Invasion How Liberty Dies | GE Invasion of GA held Coruscant Super Hex

[Tayiji]

|| HOW LIBERTY DIES ||
Epiphany - Chapter 1
———
TAG: Allyson Locke | Drystan Creed | Meliant | Zaavik Perl
​

FEED YOUR HEAD
​

CORUSCANT

They just can’t seem to shut up can’t they…

The Dark Marauder’s concentration was split for split-seconds between Ibaris’ invigorating Battle Meditation, the Dark Siders’ quarrel, and the dead that suddenly appeared in ghost forms. There are thousands, some familiar to him. Yet it doesn’t deter him, not the slightest. He had taken the enjoyment in taking those life, death is salvation, after all, and he was raised a marauder and built himself to be the Dark Demagogue that he is. Nothing different from what he’s doing today.

Tayiji takes in the smell of flesh and blood with a single sniff. Meliant and Zaavik’s rampage doesn’t deter him, yet he’s also not impressed. Weak, powerless Padawan, he could do that in his sleep, the Nexus remains his only priority. If the two Dark Siders can’t be a responsible Sword of the Emperor, then he’ll take the charge. It shouldn’t be hard if all they face are Padawans, yet the Jedi Temple, even in its death row, still harboured competent defenders.

A sudden, guttural scream ripped through the air, a Dark Jedi crawling on the ground before his skull and brain was splattered, and a Jedi, calm in demeanour but eyes burning with fury, made his presence known. He confronted the three, there was no bluff in his voice. No hesitation. It’s a 3v1 situation but he was ready to meet them all. And Tayiji wouldn’t hesitate to quickly incapacitate the Jedi with the numbers advantage.

Until, a distinct whiz of a projectile cut through the chaos, camouflaged by the shadow. A moment later, an explosive arrow slammed into the ground near the three, detonating with a concussive blast that rocked the chamber. Tayiji didn't flinch. His internal assessment was instantaneous. While Zaavik instinctively cloaked himself and Meliant get launched from the ground, Tayiji took the brunt of the damage, his pale skin and cicatrised scars lightened up by the explosive round and the blast sending him drifting backward, but still firm on his feet, the raging Bogan’s strain in him, still empowered by Ibaris’ Battle Meditation, made him even more formidable then he usually was.

"Go help Perl. The Jedi is mine," he hissed to Tayiji, rising. Two crimson lightsabers snapped to life in each hand.

Without a word, his focus locked onto the trajectory of the arrow, pinpointing its origin. As Meliant surged forward to meet the Jedi, Tayiji leaped. He launched himself, Lightsaber swinging, not at the visible threat, but towards the unseen, the point from which the projectile had come, Zaavik a silent echo of his intent, moving in tandem towards the same unseen enemy. He never fought side-by-side with the Zeltron, but he has to trust that the Perl’s intuition is as sharp as his own. If the Emperor deems him worthy to be rescued, then he should be worthy to fight beside the Dark Marauder.

 

[Artam Macek]

FLY FAST​

Objective: 3, Cinders
Location: Coruscant High Orbit
Tags: Open


His TIE-fighter was soaring, cutting, carving a path through the Alliance forces. He was rolling, diving- doing it again, and again, cutting down an X-wing or enemy fighter or craft with each pass. His breathing was calm, sweat pooling beneath his helmet. He increased the amount of airflow into his helmet, and wanted it nearly ice-cold inside his suit and cockpit.

Much better that way.

An enemy fighter pattern- one he recognized. Attack pattern something- but with their S-foils locked into position, the four were no doubt en route into their lines to wreak havoc on their defensive posture.

While some pilots- amateurs or at least, overconfident ones, would attack from the rear- it was best to initiate the attack from above. The lead X-wing was struck first, on his wing. He went spiraling into the void. The second banked to the left as expected- and was quickly set on by the Empire's Shadow Four. He killed him, the X-wing violently exploding in the coldness of space. Artam damned the man to an eternity spent amongst the stars, his body forever floating amidst the light of stars.

And Artam had two more to go.

The attack pattern broke off, streaks of light from both Alliance and Imperial return fire to counteract his ambush on the would-be corvette kill team. He banked hard on the stick, rolling his TIE fighter back towards his own lines. He had a job to do- protect the Imperial fleet. And thus far, with sixteen kills and counting he had done just that.

The stars belonged to the Empire. They would conquest them all.

 

[St. Thomas Barran]

TAGS
Friend: Ibaris Varanin Darth Solipsis
Foe: Nathan Bloodscrawl Caltin Vanagor

HOW LIBERTY DIES - PART FIVE

​

ABOARD THE IV: SEPULCHRE,
CORUSCANT, GALACTIC DEEP CORE (902 ABY)

Careful there, Barran.
You're falling into familial habits.

Can't be gettin' too comfy in combat now.
​

From the first upward, interjecting slash, the Bloodhound realised his opponent was in no mood for talking, either that, or the Jedi was stepping out from the usual, monkish mould. On the baseline of Energy-Field derivation, on this ground-level of their potential, this warrior was already proving himself to be an ideal matchup, more determined than most knights of similar, Light-sided disposition. Not only for his ability to take offensive precedence, but also in the manner in which he forced Barran to make a backpedalling, back-leaning escape - not a single tell to be seen until the infamous hum of activated Kyber flew upward to meet him.

​

Even following up with another strike that left a baited opening, a feint of which many would have taken in place of the Bloodhound, but for all the intent to answer feint for feint, the battle-meditation would prove once more to be a hindrance to the execution of an upward pommel strike. Stepping into a feigned lunge, the pivot foot would try to close the last inches of distance between pommel and chin; but in the last, committing push-off, another surge of meditation-driven amplification drove him past the knight in the black mask, landing the Bloodhound back-to-back with his adversary.

In an entirely-new realm of frustration, an entirely-new realm of combat - to which he was still familiarizing himself.

​

'Sorry 'bout that.... I had something else in mind there.'

​

The one-eyed Woad then pivoted on the spot, hurling weight behind the back-handed, spinning slash in a u-turn to face his foe properly, an autumnal red trail followed the flash of sudden aggression until it was met with parrying ultramarine blue in the reach-pocket, driven down from above as Barran's curved upward to offset the pressure. But the impact between sabres, in and of itself, was the true wonder of form between them, sending out a shockwave so broad, so forceful that it fried most of the electronics in Docking Bay 6, yet neither duellist nor blade-of-choice would dare to recoil from that airy, pressurized rush of their making.

AUXILIA
II

​

ABOARD THE MV: HEART OF MAR'ZAMBUL,
CORUSCANT, GALACTIC DEEP CORE (902 ABY)

<"Fetters to Rook! I'm on my way, hold tight-">
<"-Is it done?">

[STATIC HISS]

<"Yes, Ulusar! Ratchet has fulfilled his last objective - he died bravely.">
<"May the Avatars guide him.">
​

'So this is what it means to be Mawsworn, hm?'

As the Heart of Mar'Zambul was turning around to stray toward the Sepulchre, the renegade Chiss would find himself feeling the unbearable weight of commitment to the Bloodhound's cause, encumbered by the deadly reality of zealous devotion, like never before. Thinking before that Vulture PMC's operators were cut from similar cloth, that wild geese of the sort were born with suchlike convictions in their blood, only to find that the countering, gut-wrenching truth had been waiting to educate Capaq's sort, hidden in the midst of an awakening of which Fetters would learn was long overdue.

<"THE SENATE IS GONE. THE AGE OF WEAKNESS IS OVER.”>​

Fetters would turn his red-eyed gaze away from the bridge's main viewport, given much and more to consider as the Heart of Mar'Zambul steadily neared the Sepulchre, but for all the time he needed for a small, crumblike semblance of reprieve, the rollercoaster was far from done with the renegade Chiss that day. Kept once more from slumping into his own downtrodden demeanour, even shoved back into his seat by the Keshig-Chiefs of Doomsayer Command with lasting effect, it wasn't until they pointed out the latest development that the dejected Darkhan-in-training saw what required his attention; revealing the distant, steadily-constricting silhouettes of what appeared to be two surviving Crucifix-II class Destroyers, bearing down on Coruscant's orbital sphere at the time, and within moments Capaq correctly guessed they aiming as far as the planet's surface.

<“SURRENDER YOUR WEAPONS. ABANDON YOUR IDOLS.”>
​

Even after multiple hailing attempts on the comm-link array, it was clear that no living, humanoid creatures remained to patch through to the Mawsworn fleet, leaving just one possible explanation in Capaq's mind. The Razorghasts had already filled the operational roles otherwise vacated by the demise of their sentient contemporaries, and in their alignment with their ships' lock-on protocols, had fixated to such an extreme that they had taken on the behaviours of the Crucifix-II in their final moments. Merely fulfilling programming prompts set by Marauders who saw this moment coming, as despite the great resolve that assured the Khanate's survival for so long, only a few among the living could bring themselves to take the greatest of all the Maw's leaps of faith.

