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

[Cassian Abrantes]

CT-312 Taera 'Calypso'
​

Cassian let out a soft, brief laugh at the name. John. It rang somewhere in the back of his memory, faintly familiar in a way he could not place. For now, it would do.

"John it is," he said lightly.

His attention shifted to their savior as she secured the commlink. "Listen for anything irregular. Reroutes, emergency overides. Anything that sounds too organized."

The shot from above had barely faded before he moved. Cassian stepped past Rook without hesitation and crossed the street in a swift, controlled sprint. Reaching the opposite side, he pressed briefly to the wall and scanned the vertical sightlines again, checking the blind spots along the lower fire escapes and maintenance ladders. Satisfied for the moment, he raised two fingers and beckoned them across.

He glanced up toward the building Rook had neutralized. "Let's clear this building structure and see who was posted inside. If they had men posted here, it was intentional. There may be more up there."

His jaw tightened slightly as distant blasterfire echoed again.

 

[Shade]

Shade felt the shift the instant he forced himself forward, and it was not subtle. The suppression she had woven around him strained like overstretched wire, vibrating with resistance as his will and fury pushed back against the weight of her concentration. The flames around his body sputtered and lost rhythm, his massive frame shuddering, yet he refused to yield; watching him drag himself upright felt like watching a mountain decide to move.

Then, he tore free of her center line.

She slipped past him by instinct, pivoting just enough to let his unstable momentum carry him onward. He slammed into the building behind her in a violent explosion of stone and heat, the impact shuddering through the ground beneath her boots. For a heartbeat, she held the suppression, but as he ripped a massive slab of masonry free, the warning came too late.

The fragment of wall tore through the fog toward her like artillery, spinning end-over-end with lethal force. Shade's focus fractured as she reacted, breaking her concentration just enough to abandon the suppression and dive aside. The stone shattered where she had stood, erupting into razor-sharp debris that peppered her coat and skidded across the pavement.

The moment her control slipped, his presence surged. The molten glow in his eye intensified, swelling into something blinding and furious, and she barely had time to brace before the beam erupted.

Heat and light slammed into her in a roaring torrent, hot enough to melt duracrete and turn air into fire. Shade snapped both hands up, drawing inward and outward at once as she invoked tutaminis. The energy crashed into her invisible barrier in a shrieking collision, flooding her senses with pain and pressure. Her shield held for the length of the blast before it fractured, the force of it punching through her defenses and hurling her backward.

She skidded across broken stone, shoulder slamming into rubble as her concentration shattered completely. Her body screamed in protest, but she rolled, barely managing to regain her footing as he fired again.

This time, she did not try to block it. Shade threw herself sideways, diving through falling dust and fragments as the beam tore through the space she had occupied. The edge of it caught her lower legs as it passed, searing through fabric and flesh alike. White-hot pain flared, vicious and immediate, tearing a broken sound from her throat as her muscles seized. Her footing vanished; strength fled her legs as if it had been ripped out at the roots.

She hit the ground and kept rolling, momentum carrying her across shattered stone until she finally came to rest on her back, her breath coming in sharp, shallow bursts.

Behind Varin, the building he had battered and overheated finally reached its limit. Stone groaned, and support beams cracked with a sound like a spine snapping. Then, the structure began to collapse inward directly over him, sections of wall and roof cascading down in a thunderous avalanche of debris and flame.

The building gave way like something dying, stone and scorched masonry pouring down in a roaring cascade that swallowed Varin's monstrous form. The impact shook the entire street, and the air filled with a choking cloud of grit and pulverized stone, blotting out the light.

Shade lay there, half-buried in the drifting dust that coated her skin and settled into the raw burns on her legs. Her vision swam, and every attempt to move sent fresh waves of agony crashing through her nervous system, leaving her legs trembling and useless. Her blade lay just a short distance from her outstretched hand, glinting through the gray haze.

As the thunder of the collapse finally ended, a muted, heavy silence returned to the ruins. Shade remained on her back in the wreckage, chest rising and falling in a ragged rhythm, watching the fog curl through the settling dust where her opponent had just been buried.

Varin Mortifer

 

[Varin Mortifer]

The heat from the eye singed into the socket forcing him to shut it off after Shade had dodged to the side from the second beam. The image of her preventing the first blast burned into his head as he watched her impact to the ground. His body finally gave out on him, the transformation receding back into his body, the wings absorbing back into his flesh as he screamed in agony again, the wounds that were left behind by their resurgence sauterized as they sunk back into his back. The horn on his brow dug itself back into his skull as his hand gripped his face, the claws digging into his flesh. As the claws scratched down the gashes too would cauterize and heal from the heat.

A crumble tore his attention to it as the duracrete building toppled burying him in heavy stone and steel. Blackness followed him and for a long while to Shade, there was silence as the heat died away.

As she looked towards her knives she heard a rustle of stone. A toppling of small pieces of the walls, before the shattered armor of Varin’s hand reached out of the rubble, clasping on something to hold as he pulled himself up. Wounded, burned, armor shattered and cracked. His pained labored breathing could be heard as his eyes searched for Shade once more, a growl of pain pulling from his throat as he pulled himself up, his gaze falling on her. A gaze full of hatred and malice.

He spoke weakly, but his voice still carried with a vibrato of command.

“You all believe yourselves to be stronger because you “sharpen” your emotions. Yet you do not wield them like a weapon!”

He stumbled forward, his boot catching on a piece of rubble causing him to stumble forward. His hand dropping down to his sword that lay on the ground.

He looked down, a sneering grimace on his face as he slowly picked it up, the scraping of steel on stone and its scream was enough to chill the marrow.

“But you are all weak cowards! Hiding from what can truly elevate you!”

His voice yelled to her as he stepped closer.

“I know who and what I am!”

A deep raspy breath could be heard from him as he slowly moved closer.

“I am your ruin! I am your inferno!”

He dropped to his knees, the blade clattering to the ground, the runes pulsed over his body as new markings developed along his neck line.

“I will destroy every Jedi and ally with them! That is my promise…”

The last word came forth as a weakened whisper as he fell forward to his hands, his body desperately trying to give out, but Varin was not willing to back down.

“That…Is…My…”

His eyes slowly drifted close as he exhaled, collapsing to the ground.

