Dominion Sound the Horns! | Dominion of Iridonia [DIA]

[Damos Vakaro]

Sound the Horns!

Iridonia is now prime for the taking. The galaxy now at the whim of rising powers, the Diarchy must take advantage of the power vacuum before its rivals can claim any spoils. Its first target is Iridonia.

Objective I: First Dibs!

To control the world of Iridonia would be an esteemed position to hold. Iridonia sits along the Coruscant-Dantooine hyperlane, making it an important hub for commerce providing various economic benefits for the Diarchy. It is these benefits that the Iridonian planetary government doesn't want to lose out on. Under the tenure of the Galactic Alliance, the Iridonians enjoyed coexistence but many in their leadership are keen on maintaining total independence, seperate of any entity. Especially that of a government wearing the skin of the Empire. Convince those against the incorporation of Iridonia into Diarchy space in order to fulfill the wishes of the Diarchs by any means necessary.

Objective II: Culling the Herd.

Iridonia is a harsh world, littered with sulfur pools and volcanos. Perfect places for pockets of resistance to hide and harass anyone they deem hostile. Many Alliance hardliners and Iridonian pro-independence fighters have been holed in the Mudiru Valley, infested with sulfur lakes and geysers that deter anyone from inhabiting the area, making it the perfect hideout for rebel activity. Some locals in the area may have sympathies with the rebels. Be wary and snuff out the resistance as efficiently as possible.

Objective III: BYOO

The zabrak homeworld holds great significance to the galaxy. Do what must be done to facilitate its integration into the Diarchy smoothly.

​

 

[Jairdain Ismet-Thio]

Objective III – Rebuilding What Once Held Her

Iridonia greeted her as it always had — with heat, ash, and unvarnished truth.

The shuttle's ramp lowered with a metallic groan, releasing a wave of sulfur-rich air that curled against Jairdain's skin. She stepped forward slowly, allowing the first breath of the world to settle into her lungs. She could not see the jagged ridges or the steam vents rising in the distance, but the Force carried every detail to her in sensations sharper than sight:

The tremor of magma deep beneath the crust.
The rattle of dry stone under shifting wind.
The pulse of a world forged by fire and unsoftened by time.

Behind her, she felt Jax and Jayna descend the ramp for the first time—two presences bright and familiar against the planet's harsh backdrop. Their footsteps were confident but curious, both of them instinctively alert in a place that didn't seem warm at first glance.

"This isn't where I grew up," Jairdain murmured as her boots pressed into cracked basalt. "But it is where I returned when I could no longer stay anywhere else."

Iridonia had been her refuge in more lives than she could count.

When she was Sith, drowning in darkness with nowhere else to go.
When she was a broken Jedi, trying to stitch pieces of herself back together.
And later, when the weight of life and love with Yuroic became too much to hold within the walls of civilization, she had fled back to this quiet, brutal sanctuary.

She walked with a slow, deliberate certainty, letting the Force map the ground through every vibration beneath her feet. Jayna drifted closer, curiosity bright and eager; Jax followed a step behind, watchful and silently supportive.

"Krest gave me this land before Marcus was born," she continued, her voice softening at the memory. "He said it was a place meant for quiet things… and for people who needed somewhere safe to unravel."

It had been true.
And later, it became even more true.

Because in this harsh, unforgiving valley—between stone and ash—she brought her son into the galaxy. Marcus's first cries had echoed against those cliffs, sharp and new and full of life. The memory pressed warmly into her chest, layered with both tenderness and ache.

As the three of them crested the small ridge, the land opened, revealing what remained of her old refuge.

The structure had long since collapsed.
The stone foundation cracked but was still recognizable beneath creeping ash.
A portion of the hearth still stood—charred, defiant, refusing to vanish completely.
The wind curled through the emptiness where her doorway once stood, touching her presence like an old friend.

Jairdain approached with quiet reverence, her hand reaching out until her fingertips brushed warm stone. It vibrated faintly beneath her touch, an echo of long-ago nights, long-ago breaths, long-ago versions of herself.

"This is where I lived," she whispered. "Where I healed. Where I hid. Where I became a mother."

Jax stepped closer, his presence a steady warmth at her side; Jayna stood on the other, her spirit bright with curiosity and youthful wonder. The three of them formed a small circle of family against the ruins of the past.

She let her hand slide along the cracked stone and turned her face toward them, expression tender and resolute.

"I want to rebuild it. Not as it was… but as it should be now. A home for all of us. A place to return to—not out of pain, but choice."

The wind swept through the ruins then, spiraling ash around their feet, as though the planet itself acknowledged her vow.

