Public In Through The Guts

[Catarina Talen]

Objectives: Reconnaissance, Disruption
Equipment: Datapad, Lightsaber (Hidden), Blaster Pistol (Stun-Only), Latch-on Thermal Detonator (x3)
Tags (Allies): Starbird | Faelyra Vynn | Isobel Serraris | Mykel Dawson | Lestra Thairk or Thalen Dhorain | OPEN
Tags (Opposition): OPEN to Sith Covenant and Allied PCs

Infiltration had been as easy as expected. Easier, even. The Covenant, for all of the cruel efficacy it had brought to bear in the invasion, seemed to be resting on its laurels - or else was completely uninterested in maintaining a security apparatus.

A single freighter packed with Jedi, spies, and saboteurs had drifted into Coruscant's airspace unimpeded. No special stealth fields, no precautions except a spoofed identification code. And it had worked.

Catarina had allowed herself some small amusement over that. Levity was good for the soul, after all.

But now she sat at some dingy food cart, one-thousand-three-hundred-and-thirteen levels from the Coruscanti skyline, and that levity was gone. Even at its most beautiful, the so-called Galactic City felt oppressive to the young Jedi. Down here in the depths, where hope was a joke and your neighbor was as likely to gut you as greet you? The chemical pollution paled in comparison to the spiritual, and both could incapacitate an under-prepared adept.

Cat slid a dull grey credit chit towards the portly Genosian manning the cart, who palmed it and grunted inquisitively.

"Sour fry, please." She was soft, quiet, melancholy. Everything about her, from her voice to the drab greys and browns of her jumpsuit down to her presence in the Force screamed I'm not important. That suited her just fine.

Eventually, she received a bowl of something brownish-grey that may have passed for sour fry in poor lighting, which was her cue to pick it up and start walking. She did all of her best work in motion -

"- and Windrun had a scrap in the senate building -"

"- cut her own head off and just put it back on -"

"- academy's going to hell -"

And she needed to focus if she wanted to hone in on the useful chatter.

 

[Isobel Serraris]

IN THROUGH THE GUTS​

LOCATION — Coruscant, Level 1313
OBJECTIVES — Initially. . . Sabotage and Humanitarian Aid
TAGS — Open for allies or opposition [contact me beforehand... preferably]
PARAPHERNALIA — Old civilian clothes, an old blaster pistol and concealed ruined lightsabers.

Lifeless buildings that climbed to the skies above, whilst they cast an eternal shadow upon the lives below. An echo of the relentless terror inflicted upon the innocent, and guilty, who were only just living--no, surviving in the the inescapeable lower levels of the city-planet.

Isobel had infiltrated the heart of the blight among a handful of other, foreign, allies. Foreign, indeed, as no face seemed to call forth a sense of recognition, but not that she was in the mood to alter that. Emotional ties would sever the probability of success. . . as the past had proven so visciously.

The corruption sang to her in whispered tunes, pouring its essence into her very veins as she took step after step throughout the horde of criminals and else. The Force sought not to conceal her, there was nought that would call for that yet, it instead whispered in the same frequency as the murmurs of the Bogan. Not that she, yet, realised that cruel truth.

Her steps were quieted, consumed by the loud clanking of droids, the repetitive footsteps of mercenaries and what else skulked around these streets. It was a plague, which showed no cure, except for the cold blade of mercy... no. The cure was extraction, not death, even if death was a possible alternative should the former fail.

But such thoughts were a possibility, not a guarantee. I will not fail. Echoed lonelily in her mind as her eyes attempted to scan the crowd for anything that may lead her to her objectives. Whispers of weakpoints, visual signs of the Sith Covenant. . .

Anything.

​

 

[Mykel Dawson]

___________________________________________________________________​

Objectives: Reconnaissance, Disruption
Equipment: Shadowsun Field Generator (concealed), Armorweave (under clothes), Datapad, Lighwhip (concealed within nullification resin), Vibro-shiv
Allies: Jedi & Friends ( Catarina Talen , Isobel Serraris , Starbird , Faelyra Vynn , Lestra Thairk , Thalen Dhorain )
Opposition: Sith
With: OPEN
Direct Opposition: OPEN

Appearance

Mykel had crammed himself into the freighter alongside the other Jedi and infiltrators, but from the moment the landing ramp had swung down from the clunker's hull, he was already peeling away on his own. There was no Jedi Knight, just another freight hand doing what freight hands always did after collecting their measly pay: making a beeline for the nearest cantina to get nice and drunk, and maybe even score some tail if the night went right.

