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

[Aurelian Veruna]

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

Aurelian opened his mouth to correct Cora. "Our priority is not..." The building convulsed. Then the wall in front of them exploded inward in a roar of dust and flying stone. Masonry tore apart as something massive tore through it.

Aurelian stared. "What the feth is that?" The word monster would have been polite.

It landed in the wreckage with a manic smile and the presence of something that did not fear kings or titles. Stone clattered across the floor. The air filled with dust and heat. Cora moved instantly.

"Gavin, get Aurelian out of here." For once, he did not argue. He pushed himself up, brushing debris from his coat out of reflex. Priorities. Always priorities.

"After you," he told Gavin, already moving. He did not need to be asked twice. Cora could handle herself. She had before. Even now. Especially now. Still, a flicker of doubt cut through him. She just had a child. He crushed the thought. She would not forgive him for underestimating her.

They ran towards the door. For half a second, he allowed himself to believe they might actually make it out of the guild hall without further theatrics.

Then the door vaporized. A high whine split the air before a chunk of it simply ceased to exist in a flash of superheated light. Aurelian barely had time to register the shape moving through the smoke.

Fast. Too fast. A blur. A leg. Impact. The kick caught him clean across the side of the head. The world snapped sideways. Sound collapsed into a dull ringing. His body lifted off his feet and struck the floor with a sickening finality.

His last thought was wildly indignant. This is going to be another lecture.

Then everything went dark.

​

 

[Jairdain Ismet-Thio]

Jairdain felt Jax arrive before she heard him, long before the crash of glass and metal reached her ears, before the surge of displaced air rippled through the corridor like a warning. His presence in the Force flared sharply, blooming into her awareness like a sudden starburst of familiar warmth and fierce determination. It cut through the oppressive gravity that had dominated the space for so long, and the first thing that struck her was relief, sharp, overwhelming, almost painful in its intensity. But fear followed immediately, cold and precise, because his arrival meant he was now standing directly in the shadow of a power that had already proven itself capable of annihilating lives without hesitation.

She did not turn toward him.

She did not need to.

Every contour of his emotional state, every surge of adrenaline, every tightly reined thread of anger, every flicker of protective instinct radiating from him, reached her through the Force with absolute clarity. She felt his resolve harden as Carnifex moved. She felt the old wounds and unresolved history rising beneath his controlled exterior. She felt the dangerous edge of pride and defiance sharpening inside him as he faced the man who had once been his father.

And she knew, with quiet certainty, that if he carried that weight into the coming clash, it would cost him dearly.

Her barriers trembled as the Dark Lord launched himself forward, the corridor shuddering beneath the sheer violence of his momentum. The air itself seemed to recoil as crimson light carved toward Jax with lethal precision.

Jairdain did not shout. She did not cry out nor reach for her blade. Instead, she reached inward.

Past exhaustion that dragged at her bones. Past pain that pulsed through her with every breath. Past fear that whispered of everything she stood to lose. Past the ache in her body and the constant reminder of the life she carried.

She drew upon the deepest well of discipline she possessed and shaped the Force with careful, deliberate intent, not as a weapon, not as a shield, but as a lifeline directed toward the one person who needed it most. Jax.

Her presence wrapped around him like an unseen mantle, subtle yet powerful, reinforcing both his body and his mind. Strength flowed into his muscles, sharpening reflexes already honed by years of combat. Clarity settled into his thoughts, smoothing the turbulence of anger and grief into something focused and resilient. Courage deepened into steadiness. Resolve hardened into an unshakable balance.

Force Valor surged through him, not as an overwhelming flood that might distort him, but as a precisely calibrated reinforcement that enhanced what was already there, amplifying without altering.

You are not alone, she sent quietly along their bond, her mental voice steady despite the strain burning through her. Breathe. Stay with me. Stay centered. Do not let him pull you into his shadow.

She felt the shift almost immediately.

His stance adjusted instinctively rather than by conscious thought. His footing stabilized. His focus narrowed into something sharp and disciplined. The turbulence in his presence softened into controlled, grounded strength, with purpose replacing provocation.

Even as she maintained that connection, even as she continued to sustain her barriers and shield the remaining delegates from Balaya's prowling violence, the effort began to weigh heavily upon her. Her breathing tightened. Her concentration demanded constant reinforcement. Each passing second required more than the last.

