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

[Aurelian Veruna]

X | X​

Aurelian's blade sliced cleanly through the air, felling the last Black Sun enforcer daring to press the Sovereign's guard. His men surged forward, disciplined and brutal, scattering the thugs that had grown bold on panic. Smoke curled from blaster wounds, and dying cries echoed off the stone as the corridor fell into a ragged silence.

Aurelian turned. Blaire lingered a few steps behind, her knuckles white around the blaster, a pale face illuminated by the faint shimmer of her shield.

His expression softened, the fury of battle giving way to something more human. He stepped close and placed a slow, deliberate hand on her shoulder. The hum of her shield generator brushed against his palm, warm and protective. In a low, steady voice he promised, "Stay with me, Blaire. I'll get you out of this, but I can't abandon my people while they bleed in my halls."

He pulled his gaze away and moved toward the palace's grand entrance hall as the Sovereign of Naboo led his guard forward. Tall marble columns rose like ancient sentinels, their beauty marred by smoke and blood. Politicians and aides huddled behind them, some shrieking, others frozen, as Black Sun cut them down or dragged them away. The air stank of fear.

Without hesitation, Aurelian stepped into the open. A bolt glanced off his shield, and his voice rose above the chaos, ringing through the vaulted space. "Stand!" he bellowed. "Senators of the Republic, do not cower behind stone and silk. These are men... cowards, who hide in shadow. Do not give them the dignity of your fear."

He lifted his blade, the steel catching the flicker of shattered sconces. His chest heaved, dark eyes blazing with a fierce gleam. "They came to break us, to herd us like cattle. We are Naboo. We are the Republic. No syndicate, no hired blades, will make us kneel. Fight for your people, for your worlds, for your names. Do not let them steal your breath without a struggle."

The Royal Guard tightened their line behind him, a wall of steel at his back. He scanned the chamber, daring the frightened crowd to meet his gaze. "Make for the Royal Hangar," he commanded, voice thunderous and sharp. "Fight your way if you must, but fight. Every strike against them is a strike against the shadow that thinks it is stronger than us. Live, and let Naboo be remembered for defiance, not fear."

For a moment the terrified clamor softened. A ripple of resolve passed through the politicians and aides; some still trembled, but others rose, gripping chairs, datapads, even the fallen weapons of the dead. Aurelian's chest rose with each breath, a dangerous smile curling on his lips as he watched them summon courage. He glanced once at Blaire, offering silent reassurance, then turned back to the hall. The king would not hide tonight.

Blaire Sal-Soren​

 

[Tohu]

Stun rings blasting forth from his pistol, Tohu laughed as the lawyer fell over a sculpture like a sack of bantha dung — fitting, given that whole profession specialized in feeding courtrooms just that.

One moment he was laughing, the next he was wincing distressed at the blaster bolts flying back at him: first, a wild flurry of fire from the dizzied lawyer, bolts bouncing everywhere, Tohu's shield flickering against the occasional pelt; second, the princess-lady had drawn a blaster right from underneath her skirt - a tricky move with a hold-out his mind instinctively processed and shelved into his memory banks - and joined in on the fun at Tohu's expense. But her hand was steadier, aim measured and several bolts smashed in around the same area of his chest, the translucent barrier now flashing in heavy red and instinct pulled him back around the corner from where he'd come.

Breathing, breathing, analyzing, mind catching up to what his senses had registered as the hallway next to him still lit up with blaster bolts: personal shields, the three of them, armed now, heading back to some office, calling guards, guards had to be busy, had to. He told himself he couldn't wait, couldn't let them escape, and man how much does it suck trying to catch a target alive? First time in his career, hell, in his life.

Without showing any more of his body than he needed to, he angled his wrist around the corner and blindly fired into the hallway to pin them down, then something exploded with zap and he felt his firing hand go numb like he'd slept on it a whole night. Pulling the limp hand back, Tohu smelled the stench of a burnt power cell; whatever that explosion was had fried the pistol's circuitry. He told himself he was buying a military-grade pistol next time. Yes, with all the money he was going to get bagging these dodgy senators, and he made sure he told them that, yelling, "I'm taking my credits, lady, don't you worry!"

