Skirmish The Battle of Genarius - [THR v SC]

[Acier Moonbound]

Location: Genarius - Edic Bar

Equipment:
Field Gear | Lightsaber | Cybernetic Arm

The second their blades met, Ace felt it. Her style. Clean, precise, beautiful in a way he had no patience for right now. Her twist was quick, practiced, and she was already trying to roll along his bind and take the outside line. Good. He wanted her to commit.

As her blade wound up overhead, Ace didn't fight for the bind, he dropped it. Let her blade slide off his with no resistance. He stepped in under her reach. Close enough to feel the static crawling off her skin.

His prosthetic twitched again - a spark, a shudder, a faint tingling along non-existent nerves, like the limb was just waking up but not fast enough. He continued to ignore it.

His organic hand, the one actually holding his weapon, moved clean and efficient. From the reverse grip he snapped the blade downward in a cutting arc aimed not at her torso but at her lead leg, a punishing Shien counter meant to check her forward momentum and punish her extension.

At the same time, his left forearm, dead weight or not, slammed into her right shoulder. He used the Force to add the burst of pressure his servos couldn't. Not a telekinetic push. Just weight aimed to disrupt.

Eyes open or closed. He wasn't going to let her walk through him. He kept the pressure tight, close, personal.

Vestra Tane​

 

[Tansu Treicolt]

​

Kind of disorienting to be making intense eye contact with a killer while she aims to kill another. Such a phenomenon was it, that Tansu felt the intense reflexive urge to, absurdly, to glower right back until Lily's fast-thinking shoved her to the side.

The catwalk didn't give much room to be shoved, and to avoid being gutted by the railing, she dropped. A good thing, too, because pressed lower to the ground kept the deadly assault of Force-dead rounds sailing overhead. She couldn't even sense them, just hear them and feel the air tear above her.

"The hells are those?"

One slug tore a fist-sized hole through the railing. Another ricocheted off the decking plate near Lily and buried itself somewhere deep in the refinery guts, echoing an ominous clang from below and the one that tripped Tansu up the most was the round that slammed into a support strut, ripping a shower of sparks and sending the entire walkway into a sickening tilt.

Rolling with the impact with a grunt, Tansu wedged a boot between two vertical bars for leverage. Her hand moved to find the trigger stud on her vambrace. Beneath her oversized leather jacket, the hidden mechanism kicked—thnk!—and a coil of braided alloy snapped free and out t'ward Arris.

If the line found Arris' ankles, Tansu would plant her heel, grit her teeth, and yank with all the counterforce the catwalk could give her—anything to break the cyborg's rhythm long enough for Lily to press the advantage.

____________________________________________________________
Arris Windrun | Lily Decoria
____________________________________________________________
​

 

[Arris Windrun]

Direct Tags: Lily Decoria | Tansu Treicolt
Equipment: Down & Out

Arris kept her attention on the Echani, who moved with a preternatural burst of speed. It kept her distracted enough that she hadn't sensed the younger woman's monolink deploy before it had already begun to spool around her ankle.

"Shit!" That wasn't good.

The cyborg acted quickly, lifting her left leg and surrendering her right to the whip, all in the span of a second - a second that saw Lily close the gap and the blue blur of her lightsaber rising from below. An implant released a surge of potent stimulants that would've been lethal for most organics, but not soon enough to matter in the moment (though it would improve her reactions from then on out).

Thinking fast, Arris planted her free foot hard into the duracrete and twisted her body away from the blade, which sliced its way through fabric and synthflesh along the Talusian's chest; then she threw herself out of the way and to the side, pulling her bound leg up towards her chest until the fibercord was taut.

With a frustrated pull of the Force, Arris reached out to the other Jedi's vambrace, which she sensed at the other end, and attempted to activate its release mechanism. If successful, she would keep swinging her leg so the cord would lash at Lily's ankle, harming her or tripping her up if possible.

 

[Pillar of Freedom]

The Battle of Genarius was well under way with Sith fighting Jedi throughout the floating city. As the first wave of evacuation ships departed the gas giant, a series of eruptions began to rumble across Edic Bar. Volatile tibanna pipelines exploded, sending debris flying and supercooled gas hissing all across the city.

More alarming than that was the way Edic Bar slowly began to list towards one side - one of the explosions took out a main stabilizer. Left unchecked, the floating city would begin to sink towards powerful wind currents below, leaving little time at all for the Jedi to continue their evacuations... and the Sith to leave alive.

