Populate Humbarine Epilogue | TSC Populate of Giju

[Emissary of Strife]

Varin Mortifer Astra Sadow Tamsin Starfall Arris Windrun Acier Moonbound Meliant Eurydice Srina Talon Mercy Lily Rhodes Vess Sadragen Eira Dyn Quinn Varanin Darth Carnifex Seris Velmora Meya Liefi Madrona A’Mia Isobel Serraris Vesper Thrace Garza Inari Kaelyr Casimir Thorne Efret Farr Lysander von Ascania Tavi Corvask Riffraff Ranat Delvin jeth Allyson Locke CT-312​

The Mandalorian terrorists came and went, but left their mark. The districts surrounding the administrative center had been laid to waste in the battle, with collapsed skyscrapers and bombardment craters littering the surface. The storm dissipated but did not end, as clouds drifted across hundreds of kilometers of sky, pouring rain laden with chemical fallout.

It was a gloomy sight - befitting the aftermath of a conflict where the Sith had unleashed their darkest forces; decisive yet terrible action, and legionnaires continued to exterminate scattered Imperial holdouts and suppress the resistance.

Only time would tell the price of the Covenant’s victory; whether Humbarine was a world they could afford to occupy, or if their second intervention would prove too costly to recompense.

Across the urban sprawl, the victors had earned a moment’s reprieve, occupying the Governor’s Mansion. Because not everything had to be blood and rain. There was also wine - really good wine. The Sith Covenant stumbled upon a trove of luxury goods, including liquor and other delicacies, hoarded inside. The Governor was dead; his regime collapsed; there was no one to complain if anyone broke out the good stuff, not to mention a whole mansion to explore. Who knows just what might be found in its many rooms and hidden passages?

Drink, eat, celebrate - swap stories, play cards, rest and recover, explore the secrets of the Governor’s Mansion - or pick up exactly where you left off.

​

 

[Acier Moonbound]

Location: Humbraine - Governor's Mansion

Equipment:
Knight Attire | Lightsaber | Shoto | Cybernetic Arm

The blaster wound had been treated. Fresh bandages sat beneath his clothes and the worst of the pain had been dulled into a distant ache that only flared when he moved the wrong way.

The rest had faded too. Srina's song no longer echoed through his thoughts. Quinn's storm had finally loosened its grip on his nerves. Lily's web was gone, taking with it the flood of borrowed emotions that had battered his mind for hours. Ace was himself again. At least physically.

The Governor's Mansion should have felt like a victory. The halls buzzed with conversation. Covenant members and allies drifted between rooms carrying bottles liberated from the governor's private collection. Laughter echoed from somewhere deeper inside the estate. Someone had found music. Others had found card tables. Expensive food sat spread across polished surfaces that somehow remained untouched by the destruction outside.

Ace couldn't understand it. Humbarine wouldn't be the same after this. He'd seen entire districts reduced to rubble and civilians running through collapsing streets. He felt the fear, rage, grief, and despair of thousands through the Force's Threads. He'd stood beneath a storm fed by hatred, souls, and suffering. Worse still, he'd helped strengthen it.

And now people were drinking. Celebrating. As if this was normal, like this was what victory looked like. His dark eyes drifted toward a nearby group laughing over a card game. One of them raised a glass in triumph after winning a hand. Another nearly choked on his drink laughing.

Ace looked away. Maybe something was wrong with him, or maybe everyone else understood something he didn't. Maybe they were all just better at ignoring it.

He wandered through the mansion without much direction. Every room seemed to contain another reminder that he didn't belong there. Another conversation he had no interest in joining. Another celebration he couldn't bring himself to participate in.

That familiar hollow feeling lingered in his chest. A deep, quiet exhaustion that had been building for months. He paused beside a tall window overlooking the city, rain falling across the shattered skyline. Even from here he could still see the scars left behind. For a long moment he simply stood there watching the storm drift across Humbarine.

Tags: OPEN​

 

[Madrona A’Mia]

​

Her responsibilities to kin complete, and test of Anet Raine concluded for now, A’Mia shied away from the company of humanoids for a time. Though she was certain there was fun to be had partying with the others, the neti found herself in possession of a bit of ennui.

Like a phantom, the robed seer drifted away from where more Sith and their associates were gathering with every passing moment. Angling toward a gargantuan resting figure, A’Mia thought to check in on one of the largest members of their motley crew.