Before his real mission could commence, blending was critical in these first moments of infiltration. Match the vibe or die. So Mykel tugged his weathered cap low, slouched his shoulders, and let the crowds swallow him on his way toward the flickering neon lights of a tavern that had caught his eye. All the while, he was but a speck in the Force.

He was going solo for now, but he was also just an encrypted text away.

 

[Starbird]

Objectives: Reconnaissance, Disruption
Equipment: Shield Gauntlets, Repulsor Belt, Plasteel Armor
Tags (Allies): Catarina Talen | Faelyra Vynn | Isobel Serraris | Mykel Dawson | Lestra Thairk | Thalen Dhorain
Tags (Opposition): OPEN to Sith Covenant and Allied PCs

He had heard the rumors; strangers on 1313. What few allies he had in the lower levels had a network of informants, tattletales, and snitches who kept Starbird aware of most of the happenings of the criminal syndicates. Half a dozen of which were trying to figure out who owned the mysterious freighter that had deposited some off worlders on Coruscant. Most had already lost interest trying to identify the foreigners as soon as a lightsaber had been spotted behind a cloak or carelessly mentioned in the bustling streets of Galactic City. But that information had grabbed Starbirds attention. Jedi? Returning to Coruscant?

He sat in his dingy apartment staring at the closet he kept his equipment in, a bowl of cheap synth-noodles spiced with what ever he could afford growing cold in front of him. For a long time he had been laying low, going after local criminal gangs while avoiding any of the Sith. Did he really want to stick his neck out for these people? Draw the attention of Sith which he'd have to deal with long after these Jedi had completed their mission and gone home? Could he forgive himself if he didn't help?

He opened the door to the closet, staring at the orange cape and white armor as he left his noodles abandoned.

He would do his best.

Level 1313 was like an old friend at this point. Too many little gangs constantly killing eachother and harassing the locals kept him busy in his eternal war on crime in the lower levels. So it hadn't been too difficult to go to his normal perch above the ventilation, pipes, and electrics that ran above the busy streets of the Coruscant underlevel. He watched from the shadows the coming and going of the crowd, trying to identify anyone he knew or could identify as Jedi; though his time at the Jedi Temple was long past.

The force pushed on his senses as he reached out, feeling only vague or misshapen influences of others. He had never been good with the force, but at least he knew they were here. Somewhere.

For now all he could do is sit and wait. Maybe the Sith wouldn't even intervene? Unlikely. If he had heard of these offworlders odds are the Sith had too in one way or another.

He would have to fight soon, fight like he'd never had to before.

So he would sit cross legged and meditate, waiting for his time.

 

[Ziso Kus]

"There. Your cybernetics have been modified as requested." A translator droid spoke up for the Ugnaught that had been repairing and altering Ziso's cybernetic parts. Leaner, more compact. Able to expand to it's former size. The life of an assassin needed as many tools for surprise as possible, and this alteration should give her an edge she felt she was missing. She stood to her new full height, barely the height of a human, before nodding once.

"Good."

There was an idle flex of her clawed hands before she pulled her cloak back over her shoulders, lifted her hood above her head. Shrouded once more in darkness, where she belonged.

"You will leave now Sith. I have spo-" There was a machinelike screech as the droid collapsed onto itself, broken as the Force bent. Ziso turned to the Ugnaught, who was now panicking. Surprise was a weapon all assassins needed, and loose ends were a threat. "A painless death is my thanks to you."

Ziso would emerge from the workshop, having set it to torch. Nothing was allowed to remain, everything being burnt straight to the foundations. Whether or not the fire spread was of little concern for the Sith. There'd be no evidence of her modifications to be found, all consumed by the heat. This was a Sith's world after all, there'd be no concern for some do gooders stopping her this low in the city.

