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Operation Rebirth | The Rebellion's Rebellion of Jaminere (Hex AK-24)


I'm just F'n with you!
Each time a man stands up for an ideal, or acts to improve the lot of others, or strikes out against injustice,
he sends forth a tiny ripple of hope, and crossing each other from a million different centers of energy and daring,
those ripples build a current that can sweep down the mightiest walls of oppression and resistance.
~ Robert Kennedy
--- --- ---
Jaminere. Not long ago, the Sith had paraded through the streets. A world of bread and circuses for a day. A day that had gone sideways amidst the threat of riots and discontent. The chaos had not been widespread, but it was a glimpse into the turbulent undertow hiding just beyond the veneer of affluence. The world of Jaminere had natural wealth, in part to its prominence as an industrial world but also as the capital of the Tion sector, a fact that was only underscored as the Imperial Sith powerhouse assumed control of the industrial world. Under new management, the fires of industry burned and with the flames rising in the forges it was only a matter of time before something caught on fire.

The riots had been quelled in a show of might, and with mercy uncharacteristic of the Sith Empire, the perpetrators had not been slaughtered wholesale. Unlike their conquest of Thyferra, this world they’d turned to their own purpose. There was no message to be sent to the galaxy this time, but rather a valuable asset to be gained. A valuable asset to be used. Though the riots had been quelled and an unrelated assassination attempt on the Emperor himself thwarted, the tension had merely gone back to hiding beneath the surface. From the shadows and afar eyes watched with curiosity. Some narrowed in anger, others wide in curiosity of what would happen next.
Again Atlas found himself irritated with the Trade Council. For days there had been back and forth debate on the matter, for days they’d anxiously waited for word that they were going to do something about the Sith Empire and the rapidly expanding borders which seemed to be directed towards Centares. The horrors of Thyferra and the bloodshed there were no secret to the galaxy, it had been a message, a warning. *Closer to an act of terrorism* thought the pilot to himself. Days had passed and when the word finally did come down it wasn’t one of action but of inaction. Stand down the memo’s had read, the Trade Council had once more rest upon its non-interventionist policies. It was disappointing.

It was that moment Atlas had set his mind. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d taken action against an authoritarian regime. Only a few short months before he’d been involved in an attempt at thwarting the expansion of another regime on the other side of space - The First Order. This would be exponentially more dangerous. It wasn’t a government across the galaxy, but one rapidly expanding in their backyard. Even so, Atlas couldn’t sit by idly and he knew of a few others who shared his sentiment.

A thinly drawn smile caused the corners of his lips to rise ever so slightly as his eyes fell upon the others in the lorry with him. They’d all come from different backgrounds, a few were locals but the rest had been flown in from all along the trade routes. So here they were. A violent shaking as the lorry traversed over some uneven pavement sent a brief shiver up the pilot’s spine. Taking a deep breath, he reassured himself. Everything was going to be okay. He’d been in more stressful situations - or so he thought.

The lorry itself was as unsuspecting as the next, the faded and rusty logo of a local extermination company emblazoned upon its side, the only light in the interior of the vehicle from a small metal cage leading to the driver’s compartment. On the interior of the cage were shelves of bolted down equipment and tanks of various chemical concoctions - just the sort you’d expect in a mobile extermination van. Narrow seats had been bolted down in the rear, belts hanging loosely. The small cadre of would be rebels jostled and bounced against one another as the lorry took another few bumps before encountering a downward slope. Atlas tightened his grip on an overhead handle, eyes straining to see through the metal grate. If the downward slope was anything to go by they were almost to their ingress point.
“Alright chaps, check your gear. We’re getting close.”

His voice rose above the din reverberating within the confines of the rear compartment. The lorry had traversed a large embankment, duracrete and durasteel constructs surrounded them but the path they’d taken was one which led to a canal system, off of which were a near indefinite number of cisterns, wells, and sewage systems. Lucky for them they’d had help in mapping a very specific set of tunnels which would lead them to their destination. Combined with their cover, no one would find it terribly strange to see several figures in full bio gear wearing masks lurking about - at least in theory.

Ahead, Atlas barely glanced the huddled form of a figure kneeling beside a large stanchion. Above, a wide and well-used bridge extended from one side of the canal to the other, a murky water gently rolling past. Following a duracrete runoff, the lorry slowed to a halt beneath the bridge, stanchion to one side, large metal grate to the other.

“Let’s go then, hurry up!”

Again the pilot’s voice rose, directing the occupants of the vehicle to exit. In a moment the rear hatch had been let down and the group had disembarked. Wide grin settling in across his features, Atlas took wide steps to where the figure had been kneeling and now stood.

“Fancy seeing you here lad, nice to see a familiar face.” he said jokingly.

Icarus Volcata. The son of Eris Volcata, a prominent figure of the Mara-Perlemian Trade Council, the man was anything but the bureaucrat his mother seemed to be. A fellow pilot to boot, Icarus and Atlas had been flying Z-95’s since flight school together and most recently the surplus X-Wings they’d been assigned. Icarus was more than that though, wasn’t he? A friend. The two had seen more than their share of close calls even during the short life of the Trade Council. They’d had each other’s backs then and it was reassuring to see they both stood up for what they believed in - even if the Council wasn’t going to back them. A firm handshake brought the two close together, the rest of the crew going about their tasks gathering equipment, strapping on canisters of what was labeled as typical “Bug Juice” or “Rodent Remover”.

“Best get to it then. Everything still look good?”
Atlas tried not to let the subtle wavering of his resolve play out through his voice. They’d all seen the security forces at the spaceport, the roaming patrols of lawkeepers through the streets. It had put him on edge - it had been so much different being half a galaxy away but this… this was closer to home. Reaching down as he double checked his own harness he pulled it tight, cinching the straps down.
“Masks on, I assume we’re off this way?” he said, motioning towards the large grate on the other side of the lorry.
The pilot stepped intentionally towards the rear of the lorry one last time, shouldering a large bag before nodding towards another inside. The others had been industrious, even the ones who identified themselves as Jedi. It was an awkward arrangement, though the Jedi saw the threat of the Sith expansion, they weren’t bound as Atlas and Icarus might have been by law. It was an easy thing for them to volunteer their assistance, or so it had seemed to the pilot. The reality was much more complex. In any case, Atlas was happy to have them along for the ride - they weren’t exactly an army, and what they aimed to do was ambitious. If it worked though, they might just be able to make a difference.

