Public Raid on Kattada

[Jared Starchaser]

Jared grabbed his commlink from the bag as he moved. Contacting his droid who was back at the Temple he nodded. "Hopper. Send request for all Hands to Oasis. Use the usual channels." He contacted his droid with a bit of a rush.

Valery had already taken off and that caused Jared to move quickly too. Running off into battle without a jacket probably wasn't the most clued in he could have been but Jared was under the influence that Kattada was a post mission vacation. The reinforcements would be coming.

As he kept up. He could hear the whine of the E-Wing engines taking flight. The Temple wasn't too far off.

The green blade leapt to life as Jared took a page out of his father's book. Seeing Tilon fall like that? Feeling the Force like this? Jared leapt forward right into combat.

Valery Noble Tilon Quill
Mercy Arris Windrun

 

[Brooke Waters]

Brooke wasn't even about to pull her lightsaber out. They had to learn who they were really dealing with. Who they really triggered here. She could feel it in the Force. The others being activated. Small pops in the wind were telltale signs that Witches were moving with their fantastical teleporting.

There was the sound of other witches on the air. Singing a song of protection and illusion. Allowing non Forcers and non combatants room to run and hide. A witch type of illusion would be running around. Copies of citizens of Tidehome doing their best to attract the attention.

Songs and chants were all around them. Brooke herself had called upon one of the swords of her people, the Flood Tide dripped with energy as the witch proceed to where she felt a ship was going to touch down.

Another crack of thunder and a flash of lightning. The storm was gaining strentgth with the chaos around.

 

[Quinn Varanin]

//: OPEN //:
//: Cloak //:

Boots hit the ground, and Quinn let the chaos of the others provide a cover. While she knew fighting was something she couldn't entirely avoid, it was something she could potentially push off as long as possible.

She moved quickly, her cloak whipping as she moved through the distance from the shuttle and heading towards the temple. The Jedi, from her knowledge, were hoarders. There had to be something of value within the temple walls, any knowledge of the Force would suffice, even remedies.

Her footsteps light as moved through the crowds, a hood drawn over her ashen hair — hiding her identity the best she could at a glance. Those that weren't fighting moved past her, fear bleeding from them, fueling the dark side presence that descended upon the planet and temple.

More Sith, more Jedi continued to spill upon the planet, and Quinn remained as hidden as she could, drawing in her presence to the most minor blip she could make.

Quinn knew this was dangerous. She was a target, one that was worth 150k to the Republic. At any point, any one of the people she came with could turn on her, or someone capable of tracking could find her. The Princess was playing with fire as she slipped into the nearest entrance of the edge of the temple.

At least Quinn knew she had one person on her side.

 

[Hasuras Na-Gerra]

Behold, Gerra. See how he lays out his enemies with sweeps of his hammer, feeble Jedi defenders falling before each blow as wheat before the scythe. He brains them and he breaks them, hammer strikes making ruin of flesh and bone and proving beneath all the Jedi trappings they are but meat for the fodder.

In his wake, his hounds tear at the bodies, snapping and tearing and gobbling up great gibbets of raw red meat in their slavering jaws.

To his right, one of the complex’s greenhouses burns and the rising flames cast a grim glow upon the blood bath.

He sought no captives here, but only their caches of holocrons, which must be buried deeper in the temple proper.

Woe betide any who stood in his path.

Connel Vanagor

 

[Vodet]

As Vodet proceeded away from the meeting he heard the various Jedi and civilians making motions. Hearing calls to turn on shields, deploy Sentinels and healers, and launch whatever vessels were able and willing to defend from the air. It sounded to the Yinchorri the Tiburons were on standby. One of the oldest squadrons. Coren Starchasers personal command. E-Wings.

Good. Someone could work on breaking up any additional wreckage.

The Yinchorri hobbled towards the main vault. The large Master knew there were many other pricks of light here. And being a Sentinel of the Temple would be the smartest move for him.

They'd have to get through the first vault to get to the more expensive vaults. He turned and stood

Quinn Varanin

 

[Vestra Tane]

High above the battle, a Cataclyst hung in the air. Many did, presumably, given the number of Syndicate assets involved, but this one was special. It was special, admittedly, by virtue of being captained by a lunatic, but still.

