Mission Shatterpoint | Resolution

[Valery Noble]

Shatterpoint | Resolution

"The Battle of Tython is over, but the planet and our people still need are in need of dire help. Show the Brotherhood of the Maw that we stand strong together and help those who have lost everything. The path to liberating the core starts today." - Valery Noble

​

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A SECOND HYPERSPACE WAR STORY
SHATTERPOINT | RESOLUTION
The great Battle of Tython is over, countless lives have been lost and many more have been torn apart through the loss of friends, family, or the destruction of those things closest to them. But through it all, Tython just barely survived, and so did the hope for a better Galaxy without forces of evil looking to corrupt or destroy.

But the dawn of that future begins today, with the eyes of the Galactic Alliance and its allies turning to Tython's ravaged surface once again. Not to prepare it for battle, but to do what is possible to restore what can be fixed, and help those still in need.

The New Jedi Order's Council and representatives of the Galactic Alliance call for Jedi, medical personnel, supply runners, and anybody willing to help heal a broken world to return to Tython's scarred surface once more, to help make a difference.
​

The Broken and Beaten​

In the aftermath of the Maw's attack, camps have been set up all across Tython to tend to the injured and provide people with temporary places of residence. Many still remain in critical condition, while others struggle with basic supplies or the looming threat of enemy survivors having infiltrated these campsites. To help these people, medical aid, supplies, and security are vital.

But ultimately, much of Tython may be beyond repair, and with people such as Alicio Organa offering assistance through sanctuary cities, the Alliance must also look at the displacement of its people. Such a move requires countless ships to help transport people and supplies, and just how many people can these worlds support?

The Damned​

While the Maw's forces were ultimately pushed back, much of their terror still lingers on Tython's surface. Soldiers and Flesh Raiders have been manipulated and mind-controlled into much more savage beings, condemning them to a painful life of servitude to masters no longer on the planet. These hordes still roam the planet, looking to cause trouble — for Tython and those on it to be secured, these groups must be dealt with one way or another.

BYOO​

Do you have other stories to tell in the aftermath of Tython? Feel free to do so! This thread is OPEN to all participants of the Annihilation, AND those who would like to assist the planet and its survivors in the battle's aftermath. For questions, feel free to contact Valery Noble

Art credit: Ishida Ashina and Dagon Kaze ​

 

[Phylis Alince]

Caltin Vanagor + any others looking to restore old Jedi sites.

The beeping of her droid roused Phylis from sleep. The last few weeks had been...interesting. She had been completing an excavation on a remote world far on the rim, out of holonet and communication range. It had been slow work, the sort of work which would drive many...or most...people to madness. But the certainty of excavations, recording, studying, maintaining her own pace...all of this appealed to her.

It was only as she left the planet that she heard the news. Tython attacked...nearly destroyed even. As a Jedi Master, Phylis had a connection to Tython though she'd never trained there. She had written a book related to it though which had involved a good deal of research. Now she heard that it was almost all gone. She'd set course immediately.

Heading up to the cockpit she flopped down into the pilot's chair. The droid beeped.
"Yes, I know we're late. Hopefully they understand, hmm." Details had been sketchy, but it had been bad.

Nothing prepared her for the sight as she emerged from hyperspace. "Tython...no...."
It was ruined. If not destroyed it was certainly badly damaged. Whole regions looked scorched, burnt.
Her droid beeped quizzically.
"Yes, seems worse than that time," Phylis replied distractedly. Another beep. "Yes, probably even more than the attack by Sith Empire 1.5." How many Sith Empires were there? Depended who you asked, but Phylis recognised at least 8 since the start of their tradition.
"Is it just me...or is something wrong with the moons?" she asked. "Six-Nine, run a scan on Ashla and Bogan."
The results were both alarming and surprising. The droid beeped at length and in a puzzled tone. "Hmmph, that's what I thought. Ashla's been skinned like a fruit. And Bogan's out of its orbit. What in the name of the Force happened here.... Take us down, transmit clearance codes. Head for the Forge. We'll start there, see if anyone else is around."

Reaching forward she sent out a broadcast message.
"Alliance forces and New Jedi Order, this is Master Alince, I am heading towards the Forge. Can I get an update on the situation below as I was...uhh...delayed arriving."