Iridonia had never once promised gentleness.
But today—after forty long years—it offered something else entirely.

Welcome.
Begin again.

Jax Thio Jayna Ismet-Thio

 

[Ceres & Enel Kira]

Today is practical training! With our little ship, the Firefly, we went to land somewhere on Iridonia. As I step off the ship, Enel is still finishing her last preparations good grief, she can be so annoying when she wants to. All I want is to go explore Iridonia. They say erupting volcanoes are the best way to soak in a will of iron… or fire, depending on the context.

What do we know about the locals? Rebels? Zabraks? Everything you'd need to put our Sith code to the test. So I grabbed my lightsaber and now I'm waiting, standing like a statue in front of the ship, arms crossed, sighing in disapproval. What is she doing?

"Sorry for the delay! My makeup kit opened and"

"No, you're not sorry. It's fine. At least do you have everything you need?"

"Yeah, yeah… so, are we smashing some rebels today?"

"I hope you've got your blaster and your lightsaber. Cover my ass."

"Ooh, Ceres is in a bad mood!"

She starts circling around me, grinning from ear to ear. I sigh and put a hand on my head. Sometimes I really wonder what her actual mental age is. I just hope she'll be more serious on the battlefield. We walk toward objective two, this super inhospitable terrain. We're hunting for one of the hidden rebel bases in the area. Maybe they've already spotted our position who knows?

Given all the racket Enel is making while singing and dancing, I wouldn't even be surprised.

"Come on, move it, Enel! Stop showing off, you're going to get us spotted."

"HEY, REBEL AGENCY! We're here for you!"

"What the "

No doubt that triggered some alerts nearby. I grab her by the collar and ask her what got into her.

"Well, at least we won't have to spend a thousand years looking for that damn entrance!"

Her reasoning is idiotic, but… she has a point. I let her go and we continue on our way, passing not far from a geyser.

 

[Trent]

Obj 2
Pew pew

A pair of dark cloaked figures sat flat against the rocky outcropping of one of mountains far above the Mudiru Valley, their cloaks mimicked the sulfur stained boulders that surrounded them, in addition to hiding their signature to certain higher end optics as a bonus. The jagged valley looked even worse from on high than it had on the hike up. Lava from a volcano on the otherside of the valley trickled down it's side as geysers blasted water hot enough to melt skin at regular interverls. A literal hell hole of a planet. For one of the many times in his life he found himself cursing his opponents choice of hideaway. It was never anywhere nice, like Corellia. No, no, always had to be somewhere that the devil himself wouldn't look twice at.

The younger of the two had no such concerns, a cadet or aspiring agent, being run through his paces by the older. More a test of loyalty and ability to pull the trigger than anything, from what he'd been briefed. Norman didn't mind, the younger man had more weight to carry. As was custom, he simply referred to the young man as overwatch two, and two in turn referred to him as overwatch one. There was little sharing of personal information in such instructions, no need for it. He had no idea whether the man was going to be a spook or was some sort of soldier and that's how he wanted it.

Norman scanned with his binos and waited for any movement, they'd tracked back a large large group of rebels from a recent assault on a nearby convoy. They knew they were there, just not sure where. A flurry of movement caught the edge of his binoculared vision, far back towards the erupting volcano. Several armed beings, human and alien were sprinting away from what he presumed to be a cave or dugout of sorts near the eruption. Bad luck for them.

"Two. Northeast, between that cluster of geysers and the volcano." Trent said flatly.

"Copy." Two replied, shifting his barrel slightly

"Sighted."

"Send it." One replied.

The air shifted as Two sent a high powered projectile screaming thru the air faster than sound, impacting just above the iridonian runner's sternum, sending their blaster flying and their comrades diving for cover. Being that they were using a supressed projectile weapon, the enemy had no idea where the shot had came from besides a vague direction implied by their friend's fall.

 

[Zinayn]

Obj 2

The pain in his chest began to get more noticeable the longer he laid down on the rocks, but he wouldn't dare risk being spotted. Zinayn held the macrobinoculars steady as he continued his long observation of the rebel hideout past the gurgling sulfur pools. The base was active, with people hurrying from building to building, meeting together, and speaking urgently. A burly Zabrak came out of an underground cellar laden with weapons, which others grabbed off of him went to different assigned posts. No doubt they had heard of the appearance of a Diarchy ship in orbit and frantically took up arms to defend themselves against what they perceived as tyranny.