Vestra Tane, freshly hopped up on a cocktail of leftover spice and already twitching, was late to the party. That lateness was part of the plan; she knew that. She would, despite her skill with a blade, be more a liability than an asset in the heaviest of the fighting. Her allies were to draw the boldest and mightiest of their enemies out, and she would cut her teeth on the scraps. She knew all of this was sensible and practical, and that she too had an important role to play.

And of course, none of that mattered. She was bored, waiting, and boredom was the only truly intolerable state of being. Stillness was death, as far as Vestra cared. The fidgeting and griping didn't stop until it was time for action and the young Sith could sate her desires by being shot out of a cannon directly into the temple complex.

She stepped out of the resultant cloud of debris and dust with a cocky grin and blades brandished at whatever poor unfortunate happened to be closest to her.

"Right, whose turn is it to die?"

Althea Voidwalker

 

[Kaila Irons]

Wearing: Armor
Allies: Mercy Arris Windrun | RAIDERS
Enemies: Valery Noble Jared Starchaser Tilon Quill | JEDI

Oh, it was beautiful.

It disgusted her how beautiful it was.

The way such chaos spoke to the animal deep inside, repressed and caged away in laminanium ribs. Darth Anathemous watched the fire dance across her visor, molten slag and shrapnel cutting down towers and innocents alike. These weren't an evil people, they'd done nothing to deserve the Sith's ire. They were just... in the way.

Her real enemy were the Jedi, the ignition of cerulean sabers below causing her gloved hand to tighten around the cargo netting as she stared out the dropship door.

Every guardian slain and soul corrupted today denied The Will another instrument. One step closer to a world without light, without an omnipotent thing controlling the fate of trillions.

It had to be done.

She stepped off the transport before any of her raiders, falling in beside mighty Mercy and indomitable Arris Windrun , if the rumors were true, leading the pack like a trio of Mother Wolves.

Immediately there was glorious chaos. ACP rounds pinged off her Darksteel pauldrons, a host of Nightsister talismans and seals fluttering as she charged into the disorganized line of defenders. Mercy had already taken care of Tilon Quill by the time Anathemous reached their foes, and so she carved a path though scrambling militia with her violet blade, deflecting bolts and severing limbs.

A second blade, crimson, left her belt without so much as a finger raised, and by the time it stopped spinning in circles around her, a dozen men lay dead.

One put up resistance, a master, if that grey beard was anything to go by. A real Jedi.

He took a defensive stance, Niman by the look of it, one hand glowing with golden light.

Her hovering saber struck first, immediately parried, and then his wrist felt hot. Anathemous had moved so fast the air snapped in her wake, nobody could predict her movements, precognition outright useless or misleading as her brand poisoned the very eye of fate.

She snatched his lightsaber from the air and cracked it in hand, ripping components straight out of the master's weapon and holding them to the light while he writhed in pain at her feet.

The Lord of Blades hummed excitedly, before pocketing the crystal phase modulator.

She ended his life with a flick of her wrist, and a horrifying crunch.

​

 

[Connel Vanagor]

NO MERCY FOR MONSTERS
KATTADA TEMPLE
PORTAL

Michael, Gabriel, Azrael, Sariel, Raphael, Jeremiel, Connel, Raguel
[Any text in brackets signifies comm-link usage and not face to face conversation]

“... And maybe just remind the few, if ill of us they speak,

that we are all that stands between the monsters and the weak.” -Last Stanza of “Monsters and the Weak” by Michael Marks​

The words above… they were part of a poem his father could never pinpoint on why, but he identified with it. Connel never bothered to think about this until this very moment.

The flames from the greenery licked higher into the night, acrid smoke curling against the temple’s stone walls. Connel’s HUD pinged movement—big movement—coming from the far side of the courtyard. A figure. Broad. Hammer raised high, its haft glowing as it absorbed firelight.

Vahla. Brute. The Schutta is proud of this.

Connel didn’t wait for ID. Didn’t bother with a tactical scan. He didn’t care that Gerra wasn’t the one who’d started the blaze. In this moment, perception was everything—and what Connel saw was a bastard swinging a hammer where Jedi bled. That was enough.

Omega was already at work. Explosions ripped through the raider vessels at the landing zone as Gabriel’s slicework turned ship alarms into detonation triggers. Raphael and Jeremiel carved a swath of destruction through panicked raiders, while Sariel picked off would-be reinforcements trying to rally at the temple gates. The rest of the team was doing what they did best—turning enemy momentum into open graves.

That left Connel to do what he did best.