Sith tags: Mercy Vestra Tane Tamsin Starfall Varin Mortifer Naniti Imperius Indomitus The Madclaw Lysander von Ascania Blade Ice Genesis Draykin Arris Windrun Jorryn Fordyce

Jedi tags: Isobel Serraris Lily Decoria Cerys Dyn Balun Dashiell Acier Moonbound Lorn Reingard Bastila Sal-Soren Hwo Connel Vanagor Ayra Lowe Kito Aiden Porte Jace Rhane

 

[Vestra Tane]

Equipment: Lightsaber | Disruptor Pistol | Armorweave Coat | Rebreather | Hex Grip

Oh.

A mistake.

Chit.

Ripples of intention in the Force warned Vestra of what was about to happen, while in the physical world she felt the Jedi's bind collapse, heard the hum of his lightsaber pass by her head, and then down, further...

The smart thing to do was disengage completely, and she had only a split second to decide to do it. Anything less risked crippling her leg for the rest of the fight, at best.

Ah, well.

The Sith voided her right leg, pulling the limb back from its extended position, in hopes of minimizing whatever damage the Jedi's lightsaber was going to do. It was a micro-second too slow to avoid serious structural disruption, though; she smelt burning flesh, and before adrenaline dulled her agony she recognized the sensation of charred bone and muscle exposed to open air. Simultaneously - metal on metal, as one prosthetic slammed into the other. This one didn't hurt, per se, but the proximity did make any kind of bladework next to impossible, and the impact shook her synthetic arm, loosening her grip on her saber.

Worth it.

Her eyes shot open. The spice stung, but the cloud was beginning to settle, and it was no longer quite so blinding that vision would be useless anyway. She raised her left arm, hand splayed out and palm facing the Jedi's head, and all the lightning stopped. For this single fraction of a second, there was total silence, as the static and the storm subsided, subsumed by the Sith's will...

And then found its release. Vestra's palm burned, singed and charred, as bolts of sinister lightning arced the short distance from her hand to Acier's face.

Tag: Acier Moonbound

 

[Lysander von Ascania]

Armor | Sword
Tags: Mykel Dawson | Jonyna Si | Shade
Varin Mortifer | Naniti ​

Empty air first, replaced with a ghost. The Nemesis in his grasp hummed, almost sentient, growing impatient. Though the space around them was pregnant with something unspoken, it mattered not. The Chiss refusal to engage was louder than any strike. That was why her words fell deaf on him.

Blaster shots hissed at his feet, searing right along the edges of his boots, daring to bite at his armor. Lysander’s muscled coiled. Flexing his knees, he rolled from ball to heel, so that he might pivot along the edges of balance. A ghost himself, for each step was less than a murmur. A boot pivoted, dragging barely an inch, just enough to let the volley pass. Another fractured the floor with sparks.

Then there was a massive shift, for the entire city groaned, and the noises were but a symphony that sang sweetly to the Sith's ears. One of chaos. Lysander allowed the nerves of his body to attune to this melody. The vibrations spoke to him, a language where life and death intertwined.

Lips twitched as he surveyed the two before him. Inhaling deeply, he released the air, each breathing dragging like a drawl.

“You’ve decided to focus on me..” Emerald fire swept over to the woman’s crimson, before landing on the poised Cathar. “Rather than save your precious civilians. You waste time staring down what you think is a monster. You train your skill on me, only because I allow it, while Edic Bar hangs on by a thread. Every second spent here, the city dies a little more. Yet.. here you are.”

And he couldn't help but let a laugh escape him, mocking in its sound, drawn from a dark cavern. "Patience," Lysander murmured, voice laced with venom, like smoke from a dying fire, "that is the only kindness this galaxy grants."

Was it pride?

“The Light’s moral compass. Forever pointing north,,” syllables rolled lazily, savoring their taste before offering them up. "Maybe you'll still deign to save a life, or maybe you won't. But you will always fall short in grasping the true depths of our existence."

His pupils caught the flash of emergency lights across walls.

“Go on, guardians. Keep entertaining me with that self-righteous purpose that fails to see the entire galaxy burning around you.”

Salvation or damnation.. it was theirs to choose.

 

[Zefgahld Qojex]

It had gone as smoothly as it could have, except for the unexpected ass-kicking she had gotten towards the end. At least that part served her further goal of getting off-planet!