A distance away from the disguised rebels another ember had been brought to flame. In a crowd it only took one or two well spoken individuals to sway the atmosphere. Agitators, both a woman and a man had begun demonstrating at the base of the steps which lead to the Capitol Annex. Loudly their voices beseeched those walking by of their plight, that of the workers and implying that the Sith Empire sought to bring in workers from other worlds, to outsource their product without paying for the earnings they deserved. It wouldn’t be long before they were silenced, and so quickly they began to move from where they’d begun.

Inflammatory words bandied about the air, the “Martyrs” who week prior had attempted to strike down the Emperor himself were mentioned, those workers who had been arrested for merely taking a stand for their rights. The silence almost seemed to speak back. What rights? They’re part of the Empire now. It may have only been a flash in a pan, a mere spark, but sparks had a nasty tendency to light things ablaze.

(Posted with permission of [member="Kira Vaal"], Owner of "The Rebellion" minor faction)

Zek Koth

He'd never been to Jaminere before. But when he was notified, through discrete channels, that something was about to go down, that the Sith were about to get hit, well, he was obligated to join in. As the Republic's secret liaison with the Rebellion, he operated in his role as Spectre lead, but also as a private citizen with an interest in the dismantling of the Sith Empire, among others. That being the case, he also smuggled himself onto the world, which was pretty easy as he was a relative nobody. A low profile was a good thing.

Everyone had their own part in the operation. He was hiding his presence in the Force as he maneuevered through the underground. Every city had it's sewer, and proper design dictated one that was capable of handling both a one hundred year storm, and the refuse of its citizens. Suffice to say, it stank down there. He was wearing his Jedi Ace flight suit, furnished by one of the Republic's contractors, though his didn't have any identifying markings on it. The suit was enough to keep him dry, at least.

The helmet was great but he wasn't wearing it at the moment, instead keeping his head on a swivel for unknown noises. Once he got close to their target he was certain he would encounter some form of security measure, but he wasn't quite there yet. Not wearing it made the times he stopped to listen feel less oppressive to him as well. If the enemy was near he wanted to be calm.

But alas, as he drew closer he knew the value of the helmet and pulled it on, drawing his saber into his hand at the same time. He was eager to do battle with these Sith and their forces, but not eager enough to blow their mission. His steps were slow and steady, barely even causing the liquid around him to ripple as his helmet scanned for signs of the security measures that were undoubtedly waiting for him. Or the people that were.

Fingers itched to grab someone and choke the life from them, but they had to wait. If he didn't know he'd be getting into combat he would certainly be taking a hit of spice at the moment. The urge for combat was a hard one for him to quell. It was in his blood. Part of the reason he was so good at his job was that he could focus almost absolutely within combat and didn't see the distractions that others did. The downside? Sometimes people got hurt that really shouldn't. That was why he was part if a Republic shadow unit and not their main forces.

He sighed within the confines of his helmet, gripped his saber tightly, and pressed forward. There was blood to be spilt. He just had to get there.

[member="Atlas Viridian"] [member="Kira Vaal"]
Ancient Relic

Jakkor Kess couldn't remember the last time he had been off Tatooine, visited by Rebels out in the Outer Rim who were fighting for freedom, fighting to defend their homes. Men and women who had once known peace under the care of the Silver Jedi Order, despite the power the Jedi held over a government the people did know peace as simple laborers as farmers. Until the havoc that was wrought by the First Order, The Imperial Remnant and a defeat suffered at the hands of the Sith. For months now they had been nothing more than the underdogs. Fighting a hopeless battle against the Sith. At first, he refused to say he was finished with War, he was finished with it all. He was a soldier once and in the end, it cost him everything, the Jedi Order, the Galactic Republic and the lives of everyone he once cared about.

But he thought of [member="Rujat Aola"], he thought of the life he wanted for her. Especially if they would have a family, reluctantly he accepted and was brought forth to the Trade Council that was trying to establish a new way of life in that space. He had listened for days of how the Sith's advance had to be stopped, to be put to an end and if peace was not a viable option. Fighting was perhaps the only way. Meeting with the man who had wanted to fight [member="Atlas Viridian"] he agreed to join his cause, as well as many others. Even hearing from other Rebel Cells spread across the Galaxy either fighting the Imperials or the Sith. They all pledged whatever resources coming in. Soon it may have been a small ragtag group of soldiers and Jedi who were fighting for freedom, but one only hoped that was enough.

Jakkor had slipped through the Sith's detection fairly reasonable, using fake credentials the old smuggler's trick. Jakkor with Rujat who was dressed in a more Commando style of dress. Armed with a blaster rifle, she and a group that Jakkor called the specters after the Lothal Rebels of the first Rebellion. Had carefully snuck through security either through said credentials or in some cases through a Jedi Mind Trick. Waiting for the rest to begin he and the rest slowly began the tedious work of attaching explosives to the spaceport, as well as some of the hangers slowly but surely spreading the small detonators across platforms, hanger's fighters and ships the military used. In order for the People to rise up, military targets had to be taken out, and he was careful enough with the explosives so hopefully no civilians would get hurt. If this worked he would receive a signal from Jedi Master [member="Kira Vaal"] telling him to detonate, but all that mattered now was setting them up in the right places. and if it worked. The Spark of Rebellion would ignite and the fires of hope would cleanse Jaimerre, and show the galaxy that they would not have to bow to the sith any longer. He looked to his mate as he recited to himself carefully finishing up a round of explosives on a hanger. "I am one with the Force, the Force is with me. I am one with the Force the Force is with me."

[member="Zek Koth"]

Placeholder 0128

Location: Warehouse, Lower District, en route to Palace District

Gear in sig. Additional gear: Ri Qorit Disabler


"Cleared." The pilot's voice warbled over the intercomm.