“...promise…”

Shade​

 

[Jax Thio]

Location: Moorja
Equipment: Jedi Robes, Jax's Prosthetic Arm, Jax's Third Lightsaber, Marriage Ring to Jairdain
Tag: Darth Carnifex , Jairdain Ismet-Thio , Connel Vanagor , Ala Quin , Balaya Praelior Zambrano Syreeta Ming


In that moment it felt like the whole world paused and the only people who were moving were Jax and Carnifex. The Jedi Master was focused yet determined to stand his ground, freely giving himself to the Force. Carnifex ran as fast as a BX-Commando Droid and no doubt would hit just as hard if his blade connected against Jax's flesh. Yet Jax stood his ground his blue blade in front of him ready for Carnifex. He spent the past decade honing his combat skills and pushing himself to the limit. Jax mastered every Lightsaber form, every esoteric Lightsaber style, and even created some hand-to-hand styles.

He could feel Jair's Force Valor running through him as well words of encouragement from his wife. She was here and she will help Jax against his father. Their bond formed by love empowered the Force that was flowing through him like a stream going down river. "Thank you," he would telepathically say to his wife. For he was not only fighting for a rapidly growing republic, but he was also fighting for Jair, their son that is inside of her womb, Connel, and even the woman in white who swore that she will redeem Carnifex. It was a forlorn hope as Jax knew that some people are beyond redemption, but Jax admired her determination, nonetheless.

The hum of Carnifex's crimson blade was heard his blade was ready to slam against Jax's Lightsaber. The Jedi Master raised his blade and it connected against Carnifex. A large crater was formed around them due to the sheer power generated by Carnifex. But Jax stood his ground the blades locking against one another sparks flying. A smirked formed on Jax's lips.



"I told you," Jax chuckled his feet rooted on the ground fueled by the Force and Jair's Force Valor. "My powers have doubled since we've last met Dad. Let me give ya a demonstration."

With a wave of his hand, Jax summoned a pillar from below them, it shot between he and Carnifex but the edge of the pillar smashed against Carnifex's jaw sending him flying upward. Jax deactivated his Lightsaber and he leapt with such blinding speed that it looked like he was teleporting. He met Carnifex midair his fist connecting against his father's jaw. In the air, Jax unleashed a flurry of punches and kicks tapping into the Force to ramp up the speed. 70 hits per second, 80 hits, 90. Jax pummeled Carnifex in the head, neck, abdomen, and jaw before kicking his father away from him before rushing behind Carnifex and punching him in the spine sending him flying to the other side.

Jax kept striking Carnifex from all corners with blistering speed and strength for a good minute before Jax clasped his hands and struck Carnifex's midsection sending him hurling towards the ground. Jax disappeared midair before reappearing below and punched Carnifex's spine. He then summoned the Force and pushed Carnifex against the wall creating a large hole. The Jedi Master took a deep breath feeling triumphant but part of him knew that the fight was far from over.

"Connel! Jair!" Jax shouted. "Are you okay?!"

 

[Gerwald Lechner]

WEARING: This
WEAPONS: Ferrum Solus | Blodmåne | Strømafbryder
SHIP: Vigfjall
TAG: Lily Rhodes | Zaiya Ceti | Rik Perris

The western quadrant of the city pulsed with disruption.

Gerwald felt it before the tactical feed highlighted the anomaly. A surge in the Force rippled outward from the meeting complex, bright and unrestrained. It was not the disciplined compression of a Master conserving strength. It was youthful, reactive, and alive with indignation.

He allowed himself the smallest narrowing of his gold eyes.

A Padawan.

The holotable adjusted as security elements reported unconscious Moorjan guards and a concentration of Republic dignitaries moving toward the western space port. Another signal flared across civilian channels, unauthorized but not Sith in origin. A voice offering evacuation. Independent. Mobile.

Interesting.

He watched the convergence lines form on the display. The Jedi’s projected path would intersect the western port in approximately nine minutes if resistance remained light. The civilian signal was already stationary within that same zone.

Coincidence was rarely a coincidence.

He could have dispatched a squad, but he did not.

“Maintain pressure along the eastern corridor,” he instructed without raising his voice. “Do not collapse the western lanes. Let them believe that direction remains viable.”

An officer turned to question the adjustment, then thought better of it and complied.

Gerwald stepped away from the command platform. The chamber did not shift around him. It did not need to. The operation would continue precisely as he designed it. He had placed the pieces carefully. Now he intended to examine two of them personally.

He moved through the secured corridor beneath the transit hub with unhurried precision. Sith operatives cleared a path without being asked. His cloak settled around him as he ascended through a maintenance lift toward the upper levels feeding into the western port. The sounds of distant blaster fire echoed through structural supports, muted but constant.

As he stepped onto the elevated transit concourse overlooking the western docking lanes, the city opened beneath him in controlled chaos. Smoke curled upward from sealed corridors. Emergency lighting washed durasteel walkways in red pulses. Moorjan personnel who had chosen their loyalties poorly lay restrained where they had fallen.

Then he felt her again.

The Padawan’s presence flared brightly through the Force, and it was shaped more by emotion than calculation. He sensed offense in her reaction to the betrayal, disbelief that diplomacy had given way to violence, and a fierce sense that some sacred code of conduct had been violated. The strength of that indignation was almost refreshing in its honesty.

Beneath her presence, however, he detected another.

This second presence did not carry the resonance of the Jedi. It was focused and deliberate, moving with the practiced tension of someone accustomed to operating alone under pressure. There was determination there, sharpened by nerves that had already settled into function. The evacuation signal that had cut across the comm channels originated from that mind.

Gerwald adjusted his course slightly as he descended toward the docking level.

Two threads were drawing together, and he intended to be waiting where they met.

Instead, he stepped forward from the shadowed edge of the concourse and descended toward the docking level, boots striking durasteel with measured finality. Sith troopers in the vicinity straightened at his approach but did not interfere. He had not come for indiscriminate slaughter this time.

As he approached the midpoint between the transport and the corridor feeding from the summit complex, he allowed the Force around him to compress, not as a flare but as pressure. The air itself seemed to grow heavier, the edges of sound sharpening under his presence.

He stopped where the two paths would converge.

If the Padawan wished to reach the port, she would reach him first.

The High Republic had tested the Blackwall.

Now one of its future Jedi would stand before the man who had helped design the response.

Gerwald folded his hands behind his back and waited, gold eyes steady, the faintest tension coiled beneath his calm exterior.

This lesson would begin quietly.

