Private Rhen Var Rampage (Thorus Valerian)

[Alessandra Sylaar]

The driving snow whited out the view of anything past ten feet or so; even the hull of her First Order shuttle was barely visible despite being only fifty feet away, already building up a drift of snow against the hull. Only the lingering heat of the engines kept melting it away, forming a glossy berm between it and the worst of the weather.

Alessandra stood in the lee of the ship, hands clasped behind her back, checking for the tenth time in as many minutes the status of the battery on her suit. Even with the internal heaters it was still uncomfortable; they were operating within expected parameters, giving her easily eight hours of operating time between the two power cells she carried for it. She had wanted to show initiative by arriving earlier than her assigned partner for this mission. It was being kept fairly low-key; it wasn't often that one of the Order's own went rogue, much less in such a sudden and spectacular fashion.

Bentin Doroos had always been a little more erratic than many of their colleagues in the Knights, more prone to anger or hasty action. For him to decide, however, to simply dispatch the two dozen men and women whom he had been expected to protect, to cut them down without mercy or cause, was unforgivable. Not least of which because this mission had been intended to be low-profile. The High Republic still had a presence on-planet, though it was hoped they were unaware of the ancient Clone War-era ruins which had been buried beneath ice and snow. A glacial collapse had rendered the facility inaccessible, simultaneously sealing it away and preserving it from the plundering that usually accompanied conquest. More recently, an observation post reported a change in status: the glacier itself had sheared in half from the buildup of snow, and magnetometry detected the presence of metallic structures beneath. An opportunity.

In theory, this had been a planetside droid factory, the subzero conditions proving ideal for the delicate art of cultivating the control chips for higher-order droids. While the technology itself was now far out of date, the manufacturing capabilities could easily be adapted to producing war-droids to supplement the Order's forces. This, combined with the fact that the facility was long thought lost would keep it out of the Republic's eye. They would have no idea that such advanced droids were being created right under their noses...

Of course, none of this would matter if Bentin's little tantrum drew the Republic's attention. It was bad enough that he had already slain the team sent in with him, and now refused to answer communications, but the chance of some kind of betrayal - or psychotic break - was too likely to expose their plans, and, worse yet, put the Order's plans at risk of being detected.


Which is why Alessandra stood upon this unpleasant ball of ice, sheltering behind the bulk of her transport, awaiting someone far higher in rank and standing than she. Her job was to provide protection, and his job was to determine what could still be salvaged. It seemed unusual for only two such individuals to be tasked with such a mission; suspiciously so, keeping her on edge as she pondered why that might be. The possibility of an old factory possessing something this vital seemed rather slim. What was worth tasking two powerful fighters to keep a secret?

But it wasn't her job to ask. It was her job to ensure the success of the mission, and oppose chaos in all its forms.

Even if it took the form of a fellow Knight of Ren, someone she would have said she knew well.

Thorus Valerian

 

[Thorus Valerian]

Alessandra Sylaar​

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬
Outer Rim Territories | Rhen Var | Droid Factory
▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

Valerian stepped out of his shuttle and immediately the freezing gale starting tearing at his clothing. His armor was not designed for this, so he had opted for an additional great coat and heavy surcoat, looking now more than ever than one of the Royal Guard's of old. An image that he found himself liking quite a bit. There was something profoundly reassuring about their legacy.

He had been sent here on orders from the Fist. The Lord Imperator wished to begin cooperation with the forces of the First Order and a joint mission was a perfect opportunity to begin such. The Praetorian walked down the ramp, his hand resting on the pommel of his electro-longsword, the helmet firmly sealed to keep out the cold. Just from the temperature reader on his HUD he shivered.

So the red-black clad figure approached the female waiting already.

"I apologise if I have left you waiting, this planet is truly inhospitable." He had to almost scream across the snow and wind pushing his words away. "My name is Thorus Valerian, General of the Shattered Legions. I am here to aid you in your mission." There was confidence and genuine neutrality in his voice.

He kept clenching his fists to keep them warm. He overall tensed and relaxed his muscles to keep them warm - not that it was visible beyond his layers of clothing, but he was working actively even while just standing.

"In favor of avoiding frostbite, I want to propose to get into the factory as soon as possible."

 

[Alessandra Sylaar]

"Thank you for your prompt arrival." There was nothing but respect in her tone as her helmet comms synched to his own, giving them a blessedly quiet connection despite the storm raging around them. She waved him forward into the wind-shadow of her shuttle, where the biting wind was reduced to merely razored caress.