“Who helps the helpers?” Such a quaint turn of phrase she’d heard over the years.

“Who sees the monsters for more than just their most frightening deeds?” That was more her speed, at least for this moment in time. The sickly, dark calm after battle wherein wounds are treated, scores are taken, and minds tend to reflect on the marvels of being alive, or those who no longer were.

As she neared the awe inspiring behemoth, A’Mia reached out with her mind to announce herself.

Lo mighty Garza Inari , do you recognize me from Brosi?

 

[Arris Windrun]

GOVERNOR'S MANSION
Upstairs Balcony
OPEN
Mention: Varin Mortifer
​

The heavy rain didn't stop. It just poured, and poured, flooding the streets and making small lakes of artillery carters.

Arris Windrun stepped out onto an upstairs balcony overlooking the fractured skyline. Chemical fires continued to burn in some places, carried by the wind across vast distances. Her blonde hair was disheveled, burned at some ends; there were shrapnel tears in her synthflesh, and her right arm was missing from the elbow down - with jagged metal and wires splitting from the open "wound."

In her other hand, she held a lit cigarette, which didn't seem to mind the weather. She took another drag, exhaling slowly, letting the white smoke disperse into the cooling air.

Behind her, there were muffled sounds of celebration: laughter, music, glasses clinking. A reminder that not everyone was as dour as her. That some Sith, if not most, reveled in the calamity, and found joy even as the dead littered Humbarine with ashes.

The cyborg recalled the final moments after she and the others put everything they had into the storm. The destruction of her arm, Lily's collapse, fiery debris meteoring across the sky, the tempest raging. If it weren't for the fact that Varin was butt-naked the whole time, every frantic memory would've just been cold, dark, and violent.

'Hey, man! Put some damn clothes on!' She remembered yelling. That memory netted a weak smile, but it wasn't enough to wash her thoughts clean.

Another drag - she leaned further against the ledge, looking down as two Sith left the building, loading a speeder with stolen artwork. Some things about war never change.

 

[Garza Inari]

The celebrations carried across the ruined districts in distant echoes. Garza could hear them if he chose to focus upon them, voices and laughter drifting between shattered towers and broken avenues as survivors attempted to reclaim some sense of normalcy after the violence that had consumed Humbarine. Such things were familiar to him. Across the ages he had witnessed countless civilizations gather after conflict to remind themselves that they had endured. Kingdoms had celebrated victories. Republics had celebrated liberation. Empires had celebrated conquest. The details changed from age to age, but the ritual remained remarkably consistent. Those who survived sought comfort in one another, finding reassurance in food, drink, stories, and companionship. Garza understood the practice well enough. He simply had never found himself drawn to it.

Instead, he stood amidst the ruins.

Rain continued to fall across the wounded city, washing chemical residue from shattered streets and carrying it through cratered intersections where runoff gathered in dark pools. Entire sections of the skyline had been broken apart during the battle. Some structures still burned despite the downpour, their fires stubbornly refusing to surrender completely to the storm. Others stood partially collapsed, leaning at impossible angles as if uncertain whether to continue resisting gravity or finally yield to it. Emergency crews moved through the destruction like distant insects, their efforts insignificant compared to the scale of devastation surrounding them and yet no less important because of it. Every civilization eventually reached this stage. The fighting ended. The dead were counted. The survivors rebuilt. The stories began.

Garza watched in silence as another chapter settled into history.

The destruction itself stirred little emotion within him. He neither celebrated it nor mourned it. Cities rose. Cities fell. Such truths had remained constant throughout his existence. What interested him were the consequences. The memories being created. The stories that would survive. Already the Archive had begun preserving fragments of Humbarine's conflict. Fear and courage. Triumph and loss. Decisions made in desperation. Sacrifices offered without certainty. Every life touched by the battle contributed another thread to the tapestry of memory he carried. Time would eventually erode monuments and records. Generations would reinterpret events according to their own understanding. Yet within the Archive these moments would remain intact.

It was during these reflections that he sensed a familiar presence approaching.

Recognition arrived long before sight. The Force carried impressions that appearances often failed to convey, and the presence moving through the rain stirred memories before Garza ever turned his attention toward its source. Brosi surfaced within his thoughts almost immediately. The city. The destruction. The sensation of another immense being moving amongst collapsing structures and chaos. The memory remained unusually clear. Encounters between creatures such as themselves were not common. Even amongst the countless experiences preserved within the Archive, such meetings remained rare enough to stand apart.

