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

[Dalvos Thrakan]

Davlos sagged with relief, settling his back against the stacked wreckage and allowing a sigh to deflate his chest. "Thank the Force," he murmured, dipping his head for a moment in gratitude. "Thank you for..." He gestured vaguely toward the hallway behind him, and took the stim and canteen with a bright flash of gratitude in his eyes. "Oh, and thank you even more for this." He uncapped the canteen and drank nearly half of it in one long go, some of it spilling past his lips and down his chin. He laughed and wiped at his face. "Oh damn, I must've gotten shot!" He let the moment hang for just a second before his grin replaced the look of shock. "I don't remember having a hole in my lip."

He took the stim and pressed it into the meat of his thigh, the brief discomfort of the injection offset by the sizzling high of the chemical cocktail behind it.

He gestured to the old canteen dismissively. "It was a good canteen. Filter built into the neck, self-regulating temperature good for up to 36 hours. A fine canteen..." He hurled it down the hallway irritatedly. "And the bastard shot a hole in it!" He drew in deep breaths. One. Two. Three. Then he sat up, bracing himself against the wreckage... then inspected her outstretched hand. He grabbed her by the wrist, and carefully split his weight, pulling himself upright. "I don't think I'll be winning any races, but I can probably stay upright as long as nobody shoots me in the other one." He slapped his - thus far uninjured - right thigh.

Finally, his voice lowered, as if in confession, "I've about had my fill of fighting for the day, anyway. A quick nap and a meal and I'll be up for another bout, but not until then." His quick smile never quite faded despite the pain of his wounds. "I am glad you came back for me. Thank you, Seo. I would... Definitely appreciate a hand getting back to the ship."

His smile faded after a moment as they began moving, turning the corner... and facing the ladderway.

"Sithspit," he cursed under his breath, staring at the seemingly endless series of rungs. "Just three decks, just three decks up..."

Seo Linn

 

[Lysander von Ascania]

Corazona von Ascania Naniti Lily Decoria Connel Vanagor​

Shame should've dripped from every word the siblings exchanged; each of them bore hypocrisy like a wound. Many fancied themselves clutching the same pragmatic doctrine and yet more graveyards kept sprouting from these beliefs.

The HUD of his helm tracked the bedlam, the drifting haze between blaster fire, sabers carving arcs through the murk. Emerald slid aside, catching the Togruta locked in mortal dance with an Echani Jedi. His gaze swung back toward Cora.

Somewhere in all this rot, there another familiar presence. Connel. Little did he know that his father, Caltin Vanagor , had been the first Jedi Master Lysander ever crossed paths during his Padawan journey. Though bound to the Covenant, he still mourned the man's death after learning of his fall during fighting the Galactic Empire.

Inevitably, Cora invoked his niece again. "The story she'll hear? Two stubborn fools inherited the same family flaw and neither of them knew when to quit." The truth of it all tasted foul. "Don't put your fucking martyrdom on me."

In the nearby lane, blades and ideologies continued clashing. "I never left my family," he continued. "Those I'd kill for are the same. Those I would die for? Same roster. I'm just more honest about it these days. The Jedi asked me to care for all. The Sith taught me that was impossible." He leveled her without giving ground. "You know what I discovered, Cora? The Sith were right about that, too. If everyone matters equally.. then nobody matters enough."

Something shifted after that; the world around him tilting with a nauseating lurch, like the ground he stood upon turned to water. Lysander's eardrums crumped inward; the roar around him stretched. Bile rose in his throat. His vision fractured.. into a kaleidoscope of ash. That was when Lysander stop fighting it, and allowed the Dark to drown him at last, letting it grapple this vertigo. Ancient power snaked through his nervous system, weaving into everything the malacia tried to tear open. The final shards of humanity shed from the teen as the poison began to feast.

His breathing deepened. Nightstar clattered free from his grasp onto the floor. A bracer burned and screeched against his wrist. Unbeknownst to his sister, she also stood before the Grove Knight, the Champion of Brosi. Pure malice threatened to buckle the laws of physics.

The Helm of the Twin Suns became unbreathable; he ripped it off in a hiss, letting it fall from his face. "How dare you reach for me with this," he spat, sweat carving a path down the scarred cheek of a younger brother finally dying. "Your Order deserves the extinction heading its way."

Sure Step opened the entire battlefield; ochre smoke unveiled the path of least resistance. Predatory grace arrived, prepared to be fueled by kinetic wrath. From the outside, or to the untrained eye, he may have appeared as a young man stumbling, but in truth, he became a current finding a crack in the dam.

Lysander pivoted left, before launching himself in a blur of nothing. The air around his palm congealed until a Darkshear solidified, into a blade of absolute darkness.. pulsing under a possessive grip that cared only for death. Shadows around him condensed, appearing to flicker in and out of existence, until he materialized near Lily Decoria 's flank; he deconstructed her Vaapad form earlier, which was what led him to thrust the stiletto forward, aiming hungrily beneath the saber's guard, for the cage of her ribs.

 

[Naniti]

"Foolish." Naniti snorted. Enable people you knew would turn on you? The so-called moral high road of the Jedi. A self-defeating philosophy of acquiescence. Was it any wonder they failed to destroy the Sith time and time again?

