Junction Storm Chasers || SO and HR Junction of Moorja and Terrijo

[Kasir Dorran]

Target: Feng Huang
Little bro tag: Veradun Sharr

Flowing like rivers of obsidian, robes cascaded before him, consuming every edge of ground he trod upon, the embodiment of darkness that so often left a trail of cold in his wake. From every corner he noted things in ways a surgeon did with scars, a true master of observation and detachment. Time and again, Kasir bore witness to such scenes of chaos, the dance of destruction and death, as crowds churned and frothed like a tide. Their privileged and laborers alike all trapped in the same illusion. The ragged breaths and sobs blended together, natural music of the hunt that would only heighten his senses further.

Fear pulsed through the streets like ripe fruit waiting to be plucked; the Force carried its essence to his tongue, and the Sangnir liked the flavor.

A promise of what the night would yield.

Wherever he walked, nothing remained of the passing; a smear on a railing, a shoeprint in a puddle, a technician collapsed with a throat that offered no tale. Whether blood was for sport or sustenance mattered little. The taste for flesh was always strongest in the caverns beneath the jaw, under tissue that offered little resistance, serving as an efficient way to quell the cries of victims, to silence the screams that forever echoed in the darker recesses of his mind.

One would not need to lay eyes upon Veradun to feel his fledgling's presence, another entity that far transcended mortal comprehension. Between the wrecked as he stood, his ghostly skin prickled; to him, it was akin to winter's wind that blew through his black heart. It had been far too long, and the moment of crossing drew nearer with every exhale.

Nearby he detected the presence of another, Darth Prazutis , the way a lothwolf might feel in the forest when something ancient and ravenous entered the domain. Clearly, the aura of a foe. And yet in this moment, an ally in pursuit of the Order's grand goal.. even if only temporarily.

Alarms were screaming, evacuation routes would collapse in patterns that were all too predictable. One civilian tried to help another, only to be trampled himself by the stampede. Another clawed at a sealed door, nails breaking while screaming and begging for it to open. Most were driven by instinct alone.. stripped of thought. Effortless it was, to herd them all like livestock.

The Light was always brightest where it was weakest. Thus, he moved toward the towers next, the storm’s heart.

 

[Mykel Dawson]

___________________________________________________________________

BYOO - Black Harvest #1
​

Background: Hundreds of kilometers away from the main action, shadowing the official Republic delegation to Moorja was a smaller private commerce mission led by a benevolent investment group known as the Frontier Cooperative. After the successfully initiating development projects on Ukatis and Denon, they now seek to expand further within Republic space, courting a local agricultural enterprise called Gromark to obtain a sizeable stake with the hopes of building out a new food distribution hub in the Outer Rim.

Suit

Frontier Project Director Kurganova continued outlining the Oasis Agri-Stations' capabilities with her holoprojector at the head of the boardroom table, emphasizing the the platform's ability to shield farmland and infrastructure from the planet's volatile ion storms.

"Each system can produce robust multi-layered osmotic fields paired to autonomous weather-predictive algorithms…"

The Gromark CEO, Thumuss Porter leaned forward slightly. "And those osmotic fields can remain stable through sustained surge cycles? We sometimes get back-to-back ion fronts."

"Yes," Kurganova replied smoothly without missing a beat. "Each station carries redundant field generators and an independent power reserve rated for 144 standards hours..."

Mykel's stylus hovered over his tablet.

"…scalable footprint," Kurganova went on. "…modular construction, so additional platforms can be imported and overlaid on each other in a grid as demand increases...."

Another female voice from the Gromark C-suite, the CFO. "What about maintenance overhead? Local crews, or imported specialists?"

"Primarily local," Kurganova said. "Frontier will provide initial training teams. After that, routine upkeep can be handled planet-side..."

"…yield stabilization of up to twenty percent…"

"…storm-loss reduction in excess of forty…"

"…return on investment within three cycles…"

Mykel tried his best to follow along with the presentation, the tip of his stylus resting against his tablet. But when his hand moved, nothing came. No notes. No diagrams. Only the growing unease gnawing at the back of his mind.

From the moment he had set foot on Moorja, something had felt off. Not the ion storms. This was something else. A steady pressure. Not quite a disturbance in the Force but there was a haze about this place that dampened his higher senses.

Maybe he was simply on edge? The galaxy had not exactly been gentle lately.

So far, the staff of Gromark had been nothing but cordial to Mykel and the rest of the Frontier team. The CEO in particular, a kindly middle-aged human gentleman, had gone out of his way to be accommodating. Everything was proceeding smoothly.

Perhaps a little too smoothly for the Consular's taste, used to more friction as each side tried to maximize their cut out of the deal.

A rip of booming thunder slammed against the windows, making the transparisteel panes shudder and warble. His wandering mind was immediately snapped back to the room and present company.

"Oh goodness gracious," Porter sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose before letting out a soft chuckle. "Almost right on cue. At least you're getting a front-row seat to the lovely weather of my world. Those agri-stations will be a godsend if we can get them deployed."