 

[Sibylla Abrantes]

​

Interacting with: Quinn Varanin
Items: x | x | x | x | x | x | x | x | x

Sibylla had learned, long ago, that people rarely said what they meant.

They showed it.

In the set of their shoulders. In how long their gaze lingered. In the way their fingers flexed before a decision. What they were trying to hide. What was their intent? As a politician, Sibylla had learned to read body language the way others read dossiers. She was no Force user, but she had survived long enough to understand that intent often lived in the space between words. Especially when her life was on the line, as it was now. She had nearly died on Corellia and she would not make the same mistake again.

And right now, standing in front of the Queen of Eshan, the Warden of Mandalore, the Sith Princess, Sibylla had only seconds to decide if she was about to be saved… or finished.

Yet as Quinn spoke and scoffed, something felt familiar in the cadence and the mannerisms. As if she were once again in Court. It nagged at her, truly, for the almost dismissive implication that killing her would be a waste of time after already saving her. It was not the language of someone preparing to strike.

No, instead, they nagged at her, reminding her of someone. But before she could think of it further, Quinn continued. And in those few seconds Quinn spoke, Sibylla watched how Quinn watched her. How her emerald gaze moved over her face, pausing at the scar. Not that Sibylla wasn't aware how the scar now drew people's attention, but it was what flickered in Quinn's expression that made Sibylla study the blonde a little longer. It was neither approval nor mockery. It was an assessment, as well as something else...

Disappointment.

But why? But Quinn didn't give Sibylla time to consider.

"I'm not going to let you die....If I was, I wouldn't have wasted my time."

The way Quinn said it was logical and efficient, almost irritated, really.

But people who truly did not care did not justify themselves.

But there was little time to delve further as off in the distance, blasterfire grew louder, and truthfully, once Quinn said that we will regroup with the Republic Forces, there was a sense of relief within Sibylla. Granted, there was still a sense of wariness, but Sibylla did her best to trust in her instincts and move forward from here.

Hadn't Aurelian and she tried to meet up with Quinn before this? Even made an agreement with Mauve DuVain, now Lady Tapalo, to broker that meeting?

Ironies of ironies that Sibylla would instead come face to face with the new Warden and Queen of Eshan on Moorjava during a diplomatic incident.

At least, until the clarification came: Don't get the wrong idea. I thought you were someone else.

Someone else? Who? It didn't take long.

Bastilla. And it wasn't just that Quinn asked if her friend and Handmaiden was here, but that she was pleading to confirm that Bastilla wasn't here.

Oh.

Understanding dawned then -- Quinn had saved her because she thought she was Bastila Sal-Soren.

Why? the thought rose instinctively to Sibylla's tongue, but then immediately swallowed it. This was not the moment. They had to escape and evacuate as many as they could.

"She is," Sibylla answered simply. "She was assigned to my diplomatic security, but was sent with another group." Sibylla informed Quinn as her hazel eyes held Quinn's, searching as she had searched countless rivals, allies, and for years, Aurelian himself.

But then another blaster shot rang out, closer this time. That surge of adrenaline hit her again.

"Shiraya willing, we will see her among those being evacuated... but we need to move. Now. Do you know how to get to the diplomatic shuttle bays?"

Whatever bound a Sith Princess to a Republic Jedi could wait. Right now, Quinn Varanin wasn't her executioner.

She was her way out.

And then, just as if summoned by Shiraya herself, Sibylla's comm crackled and in came Bastilla's voice.

“This is Bastila, Send me coordinates.”

Sibylla picked up the comm, but for a second, she paused, watching Quinn as she sent the following message to her friend and Handmaiden.

[ This is Sibylla, Bast -- We are enroute to try to make it to the diplomatic shuttle bays... unless you have a different location to meet you? ]

 

[Aerik Lechner]

Wearing: This | Weapons: Lightsaber | Knife
TAG: Pari Sylune​

The service door hissed shut behind her, and the platform fell into a quiet broken only by distant detonations rolling across the district. Smoke drifted low between structures beyond the hospital perimeter, and emergency lighting cast a muted glow against the exterior walls.

Aerik was already there.

He stood several meters from the edge of the platform, positioned where he could see both her and the sealed access point behind her. He had not concealed himself. There was no need. His posture was relaxed but deliberate, shoulders squared, attention fixed on her as though she were the only variable that mattered.

When she spoke, he did not interrupt her.

He let the words settle in the space between them.

“This is a hospital. Whatever war you're fighting… it doesn't belong here.”

His expression did not change, but his gaze sharpened slightly as he studied her more closely. She had chosen to step outside. She had left reinforced walls and medical personnel behind in order to face him directly. That was not the action of someone ruled by panic.

“The hospital was never the target.”

His voice carried without strain, controlled and measured against the distant sound of conflict. There was no anger in it, and no apology.

“You are.”

He let that remain plain between them.

“It stands because it was not marked, and it remains untouched because there is no strategic value in burning it. Your appeal does not preserve it, the plan does.”

His eyes flicked briefly toward the city beyond the hospital grounds, where another muted shockwave rippled across the skyline.

“You chose to be here, and you chose to stand inside a structure filled with civilians while a military operation unfolded around it. That decision made this location relevant.”

He took one slow step forward, not closing the distance entirely but removing any illusion that he might retreat.

“You say war does not belong here,” he said with each step. “But you’re the one who brought it here.”

There was no raised voice, no theatrical emphasis. It was a statement of fact as he understood it.

His right hand moved to the hilt at his belt.

The ignition was sharp and immediate. A blade erupted into the night with a violent flare of molten orange, its core bright and unstable, the edges rippling as though heat itself struggled to remain contained. The light it cast was not clean. It flickered with a restless intensity that made shadows jump across the platform walls.

The crystal within was not calm, and neither was the energy feeding it.

He angled the blade downward at his side rather than leveling it at her, but the challenge was unmistakable.

“Step away from the door. If you believe this place should remain untouched, then remove it from the equation.”

His gaze held hers steadily.

“Fight me as a Jedi. Not as a shield.”

 

[Zaiya Ceti]

Outfit: x x x x x | Equipment: x x x x x x | Weapons: x x x | Companion: Domxite
Interacting with: Gerwald Lechner Lily Rhodes Rik Perris
Eventually Elian Abrantes to get you out.

“Zaiya, I’m in the western space port. I don’t know how much trouble there is between you and me, but I can make my way to you and we can meet in the middle. Two pairs of hands are better than one, right?”