Tossing the pistol on the floor, Tohu swung around the corner just enough to point the grappling hook wrist launcher down the corridor and fire it, fishing. It'd tie around and latch into whoever had not made it into the office, sharp tip of steel biting into flesh.

Whoever it was, when Tohu felt the line go taut, he'd yank his catch and yank it hard with the desperate strength of a gutter-born reaching for caviar.​

Decarii Tithe Liana Organa Sibylla Abrantes Cassian Abrantes

 

[Aiden Porte]

2A
Lorn Reingard Sars Sarad Jerec Asyr Sal Katarn​

Dust still clung to Aiden's tunic as he steadied himself, the sting of his fall sharp in his ribs. His saber hummed in a tight guard, but his eyes tracked Sarad's every movement, the way the ochre dimmed in his gaze, the faint telltale stillness of a man drawing power inward. Aiden took a quick glance over towards Lorn for the briefest of moments. Ever the constant guardian and watchful eye over him, he was the older brother he never had. He couldn't let him down.

He didn't rush. Instead, he stepped deliberately along the crater's edge, circling, his saber angled in high guard. The weight of the battlefield pressed against him, Lorn's presence flickering bright and embattled, the darkness that was Sal Katarn hammering against it. And deeper within the Temple, a spreading shadow… Jerec. Aiden felt it like cold fingers worming into the sanctum. The children's fear resonated against him once more, fragile bells shaking in the gale.

But Sarad was here. Sarad demanded the river's focus.

Drawing strength from the hum of the Temple's defenses, from the pulse of every life he was sworn to protect, Aiden moved. He surged forward, not reckless, but with the precision of training honed under the Shiraya's eye. His saber cut in a diagonal slash from shoulder to hip, swift and hard, testing Sarad's poise.

The smirk Sarad wore would not unsettle him. This fight was about survival, of the Temple, of the younglings, of Naboo..

 

[Mercy]

Objective: 1A - Storyline agreed with Loria Sorelle
Tags: Loria Sorelle | Dominic Praxon | Xandyr Carrick | Bastila Sal-Soren

The tactic was sound and solid. Keep the vulnerable ones between those with combat experience, then make sure to keep moving, to negate the possibility of being separated. This way they'd also always see a threat coming, either from the front or the back.

It would have worked too if not for one inconvenient fact.

They moved around the bend and then everything turned to hell. Right as Bastila rounded the corner, putting a bit of distance between them, the wall next to Marcellan and Elenara broke into pieces. A giant shape slammed right through it, pieces of heavy duracrete falling all around the shape as if it was snow for her.

Mercy had been tracking them and realized soon enough that trying to get to Marcellan was practically impossible without first going through the Jedi attached to them.

But while she was busy with the Jedi, they'd beat a hasty retreat, and that... could not be allowed.

Utilizing the surprise entry, her body surged forward, aiming to smash the elder man's head with her fist. To break it like a rotten fruit and put the old man out of his misery. While the mission had been to capture bodies for later bounties, Mercy had her own little mission. The elder Sorelle was a thorn in her side, in her business, and by removing him from the table Mercy would be able to do so much good for herself.

Her profit would always come first.

 

[Dominique Vexx]

​

Objective: 1A
Location: Outside the Assembly Chamber

A man clutched their eyes as their head reared back and their knees gave out.

With a cry of alarm and defiance, a woman crumpled to the ground as her cybernetic leg gave out. Teeth clenched she whipped a blaster around while prone on the floor intent to continue firing at the defensive line ahead. Only, the defenders managed to bring their weapons to bear first. The fewer firing weapons at them the better.

Dominique tuned away from the gap between the barricades.

"I don't know what you're doing, but if it weren't for you we'd have been overrun already," the last remaining Assembly Guardsman said with a wry smile.

Golden eyes looked across at the man on the opposite side of that gap. "You're the one able to hit them," she laughed. A blaster pistol sat on the ground by her foot, which she'd used now and again for suppressing fire, but she hardly thought herself a crackshot with the weapon. Slicing cybernetics, on the other hand, she could do. Not nearly enough of them had any worth mentioning, but those that did Dominique brought down.