"Falo Loffkeq" breathed a sigh of relief as she leaned back against the headrest of the repulsorlift stretcher that the med-tech - a dour, blue and aged Trandoshan male - had practically forced her to lay back on. Her worn, gore-and-fluid-spattered light armor had been cut away by the dour med-tech while he checked both her injuries and for anything that the kind Padawan - now far away below and receding as their airspeeder floated away from the battlefront - may have missed. Though the fight with the Yuuzhan Vong had been unexpected, as had the encounter with that Sullustan thief (she couldn't recall his name) and she had very nearly failed to reach the fallen Datadot towards the end, she was thankful for that Sullustan and his personal computer: that had been the unexpected key that enabled her to use the Datadot and come off as far less suspicious! A few days more, and the Imperials would have everything they needed for more advanced blockade-running engines!

Zefgahld couldn't believe her luck! Because of this, one or more Imperial Factions would be sure to appreciate her talents now! This was, of course, the perfect way to begin to affect change for the sake of the Light Side's morals; to spread them carefully through the Imperial militaries all-the-more effectively as she served alongside her fellow soldiers!

The aged, bronze-trimmed and light grey 2-1B medical droid interrupted the Amaran's thoughts as it injected an obnoxiously long needle into a vein in her right forearm, making her tan-dyed tail ruffle outwards in response as she yowled lightly!

"Ow! Dammit!"

"Please refrain from moving, Mercenary." he droned in a monotone voice, even as his white photoreceptors focused on her scowling face. She could see this model's finger - extending forth the very needle that was in her forearm - shift outwards, allowing her to watch as an inner plunger depressed downwards, pushing a teal and purple chemical cocktail (separate and unmixed chemicals) through the needle and into the Amaran's arm.

The medical droid continued, "You shall now be eased int unconsciousness. This vessel will relieve you of duty and a transport will take you and others towards an orbiting medical frigate, which will be one of two leaving the system when they reach maximum capacity."

Huffing in annoyance even as she watched the droid's free hand begin to work over her stomach and on downwards, sporting a medical scanning probe in its spindly fingers as it continued to examine her undergarment-clad body, visually and otherwise, its photoreceptors adjusting even as she watched.

With her eyelids beginning to feel heavy as the chemicals came into effect, "Falo Loffkeq" decided to shift her head back onto the pillow and allow unconsciousness to take her...

OOC: Thanks for letting me watch some cool fight scenes, all, and thanks for having me! May the Force be with you and Happy Creating - Have a BLAST!

 

[Acier Moonbound]

Location: Genarius - Edic Bar

Equipment:
Field Gear | Lightsaber | Cybernetic Arm

The hit landed, enough to matter. Her leg jerked back an instant too late, and Ace smelled the burn before he heard her hiss. His follow-up attack with his prosthetic seemed to succeed in disrupting her momentum too.

Then the world tilted. A deep, grinding, continental scream tore through Edic Bar. The deck lurched sideways under their feet. A burst of blue vapor howled up from a ruptured tibanna line, fogging the air with frost and danger.

Ace barely shifted, weight dropping low as instinct corrected for the tilt. He'd fought on collapsing freighters, sinking platforms, half-melted walkways. A falling city wasn't new, it was just... bigger.

Still, it was enough to distract him. Even for a moment. Which allowed the Sith to hit him point blank with her lightning.

Agony detonated through his skull as fire lanced across his face and chest. Muscles seized. His jaw clenched so hard it hurt. His vision whited out at the edges, a ringing splitting through his ears. The blast scorched through fabric and setting nerves alight.

Ace fell to one knee but before she can deal a killing blow, Ace raised his left-arm, now much more alive than before.

"Wait!"

Something was off. So much so that the Force cared enough to show it to Isobel in a dream. This attack wasn't random; it was structured, patterned - a wound carved into the Force with intention. He felt this similar sensation when the Enclave was attacked on Kattada. Were these two events linked?

Ace's breathing steadied despite the shaking in his nerves. He lifted his head, eyes finally locking onto hers, calculating through the pain.

"If you want this city to fall…" He forced out, voice hoarse, "... then take me with you."

A lie born from fire. He needed to learn more about these Sith, the attacks, what they were planning. And the only way into the Covenant's heart… was to let them think he was ready to join it.