Zinayn shifted onto his side as he adjusted the magnification, zooming out to get a wider view of the valley. He let out a sigh, fogging up his breath mask as he began calculating which path would be best to take to enter the hideout hopefully unannounced. There were guards on all sides of the rocky outcrop, looking outwards vigilantly for any threats. All sides except one. Towards the back of the hideout was a blind spot in the guards' fields of vision, with a narrow path along the jagged valley wall leading to the storage rooms of the refuge. Before the wall was a bubbling sulfur pool which they could easily avoid if they stayed flush against the wall. He nodded to himself. That was a perfect way to enter the small settlement undetected.

Suddenly, the sulfur pool gurgled violently, and a second later a spray of sulfur shot up into the air, raining down on the narrow path. He could see the steam rising from the ground as the spray slowed. Now he knew why no one was guarding that side. He began counting in his head, calculating the intervals between geyser eruptions. Seven seconds later, another spray. That was plenty of time to cross.

Zinayn removed the macrobinoculars from his eyes, tucking them away, and crawling back down from his vantage point. Once he was sure the defenders wouldn't be able to see him, he stood up and stretched the fatigue out of his muscles, waiting for Deanez and Aknoby to arrive.

Shade Trent

 

[Deanez]

Dean reached Zinayn's position without a whisper of sound.

The sulfur fog made the climb treacherous, but she moved as if the valley itself parted for her—steps light on the blackened stone, cloak blending seamlessly with the scorched terrain. She carried no rifle. She never did. A collapsed staff sat strapped to her back, the matte finish swallowing the dim light, and her knives were holstered along her hips and ribs, each one positioned for silent, efficient retrieval.

By the time she slid into place beside him, she had already mapped the entire rebel outpost in her mind—movement patterns, weak points, firing arcs, blind angles. Zinayn didn't need to tell her how ugly the place was; she had seen enough battlefields to know this one would burn fast if they failed.

Her breath didn't shake. Her voice didn't rise above the sulfur's simmer.

"You found a weakness?"

She didn't ask how dangerous it was. Every path down into hell was dangerous.

Her eyes followed the line he indicated—the narrow ledge skirting the sulfur pool, the blind spot only visible because Zinayn had taken the time to observe what others missed. She watched the geyser explode again, droplets hissing where they struck the stone.

Seven seconds.

She nodded—sharp, measured.

"That is enough."

Her cloak shifted slightly as she crouched, confirming the concealed placement of her knives and the small, quiet emitter at her belt—the one that bent light just enough to erase her from peripheral vision when she moved.

"Aknoby will need the interval after us," she added, tone calm as a surgeon's. "You take point. I follow. If anything reacts before we reach the wall, I silence it."

She meant it—not as confidence, but as fact.

Her gaze returned to the rebels in the distance. She watched them scramble, shouting, arming anyone who could hold a blaster. She tracked the children forced into lookout positions, the exhausted older fighters holding lines they had no chance of defending.

When she spoke again, her voice held no judgment—only certainty.

"If they spread beyond the valley, containment fails. The DIA will not permit that outcome."

Another geyser erupted. She didn't flinch.

Her eyes—bright crimson in the sulfur haze—returned to Zinayn.

"You move when ready," she told him quietly. "I am prepared."

Then, after a brief pause—professional but edged with something that resembled trust:

"I have your back."

Trent Zinayn

 

[Trent]

Obj 2
Post 2

More pews

"Good hit" Norman said as Two racked the bolt, putting another round in the chamber and firing again, hitting another mover in his hip, this one a human, spiralling into the dirt painfully close to the cover they'd been sprinting for.

From this distance the rebel's screams sounded like a distant echo.

"Good hit."

The bolt racked again.

Norman glanced at the time on the corner of his binos, Deanez and Zinayn should be in position soon, perfect time for the two of them to have the rebels focused on an enemy that wasn't next to them. As the group they were firing on hunkered down behind geysers, rocks, and anything else that could hide them from the gaze of the shooter, Trent scanned for any other contacts, slowly, methodically. Small aberrations in the dirt marked emplacements and tunnel entrances. He expected to see a reflection at some point, if the rebels had comms there would probably be some version of a "sniper" looking for them shortly.

A bright shimmer bounced off his bino's lens as he passed over a small lump on the side of a hill a hundred of so meters from the pinned down rebels.

"West. Small hill, glint." Norman said quietly.

The younger of the two shifted very slowly before settling west. One. Two. Three. Four.

Dust kicked off near the end of the suppressor's cylinder as the young man fired. The lump on the hill got lower and a tiny object rolled down the hill towards the now dead enemy's comrades.

