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

[Drystan Creed]

CORUSCANT: JEDI TEMPLE

Drystan's advance toward the three darksiders halted as an explosive arrow whistled past him. Backup—judging by the trajectory and the fact that it hadn't been aimed at him. He watched as two of the three immediately broke away to pursue the shot's origin. Allyson, it seemed, had company.

That just left him with the last one.

He rolled his neck, joints cracking as he loosened his shoulders.

"Yeah... let's make this quick. Too many to cut down, too little time." Drystan seemed more irritated than concerned by the explosion—like someone at a dance whose partner had just been stolen. He made a mental note to give Allyson some flak for that, should he run into her again.

His opponent ignited crimson blades—Jar'Kai by his estimation. He raised a brow, ready to analyze the stance and patterns, but before he could, a vision clouded his mind. That same man he had stomped into the floor appeared again—accompanied now by a squad of Imperial soldiers he had recently neutralized.

An illusion? It was from Ashin Cardé Varanin .

Drystan couldn't sense it coming from the man in front of him—this was something else, some outsider's influence.

Fortunately, he had a way of dealing with those. He turned to the fundamentals of sight for inspiration.

Vision, after all, is about perception. If you can't see something, it doesn't exist in your field of vision. So why, then, can't people see their own nose? It's always there, yet invisible to the conscious mind. This is due to a quirk of the brain—a phenomenon called unconscious selective attention. It filters out information deemed unnecessary, without one ever realizing it.

But Drystan had trained himself to control that very filter.

Through years of rigorous mental discipline, he had taught his mind to manually exclude stimuli—just like it excluded the nose. Now, he would apply that to the illusion. If it wasn't real, he would make his brain forget it existed.

The fog lifted.

Clarity returned—and with it, a new sensation swelled within him.

Drystan had always considered himself fearless, more than brave. But from Thurion Heavenshield 's inspiring power, he felt something different—something closer to courage. Not recklessness. Not bravado. Just a quiet, steady boldness that wasn't normally his.

Emotions were things he usually discarded—filtered out like noise. But this one?

This one felt usable. This one felt… good.

With a clear mind and brave heart, Drystan stepped forward and raised his saber, swinging upward in a probing strike. It wasn't meant to land—just to provoke a reaction. A block, a dodge—anything to force a shift in positioning.

He was already planning his next move.

EQUIPMENT IN BIO

ALLIES: Allyson Locke

ENEMIES: Tayiji Zaavik Perl Meliant

 

[Okuma Milogen]

Objective: Bounty - SPLIT assist in Braze defecting from the NJO
(Personal Objective: Infiltrate Jedi Archives)
Location: NJO Temple
Equipment: DH-17 Blaster Pistol, Ultrachrome Vibroblade, Rocket Boots, Cybernetic implants in Bio
Tags: Braze

It wasn’t surprising to Okuma to see that conflict was at the Jedi archives. It made sense to him as he viewed it as the most important and crucial part of the structure. Dwarfing everything else at the temple in significance. Noting the stolen credentials Okuma grabbed them from Braze. Even if he had been caught without them he wasn’t too worried about needing to actually fight off any opposition. “I appreciate the concern, Braze.”

“The winning side is where you and I are going to be once this is over. Because we’ve set our own conditions and goals.” Okuma replied to Braze as the two of them entered the restricted section of the archives. Now he just needs to collect data on Verida and he’ll be set and can get out of here.

“Thanks for the help. I don’t need you to keep acting as a tour guide for me. Go help your friends if you wanna keep convincing them you’re on their side. Just remember to meet up at the rendezvous.” At which point the Kage mercenary was going to need to make a choice on whether or not to take Braze with him to Verida, or capture the young Jedi and complete his contract.

​

​

​

 

[Vaegon Dolmyrian]

Objective: King of the Hill
Coruscant
Vera Noble | Rannan Kol

​

The Jedi Master passed beneath the fractured archway that led to Vera's quarters, his boots silent on scorched stone. The air hung heavy, the presence of the dark side of the force filling the temple was almost suffocating. Vaegon felt it before he saw it, her fear, sharp and rising, a storm barely restrained. Vera was in mental distress. Her thoughts were scattered, her presence in the Force unraveling at the edges. But more than that, he felt the pressure. The presence. A strong presence in the dark side, deep and cold.

He ignited his lightsaber with a low, humming snap-hiss, the icy blue blade casting pale light over the chamber. He could feel it now, fully the Dark Sider assailing her, across the chamber, standing just beyond a barrier of flame that pulsed like a living wall between predator and prey.

Vera's arms trembled. Her knees buckled under the weight of whatever had just transpired.

Vaegon stepped forward, voice like steel.

"Pick on someone your own size," he said, eyes narrowing on Rannan.

Vaegon advanced without haste, every motion measured with the cold discipline of a practiced duelist. His stance narrowed, spine aligned, shoulders rotating just enough to draw power through precision rather than force. His weight settled, centered, grounded in purpose. With a sharp exhale that cut through the tension air, he stepped forward and delivered a single, fluid thrust, Makashi distilled to its most elegant cruelty. The icy blue tip of his saber drove forward in a faultless line, not toward the heart, but the vulnerable joint at Rannan's leading arm. A strike not meant to slay, but to incapacitate swiftly, surgically, and absolutely.

 

[Sahar]

​

Fething rodent.

Her punch missed, landing in thin air as the first of the two Jedi rolled under her, slipping a sly slash at her calf as he moved past. She sidestepped and brought her saber up just in time to catch the first of many blows from the Mirialan Jedi, heavy in her strikes, she brought her own saber up and slammed it with full force at the lady, pushing forward with offence of her own. Offence was the best form of defence, that's what she was taught and that's what she knew intimately.


Imbued by the dark side, it's ebb and flow coursing through her veins as she traded blows and strikes against the Jedi. Hate was all she carried within, pure unadulterated hatred, for everything living and breathing in her way. She'd get that rodent after, their kind always screamed the loudest when hooked up to a power generator.

The Jedi's battle meditation knocked her off balance, she stopped momentarily, gripped her head and shrieking in agony as her head began to pound and feel like it would explode any minute. Sahar punched the wall to make the pain go away, anything to make it stop.


"GeT-out... of my HEAD."

She turned her attention to the Jedi in front of her, bringing her lightsaber to full power. She stepped forward and feigned a strike before aiming with overhead blows. Her vision clouded by the battle meditation, she saw things that weren't there, memories of a buried past. She gritted her teeth in agony and swung the lightsaber at the woman's stomach, fighting the blindness of the battle meditation and the light side.

Ran Serys Ren Darth Solipsis ​

 

[Aldo Garrick]

​

J A ' A K
"I am free"


Resurrection-Class Battlecruiser "The Prophet"
Former Flagship of Darth Caelitus (Halketh)
Tags: Remus Adair | SCAR | Zethran Cott | Thomas Barran | Amelia von Sorenn | Gym Halpern | Mykel Dawson




​

The flickering blue image of Remus stood before him, distorted slightly by the static interference of the battle. The air aboard the Prophet was silent, save for the distant groaning of the ship's lumbering hull, and the soft, unnatural wheeze of Garrick's breath. His hand hovered just above the tactical display, its glow casting a ghoulish light across his death-paled face. Milky, dead eyes stared out unblinking, then came his voice rough as dry rot, dragged from lungs that had no right to still function.

"We will move."

The crew near him tensed.

"My flanks will break from the cruciform. The Last Rite and Weeping Blade will push toward your grouping. You will have the corridor you need to advance, the remaining fleet will begin encirclement."

His voice wheezed, the sound like cloth tearing over rusted metal. A long pause. The bridge crew watched him with a mix of morbid reverence and fear. Garrick turned his head slightly, something akin to a smirk cracking his desiccated lips, his gaunt face haunting in it's entirety.

"We hold the line."

A hiss of static followed, Garrick had cut the feed as the Prophet moved with haunting silence, its engines burning like the eyes of their dreaded Dark Side Elite. Across the void, TIE squadrons screamed into formation, and the Imperial-III Star Destroyers of Garrick's line peeled away preparing to skewer the flank just as Remus had demanded.

"Charge the auto-cannons and prepare to fire long distance volley upon their refugee fleet. That will garner their attention, I'd wager."

And in the undercurrent of it all… the dead Admiral waited.

"I want them to be face to face."

 

[Meliant]

New Jedi Temple - Coruscant​

Objective: Kill Drystan Creed!