<“THE ALLIANCE SYSTEMS WILL BE REORGANIZED INTO A NEW.. GALACTIC EMPIRE!!”>
​

The sight was enough on it's own to render everyone speechless, watching on awestruck as the two remaining destroyers began to heat up in their descent, revealing two flaming dots as they cut through the planet's stratosphere. The whole time bringing that slow-approaching (yet unavoidable) dread upon Coruscant's defenders, and all whilst the Dark Voice brought his own brand of terror on the airwaves at the same time, broadcasting live on every possible frequency as Mother Death brought abject destruction from above.

<"FOR STRENGTH AND SECURITY. FOREVER. A GALAXY REBORN!">

 

[Ellayina L'lerim]

Information and Tags

Minister of Intelligence, Director of SHADES, Torture & Interrogation Officer​

"Galactic Common" | <"High Nelvaanian"> | ["Essonian"] | ~ telepathic communication ~ | << comm. channel >> ​

Objective: Steal data from the core
Location: Former Senate Building, Coruscant
Equipment: 2x Sunfury Pistol | Light Armour | Viper Mk. I Skinsuit | 2x Short sword 2x Vibrodagger || Cloaking Device | 5x ASBF Probe Droid || Empyrean gland || OPBC-01m
Tags: Katherine Holt | Closed

In situations like this, Ella was always the most grateful for having access to the proper technologies. In this case, it was MANIAC and HPI tech; the fact that these originated from her family’s business - a megacorp - was rather secondary. What mattered was that she had access, and more importantly, knew how to use it in the present moment. And use it she did, since the situation required it.

Naturally, Ella had some skill in electronics and programming herself, but she was always slower than a droid, hacker program, or an AI trying to break into a lock system. So now, she was trying to accomplish that with the help of her family’s AI - to unlock the door silently, and without leaving a trace.

Ella knew full well that if she really wanted to, she could’ve simply placed explosives and blasted the door open. That would've been easy. Or she could’ve just shot the lock - but that, too, was far too loud. And neither would’ve been… artistic. And Ella wanted to do it artistically.

Since she wasn’t a particularly strong Force-user, she didn’t really sense the effects of what Varanin and Noble were doing. At first, she felt a mild discomfort from the Jedi’s battle meditation, then a sense of clarity when Varanin initiated hers. But because Ella had little familiarity with such things, she didn’t know what caused it - only that she had some ideas. The most prominent presence she still felt was that of Solipsis, so she failed to notice her opponent approaching - didn't sense her at all. It was MANIAC, through the sensors embedded in Ella’s biochip, that alerted her to someone rapidly closing in.

But then even Ella heard it - the metallic clang behind her, the whoosh, the roar. Her reflexes and instincts were fortunately quick enough for her to dodge out of the way, though the spear hadn’t been aimed at her, but embedded itself into the door panel. The panel sparked violently and surrendered to the damage, the door sliding open.

Ella recognized the voice, and turned with a smirk toward the other woman.

"Miss Holt! What a delight. Did you miss me that much, you came willingly?" Ella asked in a mocking tone, her lips curving into a sarcastic smile. "Well well, what a transformation - someone’s been nicely put you back together, just in time for me to break you again."

Ella was genuinely surprised by the transformation the other woman had undergone, but she was good enough as an actress not to let the shock show in her face or eyes. For a few moments, she wasn’t even sure if it was the same person. The voice matched. The aura in the Force probably did too. But the woman now had wings… and she was far taller than during their last meeting.

~ Alchemy, maybe? Or did they upload her consciousness into a new body? ~ the thought crossed Ella’s mind.

Truth be told, she had no idea - but either way, the result was impressive. Before Ella could do anything else, however, first Darth Solipsis appeared, and then the holographic image of her own mentor, Shannic Wulf . Both were speaking about the fall of the Alliance and the rise of the Galactic Empire. Ella tilted her head slightly at the part about lowering weapons and surrendering. The mocking smile didn’t leave her lips.

"Well, Miss Holt?" she asked again, voice calm and sharp. "You won’t be asked this nicely a second time."

 

[Tansu Treicolt]

CORUSCANT | GALACTIC CITY SPACEPORT | BAY 12
objective uno​

Instead of replying to Talsin's question herself, someone else answered quicker.

"Feel what?"

"You, I reckon." She bristled, nettled by the sheer venom that bled from the woman's presence.

Tansu barely caught the flick of predatory eyes before they locked fully on Talsin. There was no doubt that the assassin saw her, the way a speeder saw gravel, but her attention was locked fully on him; full of intent. Everything following that recognition became thoughtless intuition. Her fingers moved before her thoughts caught up.

Red, low, and lightning fast, the Sith's sabre shrieked as it cut low across the floor toward her, too fast for a clean deflection and too slow to ignore. Tansu dropped her weight back, boots grinding hard into the deck, and yanked her saber into a vertical guard. It snapped to life with a flash of yellow, just in time to catch the red arc just enough to send it skittering wide in a shower of sparks.

The force of it pushed her into a half-step stagger, but she didn't fall. She used the motion, twisting back into a ready stance, sabre held two-handed, tip low. Her eyes tracked Zantra without blinking.Clearly, Zantra's pace was measured and efficient. Her sabres moved as though they had minds of their own. Precise. Full of intent — rushing right for Talsin.

"Nuh uh," she muttered, shifting her grip. "Keep your hands offa him!" A beat. Her brain caught up with her mouth.
"Chit, I didn't mean—" Her voice lowered, more to Talsin than anyone else (maybe the security footage of the station) — oh Force, was she really that dense? Of all the things she could have said, that was her one liner? Why did her brain do that? "—please don't cancel me."

She shifted her grip on her sabre, stepping wider, pulling just a bit of attention onto herself. The Force built up in her chest like a slingshot. Tension. Breath. Direction.

Then she moved fast.

"Tal, Ell and Ell" — an abbreviation for a move she'd affectionately coined Lasso and Lance at some point during their simulation training regimens. Something scrappy and backwater to balance out his polished, stately style.

Tansu dropped low and threw her weight sideways, free hand dragging across the floor as she kicked into a slide, fast and low, cutting across the space between them like a thrown lasso. Her sabre came around wide to draw focus, the hum of plasma meant to flash yellow in the corner of Zantra's eye.

If the assassin pursued the chase for Talsin, she'd trip into Tansu's path. If she turned on Tansu, maybe she'd open herself up. Something had to give, right? Lasso and Lance always worked! ....In the simulations, anyway.

Tansu's slide ended in a spin. She used the leftover momentum to twist up into a crouch, sabre snapping into a reverse grip as she skidded to a halt just behind Zantra's flank.

____________________________________________________________
OPS: Zantra | GE
ALLIES: Talsin Lota | GA
____________________________________________________________
​

 

[Alicio Organa]

Old Senate Meeting Chambers, The Rotunda
Coruscant
- Damian du Couteau -
​

“Is that all you see? . . . Rarely do I ever say this but I believe you are wrong, your grace, my Chancellor.”

Any focus turned elsewhere evaporated in that moment, as Alicio looked up at the man with the missing eye. The grief, the fear in the air... he hadn't sensed it, through the morass of war around them, the machinations of far-flung Sith influencers. But hearing it in Damian's voice, seeing it in the shaking of the Tetan's hands... it was unmistakable.

“Would you be so kind as to allow yourself to be taken as a political prisoner along with me? My deal with the Treasurer would also extend to Alderaan I’m sure. Our people deserve peace, not war, no matter the cost.”

The Future turned cold and jagged, crystalizing like ice. This 'deal with the Treasurer' didn't escape his notice, nor the implications of what he was asking, and what was implied should he refuse. He thought a moment, letting his fingers catch the edges of his folded cloak, before answering. They were politicians. Of course, he would try talking first.

"Are you aware of the Sith philosophy surrounding peace, Senator?" He didn't move to don the fabric, letting his fingers graze it gently. "It is one of a select few beliefs that they and I... see eye to eye, on, actually."

"They gleefully chant that 'peace is a lie' to every ear that will listen. And... I agree. There is always a fight worth taking up, somewhere in the galaxy. And even in quiet, the vigilant must prepare. To be lulled into peace is to lose it. But I don't think that's what the Sith mean when they say it."

Alicio's voice was even, but frigid. He wouldn't even entertain Damian's offer. They both knew that. "If occupied by Solipsis again, Teta will not have peace. Your people would suffer, whether you give yourself up or not. You have to know that. The only question is whether you will be there to help them, or to push the Sith's boot into their necks."

 

[Jax Thio]

Location: Coruscant
Equipment: Jedi Robes, Jax's Prosthetic Arm, Jax's Third Lightsaber, Marriage Ring to Jairdain
Tag: Vireth


With each flourish of Jax's blade, at least 5 Sith soldiers were downed, Jax slashed and hacked his way towards the Senate Tower. There had to be hundreds, no thousands of Sith surrounding the Senate Tower. The Dark Lord of the Sith definitely wanted to put on a show and what better way to spread fear and panic among a civilized society than to cut the heads off the leadership. "Whatever happened to subtly?" Jax thought deflecting numerous blaster bolts towards the incoming soldiers.