 

[Caltin Vanagor]

The last thing that evil wants...​

Location:

Spoiler: Personal effects

"Vanguard" (Secondary - Long Handle)

"CONSERVATOR" (Primary - Long Handle)
Robes, Battle Armor,Toraynor-Henkan(mind crystal added) Advanced Jedi Utility Belt
Starship: Spectre, HK-88 (Jedi Interceptor in the hangar, Dilorian, and Bike both in the cargo bay, the late Karki Eusith's Armor, Shield, Temple Guard Lightsaber mounted on the wall)

“Grudges are for those who insist that they are owed something; forgiveness, however, is for those who are substantial enough to move on.”- Criss Jami​

“What a mess.”

A few weeks ago, this was a planet that could have written its own book on history of the Force, and practically had. There was a simple serenity to it all at one point that would make any student of history just, “happy” to be there. Caltin was that way every time he landed on the planet. It was often a good way for Padawans to see that side of him, that he was indeed “human” and not some “machine”. Which was why he was flying back to the planet alone this time, just Caltin and BB-88.

He promised Chrysa Vanagor that he wouldn’t stay long, he promised. However there was just something eating at him to go back there. Maybe it was why she was calling her office at “Guardian Angel Outreach” to see what they could bring. That was her gig, his was to survey the land once he got there. It had been a few days and hopefully something, anything might show some signs of improvement. Then he saw the change in the planet… from space… and that is not even counting Ashla.

My word, what a mess.

Location: The Forge

Allies: Valery Noble / Phylis Alince

Anyone that wants to converse!/ TEAM LIGHTSIDE![/H]

... is my undivided attention.
​

 

[Alicio Organa]

TYTHON
TEMPORARY REFUGEE CAMP
TAGS: OPEN
​

There was a time for warriors.

That time was in the midst of a crisis. When all seemed lost, and the only path to salvation, to survival, was on the edge of a blade. When lives were on the line, and each life taken could save ten more. When failure meant destruction, and terrible, all-consuming darkness.

But in this moment, when the crisis was done, and the blade edge had dulled from use, and the lives had been taken, and darkness had been warded off and replaced by a dull greyness, a different kind of warrior was required.

Which was a good thing, because Alicio was awful at combat.

The Count's weapon of choice today was a small care package. From the loading bay of a large Alderaanian transport, he and a few assistants passed them off to a waiting crowd, who accepted them eagerly. The sealed boxes contained enough rations for a week, water purifiers, first-aid supplies, even a few sets of simple clothes and rags. The refugees responded to these gifts with a wide range of emotions, everything from tears to stony silence.

The camp itself was large, boasting thousands of hastily-pitched tents. All around the makeshift settlement, the world was warped by the battle. The earth was pocked by bombardments, and the very air felt twisted in places by dark perversions of the Force.

Tython could be healed, given time, but some small pockets of the world could never be a home again.

Alderaan had been among the first planets to offer aid to the refugees. Alicio had been the one to arrange everything, procuring as many transports as Queen Faith Organa could spare. He sent out a call to the Alliance, through as many channels as he could. Senators, Jedi, whoever was willing. They needed volunteers, ships to move the citizens, food and water, anything to help.

He could only hope enough ears had heard him.

The Count kneeled down, passing a care package to a kid, no older than seven or eight, wearing a crystal on a chain around his neck. The boy didn't smile, but his eyes told Alicio everything he needed to know. "Thank you," the child said, nodding.

"Be safe." He gave the boy a comforting smile, before passing out another pack to someone else.

 

[Darth Carnifex]

A frigid breath escaped from behind charred lips, ice crystals forming in the air as the temperature plummeted to below freezing in the matter of a few seconds. Everything else was burning, fires raging far beyond anyone's power to quell. And these were not natural fires, there was a dark malevolence that gave the flames unnatural speed and hunger. He did not know how long they would rage, only that they would without restraint. He had as much a hand in their creation as those who stood against Him, those intrepid Mandalorian warriors full of bravado and tenacity.

He would have admired them if they weren't so wretched.

Thus, He found Himself alone now, standing on the slope of what used to be quite the formidable hill. The ancient megaliths at its summit had been destroyed, scattered to the flame-engulfed valleys or sitting lopsided on the disheveled hillside. Corpses were strewn alongside them, Alliance phoenix and Sith sunburst laying side-by-side as their bodies burned away to ash. Adversarial in life but now united in death, victims of a war in which they were only cogs and pawns.