[ Perfect! We will meet you there! ] Zaiya responded, her bioluminescence arching over her pearly, rosy, golden skin in flares of determined ambers and cobalt blues. The Lovalla's delicate brow furrowed in that courageous set, gesturing towards the Republic guard and Junior diplomat.

"Let's go!" the Lovalla gestured and called out towards the two, already pulling up her arm to plug in the city plans sent by Lily. A faint blue aura of light washed over Zaiya's face as the holographic map of the city was displayed over her cuff, the multitude of bracelets and bands in her arms giving another jingle.

Stealthy, Zaiya was not!

"Follow me!" she called out, already moving forward towards a corridor that would lead her closer to Lily. The Padawan worked in tandem with the Republic Guard -- she used the Force to knock unconscious those who would attack them while the Guard covered her to make sure the Junior Diplomat was okay.

Her heart was practically racing in her chest, slamming against her ribs, but Zaiya told herself to be calm.

Through this, as she saw any Republic diplomats and guards, she mentioned that they were meeting up to head towards the evacuation shuttles.

ALl around the Lovalla though, the various lights and flickers of life about the empath fluttered and did their best to try to stay lit under the attack. A few, however, went out, their lives snuffed. And while the ache at their loss resonated within the Lovalla, Zaiya told herself to move forward, focus on who could be saved.

However, while she could feel the flutter of life forces around her, among those were others, and the Force seemed to send a rush of warning, igniting streaks of silvery threads along the edges of her mottled spots. Pressure. High compressing pressure. The sort that made her heart thud and her breath catch. SOmething was out there. Waiting. Coiled. Braced to pounce.

Before she could meet up with Lily, the Lovalla padawan and those she escorted came face to face with the one blocking their path.

Gerwald Lechner

Zaiya came to a stop, gesturing for those behind her to pause in a protective motion, the length of her flowy, colorful bright robes swaying like etheral tendrils about her legs. Opal blue eyes stared up at the older man with bright citrine eyes.

The Force shifted and swallowed about the man in painted shadows of citrine, orange, and black, dancing in ways that made it appear predatory, and canine in its presence.

Strange, but telling.

The Lovalla lifted her chin up, not in defiance, but in determination.

"Greetings, my name is Padawan Zaiya Ceti." she said simply, cheerfully, even in her rush. This was no Moorjan guard or diplomat.

No, this was someone who cultivated in the Dark. It reminded her of those she had met before who had felt like this. Some had tried to kill her. Others had saved her life. A few, she considered a friend, and hoped that he would one day, see the light in himself too.

So which one was the one before her. One who would wish her death and those she was to protect. Or one who would leave her to go.

So clearly, she had to ask to find out.

"I ask you to step to the side and let us pass unhindered and unharmed."

A faint, but very genuine smile.

"Please."

 

[Zark San Tekka]

Darth Prazutis

​

Master San Tekka could sense the ground beneath his feet tremble and crack threatening to unbalance him. Instead of bracing against the Sith Lord's dark will he allowed the Force to move through him in a supernatural glide. Almost like an elegant dance the Jedi hardly seemed to touch firmament when he moved.

He brought his lightsaber around just in time to deflect the sorcerer's first thunderous blow. Darth Prazutis clearly possessed much greater physical strength but Zark used a mixture of Djem So and Teräs Käsi techniques to strike precisely where he could use such powerful momentum against his foe. Knocking aside blow after blow the old master stood his ground but could not find a gap in such a perfect makashi guard to follow through with a counter.

Then Zambrano called upon the dark relic he wielded and it vanished from the Jedi's awareness. He would have become one with the Force in that moment if not for the shield gauntlet on his left forearm. It hummed to life with a thought and Master San Tekka raised his arm up like a boxer to prevent the killing blow from decapitating him just in time.

"The more you tighten your grip," he taunted Braxus when the Sith started forcing him back, "The more control will slip through your fingers. You have taught me much about the Sith, but I think it's past time you learned an old Jedi lesson. Sometimes fate has other plans."

Now was his chance. When Darth Prazutis moved forward to push him into retreat it revealed an almost insignificant gap between each strike. Master San Tekka called upon his own connection to the Force summoning a small but ferocious dust cloud to blind them both. He knocked another incoming crimson slash aside but instead of countering with his own blade Zark tried to bring his shield gauntlet down on the Sith Lord's dominant wrist in an attempt to disarm him.

 

[Taera 'Calypso']

Tags: Cassian Abrantes | CT-312

Cal was starting to develop a love-hate relationship with ‘Overwatch.’ On the one hand, she was competent with a rifle, armored, and pushed back when called a different name. On the other hand, she was an unknown, definitely not a Republic soldier, and most importantly, didn’t have a map in that gods-damned suit.

She caught the comlink thrown to her, sliding it into a thin pouch on her shoulder holsters. That, at least, was something. Overwatch stepped into the open, rifle instantly snapping up at a building across the street. She took a blaster bolt to the shoulder as an enemy opened fire.

Competent unknown soldier. Naive Republic officer. And her.

What a team.

Cal briefly closed her eyes and allowed the annoyance, the anger to sharpen her focus into clarity. If they had no map, she’d have to get one. And possibly at some point ditch Overwatch. She didn’t like what she couldn’t sense.

Her eyes snapped open when a rifle close by echoed in the alley. Overwatch held the alley entrance a moment longer before gesturing to the street with an amused Lead the way.

Oh she was definitely dropping Overwatch like a bad habit the moment she could. If that meant sacrificing Abrantes, well, he had accepted risk of injury or death the moment he followed her deeper into the city instead of evacuating. Callous perhaps, but she had not survived this long by being compassionate.

Cal cleared corners before exiting the alley, checking their six and the sightlines above them before sprinting across and taking cover between the buildings. When Abrantes made his suggestion, Cal pressed her lips into a thin line while she kept a lookout, awareness sharp in the Force and one eye on Overwatch. Of all the fool things. One shooter had been in that building, one. And Abrantes wanted to clear it.

However, that did give her an idea.

“If you think it wise,” she said. “I defer to your judgement.”

Let him take point, sandwich Overwatch between them like they had done, enter the building.

And then give them the slip so she could get what she was here for.

 

[Corazona von Ascania]

Gavin Restur Aurelian Veruna Mercy Glissara

While Cora was thrown into in the shadow of a mountain, Aurelian was summarily knocked out by a flying kick to the head. From a tiny woman. Either she packed an incredible punch, or the King of Naboo's skull wasn't as thick as the rumors.