Another roll of thunder followed, lower and more distant this time.

"Why don't we take this as our lunch bell?" Porter continued. "Let's break for a bit, then reconvene in an hour and wrap things up."

Kurganova glanced down the line. No objections came from Mykel or anyone else from the Frontier side of the table. He was actually starting to feel a tad peckish. Even Kurganova's protocol android smiled cheerfully, as though she could partake in the power lunch alongside everyone else.

"Then it's settled. I can't wait to share with you all the delectable bounties Moorja has to offer."

 

[Mercy]

Location: Agriculture Guild Hall
Tags: Gavin Restur | Corazona von Ascania | Glissara | Aurelian Veruna

Back at it, poking at the High Republic.

This was something that made Mercy feel more in her element.

Reflecting back to it, especially in contrast to now, she had never been more joyful than when the Covenant was just a rag-tagged bunch of Sith with their warbands. Poking at larger nations and drawing their blood. Most of what had followed from Coruscant was just shades of annoyances with rare bright spots.

This being one of them.

It was nice to just drop into something and make a mess. That was where the fun began. It is why Mercy was here, with the King of Naboo in her crosshairs.

If they could remove him from the board... well, it would make things more interesting.

The signal had already been given. Aurelian was trapped by their agents in the Agriculture Guild and waiting to be delivered to them. Now they would just have to pick him up, like a gift-wrapped present. Mercy wasn't yet sure what to do with him afterwards. Maybe kill him? That would probably please the likes of Quinn Varanin , which is why it was a strong consideration.

But it could be just as fun to carry him off to the Core Worlds and keep him as a butler, or something similarly disrespectful.

"Come now, Glissy." Mercy murmured as they rounded another corner. "I do believe I can smell the King already. We are so close..."

Aurelian and those in the room would hear them approach too. Mercy was only silent when she wished to be. No desire for that now, so her footsteps ripped through the corridors, every step a miniture seismic effect.

Something would be there... and soon.

 

[Hasuras Na-Gerra]

Where I have passed, grass will never grow again.

BEHOLD.

Hither came Gerra, armor gilt and sword bloodied, eyes as fiery as his mane of red hair, greed swollen beyond measure, come once more to trample the weak underheel.

No port in the hyperlanes did not speak his name. Awe. Hate. Fear. It mattered little, but all knew of the giant Vahlan pirate who stole the throne room from the Death Star, sacked Coruscant, and plundered the imperial treasure fleet in Chiloon.

Already his Vahlan corsairs spilled forth from where they sat waiting upon the signal. And now the hour was at hand and they roved the halls, pillaging as much as they could before they must needs flee back to their ships.

Gerra advanced down a hallway, smiting a Republic soldier in twain with but a single blow of his Sith sword.

"See how they scurry before us, Vatres?" he rumbled to the white-haired woman at his side, "Like fleeing rats."
​

Elian lifted the rifle and fired, controlled bursts rather than panic shots. He aimed to suppres for the Republic Soldiers nearby to gain the momentum. He hoped to force the Sith to slow their push. If he could buy even a few seconds for those fleeing to reposition, it would matter.

Vatrës Dhalis Elian Abrantes

​

​

 

[Vatrës Dhalis]

so Moorja learned what parchment cannot teach
that power moves, and always finds a breach
and in the crush of screams and breaking line
a goddess' shadow threaded mortal spine
​

It was, perhaps, an unusual place to find the Avatara of Vahl.

The dark goddess had no specific vendetta against the Republic, but this was not exactly a freelance assignment either, no whim indulged by Vatrës, who craved justice more than violence for its own sake. No, this was -- educational. Vahl had come into her relatively recently, the evidence a throbbing, thrumming brand below the base of her throat, just beneath her clavicles, currently exposed by the loosened laces at the throat and chest of her lightweight reinforced leather armor. She had much to learn of the use the powers that Our Lady had graciously lent her, and there was only so much edification that a training dummy could provide.

Besides, Vahl's Champion, the Qhan of Khans, had to be fed. Spoils, yes, of spoils there would be plenty. But perhaps as important -- or more -- to the towering inferno of a man were the tales of him that followed and grew in his wake. His ego demanded renown, whether worship or woe, and from Atrisia to Coruscant and all the places he had marauded in between some spoke of the fiery giant who came in conquest.

Today, it seemed, Moorja would be the latest pearl to the string.

"I sense we may yet find a challenge worthy of your appetites, Hasuras Na-Gerra ," the Avatara said, voice carrying over the sound of battle raging, not bothering to hide the mirth there. She reached into the Force, threw her senses wide. Her black eyes focused on where she was moving while her senses surveyed the city blocks around them. "I would tell you not to indulge your hubris, but I might as well ask a bird not to fly."

