Mission Shattered Dawn - Tempo of War Pt. III [LS/GE/HR/BSS]

[Veno]

He chuckled darkly, taking the knife. Some abomination of a weapon with foundations in the tooth or claw of some great beast, since converted into a vibroknife. Veno slashed at the air, once, twice, then sheathed it in his wrist.

"You know," he started, nearly drowned out by the klaxon alarms, "I never saw a name on that tube panel."

Subject 1503

 

[Jerec Asyr]

Even being who he was, Jerec found that life offered few opportunities for unique experience. In search of such a moment, the good ship Infinity's Free touched down on the surface of Project: Stardust. From here he could see winks of light and plumes of firey debris as Jedi tried to raid the place. Rather than engage as he was technically supposed to be doing, Jerec left the bridge in the hands of a cousin and got a space suit on.

Five minutes put his boots on the surface of the Death Star. It seemed flat enough here in gross terms, but the horizon bent away aggressively, reflecting a radius much smaller than most inhabited planets. The artificial gravity of the outermost layers pointed feet-inward rather than feet-south like the sandwiched inner structure and the docking bays. He could stand as normal.

With some ceremony, he went up the ship's ramp and brought down a set of weighted sporting rods along with a case of dimpled spheres. He set up one of the latter in a small disposable cleat, squinted at a faraway heavy turbolaser tower, reared back, and hit the ball very far indeed.

No air resistance on the Death Star.

 

[Mammut]

Bodies packed the trooper lounge of corridor WC3. Largely a contingent of Syndicate thugs, but some stormtroopers too - in grave dereliction of duty.

The air smelled faintly of microwaved fish.

Someone set up a bunch of audio equipment at the far end of the lounge, around which everyone pulled up sofas and couches.

An enormous Chevin clutching a saxophone stood behind the audio equipment.

“On nights like these where there’s nothing but the cold, lonely vacuum of space outside, come with me and find a warm, safe haven in my jatz.”

Then the Chevin put his lips to the sax and let those sweet, smooth, sultry tunes flow out into the trooper lounge aboard Project Stardust.

 

[Subject 1503]

HAD ABADDON, THE DEEP CORE
Aboard the Death Star III

Veno
​

In truth, his 'name', such as it was, had indeed been on the pod - not that Veno could be blamed for overlooking it. '1503' was hardly a suitable name for a being such as him. He had never been truly given a name, save the moniker that he had heard in his dreamless sleep from time to time, the one that had addressed him when he first awoke - Ashwalker. It meant nothing to him, and though it suited those who had used it to address him thus far, it would not do for a true name - something given had no value, whatever name he would go by, he would take it for himself.

That was what he had been taught, after all. Since his creation, he had studied nothing else but the philosophies of the Sith, the propaganda of the Empire. He was not Sith, not truly, not yet - but it was all he had known, the teachings of the Dark Side, of strength. He would have a name when he became Sith in truth, until then, it did not matter. Only his strength did.

"My name is of little consequence. You have referred to me adequately, thus far." Perhaps his answer would frustrate Veno, after all, he doubted that the assassin had much comprehension for who - for what he was. He did not expect this servant of the Empire to have enough comprehension of the ways of the Sith, after all - but he would learn in his service. For now, he needed only listen, and obey.

"The Jedi aboard this station will rely on whatever craft they arrived on in order to escape. We will cut off their exit and trap them here." As he stepped toward the exit of the detention block, he turned his masked gaze back over his shoulder toward Veno before he paused just outside of the doorway, his expectant silence carrying with it the demand he hoped for Veno's sake he would not need to speak aloud. Guide me to my enemies.

​

 

[Veno]

Less of a fool than he made himself out to be, Veno discerned that Sith -- insofar as Veno believed them to be -- did not have a name. A creation, a clone, someone once-wounded, or thrown in some semblance of stasis. Veno did not know, but he hedged his bets all the same. "Let's go, then." He flicked his wrist and pointed a finger forwards, "Lord."

He began to direct the Sith towards the hangar in which the klaxon alarms originated.

Subject 1503

 

[Da'Razel]

DEATH STAR ||| - HAD ABBADON ​

Keys of red, green, and blue, sign a hymn of mechanical tones. Some blare alone, then in discordant union, the frequency a strange, silent symphony across an otherwise lightless chamber.

At its center looms a tank. A cylindrical colossus, forged of thick, transparent glass with a faint sheen, rising like a pillar to the ceiling of the laboratory. Within it churns a viscous, acid-blue fluid, in its depths, the faintest glow seeps outward.