 

[Shade]

The Mudiru Valley exhaled heat like a wounded beast, the sulfur-laced air rising in shimmering waves from fractured stone. Geysers roared at irregular intervals, sending violent bursts of superheated mist arcing into the haze, and the ground itself pulsed with the uneasy breath of ancient volcanic veins. For most operatives, the valley was a death sentence. For Shade, it was simply another terrain to be read, mapped, and used.

She moved along the narrow ridge with the fluid precision of someone for whom treacherous footing was not a disadvantage but an opportunity. The sulfur fog curled around her as she descended into a position overlooking the rebel encampment below. Makeshift structures clustered near the valley's floor—crude shelters, ammunition crates, half-collapsed blast walls where defenders scrambled in panicked, uncoordinated motion. Somewhere in that chaos was Rhovan Tigh, the sniper she had been tracking across worlds. A trained marksman, disciplined, calculating, dangerous in a way that left no room for error. His last confirmed shot had nearly taken a government delegate's life. That alone had placed Shade on his trail.

The rebels below shifted like insects stirred from a nest—desperate, armed, terrified. Shade tracked their movements without emotion, letting patterns form and dissolve until the pieces aligned into something useful. No surface sign of a sniper's perch, no silhouette clean enough to be Rhovan—but she knew his type. He would choose the second line of defense, not the first—the place where the terrain narrowed, where he could bottleneck a breach and control the angles.

She eased into a crouch beside a cluster of jagged rock and only then registered she wasn't the first operative on the ridge.

Zinayn was already there.

He lay low against the dark stone, macrobinoculars lifted, breath steady despite the valley's oppressive heat. Shade did not announce herself; she stepped into his awareness with the same quiet inevitability as the fog rolling over the ledge. Her arrival made no sound, no disturbance in the sulfur wind. When he noticed her, she acknowledged him with a slight, precise incline of her head—professional, silent, nothing more.

Cape shifting slightly with the heat currents, she let her gaze follow the direction he had been observing. The blind spot along the rear cliff caught her attention immediately. A narrow ledge, nearly invisible through the fog, ran along a sulfur pool whose eruptions would deter any patrol from consistently guarding it. Hazardous for most. Calculated for someone trained to move fast in seven-second windows.

She watched the next eruption. The steam billowed, hissed, and collapsed in on itself. The interval was predictable. Predictable meant usable.

Movement from above signaled another operative approaching—Dean, steady-footed and controlled even on unstable stone. Shade did not turn to greet him. She did not need to. His presence was added to the calculus of the valley's shifting rhythms.

She had not come to command this operation. Her mission was singular: track Rhovan Tigh, confirm his involvement, and remove him before he could relocate to a stronger vantage point. These operatives had broader objectives. She would fold into their structure without friction—supplementing, not directing—because efficiency demanded it.

Her attention returned to the valley floor, where a glint caught her eye: metal reflecting briefly near a tunnel carved into the cliffside. Not rebel standard issue. Not positioned like a lookout. A marksman's setup, recessed just enough that only someone already searching for it would notice. Her breath remained steady. Her pulse did not shift.

She adjusted the fall of her cloak and silently checked the arrangement of her knives, fingertips brushing each hilt in a habitual sequence of assurance. The collapsed staff at her back sat flush against the harness, ready for deployment at a moment's notice.

The sulfur pool erupted again—violent, churning, a spray of superheated droplets striking stone and sizzling into vapor. Shade watched without flinching, letting the timing settle into muscle memory.

The path was dangerous. She stepped closer to the descent route, body coiled in quiet readiness, her silhouette barely distinguishable from the jagged terrain.

However, the others chose to proceed; she was prepared to move with them—swiftly, silently, precisely.

A ghost in the sulfur. A hunter folded into the shadows. A provisional ally with one clear objective. And when the moment came, Rhovan Tigh would not leave this valley alive.

Trent Zinayn Deanez Aknoby

 

[Aknoby]

Aknoby appeared in position, the young Chiss, or half-Chiss judging by his hair color, was very good at being stealthy, not only did he have the right equipment, but he was also very good with Force powers for stealth.

Wearing infiltration gear that would get on Laphisto's nerves, the outfit was level protection without a helmet, just a visor. On his left arm was what looked like a small keyboard that the young man pressed from time to time, and the response appeared on his HUD. The code he used was quite... peculiar, so to speak, it was binary mixed with other languages, and usually the binary part repeated Stomper.

He heard everything he needed to hear from the others and nodded, this time with a broad smile.

"Well, you won't see me or feel me, but I'll be there."

He smile to the others, he kns the mission is serious and mortal danger but at the same time he always feel a little fun doing it. He pressed his keyboard again and it appeared in common language

"Congratulations if you're a rebel hacker and you're angry because you don't understand the code we created. Now bye."