Then the woman sought to turn the dark back upon its harbinger. Naniti narrowed her eyes at the Jedi Knight before her. The crimson blade spun and swept aside an unseen current as if Lily Decoria had thrown a panel of her own right back at the Togruta. "As dangerous as your misguided belief all should be given their chance -- to live, to love, to kill. Vaapad. A perversion of power."

Soon their blades clashed with the squeal and hiss of extremes. Naniti did not forego noticing Lily's discipline and speed. The woman was a capable warrior. Both sought to stress the other's guard and test their defenses. Fast and brutal as the Jedi expected were her opponent's strikes. In spite of their heavy-handedness, however, they were timed and guided to where they fell rather than cast about at random. How Lily would gauge Naniti's skill remain to be seen, but the Togruta had spent a great deal of her life growing up learning how to wield a blade in battle. There were no classes taught in relative safety by 'caring' souls. Naniti had survived pits where only one emerged alive.

"Do you like surprises?"

Naniti hopped backward several steps before her course reversed. In the blink of an eye, the violet woman surged back toward Lily. The tip of her blade was thrust forward, withdrawn, and thrust again in rapid succession at different parts of the woman's upper torso.

Lily Decoria | Lysander von Ascania | Corazona von Ascania

 

[Seo Linn]

Seo watched with poorly concealed amusement as half the canteen disappeared in a single drink. For a moment, she was genuinely concerned when water spilled down his chin, and he abruptly announced he'd been shot again, but the grin that followed made her eyes narrow in resigned disbelief. "That was a terrible joke," she said, though the faint twitch at the corner of her mouth softened the criticism. She even listened through the eulogy for the fallen canteen, watching it sail down the corridor toward its final resting place with a level of personal offense that was, against her better judgment, strangely endearing. "It served with distinction," she offered solemnly before helping him to his feet.

Standing improved his condition only marginally; the stim had restored some life to his movements, but exhaustion still clung to him in ways no smile could hide. When he thanked her again, this time without theatrics, Seo's expression gentled. "I said I would come back," she replied, as though that alone explained everything. She supported part of his weight as they made their way through the damaged corridors, stepping around wreckage and scorch marks left behind by the fighting. For a few moments, the quiet between them felt almost peaceful, a brief reprieve carved out of chaos.

Then they reached the ladder well. Both stopped, staring upward at a climb that seemed considerably longer than it had earlier. His curse earned a small huff of laughter from her. "Sithspit indeed." She folded her arms, studying the endless rungs before glancing back at him with a glimmer of amusement in her gold eyes. "You know," she said thoughtfully, "I could use the Force to help you up the ladders." Her tone warmed, teasing without cruelty. "Not carry you. Your pride is far too fragile for that. But I could make the climb considerably less miserable." Her gaze drifted upward again, assessing the distance with a calm practicality that had carried her through far worse. "Unless, of course, you intend to conquer three decks through sheer stubbornness. It does seem to be one of your more reliable strategies."

Dalvos Thrakan

 

[Lily Decoria]

Location: Prosperity
Outfit: Jedi Attire
Equipment: Arwr Da, Hydrangea Moonblade (concealed)
Tag: Naniti | Lysander von Ascania | Corazona von Ascania | Connel Vanagor

Lily did not respond to the verbal jabs, there was nothing she could say that Lily believed would change the mind of this Sith. She was now leaning into the hope that her actions, demonstrating her skills and the acts of mercy. Lily never took a killing strike, she never sought to dismember Naniti. Lily was cautious and remained strong. While Naniti had experiences fighting in pits, Lily was trained in Echani combat many, many years before she ever picked up a Lightsaber.

There was a shift, a change in direction as she could feel the presence of another Sith entering the fight. Instinct took over Lily as she did not perfectly react to the attack but did shift enough and with her body twisting as best it could to avoid the danger. Slicing against her lower ribs. Nothing lethally deep but the Darkshear blade did work, the damage was sinking in deep and Lily could only hope instead treatment with bacta reversed the effects.

"Ahhh, unable to win fairly so decide you must cheat and be underhanded instead. Clearly someone does not believe the apprentice could hold their own against me." Lily mocked, looking down on both Naniti and Lysander for the strike. It was smart and it was effective but Lily did not respect it or either Sith. Lily shifted with equal speed to defend the attacks from Naniti. Predictable and with the adrenaline of fighting preventing the pain to be acknowledge for the moment, she was not finding herself hindered yet.

Lily shifted to making debilitating, firm jabs at Naniti. Her focus was splintering but the Echani moved fluidly, making sure that they both remained within her eyesight. Allowing the Force to keep her senses fine tuned if another attempt to attack from the shadows came. The Jedi Knight had a second Lightsaber if needed but she was not going to reach for it yet. A lucky hit did not mean she was overpowered or outnumbered. Just made this fight far more interesting.

 

[Corazona von Ascania]

To: Lysander von Ascania
CC: Naniti Lily Decoria Connel Vanagor

Cora inhaled the acrid scent of blaster smoke and charred flesh. She let it burn her lungs as Lysander spoke, the hard, iron-wrought tone of his voice burning her in an entirely different way.

