Junction No Disintegrations | BSS & THR Junction of Nar Vaadu Super Hex and Bothawui

[Jerec Asyr]

OBJECTIVE 2A
IN AREA: Sars Sarad Aiden Porte Lorn Reingard

Oh frell, it was that Sarad maniac. Dangerous guy, quite a rep, and loud, loud, loud. That situation was a useful distraction from the ah feth I'm in over my head again cognitive dissonance of being involved in something like this.

Sarad seemed to be tangling with two Jedi, each more muscular and tidily groomed than the other. Jerec unshouldered his Squib garbage grabber — an inglorious glorified tractor beam — shifted it to pressor/push mode, and fired a quick burst at each of the Jedi. His goal was to knock them off balance or shove them off their feet, giving Sarad an opportunity.

 

[Sal Katarn]

2 A
Lorn Reingard Aiden Porte Sars Sarad Jerec Asyr​

Sarad seemed to be tangling with two Jedi, each more muscular and tidily groomed than the other. Jerec unshouldered his Squib garbage grabber — an inglorious glorified tractor beam — shifted it to pressor/push mode, and fired a quick burst at each of the Jedi. His goal was to knock them off balance or shove them off their feet, giving Sarad an opportunity.

At the lip of the crater appeared Sal Katarn. The Firrerreon had a slugthrower in either hand, of the KrupX type, and his duster billowed out behind him as he raised one arm to fire. The stolen Mandalorian helmet he wore, old and battle-worn, much like himself, calculated distances and trajectories.

Katarn didn't need much. He sighted in on the figure of a charging Jedi wielding a golden blade.

Unlike his last encounter with these Republic Jedi, Sal didn't have a nice spot to hide and pick 'em off using an anti-material rifle. He wondered if the Jedi leader of that raid, Brandyn Sal-Soren , would be here. Supposed it didn't matter much. He weren't in this for glory or fame or even enjoyment. It was just the only job Sal had ever been any type of good at... killin'.

He'd come loaded for, well, for Jedi. No use playin' around with these types. Sal squeezed the trigger and the slugthrower let out a sharp report.

And a slug went zippin' out the barrel. Well. Not strictly a slug. This particular kinda slug was one of those "FU" slugs. Stood for Force User, on account of how the slug was meant to mess them up all kinds of ways. The slug was actually a dozen tightly packed Yuuzhan Vong bones fashioned into flechettes. Might not have all that much stopping power, but they couldn't be sensed in the Force, couldn't be blocked all at once by a lightsaber swing either, and even if they didn't have the stopping power of a dissuader's impact, they sure messed up meat something fierce.

Nah, like as not it weren't fit to kill the Jedi, especially not one as mean lookin' as this one, but it would give him a bad day if it struck. That's for sure.

A dozen o' them flechettes hurtled toward Lorn Reingard 's upper body.

Sal was already getting ready to fire another shot.

 

[Koda Fett]

"Stick to the job," he said, coming up between the two.

In this line of work, Force-users were more liability than asset. Fett had seen it too many times -- Jedi burning bright until their idealism guttered out, Sith carving bloody paths just to prove they could. Neither left anything but collateral in their wake. And when those same storms wandered into the underworld, into his line of work, they left behind chaos: trails of corpses, vendettas unpaid, and credits smoldering in their wake. Unless reined in, they were as dangerous to an operation as the mark itself.

Fett's T-visor panned between the woman and the ex-Jedi, a flat, wordless judgment settling on them both.

"Once we have the chancellor," he said, every word sharp, "I don't care what you do. Paint the streets with him. Carve his crown into pieces. Doesn't matter. But until then," his head tilted slightly, narrowing the glare of the visor, "You stay the course."

He let the silence hang just long enough to make the point clear: whatever grudges or hungers the Sith and the fallen Jedi carried, they would wait. Fett wasn't here for their politics, their vendettas, or their shadows. He was here for the job. And if they couldn't understand that… well, Koda had solved worse problems before.

Quinn Varanin - Drystan Creed

 

[Sibylla Abrantes]

Objective 1A
Decarii Tithe | Liana Organa
Vs Tohu ​

The comlink at her hip crackled with nothing but static. Cassian Abrantes 's voice, Bastila Sal-Soren 's sharp edge of urgency, all of it lost to the void. The silence of it coiled like a vice in her chest, but Sibylla forced herself forward. Panic would not serve them now.

"Behind me, Liana," she murmured in a low and steady voice even as her pulse thundered in her ears. One arm swept back to gently usher the Alderaanian girl into the protective drape of her gown. Karlini silk was more than ceremonial; it could catch a blaster bolt if it came to it. And if she could shield even a fraction of the teenager's frame with her own, then it was her duty to do so.