He advanced. Blade in hand, steps heavy, mask hiding any trace of restraint. His father might have shouted something righteous—something inspiring to steady the younglings and reassure the frightened.

Connel’s voice was a growl through his helmet speakers.

Hey ugly!

The Vahla swung his hammer around, pausing mid-strike to snarl.

Pick on someone your own size.

The words echoed like Caltin himself had said them. Familiar. Comforting. But that’s where the similarity ended.

Because when Caltin said those words, he fought to teach. To humble. To save.

When Connel said them… he fought to hurt.

No pause. No courtesy bow. No defense-first Jedi posture. Connel launched forward, Force surging through his limbs like liquid lightning. He moved to slam into Gerra with the kind of fury that could have cracked duracrete—lightsaber a flashing permafrost arc moving to hammer against the warhammer’s haft. Sparks exploded from the blade as it arced, the imminent clash ready to ring across the courtyard like thunder.

Connel wouldn’t stop there. Regardless of whether the Vahla engaged or dodged, Connel was three moves ahead in planning. Next, he would drive a boot directed hard into Gerra’s chest, if it landed, it would send him staggering back into the edge of the burning greenery.

This is not a tactic to gain space, it is a tactic to make the brute even angrier, angry to the point of hopefully making mistakes that he would not make. Connel's focus would come into play, a focus not to disarm, but hopefully to sever the tendon behind Gerra’s knee. “Eveyone is the same size lying on their back.”

“Yeah,” Connel thought, internal tone low, venomous.
“That’s about the size I was talking about.”

This wasn’t mercy.
This wasn’t diplomacy.
This wasn’t his father.

This was Connel Vanagor in the shadows.
And Gerra was about to learn what that really meant…

… and just how wrong everyone who thought “Jedi are weak” were.

TAGS • TAGS​

 

[Hasuras Na-Gerra]

Omega was already at work. Explosions ripped through the raider vessels at the landing zone as Gabriel’s slicework turned ship alarms into detonation triggers. Raphael and Jeremiel carved a swath of destruction through panicked raiders, while Sariel picked off would-be reinforcements trying to rally at the temple gates. The rest of the team was doing what they did best—turning enemy momentum into open graves.

For a moment, hope burned bright as the Omega squad blew through common raiders like so much paper mache.

Then that hope splintered into a thousand pieces, a shattered mirror.

The Embers of Vahl had come. And they would not be denied.

Raphael and Jeremiel encountered holy warriors of the goddess Vahl, armed and armored with alchemical weapons, front line corsairs who finished slitting the throats of common Jedi to face these so-called "shadows." No common raiders, these Vahla, but warriors from the Firefist Galaxy who had been born and molded by piracy since birth. A dozen and more worlds had they sacked. And they would not be so easily brushed aside.

The others of Omega Squad soon faced similar threats, hounded by the sudden appearance of Sith warriors of Vahla whose armor could not be sundered by lightsaber and whose blades were wrothful in their ruin.

Above, one of the Sabaoth starfighters turned a target lock upon the roofline, targeting where shots had been picking off the ground forces - and a flurry of laser cannons peppered Sariel's position.

But let us leave these lessers to their fate, for they are, after all, no more than ambient noise for the main event.

See now, how Connel presses his attack, flying straight toward Gerra with all the reckless abandon of the unblooded. Pain will teach him caution.

The eight-foot tall warrior of Vahl did not seek to parry saber with hammer. Not when he had a shield in hand. He brought that shield around, whipping it edge first to meet the Jedi's saber with a blow of such hideous strength that a mortal human would be flung backward and reeling, wrist twisted and fractured. But of course, Vanagor was no mere human.

A boot darted beneath the shield and drove into Gerra's chest. The behemoth took exactly one step backward. Some sort of telekinetic attack glanced off the ensorceled armor that clad Gerra's legs.

"Middling."

Then in a voice deeper than the roots of the mountains, the giant began to speak words in the ancient tongue of the Sith. The air around Connel Vanagor shimmered and contorted with the Dark Side as Gerra wrought some foul future fate for him.

"Mirja iw jina'tis, Nu riyikrauti j'us, zo tsamria, zo dia. Odojinya."​

 

[Aris Noble]

It was chaos right away.

Aris was just visiting the temple, exploring and learning what he could to try and make more sense of the Forge and what had changed within him. He'd hoped to have time for those answers, but an explosion caught him off guard. From high above, a ripple in the sky. He saw the pieces as they fell, and moved.