“If everyone matters equally.. then nobody matters enough."

He wasn't wrong - but he wasn't right, either. It was impossible to love and care for everyone in the galaxy in the same way that you did your family.

But it didn't mean that everyone else had to burn because of it.

Disorientation had taken Lysander's speech from him, just for a moment. Just long enough for his grip to loosen on his weapon, just long enough for his helm to become stifling. Cora felt a familiar guilt creep in, settling deep into her belly like a weight.
Slowly, her expression began to soften.

He shed the helmet, sweat matting blonde stands to his forehead. A trickle of perspiration traced the path of a scar down his face, now shaped into the sharper mein of a young man.

Every inch of Cora became still. No breath, no heartbeat.

Etched in righteous fury, scarred from his trials, hissing and spitting at her, stood their father.

For a split second, he wasn't her brother. He was something cruel and ugly, a monster of his own making. Maybe her making, a little, too.

A split second was all it took.

Lysander disappeared, and the Dark side of the Force swelled, inexorably pulled towards Lily as she dueled the violet Togruta. For how much she relied on danger sense and precognition, Cora failed to answer their alarm.

It wasn't until the Force sharpened into a pointed, inky spear that thrust straight for the Echani’s ribs at nearly imperceptible speed, did she finally act.

Cora breathed. Her heart resumed beating. The world again widened to just beyond the narrow point of her brother, and she moved before she thought. Too late to try and pull him back, to do much of anything, for his arm had already extended by the time her cybernetic fingers closed themselves around his wrist.

"I hope every death on Tapani and beyond was worth it," she muttered against his ear. “Because I am your consequence, Lysander."

Servos whined, the strength of bionics, the strength of the Force, whatever it took - to crush their way through whatever plating there was, whatever stood in her way so that metal fingers could twist and snap his wrist.

 

[Dalvos Thrakan]

"Oh, not a chance I'd turn that down. I'm stubborn, not an idiot. I'm not so stupid as to think I could really hold back all of them, I just-" He realized, after a moment, that the words had just tumbled out. His eyelids fluttered for a moment, as if in pain, and he shook his head slightly. "Sometimes," he stated, softly, as if the words hurt coming out, "It's easier to hate. I wasn't worried if I made it or not because... I knew I'd take some of the bastards with me. I know that's not good enough. I know it's a war of attrition, and if all the good men sacrifice themselves no one can stand against the darkness, and blah blah blah... But it's... easier. It's easier to hate them. I think that's why there's so damn many of them out there."

He looked at the ladder, squared up his shoulders, and carefully placed a hand on the rungs, putting one foot up.

"But I'm glad there's good people like you out there, Seo. Who don't just... hate." A moment's pause. "That's part of being a Jedi, right? Serenity and peace and all that shit. Distance. I could never... be distant like that, which is probably why I'm..." He buried his first choice of words, visibly biting them back, "... better with a blaster, anyway. Physical distance, right? Never been good at the emotional distance thing."

He looked past her, at the hallway littered with silver-clad bodies and blaster burns, eyes unfocused, taking in the whole scene rather than focusing on any one detail. As if trying to remind himself that it was people wearing those suits, no matter how much he hated them. Maybe he saw himself among them.

"So," he finally asked, as he cautiously began to climb, forced cheer returning to his voice. "Run into any Sith? I figure they were probably focused on the hab sections where the Jedi refugees were, because I sure didn't see any."

Seo Linn

 

[Seo Linn]

Seo was quiet for a few moments after his admission, matching her pace to his as they began the slow ascent. The ladder well echoed with distant alarms and the groaning protest of a ship that had suffered far more damage than it had any right to survive. Between those sounds, she considered his words carefully. "I do not think hatred comes easily because people are evil," she said at last. "I think it comes easily because it asks very little of us. If someone hurts you, if they hurt people you care about, hatred feels honest. It feels deserved. The difficult part is remembering that it rarely stops where it should." Her gaze drifted briefly toward the bodies scattered along the corridor they were leaving behind. "Most people do not fall because they hate the Sith. They fall because eventually they begin hating everyone they decide resembles them."

There was no judgment in her voice, only understanding. More understanding than she usually offered so quickly. "And for what it is worth, I think it is easier to talk about serenity than it is to live it." A faint smile touched her lips as she glanced toward him. "The stories make Jedi sound much calmer than we actually are. Peace is not the absence of anger, and serenity is not the absence of grief. It is deciding what to do with those things when they arrive." Her expression softened slightly. "I struggle with distance myself. Physical distance. Emotional distance. I never seem particularly good at either one."

His question about the Sith earned a thoughtful hum. "No Sith. Troopers, cultists, boarders. More than enough of them." The answer seemed to genuinely please her. "I suspect that is for the best. If I had encountered one of the Sith Lords aboard this ship, I would likely still be there." The corner of her mouth lifted. "Or they would." The humor lingered only briefly before she continued climbing beside him. "The refugees were their objective. We were fortunate enough to spend most of our time fighting people closer to our own weight class."