Meliant lurched for his foe and met him halfway, bring both his sabers together and catching that probing strike. Their sabers locked, hissing and spitting with mutual malice, and he pushed into Creed's guard.​

​

"I saw your fight in the kaggath, Creed," Meliant hissed over the sounds of battle, and the low murmurs coming from the phantom stormtroopers lingering at the edges of his vision. "I'll make you wish those mongrel pretenders had given you a true death!"​

​

It had not been so noticeable before over the miasma of the raging battle, but now - this close - the Dark Side Elite's presence in the Force bore down on Dyrstan. Perhaps it was not so much a presence as it was a wound: a dark and gnawing hunger, drawing in the currents of the Force like a drain. Even after all the deaths in this place, it hungered, and now it could be felt sinking its invisible fangs into Drystan.​

​

The lamprey had found itself a proper shark.​

​

Let the feast begin.​

Zaavik Perl Tayiji Drystan Creed Allyson Locke​

 

[DT-1966]

​

Coruscant – Upper Levels
Drop Pod Deployment – Comm Silence Active
Death Trooper Squad "Vanta Six"
Operatives: Sid Berik , DT-1966 , DT-7747 , @others



He stepped from the shadows as the team converged, briefly catching against a low-hanging conduit before falling back into his silhouette. His E-11D swept left, right, no movement. Then came the crack of Sergeant Berik slamming into the line, bodies breaking like wet twigs. A slow exhale of static, then silence before his rifle ticks upward in a single sweep. His voice cut through the silence like a serrated blade.

"S̵̐͜y̷͙͝ṉ̸͠c̷͍͒ c̷̞͠o̵̼͝n̶͕͌f̴̙͐i̶̼͋r̷̦̿m̵͇͘è̴̳d̷̨̚. Ṯ̸͋ä̴͈́r̵̼͑g̴̘͠e̶̳̓t̸̫̽ ̸̳͝z̸͇̽ë̵̦́r̸̳̊o̷̍ n̶̰͂e̵͕͛ư̴̳t̷͘͜r̴̼͌a̴̦̚l̷̡͋i̴̯̓z̸̻̍ing"

A sudden storm of violence came into full view, the enemy had found them or more likely, they had found the enemy. It had only been a matter of time, the closer they approached their objective the more intense concentration of hostiles they were likely to run into. Their was no panic, no hesitation in his movements as he began firing in surgical fashion. From one to another in quick succession. He advanced with grace, motioning with two fingers and a tilt of his head, a classic killbox collapse. He paused just long enough to drop a sonic scrambler beacon behind them. Anti-sensor tech. Five meters, five seconds of silence in every direction.

"V̶͓̍a̵̼͂n̴͔͝t̷̘͗a̷̐-S̵͌i̶̬͗x̸͍́,̷̡͘ s̴̛͖ẁ̶͎e̶̢͛e̶̤̋ping."

Body dropped to a crouch, rifle swept to shoulder. Quick aim, pure instinct.

Click. Tag. Fire. Move.

His eyes faded, groggy. Like a headlights from a speeder flashing directly on him, he suddenly felt a storm of memory and phantom light. The intrustion of dead memories, and the subsequent images of Jedi illusions. He'd seen them before. On Cademimu, on Tython, here on Coruscant. Blood pounded in his ears, voice layered in static.

"C̶̖̑o̵̢͝n̴̳̈́t̸͔̋ä̶͚́c̵t̶͔͊s̶̥̉ m̷̲̚ú̸͔l̴̩͗t̷̖̚ĭ̷͍ṕ̵̻l̴̙̔e̸̤̎ nö̷̻́ ḧ̸̘e̷̟͗a̸̹̽t r̸͎̎ë̴̝́a̷̱̒d̷̫̓s."

Then, as Sid surged forward like an avatar of fury, tearing illusions and flesh with equal violence, 1966 keyed a tightbeam whisper to him alone.

"Ḡ̵͎h̶̰̀o̵̬͌s̷̟͘t̵̙́s̷̞̕… s̶̰̕e̴͖̐e̶̜̔ǹ̷̝… t̴͎̅o̶̱̓ó̶̙ m̷͈͠a̵̱̓n̴͖̍y̷̪̕. D̵͇̈́e̵̤͗a̵̤̔d̷̗̎ m̶̤͑e̸̟̍n̷͇͋… a̵̙̚g̷̩̑a̴̖͂ȋ̴̟ń̷̘."

He passed Sid, eyes unreadable behind black duraplast. Flickers. Faces.

They looked at him. He killed them. He knew.

Flash - Sullustan officer, Tython, 900 ABY.
Flash - Jedi youngling, Coruscant 900ABY, hands up.
Flash - Cademimu V, Remnant Stormtrooper, helmet off dying breath, 902ABY.
Flash - Alliance Ranger screaming, bleeding, still alive. 902ABY.

No. Not real.

Couldn't be.

A beat of silence. A small moment of panic.

He ripped the trigger, plasma scorched the air, nothing fell. Again, nothing. Once more, he pulled the trigger.

This time something screamed. Something real?

"V̶͓̍a̵̼͂n̴͔͝t̷̘͗a̷̘̐-̸̜͗S̵͖͌i̶̬͗x̸́ i̵̻͠f̷̮̅ i̶̟͂t̶͍͗ ̵̼́s̸̰̔h̷̻͐i̷̠͋n̴͓̈́e̵s̴͔̈́,̸̤̿ ̶͓̓i̶̲̔t̷̅͜ ̷͈̾d̸͖̋i̶͔̽e̴̢͗s̶͔̆."

He felt the suppressed emotions kept at bay surge. A predator instinct, a survivors instinct. He knew his eyes could not be trusted, but his team, that was all he knew. He'd been through hell, while his heart beat out of his chest and eyes his deceived him, he fell back on all he knew.

His team.

And with that, 1966 surged past the illusions, down toward the junction, fighting ghosts with iron and hate. While shooting at anything that moved other than his brothers. If that meant civilians... so be it. It was him or them. They would get that shield down, they would get off this hell, if it was the last thing he did.

"THE SENATE IS GONE. THE AGE OF WEAKNESS IS OVER."

"SURRENDER YOUR WEAPONS. ABANDON YOUR IDOLS."

Images of Darth Solipsis and Shannic Wulf appeared across large projector screens throughout the area.

"THE ALLIANCE SYSTEMS WILL BE REORGANIZED INTO A NEW.. GALACTIC EMPIRE!!"

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

A speech live, but it was just a drop in the pool. Nothing 1966 would pay mind to as his eyes played tricks on him. He had to get his team to the objective, the mission was all that mattered and every minute that passed eroded that mission. Survival. The mission.

Screams.

Was that a civilian?

 

[CT-312]

//: Koda Fett Zark San Tekka Quinn Varanin Mercy Braze Tobi Sharpe //:
//: Jedi Temple, Coruscant //:
//: Attire //:
//: WEARING: GAHA-32 Lionheart Commando Armor//:
//: EQUIPMENT: GABB-15 Talon II | GSIA-83 Stinger | AT-SB10 Scatterblaster | AT-SH4 Holdout Blaster //:
//: DROID: AT-XV BATTLE DROID - AT-XV/i (GREY) - CRESH PATTERN //:
//: ADDITIONAL EQUIPMENT: Taozin amulet | 1 x Arrow head of Absence //:
//: 2x Ion Grenade | 2x Flash Grenade | 2x Incendiary Grenade | 2x Smoke Grenade //:
//: Objective 1: KING OF THE HILL //:​

Ashe tracked Koda Fett’s motion through the haze. Ducking under the second floor, taking cover between the rows of fractured datashelves. They were separated. Him and the Splicer. THUD. The battle droid adjusted its body’s position, weapon's barrels red hot changed as its focus was now on the Splicer’s location.

A blur of a movement caught Ashe’s attention as Q surged forward. Leaping down after Koda Fett. Flames spewed towards Q as she dove in after the Bounty Hunter. CT-312’s breath caught. She had never seen the Princess fight before. Assigned to her for protection, yes. Witness her wit, poise, and sharp tongue. But never this. Whatever Q did, a burst of electrical energy detonated across the rubble below. Striking with precision and landing like it was nothing.

The AT-XV battle droid’s cannons stilled. Smoke curling from the barrels. In the lull, the destruction became clearer as the plume of dust cleared began to clear up. Broken marble littered the ground, half collapsed archives and beneath it. The Splicer. A pair of legs protruding from the pile of rubble. Gone.

[Target: Female // Status: Neutralized]

There were more bounty hunters below in the data archives. Another familiar face. One particular, larger than life. Mercy . A heavy hitter. A very powerful heavy hitter. Force user. Materializing near Koda. Her fist slamming into the floor. Destroying the foundation as if it was as easy as punching a pillow. The ground cracked as a shockwave tore outward.