An unconscious Aurelian, while normally a good thing for her sanity, now presented a problem.

Mercy, however, was the more immediate problem. Cora lifted a brow to her…interesting commentary.

Wet nurse?

"I can assure you that I am not sustaining the King of Naboo, nor any other man, in that particular manner."

Cora kept one hand on the hilt of her lightsaber while the other made vague gestures to go along with her mildly disgusted speech. Then, it waved Aurelian's slumped body - face first on the floor - into a corner.

"That aside, they do need all the help they can get."

Cora squinted up at Mercy. She saw the bait - the open body language - and decided that she didn't want to be crushed like a fly today.

Up went the other brow.

"Don't tell me you're here for him. The great Mercy, Misandrist Mother of the core, is here chasing after a man?"

 

[Eloise Dinn]

The droid could shapeshift. Wonderful.

Eloise parried the axe blow with her lightsaber, tanking the force behind the hit. She grit her teeth, snarling as she kept fighting. With the console destroyed, the droid no longer posed as much of a threat to their forces. Still, a duel wasn't going to get rid of this problem.

Whatever the hell it was made of, it resisted her initial probing attempts at Force manipulation. Fine. She'd just have to improvise.

Flames bloomed along the edge of her lightsaber, courtesy of the fire void crystal in the hilt. She manipulated the blaze, casting a fireball directly at the droid's center of mass even as she swung her weapon toward it.

Helix​

 

[Quinn Varanin]

//: Sibylla Abrantes //: Bastila Sal-Soren //:

Sibylla answered.

It was an answer that Quinn didn't want to hear. The first part of the woman's words caused Quinn to quickly flicker her attention to the dead around them. The Echani had looked at each of their faces, wanting to confirm that the Jedi wasn't with them. Force save the planet if Bastila had been lying among the dead Republic security.

Quinn continued to listen, her features doing their best to not betray the turmoil in her chest. Upon hearing that she had been separated from Sibylla, the Echani's jaw tightened out of reaction. Remembering a small fact, Quinn's mind drew conclusions — perhaps wrong, but it fed her frustrations. She had a Master's, one that she couldn't remember the name of at this moment. It meant that the woman was still learning.

"I should have said something…" Quinn quietly whispered into the hand that now rested against her lips. Perhaps if she had warned the girl, none of them would have been in this situation. But that was treason, against her own allegiances. No, she couldn't — she didn't even know if…

The thought of Bastila dead somewhere on this planet only churned the frustration into anger. The Force answered as Quinn was prepared to destroy everything.

A saving grace, a voice crackled over the communication device that had been forgotten until now. Quinn's breath hitched as a wave of relief washed over her, despite the knowledge that she should hide it. The Echani failed; her features softened at just the sound of the Jedi's voice over the interference.

She didn't say anything, allowing Sibylla to answer Bastila. As much as Quinn wanted to say something, it wasn't her place, nor was it safe. It wasn't the time for the Jedi's words to cling to the Princess's mind, but they did, and Quinn found her composure. Despite the calm she felt, the edge in her throat and chest lingered.

They needed to find Bastila; she needed to make sure she… and Sibylla get off-world safely.

"The shuttle bays aren't far from here." Quinn nodded in the direction of the doors. Sadly, they were in the direction the blaster fire was coming from.

"If we take the service route, it's protected by the Sith… if they ask," Quinn tilted her head as she mulled over it. "Which they shouldn't…"

Quinn knew that if they ran into any of the guards protecting the service route, they would assume Quinn had taken a prisoner. She was a dark councilor at the end of the day.

Which she wondered if Sibylla knew…

"They won't question it, just hide the blaster the best you can. As much as I should take it from you…" Quinn shook her head.

"If we get separated, you'll have to defend yourself."

With one more look around them, Quinn began to head towards the doorway that led to the service routes. They were designed to protect diplomats in case something like this would ever occur. A secondary route to the shuttle bays, Quinn wondered if the Republic had been given notice of these routes. Pausing for a moment, Quinn looked back towards Sibylla and handed her own comm device over.

"Send her the tracking information to this; it will get through any interference the planet defenses have put up to keep you all locked down..."

Her eyes narrowed slightly, "I will be destroying this device once we get off-world, don't abuse my kindness…"

As she spoke, the doors to the next wing opened. The route was already secured by the Sith Forces; remnants of the battle lingered among the dead Republic soldiers.

 

[Sibylla Abrantes]

​

Quinn Varanin eventually Bastila Sal-Soren
Items: x | x | x | x | x | x | x | x | x

It all happened in seconds.

The way that as soon as Sibylla confirmed Bastilla was on Moorjva, how the blonde's eyes immediately went flicking over towards the bodies around them. And while that mask of composure -- one Sibylla knew all too well, perfecting it as a Daughter of Abrantes -- did its best to remain in place, there were subtle cracks that Sibylla barely was able to discern. Not completely. Not wholly, but just enough to catch how Quinn brought her hand to cover her lips. The slightest of tension grows along the length of the shoulders and spine.

That alone told Sibylla more than any confession could.

And then the shift, because as soon as Bastilla's voice crackled through the comm, there was the hitch of breath of a breath of relief that Quinn failed to hide. It was there, in the softening of her features and how the glint of whatever churned within the blonde melted into relief.

Sibylla knew it then -- there was something going on between Bastilla and Quinn Varanin.

Something enough to cause the Queen of Eshan to have the sort of reaction Sibylla felt when someone close to her was safe. Alive.

Sibylla connected the threads swiftly, even more so once she wrapped her hand around the comm device Quinn handed to her. And while there was a warning in those green eyes, Sibylla understood what it meant.

Quinn Varanin was not acting as a Sith Princess protecting a political asset. She was acting like this was something personal.

And for now, that meant Sibylla had an ally.

Sibylla responded with a curt nod, then relayed the tracking information from Quinn's comm to Bastilla.

[ Bast, sending you the information to a comm unit that can let you know where I am at. ] She quickly sent it: and it would likely be to Bastilla's surprise that the comm number was one very familiar to the Jedi.

It was Quinn's comm number. The one she had shared with the brunette and had sent the invitation over to meet privately.

[ We will be taking the service route. Meet you at the shuttle bays... let me know if you hear anything regarding the status of Aurelian, Dominique, Cora, and my brothers, will you? ] Now it was Sibylla's turn to sound worried and concerned. Telling, as she did not refer to them by their titles.