The Jedi Master leapt over the staircase once again slamming his fist onto the ground using the power of the force. About 50 soldiers were knocked away sent flying in all directions as Jax made it to the entrance. Summoning the Force, Jax hurled a ball of Force power towards the tall Senate doors knocking it down as he entered the hallway. He could sense a massive disturbance in the Force, something or someone powerful was here........

 

[Cesare Demici]

Engaging: Jonyna Si

March

It all happened in an instant...

Golden lightning crashed to the ground, erasing the troopers accompanying Cesare within the blink of an eye. It might have been enough to make a weaker man flinch, but Cesare's intimate understanding of sorrow and pain made it feel like any other day. His gaze remained locked on the Jedi filth before him, his expression not showing even the slightest change. Just that same cold, determined stare that had so often consumed his face remained.

He had fought a Jedi on Coruscant once before. It had been his first since joining the ranks of the Elite. It was that clash in which he had bled his lightsaber, and it was in that moment that he finally found some moment of reprieve from the torment that relentlessly nagged at his brain. While that fight ended without a definitive outcome, he had at least managed to kill some of the other pests within the old temple's walls. Good enough of a desecration, for the time. But now... he would paint the steps of this new holy place with blood, and scorch its walls with the scorch marks of his lightning. This new desecration would be enough to even perhaps please the Emperor himself...

Perhaps even enough to grant him an audience.

He quietly approached his opponent, his hand reaching for the hilt of his lightsaber.

"You seem to possess at least some power. Tell me, do I have the pleasure of facing a master, or did the council send one of their children to fight?"

He cracked a sinister grin, a spark of mockery flashing in his eyes.

"The last time they did that, they did little more than acquire another reason for a funeral pyre."

SNAP-HISS

His crimson blade roared to life, sizzling as the falling ashes of the dead landed on the dark red plasma. His stance tightened, his mind ready. All he had to do was wait for the right opportunity to strike this Jedi down...

and strike her down, he would.

 

[Khronas]

NEW JEDI TEMPLE, CORUSCANT
Dark Side Elite Armour | Sith Sword

Klar

The young Codru-Ji woman immediately dived forward to protect the panicked youngling, using one of her four lightsabers to parry Khronas' Sith sword. While she saved the child from falling to the Dark Side warrior, the movement put her off-balance. She followed up with a series of probing attacks to test his mettle.

Khronas stepped back onto his rear foot and swung his sword through a counterclockwise arc, the alchemised Sith metal brushing aside the crackling Jedi energy blade. An opening presented itself as Klar also went to step back to create more distance. The Siniteen drove his weapon forward and was rewarded with a slashing cut on his opponent's thigh.

The two foes broke away and studied one another in silence. The realisation was dawning that, despite his best efforts, Khronas might soon know a fate worse than death - being late. His meticulously devised plan, grounded in hours of studying the portents of the Force's diverging futures, would have had him arriving at the Force nexus beneath the Jedi Temple alongside his Dark Side Elite brethren. He reached out to touch the minds of Prowler II , Orran , Kaleb Sunwalker , Talon Draven , Cesare Demici , Voldran Molf and Lord Creuat , projecting a sense of urgency in their fight to reach and corrupt the nexus. They must not fail.

Klar commented that if Coruscant were to fall, Khronas and the Empire would have all the time in the world, then ducked and vaulted off the stone wall of the darkened tunnel to launch an overhead attack. She followed up with a series of attacks designed to drive the Dark Jedi away from the children.

"Coruscant is just the beginning," he replied between blocked attacks. "The countdown for galactic conquest has begun. The march of the Empire will be relentless and exacting. In time, you will come to learn this."

Khronas' Sith sword whirled in his hands, redirecting Klar's four lightsabers where he could. Other attacks were dodged with dropped shoulders or small sidesteps, the Siniteen seeking to conserve his energy. He had trained at the New Sith academy against multiple foes, but never one foe with this many lightsabers. He needed more time to study her form.

The Jedi commented that if events were inevitable, what was the hurry? Her blatant disregard for the cosmic order enraged Khronas. How could a so-called student of the Force be so blind to their fate and destiny?

Klar swept out his legs. Khronas leaned into the direction of the attack, allowing the energy of the attack to rotate his body. He brought down his palm as his body flipped to vault off the floor, completing a full rotation and landing on his feet.

The Dark Jedi brought his sword up to the low-ready position as a strange sensation washed over Khronas. At first, he thought it was a renewal of Ibaris Varanin 's battle mediation.

But then the visions started.

Faces began to appear in his mind's eye. At first, they seemed random, but his Siniteen brain quickly recognised the pattern, recalling from his eidetic memory the common denominator. The faces expanded to full scenes, violent scenes, scenes of death and murder.

Every killing that Khronas had committed was brought forward from his memory by the will of Ashin Cardé Varanin .

Khronas stood tall and proud, drinking in the slaughter. Each of the deaths had been an exercise in the manipulation of time, a perfect execution that he had beheld long before each fight had begun. He watched as he and Darth Defias slayed the head of the New Sith academy, starting a chain reaction that had seen the two ascend through the Sith hierarchy of power. He relived the killing of mercenaries in the Outer Rim, timing their death to match his visions of the future. He revelled in the murder of Jedi during the last Coruscant invasion, savouring how each death had been perfectly synced to the rhythms of the galaxy

Renewed, he tightened the grip on his Sith sword and launched himself at Klar, unleashing a salvo of strikes to overwhelm her defences.

"Embrace your fate Jedi," he sneered, hammering home his attacks. "If the galaxy feels uncertain, if you are drifting masterless, seek the one real truth - that your destiny is already set. To deny it is to deny your reason for living."

"DIE!"

 

[Zark San Tekka]

ARCHIVES
NEW JEDI TEMPLE
Koda Fett Velis Arden CT-312 Quinn Varanin Mercy

​

Master Zark did not flinch or falter in his calm impatient march down marble stairs even when Quinn explosively revealed her powers. With defiance on their lips the mandalorian opened fire on the temple guard with some kind of custom repeater. A feeling he could not fully explain but had learned long ago to trust warned him not to deflect with his lightsaber. Instead he lifted his shield gauntlet just in time to absorb void stone. Its blue energy disc flared red and then sputtered as the gauntlet's power source reacted to cortosis shells but lasted just long enough before fizzling out.

Cortosis in his mask shielded Zark's mind from the competing battle meditations and kept him focused on what he could feel in the moment. He could not sense Quinn but suspected she might be a bokken Jedi from the outer rim since he did not recognize her presence. Braze did not escape his notice despite the young knight's attempts to remain undetected, but he trusted that their purpose was noble in spirit albeit perhaps not completely thought through.

Another warning from the Force. He listened to the feeling, reaching out with his emotions and using that ineffable sense to brace himself against an incoming shockwave. San Tekka's boots slid back a meter over marble but he did not lose his equilibrium.

"Don't think I have heard you talk as much as today, tin-can. Ready to go? The girl is dead."

"You're not going anywhere."

He threw his lightsaber.

Not at Koda Fett or even his muscular accomplice but at the thing she'd unleashed on the archive dataport. Like a golden spear it spun end over end on a perfect trajectory to burn the rogue darksider's little cyber gremlin in purifying flames. Step by step Master Zark kept getting closer.

 

[Alexandra Feanor]

New Jedi Temple Depths - Open Meditation Courtyard
Heading to Jedi Archives/Library

Equipment -
Robes
Spear
Sabers
​

---

Alexandra had intended for the trip to Coruscant to be a peaceful one. Not wishing to bother herself with the goings of the Temple's leadership and having only come to rest her mind. Even now as they worked to uproot the Temple, she had stayed still and did not pay mind to the invasion of Coruscant or the Temple itself. It was almost a passive stance that she held with the Galaxy as a whole these days. If her home was not threatened, what reason was there for her to intrude herself in the workings of the governments around her.

But to see the temple torn down and replaced by the Sith once more?

It had happened before, and she had been forced to see Sith conquest followed by that of Vong. Both she disliked more than she cared to remain passive.

So she stood, smoothing out the robe like clothing she wore, her hands running over the fabric before stepping carefully through the courtyard. It was highly likely that whoever had chosen to invade was someone she no longer knew, the old days long in the past and she often wondered if Kaine was even still leading from the shadows. Was this one of his own students in charge these days? Or was this some splinter branch of Sith who she knew nothing of?

It was tiresome to remember each and every change of leader, each and every Emperor.

Most of them simply were shadows of Kaine.

Shadows of what was remotely greatness and a pitiful example of what could be.

Even now she just looked up, seeing the stars alight by the combat above. The sound of engines crying through the sky and her coming to a stop by a window that had been blown out. The fighting all around her and the death starting to weight on her mind and thoughts. She found the anger and hate, the desperate struggle intoxicating as it reminded her of the days when she so welcomed the use of the darkside.

