Star Wars Roleplay: Chaos

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Strength to Believe

The galaxy was a cold, dark expanse. For all the knowledge and discoveries of the enlightened sentient, more than what was known remained uncovered. With so many places to hide, one hardly had to try very hard to remain unseen. This was one such place, where those who wished to avoid prying eyes, particularly those of the moral being, came to hide.

In the shadows they made sin. Sometimes for their own satisfaction and amusement. But mostly in pursuit of their all-consuming goal. Distorted, dark and misguided, but the crack of their leader's whip kept them from seeing it, kept them hunting. The fresh meat presented gave the illusion of progress, and kept the skin on their bones.

These wretched creatures were not Sith, but they were a cult that shared many similarities. In particular their absolute devotion to the Dark Side of the Force. A mixture of Sith and Witches of Dathomir, perhaps, with a macabre tendency towards blood and dismemberment as a focal point of their rituals. It was a practice that required a steady stream of bodies. The young Jedi Knight could only lament that it had taken her this long to track them down. But inevitably their hunger created a pattern and tracks to cover.

This was no place for Padawans. The untrained one remained on Ithor, under the watchful care of Herron. One day the pair would work on self-assigned missions such as this. For all her Padawan had seen and endured, Zylah did not wish her to see this. She was not ready.

The wind carried with it a hollow rustle through the remaining stumps of charred trees. Ash and dust danced lightly atop the scarred surface. She moved in tune with the echoes of the planet. It became an ally, merging their sound with hers. So far she had remained uncovered. The cover of darkness helped as well. Her silver white skin and matching hair, tied together into a tight ponytail with a simple, white cloth, had a tendency to stand out. Well hidden by the dark brown robes she wore, as well as the wide hood, her features remained a mystery, at least from a distance.

The closer she got to the camp, however, the more challenging this became. Creeping up, inch by inch was one thing. Now she stood before the artificial constructs and illumination meant to keep them safe, and unwanted visitors, in this case meaning her, out. She had lost track of how long she had been her already. Hours, to be sure. Her snubfighter tucked away at a distance from here. Carefully, utilising all her knowledge, she had silently approached after carefully scouting the area. Everything could be undone in a moment, but she did not lose focus. She was a Jedi, after all.

Her hand fell instinctively to the hilt of her lightsaber. The dark shape of brown swiftly turned the corner, and slipped in through the gates during the brief moment where the sentry looked away. It worked to her benefit that their first line of defence were not walls and turrets, but rather the fact that the location of their base remained a secret. She would not need her blade, yet.

[member="Michael Sardun"]​
 
[member="Zylah Dvale"]

For many years Sardun had tried to do the whole song and dance.

Stealth.

Prepare.

Consider and plot accordingly. But this was a new era. A new attempt. The light had a plan and it did not involve skulking in the shadows, waiting for a moment to strike. That was not to say there wasn't room for patience, but it meant that sometimes the best way of handling a situation? Was to strike. Hard. Immediate. No hesitation allowed in your march. This was mostly why when Zylah approached the camp? There was first the usual background noises. The rustling of the trees, the sounds of the camp mixed throughout it all.

Then?

A BOOM as something exploded in the distance. That sound of explosion was immediately followed by.... light. Not in the physical sense. But she would feel it in the Force. An overwhelming concentration of the Lightside suddenly coming into being. Not popping in. But bursting into blinding creation.

Like the flickering of a sun suddenly... just... working.

It pushed against the creeping darkness of the camp. The grim. The horror and pain. It crashed against it, burning it away. The battle was not over, no. But something had already changed in the air.

Hope had arrived.

And justice.
 
She felt a growing sense of being too late. Outside of what looked like a barracks were the corpses of three humans. Executed by the looks of it. Knowing their MO, the bodies would be put to use later. She didn't have to know them to recognise them, these were the latest captives she had been tracking. It were these she had hoped to save. There were more, she knew, and maybe still alive. Yet for these three justice came too slowly. But for the others, whatever survivors might remain, hope had arrived.

Zylah had almost made it to the cover of a nearby building when the explosion was felt. She dropped instinctively to the ground, the sand containing her surprise. The initial reaction had of course been to think she had been discovered. As soon as logic was given time to enter the picture, it became clear this was something else. She wasn't given much time to contemplate its origin before... Light

Blinding, crushing, scorching. Like fire burning hot, moving fast across the camp. Fortunately for her, it was selective in whom it touched, but even so her own barrier of the Force covered the woman as she found it in herself to rise to her feet. The scene was something quite different now. Stealth seemed to be thrown out the window now. Even if they didn't know she was here, they knew something was here. And that was enough to put any hostages at risk.

Screams rose to the air. Some in intense agony, some expressing the last sensation they would ever feel. Others calling for action, for vengeance, for war. The camp was set alight now. But they were disorganised and crippled. Clearly they were unprepared for this sort of attack and had no unified plan as to how to combat it.

'Suppose that's one way to do it' she thought to herself, her light blue lightsaber hissing to life with a twist of her wrist. With speed the young warrior moved towards the closest armed target. Time to do some damage control

| [member="Michael Sardun"] |​
 

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