His gaze eventually lowered toward the source.

For a moment he simply observed. The presence matched perfectly. The appearance did not. The contradiction held his attention far longer than he expected. The being he remembered from Brosi had possessed a scale not unlike his own. She had moved through the city as something vast and impossible to ignore, another force capable of reshaping the battlefield simply through her existence. The individual approaching him now was scarcely larger than the countless humanoids moving throughout the city. Had he relied solely upon sight, he might have questioned his conclusion. Yet sight had never been Garza's preferred means of understanding the world. The Force remembered. The Archive remembered. Both insisted upon the same answer.

When her voice finally reached him, it merely confirmed what he already knew.

"Lo mighty Garza Inari. Do you recognize me from Brosi?"

The question settled comfortably into the silence between them. Rain drummed softly against broken durasteel and shattered stone while distant celebrations continued somewhere beyond the ruined districts. Garza considered her for several moments, not because he required time to answer, but because he found himself studying the difference between memory and reality. The comparison fascinated him. Most beings changed across years or decades. The transformation before him felt considerably more dramatic than that.

"I do,"

He finally replied, his voice rolling through the ruined city like distant thunder carried across mountains. The words emerged naturally, deep and resonant, shaped as much by his immense size as by intention. The words almost slow and methodical, yet could have just been the distance his mouth had to move in order to speak such words of a human based language.

"You are significantly smaller than I remember."

There was no humor in the observation. No criticism. No confusion. Merely honesty.

His attention drifted briefly toward the skyline before returning to her. Countless memories existed of Brosi and Humbarine alike, and comparisons between them surfaced naturally. One city had been left almost beyond recognition. The other, despite its scars, still retained much of its identity. Entire districts lay in ruins, yet the shape of Humbarine remained intact. He mulled thoughtfully.

"The city remains recognizable, Brosi did not."

Again, the statement carried no judgment. It was simply true.

For a time he remained silent, allowing the rain to fill the space between them. Most conversations ended quickly when directed toward him. Questions were asked. Answers were given. Curiosity was satisfied. People departed. Yet something about this interaction already felt different. A'Mia had sought him out deliberately. Not many did so after witnessing him in battle. Fewer still did so without obvious purpose.

The realization drew his attention more effectively than the conversation itself.

He found himself wondering why.

The question lingered naturally as he watched the small figure standing amidst the rain. Around them, Humbarine continued the slow process of surviving its own history. The celebrations remained distant. The city remained wounded. The storm continued to fall.

"You left the celebration,"

Garza eventually said, the observation flowing naturally from everything that had come before. He had seen the gatherings. He had sensed the concentration of life within the Governor's Mansion. He understood what the victors were doing and why. The fact that she was here instead remained unusual enough to warrant consideration.

"Most who survive war seek the company of others afterward. Food. Stories. Reassurance."

His immense gaze remained fixed upon her, ancient curiosity replacing simple observation. There was no accusation in the statement, nor suspicion. Only genuine interest.

"You came here instead, and I find myself wondering why."

Madrona A’Mia

 

[Isobel Serraris]

EPILOGUE​

LOCATION — Humbarine, Governor's Mansion
TAGS — Varin Mortifer // OPEN <33
PARAPHERNALIA — Armour of the Lost and Vesper et Aurora.

​

Agony tainted her body in the aftermath of the disaster, whilst consciousness had become a blessing she never ought it to be. Her head felt as though a thunderstorm raged within, and her right leg was frailer than a sprout. The duel with The Arkanian had left both mind and soul in a state of disarray, in truth she wished to crawl back to her ship and stay there until she might inevitably die. But that was hardly a fate that befit a Mystic. . .

Instead, Isobel stood in the main hall whilst the other mingled and made do with what little civilisation remained upon the City-Planet. Her hand lingered on a makeshift cane built out of a metal rod and some fabric, it sufficed in keeping her standing, but more than that... had become quite a chore. The bone within her leg was all but pulverised, and pain shot through her muscle and nerve with each inch she moved.

Brilliant.

Her eyes drew toward the long table beside the pillar, stacked with antique bottles of wine, whiskey and other liquor--no doubt plundered from the streets near. The Nabooan had never indulged. . . as much as it was 'normalised' within the diplomatic noble parties in her youth. Bottles of wine being poured throughout the night as people expanded their network, talked business deals or marriage ones. It was a strange thing to her.

