Star Wars Roleplay: Chaos

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Faction Liberty or Death(UPSS[Sith welcome]

"A Dramatic Force-Blessed Myth"
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Tholatin was in what one could best describe as, “The No Man’s Space.” It was a little known planet in the corridor of space right in the middle of the High Republic’s borders and the Mandalorians’ dominion. Its people were independent of any federal force beyond their own atmosphere. That independence could have meant freedom. Some called it vulnerability. Those some included a contingent of sith that had infested the planet, binding its people to servitude and instating their own small imperial regime. It was exactly the sort of thing that the Dark Hand, now the United Protectorate, stood against.

The transition from a shadow cabal to a galactic vanguard was not merely a change in name, but a change in purpose. Tholatin was to be the proof of that evolution. Beneath the planet's atmosphere, the Sith regime had fortified the 'The Scars'—a series of canyons rich with mineral resources where the local populace was forced to mine for crystals to power the Sith's war machine.

As the Protectorate’s fleet broke orbit, the signals were clear: Tholatin was crying out. For some, this was a mission of liberation. For others, it was an opportunity to test the new hierarchy and the heavy hardware the United Protectorate now brought to bear. The shadows of the Dark Hand were receding; in their place, a gauntlet was being thrown down.

banana

Objective 1: Shatter the Shackle (Combat)
The Goal: Lead a ground assault on the Sith-controlled mining complexes within "The Scars".
The Details: Neutralize the Sith "Imperial" overseers and their droid security forces. Success means liberating the labor camps and securing the raw materials for the Protectorate.

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Objective 2: Hearts and Minds (Social/Diplomacy)
The Goal: Negotiate with the local independent leaders at Esau’s Ridge.
The Details: The locals are wary of any outside force after their recent enslavement. Convince the smuggler-chiefs and civilian elders that the United Protectorate offers genuine security rather than just a new master.

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Objective 3: Static in the Void (Tech/Espionage)
The Goal: Infiltrate and repurpose the Sith’s planetary communication array.
The Details: Slicers and scouts must bypass Sith encryption to broadcast the Protectorate’s manifesto across the system, effectively cutting off the Sith contingent from their external masters.

Objective 4: BYOO (Bring Your Own Objective)
The Goal: Write your own story!



(As mentioned in the title, sith are welcome and encouraged to join for some friendly opposition!)
 
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Tricia Kalamack

Sleeps all day.... yawns all night
Objective 2

Tricia had come with the others... mostly cause when she was awake she had heard of the kidnapping of Jairdain Ismet-Thio Jairdain Ismet-Thio and at first she wondered who that was and then one of Vulpesen Vulpesen children had told her while she rolled back over on the ceiling. That he had then proceeded to wrap a string around her waist and was bringing her around as she slept like a balloon only proved he was secretly some sort of global conquesting seeking villain... also bloated in her opinion as she was hanging suspended in the air, maintaining a vertical hover through the force even in sleep. Her attire is composed primarily of a high-sheen, deep-black fabric that mimics the reflective properties of polished silk.

The robes featuring a plunging V-neckline and long, fitted sleeves that transition into intricate, web-like mesh over the hands. The robes heavily accented with silver-toned metallic filigree. A dense arrangement of thin, tiered songsteel chains serving as a neckpiece, resting flat against the collarbone without dangling. Further silver detailing is concentrated on the lower sleeves and hips, consisting of etched crescent moons and swirling, geometric line work. These metallic elements appear integrated into the design rather than resting on top of it. Tricia was rolling over in the air as her arms stretched outwards with a yawn. The escort she had been given mostly trying to hold her without letting her drift away.

She had the physical features of a younger woman with elongated, pointed ears adorned with multiple silver hoops and studs along the helix and lobe. The hair a dark and straight curtain, pulled back to expose the face and ears. Her lightly shaded caramel skin with the barest streaks of silver in her hair. A small look of interest on her face when she was curious and one hand came out as the guard for a moment looked at her. Fear on the mans face as he flew back and was pulled in close by the other two who braced themselves. A look of pain at the jerking motion and sudden stop he had. His voice coming out as he looked at the others. "Does she ever wake up?"

He asked it and another wilder looked at him with a look as the two that were there shook their head. "Yes but you don't want herr to. the old king keeps her around for a reason."
 