Cedric exhaled a breath that he didn't know he'd been holding. The tiny stealth vessel had managed to dip through the defense grid unmolested. It had been expected to; the vessel had been constructed for this singular purpose. It took all of his composure just to keep from falling over as the ship jostled through the upper atmosphere. The bay was only large enough to fit a dozen people for a very short trip. It had been stripped of everything nonessential, leaving the passengers standing and holding onto rails that hung from the ceiling for balance.

His hand fell toward the helm that hung from his belt. It traced the familiar lines of the phrik metal; how long had it been since he'd worn this? He lifted it, examined the helm's padded interior, and cast aside his hesitation. The moment it slipped over his head, all doubt vanished from his mind.

He was back.

"Alright, we've got five minutes," resolved, Cedric turned to his comrades. "We stay together when we land. Protecting Lyra on her way to the hub is our primary objective. Nothing else is above that, save for protecting civilians." The shuttle shook. Cedric grimaced. "Just now getting reads from the area below," he continued as he checked his datapad. "Looks like we'll be landing at a warehouse on the edge of the city. Might be best to take the sewer system from there." The datapad image winked out, and the red warning lights in the shuttle bay came on.

"We get in, we transmit the signal, and then we link up with the rebel cell here. Planning beyond that is a waste of time - too many variables." Honesty was the best policy. "Keep close and watch out for one another. We don't have any support here. If you get lost, I can't guarantee someone will be able to find you. Stay together, and we'll survive, probably even succeed. Now, let's show our Jaminere friends they're not the only ones fighting the Sith."

The shuttle jerked as it's landing struts hit the warehouse roof. The door's shot open. Cedric waved the strike team forward, stepped off onto the roof, and gestured for the group to follow him down a nearby stairwell. Once below, the dropship rose back into the sky, its image fading as the cloak screen came back to life.

"Muertos have point. Cenric, you and Ari stay with Lyra at the center. Master Vondiranach, you and I need to be on alert. If you sense anything coming our way, let us all know."

Cedric keyed his comm to Avoim's frequency, unsure as to whether the pilot could even reach him yet. "What's your status Oeymo?"

[member="Jax Vandal"], [member="Cenric Marus"], [member="Jaster of Clan Awaud"], [member="Lyra Sarn"], [member="Avoim Oeymo"], [member="Ari Vox"], [member="Kamon Vondiranach"], [member="Glavis"], [member="Solonariwan Tofusin"]

Gear in sig. Additional gear: Ri Qorit Disabler
Success or Death.

JAMINERE Sith Assassins intelligence HQ

Jaminere, a world of the Tion Cluster and once it's capital. While unrest lingered, the pro-imperial sentiment had not faded. It would only be a matter of time before it adjusted to its place in the Empire. The causes behind distress had been there long before the Empire had arrived, but they would put an end to it root and stem. Should they choose to take the hard path, then the Sith Empire would answer.

The Sith Empire had not relinquished its presence on Jaminere; doing so would have been foolishness. A bold attempt had been made, and bold attempts meant truly desperate motivations. If something did indeed linger beneath the surface then the Sith Empire would swiftly and mercilessly destroy it as it had destroyed all other movements of resistance before it. This was not a question of simple will, in the Imperial mind, but of inevitability. Yet. The Inevitable demanded effort; blood, sweat and tears.

The Sith Assassins had made their presence here; placing eyes out everywhere from the upper echelons to the lowest street corner. Quiet, effective, and with a mission in mind. Imperial ships made proud silhouettes in the sky, among which was Ophidia's own Eidolon. It blended in with the others, almost indistinguishable at a distance, but she could tell where it was from her office.

Holograms spread out in front of her, information ticking in from every corner.

"All agents in position?"

Ophidia slipped the dragonesque hilt of a sabre into a leather casing on the back of her belt. As the lid went on and a word quietly passed her lips, its dark presence was entirely snuffed out. Her own presence in the force melted away as well, between her enchanted, black robes and the taozin talisman.

"Most, my Lord." "That is almost good enough, agent. I need more than almost." "We have men everywhere, my Lord. We are prepared."

"Master, a tremor in the Force."

The Pale Assassin looked at her apprentice as the Nezumi came out of her meditation. Akito still had her eyes closed, but Darth Ophidia could sense her presence condensing here. "A tremor?" "A knife veiled under white light." "A threat." Akito nodded, ears rotating on her head; Ophidia's eyes narrowed thoughtfully, frown deepening.

"What?" The Mirialan looked puzzled at the two, but knew that such words rarely came without some kind of truth. Barlan checked the weapon by her side for safety. Not safety against the two Sith of course, but out of old habit. She was always cautious. After all, she remembered the battle of Mirial. Was it about to happen again?

"Send out a check in, now."
Burn the Mantle
Location: Capitol annex, Janimere
Objective: Keep chaos from interfering
Allies: The Sith Empire and friends
Gear: Valkyrie armor, twin lightsabers

"The two protesters have been taken care of."

"I have a feeling it will not be the last we will hear of this. If there is anything suspicious, no matter how small, report to me immediately."

"Understood," the soldier answered before taking his leave, returning to his duty. It was far from a rare occurrence that the arrival of the Empire was met by at least some level of resistance, but Darth Avacyn was a lot more on edge this time. There was a small simmering unrest that refused to die out and although the riots had been put to an end, returning order to the planet of Janimere, the man and woman who had just now looked to incite a demonstration in front of the capitol annex sent a message. The last word had not yet been spoken.

While she was dressed in her armor to assure her position was unmistakable, the woman did not merely wear it for that reason. She was one of the people sent here by the Assassins to assure the process of settling in the Empire's government would not be interrupted, a task that had her be ready to enter combat at the drop of a hat if it were to become a necessity. If her gut feeling was correct, that would be what was in her future. All she could do now however was keep a close eye to potentially stop any other acts before they had the chance to be carried out, but after the incident that had happened mere moments ago Avacyn had decided to do so from somewhere else than the inside of the annex. "If somehow anyone without the proper permissions manages to get inside, call me immediately. I am going to take a look outside," the Sith Lady remarked as she passed a pair of guards on the way out, "and make sure the order is passed on."