Rhythmically, like drawn breaths, flocks of swollen azure bubbles wobble upward, bursting at the surface with wet sighs.

Hours, days, weeks, time holds little sway here. The chamber is nothing but the endless interplay of fizzy fluid and synthetic tunes.

And yet there are moments, occurrences that break the monotone sequence of events.

The metal door parts. Personnel enter: doctors, scientists, acolytes. Some kneel and chant, reading verses from their sacred texts, others rouse the dormant consoles, and study glowing screens, tweaking inputs, observing results. A few do both.

Whenever such lonesome figures emerge. Just before the gate falls shut, shadows part within and the tank is struck by a shaft of illumination.

And there, through the glass, submerged in the depths a shape appears, a silhouette, vaguely human, blurred by liquid distortion.

A specter, a gestalt.

An angry swarm of pearl-sized bubbles erupts, racing toward the surface.

 

[Talin Treicolt]

A pair of vagabonds followed on the tail of the Jedi headed for the reactor. Their shuttle's landin' had drawn strange looks as the rogue reinforcements came to offer aid, but no questions were 'bout to be asked in the thick of it. Any help was welcome aboard the insurmountable target. As far as her previous brethren were concerned, her sudden reappearance was not anythin' outta the ordinary. Plenty 'o Jedi came and went on missions here and there, and plenty more had shown when their beacons called all hands on deck. She was just another answerin'.

Talin did not share in their sense of her belongin'. Where once she had felt so wholly connected to this force of light, it was an alien thing now. Gave her some sense of bein' an imposter. One thing was certain, though, she wasn't about to let the Empire get away with doin' what they would with this thing. It's sheer size had shaken her silent when they arrived - a rare thing for a Treicolt. Sudden dread had filled her, not only for the weapon's mere existence, but also for Morrow's presence on the mission. This wasn't no odd job, and he wasn't no Jedi. Maybe she shoulda left without tellin' him, after all. Mighta saved his ass.

"Stay close." She muttered to Morrow under her breath.

If they lost each other here, they were like never to find each other, and somethin' told her imps were waitin' just about the corner. It wasn't long before they made themselves known. Cuttin' down a side corridor, the team focused on their objective until they came up on a wave of death troopers. Talin's blade ignited, but as she stepped forward, one of the knights handed off his belt of charges.

"You go on. We'll catch up to you."

Before the blonde was able to object, two sides were clashing, blaster fire meeting slashes of cerulean and emerald. Grabbin' Morrow promptly by the cloak, Talin dragged him into a side hall and went lookin' for another route.

"Maybe we shoulda charged for this." Talin complained, lacin' the belt over her chest.

__________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
Morrow | Aphon ​

 

[Ceton]

Ceton was tough to the point of foolishness. The Yinchorri was here to fight. Force users were the bane of his race, and well, as a Jedi, dark siders were what he was after. The Force was his tool to hunt those who used it for the wrong reasons. Did it make sense that he used it? It was his greatest weapon.

Blaster bolts skidded on his skin, thick skin, but still it was a blaster. The Lightsworn was here for the fight. He saw the weapon the Magistrate used to slap down his blade. The fact that this other weapon did that? It confused him at first. Then he realized, the Force.

“We have the Force, we have the Light. We defend life!” Ceton shouted back. There would be death, on both sides. His lightsaber was coming back, and the yellow blade moved as Ceton stepped to the side. Swinging, he knocked the saber down, stepping back.

He heard the sound of the E-WEB.

“Repeater!” He shouted, as he pulled the Force around him like a blanket. Ready to catch the blasters and dissipate the energy. But with the rest of the Lightsworn? He saw sabers ignite and hardlight shields go up, but many were too late.

Deonis Laythar

 

[Morrow]

"They don't strike me as the paying type," Morrow replied flatly.

A distant notion of something that was about to happen seized Morrow's attention. Following the gut-like feeling, he stopped and whirled, blaster pointed forward. Firing around Talin, his bolt nailed a Darktrooper in an armor flaw just as it rounded the corner to their cooridor. Slow, backwards steps started him off again, waiting until he was certain the way was clear before turning to resume down the cooridor in a proper stride.

As they searched for a lift to the reactor level, Morrow's thoughts dwelt on just how out of his element he was. Not only due to the nature of the mission, but also the sheer scope of it as well. Sabotaging a planet-cracking superweapon was a large ask for a Black Sun assassin, especially when there were no credits involved. It wasn't due to a bleeding heart and opposition to the Galactic Empire's potential destructiveness with the weapon, either. Sure, the thought of potentially annihilating an entire world didn't exactly sit right with him, but he wouldn't normally care enough to put himself on the line to stop it.