The other two guards had fallen minutes ago. It was only because a few brave attendants of Senators that'd still been in session they'd managed to hold the position for as long as they had. Not that they were all slaughtering Syndicate thugs left and right; they fell their share, but mostly it was just keeping them from advancing into the Assembly proper where the Chancellor had been -- and might still be unless they took another way out.

Evidently Aurelian and Sibylla hadn't been in the Chamber when the assault began. Dominique hadn't the luxury to go find them, however, as the Black Sun was intent on killing or capturing anyone between them and the Assembly itself. Far as she was personally concerned, DIrectors of Denon never ran out of fear so she was pressed into service in defense.

Indications the communication network access had been restored showed in her glareshades, but Dominique hadn't made any broadcasts just yet. It could be traced. Or intercepted. Either way, it wouldn't improve her situation. She would wait to hear what others had to say and if it would be tactically prudent to make a broadcast. Even a call for help might only incite further Black Sun members to show up. For the time being, they'd just have to remain behind a cobbled together barricade of solid objects and energy shields.

OPEN​

 

[Cali Ziiva]

Friends: Liana Organa
Objective: 1B
Location: Backup Power Generator
Equipment of Note: Mobile Workshop, Lightsaber, Bubblegum Popper Gloves

​

Cali tilted her pink head as she stared a the console. "Huh. Awfully quiet up there. You think I should--?"

"Hello? Hello?! Can anyone read this channel?! Three of us are trapped in the office of Sybilla Abrantes! We are under attack by a lone intruder! If anyone can hear me, please help!"

The Zeltron jumped with a wide-eyed stare at the console. Like that was really frightening! No warning, just sudden cry for help.

Sibylla Abrantes' office? Cali blinked and looked at QT-800. Where was that?

"Perhaps it is enough others will know," her Cutey supplied to the unasked question.

Of course! The guards would know where her office was. Cali tapped on the controls. "Uh, hello! This is Cali Ziiva. I can hear you! Anyone else on this frequency can too, now. Defenders should be free to talk to one another again, so they should get someone to Sybilla's office when they can." Well, they should. Would they? Well, Cali didn't know.

Just because she knew how to use a lightsaber didn't mean Cali would solo it. Well, she probably would have, but someone had to stay and deal with the generator. Or anyone that tried to break this one, anyway.

"Do we need to restore power to any key systems? We don't have full power, so ray-shielding is limited." Really limited. Seemed pertinent to mention that in case someone was thinking to ask her to magically snare all the evil people with the push of a button. People didn't appreciate how much power a good shield used. Who was she talking to? Well... anyone that was listening and keen on defending Naboo. Cali was kind of desperate for someone to talk to at that moment, ya know?

 

[Sars Sarad]

2A
Aiden Porte | Lorn Reingard | Sal Katarn ​

---

Every second allows him to regain focus.

Every moment strengthen him.

The Ochre in his eyes had dimmed though it would begin to flare again as Aiden Porte circled the edge of the crater.

Instinctively Sarad followed him, pivoting inward on his left foot so that his body turned with Aiden's while his right foot angled backwards to present his left side in lead. In his peripheral he could see the battle between Lorn Reingard and Sal Katarn . His lightsaber blazed in his right hand, angling with his stance but never leaving its horizontal positioning.

When Aiden surged forward Sarad was ready.

He'd take a step back, forcing Aiden to close on him just one step more to engage. His lightsaber fanned upwards, arcing back across to his right in the process so that it could catch the underside of Aiden's weapon and angle into the outside of its arc to both deflect and redirect it across and to the left of Aiden.

Sarad wanted to strike the Jedi but despite the numbness of his arm he could still feel it was weak from the blade sunk deep into his left shoulder blade.

His palm opened, fingers splayed wide and he gestured unleashing a massive torrent of the force that he'd been collecting. The Ochre in his gaze dimmed indicating a release of power.

A cascade of concussive force would extend from Sarad, over the short distance that separated both he and Aiden so that it could wash over the Jedi, lift him from his feet and hurl him high into the air and away. More than this the burst was not simply a chaotic display of force, it was coordinated and exact. If Aiden flew he wouldn't just fly into the air, it would be like a tidal wave took him and hurled him across the crater at Lorn, a living projectile of flesh and bone, muscle and sinew.