The guards had already fallen, their bodies crumpled on marble, and the stench of scorched flesh hung faint in the air. The figure that emerged from the haze grinned, blasters in hand, like he'd just strolled out of some lower-level cantina rather than stepping over the dead. Sibylla felt her teeth grit, fury flashing in her chest.

She let Decarii Tithe speak, let the lawyer's silver tongue buy them precious seconds. Perhaps credits would be enough for Shiraya knew, sometimes even scoundrels bowed to greed. But Sibylla was not one to gamble lives without a card of her own in hand.

Her fingers slipped into the hidden slit of her skirt, finding the cool metal nestled against her thigh. The compact ELG-3A slid free, quiet and hidden from view within the folds of her skirt, her thumb brushing the grip with certainty.

Her chin lifted in defiance. Kohl-lined eyes narrowed to vibroblades, fixed on the killer. The adrenaline drove sharp clarity through her but warred with the hot edge of fear. She could feel the tremor of her heart rush through her veins along with the surge of survival rising with it.

Not today.

"You have already spilled Nabooian blood," she said, her seemingly calm voice tinged with songsteel, body braced between Liana and the blasters. "Strike again, and you will find Naboo's wrath far less forgiving than any credit purse."

No, she would not be gunned down in some corridor. And she would not allow those under her protection to fall.

 

[Lorn Reingard]

Tags: Aiden Porte | Sars Sarad | Sal Katarn​

Lorn's chest burned, every breath dragging fire into his lungs, but his golden blade kept moving, cutting and stabbing through the press of Black Sun and Bando Gora that refused to relent. His robes were torn, scorched, his forearm bleeding from an earlier strike, but he looked like a man carved out of battle itself, sweat and blood streaking across a face that never flinched, never broke.

A zealot rushed him, howling, a jagged dagger aimed for his ribs. Lorn met him with a backhand slash that split bone mask and skull alike, the body falling in a heap at his boots. Another came with a vibrosword, its edge sparking against his saber as the fanatic pressed forward. Lorn pivoted, kicked the man's knee out from under him, and drove his saber down in a clean, merciless thrust.

He pushed forward, step by step, carving a path toward the crater where Aiden fought. His mind kept returning to that duel, the heat radiating from Sarad's blade, and the memory of fighting him once before. If Aiden faltered, if Sarad's fury turned full, Lorn clenched his teeth and pressed harder.

Then, the ripple. His instincts screamed, the Force prickling along his skin like ice. He twisted just as a vibroblade sang past his cheek, close enough to clip a lock of hair, before whistling into the melee behind him. Lorn's head snapped toward its source.

Sarad. The ochre-eyed warrior's gaze found his across the courtyard, and for a heartbeat the chaos seemed to quiet. Fury burned in Lorn's chest like a second sun. He had lived too long expecting betrayal, but seeing Sarad, an ally turned monster, was more than simple treachery. It was desecration.

"You," he growled under his breath, voice ragged, his jaw tightening as if he could crush the man's name between his teeth. This ends with chains. Or blood.

The thought had barely formed when his world exploded in pain. Something hammered into his chest and shoulder, hard enough to stagger him back a step, knocking the air from his lungs. No warning. No ripple in the Force. Lorn looked down in shock, eyes wide. Jagged flechettes embedded in his scorched armor plates, smoking and biting deep, clearly weren't from a blaster or vibroblade. This was something else entirely.

Lorn's gaze snapped up in time to catch the glint of a helmeted figure at the lip of the crater, guns raised, a smoking barrel aimed for another shot.

"Sniper," he hissed, spitting blood into the dust. His saber whirled to deflect another fanatic's strike, then he lunged for cover, dragging the limp weight of a Bando Gora corpse into his grasp. The next shot tore through the body, slamming into dead flesh instead of his own.

He shoved the cultist's body aside, his teeth bared now, no calm left. He raised a hand and pulled. The Force lashed out like a chain, attempting to snare the gunslinger at the crater's edge. The man was heavy, armored, and anchored, but Lorn's will was heavier still, born from fury and the desperate knowledge that every heartbeat mattered for Aiden. He dragged, yanking with the strength of a commander who refused to watch another comrade fall.

"Enough hiding," Lorn roared, eyes locked on the gunslinger. "Come face me!"

 

[Liana Organa]

Sibylla Abrantes - Decarii Tithe - Tohu ​

“If this is Black Sun, the last thing you want to do is get caught. Believe me, they’re some nasty sons of reeks.”