Reaching out with His senses, He surveyed the world laid bare at His feet. The Mawite's were withdrawing from the planet's surface, as many of them that could carry out a withdrawal anyway. The Alliance would begin to bring in reinforcements to consolidate their tenuous positions, conducting mopping up operations to clean Tython of any lingering rot. They would only be partially successful, there would be no way to fully purify this world after what had just occurred. The dark would always remain, hidden deep below, waiting to rise once more as the light dimmed.

Surprisingly, He could not sense Solipsis. Not that Solipsis had left the planet and was elsewhere, He'd still have been able to sense him if that were so. No, Solipsis was gone; dead. He breathed a melancholic sigh, a rare expression of emotion. Though He and Solipsis were often at odds and vehemently disagreed on ideology, to lose such a driven Lord of the Sith was a serious blow. He would not lament His death, but there would always be a pang of disappointment now.

Staring down at His right hand, He watched as ligaments and veins slowly started to reconstitute themselves over burned black bones. In time His body would heal, much faster if He had access to a shrine of Dark Side energy. There was a flash of green energy and white linen materialized over His immolated body, encasing Him from head to toe beneath His still smoldering armor. The linen did not remain immaculate for long, large splotches of red spreading out across His entire body as new flesh and blood continued to form. Though a crude shroud, it would serve Him for now.

Breathing in the ashy air, Darth Carnifex looked to the horizon and walked into the burning forest.

Valery Noble ​

 

[Arlo Renard]

​

Kai was starting to get a bit annoyed. The source of his vexation was his own forgetfulness, which meant he unfortunately couldn't take his irritation out on anyone else.

Standing in a medical tent which was temporarily sheltering the injured, he kept catching himself trying to force himself to cry, or starting to lean over the patients in their hoverbeds the way he would when he could still secrete healing tears. If his tears were to fall into their wounds now, the saltwater would only make them burn. Although, the salt would at least have a mild antiseptic effect, right? Just not enough to actually be helpful.

Pursing his lips, he reached for a medkit, threw it open, and started rifling around the contents. He'd returned to Tython with Amani and Iris in tow as soon as he was able to walk on his broken leg again. Even now, he had a slight limp. As long as he avoided any high-speed foot chases or action scenes, he should be fine.

"Please," the patient in front of him, a middle-aged woman who had been injured when portions of Ashla came down, groaned. "Just give me something for the pain."

Rather than attempting to fill a syringe himself (he was not an anesthesiologist), he got the attention of a nearby medical droid, who hovered over to administer a shot of painkillers. Kai watched the automated process, rubbing the back of his neck. He felt pretty useless.

Hopefully the girls were doing better. They were trained medics, after all. Kai was just hanging around, operating on muscle memory.

Iris Arani Amani Serys​

 

[Coren Starchaser]

Promises were made to his wife. With every intention of keeping that. But there was unfinished business in the Deep Core. Tython needed to be healed, but he would send others out… The Living Ship from the Scar Worlds, perhaps the Ithorian Vooltroo, as it was a verdant world, would make his way out here. But that was not why Coren was returning. The world had much for the Jedi, but he knew that something even more deep, even more important to him in specific.

Mishel

He could feel her out there. He knew that she had come back… and he needed to make sure he helped her.

Failing her before, he knew that there was a time here, a point where they had connected, and they were good. They were fine, but he wasn't letting it sit. He wasn't going to let it lay down that way. There was Mishel, Cotan, and Zark, three beings very important to him.

Zark San Tekka was as strong a warrioras he knew, and Coren didn't think the man could die. There was only so much Coren could do, not being an active officer in the Alliance.

Cotan Sar'andor was another one. He knew Cotan was fine. He would know if his brother had fallen.

But as the Wayseeker centered himself on the quiet battlefield, he fell into the Force, reaching out in the Light. He would breath in, and out, and reach for his former student.

"Be with me..." Was the whispered mantra.

 

[Vooltroo]

A world on fire. This was why Vooltroo joined the Scar World Initiative. To heal worlds. To bring Mother Jungle to the galaxy. A world on fire. This was a way for creation to begin, from the ashes of that which had fallen. But this was more than that. The world of Tython was central to the Galaxy. Where some said the Jedi started. Where some said the Jed'aii began. Where moons in the name of both the light and the dark orbited.

The war was over, and Vooltroo could make his move. The Ithorian was no warrior. But the Ithorian was a healer. He was a cultivator of plants. The Ithorian Elder had made his way to the world when he heard the call for aid. His personal herd ship full of plants, ready to land as it entered the atmosphere. The ship was run by automated systems for the most part, and the Ithorian had grabbed the staff he had. Around his body was a satchel with seeds and seedlings.