"Ordinarily, we would handle our own... Issues," she said, delicately, though from the set of her shoulders it pained her to admit, "But we are concerned there may be complications at play in this situation. Bentin... Was formerly a very reliable member of the Knights. His decision to turn is... Unusual, and concerning. He favors aggressive fighting styles, especially Ataru. Uses a single blade and open hand, generally speaking." Her tone remained focused, clinical, despite the way her shoulders drew inward. This was someone she had known well, and now she was describing them like a corpse on a slab.

Respect entered her tone, "I had not expected them to send someone of your seniority, General Valerian. I am honored by your support in this endeavor." She clasped a fist to her chest in salute, the duraplas striking with a sound just audible over the wind. She turned and pointed to what looked like a hill of snow much like any other. The only defining feature separating it from its rime-encrusted peers was the way snow eddied around the downwind side of it, the snowflakes seemingly sucked downward, following some wind current. She turned and began trudging toward it, forceful steps carrying her behind knee-deep drifts. She didn't seem deeply accustomed to such conditions, and while her armor had the built-in heater, out here in the exposed blow, it wasn't enough to entirely ward off the chill. She found herself glancing back, admiring his greatcoat, perhaps a little enviously. While her armor was well-suited to agile maneuvers, it was only just adequate against the snowstorm's gleeful razors.

"We have three or four hours before the snowstorm lets up. We can't risk moving the ships about without storm cover, so we'll have to be wrapped up by then, or else settle in to wait until the next storm to leave... Sixteen hours or so, according to the probe droids." She kept her head down as she pressed on toward the ridge, taking an arcing path that brought them almost parallel to it before turning sharply inward toward the lee side of it, revealing glacial ice riddled with cracks where it had split. Arm-length pitons were just visible, illuminated with faint red lights and with thick ropes strung between them, demarcating a path downward. Sharply downward.

She paused at the top of the revealed chasm, peering down at the long set of slowly blinking red lights that traced a (relatively) safe and stable path winding down to the stony bones of the ridgeline. The remains of an old signal antenna jutted out from the snow at a nearly sixty degree slant, arching over the walkway, the tips vanishing into the glacier on the other side. It was clear whatever event had submerged this place in ice was sudden and catastrophic, even nearly a thousand years after it had happened.

The doors were just visible at the bottom of the slope, with a cleared space for equipment around them, and a small, currently inert generator that had been jerry-rigged to the doors to provide actuation.

Several feet away, stacked against the wall of the gorge, were dozens of bodies frozen in various states of repose. Judging by their mummified condition and archaic garb, these must've been those interred in the facility's collapse, pulled out and stacked like cordwood, given only a bare minimum of respect. No effort was made to differentiate them, security and scientists and mechanics all piled together.

There was only a single fresher body, clad in the uniform of the First Order Corps of Engineers. He had been cut roughly in half, most of his body already buried beneath the thin trickle of snow that had settled on the ledge by the factory doors. The lack of blood seemed to indicate a lightsaber had been used.

She paused at the bottom of the ramp, head swivelling side to side as she took in their surroundings, tense. Her gaze seemed to linger for a long time on the pile of ancient bodies before returning to their careful sweep. "The power cell is missing," she stated softly, almost reverential in the presence of the dead. "We'll need to use something else to open the doors... But we can't cut them if we want them to close again."

Thorus Valerian

 

[Thorus Valerian]

Alessandra Sylaar​

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬
Outer Rim Territories | Rhen Var | Droid Factory
▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

Valerian joined her in the relative comfort of the wind-shadow. A strong word for a place that killed mercilessly when exposed for too long, hence why he kept moving his muscles, providing a narrow edge over the terrible cold.

She was straight to the point and she seemed quite genuinely honest about, he liked that. Usually the Force users of the Imperials were challenging to talk to, dangerous even and their suspicion was somewhere between justified paranoia and manic purges, yet she seemed more at ease in general. Yet the topic quickly brought forth discomfort. A common reaction if one of the own is moving out of line in a dramatic way. A very relatable one.

He did not presume to fully understand the intricate details of ligthsaber combat, but her confidence in her knowledge was an asset and he did not intend to undermine it, therefore he nodded, understandingly and reassuringly.

The Praetorian offered a gentle and friendly chuckle. "Seniority only matters when there are institutions, armies and realms at play. Our Empires lay shattered and we have to look after our own."

Yet they were here for a mission and she led them towards it, he followed, his arms crossed to reduce the wind resistance and surface, the greatcoat and cape were flowing in the harsh gale. Valerian followed her to the edge of the slope and stared down. The magnification of his helmet was enough to give an idea, he could not bother to get the macrobinoculars from his shuttle now.