A flicker of whisper in the Force, the voice of Vahl whispering honeyed warnings inothe back of her mind. The roof. Northeast corner. Black eyes snapped up just before an armed man peeked over the edge and opened fire. Vatrës easily side-stepped the barrage and clenched a fist, calling down a column of fire that licked down from the sky, incinerating him.

"Do you feel it?" she called over to him, reaching up to smooth the sleek white of her hair absently. "Somewhere ahead. Somewhere close. More determination than fear."

Hasuras Na-Gerra | Elian Abrantes​

she walked along corsairs, not as kin
but as vessel where the dark begins
not all her strength was hers; not all her gaze
yet purpose held her through the violent haze​

 

[Quinn Varanin]

//: Sibylla Abrantes //:
//: Equipment in Signature //:
//: Attire //:

Lies and deception were the way of the Sith. More often, things were done with hidden intention.

Quinn hated it.

She hated the hidden hand and the lies that allowed it to strike. While she had used honeyed words to get what she wanted, the Princess… had never abused it. Yet, when the plan was formulated, she had no say.

Despite having the power of a Dark Councilor, she was still powerless compared to the group as a whole.

Was this to be another lesson in accepting things she couldn't control? Was this something that the Empress wanted? Would this be something she would always have to accept the higher she climbed?

Too many truths were rearing their ugly heads, and she finally understood why her mother wanted her to take the steps necessary. To see and to understand the Empire, she needed to know all its truths and its lies.

A hand clenched against her lips as she watched from the conference room, where she had found seclusion. Right about now… everything was going downhill for the Republic. Diplomats and officials were being murdered, slaughtered, and sacrificed to the Sith. They were to be this world's new gods, and the offering of such reverence was the blood of the light.

As a Sith, the Princess should be reveling in this victory. In truth, her mind only wandered, falling upon the fate of one.

“It’s not safe for you here.”

Quinn closed her eyes, doing her best to push back the waves of despair that echoed in the Force. This was a trap, one that the Republic had fallen into. There was a part of her that wanted to reach out, warn those that she had found herself caring far too much about. But that would be treason. She would be going against everything she had built, she would go against her mother, her home — but was it worth it?

Would the warning have been kept a secret? Or would the plan have fallen apart?

Her fist tightened against her face as she tried to banish the thoughts from her mind, but it only made the Jedi's voice linger.

“They will circle you like vultures, I don’t want that to happen…”

A sigh as her hand fell, both hanging at her side in a small defeat. The world burned in worship to the Sith, a sacrifice that most would revel in.

"No, Bastila…" she whispered, maybe in hopes that the Jedi had avoided this assignment.

"We're the vultures…"

 

[Corazona von Ascania]

Fren: Aurelian Veruna Gavin Restur
Foe: Mercy Glissara

Perhaps the old I told you so routine would've been in poor taste when a knife was being held to the King of Naboo's throat.

Cora hadn't liked this from the start, and she'd made Aurelian very aware of where her opinion stood. For all the Republic's flirting with with the Echani Sith Lord Dark Councilor Princess-Queen, she maintained that the Sith were not to be trusted.

That was why she was here.

To his credit, Aurelian showed not an ounce of fear in the face of death or capture. Chin held high, it was the sort of defiance that was not quiet. A leader who would not falter when things got tough. She knew him not to back down from negotiations, but from a blade that pressed perilously close to the precious artery in his neck?

She said it all in a glance: Don't do anything too stupid.

The blade grew still. Not even a tremble from the Guild Leader's hand. The man's eyes widened, grunting as his shoulder shifted sharply but his wrist did not. It was as if his hand, and the knife that it held, were frozen.

The next explosion shook the floor beneath them. Something was coming. Something familiar in it's chaos.

"Gavin," she began, "let us escort the King somewhere less hostile."

 

[Elian Abrantes]

Enemes: Hasuras Na-Gerra Vatrës Dhalis
​

Elian pressed himself flat against the shattered wall of the commerce tower, smoke clawing at his lungs as another blast rippled down the avenue. His blaster felt heavier now, heat seeping into his palms. This was no longer an ambush contained to corridors and control nodes.

This was devastation then he saw them clearly.

The red haired giant strode through the wreckage as if the city belonged to him, gilded armor catching the firelight, blade carving through a Republic soldier with horrifying ease. Elian's jaw tightened.

Behind him moved the white haired woman, composed, black eyes reflecting flame. A column of fire answered her silent gesture, turning a rooftop defender to ash.

"You have got to be chitting me," Elian muttered, incredulous irritation cutting through fear. He could slip away. The maintenance corridors were likely still accessible two blocks east. He could survive this. But civilians were running past him, tripping over debris, dragging the wounded.

He exhaled sharply.

"Alright. Distraction," he whispered.

He crouched, snatched up a chunk of fractured stone small enough to grip but solid enough to make noise. The plan was simple, throw wide and draw a glance. Then simply fire while they adjusted.

He rose just enough to see his angle and hurled it.

The moment it left his hand, he knew. It was too high, too straight, the stone arced cleaning through the smoke and sparks, not toward the far wall as intended. But directly toward the white haired's woman's head.