Still, she did not withdraw, nor did she falter.

Her hand pressed briefly against her abdomen, not in weakness, but in quiet reassurance, grounding herself in the reality of why she was still standing, why she was still fighting, why she would not allow this moment to break her.

Through the Force, she remained beside Jax even as he faced Carnifex alone, lending him strength without overshadowing him, support without control, trust without hesitation.

Whatever happened next, he would meet it as himself.

Not as a frightened son haunted by old wounds. Not as a provoked warrior driven by pride. But as the Jedi she knew him to be, steady, resolute, and unshaken. And as long as she had breath left in her body and light left in her spirit, she would hold that space for him.

Darth Carnifex Jax Thio Balaya Praelior Zambrano Balun Arenais-Dashiell Darth Nefaron Syreeta Ming Connel Vanagor Veradun Sharr Helix

 

[Kasir Dorran]

Feng Huang​

As if a shroud was pulled over the city, darkness soon settled upon it like an eclipse. Alarms frantically chittered along with cries from nothing but irrelevant insects choosing to drown in their own panic. But amidst the chaos, one thing caught Kasir's attention.. a single Thread pulsing brightly, near the tower; it beckoned to him, drawing him closer.

Shadows twisted and lengthened in his wake like eager scouts, heralding the arrival of the Sangnir. Approaching the doors, his gait was graceful, feline, and promising ruin. Two chalk white digits traced the seam, anointing the threshold. Heightened senses were honed to predation, and so they cut through the clamor. Beneath it all, he heard something more.. delicate. A voice whispering a mantra. To him, it was Light trembling in the Dark.

He eased back a pace, lids lowering, savoring the moment before unveiling. A hand found the edge of his cloak, curling into the carved ridges of his saberstaff. So many ways to announce himself. A whisper, a blade, the dagger he almost always favored these days. But like a serpent stirring beneath stone, he would exist in that space before violence found its first shape.

The doors shuddered, and twin crimson blades unfurled like burning wings.

 

[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

Moorja – Negotiation Complex Perimeter
Overwatch

From the rooftop, Connel saw the glass explode. Saw the speeder arc. Saw Jax enter like a meteor. Good. Then he felt it. Not Carnifex. Not Jax. Not even Jairdain’s lattice straining like wire drawn too tight. Something heavier.

Primal.

Balaya, and the beast. The Force shifted in a way that had nothing to do with philosophy and everything to do with hunger. Connel adjusted the foraged Sith rifle against his shoulder and fired twice. Two acolytes flanking Jairdain dropped before they understood they’d been targeted.

He cycled the bolt.

Another shot. A trooper attempting to flank Syreeta collapsed mid-stride. He didn’t linger on the duel inside. That wasn’t his lane. His HUD flickered from scavenged optics. Ammunition count low. Then the ground shook.
Gorgo.

The creature emerged like a siege engine made of sinew and malice, tearing through a support wall as though architecture were suggestion. Civilians screamed from a lower corridor. That was enough. Connel stood. No hesitation. He dropped the rifle.

… and leapt.

Wind tore at him as he folded tight mid-fall, limbs tucked close to reduce drag. Muscle memory. Reaper drop without the chute. He didn’t reach for a ledge. He didn’t try to slow gradually. At the last possible second—

He extended one arm.

Energy coiled through the cybernetics in his frame, through bone, through nerve. He drove his fist into the durasteel plaza. Force pushed into the ground to slow impact. Then repulsed outward on contact. The resulting shockwave erupted in a circular blast, and old trick he learned from his father. Glass shattered outward.

Troopers were hurled off their feet.

Acolytes stumbled mid-cast.

Gorgo reeled as the pavement fractured beneath it.

The Force wave from Connel’s landing hadn’t even fully dissipated when he felt it. Not the microflashbang coming from Balaya. Not the barbs either. Those he put himself in front of someone who might not be able to handle them. Not even the illerium discharge. That was something that would be dealt with

It was the intent. Balaya wasn’t just striking at Jairdain. She was striking at the people, like a hovertrain. At their will. At their moral center. Offering survival through betrayal. That was the line. Connel moved before the flash detonated. He didn’t leap toward Balaya. He pivoted toward the civilians.

“Dawn’s Light” flared to life in a sweeping arc, intercepting the repulsed barbs mid-flight. One vaporized. The other deflected into the ceiling in a shower of sparks.

