Public In Through The Guts

[Catarina Talen]

Objective: Jeopardize Intelligence Gathering By Engaging In Pointless Heroics
Equipment: Datapad, Lightsaber (Hidden), Blaster Pistol (Stun-Only), Latch-on Thermal Detonator (x3)
Tags (Allies): Novac Lyrikal | Faelyra Vynn | etc., etc.
Tags (Opposition): Ziso Kus | etc., etc.

Waste no time. Be fast and be precise.

The Jedi Knight moved with ground-eating haste; every second meant more smoke exposure and more time for the Sith to come and find her and her associates. While Faelyra and Novac worked to contain the fire, Caterina shuttled its victims to safety, or as close as one could achieve down here in the Guts.

A Human girl with old burns on her face and a cough in her chest. A Rodian, with a limp on his left side and the rattling breath of fluid-filled lungs. A Caphex, too old and frail to move herself away from the flames. Cat shielded those she carried away from the flames with her body, and her body she shielded with the Force, so that the heat would burn her only lightly and the smoke would not fill her lungs.

Endless disaster, sparked by one individual's carelessness - or malice. Still, with three Jedi, this was doable. There wasn't anything to be done for the structures themselves, but they could keep injuries to a minimum if -

A quiet billowing of her cloak and the sheer desire to end a life were the only things to give her away before the crackling, pained hiss of a Sith lightsaber followed and she struck down for Faelyra Vynn.

There was a split second where she was frozen. In her mind's eye she saw the worst; the padawan and the healer butchered, corpses burnt by plasma-fire, the bone-white machine-Sith looming over them. Her fingers shook, her limbs trembled as she placed one last wounded civilian down before -

She inhaled.

There is no Emotion; there is Peace.

And exhaled. Her pupils dilated, saucer-plate-wide and rimmed by the ruby red edges of her sclera. She was a Jedi; master of her own emotions, or at least striving towards that goal. She could not allow her fear to endanger others.

"No," she whispered, and dashed towards the Sith, the Padawan and her fellow Knight. In the midst of the blur erupted an arc of shining blue light, and when she came to a standstill she had brought her lightsaber to bear; it was held forward, at the height of her midsection, with the tip of the beam pointed up and towards the Sith. She took a few more steps forward, cold and efficient in her stride, to place herself between the aggressor and the Padawan.

"You won't harm anyone here."

The delivery was quiet and tranquil, with only the slightest tremble of fear. This wasn't a threat, it wasn't bluster. It was barely even being delivered to the Sith.

It was a vow, between Caterina and herself.

 

[Faelyra Vynn]

The burst of water from the ruptured pipe spread in glittering sheets across the grimy floor, hissing where it met the nearest tongues of flame. It was messy, imperfect, and absolutely enough. Faelyra looked over just in time to see Novac wrestling the angled pipe and soaked cloths into usefulness, calling civilians into a bucket line with a confidence that had not been there moments ago.

A small, breathless smile touched her lips despite the smoke. “Thank you,” she called to him, and she meant it with an earnestness that cut through the chaos. Because without that water line this corridor would already have been lost. She turned immediately back to the wounded. There was no shortage.

A middle-aged Duros with blistered hands. A woman half-conscious from smoke inhalation. Another civilian with a nasty gash from collapsing debris. Faelyra knelt beside the worst of them, pressing one palm lightly to the woman’s sternum while the other steadied the side of her neck, feeling the frantic flutter of pulse beneath blue fingertips.

“Slow breaths,” she whispered. “You’re alright… just stay with me…” The Force flowed, soft and cool where everything around her was heat and panic. She could not mend all of it—not here, not quickly—but she could stabilize. Ease constriction in the lungs. Draw down shock. Buy minutes.

Minutes mattered. Then—Cold. Not physical. Something far deeper and far more wrong. It sliced through the corridor like a blade of black ice. Faelyra’s breath caught. Every muscle in her body locked.

