Junction LIMINALITY || ME & DIA Junction of Orinda & Empty Resource Hex

[Domina Prime]

I HEAR THIS VOICE KEEP ASKING ME
IS THIS MY BLOOD OR IS IT BLASPHEMY​

O B J E C T I V E | Chapel
L O C A T I O N | Paecian Chapel
W A R G E A R | Glyphscript Anvil | Starfang | Warhawk | Gjallerhorn | Warpriest Beskar'gam

Aether Verd | Renn Vizsla | Adelle Bastiel | Veyla Krinn | Siv Kryze | Edward Ashcard | Arden Priest

Lord Mettallum | Rowena-022 | Darth Keres​

The preacher's silhouette shimmered in the haze. Ash, smoke, and divine radiance twining into one as she rose from the molten fissure like the embodiment of a dying star. Five burning eyes, alien and deliberate, tracked every motion, every vibration in the trembling bones of the Eol Sha chapel. The earth quaked beneath her heel as if the planet itself recoiled in reverence; the thorns that bloomed in her wake crawled along the stone, whispering a thousand hymns of ruin.

Starfang dragged behind her, its crystalline edge shrieking against the floor, carving lines of light into the broken marble as she walked. Then, a hum, a breath, a flash.

The sniper Rowena-022 's bolt cracked through the air like divine punctuation.

For a heartbeat, she did not react, then the azure veins in her scales flared, a sudden halo of violent green light from Vytal Noctura was enough to give her just barely enough warning to react. She turned, fluid and unhurried, her cloak flaring upward like the wing of a fallen seraph just as the blast struck. The runes stitched into its fabric burned hot, catching the blast, the sound of it like thunder in a cathedral. She was thrown back half a step, hissing low through clenched fangs as she drove Starfang into the stone to halt her fall. Dust plumed around her form like incense.

And out of that haze came her true challenger however.

Lord Mettallum, machine of creed and chrome, a prophet of circuitry and wrath approached with that weaponized piety of the old world. His words clanged like hymns in her ears, his invocations of code and voltage ringing so close to her own litany that for a moment, Dima laughed. Not a laugh of mockery, but of delight.

She rose from her crouch with languid grace, tail coiling behind her like a serpent of living metal. The first volley from his blaster seared through the air, plasma flaring, bolts scattering as she pivoted, the ribbons of her cloak snapping in the wake. Her tail swept up, the scales glimmering as they deflected two shots in radiant sparks, the heat kissing her flesh but doing little more than leaving a dark polish where plasma met divinity.

When his glaive came for her, then she moved.

Starfang's crystal edge ripped free from the floor in an explosion of dust and light, meeting the droid lord's glaive with a clang that echoed through the chapel like the tolling of a god's bell. Sparks cascaded in a waterfall of molten orange as they locked together, the clash so bright it painted both in holy silhouette, one of beskar and faith, the other of directives and circuitry.

Their eyes met, five burning coals against the cold, mechanical gleam of his visor. Dima's grin unfurled, slow and wicked.

"Ahh..." she purred, her voice a low vibration that carried the hum of a forge, the whisper of liturgy. "A prophet of steel, how precious. Come, show Prime the might of your god."

She pressed forward, the weight of her body and faith alike pushing against his guard as molten dust rained between them.

"Let us see whose divinity bends first, little machine," she whispered, her voice honey and blade. "May the one true god be the one still standing when the fire fades"

And with that, she pushed, their locked weapons sparking into an arc of radiance that swallowed the chapel in divine flame.

And so it began~

 

[Lyssara Thrynn]

This is just the beginning I couldn't have said it better. Besides, why bother with this gate when I can literally pass through it? I trace a circle in the air with my hand and the circle takes on a green glow; I plan to open a portal to get into the building without having to break anything. That way I also avoid setting off the alarm.

Which, incidentally, makes me a perfect little thief. With the other ship approaching I'll be able to swipe crates of Agrocite in complete peace and with impunity. I'm far enough from the front lines anyway I'll leave them the chapel, I don't really need it. That old Force relic doesn't interest me in the least.