The Black Sun? This was all the work of a criminal syndicate? Their power was far beyond what young Liana could have envisioned possible. Like the Hutt Cartels of ages past, they were no longer just an organization, but a nation.

And they picked today of all days to make a move on the Republic Senate. Why did it have to be today? Liana cursed her luck in as many tongues as she could think of.

The junior ambassador's fear of an attack then came, but not how she expected. The shrieks of blaster fire erupted in front of them, proving her clairvoyant episodes were far from omniscient. She startled at the sound, already partway behind Sibylla before she even finished offering protection. When the smoke cleared, their last line of defense was already gone. The only man standing was a lone stranger, whose allegiance was not hard to presume.

“So how about a free trip to Nar Shaddaa?”

Liana's gaze darted back and forth between the two senators and their attacker, her arm barred uselessly in front of her body like an invisible shield. Decarii was quick to offer a generous payout. Maybe it would work; These were just criminals, right? They always wanted money…

"Strike again, and you will find Naboo's wrath far less forgiving than any credit purse."

Liana's sheeplike expression suddenly hardened with imitative confidence, "Not just Naboo's wrath, either." The shaky threat haunted her the moment it escaped her lips. Idiot. The last thing this thug needed was to know he was a few feet away from an Alderaanian heiress to boot.

Mom and Dad were going to freak out when they heard about this.

 

[Nero Drake]

SHIRAYA JEDI TEMPLE
NABOO
Ran Serys et al.

“Call your crew to retreat, Drake!” Ran yelled over the noise of the battle.

"So you've heard of me."

His ancient blade began melting as it drew near to the Jedi Knight's lightsaber until its kyber crystal reacted violently to cortosis. Surprise registered on her face sending a thrill of power surging through the young pirate. Nero swiped the bubbling edge across to hurry Ran along as she took an involuntary step back for self-preservation.

"You paint the galaxy full of shadows and tell your younglings to stay close to the light," the blast helmet distorted his anger into something flat and robotic, "Your light. Your reason. Your judgment."

Nero advanced a step with every proclamation.

"How else can the Republic's tax paying subjects make sense of men who keep what is theirs and fear no one?"

Power flared back into Ran's lightsaber moments before Nero brought his sword down in simple but effective chopping slash. He lacked the elegance of a duelist trained in one of the combat forms but surviving Coruscant's undercity taught him how to handle a blade.

 

[Sal Katarn]

"Enough hiding," Lorn roared, eyes locked on the gunslinger. "Come face me!"

Invisible, inexorable hands sought to wrap themselves around Sal’s form, but encountered the slippery presence of the hide duster he wore, fashioned from Terentatek leather. While it didn’t stop the telekinetic yank entirely, it turned what would have been a rip strong enough to send him tumbling down into more of a strong pull. Sal stumbled forward, off balance, and his next shot went wild, cracking off into the air uselessly.

Katarn grunted inside his helmet and came down off the lip of the crater.

How many shots was that with the right? Three? Yeah. Which meant his last three weren’t flechettes.

“No one’s hidin’ here, pilgrim.” The muffled words came out of his helmet’s speakers, clear enough given the combat raging all around them.

As he spoke and walked down into the crater, Sal used the second to thumb in another round into his right revolver, keepin’ the left unspent for when things got a touch hotter. One extra round was all he could afford, given the Jedi looking about ready to hack him into pieces.

Sal didn’t waste no more words, what would’ve been the point in all that? Nah. He just raised his pistol and fired, cracking off three shots in quick succession.

The first was the one he’s just loaded - a thumper slug. It was meant for causing kinetic damage to armored targets, but really it didn’t matter much because Sal expected the Jedi would take it on his sword. At which point, the thermite inside the slug would ignite. That kind of thing could do a whole range of damage depending on how it went down. Anything from blowing off an exposed hand to breaking ribs under armor if it hit right. Either way, hitting thermite with a lightsaber was generally a bad idea. And after those flechettes, the Jedi might be expecting more of the same. But, even if he dodged using that absurd speed these types seemed to have the little concussion might still impact him. Wishful thinkin’ like as not.

That’s why Sal fired the next two rounds.

See, flechettes and thermite were all good and well, but you really want to ruin a fella’s day? You shoot at him with some hollow rounds full of borless acid. Block em and get spattered by acid that would eat anything short of beskar. Take em head on? Same problem.

Dodging though, dodging might be a problem.

That’s why Sal kept walking forward, left revolver at his side. Waitin’.