Sliding back a full meter. Ashe’s boots scraping against the marble floor as her HUD flickered with impact alerts. The battle droid remained held still. Unfazed.

"Gotdamn it, I thought we were all on the same side!"

An unknown variable shouting from down below. Armed and loud. A cowboy. Ashe froze. Her grip on the rifle tightened. She couldn’t jump into that chaos. Everything about this situation was not ideal. Q was down there by herself.

Useless.

Ashe… No– CT-312 had never felt more absolutely useless in her god damn pathetic existence of a life. She was engineered to fight. Trained to adapt. Had always done something. Always acted. She was always able to keep moving. But now. CT-312 stood above, watching. It gutted her. Her current equipment wasn’t helpful. The loadout she had during the Kaggath Tournament would’ve sufficed.

She couldn’t do a god damn thing, relying on the battle droid. The Bounty Hunter Mando and one of the power houses of Force Users from the Kaggath. Plus the unknown variable of the cowboy. Jumping down is a pointless death. Her jaw clenched tightly. ‘Useless.’ Echoed in her mind. Frustration and rage aimed towards herself. Guilt.

A comm click snapped her back. “This is Ashe. Requesting reinforcements." CT-312’s voice came out flat. Mechanical and cold. “I repeat. Requesting reinforcements at the Temple. Need three more AT-XV battle Droids. I repeat– three more.”

[“Affirmative. deployment en route”]

Knowing these droids wouldn’t be enough. They wouldn’t kill Force users like Mercy or skilled hunters like Koda. But they could buy time. Click. CT-312 snapped her rifle up. There was motion at the end of the corridor. A child. Peeking from a side room, eyes wide. Right. ‘Primary objective.’ The civilians. Her head turned back to look down for Q. Torn.

A bolt blaster slammed into CT-312’s back. Staggering her forward. Her teeth gritted. The child vanished. Another shot rang out. Hitting once more. The armor plating held. The Scout caught herself again.

CT-312 glanced down toward the battlefield. Towards Q. A Sith Lord. She’ll survive. CT-312 had to believe that. She wasn’t her escort anymore. It wasn’t her assignment. But… the Princess saved her life. After the Kaggath. Indebted. Utterly. Useless. CT-312 never hated herself more in that moment. Another bolt blast shot at CT-312’s back. A low growl could be heard emitting from her vocoder.

Thud. [Threats detected] Thud. The battle droid pivoted, facing behind. A squad of five of the Galactic Empire Imperial forces came up on the second floor. The ones shooting at her. CT-312 turned to face the incoming intruders. Another bolt scorched her shoulder. Stinging pain engulfed her body. She blinked. Was she hallucinating again? Ghosts appeared around her. Just like in the tournament with the incendiary grenade. “Ha.” a ragged exhale in her vocoder. Fire consuming everything. Phantoms. “Of course.” The dead… Another shot connected to her armor, sending another wave of stinging ripples of pain. “Fletchette them.” CT-312 said, voice dead. [ Targets Acquired ] THUD.

THUD. The droid’s FA-3 flechette launcher aimed towards the squad of five. BOOM. Shards of spinning tiny bits of metal blasted out. Ricocheting off of the marble surface. Slicing through the hallway like a meat grinder. The imperial squad dropped. Limp and unrecognizable.

More ghosts appeared. ‘Ah…’ Whatever this was… it was a reminder. ‘Ha.’ Suddenly, a flash of artificial sunlight seemingly coming out of nowhere caused the ghosts and phantoms to disappear.

CT-312’s attention was brought back to the bounty hunters below. A yellow saber spun through the air. Hurling toward whatever nightmare had latched onto the dataport. She couldn’t risk the battle droid barrage misfiring into Q. Not being able to focus on Koda or Mercy. Needing something simpler. Her vision swept the battlefield below. ”The cowboy pirate.” CT-312 said sharply. “In the archives.” Her rifle aimed. “Light him up.” ( Tobi Sharpe ) THUD. Once more the air cackled with energy and a slight– Whrr. THUD. [Executing] the mechanical monstrosity repositioned itself closer. Re-aiming, canons pivoting down.

Another hellstorm of barrages from blaster canons and concussion rifles tore once more through the archive floor below. Chewing through the marble and databanks in Tobi’s direction. A 16 foot kill radius centered towards the loudmouth in the hat. If he was hiding. He wouldn’t be for long.

CT-312’s HUD flared. A figure entered the second floor. Wearing white robes with red hair. Holding a silver spear. Her gun pointed in the direction. They didn’t look like the Galactic Empire. CT-312 called out, signaling to the incoming figure. "Laying down suppressive fire." ( Alexandra Feanor ) Remembering briefly seeing a child. "There's civilians at the end of this corridor. Need help getting them out."

 

[Veno]

Being among one silent deathtrooper was, at best, a slightly bothersome thing. It left their journey quiet, awkward, and with Veno rambling nonsensically about nothing in particular while simultaneously covering everything. Even things that may have been specifically for those in-the-know, of which Veno was very much in; a top ISB assassin, regardless of that blabbering mouth, came to know many and more about the internal machinations. Though now, regrouping with the rest of the deathtrooper squadron was proving to be annoying - each of them spoke in these worbling codes with Veno only grasping every other word, following along like the dutiful little soldier in the shadow of these freakish brutes.

Yet, with the fighting beginning, maybe some killing could soothe his soul.

Veno unslung the blaster rifle over his shoulder, sinking low into a crouching kneel. In an instant, the tibanna gas bolts steamed and slammed into the Alliance soldiers. The searing wounds came from a snap-lock aim, almost droid-like in the manner that Veno switched from target to target. Some soldiers managed to sink close, closer than the scoped sniper was optimal for, and for that a swift pull on his blaster pistol watched them fall all the same. Though, sometimes, the bolts passed through them. He fired once, twice, three times and someone that should have fallen dead remained on their feet, standing, unmoving.

Only then did Veno notice things had quietened to some degree. Quieter, at the very least. Partly due to all the newly-made dead people, of course. The shots stopped coming. He stood up. Beneath that helmet, mask he wore, his face twisted and contorted with a look of unimaginable stupidity amid all his confusion. It took a second, maybe two, but it clicked in the end.

"Oh," his voice was soft with a building volume at the acknowledgement of his amassed graveyard. "This sucks. I remember him, and him, and her, and him, and her. He was my favourite. I cannot, for the life of me, remember him. Or him. But these people are dead!"

He turned to the deathtroopers, thumbing over his shoulder, "Do you see this chit? I hate the Force. These wizards can go to Hell," he started, though caught himself convinced he was permanently on thin-ice with everyone in authority, "But don't tell Solipsis I said that."

One of them was standing over their own dead body, "Look! This is the same guy! Pfft, whatever."

The makings of an assassin was hardly what made someone sane.

DT-7747 - DT-1966 - Sid Berik

 

[Da'Razel]

GALACTIC SENATE - CORUSCANT​

Tag - Direct: Kain Aldore
Tag - Indirect: Darth Solipsis | Shannic Wulf | Sahar | Ren | Ran Serys
Equipment: Bōchōr | The Vow of Saud | The Helm of the One-Eyed Prophet

He had never known why his fate had been cast to the flames.
Of the endless gifts the Force could bestow, few were baptized by fire, like he was.

The grand chapel father had never offered an answer. Nor had the excommunicated Sith Knights. Nor the scarred veterans of the Maw he'd met along his pilgrimage.
Some saw it as a blessing from the Avatar. Others, a strange mutation. An anomaly. An omen.

Blind religious fervor, and the wide-eyed reflection of cinders. That was all he had ever known.
But he trusted the kindling. He respected it.

They had been his teachers. Every burn scar, a lesson carved in flesh.
They were his companions, incinerating his opposition in the dark, or setting battlefields ablaze. The pyre fought beside him.
They were his kin. They cradled him with their warmth. Shielded him from pain others delivered.

He could control them, bend infernos with a mere thought, or will a lash of molten light.
But the firestorm controlled him just the same. It ignited his fury. Branded his grief. Boiled his mercy into vapor.
He was the flame, as much as the flame was him.
And now, that fire stirred again.

The Devaronian stepped forth from the shadows. The vertical slit of his visor aimed like an arrow loosed from a taut string, locked onto the figure before him.
A scrawny human male. Tussled hazel curls. Threadbare clothes that bore no sigil, no banner, no alignment. Just a cheeky, hardened face, carved by a life of struggle.
Da’Razel’s ironclad gaze lingered.