For a moment, she simply watched him climb, watched the stubborn determination that seemed woven into every movement he made despite the injuries and exhaustion. There was something admirable about it, even if she suspected it occasionally got him into trouble. "You know," she said quietly, her voice warmer now, "most people would have left that corridor long before they ran out of ammunition, water, and insults." Her smile widened slightly. "I am glad you didn't. The people in the command center are alive because you stayed."

Her gold eyes met his for a moment before she looked back toward the seemingly endless climb above them. "And I am glad I came back for you." The admission was simple, spoken without embarrassment or hesitation. "It would have been a shame to save an entire section of this ship only to lose the man who helped hold it together."

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

Naniti wanted a fight. Lily gave her one.

That was enough.

Connel did not linger on the exchange. He did not need to. Decoria had stepped into the fire with her crossguard lit and that cocky little Battlemaster challenge hanging in the smoke like a thrown gauntlet. The Togruta wanted proof. Lily could give her proof.

Connel had a job.

The final charge clicked into place beneath the conduit, its indicator light blinking once before vanishing beneath the casing. His visor confirmed the sequence in quiet amber. Set. Set. Set.

The last of them.

The corridors had become a series of choices the Sith would not enjoy making. Some would collapse. Some would blind. Some would seal. Some would simply make forward movement cost more than pride wanted to pay. His thumb rested against the detonator. Not yet. Cora’s map still lived across his visor. White dots moving. Red dots clustering. Damage spreading like infection through the bones of The Prosperity.

Most of the white dots were converging toward the hangar routes.

Most. One cluster had broken away. Small signatures. Too small. Connel stopped. For one breath, the whole ship narrowed to that corner of the map.

Younglings.

They were not moving quickly. Not anymore. Their route had been cut by damage, or panic, or the simple cruelty of a ship being murdered around them. A handful of temple security signatures flickered nearby, then vanished one by one beneath the steady advance of red.

Blackblade Guard.

Of course. Connel felt something in him go very still. Not cold.

Still.

There was a difference. The mask did not take the feeling away. It did not blunt the memory of children at the Temple, of frightened faces, of small hands pulled through smoke while adults lied and called it bravery. It gave the feeling direction. [BRAD.]

A sharp chirp answered in his ear.

[Mark my route. Tell the nearest white dots to keep moving. Do not send them back for me.]

Another chirp, lower this time. [I know, buddy, but that was not a suggestion.] He cut the channel before the droid could argue in binary.

Then Ariel moved.

The corridor where the younglings had been trapped was lit only by fire leaking from a ruptured wall panel. The Blackblade Guardsmen filled the space like walking execution orders, black armor and disciplined muzzles, their insignias warped by smoke and red emergency haze that no longer had power enough to pulse properly.

Three younglings were on their knees. Two more huddled behind an overturned equipment crate. One temple guard lay dead near the wall. Another still breathed, barely, one hand stretched toward the children as if distance alone had betrayed him. The lead Guardsman raised his rifle.

Connel pressed the detonator.

Not the charges behind him. The one above them. The blinder went off with a flash that devoured the corridor. Optics screamed. Targeting feeds died. Personal shields flared against a pulse they had not been built to love. The Guardsmen reacted fast, because they were elite, because Carnifex did not waste armor on fools.

Fast was not enough. Connel dropped from the maintenance access above them. “Day” ignited in the same breath his boots struck the deck.

Snap-hiss.

The first rifle lost its barrel. The second Guardsman turned with a vibrosword already coming free, too disciplined to panic, too augmented to hesitate. Connel drove the pommel of his saber into the man’s throat seal and put him through the wall panel hard enough to fold metal around his shoulder.

A third fired.

Connel was already low. The shot passed over him and blew sparks from the far bulkhead. His hand snapped out, catching the fallen temple guard’s baton with the Force and whipping it into the shooter’s knee actuator. The joint buckled. The Guardsman did not scream.

Connel respected that. Then he took the rifle from his hands and broke it across his helmet. Another Blackblade came through the smoke, shield bright, rifle tucked tight. Connel did not meet the shield head-on. He slid aside, hooked the man’s weapon sling with Dawn’s Light, and cut the power coupling free. The shield flared once.

Failed.

Connel’s shoulder hit him like a sealed blast door. The Guardsman went down. The younglings had not moved. Of course they had not. They were children. For half a heartbeat, they stared at him. At the mask. At the black armor. At the blade. Connel knew what they saw. That mattered. That hurt. So he lowered “Day”.

Only a fraction.

Enough. Run.

No one moved. His voice changed, not louder, not softer, but somehow more human beneath the mask. Follow the white lights on your pads. Do not stop. Do not look back. Go. One of the younglings finally scrambled to their feet. Then another. The smallest one hesitated beside the wounded temple guard.

Connel saw it. The mirror saw it. He reached down, seized the guard by the back of his armor, and hauled him upright with one arm. The man groaned. Alive. Good. Connel pushed him toward the children. Take them.

The guard blinked through blood and smoke, then nodded. Behind them, more boots hammered toward the corridor. Heavy. Disciplined. Angry. The younglings ran. Connel waited until the last one cleared the bend.

Only then did he turn back.

The next Blackblade squad emerged through the smoke, weapons raised, armor scorched by the dead ship’s light. Connel stood between them and the fleeing children. No speech. No threat. No theater. Just the mask, the blade, and a detonator resting in his left hand.