It would not be the front door Avacyn would take, however. She was going to keep an eye out from the shadows. Rebellion and disorder would start its fires away from the eye of the Empire until it was great enough to bring the fight to it, but when they did not know they were watching such a thing could be stopped before it could spread. She wrapped her upper body in a coat to conceal her armor and slipped out into the street through a back door, becoming one with the masses.

Dissonance would not escape her eyes.
long have I waited
Objective: Infiltrate​
Allies: [member="Atlas Viridian"] | Rebels​

"Brother," Icarus greeted [member="Atlas"] Veridian with a clasped forearm. "It's good to see you. Come under here," he said, gesturing towards the shadow cast by the bridge. "I'm not sure who I'm more worried about finding us here -- the Sith Imperials, or Executor Volcata." The pilots retreated under the bridge, and Icarus half-turned to his friend. "I'm not sure this is going to work," he muttered dubiously. "This is our best chance, but still... to call it a suicide mission would be displaying an unhealthy level of optimism."

They approached the grating. "I hope that stuff is concentrated enough," said Icarus. He had no problem letting his doubts present themselves in front of his friend, although his pilot's bravado would carry him through in front of the others.

The truth was, he had reservations about this endeavor. It seemed like a surefire way to incur the wrath of the Sith. But even his mother had agreed that to stand by and watch the Sith creep closer and closer to their homes was folly. It was Jaminere today, but might it be Jabiim tomorrow? And then Centares? And New Holstice? How long before every planet east of the Galactic Alliance was under the thumb and the jackboot of the Sith Imperials? Of course, [member="Eris Volcata"] had been speaking about an organized military response by the Trade Council -- an effort that had been shot down by the Council almost immediately. But even as she was informing him of the Mara-Perlemian Trade Council's policy of non-interventionism, had there been something in her amber eyes -- some spark, some twinkle? Something that had told him his intention was right?

Jaminere today. Jabiim tomorrow. No matter his qualms, he could not stand idly by.

"Yeah, through here," he said. They took the grating -- which Atlas had already cut -- and twisted it, pushing it into the darkness inside. It wouldn't fool an up-close investigation, but from a distance, it shouldn't be noticeable that the grate was missing. The two men ventured inside. "I stashed a weapons cache up here on the right. Behind the -- whatever that machine is," he called quietly as the other troopers filed in.

Kamon Vondiranach

Heart in a Jar
The flight was chaotic. He knew it would be. These people, with the exception of perhaps Cedric, had not seen the kind of combat that they were about to see. This was not going to be like the typical invasion of a world, where they arrived and sent troops down. This planet was in turmoil, even if the Sith didn't see it yet. Add in a heavy Sith presence, and an influx of small teams of opposition, and it could get very hairy, very quick. Kamon had seen this kind of conflict before and it was never pretty. He was wary of the damage that it would cause the city, even though he was more than eager to reduce Sith numbers. He knew that death was inevitable on the battlefield and civilian casualties were going to happen, but he still intended to keep them to a minimum.

"I will be unseen to provide a number they won't detect, but I will alert you if I detect a thread," he said to Cedric before wrapping himself in the current.

A more skilled practitioner of the White Current, like Shule, would have wrapped the whole group within it and moved them about unseen. Kamon was not that skilled. He knew enough to hide himself, but that was about it. Even still, if there were practitioners of the Current, perversion though it would be, among the Sith, they would be able to see him if they detected that he was hiding within it. He, for the most part, would stay apart from the rest of the group as they moved into the building that they had landed upon and set about their task of preparing to make contact with the other Rebel cell on the world. It was not going to be easy.

Kamon descended the stairwell ahead of the others, always making an effort to stay at least one floor ahead of them, using his eyes and his hiding place to his advantage. There were people about, but none of them were Sith as far as he could tell. They wouldn't be long for finding them if they remained where they landed though, it wasn't as if ships landed on top of buildings every day. Rather an odd occurrence, really. He held both of his sabers in his hands, and he was himself wrapped in a Corporis Skin Suit, courtesy of a contract their cell had with the creator. It was nice, though. Not as traditional as a robe, but still on the skin suit side of things. It was more than maneuverable enough for him. Anything lighter would be useless in direct combat with a Sith.

So far so good, he thought to himself as he stood on one of the landings of the stair and peered down the shaft. I wonder how long that will last?

[member="Cedric Grayson"]

Romi Jade

Jedi Beauty

She squeezed her left hand, forming a fist; she cracked the joints in her fingers. With a stiff wrist she held her body steady with her right hand, gripping the railing just above her head.

A swift twist of her neck allowed her to catch [member="Cedric Grayson"] 's speech, and from she could see from her position she could tell he'd fully inserted himself into this operation; they all did. She'd even made brief eye contact with [member="Kamon Vondiranach"] but that was completely short lived as she absorbed the objectives that had been so clearly laid out.

The shuttle jerked and the red warning lights cut on, and not a bad contrast to her blue and brown combat suit she'd usually worn in situations like this or in during her Jedi work. A deafening silence took over and before she could count the seconds the shuttle doors were opening and she met the surface with a newfound valor.

[member="Darth Ophidia"] (idk)


Relax already
Location: Capital triage unit
Objective: Deal with the aftermath from the previous attack, wait wh—
With: [member="Joycelyn Zambrano"]

While the Dark Lord and his crew were relatively unharmed thanks to a certain Nezumi, civilian and military casualties had piled up from the assassination attempt. Much of the work was wound debridement, removing shrapnel and whatever else had been caught in the blast from bodies. Heavy casualty cases were never not organized chaos, but that was the nature of the work.

Didn’t mean that she loved it any less. Military, civilian, didn’t make a difference. A trauma case was a trauma case.

This one right now, she was losing. Farah was practically elbow deep in a woman’s chest cavity in a frantic attempt to try and stop the bleeding. She’d been at or near ground zero during one of the blasts, the doctor had been informed. Heavy damage to the pleura and abdominal cavities, and a concussion of unknown severity. Right now she was unconscious, pale as a ghost and losing way more blood than she should.

“Damnit,” Farah muttered under her breath after cauterizing one bleeder. “Where’s all this coming from?” With the lack of clinical light and only their field tools to suffice, both she and the nurse could not keep up with the amount of torn vessels. Everytime she repaired one, two more were found.