The calm she had been spreading through the Force recoiled violently as another presence slammed against it—hatred so concentrated it almost felt alive, jagged and diseased and ravenous. Her head lifted on instinct, eyes widening as she sensed it before she fully saw it.

Above. Watching. And then dropping. A pale mechanical horror wrapped in a cloak, crimson blade screaming to life as it descended directly toward her. Faelyra froze. Not from lack of awareness. From the terrible, crushing realization that she was still kneeling over an injured civilian and had nowhere to go without abandoning them.

Her mouth opened before thought caught up. Through the Force more than voice, the warning ripped from her in a burst of raw alarm.

SITH! The mental shout cracked outward to every allied presence nearby. And then the world yanked sideways.

Faelyra cried out as an invisible pull tore both her and the woman she was shielding backward across wet durasteel. The Sith blade struck where they had been a fraction earlier, carving molten ruin into the floor. She hit hard on one shoulder, instinct immediately overriding pain as she twisted over the patient, arms wrapping protectively around the smoke-choking civilian.

Novac. He had moved her. She looked up just long enough to see him plant himself between them and the attacker, polearm saber igniting in trembling readiness. For one heartbeat Faelyra simply stared. The envy she had felt before returned—but changed now.

Not envy of recklessness. Admiration of courage. Even frightened, he had stepped forward.

Faelyra swallowed hard and curled tighter around the injured woman as sparks spat from the Sith’s ruined landing point. “You’re safe,” she whispered to the civilian, though the words shook. “Stay down. Stay behind me.”

Another flash of blue. Catarina entered the fray like a drawn line of certainty, her blade interposing itself with quiet finality between the Sith and the civilians behind her. Faelyra felt the steadiness of that vow as much as heard it. A wall had formed.

Which meant she had seconds. Only seconds. She forced herself back to task. The woman beneath her was hyperventilating, pulse erratic. Faelyra pressed both hands down again, calling on the Force despite her own hammering terror. Calm. Oxygen flow. Stabilize the constricted chest. Ease the spasms. Keep her conscious enough to move if they had to run.

Come on… come on…The civilian’s breathing leveled by degrees. Not healthy. Stable. Good enough.

Faelyra exhaled sharply and looked to the cluster of huddled residents nearby—children crying, an elderly Ithorian crouched low, two others too shocked to move.

No one was guarding them. Her healer’s instinct screamed to stay on the ground with the wounded. Her survival instinct screamed louder to hide. But neither would help if the Sith broke through. Faelyra rose. Slowly at first, then with firmer resolve than she felt.

Her silver lightsaber snapped to life with a clean hiss, pale light cutting through smoke beside Novac’s and Catarina’s more battle-ready stances.She did not step ahead. Did not pretend she belonged on the front line. Instead Faelyra planted herself just before the civilians, blade held in both hands despite the visible tremor there, blue eyes fixed on the monstrous Sith beyond her allies.

A shield. That she could do. Her voice came quiet, but no longer timid, directed behind her to those cowering in the smoke. “Stay low. Stay behind us.” Then, swallowing against the fear clawing up her throat, she set her feet and held the line.

Location: Level 1313, Coruscant
Objective: Be ready to provide “medical” aid.
Outfit: Civilian “blend in” Clothing
Allies: Catarina Talen | Isobel Serraris | Mykel Dawson | Starbird | Thalen Dhorain | Lestra Thairk
Potential Enemies: Arris Windrun | Ziso Kus
Direct Interaction: Catarina Talen | Novac Lyrikal | Ziso Kus

 

[Ziso Kus]

Metal screeched under Ziso's impact on the floor. Weight alone wasn't the only cause, but rather the intensity of her strike. Her lightsaber carved through the flooring in a wicked gash. Her claws tore. Her entire metallic body was going to be used to rip apart the Jedi had she not been moved. And yet, she had been. The chill of hate, of a seething rage, cut through the haze of heat and flame all that much more as the Sith's gaze turned to the Jedi.