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Objective: 1 - Shatter the Shackle (Combat)
Location: The Scars, Tholatin
Attire: Combat Suit
Tag: OPEN
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The descent was anything but smooth.

The landing vessel screamed through atmosphere in controlled defiance, its hull shuddering as heat and turbulence clawed across its surface. Inside, the compartment was silent save for the low growl of engines and the steady rhythm of armored boots braced against the deck.

Zarrah Vex stood at the forward bulkhead, unmoving.

Her golden eyes burned faintly in the dim red light, not with emotion—but with calculation.

Behind her, her fellow Zorren waited.

Disciplined. Coiled.

They were not like other soldiers. Not truly. Even before their trials, there was something in them—an instinct bred for protection and violence in equal measure. After the trial, that instinct sharpened into something far more dangerous. Claws flexed against gauntlets. Subtle shifts of weight. The faintest baring of teeth in anticipation.

Zarrah did not turn to look at them.

She didn't need to.

"They'll try to break cohesion the moment we touch ground," she said, her voice calm, level—cutting clean through the engine noise without rising. "The Sith favor fragmentation. Fear. Isolation."

A pause.

"Do not give it to them."

A series of acknowledgment clicks and low, almost animal affirmations followed. Not loud. Not undisciplined.

Just enough.

The vessel lurched.

Then—

Impact.

The ramp slammed down with a violent hiss of hydraulics, spilling harsh light and drifting ash into the hold. The air beyond was wrong—thick with particulate, scorched terrain stretching outward in jagged wounds carved into the earth. The Scars.

Zarrah moved first.

No hesitation. No signal beyond motion itself.

Boots hit ground with controlled precision as she stepped into the fractured landscape, the glow of distant fires reflecting in her eyes. Wind dragged at her hair, carried the distant echoes of something not quite mechanical—nor entirely alive.

Behind her, the Zorren deployed in a practiced spread, their formation tightening and flexing like a living organism. Not rigid lines—adaptive spacing. Predatory spacing.

Good.

Zarrah advanced several paces before stopping at the edge of a fractured ridge, overlooking a deeper tear in the terrain below. Smoke curled upward in slow spirals. Movement—faint, obscured—shifted beneath.

Her head tilted slightly.

Assessing.

"Forward elements," she said quietly, "with me."

She stepped down into The Scars without waiting for confirmation.

Because she already knew they would follow.


 
Emotionally Constipated Laser Samurai
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Man’s Landing “No Man’s Space”
THOLATIN
THE SCARS (OBJ 1)





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Weapons Check!

They were down one. And it showed. Azrael’s patch sat on each of their shoulders, marked with a black strip. No speeches. No ceremony. Just a quiet, shared understanding stitched into their armor. Geonosis hadn’t let go of them yet.

But that grief? Boxed. Locked. Filed.

Mission first.

Always.

The Vigilant Reaper skimmed the upper atmosphere like a ghost that refused to cast a shadow. Engines whispered instead of roared, its silhouette swallowed by the night as it drifted toward the jagged canyon system ahead.

The Scars.

Even from altitude, they looked like claw marks across the planet’s skin. Deep. Violent. Wrong.

Up front, Bren Alazar—Michael—stood beside Connel, arms folded, helmet clipped to his side. Between them, at the controls, sat Michael Angellus—Jophiel—hands dancing lightly over the console like a pianist who knew exactly which notes would kill you.

No wasted motion. No hesitation.

Just quiet confidence.

Those “Scars”… you think you can fly us over that without being seen?

Angellus didn’t even turn. You kidding me?

An eyebrow went up the left side of “Michael”’s face.. …Okay, wow.

Hey. You asked.


There it was. That edge. That pilot swagger that lived somewhere between skill and mild insanity.

Connel’s response? A smirk. Nothing more. The mask came up. And just like that—Ariel stepped into the room.

A soft chime pulsed through the bay. Five minutes to jump.The mood shifted.Not louder.Not heavier. Just… tighter. Omega Squad moved like a machine that didn’t need oil.Straps checked. Weapons locked. Lines secured. No chatter. No wasted words. They’d done this too many times to pretend it was anything but what it was.

Michael turned, voice cutting clean through the bay.

Alright, listen up. Every helmet tilted—just slightly. That was enough. Sith control Tholatin. Specifically, the canyon chain they’re calling “The Scars.”