 

[Arris Windrun]

Isobel Serraris | OPEN
​

In the aftermath of her duel with Vestra Tane , Arris Windrun wandered the street in search of a good cyberdoc. Well, 'good' was subjective as always, but the cyborg was an utter mess. Triumvir of the Sith Covenant, and the one who led the strike on Genarius that destroyed Edic Bar.

If there was ever a vital sign of the Covenant, then there it was. And oh, she appeared so, so weak. Her cyber arms were fully exposed, repaired only to a point of practical use, but useless to scrap with. And the rest of her body was marred with the telltale signs of lightsaber damage.

Still, the crowd generally steered clear of her, making way for the blonde to sulk on through.

She wondered what her apprentice, Acier Moonbound , would think when he found out that Vestra was dead.

 

[Lestra Thairk]

Tags: Not interacting with anyone yet so no tags!

The old duracrete jungle. It had been far too long since Lestra had last been on Coruscant, and if you asked him, he'd say it wasn't long enough. There was a part of him that was on edge, wondering if this was some kind of trap. It had been far too easy for them to get planet-side. Even the Empire had been more strict on who had arrived. It was why he had never attempted to try and infilitrate himself. Yet as he sat on his lonesome, taking in the streets and watching those who shuffled around as if misery was something they could live off...Lestra wondered what the point was.

Stealth work was something he had some experience with...but normally he'd have some manner of fauna to use to aid his investigations. Right now, most rats or similar creatures he could find seemed to be getting cooked as if they were some exotic meat. Perhaps this low down, it was merely exotic to have some form of natural meat.

For now, he kept to himself, stomping his foot on a loose pipe he had found on the floor, flicking it straight up into his hand and weighing it for a moment. He hadn't brought his own weapon, as much as having it would have been a boon, part of him felt like carrying a spear around would have caused him to stick out like a sore thumb. But the pipe seemed well balanced enough for him to use as an alternative. Now, it was just time for him to wander over yonder.
​

 

[Faelyra Vynn]

The freighter smelled like recycled air, overheated wiring, and too many bodies sharing too little space.

Faelyra Vynn sat with her back pressed lightly against the bulkhead, fingers laced together in her lap as if holding them still might quiet the restless energy beneath her skin. The hum of the engines vibrated through the thin decking, a constant, droning reminder that there was no turning back now—not that she would have, but the feeling lingered all the same.

Stuffy. That was the word for it. Not just the air. The atmosphere. The people. The mission.

Her gaze drifted across the others aboard. Faces she didn’t know. Voices she hadn’t learned. Movements she couldn’t yet predict. Faelyra had always found it easier to settle into a rhythm when she understood those around her—when she could anticipate tension before it snapped, pain before it surfaced. Here, she had none of that. Just strangers bound together by urgency and necessity.

Her shoulders drew in slightly.

She had spent time on Coruscant before. Not long enough to call it home, but long enough to remember its rhythm—the endless layers of life, the crowded skylanes, the strange comfort of being just another face in an endless sea. It had been loud, alive… vibrant in a way few worlds could match.

Now they were flying into something else entirely. The thought settled uneasily in her chest. Faelyra exhaled slowly, steadying herself. This wasn’t about familiarity. It wasn’t about comfort. She was here for a reason. Because when things went wrong—and they would—someone needed to be ready to pick up the pieces.

The freighter lurched slightly as it began its descent. Her fingers tightened together once, then relaxed. Focus.

The landing wasn’t graceful, but it was quiet—and quiet mattered more.

Faelyra rose with the others, adjusting the strap of her pack over her shoulder. The weight of it was reassuring: medical supplies carefully packed, organized, ready. Something she understood. Something she could rely on.

As the ramp lowered, she instinctively moved closer to Catarina Talen. Not clinging—she was careful about that—but close enough to anchor herself. Catarina had the air of someone who knew exactly what she was doing, and right now that certainty was something Faelyra needed. If she stayed near the center of the mission, near its guiding hand, she could be where she was most useful. Where she was supposed to be.