His instincts, honed over decades, though untested by true war, sensed nothing at first. Just a boy. Just another wayward soul.
Yes, he held a lightsaber, but that alone did not elevate him.

And yet…
The longer Da’Razel stared, the deeper he seared through flesh and posture. Past heartbeat. Past soul.
There. At the edge. He was staring at an abyss.
And from that abyss… the child could draw.

It wasn’t power now, not yet, but it could be. One day
The boy was dangerous, not for what he was, but for what he could become. What he might become.
It was ordained. The true purpose behind the command his god had impressed upon him without word.

This child was a knot in prophecy. A loose strand. A stroke to be corrected.
And it was Da’Razel’s task to sever that thread before it could ever be tied.
Before it could ever threaten the tapestry his Lordship had begun to weave.

With the deliberate cracking of muscle and bone, his golden helmet slid back into its upright place.
The boy spoke. But the words had no meaning.

The senate is gone.
No one shall interfere.

“Buuuuuuuuuuuuurn,” he hissed, his voice mechanically distorted, warped by rage.

Da’Razel stoked the pyre, his left arm rising from beneath his tunic to reveal the device strapped to his forearm.
A contraption. A gauntlet. A coil of twisted, crackling amber plasma snaked around his arm like an infernal serpent of hellfire.

And from one moment to the next, like a depressurized chamber tearing itself open to the vacuum of space, the room was consumed.
The very air ignited.
Particles erupted into combustion, and a maelstrom of energy burst forth, folding outward again and again, like unwrapping origami.

A crashing wave of fire lashed forward, flooding the once starlit chamber in a blinding light of white flickering radiance.
Like a galloping line of cavalry, an inferno charging forward, to roll over and crash the lone man under their melting stampeded until he was nothing but broken coal and ash.

 

[Alexandra Feanor]

New Jedi Temple
Enroute to Archives, Diverting to evac civilians + deal with Imps

Equipment -
Robes
Spear
Sabers
​

---

Alexandra did not pause as she moved, as she ran into small squads of soldiers that had made it in and past the Jedi defending their home. She knew well these soldiers were simply doing their job, but their job stood in opposition to her own goals. Even now as Ashin's influence fell over her she would find her gaze drifting while she walked. Her hands felt slick, blood that fell from their tips while her white robes now were stained a deep crimson.

Old Friends... trusted and close companions... some faces she recognized well.

She wished she could say she remembered them all though, as there were many faces, some that lay over the faces and masks of the Imperial Soldiers infront of her.

"Ah... so this is what has been chosen." She knew well this kind of manipulation. Less personal than when she had left the Sith, less tormenting than her time in the Otherworld when she had died or during the arrival of that being in their Galaxy.

"Unfair." She closed her eyes, and leaned into the memories. Leaned into letting her body move and with a dance like grace she crossed the space between her and the soldiers. Her robes flowing like water as the spear sang, the metal reflecting the light of the blaster bolts that flew past her as she moved. The sight of their faces, all without her eyes closed, fresh in her mind and without emotion she cut through each of the troopers.

Her arms felt heavy with each strike, and the slick feeling of blood falling from her hands only leaving her to feel as though her grip on the spear would falter.

But it didn't and as she breathed in and her eyes opened, she looked down at the bodies of those she knew well. She had killed them again, had cut down those that had once been her allies and that she had known in her growth as a Sith under Carnifex. It was so familiar, the taste of coppery blood on her tongue, her gaze going down and touching her cheek only to notice one of the soldier's blood had gotten on her.

Should she stop, spare these soldiers who bare the faces of people she had long killed and left for dead on a battlefield far from here?

She was uncertain, even now as she looked down at their bodies and even now as the smudged blood felt fresh on her skin. Perhaps she should lean into these feelings, to lean into the deaths of those around her and to dwell on them. She had long thought about those things and with that thought of death on her mind she found her breath stopping. A singular face on her mind and it was the death of someone she had felt responsible for simply by not being there when it happened.

Eyes she loved, a woman who she cared so deeply for. She had been away when the woman had died, the one she shared so much love over the plants of her home. A woman who was as much a mother to the children Alexandra had carried as herself.

And the sight of her only brought a deep sorrow to Alexandra. An instinctive anger at herself and at those responsible for that death. A rage that she had long kept subdued even now while she stood there, the cold expression on her face becoming all the more distant. It was only when a blaster bolt struck her shoulder that she turned her gaze forward once more.

Before her was the faces of individuals she had once more remembered killing.

Faces of people she had lain to rest with her own hands once more standing before her with weapons raised. They were shouting something, demanding her to surrender? Or maybe they were trying to gauge if she was even an enemy or their ally?

She did not need to ask the same questions. Instead she would focus on the rage, the anger, the sorrow, and the disgust for herself. She focused on these feelings, and rather than deny them she accepted them. She accepted that she was the one who killed all these people she knew in the past.

And she accepted that she had failed in protecting the one she cherished so deeply. That she had not been there for Yasha's final moments when she should have been.

It was with that clarity, that certainty that for a short time cleared her vision. Before her the same imperial soldiers that she had slaughtered; or rather, another squad responding to the blaster fire from before. They were shouting at her, ordering her to surrender still but rather than do that she carefully raised her hand before gripping at the throat of the closest one.

It wasn't slow, she simply squeezed through the force and a crack echoed through the hall. The renewed sound of blaster fire sounding and another flash of red and silver as she moved. Once more like a dance, she would cut through them and bury the head of the spear in the chest of the one giving orders. Her hand reaching out and the clawed fingers raking over and rending flesh from the next.

There was no hesitation in her killing this next squad, pushing through them and out into the next corridor. She left them unceremoniously in the hall, her hand wiping the blood onto her own robes and the spear being cleaned in the same manner.

It was when she entered this portion that she heard the voice, looking up towards CT-312 . She was uncertain if they were truly an ally, but the notice of the civilians, of the Padawans who should not be here made her nod. She had nothing to say to CT, and did not wish to dwell on if they were an ally. She also knew the false images could return at any time, the sight of those she had killed before and if they did it would make it harder to ensure the safety of the civilians or atleast to lead them to safety.

All the while, she would hear the beeping of her comm device at her waist, hearing the announcement from Domaric Mordane . The words were like poison in her ears, and her gaze turning to the windows she had been walking along. It was far, but she could see what she believed to be the very platforms that were acting as a example for others.

"Yes, I know. Them first." She would state, at first to seemingly no one before the small form of a fox like creature crawled its way out of the neckline of her robes. She looked at it, the white fur almost like snow as she turned her gaze back on the Civilians.

She would only give CT a quick look and nod as acknowledgement before changing her goals.

With swift feet she moved through the Corridor, putting out of her mind the blaster fire that was being unleashed on Tobi thanks to the droid under the command of CT-312. She reached those padawans and civilians in short order, falling in and collapsing the spear she had been using. It would hang from her side soon after, and instead a saber dropped from her sleeve and into her hand.

It was far easier to protect people with that weapon, as the spear was used for killing in comparison. The silver glow of her saber's blade illuminating the floor and air around them, the color a welcome sight for those who had been seeking shelter.

"Come, we will get you to safety." She told them, leading them in the direction she had come from. She already knew that direction was safe, and she knew there would be a way to get them out of the temple in that direction as well. A path that was not a secret, but would be far less likely to have fighting or even troops stationed there.

After all, who enjoyed moving through maintenance and sewage tunnels.

That was assuming no one got in her way, and if no one did, then she would have her next target in sight soon enough as she remembered Mordane's message, and where that platform had been seen.

 

[Braze]

TAGS:
[Post Order]​

Koda Fett | Mercy | Tobi Sharpe | CT-312 | Alexandra Feanor | Quinn Varanin | Braze | Zark San Tekka

TAGS:
Intruders: Velis Arden | Koda Fett | Tobi Sharpe | Mercy | Okuma Milogen |
GA: Zark San Tekka | CT-312 | Quinn Varanin | Alexandra Feanor

Assisting: Okuma Milogen
Hostile: Zark San Tekka | CT-312 | Quinn Varanin
Open to being targeted by GE & GA


​

◆ Battle Summary Note – Jedi Archives (Play-by-Play)

Handler let go of leash.
Don't look so good For Tobi.
Red headed lady showed up.
CT-312 requested droid back up.

​

[1][2][3][4][5][6][7][8][9][10][11][12][13][14][15][16][17][18][19][20][21][22][23][24][25][26][27]

​

Protocol Obedience:
"Loyalty buried in ash."