It always made people act funny, be it giggling, be it stumbling. . . but it also numbed them, and numbness was a comfort she craved more than any hug or word. . .

After a moment's hesitation, she waddled over toward the table, grunting softly with each half-step before leaning across its wooden surface and seizing one of the extravagant glass bottles. The liquid found its way into her glass, poured almost to the brim without thought.

It smelled sharp. Biting enough to sting her nose and water her brown eyes. Still, the absence of pain was a craving she longed to sate, so Isobel took her first sip. . .

​

 

[Anet Raine]

GOVERNOR'S MANSION
OPEN
​

Anet had finished her report to the Triumvirate and left the administrative building once it was clear that the Mandalorians had fled the system. There was still much work to be done, but the scholarly acolyte would never turn down an opportunity to relax, even as she stepped over dead bodies along the walkway to reach the Governor's estate. It was surprisingly well-kept, despite the shell-battered vicinity.

Inside sounded oddly like a party. She smirked and found her way into a parlor, where a commandeered jukebox played the latest tunes of the Coruscanti music scene. Anet preferred Tarisian blues and Chandrilan pulse music herself, but it would do.

She grabbed a seat on a comfortable couch, glass of wine in hand (exceptional vintage!), sipped, hummed along and tapped her foot to the beat.

In the corner, she saw Isobel Serraris grabbing liquor from a nearby table. 'I wonder who that is?' Anet thought.

For now she desired not to approach anyone... It was always better to settle in first, then decide what to do next when you had the lay of the land. Or so Anet felt, anyway.

If there was one thing she desired, however, it was some time with her master, Madrona A’Mia . If only to to announce her intentions to ascend and claim the rank of Sith Kight for herself. Her days at the Academy were coming to an end - and she believed her hand in the Governorate's fall proved that she was ready for more.

 

[Meliant]

Attn: Acier Moonbound

Not so far away, a ghost was standing in front of a painting. Meliant seemed to have been staring at it absently - his presence in the Force so slight it would have to be that he was purposefully concealing himself.​

​

What remained of his armor seemed to be slagged, as if it had been heated to some extreme temperature, began to melt, and then cooled rapidly. A crater occupied one-half of his face. The once meticulously sculpted, subtle expression was now a not-so-subtle frown. Underneath the gilt were only a few bits of remaining armorweave. Great segments of his true, spectral form were visible: black, churning smoke in vaguely humanoid shape.​

​

Meliant looked used up, to say the least. The armor seemed to only hold to him through force of will.​

​

The painting he was observing was some Ghorman piece, depicting an angular Imperial-style shuttle about to land on some stoic protestors. He didn't get it. The ruined Emperor turned slowly to look at Acier. "You..."​

​

Yes. He remembered him. Meliant looked briefly away, down the hall, which ended with a little seating area underneath another painting. Two nicely carved, cushioned chairs and an end table. All of Galidranni provenance. Very fashionable.​

​

"You're very lucky," his voice was a rasping whisper, "If that chair was any closer, I would hit you with it."​

​

There was a noise somewhere between a cough and a chuckle from him. And then as if sensing Acier's brooding mood, he said:​

​

"Oh, something wrong? Was this your first war crime?"​

 

[Acier Moonbound]

Location: Humbraine - Governor's Mansion

Equipment:
Knight Attire | Lightsaber | Shoto | Cybernetic Arm

Ace had been staring through the rain streaked glass when a voice finally pulled him from his thoughts.​

​

"You're very lucky," his voice was a rasping whisper, "If that chair was any closer, I would hit you with it."