Elian's eyes widened.

"Oh no."

 

[Taera 'Calypso']

Tags: Cassian Abrantes | CT-312

It had all fallen apart relatively fast for the Republic delegation. Calypso had been there, since Epica was within easy distance and would more than likely be used as a staging ground for Republic aid and military forces. In spite of near half the Ten Families being vocally against complying with the High Republic’s request for Epica’s assistance with refugees and humanitarian aid, they couldn’t deny their place in the Republic. And that meant doing the chit they didn’t want to do. Like spending money on foreigners.

Cal slipped into the kitchen of some cafe that had gone dark the same time the attack happened. She didn’t listen to the protests of the staff—a glance told her they weren’t part of this ambush, at least—and instead shrugged out of the formal robe she’d worn to help represent Epica. Underneath, she wore a high-collared black shirt and fitted pants borrowed from the Aurodium Guard, concealed shoulder holsters holding an S-195 and an A-180 blaster pistol. If those failed, she had an EC-17 hidden in a boot.

Epica had taught her to never go unarmed anywhere.

She pulled the blasters free and shoved her way through the workers, not caring about their protests and shrugging off their attempts to hold her back. The delivery entrance led out into an alley, not out of the conflict zone but not in the middle of the violence. Republic security would be trying to get the delegation on their transports and offworld as soon as possible.

But Cal had questions. And questions were only answered with information gathered.

She turned from the direction of the transports and began to skirt the edges of the fighting, sticking to alleys and sidepaths where possible.

 

[Ala Quin]

Trust.

Though not knowing Jax Thio well, Connell trusted him. That was enough for Ala. As for Balun, she had come to see him more as equal than as student. There was little she felt that she had to teach Balun. She saw him as more than worthy of the status of Knight. Though as she landed on a balcony high above Balun's position, she looked back down. Half a heart beat of concern, a flash of intuition guided by the Force and she narrowed her eyes. The Force flowed unevenly about him.

A test was approaching Balun. Her heart quietly broke for him, knowing that today he may just suffer loss.

She lingered, crouched on the balcony, offering what amounted to a silent prayer for her beloved Padawan. Force, protect him. But not just the Force.

Determined, Ala's lips pressed together. This mission would be swift — hopefully — and she would return to his side before whatever test would befall him. He would succeed.

Concerned attention was pulled towards the door in front of her. It was about to open. Half a beat later, it did, revealing Moorja Spire Security — their hearts were turned to ally with the Sith. The Grandmaster stood, and spun, twin yellow sabers igniting and cutting through the muzzles of the blasters that were bearing down on her. The weapons sparked. The guard's eyes grew wide. And Ala pushed, send all four flying backwards through the air, sending them tumbling head over heals and crashing into the wall on the far side. They dropped to the ground, unconscious.

It was only a couple of dozen meters across the room to a door that led further into the internals of the communications tower, when it slid open, personell were revealed to be rushing to and fro. But there were gaps in their groupings. Ala could feel their approach, and in a lull in traffic, she Force-sprinted to the elevator. The door opened willingly — too willingly — and sent her upwards towards the comms room.

Tension. The room she was about to enter was rife with it. Her nerves calmed with a moment to focus on the Force. Reaching out to find where each member of the planet's communications staff were located. Some seemed clumped together in the corner of the room, clinging to life. Others, those loyal to the Sith, were manning the controls. Planetary communications meant easy coordination for Sith forces, and it seemed much of it was being run from here.

Back up would have been ideal.

The elevator stopped. But the door did not open. Her palm slapped the controls, to no avail. Comms officers on the other side of the door had shut down the lift once she had reached the top. Beyond the threshold, dozens of eyes — and just as many blaster barrels — fixed on the lift doors.

Snap-hiss. Burnt ozone hit her nose, a smell she had burned into her mind. It was time to fight.

Her sabers ignited — amber light making the light grey of the elevator interior appear sickly, and plunged tip first into the door...beginning the too-slow process of cutting through the reinforced surface.

The first open wound in the door gave her first audible clue as to what she would face in side. Safety switches clicked to off.

| Outfit: xxx | Direct Tag: Veradun Sharr |
| Indirect tag: Balun Arenais-Dashiell Jax Thio Connel Vanagor Darth Nefaron Darth Carnifex |​

 

[Darth Strosius]

Equipment: Lightsaber - Sword - Dagger - Robes
Tags: Lina Ovmar / Lily Decoria / Sven Halestorm
--------------------------------------------

An essential part in the silent conquest of Moorja had proven to be keeping a close eye on traffic to and fro the system as a whole. After all it wouldn't do for some whistleblower to flee the planet before the Republic's ambassadors had arrived and scare them off, that would simply ruin the entire event. As such securing the spaceport, or at least being able to observe and respond to any potential unexpected or unwanted departures and arrivals before the trap was sprung.