“That’s it.” Farah announced, pulling her bloodied hands away from the patient. “She’s gone.” The nurse looked confused, brow furrowing just a tic in hopeful confusion as she pointed towards the portable heart monitor. “But the monitor says that her heart is still beating. She still has—“

“No, she doesn’t.” The Zeltron cut in harshly, removing her bloodied gloves and taking a heavy swig of who knows what from a canteen. “It doesn’t matter how hard we work on her. She’s lost too much blood and to keep going would only be a waste of time.” Another drink. “Move on.” With that she strode off, leaving the bewildered nurse to drape a tarp over the almost corpse.

“Dr. Zambrano,” A young man wearing one of the god awful paper-esque bright yellow surgical gowns approached her quickly. “It’s the Emperor’s daughter. She’s injured—“

“Which one?” She snorted the rhetorical question while brushing past him, eyes fixed over to where an incredibly tall woman had been brought in. Farah had seen her before at some event, she could have sworn, but right now she was running on instinct. The intern rushed to keep up alongside her. “Looks like superficial external wounds, still conscious. Her name is Joy—“

“Good. Go do something else.” Rude? Absolutely. Necessary? Yes. This was a triage unit, not a holodrama. It was all hands on deck with the limited number of trained medical professionals they had at the scene. Once she had the information she needed, Farah sent the intern away. He didn’t even flinch before jogging off.

Making her way over to her next patient, Farah didn’t bother to introduce herself. Not right now, anyhow.

“Tell me where it hurts.”

An obvious question that doctors tended to ask, but it would help her get to problems quicker. Farah pulled a small penlight from her medpac and flashed it briefly in front of each eye, checking for pupillary response before confirming that there was no neurological damage. It was at this point where she noticed the darkly garbed woman hovering over her shoulder.

“Make yourself useful.” She passed the masked woman a bottle of disinfectant and some gauze, not keen on having someone that close to her if they weren’t helping out.

Ari Vox

I thought this was America, huh?!
Silence. It had dominated Ari Vox's mind from the moment she boarded the vessel that would carry them down into the bubbling cauldron of Jaminere. Meditation would have been a way to describe it, though not by the warrior herself. In her mind, the silence was a pre-fight ritual, a necessary endeavour if she meant to come out of this fight alive. It was something she placed no real effort upon and engaged in quite subconsciously, as visions of the coming battles came and went within the theatre of her mind. Since she'd been a child it had been this way, and to her grave it would continue regardless of what she and the small band of rebels she accompanied were to find, on this, the first of many battlefields drawn in the name of revolution.

Within the silence came preparation, a tertiary check that was almost pointless but once again engrained, which saw her adjusting everything from the fitting of her boots to the sitting of her helmet and everything in between. Her suit was checked for any faults, it's gizmos and gadgets reading back all clears through her heads-up display, and the ACR she carried was primed and readied for combat should they step off into an ambush. She knew and cared little for the ship they would descend within, instead trusted completely in Cedric's judgement and his own meticulous preparation, and worried not about the combat they were more than guaranteed to face.

It was the thought of capture, or worse, the thought of betrayal, that kept her adrenaline oozing and her mind from really settling, the drug soaking into her system and setting minor tremors throughout her muscular frame. Controlled as it was now, she knew she'd control the flux that would come, and with the completion of her gear check she glared out through the cockpits window, eyes cold and distant and hidden beneath the shroud of her T-Visor faceplate.

The Jedi's words went through one receiver and out the other side, his singular discourse coming atop the briefing they'd all been in just hours before, and her patience for words having run out long ago. There was nothing more to plan, now would be the time for action, and as the clouds gave way to the horizon and the blanket of multicoloured specks zeroed into the large flat roof of a Jaminere warehouse, she readied near the door to disembark at its opening. A jerk, a rattle, then...


The doors flew open with no fanfare and the Jedi stepped out first, his hand signals alluding to the formation he'd discussed before. Ari was to cover the only target that mattered - when Lyra stepped off, so did her Mandalorian shadow, and though the two had little in common they shared a common interest: The safe passage of Lyra to the comm hub, and not an early grave.

"Follow him closely," Said the heavily armoured soldier, one gauntleted hand pressing Cedric's padawan out in front of the slicer while she fell in behind the woman herself. "I'll take the rear," With a tap on her forearm's control panel a single small droid lifted off and away from her, taking the air to get some bearing on the area in which they found themselves.

Next to silent, the ISR Drone rose up above their small and mobile unit, it's reflec coating and minute size keeping it almost invisible, even to Ari's eyes as she marked its travel a few meters above them where it hovered and scanned the area. With just a few fleeting moments it uploaded a small diagram of its readings onto Ari's wrist-bound gadget and by the time they'd hit the staircase she was quite aware of what lay around them. The path to the sewers where Cedric made to lead them was short and sweet, it was the actual depths of the sewers that worried her the most, obtuse and winding and with too little space to move.


So far, so good.
Darth Vornskr the Second

Joycelyn had protested at first, but reluctantly given in to the pressure of her retainers. As she was rolled in, her arms was crossed over her chest, clearly favouring the side that didn't have a broken rib.

"Nothing I can-"

Joycelyn tried to start, but stopped when the handmaiden gave her a sharp look. Which was well done for someone with no eyes. Her arms untangled and lifted the shirt to show several scrapes, a vast bruise spanning her abdomen and part of her ribs. The cuts were small, but glistened with the odd bit of dark metal and tone. Her knuckles were scraped up from her rescue mission of a certain journalist.

"Just lather me in Koltca and send me back out there. I'm not done with the rebel scum."

The handmaiden, Pythia, was quick to work with the materials provided. Her hands worked rather quickly, well suited for such labour, though without the skills to do anything past basic first aid. Joycelyn hissed at her when the disinfectant touched the scrapes on her knuckles, but she did not retract her large hands from the small handmaiden, nor did she try to hinder any of the other treatments.

