Star Wars Roleplay: Chaos

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Faction Reforged In Shadow - [Queen's Guard/Dark Court]





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Reforged In Shadow

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Beneath the distant hum of mining drills and the slow churn of slag haulers, the Peragus system exhaled heat and static, each venting plume painting red scars across the dark. Somewhere below, the planet burned itself hollow. Somewhere above, men hauled what was left of it toward profit and promise.

The convoy drifted free of orbit on slow ion thrusters — three bulk freighters, their holds sealed and cold, wrapped in the dull silver skin of corporate pragmatism. Beside them, Mandalorian escorts cut through the haze like blades, gold and gunmetal glinting under fractured light. Their formation was tight, precise, but relaxed. It was a simple run. Unremarkable. The kind that never reached the holofeeds.

And yet, something moved in the silence.

At first it came as interference — static threads whispering through comms, a sensor ghost at the convoy's edge, dismissed as a dust echo or flare. Then came the dim flicker of a light against the starline. One. Then another. Then dozens. Shapes unfolded from shadow, hulls wreathed in heat haze and black alloy, transponders blank.


The Queen's Guard had arrived.

No call to surrender. No warning. Just the bloom of light as magnetic torches struck home — the first sparks of the ambush lighting up the void. Freighters lurched under the assault, shields flaring blue, comm channels erupting in shouts as alarms screamed across the decks.

The lead Mandalorian corvette veered to intercept, plasma trails cutting through darkness, but the Guard's ships were already among them — silent, surgical, inevitable. Boarding pods struck like meteors. Locking clamps rang through hulls.

In the heart of the chaos, the command signal pulsed once across the Guard's encrypted channel.


The hunt has begun.

Above the burning world, the Daragon Trail ignited — a storm of fire, shadow, and beskar. And within it, destiny moved quietly between the wrecks, waiting to see who would seize the cargo… and who would be claimed by the dark.


Adelle Bastiel Adelle Bastiel Domina Prime Domina Prime Veyra Kryze Veyra Kryze Caera Kryze Caera Kryze Evangel Evangel Talysa Kast Talysa Kast Carisma Rostu Carisma Rostu (Just tagging the people from the LFG,all members of the Dark Court are automatically invited to join, anyone else just pass a DM to me!)

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"Boarding Party."

Tags - Caera Kryze Caera Kryze [Everyone else as well but I already tagged you]

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Veyra watched the void burn.

The viewport's glow painted a dull amber line across her visor, cutting through the black like a wound that refused to close. Each tremor of the hauler's hull beneath her boots sang of pressure and containment — a rhythm she knew well. The silence before a hunt always carried that same weight: the ache of discipline against the edge of desire.

Her gauntleted fingers flexed once on the mag-cable coiled at her hip. Beyond the glass, the freighters glided lazy and fat through the dark, their escorts unaware that death had already slipped into their orbit. The security detail flew clean formations, efficient, almost admirable. It would make their collapse all the more satisfying to watch.

She forced her pulse to slow, breathing out through the internal filter of her helm. Not yet.

Orders had not been given. The Captain's voice would come — cold, steady, divine in its authority — and only then would she let the edge off the chain. Until then, she waited, a coiled shadow among the Guard. Around her, the dropship was alive with quiet readiness: armor seals locking into place, weapons clicking home, the faint hum of mag-clamps syncing with the hull. Every movement was ritual. Every breath, a prayer to inevitability.

Through the comms came the faint hiss of interference, distant screams over open frequencies. The Mandalorians were starting to realize what had found them.
Veyra smiled behind the mask — not wide, not cruel, but the small, private smile of a predator who knows the terrain better than the prey ever will.

A faint vibration ran through the deck. Boarding pods were being primed. The scent of ozone and lubricant filled the cabin. Someone muttered a blessing; another checked a blade's charge level.
Veyra said nothing.

Her gaze drifted once more to the void, to the glittering silhouettes that marked the enemy line. So many targets. So much iron to claim.