Morrow's only reason for being here was accompanying him down the cooridor. There wouldn't be a repeat of the last time she'd run off for 'Jedi stuff', he wouldn't allow it on his watch. It probably said far more about their relationship than he was ever willing to admit out loud. When it came to the details, he kept quiet, and Talin hadn't pressed him much on it, either. She knew, he figured, so they didn't talk about it.

Turbolift doors opened when they reached them to reveal a single Imperial officer on the other side. Acting quickly, Morrow grabbed the man's blaster as he drew it, lacing a finger behind the trigger to render the weapon impotent. Pulling the officer toward him, Morrow threw his head forward to butt the consciousness from the Imperial. The black and gray-suited figure crumpled limp to the floor, reduced to a sad pile in the corner of the lift. Morrow collected his access card as he and Talin filled the lift. Pressing the button for the reactor level and scanning the card, an anxiety built as the doors closed and the lift descended.

"I have a bad feeling about this."

_______________________________________________________________​

Talin Treicolt | Aphon ​

 

[Deonis Laythar]

Objective II: Final Dawn
Tags: Ceton
​

Spoiler: TL;DR

Deonis attempts to Force Drain Ceton, trying to force him to drop his energy-absorbent shield.

---

Deonis sneered at the Jedi's hollow platitudes. "Yes, yes - Force, light, life. You Jedi never tire of rattling off the same moralistic prattle, do you?" He snorted as the alien slapped aside his own thrown saber just as Deonis himself had done moments earlier, as if they were two rival batters in some kind of deadly sports event. Wasn't that a perfect analogy for the struggle between Jedi and Sith? Strike and counterstrike, neither staggering the other for long, using the same weapons in an endless battle that gained little ground for either side. But the Emperor, Deonis firmly believed, would change all that.

This time, the Jedi - and all rival Sith - would be swept away forever.

He had sensed the Emperor's presence, felt the pull of His dark and powerful destiny, as a mere child on a distant and insignificant planet. That thread of fate had guided him to leave his family, abandon his people, and plunge deeper into the Unknown Regions. There he had discovered the Church of the Dark Side, and they had given his life meaning. It was his purpose to serve the Sith'ari, to prepare the galaxy to be united in submission to his master. This weapon, this Project Stardust, would be the ultimate tool to achieve that submission. It was the all-scouring eye of a purifying sun.

Now he watched as the Lightsworn invaders of that perfect weapon raised their shields and sabers, gathering the Force around them in an effort to withstand the withering fire being poured into them. The alien Jedi that Deonis had been sparring with led the effort; the Church Magistrate could see the power that gathered around him, absorbing energy before it could do any harm. The Force was a powerful tool, and difficult to counter - it made men into little demigods. If Deonis brought up grenades and rocket launchers, they would be thrown back at him. If he charged, lightsabers would butcher his troops.

The only chance he could see to hold back this small legion of Jedi and their foolish followers was to seek to take away their advantage. Closing his eyes and raising his hands, Deonis reached out through the Force, his mind probing at the edges of Ceton's concentration. He sought to find an edge to the fabric of Force energy that the Jedi was weaving into a defense, to locate a loose thread he could pull. At last, he seized on it. A crimson darkness, visible only to those sensitive to the Force, gathered around his hands and eyes as he unleashed a Force Drain, trying to siphon away Ceton's strength and force his shield to drop.

"There is no light here," Deonis snarled, trying to pull his foe's strength into himself. "There is only His darkness."

 

[Inosuke Ashina]

​

Jedi fought their way toward the superweapon's bridge. One by one, Imperial troops fell to the wrath of a storm of blades. Each clash with the Dark Side Elite dwindled the crusaders' numbers, but they pressed onward with each small victory. Eventually, of the strike team that had posed as prisoner transport to facilitate their deep infiltration of Project Stardust, only two remained: Master Ashina and Master Jade. Though their comrades hadn't made it, they'd left corpses of Imperials in their wake several-fold. Before them, blast doors to the command complex where the bridge lay beyond. They had come too far to fail now; the sacrifice of their fellow Jedi could not be allowed to fall in vain.

With slow, deliberate steps, Inosuke approached the durasteel blast doors. Sapphire plunged into the dull, gray durasteel, causing sparks to fly over a plasmatic screech. Old hands twisted the hilt grasped within them, further wrenching the heat deeper into the structure. An orange glow enlarged around the lightsaber's point of entry, gradually softening the metallic shielding. Then, he wrenched the blade free and began cutting a large, round shape into the nigh-molten barricade.

