Populate Ode to the Fallen | GA Populate of Vendaxa

[Spirit of Faith]

The death toll has risen every day in the wake of Tython, with more of the brave defenders added to the missing-in-action roster. Thousands of civilians met their end in the Maw’s run through the core, with just as many GADF soldiers finding theirs whilst defending their homes. The core and the force itself seem to weep with the loss of life that has shaken the galaxy- but the people of the Alliance vow no sacrifice will go forgotten.

Candles light the alleys of Coruscant in their honor. Chancellor Tithe has declared a national day of mourning as people gather to lay their loved ones to rest. The Starbird National Cemetery has opened its gates for mass service, where all the heroes of the Defense Force can be celebrated before their names are inscribed upon the Gate to the Core. Thousands echo these actions on planets throughout the Alliance.

The Jedi, embracing their oneness without restraint of order, gather once more in the senate plaza. The Kyber Arch was lost in the fall of their Coruscant Temple- but all things come full circle. They gather with the sabers of the fallen to rebuild the memorial where all can see, a promise that light shines even in the darkest hour. All Jedi are welcome to bring the crystal of a fallen friend, or to simply pay respect to those who have passed on to the force.

Far from Alliance Space, on a farm on Concord Dawn, a number of Jedi have ignored the call to opt for something more personal. The Treicolt Homestead offers respite for the weary souls who have fought the good fight beside the late Sword of the Jedi. Those who knew Ryv are welcome to join and raise a glass (or a sprite) to their friend, who has finally found peace after years of hardship.

The Brotherhood of the Maw’s days are numbered after the wound they dealt the Alliance, but for today, the defenders pay tribute and prepare to fight another day.

 

[Auteme]

Loske Treicolt Aaran Tafo Dagon Kaze Kyric | Frank and Kara | et al.
blinded as you're flying towards the light​

"Auntie A!"

"Hey Kara! I like your dress," she said, squatting down to give the girl a hug. The little Treicolt had a fancy little black dress on -- it looked new, and Kara looked suitably cute despite the occasion, so Auteme put on a brave face for the girl, half-hoping she was still too young to understand what had happened.

"You're gonna get too big for this soon," she said, kneeling to get Kara up onto her shoulders.

"It's ok. I'll carry you when you're old and small," Kara consoled her, giving a little bop on her head.

"Thanks."

Auteme started to walk down the long speeder path down to the Treicolt homestead. She'd arrived hours ago, but it hadn't felt right to go straight in. Instead she'd gone for a drive, finding a simple pleasure in the fields of Concord Dawn. A few farmers had waved to her; she'd waved back. She'd stopped, looked at the clouds, wondered if it was going to rain, picked a flower or two, and been back in time to see other ships and speeders pulling in. Approaching them was a familiar astromech droid.

"Were you racing Frank again?"

"He's not serious when he races," she huffed. "I know I'm faster than my brothers, though."

"Thank you, Mistress Auteme," the droid warbled as it approached.

"Hey Frank. No problem -- always happy to see Kara running out to say hi." She gave the girl on her shoulders a little bounce, and Kara giggled. "Sorry, I, uh- didn't come earlier to help with the setup. Where's Loske?" she asked as they came up to the house.

 

[Aaran Tafo]

His friend was dead.

Part of him wanted to deny it, this was hardly the first time the Kiffar had gone missing. Be it running around in Mando space, moonlighting as a bartender or a various other reasons for avoiding the spotlight. Ryv typically showed up again sooner or later.

But then again, denial was the first stage of grief. He had actually felt his friend's death ripple outwards through the Force, a sharp stabbing pain in his heart as the Knight Errant felt one of his oldest friends leave this plane and go on to the next adventure. His first instinct afterwards was to hunt down whoever it was that took his friend's life and bring them to justice. Only to later discover that it had been a mutual kill between the Sith'ari and the Sword of the Jedi. And for a brief moment Aaran wondered if due to the unique circumstances behind Ryv's passing that there might be some way to bring them back. Only for such a thought to disgust him, knowing that his friend would never want such unnatural means used in an attempt to bring them back.

So now Aaran had to deal with a Galaxy that no longer had his friend in it. And he wasn't quite sure how to do so. He'd been trained to process grief, to understand that life was fleeting. This was certainly not the first time he'd faced death. But never has the experience been quite so personal, so close to home.

Behind the barn of the Treicolt farmstead, the Freebird landed, descending from the clouds, legs extending and ramp lowering to allow the Jedi to descend. Dressed somewhat smartly in black slacks, dress shoes, blazer, sunglasses and white shirt. Funeral appropriate certainly, but considering it was Ryv's, his friend would probably have wanted something less formal.

Stepping around the corner,his sightless gaze fell upon a familiar sight and another old friend. The sight of Auteme brought some small comfort, a reminder that he was not alone in this galaxy. And the little girl bouncing on her shoulders was a pleasant reminder of why exactly Ryv had fought in the first place. So children like Kara could grow up carefree and happy.