She rolled her shoulders, felt the weight of her rifle settle into her arms, and let the anticipation coil tighter in her chest.


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Torchlight from the emergency strips painted long, violet lines across black beskar — her beskar — each reflection carving the edges of her armor into something almost holy. Caera Kryze stood alone beside the mag-sealed bulkhead, the low hum of the drop engines thrumming through her boots. The sound was steady, constant. Predictable.

She preferred it that way.

Her hands moved with ritual precision. The process checking seals, calibrating her rifle, adjusting the servo-tension in her gauntlets was almost second nature. Every action was part of a system; every system, a promise. The others in the bay worked in small knots, whispering prayers to gods they didn't believe in, reciting names of those they'd lost. Caera recited nothing. She didn't pray.

She had work to do.

Her visor displayed the convoy schematic — three freighters, two escorts, one command corvette. The Queen's Guard had already cracked the outer perimeter. Boarding coordinates flashed in red. The first wave would make contact within minutes. She traced the attack vectors once more, eyes narrowing. Efficient. Clean. Almost beautiful.

Then her gaze paused on a smaller, pulsing signature inside the transport. A Mandalorian transponder, just as the reports said.

Veyra Kryze.

Caera's throat tightened beneath the helmet, though her voice when she spoke was perfectly calm. "Visual confirmation pending." She muted herself before anyone could answer. The silence felt heavier now.

It had been years. She'd followed fragments and false trails — wrecked outposts, empty helmets, the kind of rumors that died before you reached the next system. But the signal here was clean. It was her.

For a moment, the disciplined machine faltered. She remembered the smallness of her sister's hands, the stubborn tilt of her jaw, the sound of laughter in a world that had since burned to ash. Then the image dissolved, replaced by the cold clarity of the present.

Caera drew her rifle, mag-sealed it to her arm, and stepped toward the waiting breach.

If the galaxy demanded blood for reunion, so be it.

Tag - Veyra Kryze Veyra Kryze Talysa Kast Talysa Kast Adelle Bastiel Adelle Bastiel Domina Prime Domina Prime Evangel Evangel Carisma Rostu Carisma Rostu
 
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Location: Caera Kryze’s Boarding Craft, High Orbit of Peragus II - Peragus System
Objective:

  • Board the freighter.
Tag: Veyra Kryze Veyra Kryze Caera Kryze Caera Kryze
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A turquoise luminescence ignited beneath a sleek fringe of fuchsia hair. Rowena-022 opened her photoreceptors as she rose from her kneeling posture, the nearby torchlight seeming to drown in the light-absorbing void of her bodysuit. The gynoid took in her surroundings then, assessing the others assembled in the bay. She gave a small, faint smile upon seeing those who prayed. Perhaps they did not pray to the Dark Queen (not yet, at least), but no matter their intentions, the fact that they had chosen to come for this mission proved their devotion to Her.

Still, their devotion needed to be shown the correct path. Thus, Rowena-022 sank to her knees once more, this time placing herself directly in the midst of the gathered Queen’s Guard, mercenaries, and soldiers. Her voice cut through the ambience as a synthesized melody, carrying equal parts devotion and fervent zeal.


"My body is a vessel for Your wrath.
My mind is a fortress for Your secrets.
My soul is an offering for Your cause.
I am nothing. You are all. Through me, You strike."


Perplexed and wary glances were immediately cast in her direction, but the gynoid was lost in rapture. She rose again after finishing, a wide, fervent smile illuminating her features with unsettling serenity.

“For the Queen, for the Court, for the Shadow!” Rowena-022 cried aloud, a sudden, unrestrained surge of piety rising within her behavioral matrices. A gruff mercenary snorted. A soldier cringed. A heavy gunner frowned. Nevertheless, none moved to stop her as she made her way towards the mag-sealed bulkhead and the waiting breach. There, her gaze fell upon Caera Kryze Caera Kryze , the woman’s black and violet-toned beskar sending a thrill of religious ecstasy cascading through her circuits.

Truly the colors of devotion!