The Force was in agony here, pain and despair, but hope and the future as well. The herdship was landing near one of the Alliance rally points. As Vooltroo disembarked, he left a droid near to allow those who needed to, to seek refuge aboard the vessel for the short term. It was well loved, the small bit of forest on this vessel hopefully adding comfort to those who needed. And the herbs and vegetation growing, offering ingredients for healing salves.

But the Ithorian had other visions in mind for his own agenda. Places needed to be tended. And that was what his intent was.

 

[Sssar Taszzn]

Objective: The Damned
Location: Camp Resolve, Tython
Tags: Open
Retinue

Spoiler

Abiding Precept Constabulary [X]

• 1x Captain​
• 2x Inspectors​
• 12x Constables​
• 4x Protocol Droids​

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Sssar's shuttle landed in the midst of Camp Resolve, the grass below the executive shuttle bent and fluttered violently as the sleek starship came to rest. It was a small camp mostly made of sturdy survival tents and pavilions which sheltered a variety of terminals and communication's equipment. A chest-high wall of durasteel sheets had been quickly constructed by the builders of the camp - the Abiding Precept Constabulary. Sssar's personal paramilitary of radicals bent on order and justice as they knew it.

As the shuttle's ramp lowered and extended to the ground, Sssar, was preceded by two protocol droids which examined the surrounding area quickly then turned towards the obscured ramp exit. Slowly Sssar emerged with a great rustling sound of scales against metal, and slithered down the ramp into the grass below the shuttle. Even as he did so a train of purple followed him as his lengthy body began to coil out of the ship. Once all of Sssar had officially made it planetside two more protocol droids marched down the ramp and followed the Senator.

"Commissioner." a sharply dressed member of the Constables gave the Filithar a brief nod of his head "Our monitoring equipment is fully operational. Moments before your arrival I scrambled two recon probes towards the last reported location of the Flesh Raider menace." the Captain motioned towards one of the pavilion tents "Our technicians are hard at work ensuring that the survey mission goes smoothly. I have two teams at the ready to hunt down the quarry, sir." as the Captain finished his statement Sssar gave a slow nod of his head "All issss well then? Fantassstic news Captain." Sssar slithered past the Captain to peer over the shoulders of a few contracted technicians, examining the work they were doing "It seemssss the probesss have found ssssomething, yessss?" indeed they had, a Flesh Raider warband had been spotted by the droids "Captain, activate the beaconsss. Let it not be sssssaid that we did not requessst aid nor offer information asss we have it." the Captain nodded once again then walked over to a slender spire in the center of the camp and typed a few commands into the keyed terminal on its haft.

The beacon would repeat the coordinates of the Flesh Raiders, the presence of the Constabulary, and a general communication's request for assistance in combatting the creatures before they could harm more survivors.

 

[Wedge Draav]

Stand amongst the ashes, soldier.
​

"Rev?"

He rolled his body, checking his surroundings. He spoke before opening his eyes. His gunship was upside down- a fire crackling in the distance. He smelled the fire suppression foam and chemicals. He reached down weakly to his seatbelt, undoing himself, falling with a soft thud to the cockpit and ground below him.

He stood up after crawling out from the wreckage of his gunship, removing his helmet.

No streaking starfighters. The planet remained.

They'd won. They actually did it. After all the losses, fights, and battles- the Maw was finally pushed back. Finally beaten. Or at least- they survived, for the time being. His comm unit was smashed by the impact, torn up in the fight. His helmet was no good- a pilot helmet with no aircraft? Hardly much of a helmet, anyways. He let it fall to his side, looking around, speaking loudly again.

"Rev?"

He said, marching through the upturned mud and dirt. Rev's helmet was there near the site, but no sign of his co-pilot, or in fact, any other Razor team members. He wondered if any of them made it after he got shot down. Looking up to the sky, Wedge reached to the harness on his body, his hands shaking. He probably had a concussion at best, and he definitely broke a rib or two.

He read about Tython predators. Not something he wanted to be caught overnight in.

Hands barely able to grasp the cap of the flare, he managed to flick and twist the flare until it shined a bright green, and he waved it around, still shouting for Rev- for anyone. With no transponder and the world in actual tatters- it was anyone's guess where he was, who he was near, and how lucky he was going to be to get rescued, or at least, located for the time being. He walked for a while, before circling back to the gunship, growing weary for the well-being of Rev.

He stopped, taking a moment to take in the visage of the world on fire.