Lorn Reingard

 

[Cassian Abrantes]

1A
Sibylla Abrantes Aurelian Veruna Dominique Vexx Decarii Tithe Liana Organa Tohu ​

Smoke crawled along the high arches, carrying with it the bitter stink of ozone and charred fabric. Cassian Abrantes pressed forward, rifle tucked in tight, his jaw locked against the ache in his side. The first Syndicate enforcer broke from cover behind a collapsed bench, vibro-ax raised. Cassian fired once, the bolt striking true, and kept moving.

The next hallway funneled him into a kill-box. Three mercenaries crouched behind overturned sculptures, blaster fire pinning him in place. Cassian slid behind a column.

Cassian tossed a smoke cannister at their feet, the marble swallowed in gray. The mercs fired blind, their bolts searing nothing but haze. Cassian burst through the other side low, firing upward. Two fell before they even registered his movement. The third raised his carbine, but Cassian was on him, slamming him against the wall, rifle butt cracking helmet. The body slid limp to the floor. The Abrantes Elite Guard were on his trail, following up the steps as they cleaned up what rabble were left behind Cassian's path.

Breath harsh in his lungs, Cassian pushed on. His thoughts spun with images of Sibylla, her stubborn defiance, her voice sharpened to steel, the way she had always stepped into danger with more courage than caution. Although this time was a bit different as danger came to her instead. Yet he knew she faced it with the same resolve that made her who she was. She was the voice....

The corridor narrowed into the private offices wing. Even here, mercenaries prowled, dragging staffers from their desks, binding hands in plastisteel. Rage surged through Cassian's veins. He fired into the intruders without hesitation, bolts sparking against ornate paneling. Two guards tried to flank him from a side door, Cassian spun, his sidearm clearing leather in a flash, twin bolts dropping them before they could level their weapons.

The silence after was broken only by his boots against the carpet and the faint, terrified whispers of staffers ducking behind furniture. Cassian lowered his weapon just long enough to gesture them toward the exits. "Go. Now. Hide until the Guard clears this floor." His voice was clipped, commanding, but not unkind.

 

[Kingsley]

Koda Fett Quinn Varanin Drystan Creed

"Stick to the job," he said, coming up between the two.

"Rrrrawk! When you're right you're right, Fett."

Kingsley stroked his scattergun like it was a beloved pet. Tinted goggles served no tactical purpose inside the senate halls but made him look wizard as hell. The lit cigarra dangling from his beak was bound to set off a smoke detector or something.

"This is a gig for professionals. Can you believe I almost missed out?"

He punched Koda in the arm with typical brute strength.

"Good thing I double checked those bogus coordinates you must've sent by mistake. Could have wound up trapped in a gravity well."

Koda was always so careful and precise, but Kingsley figured pobody's nerfect. While the others made plans he stooped to rifle through the pockets of the royal guardsmen Drystan had knocked unconscious for any stray valuables.

 

[Aiden Porte]

2A
Lorn Reingard Sars Sarad Jerec Asyr Sal Katarn​

The clash reverberated through Aiden's arms, the snap and crackle of colliding plasma almost deafening at this range. The heat was oppressive, every breath searing, and yet he forced himself to stay centered, to let the discomfort bleed away into the river of the Force. He felt Sarad's rhythm shift, calculated, deliberate, as though every exchange had been a prelude to this.

His thrust drove forward with commitment, his weight behind it. He realized the danger only as Sarad's pivot came sharp, precise, the deflection snapping his saber wide, dragging his momentum with it. It was then he felt the extra push, an external force from nearby that hit him. For an instant, his chest and right arm were exposed, his footing compromised by the sudden redirection.

He felt the whisper of steel in the Force before his eyes caught it, the second vibroblade arcing upward, hungry for the joint at his elbow. Reflex overrode thought. Aiden wrenched his body into a twist, channeling the Force into the motion. The blade's vibrating edge still kissed his sleeve, carving a shallow gouge that burned as fabric and flesh parted, but the strike did not find the crippling mark Sarad sought.

Pain lanced up his arm, sharp and immediate. He drew it in, let it thread into his focus rather than scatter it. His saber wheeled back into guard, intercepting Sarad's follow-through in a tight lock that spat sparks between them.

With that, he released the pressure of the blade lock, pivoted his injured arm just enough to feign weakness, and used his free hand to slam the Force outward in a concussive push, an attempt to hurl Sarad back, to reclaim the initiative. And with that he followed up with a series of strikes against him, going on the offensive now.

 

[Sars Sarad]

2A​

---

When he was hit with a concussive force that transformed into a powerful push Sarad was thrown backwards.