​

His eyes shifted toward the sound and for a moment, he simply stared. The figure standing there looked less like a person and more like something that had crawled out of the aftermath. Melted armor. A face that looked half-collapsed. Smoke drifting where flesh ought to have been.​

​

It took him a second. Then the memory clicked into place and his expression flattened. Chandrila.​

​

"First war crime was separating your head from your neck." His voice remained both calm and cold.​

​

Ace pushed himself away from the window and turned fully toward him. Despite everything else weighing on his mind, there was a brief moment of satisfaction. He remembered Chandrila, the fight, and watching Meliant's armor implode inward.​

​

For a second, seeing him reduced to this almost felt amusing, but the feeling quickly vanished. Replaced by irritation. Because somehow he was still here. Alive.​

​

Ace's gaze slowly traveled over the ruined Sith. The melted armor, the crater occupying half his face, the smoke bleeding through fractures where a body should have been. The more he looked at him, the less sense it made.​

​

By all appearances, Meliant should have been dead. Again.​

​

His brow furrowed slightly. "Something wrong?" He asked flatly. "You don't know how to stay dead?"​

​

Like Meliant's continued existence had become personally inconvenient.​

​

Meliant​

 

[Meliant]

Attn: Acier Moonbound

Meliant seemed to tense at the mention of getting decapitated - not a fun memory - but he didn't leap into action. Maybe it would have been a good fight, but he was worn out of all that on an emotional level. Now was a time for spiteful banter.​

​

"Something wrong?" He asked flatly. "You don't know how to stay dead?"

Meliant cackled, being asked that same question. Like sparring with a little parrot. "Death is a concept invented by the Jedi," He retorted. It sounded almost as if he was quoting someone, although he didn't seem serious. "It's just not for me."​

​

He still had his gilded sword, which became apparent when he turned fully to face Acier. It was mercifully sheathed, point pressed into the rug, with both his hands resting easily on the hilt. Some fingers were missing. The Mandalorians had been in a hurry to leave and had neglected to loot him properly. Just as well, they had enough gadgets and gizmos of their own to have little need for a Sith sword, masterfully crafted though it was.​

​

"You, on the other hand, have a Jedi's heart. I can sense it..."​

​

There was almost a pause here, as if to imply that he knew something he shouldn't - something terrible - but he went on speaking.​

​

"...Because you think chopping my head off in a fight is a war crime. Hah! That's just a normal duel. Idiot."​

​

Yes, to the people of Chandrila, the day the Empire had failed to defend them from a galloping Vahlan horde, Sith partisans, and a sudden onslaught of undead was a historic day of terror and misery. But for the Sith, it was a normal duel.​

​

"Where's that flaxen-haired dandy, anyway?" Meliant was referring, it seemed, to Lysander. "I thought you two were... Battle buddies."​

 

[Lysander von Ascania]

Arris Windrun Lily Rhodes
​

Lysander breached the governor's mansion long after the revelry began. He'd taken the long way, walking nearby streets when the fighting died down. An echo of Coruscant in some ways. There'd been those injured, begging for help, the same ones too far gone. So, he'd used Nightstar accordingly, burying the blade between vertebrae; a mercy delivered without hesitation. Just the quiet butchering after most presumed the battle to be over; the parts no bard would ever dare sing of. Underneath all that black armor was still the Korriban acolyte who once found joy in ink and song, just buried beneath layers of violence.

The adrenaline bled out, leaving him hollowed in ways that could make youth feel cruel. While his brethren chose to lacquer their senses with wine, his mind shifted to logistics that'd already been set in motion. Generators, shelters, evacuation routes for the loyal, and math that was more cynical in nature. To him, this all was just a prelude to a longer nightmare. Another broken city demanding structural resurrection..

As he approached, most of the merriment was distant to him. The only comfort was recognizing a few familiar signatures. Acier, Varin, the Neti A'Mia, flickering like lanterns in a storm. They were alive, or convalescing, along with a handful of others.

Eventually he gravitated toward the balcony, toward the Dark Horse. He never did mind the shared silence; this was a familiar language between them. Arris in some ways, was still an enigma to him, at least in comparison to Mercy . For the Covenant's Point Emissary, the war was never truly won; every triumph just birthed another front.

Stepping fully onto the balcony, his head tilted back to gaze upon the heavens, to let the rain drum against a youthful visage. Water streaked down his gauntlets, carrying away the dark viscosity of the streets. For an irrational second or two, he yearned for the water to scour the strains from his soul too.

Staring out over the horizon, he hadn't bothered to face her just yet. "You know," voice barely audible over the patter of the rain, "I've never been much for the festivities, though plenty seem convinced otherwise. And I suspect the.. charm of Humbarine's capital is not what drew you out here." He gave a slow, stiff shrug. "Look, if there's someone who still needs putting in the ground.. a supply line that demands rethinking, or if you just need someone who'll listen, a witness to the things we've done, I'm here, Arris."