He disappears into thin air and also disappears from all electronic communications and the Force, waiting for the others to move so he can go too.

Zinayn Deanez Shade Trent

 

[Jayna Ismet-Thio]

Objective: Visit another of Mom's old houses
Location: Iridonia
Outfit: Stay cool outfit
Tags: Jairdain Ismet-Thio | Jax Thio

Jayna didn't have the connection with Iridonia that her mother had. When they stepped out of the shuttle Jayna greeted the new environment with a sigh. She was glad she had chosen a light tank top and cargo shorts. The premonition of wiping sweat from her brow of sweat from the heat of the new environment. It even smelled hot. But Jayna wasn't going to let the heat affect her mood. She had a feeling that there was going to be work to be done, and she didn't want to be any more trouble for her mother.

Jayna looked to her father as she let her mother set out first. But they did not wait long before following. She could feel the gentle touch of her mother even as Mom was focused on the unwelcoming landscape. Jayna knew that Jairdain grew up on Veradune, she wondered what could have possibly brought her mother to this place. Jayna knew that Mom had gone through much more than she had explained in her lifetime, but why here? What could have possibly happened to make this the last refuge?

As Mom led forward, Jayna gave another look to her father and then closed the distance she had allowed her mother. She reached out and took Mom's hand, still following from the side, over terrain that she knew Mom knew only from the Force and memory. She still trusted her mother completely to lead the way. The young girl frowned when her mother said the land was a gift from before her eldest half-sibling was born. With a squeeze, Jayna released Mom's hand and let her go ahead again.

As they got closer to the site of Mom's old home the small family came together. Jayna silently wondered if Marcus or Nitya or Dreidi would ever come here. Was this just a hideaway that Mom used when she needed one. Jayna was not in the place in life where she felt like she would need such a place, but she was not ignorant of the fact that life got much more complicated as one aged.

"We will make it a nice little spot to unwind when other spots get too overwhelming," Jayna said with a smile. Moving close to her mom again and clasping her hand.

 

[Zinayn]

With the arrival of the other three Chiss, their mission could now get underway. The one known as Shade was an ally during this battle, but not aligned with the Diarchy, so Zinayn reminded himself to keep an eye on her. He crouched and approached the ledge, visually confirming the path he would take before dropping off the ledge and onto a rock jutting from the side of the valley below. More rocks from the valley wall were jutting out ahead, forming a sort of staircase they could jump down and remain unseen.

Zinayn took the lead, leaping from rock to rock and getting closer to the bubbling pools of sulfur. He made his last jump and landed softly on the valley floor, eyes stinging slightly from the gases in the air. On cue, the geyser erupted again, sulfur spraying down on the rocks just feet before him. Zinayn waved the team forward, counting to seven mentally as he began to cross the narrow pathway.

A crash sounded from ahead, then a muffled curse. The tarp on one of the storage tents just ahead moved as if someone was inside. Zinayn was already halfway to the back of the camp; he couldn't stop now. In a split-second decision, he dove forward aided by the Force the rest of the way, rolling and coming up on one knee behind the tent. The sounds of clinking glass came from inside the storage area, along with a string of more cursing.

A new voice entered the room, and he could hear the tent flap opening. "What happened...no way! Stupid, clumsy Devaronian! That's our month-long supply of Corellian whiskey you just spilled! And why are you even here? You're the strongest of us, you should be on the frontlines!"

The Devaronian mumbled something that the newcomer scoffed at. The tent flap opened, and there was silence briefly punctuated by clinking glass. The geyser erupted again, and Zinayn concluded that the entire team would be across now. The Chiss needed to figure out where the head of this group was, and the lonely rebel inside would likely have that information. He communicated his intent to the team and quietly unsheathed his katana.

He slashed twice diagonally through the tarp and stepped into a puddle of whiskey, face to face with a surprised Devaronian. With a snap of his wrist, his blade was now an inch from the man's neck, humming with the Force. "I'd like to know who runs this operation. Quietly," he demanded without raising his voice. Loudness was not needed for his message to be received.

The man gulped and nodded, mouth moving to find words for a second before whispering hoarsely, "She lives in the center tent. The one with the flag on it."

Zinayn nodded, leaving his katana by the artery for a second longer before nodding to Dean. She could do to him whatever she thought would be best in this situation. Stepping over the remaining glass shards, he peered out of the tent, seeing the flag the Devaronian mentioned. That would be their next move.