Vestra Tane​

 

[Naniti]

The Togruta danced her way around closer to where Lysander von Ascania and his "friends" Jonyna Si and Shade were quarreling. "Screw the Light's compass. Time to fly away to fight another day! This entire city is about to fall into the clouds," she shouted over her shoulder. One red beam was held vertical in front, while the other was held in a reverse grip at her side -- just in case Jonyna or Shade thought her back exposed with Mykel Dawson on the other side.

Naniti spared a glance over at Lysander to check on his position. If he needed help, she was prepared to give him cover to break free of the duo. Assuming the Jedi didn't see, hear, or feel in the Force the patently obvious! "There's no time," she emphasized in case any of them thought now was the time for philosophizing. She'd already seen it and knew just how rapidly the appointed hour was coming.

This was going to be close.

Her forward sabed dipped down to point at Mykel's chest. "Time comes, we're leaving. If that's behind you, by you, or through you don't much matter to me." Unlike the Jedi, Naniti wasn't about to gnash teeth over the fate of the citizens or feel trapped because someone might get hurt. They could get hurt alright and then die shortly afterward -- so they wouldn't suffer long. Whatever his choice, though, Lysander and her were leaving.

 

[Shade]

Shade did not wait for Lysander to finish speaking.

She never had patience for theatrics—especially not from someone who fed on the sound of his own voice while the city trembled beneath them. His words, his taunts, his monologue about morality were little more than smoke curling through the air, and Shade moved through smoke the way others moved through sunlight.

Her shift was subtle at first—a quiet condensation of presence, the kind that came not from speed but from intent sharpening like the draw of a bowstring. She let the suppression field she carried settle in another half-step closer, not enough to shut him down, not enough to dictate his actions, but enough to make the edges of his perception blur, the clarity of the Dark wobble for the tiniest fraction of a heartbeat.

A heartbeat was enough for someone like her.

While Lysander's attention flicked between Jonyna's stance and Naniti's posturing, Shade angled her body in a slow, unhurried arc that drew her toward his blind corner—not rushing, not lunging, simply slipping into the space where most people forgot to look when they believed they owned the battlefield.

The air around them rippled as the city groaned above, emergency sirens blooming through the night like cracks in the foundation of the world. Shade used the noise, the vibration, the chaos beneath the metal and stone, moving with the effortless precision of someone who grew up inside collapsing structures and burning compounds. She let the rhythm of it carry her forward until her silhouette drifted into the periphery of Lysander's reach.

Only then did she act. Not with a blade. Not with force. Not with anything that could be mistaken for overconfidence.

Her hand lifted with the kind of quiet, lethal discipline that could only come from a lifetime spent ending threats before they understood they were threatened. She aimed for the inside of his sword-arm—not to wrench it, not to lock it, but to shift it by a margin so small most fighters wouldn't even register the intent until momentum betrayed them.

Whether she succeeded or not depended entirely on him. She never assumed victory. She created an opportunity.

Her voice followed the gesture, low enough that only the three of them would hear it, and calm enough to cut through the noise without needing to raise her voice.

"You talk too much." Not mockery. Not bravado.

Analysis.

Shade's posture remained fluid—hip angled back into a defensive line, knees soft, weight settled lightly over the balls of her feet. Every inch of her form said readiness without aggression, threat without desperation, precision without haste. She did not need to overpower him. She needed to draw him.

And she did.

Crimson eyes held him with a levelness that bordered on surgical, the kind of focus that made time feel slower for the person standing before her. She pivoted just enough to shift her centerline, creating the suggestion of a pathway behind her—an opening Lysander might take or might ignore, but one that would pull focus all the same.

Another quiet breath.

"And talking makes you careless."

Still no strike. Still no assumption of connection. Just pressure. Steady, relentless, deceptively simple pressure.

Shade angled her stance to force his awareness back toward her, destabilizing the rhythm of his attention, pulling him away from Jonyna's blade and Naniti's maneuvering without ever throwing the first real blow. If he stepped toward her, she would respond. If he redirected, she would shift. If he ignored her, she would make ignoring her a mistake all its own.

But she didn't force the outcome. She only set the board.

Her final words reached him with the cool gravity of someone who had spent her life reading monsters and memorizing how they faltered. "If you think the city is dying…" A slow inhale, a razor of calm beneath it. "…then look at who it's screaming for."

Whether he turned, whether he struck, whether he hesitated—Shade left all of it to him. Her move was made. The opening, the pressure, the shift in momentum—That was the weapon she chose.