 

[Eurydice]

Tags: Open

The wine was good. Like, really good.

Eurydice had tucked herself into a quiet corner of the mansion, nestled against the plush back of a chair meant for someone three times her size. There was a small round coffee table made of glass beside her, onto which she'd placed the bottle of wine.

She lifted the goblet to her lips for a long, slow sip. This was her second cup of the evening. It hadn't dulled the images she'd seen play out across the tiny screen – images she'd caused – but it did take the edge off of the trauma.

Just for tonight.

The Seers of Ukatis had been deprived of many vices. Wine, however, was permissible several times a year during the holy days. Eurydice had been eight or nine when she'd first partaken, but the plonk she'd sampled then was swill compared to the Governor's vintage.

By her account, there wasn't much to celebrate. The Sith terrified her just as much as the Mandalorians, as much as the Imperials. They were all monsters. Hopefully, she'd at least be on the winning side this time. She could toast to her own survival, maybe.

Eurydice topped off her glass and continued on with her favorite pastime; quietly staring into space.

 

[Astra Sadow]

"Then I'll leave you to it," Astra concluded after she'd amassed a small selection of corporate and criminal executives. Those within walking distance of the Governor's palace. Those given the privilege of doing as she commanded, and would reap the most lavish of treasures for their service. Any that fled to the deepest reaches unable to answer her summon in a timely fashion already had their reward. They didn't need her to micromanage every detail; it was the reason she tolerated half of them still drawing breath. Others above required her presence. Working a crowd was as much a job as the toil of cleaning up the district.

"Why should we?"

The red jacket fell silent about her legs as Astra came to a sudden stop in her stride away from them at the lone voice. Slowly, a red lens turned back toward the source.

"They were probably here because of you. And it wasn't like your people didn't cause most of this."

Always a dissenter. A disbeliever. A fool in the crowd. Astra's lips curled upward beneath the ruby circle that shimmered in the scant light.

The dark haired woman turned casually and began to stride back the way she'd come with the same urgency of her departure. She didn't stop until her boots nearly stood atop that of the square jawed man. Someone that knew how to handle himself. Someone used to being the so-called 'Alpha.'

"If we're going to do all the work, then we," his thought stopped as his brow twitched. Then his eyes narrowed and widened only to narrow again. The jaw muscles worked while his mouth remain blissfully shut once more.

Astra hadn't lifted a finger. Not until her hand rose to pluck the glareshades from her nose to calmly fold them out of the way. A silent smack of her red lips followed suit. "What you're feeling right now is the anguish of Humbarine," she explained. Only the mouthy one knew what she meant. Only he felt the pain that'd shot through his body, pulsated in his limbs, and grew with intensity slowly as one might boil a frog alive in a pot of flesh and bone. "The suffering and horror of countless weaklings that fell this day. Can you hear them? Their screams? Can you... feel the flames licking at their bodies? The way they writhe, desperate to tear themselves out from under a collapsed pillar as it burns?" She leaned in closer so all he could see was the yellow, orange, and red of her eyes.

The man's eyes shook from the sheer willpower it took not to cry out. Brave. Strong. Astra hoped he wouldn't break, but if it were necessary there'd be no tears. As if to answer, he dropped to one and then both knees. His chin fell as the desire to scream out in agony welled up inside.

With his handsome face out of sight, Astra took a moment to look at all those present. "When one of you can embrace the ravages of war... when you can slumber peacefully as the dead claw at you from beyond... then -- and only then -- can you challenge my rule."

A handful of hair forced the man's head back so he would look up at her. "Do you challenge me?"

The head tried to jerk to the left and then to the right in her grasp.

Suddenly the fires faded. He swallowed, but did not bow his head even when she released him.

"Good. There's a great deal of work to do. I suggest you get to it." A smile spread across her lips, the shades snapped open, and Astra replaced her optics back on her nose. With a clip nod, she pivoted on her heel and started inside the palace. She had a party to attend. Hopefully one where she didn't hear how nuking Humbarine and starting over [in ten thousand years] was the favored approach.

A few minutes later, Astra strode into the room with a smile secured. She paused at the threshold just a moment before she adjusted her course. It would take her along the perimeter of the room and by the corner where Eurydice seemingly avoided notice.

As for Astra's appearance, unlike her glasses she hadn't brought a fresh red jacket just in case of invasion. There were scrapes, scorch marks, and holes in it from disruptor bolts and a few blades picked up in all the excitement. She had, however, made sure to wash her face long ago. There was looking the part and then there was just being filthy.

