First Reply Murder Most Foul [Open to SO Sith]

[Jean de Brichare]

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Megabuilding 32-B31, Sadow District​

Jutrand​

902 ABY​

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The rain was falling on Jutrand like so many nights before, but in the Sadow District there was much more peace than one might find in the lower slums. In those places, you barely got rain - the architecture above your head was meant to capture, purify, then pump it back to the various districts. Most of that clean water when back to the top, only to stay there while those at the bottom drank whatever was left. In the Sadow District, there was fresh rain and water whenever they saw fit - given they also had massive weather machines keeping the brunt of the storms away from them.​

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That was the reality of a planet submersed in the Dark Side. There were too many Sith here, and as a result, nature itself seemed to protest their presence. Jean de Brichare knew this better than most, that the Sith were a pestilence that had to be burned out. It wasn't medicine or curatives that could prevent their spread, only immediate amputation. Those in the Core made excuses on why they couldn't simply genocide the Sith and their ideology, but Jean made no such excuses.​

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The Ashen Dawn, Jean's personal army of would be Jedi revolutionaries, had prepared for the assassination of one such illness left in the Galaxy. Their apartment was near the top floor of the megablock, so their trip up had been tiring. Climbing hundreds if not thousands of floors without being caught or set off alarms was not easy task, but the Ashen Dawn was more than just rebels, but skilled agents on par with the Tsis'kaar or SIA.​

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These skills allowed them to surround the apartment, prepare their measures to breach. It was late, and the Sith was likely sleeping or eating someone, or whatever it was these inhuman monsters did. Jean would make sure that they would suffer for their existence. The Archangel let the Force guide him to these places, to enact its judgement without reservation, and so he let the other teams know when to breach.​

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A careful second, and the explosive charges set on the wall blew - opening a would be portal between the service hallway they were in, and the fineries of a Sith's luxury apartment. Other teams breached at the same time, Jedi and would-be Soldiers claiming to be Jedi pouring in and firing at any local guards or people. It didn't matter if the Sith had family or guests, they all needed to be burned.​

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"Sith...", Jean said with a cold, heavy accent.​

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"I have come to see you from this world. Do not hide from me, it will only delay the inevitable."​

 

[Gerwald Lechner]

TAG: Jean de Brichare

Gerwald Lechner lay in the dim glow of the room, his arms wrapped securely around Naedira Darcrath , their bodies entwined beneath the covers. It had been too long since he’d held her like this, too long since they had even been in the same place for more than a fleeting moment. Duty had kept him away. War had demanded his time, but tonight, for the first time in what felt like an eternity, he was home.

Her warmth, the steady rhythm of her breathing, and the scent of her grounded him. It reminded him of what he had been missing. Sleep had come easier than he expected, exhaustion giving way to rare contentment.

Then an explosion shattered the silence.

A shockwave rocked the building, rattling the walls, and sending dust and debris trembling from the ceiling. Gerwald’s eyes snapped open. HIs instincts kicked in before his mind fully registered the sound. His muscles tensed, his senses stretched outward, listening, feeling.

And then he felt it.

Not just the aftershock of the blast, but something deeper, something insidious in its familiarity. The Light.

Jedi.

A low growl rumbled in his chest, deep and dangerous. The Force stirred around him, whispering of unwelcome intruders, of self-righteous warriors who had no business here. His grip on Naedira tightened just enough to rouse her. His voice was rough with frustration and readiness.

“We have company.”

The warmth of the bed was already forgotten. Gerwald swung his legs over the edge, standing as he reached for his robes. The lingering traces of sleep vanished as he pulled each piece and tie around him with practiced efficiency. His lightsaber was in his grasp before he even thought about it, the weight familiar, the hum of its activation only a heartbeat away.

Another pulse of Light.

His jaw clenched as he strode toward the door, pausing only for a fleeting glance at Naedira. This was supposed to be their night, their moment to reclaim what time had stolen from them. And now...

...this.

Irritation and anticipation warred within him as he moved.

Gerwald took the stairs two at a time, his grip tightening around the hilt of his weapon, the predatory instincts of his wolf sharpening as he descended. Smoke curled through the air, the scent of burning metal and scorched stone thick as he reached the lower floor. His eyes flickered, searching. His body was coiled and ready.

Someone had broken in. Someone had come here, to him, to them.

The Jedi would regret it.

"Sith...", Jean said with a cold, heavy accent."I have come to see you from this world. Do not hide from me, it will only delay the inevitable."

"I am not the one approaching in the cover of night, Jedi..." Gerwald said as he came into view. "Tonight, there will be no mercy."

Gerwald's crimson blade came to life. He roared, directing all his rage at the Jedi in front of him.