Naniti Lysander von Ascania Jonyna Si

 

[Sven Halestorm]

Hold It Together

Tags: Drystan Creed​

The moment the hull wedged, Sven felt it, not with sight, but through the sudden, discordant jolt in the structure. Stress flared through the building like a ripple of pain. He drew a deeper breath, fingers splaying as he poured reinforcement into the sagging supports.

“Hold?” Sven echoed lightly. “My dear friend, that is precisely what I’m doing.”

But then the man shifted footing, and the Force around him sharpened, focused, dangerous, a controlled detonation waiting for permission.

Sven tightened his stance.

The roar that tore from the Man's chest carried raw power. The hull ripped free with a violent lurch that nearly drove Sven to one knee as the entire building convulsed. Durasteel beams cracked. Walls bowed. Dust cascaded like a sudden storm.

Sven thrust both hands outward.

The Force surged, an invisible brace slamming into failing supports, redirecting collapse, refusing to allow the structure to come down while anyone remained beneath it. His teeth clenched with effort. Not from strain, not truly, but from the delicate precision required to keep a dying building standing through a shockwave that wanted to tear it apart.

The hull sailed overhead and hit the ground behind The Man with a thunderous, ground-shaking crash. Sven didn’t bother looking back. His energy poured into the rescue.

A massive beam sagged toward the cavity. Sven flicked a hand, catching it mid-fall. Another shifting pillar threatened to shear sideways; he anchored it with a sharp, invisible shove.

The tremors eased. The dust settled into a heavy haze.

Only then did he release his hold, the ruins slumping into final, exhausted stillness.

Sven exhaled and stepped forward, surveying the mercenaries inside the dislodged hull. Some moaned. Good. Conscious. Saveable. Arrestable.

He finally looked to the man.

“Well,” Sven said, brushing dust off his sleeve with a dry sweep of the hand, “smooth wouldn’t have been the word I’d chosen. But effective? Surprisingly so.”

He flicked a glance to the unconscious mercenaries.

“I’ll secure them. And trust me, ‘quietly’ is the only option they’re getting.”

Sven clipped his saber back to his belt as he approached the battered hull, rolling his shoulders once to ease lingering tension.

“And friend,” he added with a small, knowing tilt of his head, “despite your… unorthodox technique, those men are alive because of you.”

A beath.

“Mess and all.”

He gave the man a steady, measuring look, neither hostile nor suspicious. Simply understanding.

“If you intend to vanish now, I won’t stop you. But if you plan to linger…”

A faint smile touched his lips.

“You might consider a less catastrophic method of transportation next time.”

 

[Jorryn Fordyce]

// Lady Jorryn Fordyce //
// Objective // Sink this City //
// Focus // Balun Dashiell // Cerys Dyn //

---

---

The Sith's defence had been effective in its efficiency, wearing away at the stamina of the Togrutan before. Amber eyes darted between each of the blades in their sweep as she sought an opportunity to find a lethal strike. The speed was her advantage, yet the relentless strikes of two blades offered little opportunity to take advantage of it.

Even despite the flurry she could sense the other Jedi coming around to flank her, and yet he didn't interrupt the duel ongoing in front of him. A copper hue glowed upon her right shoulder as he hovered in wait, and Jorryn quietly wondered if it was honour or arrogance that stayed his hand.

Either way the Echani would take advantage of his lapse in motion.

The Togrutan shortened the window between her strikes, forcing the Echani to dodge the strikes of her main sword as she threw jabs while deflecting the shorter lightsaber. The intensity forced a continued defence, but Cerys wasn't the only one with multiple weapons.

Though her expertise in martial arts hadn't been as thorough as many of her peers, she was still quick enough to use the rest of her body as a weapon. As she deflect another sweep against her midsection, Jorryn twist the blade across the body of the Togrutan and the next jab was dodged almost too closely, taking with it a small lock of silver hair as irritation flared in her eyes.

A hand reached up towards the Togrutan's wrist and used the force to pull it into her grasp and twisting it, hoping the grip on her main sword would weaken. Then, with both arms away from Jorryn's figure, she shoved her body violently against the girl.

As her shoulder slammed into the torso of the Togrutan, she attempted to wrench away the longer of the two blades from Cerys' grip. If the brunette ever chose to join in then she would rather face against two blades than three, as confident as she was in her mastery of Makashi there was only so many opportunities such strikes provided.