A task that Darth Strosius frankly hadn't trusted the wider Order to be left with, so naturally He pursued it Himself. Albeit not without help and accompaniment of course, slicing was simply a task that He didn't have the patience for alone. "Has the shooting started yet Lina? If I stare at these screens any longer I fear I might wind up putting my sword through one of them." Tucked into the cramped server access room wasn't exactly His first choice of locale but at least Lina herself provided a more welcome sight than the terminals around them did.

Their screens displayed what were now rapidly cancelling flight plans and panicked requests from the ships already docked at the spaceport as well as those seeking a landing place for themselves. Due in part to their position yet mostly to the program that the pair of Sith had inserted into the system however, the calls for alarm and aid all across the spaceport were going unheeded and unaddressed by the poor souls which had been overseeing the landings just a few moments earlier.

Those bunch of officials were still alive, simply locked within one of the control towers with no method to contact the outside world aside from waving from whatever windows they had up there. At present though Darth Strosius found Himself wishing that their places were exchanged, just so that He could have a decent view of the carnage if nothing else. Everything was muffled in this room and it was starting to drive Him mad, His armored fingers pressing tightly against themselves as He sat back against a wall with His hands clasped together.

 

[Gavin Restur]

Equipment: Dual Blaster Pistols, Forcepike, Rocket Boots, Rebreather + Tubes, Misc.
TAGS: Corazona von Ascania , Aurelian Veruna , Mercy , Glissara

He knew this didn't feel right...
​

Instincts hardly lie, and they certainly weren't lying for this. He had noticed pretty much the moment they had landed, and began walking. It was all in how people were watching, and acting. Some were simply watching them. Others were taking quick glances over their shoulders, before scurrying off. But it wasn't just the ones who stared. Fingers were nervously fidgeted, breathing quickened.

And now, Aurelian Veruna currently has a knife to his neck.

A thud rung out in the Guild Hall's room, as Gavin had pushed a security officer up against a wall, the two in the midst of a scuffle. They were wrestling over control of a knife that the officer had pulled once it all went to hell. And fortunately for Gavin, he was the one to get a solid grip on it first. A wide slash was made across the upper torso of the security officer, blood immediately spilling out of the wound. Before the security officer could recognize this, the knife was then plunged right into their chest. They went stiff for a moment, before falling limp. Sliding along the wall briefly, then collapsing.

An exhale was let out from the exertion, as he stepped away from the body. Staring at the Guild Leader currently holding Aurelian hostage, as he came to a stop right besides Corazona von Ascania .

["Gavin, let us escort the King somewhere less hostile."]

"That is an idea I can get behind, Miss Cora." His hands lowered down, sliding along his belt as his arms moved his coat out of the way, revealing his holstered blasters. The Guild Leader, after seeing that his hand was no longer able to be moved, was quick to realize what was happening. And so, his unimpeded hand moved down to his own holstered blaster, undoing the small latch that kept it secured.

And the Guild Leader glared at the pair. Trying to drown his fear with a sense of false confidence, a bravado of-

Gavin moved first. Gavin pulled first. Gavin shot first.

The Guild Leader had only started drawing his own blaster as a yellow bolt hit his skull. His body fell down on top of Aurelian for a moment, before sliding off. The only thing that kept the man's body somewhat upright was the unseen hold on his hand.

With a quick spin of the blaster, it was shoved back in its holster, as Gavin returned the hand to his belt. Speaking to the both of them. "They've got the spaceports on lockdown. Either we sneak through, or we fight through."

Though, he just now noticed the loud footsteps that had started making their way towards the group's position, which caused him to glance in the direction they were coming from. "...And we might want to start headin' over, now." Whatever was causing those footsteps, he wasn't particularly thrilled with the idea of finding out the cause of them.

 

[Sven Halestorm]

Lily Decoria | Darth Strosius | Lina Ovmar

The first ship passed overhead like a shadow cutting across the sun.

Sven stopped mid-step in the plaza, the hem of his sand-colored robes stirring around his boots as a low tremor rippled through the air. Moorja’s skyline had always been busy, freighters, diplomatic craft, civilian shuttles threading neat patterns between towers, but this was different. This was disordered.

A second vessel followed, banking too sharply for standard approach. Then a third, engines flaring brighter than protocol allowed as it adjusted its vector mid-flight.

Sven lifted his gaze.

From where he stood among the broad marble thoroughfares leading toward the spaceport district, the sky looked wrong. Traffic lanes overlapped. Transponder lights blinked in erratic clusters. Even from the ground he could feel it, the subtle vibration of repulsorlifts cycling too frequently, the whine of overcorrected thrusters.

Confusion.

Not chaos yet. But close.

He exhaled slowly, drawing in a measured breath through his nose as he folded his hands into his sleeves. The Force brushed against his awareness like a restless tide. Ripples of anxiety shimmered outward from the direction of the landing fields. Fear, sharp and rising. Frustration. Something else beneath it, deliberate, coiled.

This was not a random systems glitch.