Ran out into the open to catch a smoldering part of the wreckage with his bare hands. Fire licked around his fingers and arms, but he didn't burn. He couldn't burn. His gaze turned to the others who'd been there. Panic in the younger one's eyes, concern in the older. They were under attack.

"What are the evacuation plans? We need to move."

Acier Moonbound | Darth Hydra

 

[Alana Calloway]

Tags: Lirka Ka
Gear: In Bio

Alana Calloway slammed her speeder door shut with a clang and pointed accusingly at the Temple security officer waving her down.

She had just touched down after trying for what seemed like hours to get entry.

"This is a legitimate space," She barked. "Don't tell me about clearance lanes; there's no sign, no paint, no holopost. If the Order wanted me to park somewhere else, maybe they should spend a few credits on better markings instead of marble statues!"

The officer sighed, rubbing at his temple like he'd heard it all before. "Ma'am, this is restricted access. Only Temple staff and-“

"I'm here on Temple business," Alana snapped back, only partly lying, arms crossing. "Do you want to see my permit?" She slapped a flimsi pass against his chest. It was immediately revealed to be a discount on a Bantha Burger from the Corellian Diner. "Okay. It’s not a permit, but, the intention is there-“

The officer opened his mouth to argue, but the conversation was cut short by a sudden boom. The ground trembled as some unseen disturbance had chosen now to occur. The sound of large scale energy weapons followed, and Alana felt as if the universe had turned on her once again.

Alana froze for a heartbeat, then threw her hands in the air. “I LITERALLY JUST GOT HERE!"

The officer ducked behind her speeder as blaster fire lit up the sky. "Get to cover!" He shouted.

Alana drew her blaster and ducked low, muttering as she checked the charge, trying to figure out what the hell was going on now.

She shot a glare over to the officer.

“If you give me a parking ticket after this, I’m coming for you!”

 

[Jessica "Jes" Howe]

Tag:Open

You know, when she met Arris Windrun not so long ago during some shockboxing ring. This wasn't exactly what she was expecting, gazing out at the temple as her transport was arriving with the rest of them.

Six years she spent in the military, and this was seeming more familiar by the minute.

"All onboard be advised, we are about to drop in three, two-"

Checking her gear one last time she adjusts the straps on some basic body armor she was given, cybernetic hands gripping firmly around a rope. The transport wasn't able to make a safe landing, get in- get out.

"One."

Jes begins her descent, fast-roping down to the ground. Her eyes locked on to many targets, but today was not the day for her to be on the frontal assault. She is handed a bag, sealed up and ready.

Knowing what her task was she makes a b-line straight for where a technical room was to be located... Her shotgun coming in handy as she cleaned the narrow halls with the efficiency of a literal killing machine.

She finds it, blocking the door behind her she takes a wire from her hand, slotting it into the systems. Soon, Howl_Runner would be in the systems, that should give a heads up as to where her target was located.

"Jes here, getting into the systems now."

The cyborg says over their secure comms, anyone on her squad would be able to hear.

​

 

[Hasuras Na-Veyra]

Shinzou Ashina​

The Hasuras fell as a plague on Kattada. Golden limbs, exposed by the armless robes Veyra wore. Her helm and a pair of shoulder pads were the only armor donned. Gerra's younger sister trailed behind him, saber sparking as it dragged across duracrete. It found purpose against a Jedi obstinate enough to step into her path. His bravery was admirable; one arm enfolded his back, a sweet caress to lull him into death's embrace.

"Glory be to Vahl." The redhead whispered when the light flickered from his eyes.

By the time the carcass was disposed of, Gerra had already found an adversary in the plaza. Veyra left him be. If the squadron were lucky, it would be a quick death. There was another who called to her - a more worthy opponent. One who respected the grace of the dance itself. Continuing in the direction her senses led her, the bladesman sought out the one-eyed Atrisian.

 

[Tamsin Graves]

​

Theme: Smooth Criminal
Equipment: Twin Omen | Combat Knife | Circlet of Projection | Talisman of Stars Enchained | Mind Crown | Backpack | Sonic Gernades | Thermal Detonators
Tag: Open

A small non-descript ship landed between the resort town and the temple. It was nothing more than simple transport lacking any kind of markings. It did not need to be special because the cargo it carried was what was important. Inside were three crew members, a passenger and the cargo. The crew, one pilot and two engineers, the passenger, a small figure clad in dark robes, the hood of which obscured the face with only stern pink lips visible.