 

[Cerys Dyn]

She was doing well. The Sith actually seemed to be struggling to keep up. Confidence swelled within Cerys. A quiver of the lip formed a faint half-smile that came and went. She didn't need the Jedi Order. She didn't need Anathemous. She might not even need the Oathwarden that she had been seeking to finish her training.

Perhaps Cerys was already a Jedi Knight. Did she really need someone to give her permission?

Her longer blade cut forward in a quick, confident jab, hoping to slice to her right with a flick of her wrist...a wrist that felt the tug of the Force. And all the bravado evaporated.

Her arm twisted, causing Cerys to bend backwards to trying an compensate for the immediate spike in pain. Her other blade was on an outward arc, and came back quickly towards the Sith in a sloppy twist of her wrist...only to be easily blocked.

And then collision. The Echani crashed herself into Cerys. It was reckless, unorthodox, and completely unexpected. Cerys stumbled backwards, dropping the saber from her captured hand and dropping to her knees.

She looked up, eyes widening in a singular moment of fear.

She was about to die.

"I surrender...please...don't..."

Jorryn Fordyce Balun Dashiell ​

 

[Balun Dashiell]

The Battle of Genarius
Light Side Objective: Defend Edic Bar Spaceport
Location: Port Authority District, Spaceport
Inventory: Spacer Apparel, Lightsaber, K-16 Bryar Pistol
Tags: Cerys Dyn | Jorryn Fordyce

​

"I surrender...please...don't..."

Balun's eyes widened. Words he hadn't expected to hear coming from Cerys Dyn of all people, but then this was a matter of life and death, less so a matter of personality or defiance. The urgency in her voice, the panic, demanded a response.

The Force surged in volume, a source of immense power collectively building within Balun's seat of control, that which Jorryn Fordyce wound sense. The male of the three shifted forward into motion, gaining momentum with an unnatural pace, guided by the need to position himself between the aggressor and the fallen Cerys. It was uncommon for Balun to exert his ability in the Force, to make a show of his capacity to utilise it during combat, yet he did not hold back now as his form became a blur of speed. The environment around them slowed, his perception of time grinding it to a near halt as he sprinted forward, pivoting on one heel and side-stepping past the Darksider as he placed the Togruta at the height of his priorities.

The world around him caught up, reality returning as Balun's feet skidded across the pavement, already turning to put his back to Cerys so that he could focus on the one who toppled her. His weapon rose, both hands now embracing the hilt as the copper blade thrummed consistently near his face. Held high and to his right side, Balun's feet adjusted as he adopted the stance of Djem So, a powerful and aggressive form utilising strength and dominance in combat to overtake one's opponent. Yet he did not strike as of yet. Poised, he spoke first to the woman behind him. His gaze never leaving Jorryn.

"Cerys", he spoke, his voice full of tension, lacking his typically laid-back and casual nature; "Pick yourself up and get clear".

Had she not just found herself at the mercy of the Sith, Balun would not have been so demanding. He would have considered her feelings and the likely recourse that she would no doubt throw his way with an abundance of colourful language. Now, however, he didn't care as long as he was able to help her keep her head firmly attached to her own neck.

"As for you", he acknowledged Jorryn Fordyce while his grip tightened around the hilt held firmly at the ready; "No more distractions", he spoke with a sense of finality, accompanied by action. He didn't wait for a rebuttal, but drove himself forward several paces directly at her, his blade being driven forward in a powerful thrust aimed at the other woman's centre of being.

For now, the single act was a means to gauge his opponent's reflexes. She would need to parry and counter, lest she planned on being run through. Balun had seen some of what Jorryn was capable of, whilst she fought Cerys, but now Balun sought to test her defences. To know his opponent before committing himself all.

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

"Speech"
'Thought'​

 

[Jonyna Si]

TAGS: Lysander von Ascania Shade Naniti​

Oh, how she had grown increasingly bored with these things. The sith always had the same shpeal. Moral compasses, ignorance of the dark. It was all the same. It was always the same self-important monologues.

She was done waiting. Done being patient.

"Your sister will forgive me." Was Jonyna's only response, before her tail lashed out from her coat, pulling out a hidden sonic pistol, an endless stream of sonic booms aimed right at Lysander's face, before Jonyna swung right for his head with her katana.

No more waiting. No more negotiating.

Eliminate the threat.

