First Reply Retribution Comes in Many Forms....And Faces

[Vexorion]

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Edmund Kemper - SKYND

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Location: Felucia
Objective: Retribution
Tag: Open, Obviously


The jungles of Felucia, once a riot of bioluminescent spores and cathedral-like fungi, now throbbed with a different kind of life, cruel, regimented, and obscene. The Trandoshans had carved a slave camp into the living flesh of the planet, iron pylons driven deep into phosphorescent soil, cages lashed together with chains that glistened like wet sinew. Within those pens huddled a menagerie of stolen lives: broken humanoids, horned and scaled beings, and the Felacatians most of all; their fur dulled by filth, their luminous eyes dimmed by hunger and despair.

Shock-collars pulsed faintly at their throats, each glow a reminder that even their pain belonged to someone else. The air rang with hisses of Trandoshan overseers and the low, animal sobs of those who had learned that screaming only earned punishment.

The Trandoshans stalked the walkways above the pens with ritualistic cruelty, their reptilian grins baring teeth honed by both hunt and tradition. To them, slavery was not commerce alone but sacrament; a sacred extension of their ancient doctrine of the hunt, where the strong proved themselves by breaking the weak. They tallied suffering like trophies, boasting of rare species captured and spirits crushed, while Felucia itself seemed to recoil, its spores dimming as though the world wished not to witness such blasphemy.

The Felacatians suffered most keenly, their natural grace twisted into spectacle, forced to fight, labor, or kneel for the amusement of scaled masters who delighted in seeing beauty reduced to obedience.

It was this defilement that drew Vexorion across the stars, a summons carried not by signal or rumor, but by shared blood and shared pain. He came not as a liberator cloaked in mercy, but as a reckoning shaped like a shadow. To see his fellow cat people caged, their dignity stripped and sold, ignited something ancient and merciless within him. Slavery, to Vexorion, was not merely a crime, it was a challenge, a declaration that power belonged to the cruel.

He intended to answer it in a language the Trandoshans understood all too well, freeing the Felacatians not quietly, but violently, and leaving behind a message etched into flesh and fire: some chains, once forged, summon not obedience; but extinction.

Vexorion descended the ramp of The Apparition beneath Felucia's shuddering canopy, the glow of alien spores washing over him like funereal candlelight, and in that moment, he shed the mantle of Sith as one might discard a shroud. He walked not as an instrument of doctrine or empire, but as a son shaped by inherited wounds, as a father bearing the unspoken promise that his child would never know a cage again. The Force gathered around him in solemn silence, not raging, but attentive, as if justice itself had taken a breath.

Each step carried the weight of ancestry and oath, and in his eyes burned a cold, unwavering resolve: those who dared name his people property would learn that slavery was not merely outlawed by his hand; it was answered by it, with finality befitting the dead.

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Spoiler: Loadout

Weapons

• Whisperer {Lightsaber}
• Lightsaber Daggers

Ship

• The Apparition

 

[T'zarna Khab]

Location: Occupied Felucia
Objective: Reconnaissance
Tags: Vexorion

Inquisitorial operations never ceased, The Empire's reach was always expanding into new territory. Even in the midst of galactic conflict, the spies of The Imperial Confederation were hard at work worming their way into the planet of Felucia. Currently, it was under the control of The Mandalorian Empire, making it a powerful asset to leverage if the inquisition could set up roots on the planet. They had sent one of their more powerful inquisitors to the planet to oversee operations.

Observation droids had been making the rounds across Felucia, buzzing around the towering fungi that the world was famous for. One such droid was a small orb with three separate cameras in a central "eye" on it's center. This droid rocketed through the brush towards a small camp deep in the jungle.

Sitting in this camp was a hooded figure, who without looking held up a dull golden hand. Once the droid came to rest, T'zarna pressed a button on top of the droid, beginning a holoprojection.

A mapping of the slaver camp showed itself in midair, every major detail was shown in low blue light. T'zarna stood, letting the droid return to its patrols. The slavers would need to be dealt with, they were a threat to Imperial operations. At worst, they would clash with the troopers on the planet, at worse they would draw attention from The Mandalorians.

Perhaps the inquisitor should have called in backup, but it would have taken precious time to mobilize a kill team. No, she was going to destroy these slavers herself. It was the only way to insure that the operation was swift and decisive.

With her lightsaber as her only weapon, she walked off into the jungle, following behind the small red orb. T'zarna had no home planet, no true environment she could take comfort in. However, something about the glowing spores and towering fauna of Felucia felt comfortable for the arthropod. Perhaps some part of her DNA came from this place, or a place not too different from it.

The planet was primal, alive, practically singing with the force. It was a strange sensation to be so overwhelmed with vital energies. Every blade of grass and chirping bird moved as one in this place. As alien as the planet was, one could find some beauty in it. A beauty now trounced on by slaving scum...