Her eyes flicked briefly to the others as they disembarked—And then paused. One of the men—Mykel Dawson—didn’t hesitate. He moved. Not cautiously. Not with the measured pace of the group. He simply went, breaking off with a confidence that felt almost foreign in contrast to the careful tension surrounding them.

Faelyra watched him for a second longer than she meant to. There was something… enviable about it. That kind of certainty. That willingness to step forward without waiting, without second-guessing every possible outcome. A small part of her wondered what it would feel like to move like that—to trust herself enough to act first and think later.

But the thought faded as quickly as it came. Because she knew better. Knew herself better. Faelyra’s gaze lowered slightly as she adjusted her grip on her pack. She couldn’t afford that kind of boldness. Not here. Not like this.

If things went wrong—and they would—she couldn’t be the one who had rushed ahead, who had taken unnecessary risks. She needed to be present. Aware. Ready. The one people could find when everything started falling apart. That was her role. That was how she helped.

Her steps remained measured as she stayed close to Catarina, quiet but attentive, her senses reaching outward—not for threats, not first—but for the subtle shifts in those around her. Tension. Fear. The early signs of pain yet to come.

Coruscant loomed around them, familiar and unrecognizable all at once. Faelyra swallowed softly, steadying herself as they moved forward into the unknown. Ready—Or as ready as she could be.

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: OPEN

 

[Isobel Serraris]

IN THROUGH THE GUTS​

LOCATION — Coruscant, Level 1313
OBJECTIVES — Initially. . . Sabotage and Humanitarian Aid
TAGS — Arris Windrun // Possibly OPEN for more.
PARAPHERNALIA — Old civilian clothes, an old blaster pistol and concealed ruined lightsabers.

Chaos. There was nought else that could encompass the existence of such a large body of people. Varying in shapes and sizes, and in allegiances most of all--for some donned the insignia of a Huttese-aligned band, whereas others swore their loyalty to other parties.

The months in exile--the months spent in the absence of this havoc--did bring forth the knowledge that one must be wary with their glances. One poorly timed look could be perceived as an offence to be answered with death, or... fates worse than death. Isobel was scarce with how often she lifted her gaze away from the plated floor.

Nevertheless, an err was bound to take place, no matter how careful one may be with their advance. When the Jedi's brown eyes fell upon a sigil with a similar silhouette as the covenant, she sought to draw closer to inspect it further. With heedful steps she weaved through the Quarren, Humans and all alike, until she was but two metres away from this figure.

Upon closer inspection, it lacked the pointy design of the covenant, and was but another of the countless groupings skulking in the underworld.

An exasperated sigh escaped her lips, as she looked around for another clue, until- "Kee batuu batuu!" Out of my way grumbled a Rodian as she felt a push move her further into the throng of aliens. Her back hit one of the metal bracers of a Gamorrean, who squealed and looked down at the girl. Whether he was cussing her out or stating something else, was beyond her grasp. "My mistake," She panted, and sought to move away.

But, a firm hand grabbed the back of her collar, pulling her hood down, before it threw her firmly into a sparsely crowded path. . .

Right into the 'arms' of the enemy. . .

​

 

[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): Isobel Serraris | Faelyra Vynn | Lestra Thairk | Mykel Dawson | Starbird
Tags (Opposition): Ziso Kus | Arris Windrun
Directly Interacting: Faelyra Vynn

Somewhere in the distance, a life was cut short. There was shock, then fear, the silence of death, and then - a cascade of dreadful emotion. Worry and caution and fear and panic. The scent of smoke - tainted with chemical fumes and noxious pollutants - hit Catarina long after the initial wave of dread. Her pace quickened, and the bowl of brownish sludge she had been holding clattered unceremoniously to the ground, kicked across the cramped pathways of 1313 by dozens of feet.

A fire of any appreciable size in these corridors would kill dozens, maybe hundreds, with the smoke alone. Concealing herself would only slow her down, so her spiritual disguise would have to go. She pushed her way past an Agorffi datapad merchant, and called out with her mind to the nearest of her allies - Faelyra, the Pantoran. The healer.

Fire to the east. Help. Please.