"We're not all that bad," she remarked seemingly to no one as her pace slowed to a near stop near Eurydice . "All a matter of perspective. What's yours?"

Open​

 

[Delvin jeth]

Governors mansion
Tag: open

Delvin walked through the govenors mansion studying mandalorian armor from the fallen mandos paying enough attention to where he was going as he tinkered with the armor as the arkanian geneticist joined the party. Getting more joy from seeing how the armor worked than interacting with people as he pulled tools out as his previous tools disappeared into his coat as he worked. Taking apart the armor as he worked examining every piece as he whent cataloging everything. As he sat down at a table as he worked he accepted a glass of wine setting it down without drinking from it as he sat there.

 

[Tamsin Starfall]

​

Theme: Let You Down
Location: Humbraine - Governor's Mansion
Equipment: Twin Omens | Combat Knife | Talisman | Multi-Tool | Mind Crown | Jacket (Black)
TAGS: OPEN

EARLIER….

As the souls flowed out of the amulet into the storm above, the demon just stared up as the skies came falling down as the Mandalorians fled the system. It closed its eyes, voices in the web died down. Eventually, falling silent the storm rumbling was all it heard, even as others shouted around her.

It was funny the demon revealed in the destruction, the carnage, and purest forms of chaos. Yet when it came to the end, when the storms died down and annihilation came to the conclusion it only felt empty. The victory, the spoils, or the conquering of a world was meaningless. There was always another star out there to extinguish, the cycle continued until they all died out.

She opened her eyes and looked at the battlefield around it to Arris Windrun and Acier Moonbound two enemies it had made this day. Not that it cared, the demon had betrayed every friend it had made because its dream of a better reality was more important. Then it looked to Lily Rhodes passed out on the ground, the girl had put so much into this fight but at what cost. There were so many wars yet to fight, and worlds to fight. This skirmish wasn't worth the sacrifices that were made, yet this girl was willing to pay a heavy price.

Then she turned to the dragon Varin Mortifer , realizing just then that he was butt arse naked. Through her bust face mask her bleeding painted face just shook her head.

"Put some damn cloths on Dummy!"

Then she turned and walked away, her damaged right arm hanging at her side as she walked away from them all. Her eyes turning from violet back to their normal glowing orange and her amulet turning back to its normal dull black stone.

PRESENT…..

Tamsin had peeled off her armor, it now sat on a repulsor sled. The paint on her face had been washed away with bandages covering the cuts on her face. Her right arm was wrapped and in a makeshift sling. She hadn't sought medical professionals instead attending to her own wounds. She deserved the pain and the cold numbness of her arm a reminder of the monster that was inside her. The monster she would undoubtedly become one day.

She turned to a group of soldiers that were in her service. She looked to them and managed a slight smile before she spoke to them.

"Gather all armor and weapons you can find. Beskar armor preferably before anything else." Her voice trembled a bit as she spoke and her voice cracked. Yet the soldiers just nodded and said nothing as they moved out.

She knew they would take any loot they gathered back to The Anathemous that wa snow entering Humbraine space. As she turned away from the soldiers that were now moving out, she looked at the governor's mansion.

She could even hear the party going on inside from here. She could see the looting all around her. She let out a heavy sigh and started her walk to the mansion. Inside were people of renown, people who fought for something, and people who had sacrificed for this fight. She was just a fuck up, with a demon inside her hell bent on seeing everyone and everything dead.

They all had each other's back, and she walked alone. No friends, no family, and no allies that she didn't pay for. Tamsin slinked into the mansion, feeling even smaller than she actually was. Noting the faces of any heroes of this battle as she wandered through the mansion.

 

[Varin Mortifer]

VARIN MORTIFER

Equipment: Durum Mantle | Black Blade of Chandrila | Eye of The Dragon | Heavy Sith Mace | Cross Guard Broadsaber

Before

Varin stood there heaving breaths from the output of energy he gave into the storm, the flesh over his hands and forearms were split and cracked, blood oozed from the wounds dripping to the ground with a quiet hiss.

Both Tamsin and Arris had told him to find some clothes after his armor had burned off of him while drinking deep of the darkside. After looking around for a moment he noticed a dead Mandalorian and huffed. Finding clothes was not entirely top priority to him, but if it would get everyone else off his back then he would do it.