Just outside, a number of troopers had congregated and seemed to stand watch. One of them was pulling with him a hovercart with a metal box in it. The box was marked with a particular emblem, identifiable as part of the Ember of Vahl to those who had any experience dealing with the Vahla in depth. Another one carried a long pole, and a third held a sword wrapped in a tattered cloak, keeping it at a distance. There were two more just keeping watch.

Pythia stopped, hand stopping mid dab on one of Joycelyn's wounds. Her mouth opened a little as she quickly turned around, head turning this way or another.

"Pythia?" Joycelyn asked, shifting in the bed. She knew the miraluka had particular talents. Pythia answered in a voice so dry it sounded like an inhale, her body growing stiff, arms making jittery motions.

D͗̊̄̆͛į͆̋ͮ̃̅̄̿s̅҉c̨̽ȍrd ̽̿̓ͬ̉̋ͣ́b̉̌r̋̀e͛ͫͥ̚ẻ̈́͟d̨̔͌s̔͗̾̔ͤ.̆̈ͫ̇ ̨̌Fͧ̌͋͛ͥ̀̚e͌̃̅̊̃͒̚͘eͧ͌ͣͬ̌t ͭ̒̂o͟nͣ͛ ̿̆ͯ̽ͭͭ̎͜t̶ͫ̐͆͌ͪ͊̄h̽̾͐ͥ͜e͋ͭ ̓ͥ̈́͒ͭ͢g̢ͦ̈́̽ͮ͌rͩ̿ͩ͆̄͟o͑u̾͌̾̀nd̓̃̾͛͆.̃͑͑̇̅ ͘A̡̍̊̓̔́n͋̒͟aͩrͫ͗̓͘c̡ͣͪͣ̒͐h̨͆̐ͣ̽y̶͐̐͋͒.ͧ̆̃̓ͥ̓ ͫA̓̆̇̿̇ͬ c̍̌ͮ̔h̛̅̇ͯă̿̀ͩͤ͛ͫl͡lͮ͌ẽ̈́͑ͥ͆n̔͋͑g͐ͨ͊eͫ̒̌̓.̧̾̂̇̂ͯ̓̎ D̓͜Ȃ̉̽N͒̌̓̂G̸EŖ̎͒!̵̊̑ͥ̅ͦ

̉͊ͬ̈͞Gͧ͊ͯ̏͊́h̐ͪ̾ͮ̌̋͟osͦ͋ͫ̂ͥ̽̄t͐̂́sͦͦ̀̊͂ͨͩ ̴ͩͮͭ͗o͆ͮ͒̃͂̋̌f͗̊̇̓͋͢ t́̾í̵̏̈́̅ͨ͌ͧmͤͤ͐ͮ͗̓eͨͭͮ̾̽ ͗͂͌̓̀p̆̊̐͊ă̡ͧ̿̃ͫ̅̉s̈ͩ̿ţ ̑ͤ́̉͋ͣa̛ͮn͆̈ͦd̓ͩ͒̐̐ͨ͝ ͤp̶̏̉ͦͩ́ǟsͫ̓s̊͆̀̿̍ͫīnͩ̄͛͑̏ģͪͦͣͥ̎̇ͨ.ͣ̀̍̀ ̈͗N̎̃ȏͪ̓̍̐̌͋ť̊͒ ͊ͧ͌si͐ͬ̓̏ͥͣlͮ͌͗̈́̑ͤv̀e̓͘r͌ bͨ̏ȗt̓̋͊ͫͣ̂ ͣ͌̉͝ru͐s̽̽͆ͧ̊ͭ̚͘t̏̇ͤͨ̆ͯ́ȅ̋̓̚ďͤͩ̀̉ͩ̓ ̾ͮ̓͂̎̽s̄̈́̀̎̍t̶̿͋̔͒̌͐e̴͑̋̓͒eͤ̔ͯ̎̑̎̓l͛̎̅ͪ̅͋ͨ̕ ̆͋͝

̧̍̔ͤ̂Čl͋e̡ͫ̄ȃ́̈͐̌́n̈̌҉sͦͭͧ̊̍eͧ̎ͭ̿̌̽͘ ͫ̉̽ͧ̓̚t̵ḩ͆̃ê̴ͥmͥ̒ͧ͒ͩ ͑ẅ́ͬ̀̍̚ï̐͗͆̂͛͏t̵ͤ̍ḧ́̄̇̚ ̉̍̔ͮ͐̇͋f̌͂̎ͥ̚҉í̶ͧȓ̊̆ͤ̋̆͝e͂̋̓̃̚!̋ͯͬ̏̋̆͢ ̍͗̋ͪ͋F̴͂i̋̇̿̈́̃ͪ͟r͌͜e͆ͥ̉̾͗͑͘!͡ ͨFͪ̒i̇̇̔ͫ̎r̽͆̂͗͂è̵̀͌̅̇͒!͋͌ͪ̍̉̚͝
The light of the room seemed to dim as she made a final inhale and then relaxed. She almost fell over, catching herself at the rim of Joycelyn's bed with heavy breaths. Her head whipped up to look at the two of them with her eyeless sight, anger scribed on her features. "Jedi."

Joycelyn's fist curled so tightly the knuckles popped. Her face set hard and her eyes burned with hatred. The legionarie holding the sword quickly jumped and dropped it as fire licked up along the blade and hilt. The Sword embedded itself easily in the floor and resumed burning smokelessly. The flames didn't harm the weapon, but engulfed it. Joycelyn looked at Farah.

"Like I said. I am not done."

Rujat Aola

Desert Rose
Soundtrack: Keep the Car Running

Fluttering flags, loud trumpets and plastered smiles would not be able to hide the fact that the recent Sith Empire parade represented a march of unadulterated evil through streets filled with the unwilling, the weak and the downtrodden. Rujat knew that well, as her own captivity as a Twi’lek slave on Tatooine a few moons ago was just a microcosm of that subjugation. Often she herself was paraded across the main chamber where Faddim the Hutt entertained his guestsa, nd despite the peppy jizz music and the lively atmosphere, an undercurrent of fear and apprehension always remained for her.