Ariel had brought them here.

Connel decided why they would not pass.

You wanted the Jedi running. His thumb settled over the trigger. They are. The corridor behind him erupted.

Corazona von Ascania • Lysander von Ascania • Darth Carnifex • Naniti • Lily Decoria
Personal Effects - Omega Squad Loadouts​

 

[Naniti]

"You want to see cheating?" The Togruta hissed without sparing Lysander von Ascania a look -- pleased or not -- for his appearance. Naniti's blue eyes flashed from a deep, bottomless blue into that of the sky.

Her red blade swept upward and batted Lily Decoria 's jabs aside while Naniti's feet crossed over one another on the ground not allowing the other woman to pin her to a spot. Each block was the quintessential parry to the Echani's strike. The perfect form an instructor sought to instill into their pupil. Textbook by any measure.

In spite of that efficiency, the violet woman did not attempt to slip a counter into the flourish of Lily's sequence. It might have been possible. It was almost certainly foolish to think that narrow gap would be so easily exploited. But it wasn't the statistic chance that really stayed Naniti's hand.

"Switch."

The red blade swept away from the last strike and came down toward Corazona von Ascania 's cybernetic limb. "Don't you dare," she snarled. Jedi loved touting battle meditation. How effective it was with coordinating the actions of an entire battle group. Time to see if they appreciated the Dark Side's version of that when it was concentrated on one woman intent on protecting the only other living creature that mattered to her.

 

[Lysander von Ascania]

Naniti Corazona von Ascania Lily Decoria​

Fire traced the nerves of the arm; his sister's doing, the Darkshear's doing, its midnight point finding partial purchase in Echani flesh. To the Sith, the decay of the Light was a grim and satisfying music; corruption spread from the wound like the first frost, each moment foretelling the New Jedi Order's last chapter.

Molten yellow flared to life, swallowing the emerald light of one's gaze; Naniti's consciousness clawed at the barriers of his mind, amplifying him. Even without hearing the word, there would've been pressure against Lysander's temple, an echo of grace from shared choreography that extended from ballrooms to battlefields.

His sister's fingers closed around the wrist before the momentum could spend itself. Opportunities to continue existed, and somehow, surrender was the far more compelling choice. Pain splintered from the fracture of a small bone, radiating through his core in slow rings. A hairline in porcelain. Delivering a reciprocal blow would've cost nothing, and the more obvious answer; but paralysis of spirit instantly took hold.

Calculation shifted as the Togruta's scarlet blade descended. His body simply opened, aligning himself to give the saber the cleanest path possible for the mechanical limb. There was no hunger for Cora's blood, but he did need to neutralize the threat that still sought to call him "brother."

Lysander's words curled into the air as a raspy murmur. "You had your mercy; it's gone now."

Averting one's gaze was costly; he had no intention of offering even that small advantage, which was why he remained faced toward the Echani through the motions. The Dark whispered approval, and so he listened.

 

[Dalvos Thrakan]

He listened well, though his attention was focused on climbing; despite the stubborn determination, the pain took a toll on him, and he was sweating even with her assistance. His movements slowed as she spoke, and he sighed softly. "It's a lot harder to stop than I'd like it to be," he replied quietly. "And with the Empire as large as it is, sometimes it's easy to paint with a broad brush..."

"I never seem particularly good at either one." He gave a small laugh in response, and hooked his elbows through the runs to catch his breath for a moment. "Well, I'm glad you made it out alright. When the call went out, I knew it was a trap, but I knew I had to do anything I could to help... I just wish I'd had more of a plan on how to do it... and maybe that I'd landed into a damn hangar instead of punching a hole in the side of the ship. The Rose is going to need a few weeks in the shop before I can put it back on route, and I'll have to figure out my excuses for why I wasn't there..." He groaned, then returned to climbing, closing the last distance to the top.

"Most people," he answered, then faltered. His words seemed to desert him. His lips pressed into a thin line, grimly, and he sighed heavily as he heaved himself off the ladder, finally having made it to the target deck. "Yeah. Most people." He shook his head slightly, then pressed a hand to his thigh for a moment, eyes shut tight against the pain. "Not far now," he said in a sing-song voice, "Not far, not far." It did little to mask the pain.

"As much as I'd love to bring back another saber as a trophy, I don't much like the odds of taking one of them and all their little tinhead helpers." He looked annoyed at the admission. "Besides, what you did... What we did probably did a lot more good than going headhunting in the bowels of the ship. Just from what I've heard over some of the other comms networks, it sounds like it was Hell out there. I am glad neither of us got caught up in the worst of it."

Seo Linn

 

[Seo Linn]

Seo remained beside him as they finally climbed onto the upper deck, matching her pace to his without drawing attention to it. The strain was obvious now. Sweat, exhaustion, pain. The sort of weariness that settled into the bones after surviving something that should have killed you. Yet somehow Dalvos continued forward through sheer determination and stubbornness. She suspected those two qualities had carried him through more than one impossible situation.

His admission about the Empire earned a small nod. She understood it better than she wished she did. It was easy to hate an enemy that vast. Easy to stop seeing individuals and start seeing uniforms, banners, and faceless masses. Easier still after watching what those same people had done to worlds, families, and innocent lives. But easy was not always right.