"Auteme." He called out, striding his way over towards the pair, the youngest present whipping around at the sound of his voice, a grin spreading over their features. Of course remembering their weirdo of an Uncle who showed up from time to time, bringing presents, stories and sneaking them exotic candy while pretending their mother wasnt watching. "And Kara. Look at how big you've gotten." He said, a soft smile spreading over his features. One hand reaching into his jacket pocket and pulling out a small bag.

"Here, these are for you and your brothers. Just don't let Mom see them alright?" He said, his voice taking on a hushed, conspiratorial tone as he passed over the small bag of candy to the young girl. Head tilting in such an exaggerated way that can easily be interpreted as a wink.

His gaze then shifted back to Auteme, falling in step beside her, pace slowing to match the much shorter woman's. "I never did offer congratulations for becoming senator." He said, nodding once, his tone somewhat more subdued, hesitant. Almost unsure of what to say. But offering his presence to his friend in their shared time of grief.


Auteme Loske Treicolt Dagon Kaze Kyric

 

[Valery Noble]

Location: Ilum
Appearance: Link
Tag: Open

Music​

Valery drew in an ice-cold breath of fresh air as she stepped out into Ilum's frozen wasteland, covered in more traditional robes and with a hood drawn over her head. Her fiery eyes settled on the pyre in front of her where another Jedi's passing was being honored. Many had chosen for Coruscant to be their final resting place, or perhaps somewhere more personal. But some had chosen Ilum for its place within Jedi History, or maybe even for memories attached to it.

Either way, she was here to honor the fallen from the battles on Xa Fel, Selvaris, Empress Teta, and now Tython as well. Most who had passed were Jedi she had heard about or met in passing, but few were close to her.

It didn't matter.

Their lights had been a source of hope and strength for people in the Galaxy during the many years prior to her own reawakening from stasis. That alone created deep respect she felt could only be shown through her presence on this day of remembrance. But most importantly, it strengthened the feeling that it was her time to carry the torch forward, the way she had been trying for a few years now.

There was still a war tearing the Galaxy apart, and together with those who remained, it was vital that the legacy of those before her were honored through the continued efforts of a united front. The Jedi had taken a hit on Tython, but it would never shake her resolve. Plans for the next moves against the Maw were already brewing in her mind, and soon, she was leading the charge with an incursion on Batorine.

But now?

She smiled faintly to herself and looked up at the stars of tonight's clear sky. It was always a beautiful part of Ilum that made its climate just a little more bearable, but it also helped set the mood for a day that was meant to honor the bright stars that had faded out and to look ahead at those who were burning bright to prevent the Galaxy from falling into Darkness.

 

[Ripley Kühn]

:// Auteme | Loske Treicolt | Dagon Kaze | Kyric //:
:// all and then most of you, some and now none of you //:

​

Losa clung lazily to Ripley and to the edge of sleep. She was almost too big to be carried, but the zeltron wasn't of a mind to tell her no when the girl had sought comfort. The waves of pain that radiated through the force had receded in her arms. Ripley had never been eager to jump headlong it motherhood, but she had grown to love the kids Ryv had raised. They were somehow the smallest yet vastest point of his legacy; even those whom he had adopted inherited all his tenacity and kindness.

She had come to accept what had happened in the days since, but reflection still brought on the melancholy. Turning away from the gathering, she retreated to the quiet of the endless fields that rolled before her. It was little wonder Ryv wanted his body to see its final moments here. Some small part whispered of the regrets of not taking one of his many invitations to the Treicolt farm. Work had always left her tied to the core, and when it hadn't, vacation just seemed... unimportant. Cherished thoughts of what could have been would haunt her forever.

"I'm sorry, Ryv." She told the wind. "Love you always."

The words caused Losa to stir. Ripley looked down with shame to find her wide-eyed despite her sleepiness. It was the expression of trauma that the streets had imprinted upon her, never quite going away no matter how much time and love was given. Ripely had noticed it's more frequent appearance in the days since their loss.


"Shhh," The zeltron cooed. "I got you."

"Did I miss it? Ya'know... The pyre lighting?"

"You know I wouldn't let you, silly. You still have time. Loske brought huttaburger for everyone- why don't you try to eat?"

The girl nodded affirmation as Ripley gently set her down. Half-turning away, she expected the kid to wander- but instead little fingers wrapped around her own. Ripley followed the pull to the thick of it, led by an eight-year-old intent on drowning sorrow in grease.

 

[Caltin Vanagor]

“There is no death, there is the Force.” - The Fifth Line of the Jedi Code​

Caltin landed in the public starport, Chrysa was with him. He wanted to show her around a planet she had not walked around in years, especially with the reconstruction efforts. Slowly they walked around and looked at the sights, stopping and eating at one of the bistros that he always hated but knew that she would absolutely love. It should have come under better circumstances, but he was dead on and “won points” with this. The Galactic History Museum was something he knew she would also want to visit as well.

What surprised him was that she wanted to go to the memorial. The memorial for the fallen Jedi, all who had lost their lives defending the planet Tython. What’s more, she was hoping he would come because she wanted his support while there. Now, Chrysothemis Atreides Vanagor was once a Dark Lordess of the Sith, but she gave it all up, all of it for him, the man who would become her husband. She has nothing to do with either side now, she is just living her life, but still. There was something to be honored in remembering those who stood the way everyone who even ventured to Tython had, let alone those who did not come back.