Much like today. And the same as they defended their home on Tatooine from elements that attempted to rob them of their freedom, culture and way of life, Rujat and [member="Jakkor Kess"] traveled to Jaminere to aid in a covert attempt to undermine the Sith. Not much could take them away from the Jundland Wastes - despite its hostile climate, it was their home after all - but the chance to help the Trade Council with their endeavor had been far too tempting, despite the Lethan Twi’lek’s reservations. Jakkor had a spiritual gift, Rujat a more earthy, mundane one. There was no reason to keep their talents hidden. It was time for purpose, not just existence. If she was content with sitting around a dusty hut on Tatooine, the alien might as well be back in Faddim’s chains.

“It’s refreshing to not wear all of those layers of clothing, Anan,” Rujat said, with a burst of uncharacteristic discontent over her regular Tusken Raider garments. And while armor for the Twi’lek race still left much to be desired in terms of headgear, her commando coverings would protect her from blasters and shrapnel. Jakkor carried the explosives. Rujat would protect and cover him as well as provide emergency medical care to rebels and civilians alike. Her supply crate had been disguised as mundane shipment of textiles from nearby Munto Codru. But as Jakkor became more focused, so did his Twi’lek companion and she began to meditate, slowing her breathing as the Jedi Master had taught her to do.

Jaster Awaud

Elder of Clan Awaud
"Agent 622, Check in"

In a puddle of blood a single Com Link blinked for a response, a hand reached out to answer from the puddle. A boot fell on top of the hand and a gauntlet reached down to the Com Link, as it lifted to from the ground it reached the visor of a Mandalorain Helm. Taping on his helmet a voice that was not his own, "Command, all clear here."

Jaster dropped the com link and let it fall into the puddle it was picked from. He nodded and a squad of Black Stormtroopers executed two more agents of the Sith Empire. The Fel Empire was here to support the Rebels. Another dark uniformed Imperial Officer walked up to the Grand Moff, "Sir, the space port is secure, and the last shipment of weapons and ammunition has arrived, the tower has given an all clear and we await the call from the Rebel Forces."

He stood there listening to the report. This insertion was quick and decisive, the Imperial Agents and security forces were dispatched and civilians were separated from any communications and placed under guard until the combat started. He needed to keep his position a secrete till he received word from the [member="Cedric Grayson"]. They would be their only supply line should things get problematic for their forces as well as secure this sector from Imperial Reinforcements. No Sith Imperial was able to communicate their entrance and Jaster was well aware of the more information you had, the better your odds were in battle.

Jaster pulled his Phrik Vibro-Blade from the corpse that lay at his feet and turned to the soldiers by his side. "When we get word from Rebel Leader, our focus will be the Imperial Garrison 2 blocks from here, secure that and we will stop the palace from receiving reinforcements within the city, do not let your guard down and fall back to this location if you get separated, for the Freedom promised by our Emperor, show these Force Users what true Fel Strength is."

The Order was given, get ready and wait till the battle was started by their allies.

Location: Trade Port, Capital
Objective: Cut off Reinforcements and keep Rebels Supplied
Allies: Rebel Forces, Black Ops Fel Troopers
- Armor
- Blaster Rifle
- Pistol
- Phrik Vibro-Blade

[member=Jerrun Fel[/FONT]] [member=Dan Tray] [member=ES-06] [member=Isabella LaFleur] [member=Jairdain] [member=Jerel] [member=Lasky Rynn] [member=Oscar Saint-Just] [member=Sai Fel] [member=Tevro] [member=The Mirage] [member=Titan] [member=Toran Fel] [member=Komoda] [member=Lord Harris ]

Jax Vandal

As the rebel unit approached the warehouse they were landing on, Jax prepared himself for battle. He began checking his gear piece by piece making sure his mechanical arm was still functioning. The internal motors whirred to life as he moved it to and fro. Every fiber of him was ready for a fight, gunning for blood. The hair on the back of his neck rose to attention as he flexed his metal hand and activated the G.J.S.. He felt the drug enter his bloodstream and his heart begin to beat faster. He couldn't think of anything, but the objective, the mission. Protect Lyra and capture the comms station. He almost brought his top Muertos enforcer Gunner, but decided against it. Gunner didn't exactly do stealth. As they landed he lit the deathstick hanging from his mouth, smoke rising from his nose when he exhaled. He switched to his eye to thermal sight and scanned around the building. The area looked clear enough for him. He always felt uncomfortable right before a fight. He craved the pace of battle, when the shooting started he would almost be relieved.
The Two Who Were One
So, it had come to this.

The assassination attempt upon his life had warranted an extended occupation of Jaminere, to further project Imperial might and to root out any further dissident vermin that may attempt to capitalize on such bold, desperate actions. Carnifex led Ophidia and her assassins do as they pleased in the name of national security, letting his invisible killers uncover the tangled web of insurrection that laid beneath the surface of an otherwise amiable pro-Imperial system.

But the Emperor was no fool, he realized what such a public attack on his person could mean. Brazen acts often inspired others to follow suit, he had seen it time and time again in the Old Empire and in the One Sith, and he knew what dangers were poised by letting such malignance go untreated.

So, it had come to this.

A Ferrata-class Corps Assault Carrier sat perched several kilometers outside the walls of the capital city, its perimeter closely guarded by roaming hunting packs of TIE fighters and entrenched ground positions. Nothing came close to the Emperor's command center without bypassing the extensive and overlapping fields of defense, and those that tried had been eradicated on the spot or imprisoned for interrogation. One such being levitated before the Emperor, his internal organs similarly hovering around him like the planets around the sun. They had been removed piecemeal, agonizingly slow, and his life had been extended through dark magic so he may experience every excruciating detail of his torment in perfect clarity.

Others had undergone such torture, and their broken corpses had been fed to the pack of Vornskrs that had accompanied the Emperor; often in full view of the interrogator's next victims to provoke panic and fear, coaxing out a confession that might be of worth to the Empire.

So far? Nothing.

Oh, that wasn't to say that the Empire had uncovered some worthwhile information in the process. The organizer of the assassination attempt had been frozen in carbonite and hung above the Emperor's throne, his fate to later be decided once the Emperor had returned to Bastion. Carnifex hadn't yet decided on the method of execution, though it was widely known that the Dark Lord of the Sith never lacked in creativity when it came to his cruelty against his enemies.

