Skirmish Tales of the Underground: Operation Dawn Veil [TJO vs. DIA]

[Lyssara Thrynn]

I continue my path peacefully toward the lower levels, examining each room meticulously. Everything seems in order, perfectly arranged, and I have nothing to complain about regarding the Diarchy's installation. However, something catches my attention on the official channels, I hear Laphisto giving the order to identify oneself, under penalty of inspection or even a controlled arrest. I press the button on my comlink.

"This is Lyssara Thrynn, on behalf of the Diarchy. I'm heading toward the metro as well, and for now I have nothing to report. I'll keep searching. Over."

With Laphisto informed and the comlink turned off, it's time to head toward the hot zone of the contagion now. Those traitors, those Jedi… I wonder what their level is and if they'll be able to entertain me a little. If I'm feeling generous, perhaps I'll let them go. Who knows?

My beer glass being empty, I have another served by a servant; he replaces my mug with a full one. I thank him and continue on my way, one hand in my pocket. I start humming softly a sign that I don't wish to be discreet. I want to be seen, and I want to be found. To accompany my song, I let my aura flow freely. The tune I choose is gentle and warm, almost like a whistle. My smile becomes visible.

tag : open

 

[Aknoby]

"The baron has a... padawan, I'll take care of her."

He speaks quietly into the communicator so therhat Laphisto and Saul can hear, leaving his coat on an empty hook. Now the lightsaber with the golden hilt is more exposed, but so are the twin lightsabers on either side.

Gradually, his presence in the Force begins to stop being camouflaged, a presence that shows a dynamic balance between Light and Darkness, like someone walking on a tightrope but instead of avoiding falling down, he avoids falling to either side, even though Aknoby is naturally inclined towards Light, but those who know about his secrets understand that it is not that simple.

As he approached the Jedi and the baron, he bowed and wielded the golden lightsaber, but without turning on the blade.

"Let's not make things difficult, Baron. I suggest you surrender. The lies end here, and I hope peacefully, without us having to accidentally put the guests at risk."

He looks at the Padawan, only a few years younger than him.

"As for you, we can talk before resorting to our weapons. I'm curious about the lies they told you about the Diarchy."

He takes his position, his form classic Niman, but his weapon still off, and in the Force he pulses harmoniously with the Padawan, his presence like a musical instrument in a duet, waiting for the other's response.

(OOC: that's the stance he is but his lightsaber is off)

Pari Sylune

 

[Trace Xyston]

Site One​

Spoiler: Equipment

Main weapon: LO-44 MKII with Kov'dra bullets
Secondary weapon: LO-12S
Tertiary weapon: LO-10M
Armor: LO-62C
Utilities: grappling hook 2x gas grenade 2x thermal detonators

Trace and the four other members of his commando squad had blended into the nooks and crannies in the estate main hall that had tactical viewpoints of all the guests in attendance. They stood still as statues, and the Force-dead commandos might as well have been inanimate objects to the Force-sensitives in the room, who would feel nothing as they walked past the soldiers. He was on the lookout for Force-sensitive "refugees" in the crowd; anyone that looked out of place and nervous in the lavishness of the main hall.

He had received two callouts from his squadmate Rhomma, who had positioned himself upstairs with a vantage point over the bar. Two figures wearing cloaks that had seen better days. It was painfully obvious that they did not belong at this celebration. Despite the two callouts, everything else had been silent for the day. Trace had to admit that it was frustrating that he couldn't immediately spot High Republic Jedi on a Diarchy world.

Suddenly, an individual calling himself "Overwatch" came over his comm, reporting activity at the landing pad. Shortly after, Laphisto's commanding voice gave orders to move and lock down the estate. In unison, squad 6 moved from their statue-like positions and headed for the exits of the main hall. Trace and Rhomma headed for the main door, drawing interested stares from confused guests. The sea of partygoers parted before the two, allowing them to come to a stop unimpeded before the doors. Two Diarchy security troops stood there facing the stairs, where Diarch Reign strode up.

Trace opened his mouth to speak, his voice loud enough to be heard over the laughter and conversation of the gala, "Shut these doors once the Diarchs enter. No one is to enter or leave unless cleared by Command."

The guards turned around in surprise at hearing orders, but they complied quickly when they saw who was giving them. Trace's gaze swept across the floor and came to rest on a familiar figure. Commander Athlea was standing at one of the open archways that looked at the beautiful terrace below, speaking to a man he didn't recognize as being from the Diarchy. Determination set in his jaw underneath his helmet as he approached them silently. The other entrances and exits to the main hall would be closed off now by the rest of his squad. Wherever these Jedi were, they would be caught eventually.

Aiden Porte Iandre Athlea

 

[Souls of the Lilaste order]

When Trace Xyston 's order came through the comms clipped, exact, and followed by High Commander Laphisto's command to seal the estate Cinder didn't wait for confirmation. The directive was clear. His body was already moving before his mind had fully registered the words.

He broke from his observation point in the rear corridor, boots whispering against polished stone, passing through the subtle glare of chandeliers that painted his matte teal armor in fractured light. The din of the gala was distant here, dulled by marble and heavy drapery. As he approached the rear entrance, two Diarchy guards straightened at his approach, confusion flickering briefly across their faces before his visor met theirs.

"You heard the order," he said, voice cold and exact. "Seal it. No one leaves this compound until Command says otherwise."