So that was where they had gone… it was a somber walk… when they had come across a memorial of lightsabers, her hand touched the hilts as she read the words.

“When a soul has departed from this world and rejoins that from which we all come; may he/she be wrapped in the arms of peace as she has become one with the Force.”

And then another…

“The Force strengthens and supports us even after this life has passed and our work is done. May he/she be granted safe lodging and the purest bliss and may the Force comfort us all in the knowledge and sure confidence of its care in keeping us in spiritual peace and safety.”


This was heartfelt to her, and it was touching. The big man himself was emotionally drained from the whole experience, and she could tell the toll that it had on him, maybe that was why she wanted to see this so badly, to understand. If that was the case, the whole thing seemed to hit home as her support for him became his support for her as well. It was when they came up to the statue that was built either remarkably quickly or was a temporary standin for a more permanent model. He personally recognized Ryv, Sardun, Nimdok… no not Errik… Geis… oh man…stay strong. Let her hold you together.

“For the soul that has departed out of this world and rejoins that from which we all come may you rest in peace as you have again become one with the Force. May the Force strengthen and support us all the day long even after life is over and our work is done. May the Force welcome and grant safe lodging and a pure peace at last. May the Force comfort us all in the knowledge and sure confidence of its care and keep us in spiritual peace and safety.”

There were no names on here, but the big man recognized all of them. Be it Jedi or military. That was one thing GREAT about the Galactic Alliance, they were still counted right alongside the Jedi, much like the old Republic. Maybe there was a future for the galaxy after all.


Tags: All of the brave souls out there who returned with their shields, and all of the heroic souls out there who returned on theirs.

Spoiler: Personal effects

"Vanguard" (Secondary - Long Handle)

"CONSERVATOR" (Primary - Long Handle)
HK-88 Robes, Battle Armor,Toraynor-Henkan(mind crystal added) Advanced Jedi Utility Belt
Starship: Spectre, (Jedi Interceptor in the hangar, Dilorian, and Bike both in the cargo bay, the late Karki Eusith's Armor, Shield, Temple Guard Lightsaber mounted on the wall)
Sanctuary Island

 

[Miri Nimdok]

Miri sat on a beach on Alderaan, looking out at the sea. With her was Jacen, her little half-brother. Too young to comprehend his father's death, he only knew that his black clothes were uncomfortably warm in the heat. She helped him remove his jacket.

The funeral of Professor Errik Nimdok had been a quiet affair consisting of family members and a few close friends and colleagues. Inanna gave a nice speech before they spread half of his ashes in the blue waters. The other half would eventually be laid to rest on Lao-mon, thus splitting the professor evenly between his two homeworlds.

Miri reminded herself that two people had died, not just her father. The lines between them had eroded so much, Arimanes Bosch and Errik Nimdok didn't really feel like separate individuals anymore. Arimanes' friends all knew her and gave their condolences to "your dad". Or maybe they were really talking to Jacen beside her. He was technically Arimanes' son, which meant he wasn't really her brother at all... best not to think about it too much.

Instead, her thoughts turned to her latest mystery: finding out who had killed Nimdok. Vector Monk was lucky he'd gotten away before Miri arrived. She had cut her way to the underground tomb where her father had died, her lightsaber cauterizing a bloodless path to where he lay crushed beneath a fallen pillar. Her only clue as to his killer's identity was a white cloak draped over his body, taken from an Imperialist's uniform...

 

[Ishida Ashina]

GRATEFUL LIGHT
CORUSCANT | SENATE PLAZA | KYBER ARCH
THE HIGHEST TRIBUTE TO THE DEAD
IS NOT GRIEF
BUT GRATITUDE

​

FROM: Vilchis ATTN: Padawan Ashina ​ Our Lord has gifts for you. Send me a location appropriate for me to personally ensure their delivery.​

Ishida knew the sender only by name and reputation.

The message had come in shortly after Prosperity had protected hundreds of Jedi from a calamitous end. She'd read it, and felt its sting across the stars. With shaking hands, the Atrisian had opened it and responded with as clear a directive as possible.

Normally, she would have said Tython. Typically, all business to do with The Lord of Light and his personal effects were conducted near his sanctuaries on the holy planet. In light of recent events, however, and the set trajectory of the ship she was travelling on, she had to type in the coordinates of Coruscant that marked the new installation of the Kyber Arch.

It was unclear how she felt about intermingling memories of Sardun with an institution that found controversy with his methods, but it was all she had now. He hadn't sacrificed himself for her to turn her back on all of them and turn to the ways of Aiko Hayata — that was for certain.

On the edge of the crowd gathered, and all the Jedi that were calmly meditating and reflecting, Ishida kept to herself. The burning of the incense and candle was only the beginning of the proper rites for respecting the dead, but without ashes to burn, it was an incomplete gesture anyway. The parchment in her hands burned and added to the coloured smoke. It was a half ritual at best, but still important to her to honour tradition as she was raised, and appeal to the infinity of her master's existence. He'd say he wasn't truly dead but...he wasn't alive. He wasn't here.