When he spoke of the trap, the damaged ship, and his lack of a proper plan, a faint smile touched her lips. "For someone without a plan, you managed to arrive exactly where you were needed." Her gaze drifted briefly toward the battered corridors around them. "Though next time I would recommend using a hangar. It is generally considered the more civilized approach."

The smile lingered for a moment before fading into something quieter. "Me too, Dalvos." Her voice softened slightly. "I am glad neither of us found the worst of this battle." She looked back down the corridor, toward the distant echoes of fighting that still lingered throughout the Prosperity. "As a Jedi, I do not strive to fight or kill. I never have. If there is a path that avoids bloodshed, I will take it." The words sounded almost old-fashioned, like something spoken by Jedi from another age. Yet there was nothing naive in her expression. "That does not mean I will not fight when I must. It does not mean I will stand aside while others are harmed. Sometimes protecting people requires difficult choices."

She shifted his arm more securely across her shoulder as they continued toward the extraction point. The ship groaned around them, wounded but still alive. Much like the people aboard it. "Today was about saving lives, and we did that. The refugees are escaping. The command center held. The Sith did not get everything they wanted." A small smile returned as she glanced toward him. "I think that is enough victory for one day. Let's get out of here, find your ship, and start planning for the next encounter before you decide ramming another cruiser is a reasonable strategy."

Dalvos Thrakan

 

[Lily Decoria]

Location: Prosperity
Outfit: Jedi Attire
Equipment: Arwr Da, Hydrangea Moonblade (concealed)
Tag: Lysander von Ascania | Naniti | Corazona von Ascania | Connel Vanagor

Lily noted the skill in avoiding her attacks and maintaining the stamina to keep up, this Sith Togruta was not someone to just dismiss out of hand. However, Lily was determined to demonstrate why she was aiming to be considered one of the best in the Jedi for fighting. Even injured she would not give up. The pair of Sith seemed to want to switch up on who they focused their attacks upon, but Lily wasn't going to allow that. Seeing the attempt to dismember Corazona, Lily threw her Lightsaber to block the strike. It was her job to protect those around her and Lily was not going to lax in that duty.

Recalling the Lightsaber back into her hand, she looked over to Lysander. "This is not a fight you will win." There was strength to her voice, her face winced slightly with the pain to her side but Lily breathed in deeply and slowly exhaled, the battle focus sinking into her mind. Pain did not matter in this moment, outside distracting thoughts and feelings did not matter. It was the fight that mattered most. It was dealing with this Sith who was related to Corazona that mattered most.

"You should accept your sister's mercy. This path you follow, it will lead you nowhere but disappointment and doom." Lily stated calmly as she twirled her Lightsaber into a ready stance. Observing Lysander to see what move he was going to do next. Her feet grounded as the Force strengthened her body, focused her mind and increased her speed. Preparing her to fight with everything she had.

 

[Dalvos Thrakan]

Davlos kept one hand on the rungs and the other braced against the scarred ladder well wall, his cybernetic fingers gripping with mechanical precision while the flesh-and-blood ones trembled just a little from exhaustion and stim crash. The climb was miserable—three decks felt like thirty—but Seo's steady presence behind him (or below him, offering quiet encouragement and the occasional Force-assisted nudge when his bad leg faltered) made it bearable. Battle-scarred hallways stretched behind them, empty now save for the distant echoes of alarms, evacuation klaxons, and the occasional groan of stressed bulkheads. The Prosperity was dying, but not quietly.


He didn't complain much. Mostly because complaining took breath he didn't have, and partly because Seo had already seen him at his worst back in that makeshift barricade. No point in pretending now. By the time they reached the deck where the Copper Rose had made her violent entrance, Davlos was leaning more heavily than he wanted to admit. The freighter was no graceful visitor—she had come in hot like an improvised boarding pod, her reinforced nose punched deep into the hull in a ragged breach. Emergency atmospheric seals were already hissing and thudding into place around the impact zone, trying to contain the wound, while breach alarms wailed in protest. Debris and scorch marks littered the area, but the old girl sat there amid the chaos—dented, scorched, one landing strut visibly buckled, but intact. Mostly. His ship. His baby. His ticket out of this Sith-spawned nightmare.


"There you are, old girl," he murmured as they approached the lowered ramp, voice soft and almost affectionate, like greeting a tired old friend after a long separation. He patted the hull near the airlock with his cybernetic hand, the metal-on-metal clink oddly gentle. "I'm sorry about the landing. Real sorry. Those bastards didn't give us much choice, did they? But you held together. You always do. Just a little more, yeah? Get us out of here and I'll polish every inch myself. Promise. Fresh coat of paint, everything."


He keyed full power to the ramp and systems with a familiar sequence, half-expecting some protest, but she powered up with a reluctant hum. Inside, the familiar scent of recycled air, old coolant, and that faint metallic tang from the hidden compartments greeted him like home. Seo helped him to the cockpit, and he eased into the pilot's chair with a wince, leg throbbing but functional thanks to the stim and sheer stubbornness.