ID: SHADOW DIRECTIVE: ASSET-773
Cover Identity: Azure Phoenix
Status: Active
Comm: <<encrypted feed>> | ~~silent protocol enabled~~
Forged / Stolen Credentials: Jasper Kai'el | Nos Voros | Bernard
Objective/s: Execute hidden directive [Betrayal] ;

Ensure breach from within and assist Handler to secure Data from the Archives.;
Maintain cover.
Infiltrate & sabotage from within the Jedi Temple.
Leave no trace.
Location: Jedi Archives, Jedi Temple, Coruscant (#1 King of the Hill)

​

It wasn't surprising to Okuma to see that conflict was at the Jedi archives. It made sense to him as he viewed it as the most important and crucial part of the structure. Dwarfing everything else at the temple in significance. Noting the stolen credentials Okuma grabbed them from Braze. Even if he had been caught without them he wasn't too worried about needing to actually fight off any opposition. "I appreciate the concern, Braze."

"The winning side is where you and I are going to be once this is over. Because we've set our own conditions and goals." Okuma replied to Braze as the two of them entered the restricted section of the archives. Now he just needs to collect data on Verida and he'll be set and can get out of here.

"Thanks for the help. I don't need you to keep acting as a tour guide for me. Go help your friends if you wanna keep convincing them you're on their side. Just remember to meet up at the rendezvous." At which point the Kage mercenary was going to need to make a choice on whether or not to take Braze with him to Verida, or capture the young Jedi and complete his contract.

Help his friends? Braze didn't need further prompting from his handler.

He darted forward, stepping through the ghosts of those he'd slain before, phantoms of vile Sith cut down once again with practiced ease. His golden training saber moved with fluid economy, no wasted motion, and no further hesitation. He recognized them for what they were: memories, echoes of the past. And he cut them down again without mercy, for the undead only deserved to be put to rest.

He slid to a halt near the entryway, just behind where the little ones had been holding the line, deflecting several stray bolts meant to pierce the heart of the archive's upper reaches. This space almost certainly led back toward one of the hidden passages and escape routes on the second floor.

Below, the commotion raged, but from his vantage, high and tucked deep into the back of the archives, he remained mostly unnoticed. That would suffice. He had no desire to witness the blood of younglings spilled in the crossfire.

So he stood his ground taking a defensive position.

With a fierce flick of his wrist, Braze activated a second saber. This one came to life in a cascade of sparks, the blade black as night, flaring with little firework-like bursts of color that danced along its edge.

What followed was a dazzling display, an improvised but masterful adaptation of Jar'Kai, blending the sweeping deflections of Soresu, the bold counterstrikes of Shien & Djem So, and the unmistakable intensity of Braze's saber skill himself. One hand wielded the golden staff-style training saber; the other, the sparking black blade. Together, they wove a barrier of light and fury, as the temple guard stood sentinel between the chaos of battle and the innocents he refused to let fall.

Okuma Milogen had been briefly forgotten, left to his devious task of gathering whatever information he so desperately sought. Still patched into their communications network, he could relay updates or alter plans at a moment's notice. Braze intended to take full advantage of this small taste of freedom as a fresh wave of enemies surged into the archives, emboldened by some fleeting sense of bravado.

He had allowed Alexandra Feanor to pass him, watching as she vanished into the hidden passage with the younglings in tow, her silver blade a final glimmer before the door sealed shut.

Once they were gone, Braze leapt down, right into the fray.

The next group of intruders announced themselves with a sudden violent volley of suppressive blaster fire. However, Braze met them with terrifying speed and an almost surgical precision, as though the very concept of this overwhelming 'weakness' had been trained out of him. His dual sabers blurred around him in a dazzling display of colorful arcs gilded in gold and shadow, as light and motion fused into a deadly dance. He struck head-on, dismantling the front line before they could react.

Then came the heavy gunners, positioned to force him into the open, to pin him down. But their strategy unraveled in an instant.

A surge of vibrant energy flared to life around Braze as the heavy bolts struck their mark, doing little to slow him down. There was a vibrant light flaring to life as he met the heavy blaster fire, his form ignited in a halo of hyper-oxygenated blue flame, as though he were converting raw energy into heat, speed, and power. The fire wreathed his entire frame, flickering with brilliant fiery defiance, casting shadows across the archive walls.

He descended on them with relentless abandon, as his fiery and resplendent figure pressed them back from the entry.
War never changed… Not for the Jedi...Not for the younglings.... Not even for those who dared to hope they could walk away from the blood and make something better.

The faces changed, but bore new helmets, new banners, and new speeches shouted over the roar of starships and flame. The song of battle remained the same. Screaming cries of the wounded and seemingly endless blaster fire. Ash filling his lungs as ghosts both old and new taunted him from within the smoke.

War was a beast of a thousand heads, and no matter how many you severed, it always returned… wearing a face you once trusted.

◆ Equipment Loadout

◆ Head & Neck
• Lightveil Circlet
• Iroai Amulate

◆ Outerwear
• Phantom Mist Projector

◆ Arm Equipment
• Right Arm: Saber-Claws Gauntlet
• Left Arm: Saberbreaker Gauntlet

◆ Armor (Integrated)
• Light Armor
• Boots
• Gauntlets
• Mask/Helm Mask/Helm

◆ Belt
• FFS Utility Belt

◆ Weapons
• Mysterious Lightsaber
• G.O.O. Gun
• Training Lightsaber
• Utility Knife
• E.G.G.S. x10
• Thermal Detonator (Class-A) x5

◆ Left Hand Accessories
• Compass Ring
• BCA - Solid State Hologram Tool Band

◆ Medical & Consumables
• FSP - Besh (Force Suppression Drug)
• Trauma Spray
• Aspha Serum
• Reanimation Serum Aurek
• Bota M9-A2 (Berries)
• 5 lbs Bag of Thermite
• Vixen's Vault

◆ Companion
• Gidgit

◆ Starships
• Ashwing - Starfighter
• Phantomray Stealth Assault Interceptor
  ↳ Fitted with: Werlaara Stealth Suite

 

[Corin Kaze]

Coruscant was on fire. It was not the first time, and neither was it to be the last.

He could have joined the fight, battled the Imperials. Even staved some of them off. Corin had his own job here now instead. In the halls of the Jedi Temple, as it crumbled with debris marked with tibanna scores and marble-made-mist, he did not see his home. He lived here, once, and for years. Denon, then, was a place of the past and Coruscant had become his place. His friends, rivals, teachers were all here. It was a place that seemed so full of laughs, all those smiles and smirks that came with the verbal jabs. He stepped over a dead Padawan now, their lightsaber in their unfurled palm, and knew that the time of all that had seen a nail placed in the coffin.

People would die, people would fight. It would continue on forever, endless, unending. He wondered what the point was, if there was one, and if more could be done as he paced down the quiet halls with the distant remnants of battle to serve as echoes. He wanted to fight the Sith, the Imperials, and it was his purpose. He remembered on Tython when the Sword of the Jedi died to Darth Solipsis, the end of Darth Solipsis that came later, and with one loss there was something, a thing, to be gained. Peace, but it was short-lived. A candle with a dying light, as if it was eager to die.

Dagon was lost to him, so was Jem. Even Yula, wherever she was, was more or less gone. If he believed in a higher power, he ought to have prayed that Yula was safe and well. His friends were dead, missing, suffered fates of some similar manner. Iris was his tether and he felt himself a burden to her. She was not here, at least, and for that Corin was thankful. He would take her with him, if he could, but even she was dying and required constant medical care. To wander the far reaches of space was not her life, it seemed.

He tried to maintain his composure, his focus, but the pulls of each attempt at battle meditation toyed with him. He could see specters of soldiers, doubles and mimics in the halls. His eyes could peer through them, but it warned of a dire situation. He travelled through, still, and in time faces become more familiar. He saw the dead, the true ghosts.

Corin's features stooped low at the sight of the first man he killed. A Devaronian man, only one-horn seared off. Corin did that to him, but maybe the ghosts came to him as they were at the time of their death. His piercings were everywhere, on his ears, nose, eyebrow, lip. Ugly things, though Corin felt a pang of guilt thinking that of a man long-since dead. The burning hole through his chest, however, was what Corin truly shied from. He tread on by, wishing this nightmare to end. But it seemed it would not. He passed criminals, soldiers, Sith and Imperials. In their neutrally set faces, none of them seemed to be exceptionally bad. Perhaps, in some sense, it was just a reminder: they were people, once.

He entered his old quarters with an unbearable weight. It was full of decorations, of needless things, of things that entertained a younger Corin. It served as a stark contrast to the minimalist life he lead now. He could see posters on the walls of old holo-flicks, small keepsakes of planets with treacherous missions, and a wardrobe lined with old clothes. The clothes that Dagon passed down to him. The leather jackets, the belts, all of it. There were a thousand and one things in this old boy's room, but Corin came only for one thing.