She exhaled, and the smokey swirls floated away from her and up into the atmosphere.

It was never calming to revere the dead.

Anticipation was a tightness in her throat and hands and coiled tightly around her heart. She'd felt Sardun die within her, leaving his residual light to undo all the harm that had come to her from Tython.

He'd given her everything.

What other gifts could he possibly have to offer?

 

[Vilchis]

Ishida Ashina

None of this was right.

She should have been on Tython.

She should have been with him.

She ought to have done something, but instead managed to fail both her duties at the same time. On a distant ship her Master died a lonely death with nobody around to assist him. On Tython her prison got breached and dangerous criminals escaped. It was little comfort that Tython was so wrecked from the Maw onslaught that the rest of the prisoners had no place in real-space to go. After all, the prison existed in two places at once. How many managed to make their way through the Netherworld to freedom?

Too much for her.

But- duty was an acerbic schutta and Warden Vilchis was here on Coruscant to finish one last thing for her former Master. After that... she was... free, wasn't she?

No more duty... maybe. It felt odd.

"Ashina." She called out calmly as the warden came up to Ishida's place of mourning. "You going to be long?" Not cutting nor hurtful tone, but the older woman was already earning her reputation. Not cruel as a point, but blunt and lacking in empathy for other's suffering. More caustic automaton blade than a guardian of warmth.

Maybe that's why she had been put in charge of the dead prison.

 

[Aerarii Tithe]

CLOSE OF TRADING
DU COUTEAU BUILDING // CORUSCANT

Open

“…and, well, I think I’ve prattled on for far too long. Yes, let’s have a, uhh, moment of silence as we reflect on our dear friends and colleague, Seto Du Couteau .”

The lobby of the Du Couteau Building fell silent as the assembled guests bowed their heads. Not a sound could be heard in the recently renovated headquarters of the Galactic Alliance Monetary Authority, renamed from the much less imaginative Monetary Authority Building by Tithe’s decree. The remodelling had not envisioned any changes to the public-facing areas, but in respect for the long-serving Chair of the Committee of Finance and Commerce, the lobby and exterior facade had been reimagined in classical Empress Tetan style. The vaulted ceiling, carved columns and ornate windows stood in stark contrast to GAMA’s role of efficient public administration, but harkened to the sense of style of the departed Senator.

Tithe had come to the Galactic Alliance for one thing - credits. And yet in doing so, he’d found camaraderie in Seto. The pair had steered the Corporatist Party through its recent resurgence, Seto’s steady hand as much an influence on the economy of the Core as Tithe’s erratic and corrupt reforms. In doing so, both had helped line the other's pockets. Seto's untimely passing on his homeworld at the hands of the Brotherhood of the Maw had sent ripples through the stock markets, something Tithe was thankful his friend would not bear witness to.

Invited guests from the bureaucracy, the Senate, and the business world had gathered to pay their respects. Dressed in a cape to honour his friend, Tithe stood at the top of the main staircase in the lobby as he completed his eulogy. “Thank you,” be announced to the crowd, signalling the end of the surface. Trailed by two Senate Guards, he descended the stairs into the crowd, looking to mingle and network. Nothing like landing a big deal to raise his spirits on such a sombre day.

 

[TC-CS-4820]

The droid had no dog in this fight. He was a machine, cold and cut off from the Force. Meatbags were the ones who felt this mysterious energy, and were to take sides on who was in the right for how they used it. His allegiance wasn't to one flag or religion or person, it was to his own self and progressing his own goals. Yet why did he come to this place?

He was disguised nothing this time, one of the few occasions he turned his projectors off around the public. He felt his design was anonymous enough, to almost all of the galaxy his natural frame probably looked like a worker droid or some sort of nightmare. The soft wirr of his motors and the soft clicks of his feet on the ground were the only noises he made, his head slowly turning to look at his surroundings to deceive others of his intelligence.

Even now he was careful with letting anyone truly know how he was. His paranoia was always at full alert after all. Yet it felt slightly different now, that the galaxy was reeling and looking to heal just before it was to give a punch back to whatever harmed it. 4820 never truly cared about the war, or the lives lost, or anything about that. He cared that such fine warriors and potentially useful allies/contacts had to be so needlessly cut down....

Atleast that is what he told himself. He had grown soft, he had let himself grow soft. The hundreds of years he had been off the galactic stage had caused him to switch from just a cold hearted killer to one who cares. That wasn't like him, it never was. For the longest of time he had tried to fix this, but coming here proved he couldn't m

He put those thoughts aside in his cranium, set in a file for later. Now he was just watching all of the mourners and onlookers and try to understand how they felt.

 

[Auteme]

Aaran Tafo | Loske Treicolt Ripley Kühn Dagon Kaze Kyric | et al​

She set down Kara, letting her run off with the candy, with Frank in hot pursuit.

"Aaran..." she tried to take a deep breath, only to start sputtering as tears welled up in her eyes. She went over and hugged him, struggling -- as ever -- to reach up to wrap her arms around his neck.