A fourth ship cut across the sky at an angle so abrupt that several bystanders in the plaza paused to stare upward. Murmurs spread like sparks in dry grass.

Sven’s calm expression did not break, though his blue eyes narrowed ever so slightly.

He reached into his belt and drew out his commlink, flipping it open with practiced ease.

“This is Jedi Knight Sven Halestorm,”he said evenly, voice steady as stone. “Moorja Landing Tower, please confirm status of incoming traffic. We are observing irregular approach patterns.”

Static.

He waited.

A distant roar overhead. Another vessel aborting descent.

Sven adjusted the frequency and tried again. “Landing Tower, respond. Are you experiencing system interference?”

Nothing.

Not even the clipped professionalism of an overwhelmed controller. Just the hollow hiss of a dead channel.

That, more than anything, tightened something quiet in his chest.

The Force stirred again, no longer restless, but heavy.

Interference deliberate enough to silence a control tower meant planning. Coordination. Intent.

Sven lowered the commlink slowly, his expression settling into thoughtful stillness. Around him, citizens began checking their own devices. A few pointed toward the spaceport skyline where landing lights flickered in uneven rhythm.

A gentle disturbance brushed the edge of his senses, familiar and bright, like sunlight breaking through cloud.

He turned.

Turning towards his companion, Lily Decoria , He offered her a faint, reassuring half-smile. The kind meant to steady others as much as himself.

“Well,” Sven said lightly, tucking the commlink back into his belt, “either Moorja has decided to reinvent air traffic control as an extreme sport… or something is very wrong.”

Another ship screamed overhead, engines flaring too hot.

His humor faded, replaced by quiet resolve.

“I’m not receiving any response from the tower,” he added, voice lowering. “No signal at all.”

He let himself look upward once more, watching a freighter hesitate mid-descent before climbing again, as though unsure whether the sky would permit it to land.

The unease in the Force sharpened now, like the distant rumble before a storm breaks over open water.

“Do you feel that?” he asked softly.

It wasn’t accusation. It wasn’t fear.

It was acknowledgment.

Something was coiling around Moorja, tightening unseen threads.

He shifted his stance, calm but ready, the serenity of his bearing masking the edge of vigilance beneath it.

“Let’s head toward the spaceport,” he said. “If this is merely a malfunction, we can assist.”

And if it wasn’t...

His gaze lingered briefly on the skyline where ships now hovered in uncertain patterns, trapped between descent and escape.

“Then we should be closer when it reveals itself.”

Without haste, but without hesitation, Sven began walking toward the landing district, trusting Lily to fall into step beside him as the Force hummed with warning.

The sky above Moorja had grown crowded.

And somewhere within that growing dissonance, something was smiling.

 

[Helix]

Objective: White-collar crime
Equipment: Himself
Tags: OPEN​

As the general chaos ramped up, Helix rapidly became bored. His mightier-than-thou fellow countrymen had arrived in force, leaving him (as usual) to do the grunt work.

Ever the dutiful servant, was Helix. At least as long as nobody took a second look or dug too deep.

He broadened his sensory sweep, utilizing the city's own network of surveillance as his eyes and ears. It really was a thing of terrible beauty. The Sith had effectively seized the planet without the planet realizing it had been seized. In no small part, of course, due to his own efforts.

That made him frown internally, then think. He pried around into the finer things, sending subtendrils of his consciousness through the network. Personal computers connected to the planetary Holonet. Bank accounts. Identification data. Medical records. The bank accounts, of course, were the interesting part.

Helix wriggled his way through the entire grotesque web, leaving a fragment of himself here or there to spread further. The Dzara always needed money, after all, and they didn't much care to earn it or borrow it.

Even as the conflict went hot in earnest, money was still moving. Helix helped himself to it, skimming an infinitesemal percent of a percent from each and every transaction taking place. He was careful to leave no trace, or leave conflicting traces when that wasn't possible. Despite the rounding-error amount, it added up quickly.

It would almost certainly be written off as errors or damage caused by the conflict. Helix greedily snapped up the credits, making countless millions, then billions, vanish in the blink of an eye.

A tidy, if mediocre sum for the Dzara, but they may as well get something out of this entire mess. As Helix had told his two compatriots before, everyone else was getting their cut, somehow, some way. They may as well get theirs. If this little trick went unnoticed, maybe they'd even make a habit of it.

Meanwhile, the colony kept an eye on the scattering delegation, watching the entire debacle from every possible angle. Not quite as fun as getting his own hands dirty, but he so rarely got to observe the others at work.

This would be instructive, if nothing at all else.

 

[Eira Dyn]

Armour Mode: ASSASSIN
Equipment: Marwolaeth Ddu, Lethal Pursuers, Vibrosword, Blaster Pistol
Allies: TSO
Opposition: Cerys Dyn

The planet was going to become under Sith authority. There was no question on that. It was a fact.