He'd engaged Aiden Porte on the lip of the crater, now he was in the air and being thrown in the opposite direction though Sarad showcase an often undisclosed amount of agility and acrobatic ability. It was an Art of Movement according to some.

Landing inside the crater again, skidding backwards due to the momentum of the concussive blow that had thrown him he leaned forward and planted his left hand in the dirt. Fingers spalyed, dragging across the ground to slow him until he regained his foot. His head had tipped back so that he could watch as Aiden followed up.

By the time Aiden had come at him again Sarad had regained his footing and was on his feet. His chest burned, the force used to hurl him away evident.

Another flourish of his lightsaber as he met his opponent.

His style was a combination of simplistic and complex, seemingly rooted in Shii-Cho but complimented with movements more inherent to Makashi and Djem So as well as others that were difficult to recognize.

He didn't meet Aiden's offensive with power though he clearly could. Instead Sarad's lightsaber crackled as he focused on deflection and redirection which assisted in bringing him into another rhythm. Eventually he'd force a saberlock that would see their weapons buzzing between them...

"You are not unskilled."

...he'd have told his opponent through the crackle of blades...

"You are no Sword of Shiraya though."

...unfortunate how Lorn Reingard had been occupied by Sal Katarn now however this was no matter.

He would shift, his left side came forward so that he could press into the lock at an offset angle. At first it might appear as though Sarad wanted to force Aiden backwards or to the side, neither was true. His left foot had slid forward, arcing in and then out Sarad went to position it between Aiden's center of balance before sweeping it against the inside of the Jedi's right leg near the ankle in an attempt to buckle him and send him toppling while the natural movement of his leg let Sarad draw it back again.

Somewhere out there Jerec Asyr was on point too. If not engaging the enemy then Sarad could only imagine he was ransacking their temple.

 

[Lorn Reingard]

Tags: Aiden Porte | Sal Katarn | Sars Sarad​

The first round screamed in, bright and fast. Lorn's saber flashed up on instinct, intercepting the slug with a sharp crack that rattled his arms. The instant his blade touched it, the thumper's thermite ignited, white-hot fire spraying across his guard. Heat seared his skin, stinging even through scorched fabric. He twisted, forcing the flaming fragments away, his teeth bared in a grimace. This wasn't clean; it wasn't safe. Sal was baiting him.

The next two rounds were already in the air. The Force surged through his veins, every heartbeat sharpened into clarity. He sidestepped the second, speed snapping him out of its line, but felt the hiss of liquid eating into stone where it struck. Acid. His pulse spiked cold. The third he could not simply outrun; it was aimed with cruel precision. Lorn snapped his blade across his body, deflecting, but the hollow round burst midair. A mist of burning droplets splattered his shoulder and gauntlet, hissing through fabric and biting deep.

Pain lanced sharp and hot, but he did not falter. He grunted, rolling his wrist to shake off sizzling threads, the stink of acid rising around him. He had fought countless mercenaries and hunters who thought exotic weapons would break a Jedi. His face, streaked with sweat and blood, tightened in resolve, not fear. Through the haze, his eyes found Sal, burning with a fierce, duty-bound resolve.

Lorn moved, dropping low and fast, closing the distance. He knew that the longer he stayed out in the open, the more Sal's revolvers would rule the fight. As he passed a fallen body, his hand dipped, fingers curling around the vibroknife sheathed on a dead zealot's belt. Without breaking stride, he hurled it toward Sarad, not Sal. The blade spun end over end across the crater, a flash of steel aimed for the ochre-eyed warrior's flank, disrupting him just as he tried to sweep Aiden's balance. Its purpose was to disrupt, not to kill; to give Aiden a heartbeat of reprieve.

Lorn was then back in motion, closing on Sal Katarn. His saber hummed low, close to his hip, his free hand raised as he swept in a heavy Force push. His intention was to stagger Sal's aim and keep those revolvers from finding a clean shot, not to knock him flat. He needed to be inside the arc of those pistols, where steel and fire mattered less, where the Jedi's blade and will could finally end this.

Every step brought pain. His chest burned with each breath, his shoulder hissed with acid, yet he carried it all forward. His expression was carved from stone, sweat darkening his hair, blood trickling down his arm. In his eyes burned the same promise that had carried him through war and betrayal alike: he would not break. Not here, not while the temple still stood.

"Face me, gunslinger." His voice was steady now, clear even amid the chaos, his golden saber arcing up to meet the next shot.

 

[Blaire Sal-Soren]

Blaire Sal-Soren stood fuming in the dark of Aurelian Veruna's new office. She had no explanation for how or why she continued to find herself in this sort of situation. From the way the figures moved in the dark, Aurelian and his guards, the soft swishing scrape of their armor shifting across their silken undershirts, shouted that this was no simple outage, something more sinister was in progress.