She disengaged the comm and then handed the comm back to Quinn.

"Thank you," Sibylla told her only to swivel her attention as the doors to the next wing opened. Sibylla moved to hold the blaster behind her back where her cape would keep it hidden, and clipped her comm back onto her belt as she followed Quinn.

Her steps were quick, and while the Voice of Naboo kept an eye out for those who would approach. For right now, it wouldn't appear as if the Republic had been given notice of the service routes.

Which meant that as Sibylla and Quinn made their way, the brunette was able to start asking some pointed questions.

Or better yet, observations.

"I was not expecting to see the Queen of Eshan -- and the Warden of Mandalore -- here," Sibylla added even while on high alert, perhaps, a bit out of breath. She did not speak the third title. Not yet. It was a deliberate omission, granting Quinn the courtesy of being acknowledged first as a head of state, as a Warden bound by duty, rather than as a Sith Princess entangled in whatever scheme Moorjava had attempted.

It also allowed Sibylla to watch, to see how Quinn reacted when Bastilla's name surfaced again.

"Is that how you met my Handmaiden, Bastilla?" she asked lightly, though her hazel gaze remained sharp. "Through the Mandalorian and High Republic exchanges?"

She gave an almost thoughtful pause, thinking back on that, as perhaps, a bit of Aurelian's humor slipped out as she added.

"She did win the jousting tournament. Champion of the Feast of Iron." The faintest curve touched her lips as they quickly stepped by another corridor and turned to the left, there on the walls, were the directions towards where the service entrance would be. "I recall several Clan representatives were quite serious about proposing a marriage pact...."

 

[Lily Rhodes]

​

When you spent a lifetime sneaking in and out of places, you tended to notice things, like patrols that weren't where they should be, or a path that was too quiet. Moorja was under siege like Coruscant had been, it was a trap. A trap that was leaving one corridor open. It wasn’t that there wasn’t resistance, it was just it was easily avoided for a party of one.

Something uneasy settled in the pit of her stomach but she couldn’t change course, her path was already set. Zaiya and the diplomats needed her help and she would gladly give it. Whatever happened next would happen and she would find a way out of it one way or another. Preferably with Zaiya in tow.

Lily rounded the corner, the uneasy feeling shifting into something a little louder and tighter in her chest as she pressed herself back into the shadows. Standing in the middle of the path between her and a woman she assumed was Zaiya, with the calmness of someone who had been waiting for this exact moment stood the Dread Wolf. Gerwald Lechner was not a man she knew in person, but she knew his reputation.

“Oh, fuck.” she breathed.

Beyond him stood a Jedi, chin up and addressing him with a politeness that only a Jedi could muster. Behind her, the diplomat looked terrified, his eyes darting between Zaiya and Gerwald and the Republican guard shifted to place an extra layer between him and Gerwald just in case.

“Yeah, I don’t think he’s gonna do that.” she said, finally stepping from the shadows.

What was that about not changing course and whatever happens, happens? Her eyes flicked back to the diplomat and to Zaiya who was remarkably calm, and...glowing? She blinked and filed it under things get curious about if they made it out.

Zaiya Ceti

 

[Connel Vanagor]

DECEPTION
Moorja
Spire

Omega Squad Every Day Gear Locations

• Michael, Gabriel, Azrael, Sariel, Raphael, Jeremiel, Connel, Raguel
  [Any text in brackets signifies comm-link usage and not face to face conversation]
• 
  Rides
  
  • "Enterprise" Station Ship
  • The Starlight Sentinel
  • "Jedi Defender" Corvette
  • Null Vector
  • X-wing
  • Speeder
  • Speederbike
  • Iron Psalm
  Gear/Armor
  
  
  • Mask
  • Right Gauntlet
  • Left Gauntlet
  • Nano-Tech Armor (For Emergencies)
  • Headset Microphone Comm-Link
  • Mobile "Bodycam" Datapad
  • Lightblaster
  • Shortsabers (“Night” and “Day”)
  • Throwing Lightknives
  • Force Blinding Flashbangs
  SURGICAL - CRYBERNETIC IMPLANTS
  
  • Repli Implants that would be for the limbs
  • Bonemer enhancements to strengthen structure of the body
  • Muscle enhancements.
  • Hemo enhancements for blood flow
  • Hawkeye implants for eyes
  • Advanced Medical Implant
  • Scentzy
  • Injected Nanotech upgrades
  
  
  
• Shadow Sanctuary - Enterprise

He felt the scream before he processed the mechanics. The delegate convulsing. The rune. Connection. Pain transference. Balaya wasn’t shielding herself. She was outsourcing consequence. Interesting. Cruel. Effective.
Connel did not glance at the writhing man. He did not let guilt spike. He analyzed. Rune carved → pain linked → discharge triggered on hostile energy input. Hurting her feeds them. So.
Don’t hurt her like that.

When Balaya shifted into Djem So, a low guard with a power base for hip-driven arcs and forward pressure. Connel squared up. Good form. Efficient. She wasn’t posturing. She was imposing tempo. He adjusted.
“Dawn’s Light” lowered slightly. He didn’t mirror her strength. He shortened his stance. Soresu influence. Compact. Reactive.
When she rose with the upward arc. He didn’t block at full resistance, he didn’t need to, first rule of counter attack from Father “Take what they give you and turn it into what you want.”, make them feel like they are not in control. He let the rising strike lift his blade just enough— Then slid off the angle.

Minimal contact. Minimal energy transfer. The scream behind him spiked— But not catastrophically. Good. She stepped forward. He gave ground one half-step. Not retreating. Repositioning. She wanted bind and power exchange. He denied it. Her diagonal follow-up met empty air as he pivoted inside the arc, blade grazing along her vambrace shield disc instead of her body. He wasn’t trying to cut through it.

He was mapping its response.

Composite. Reactive. Localized deflection. Microgrenade dropped from her free hand.

He didn’t leap back. He kicked it sideways with the heel of his boot and Force-pulled a chunk of shattered pillar over it. Detonation muffled. Her choker crystal flared brighter. Feeding. He saw it now. Not just absorbing death.
Absorbing proximity of death.

Trace energies from fallen combatants. Which meant: Stop feeding the field. He changed target priorities instantly. No more lethal cuts in her vicinity. Disable only. Or reposition fight away from civilians. She advanced again.
Overhead hammer coiled. Djem So wants reaction. Wants you to brace.