 

[Jean de Brichare]

"When on Coruscant...", the man mused, only to be met by the roar.​

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Those around him gripped their ears or were blown back, but the most equipped of them seemed unperturbed. Sonic resonators in their helmets, most likely, allowed them to be unaffected - but the fact many of them already had been showed the funding for these mercenaries was very scarce. They very likely scavenged for more of their equipment than not. This was only reinforced when those outside the direct attack range of the bellow came into sight, carrying ER-30's.​

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Gerwald would recognize them. Standard issue Sith Legionnaire equipment. Perhaps, if he were quick, he might even remember sparse reports about shipments going missing or supply trains being robbed and burned along the hyperlanes leading to the warfronts. Whatever the way they had gotten ahold of these weapons, what mattered now was how they used them - and a dozen guns began to fire at the Sith Lord.​

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Their accuracy was middling, and their effecicy was notably missing compared to truly specialized forces, but some of them were clearly trained. The others training didn't seem to matter at this range, they only needed to dump rounds in him.​

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For Jean, he had been pushed back by the scream, but it slid him more than ruined his balance. His blade activated, blue and harsh in the cold air of the apartment. The smoke, dust, and debris in the air only made it all look that much worse; making each person look more like a multi colored ghost between blade light and blaster color.​

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Two more near him ignited their own blades, making the total amount of Jedi in the assault team three. Two wore masks, but there something off about Jean's face, but Gerwald Lechner would be unable to place it. Just a sensation somewhere deep about its oddity.​

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"There is another upstairs. Go - kill her while we deal with him.", Jean said as he stepped forward. The other two Jedi broke off from him, leaving Gerwald, Jean, and half a dozen rebels fighting on the first floor. The Jedi who had decided to kill Gerwald's only treasure began to move themselves away from the combat, to find another way upstairs, or past the Wolf.​

 

[Gerwald Lechner]

TAG: Jean de Brichare

Gerwald’s eyes burned like embers in the dim haze of smoke and blaster fire. He did not flinch as the rounds sprayed toward him. His crimson blade moved in a single, sharp motion. The growl in his chest rumbled, the beast beneath his skin begging for release.

Blaster bolts ricocheted off his saber in wild directions, some striking the careless mercenaries who had dared to lift stolen weapons against him. Sith Legionnaire standard issue. So this was where the missing shipments had gone. It didn’t matter at the moment. They weren’t worthy of them. Gerwald would trace the leak later.

His gaze snapped to Jean reading the way he steadied himself, the way his blade burned in defiance. The sensation gnawed at him. There was something off about the Jedi’s face. But then Jean spoke, and Gerwald’s focus narrowed to a fine edge.

Quote here

A slow exhale left the Sith Lord’s lips.

No.

“Do you think,” he growled, stepping forward. His boots crushed the debris beneath their weight, “that I would allow you to leave this room alive?”

The mercenaries faltered. The Jedi did not.

The Dread Wolf moved.

Gerwald was a force of nature, a predator streaking through the chaos. The first mercenary to meet his blade did not have the chance to scream—his weapon severed, his throat slit. The next crumbled under the sheer force of a telekinetic blast. Blaster fire thickened around him, but he was already gone, already among them.

A swing.

A cleave.

A flash of red and the scent of scorched flesh.

The Jedi, they were the real threat.

Jean was fast. The other two were faster. And they were looking a way up the stairs.

Gerwald snarled. His free hand lifted. The Force wrapped around the staircase with an iron grip. Then he ripped. Metal twisted, splintered, and collapsed in a shower of duracrete and steel. The way upstairs was gone, and the entirety of the staircase launched at the Jedi who even dared to consider robbing him of the one person who mattered the most.

His voice was a promise of death.

“Half of your force is already dead. This only ends one way, Jedi.”

Gerwald’s golden, corrupted gaze locked solely on Jean. It was evident he was the leader. The warning was given to him, and him alone. Anger swelled in the Wolf’s chest. He consumed the darkness and destruction around him to fuel his rage.

 

[Jean de Brichare]

"With one of us dead.", Jean mused.​

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It wasn't mercenaries that Gerwald intimidated, but radicals wearing partisan colors. Blue arm bands signifying their acceptance as faux Jedi - but they did cower when they saw the might of a Sith first hand. They had likely never faced one of any serious caliber, so their back steps were expected. The three Jedi, however, were skilled in the art of hunting.​

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The debris from the staircase crashing drove more dust into the air, making visibility more painful than enlightening. All one could track was the harsh glow of their blades as they came in closer. Blaster bolts no longer targeted anyone specifically, just nearby the only red saber in the midst. Three blue sabers became two as one of them turned theirs off.​