 

[Lysander von Ascania]

Armor | Sword

Tags: Jonyna Si | Shade

Varin Mortifer | Naniti

​

As the Sith understood it, Edic Bar was slowly dying. Lysander’s senses stretched out like a web, ever calculating. Naniti’s voice reached him first through the noise, a single note affirming his own thoughts. No further words would be needed. Perhaps it was the countless hours of training together, or perhaps the other shared ventures that demanded trust, but the acknowledgement was already between them.. synergy in step, be it sparring or waltzing.

The red-eyed foe was registered, though blurred and muted. But it was there.. a distortion in the currents, a ghost drawing near. A few of her syllables still reached him, just enough to mark the shift.. though that wasn’t to say he would respect the coming angle. A striker at heart, it was only natural to invite her into that very realm should she desire it. And that would be addressed all too soon.

Gaze locked on the Cathar, the mention of his sister rang louder than they should have. But then came the draw of a blaster. Fortunately for him, that was somewhat easier to predict, given its linear trajectory.

Lysander’s body began to move. Twas a motion not used often, but he’d spent enough time honing it nonetheless.. a lateral pivot, dangerously explosive, drawing him ninety degrees from his last position. Zero theatrics now; this was all about attention to detail.

The shots barely missed him.. but it was the katana not anticipated as a follow up. The blade came fast leaving little time to parry. Its edge found him where armor did not, biting into the flesh of his cheek. The sting was searing as crimson streaked along his jaw. Shock registered, as it would for most, but Lysander’s mind and muscle were already fully committed to the next strike.

With a spring like pivot, his hips were loaded like a prizefighter out of Desevro’s stall, lining him up just where he predicted the Chiss would arrive, and still off her centerline. A highly tuned instrument, everything that followed was intoxicating in its clarity. From the ground up to his shoulders, from spine to arm, the transfer of kinetic energy was a menacing rhythm. Lysander’s entire world narrowed only to generating maximum torque. It was the only truth that mattered in the moment, ready to deliver the message that he was not one to be trifled with.

The Nemesis too, would rise, guided by muscle memory, as though the hand wielding it needed to guard the other side of his face, though expecting a counter. Free hits were seldom granted in hand-to-hand combat.

His uppercut would land, under her chin, sounding like a slugthrower's round had ripped through the corridor.

Spoiler: blur

Permission given to land the hit

 

[Naniti]

There wasn't time or Naniti would have questioned what the Chiss was talking about. Who cared who people were screaming for? Or blaming. They were going to be dead quite shortly, and them along with them if they didn't move. Jonyna saw to the lack of time. The Togruta hadn't narrowly avoided Mykel's many strikes to get to Lysander only for some Jedi zealot to waylay or mortally wound him! And no, Jonyna being something of a rogue didn't matter; she wasn't with them and that was enough.

Naniti hissed as two fingers unwound from about the hilt of the blade pointing behind her. A narrow stream of lightning shot forth at the sonic pistol and the Cathar's tail to help deflect or silence the assault on her partner. If it happened to paralyze the woman altogether until they left that'd do just fine too, but giving Lysander a chance to slip away was enough.

And by slip away she obviously meant knock a Chiss assassin out. There was some reason for that, and Naniti hoped it would be explained later, but debates could wait. "Ship's waiting!" One step at a time, Nanit tried moving closer to where Lysander and the Chiss were in case he needed help. Whether that was carrying Shade or keeping Jonyna and Mykel off him didn't matter.

Lysander von Ascania | Jonyna Si | Shade

 

[Shade]

Shade registered the shift in the courtyard the moment Jonyna's sonic shots cracked through the air—sharp pressure ripples, the metallic shriek of stone splintering, the subtle recoil of momentum as Lysander pivoted out of their line. The ground beneath them was still slick from the night's moisture, patches of uneven stone forcing every fighter to account for balance with each movement. Shade had already done so, feet spaced precisely, weight distributed with the quiet confidence of someone who moved through danger as easily as breath.

She saw the opening when Lysander turned. She recognized the danger when his stance compressed. She moved to intercept, her body a whisper of controlled precision.

But his strike came faster than she had anticipated—not because she failed to read him, but because he committed to the counter with the brutal, unrestrained force of someone who had grown up fighting for keeps rather than points. His hips rotated with practiced violence, channeling power from the floor through his core, shoulders, and arm in one flawless, devastating chain.

Shade adjusted—too late.