She had more important things to protect now though. Power like that had done nothing but caused problems. It had led to her death and her rebirth had left her to be redeemed and focus on the Light.

Perhaps Taeli was here? She would enjoy speaking with her old friend, to get a drink with them when this battle was over?

These thoughts continued to consume her mind as she entered an open area, spying a Sith soldier that she did not particularly care for. Her hand rising and swinging to the left, launching them out of the window nearby and to leave them to fall to their deaths. It was simply a emotionless act, one done without care or malice, and only because they had been in her way as she walked through the halls of the temple.

She could not be certain where to head next, coming to a stop in the halls and looking around. There was combat in the Archives not far away, and she could tell that there were other smaller duels happening while she stood there. The main hall was full of fighting and a stray bolt flew past her head, causing her to check and see if she had been struck.

"Perhaps Noah is on his way?" She muttered to herself, looking towards the Library and the Archives once more.

"I should ensure they do not make off with anything important." She decided, walking down the hall, looking over the bodies that were left on the floor from previous combat and her hand retrieving the long spear she carried so often. Even now in the depths of the Temple she did not part with the weapon, a choice of weapon that she preferred from her days when Sith Blades and alchemical creations were all too familiar.

Soon she would arrive in the Library, to aid or combat any that she came into contact with.

 

[Valery Noble]

​

Outfit: Jedi Jumpsuit
Weapons: Blasters | Lightsabers

Valery’s head dipped forward slightly, her breaths slow as she steadied her focus. The weight of the dark influence pressing against her mind was growing heavier by the moment. Ibaris Varanin 's meditation clawed at the hearts of her people, and layered over it came something else, older and colder, but just as sinister. Ashin Cardé Varanin 's ritual cut deep into those already fighting to hold on. Valery’s teeth pressed together, her jaw set hard as she poured more of herself outward, refusing to let the shadow creep any closer.

Then, a familiar thread brushed her mind. Caelan Valoren ?

To Caelan Valoren “Caelan, Ran Serys is moving to confront Solipsis in the Senate building. She is not alone, but she is outnumbered. Find her. Stand with her. That is where you are needed most.”

The connection shifted, another call touching her awareness. Silas Westgard had reached out to her. The image of the courtyard flashed into her mind, soldiers pinned down, younglings caught in the chaos, and Silas himself struggling to hold it together. She closed her eyes tighter, feeling the tension in her muscles as she forced herself deeper into the currents of the Force.

To Silas Westgard “Silas, I hear you. Hold on. I am going to try to level the field for you.”

Valery drew in a sharp breath and let it out slowly, palms pressing into her knees as she sank deeper. The strain of countering Ibaris and shielding so many Jedi was already pushing her limits, but she reached further still. Through the threads of the Force she wove images into form. At the Temple, shadows of Jedi sprinted through the smoke, sabers flaring bright as they appeared at chokepoints and flanked enemy lines.

In the Senate building, more Alliance troopers seemed to emerge from the haze, rifles raised, moving as if in coordinated squads to take up positions alongside those truly fighting.

Each manifestation was an effort that burned through her reserves. Her fingers trembled against her knees, and sweat broke along her brow as she forced the visions to hold. Blasterfire would be drawn toward these false allies, hopefully buying seconds, making the enemy hesitate, making them believe they were outnumbered.

Her breathing came harder now, shoulders shaking as she kept the images steady and her shield strong over her people. But through the fire and through the strain, her voice carried steady through the Force.

To all Jedi “The enemy will feel our strength. They will believe we are more than we are. Stay on them. Protect each other. I am with you.”

The wind howled across the rooftop as she leaned forward, eyes still shut tight, refusing to let go.

---

OOC: Jedi and Alliance personnel or allies targeted by the Sith's Battle Meditation will still feel relief from Valery.

The Galactic Empire may encounter doppleganger imitations of soldiers and Jedi

Valery is open to be targeted by GE​

Spoiler: Jedi locations

Jedi Temple
Caltin Vanagor	Fighting at the temple's steps
Jonyna Si	Fighting at the temple's steps
Balun Dashiell	Fighting at the temple's steps
Corazona von Ascania	Defending the Biodome
Zark San Tekka	Defending the Archives
Everest Vale	Defending the Jedi Temple
Xuko Pagoi Aris Noble Tigris Aphra	Searching for Jedi younglings
Rikuan	Defending the Temple
Taam Moghul	Defending the Jedi Temple
Vaegon Dolmyrian	Defending the Temple
Kell Masaara	Offering aid on Coruscant
Senate Building
Ran Serys	Defending the Senate building
Ren	Defending the Senate building
Katherine Holt	Defending the Senate Building

 

[Sid Berik]

​

Coruscant – Upper Levels
Drop Pod Deployment – Comm Silence Active
Death Trooper Squad "Vanta Six"
Operatives: , DT-1966, DT-7747, DT-1966 l Abraxas Colt

Reacting to: Ashin Cardé Varanin l Valery Noble

They were there for a moment, then they were gone. Replaced by faces familiar to him. No, not here, he was back on Tython. In the trench. Behind sandbags. Moving from cover to cover. Rounds kicked the dirt around him, impacting his cover, his friends.

The faces of the GADF soldiers that assaulted his position came pouring in. The Jedi that were with them. He remembered. He remembered how he cut them down. They killed his friends. He saw his friends too. Ghostly apparitions that were not there. He was back home. He wasn't on Coruscant. The buildings were lower. His dead friends passed by him.

Then they were gone.

They weren't real. He had been trained to resist Jedi trickery, or at least, know when it was being used on him.
​

He broke off from the rest of the Deathtroopers- and ran at the power station's guards. The first sentry turned his head, but was impacted with the stock of his rifle. Blood and teeth went spilling into the walkway. He followed up by boot-stomping on the Duro's face until it was done. Another contingent, roughly a fireteam came screeching around the corner. Maybe more. It was hard to tell. How many of them were there?

It didn't matter how many the Alliance sent.

He would kill them all.
​

He slammed his body into the first, sending him into a railing and into his friends. He grabbed the grenade on the Alliance trooper's chest, priming it. He punched him in the throat in the same instance, and sent him tumbling back. Sid crouched, ducked and turned away-

POP.

The explosion was lessened not by cover, but by the troopers fellow squadmates. They were sending more. More troops came around the corner. A lightsaber flicked upwards. A Jedi. But not quite right, not all the way down here. He sneered in his helmet. They didn't have heat signatures. Maybe they weren't there.

They died all the same, as Sid charged forward. The Imperial's best met the visions, the lies of the Jedi head on. Not with fear, not with apprehension, but desperation for victory and rage. Hate and anger fueled him. He wanted revenge.

He was taking it.

Piece by piece, and body by body, Sid Berik would have his revenge.

 

[Rikuan]

✦ RIKUAN ✦
"Ride the wind, dodge the rules."

LOCATION: Coruscant - Inside the Jedi Temple
OUTFIT: Tribal Jedi Robes
WEAPONS: Lightsaber
TAGS: Rann Thress - OPEN

The ghosts didn't linger. Not after that. Thurion Heavenshield 's wave of radiant power hit like a sunrise to the soul, cutting through the rot and weight in Rikuan's chest like a blade of air and fire. The moment it passed, he gasped like coming up for breath after being buried alive.

His hands were trembling. Not from fear, not exactly. Just… residuals. The kind of buzz that comes after too much noise and not enough grounding.

The Winds are with me, The Force is with me he reminded himself. Mind. Body. Soul. Still here. Still moving.

He blinked toward the Temple, just in time to see Rann standing again. Paler now. Quieter. No jokes. No half-cocked grins. Just a haunted kind of stillness. Rikuan's ears flattened for a moment, not from fear but from recognition. Whatever hit him, Rann had it worse. Maybe Rikuan was lucky he was so young... a smaller trail of bodies were behind him. Rikuan jogged up beside him, tail swaying behind him in a loose rhythm.

"You good?" he asked, voice light but not flippant. "I mean, I'd ask if you saw the walking dead, but judging by your thousand-meter stare… yeah. You saw 'em too."

Rikuan shrugged one shoulder, steeling himself and glancing toward the Temple steps ahead. "Well. I guess if the dead are pointing fingers, we might as well give 'em something worth judging."

He twirled his saber once, then flicked it down by his side. His voice softened a little.

"That light… from the big and tall blonde dude?" he said, nodding in the general direction of Thurion. "Felt like it yanked me out of a tailspin. Gotta thank him later. Or write him a poem. You think he'd like poems?"

Then, smirking just slightly, Rikuan stepped forward and placed a furred hand on Rann's shoulder. He gave it a light squeeze.

"Come on, Space Hunk. Temple's not gonna unsiege itself."

Rikuan exhaled sharply and pushed forward, fatigue still hadn't caught up to him yet. Luckily. As he made his way up the steps, he caught sight of two familiar faces amongst others - his Master Jonyna Si and Master Caltin Vanagor - both doing their thing. Rikuan flashed the pair a smile and waved.