Wedge would never forget that moment, standing near his crashed gunship, blue eyes scanning the horizon, burnt, strewn with bodies from both sides. Bodies that he helped make. He put his hand over his mouth, unable to even give a firm estimate in his mind of how many dead were at his feet. He'd never witnessed such destruction first hand- after all, killing people was easier in the sky.

He fell to his knees, overcome with a multitude of emotions over what he had done. He gathered himself after a moment, weakly pulling himself up to his feet, holding the flare, still looking for Rev. He had to find his co-pilot, after all.

He owed him his life.

 

[Vesta]

KILL IT​

She'd felt it - touched it - and heard the endless scream of the voices from beyond the veil of death, the countless that had been pulled into the Brotherhood's heretical ritual to shatter the boundaries that kept mere mortals from transcending to a place where they could be the architects of their own truth. The struggle between what had been perceived as a cloud of darkness against the rays of light that the galaxy had clung to as hope had resulted in a failing on the Maw's part, with Cotan Sar'andor , Asha Vynea, and Asmundr Varobalder curtailing the ritual's ruinous tears in the fabric of the force before it could destroy the planet itself. Whether unbeknownst to the Jedi and Je'daii or not, however, the ritual had not merely been scattered to the winds as the heroic defense of the ailing world triumphed over the machinations of Darth Solipsis - in the long shadow of Akar Kesh, after pushing Allyson Locke one step too far, Mori had taken it upon herself to cannibalize the power brought forth by the ritual in an effort to bolster herself for what would become the Maw's second wind in a ceaseless war against the galaxy to destroy it.

While the rest of the Maw had largely abandoned Tython in the moments after their leader's death she had remained behind, an echo of the terror the ritual had forced the galaxy's defenders to witness but also as a purposeful reminder of the persistence of the plague she represented. On the ground beside her was the unconscious Jedi master that she had outlasted, spared from an almost inescapable death by the mere seconds she had delayed the Sith from seizing what was hers by right. It was so frustrating to know she had been robbed of a calculated victory over both the Jedi's ilk and the Sith alike by the stubborn Corellian spy and her own ego, but that was dwarfed by how unsatisfactory it would feel if the means by which she murdered her was through circumstances as advantageous to the Sith as this.

"Luck seems to be with you one last time, vermin." She whispered in disgust, casting an icy glare over the woman's sad state. 'Maybe Darth Daiara will have her chance to take your life, after all.' She thought as she turned away and towards the direction of the gate that linked the Maw to the planet during the second stage of their earlier incursion. It'd serve as a potential means of departure, given she had decided not to turn tail and run when the men she'd plotted against for so long were finally dead - all of them, now. Revenge, at long last, was served in a dish so cold that she could not savor the sweetness of personal victory in the face of unmitigated disappointment in how far the chance to shape her utopic reality slipped from her grasp, and with it the chance to finally have a Quinn Varanin at her side that didn't see her as the monster she had steadily become over the years.

A galaxy rid of monsters.. lost like sand falling between the fingers of a closing fist through the efforts of an ignorant people that couldn't understand, couldn't comprehend, the unending peace they'd finally find if they would have just given in to the ones they'd made into villains. Just like one voice screaming into the chorus of tens of trillions of others she felt incredibly small, so profoundly insignificant against the titanic waves of the force as it pushed back against the efforts of the people that clung to the dark side, and despite however big a presence she might have became or however large her stature, she felt much smaller than she truly was - like an observer more than an actor, despite however much control she had over herself now.

Success or failure, however, was secondary to returning to the heart of the Maw, thus her focus on reaching the hypergate that Maw reinforcements had previously arrived in rather than the sort of temper tantrum a more ill-tempered Sith lord might have partaken in if they found themselves in her shoes.

 

[Inanna Harth]

​

Inanna was in the general vicinity of the refugee camp, in an area which was set aside to hold the recovered remains of the dead. She stood before a sealed coffin, her arms crossed over her chest and her mouth set in a grim line.

Arimanes Bosch, a Shi'ido archaeologist, was lying in the box. He'd been crushed underneath the debris of a fallen statue in some ancient ruins. It would've been comforting to know his death had been accidental, yet another casualty of the natural disasters that had wracked Tython and Arimanes' passion for archaeology. But there was carbon scoring from a blaster shot found on the rocks, indicating the collapse had been deliberately caused. In other words, he had been murdered.