 

[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

"Excuse me," said Kasmion, emerging from the stacks one tap of his cane at a time, "I'm looking for any material you might have on the Guild of Shamers and the Huttese mind-slicers. I'd thought I found the right section but so far all I'm seeing is Jensaarai and Teepo Paladins. Are you needed for the defense, or could you point me in the right direction?"

Balun turned sharply on his heels, swivelling to face Kasmion Duum as he hadn't realised he shared the room with another. The blue humanoid wasn't a familiar figure, and he certainly would have been given his distinctive appearance; yet his calm and inquisitive approach took the rogue force user by surprise. He didn't approach with aggression as Balun would have expected from an enemy, but instead came upon him as a guest unfamiliar with his environment.

"Guild of Shamers?" Balun repeated aloud, his voice equally curious as he had never heard of such an organisation before; "Sorry, but this is the first I'm hearing of them. I'm not the archivist here, I'm afraid", he added briefly in explanation of his lack of assistance. He gave pause while studying the character's demeanour, his apparel, his body language and even the way the Force ruminated silently around him, invisible to those lacking the sensitivity to read it.

"My apologies again, but word is the Sanctuary has been placed into a state of lockdown due to an act of aggression from an unknown group. The archives are closed for the time being to the public" Balun informed the man, doing so with the intent of gauging his reaction carefully. He wasn't one to trust others easily, even those among the Order—It was one of the reasons why Balun could count his personal friends on a single hand, yet during a state of crisis, such a trait wasn't particularly a bad thing.

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

"Speech"
'Thought'​

 

[Kasmion Duum]

"My apologies again, but word is the Sanctuary has been placed into a state of lockdown due to an act of aggression from an unknown group. The archives are closed for the time being to the public"

"Disappointing to hear on both counts." The idea crossed Kasmion's mind that he could simply feign more discomfort than he felt and sit down in the nearest chair, but that would be beneath him. As would be actively misrepresenting himself as uninvolved. But they weren't quite there yet.

"I came quite a long way and the subject is very personal, so I do intend to keep looking regardless, especially since the archive is at risk." With the hand not using the cane, he gestured vaguely in the direction of the loudest sounds of chaos.

He walked back into the shelves. Perhaps since the Jensaarai and Witches were both partially Jedi spin-offs, it was said, and the Shamers and mind-slicers were not, and were smaller, they might be filed under criminals and not traditions. Worth investigating.

 

[Sal Katarn]

His fists, empty and unarmed, drove low and fast. He jabbed at Sal's midsection, hammering toward the weak points between armor plates, aiming for the bruised ribs that maybe he'd heard crack beneath the turret's weight.

A moment of panic just before the tackle as he stared down the barrel of his own weapon, then the click of an empty chamber and their bodies colliding, tumbling. Scrapping heavy now, punches and gouging.

A muffled scream tore from Sal as a fist connected with a shattered rib. He only wore a vest of armorweave over a shirt beneath the duster and it did nothing to stop these punches as the Jedi really started whaling on him, each punch a fresh and nauseating wave of pain and bruises. Already broken bones crunched and crackled and Sal tasted blood in his mouth.

"Hrk," he gasped.

Couldn't quite catch his breath. Can't be good. Busted up real well this time. The shattered rubble of the ground bit into Sal's back through the duster and armorweave and he thrashed about, trying to not just lay there and take a beatin'.

Claustrophobia was settin' in, inside that helmet, trapped by Lorn's weight as they tussled. A coppery tang coated Sal's throat and he gurgled wetly.

Somehow, he'd managed to maintain control of the revolver in his left hand. He clacked off the round and a spray of cortosis dust erupted from the barrel. It might not do nothing but get in Lorn's eyes at this point, little bits of metal particles, but that would be an advantage. Katarn didn't care much either way because what he really wanted was the next round.

his left revolver carried a very particular sequence of loads: Saber Breaker, two Infernos, another Saber Breaker, then two Krayt’s breaths.

He tried to place the barrel against Lorn's side as they struggled and squeezed the trigger again. The Krayt's Breath shell exploded, spitting out a globule of bio-plasmatic gel that would stick to whatever it touched. The gel was meant for burning holes through spaceship hulls in the vacuum of space. Against Lorn's armor? It might burn right through it. It might not. Either way, it could cook the skin beneath like a convection oven.