Most of her form remained hidden under the cloak she wore, huddled in her shorter state of being. The bone white mask had to look up at each of them as more lightsaber's joined the chorus of defiance. Two stood before her, stamping down fear in the process. Living eyes glanced to the healer behind, as she focused on mending wounds.

Hate.

The bitter cold grew. The cloak parted to reveal the extent of the cyborg. Machinery and cybernetics whirled to life as her form extended, plates shifting and moving. A second saber joined the first in a flare of agonizing red, the kyber within crying out in anguish. "Jedi still wish to talk, even here on this world?"

Her form towered now at her full height. The pair of red burned into the ground, filling the air with a painful hiss as metal melted from the heat. Then she threw. Both sabers ripped through the air with machine precision, spinning rapidly around the Jedi. Towards those behind them, those they were trying to protect. Through support pillars and walls, to weaken the structure.

A terribly cruel feint, to lure their eyes to those who needed their protecting. The second their attention went to stopping those blades, to stopping the collapse of the building, the Sith had faded from sight. Not quite from sound. The crush of cybernetic claws biting into wood and steel, the crackle of the flame. Disorienting and distracting. Tricks of the trade for an Assassin.

Lethal intent, hate, the flame, the lightsabers. Everything was loud, blaring the Assassin's presence as she moved just out of sight. Everything was a distraction from the true strike. A pair of daggers, as silent as they were simple, thrown from an angle only possible through the Force towards the serpent Jedi's back.

Novac Lyrikal | Faelyra Vynn | Catarina Talen

 

[Arris Windrun]

Isobel Serraris
​

No longer knows? Then this woman wasn't stuck - she was lost. But Arris said nothing. No, she stood there, hearing what she had to say.

There was little reaction when she placed her hands on the cyborg's arms. Either an act of apathy or silent permission. Hell, even Arris herself wasn't certain. She just cast her eyes a little low at the one who stood half a head shorter. Arris snickered when she accused the lighting of its uselessness. Theirs was a durasteel sky where exhaust burnoff made a poor substitute for starlight, and the light of passing speeders and neon signs hardly touched the darker corners.

When she asked if the Talusian knew a better spot, Arris shrugged and answered. "Yeah." She was already walking when the word departed her lips.

"Don't stray from me." A warning, not a command.

The Guts was an easy place to get lost. A liminal space of labyrinthine alleys and streets littered with pazaak dens, flophouses, and swoop gang dives.

They arrived at a rundown vehicle garage where a swoop bike had been half-disassembled. Arris approached, and the blast door parted, revealing a disaster of a space within, cast under fluorescent light. Tables filled with dissected speeder parts. Her little safehouse in 1313.

Arris gestured to the space. "Well - here we are."

 

[Novac Lyrikal]

Ziso Kus Faelyra Vynn Catarina Talen

the feeling novac had and the feelings he felt radiating from te sith clashed inside him. his fear and want to protect vs the pure hate and murderous intent clashed like wild beasts. it was almost sickening, he'd never felt anything like the feeling the sith was producing, almost oozing.

suddelny everyone catarina and faelyra where there, lightsabers drawn. good 3 against 1 shouldn't be bad right? but the sith is still there, staring at them with hatred, they didnt run did they think they could beat the 3 of them? suddenly the droid like sith drew another red blade and threw them, novac went to protect himself but the blades where going for him or te other two jedi. they where goin flr the civilians and supports! 'SHIT' was all novac could think for a second or two, until his thoughts where just 'protect, get them to safety, move them out of harms way' there where to many for him to get all at once but he moved as many as he could out of the way of the blades.

suddenly it was like an alarm went off in his head. he'd felt this once before when he fought a doashim, right before it swung at him and clawed his side. it was a warning, novac in a instant dropped to the ground and turned around moving like a snake just as 2 daggers flew above him.

he'll have to thank his master if he makes it out of this. she was a master at force speed and because of all their sparring novac had gotten quitea quick reaction time.

he didnt see where the sith was but could hear them and used the force to throw a few bits or debris that already came off the burned building in the general direction, having no idea if they'll hit. it was a bit sloppy but quick.