She started to cry a little, but managed to tone it down enough to talk properly. "Sorry, sorry, I- I said I wouldn't start so early," she laughed, wiping her eyes. "It's been, like, nonstop for the past few days. I had to- uh- pull out the no-smudge stuff."

She tapped the edge of her eye.

"But- thanks, Aaran. It's good to see you." She smiled, releasing a little bit of her grief, if only for a moment. "You, um- you heard what happened?"

 

[Aaran Tafo]

As she reached up to hug him, he craned downwards slightly, allowing the much shorter woman ease of access for getting her arms around him, his own arm reaching around to pull her into a
tight squeeze. A knot of tension in his gut relaxing as he made a series of quiet shushing noises in an attempt to stem back her tears. His own damaged ducts unable to do the same.

"Hey, hey." He told her, tone gentle. "If you start crying, then I'll start. If we're both a mess coming in, Loske wont stop teasing us." He said, pulling back to get a better 'look' at his old friend. The pain was evident enough that one hardly needed to be an empath to feel it, his hand going to her shoulder to give it a reassuring squeeze.

"Yeah... I felt it." He said, voice cracking slightly, emotions that had been kept wrapped up tightly for some time threatening to leak out, forced back under control as he cleared his throat. Mouth opening for a moment, as if to say something else, something like 'I should have been there', but such an attempt fell flat. Leaving him there in awkward silence for a moment before he made a small gesture for Auteme to join him.

"So uhhh. Shall we?" He asked, gesturing to the door. Reminding his much more eloquent friend that words and speeches had never been his strong point. At least not when it came to his own feelings, not when it came to expressing his own grief. Better to keep it bottled up, better to remain stoic and controlled. Let the others express their grief first and be there for them.

That was all that mattered right now.

Auteme Loske Treicolt Ripley Kühn Dagon Kaze Kyric

 

[Kyric]

Early that morning...

Beep. Beep. Beep.

Kyric opened his eyes. He sat up slowly, pushing aside the covers as he threw his legs over the edge of the bed onto the hardwood floor below. His blurry eyes shifted from wall to window and the darkness beyond the thin glass sheet. The sun hadn't yet risen past the horizon, making the climb out of bed more difficult on his half-conscious mind. His attention moved from the darkened plains to the alarm blaring across the room.

4:00 AM.

Once upon a time, the idea of a pre-dawn start made his skin crawl. One of a few things about his father's arrival he wasn't fond of, it took several weeks, and his dad's continued oversight before the teenager grew accustomed to an early enough start to be of any use at the bar. After Ryv left with Dagon, Kyric kept it up. Even upon moving to Coruscant to continue his education, the young kiffar found it much easier to face the day with an early start and a few hours of training under his belt.

"You'll feel better about your day if you do something with it, kid."

That's what his father always said.

"Do something."

Kyric wandered into the bathroom adjoining his bedroom and worked through his morning ritual methodically. He brushed his teeth. He washed his face. Hell, he took an extra ten minutes to clean up after himself to keep the mess to a minimum.

"Clean as you go, Kyric. One hundred dishes at the end of the night is a lot worse than a hundred dishes throughout the night."

He tossed aside his rag into an otherwise empty hamper and stepped back into his bedroom. Aside from the bed, hamper, and a decent-sized dresser pushed into the corner, he didn't have much. Moving around became effortless when you didn't have to drag a household full of furniture with you. And he preferred it that way. He'd seen more in the last six months between Denon, Coruscant, and now Concord Dawn than he did in his first thirteen years. His life had become a constant adventure.

But it was time to put that adventure on hold.

The day had come and gone, just as his father told him it would. Ryv crossed blades with the Sith'ari and gave his life to free the galaxy from the Dark Lord. In turn, his father met a similar fate. Skewered by Solipsis in their final clash, the Sword of the Jedi returned to his family, not on his own two feet but carried. Thankfully, Dagon and Cotan had enough sense to warn Kyric ahead of time to spare his younger siblings the gruesome sight of his father's slagged chest.

A knock at his bedroom door shook Kyric from his revere. His gaze briefly rolled over his clock.

4:30 AM.

He blinked.

"Kyric," Maynard called from the other side. "You doin' alright?"

"Y-Yeah, I'm fine," Kyric quick-stepped across the room and tugged open the door. "Sorry. I lost track of time, I guess."

To Maynard's credit, he managed a smile. "We've got a mornin' ahead of us, kid. You ready to work?"

Kyric nodded. "Yessir."

 

[Dagon Kaze]

Tumbleweeds lazily roamed across the dirt road gently blown by the breeze westwards. A lone figure clad in a black leather jacket stood with one foot upon a stone staring at the sinking of the sun and beyond. Beyond the horizon of time to a place where they were young in a galaxy of miracles and heroics. Where thoughts strayed constantly and without boundary. Where they ran and ran before time took their dreams away. Encumbered by destiny and fate, their weary eyes still strayed to the horizon. Where the grass was greener and the taste was sweeter, back to those nights of wonder with friends surrounded.