 

[Vexorion]

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Edmund Kemper - SKYND

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Location: Felucia
Objective: Retribution
Tag: T'zarna Khab


Vexorion moved through the jungle as though it recoiled from him, the fronds whispering secrets to his passing and the damp ground sighing beneath his boots. The canopy above strangled what little light dared intrude, casting the world in a perpetual dusk where shapes seemed to watch from just beyond certainty. When the trees finally thinned, a village revealed itself; not alive, not dead, but abandoned to a lingering agony.

Huts lay split and blackened, their timbers clawed apart as if the settlement itself had tried to tear free from its fate. Smoke no longer rose, yet the air still tasted of ash and fear, a bitterness that clung to the tongue.

He stepped into the ruin with the patience of a predator reading the final movements of prey. The ground told its story readily; deep gouges where heels had dug in, frantic arcs of footprints spiraling in no order, some small, some heavy, all moving nowhere and everywhere at once. Scrambling prints overlapped and doubled back, a dance of panic impressed forever into the dirt.

Vexorion knelt, fingers hovering just above the soil, feeling the echo of terror that still throbbed there. Doors hung open, thresholds crossed but never returned from, and the silence screamed louder than any alarm.

The dead lay where resistance had finally failed. Elderly men, their bodies broken not by battle but by cruelty, stared sightlessly into the choking green gloom. Some bore the subtle markings of Felacatians, others the unmistakable frailty of human age, united in death by the same unmerciful hand.

There were no weapons near them, only the implication of chains, the absence of the young, male and female alike, and the careful, methodical violence that spared no one deemed useless. Vexorion straightened slowly, the truth settling over him like a death shroud. Slavers had been here. And somewhere beyond the jungle's breathing walls, they were still moving.

Vexorion did not leave the dead to the mercy of rot and scavenger beak. With deliberate care, he gathered the broken elders from where they had fallen, lifting each ruined form as though weight were a penance he willingly bore. He stacked them upon a pyre of splintered beams and torn doors, the last remains of homes that would never again hear laughter. When the flame took, it did not roar; it wept.

Firelight crawled over still faces and ancient scars, sending oily smoke into the jungle canopy like a prayer that knew it would go unanswered. This was no rite taught or learned, only a small defiance against the cruelty that had denied these souls dignity in life.

When the fire had done its grim work, he turned away without ceremony. At the edge of the camp, the soil bore other wounds; a river of footprints pressed deep into the mud, mingled with the brutal, parallel scars of tracked-wheeled vehicles that had ground the jungle floor flat beneath their passing. The trail cut back into the jungle like an open vein, leaves snapped, vines torn aside, the path of violence made unmistakably clear. Vexorion followed it, each step measured, each breath steady, disappearing once more beneath the suffocating green.

The jungle closed behind him, swallowing the smoke, the ashes, and the silence; yet the trail remained, and with it, the promise of what was to come.

Spoiler: Loadout

Weapons

• Whisperer {Lightsaber}
• Lightsaber Daggers

Ship

• The Apparition

 

[T'zarna Khab]

Location: Occupied Felucia
Objective: Reconnaissance
Tags: Vexorion

Even as far away as T'zarna was from the camp, she could smell the distinct odor of death in the air. It was a bit poetic, a land teeming with life marred by death and fire. Such prosaic moments were lost on T'zarna, whose mind was focused solely on the slaver camp ahead. Her steps were quick and measured, bounding over the soft ground of the jungle floor. By now her hood was down, her face was going to be the last thing these trandoshans would see...

Tracks of a hulking armored vehicle could be heard in the distance. In seconds it crushed flat the jungle underneath itself, mangling roots and vines that took ages to grow. T'zarna caught sight of the metal beast, it was of an older make, equipped with a rotary blaster and a small turreted gun. Old or not, it was armed well enough to be a problem.

If she could get into the camp without alerting the patrol, then all the better. For now she'd stick to the canopy, where her glossy golden exoskeleton wouldn't be as noticeable. She would leap from branch to branch, attempting to make as little noise as possible.

It wasn't long before the enemy hive came into view. It was quaint, built on the ruins of a small hamlet. Trandoshan hospitality was just as horrific as one might imagine. When one couldn't defend themselves, punishment was all one could expect. T'zarna had conflicting feelings about the treatment of the slaves. On the one hand, she believed strongly that strength was important to maintaining one's hive, and that the weak shouldn't challenge the strong. However, slavery to this degree of cruelty was wasteful and inefficient, it was cruelty for it's own sake. It served nothing but to sate the reptilians' bloodthirst.

She would scowl as the patrol went by, and her eyes would turn to the cages before her. Livestock was even treated with such disrespect, it proved how primitive these creatures were, how undeserving they were to wield true power. It wouldn't matter, soon enough they wouldn't be wielding any such power much longer!

Something felt off in the air...

A presence, but a weak one. Someone might be masking their presence using The Force, or simply be distant enough that T'zarna couldn't feel them. Whatever it was, it was no lizard! The Inquisitor quickly turned her head, scanning with an inhuman gaze. Nothing, at least not yet, just myriad reflections of the same horrors in her compound eyes. Such carnage couldn't end soon enough, if for no other reason than to remove the smell.