The Passenger spoke to the engineers. "You know your job, when it is done comm me." With that the diminutive figure in dark robes stood up and headed for the exit of the ship. This was a raid orchestrated by criminals and Darksider's alike and this figure was here to loot pillage and make sure there were no hick ups. Not because they were in charge or even had a vested interest in these affairs.

It was because things were changing in this galaxy tides were shifting and power changing hands. Anyone who was paying attention could feel it a new tide was rising, and this tiny diminutive being who had a fresh Darth Title was making sure her house of Iron was part of the new wave and not washed away with the old one.

She stepped off the transport and made her way towards the temple looking up seeing the raid had begun. She hoped she wasn't to late for a dance party, once worried for war and the damn trouble her sister got them in now she was seeing it as the way to fight fate and change the tide.

 

[Auteme]

Her return to Kattada was long overdue -- her last visit to the enclave, she'd held Celeste and Coren's twins, basked in the serenity of two Masters in their prime. Now she was the age they'd been then; the world they'd fostered up in flames. Was it a symptom of her, or them?

She crossed along the beach, watching as more ships screeched in from above. The enclave's sprawl outside of the temple's core gave ample opportunities for the raiders to land, and equally ample opportunity for her to slip in undetected. It didn't last long, of course; some of the temple's defenders engaged the raiders, forcing them to a brief rout, while others began to evacuate, escaping into the tropics further inland.

Briefly, she felt a distant call; Jend-Ro, a lighthouse on the rocks closer to Tidehome, someone she missed dearly and had hoped to speak to soon. But they both knew it was not the time. His work was bait, distraction; hers became slowing the tide. Corridors and streets became sealed by walls of resilient Force-threads, the mist-weaver hastily erecting new defenses for the Kattada enclave. She funneled the attackers off the left flank and towards the bulk of the raiding forces towards the central temple complex, where the Jedi were beginning to entrench themselves. But the fight would come here; there was no escaping it.

She went within the primary temple complex. Most of the enclave's students had gathered and left already; she looked further, trying to remember how to reach the relic repository within the temple's basements.

Jend-Ro Quill | Vodet | Open​

 

[Althea Voidwalker]

|| Objective: Defend the Enclave ||
|| Equipment: Blaster | Pistol | Vibroblade | Clothing | Boots | Holsters ||
|| Tags: Vestra Tane || ​

There were large amounts of conflict throughout the Enclave. I had been here just as a relaxing moment trying to just find a place where there was something other than Spacer trash and criminals. The day was supposed to have been one where I was relaxing with a couple drinks, maybe mess with a Jedi apprentice here and there, but otherwise, just enjoy some time off for myself.

Yet, that was not how today was going to go.

Nope, just a host of a bunch of criminals, Sith, and whatever else seemed to just be raining down upon the planet. All striking to bring the enclave to its destruction, plunder its depths or just to kill and collect what they could. I wouldn't doubt that Sith would want to collect sabers of the Jedi. Considering that there was a number of bounties out on them. I had no clue if I would be counted in that, but I didn't want to find out. For that, I had thrown on my gear as fast as possible. Already fighting was getting deeply heated. Blaster bolts flying through the air, screaming to slam home into someone beside me. I looked down to see they were long gone before their body touched the floor.

A shake of the head as I drew the vibroblade in my left hand and the pistol. My hand doing a quick chamber check to make sure that the weapon did have a round ready to go, and the batter was fully charged and ready to go. Rushing out through the halls trying to get to the main fighting, I was thrown against the wall as a blast opened up in the hallway. A trail of some kind of thing ripping through the ground in front of me. Looking after where it had finally stopped, someone got out of it.

"Feth me."

Muttering under my breath, my hand brought the pistol up using the forearm of my left arm as stabilization and let loose a number of rounds at them. Hoping that would be enough of a problem to let me close the distance through the hole in the wall they had made with their pod.

 

[Gavin Restur]

ACTIVE BOUNTY HUNTING
Target: Quinn Varanin
License: Here
Equipment: Dual Blaster Pistols, Forcepike, Cycler Rifle, Rocket Boots, Rebreather + Tubes, Misc.
TAGS: Quinn Varanin

And when playing with fire, you might get burnt...
​

Unlike most of his acquaintances and allies, Gavin had managed to catch wind that something was coming. He didn't know enough to be able to say what it was, but he was able to figure out a location. A location that he had briefly been to before, but for a decent enough time to get a general feel for the land. He was able to scramble towards the temple quick enough, but there hadn't been much time left to give a warning to others. Not to mention that he barely has other people's contact information. But surely, he thought, at most it would be a couple of shuttles, maybe a dozen people coming. He could likely handle it on his own.