"Master Jonyna, Master Caltin! Hey! Glad you're both okay! I'm going inside to deal with stragglers!" he called out as he leapt over them.

Finally, he crossed the threshold into the Temple alongside Rann. The noise of battle didn't fade completely, but it muffled behind as they passed through. The familiar corridors of the Grand Temple stretched out before them, now cracked and scorched, lined with debris and firelight.

His feet hit the floor, slick with ash and debris. Rikuan paused mid-step, head turning as a flicker caught the corner of his eye. Down the corridor, a Jedi, lightsaber drawn, running toward a junction ahead. Then another. And another. All cloaked in light. All headed for the fight. Were they reinforcements? Where'd they come from?

Then they were gone. As he turned to get a better look, the last one vanished like vapor in the heat.

"W-what?" he murmured, brow furrowing. Was this Valery Noble 's doing? It made sense... nobody else could hold something like that in the middle of all this. At least, that's what the stories said.

Real or not, he wouldn't look a gift orbak in the mouth. They were helping as he heard blaster fire tear through halls and hitting nothing. Rikuan rounded the bend and flicked his lightsaber into a reverse grip - ready to engage whatever was around the corner.

​

​

 

[Corazona von Ascania]

Some Guy: Isar du Vain
​

That's not me, he said.

Cora senses no lie, but senses could be fooled. She did not believe Isar. She chose not to believe Isar, because he was more monster than he was man.

But he'd been knocked off kilter, too. Perhaps it was the insistent tug-of-war that pervaded the Force; waves of Light and Dark surged against one another, each seeking to dominate the frothing tide.

Perhaps he was playing into it, to make it seem more real.

"I didn't take you for the sort of man who could feel shame."

Her tone wasn't mocking; it was honest. As reality began to bend and blur, the vines twining around Isar struck. Like the snap of a rubber band, they seized his limbs and torso, enveloping the mind flayer in binds of thick, immobilizing greenery.

"You're here for a reason. If you're not one of Solipsis' - then what are you?"

Isar du Vain

 

[Caelan Valoren]

His message in the Force was received, and quickly returned.

Understood. I'm enroute, he sent back to Valery Noble

As he'd expected, there was more to what was going on at the nearby Senate building than a mere battle. This was quickly confirmed by the broadcast that played on the screens nearby, showing Solipsis making his statements while around him others fought. Then there was more, calling for people to rise up, as if the Alliance were the oppressors of the galaxy, as if there weren't a thousand years of Imperial oppression on the books.

"Foolish pleas," he said as he opened the door. "Come on, Fate. We've work to do."

"Bwee-dwoop bwoo-beep bwee-dweet bwoo-vrrt, dwoop-beep beep-bwoo bwoo-dweet, bwee-vrrt bwoo beep bwoo-beep dwooo-bwee?"

"Yes. You head to the senate chambers and tap into the systems there. Try and stop any further broadcasts. I'll go help with Solipsis."

They descended and exited, Caelan scooping the little droid up to place him on his shoulder. Once outside, he stretched his legs once, then again, drew the Force into them, and ran. Not only was his body moving fast, but his mind as well. People scattered, running for cover where they could. Those around him paid little attention to the broadcast made by Solipsis or Wulf, as they were far too busy seeking shelter from the situation unfolding around them. He was able to avoid them with little difficulty, darting this way and that around them as he sped across in the direction of the Senate building.

He paused briefly to lower Fate to the ground near an access. It would allow the small droid to enter the building discretely, without the dark forces knowing he was there to interfere with their plans.

Once the droid was gone, he thumbed the activation switch on his lightsaber. A blade, pure white, thrummed to life. Around it, blue and purple hues. No ordinary lightsaber. It had taken him much effort to create it, between the trials he'd gone through, the battles he'd fought, the tribulations. Not all of them had gone according to plan; his left arm was testimony to failure. But failure was the pathway to success. There had been much he'd learned from the times he'd failed, and those failures had ultimately lead him to where he was now: a father, a king, and a Jedi Knight determined to protect them all.

He ran, full speed, through the doors, into the senate building. Their foe was in the chambers. His blade trailed slightly behind him, but that was fine. It wasn't the blade that he needed, at least not at the moment. Instead, it was the Force itself, coalescing around his outstretched left hand. Yes, it was a prosthetic, but it was different, capable of feeling and directing the Force. It was almost as though he had never changed from what and who he had been before losing it, though the arm was better than before.

That Force coalesced into a barrier in front of him, a wall shape, made not just of Force energy, but of the Lightside itself. A special skill he had developed to protect. A skill developed in a dangerous place where he was forced to overcome his inhibitions in order to protect Master Noble and himself from a darkside artifact that had consumed the entire crew of a research station and those sent to investigate it. And inside of his helmet, his eyes had turned a pure white, as they always did when he tapped this deeply into the Force. Probably a genetic thing, but he'd never seen his mother do it.

He burst forth into the room with blazing speed, a beacon of white light, and unleashed the barrier before him to fly rapidly across the room towards Solipsis himself. It was followed by Caelan, though he hadn't reached the man yet. The barrier, it's lightside energy the antithesis of Solipsis' entire being, would arrive first.

If Solipsis wanted to play at ruling, let him face one who ruled.

---

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

TAGS: Ren | Ran Serys | Darth Solipsis | Shannic Wulf | Sahar ​

 

[Ashin Cardé Varanin]

All across the battlefields of the Coruscant system, for moments long enough to understand what they were seeing, many, many combatants — she tried for all — saw true and silent visions of the fallen.

Not those who'd meant the most to them, no.

They each saw, in plain and goreless solemness for the gravity of the deed, with no self-indulgent sense of absolution, every person they had ever killed.

Velis seemed to be dead. She felt a pang at that. Soft stupid girls had no place here. You needed to be hard. You needed to be a nightmare. A monster that snapped people in half. Not a little meat puppet that broke so easily. She left it behind her. Alongside the army of the dead that surrounded her ever since some Jedi or Sith cretin decided to summon them. Reminders of the slaughter and the sins they committed.

They stood in silence around her. Judging her. Crying. Growling in anger.

She had killed so many and she'd kill many more. Don't you worry, you will have new friends soon enough.

He stepped forward, and there was a moment where Isar was flanked by ghosts - Horace to his left, and Marcel to his right. Her departed husband and father, respectively. Both had met their end by her hand.

The first out of self preservation. The second out of preservation for her family and her home. She'd taken no joy in their deaths, only relief, but that just made the guilt feel heavier.

When Cora blinked next, and the grim specters had vanished.

Rikuan was only able to take one step before he felt something hit him like a tidal wave. It felt like time had fractured. His muscles tensed, tail coiled like a spring, but the Force stuttered. They were all there. Not Jedi, not friends, not the dead he'd mourned. But the ones he killed. A few, not many... but enough.

Several troopers he had taken out today. No blood. No screams. Just faces.

Whoever this was, it wasn't from Valery's warmth... it was something colder. Older ( Ashin Cardé Varanin Ashin Cardé Varanin )

That’s when he felt it, the crash of thousands upon his psyche. All the kills of all those on this planet would be felt by the denizens who had committed this most heinous sin even amongst the most worthy. It hit like a flood, but like a flood after the initial shock it became tamable. The visions from Ashin Cardé Varanin Ashin Cardé Varanin would be like a shock to thousands planetside, but to all those who had suffered under the wrath of the Emperor, they would serve only to bolster his resolve.

For when he tapped into the reservoirs of suffering that spread, he found it wanting. He would feed off of their pain, their memories.

Their broken dreams.

The faces of all those who died at Csilla, the faces of those who perished on Lao-Mon, the Jedi of Jakku, Master @Mortag the Green Blade of the NJO, visions of the indomitable [IMG alt="Rurik Fel"]https://www.starwarsrp.net/data/avatars/s/19/19323.jpg?1743832606[/IMG] [FONT=BlinkMacSystemFont]Rurik Fel[/FONT] , of the brave [IMG alt="Ryv"]https://www.starwarsrp.net/data/avatars/s/18/18034.jpg?1647727253[/IMG] [FONT=BlinkMacSystemFont]Ryv[/FONT] . Solipsis felt his presence touch upon the minds of those affected nearby like a pebble cast into a dark lake. He stepped fully from the platform now, his expression unreadable beneath the flood of memories.

Scorched and singed and more than a little bruised around the ego. The cacophony of power, conducted now by two Varanin's, screamed in the back of his mind, admonishing him for his failure.

He swung around, instinct informing him of a sudden threat in the corner of his eye. There he found not a soldier, or even a man. A corpse, rotten and dismembered, stood there glaring back at him. Thurion blinked, and the vision had vanished. Taken aback, the Lion nevertheless turned his attention to another Imperial Knight seeking to make a name for himself. Thurion dodged to the side, narrowly escaping a most excellent strike that would have ended a lesser opponent. The moment he was out of reach and the path of the enemy blade was completed, the Wings of Glory sent him surging forward with Anarion held before him, piercing the Knight's visor and sticking out the back of his skull, leaving the Imperial a limp mass dangling from his blade. Lowering the body to the ground, he used his foot for leverage as his sword was pulled loose.