Where before she had wandered about in a sort of calculated meander, now she moved with quiet, purposeful intensity. In the Force, she shone now like polished silver, and in this warm invisible light was the promise of a protection the people of Coruscant had not had for some time - a Jedi was here.

Perhaps this was foolish.

But perhaps sometimes the Force called upon Jedi to play the fool.

 

[Arris Windrun]

Isobel Serraris
​

And so this young woman stumbled into a pair of cybernetic arms. They were uncased; wire, pistons, and all manner of internal mechanisms. At a glance, it might have seemed like a droid, but further up, looking down at her in surprise, was the face of a blonde-haired cyborg. Arris looked like a mess, truly.

Windrun's jaw clenched in a toothy grimace before her face settled back into its default sullenness.

"Sorry about that," she muttered and endeavored to right the woman on her feet.

The Sith was blind to how others seemed in the Force, but she herself was sick with the Dark Side. She carried hatred which hemorrhaged from her as if there was a gaping wound in her spirit. However, there was no mistaking it - this was not a simple victim of the Dark Side, but a practitioner who bathed in it. A chosen corruption.

Still, though blind in the Force she may be, Arris saw people in other ways. One glance was all it took to spit her read.

"You're in the wrong place." She reached into her pocket and threw a few credit chits her way. "Buy a ticket off this dump." Yeah, she meant Coruscant as a whole.

 

[Isobel Serraris]

IN THROUGH THE GUTS​

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

Starving flowers in a landscape of steel--grasping for the life and light to caress, only to be met with a harsher dark than before.

The abyss etched at her very being as she neared the cyborg. Her features appeared nigh on burdened by the mark of Bogan, with furrowed brow, parted lips and downcast eyes, she sought to resist the corruption it summoned. Do not lose yourself. . . echoed in her mind akin to a vile hiss from one's rivals. To lose oneself was to lose the mission entirely, she was here to drive a dagger into a weakpoint of a tyrannical movement--not to be lost herself into its grasp.

Her brown eyes moved up once more as the blonde woman's words were consumed by the vague chatter of others. Its gentle nature gradually darkened until its soft edges had sharpened into lethal blades. There was no surrender to be had, ever, surrender was a weakness and one that ought not to be possessed.

She took hold of the credits as they were thrown into the air, and put them into the pocket of her coat. "Me? I may be a poor lass, tagwa yes... Though, who of us is wandering around like a botched up scrapjob?" The girl cocked her head, and pouted lightly in an almost mocking manner--bold, but one had to gamble all their cards in this world.

Her gaze trailed over the intricate wiring and soldering of the cybernetic arms [or the lack thereof]. There was a sudden ache to reach out and further inspect it, though it was resisted by another force within her. "Say. . . It is impractical to leave that open for all these grabby hands to 'nab its precious resources. I would love to crawl my way out of this level, but. . . a pretty lass like me has debts, and I need more credits," Her finger circled once before pointing at one of her damaged arms. "I'll fix it for a price,"

Another gamble, but knowing how everyone seemed to keep their distance from the cyborg--Isobel had accidentally leapt toward her clue.

​

 

[Arris Windrun]

Isobel Serraris
​

Arris stood still, head turned towards her as she pocketed the credits. Then the rest turned back to face her when she started talking.

Botched up scrapjob? There was a hint of a smile, a shriveled weed of a thing that might've bloomed into something brighter had she been in a less sunken mood. The cyborg's head tilted with hers, and as if presenting the subject of critique, she put her arms on display - stretched out towards the young woman before falling back to her sides.

"You've got me there." She said, tone a touch more amused than tired, but only a touch.

Arris looked around when she suggested others might take pick her clean like mechanical carrion. Really though, she wondered why that would be a problem. More power to them if they got away with it. But usually, people didn't bother her, the wandering cyborg with a pair of... Oh, right. She didn't bring her slugthrowers. Those were still more than a thousand levels above. The thought vanished when her attention was stolen by what the stranger offered.

"Y'know, pretty lass," she addressed dryly, "Normally my cybernetic specialists have a less interesting tongue. Never heard anyone speak like you, really. Definitely not from around here, yeah?"

Foolish Arris Windrun, she didn't trust this one bit. But she wanted to.