"You came here to protect someone you trust, and now I'll see you protected as well."

I came here to make my problem yours Blaire thought ignoring the compulsion to snort.

King Verun–how strange a notion that was–King Veruna held out a personal shield generator, no bigger than his palm. She took it without hesitation or question, manicured fingers working deftly and easily to activate the device, her visage glimmering with faint incandescence. There was no question if this was her first time using personal protection such as this tiny shield generator, her experience obvious.

To Aurelian's credit this shield was leagues above most of the equipment she saw used by New Way operatives or any she'd had experience with when her ambition had still been to be one of The Queen's handmaidens.

Blaire did not make it a habit to spend her time around the assembly but Aurelian's ascension left her intrigued, and Jaa Ardan's stepping back into her life left her frustrated in more ways than one. She'd hoped to turn her intrigue and frustration into opportunity. Jaa needed to not be living on her couch any longer and Blaire decided that she needed to be seen in the company of Naboo's new sovereign as often as she could afford. So she came to see the new king in hopes that he would have a place for Jaa, one preferably close enough that she would know when he was next going to burst into her life but far enough away that she could actually have one without him.

"If this is Black Sun again,"Aurelian murmured in the dark, "then they've mistaken me for a man who hides. I will not cower in these walls when they dare to strike at my city, my Assembly."

"I'm with you all the way," she told him with as much confidence as she could muster, gripping tightly the blaster pistol Jaa Ardan had shoved into her hands as he left with Aurelian's man on the king's command. The idiot of course had given her his only weapon. She held it firm, familiarizing herself with the weight of the weapon and the subtle raised rubber bumps on the grip.

She let the Aurelian’s words just as much as the comforting hardness of the blaster ebb away any nerves she was feeling. She’d be no good to anybody if she did not keep her cool. Blaire was no warrior not even a soldier but she was not a coward and neither was she useless.

| Outfit: xxx | Tag: Aurelian Veruna | Equipment: xxx |​

 

[Balun Dashiell]

NO DISINTEGRATIONS: OBJECTIVE 2B
INVENTORY: Spacer Apparel, Lightsaber & K-16 Bryar Pistol
ALLIES: The High Republic
OPPOSITION: Kasmion Duum | The Black Sun Syndicate

Balun Dashiell moved across the first floor of the Jedi Archives, his eyes searching for those familiar while also keeping his head on a swivel for any sign of risk to the valuable artifacts kept within the Holocron Vault, or the multitude of datacards and information stored upon the countless shelves lining the vast hall.

"Hello? Anyone here?" He called out, announcing his presence, surprised that the archives appeared so quiet. He had expected that other Jedi personnel would have arrived ahead of him, yet he found himself walking the isle alone, unbeknownst to the presence of Kasmion Duum walking a separate isle on the far side of the room.

'Most of them are probably guarding the Temple entrance,' Bale surmised, a conclusive thought as he accepted his being there alone. He couldn't even recall the name of their local archivist, yet they seemed nowhere in sight. Reaching for the handle of his K-16, he unclipped the strap keeping the pistol holstered against his hip for an easier draw, suddenly considering the possibility that perhaps he might not have been the first but that they had already been killed. The thought was dark and discouraging, yet the hefty weight of his blaster pistol brought a little confidence, enough that he could defend himself if required.

As he reached the end of the aisle, Balun stepped out into the open. From there, he could see the Archive Reception desk left unattended. Frowning to himself, he wasn't used to the lack of, at the very least, an archivist droid holding down the fort. Then again, nothing about this situation was typical of everyday life in the Temple, he reasoned silently as he approached the desk.

Pulling his commlink free from his belt, Balun sought to raise Temple Security: "This is Balun. I'm in the archives. No sign of others, but requesting Security send precautionary backup. I'm not confident I can hold this position on my own".

Jedi Master: Ala Quin
Major Faction: The High Republic
Sub-Faction: Jhaessa Prime
Conglomerate: Dashiell Incorporated™
Subsidiary Company: Dashiell Retrofit™​

"Speech"
'Thought'​

 

[Tohu]

That's a lawyer, Tohu thought, certain of it.

They had that sleazy look about them, every single one of them. She maybe had a decade or so on him, pretty looks fitting a Vigo's zoo-zoo, but you could just feel that distinguishable sleaziness clinging to her from heel to crown. Shaddaa was brimming with them during what the Coreworlders called tax season. Sure, there was no real government in the 'civilized' sense but crime was not confined to the Smuggler's Moon — its reach extended well, well beyond it, to worlds where you needed a lawyer to smoothen things like bantha butter with authorities.