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Two others, however, rushed at Gerwald. They were not light weights by any measure, but alone they would have been outclassed. Instead of using a style more fitting of a Jedi, each used highly aggressive mixtures of Ataru and Shii-Cho. They were wide, angular strikes backed by heel kicks and elbows. It was very clear they intended to make the fight as short as possible, as it was going to be impossible to keep up the pace of there strikes for more than minute or two.​

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But their goal was to force Gerwald to pay attention to them. Intermingling photon shots from the blasters, small detonations where those rounds ended up hitting, and the calls of men in pain or strategizing overwhelmed the senses until what had already been a flurry became worse. A Sith might find power in Chaos, but they were not as able to find peace admist is as a Jedi was.​

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This was clear with the fluidity of the two Jedi that moved to kill him. They danced between the shots like they planned for them to be there. Their skill was pressing, if only temporarily.​

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But a blade from the back ignited, aimed directly next to Gerwald's spine. It was timed just as the other two moved to stab at him from opposite directions - creating a three angled prong to incapacitate him.​

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Gerwald Lechner​

 

[Gerwald Lechner]

TAG: Jean de Brichare

Gerwald barely heard Jean’s words over the chaos that surrounded him. With one of us dead. The Jedi spoke as if he were finishing the Wolf’s thought.

He would see soon enough.

The air was thick with dust. The crash of the staircase still settled in a haze that blurred the battlefield. Only the glow of sabers cut through the murk. The radicals cowered, proving themselves to be little more than children playing at war. But the Jedi? They knew how to hunt.

And now, they hunted him.

They came fast, an aggressive mix of Ataru and Shii-Cho. It was a storm of wild, unrelenting angles meant to keep the Dread Wolf on the defensive. Alone, they would have been beneath his notice. Together, they were something else entirely. Blades carved through the air, backed by elbows, knees, and boots aimed at every vulnerable gap in his stance. Blaster fire punctuated the assault, peppering the space around him.

Gerwald moved like a beast in a cage.

Snapping.

Twisting.

Striking.

His saber met theirs with vicious, brutal precision, not giving an inch. His footwork shifted erratically. Sometimes he displayed a duelist’s finesse, other times he was a predator lunging for the throat. The chaos they created would have drowned a lesser Sith.

Gerwald thrived in it.

Then he felt it, the spark of ignition behind him. A third blade, perfectly timed resounded, moving as the others struck at the same moment from opposite angles and different directions.

It was a trap.

Gerwald didn’t think.

He acted.

The force exploded outward from him in an eruption of raw power that sent a shockwave rippling through the room. The radicals were thrown back. Some of the weaker infrastructure around them shattered. Dust surged once more in a suffocating wave.

But that wasn’t enough.

Pivoting on his heel, he turned letting his red blade carve an arc of destruction through the air. His saber met the Jedi’s weapons in a searing clash, locking them in place for a heartbeat. With his other hand, his claws lashed out, snatching at the wrist of the assassin who had been behind him.

If he caught them, he would feel the strength of the wolf.

 

[Jean de Brichare]

The explosion of metaphysical energy sent the two Jedi skidding backwards, and the partisans flying. Lechner turned, moved to bind the saber of Jean, then clasp his wrist in a grip of iron. The blade was deflected, but the wrist was not where it seemed - not in the Force, not in the senses. Gerwald tore through the air with a whistle, but found no purchase as the dust slowly began to settle.​

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Men groaned nearby, others crawling to the exits, or dragging their friends with them. The Jedi watched, focusing on Gerwald, waiting for him to make a move. Jean, some feet away now, had disengaged his lightsaber again, washing his form in a blue glow. Something still wasn't right about how he looked.​

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"It seems your home has been damaged, Puppy.", he said with a glance around the apartment.​

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He settled on the two Jedi, then without a word, motioned them away. They didn't hesitate, and cloaking devices activated, concealing them from both physical and force senses. They could have been found if they attacked, but they didn't - Gerwald could tell they were gone after only a few seconds. All that was left was Jean, and the corpses of those who failed to kill the Sith.​

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"I am no fool - their deaths would be wasteful here now. No doubt your own security forces will be here soon...", he said with a glance out of one of the holes their breaching charges had made, overseeing the skyline of Jutrand.​

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"You do not know me, Puppy, but you should. I am Jean de Brichare. I am an agent of the Force, the sword at the tip of its immaculate design. All that comes before me was meant to die, and you will be no different. Today, tomorrow, it doesn't matter."​

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This time, he engaged his lightsaber, leaning forward as his other hand fell to the small of his back. A standard makashii form, favoring a duelist, meant to counter lightsaber techniques. He grinned at the Wolf.​

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"Did you know I attacked your children? The Jutrand School's trial, it was my own Jedi who did that."​

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Gerwald was no doubt familiar with the attack. Multiple students had died in it, but more Jedi had after Sith prefects were deployed. It was a political nightmare for the school, but it was more dangerous for those who had children in it. Somehow, a Jedi had found out who was in the school, where they would be, and when best to attack. Gerwald was also equally familiar with the fact that the leader of that attack was killed by the First-Among-Firsts.​

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Gerwald Lechner​

 

[Gerwald Lechner]

TAG: Jean de Brichare

Gerwald stood amidst the wreckage, his crimson blade hummed like a beast’s growl, low and waiting. Dust curled in lazy tendrils around him. The weight of battle settled on his shoulders like an old cloak.