She looked down at her pants pockets. All she wore was those dark green (practically black) spacers' slacks and a cropped grey muscle shirt. Her cyber legs had feet easily mistaken for metal boots, so she never bothered with footwear. Suffice it to say, a pocket full of credits was all she had on her. She patted them down to make a point of it.

"I dunno if I have enough," she said flatly. Then, skeptically, she asked. "You even got a place to work on me around here?"

 

[Novac Lyrikal]

Faelyra Vynn

novac was told of the mission, the basics of it. he knew what was to be done but not the hows. that was fine for now. what mattered was being here and getting to the others. he came on a separate ship through some connections his old master had. now he slithered between the streets. this was one of the few places people didnt care to much about him. they had their own things to deal with down here. novac was going in alleys to try and get theres faster. he made sure to try and blend in as much as he could. he wasn't the best at it, but the main thing he knew to do was act natural. luckily he could treat this place like butler's cove(his home planet). back there it was nothing but caves and tunnels, it was weirdly similar to navigating this this place. he knew not to look at anyone, not draw attention to himself. because no one down here would. finally he got to faelyra.

"hey, faelyra right? im novac, its good to meet you. hey we should probably go somewhere less..open, right?"he whispered while standing next to her without looking at her.


(ooc soo i may have misread. ignore the specifics. just what i was generally going for i'll edit later srry)

 

[Isobel Serraris]

IN THROUGH THE GUTS​

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

Deceit departed her lips so smoothly, though the more lies were spewed, the more its acrid taste sullied her mouth. Her heart ached with bitter awareness--a champion of the Light should not wield the swords of the Dark. However, does sabotaging a Sith [institution] not justify the means one must use?

When the cyborg, surprisingly, indulged her poorly acted façade, her left brow raised gently.

The corruption swirled around this woman's cybernetics, potent and relentless. . . and yet, that faint--surpressed--smile did not elude her senses. There was something so damnably captivating about this person, and how they wound up on level 1313, wandering around injured and sulking. Not to mention, looking as out of place as Isobel as well.

A forced chuckle left her, as she leaned forward lightly. The move forced her dark brown curls to tumble across her face. "Hm... Well if it eluded you, most people do not choose where they are stuck." The last word was emphasised with an extra layer of poison. "My home is somewhere in this galaxy, but where--I no longer know," Slipped from her lips softer than before.

Somewhere. . . in the Core or in the Mid Rim? Where was home. . ? She snapped out of it again, and brushed her pointed hand over her face to tidy her wild mane.

The scant jangling of credits in the woman's pockets made her efforts a little more difficult, but her disguise had been one coated in despair--with the longing to be rid of this decrepit level. Still, there was a brief pause before she acted.

"It depends,,," she purred, and attempted to take a closer look at the cybernetic arms. Her hands carefully placing themselves on the plating, though not holding on, in case the woman shrugged her off. "I cannot make sense of it here, the lighting is horrid--but have you been trying to push its capacities?" Bel's eyes trailed over the intricate wiring, the pistons and all of its sturdy metals--but with not a single proper idea blossoming in her mind. "My place? Oh do not jest. . . I am certain you have a better spot on this level than I, or are you too a 'foreigner' on this level?"

​

 

[Varin Mortifer]

VARIN MORTIFER

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

Pain had shot up through his spine as he limped into the lower levels of Coruscant. The Box had taken a heavy toll on his body before his rescue, and recovery was painfully slow. He did not wear his armor, doctors orders and his master would have his head if he delayed his recovery any longer.

He was no fool, he never came to the lower levels unarmed. The black blade sheathed at his side that had taken so many lives than he cared to count on one hip while his broadsaber rested on the other.

He walked himself to a nearby stand that served food and alcohol, ready to order his drink to stave off the pain for only a bit.

He placed his credits on the counter.

“Whiskey.”

The bartender looked absolutely nervous as his gaze shot to a group of individuals who were terrorizing folk with childish antics, then back to the Sith. Silently he prayed that the ruffians would not bother the violent man who sat before him.

His prayers were ignored as soon as the whiskey hit the counter.