"Hold the line," he cried out. "They shall not pass..."

Another walking corpse, this one with its tongue hanging from missing its lower jaw. This one raised a rotted appendage and pointed at him with what remained of its hand. Thurion swung his sword this time, and the corpse was shown to collapse at his feet. Another such corpse appeared farther away, out of his immediate reach, and then another, and another. Each pointed accusatorily at the High King, with the supposedly slain corpse rising once more.

"What devilry is this," said the Lion, looking to the squad of GADF he'd assisted earlier. The older veterans were writhing on the ground, pleading for it to stop whilst the young man he'd helped rise tried his best to care for them. Meanwhile, more and more walking corpses appeared to surround Thurion, who was becoming increasingly overwhelmed by the disturbing sight. Some of them wore Sith armour, others Imperial uniforms, others Mandalorian beskar. Some were decidedly older, from several generations past, whilst others resembled those partaking in this very battle.

"You're not real. None of you are!"

The Lion stumbled, tripping over his most recent addition to the sea of corpses. He threw off his winged helmet, feeling like he was suffocating. "Coci," he pleaded, looking around in bewilderment. "My love, help me!" Scrambling to try and stand, the sheer weight of the dead forced him to one knee. In the distance rose a vast mountain of corpses, an amalgamation of his every victim.

Gasping for air, he felt something else press against him. Then he remembered.

Thurion stuck his gauntleted hand inside his breastplate and pulled out his granddaughter's doll. A worn-out thing, lovingly repaired after too much use. He smiled then, pressed it to his lips, and thought of her. Theya, the littlest lion cub. A born warrior, like her father. His son. His boy.

When the swing came unannounced, intended to execute a helpless old man, Thurion shot up from where he knelt, delivering a lighting-fast uppercut that knocked his assailant clean off his feet. He tucked the doll back inside her little cubby, then summoned the Sunlight Blade and the Celestial Aegis to his person. Anarion swung in a wide arc before him, sending a radiant wave sweeping down the steps of the temple, purging any such visions from those afflicted.

His eyes burned bright, engulfed in the powers at his command as he lifted his eyes skywards. He held his sword aloft, then with a descending swing did he part the clouds and issue forth a sunlight so bright it would sear the corrupted caught in its gaze, whilst invigorating the pure.

"GUARDIANS OF ASHLA," his voice boomed unnaturally for all to hear. "YOU ARE THE BULWARK AGAINST THE DARK. YOU ARE THE DAWN-CLAD VANQUISHERS OF THE ETERNAL NIGHT. THIS IS YOUR HOUR. THIS IS YOUR TIME. WARRIORS OF THE LIGHT — CHARGE!"

The dark ritual from Ashin Cardé Varanin Ashin Cardé Varanin hit like a brick.

Magdalena had killed a metric feth-ton of people in her long existence. Didn't matter why she had done it. They all surrounded her in a void, staring, accusing.

Magdalena took lives as a means to an end, trying to safeguard innocent people from truly depraved beings so beyond the pale in terms of evil that taking them prisoner wasn't a realistic option. In the beginning, she had thought nothing of it. Her mind was so alien she viewed it as a simple necessity, putting down Dark Side users with more force and permanence that none save the Ashlans might have agreed with. She had thought nothing of taking injured, unresponsive Padawans so close to death no amount of normal medical care or Force Healing could save them, fixing them up with her own blood in a ritual and reprogramming them into tireless warriors against the Darkness.

But the more time she spent around her son, the more she had...very slowly...come to understand that perhaps her outlook was a bit TOO pragmatic. Too utilitarian.

Too heartless.

This for Magdalena, it was not just those she had killed, but every Padawan she had ever turned into one of her Deputies. This included her own adopted son, Nathan. He had been her favorite Deputy.

Magdalena snarled in pain, clutching her skull as her flesh bubbled and shuddered disgustingly all over her body, like rats were moving underneath it.

Behind Corazona stood two padawans. One with a hole in his chest, the other through his head. And then all around them, more faces. Faces he knew. Faces he'd killed. Some he did not even know he remembered, but there they were, staring at him. Watching him. Like they always watched him. In the mirror. At the bottom of a bottle. At the end of a joint.


Stars, he fucking hated them.

What do you want from me.

Isar realized he'd been staring, looked back at the Jedi, then reached out with the Force. Felt the workings of someone else at play. He didn't know if Corazona could see them. No. He felt her surprise, then her disgust. She'd seen something.

"That's not me," he spat, fingers balling into fists at his side. His senses quested farther, probing, lips twisting in a sneer. "This one of your people? Some sort of sick Jedi humiliation trick?"

Then, the force twisted. And burned. And the same phenomenon in the Force that had struck Rikuan had struck Rann as well. His smile faded...and his eyes glazed over...and he saw them.

The people of Rannon, all those years ago. The innocent people he ruled over, the people he killed when he detonated the central tower of his own city, and crushed thousands. The Slaughter.

They all surrounded him. Nameless faces he knew, instinctively. They screamed without voices, but he knew the words. He'd heard them before. He knew what they called him. He squeezed his lightsaber a bit tighter with his non-robotic left hand, then raised his right. Suddenly, he was back on Ryloth, decades ago. When the Agents of Chaos attacked the CIS. His first ever battle. He had lost his arm there, and Metus had risen the dead on the planet...And they had taken a liking to Rann as he bled out in the rubble.

Then, Anubys. The planet of the dead. Millions of souls all begging for help, pleading for salvation. Something that never came, as Rann stepped over their bones.

All this death. Those he had killed in their unknowable quantities, and those who simply surrounded him.
Rann fell to his knees and dropped his sabers to his side as he cradled his head. He hated death, the dead. Hated them. Spirits, undead, manifestations of those no longer here. He tried to black out their silent screaming with his own screaming. His own ill-fated attempt to drown out the dead.
A wave of darkness crashed over the walls of his mind, screaming to be set free as it clawed away. The wall began to chip, to crack, until a beacon of light began to shine.

The dead began to fade away. The visions followed suite, and suddenly, Rann was alone. In a blank space. The shadowy presence in his mind, a figure wearing black and gold with a red and gold mask on his face.
You always bring me to such sacred places, Rann. Do you think that hides what we've become? The figure turned around, suddenly the image of the Jedi Temple appeared. And now you're taking us in 'there' of all places. You know your history, don't you? How much death this place has seen? The figure shook his head, If you're that eager to lose yourself. Just give me control now. I'll get us through this. The figure turned back around and removed his mask. Rann's own face, paler and with yellowed eyes, spoke to him with a crooked smile, I'll give you control again. We're partners this time. Let me help.

Rann just shook his head. 'No.'

The scenery around him faded back in, a light cutting through the fog, and he recollected his lightsabers before pushing off the ground. He shook his head, and took a deep breath, immediately looking to Rikuan, to make sure he was okay.

You can't just will me away this time, Rann. I can tell you, even from where I'm sitting that sucked. I can only imagine how it felt for you. The dark is calling again. I'm calling. I'll see you soon.

The presence faded from his mind, and Rann shook his head again before he looked around frantically. He checked for phantoms, anything lurking behind him, around him, over or under him before he looked back at Rikuan. In a steady, low, monotone voice he said simply, "Come on." He pushed forward up the stairs, staring up ahead at the Jedi Temple.

The warmth had left him. His heart was beating loudly in his chest, and his hand gripped his lightsaber with iron strength.

Faces began to appear in his mind's eye. At first, they seemed random, but his Siniteen brain quickly recognised the pattern, recalling from his eidetic memory the common denominator. The faces expanded to full scenes, violent scenes, scenes of death and murder.

Every killing that Khronas had committed was brought forward from his memory by the will of Ashin Cardé Varanin Ashin Cardé Varanin .

Khronas stood tall and proud, drinking in the slaughter. Each of the deaths had been an exercise in the manipulation of time, a perfect execution that he had beheld long before each fight had begun. He watched as he and [IMG alt="Darth Defias"]https://www.starwarsrp.net/data/avatars/s/43/43403.jpg?1719005527[/IMG] [FONT=BlinkMacSystemFont]Darth Defias[/FONT] slayed the head of the New Sith academy, starting a chain reaction that had seen the two ascend through the Sith hierarchy of power. He relived the killing of mercenaries in the Outer Rim, timing their death to match his visions of the future. He revelled in the murder of Jedi during the last Coruscant invasion, savouring how each death had been perfectly synced to the rhythms of the galaxy

They were there for a moment, then they were gone. Replaced by faces familiar to him. No, not here, he was back on Tython. In the trench. Behind sandbags. Moving from cover to cover. Rounds kicked the dirt around him, impacting his cover, his friends.