Opening the top left draw to the desk, he saw the old physical photo. Dagon insisted on it and Yula loved him enough to indulge him in his nonsense, but Jem was sour with that hidden softness that came out at times. The three of them beamed so brightly they may as well have been the sun.

Opening the top left draw to the desk, he saw it. The old physical photo, coated with a dense layer of dust. He remembered that Dagon insisted on it and Yula loved him enough to indulge him in his nonsense, so it came as no surprise to see them beaming so brightly they may as well have been the sun. Jem could be a grouch, bitter, sour, and no doubt would be now with the re-emergence of her father, but even she grinned something fierce in this photo. Corin remembered himself as something even worse; a petulant and moody kid, prone to outbursts and with a real problem with authority. He thumbed the dust layer that covered his past self, and to his surprise, he was smiling as boldly as the rest of them.

It earned a soft, sad grin from the Corin of today before stashing the image away.

Though there was still one more thing to make sure of.

He climbed his way to the top, to where Valery Noble engaged in her meditations.

"Master Noble," he said with a solemn reverence, as if it was some parting thing, "Is Iris here?"

 

[Remus Adair]

Objective III
Vexation, Rampart Class Dreadnought (X)
Coruscant Sector
Allies: Aldo Garrick | SCAR | Vireth | Innis Tarring | Artam Macek | Innis Tarring
Enemies: Prael'rs'akinc | Gym Halpern | Mykel Dawson

“We can't present a major target.” Remus commanded, “All commands, all vessels, loosen formation!” The aged Vice Admiral barked, jabbing a chubby digit at the battlespace projected on the holotable, “We need to avoid that cannon. As soon as it fires we nee-!” Remus command was cut off by the shuddering blast of the hypervelocity round tearing its way through the hull of the Vexation. Piercing the shields and slamming through. The entire battlecruiser shuddered, and then shuddered again as a salvo of missiles slammed against the hull. Adair’s footing stumbled and slipped on the viscera left by the late Fleet Admiral Ranulph, and Remus hit his head with a dull thud. He was out.

In the darkness, he saw them. They had always been there, biting at the periphery of his mind. Captain Adrus Hargan, a small-time smuggler Remus had executed back in the First Order. Adair had planted the contraband, Hargan was clearly guilty of some point so Adair put him to death. The crew of the NIV Vicious Endeavour, damned to the void during a battle. It was a manouvere against the Sith which Remus ordered, and sent them there. There was no guilt for them. No real anger. They had all been on a ledger. Numbers in their thousand. Be it arrests. Battle. The sort of thing a good soldier builds their career upon and suffers through by vocation. But increasingly, there were more and more to justify. Cademinu V’s vast populace turned to slag. The imperial troops from that same operation, also roasted by rhypalm at his hand. But those were orders. Conveniences. War. Circumstances. It was these excuses that allow for drink, stims and mental acuity to banish these tens of thousands to the backwater of his conscience. Which allowed Remus hours of rest.

But there was one who he could not escape. One who despite all the drink. Despite all the pleasurable company and career climbing he could not escape. Alys. Sweet Alys. A sweetheart from his time in the academy. Mother of his children. Her long blonde hair always trailed him wherever he went. From Dosuun, Hoth, Pa’Desh and Prefsbelt. They were inseparable. And her presence intoxicating. Those slender fingers. Her tender touch. Those hours in the meadows, frolicking as little more than children… And the blade which had ended that. It was that fateful night, in that bunker on damned Prefsbelt IV that Remus had surprised her with a thrust of the blade. For an attack of anger, he was surgical. Sliding it between her ribs and spine. Twisting it in vicious hatred. He remembered how she’d shrunk and shuddered over. The anger he felt. Palpable at the betrayal. At her betrayal. And then the guilt as her life, crimson and warm spilled all over his hands. Her anguished look as she fell backwards into his embrace. That was the one which tossed and turned. And he could see her. Still bloodied in those fatigues, hobbling toward him. “Admiral…” Her sweet singsong voice whispered, “Admiral…” She approached, pale and with welcome arms.

“Admiral!” The voice snapped, Adair opened his eyes. Petty Officer Janaia Thatch knelt over him as alarms blared, “Admiral, are you okay?” Remus’ head was killing him. There was also a tenseness as he tried to raise his head. He struggled to. “Easy sir, easy.”

Remus raised his hands, and then saw it, blood. So much it coated his hands in a darkened crimson. All bringing him back to the horrible night. “I-I-” Words got caught in his throat, “Argh!”

“Careful sir,” Thatch and a stormtrooper put their arms around Remus’ shoulders and hoisted him up. There was an effort required with that, each member of the party grunting as they did so. It felt like they were underwater, there was this weight bearing down on each of them.

“Is the artificial gravity generation damaged?” Adair grunted. He felt for his face, more blood and some gore. By the Force, he was veritably coated in the stuff. “How long was I out?” He approached the viewport. A gaze into the mirror confirmed his suspicions. Most of it was Ranalph’s, but it was clear there was a gash on his forehead from where he’d bumped his head. He reached with a burgundy appendage for his belt, and retrieved the small bundle of plaster kept on it, staining the leather.

“No sir.” Thatch stood to attention, while the blew reddened stormtrooper descended into a crew pit, Remus gazed at the chaos. He had not been the only one jostled out of position. Stormtroopers had stepped up, assisting crew and applying torniquets, “You were not incapacitated long. Only for about two maybe three minute sir.” Felt more than a damn minute revisiting that, “The hypervelocity round, it penetrated both starboard gravity wells.” She paused, “Theyre negatively polarised. Life support around manual control are gone, so we can’t input shutdown.” Thatch informed him, “Chief Engineer Narn is preparing some engineers in plastoid to try and traverse to the wells.”

Remus had been diligently plying his first aid, but squinted as he tried to comprehend what that meant. “Negatively polarised, so they’re…” a thud rocked the vessel. Portions of the Vexation’s hull had cracked, exposing the two starboard gravity wells. Fried by the hypervelocity rounds, they had engaged and polarised.This meant the momentous battlecruiser had become a vortex, sucking in all manner of vessels large and small. Now one of it’s smaller escolta-class escorts slammed against the hull, unable to escape the meandering mass. The scream of TIE fighters took an ironic turn as they squealed to escape being drawn into its mass. Even the larger vessels in formation; Prefsbelt, Belligerence and Carnivore were struggling to maintain an even course, and were separating from the Vexation’s immediate quadrant. “We’re going to suck everything in…” Remus mused, “Halt any shutdown effort.”

“E-excuse me sir?” Thatch inquired, “Sir, we’re damaging our fleet, escorts are struggling to leave our vector.”

“And the Alliance will struggle too.” Remus coldly replied, “Change course, and alert Garrick.” The imperial barked, “We’ll see if we can drag some of them with us, alter their trajectory.” He looked to the Helm, “Take us dead ahead to their main fleet.” He smirked, "Dispatch TIE bomber craft with escorts, all squadrons. Priority one target being the cannon which took us out." He nodded at his own cunning. "We will link up with Barren's rotten crew, and see about smothering them. Cook their formations."

There was a pause, "Admiral, Warhound Barren has engaged his fleet. They've... Well they crashed into the Coruscant defences." Thatch informed him. Already, Remus felt his will to live ebb, "Some sort of, emergency sort of- Planetary engagement stratagem."

Adair's eyes narrowed and he took in a sharp breath, "Bastard." The Vice Admiral muttered to himself. This was why the Mawites couldn't be trusted. "We maintain our new plan. Contiunue on my new course." He barked, “Let’s see how these Jedilovers like a swirl in the whirlpool.”

Spoiler

Vessels Present:

Flagship:
Vexation, Rampart-Class Dreadnought (x)

2IC:
Prefsbelt, Reprisal Class Star Destroyer (x)

Destroyers:
Adjudication, New Imperial I Class (x)

Carnivore, New Imperial I Class

Belligerence, New Imperial I Class

Frigates Present:
Escolta-Class (x)
Dragoon-Class (x)

Corvettes Present:
Cacadore-Class (x)
Gurkha-Class (x)

​

 

[Kain Aldore]

Direct: Da'Razel
Nearby Ren Ran Serys | Darth Solipsis Sahar Shannic Wulf

Usually Kain's remarks got a rise out of a person, sure he thought he was funny, but it was also a good way to clock a persons character and it's worked pretty well as a subconscious defense mechanism since... forever. So when this golden clad figure said nothing and just took a step forwards. Kain rolled his eyes. He was never one for the mystic arts, even given his talents. He was however a 'drama king' so when he felt the brute look down on him Kain tilted his head and smirked in a way that said 'I guess we're doing this'.