He walked up to the corpse and stripped him of his combat pants then slipped them on. Thankfully it was a bigger fellow and not an average sized human. The waistline was still tight but he finally had covering.

When he turned back he noticed Lily curled up on the ground, motionless but he could tell she was alive.

Likely against her own better judgement she helped him during the battle, he figured he would return the favor after all the effort she had put into this battle. The outcome likely would have been different without her and he acknowledged that.

His hand gently lifted and hands of the force gently lifted her up. As he walked the force brought her with behind him, where he dropped her off at the medical tents.

He did not say anything to her, but he made sure she was taken in and taken care of.

Now

Varin stood looking at every face as they celebrated their survival. Drinks were raised and songs sung. He walked by tables as some of the troopers raised mugs to him, he silently gave them a nod allowing them to continue.

He reached into his pocket pulling out the bacta injector he had once offered to Lilly, but she had declined it. The bandages that wrapped up his hands and arms bore wear and tear from trying to contain the bleeding from his wounds. Slight red patches could be seen that tried to bleed through the wraps, but he did not feel he needed the injector.

As he approached a table he noticed Isobel by her own lonesome, trying to enjoy a strong drink.

Varin walked over, noticing the wrap over her leg and the crutch she held. He looked down at her leg first then back at her.

“I see you fared well?”

His hand outstretched offering the injector to her.

“Won't heal much of broken bones but it will help the pain.”

After a moment of quiet he slowly turned and grabbed two nearby chairs, offering her one as well.

“Have a seat. Rest your leg.”

Before Tags: Tamsin Starfall | Arris Windrun | Lily Rhodes

Present tag: Isobel Serraris​

 

[Seris Velmora]

Tag: OPEN - Mention: Kjartan Hammer-Hand

The escape pod had been too small. That was the thought that kept returning to Seris Velmora. Not the battle. Not the Mandalorians. Not even the wound that still burned beneath layers of synthflesh and bandages whenever she moved too quickly. The pod. Days—perhaps longer—adrift in silence, staring at emergency lights and recycled air while waiting for someone, anyone, to find her. For a woman who thrived on violence, excess, and motion, it had been its own special form of torture.

The Governor's Mansion was the exact opposite. Noise. Voices. Celebration. Life. Seris stepped through the grand entrance with a slight limp hidden beneath practiced arrogance. Her dark clothing had been replaced with something less ruined, though fresh wrappings still crossed her torso beneath it. The largest bandages covered the spot where a Mandalorian blade had punched through her chest aboard the Spirit Breaker. Her arms bore additional wrappings, and faint bruising lingered around her throat and ribs.

She looked terrible. She looked pleased to be alive. Amber eyes swept briefly across the assembled Sith and soldiers occupying the mansion. She recognized a few faces, ignored most of them, and offered no greetings. Instead, she made directly for the alcohol.

The first bottle she found was liberated without ceremony. A glass would only slow her down. She twisted the cap free and took a long pull. The burn hit immediately. A grin followed.

"Finally." The word escaped as a satisfied breath.

Only then did her thoughts drift back to the battle. To the dying hulk of the Spirit Breaker. To failing gravity, flickering lights, and corridors slick with blood. Most of all, to the Mandalorian commander who had nearly killed her.

Her hand drifted unconsciously toward the item hanging from her belt opposite her twin sabers. The hammer. Heavy. Crude. Effective. A warrior's weapon. A trophy.

Seris smirked into the mouth of the bottle before taking another drink. The Mandalorian had lost a hand. Then his hammer. But not his life.

That part still irritated her. She remembered the chaos aboard the dying Spirit Breaker. The failing power. The collapsing corridors. The desperate scramble for survival that had denied her a proper ending. No victory. No corpse. No certainty.

Just an empty escape pod and the growing realization that somewhere in the galaxy the stubborn bastard was still breathing. The thought should have annoyed her. Instead, she found herself smiling.

A worthy enemy was difficult to find. One who had nearly killed her, taken everything she could throw at him, and still escaped? That was rarer still. The hammer rested against her hip as she took another drink.

Sooner or later she would find him again. And next time there would be no burning warship, no failing life support, and no collapsing battlefield to interfere.

The battered weapon was not a reminder of victory. It was a promise. One way or another, their story was not finished.

​