An extended hand, fingers splayed, called upon the Force to exert a sudden pulse. Beneath the unseen, supernatural shockwave, the blast doors gave. Sparks and drops of liquified metal scattered, and two distinct pieces flew forward in opposing directions. Master Ashina stepped over what was left and entered the command complex, blade still ignited in one hand.

No retaliation met them on the other side. In its absence, a portentous feeling was evoked. It had a familiar edge to it, an unmistakable presence.

"I sense Solipsis is near. He may be ready for us."

_______________________________________________________________​

Romi Jade | Darth Solipsis ​

 

[Romi Jade]

OBJECTIVE II: Final Dawn
Throne Room
---​

The blast doors gave, and the sound of their collapse was a reminder of how far they had come and how narrow their margin for error had grown. It was the eerie silence on the path that laid beyond that felt wrong -- it was the pause before a major shift.

Her boots struck the deck, she slipped through after Inosuke. Romi's gaze shifted briefly to Ashina. Both of their weathered form carried the marks of the path they had cut, but his stance was unyielding, his blade a steady promise. They had bled their way to this point, bought passage with lives that deserved more than failure. It meant more now that they succeeded from this point forward.

She didn't need to reach far to know the truth of it. Solipsis was here. He had been waiting. "Undoubtedly so. He's woven malice into this place, there's no telling what's up ahead. It won't be a straightforward fight." she murmured, voice low, measured.

The hum of her lightsaber filled the silence, its scarlet reflection bleeding faintly across the command consoles. She adjusted her grip, centering her mind against the pull of dread that sought to unbalance her.

But beneath the ominous pressure, there was something else. A stillness. The Wellspring. She had sought the knowledge ever since the days following her rescue by Briana Sal-Soren & Lossa Aureus , and she had finally mastered the formula after Solipsis had broken her body and left further scars that no bacta could mend. In the time that followed, she had disciplined herself to draw the Force inward, suppressing its flow until it became a vast hidden reservoir -- a new meditative battle stance, among the other Force forms. Now, at the brink, she could feel it pressing against its confines, ready to be unleashed.

Her jaw tightened. "I've made the mistake of letting him slip away before. We end this. Here. Now. If we can help it."

Before them, a second set of blast doors loomed, higher and broader than any they had passed thus far. Unlike the utilitarian corridors they had cut through, this entrance had the stamp and effects of ceremony. The durasteel panelling seemed darker, their surface etched with runes that shimmered faintly under the harsh glow of overhead lights. The floor reflected back their silhouettes in a mirror-sheen, stretching long toward the sealed threshold.

The threshold was no barrier. It was an invitation.

-----

Inosuke Ashina | Darth Solipsis


​

​

 

[Aphon]

Tags: Morrow , Talin Treicolt

He waited...

Aphon felt like he had done a lot of that, as of late. He had joined the ranks of the Elite to hunt and kill Jedi, and though he had his fill of that, somehow it was never enough. In truth, her held no outright loyalty to the Emperor. In fact, he almost wished to be anywhere else, traversing the greater, darker corners with his dear comrade Irae . There was some semblance of simplicity in those days. Yet, the search for greater knowledge maintained its ever-gripping hold on him, and his thirst for weak blood remained unsatiated. Thankfully, this self-proclaimed Sith'ari had given him ample opportunity to explore his desires, and had allowed him to test his own ability without any form of retribution.

Sanctioned violence... that's what the Empire wrought upon countless worlds. Aphon cared not for those that suffered, for he could not care less about those weaker than him. Yet... such sanctions came with caveats, and even he was beholden to upholding certain obligations, should he wish to remain unhindered...

Thankfully... such moments happened more frequently than one would think...

He reached into the vastness of the cosmos, drawing upon the magicks of his Dathomiri ancestors, using it to sense where his newfound prey may be. He did not care about Project: Stardust, nor did he bother to understand the machinations of those higher on the totem pole. He simply wished to test his own mettle against those that would attempt to stand in his way...

He stood in front of the elevator, the Force calling out to him, telling him that perhaps, just maybe... some worthy prey would approach. As the door opened, he simply drew his sword, sickly green light igniting throughout the imbued blade as he took a stance, preparing himself for whatever foolish individuals may produce themselves from behind the lift doors.