Deanez Aknoby Shade Trent

 

[Deanez]

The sulfur burned faintly at the back of Dean's throat, but her breathing remained even, controlled. The valley was a mire of unstable terrain, scalding air currents, and blind drops, but her feet found every surface with the soft precision of someone who mapped movement three steps ahead. She shadowed Zinayn's descent without speaking, matching his rhythm exactly — not crowding him, not lagging, simply anchoring the rear of the team with the same quiet discipline that made her reliable on every infiltration she'd been assigned.

When the geyser burst again — seven seconds of predictable violence — she slipped across the narrow ledge after Shade, the heat brushing her face but never breaking her stride. Cupcake wasn't here to trip into her knees; Rynar wasn't here to breathe warmth across her skin. Here, Dean was what she had been trained to be.

Weightless.
Silent.
Decisive.

Her boots touched ground behind the tents the moment the geyser's roar tapered. The scattered glass and the sharp scent of spilled whiskey marked the storage area before she even saw the slashed tarp. Zinayn entered first. Dean followed, a quiet shadow slipping in at his flank.

The Devaronian froze with a sword at his throat.

Dean did not speak.

Zinayn questioned him.
The man answered.
A central tent, marked with a flag. The command post.

Zinayn nodded to her.

She moved.

The Devaronian tensed as she stepped forward, expecting the harsh, immediate violence so many operatives favored. Dean did not strike him. Instead, she reached out and pressed two fingers precisely beneath his jawline — a nerve cluster she had memorized long before she ever fired her first weapon—a swift application of pressure, precisely calibrated.

The Devaronian sagged before he could scream.

Dean caught his weight silently and lowered him to the ground, her movements smooth and practiced, ensuring no glass shifted beneath him. His eyes fluttered shut — unconscious but alive, contained without noise. Out of play without raising an alarm.

She stepped back, wiped her gloved fingers against her thigh, and adjusted the fall of her coat.

A single, quiet nod to Zinayn.

Ready. Proceed.

She slid to the tent's edge, eyes tracking the distance to the central command post. Her voice remained low, barely above breath — enough for the three operatives to hear over the hiss of sulfur.

"Lead on, Zinayn. I will collapse the rear guard and secure entry."

No hesitation.
No ego.
Only precision.

The sulfur pool erupted again — seven seconds of opportunity.

Dean slipped into position like a knife sliding back into its sheath, waiting for Zinayn's next signal.

Ready to move.
Ready to end this quietly.
Ready to finish the objective.
Zinayn Aknoby Shade Trent

 

[Jax Thio]

Location: Iridonia
Equipment: Causal Outfit, Jax's Prosthetic Arm, Jax's Third Lightsaber, Marriage Ring to Jairdain
Tag: Jairdain Ismet-Thio , Jayna Ismet-Thio


Jair mentioned Iridonia a couple of times when she was with Jax. He remembered promising her that he would help Jair rebuild though he wasn't sure when that'll be. "Looks like right now," Jax muttered looking around the desert planet. Jair talked a lot about her home but she never got a chance to revisit it. But now Jair now has an opportunity to close off any old wounds. Jax remembered Jair confronting her past multiple times especially after his death. "I sense massive conflict." Jax said his feet sinking into soft soil. "You're right Jair, bittersweet memories reign on this plot of land."

He took a deep breath. "Let the world be Jair," Jax said smiling. "Life is love and loss, friendship and betrayal, heartbreak and triumph. The Force feeds into the symbiotic nature and creates new life from it."

Jax shrugged. "In a way," he said. "It's not the last of the old but the first of the new. You chose to come here but not alone but with Jayna and I. What we do, we'll do together."

 

[Jairdain Ismet-Thio]

The heat rose around them in shimmering waves, clinging to her skin and clothing like a second atmosphere. Even without sight, Jairdain felt Jayna's discomfort the moment they stepped off the shuttle—the soft exhale, the shift in her stance, the restless flutter of young energy adjusting to a harsh world. Iridonia was not a place that welcomed easily, but Jayna's determination to meet it without complaint pulled a small, quiet smile to her lips.

Jayna's hand found hers again as they walked. That surprised her more than the heat. Her daughter rarely sought reassurance so openly. Jairdain's fingers curled gently around the girl's, a soft squeeze of gratitude—gratitude for trust, for presence, for a bond that did not need sight to flourish.

When Jayna released her hand, Jairdain let her go without resistance, sensing the little ripple of emotion behind the gesture. Questions. Curiosity. Uncertainty. All natural when learning new pieces of a mother whose past stretched wider than most children ever knew.

She didn't speak to fill the silence. Sometimes silence did more healing than words.