There was no room for hesitation. One guard moved, fumbling with the door locks. The other followed suit when Cinder's head tilted slightly not a threat, but something colder. An expectation.

With the locks secured, Cinder drew his LO-20D rifle into a low ready position. The weapon had been modified down to a compact form, its suppressor nested neatly into the fore-barrel. He thumbed the safety off and held it across his chest, standing perfectly still in front of the doors. From a distance, he looked like a statue angular, silent, unmoving.

But inside that stillness was a meticulous awareness. His visor cycled quietly through spectrum filters infrared, ultraviolet, EM pulse scan. No Force sense to rely on, no gut instinct. Only data, motion, and silence. A flicker of warmth two rooms away. A door latch easing shut on the far side of the hall. A nervous heartbeat increasing behind a service partition.

Cinder catalogued it all without a word. He tapped his comm once not for speech, but a coded click directed to Trace to confirm his post was secured. Then, with a motion as subtle as breathing, he adjusted the position of his rifle to cover both the doorway and the adjoining hall.

The chatter of the gala swelled faintly in the distance laughter, clinking glasses, music trying to disguise tension. Cinder ignored it. He wasn't here for faces or politics. His duty was geometry: angles, arcs, and shadows. He was the control point in a tightening net.

Whatever game was being played inside this estate, whoever these Force-sensitives were, they would never see him coming not through precognition, not through the Force, not at all. He existed outside their sightline, a ghost carved from discipline and deliberate silence. And if the night turned violent, he would simply move from stillness to strike efficient, unseen, and gone before the Force even realized it had been blind.

---

"Copy that, High Commander," Caelin's voice came through steady over comms, the low thrum of his armor servos punctuating each word. He turned sharply, signaling his fireteam with two quick hand motions.

"Grey Snout Six moving to reinforce Overwatch," he continued, patching his commlink into Saul Whesai 's .already breaking into a brisk pace down the marble hall. The sound of the gala faded behind them, replaced by the measured rhythm of armored boots on tile. "ETA five minutes. We're cutting through the east service wing "

He adjusted his grip on the LO-20D as they moved, shoulders squared and helmet angled slightly forward. The soft orange glow of the Ash Dogs' armor markers flickered in the reflection of gilded mirrors and chandeliers overhead. Every movement was practiced and precise no wasted steps, no panic, just soldiers sliding from order into motion.

 

[Aiden Porte]

Iandre Athlea
​

Aiden's gaze lingered on her as she spoke not searching, but remembering. There had always been a gravity to Iandre, It was the same energy that could bend the course of a current simply by refusing to be swept away.

He let the silence after her words stretch, the kind of silence that wasn't absence but recognition. Around them, the faint hum of activity continued: laughter carried from the banquet hall, the distant echo of boots, the subtle ripple of minds trying not to think of danger. But here, between them, the air felt still suspended.

A member of Shiraya's Hope moved to his side and subtly whispered a message in his ear.

"I know, don't worry. We have done what we came here for. Relax my friend. Everything will be okay."


"The Force never warns without reason." he said at last, voice low, almost contemplative. "Only those who refuse to listen call it chaos."


The wind shifted faintly through the archway, carrying the scent of the gardens wet soil, crushed blossoms, the ghost of rain that refused to fall. It brushed against the folds of his tunic as he turned to face her fully, his expression tempered but not cold.

"You've always known how to hear it." he continued, something quieter threading his words. Out of the corner of his eye, he had noted the draw to her weapon. Aiden took a small steady and relaxed breath. "If you think you are going to need that right now, that you have truly lost sight of who I am....Iandre."

He could feel it then that same ripple she sensed Kallous approaching, steady and sure, the way a fixed point holds a star's orbit.

But his focus returned to her. The gold trim of her attire caught the lamplight, glinting like a line drawn between shadow and truth. Her hand hovered near her hilt, not as a threat, but as a reminder: trust was never absolute, not in times like these.

"We are doing no wrong here, there was a call for help and I answered." he said, quieter now, though his tone carried the weight of a promise rather than plea. "Nothing more...."

A tremor ran through the stone beneath their feet faint but distinct, as if the estate itself acknowledged the shift. Somewhere below, coded signals began to change pattern; the extraction's timing was being rewritten. The current had turned.

Aiden closed his eyes briefly, centering himself. When he opened them again, the calm there wasn't peace it was acceptance.

 

[Allura Kahli]

SITE ONE: The Solmaren Estate

"I hate being the bearer of bad news," a crisp woman's voice declared as they stepped out from around a corner in sight from behind a stack of crates. "But you're not on the list." The Umbaran smirk as her pale eyes regarded the small entourage that'd emerged from the shuttle. "I'm sure you can prove you're supposed to be attending these events, of course. The question is whether you'll bother."

Allura's gaze took in both men as she awaited their response. A dangerous situation. More than the one the Jedi squirreled away on the estate were facing -- at least they'd had the option to avoid confrontation. She was deliberately stepping in front of the freight train in order to buy them time.

To do what? Allura couldn't say. These weren't Silvers. She couldn't say she had a deep understanding of their purpose or who ran their operation. Hells, she wasn't even an overwhelming powerhouse herself capable of soloing both men in front of her. Well, what could she say? She thrived on certainty of death situations. And with her clandestine background, she always had a backup plan if this whole plan went pear shaped.

Which it probably would.

Gavin Vel | Diarch Reign | Lorn Reingard​