What interests me is the tangible stuff. My other portal appears inside the warehouse in an adjacent corridor. I head for the control room to disable the traps and security cameras so I leave no trace of my passage of course I made sure to kill the guard. How did I do it? I simply summoned a Night Sister dagger made of Dathomirian metal. Very handy. With that material I can switch weapons at will. After disabling the cameras I also take the opportunity to cut some of the traps in the warehouse to make my path easier.

Like the security turrets, for example. Now I just have to get to the area where the main crates are stored. There are a few guards and patrols; I still have to be careful and eliminate them methodically. Slipping behind crates, I wait for the right moment to strike when they're within reach I step out of my hiding place and slit their throats, blood running everywhere.

I take one of their laser rifles while I'm at it; it'll help me blast the drones buzzing around the warehouse. So, in true ninja fashion, I begin a methodical clean-up. Of course I also nicked an access card from one of the guards in case a security door or terminal gives me trouble.

In this place I decided to show no mercy. After all, I'm here to seize the crates they can win the war if they want, I'll leave with the loot already processed, already refined, already ready. That will give me serious leverage later.

For now I'm in the middle of the warehouse. Between two crates I raise my rifle at a drone and fire the instant it comes into my sights.

 

[Diarch Rellik]

The lava gutters, then come alive in stuttering breaths as the mine exhales. Heat shivers off the rails; molten veins pulse like a living thing behind the stone. For a moment there is only the world's low, hungry rumble, then a shadow peeled itself out of the crawlspace.

Standing silently out from a rocky crawl that the Diarch appeared from; he stood still, his cloak folding him into smoke and soot. Mandalore. Aether. Stands between him and Reign, a black shape cut against the glow, the Darksaber.

Conviction draws, gold like a sliver of sun. The blade gurgled and chugged as if violently reacting to this meeting of great powers. His other hand fingers the grip of the LO-20D slung low, an eighty-round drum slotted and ready. A sling strapping the weapon to the Diarch.

The Fire Tear within the Spear pulsed faintly against his back, a heartbeat felt more than heard. The Warden stirred, recognizing kindred strength ahead warrior to warrior, creed to creed. It seemed Laphisto's race of Kiev'arians lived up to their legacy.

In the deep haze a warrior like Aether would be able to tell. There was a shifting in his stance, a tightening of his cloak. All without any noise. This fight has already begun.

GEAR:
LO-62C Commando Armor
The Blooded Seer Cloak
Conviction
Spear of the Star-Fallen King
LO-20D Weapons platform - Ammunition for the LO-20D - LO- AP/19








TAGS: Diarch Reign Aether Verd

 

[Kito]

//: Aaliyah //:
//: Sword in Signature //:

Combat was one of the few places Kito truly felt like herself.

The Shaper had fought for survival, for the people she loved, for the homes she had built and lost. In battle, Kito could feel the familiar rhythm again — the same one that carried her through her childhood. Countless drills and training under her clan's watchful eyes. Every swing and movement connected her to ghosts long gone.

Her skills with the blade came from her mother and grandfather, masters who shaped and wielded their weapons as extensions of their own spirits. Her clan had been known across Kro Var for that fierce artistry in battle. Now, Kito was the last one.

She couldn't die here, not against a Sith.

Their eyes met. Kito let the Sangnir feel the heat radiating from her — the living fire coiled beneath her skin. Every breath the woman took fed the Shaper's flame. Kito hadn't expected her to fall easily, but she welcomed the challenge.

The Sangnir's strength hit like a wave. The clash of their weapons reverberated through Kito's arms. She didn't resist it head-on. Instead, she shifted her stance, sliding her back foot out and pivoting to bleed off the pressure. The odachi angled down and away, catching and redirecting the blow. The locked edges slid apart in a burst of sparks as Kito broke the clash without losing her footing.

When the Sangnir lunged — claws flashing forward — Kito rotated her wrists, bringing her burning blade across her body in a defensive sweep. The flat of the odachi intercepted the strike, glancing the blow away in another brief storm of fire and steel.

She used Sangnir's own momentum, stepping to the side as her hips turned. The odachi came around in a tight, horizontal arc aimed at the woman's exposed ribs — a controlled but brutal counter meant to drive her back and to reclaim the offensive.