Preflight went faster than regulations allowed. He skipped a couple of non-critical checks—shields were patchy, one thruster group running a bit hot—but the core systems lit up green enough. "Within tolerance" was the polite way to say it. The Rose grumbled through the startup sequence, reluctant but willing, just like her owner. Alarms blared across the ship—evacuation warnings, structural integrity alerts, and the sharp chorus of breach protocols—but in here it was just the two of them and the growing rumble of engines spooling up.


Davlos leaned back once the clamps released and the Copper Rose began to jet backward from the rupture with a protesting shudder. The viewport showed the jagged tear in the Prosperity's hull receding, emergency seals slamming shut in their wake like reluctant eyelids. Distant flashes of turbolaser fire and smaller craft scattering like sparks lit the void beyond. He exhaled slowly, then glanced over at Seo in the co-pilot's seat. He peeled off his gloves, frayed as they were, only hesitating for a moment before it revealed the flesh-like synthetic material that comprised his right hand, the false flesh disappearing up his sleeve, covering how far up the replacement went.


"Alright. We're away. Sort of. She's not happy about it, but she'll get us clear." A lopsided grin tugged at his lips despite everything—the pain, the exhaustion, the weight of what they'd just walked through. "So. Jedi, huh? I figured as much with the whole 'coming back for me' thing and the Force-assisted ladder boost. Not that I'm complaining. Saved my hide." He adjusted a trim setting, eyes flicking between readouts and the growing void ahead. "But you're a little odd for a Jedi. No lightsaber? Most of your Order types I've seen wave those things around like they're going out of style. You handle yourself plenty fine without one, though. What's the story there? Not that I'm judging. Just... curious. Seems like it would've come in handy at a couple of spots."


He left it open, tone light but genuinely interested, the adrenaline-junkie spy in him always poking at mysteries—even in the middle of a desperate escape. The Copper Rose continued her ascent, weaving through debris fields as best she could, while distant warnings crackled over open channels about the ship's failing systems.

Seo Linn

 

[Corazona von Ascania]

Lysander von Ascania Naniti Lily Decoria Connel Vanagor

Cora's cybernetic hand didn't have the same delicate sensation of touch as its organic counterpart, but she still felt the particular way bone snapped beneath flesh. The muted crunch reverberated up her own arm, into the marrow of her own bones.

Force, how it made her detest herself in this moment.

The fact that Lysander didn't struggle was infuriating on its own, but then his Togruta companion went for her hand. It would've hit, too, if not for Lily's interception.

[We've evacuate the stranded Jedi. All Jedi personnel pull back.]

Cora didn't recognize the voice that filtered over their encrypted comm channel, but its message was clear: the mission was over. Scores of lives had been lost, and they'd saved all who they could.

While Lily kept the pair of Sith busy, Cora lifted her flesh hand. A bright, piercing light emanated from her fingertips, swallowing the room in a blinding wash of white. A surge of pressure would push against Lysander and Naniti, either staving them back or forcing them to expend the effort to resist it.

Whatever came of it, many of the Jedi would retreat with their task done. The Sith would be left with the smoking husk of what was once a mighty mobile temple, and perhaps fewer lives than their unholy crusade demanded.

-Thread Exit-

Spoiler: OOC Note

As this thread is slowing down, this is just my exit. Feel free to keep on fighting ala liquid time!

 

[Seo Linn]

Seo settled into the co-pilot's seat with a quiet sigh, finally allowing herself to relax as the Copper Rose pulled free of Prosperity's battered hull. The ship groaned around them, but it was a comforting sort of groan, the sound of a vessel that had every reason to fall apart yet stubbornly refused to do so. She found herself smiling as Davlos apologized to his freighter. It reminded her of people she had known who spoke to old speeders or faithful animals after particularly difficult days. Somehow, it suited him.

When he mentioned her being an odd Jedi, she glanced over with an amused expression. "I do have a lightsaber," she replied, resting a hand against the hilt secured at her belt before lifting it just enough for him to see. "If I had needed to use it, I would have." She settled it back into place with practiced ease. "A blaster was enough today. There was no reason to turn every fight into something more personal than it already was."

She leaned back in her seat, watching the stars slowly widen beyond the viewport as they gained distance from the battle. "I didn't grow up as a Jedi." There was no hesitation in admitting it. Reaching up, she rolled back the sleeve of her tunic until the faded slave tattoo on her forearm came into view. Time had softened the edges, but it remained unmistakable. "I was born a slave on Lorrd. My mother and I were rescued and freed when I was young." She looked at the mark for only a moment before letting the sleeve fall back into place. "Life has a way of changing the plans we make for ourselves."

A small smile returned as she looked back toward him. "I actually wanted to become an archivist." There was almost a hint of embarrassment in the admission. "Books, history, holocrons, forgotten places. That always interested me more than battlefields." She gave a quiet shrug. "Instead, I found myself traveling the galaxy, helping wherever I could. Investigations, diplomacy, rescue missions. I suppose that makes me something closer to a Sentinel than anything else."