“Sister,” Rowena-022 addressed her, a cool, graceful hand touching her pauldron. “Your devotion to our Queen is woven into the very metal you wear. Know that She sees you, as She sees us all. But for you, She holds special blessings in readiness.” She began. “I ask that you cast aside all hesitation. In Her name, be relentless against the coming foes. Be the storm that breaks them, and She will anoint you with victory!”


 
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“And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon‘s that is dreaming. — Edgar Allan Poe

Gear- Basic Rifle, Basic Dual Pistols, Armor
Tags - Open
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The dark visor, proudly polished to a fine gleam that was mirror like, reflecting one's own detailed reflection back in a disturbing, nervous-like staring contest, hid amber eyes tainted with cold and malice. Those eyes, calculating and observing, looked out into the starry darkness of space. Fixated on the floating object.

All around the outside of the viewport where he stood, those eyes, in architect form, caught fleeting glimpses through his peripheral vision of hungry, salivating wolves, striking at their prey in pack formations; could not distract him from the prize ahead. The hunt had begun. A sense of eagerness crept over him, poking and prodding, encouraging him to act impulsively. But that strong, willed-mind that served him so faithfully would not allow for the sour taste of hastiness to damper his palate.


His time was drawing close. Almost in reach.

Overhead lights flickered from a bright, illuminated light of pure white to an angry solid red; coupled by the groans of yells and shuffling of the feet: along with that one perfect, dark beautiful sung song of two ships joining harmoniously together further added to the abrupt change of the atmospheric mood. It was time. Up ahead, the plasma torches went to work, cutting and chewing into the durasteel doors, hurling sparks and tiny pieces of heated metal discriminately about.

In near tandem, both doors lurched forward, the forthcoming heavy crashing thud fell non-existent when they drunkingly kissed the floor; drowned out by the barrage of exchanging blaster fire between invaders and the small hopeless hand of defenders. Pushing forward, the thought of retreat inexcusable, the first and second wave broke through; securing the slightly above medium-sized cargo hold from which they can prep for operations.

Clad in all-black beskar'gam, a symbol to the man's damned soul who wears it, the Queen's Guardsmen entered through the ruined doors, stepping deeply into a puddle of silence and violence's aftermath. The devil had arrived.


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"Stand to!"

The deep beat of the Captain's boots across the deck accompanied the shout for those assembled to stop what they were doing and pay attention. "Our devotion to the Dark lady gives us strength. By Her command shall we bring victory. But do not think less of the enemy we meet today. They are not weak. They are not fools. Ignorant as they are to Her Grace, they are committed to their ignorance as we are to Her. Reveal the truth to them, and see Her Will done," Evangel called out to the assembled Queen's Guard.

Her helm had slowly swept those present in search of any that showed signs of wavering. Fear was no sin. Succumbing to fear was a sin. Doubt in Darth Virelia, or to the purpose of her Guard being there was a sin. Their Captain would listen to strategies and tactics proposed to see their mission done, but if any of them questioned the Dark Lady herself they would find themselves swiftly corrected.

"Take your positions. Prepare to board!"

They would claim the cargo for their own, and should any Mandalorian be open to bowing before their Mistress they would be taken alive if possible -- regardless of interest or consent. Ignorance could be bled out of a person in time.

In short order, their boarding vessels would latch upon the hull of the freighters while other vessels sought to hold the attention of the escort vessels. That was when the word was given to commence the operation. The Queen's Guard Captain acknowledged the command by broadcasting, "Breach." Torches and pylons spread open to tear holes in the vessels for unannounced guests to step inside the vessels.

The Captain was one of the first to set foot inside enemy territory with a blaster in hand. Silent hand gestures directed them to form teams and split up to secure the area. From here they would move deeper into the vessel to take the cargo.

As much as she had the urge to find and butcher any living creature on the ship, their Captain did not have the honor of being so free. Discipline brought honor to Virelia, and so she suffered in silence overseeing the boarding parties. Their reports of defenses or contact with the enemy would be crucial to making timely adjustments to their plan -- flanking them, securing a means of taking the cargo, and even preventing reinforcements boarding the ship behind them. They were fighting their own, after all.