Lorn Reingard | Aiden Porte | Sars Sarad | Jerec Asyr

 

[Xandyr Carrick]

1A

Mercy Dominic Praxon Loria Sorelle

Xandyr set off, following Dominic's tracking signal. He slipped his jacket back on to keep the weapon at his side concealed, but his shirt sleeves were still rolled up.

He had a cloth in his hands. As he walked quickly he tried to get the last of the blood off of his knuckles. He was slightly concerned; it was a long time since he had given in to such unrestrained violence.

The door ahead of him exploded into the corridor. All he could do was lift his hands was three armed men rushed in. The white cloth looked like a surrender.

"That look like a senator?"

"Dressed like a farking noble!"

"Please," said Xandyr with a shake of his head. "You don't need to be a noble to dress well. It would be hard work to look worse than the three or you."

The one in front of him shoved the blaster barrel closer.

"Don't shoot him. Credits for senators alive. Could be one!" warned the closest.

"Still gonna hit him!"

The blaster pulled back. Xandyr moved quickly. His left punched straight to the nose, his right came around for the jaw.

He draw his blaster and put two bolts into each of the others.

"Distinct lack of manners," he complained. Someone was flooding the halls with cheap mob muscle as a distraction.

"Dominic, I'm coming to you but it's slow work," he called into the comm.

It was time to take this seriously. He bolstered his pistol and pries a carbine from one of the dead men.

 

[Aiden Porte]

2A
Lorn Reingard Sars Sarad Jerec Asyr Sal Katarn ​

The blast hit like a freight train. The pressure crushed against his chest, tearing him off his feet and hurling him skyward. For a heartbeat, Aiden felt like nothing but a fragment of debris, powerless against the tidal wave Sarad had unleashed.


But he was not powerless.


The Force surged within him, answering his desperation. Aiden's teeth clenched, his muscles ached as he flung his will outward. He could not stop the torrent, but he could bend it. With his free hand outstretched, he pulled the energy inward, drawing a sliver of Sarad's concussive power into himself. It felt like catching fire, the shock rattling through sinew and bone, but the edge of the storm dulled. Enough.

His trajectory shifted. Where the wave had been angled to hurl him into Lorn's battle with Sal Katarn, Aiden twisted through the current, forcing it aside with sheer willpower. The maneuver cost him, but it spared Lorn the brutal collision.

Instead, he struck the earth.

The impact came hard and punishing, stone and soil erupting around him as his body tumbled across the crater floor. His saber tore a gouge through the dirt as it dragged with him, still clutched tight. When he came to a halt, breath ragged and chest aching, the world spun in a haze of pain.

But he was alive. His body screamed protest as he pushed one knee under himself, saber still ignited, its azure blade stabbing into the ground like a promise that he would not stay down. He could feel Sarad's presence across the crater, still burning, still taunting, and Lorn's steady flame not far beyond.

Aiden spat dust and blood from his mouth, his voice hoarse but defiant.

"You'll find me harder to break than beskar."

He rose, unsteady but unyielding, battered yet unbroken, ready for the next storm.

 

[Cassian Abrantes]

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

Cassian burst through the archway into the hall just as the grappling line hissed down its length, its steel bite looking to sink into someone. His eyes tracked it in an instant the the barbed cord taut would be dragging back with vicious intent.

No hesitation. Cassian's hand went to his belt, fingers finding the slim hilt of his knife. In one smooth motion he snapped his arm forward, the blade spinning end over end through the smoky air. It struck true, edge biting into the wire with a clean spark, severing it mid-tension. The line would snap back like a whip, curling uselessly to the floor.

Cassian was already in motion once more against Tohu his second knife was in the air before the first had finished clattering to the marble. This one cut a clean arc down the corridor, aimed not at steel but at flesh.

Cassian advanced, eyes hard, blaster pistol now raised in his hands. "You picked the wrong place." he said, his voice low and certain as footsteps carried him towards Tohu.

 

[Lorn Reingard]

Tags: Sal Katarn | Sars Sarad | Aiden Porte​

The ground was nothing but shards and blood beneath his back, each jagged stone biting through his armor. Lorn's lungs strained for air, every breath searing as Sal's weight bore down. His fists hammered, striking already fractured ribs below, but then a cold realization cut through his focus.

