Imperial Crownguard supported by the Umbral Guard emerged. Across the hangar some short distance away, a young Jedi Knight stood among the forward defenders, robes scorched, one arm hanging limp, lightsaber still burning in his remaining hand. His eyes fixed on Prazutis, and for a moment the Knight looked not afraid, but furious. Brave. It seemed a sense of duty outweighed common sense, outweighed a survival instinct that screamed for him to run. Prazutis stopped several paces from the base of the Crestfallen's ramp. Around him, blaster fire slashed through the smoke. A bolt struck His breastplate and vanished in a brief flare of swallowed light. Another glanced from His pauldron and died without ceremony. He didn't even lift a hand to block them. A discernable eye would be able to tell they dissipated before even touching his armor, a telekinetic sheath served as a subtle shield maintained, detonated blasts before they could even wash over him. It didn't even draw a reaction from the

The Jedi raised his blade. "You will go no farther." The words were swallowed by the roar of the hangar, but Prazutis heard them. The Black Maw of Dominion turned toward him fully. "No." said the Shadow Hand. "You will." The very air buckled. The space between Prazutis and the barricade darkened as though some vast unseen hand had closed around the world. Loose fragments of metal lifted from the deck, and smoke bent inward. The Jedi's blade trembled in his grip as the floor beneath him groaned. Boom. A sudden explosion of telekinetic force so abrupt, the Jedi could barely put up a defensive barrier. When he did? It shattered it along with his bones as it pushed him off his feet, the sheer weight of the crushing pressure was enough to collapse his form in on itself, transfiguring the warrior of light into a brutal smear of red, a cloud of misty vapor in the air with a scream swiftly cut short.

Darth Carnifex | Darth Empyrean | Allyson Locke | Lysander von Ascania | Kahlil Noble | Corazona von Ascania | Tydeus of Tion | Renard Fenn | Dalvos Thrakan | Silas Westgard | Seo Linn | Connel Vanagor | Darth Virelia | Ko Vuto | Naniti | Lestra Thairk | Beltor "Bell" Cyrus | Novac Lyrikal | Alina Grayson | Lily Decoria | Aveline Cuiléin | Katarine Ryiah | Kadann ​

 

[Corazona von Ascania]

Soon, stars were not the only ones who dotted the inky void of space. Fighters screamed for the Prosperity and strafed along the Yaldabaoth. Corvettes and freighters winked in from hyperspace, running interference and punching their way towards the mobile temple. This was not a military fleet; their strength was in their lack of uniformity and unpredictable nature.

Cora gripped the overhead tightly to avoid being tossed about the shuttle as it wove through unfriendly fire. One hand firmly clenched her datapad as she watched the growing number of pings race across the display. Imperial signatures? Who would've thought.

It was clear that the Prosperity's distress call had reached Jedi across the galaxy, and the response had shed light on aspersions Sith had tried to cast; Jedi, though fractured, had not abandoned their own.

As the ship rocked into the hangar bay, Cora's voice crackled over the encrypted Jedi frequency while her fingers flew over the datapad:

"Greetings, this is Jedi Knight Corazona von Ascania. I'm sending holomap."

A schematic of the Prosperity would pop up on every friendly screen, HUD, and display module. Makko Vyres had been able to corral all of the structure's data and turn it into something crude, but sensible on short notice. "White dots indicate the locations of Jedi needing to be rescued. If you're in need of help, send a ping. Red dots are for hostiles and damage."

The shuttle stuttered to a stop, and the Jedi extracted themselves, intent on setting up a perimeter around the hangar.

Suddenly, the pressure lowered, sinking into her gut like a stone. The thin scar over her left cheek had long since healed, but pinked skin burned with a renewed ferocity.

Cora reached for her comm again. “Take heed,” she added, grave, “for Darth Carnifex has arrived.”

Abruptly, she broke off from the forward perimeter, drawing toward the Dark Lord like a moth to a flame.

Darth Prazutis

Friendly tags for comms: Tydeus of Tion Renard Fenn Dalvos Thrakan Silas Westgard Seo Linn Connel Vanagor Ko Vuto Lestra Thairk Beltor "Bell" Cyrus Novac Lyrikal Alina Grayson Lily Decoria Aveline Cuiléin Katarine Ryiah Kadann
Kahlil Noble

 

[Lord Teuthid]

Corazona von Ascania Silas Westgard Ko Vuto [ Nearby ] | Aveline Cuiléin [ Opponent ]​

The light of hyperspace began to dim as his Umbaran Long-Range Attack Starfighter emerged around the Prosperity, a massive station turned Jedi Temple that was apparently the last vestige of the New Jedi Order though he did not believe that because the High Republic still existed and plenty of Masters had likely fled there to train an entirely new generation.

Teuthid's pale grey eyes surveyed the viewport with a chilling disdain, his facial tentacles curling slightly in annoyance. The station floated through the emptiness of space as both the Sith Order and the Covenant advanced, causing significant hull breaches on the upper and lower levels. However, his scanners soon detected something far more gratifying than participating in a senseless massacre of an already weakened Order.

A relief fleet was in close proximity, likely there to evacuate any remaining personnel before the Prosperity was obliterated. At least now, there would be something akin to a battle. He adjusted his starfighter into a smooth intercept trajectory, the Umbaran vessel's sleek outline slicing through the void to engage Aveline Cuiléin .

Power surged to the forward Energy Torpedo Missile Launchers, unleashing a few salvos as the green torpedoes glided through space toward their target. He was uncertain about the type of starship they were operating but hoped that the abruptness of his assault would annihilate them.