Inanna had known him since they were children on Lao-mon, though she had fallen out of touch with him over the years. The numbness she felt at his passing shouldn't have been that surprising, especially given how many similar losses of friends and family she'd suffered as a result of the war with the Maw. But despite the violent manner of his death, it didn't feel as painful as the others. Did that mean Arimanes was at peace, or was it a sign that her heart was becoming as cold and hard as ice?

Suddenly craving fresh air and the sight of anything other than that coffin, she turned and exited the tent.

The sky was gray and the air smelled faintly of ozone, as if it were about to rain. She walked past groups of Tython natives lining up for care packages and felt an all-too-familiar stab of guilt. Every time she saw the mobs of the displaced from other worlds, she couldn't help but be reminded that she and the rest of the Shi'ido were technically in competition with all the other refugees in the galaxy. Circumstances had pushed them all into this position. They could've banded together over their shared experiences (and ideally, they would have) but more often than not, they were fighting with each other for safe spaces, resources, and attention. She'd seen it among the Shi'ido, certainly. Too many of them believed the only people in the galaxy who really care about the Shi'ido, are the Shi'ido. Feth the rest.

Her guilt came from the fact that she had grown so cynical about it all. The feeling only intensified when she spotted Count Alicio handing out supplies to the Tythonians. Who or what they were didn't matter to him. He'd heard there were people who needed help, so he showed up and started helping. A darker voice told her that he could afford to be that way, but he could probably afford to be a lot of different things.

She watched as he gave one of the care packages to a boy, then approached him. "Fancy seeing you here," she said. Really, she wasn't surprised at all. "Need any help?"

Alicio Organa Vooltroo​

 

[Amani Serys]

When their ship passed beneath waning storm clouds to find Tython still intact, the volatile rollercoaster of emotions could not be overstated. Shock, then solace, but ultimately, grief.

Tython remained. But not the same as it was before; Scarred, and broken. Perhaps a day would come when the planet could be truly restored. If there was, that day was impossible for Amani to see from beneath the blood and ash. Her homeworld was unrecognizable.

The camp brimmed with bodies, too many of them unmoving. Amani found herself fixated on one in particular: An older woman, marred with burns. Wounds she ultimately succumbed to. The doctors acted surprised when they came back to confirm, draping the blanket over her head; She must have seemed on the way to a recovery. It was a bit hard to follow, as it all took place a few tents over. Amani probably looked catatonic, staring blankly at that far-off sight.

She may as well have been, for how long it took her to notice the tugging at her shirt; A young girl, asking something about where to find food and water. She knelt down beside her, and offered a few directions with a forced, tired smile. It was about the most useful thing the healer had done since getting here. But in the grand scheme, what could she do?

How was she supposed to heal this?

Iris Arani Arlo Renard​

 

[Jasper Kai'el]

Tython Refugee Camp​

Jasper couldn't keep himself away from Tython. There was a deep aching inside him that he simply couldn't fight. He was no Jedi, not anymore at least, but not because he didn't want to. Deep down, the exile still had an innate desire to defend the innocent and all that, but he couldn't help but feel betrayed when he was denied a master after dedicating his life to mastering lightsaber combat (of course he still had room to improve). These feelings didn't matter. Jasper couldn't let the fear of being judged for leaving the order dictate him anymore. He was going to help in the only way he knew how: Serving drinks.

Jasper set down in the main refugee camp on the planet. The atmosphere was gloomy, with a gray overcast and temporary shelters made of what was basically torn sheets and tarps littering the landscape. Jasper opened the door of the Philosopher, stepping out into the camp. The exile flagged down one of the volunteers.

"Hey," Jasper told the volunteer, "I've ship full of alcohol I'm donating. Think you could spread the word?"

"Alcohol?" the volunteer frowned.

"Look, I don't have much," Jasper explained with a sigh. "All I can do is lift spirits. Just let people know that my doors are open. Booze is on the house."

Jasper turned back, entering his vessel and to prepare the bar for guests. In the face of so much strife, it seemed strange to donate drink rather than something like medicine or clothing, but Jasper had learned a lot of things out on his own. In the end of the day, nothing healed the soul like high spirits. Maybe the opportunity to drink, socialize, and reflect was exactly what these people needed.

The doors of the Philosopher are open to refugees, volunteers, and anyone else in the camp who may need to take a quick breather and unwind.