The revolver. Sal still had it. Impossibly, the mercenary's fingers clutched the durasteel monster as if it were welded to his hand. Lorn's eyes widened, panic sparking in his chest like lightning. He wrenched sideways, grappling for Sal's wrist, every muscle screaming as he tried to pin the gun away from his ribs. However, Katarn's strength was like iron born of desperation; the barrel twisted closer, inch by inch, inevitable.

Then came the hiss, a terrible crack. A spray of metallic powder exploded into the air: cortosis dust again. It clouded Lorn's face instantly, searing his eyes. He gagged on the coppery tang, hands flying to his face in a frantic attempt to clear it. The world blurred into a haze of gray and pain, Sal's snarling form only a shadow through the storm.

But the sound of the revolver cocking again cut sharper than any blade. Adrenaline roared. He shoved at the weapon with every ounce of strength he had left, twisting his torso, forcing his shoulder against the barrel. His life depended on it. The gun roared. Heat flared at his side.

Lorn cried out, the sound raw and unguarded. The Krayt's Breath shell had grazed him, and that was enough. He felt the bio-plasmatic gel stick, clinging to his armor, before its searing kiss ignited. It didn't burn through immediately, but it cooked him alive, merciless and relentless, beneath his own plating. The agony was unlike anything he'd felt, worse than blaster bolts or blades. His vision tunneled, his body trembling as if trying to crawl out of its own skin.

Then came salvation, in the form of chaos. A tidal wave of Force energy slammed across the battlefield. Sarad. The concussive torrent ripped Lorn away from Sal's grasp and crushing weight, rolling him hard across the stone. He landed with a bone-rattling thud, coughing dust, his side still screaming with fire.

Without thought or hesitation, he clawed at the straps of his armor, hands trembling as he yanked and tore. The plate clattered onto the earth, smoke trailing faintly from where the gel had seared it. The smell of scorched cloth and skin clung to him, acrid and sickening. His torso was bare now, vulnerable, ribs heaving as he struggled to pull air into his lungs. He knew he couldn't take another hit like that; he wouldn't survive it.

He straightened. His hand rose, palm open, trembling at first, then steady as he drew deep from the current of the Force. It swelled in him, brighter than the agony, brighter than the fear. The light flared into being at his fingertips, a brilliant beam that cut through the dust and smoke, searing like a star born in his grasp. He thrust it outward, aiming to blind the mercenary, to burn away his visor's advantage and leave him staggering in white-hot brilliance.

Then, with a guttural shout, Lorn poured every shred of will he had left into his arm. The Force gathered, heavy and concussive, a hammer drawn from the marrow of his soul. He hurled it toward Sal Katarn; a command, a wave that could break stone and bone alike. He willed it to drive the mercenary into the shattered crater floor, to wrench the revolver from his hand once and for all.

 

[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

​

"Disappointing to hear on both counts." The idea crossed Kasmion's mind that he could simply feign more discomfort than he felt and sit down in the nearest chair, but that would be beneath him. As would be actively misrepresenting himself as uninvolved. But they weren't quite there yet.

"I came quite a long way and the subject is very personal, so I do intend to keep looking regardless, especially since the archive is at risk." With the hand not using the cane, he gestured vaguely in the direction of the loudest sounds of chaos.

"Sir, I don't think you understand me..." Balun frowned as he replied, moving to follow Kasmion Duum back towards the shelves of datacards, datafiles, and holovids, all lined and stacked for safekeeping and storage until personnel desired their use.

This guy wasn't taking him seriously, or at the very least, he wasn't seeing any sense of authority in Balun as a member of the Order; Though that could potentially be due to his choice of apparel looking more the fit for a Spacer than a Jedi of the High Republic.

"I mean no disrespect, but I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask you to leave the Archives until the lockdown has been lifted. I would be happy to escort you and ensure your safety so that we can see you're able to join the others until this mess is sorted out." Balun suggested in the hope of appeasing the stranger.