He wasn't expecting a freighter to blow up above the temple.

The man had been far up on the temple, on one of the ledges higher in the sky as he leaned against a pillar. Staring as what seemed like Hellfire rained down upon the land from the debris of the freighter, followed by several smaller shuttles as they all made their descent towards the ground. Landing, as a bunch of thugs and criminals spilled out. Blaster fire and footsteps are all that filled the air.

His first thought was, what a waste of a perfectly good freighter. His second thought, was that there was a full-blown raid going on. And his third thought, was that he was in the perfect position for some sniping.

Reaching back, he unholstered the cycler rifle he had slung. The response of allies was very quick, and the battlefield quickly became covered in Jedi, criminals, soldiers, and everyone else who wanted a piece of the action. So, he had to be pretty careful with his shots. Lowering himself into a crouch, as he dragged the cycler rifle in front of himself. Aiming down the rifle's scope, as he started to gather targets.

With an accompanied CRACK in the air each time, he started picking off criminals one by one, the slug rounds hitting their marks pretty consistently. Some in the head, others in the chest-- didn't matter, ultimately. All that did matter, was that people were going down.

However, it was while he was searching around for his next target, that he spotted her. The person he had come here for in the first place, Quinn Varanin . A hood over her head, and barreling her way through the crowd. He knew there were other people with bounties on their head, such as the likes of Vestra Tane , but there was a reason why he's decided to go after Quinn. Besides the credits, of course.

She was Echani, like him. But she's Echani by blood, while he's Echani by culture.

The rifle's scope followed her as she made her way through the chaotic battlefield, however he never decided to pull the trigger, for several reasons. Firstly, she was moving way too quickly for himself to be confident in his ability to hit her with a slug round, not to mention there's a good chance he'd instead strike a friendly. Secondly, even if he did manage to land a shot and kill her, the bounty specifically states that it wants her alive. And lastly, like hell he would give up the opportunity to fight a Force Master, are you kidding? This is a dream come true for him. With a high likelihood of becoming a nightmare, but a dream for the time being.

And so, he merely watched her to see where she went, seeing her head into the temple. There was a holster of his cycler rifle, as he stepped to the edge of the balcony. Pressing a button on his wristpad, as he rocket boots fired up to life. Stepping off the ledge, as he carefully lowered himself down to the ground.

Seeing which way she had gone in, he had intended to cut her off. He wouldn't engage or get anywhere close to her yet, but he was going after her.

 

[Talin Treicolt]

Bounty Hunter License
Seeking Bounties on: Vestra Tane
Toggle on: Verified
SURPRISE: Vestra Tane | Maybe Friend?: Althea Voidwalker | Huntin' Buddy: Morrow

Talin had convinced Morrow to help trail Tane for business. Now, with the raid on Kattada, it was personal. Walkin' down the streets, her blaster found it's holster and she instead withdrew the saber handle at her belt. No one would look twice at it here. Around them, the streets were quickly descending into chaos. The force answered her call as she glanced around, lookin' for any strand to follow. Nothin'. Then she looked up. A faint ruby string followed a torpedo like an exhaust trail, markin' their target's location. Talin watched as it fell, and fell, and fell, until it's trajectory became transparent.

"Goin' for the temple." She informed her partner, pointing at the streak in the sky. One of 'em, anyways.

The structure rose up over the nearby buildings, making it an easy beacon to follow. It wasn't so long a walk - a few blocks, maybe, 'till they broke first ground. Then there was hopin' they didn't get caught up on the way there. It'd be their luck for a Sith to come outta the woodwork now. A switch ignited a cerulean blade in preparation.

"This should be fun." Talin remarked, far too enthusiastically. "Let's roll, cowboy."

With that, she departed the wall they had sheltered near.

 

[Arris Windrun]

Objective: Fight!
Target: Jared Starchaser
Nearby: Mercy | Vestra Tane | Kaila Irons | Valery Noble | Tilon Quill

Mercy's punch reminded Arris of her own fight with the Sith Lord. She was glad not to be on the other side of that arm right now, but still felt deeply conflicted by Tilon's presence.