Blue eyes reluctantly drifted to the side. In the distance, his old friends, his fellow Jedi, gathered at the Treicolt homestead. Their silhouettes - an agonizing reminder of the present. An inescapable tether to the grim reality that tugged and pulled trying to yank him over the threshold between a blissful past and a ruthless future. A point of no return, and once crossed the dreams of a time long gone would set with the sinking sun.

The division bell rang.

Much like its tolls had once many moons ago called the young New Jedi Order to the Stygian, it beckoned Dagon Kaze to walk without turning back. His eyes cast one final glance at the horizon slipping away beyond reach and trudged along the long road.

He slipped through the open gate and drifted past a little girl locked in a blissful race with a droid in her footsteps. Maynard and Loske's daughter. Somehow, a small smile curved his dry lips.

It had not all been in vain.

Auteme Aaran Tafo Loske Treicolt Ripley Kühn Kyric Cotan Sar'andor @everyonenshiz​

 

[Loske Treicolt]

SIX YEARS AGO
CONCORD DAWN | HARLAN SPACE PORT

​

Nausea — no, something equally consuming but less violent, bubbled in her stomach and up her throat. Warmth pressed at her eyelids until those emotions liquified into salty joy.

Her hand covered her mouth to choke down the sob, swallowing the snivels that tasted like relief and euphoria.

This was her news first. She eased off the pedals, planted her feet in the empty space around them and shoved herself into her seat, fists clenched and shaking happily with a squeal that the cockpit consumed. Her brain felt too large for her skull and forced shockwaves of elation through her body until she was a quivering mass of raw joy. Her private celebration.

She drew in a long breath to calm herself. Smooth, rich, relaxing, clear. She savoured the inhale, felt the depth of the exhale. Another. And another. Perfect stillness for a quiet, perfectly intimate moment. Their first conscious awareness of one another. And another consciousness. Three, including her own.

No, not their first. Maybe Loske had known before Frank confirmed it— not through the Force or any scientific validation. Something more natural, organic, loving and stronger that defied the manufactured chemistry of her existence. Maternal instinct, maybe.

She flung herself at him, wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling them close together by the insistence of her forearms.

"I finally have your new call sign." Loske breathed against his ear and took in the simple pleasure of his presence. He had a peculiar scent after flying, low and complex and the muskiness mixed with fuel. She didn't think she'd ever get tired of it. And he hadn't shaved recently, too busy. The stubble of his ragged whiskers tickled her cheek like their cat's tongue. With her hands in his hair, she felt like she could feel every strand.

For a moment, she hung there, surrounded by the solace of his embrace and everything they'd accomplished together. It still seemed unreal.

Loske's mind was aflame with passion and potential, melting away everything that wasn't them. This moment had been waiting it's whole life for them and it was numbing to feel the all-consuming toll of this beautiful reality.

When they first confessed their need for one another, they were only asking for a little less pain. A little comfort in the arms of another. The longer they stayed together, the more they sought to covet. The bolder they dreamed. Mere comfort and affection were no longer enough — helpful, and in their rightful place — but not enough.

Now, they dared to ask for happiness.

And their audacity was rewarded.

Adoration glittered in her eyes and she sucked in a breath through her incredibly toothsome grin: bright and happy. She could feel his heartbeat against hers, and she tightened — knowing two more would soon be strong enough to join in.

Leaning back, she gave herself the space she'd practiced in her mind's eye for this moment — executed perfectly enough to see his face shift from confused anticipation to whatever vulnerable reaction he'd deliver to the news she'd been waiting years to say:

"Dad."

---

PRESENT DAY
CONCORD DAWN | HARLAN | TREICOLT HOMESTEAD
TIME’S GREATEST CRUELTY
AND GREATEST BLESSING
IS THAT NOTHING STAYS THE SAME

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Well before dawn, Maynard and Kyric started working on the grim task of building the pyre for their dear brother and father. It was a somber event, starting and ending the day by building a monument to honour the sacrifice of their loved one.

The twins had tried to help as much as they could, but wood-collecting was a boring task, and by noon the twins, Harlan and Waylon, were pulling splinters from their hands. As soon as company started arriving, they’d gone back to lingering around their father and cousin, not being helpful anymore, but watching intently.

Kara, the youngest, was starting to get more comfortable walking and had designated herself as the greeter for all the guests that were approaching the farmland. Alongside Frank, she scurried and laughed and rolled and tripped.

While all this went on, Loske busied herself preparing for all their friends. All those friends from years ago when gathered under the same banner to prevent tragedy, and now, they were gathered together because of tragedy.

She sighed and adjusted the heating lamp that hummed over the greasy stack of burgers. Losa was the first to stick her hands onto the table, and Loske exchanged a knowing look with Ripley. One that gleamed the mutual appreciation of just like her father.

It was wordless, but Loske pulled Ripley into a hug, squeezed, and only pulled away when a knee-height version of herself ran around her legs, excitedly flashing the gift uncle Aaran had told her to keep private. Franke desperately warbled after her.

Candy! Candy! Look, it’s blue mom! It’s from the skies! Sky candy! As soon as it was announced, Waylon and Harlan appeared, peeking around the corner with bright eyes. But the candy handover was never a smooth transition, there was always chasing and wrestling and if the boys weren’t careful…crying.