"Once the Sanctuary is back in its typical state of calm, I will happily speak to the Archivist with you, and I'm sure we'll be able to help look into whatever information we have" He added, while extended an arm in encouragement in the direction of the archive entrance, expecting the man to accompany Balun back towards the Temple depths where they would unite with other Jedi and the guests that were being evacuated or kept safe from whoever had caused such a stir.

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

"Speech"
'Thought'​

 

[Sars Sarad]

2A
Aiden Porte | Lorn Reingard | Sal Katarn​

---

To look upon Sarad was to see a predator that studied his prey.

Aiden Porte may not have landed where he'd intended but to him it was a minor inconvenience. The tidal wave of force had lifted Lorn Reingard and similarly thrown him though by then a majority of its power would have dissipated. When it ended Sarad stood in the crater now well out of reach of either man.

As for Sal Katarn , he was an ally but Sarad only felt a remedial kinship with the man. It appeared he'd engaged the Sword of Shiraya in a bloody battle to this point.

His eyes flickered back to Aiden as the Jedi made his defiant statement, Sarad didn't respond immediately.

While Aiden braced for the next attack he'd raise his left arm slowly, his hand still shaking; he couldn't feel the pain from the vibroblade embedded in his back but the damage was obvious to him. The Force enable him to numb the pain but the muscle and sinew was ripped through ensuring that Sarad's movements with his left arm remained slow and unsteady. However this did not affect his depth of power when it came to the metaphysical connection that flowed between all of them.

He reached out with his mind, his senses searching and then he found it.

The Lightsaber of Lorn Reingard , deactivated earlier in the battle with Katarn.

Tugging on it with the abstract connection he shared with even an inanimate object the lightsaber would have vibrated, almost unseen then answered Sarad's call by flying towards his outstretched hand until it rest securely in his palm. Once his fingers had tightened around it his left arm would lower, he'd call out...

"I've no need to break you Jedi. Beskar, like iron can bend after you've beaten it long enough so that it's unrecognizable."

...his eyes flashed towards Lorn and Katarn as the Jedi attempted first to blind the Mercenary with a blast of light that made Sarad squint and then followed with a crushing force...

"Your lightsaber will be a fitting gift, Sword of Shiraya."

The Ochre is his eyes was dim, he'd unleashed a large amount of the power he'd amassed but now he was gathering it all over again. Replenishing himself on the outskirts of the crater while he looked between the two Jedi. His lightsaber, clutched in his right hand blazed hot but he'd lowered it so that it was level with his hip so that it ran parallel with the earth, aimed towards both of the Jedi and swaying between them.

They'd sown chaos, their role had almost ended. The Temple of the Jedi was engulfed in the fire of battle and this said nothing of what went on inside. Jerec Asyr was a canny individual, he may have already pillaged what the Jedi sought to protect.

 

[Kasmion Duum]

"I mean no disrespect, but I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask you to leave the Archives until the lockdown has been lifted. I would be happy to escort you and ensure your safety so that we can see you're able to join the others until this mess is sorted out." Balun suggested in the hope of appeasing the stranger.

"Once the Sanctuary is back in its typical state of calm, I will happily speak to the Archivist with you, and I'm sure we'll be able to help look into whatever information we have"

As Balun followed and spoke, Kasmion nodded amiably while browsing the shelves.

"Not necessary, thank you," he said. "I see exactly what I was hoping for."

He removed a datacard from a shelf and peered at the labels.

"A High Republic-era account of Jedi being interrogated by a mentalist in the employment of a Hutt. Extraordinary. I suspected the mind-slicers went back that far, but this is very special."

He tucked the card inside his robe.

"I'd be happy to accept your escort out now. Elevators only, please."

 

[Koda Fett]

He grumbled something low and groaning after the punch rolled his shoulder forwards, responding with a flick of his fist that connected with the beak. Like a bad smell, he could never shake Kingsley.

Fett continued down the halls, interrupted for brief moments that resulted with the Hiitian rummaging through the pockets of even more corpses in search of trinkets, trophies, or even mere pocket change. Fett was not quite so interested as to ask. Though something, someone, came to approach them with more determination than the dead guardsman.

Unlike Drystan, the bounty hunter was not seeking a challenge. He stepped aside, into another chamber and said to the ex-Jedi, "This one's yours."