Location: Freighter, Breach Landing


 




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Reforged In Shadow


Objective: Obsond with the convoy's cargo
Location: Near Paragus
Tags: Veyra Kryze Veyra Kryze | Caera Kryze Caera Kryze | Rowena-022 Rowena-022 | Ajalurk-Chaidth Kryze Ajalurk-Chaidth Kryze | Evangel Evangel




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Talysa Kast stood still, tall and ready to leap into action. She was a member of the Dark Court's Queensguard, but for this mission she did not wear matching armor to the Kryse guardswomen. Though she proudly wore parade armor when assigned body detail to the Dark Queen, her personal armor was a source of great pride and was worn whenever Talysa was not in the presence of the Queen.

As she waited for entry to the target to be secured, Talysa looked around at the gathered warriors. Battle was coming and each handled that in their own way. Talysa tried not to judge an individual for whatever rituals were taking place. Combat brought out many superstitions. Whatever her fellow combatants needed to do to get in the right frame of mind was their business and Talysa wouldn't stop them feeling a hundred percent ready for battle due to the fact she didn't understand the superstition.

When the little girl took to the center of the bay and made an impassioned if short worship to the Queen, Talysa was happy that her helmet hid the roll of her eyes. She muttered something about a "tiny zealot", in Atoan under her breath. It was a language she was quite sure no one in the bay other than her knew, but its use was habit not a desire to hide her thoughts. Zealots were useful in battle. And the Queen had many. Talysa was thankful when the prayer was done the zealot picked out one of the Kryse to share her continued preaching with.

Talysa's only ritual was a final weapons and systems check. She checked that both blasters had full charges, slid each of her blades from their scabbards to be sure they would not be stuck should she need them in battle, and a systems check on her armor. When she was sure all was well, the Captain of the Queensguard arrived. She was a bit on the devout side for Talysa, or maybe she stepped up her rhetoric for the others onboard.

The call to breach came and all thoughts of the pre-combat rituals emptied from Talysa's mind.
"Akior dratol!"Talysa called out in Mando'a. With her rifle gripped and ready to dispatch any opposition Talysa stepped forth behind the Captain and continued on towards their destined prize in the cargohold.

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"Boarding Party."

Tags - Caera Kryze Caera Kryze Evangel Evangel Rowena-022 Rowena-022 Talysa Kast Talysa Kast Ajalurk-Chaidth Kryze Ajalurk-Chaidth Kryze

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Veyra felt it — the shift.

That slow, perfect crack in the silence where restraint began to bleed into purpose.

The hum of the drop engines settled into her bones, the rhythm she'd been holding herself against for what felt like hours. Around her, the bay pulsed with life — zealous, reverent life — but all she could hear was the quiet inside her helm. The breath before violence. The calm before she was allowed to move.


Rowena's mechanical voice still echoed through the chamber, melodic and fervent, her prayer spilling over into the silence like a sermon no one had asked for. "My body is a vessel…"

Veyra's lips curled into something that wasn't quite a smile. The droid's worship was endearing — perfect, perhaps — but not wrong. The Queen deserved fear, not just faith. And Veyra? She was happy to deliver both. She would love to 'test' the devotion of this model sometime.

She leaned against the bulkhead, arms folded, amber eyes behind her visor tracking the flicker of violet light that danced along
Caera's armor. Her sister. Her mirror. Her ghost.

Veyra's fingers flexed against her bicep, as though the mere thought of her name was enough to make her muscles itch. She could almost taste the memory — the dirt, the smoke, the half-snarled promise of never again.

And now here she was. The Queen's Guard. The faithful hounds of a new god. And across the breach, the same blood ran in the veins of those she'd left to die.

Her tongue brushed the back of her teeth as
Evangel's voice filled the bay.