His eyes,which were burning embers in the dim light, tracked the two Jedi as they vanished from sight.

Cloaking devices.

Cowards.

Gerwald would have hunted them if he thought they were worth the effort. But Jean had stayed. And Jean had spoken.

"It seems your home has been damaged, Puppy."

The insult rolled off Gerwald like water over stone. His gaze followed Jean’s, sweeping over the wreckage of his apartment—the shattered walls, the blood-streaked floor, the lingering scent of scorched flesh.

"Did you know I attacked your children? The Jutrand School's trial, it was my own Jedi who did that."

Gerwald did not move, not at first, but something in the air shifted. It was like the quiet before a storm. The Dread Wolf's breath slowed as it deepened. His grip on his saber tightened with the sound of leather straining.

They were children, apprentices, young ones meant to be molded into something greater. THe Jedi had attacked them, and the Sith had slaughtered the Jedi in turn. It had been a statement, one Gerwald had been willing to let die with the bodies of the fallen. But this man, this thing, stood before him and claimed responsibility.

The temperature in the room seemed to drop.

"Did you?"

His voice was calm.

Too calm.

It was not the fury of a Sith in battle, nor the rage of a man who had just been threatened. It was something worse.

Gerwald took a step forward. The light of Jean’s saber cast flickering blue across his face, but it may as well have been nothing at all. The corner of Gerwald’s mouth twitched, not in amusement, but in something akin to predatory recognition. He knew what Jean was doing, and he did not care.

“You misunderstand something, Jean de Brichare.” His voice was low and quiet, filled with the weight of something ancient and inevitable. “You stand before me and tell me what you have done as if you matter, as if your existence has ever been anything more than the fleeting breath of prey before it is devoured.”

His saber twitched in his hand, adjusting and anticipating.

"You are going to die here."

The Jedi had taken a duelist’s stance. Gerwald had never been formal, not to the degree of Mikashi. His expertise was with the fifth form, Djem So.

Gerwald surged forward like a predator closing in on wounded prey. The space between them disappeared in a heartbeat. His red blade carved through the dust-laden air in a deceptive downward slash meant to bait Jean’s precise Makashi guard into a parry. His free hand snapped forward like a vice, fingers curled with raw, crushing intent, aiming for Jean’s throat.

If Jean wanted to fight as a duelist, Gerwald would remind him that the Wolf was never bound by such constraints.

 

[Jean de Brichare]

Jean offered the Sith a very tight, small grin. Every Sith thought they were clever, every Sith a master of the saber, the Force, and of themselves - but The Force put to shame all who tried to best it. In this, Jean allowed the Force to work through him. His blade did come to parry the overhand strike, but what better way than to counter a duelist than through a test of strength?

With a flick of the wrist, Jean twisted the saber around just enough to tap Gerwald's wrist, then back down against to tap his leg. They were not lethal, or even able to truly slow him down - but it was enough to at least make him hesitate. Just for a moment. Then, Jean would back up, holding the same pose - two steps, then back to the form he was in.​

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"On the contrary, I accept that I do not matter - I am nothing but a loyal servant, a vessel for the Force to work through. I remain to prove to you that it is you, who does not matter. No matter how hard you try."

With that, the blade disengaged, and Jean allowed it to clip onto his belt. He lifted his arms, wide and open;​

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"Go on then, Puppy. Rip my throat out."​

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Gerwald Lechner​

 

[Gerwald Lechner]

TAG: Jean de Brichare

Gerwald did hesitate.

Not out of pain. Not out of doubt.

But because the arrogance of the Jedi before him was so profound, so delusional, that for a brief moment, he considered whether this was some elaborate trick, some final, desperate ploy.

And then Jean opened his arms.

"Go on then, Puppy. Rip my throat out."

A challenge. An invitation. A test.

Gerwald’s saber hummed angrily in his grip, but he did not swing it. Instead, he took a step forward, the air between them growing thick—not with rage, but with something deeper, something inevitable.

The Force did not guide him. He did not surrender to it. He commanded it.

In that moment, he did not need a blade.

The next movement was not theatrical. It was not slow.

Gerwald moved like the wolf he was.

With one brutal motion, his free hand shot forward, fingers curling into an iron grip around Jean’s open throat.

No hesitation. No mercy.

Just power.