 

[Isobel Serraris]

IN THROUGH THE GUTS​

LOCATION — Coruscant, Level 1313
OBJECTIVES — Sabotage
TAGS — Arris Windrun
PARAPHERNALIA — Old civilian clothes, an old blaster pistol and concealed ruined lightsabers.

The offer lingered in the scant space between them, akin to an outstretched blade with its hilt beyond reach--one must shed crimson to obtain it. . . the blood poured, for sacrifices were but a single sprout in a barren field, a particle of light to combat an authorative darkness. Agreement was the only path to one day topple this grave threat.

Pledged to an enormous risk of certain demise, the young Nabooan concealed herself in the shadow of what must have been a grand warrior of the Sith. Each step taken was another step away from the horde, and into a new treacherous minefield.

Her dark eyes darted around the footpath, from the intricate neon shapes, to the countless markings decorating the poorly stitched walls--symbols that echoed no recognition, but only the sheer dread of what they might allude to. This place harboured no intricate pillars, domed architecture, nor the smell of any flora. . . Life was a concept here; a cruel dream to drive one to desperate measures, a fuel to fan the flames higher.

Whilst a shroud of desperation clung to the stranger, its origin could not be found in the same waters as the Guts inhabitants. It tasted foreign, tinged by danger whilst coated by layers of familiarity--a narglatch in shaak's hide. "I shall not stray, friend." She voiced confidently and paced after the woman, until the path split and led into the dark alleyway where not a soul could be sensed.

The safehouse was well-hidden, it was merely another fragment in this labyrinthal prison. Though the insides did not scream grandeur neither, but it had sufficient tools to enact her little 'sabotage'.

Once inside, she wandered toward the crate with tools, inspecting them one by one. "So you are the collecting type," words spoken more to herself, rather than its owner. Her fingers reached out and wrapped around an all-kit tool, its bolts were loose and the durasteel had rusted considerably. Yet it still lit up when she enabled the fusioncutter. . . Splendid.

Her hand loosely gestured toward one of the unopened metal crates: "Sit. You cannot keep walking around like a half-destroyed droid." Isobel's tone maintained its gentleness, a nigh on melodic sound that sounded too out of place for it to belong here.

And yet it did.

Once the cyborg had lowered herself onto the makeshift seat, she bridged the gap once more--the toolkit resting in the palm of her hand, a passive tool that did not yet unveil its purpose. Her half-gloved hands brushed over the metal casing of the arm, as she moved it left and right, rotating it clockwise. "Flex those arms for me," She blurted out without thought before flushing a bright red. "If you can, um. I wish to see what parts aren't working."

​

 

[Arris Windrun]

Isobel Serraris​

Arris seated herself on the box; she was not quite relaxed, but whatever tension she felt was of the lingering sort. The kind carried by tired people who struggled to let go - if they knew they carried it at all.

She glanced slightly over her shoulder when the stranger placed her hands on her arm. It was malleable, compliant to her touch, easy to bend and move and rotate. Until she asked Arris to flex. The cyborg thought nothing of it and obeyed just as her arm had. Pistons hissed quietly, and other intricate parts began to move. Wires, snaked and coiled, bent around hard metal. Compliance turned to resistance as Windrun's arms flexed as if expecting to carry Coruscant on their shoulders, tugging on the synthflesh where metal touched her back muscles.

Her right arm was in terrible shape. Several rods twitched and vibrated, and one was broken; it couldn't quite fit inside its sheath, and so her right elbow hadn't bent as completely as the left.

Arris turned her neck a little further, watching the woman sidelong. If she noticed the rush of blood beneath her cheeks, then she didn't bother to remark.

"So - what do you think?" A quiet, tired question.