Each breath came sharp, each exhale glowing faintly as embers spilled past her lips. The fire inside her was building, threatening to erupt. Blue and orange flame licked at her mouth as she grinned, feeling the familiar rush course through her body.

"You call yourself a monster," Kito said, her voice low and steady, "then prove it."​

 

[Siv Kryze]

.​

O B J E C T I V E: CHAPEL​

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The Dire Wolf broke through the stormfront like a blade cutting cloth — silent, unseen, no flare to mark its descent. Siv watched the clouds burn orange beneath the hull, then keyed the bay release. Wind and static howled through the ramp, and for a moment, lightning caught on his armor — a brief gleam before the cloak reformed and swallowed him whole.


He stepped off the ramp without ceremony. Gravity took him, the repulsors under his boots flaring once to soften the fall. No trails. No spectacle. Just a dark figure sliding through ash and thunder until the ground met him with a hiss.


The planet's air was thick, hot, and alive — a furnace mixed with static. The chapel loomed ahead, its light pulsing through the haze like a heartbeat. He didn't waste time watching it; there were already enough eyes on the storm Domina had brought. His arrival didn't need to compete — it needed to matter.


"Form up," Siv said into the shortband, voice calm, level, all edges ground down by habit. A handful of armored silhouettes dropped through the clouds after him, landing in staggered bursts that muffled into the ash. "Stay low. Silent formation. Southern ridge is our anchor."


The team acknowledged with quiet clicks, moving without a word — a pattern learned, not spoken. Siv led them across the slag valley, motioning with brief gestures rather than words. A ruined spire marked the ridge; from there, the chapel's main entrance was visible, its light throwing long shadows across the molten plain.


He scanned the horizon — no hostiles on the flank. "Secure here," he said, dropping to one knee beside a broken slab of obsidian. "No gaps. Keep overwatch on the southern approach. Anything moves that isn't us — drop it."


A single affirmative blinked across his HUD. The flank was covered.


He toggled his personal channel and spoke into the static. "Southern ridge secured. Moving to reinforce." His tone carried no weight of showmanship, just a soldier's certainty.


Then he moved.


Siv descended from the ridge alone, slipping through smoke and heat, his armor reflecting the planet's fire in dull streaks. The chapel's glow grew harsher the closer he came, until it painted the ruins around him in shifting blue. The air trembled with Domina's presence, but Siv kept walking — steady, deliberate, one hand on his rifle, the other resting on his gladius's hilt.


A pair of defense droids rounded the corner ahead. They didn't get a chance to fire — two clean shots, one sharp pivot, and they fell smoking into the ash. Siv didn't pause.


He reached the edge of the main causeway — the threshold into the storm Domina had called down. Her brilliance lit the world like a sunrise, but Siv's descent left no echo, no thunderclap. He simply arrived.


He keyed his comm once more, voice low. "Southern approach locked down. I'm on-site. Flank's sealed."


Then he advanced into the light — calm, quiet, the storm's shadow given form — moving through fire and echo toward the chapel's heart, where faith and fury were already colliding.

Tag: Renn Vizsla Adelle Bastiel Drystan Creed Tohu Veyla Krinn Edward Ashcard Arden Priest Lord Mettallum Domina Prime Rowena-022

 

[Lyssara Thrynn]

Having shot down the enemy drone that was flying in the area, I can now continue my advance to clear this warehouse of any hostile threats. I'm now near the entrance good thing I disabled the turrets and, just to be safe, I grab my lightsaber and slice them in two with a quick stroke to neutralize them.

Do you hear that? Neither do I I did well to cut the alarms; that avoids calling reinforcements that could seriously slow me down during my looting. I head for the workshop to look for a cart, one of those things called a hand truck it lets me load the crates onto the pallet transporter. I try to carry one, but it's pretty heavy; Agrocite stuff has weight. I took advantage of the situation to grab a manifest so I'd be set and know what's inside the crates without having to open them.

To lift the crates I use telekinesis it's much easier. I'm careful to lift them one by one, I place them properly on my cart, then I go to the rendezvous point where my personal ship is waiting. I just have to unload the cart into the Solar Spectrum's hold, then I repeat the process as many times as necessary until my ship can't take any more. I think I must have emptied three quarters of the warehouse.