 

[Kito]

//: Objective II //:
//: Reliquiis //:

Kito ran, her footsteps echoing through the cold corridors of the Death Star III. Tales of the first two had been warnings from the past, reminders of what unchecked power could do. No one ever thought it would rise again. Yet here it was: a planetary weapon built to erase entire worlds simply because it could. Kito would never understand the hunger to destroy life on such a scale.

Fear was not leadership. Fear was not true power.

Her lungs burned as she sprinted, the blessed odachi resting heavy at her side while her wakizashi lightsaber cut through anything in her path. A squad of guards barred the way ahead. She slid to a halt, teeth clenched. These weren't Sith, not the ones tied to her penance. Killing them meant nothing, and it ate at her.

"Stop!" she shouted, voice raw with frustration as their blasters leveled toward her. A breath, then fast, merciless movement. She swept at their legs, fire bursting outward in a controlled wave to scatter the rest. While they scrambled against the flames, she broke through, hating the necessity. Their deaths weighed on her chest, lives cut short for nothing.

She forced herself back into a sprint, sweat streaking her face as she rounded the last corner. The doors ahead sparked violently, jammed half-shut. Someone had forced them before her. Shielding her face, she pressed forward, instincts flaring. Whoever had come first might be an ally — or another enemy.

Drawing a sharp breath, she lifted a hand. The Force pressed against the mangled mechanisms, parting the doors just long enough for her to slip through. The sensation made her skin crawl. Shaping fire, shaping wind — that was natural. Bending the Force with nothing to anchor it felt wrong, always a last resort.

Inside, the chamber stretched vast and empty, not the core itself, but close. She slowed, lightsaber still drawn, her eyes scanning every shadow. No presence pressed against her senses. No sound but her breathing. Slowly, the blade bent and folded back to rest at her side. She really needed to build a proper switch for it.

Her fingers brushed the comm at her ear.

<: Ba’yl Lazan , are you close? Master Henna Ashina ? :>

The device hissed in her ear, but she didn't lower her guard. She kept moving, step by step, waiting for someone to find her first.

 

[Talin Treicolt]

"There's someone waitin' down there." Talin said, givin' light to that feelin' of his.

Even this many floors up, she could sense them. The stench of decay littered the atmosphere, growin' stronger as the turbolift descended. Saber thrummin' in hand, Talin stepped forward slightly, takin' the hilt in between both hands. Morrow wasn't about to take a blaster bolt for her order. Fearful, her head swivled 'round to drink him in one last time. Seconds were fleeting. If there ever was a time, it was when they were starin' death in the face.

"I love you." Those words hung heavy with all the passion of the youthful adventures that had carried them to this point. Then, sobered, she added: "Be careful. Stay behind me."

Not that he needed the reminder - they were a well rehearsed act by this point. It was fear that insisted upon it, gnawin' it's way to her chest and takin' root. She'd said the words. He couldn't go gettin' hurt now. The lift had begun to slow, that putrid stank so thick she could nearly taste it. Dread blanketed the atmosphere, preceding their foe. With a final thunk, the metal box carryin' 'em settled.

__________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
Morrow | Aphon ​

 

[Morrow]

That feeling of foreboding was affirmed by Talin's certainty that someone was inevitably on the other side of the lift doors. Resistance was to be expected, but the feeling asserted it was something beyond Imperial troopers. Morrow wondered if it would be a Sith, given that Talin's Jedi foresight seemed tuned into their presence. He checked his blaster to channel his nerves into something, concluded with a spin from the trigger guard, and set his eyes on the featureless lift doors. A quiet breath sought to prepare him for whatever was on the other side.

Then, Talin spoke again, and her confession shattered all illusions of readiness. Immediately, Morrow picked up on the dread she was drowning in. This mission was far more dire than he'd initially anticipated. He'd never been a stranger to peril, but it hadn't fully set in until he heard those words. Talin was never worried about the danger, even when Morrow stressed the weight of a situation and the need for caution. To profess her love now, she must have been borderline terrified. A lump formed in Morrow's throat as her apprehension rubbed off on him.

A hint of dissatisfaction came. It was bittersweet. It should have been exchanged in one another's arms, and anywhere but here. But, if not now, it might have been too late. A flash of fear entertained the idea that she had dragged him into a suicide mission.

"I-"

Doors hissed on their tracks and opened to the reactor level, quelling his reply prematurely. Beyond them, the object of their mutual bad feeling stood, staring them down, clearly ready for them by the looks of him. The sight strange-looking man alone exuded a feeling of supernatural danger. Morrow stole one last look at Talin before raising his blaster to fire at their enemy without further words.

___________________________________________________

Talin Treicolt | Aphon ​