The uppercut connected beneath her jaw with explosive force, the impact snapping her head back so sharply the world fractured into white. Sound vanished first, replaced by a deafening internal ring that swallowed the courtyard whole. Her body lifted a fraction from the ground, momentum ripping through her frame before gravity reclaimed her.

She tried to stabilize the fall. Her muscles didn't respond.

Her blade slipped from her fingers, skittering across the stone with a muted metallic scrape as her knees buckled. She crumpled smoothly, almost gracefully, collapsing without resistance or wasted motion—an operative's fall, instinctively controlled even as consciousness bled away.

Her shoulder struck the ground first, followed by the rest of her body folding into stillness. Cold stone pressed against her cheek, the surface slick beneath her skin. Her breath came shallow but steady, a faint rise and fall that proved the hit had taken her out but not taken her life.

Shade's awareness narrowed, flickering at the edges. She registered the taste of iron at the back of her tongue—the distant shock of pain blooming along her jaw. The echo of Lysander's strike reverberates through the bone.

Her final coherent thought surfaced with the detached clarity of a soldier analyzing failure: Adjust response timing. Counter too slow—correct next encounter.

Then everything dimmed into a deep, unbroken quiet as unconsciousness claimed her fully. Shade lay motionless on the courtyard floor—alive, breathing, but gone, her body surrendered to the darkness long before her mind could protest.


Lysander von Ascania Jonyna Si

 

[Lily Decoria]

Objective: Defend the city, ensure evac can work
Outfit: Jedi Attire
Equipment: Arwr Da, Hydrangea Moonblade (concealed)
Tag: Arris Windrun | Tansu Treicolt

The air was exploded with a gas from the cyborg, Lily had seen a similar tactic before and instinctively held her breath. Using the Force to ensure that she could still move, still fight while holding her breath. If not for her previous experience, Lily knew for certain that this move would have had some impact on her ability to fight. That another Jedi or a soldier would have fallen victim to this without being prepared. Lily was just fortunate, she had dealt with people using Force Dead or Force Suppressant materials. She had dealt with toxins suddenly bursting before her. Each moment of her fighting history was coming together to help Lily move forward in the fight.

However, the mercenary still had skills that Lily was not prepared for. The whip from the other Jedi was strange, Lily had never really seen a Jedi using such weaponry. It was far more common amongst Mandalorians, but Lily also didn't know who this woman was that was helping her in the moment so there was going to be plenty of techniques that she would not be aware of.

The whip moved away from the mercenary and towards Lily, hitting against her legs and caused her movement to stagger. Causing her body to lose the momentum of her next attack, the attempt to press the advantage. Her body took several steps in order to recover, spinning around back onto her feet. Lily knew that the other Jedi wouldn't have move the whip in this manner to attack Lily. It was something that the mercenary must have used. "Mechu Deru." Lily stated simply to the other Jedi, hoping that Tansu would understand what that meant and how best to adjust for that. Lily's own aunt was a skilled practitioner of the ability.

Lily then returned her focus back towards Arris, using the Force to boost her speed, strength and reflexes so that she can return to applying pressure to force the mercenary to stand down. Slicing her blade low to strike at the legs of the mercenary.

 

[Jonyna Si]

TAGS: Lysander von Ascania Naniti​

Jonyna watched as the sith in front of her slipped between the sonic bursts, only to feel the resistance of his cheek against the tip of her blade. Normally, she'd press the attack. But a tingle in the back of her neck told her otherwise.

At least, not with Liz.

Jonyna twirled around like a twister, her blade aimed perfectly to intercept the incoming lightning. The bolt rode the katana down it's length, before suddenly a shine from the hilt signaled something. A change in the weather.

Continuing her spin, Jonyna used that momentum to shift as her blade came back around, the shine went from blue, to golden, to white. Jonyna had spent years now studying how the energy of the Force worked. Sith Lightning, powered by pure hate. Blue. Electric Judgement, powered by justice. Gold. But Electric Judgement was meant to disable. To disarm. Jonyna would not ask the Force to do something it wasn't meant to do.

But nature itself was not so empathetic. Natural lightning, was indiscriminate.

As she came back around, watching as her ally was thrown to the ground, there was a deafening CRACK from her blade, as she unleashed the natural phenomenon from the edge of the katana, right at Lysander von Ascania

The Chiss might be down, but Jonyna knew better than to let a sith stand over them unopposed.