"Usually I prevent people from following and coming in," Came absent mindedly with some slight amusement. "To force my forward is a rare occasion, outside of military applications that is." He thought about the problem.

"If the power cell outside is missing and he went inside, he either closed the door by force which might have broken its mechanisms or the door is connected to an internal power supply as well and we can try to slice or short it."

 

[Alessandra Sylaar]

"I'm not much of a slicer," she admitted with a backward glance, moving cautiously to stand before the doors. "My father ensured I was well-educated in many things, but that is not among them." Athessahl Sylaar, her father, was one of the Sovereign Hand, and a prominent figure amongst the First Order... unbeknownst to the High Republic, among whose ranks he claimed to stand.

Statecraft. Politics. History. Hyperspace navigation. These were things she knew well, knew intimately. She knew them as well as she knew her own purpose.

She was her father's blade. Some day, she would be entrusted to make decisions that would change the face of the galaxy. Until then, until their time came, she had another purpose. One cleaner, sharper. Easier. She knew the burdens her father carried, sustaining the weight of their dual lives.

It was times like this she could simply be, to focus utterly on something to the exclusion of all else. It was why she was an Adept of Makashi, a duelist.

Her hand drifted to the archaic, resplendent Lightfoil that hung at her hip, tracing her fingers along the familiar shape of its guard. The gloves were too thick for her to feel the small ridges and ornamentations, but her mind knew it well enough to fill in the feeling anyway.

"We can either slice it, if you're proficient, or else try to find another power cell for the generator... We can cut through the door," she tapped her Lightfoil, "But I'd rather not break anything else if we don't have to. Besides, if we get stuck inside for a while it'd be best not to be bleeding heat the whole time." Her hand drifted back a short ways and tapped the spare battery at her hip. "If we get stuck inside, these batteries will only last me about four hours apiece. At that point I'll take any shelter I can."

"Have you fought against a Jedi before?" Her question was curious, but politely so.

She started checking the door to see if it had sustained any damage. Aside from clumps of ice sticking where it was clear the open doors had gathered thin layers of icemelt, they seemed relatively intact, and in surprisingly good shape given their length of internment.

Thorus Valerian

 

[Thorus Valerian]

Alessandra Sylaar​

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬
Outer Rim Territories | Rhen Var | Droid Factory
▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

This version keeps the focus on the immediate problem, uses denser paragraphs, and lets characterization emerge through action rather than exposition.

Valerian glanced briefly towards her as she mentioned Jedi. The question seemed almost out of place amidst the frozen dead, the storm and the sealed facility before them. "Once," he replied. "That was enough." There was no elaboration beyond that. The memory itself was not particularly pleasant and, more importantly, there were more immediate concerns than old battlefields and old enemies.

His attention returned to the blast door. The engineer lay dead. The power cell was gone. The mechanisms appeared intact. Whatever Bentin had done, he had not simply forced his way through. The Praetorian crouched beside the maintenance panel and began clearing away the accumulated ice with the tip of his combat dagger. Frost and frozen debris scattered onto the stone beneath as sections of the housing gradually emerged from beneath centuries of neglect and several hours of exposure to the storm.

"I'm no slicer either," he admitted while examining the exposed components. "Usually I solve technical issues by assigning them to someone more qualified."

The corner of his mouth twitched beneath the helmet before he leaned closer. Most of the circuitry was incomprehensible to him beyond the most basic principles. Yet military vehicles, field fortifications and security systems all ultimately shared one trait. They relied on power. And power had a tendency to become very cooperative when abused correctly.

A gloved finger traced along a bundle of cables leading deeper into the mechanism. He followed them until he found what appeared to be an emergency access relay. The housing had been marked in faded Aurebesh, most of the lettering barely legible beneath age and corrosion.

"There."

Valerian tapped the casing with the dagger.

"If the primary cell is gone then this relay should be dead as well. But if there's still an internal reserve supply feeding the door mechanisms..." He paused, studying the arrangement for another moment. "Then a direct short should force the system into an emergency cycle."

He reached towards his belt and removed a compact utility tool, unfolding it before wedging the conductive tip between two exposed contacts. For a second nothing happened. Then sparks erupted from the panel. A sharp crack echoed through the narrow gorge and several warning indicators inside the housing flickered weakly to life before dying again.

The ancient blast door responded immediately.

