Star Wars Roleplay: Chaos

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Faction Mission to Tython (THR/TJO)

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 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.
 
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 Aiden Porte Jared Starchaser Jared Starchaser
 

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Jared Starchaser Jared Starchaser Kael Varnok 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."


 
Factory Judge
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H U N T



Tag: Jared Starchaser Jared Starchaser | Aiden Porte Aiden Porte | Kael Varnok 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 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.​










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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 Aiden Porte Jared Starchaser Jared Starchaser Renn Vizsla Renn Vizsla
 
Being this close to the enemy was not something Jared was worried on. He was used to it. He could blend into nearly any group, and if he couldn’t? The man had enough skill in the Force to make himself virtually disappear, and await the proper moment to strike. That was what he was here for, to wait for the right time, to take the strike to Tython and either liberate the relics, or make it so that the Empire can’t get them. Already in place, where he was meeting Aiden.

As Aiden showed up, Jared smiled. He and his family were close to the Portes, and it was great to work with his counterpart in that same family. “Welcome back to Tython, Aiden.” Jared held out a hand and grabbed Aiden’s, greeting the other Jedi. Well, true Jedi, as Jared was whatever the Starchaser evolved into, as close and far to the Jedi as any family really could be, at both times.

“I sent out the message through the normal channels. Resistance, Jedi Underground…” And that was when the comms popped up.

Hopper was forwarding it and presenting it to Jared as he looked on.

He was in the wrong place? Looking at his wrist-top datapad, that was linked to his ship, he shook his head. He didn’t think he was, Jared Starchaer very rarely got himself lost. And that Aiden was here too? They weren’t the ones off.

Looking to Aiden, Jared shrugged. He had an idea. Focusing on the Force, Jared summoned a bit of light to him, and threw a green beam up into the air, hoping that it was fast enough to not get noticed but provided enough of a Force beacon to give Kael something to seek.

“Lets get to him.”


Aiden Porte Aiden Porte Kael Varnok Kael Varnok Renn Vizsla Renn Vizsla
 

The green flare arced skyward, dissolving into the haze like a wound sealing itself in the Force. For a heartbeat, Aiden watched it fade, the emerald afterglow reflecting in his eyes. He could feel the current ripple outward quiet, disciplined, purposeful. Starchaser's work.

He turned his gaze toward Jared, studying the man beside him. Aiden had met many who carried the Force like a weapon or a burden. Jared wore it like a second skin, fluid, instinctive, untethered. Not bound by the strictures of the Temple, not weighed down by the Council's shadows. In another life, he might've envied that kind of freedom. But here, on Tython, freedom and discipline were threads of the same weave.

"Thank you Jared." Aiden said with a small smile after thyr exchanged greetings. "It's good to see you."

He rose, his gaze cutting toward the direction Jared faced. "Kael's close, I think he landed not to far from here" Aiden said quietly, though he hadn't checked any scanner. The Force spoke more clearly than any readout ever could. "But something else is moving with him. The flow is... disrupted. Like the world itself's holding its breath."

He adjusted the clasp of his cloak and started forward, every step measured, deliberate. "We must find Kael before we proceed any further."

The wind pressed against his cloak and armor as he walked, and the sound of the old Tythonian ruins ahead carried like a memory through the stone. The Force pressed tighter now, warning and familiar all at once. Whatever awaited them beyond that ridge wasn't just another relic of the past it was the reason the light had called them here.

It was then he could see Kael in the distance, Aiden waved him down from where he was as they met up. "Glad you could make it Kael. Keep your eyes open, there's something out there."


 
Dust hissed under his boots as Kael crested the rise, the LAAT/I now just a fading silhouette in the sky behind him. No cloak, no armor — only the bare essentials: boots, belt, weathered arm-wraps, and the helmet that had seen more wars than most soldiers survived. Twin sabers hung at his hips, scuffed but well-maintained. He looked more like a ghost than a Jedi — one the battlefield had forgotten to bury.