Her expression softened again, though this time there was unmistakable warmth behind it. "The Jedi are only one part of who I am." Her eyes drifted toward the stars for a moment before returning to him. "I'm also an older sister to three girls who still think they can talk me into anything, and I'm a mother." The faintest smile tugged at her lips. "Those responsibilities have probably taught me more about patience than the Jedi ever managed." She looked over at Davlos once more, the corners of her eyes creasing slightly with quiet amusement. "So perhaps you're right. I'm a little odd for a Jedi. But I don't think that's the worst thing to be."

Dalvos Thrakan

 

[Allyson Locke]

//: Alina Grayson //:
//: Attire //:
//: Equipment //:
//: Bow & Arrows //: Cybernetic Eye //: Jacket //: Arrows of Absence x 24 //: Bag of Absencite x 4ea //:
//: Ava'kash Brand //: Emperor's Echo //:

The children were safe…

For now.

She thought quietly, knowing that one day they would be turned into weapons, blindly following the guidance of the light. It was something she had always found annoying, but there was no one to save either child from the light or dark.

War was war.

The Jedi and the Sith were forever locked in this cycle. She had hoped her time among the Sith would help her understand them, to see them differently.

Instead of beautiful lies and hope, it was the deadly truth thrust upon them.

Shaking her head, there was nothing more she could do. It was a moment of clarity, of understanding that her fight was nothing more than an idiotic quest for something that didn't exist.

Thoughts pushed aside, Allyson needed to get moving. A voice called out to her, one she didn't recognize. It was curious, and she looked over her shoulder towards the angelic woman. If things were different, if they weren't standing in the middle of a burning hangar aboard a doomed ship…

She might have complimented the woman.

Instead, she watched. There was no threat between them; this woman didn't know who she was or what she had just done to the Jedi.

She was their Judas.

Her hand flexed, tightening around the bow as she listened. The woman introduced herself, the name not ringing any bells in the Corellian's mind. Perhaps Alina was from one of the outer rim temples. Such temples were only connected to the Alliance by name alone.

"Yeah," Allyson answered. "How fortunate..."

Her gloved hand dropped pieces of absencite into her quiver. It took only moments, but in the gloved hand at her side, nanites created the arrow as she looked to Alina.

Her intent was hidden by the branding of the Emperor's chosen. The Jedi would be blinded...

"You shouldn't have come here; the place is overrun by the Sith. People are dying."

Allyson looked around, but saw no one behind the woman. She had come alone… foolishly.

But that's what this era's Jedi were… foolish and lost.

She knew this because she was one of them.

"You should leave."

As she spoke, the Force fueled her, the arrow drawn, nocked, and fired as quickly as she finished speaking. Not waiting to see if the woman moved or was struck by the arrow, Allyson turned and faded into the protection of the Force. Hidden from sight and sense.

The absencite arrow cut through the air, and as it drew closer, the arrowhead pulsed, radiating its nullification properties. While striking the Jedi with the arrow would have been a bonus, having it land near her was enough for Allyson to get into a better position to continue the fight.

Don't make me kill you…too​

 

[Alina Grayson]

The woman's warning left Alina more confused than reassured. She had arrived expecting to find Sith in every corridor, yet the stranger standing before her had been shepherding frightened children onto evacuation shuttles only moments earlier. There had been no hatred in her voice, no rage, no triumph. If anything, there had been resignation. "You don't have to tell me twice that the Sith have overrun the ship," Alina replied, keeping her tone calm. "I came because people needed help."

She was about to say something more when instinct screamed not through the Force, but through its absence. Something cut across her awareness like a tear in woven fabric, a moving void where there should have been life. It was so profoundly unnatural that her body reacted before her thoughts could. Her hand swept outward, and the air answered immediately, a powerful crosswind bursting through the hangar and catching the incoming arrow before it reached her. Instead of allowing it to continue on its course, the gust seized it and flung it violently across the hangar, skipping against the durasteel deck before ricocheting into a far bulkhead and coming to rest well away from either of them.

Only then did Alina retreat a measured step. She didn't draw Auralis, instead, her hand settled on the hilt of her lightsaber without igniting it, azure eyes remaining fixed on the place where the woman had been standing only a heartbeat before. She was gone, not simple force stealth this was something else. Alina reached outward through the Eight Currents, searching for the presence that had stood before her seconds earlier, but found only space. The absence unsettled her far more than the attack itself.

She shifted her footing slowly, careful to keep the length of the hangar between herself and wherever the unseen woman might now be. "I don't understand." Her voice carried clearly through the cavernous chamber. "You helped those children. You told me to leave." A slow breath steadied her as she resisted every instinct urging her to ignite her lightsaber simply because she couldn't see her opponent. "Why attack me?"

Her gaze continued sweeping methodically through the smoke and flashing emergency lights, relying now on her eyes and ears more than the Force. Whatever those arrows were, they carried a void unlike anything she had ever encountered. Closing the distance against an enemy capable of creating such absences would be reckless, and drawing Auralis would only encourage exactly the kind of fight she wanted to avoid. "I don't want to fight you," Alina said honestly. "But if you force me to defend myself, I will." The words were quiet and a threat, yes, but also the truth. She remained where she was, keeping the open floor of the hangar between herself and the unseen archer while the currents of air continued to move gently around her. If another arrow came, she would meet it the same way, not with the Force reaching for the weapon itself, but by commanding the world around it.
​

TAG: Allyson Locke