A deep metallic groan reverberated through the glacier as dormant machinery shuddered awake somewhere beneath the facility. Ice cracked away from the frame. Frost cascaded from the overhead housing in thick sheets. Slowly, painfully, the enormous doors began to separate.

Valerian stepped back, one hand already resting on the grip of his blaster.

"The downside," he observed while watching the widening gap, "is that I have absolutely no idea how much of that system I just destroyed."

The opening widened further. Beyond it waited only darkness and the stale air of a facility that had spent centuries entombed beneath ice.

"The upside is that we're inside."

His hand moved from the blaster to the pommel of his sword.

"And if our missing Knight is still here, he just heard the door open."

 

[Alessandra Sylaar]

The ancient blast doors groaned in protest as they parted, the sound echoing like the death rattle of some long-forgotten beast. Alessandra's peridot eyes narrowed behind her helmet's visor, her grip tightening instinctively on the hilt of her lightfoil. The stale air that wafted out carried the faint, acrid tang of old circuitry and something far more unpleasant—something metallic and organic that made her stomach twist despite her training. She had expected decay, but not this. Not the promise of horrors waiting in the dark. She fully sealed her suit, activating the rebreather from her internal air supply to block the smell. "We'll just have to check on the door later, if it becomes relevant. I'd rather not become sidetracked at just this moment..."


She stepped forward alongside General Valerian, her movements precise and economical, every shift of weight calculated to minimize noise on the frost-slicked floor. The facility's interior was a tomb of shadows, illuminated only by the faint emergency strips that flickered to half-life along the walls—red-tinged and unreliable, casting long, jagged silhouettes that danced like specters. Dust motes and ice crystals swirled in the beams of their suit lights, and the temperature dropped further, the heaters in her armor straining against the preserved chill of centuries.


"Careful," she murmured over their synced comms, her voice steady but edged with the clinical focus that defined her. "This was a CIS facility for advanced combat droids during the Clone Wars. Records were sparse, but whatever they built here… it clearly did not end well." Her words were measured, respectful of Valerian's seniority, carrying the quiet conviction of one who viewed disorder as a personal affront. She had studied enough historical fragments to know the Separatists had poured resources into ever more ruthless machines; the mixture of technology and strangely smooth Geonosian construction painted the place in sinister shades, making the shadows long and leering.


As they advanced down the main corridor, her lightfoil remained sheathed but ready, fingers hovering near the activation stud. The first gruesome scene greeted them within minutes: a side chamber whose doors hung askew, revealing a half-disassembled assembly line. Droid chassis lay scattered like broken toys, but among them were organic remains— the destruction was so thorough it was almost impossible to tell them apart. One body, fresher than the rest, slumped against a console, its torso a ruin of torn flesh and cauterized wounds. Blood had frozen in dark rivulets across the floor, and the walls bore deep gouges from what looked like frenzied strikes—possibly from energy weapons or claws. The silence pressed in, broken only by the occasional creak of settling ice or the distant groan of stressed metal.


Alessandra paused, crouching to examine a shattered data pad half-buried in frost, careful not to disturb the scene. The horror of it settled over her like Rhen Var's perpetual chill. This was no simple abandonment. Something—or someone—had torn through here with savage fury. She rose smoothly, sweeping her gaze across the branching halls ahead: labs filled with dormant surgical arms hanging like skeletal limbs, storage bays crammed with incomplete mechanical bodies, and corridors marred by further signs of violence. Every shadow seemed to shift just beyond the reach of their lights. The tension coiled in her chest like a spring, heightening her vigilance. The storm outside had bought them time, but inside, the air itself felt heavy with unspoken dread.

"Those look less like droid assemblies and more like... surgical tools?" She pointed to the extended armatures of one particularly vicious-looking machine where it hung over the line, a sewing machine-like attachment hanging next to a variety of scalpels, a heavy-duty clamp, and a pipe threading tool. "The pad is broken," she added, tossing aside the datapad and its shattered display. "Got stepped on, I think. The computers are fried, too..." She gestured to the back of the stand of computers, their shells cut open in several places by deep, vicious burns. The datapad struck the floor and embedded into the snow, the screen facing up and sputtering on and off, casting splintered white light up onto the armatures.

"General, whatever happened here... I don't think he's going to be rational." Her tone held genuine concern, laced with the unyielding discipline of her father's teachings. They would uncover the truth of what had happened here. They would restore order to this frozen monument to madness. Yet as they pressed deeper, Alessandra could not shake the sense that the worst lay ahead—watching, waiting in the dark.

Thorus Valerian