He didn’t.

He stepped forward into her centerline as she committed. Not against the blade.

Under it.

His left shoulder slammed into her sternum at the exact moment her hammer strike descended. The blade missed its intended angle. He felt the rune flare. The delegate screamed again—
But less. Much less. Because the contact had not been blade-to-blade. It had been body-to-body. Force neutral. He rotated, trying to off-balance her instead of injure. She was strong. Augmented. She didn’t fall. She adapted.

Good.

That meant she respected the exchange. When she said “I don’t know who you are.”

He didn’t answer.

Names are for duels.

This wasn’t one.

She offered the civilians betrayal again. Stab him a few dozen times. Freedom. He spoke without looking back.

No. Not loud. Not dramatic. Just final.

Then, to the civilians: Close your eyes.
Not for theatrics. For protection. He shifted tactics completely.
He only had one blade now, he only needed one blade now. Cleaner. He stepped laterally, deliberately drawing her away from the rune-marked delegate. Two short cuts. Not at her. At the floor.
He carved a shallow semicircle into the durasteel between her and the civilians.
Then kicked hard. Force-assisted. The carved segment of flooring lifted as a shielded barrier and slammed sideways into her path. Not to crush. To separate.

Distance is safety.

If she pushed through debris. Disc shield snapping up. He would use that moment.

Force ripple outward—

Not concussive. Directional.

And shove the civilians back down the corridor, increasing space.

If Balaya lunged again after this.

This time he would allow blade contact. Not long. A brief, controlled bind. Just enough.
Then he would twist his wrist sharply and redirect her saber down toward her own rune-marked delegate. She would have to break contact to avoid triggering catastrophic feedback.

Either way.

He would not press with anger. He would press with inevitability. You want pressure? A calm beat.

Then manage it.

She would escalate, regardless, but now she understood something crucial. He wasn’t playing her game. He wasn’t trying to overpower her. He was denying her leverage. Every time she tried to turn pain into advantage— He redistributed it. Every time she tried to weaponize fear— He anchored it.

She said she wouldn’t remember him. He didn’t need her to.
He only needed her to fail.

When Jax yelled out if he was okay, he wanted to yell out “You idiot!” for giving her his name, but he said nothing other than Don’t worry.

Ala Quin • Jairdain Ismet-Thio • Jax Thio • Feng Huang • Darth Carnifex • Balun Arenais-Dashiell • TAGS • ARE • OPEN
Personal Effects - Omega Squad Loadouts​

 

[Helix]

Objective: Don't die
Equipment: Himself
Tags: Eloise Dinn ​

It had been some time since Helix had gotten his hands dirty personally. Administrative duties, command responsibilities, and endless mountains of tedious busywork stood between him and the fun of a duel, but thankfully, it seemed fate favored him today.

Rather than attempt to move, Helix took the blast of Force-empowered fire dead-on. For a moment, his form was obscured by sheets of supernatural flame... before he burst through them, forming a pair of jagged metallic shards from his own substance.

These he sent whistling across the short distance between them, their wicked edges gleaming in the dim light provided by sparking wires and ignited lightsaber.

Helix loomed up to his full height, stretching his form into a nightmarish thing of spines and harsh angles. Forming one arm into a long, barb-tipped blade, he swung it round, blocking the blade of the lightsaber when it came towards him again, right on the heels of the fireball.

The apparition's four glowing photoreceptors reflected the light of the plasma as their weapons clashed, and something horribly like a smile began to form on the his blank, formerly-expressionless faceplate. Metal ran like wax, gradually shaping a maw with rows of needle teeth.

This was Helix's way. Overwhelm and attempt to frighten. Of course, Jedi were made of a bit sterner stuff than the faceless soldiers he was used to dispatching en masse, and not so easily rattled as all that. Even so, he was having great fun.

In the light of the glowing sword, he got a better look at his would-be assassin. A young woman, just a girl, really. Still, there was no mistaking the determination writ large across her face. Helix had been around long enough to know that underestimating her, or any Jedi, would not end well. She was fast, angry, and very set on carving him to ribbons.

Just as well. The ones that ran screaming right away were no fun.

 

[Eira Dyn]

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

The girder snapped after Cerys dropped but Eira launched the higher ground into the fleeing, screaming crowd. It was no used to her now and she might as well make it their problem since her sister would know far too much to defend herself from an attack.

"Am I not?" Eira spoke in a mocking tone as she looked down at herself, the looked back to her sister. "I think you have romanticized the childhood we shared. I speak as true the words now as I felt them back then. All that has changed is that the Sith have given me the lessons I needed to weaponize my powers to their fullest extent."

Grabbing one of her daggers, in her left hand, Eira stared forward. Red eyes burning in deep hatred. "I sought out the Sith. I sought them out, they did not find me, they did not rescue me. I chose them. Did you just go chasing after the Jedi who abandoned you with my parents?" Eira snarled as she lunged forward.

Eira aimed to get in personal, too close. Using the dagger to slice and block the Lightsaber. Eira moved with the power and precision of someone trained in Lightsaber forms, but her attacks and the way she moved, there was no standard, no recognisable form. Flicking her wrist, the alchemized claws in her right hand sprung free and the assassin swiped them at Cerys's stomach. Aiming to poison and weaken her sister.

There was no honourable way of fighting for Eira, there was no utilising the traditional combat forms. She would cheat, she would trick and Eira would survive. Only getting stronger from each fight and only getting better and killing the Jedi that dared to stand in her way.

 

[Veradun Sharr]

Location: Spire, Communications Room
Gear: Armor - Lightsaber
Direct Tag: Ala Quin
Others: Darth Nefaron // Balun Arenais-Dashiell // Jax Thio // Connel Vanagor // Darth Carnifex // Kasir Dorran ​

The tall young man understood the look his Master gave him all too well, and he knew it would be the only answer he would get on the matter. There was no need to delay any further. Without a word to the Sith Lord, the Sangnir turned on his heel and practically disappeared.

He was free to Hunt now…and so he did.

The Pale Death sank into the Force’s embrace, allowing the darkness to be his eyes for the moment - his guide. He tracked the residual path of the fallen shuttle, and felt the presence of those within the Force that had been aboard. Some lives had already been extinguished, but those that stood out like a proverbial beacon still lived.

Of course they did.