The terrain sloped as they neared the ruins of her old refuge. The air shifted—thickening with memory, thinning with grief. Jax's presence tightened at her side, steady but troubled, and she could feel him reading the land the way only those who loved her ever seemed able to.

"You're right," she said quietly when he spoke of conflict. "This land has known every version of me. The lost girl. The Sith apprentice. The broken Jedi. The mother who wasn't sure she could survive what came next."

Her hand drifted unconsciously to her stomach again, the small life within her pulsing faintly through the Force.

"But it also knew the part of me that healed. The part that chose to keep living. The part that chose you."

The wind shifted, carrying dust and the scent of old stone. She sensed Jayna move closer again—a little anchor of bright presence beside her—and she accepted the girl's hand when it slipped into hers once more.

Jayna's voice tried to be cheerful, but Jairdain could feel the honest sincerity beneath it.

"We will," she agreed softly. "We will make it a place to breathe again."

A place for Jayna to grow into her own.
A place for the new baby to take its first steps.
A place where Jax wouldn't be wandering alone anymore.
A place where she could face all the ghosts she had buried here without fearing they would consume her.

Jax's words settled into her like steadying hands.

Not the last of the old but the first of the new.

She turned toward him, reaching out until her fingers brushed his cheek, then the line of his jaw. It was a gesture she reserved for very few people—truthful, grounding, an intimate acknowledgment of everything they had weathered and everything still before them.

"You always did know how to speak directly to the heart of things," she murmured. "Even when you didn't mean to."

Her hand slid down to join his over her stomach again. The baby stirred faintly beneath their touch—barely more than a flutter in the Force, but enough that she drew in a slow breath.

"We rebuild," she said, her voice firming with resolve. "Not because I fled here once… but because now, we return together."

She turned slightly, guiding Jayna closer with the smallest tug of her hand.

"This land held my past," she said. "But the future? That belongs to all of us."

The wind rose again, swirling dust around their boots, lifting the edges of her cloak as though acknowledging the vow the little family made there on the cracked Iridonian soil.

"Come," she said gently, turning toward the foundation stones that still remembered her footsteps. "Let us begin."

Jax Thio Jayna Ismet-Thio

 

[Mr Black]

Objective 1 | Open

In a compact, shielded conference suite, far from public eyes and even farther from public accountability, others bled, covertly maneuvered, or fought passionately for their causes.

Mr Black did none of these things.

He sat comfortably in a dimmed room, his obsidian briefcase resting beside him like a loyal hound. Two executive aides stood behind him, well dressed, silent, poised, while he sipped a cup of zetaline stimcaf, the kind brewed by corporate chemists to be strong enough to melt duracrete. Half the corridor outside was lined with ASF security, the other half with Iridonian planetary officers, each side pretending they weren't irritated by the other's presence in a crammed hallway.

Black adjusted the cuff of his tailored armorweave suit, its reactive threads laced in biometric sync and signal. He flashed a charismatic half smile, the kind that said he'd already run ten sims of this meeting and successfully concluded nine of them.

"Relax," he said, swirling his stimcaf. "If I wanted a hostile takeover, you wouldn't be invited to the meeting." Setting the stage heavy from the beginning.

Across the table, the Iridonian representative straightened, mandibles flexing subtly to show poise. "You are an unknown quantity, yet I have heard of your reputation Mr Black. Though I can't tell if that should reassure us… or worry us."

"Iridonia." Black triangled his fingers, leaning forward with practiced ease. "So many galactic powers circling your territory, bidding for loyalty, leverage, or land. The Alliance collapses, the Diarchy advances, they all start orbiting again."

Annasun, his Hapan assistant, placed a datapad before him with graceful efficiency. She tapped the screen once, and a wall of figures, projections, and likely market vectors lit the tablet in a pale blue.

"Credits," Black said, dismissively pushing the glowing columns aside. "Apex Holdings and the Compact have more than enough liquidity to buy any material you need. Labor teams. Reconstruction specialists. Power cells. Durasteel. Tactical AI suites. Infrastructure packages. All transitory assets." With the rise and fall of the core, everything had an expiration date. Black paused, letting the silence settle in.

"What isn't transitory is data. Currency. The future." His voice dropped to a velvet-register. "None of the major powers are equipped like Echelon. They can't process your signals or predictive models, your media streams or AI-layer calculations. They don't have close to the architecture we do." He exhaled so not to oversell it, lightly, theatrically, switching into full investor-shark hunting mode. "Whoever controls the data controls the future. And one way or another, through corporate contract or expedient methods, Echelon intends to secure what flows through Iridonia."

