Faction Mission to Tython (THR/TJO)

[Jared Starchaser]

Jedi in barely a name. Jared knew what he was, but to the rest of the galaxy, he sometimes came across as a Jedi. Shadow, or Sentinel, at best. He was definitely his father’s son. That was why he was out here. Coming to help the Jedi take back what was theirs on Tython. Starchasers were explorers, tomb raiders, fortune finders, after all. A bit of relic reclamation? That was just a normal day.

Landing the Pulsar he just was hoping to stay off the radar for a long enough time to get some leg room from the ship. He had arranged to meet with Aiden Porte here, and whoever else the High Republic would send. He was all for helping other Jedi. He wasn’t quite a Jedi, but based on his skills? He was somewhere near Master, he’d say.

But who was asking him?

Looking to the droid, Hopper confirmed he was at the rendezvous point, and that the temple was over the next rise. Survey droids had been moving through this path, but it wasn’t a true concern of Jared’s he’d been the type to sneak around.

 

[Korda Veydran]

(wrong thread mb)

 

[Kael Varnok]

The gunship, an old LAAT/I, shuddered as it broke atmosphere, the roar of its engines fading beneath the weight of wind and heat. Inside, the troop bay was empty but for one man — scarred, silent, and stripped down to the barest semblance of armor.


Kael stood in the red emergency glow, sweat clinging to skin marked by old burns and blade lines. His boots, belt, and wrapped forearms were all that remained of a soldier's kit; everything else had been left behind. His lightsabers hung from his belt, twin weights of memory and purpose. The only thing that still resembled protection was the helmet — old, pitted, its surface etched with carbon scoring and war dust that never quite washed off.

The pilot's voice cracked through the static. "We're over the ridge. Signal puts your contact down there, west of the old temple. Weather's eating the sensors alive."

"Doesn't matter," Kael said, his tone quiet, like he was answering himself. "I'll find him."

He stepped toward the open ramp. No harness. No repulsor gear. Just the storm — and gravity waiting like an old friend.

For a long moment, he stood there, looking down through the haze. Tython's surface stretched beneath him — ancient, scarred, familiar in a way that made his chest ache. A thousand worlds, a thousand drops, and yet this one felt heavier.

He didn't jump. He just leaned forward, and let the planet take him.

Wind tore at his skin, flattening breath against his chest as the ground rushed up to meet him. He didn't fight it. The years of war had already stripped away the fear of falling — this was just another descent into the unknown.

At the last heartbeat, his hand came up, palm open. The Force rose with him — a soft, invisible pressure slowing his plunge until he struck the earth with a whisper instead of a scream. Dust billowed around him, curling away from the invisible field that faded as he straightened.

Kael stood still, letting the world settle. His body ached, his scars burned, and somewhere deep in the Force, he felt the echo of something old watching.

He exhaled, low and even, before thumbing his comm. "Starchaser, this is Kael. You're off-course. I'm groundside. If you can hear me — light a beacon."

Static. Then silence.


He turned toward the ridge, toward the temple half-lost to the mist, and began to walk — a solitary figure in the ruins of a faith that had never quite forgiven him.

Aiden Porte Jared Starchaser

 

[Aiden Porte]

Jared Starchaser Kael Varnok
​

Aiden felt the air before he saw the ship.

Tython's wind carried memory of temples reborn and long-silent stones that hummed faintly with the Force. His boots pressed into the ochre dust, soft beneath the roots of ancient trees, while the horizon shimmered with heat. The Pulse of the world was quiet, but alive. It recognized the presence of those who still listened.

He stood with his cloak drawn close, hand resting lightly against the pommel of his saber, not from fear but reverence. It was strange, standing once again where the Order had first taken shape where Jedi had wrestled with balance before the word even meant what it did now. He could feel them, faint echoes of the first Masters, drifting through the canyons and ruins like the remnants of an old hymn.

Then came the sound a familiar thrum of a freighter's engines throttling down. Aiden turned toward the clearing as the Pulsar settled through the haze.

Aiden smiled faintly. "Starchaser." he said, the name carrying both greeting and recognition. "It's good to see you."

Aiden took a few steps closer, the Force stirring between them like a silent exchange. Jared wasn't Jedi, not in the traditional sense—but the current around him carried that same quiet intensity, a sense of purpose forged through instinct and grit rather than doctrine.