They were left to their devices, Losa could always watch over them too, while Loske moved to greet the guests.

“Auteme,” Loske smiled first. It was always good to see her old friend. “And Aaran,” the guilt that came each time she saw her blind friend’s face was gone now, she’d settled into his forgiveness. She drew them each into a hug, intruding on their micro-reunion with a hostess’ welcome. “I missed you.”

Tragic though the circumstances were, and as painful as the memories could be, those memories had been made with good people. People worth remembering alongside.

Not long after, Dagon arrived.

“Dagon,” He looked rougher than he had when Maynard and her had left the core. The brightness in his eyes was sharper now. Less like stars, more like…

She didn't want to think about it.

“It’s good to see you.”

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Auteme | Aaran Tafo | Dagon Kaze | Maynard Treicolt | Ripley Kühn | Caltin Vanagor | Corin Trenor | Cotan Sar'andor | Asmundr Varobalder

 

[Asmundr Varobalder]

THE WARDEN
CONCORD DAWN | HARLAN | TREICOLT HOMESTEAD

Some people got out a good way, with life and health. These were the Treicolts. Some people got out the bad way, with death. This was Ryv.

He had foreseen each of these outcomes years in advance, through The Sith Wars and at the dawn of the Second Great Hyperspace War. And though he knew it would come, it didn’t hurt any less.

It was foolhardy to wish for the way of life and health for heroes, but despite all his supernaturalness, The Warden was still a man at the end of the day. He cultivated such mortal hopes and kept them close to his heart.

The pyre on the hillside was an unignorable reminder of how costly hope was. It was one step further than the chair his hands wound around.

He loosened his grip and sighed.

“By the way, Master Sar’andor. If you’re going to be teaching Padawans anything, it would do them and yourself well to respect the importance of the healing process. The longer you fight this chair, the longer you will be in it.

Humility is a lesson you can still learn in this chair, and teach from it.”

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Cotan Sar'andor | Dagon Kaze | Kyric | Ripley Kühn | Corin Trenor | Caltin Vanagor

 

[Cotan Sar'andor]

"Have you ever tried to correct someone's form purely verbally? It's hard enough if they're experienced, with Padawans and younglings it's nearly impossible. Trying to fix their stance, grip, footwork, and all with just words...it's more likely to confuse them than help." Cotan was unsurprisingly irritable at his current situation; confined to a hoverchair, with every Jedi he ran into worrying over him like he might drop dead any moment, and Asmundr was proving just as stubborn as he normally was, as they'd been stuck on the same incident for the last few hours now. He still wasn't entirely sure that it wasn't some sort of reverse-psychology tactic: Keep him agitated and pushing his boundaries, so that he made actual progress rather than just atrophying in the chair. If that was the goal, it was a dirty trick.

"Should at least be glad I focused on trying to show them all how to properly swing their blades, rather than getting after the knight that was supposedly teaching them..."

He trailed off his grumbling, focusing on his breath. Luckily, between the Jedi healers and Asha Vynea focusing on him as they were, he looked quite a bit healthier, not like he had one foot in the Nether like he'd been just after the battle. However, that didn't diminish the constant exhaustion he still felt. Struggling to keep his breath, spending much of each day at a desk or in bed. Unsurprisingly, Asha was helping enforce all the mandatory rest. It all felt unnatural to him.

He shook his head, before pushing away a stray lock of hair with one trembling hand. "Let's agree to shelve it for now, Asmundr. We've got more important things to do now, and I've got a delivery to make." One item of which he'd neglected to inform the giant Jedi of, or any of the others, as no doubt they'd be inclined to object to its inclusion. "Let's go meet the others, yeah? Looks like it's about time for us to start." And he wasn't going to be mean enough to just start hovering over with the chairs controls and leave Asmundr standing there having to start catching up after the short argument; that just seemed rude.

Dagon Kaze Corin Trenor Auteme Aaran Tafo Ripley Kühn Kyric Loske Treicolt Asmundr Varobalder

 

[Kyric]

Earlier that morning...

The two stepped out from the warmth of the Treicolt Household into the cold morning air. They descended the porch to the creak of wood, Maynard whistling some old tune he'd whistled a hundred times before, while Kyric pretended to find the old farmer's jaunty demeanor tiresome. Their mornings always started that way. Neither had it in them to complain. Maynard liked the help, while Kyric liked the company. The kiffar knew what would become of his father when he left the End of the Road. Ryv remained honest with his eldest regarding the visions that plagued his nights.

None of it made his passing any easier on Kyric.

Thankfully, his father's lessons did. As did their family. Maynard proved himself to be the rock Ryv always claimed him to be, only this time, for his son. Loske told him stories over dinner time of his father's perilous heroics. Even their young children kept him company at the worst of times. Whether they knew what bothered their older cousin, the little ones were always at the right place at the right time, asking him silly questions in between even sillier games.

Maynard cleared his throat from up ahead. During their quiet trip from the house to the barn, Kyric's thoughts drifted off to another place. He hadn't noticed the rustic building loom closer out of the shadows.