As if a mere shuttle crash could kill a Jedi.

Veradun shifted from shadow to shadow as he drew closer and closer to the communications tower, a predator stalking prey that was wary and knew danger was close, but who couldn’t quite see him yet. One particular individual stood out to him, in a sea of little lights. He chose this one, and adjusted his silent approach accordingly.

Whoever it was, had decided to target the communications chamber; it made sense - if they could disrupt signals reaching the Sith, then it would hamper Sith forces a bit. Veradun didn’t really care about any of that; he had his own orders. Bring the Grandmaster back to Darth Nefaron alive, if possible. It was going to be one hell of a challenge - perhaps one too great for Veradun. But he would most certainly try.

The Sangnir moved swiftly - pausing for only a moment when he felt the presence of one who was oh so familiar to him: his Sire, his brother. Kasir was here - somewhere nearby. If he could feel the other Sangnir’s presence, then Kasir would surely be able to sense him too.

Perhaps…he would have some help with this task.

He pressed onward as he made his way upwards, passing people in the corridors and halls who thought that perhaps they had seen a ghost. He didn’t even bother with them - their lucky day perhaps. Finally - he reached a level that was directly below the communications center, and it was here that he could sense his target most clearly. Their almost pure presence in the Force pressed against his in a way that made him recoil in disgust.

Surely - it had to be the one his Master wanted alive.

Now the hard part - getting to them, before they fled the area.

The elevator that led to the center was occupied, and Veradun growled low in frustration. Someone, a staff member he supposed, was making an attempt to jog past him to leave when a pale hand snaked out and snagged the poor woman, pulling her to him.

“Is there another way into the communications center that isn’t the elevator?” he asked the terrified girl in a not so patient voice.

“T-there i-is a a - serv-service shaft!”

“Show me.”

He kept a hand on her shoulder as she led him down a corridor and to a door that flashed when she passed her badge in front of it. The door slid open to reveal a narrow shaft that led upwards and into, what he presumed to be, the communications chamber.

Without a second thought, Veradun slipped a hand from her shoulder to the back of her neck and gave a sharp squeeze. The sound of crunching bone echoed for a moment, before he let her body drop. He bent down and ripped her badge free, then slipped into the service shaft as the door closed, sealing him within.

Now, he had to climb the steps in the narrow shaft. It would take him a moment, but hopefully it would put him in a position where he could intercept his target. He moved with haste - or as much as he could, being the size that he was. His shoulders nearly touched either side of the shaft walls, and subtle light was provided by dim orange rounded bulbs every few meters.

Finally, he reached a section that had a door and a latch door handle, and opened it as quietly as he could. Pale blue eyes scanned the immediate surroundings, and found that it was a darkened room, filled with supplies and other items, and the sound of machinery and electrical components filled his senses. Beyond this small dark room, he could hear voices with his heightened Sangnir senses - some terrified, and others giving orders to cover the door while others continued their work at the communications console.

Veradun pulled his way entirely into the small, dark room, before passing the badge in front of the somewhat glowing scan reader. It flashed green, and the door slid open to reveal the communications room - and those within. His presence was noticed almost immediately, some tried to turn their weapons on him in surprise - but were frozen in place with the flex of a hand.

It took a longer moment for the officers allied with the Sith, to realize who and what he was. His pale gaze flickered over the individuals within the chamber, before turning towards the door that led to the elevator.

A lightsaber was cutting through, forcing an access point. The Sangnir felt a faint smile curl at the edges of his lips; any moment now, his prey would reveal itself. He waited for the moment the Jedi cut through completely, charging up a handful of lightning as he did so.

And the moment the Jedi would step through, they would be assaulted with a torrent of Sith lightning aimed directly for their face.

 

[Quinn Varanin]

//: Sibylla Abrantes //: Bastila Sal-Soren //:

Quinn did her best not to pay too much attention to what Sibylla was doing behind her. She wanted to trust the woman, but at the end of the day, she was on the opposite side of the Blackwall — they weren't trustworthy… but there were some that Quinn couldn't help.

Taking the device back, she tucked it away. Already, the Echani felt exposed, given the tidbits Quinn knew she let loose. Hopefully, Sibylla would ignore the threads, ignore any little bit that would draw the conclusion of the way her heart twisted the moment Bastila's name was mentioned.

Unfortunately, the Echani wouldn't find reprieve with the woman.

Sibylla continued to talk, perhaps out of fear and a desire to find some calm in her situation. Quinn listened somewhat empathetically to the situation. As the woman continued to speak, she seemed now honed in on Bastila — that empathy disappeared.

For some reason, she wanted to know when Quinn and Bastila must have met. She continued, of course, why wouldn't she? There were small digs, searching for more information with her words. Quinn was fine; she was able to hide how she felt by keeping her attention forward.

It wasn't until the mention of marriage proposals.

The shells of Quinn's pale ears peeked through the strands of her blonde hair. Their redness glowed as the frustration became visible. Quinn's shoulders tightened as her steps became sharper. The knowledge that Bastila received these proposals shouldn't have bothered her; they shouldn't have gotten under her skin as easily as they did.

She didn't even know if the affections she presumed were even real from the Jedi.

Her youth and folly did the Echani Queen no favors.

"Interesting. As much as I am the Queen of Eshan... I'm still the Princess of the Sith Empire..." Her voice was tight as she exhaled sharply. They didn't know she was a Dark Councilor, nor that the Council had expanded. With her tone, it was obvious Quinn didn't want to entertain the proposal talks; so she decided to enlighten Sibylla when she and Bastila first met.

"Neither." Again, her voice bled her frustration. "We spoke during the Hapes wedding; she was with Aurelian, and that annoyed me." It was half true; in reality, she figured Bastila too pretty to be on the pretentious King's arm.

In a sense, she had spoken to Bastila because she found her attractive, but when they further spoke… Quinn found herself enamoured with the Jedi. She wanted to know more, learn more… just talk to her more.

Shaking her head, Quinn found herself losing her thoughts. She refused to speak about Bastila reaching out to meet after the wedding.

That was their secret…

"Why are you so curious? She—" Quinn needed to make something up, remembering the last word Bastila had spoken to her, the dangers of the Republic, and their positions.

"If Bastila is to die, it will be by my hand — she's a formidable rival."

The words tasted like acid on her tongue, her face showing the disdain for the lie, but she did her best to hide it from Sibylla.

Should be easy... she was a known Sith.