The microflashbang detonated—and Connel’s free hand was already out.

Force Crush, more Force compression.

Not outward. Inward.

He collapsed the concussive wave into a tight sphere and redirected it down the corridor, detonating harmlessly against a reinforced bulkhead. It took a LOT of focus, but it worked.

Balaya’s saber slash would have reached Jairdain’s flank—except “Windu’s Guile” caught it mid-strike. Violet met red in a violent hiss. Connel didn’t push. He didn’t posture.

He stepped into her momentum and angled the lock sideways, diverting the strike away from Jairdain’s lattice instead of contesting strength. She.hit.HARD. The thing is?

He’s not exactly a weakling.

Not her,” he said calmly. No anger. No threat. Just a statement. Behind him, the delegate she had carved runes into trembled, knife still in hand. Connel didn’t look back. But the Force moved through him toward them.
Not a command.

A grounding. A steadying presence.

You don’t have to choose that.

Balaya’s artifact pulsed. Trying to bend weaker wills. Trying to amplify fear. Connel shifted slightly. Just enough that his body blocked the direct line between her headband artifact and the civilians. He wasn’t shielding them with a barrier. He was interrupting the vector.

Consequences.

An assassin surged, muscles bulking under Sith augmentation. Faster. Stronger. Almost like he expected him to meet that power with power.

He didn’t.

He dropped low under the assassin accelerated slash and drove a short, brutal elbow into his rib line, targeting the junction where augmentation met flesh.

Precise.

Disruptive.

“Windu’s Guile” snapped upward, not to kill—to shear the mechanism that housed one of the knee-barb launchers on Balaya’s. Sparks erupted. The weapon didn’t go dead, but the barbs failed, at least this time. He didn’t stop. He extinguished his shortsaber for half a second and drew the lightblaster instead.

Two shots. Not center mass. Not head.

One aimed at the choker crystal.

One aimed at the headband artifact.

Ion-charged.

He wasn’t trying to destroy her.

He was trying to depower her.

If the corridor would with static interference as if the artifact flickered violently, he would know he succeeded, if not, he would not stop. Either way, the subjugation pressure would ease, at least for the moment. Behind him, the delegate dropped the blade. Connel re-ignited his own.

You don’t get to offer them mercy, he said evenly. You’re not capable of it. He knew that while he may not be winning this, there was some success. Because the civilians had not turned. Because Jairdain still stood. Because Syreeta still fought.
And because Connel had made himself the fulcrum.

Behind him: Light holding.

In front of him: Predatory escalation.

Above: Carnifex and Jax shaking the structure with titanic blows.

An Acolyte lunged, he would pivot through her guard, slamming his shoulder into her centerline and driving her backward through a shattered support column. The impact would crater the wall. Dust would rain. He would not pursue into the debris cloud. Either way He would turn. Look at the civilians.

Move!

They moved. Only then did he step back into the smoke. If Balaya was in the wreckage, she would escalate. So would he. Not louder. Not angrier. Just… sharper… brutal… efficient

Darkness would feel him.

The potential.

The refusal.

The discipline.

That made Connel more dangerous than raw power ever could. Because Balaya had tried to turn the innocent against the Light—And Connel had answered not with spectacle— But with consequence. “Windu’s Guile” ignited in his left hand. Violet crackling in tight arcs. He wouldn’t look at Carnifex. He wouldn’t look at Jax.

He would look at the civilians. Run.

One word. Command, not suggestion. They moved. Behind him, Jairdain’s lattice pulsed, stabilizing as civilians cleared her radius. Good. He turned. Evil in front of him. Balaya with her wicked maniacal smile seeing him.
Recognition. Interest. Gorgo charged. Connel didn’t meet it head-on.

He sidestepped, firing controlled bursts from the scavenged rifle into its forelimb joints. Ion bursts disrupted the creature’s augmentations. The rifle clicked empty. He discarded it without thought. This monster was not an automoton, not a simpleton... but wasn't him.

The monster swung a hand that would have crushed a transport speeder. Connel ducked under it, violet blade carving across tendon. Not killing. Slowing. The beast roared. He vaulted onto its back, drove Windu’s Guile into a shoulder and twisted.
The creature bucked violently, smashing him into a pillar, grabbing and throwing him, without his shortsaber. The weapon? Gorgo crushed it in one powerful fist. Connel got up from the blast into the pillar, his armor absorbed most of it.