To the lawyer lady's chagrin, Tohu had no clue what the little stick was or the copious wealth it possessed; the platinum card, though, was unmistakable; but money meant nothing to the aspiring bounty hunter's dreams of grandeur — dreams to become the best hunter in the galaxy.

Still, gun pointed at the trio, Tohu picked up the stick and card. He said, "Chancell—", eyes slightly widening at the name on the card…

… then the princess-looking lady in a skirt cut him off, probably around his age, saying, "You have already spilled Nabooian blood, Strike again, and you will find Naboo's wrath far less forgiving than any credit purse." and he gave her a wild smirk, but saying to the lawyer, " She always try to screw up your deals?".

Tohu, of course, played theatrics, acting like he was considering the bribe, flicking card and stick in between his fingers. Watching Animal Galaxy, he'd learned a few tricks from the various predators of the galaxy — trickery was as part of their repertoire as their pointed fangs. But there was something else they boasted with: an eye for the weak, those slowing down the herd.

He noticed the subtle way in which the princess lady moved in front of the youngest of the three and a nasty grin glowed over his unruly features.

Her pathetic threat, issued under a skirt, barely reached his ears. His gun's muzzle bore down on the teen and Tohu squeezed the trigger thrice, smoke-blue circles blaring at her.​

Decarii Tithe Liana Organa Sibylla Abrantes

 

[Jaa Ardan]

​

Obj 1B

"Clear"

"Copy." Jaa responded softly, four and a half steps behind for all intent and purpose his commanding officer. The light from his borrowed rifle swept over the cowering faces of politicals and their staff, eyes glowing like prey in the night.

Four and a half steps. Not more. Not less. Jaa Ardan kept that pace as they traveled down the corridor together. It seemed a random number and maybe it was but in Jaa's experience soldiering, familiarity could mean life or death and for him four and one half steps as a two man patrol was familiar.

It gave enough room that he and his partner did not walk atop each other, it would allow for Jaa to make adjustments as his lead called for them, whether it was to stop or turn or go double time. It also allowed him to be close enough to be effective in keeping his partner alive.

It was familiar and it was the only thing that was, well unless you counted creeping in the dark with a rifle facing an untold number of enemy combatants, that too was familiar.

Thank Shiraya for that he supposed,

That was where the familiar ended.

Jaa Ardan shifted his borrowed rifle on his shoulder, attempting fruitlessly it would seem, to find a measure of comfort. He'd toggled through all the settings already to make sure the computing components worked, he'd yet to have the chance to fire the thing yet so he would have to take it on faith that Aurelian Veruna and his security had provided a working rifle.

There was little comfort in that.
"Tell me something about yourself," his partner said, voice steady but quiet. "Doesn't matter what. Just keep talking."

Seldan was his name. An absolute giant in house Veruna Armor. It had been suggested that Jaa also borrow a set of armor, he had not worn his own, thinking he was going to the senate building for Blaire to beg for a place for him in Prince Veruna's household. Jaa was dressed his most stately in a dark green silken doublet that shone now like emeralds in the shimmer of the borrowed shield generator attached to his belt.

The annoyed look Blaire shot him when he declined the opportunity to die in another man's armor really made this whole debacle worth it.

"Well, let's see…" Jaa began.

Jaa couldn't have picked a better partner, really. There was likely only a handful of people in all the galaxy that would keep their nerve at the sight of this giant in durasteel heading towards them and if they did, well, the giant man made for an excellent target.

"It helps me keep my mind sharp when I've got more dark corners than targets. Besides, I've marched next to you long enough without knowing if you gamble, sing, or pray when the walls start closing in. Which is it?

"…I'm Corellian, blue eyes, six foot two and a half but I tell the ladies six three. My dream first date is Orbak riding on the beach. I collect Royal Princess dolls…"

The sounds of screams careened off the walls in an echo emanating back the way they came pulled Jaa's attention from the pitch dark stairwell for just a moment. Faintly a part of him wished to go back but the rational part of him knew that Blaire could more than handle herself, he'd made sure of that.

"Partner, when the walls start closing in, I do the only sensible there is; keep pushing forward."


Seldan Rourke

 

[Ran Serys]

Objective: 2A
Opposition: Nero Drake

"So you've heard of me."