"Your Excellency," a voice from his side called, prompting the Emperor to turn his gaze upon the elegantly dressed Voss who had addressed him. "Speak." The voice of the Emperor was as dark as his soul, with one measly syllable capable of sending chills down the spines of lesser men. Yet the Voss seemed unperturbed, he had known the Dark Lord for many years and had grown accustomed to his off-putting demeanor. "I have sensed many tremors in the Force, your Magnificence. The threads of fate are being drawn to Jaminere, though for what destiny I have yet to unravel." The Emperor laughed, a throaty guffaw, "Finally, anything to alleviate this wretched mundaneness."

"Keep scrying, I will confer with the Dark Oculus once you have brought me something of substance."
Equipped: Ri Qorit Disabler, StealthX and a simple Flightsuit

Silence. That would be all that the Jedi Knight, leader of their rebel cell would receive from Avoim’s frequency. He had given the man a link to him in the Force, one that he could use to awaken the dulled Force Meld that Avoim had left relatively open for when they needed him. At that moment in time, Avoim’s StealthX hung in orbit, dead save for just enough power to keep his astromech online to watch his vitals. Avoim himself was seated in his cockpit, as one would suspect, wearing a standard flight suit as well as the disabler device, he had received from Cedric for this mission.

Avoim was using many advanced force powers to keep himself hidden in the Force and had been doing so since he arrived in system the day prior to the operation. He was using his mastery of the Aing-Tii Art of the Small to hide his presence in the Force almost entirely; he also had the force meld link open with all members of his team that could touch the Force. They might not be able to hear his thoughts but he was able to see flashes of their emotions, which would let him know when it was time to make the move for the most part.

Avoim’s StealthX hung over the planet, its cockpit pointed straight at where the communications hub would likely be, everything powered down even himself. He had put himself into a Hibernation Trance, to fill him with the Force for sustenance and protection as well as to keep the advanced powers he was using going. It took a good deal of communication to do just this, but he was a Master and he knew how to prioritize. For this mission the Jedi Master had decided that having the ability to drop a variety of weapons would be smart.

As such his StealthX had a few shadow bombs, bunker busters, proton torpedoes and even the glop bombs. He was going to do what he could from the skies but that his air support would be limited if the Sith had their own quick reaction air force. His StealthX was designed to be optimally used in space, its black space flecked hull would be a dead giveaway in the daylight of the planet. His lightsaber had been left behind, its force reactiveness would give away his position to any who were looking.

Jax Vandal, Cenric Marus, Jaster of Clan Awaud, Lyra Sarn, Ari Vox, Kamon Vondiranach, Glavis, Solonariwan Tofusin, Cedric Grayson

Priscilla Utorna

~lacking empathy~
Location: Trade Port, Capital
Objective: Cut off the other Imperial scum
Allies: The Fel Empire I The Rebel Alliance I Direct: [member="Jaster of Clan Awaud"]
Foes: The Sith Empire
Equipment: Vibrosword I Standard smoke grenade I Basic leather tribal dress

"I can't say this is how I would have done it." reverting to a blank stare as she released a generic vibrosword from a guard who had failed to fend off the near-pensioner. "Though it is just as invigorating." smiling and closing her eyes, one final strain sending the woman thudding onto the ground. Another fool made a rush for her, failing to realize that apart from the melee weapon she was unarmed. A slash later, sanguine liquid sprayed on a blue cargo container.

Her face flushed upon seeing the sight, afterwards glancing in the general direction where she had assumed the rest of her allies had deployed into. Striding face-first into danger wasn't how she usually worked, but a series of technical difficulties and her simply forgetting exactly where she needed to be resulted in a drop some 100 feet away from the designated location. Fumblings around the corner caused a raised eyebrow, before she disappeared back into the shadows of the trade port.

Damn. The comlink.

Ignoring the supposed secretive state she was meant to be in, she dashed around the corner as quick as she could hearing the echoes of a suspicious sounding voice, questioning just exactly why he wasn't answering. Kneeling down, she put on the most masculine voice her strained vocal chords could muster, deepening like a trombone.

"Yes-Yes, somebody attempted to smuggle some unidentifiable grains through and it's filled to the brim! We just fell over" nervously chuckling between words.

"Well-... collect a sample and bring some to the customs depart-.."

She dropped the comlink in the man's shirt. Unidentifiable grains? You're better than this.

Location: Sewer system below the Capitol Building
Objective: Infiltrate
Aliies: Rebels - [member="Atlas Viridian"] | [member="Icarus Volcata"]
Enemies: The Sith Empire
Equipment: DC-15s carbine, Bondar Saber, 3x sonic grenade.

A few steps behind the two pilots, Kirie trudged through the filth of the storm drain. She tried her best to ignore the noisome scent that rose up from the sopping, mould-covered walls and made its way through the fibres of her mask.

The deaf girl kept her head up, following the two soldiers ahead closely. The time for doubt had passed. She had ruminated for hours on the journey, losing sleep wondering if what she was doing was right. For years she had championed pacifism, a diplomatic approach. Yet, now she was bringing violence to this world, inciting riots and unrest. It was justifiable, sure. The Sith Empire had expanded to the edge of the Mara-Perlemian council's borders, and still the council did nothing. It was a necessary evil, this resistance. That's what she told herself.

"Hypocrite. Finally you do what I've been saying all of this time, and yet you still disguise it as some self-righteous cause?"

The harsh whisper in her ear was one with which she was familiar. The darkness had clung to her ever since the incident on Kwenn Station. The spectre was never seen, and only she could hear it. Often she felt it digging, prying inside her mind. But it was only a voice, an entity incapable of action, and it could be ignored, if not cured.

Her attention was focused on the task ahead. As the pair in front stopped by a hidden cache of weapons, Kirie joined them, nodding politely. She waited her turn to retrieve her equipment, which consisted of a DC-15s carbine that she set to 'stun,' a few sonic grenades and a small droid that crawled up her arm, wrapping its jointed legs around her bicep, under her sleeve. By her side, hidden by her janitor's uniform hung her Bondar saber.

Kirie stepped aside as the others gathered their equipment. Soon they would be inside the building itself.