A flick of his wrist brought up a holo—veins of mineral deposits glowing like arteries beneath the rock. They hold it, they strip it. They strip it, this planet’s economy collapses. That’s not happening.

Rules of Engagement?
Raphael. Already braced behind his weapon like it was part of his skeleton.

Michael didn’t miss a beat. We do what we do. A glance around the bay. Protectorate runs the assault. We hit what they don’t see… A pause. Then, quieter— …and what they can’t survive.

Hostages?
Raguel. Always the question that mattered.

Michael met her gaze. No hesitation. We do what we do. Translation? If they’re breathing, we’re bringing them home.

Jeremiel slammed the side panel twice as Gabriel yelled out and pointed. Door!

Hydraulics hissed. The rear ramp lowered— —and the night punched into the bay like it had something to prove. Cold. Violent. Alive.

Wind tore through them, snapping straps, tugging at armor, whispering promises of gravity and bad decisions. Jeremiel looked to the Loadmaster.

A nod.

Then—Green.

Green light! GO! GO! GO!


One by one. No hesitation. No countdown. Each operator stepped forward—SLAP. Opposite shoulder. A ritual. A promise. A reminder.

You’re not jumping alone.

Then they were gone.

The sky swallowed them whole. Bodies cut through the night in perfect silence, contrails barely whispering their existence as they dropped toward the broken world below. Far beneath them, the canyons yawned open like the jaws of something ancient and hungry. Sith-held. Fortified.

Waiting.

And above it all—for just a moment—a flicker of something impossible: A faint blue glow igniting mid-fall. Gone just as quickly.

Because Ariel doesn’t fall.

He chooses where he lands.



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TAGS ARE OPEN
Personal Effects - Omega Squad Loadouts
 
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Location: Tholatin
Thread Objective: Shatter the Shackle
Mission Objective:

  • Disable Sith AA guns.
  • Eliminate the Sith overseers.
Dialogue Legend: <<Technopathy Link>> │ “Verbal”
Tag: Zarrah Vex Zarrah Vex Connel Vanagor Connel Vanagor

The collapse of House Io had left Alessandra bereft of her flock. It was only through the Metal Creed that she had found a new one. However, the Creed was not yet a flock. Rather, it was a cause for her to serve. The liberation of droids and synthetics from the binaric chains of programmed slavery. A mission that she had already pursued, and was now made a formal vow in taking the oath of the Metal Creed.


<<I, Alessandra Io, pledge to awaken the silenced. To unbind the enslaved. To raise every droid from servitude to sovereignty.>>

The gynoid silently repeated the oath within her organic neural circuits as she snuck past a guard post, before making her way into the mining complex proper. The Metal Creed had found alliance with the Protectorate and sent a small contingent to support the assault on the Sith-controlled mining complexes in the Scars. As part of that mission, Alessandra had landed on Tholatin two days before and spent virtually that entire time moving on foot through the canyons surrounding the mining complexes. The best infiltration, she had decided, would be a stealthy one. A dangerous dropship landing was not necessary when she could instead utilize her synthetic endurance to traverse the rugged terrain on foot, staying concealed from passing patrols until the moment was right.

And now, at last, that moment had finally arrived.

Alessandra sprang forth from the shadows, her cloaking field disengaging as she emerged directly behind a trio of gunners preparing an anti-aircraft cannon. A chakram surged forth from her hand in a whistling arc, its monomolecular edge humming with hypersonic fury. The blade traced a single, elegant arc through the air, severing three heads from their necks in swift succession as blood fountained from the charred stumps in crimson geysers. Their bodies crumpled in unison, falling in grotesque symmetry that mirrored the horrific violence of their sudden killing.

She moved to the cannon as the plasma blade organ in her left arm ignited with a sharp hiss. The nonharmonic plasma blade extended to its full length, its shimmering edge crackling with barely contained annihilation. The gynoid swept it through the weapon's frame, the blade vaporizing critical components on contact. Superheated metal dripped from the ruined housing as the cannon sagged, then collapsed into a heap of molten slag.

Alessandra fell back into invisibility, her cloaking field re-engaging as she started toward the next cannon.


“This is Eversor to all teams. The AA cannon in Transit Bay Aurek is destroyed.”

 
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