That voice. Calm, commanding, sanctified. The Captain spoke of discipline, of Her Grace, of purpose. Of truth.
Veyra bowed her head slightly — out of respect, not devotion. Evangel's strength was unquestionable, her resolve absolute. But it was the way she said Her name that made the heat coil low in Veyra's gut. It was worship given shape, violence made holy.

When the Captain barked "
Take your positions!" the restraint Veyra had been holding finally began to tremble. She pushed off the wall in one smooth motion, the click of her boots against the deck sharp in the confined air.

The others surged forward — zealots, soldiers, the faithful, all trying to outpace their own fear.
Veyra moved slower. Deliberate. Her armor was shun with the ornamentation, the faint etch of a violet sigil across her chestplate — the mark of her Queen. Her hand drifted down the length of her rifle, then to the hilt of her beskad. The weapon thrummed faintly under her touch, as if eager. As if it knew what came next.

Soon.

The hull shuddered as the clamps locked. The sound of plasma torches biting into durasteel was a hymn all its own — the scream of metal under will. She could feel the pressure rising in her throat, the animal need to laugh, to scream, to rend and tear and make the enemy understand what it meant to stand against the Court.

But she did not move. Not yet.

Instead, she stood beside the breach, letting the heat of the cutting torches spill over her armor, every hiss and spark feeding that gnawing edge inside her. She imagined what waited on the other side — the confusion, the panic, the faces turning toward the sound of their deaths.

She whispered softly into the comms, voice like smoke curling through the line:
"
Let them pray while they can."

Then, as the final cut gave way and the doors began to buckle, she steadied herself — one hand on the haft of her blade, the other flexing, slow and eager.

Behind her visor,
Veyra smiled.

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Metal screamed as plasma tore through the freighter's hull, and violet light burst into the dark like a living wound. Caera Kryze stood at the edge of the breach, her silhouette framed by the inferno. The heat painted the edges of her armor in molten gold, a vindication of fiery belief.

Rowena's zealot-voice still lingered a distorted hymn to the Queen, all synthetic fervor and righteous poetry. Once, Caera would have silenced her. Now, she only listened. Every word was clean, unwavering, certain. Certainty was a rare and beautiful thing in a galaxy of ghosts and guesswork. The faithful had their use, she thought. They gave shape to the silence. They filled the void that others could not bear.

Her fingers flexed once on the rifle's grip. "For the Queen," she murmured — not as worship, but as execution order.

Then came the voice.

Crackling through static, low and familiar. "Let them pray while they can."

Veyra.

The sound slid through her like a blade. For a fraction of a second, all the years collapsed into a single, blinding instant: the training grounds, the laughter, the screaming ruin of fire and ash. And then, nothing. The memory dissolved like smoke.

Emotion was a distraction. Emotion was decay.

"Confirmed," she whispered to herself, tone flattening back to ice.

The last of the breach gave way with a thunderclap. Air roared into vacuum, dragging debris, prayers, and screams into the void. Caera moved first.

Her boots met the scorched durasteel with silent precision as she entered the corridor beyond. Mandalorians turned in confusion. Her rifle spat light. One, two, three clean bursts. The first fell before he saw her; the second's visor shattered mid-shout; the third managed half a curse before his chest folded inward under the impact.

The hallway filled with smoke and silence.

Caera pivoted, eyes scanning the schematic overlay in her HUD. The signature, Veyra's signature — was moving toward the forward hold. A direct path. No avoidance. No fear. Typical.

"Veyra," she breathed, the name cold against her teeth. "Always the flame."

A grenade arced through the haze, she caught it mid-air with a flick of her wrist, redirected the throw, and sent it spinning back through a side door. The explosion painted the bulkhead in orange and gore. The concussive wave made sure she felt the violence of her actions.

And as she advanced, violet light dancing along her armor's edge, the faintest whisper escaped her lips for the ghost on the other end of the channel:

"Come, little sister."

Tag - Veyra Kryze Veyra Kryze Rowena-022 Rowena-022 Ajalurk-Chaidth Kryze Ajalurk-Chaidth Kryze Evangel Evangel Talysa Kast Talysa Kast
 

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