“Hey man, what'ya got there?”

One of them picked up his drink, downing it in one tip then slammed the glass back to the counter. Varin's fists clenched, an annoyance.

The drinker looked no older than him, yet he acted like a petulant child. The kid didn't even notice Varin's large stature until he stood up, his eyes widening as his friends slowly backed up, fear in their eyes silencing the laughter they were sharing.

The kid pulled a small blaster in a shaking hand, pointing it at Varin. His fiery eye glared at him before his hand shot forth gripping the barrel and with a quick twist shattered the boy's wrist. Before he could scream Varin's other hand gripped his throat, hoisting him up slowly.

He didn't say anything. Instead he just looked him in the eye as the ruffian started to smoke, holding back a scream until he burst into flames, engulfing him in seconds. The fire was hot enough to strip flesh and blacken bone within seconds. A crowd moved away screaming as he looked at the small group, his hand flexing as a circle of flame entrapped them with him.

OPEN​

 

[Faelyra Vynn]

Smoke hit her before Catarina’s ”voice” did. It slid into Faelyra’s lungs sharp and filthy, chemical-laced and hot enough to sting the back of her throat. Then came the call through the Force—urgent, bright, unmistakable.

Fire to the east. Help. Please. Faelyra’s head snapped up. For one heartbeat she froze, blue fingers tightening around the strap of her medical pack as the flood of distant panic rushed across her senses. Fear. Confusion. Children crying. The sudden blank absence where at least one life had already ended.

Her stomach twisted. Then training overtook hesitation. She moved. Not elegantly, not with the measured reserve that usually marked her steps, but in a hurried weave through the cramped corridor traffic, slipping past shouting residents and the first wave of those trying to flee the smoke. “Excuse me—please—move—” Her voice came breathless, soft, but insistent as she pushed toward the growing orange pulse reflecting off rusted walls ahead.

Catarina’s silver-bright presence in the Force was impossible to miss now, a beacon through the chaos. Faelyra found her just as the corridor opened into the source of the disaster. Flame licked hungrily along a collapsed wiring conduit and spilled across stacked refuse, greasy runoff, and patched insulation foam. It was the smoke that made the true danger obvious—thick black coils already beginning to fill the narrow overhead space with nowhere for it to vent.

Too enclosed. Too many people. Too little time. And wounded. A Rodian woman crouched on the floor clutching a burned forearm. Two children were coughing violently against a wall. Someone farther in was screaming that another person was still trapped behind fallen plating. Faelyra dropped to her knees beside the nearest injured without even thinking.

“It’s alright, it’s alright, I’m here,” she murmured, voice low and soothing despite the pounding in her chest. Her hands hovered over blistered skin, pale blue light threading softly between her fingers as she coaxed down the worst of the tissue damage—not enough for perfection, not here, not with this many needs, but enough to dull agony and keep shock from setting in. She pushed calm through the Force as much as she pushed healing, trying to blunt the rising hysteria before the corridor became a stampede.

“Keep them moving back!” she called toward Catarina, louder now. “Low to the ground if they can—cover mouths—don’t let them cluster!”

Another cough wracked one of the children. Faelyra shifted, reaching into her pack for a wrapped breath cloth and pressing it into tiny trembling hands.

Then—A familiar voice at her side. “Hey, Faelyra right? I’m Novac—” She looked up sharply, almost startled to see him there through the haze.

Novac. One of the others from the mission. Relief flashed through her far more visibly than she intended. “Yes—yes, Novac.” She rose quickly, one hand still supporting the Rodian woman as another local dragged her backward. “I need your help.”

She pointed immediately toward a leaking wall pipe overhead where condensation ran in greasy streams. “Water line. Or anything wet—tarps, cloth, buckets, I don’t care. We have to smother the outer spread before it jumps the corridor.”

Her eyes darted to the fallen plating where sparks continued to spit. “And there may be someone trapped in there, but if the fire rolls over that conduit we lose this whole section.” The words came fast now, urgency overriding her normal timid cadence.

Faelyra turned, grabbing a discarded metal pan from a vendor stall and thrusting it toward a pair of stunned onlookers. “You—fill this! Pass water down!” She pointed to another. “Rip that hanging fabric down—now!”