Once my ship is stuffed to the gills, I head back to the now-empty warehouse floor and take out a can of spray paint to leave a little tag: "I was here. L.T" With a deliberately provocative symbol, I take my time to do what I have to do.

Once my signature is down, it's time for me to leave. I board the Solar Spectrum and head to the cockpit. I make sure the ship is still in stealth mode as always and I start to lift off without hesitation, with my freshly acquired loot.

Those few crates will be used smartly. I'm in the atmosphere again, back in the ash cloud. It's time for me to go. My objective is accomplished: seizing Agrocite's raw resources is done while everyone was busy fighting in the mines or at the chapel, I looted one of the secondary depots. I now head for the Ragnarok to dock in my personal hangar; Nyva gave me the ship's coordinates she's in a stable orbit.

After establishing communications with them, I perform the maneuver to land gently in the hangar and go back to my living quarters. I leave the rest to Nyva. She knows what to do now. Everything is in place.

 

[Darth Keres]

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[]

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Location: Chapel
Tag: Lord Mettallum / Domina Prime / Rowena-022


It began, as most of life’s great inconveniences do, with noise. From the still, solemn depths of the antechamber, Darth Keres sensed it — a thudding, crashing, and faintly idiotic rhythm from the levels above. The kind of sound that could only mean one thing: someone was about to make a series of very poor decisions.

Her crimson eyes flicked open. For a long, dreadful moment, she simply sat there, hoping the offenders would knock each other unconscious before she had to move. But alas, the racket persisted. With a sigh so deep it could have extinguished stars, she rose, gathering her cloak like a funeral shroud, and ascended the stairs.

At the top, she found them — two would-be warriors locked in a staring contest, weapons humming with self-importance. They circled each other like predators, but it was clear to Darth Keres that neither had actually planned beyond “look menacing.” Until one acted.

She looked around, found a half-broken stone ledge, and brushed away a layer of ancient dust with the air of someone far too powerful to care about dust. Then, with regal poise, she sat down, crossed one leg over the other, and watched as if attending a particularly bad stage play.

The two combatants paused, briefly noticing her. Darth Keres tilted her head ever so slightly, her expression unreadable — halfway between amusement and existential disappointment.

“Please,” she said at last, her tone dry as the Dune Sea. “Do proceed. It’s been ages since I’ve seen two minds try so hard to meet… and still miss entirely.”

Silence followed — the heavy, awkward kind that only arrives when someone realizes the Sith Lord in the room is not here to help, but to judge. Darth Keres smiled faintly and leaned back.

“Carry on,” she added, voice dripping with sardonic grace. “After all, it’s not every day I get front-row seats to the galaxy’s least inspiring duel.”

​

Spoiler: Gear Loadout

• Melee Weapons​
  • Basic Lightsaber​
  • 
    
• Armor​
  • Black Caskan Wolf-Snake Armor​
  • 
    
• Accessories​
  • k​
• Ship​
  • Taciturnitas​
  • 
    
  • 
    

 

[Diarch Reign]

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Location: Mines
Tags: Aether Verd Diarch Rellik
Gear: Amulet of the Warden's Eye, Bladefather

---

He didn't need to wait long, As Reign heard the Mand'alor call out, the barest hint of a smile touched the Diarch's face.
He turned then, the soot and ash leaving black streaks on his face.

Seeing the warrior in front of him with the Dark Saber drawn, the smile broadened. Here was the enemy he was searching for, he had saved Reign the trouble of delving further into the mines.

Reign turned fully towards his adversary, the bronze illumination of his blade seeming to battle the darkness from the Dark Saber. He removed the cape from his shoulders and assumed a ready stance when he felt it.

His brother was nearby, close enough that it appeared he planned on joining Reign to cut the head from the snake.

Assuming a ready stance and locking green eyes on to the visor of the man before him, he called out.

"And here he is, the Rabid Mandalorian Dog, come to be put down"

He advanced a couple of steps forward, wary of the ranged armaments the Mand'alor had at his disposal.

"Come then, if Death is what you wish, I am happy to oblige"