He landed hard.

Rolled.

Came up on one knee.

No “Windu’s Guile”? Fine. “Dawn’s Light”, ignited in his right hand now, replacing the discarded rifle. Blue arced before him. An Assassin unleashed a torrent of dark augmentation at his position. Connel met it. Not with counter-hate. With precision.
He split the energy at an angle, redirecting part into the fractured pavement and part into Gorgo itself. The beast convulsed angrily. Not dead. Maybe hurt. Disrupted. Angered.

He advanced.


Each step deliberate.
If he had been efficient before— Now he was surgical inevitability. Another acolyte lunged from his blind spot. He didn’t turn. Lightknife backward throw. The blade pinned the acolyte to a wall mid-stride. No flourish.

No roar.

Just consequence.

The Assassin retreated a step. She felt it. This wasn’t fury. This wasn’t a Jedi losing himself. This was a man who had already accepted death once and therefore did not fear proximity to it.

Behind him, Jax and Carnifex clashed in titanic arcs of blue and red. The building trembled with each collision. Connel didn’t look.

Trust.

But verify.

He positioned himself between Gorgo, Balaya, and the civilians’ escape route. A dark presence brushed against him then. Curious. Testing. Potential. Connel didn’t respond. Didn’t acknowledge. Didn’t rise to it. Didn’t need to do so. He stepped forward instead. Blade low. Shoulders squared.

Voice calm.
If you want through, he said to Balaya to all of them, you go through me. No theatrics. No sermon. Just fact.
... and you won’t.

Behind him: Light. Life. Fragile breath.

In front of him: Monsters.

And for the first time tonight— The Sith would realize something subtle but dangerous.
The Vanagor line does not seek duels.

It establishes consequences.

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

 

[Balun Arenais-Dashiell]

STORM CHASERS
INVENTORY: Spacer Apparel | Lightsaber | K-16 Bryar Pistol
ALLIES: Ala Quin | Jax Thio | Connel Vanagor
OPPOSITION: Darth Nefaron | Darth Carnifex | Veradun Sharr

​

Balun had never been one to hide his name from others, a habit of being honest with those he fought so that they could see he envisioned the ideology of the Jedi, despite his refusing to be called one for so many years. Only recently had he taken up the moniker of Jedi, under the training and guidance of Ala Quin . It would appear that perhaps his name had been taken notice of by the Sith, perhaps partly due to Falentra's past actions and the relationship they had once shared.

Darth Nefaron was, however, much like Strossius and Malum, a force to be reckoned with. His speed was blinding when combined with such ferocity in his use of the crimson blade; the Sith Lord's offensive placed Balun on the backfoot from the beginning. By comparison, Balun had to prioritise his use of parries and evasive movements to avoid being run through.

Contrary to many Jedi, Balun had spent the majority of his life as a Force-User on his own, learning through surviving. He did not cling so religiously to the forms of sabre combat but used what he learned from each in order to shape his own style. His stance of Djem So, common much like the centre of being, yet springing into action, he moved with agility while desperately trying to fend off the Sith Lord's powerful strikes.

Deferring to a single-handed use of his lightsaber, he reached out with his left hand and tore the table within the centre of the room from its feet, launching it at the Darth Nefaron in a bid to put some space between them. The table was large, not built out of wood but made of a light metal and likely used for strategic meetings or some such purpose; but it was the size and weight of the table that Balun hoped would offer some respite from the fury of the Sith Lord, while he continued to double back, moving around the room and trying to keep pace with the walking corpse lord.

"My Master is better off without my presence as a distraction; she is better served to bring an end to your people's hold of Moorja", Balun finally responded while stepping backwards, his gaze sweeping back and forth from his opponent to the room around him in search of any obstacle that might slow his evasion. "The Republic, too, remains strong and won't back down to the Sith. Even more so since the Alliance has fallen. We are the representation of justice and democracy in this Galaxy, which so requires moral leadership!" he argued, and as though finding courage in his own words, drove himself forward with a direct thrust of his blade seeking to run Nefaron through the chest.

Jedi Master: Ala Quin
Major Faction: The High Republic
Sub-Faction: Jhaessa Prime
Conglomerate: Dashiell Incorporated™
Subsidiary Company: Dashiell Retrofit™​

"Speech"
'Thought'​