The faces of the GADF soldiers that assaulted his position came pouring in. The Jedi that were with them. He remembered. He remembered how he cut them down. They killed his friends. He saw his friends too. Ghostly apparitions that were not there. He was back home. He wasn't on Coruscant. The buildings were lower. His dead friends passed by him.

The ghosts didn't linger. Not after that. Thurion Heavenshield Thurion Heavenshield 's wave of radiant power hit like a sunrise to the soul, cutting through the rot and weight in Rikuan's chest like a blade of air and fire. The moment it passed, he gasped like coming up for breath after being buried alive.

His hands were trembling. Not from fear, not exactly. Just… residuals. The kind of buzz that comes after too much noise and not enough grounding.

The Winds are with me, The Force is with me he reminded himself. Mind. Body. Soul. Still here. Still moving.

He blinked toward the Temple, just in time to see Rann standing again. Paler now. Quieter. No jokes. No half-cocked grins. Just a haunted kind of stillness. Rikuan's ears flattened for a moment, not from fear but from recognition. Whatever hit him, Rann had it worse. Maybe Rikuan was lucky he was so young... a smaller trail of bodies were behind him. Rikuan jogged up beside him, tail swaying behind him in a loose rhythm.

"You good?" he asked, voice light but not flippant. "I mean, I'd ask if you saw the walking dead, but judging by your thousand-meter stare… yeah. You saw 'em too."

The dark room didn't help. She heard the breathing of thousands in here, impossibly. She sat up on the conference room table and turned on the light with a gesture and saw more or less what she'd expected, as if the room had expanded infinitely. Hundreds killed in person; thousands killed as commander of a ship and fleet. Not the millions dead incident to orders like 'go claim that world' ten thousand times, but the dizzying vast scope outpaced not just the room and the paltry flickering light but the scope of her comprehension. It was as if she stood in a senate chamber with a rising sweep of walls around her, full of dead instead of dignified speaking boxes. Dead upon dead upon dead.

She looked as many of them in the eyes as she could. Even she had her limits.

The vision faded as designed and left her breathing shakily, sitting on the table's edge. Jaccath had bolted upright from his chair by the locked door; the big Massassi stared at nothing. Slowly, he sat down and turned off the light, and Ashin laid back down, adjusting her rolled cloak under her head.

She felt the living and unifying Force bring arcane benefits to some. Those with the subconscious strength of mind to face up to those they had killed, face up to reality without their weaknesses holding back the ritual. Such was her supposition anyway. This ritual was untrodden ground.

Aspect of Desmius
The memory of these visions is a permanent gift and curse.
It enriches and deepens the ability to look at oneself unflinchingly, with honesty of mind.
When facing mind control and powerful illusion, it will give a clearer instinct of the truth.

THE STRONGEST
Mercy
Corazona von Ascania , in a double portion
Rikuan , in a double portion
Darth Solipsis
Thurion Heavenshield , in a double portion
Magdalena Bloodscrawl
Isar du Vain , in a double portion
Rann Thress
Khronas
Sid Berik ​

 

[Isar du Vain]

BOUNTY HUNTER: ISAR
LICENSE: #23
!WARNING! ACTIVE HUNT: Bounty 1

Some Girl: Corazona von Ascania
​

As reality began to bend and blur, the vines twining around Isar struck. Like the snap of a rubber band, they seized his limbs and torso, enveloping the mind flayer in binds of thick, immobilizing greenery.

"You're here for a reason. If you're not one of Solipsis' - then what are you?"

The faces faded away, but in an instant Isar felt vines snap around him, pinning arms to body and squeezing like a constricting snake. Isar’s surprise gave way to a flat, dead expression.

“Me?” He asked, chin tilting up, staring down his nose at this self-righteous blonde, “I’m just a dream.”

Then the world folded in on itself. Darkness shut out all the lights and he cast their minds somewhere else, somewhere far distant from the biodome, and coruscant, and all the fighting. He didn’t need his body for this, had never needed it.

All he needed was memory. Memory and emotion.

From her mind they unfurled like a painting, he’d already been here before, knew these pathways and corridors. But he did not come as the reaver to burn and plunder.

He knew exactly what he wanted and drove straight for it.

In this realm of the mind’s eye, a sudden spotlight illumined the darkness, growing. Growing brighter still. It became the sun, its rays warming her skin. And with the sunlight there came other visions. No, not visions. Reality.

This had happened once, hadn’t it?

Horace. Oh Horace. Just a distant memory. An old scar, to thumb over and remember, not the pain, but the sense of conquest. Yes, she had conquered her fears. Driven them out of her mind. Horace was nothing to her now but bad dreams.
​

During her marriage to Horace, she had often imagined what would've happen if she'd run away to Ord Mantell with her love. Even after the marriage had ended, she still wondered.​

Except she had run away with her love, hadn’t she? That’s where she was now… on Ord Mantell. If she crossed the room and opened the door, she was sure he would be there, waiting for her.

“I am so proud of you.” A voice.

A voice she would remember. A voice filled with tenderness and steadiness, with roots deeper than a mountain.​

Kahlil was the quiet steady type, but his love ran deep. He'd been a validating paternal figure to Cora. Idly, she wondered how he'd react to his little girl having a crush - or a potential boyfriend.

Khalil?

He stood before her, was he smiling. His arms wrapped around her and she could feel the warmth - or was it the warmth of the sun?

No. It must be both. His warmth and the warmth of the sun on this balcony. On Ord Mantell, with her love. Somewhere just behind that door. Free. Free at last from all of the pain and the suffering Horace inflicted on her. Free from Dark Lords of the Sith hunting her down. Free to be with her family. In peace.

Down below the balcony, a glimpse of boys playing on the lakeside. She knew those faces. Those boys. Smiling despite their clothes drenched. They looked up and waved at her. They were fishing down there. She should join them, like she had before.
​

The background was a photo of them with [IMG alt="Lysander von Ascania"]https://www.starwarsrp.net/data/avatars/s/48/48092.jpg?1752713738[/IMG] Lysander von Ascania - the day they'd gone fishing on Naboo. Both young men looked bright and happy, their smiles infectious as they posed for the camera. Cora stood between them, halfway caught between irritation and disgust as she awkwardly held her catch with stiff hands, lake ooze dripping from one side of her face.

She had, hadn't she? Yes, that was then, this was now. Ord Mantell. Her love just past the door. Khalil holding her, the love of a father.​

Still, there was something. Something in this paradise. Something missing. What was it. Did it matter? Was this not all she had ever wanted? What could possibly come to destroy this happiness. If she opened the door, he would be there waiting. She only had to open it. And… and there would be more. More of this. More days beneath the sun, more by the lake, until they all grew old together, in peace.

And while they frolicked and whiled the hours and years away…

What of Ukatis?

Oh.

There it was. The lingering thought.

In the distance, she might see the buildings of Ukatis. Strange, that was not Ord. The buildings loomed, but they were hollow, burned out structures. Broke and old. Best to leave them be. Best to ignore them.

And yet…

the vision of a stable, happy and prosperous Ukatis was so very far away. If they could get there, the first step would be in meeting the basic needs of each civilian, rich or poor.

It was not too much to ask the universe. She could have both, couldn’t she? A peaceful life with her family… and a prosperous Ukatis.

In this land of the mind’s eye, visions swirled about her. Memories of happier times. She could stay here with them.

Forever.

 

[Domaric Mordane]

Allies: The Dark Side Elite | Imperius Indomitus | Ibaris Varanin | Ashin Cardé Varanin
Enemies: Connel Vanagor | Amelia von Sorenn (Sorta Indirect) | Magdalena Bloodscrawl | Thurion Heavenshield | The Jedi

The corridor grid beneath Sector Seven stank of melted armor and charred circuitry.

Sunfyre's lines had held—but only barely. The 21st was no longer a formation, but a lattice of overlapping gun nests and barricaded boulevards. Their dead were being repurposed into cover. The 17th had lost its last tank spear in the alley infighting and was now reinforcing intersections on foot, laying trip mines between ration crates and hollowed-out vending units. Every zone they re-entered came with new ghosts. No movement. No fire. Just silence and dead comms.

Omega had passed through.

Mordane stood beneath the arch of a half-collapsed rail terminal, visor dark, helmet sealed, arms crossed behind his back. His cloak dragged in ash. In front of him, a lifeless Ghost Suns scout team was being pulled from the rubble. Every one of them shot clean through the visor. No alarms. No distress signals. Just gone.

He had built Sunfyre to punch through defenses—not chase phantoms. Every doctrine trained into this army—shock tempo, envelopment, rapid dominance—was failing in this corridor war. Omega wasn't reacting to pressure. They were creating it. Herding his battalions. Bleeding his brigades. Turning each forward movement into a slow, grinding bleed.

It was unacceptable.

"Varo," he said over the command net. "Status of the false flag investigation?"