For perhaps the first time since landing on Coruscant, she was not shrinking inward. There was too much to do for that. Too many people needing someone to decide. She looked back to Novac, smoke curling around the edges of her white hair, eyes wide but focused.

“Can you help me contain the flames on the left side?” she asked, already moving toward it. “If we can keep an opening clear, Catarina can get people out and I can reach whoever’s pinned.”

Another support beam groaned overhead. Faelyra swallowed hard, pulse hammering. No room for fear. Only motion. She pulled her sleeve over her mouth, lifted a soaked rag someone shoved into her hand, and plunged closer to the heat.

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

 

[Novac Lyrikal]

"on it," novac acted as fast as he could, getting anything flammable away with his arms and tail. once he did that he looked at the pipe. it couldnt be that sturdy right? its already leaking so surely not, hopefully. he reached his tail up and wrapped it around. he was lucky his father was a thisspian, he past down his genetic trait of a tail that was almost pure muscle. novac pulled with all he could, a little to much however. the pipe broke and water spilled out, novac almost fell over since he didnt expect it to break so easily as he got himself steady he tried to angle the pipe so the water would flow on the groumd towards the flames, didnt work to well but it was good enough. he quickly got the cloth and rags he took down and drenched them in water while calling out. "hey over here, bring any buckets you have," to those around him. he past some of the wet rags amd cloth around telling those he gave them to to spread them out, stop the fire from spreading further. he could feel faelyra using the force to try and calm the people around them. he did the same, he wasmt very good at it but it was better then nothing. the fire wasnt spreading to far. yet at least. so far so good.
he saw a couple people coming out with burns. "hey you two come here," he called out while ripping off a bit of his cloak and soaking it in water. "here not much but it'll help, get to safety."

Faelyra Vynn Catarina Talen

 

[Ziso Kus]

Ziso hadn't gone far. Through the streets, huddled under her cloak. Just shuffling along, uncaring of the chaos she'd caused. And yet, there were others who very much did. She froze, her yellow, blood shot eyes staring back the way she had come. Calm. The overwhelming sensation of serenity. It wasn't powerful, but in the deepest levels of a Sith controlled world it stood out as what it was; a light shinning in the pitch black.

"Jedi."

Hate.

The emotion behind the word near took even Ziso for surprise as her voice rattled out, broken and pieced together by her cybernetics as it was. She turned, bumping into a figure that she paid no mind to even as they fell to the ground. Her clawed feet gripped into the street as she started to jog, then run. Then sprint. The fire had grown more now, but the only thing Ziso was focused on now was the feeling of light that had formed. The moths that had been attracted to the flame, hoping to glow brighter.

Another support beam groaned overhead, but it wasn't from the fire compromised structure. Ziso hung from it, the claws of her feet having her hang there, upside down. Staring and watching. The heat did little to her, she could not feel such things anymore, but what she did feel was raw, unbridled hate.

The Jedi were here, amongst the scrambling populace trying to save their neighbors as best they could. They didn't matter to Ziso, her gaze trying to find them. Hate, rage, and the overwhelming urge to kill flooded from the perched cyborg, leaving a wave of cold unnatural to the heat of the inferno. Then she saw one. Healing. The Force being used to heal.

Her claws released as she dropped from overhead. 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 .

Novac Lyrikal

 

[Novac Lyrikal]

Ziso Kus Faelyra Vynn Catarina Talen
novac saw the sith just before they lamded on faelyra. he quickly used the force to pull her and the person she was healing back before the sith landed where they once sat. "sorry i know that was a bit ruff i rushed sorry. you two ok?" he turmed and looked at the sith before them, he moved infront of faelyra and the one she was healing. standing at his full he looked at the sith while he pulled out his lightsabers, which where together in a polearm, and ignited it. "who are you? what do you want? just to kill us or is there something else." he said holding his saber in both his left hand and pointing it at the sith. novac was beyond nervous, he'd never seen a sith before let alone fought one. he'd never fought anyone in real combat either, only sparring with his master. at least he was able to hide his nervousness well, or well enough.