 

[Iris Arani]

The colors were dim. Too dim. Iris had decided to look past them in her sole mission to bring Thalia Senn back home. Now, there was no mission in the way for her to ignore it. No, the opposite. To heal those she could, she needed to be more aware of the colors around her. Tent to tent she went, tracing through the colors to find those she could help the most. Which, wasn't a lot. She wasn't that skilled. She wasn't strong enough.

Little by little the black shade of death that took over all colors spread throughout the camp. One life after another flicking out as she tended to burns, cuts, lacerations. They'd won. They'd protected Tython, drove the Maw back after their burned crusade through the core.

It certainly didn't feel like they won. Another light went out as Iris stepped out of another tent. This one closer by. Her gaze flicked to it, just in time to watch Amani step from the tent. Give directions to a lost little girl.

She tried to force a smile for her friend. It looked as broken as Tython did.

"Hey."

Amani Serys | Arlo Renard

 

[Arlo Renard]

Kai eventually left the medical tent, and spotted a ship parked near the edge of the camp. It took him a few seconds of squinting to realize it was a mobile bar. Another few seconds of watching a crowd form, and he concluded that the drinks were free.

You would think it would be a really bad idea to hand out free alcohol in the middle of a refugee camp, but apparently this guy didn’t. Kai looked around, wondering if he should do something, but… well, he wasn’t the guy in charge. So…

Ten minutes later, Kai staggered over to where Iris and Amani were chatting, reeking of booze. <Hello ladies,> he greeted them, swaying a bit. Taking a couple of steps forward, he stumbled and clung to the grass as if it were all that was keeping him grounded.

He may or may not have attempted to drink as much of the Philosopher’s stock as possible—something that would’ve been easy for him to do back in his Doppelganger days, but not so much now—in an effort to prevent a crowd of drunken displaced from wandering around the camp and wreaking havoc.

Or maybe he just figured getting drunk would help to pass the time. That was also a possibility. He couldn’t really remember anymore.

Iris Arani Amani Serys Jasper Kai'el​

 

[Mishel]

Call of the Fates
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Mishel was there... Tython had been where she was called to and it was where she was currently chained. There all she could do was watch, watch wait for a resolution to her current situation. While there she promised to do what she could for those who needed help, who needed to heal and there were a great many who needed it. As she crossed through the ruins of what had been she couldn't help but feel the anguish of those who survived. Of those who wondered how they could ever manage to get past such an event, from Amani Serys and Arlo Renard Iris Arani and the young Jasper Kai'el to those who she knew on a more personal level.​

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Coren Starchaser for starters, and of course there were those such as Caltin Vanagor whom she had never met. Still others like Zark San Tekka and Cotan Sar'andor who she had only heard of either in passing, or worked with before. Every Jedi who had ever come across Tython had been revealed to her on that most horrific day not so long ago. Mishel's spirit continued to roam through Tython. To remind those who survived that they were not alone and that so long as they kept the memories of those who had passed... They would never perish. ​

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Mourn not those who have passed, rejoice - for they have become one with the Force.​

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They have come to know peace and now live among all, for the Force surrounds all living beings, great and small. ​

 

[Valery Noble]

Location: Tython | Temple path
Appearance: Link
Outfit: Factory Link
Weapon: Double-Bladed Lightsaber
Tag: Silas Westgard

"How is your recovery going?"

Valery looked at Silas as they began the walk from the ruined Temple to the Flesh Raider territories. There was a lot to do on Tython after the Maw had ravaged much of its surface, and she had chosen to look into the mind-controlled Raiders that were causing issues everywhere. Not to fight them and create more casualties, but to hopefully rid them of the darker forces that lingered in their minds.

But at the same time, she knew they had to be careful too. One wrong move and they would be forced to defend themselves.

"You look like you're back on your feet again, but are you feeling well enough to get back into action?" She looked at him curiously. Valery herself had not sustained any major injuries during the battle. No physical ones, anyway — Kyrel had targetted her mind and the recovery from that had been slow. It even required a somewhat forced vacation.

Right now though, she looked like she could take anything on again.

Her eyes then shifted to their environment, to what was once a beautiful forest. Now, much of it had been destroyed and left to rot around them. It was going to take decades for it to return to what it once was, and some parts might never fully recover. But she wasn't going to give up, and neither were the thousands of others who were out here to help, "So much has changed..."

 

[Caltin Vanagor]

”The difference between winning and losing is most often not quitting.”- Walt Disney​

“First. think
Second. believe
Third. dream
Fourth. dare”

It was an old training Mantra his Master had given him long ago. Caltin was having trouble differentiating just connecting his abilities in the Force and his natural skills when it came to combat. It soon became something that he made into his own and incorporated it into every day. It was something that he had come to forget a long time ago.