" The Force here… it remembers everything. Every triumph. Every failure. It will test us both."

"Who else is coming?" Aiden inquired, just then he heard the voice of Kael Varnok through their comms.

"Starchaser, this is Kael. You're off-course. I'm groundside. If you can hear me — light a beacon."

 

[Renn Vizsla]

H U N T

Tag: Jared Starchaser | Aiden Porte | Kael Varnok



The faint crackle of static was enough. To most, it would’ve been dismissed as interference, Tython’s storms chewing through open channels, the mist playing tricks on long-range sensors. But Renn knew better. A hunter learned to listen for the things others ignored, and in that broken whisper of comm chatter, he heard a lead.

He had arranged to meet with Aiden Porte Aiden Porte here

Renn’s HUD locked onto the trace, mapping it across the jagged terrain. Each spike of distortion painted a breadcrumb trail leading toward the temple ruins. It wasn’t clean, the kind of sloppy broadcast that came from an improvised rendezvous. Starchaser wasn’t broadcasting to be found. But Renn wasn’t “most.”

He tapped the side of his helmet, cycling through filters until the ghost of Jared’s voice replayed in his ear. Words fractured by static, but enough to confirm the target.

“Got you,” Renn muttered, voice a low growl through the vocoder.

He checked his rifle, the weight familiar, steady. Then the vambrace, cycling through dart and net settings. Jared had a reputation for slipping away, for being more shadow than soldier. That was fine. Renn was bred in shadow, too, and the hunt was where Vizslas thrived.

With the signal locked, Renn moved, each step a predator’s patience, following the comm echoes to where Jared had landed the Pulsar

Time to Hunt.​

 

[Kael Varnok]

The temple rose out of the fog like the bones of something ancient and half-remembered.

Kael's boots sank into the wet soil as he stepped out from the treeline, the pale light of Tython breaking across his bare shoulders. His breath came slow, deliberate — every inhale drawing in the scent of dust, rain, and the faint, electric tang of ozone. The planet's storms had teeth, and so did its beasts. His ribs still burned from the last one that had found him.

The deep cut along his flank was already crusted with blood, a memory from a creature that had charged him not long after the drop — all scales, teeth, and the echo of something old in its hunger. The Force had warned him, but not soon enough. It never did these days.

He pressed a hand against the wound and kept walking.

"—chhk—Starchaser, this is Kael," his voice rasped through the comm, the helmet's vocoder warping it into something mechanical and distant. "Made it to the temple's outer ridge. Got… delayed. This planet's got a few surprises left."

Only static answered him.

He could feel it, though — the familiar, tempered pulse of a Jedi's presence nearby. Calm, deliberate. Older than most. Aiden, it had to be. Jared wasn't here yet. His signal was still too faint, drifting somewhere below the horizon.

Kael reached the temple steps, pausing beneath the carved archway where moss clung to the stone. The air shimmered faintly with residual energy — centuries of meditation and memory trapped in the rock. He could almost hear it: whispers of battles fought here long before the galaxy learned to speak the word "Jedi."

He tilted his head, scanning through the haze until he saw movement — a figure standing before the temple's entrance, cloaked and still.

Kael slowed, his voice low as he approached. "Aiden Porte, I presume."

His hand rested near the hilt of one saber, not in threat but habit — the reflex of a man who'd forgotten how to let his guard down.

"Starchaser's lagging behind," Kael muttered, eyes flicking to the distant ridge as if tracking invisible markers. "Beacon shows him two klicks south, maybe more if the terrain's chewing his signal. We'll need to hold position and secure the LZ until he's boots-on-ground."

He stopped, realizing how easily the old soldier's tone had crept back in — terse, automatic, the language of command. A dry exhale left his chest, halfway between a sigh and a laugh. "Force help me, I forget not everything's a warzone."

The wind changed. A whisper through the ruins. The faint hum of life and danger tangled together.

Kael turned back to Aiden, visor glinting. "You feel it too, don't you?"


For the first time in hours, his voice wasn't cold — it carried a weary sort of reverence, the kind soldiers gave only to those who might understand.

Aiden Porte Jared Starchaser Renn Vizsla