The Iridonian representative's eyes narrowed sharply at that. "You speak of inevitability as though you already own it. We've survived empires, syndicates, and wars. We're not in the habit of selling any of our autonomy to the highest bidder." Which was very true.

Black's smile sharpened, like he'd done his homework, setting up the counter already.

"Then don't sell it," he said. "Lease it." For an extended period of course, Compact corporate lawyers were second to none.
He slid the datapad back toward them; the holographic projections reshaped into sleek, irresistible efficiency models set just for this moment.
"Apex proposes a sovereignty-preserving data partnership. You keep your independence, flags, and customs on the product. We simply optimize your channels. Protect your streams and media. Monetize what you're already generating at a loss." So much data was wasted the galaxy over, just waiting to be harvested

Balen leaned back, stretching slightly, every movement saying he was already two steps ahead.

"Think of it as… turning Iridonia into the galaxy's most profitable dead-zone. You retain some maneuvering room. The parts that matter, which the powers never even consider, stay Iridonian. And we make everyone else regret underestimating you." In culture, media, in AI assistance, the parts that bound society together.

A pause. "And I take a modest cut. Mostly to keep my accountants from crying." Because whatever the other megacorps agreed to, he wanted his piece of the pie. Black lifted his stimcaf again. "Your move."

 

[Lord Mettallum]

Location: Malidris the Capital City of Iridonia

The citizens of Iridonia found that their hopes for a peaceful and prosperous independence short lived as Diarchy ships appeared. Without the support the the Galactic Alliance Military and the Iridonia Military still not being fully ready and armed to protect its new found independence, Diarchy were able to land their ships uncontested. Lord Mettallum would lead the occupation of its Capital City Malidris where multiple legions of droids marched through the city.

Other than a few foolish initial fire fights the droids were able to gain control of the city's utilities including power, water and government buildings quite easily. While the droids were busy securing the city, operatives of the Network would identify key figures amongst the population mainly members of the Zabrak Council or high ranking officials in the planetary defence and ensure their safe transport to one of the largest buildings in Capital Square where Iridonia's need to join the Diarchy can be discussed.

Members of the Zabrak council stood before Lord Mettallum as he studied the contents of one of his datapads. Behind Lord Mettallum were two thrones in case the Diarchs themselves would be joining in for the meeting "Iridonia is in luck that the Diarchs have deemed it of upmost importance to protect your planet and its hyperlanes." Lord Mettallum would hand the datapad to one of his droid attendants "It seems quite a lot of pirates have taken advantage of the chaos caused by the failure of the foolish Galactic Alliance."

Most of the council members glared at Lord Mettallum as he spoke before one of the oldest members of the council took a step towards Lord Mettallum "The people of Iridonia have survived far worse so do not think you can pretend to be our saviour wanna be imperial droid." the old man would then spit at Lord Mettallum.

In response to this disrespect Lord Mettallum would backhand the old man. The slap was intended to only shut him up for a little bit but Lord Mettallum in his rage had miscalculated and the slap ended up causing the man to go flying to the side with now a very obvious broken jaw. Lord Mettallum signalled for one of his attendants to clean his now bloody metal hand "please there is no need for that type of disrespect."

Diarch Rellik

 

[Ceres & Enel Kira]

objective II | Open

Enel trots beside me, finally a bit quieter, though I can tell she's itching with impatience. She's looking everywhere, as usual, while I keep my eyes glued to the discreet scan on my bracelet. The base should be in this canyon, hidden under an old Zabrak mine. I take the lead, hand near my saber. The terrain sucks: lava plates that could collapse, geysers that spit without warning, ash that stings the eyes. Classic Iridonia. Of course, Enel can't go five minutes without opening her mouth.

"Do you think they've got Zabraks with them? I love when they charge like beasts."

I sigh without slowing down.

"Focus. If there are any, they'll be armed and trained. Not here to entertain you."

She pouts, but I know she's already picturing the fight. Me too. The canyon widens a little. Ahead of us, a wall covered in reddish lichen. My scan picks up a thermal anomaly behind it: a camouflaged generator. The entrance. I raise my hand. Enel shuts up immediately for once. We crouch behind a black rock. Two rebel sentries in light armor suited for the climate are patrolling in front of what looks like a simple crack. But I know there's more inside. A dozen, maybe fifteen. Enough to make it fun.

I turn to Enel and whisper:

"We start quiet. You go around the left, I'll take the right. We take out the sentries without noise. Then we go in and see what they're made of."

She flashes me a predatory grin.

"Finally."

I nod, hand on my saber's hilt. Here we go.