If Kingsley or Quinn followed, so be it. He could not be so sure of the Sith, but Fett would bet that Kingsley was right behind him if he didn't detest gambling so much.

He kept going, for what else was there? Fett neared Chancellor Kalantha, so much so that her nearest guardsman was shot down.

Drystan Creed - Kira Veylan - Kingsley - Quinn Varanin - Kalantha

 

[Aiden Porte]

2A
Lorn Reingard Sars Sarad Jerec Asyr Sal Katarn ​

The sight hit Aiden like a blow to the chest.

Lorn's saber, the blade that had cut a path through fire and chaos, the symbol of Lorn's unwavering resolve, taken from where it was. The weapon zipped through the air, answering Sarad's dark summons. In a flash of light and metal, it slapped into the marauder's waiting hand. It did not belong to him, he would not take it.

For an instant, Aiden froze. It was as if the Temple itself groaned in protest, the Shiraya's flame stolen, perverted into the grip of one who had come to desecrate. The sight of Sarad standing with Lorns, his own searing weapon, threatened to claw open the fragile dam Aiden held against his fury.

But he did not yield to rage. He channeled it.

"No!" Aiden shouted, more vow than word.

The blue of his saber flared as he hurled himself forward, feet pounding across the crater. Every ounce of pain, fatigue, and blood became momentum. His blade struck in a furious storm, a relentless press of cuts and arcs designed to give Sarad no pause, no chance to turn stolen light into triumph. Sparks flew as blue crashed against Sarad's own, every strike Aiden made carrying not just skill, but the full weight of his vow: Lorn's saber would not remain in enemy hands.

He shifted between high guard and tight sweeps, his strikes not wild but unrelenting, driving Sarad backward step by step. Each blow came with the pressure of the Force itself, not hurled in waves but woven into his body, into the angles of his attacks.

"You'll never wield his light!" Aiden's voice carried, resolute through the clash of blades. "It belongs to him...!"

For Aiden, there was no thought of defense now. He pressed Sarad, battering against him like the tide against a jagged rock, intent on breaking his poise, on forcing him to either relinquish the saber or fall beneath the storm.

 

[Sars Sarad]

2A
Aiden Porte | Lorn Reingard | Sal Katarn​

---

Not as stoic as Beskar after all it would seem.

These were his thoughts when he heard Aiden Porte shout then hurl himself forward, lightsaber blazing to life as he closed on Sarad.

Raising his lightsaber to meet the first blow the clash between the plasma blades would be monumental as sparks exploded between them amidst the crackle of energy. Every blow Aiden landed pressed Sarad backwards, he yielded ground against the Jedi without thought as the unrelenting blows and tight sweeps kept him at guard. There would be a moment where it seemed as though Sarad would be overwhelmed by the tide of blows that battered against him in sparks and flashes of heat that passed between the two men.

Gazing at Aiden beyond the heatwaves pouring off his weapon, distorting atmosphere between them the Jedi might note how thrilled he actually appeared...

"Good."

...Sarad's voice implied his pleasure, he enjoyed the challenge of an enemy who brought the fight to him...

"Good!"

Not unlike before Sarad maneuvered in practiced routines. Deflecting blows and redirecting them using tight angles to turn Aiden's lightsaber in the directions he wanted so that he could manipulate the strikes as they came at him. Rather than meet Aiden'd fury, channeled through unrelenting blows and sweeps of his lightsaber he redirected it away from him.

He was measuring his opponent.

Timing him.

Waiting to see how long it took Aiden to recover, how long it took him to arc his lightsaber out of a redirection to continue his unrelenting tide.

With senses expanded, his focus on Aiden so that the he could catch even the most minute detail Sarad finally struck.

When Aiden made a blow from high guard Sarad answered with a snapping deflection meant to cock his elbow and whip his lightsaber back over his right shoulder. He'd follow with a fanning blow that whipped his lightsaber forward in a diagonal blow again and went to carve a brutal path from over his left pectoral down across to his right hip. In the same breath he struck twice, sheer force of will would active the Light of Shiraya as the lightsaber came to life in his left hand and made a sweeping stroke ahead of him, a tight arc meant to rip across Aiden's belly.

"Your Light has a new Master."

...his lip curled, he snarled as the words came guttural from his throat.