Funny how he was reminded of it now as the massive Jedi Master flew in low and fast over the horizon, eventually landing long enough to climb out of his Interceptor (to which BB-88 would immediately take off afterwards and get into the sky). Looking over what was left of the ruins of the Temple of Healing (Kaleth), one of the nine Temples, Caltin could not help but think about how this was a “victory,” with the price that was paid to achieve it.

Before he had fallen into the ice and was frozen for over eight hundred years, Caltin Vanagor would look on over this field, dejected. He would be wondering what the cost was and those who would have to be remembered, not those who pressed on. It was a very fatalist point of view, all in the self-defeating ideal of looking for peace. Now? Now he remembered just how important it was to survive and how important it was to not feel a burden for surviving but an honor to continue the proverbial “fight.” He felt inspired…

… and that was before he could feel the presence out there.

Thank you very much. I can feel you out there, and though I do not recognize you and realize how we may have never met, I am honored to be around you.

Not that long ago, we all found – in different ways, in different places, but all at the same moment – that our lives would be changed forever. This world was loud with carnage and sirens, and then quiet with missing voices that would never be heard again. These lives remain precious to our ideals and way of life, though we have never met, I will remember your sacrifice, share your sorrow, and honor those with you carrying the honor of “family”..
When I was in training to be Knighted, we were reminded how “there is no death… There is the Force.”

Well, you’ve proven that, but in doing so, you’ve also given me, and hopefully many others here, a purpose. Even if it is no one other than I. I thank you for that. I was beginning to forget why I was a Jedi, I have always known what it meant to be one, but was forgetting why it had meant as such. You may not consider it much, and I understand that, you may even feel as though you have done nothing of significance, but know that The purpose I thought was long forgotten has been enriched one more time. Maybe it doesn’t mean much today, but it does to me, and if I am going to get others to understand who I am, I suppose that I need to do so first.

We should not have “won” here, but we did, you helped give us that second chance and even if I have do so entirely on my own then I will ensure that it will not be an opportunity wasted.

May the Force be with you.

Perhaps the essence, whatever it was, could hear him. Perhaps not. Perhaps he just looked even more of an idiot than he normally does, but it took coming back here to be able to let go of the past. Something he was not able to do much of in the past.

Location: Between the Ruins of Kaleth and The Forge
Allies: Valery Noble / Phylis Alince / Mishel / Coren Starchaser
Anyone that wants to converse!/ TEAM LIGHTSIDE!

Spoiler: Personal effects

"Vanguard" (Secondary - Long Handle)

"CONSERVATOR" (Primary - Long Handle)
HK-88 Robes, Battle Armor,Toraynor-Henkan(mind crystal added) Advanced Jedi Utility Belt
Starship: Spectre, (Jedi Interceptor in the hangar, Dilorian, and Bike both in the cargo bay, the late Karki Eusith's Armor, Shield, Temple Guard Lightsaber mounted on the wall)
Sanctuary Island

 

[Kyrel Ren]

BYOO - The Day a Demon was Born

Kyrel wandered across the ruined surface, the Force had once felt so full of life on Tython, there was nothing but death. Even with the destruction of the world a failure, events of cataclysmic proportions caused the Force to cry out. Kyrel felt this on an intense level, badly wounded he focused on the death to survive, little did he know was that getting what he wanted carried a price with it. Even as his entrails threatened to reopen his wounds the fire cauterized. His legs felt tired, heavy and still he kept his stride his hunger surging in waves.

His hunger was only satisfied through draining what little vegetation remained. It was barely enough to keep his newfound hunger together. Looking around the ruined landscape, he wondered if he would be picked up, various transports landing to pick up Mawites one and the same. Every step he took, he felt the hunger too overwhelming to bare. The more he ventured, he saw pieces of artillery, shipwrecks from the battle. It was clear that this planet would take centuries to recover from this devastation.

He could hear voices, his inhuman senses reached out. He heard friendly whispers, and those disgruntled and crying in pain. The Wrath thought he was done, his bloodlust once thought over only overpowered him. His eyes focused on a pair of just people. Those that would be like the Jedi, who would wish to help others. Watching a man, a woman and what looked to be a young girl.

He slowly started to redirect his focus towards the group. A part of him wishing that his bloodlust would end. Now he would rejuvenate himself where both bloodlust and hunger were now one and the same.

Cerra