Why... She felt like such an idiot. Selfish, given the butchering that went on around them.

The cyborg turned her attention to the Mirialan Jedi. She had three slugs still in one pistol and a full set of saber breakers loaded in the other.

She fired a single slug - now down to two - at Jared in passing.

"C'mon, Jedi!"

Arris broke into a sprint and made her way across the killing field. If she, Mercy, and Kaila were part of team 'smash', then that meant some others were part of team 'grab', and she had every intention of tagging up with them, if only to make sure no one impeded their progress.

Hopefully, this Jedi she targeted was the type who could keep up with a pair of speedy cybernetic legs backed by artificial lungs. Suffice it to say, Arris could sprint for a long time if she had to.

 

[Darth Virelia]

"Begin Again."

Tags - Brent Warnel

Molten daylight fell like a benediction of ruin. The freighter's death blossomed into slag and fire above the Temple, and the shockwave rolled across polished stone like a choir inhaling. Through it she came—violet eyes kindled in a black mirror, a sovereign's second skin prowling the edge of catastrophe. Tyrant's Embrace drank the glare and gave nothing back. Her hood wore her like mourning; the six-eyed helm studied the courtyard with insect patience, as if choosing which petal to pluck first.

"Serenity," she murmured, voice velvet through a modulator, "is only order that forgot it was prey."

Raiders knifed through the smoke to their targets. Two Jedi sprinted to intercept—one a broad-shouldered human Knight with the clipped stride of a Guardian, the other a Mirialan with careful eyes and a counselor's calm already cracking. Their sabers hissed to life, green and blue carved against a sky of falling embers.

Darth Virelia inclined her head as if to a dinner invitation. "Prove you have anything left."

They came in concert—clean angles, practiced geometry. Her cape's hidden filaments stiffened with a hiss and sheered a hail of shrapnel aside. The Knight struck first, a downward hew meant to bully. Virelia met it with her left forearm; blackened phrik screamed, sparks pinwheeled, and the blade skated aside. Her right hand unfurled. The BWE Fighting Claws slid from her digits with a purring tremor, vibro-hums phasing to a predatory pitch.

She stepped inside his guard and touched him.

Three strokes, almost tender—wrist, elbow, triceps. The claws bit through synthweave and plate, tasted tendon, and the Knight's sword-arc died mid-breath. He tried to retreat. She followed like a shadow that remembered its knife. A knee guard kissed his thigh; the crescent edge turned muscle to obedience. He dropped. Her hand curved around the base of his skull, intimate as a lover's caress, and dragged the claws lightly across the nape—just deep enough for inevitability. "Yield," she offered, genuinely curious.

He snarled, reached for the Force.

"Good," she said, and finished him.

The Mirialan was already moving—measured, clever, trying to keep distance, to turn the duel into lines and leverage. Virelia approved. The counselor wove a lattice of telekinesis and forward feints, her saber flickering for the seams of the armor's carapace. Virelia's six eyes tracked micro-movements; her body became subtraction. Sidestep. Pivot. A tendril whipped from her cape, striking the Mirialan's saber-hand like a serpent. The blade wavered; Virelia's left gauntlet talons rapped the emitter and redirected the thrust to empty air.

"Do you hear it?" Virelia asked softly, circling—each step a precise theorem. "The galaxy teaching you the only lesson it respects."

The Mirialan gathered herself and hurled a kinetic wave.

Virelia opened her palm. The claws thrummed. Pressure broke across an unseen geometry and spilled harmlessly along the armor's ridges. Her helm tilted, almost fond. "Closer."

The counselor obliged—resolute, doomed. Virelia cut the angle, a panther's line. Claws scissored; the first rake tore the saber free, the second hooked the Mirialan's belt, dragged her forward into a crushing clinch. Filigreed runes across Virelia's breastplate pulsed as she breathed in the woman's panic. "Corruption," she whispered against the modulator's purr, "is the only serenity that lasts."

She drove the claws home—swift, surgical, an end that honored the attempt.

Silence pooled, broken by distant landers kissing stone. Virelia wiped violet-lit steel against crimson silk and looked to the stair that climbed toward the Temple's heart. The node at her sternum throbbed once, a metronome for the inevitable.

Behind her, raiders spilled into position, masked by fire and falling stars. Before her, another sanctum waited to learn the difference between a sanctuary and a memorial. She prowled forward, sovereign death in motion, inviting the next brave prophet to condemn themselves.