"Porte. Starchaser." His modulated voice crackled from the helm, a mix of relief and that low, gravel-edged calm only soldiers carried. "Good to see both of you made it planetside."

He stopped beside them, scanning the horizon — not with the Force, but with the habitual precision of a man who'd cleared too many kill zones by eye alone.

"Briefing before drop said Imperial survey teams were combing these ruins," Kael continued, tone clipped and military. "Orders were to link up with you both and secure the relic site before they could haul anything off-world. My gunship took flak on entry — hull was venting before I was halfway down. Had to bail while we still had altitude."


He looked to Jared, a faint nod following. "Saw your beacon on descent. kept me from overshooting the AO. Thought I'd landed in the wrong grid for a moment."

There was a pause — the kind that carried years of campaigns and more ghosts than he'd ever name. "Starchaser," Kael added, his tone almost habitual. "Next time, keep your signal tight. You'd light up every sensor in a three-click radius if they're watching. We're not on a parade ground here."

Then, softer, almost as if realizing he'd slipped into command tone: "No offense meant. Old habits."

He adjusted the strap of his belt and exhaled through the helm. "If the Empire's still sniffing around, we'll have company soon. Recommend we move quick, set up a secure perimeter before the next patrol swings by."


His gaze shifted between the two Jedi. "You've got your plan. I'll hold the flank until you call it. Let's make this count."

Jared Starchaser Jared Starchaser Aiden Porte Aiden Porte Renn Vizsla Renn Vizsla
 
Factory Judge
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T Y T H O N



Tag: Aiden Porte Aiden Porte | Jared Starchaser Jared Starchaser | Kael Varnok Kael Varnok




The flare cut through the clouds like a blade through fog, a thin streak of light, too deliberate to be anything but a signal. Renn’s visor polarized automatically, the HUD tracing the flare’s descent across the canyon ridge. There was no mistaking it. Jared Starchaser Jared Starchaser had finally broken stealth. Whether it was a call for allies or a beacon for rescue didn’t matter; to Renn Vizsla, it was an invitation.

His ship hummed to life with a low growl as he rose from the basin, skimming above the treetops where Tython’s wilderness swallowed sound and light alike. He glided into the shadow of an ancient ridge before setting down. From here, his armor’s dampeners kept his signature off most sensors. He moved low and silent, every step practiced, methodical, predatory. Renn moved through it with the practiced grace of a wolf among ruins, each step silent despite the weight of his armor. He’d hunted in cities and in the void, but there was something about the stillness of living worlds that sharpened the instincts. Here, the jungle itself seemed to test him.

Renn adjusted the rangefinder’s feed, locking onto the faint trail of residual energy left by the comm flare. The signature pulsed faintly through the undergrowth, a beacon to anyone patient enough to track its rhythm. The further he went, the quieter the world became, only the whisper of leaves brushing against beskar, only the low hum of the hunter’s breath inside his helmet. He caught signs of passage: crushed foliage, displaced soil, a recent disturbance in the Force itself. They were close.

A soft chirp came from his gauntlet, a micro-drone relaying data from above. Thermal scans rippled across the visor, sketching faint shapes moving beyond the treeline ahead. Two warm bodies, steady in pace but unaware of the predator behind them. Renn paused, lowering into a crouch beside a fallen tree half-consumed by moss. Through the gaps in the leaves, he caught a glimpse of them.

Renn’s grip tightened around the haft of his rifle, but he didn’t raise it. Not yet. Patience was a weapon too, one his kind had learned to master. The comm in his helmet whispered with faint static, carrying what sounded like Kael Varnok Kael Varnok voice in the distance, distorted and fading in and out of range. The third piece of the board was moving. Renn exhaled, the sound muffled within the helm. “Three in the field. No sentries. Perfect.” His visor flickered as he engaged the low-light mode, the jungle glowing in pale green. The hunt was no longer a pursuit; it was a countdown.

And he was already within striking distance.










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