Eira came to watch this takeover but she was also keen on ensuring that the removal of all High Republic forces, all Jedi, was done efficiently. Her fingertips slowly caressed over the hilts of her daggers. Eira desired to kill a couple Jedi if she got the chance. An opportunity to hunt was something that she was always keen on exploring. Especially since her armour was in the assassin variation, where stealth and mobility were prioritised over fighting tools.

Walking to the fisher's market, Eira looked around idly. The normal civilians of this world did not matter to her, their deaths did not help improve the Sith cause nor did they demonstrate that Eira was continuing to progress on the correct course to be a Sith Knight. Instead, she focused on observing the crowd. Seeing where they moved and who was moving against the crowd. Those charging towards the violence, to where the main Sith attacks were, those were going to be straggling Jedi. The outliers.

Then Eira saw her.

At first, it was just another Togruta, Eira did not assume all were her adopted sister. However, this one moved to the fight. From the look on her face, the way she walked, the holier-than-thou mentality that Eira swore Cerys always held was still there. The recognition in the Force, something she did not know of before now she could sense it. Her adopted sister was another Force User. Of course she was. Eira growled, she was pissed. Eira was meant to be the powerful one, the only Force User in the family, the one who would prove that turning against her was a foolish error when she held the galaxy in her palm.

Instead she observed her sister. Lightsabers in hand. Something that Eira had not gotten around to making herself.

Removing her mask, Eira revealed her face and the furious red eyes. "CERYS DYN!" Eira roared with a fury, pocketing the mask before grabbing her two daggers. "Of course you become Jedi scum!" The deep roar from Eira was not the voice that Cerys would know Eira's to be. Stripped away was the accent, the softness and the feminine tones that Eira had naturally. This was a deep, husky voice that bellowed in fury.

 

[Feng Huang]

Reinforcing: Ala Quin
Defending Against: Kasir Dorran

Feng fell behind the Grandmaster as she force sped ahead, she resisted the urge to curse herself. Feng put on a burst speed herself in an effort to catch up. Before she could the Grandmaster was already in the elevator. Feng was left standing pressing buttons like an irate party goer anxious at missing out on a Life Day party going on in the penthouse.

Feng didn't have much time to contemplate the irony of that analogy, Moorja Spire Security six of them came out of the corridors. Not even so much as a polite 'Freeze! Don't move!' they just opened fire. Feng didn't think she acted, igniting her lightsaber. Feng fell back into Shien to redirect the first two blaster bolts that were sent her way. One deflected back into a head, the other into a shoulder. Feng felt his pain, the loss of life and regretted their necessity.

Four left.

Tapping into Force speed once again she closed on the two to her left, deflecting another blaster bolt off to the side as she went, it was over quickly, two strikes, two slices and they were down. Turning to deal with the last two, she saw them running away. Feng sighed glad they had chosen some common sense.

The elevator arrived, Feng hesitated before she stepped inside. It was nerve racking to be caught in stillness while a battle raged around her. Extending her senses Feng tried to identify where she could be of the most help. Maybe she was making a mistake. She was the Grandmaster after all surely, she could take care of herself, she didn't need back up.

Feng opened up her senses and felt… the presence… of the dark side… of so many powerful Sith Lords, she felt them throughout the complex, she felt them coming this way. The Grandmaster would be outnumbered. Feng had to help her.

Nodding resolute Feng stepped inside the elevator to give the Grandmaster back up. Hoping that she was wrong. Praying to the force that she would be worthy of the task to face a Sith Lord. Wishing Master Wu were here. All these thoughts spiraled in her mind, she settled them with a deep breath. Concentrating on her meditation techniques.

Whatever may come she would face it. Second guessing and questioning herself did nothing, except ensure her own anxieties, doubts and insecurities. Ones a powerful Sith Lord would be able to exploit. She was here, people needed help, she was Jedi, they were Sith Feng's purpose in life, in vocation was here to thwart them wherever she may, to show that the light in the galaxy could shine even in the bleakest darkness.

"Where there is life, stand as its shield and sword."

Feng recited the Shirayan Jedi Code. Feng didn't know if she considered herself a follower of the Shirayan way, but right then she believed, truly believed in the code. It gave her strength, clarity. It was relevant, especially the closing tenant.

"Where there is doubt, trust in the Force"

Feng's mind settled, she was ready for this Trial. Whatever it may bring.

 

[Cerys Dyn]

She felt her before she saw her. A familiar, yet tainted presence. Cerys' self-control failed her. Her heart skipping several beats, irregularly thumping against her chest as her eyes scanned the crowd for someone that should not be.

The faces about her became a blur. And then her vision narrowed in on the origin of a voice. She did not, initially, perceive the wrongness of her sister's voice. She was too overwhelmed by it being her. The sister she had mourned. She that whose disappearance had broken Cerys' heart so much that she had never wanted to feel that again. Making her ~~mother's~~ master's anti-attachment teachings so appealing.

"Eira!?"