"You sure you want to do this?" Maynard asked.

Kyric's brow furrowed. "What?"

"Building the pyre," the farmer motioned out to the line of trees adjacent to their many-acred property. "Your pa wouldn't fault you for sittin' this one out."

"Of course," the teenager said. "He'd do it for me."

Even in the dark, Kyric noticed Maynard's jaw clench.

"Yeah," Maynard nodded as he took hold of the old wooden door. "I s'ppose he would," he motioned to the other door, which Kyric grabbed and slid aside, mirroring his uncle's movements. "Lot of folks showin' up tonight. People you've only heard stories about," Maynard stepped back and wiped sawdust on his pants.

"Good chance to hear about my old man firsthand," Kyric strode into the barn and moved towards a long durasteel table. Dozens of tools hung on hooks drilled into the wall. He slid a pair of gloves into his pocket before tying off a dark brown leather belt around his waist.

"Yep," Maynard slowly walked up the line of pens holding a dozen horses, half a dozen pigs, and even a few chickens. "They're all gon' be worried about you, y'know that, right?"

Kyric leaned a hefty woodsman's ax against the table's leg. "I'll be alright."

"Hmm," the farmer turned back to the boy, his eyes scouring Kyric for something. "Why don't you haul over some of the wood and get to choppin'? I'll carry over more once I get these here animals fed."

"Yessir," Kyric nodded, took up the ax in his offhand, and exited the way they came. He walked around the side of the barn towards the treeline. A vast stump stood proud, some fifteen feet wide, maybe fifty-something feet from the trees. Even after months of work on the farm, Kyric barely made a dent in the old thing. He set the ax down and began the arduous process of hauling wood from the side of the barn to the stump. After a dozen trips, he set to work chopping wood.

 

[Lucien Dooku]

TREICOLT HOMESTEAD
VIBES ​

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He wasn't there on Tython, to see the brutality, or to watch the ones he loved fall to the inevitable fate that awaited the one who walked the path of a warrior. Be they Jedi, like Ryv, or Knight like his brother, or the countless others who fought for their ideals and gave the ultimate sacrifice for what they believed in. It was a personal choice to not commit himself or his men to the battle for Tython, and one that he'd come to regret after hearing what had happened in the wake of their forces returning back within the Empire's borders.

He'd lost a brother by blood, disregarding the title of half-kin imposed upon them by the rigid structure of Serennoan nobility. He'd watched his corpse, still donned within his armor, as it was presented with full honors as the Emperor of Emperors, and the progenitor of their great state. It hurt, and he cried at the sight of yet another loved one being united with the force. No matter his faults, and disregarding their ideological differences, he was still family.

Yet the pain that encompassed his soul had no time to steer from its current path, as the death of yet another brother had reached him shortly after Rurik's own. This one was not gained through blood, yet the two had fought and struggled to see their ideals imposed upon a galaxy that wanted nothing more than to submit itself to chaos. They'd ridden side-by-side during the Battle for Muunilinst, and fought as equals against the Sith enough times to forge an unconditional love that could be described by nothing less than what it was.

They were brothers, through and through.

And even as the years passed, and the adolescents went down their separate paths, that brotherhood would remain. He still remembered sitting on Ryv's couch, the two of them talking about Auteme and his growing feelings for the future Senator over a few slices of pizza and some white noise on the holoflix. Even as Lucien abandoned his ties to the Jedi, their bond never once relented. Far flung as they were, all it would've took was a single call and Lucien would've marched onto the Core with an army in tow. Because that was what family did, even when the galaxy did everything in its power to put them at odds with each other.

It was because of these reasons that he did what he should've done on Tython, and found his way to his brother's side once more. Not as a King, and not as an Imperial, but just as him; the former Jedi, the spacer trash who Ryv accepted as family when Lucien had none.

His journey to the farmstead reached its conclusion as the charcoal-colored Jedi Starfighter roared over the homestead, circling twice until he settled the starfighter behind the barn and next to where a ship had already landed. He hopped from the cockpit, boots hitting the soft ground with a small thud. He came dressed how he always preferred; his jacket swayed in the wind, the symbol of The Empire emblazoned on the right. He'd kept the formalities for his brother's own burial, but he knew that Ryv wouldn't have wanted him to dress down for the occasion. The two of them had similar styles, and similar ways of thinking, after all. The thought of what his friend would've said if he were alive did, at the least, bring a soft smile to his face as he curved around the edge of the barn.

"Auteme-" Lucien called out, his amber eyes following the woman as her and the Jedi at her side moved towards the door. He pressed forwards, each step digging into the ground, the smile growing even feinter as he caught wind of those beautiful eyes that were now filled with sorrow. Luc reached out to the woman who still possessed his dreams, and drew her into his arms before she escaped his sight once again. It had always felt as if their allegiances had kept them galaxies apart, but his feelings for the woman had never relented.

"I...I'm sorry. I should've been there. For Rurik-- for Ryv."


Auteme | Dagon Kaze | Ripley Kühn | Aaran Tafo | Kyric | Caltin Vanagor | Corin Trenor | Cotan Sar'andor
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