"Confirmed, sir. Transmission spike in Grid Seven routed through one of our dead relays. Omega used our comm protocols. Our call signs. The armor teams we lost to friendly fire… they thought they were engaging deserters."

Mordane said nothing. He didn't have to.

"The leader did it," Varo added. "The Jedi. He spliced the uplink manually. Got past two junior officers posing as one of ours. Used our own recovery procedures against us."

"Then discipline failed," Mordane said. "And it won't again."

Far above, thunder cracked. Not the weather, but the heavens opening. Explosions stitched the skyline as atmospheric shields burned red. Reinforcements were finally punching through—reserve stormtroopers from the orbital line, crashing down in pods, under fire even as they descended. These weren't front-line elements. They weren't elite. They were the last reserve units Mordane had left. Nothing else would come until the battle above was won. If it was won.

For now, though, they would have to do.

"Redirect the descent waves to Landing Sectors 3 and 4," Mordane said. "I want saturation on the right flank. Task armor support to corridor clearances. Get every heavy you have back online."

"Copy that."

"And the 181st?"

"We've re-established contact," Varo said. "They're past the Grand Promenade. Dug in around the Temple district's outer ring. Clone formations have tried to flank them twice—failed both times. They're holding position, waiting for reinforcements."

"Then we give them what they need."

The holomap on the carrier-side flickered as Mordane expanded the operation: 21st to spearhead toward the 181st Legion, 17th in support. Ghost Suns repurposed—no longer reconnaissance, but sweep-and-purge. Two blocks behind, collapsing anything left untouched. Forward armor pressed to the breach. Orbital support locked in targeting corridors between city strata.

No more staggered landings. No more dispersed fronts. Just one push. One path. One end.

"Prepare Ember Pattern," Mordane ordered. "Five-minute warning for atmospheric saturation. Begin from the outer Temple belt and work inward."

"Sir… there are still evac signatures in those zones."

"I know."

He paused.

"And I don't care."

This was no longer about image. No longer about containment. The Alliance had the benefit of fighting on terrain saturated with civilians and shields, and most likely assumed it would restrain him. Believed he would calculate costs.

If so, they were wrong.

"We burn everything between here and the Temple. Sector by sector. Corridor by corridor. No more holdbacks. No more staging. We don't stop again until we're inside the Temple rotunda."

"And if Omega retreats?"

"They won't," Mordane said. "They think they're the fire."

Varo approached through the smoke, visor streaked with ash. "Plaza is cleared. Scaffolds in place. Broadcast lines are open."

Mordane didn't nod. He didn't speak at first. He simply turned his gaze toward the makeshift execution platform being erected between two shattered towers, its scaffold arms extending outward like some skeletal altar to order. A line of prisoners were dragged forward under heavy guard. Civilians, engineers, Temple-aligned medics, logistical support staff, and those flagged by search logs for refusing clemency. Some had fought. Most had simply chosen to stay.

The executions began at sundown. On the hour. Every hour. Streamed across all public channels without encryption or delay. Not out of cruelty. Not even out of vengeance. This was calculated provocation. A scalpel through the moral center of the enemy. A broadcast of clarity through the fog of asymmetry.

"I pity you," his voice echoed across every open civilian band, hijacking the emergency frequencies, hijacking hope itself. "You who shelter the pretenders. You who protect saboteurs. You who stall the inevitable. Know this—every one of you will burn unless the Alliance surrenders. You want to be legends? Then die with them."

He let the silence hang for a moment—long enough for the signal to reach every district, every shelter, every trembling enclave still clinging to belief in rescue. Then he continued.

"You believe the Alliance can protect you. That it will answer your defiance with reinforcements, with fleets, with justice. But you misunderstand the nature of the thing you serve. The Alliance is not a government. It is a masquerade. A tattered flag draped over a failed order, peddling myths of liberty while sending its soldiers to die for nothing. Its leaders are cowards. Its senate, fractured and toothless. Its Jedi clinging to a ruined temple they supposedly abandoned years ago! They will not save you. They cannot."

"You speak of democracy as though it were salvation, but what has it given you? Broken promises. Divided leadership. Empty ballots and starving sectors. Crime and war. Endless war! The Alliance let entire systems burn for procedure's sake. Let planets fall because they could not agree on whose problem it was. And now they leave you here, in the rubble, to die behind symbols and sentiment."

He leaned forward, voice tightening like a blade drawn from a scabbard.

"There is no sanctuary in compromise. No peace in bureaucracy. You should not have to ask permission to act. You cannot beg for consensus while the galaxy burns. The Empire is here to bring you order. To bring justice. And if that order requires fire, then so be it."

The screen briefly flickered—then stabilized again on his shadowed visor, the reflection of flames dancing in the lenses.

"This is your final hour. Surrender Omega. Turn over the Jedi. Or be buried with them in the ashes of their lies. You want a free world? This is what it costs."

He gave no further command. The executions resumed.

Live. On the hour. Every hour.

Until the city broke.

Until the Temple was shattered.

Until the Alliance burned.

 

[Klar]

​

Khronas

Something had washed over the battlefield. As Khronas drank in deep, Klar circled hesitantly. In truth, the padawan had not killed a single person - Ashin Cardé Varanin 's power brushed over her and the blonde felt the impression of something mighty the way a rabbit might notice the shadow of a hawk slipping beneath her feet. But there came no claws, no screech, no blood and violence to pay off the passage of a predator. Perhaps if the ritual had really been directed, it might've conjured up some face the blonde had - by association and happenstance - managed to fatally harm through the butterfly effect. Perhaps grievously injuring a single Flesh Raider might have resulted in its death?

But the simple fact of the matter was that Klar wasn't the important in the grand scheme of things. The Force had barely heeded her call, and destiny wasn't about to start paying attention to her NOW.

Whatever it was that had happened, it certainly seemed to empower her foe. Khronas' blows ran down like a murderous metronome, each driving her backwards. Yielding ground kept her alive, but it was becoming very clear to Klar that she couldn't endure this punishment for long. He was too strong, too steady, and while she had more arms and thus more sabers to block? That only meant she had more ablative defense for him to power through. It was all she could do to try and cede distance in a way that didn't lead him towards the younglings, even if that meant finding her back against the wall.

Her best offensive efforts hadn't been enough to turn the tide. Her strongest defenses were barely holding on.

"Embrace your fate Jedi," he sneered, hammering home his attacks. "If the galaxy feels uncertain, if you are drifting masterless, seek the one real truth - that your destiny is already set. To deny it is to deny your reason for living."

"DIE!"

Klar felt her ankle tap against a solid wall. She was out of ground to retreat to. The next blow forced her to take a knee. The one after that knocked the saber out of her hand, her strength failing. She crossed her two remaining blades to hold the cascade of powerful attacks at bay. A sobering chill ran up her spine, the growing realization that there was an increasingly certain chance she'd die here. Khronas would not hesitate to kill her if he thought he could, or at least Klar couldn't think of a reason he wouldn't. And when he was done with her, he'd make his way through the younglings who hadn't managed to sneak away during their fight. And then he'd go kill somebody else - or accomplish whatever horrid deed he'd been down here to do.

The most galling thought of all? Maybe he was right. She'd spent her life being passed over, passed around, and sidelined. Maybe it WAS her destiny to die here in this hallway, having failed at the single thing in her life she'd set out to actually do. Perhaps she'd never been strong in the Force because it simply wasn't worth investing in her, in granting power to a net loss for the Galaxy.

"It's up to you what you want to believe in at the end of the day Klar. I won't try to put any ideas in your head. The Force could be callous and cruel. It might not be. What matters is what you think it is. You shouldn't...have to worry about what others think about it."

Nearly losing her sabers to the next couple of blows, Klar scrambled without dignity off to the side - scrabbling along the wall and struggling to her feet. She deflected one more blow before snapping her sabers together into a saberstaff, spinning it about her waist and torso to create some space as she found her balance again. The situation was dire. Her arms and shoulders ached, half of her weapons were scattered across the hallway, and her thigh hadn't stopped bleeding. She had yet to score a meaningful blow.

"We have a saying in Iridonian, 'Vorr'kath Zhen'- which means, strength from pain. It's the idea that the challenges we overcome today give us the strength to face tomorrow's."

But she was on her feet. She still had a weapon in her hand - and she'd managed to put Khronas' back to the pack of younglings. "If it's my destiny to die - are you supposed to do it?" Klar panted, her saberstaff spinning in a pair of elementary strikes. "Bold talk from somebody struggling with a single padawan." She added the jab with a cocky smirk that she absolutely didn't feel the confidence of, cartwheeling a pair of overhead strikes to keep his interest. "That must be why you're down here alone. You're like me: meaningless."

Jab. Showing weaknesses in her form. All a gambit to keep his eyes on her, to keep him focused on fighting her so the children could escape. Klar was beginning to realize she couldn't beat him - but could he afford to take his eyes off of her long enough to be cruel? Would her stabs at his pride drive him to pursue her deeper into the temple and away from her wards?