All thought of saving Moorja's citizens dissipated the moment she called out her name. Then the words sunk in, as through the blur of passing strangers, a face she knew — but didn't — came into focus.

Cerys stopped in her tracks, and finally heard what her beloved sister was saying.

Jedi scum.

Her sister's words stung deeper than a blade could pierce. "No...no...I am doing this...because of you..." Her words were too timid and slight to be heard over the din of people rushing by in their panic.

Cerys began to move towards Eira. Jumping up, to get better glimpses of her face. But doom was creeping in. A threat rising with her sister's approach.

She paused again. A dozen metres from Eira. Cerys cried. The unbidden and unwelcome emotional outpouring was the complete inverse of how anyone she knew would have perceived her.

"Eira...I thought you were dead."

Eira Dyn​

 

[Jax Thio]

Location: Moorja
Equipment: Jedi Robes, Jax's Prosthetic Arm, Jax's Third Lightsaber, Marriage Ring to Jairdain
Tag: Ala Quin Jairdain Ismet-Thio Connel Vanagor Feng Huang Darth Carnifex Balun Arenais-Dashiell



Jax felt his father's presence the moment he left Naboo with the rest of the Jedi. He could hear him speak to Jax telling him to come find him and that Jax knew where to look. Before sleep took hold of him and he had that dream again, Jax in his horror realized that he made a mistake. Carnifex wasn't just coming after him, he was coming after Jair. Jax needed to hurry but he had his duties to the Grandmaster. Jair was his wife and Jax will do anything to protect her, but even she would advise Jax to help the Jedi Order. The Jedi Master was reminded of his failure back at the Hyperspace War. How he submitted to the Dark Side against Carnifex, how he took advantage of his fall and maimed Dreidi Xeraic in the process.

He wanted to say that he learned his lesson and that he took Dreidi, Catlin, and Jairdain's warning to heart. The truth was that Jax was a rebel since as long he could remember. That maverick streak served Jax for good and for ill. The power that Carnifex gifted Jax was enormous. He needed to use it, to serve the Jedi. At least that was what he was telling himself. "All right Padawans!" Jax said. "Stay calm, keep your Lightsabers close! And we'll be going home in one piece!"

As they approach the tower, Jax saw many Sith Troopers surrounding the area. The Jedi Master waved his hand and the Sith Troopers flew high in the air. Jax leapt up and sliced and diced 5 troopers midair with liquid precision. The rest fell onto the ground with some breaking their neck and others were injured their fates left to the Jedi strike team. "Let's get into this place," Jax muttered sinking his Lightsaber into the door and forming a rectangular shaped hole for him to kick.

"Connel!" Jax said. "I sense more Troopers! I'll hold him off! And you can shut down the power!"

 

[Cassian Abrantes]

Taera 'Calypso' CT-312 ​

Cassian moved through the smoke and fractured light with practiced efficiency, intercepting threats before they could fully form. Fighting and defending had always been his language, and Moorja spoke it fluently now. He dropped one assailant at the mouth of an alley and disarmed another without breaking stride.

He spotted Cal ahead, cutting upward instead of toward the transports.

Of course she was.

He closed the distance quickly, falling into step just behind her shoulder, covering the angles she did not.

"Given the circumstances," he said evenly, blaster raised as his eyes tracked the corridor ahead, "You probably shouldn't be by yourself."

Cassian finally arrived at her side, a small smirk on his face. "I'm assuming you have a plan of sorts?"

 

[Dominic Praxon]

Part of the Republic contingent to the energy sector, Dominic had only taken this assignment to get some time away from the Outbound Flight Project. Thanks to the beacons being laid as the project progressed further into the unknown, the crew were able to take some shore leave back in Republic space. Of course, for Dominic that meant volunteering for a small aspect of the Moorja diplomatic mission.

"This way, come this way," Dominic said; while pulling some of the more lumbering members of his contingent to the side of the causeway. They were in the open when the fighting started, and Dominic sought only to find cover for his compatriots.

"Over there," called an intern who seemed to have scraped his face across something jagged.

"You alright, Ginsh?" Dominic said, insisting on checking on the young man before moving forward. Ginsh nodded and moved towards the maintenance stairs to the side of the causeway. Dominic nodded, giving the others around him a gentle push in that direction. He turned back, just for a moment, to see if he had missed anyone in the furor. When he turned back, his fellow diplomats were gone.

They were just down the stairs. Surely.

Swift, fated footsteps took him to the stairwell, and he saw...no one.

Dominic looked back towards the causeway, and the advancing forces dressed in Moorjan attire. Turning and nigh on sliding down the stairs, he hit the wall opposite the base of the stairs with a little too much speed. The impact dazed him immediately, and he dropped to his knees. Above, voices could be heard calling one another over to the stairs. He was being followed.

The underbelly of Moorjay's maintenance levels was his only recourse; into them he plunged, finding refuge behind plasma conduits and steam relays. So long as he didn't get turned around, finding his way back to the shuttle that brought him here, should not be too difficult. It was still there.