Ran tsked at the man. She had unintentionally given Nero Drake the satisfaction of infamy and he had given her just the kind of rakish response Ran expected of a rogue like him. Then he challenged those expectations with words that dripped of an angry passion. Words that Ran understood to be a protest against the Jedi and the Republic’s hypocrisy, tyranny, and inequality, or at least his perception of those ideas. Was that why they attacked the temple? The Bando Gora assassins, the Black Sun Syndicate and its agents wanted the Jedi to know this? No. Ran’s instincts told her these were Nero’s own personal feelings that fueled his drive to attack. But what could Ran say to stop him, sway him, route him?

Dodging his bubbling blade as he pressed an assault, Ran also stepped back dodging the pirate’s own judgement. “Am I supposed to answer that, Nero?” She yelled back as his blade swung before her. Ran kept her saber at the ready waiting for its royal blue light blade to return. “You’re not here for answers.” Ran observed. Her lightsaber igniting in a snap-hiss. She brought it up at the last to defend against cleaving Cortosis again. “You’re here for blood, and control, and who knows what else!” Ran continued as she reached a hand out. Through the force a downed assassins sword flew to her hands. She swung it to meet cortosis as plasma once again disappeared.

“But you won’t get it!” Ran shouted. “So I repeat, call for a retreat and you may live to fight your fight another day!” Ran pushed back from the pirate and aimed the assassin’s sword at him. “This is your last warning.” She cautioned calmly as the royal blue blade ignited again joining the assassin’s sword in Ran’s stance.

 

[Sal Katarn]

2A
Jedi Temple
Bottom of a Crater

Fighting: Lorn Reingard
Nearby: Jerec Asyr Sars Sarad Grunt Aiden Porte

He leveled the revolver and started to pull the trigger, its tension heavy, when a ripple of unseen energy struck him and though the Force was mostly dissipated by the Terentatek hide, it still felt like getting shoved in the chest. It knocked his shot wide, and the round zipped past the advancing Jedi, off by about a foot.

"Face me, gunslinger."

“Sure.”

They were already standing close enough for pistol range, but the Jedi was itchin’ to use that saber, like as not.

Katarn started backpedaling and loaded another two rounds into his revolver, but thumbing in rounds with a hand already full of a whole ‘nother slugthrower weren’t no easy feat. The third round fumbled from his fingers and hit the ground.

Kark it.

The Jedi was way too close for comfort now. But Sal had been prepared for this moment and his left revolver carried a very particular sequence of loads: Saber Breaker, two Infernos, another Saber Breaker, then two Krayt’s breaths.

Sal finally fired his left revolver from the hip. A cloud of cortosis dust blasted from the barrel and directly at the Jedi, meant to engulf his lightsaber in the stuff and short it out. Sal clacked off a second shot close on its heels and the revolver bucked sharply in his hands as thermite shards sprayed out in a cone, burning at 2500 degrees centigrade and capable of setting the Jedi’s hair and clothing on fire and burning just about whatever it touched.

 

[Ravion Corvalis]

1A
​

The alarms continued their shriek, a maddening pulse that made every word the Senator spoke sound smaller, frailer. Ravion stood at his side with the practiced tension of a man unused to violence but eager to appear brave. The perfect mask.

Inside, the calculations never ceased.

The spike was still running in the console beneath the desk, worming its way through the Senate’s networks, breaking down security protocols and firewalls. A single breach was not enough. No. He needed it so that when the dust settled, someone would have to bear the blame. And Ravion had already chosen who.

He moved smoothly, his glass of brandy still in hand, as though steadying himself. His sleeve brushed the console again, fingers flicking another command on the concealed pad built into his vambrace. Files began to copy. Transcripts. Messages. Carefully fabricated communiqués between the Senator of Malastare and known Black Sun operatives, they had been seeded months ago, even before the incident on Sepan, now they were waiting only to be unlocked. They bloomed like weeds in the data stream, too many and too damning to be dismissed.

The Senator leaned toward the intercom again, muttering in frustration as it spat only static. He did not see Ravion slide a small holoprojector beneath the edge of his desk, its tiny lens blinking once before going dormant. In the chaos to come, it would flare to life, it would show images of the Senator conversing with shadowy figures in a backroom that did not exist, with words that were never said. It would be enough to confirm the “truth” everyone wanted to believe.

Ravion poured the Senator another drink with a reassuring smile, the glass steady in his hand. “Patience, my friend. These things are never as bad as they seem.”

The Senator exhaled, visibly calming at the gesture, even as the alarms continued. “You’re right. You’re right. The guards will be here any moment.”

Ravion’s eyes flicked toward the sealed doors, where muffled shouting echoed from the halls. He allowed himself the faintest curve of a smile as he set the glass down before the Senator.

“Yes,” he said softly, almost to himself. “Any moment now.”