There was something in the way the man reacted too. Maybe it was his age? Sure, Kain looked like he was in his twenties, but he’d been on ice for the better part of a decade. Two Maw boarded his ship. Left him adrift in the Unknown Regions. Three men started the fight, only one of them made it out.

A young man in body, but a tested warrior of the Second Great Hyperspace War. However, unlike some, Kain was over it. Detached in a way that even the best of the Jedi's ranks couldn't fake.

So when Da’Razel tilted his head back and started the ritual? Kain knew this wasn’t going to be a quick exchange. He could almost taste the ozone before the word echoed through the Force:

“Buuuuuuuuuuuuurn,”

Kain didn’t move. Not at first. The flames roared to life and it took him a second to snap back to reality. His hand flew up before his mind could even register the need. No struggle. No tension. Just a violent burst of energy emanating from him in all directions.

As the holy fire surged, the room dropped. Air pressure buckled in a low boom, a concussive wave tearing outward in a complete radius. Marble tiles cracked and lifted. The ground warped. Windows exploded in a cacophony of shattering glass. It wasn’t an attack not yet. Just defense. Though it could be mistaken for something worse.

And Kain? Was grinning, this was his version of fun. He rarely got to let loose like this. But if anything warranted it, some dude tossing fire around was justification.

His alter abilities were... unhinged. The Force never spoke to him like it did to some, or if it had he'd spoken over it. But this? Throwing around the Force in destructive waves like it was a plaything? Yeah, this was his language.

"That's new..." His face found a break in the flames, his blue eyes locking onto Da'Razel. "I gotta ask. Do you do parties?"

And before the last words left his lips he stepped into the motion. His arm retracted, hip twisted, then threw his palm forwards as if he were punching across the room. And the Force didn't just listen to his motions, it bent to them.

The air between them visibly rippled.

A raw telekinetic shockwave tore through the room like a rampaging Gundark, splitting a line clean through the flames as it barreled towards Da'Razel with the intent to shatter his pristine armor, like a prop in a play.

 

[Kaleb Sunwalker]

​

DSE Team: Voldran Molf Prowler II Orran Talon Draven
Enemies: New Jedi Order
Location: New Jedi Temple, Ventilation System.

Kaleb was careful in his approach, for while getting inside of the Temple interior through the ventilation system itself was easy. He couldn’t say the same for the rest of the Jedi Temple, he only knew certain pathways, for they would have to cross the ducts, then cut through the maintenance passageways many of the technicians and custodians used. From there through a shortcut in the tunnel system far older than the temple itself could they reach the shrine that was the beating heart of the Temple. With much of this knowledge in mind, Kaleb took first point as he entered deep inside ventilation shaft, the interior was covered in dark durasteel that had covered he ventilation system in nothing but darkness. Occasionally, there was small hints of light coming from the various ducts that led through openings into the many rooms and chambers of the Temple, but for now the group was covered quickly in darkness.

“Onwards, we have little time to waste. It won’t be long before the Order gets a hint we’re in here. We can only hope that the dark side can shroud our presence till we reach the shrine.”

Kaleb would say to the team behind him. He was kept in a low crouch, his tone sounded cautiously optimistic, for while Kaleb had spent much of his life within the Temple, he wasn’t entirely sure what he could face. He only hoped the likes of the Temple Guard wasn’t snooping about the ventilation system, but even he wasn’t sure. There was a slight clanking sound of his boots pressing against the dark durasteel as the Dark Sider would carefully lead his team through the darkness, while all around he sensed presences both light and dark in clashes both directly and indirectly.

While there was no doubt hesitation, even fear to venture back to the site of his fall and his defeat, he was determined to seek redemption, to prove himself to both the Elite and to the Emperor. One foot in front of the other, he pushed himself deeper into the tunnels. A dark wave flooded through him, a familiar presence in the form of Ibaris Varanin that bolstered him through the Force. The doubt that flooded through him seemed all but gone, a smirk stretched from ear to ear as the arrogance that seemed so quickly swallowed up by self doubt had reemerged stronger than ever before.

They kept walking and walking, steps pressing against the dark durasteel, a glance towards the floor to mind every step, for the wrong step or sensor trigger could activate one of the ventilation fans, or worse one the laser traps. His fingers kept close to his body, for even he didn’t want to touch the walls around him, afraid that he would trigger the slightest disturbance, or worse alert others to their presence.

“I think we’re almost there. I can see the end of the shaft, should lead us to the next one, there we keep going until we can cut to one of the technician corridors.” He said with a sense of urgency pressed in his step, he stopped being careful and his eagerness gain the better of him. The steps of his dark boots quickened and he was inching closer towards the edge of one ventilation shaft, in the middle was separated by a large gap, both below and above were large fan blades responsible for blowing air throughout the temple, or can increase the airflow in case of fires. In the other side was the other end of the next ventilation shaft.

“Almost there!” Kaleb said excitedly with anticipation following every step, however his overconfidence would be his undoing. The brisk pace of his walk, activated one of the sensors. Just as he passed through the arch of deactivated fan blades, a laser trap sprung on either side of him. One behind him separating him from the group, the other laser wall activated leading out of the shaft. Kaleb was now separated between his group, and the end of the first ventilation tunnel by two proximity triggered laser gates inside of the shaft.

“Kark me!” He hissed out, almost slapping himself in the face. He tried to use the Force at first on the mechanism to deactivate the laser walls, the laser walls remained up. “Can one of you perhaps slice through this thing, find a way to turn it off?” He asked looking towards Voldran Molf . Kaleb felt the wind howl and almost knock him into one of the laser walls. The fan blades of the large gap between ventilation shafts were now acltivated and the shaft was being filled with gusts of winds.

“Must… find a way…. Aghhhh!!” Kaleb let out a scream, both gloved hands reaching towards his mind, through the shroud of darkness, he felt light consume his mind. He didn’t expect the counter effects of Grandmaster Valery Noble . His vision was blurred, his head felt like it was gonna split in two. “Get out! GET OUT!” Kaleb shouted angrily, so much anger poured through his tone, through the Force it almost shook the entire ventilation shaft.

The headache stopped, but then shadowy apparitions came into his view. Brothers and Sisters of old clad in Jedi robes, wielding blue and green blades. Eyes staring at him with deadly intent. “You?!?! Here, no you won’t stop me! Curse you! Curse you all!” Kaleb would say in a mad rage, his lightsaber activated in a snap hiss, his red blade colliding against phantom blades, against phantom bodies as a frenzied rage took over the fallen Jedi, his blade was slicing through ghosts and apparitions, while his furious red blade collided against the dark durasteel, slicing through the wall, and scorching everything.

Kaleb was now dealing with separation by two laser gates, the large fans in the gap of the ventilation shaft blowing gusts that tried to pull and push him. At the same time his mind was assaulted by apparitions that weren’t there. He needed help and needed it fast in order to press on further in their perilous mission to unleash the dark side of the shrine upon them all.

 

[Damian du Couteau]

Damian du Couteau, Senator of Empress Teta
Location: Coruscant, Senate Building
Objective Two: With Thunderous Applause
Equipment: Blaster pistol, Father's lightsaber
Outfit

Damian felt the weight of his arms grow heavier before he just allowed them to hang lifelessly; weakness grew in both his heart and mind. There was an absurdity to the situation and one that the young du Couteau heir couldn’t have fathomed months ago. But the galaxy was cruel with its demands for all those who live within, a continuous struggle that dared to break so many. It had finally broken Damian.

“Ali-. . .I- . . .” His words felt impossible to escape from his mouth, even as he dared himself to imagine a different future.

Fear kept him frozen, unable to push past his own insecurities let alone move or anything. It was a debilitating effect that Damian had feared would arise when he’d finally confront Alicio. Fear had pushed him to make a deal, to betray, to sell his own soul to the proverbial devil.

Anger was the answer, rage that he forced down all those years, hatred to fuel the flames and that would surely get Damian to move in a direction. Any direction.

“They would not need to worry about jackboots pressing down if the Alliance had properly defended the Core. My people would not have needed to sacrifice more if the Alliance had made an attempt at rescue, but nay we were passed over for Tython.

-Tell me what was the result of all that effort? A failure so massive that it stalled any and all attempts at another liberation campaign!?” His voice tinged with vitriol and malice, but not at Alicio but at the accursed feeling that still lingered in his heart.

He couldn’t allow himself to feel the weight of his own mistakes, he couldn’t let his friend’s words sink any deeper. Damian clenched his eye shut tightly before he opened and saw across from him; himself. Ah, I’ve lost it after all. He needed to burn away the last vestige of his hope and dreams.

“Fight? For how long must we keep this flame of liberty alive for? Let darkness overtake us all so we no longer need to suffer the cruelty of hope anymore. . . “ Damian’s voice smoldered as it grew tired as well. He raised his hand holding his lightsaber up to his side as he holstered his blaster with his left hand.

“But a man like yourself wouldn’t understand. Failures such as I must be foreign to you no doubt, perhaps it was foolish that I ever thought we could see eye to eye since the beginning.” Damian lied to fuel his anger. A snap-hiss and a brilliant green blade erupted from a lightsaber that hadn’t seen use since the first battle for Teta.

“The betrayal is complete and the traitor’s life is forfeit. . .” Damian glanced at his watch for a brief moment. “But for the sake of whatever friendship I lied to myself about having; bring about my end Chancellor and I will stop my betrayal from effecting the Alliance at large.”
​

|| Alicio Organa ||​

 

[B1-173 "Omar"]

Objective: Operation Cinder - Defending a orbital gun
Location: Upper levels of Coruscant

The orbital defence gun behind B1-173 would fire at its target in orbit, it would send a shockwave that shook the very concrete he stood on. More smoke started to arise from the burning buildings which blocked out the sky, perhaps it was good to prevent accurate support for Imperials to utilise to bombard us. Alliance troopers continued to scramble to their designated fighting positions outside the complex. Then it seems that we have tracked the advancing Imperial armor pushing up the lower levels that revealed themselves, a line of walkers and Imperial combat tanks rolling over debris, smashing through civilian transport wrecks and without hesitation, began to blindly fire towards the orbital defence gun, bombarding the defenders, which included B1-173 himself, the droid would duck behind the barricade to avoid being hit by shrapnel and debris flying about from the explosions caused by the Imperial armour.

"Armored units incoming, west approach! Use the AT weapons!"

One of the troopers called out, as B1-173 turned relaying the coordinates to the command uplink as he adjusted his position. Troopers would rush towards the exterior of the orbital gun and would place down crates which had ML-04E-GA Missile Launchers, the Alliance troopers began to take them and line up their shots as the Imperial walkers were still at the far end of the courtyard. Multiple missiles were then launched after locking onto the walker and combat tanks, striking one of the lead walkers square in the hip joint, sending it toppling into a support beam in a plume of sparks and fire. Explosions rang out across the street as the first wave of armor was halted in their advance, furthermore this also meant that defensive heavy blasters were now active and began firing at the Imperial armoured units as well, continuing to inflict damages to their attack and stopping their advance, as for B1-173, he would rush out of his cover towards one of the crates, and grabbed the Missile Launcher, sprinting back to cover and sliding just before an explosion would force him to fall onto the ground, but he quickly regained his footing and would lock onto a combat tank, pushing through debris, and fired as it was out in the open, striking the top of the vehicle, causing it to explode.

However it seems that the Imperials adapted well to this situation and called it air support. The air filled with a high pitch scream of the distinct TIE fighters. The moment B1-173 turned his head skyward, the shriek of twin ion engines became more noticeable, two squadrons swooped low through the towers, strafing their defensive lines with laser fire. Sandbags, crates, and troopers alike were torn apart from the strafing, and one of the anti-tank teams was obliterated in a direct hit from a proton missile, B1-173 was knocked back from the shockwave and was slightly damaged this time, as his systems began figuring out what occurred. But, the anti-air turrets also began returning fire at the TIEs, managing to blow three of them out of the sky, but it wasn't enough as the damaged was already dealt.

Then came the shock infantry. Imperial forces began to charge forward through the smoke that obstructed the other side of the courtyard where the smoldering wrecks of some of the Imperial armoured vehicles are, they were converging on the orbital gun from multiple streets simultaneously in a planned assault. The moment they got half way down the courtyard, the defenders began letting them have all they had on them, grenades, missiles blaster fire, and supportive fire from the turrets began to annihilate some of the Imperial infantry, forcing many of them to take cover behind debris, but some which were foolish enough continued their charge only to be swiftly eliminated, B1-173 began firing at the Imperials that he saw, his enhanced systems helped him with accurately and he shot multiple Imperial soldiers from his position. He'd then would get onto his integral commlink to request reinforcements, if available.

"This is unit B1-173, requesting reinforcements on my position, we are defending an orbital gun, and are being hit hard by Imperial forces, I say again, requesting reinforcements. Someone, anyone, please, respond!"

 

[Dean Walker]

Dean kept his weapon leveled as they moved, eyes shiftigg from one doorway to the next, but Lyrrin's sudden comment caught him off guard just enough to raise an eyebrow.

"The Wayfinder, huh?" Dean muttered, glancing sidelong at him with a quick smirk. "Guess I should be honored. Never thought I'd get backup from a celebrity."

They reached the junction and Dean paused just long enough to check the angles. He nodded toward the datapad in Lyrrin's hand. "Rotunda's where I'm headed. If we can cut them off or at least make noise, it'll help the others."

Blasterfire popped again in the distance and Dean eased forward, motioning for Lyrrin to follow tight on his shoulder. "If we make it through this, I'll even let you sign the back of my badge," he added dryly. "Might raise the resale value someday."

His focus sharpened again as they crept ahead. "Alright, Wayfinder. Let's see if you live up to the hype." Then Dean pushed toward the right-hand corridor, weapon ready and pace steady.

Lyrrin Persephone | Open for opposition
​

 

[Quinn Varanin]

//: Obj 1 //:
//: Allies: //: CT-312 //: Zark San Tekka (?) //: Alexandra Feanor (?) //:
//: Enemies: //: Koda Fett //: Tobi Sharpe //:
//: Engaging: //: Mercy //:
//: Unknown: //: Braze //: Okuma Milogen //:
//: Attire //:

Her feet planted beneath her, a smile curled on her red-stained lips. At least the day wasn't going to be as dull as expected. She'd get to kill a Mandalorian and this one didn't seem to belong to Aether.

No harm, no foul.

Quinn slid one foot back, preparing to throw another ball of crackling energy. But as the sparks seared the air around the Echani's hand, a deeper burn consumed her attention.

She'd narrowly avoided the flamethrower's initial blast, but the archives were less fortunate and now ablaze.

Her heart pounded in her ears. Smoke filled her lungs. Quinn could taste it, burning metal, scorched flesh, and it wouldn't go away.

Her control began to slip.

Then a voice cut through the static in her mind. Viridescent eyes snapped to the fire-touched red hair of Mercy.

Of course. The Knave.

Quinn's lip curled as she watched the towering woman summon whatever nether beast Ashin had taught her. She'd always been enormous, but seeing her beside others was nearly absurd. Quinn would never say it to her face, but the sheer scale was breathtaking.

She watched Mercy lumber through the ruined temple like a half-witted juggernaut. It was a miracle she could even navigate a building like this, let alone understand what an archive was.

Then the woman raised her fist and slammed it into the ground.

Quinn crossed her arms in front of her face and braced. The Force wrapped around her, absorbing the shock as her heels dragged backward across the floor. Dust bloomed as the blast passed, most of it being absorbed by her flesh, fueling her own wellspring of power.

She laughed sharply, mocking the woman before her.

"Oh, Knave, I was starting to think the galaxy had finally grown tired of your arrogance."

The electric sphere began to spark back to life in her hand.

"But here you are again. Just in time to beg."

Her eyes flicked to the Mandalorian, gun drawn. She recognized it. Not the make—the memory. Still, she was too far to confirm.

And then she felt it.

Ashin Cardé Varanin . Somehow, she'd slipped past the barriers Quinn had raised to keep out Ibaris. Her mother's presence echoed, followed by other souls twisted and slain by the Phobis Core. Maddening specters with unfamiliar faces.

Quinn screamed inwardly and pressed harder against the Force, shutting the door on all of them.

She would do this alone. She needed to do this alone to prove to everyone that Quinn was capable.

Anger surged. The sparks in her palm bled, from white to crimson.

Without hesitation, Quinn launched forward, the Force propelling her at near-invisible speed. She pivoted on her lead foot as she reached Mercy's flank, her body spinning low and tight.

Power compressed in her off-hand. The crimson Kinetite surged to life, contained and focused.

As the spin ended, she stepped in, aligned her body, and hurled the crackling sphere of energy toward Mercy's core. It struck with a vicious electrical crack.

Quinn landed, feet wide, arms raised, already guarding for a counter.

She expected nothing less from her mother's hound.