Skirmish The Battle of Genarius - [THR v SC]

[Ala Quin]

Atop the uppermost spire, Ala's hair whipped about in the wind. She was watching as ships descended, and battle began to unfold on the floating city. She blinked away tears that were not only brought on by the irritation of the wind, for her heart broke. Many would be lost today. And for what.

She stood, and tapped on her comms device, calling out locations that ships were landing, pirate crews were disembarking and sneaky threats that they tried to slip through.

< Lower levels. Ship potentially accessing via waste disposal systems. >

< Back up ships arriving at main dock, support will be needed there. >

A half second before impact, Ala felt the incoming blasts of a heavy assault canon. She dodged to hide behind the spire, but the impact almost threw her from the pinnacle of the city, only being saved by a handrail. Useful things those. So many people would die without them.

The ship that fired on her, was already seeking another shot, so Ala gave them one. She stepped out...they shot...and it hit the barrier she had brought up. The blast ricocheted off into the open expanse of clouds.

"Try again jerks. Next one will be coming back towards you," she said, nose scrunched and forehead wrinkled. Classic serious-Ala face.

| Outfit: xxx | Tag: Tamsin Starfall | Equipment: Two yellow sabers |​

 

[Naniti]

Naniti didn't question the org to get on a ship dressed in armor and adorned with a lightsaber. Nothing better than field work to gain experience, the Academy taught. She didn't disagree. Not entirely. Provided it wasn't a suicide mission -- and she hadn't stopped expecting it of them no matter how sensible they'd been so far. She could trust a person -- like Lysander -- but not a collective of those that believed in might above all else.

On the way details were doled out and the Togruta listened attentively. Genarius. Edge of High Republic space. City of Edic Bar. Odd choice, but someone had a reason for it and they weren't going to be interested in an Acolyte questioning their decision. Didn't mean she didn't wonder why they'd chosen this place to strike.

She busied herself off to one side for a short while as the ship descended. The Togruta emerged with two sabers that she attached to her hips. There was going to be trouble ahead. Her blue eyes slid around to look over at Lysander as he grinned boyishly over at Varin. They'd be alright, she told herself; no need to sour their moment. They looked excited.

The ship settled down and the ramp descended with occupants scattering like mouse droids. Naniti wasn't quite so eager. Not because she was apprehensive, but because the currents in the Force told her all things would unravel at their chosen time. There was no need to rush.

Her boots stopped on the deck plating when Lysander's armored visage turned toward her. Their eyes met. Naniti gazed into the commanding emerald rings. They'd do alright with him in charge. Naniti might be biased, but she was sure all the same. "East. Towers." A brief pause and a small smile. "Good hunting." With that she watched Lysander von Ascania stride toward his own destiny.

Time to get to work destroying a city.

Naniti supposed at this point people might be conflicted at dooming so many to a terrifying end. It would be her first. But why waste time thinking about that when the job was simple. Just cripple the city's supports; everything else was just a bunch of dominos.

The violet woman darted off down the East corridor dressed in her lightweight black armor. Despite some stares, most people probably wouldn't even think anything of her passage. Not until she came across those that would stand in her way. It was a fateful meeting. Written in the Force. Inevitable. Even if Naniti tried to evade, they'd anticipate and move to intercept; so she headed straight toward her objective and the future.

Isobel Serraris

 

[Varin Mortifer]

Equipment: Heavy Mace, Cross guard Lightsaber Armor but looks like this​

Silent stillness. If you looked at him at first glance you would think he was a dead man on a bench. He was in deep meditation. Thumb running over each bead of bone on his rosary that has grown quite a bit since the battle of Brosi. Silent prayers etched into each bead echoed through his lips in whispers. His armor reflected the light that danced around him from the ship but it also devoured it as well. Etched on the heavy plates of the armor were the same high sith runes that were branded into his body. Finally a set of armor that will not burn off his body when he reaches his peak of rage.

The slight turbulence ended his prayers. His gaze shifted towards Lysander. A knowing slow nod responded in kind to him as his dark brown eyes bled to a deep orange. He stood up and grabbed his helm from the bench beside him. The metal scraped along the bench as he stared deep into its visor. Malice bled like whispers from the faceplate. Promises of conquest and blood called to him as he slowly slid the helmet over his head and face. The rebreather kicked on as the visor flicked to life.

“Bogan, I offer these unfortunate souls that are yet to be slain to you.”

His voice was distorted under the helmet. Deepening his already deep voice into a menacing growl.

The ramp hissed to life as it opened up. Varin followed behind Lysander as the runic carving in the armor glowed a faint fiery orange around his body. Smoke billowed from his back in a cloud of blackened smoke shaping itself into a cloak of destructive force. Along his spine small vials of liquid laid ready for injection should he need a small boost in morale during battle. A liquid that would hasten a frenzy of violence through his body.

Varin received his orders as he gripped his mace, pulling it out of its holster from his back.

“It will be done.”

The echoes of explosions sounded off as the assault began. Varin then made his way towards his destination. Before him stood a small squadron in a pathetic attempt to halt the towering apprentice. He paused for a brief moment as if to humor them.

“Halt!”

Their first mistake. Words first instead of blaster fire as he dashed forward, his hand grasping the helmeted skull of the one who spoke first. A wet crunch followed right after as his very grip crushed the poor soldier's skull. With a quick twist of his body his mace swung into the body of another soldier crushing his ribs sending him flying into the wall of the corridor, denting the wall with its force. His bloodied gauntlet then found the throat of the last soldier as he slowly lifted him up, his lungs struggling to intake air. The soldier fired blindly at Varin, the bolts meeting the resistance of his armor.

Varin gave a quick jerk with his arm snapping the soldier's neck and letting his body crumple to the floor. Without a second thought he stepped over his body continuing towards the relays. Creeping up to the back of his skull, he felt a presence nearby, the presence drew his attention.

Lysander von Ascania | Aiden Porte​

 

[Aiden Porte]

Varin Mortifer Lysander von Ascania​

"Whatever you believe you're accomplishing here… it ends now."

Aiden took a small look at the bodies in front of him. He didn't flinch, not one bit. The essence of the darkside was strong here, but his power with the light was indeed stronger.

He stepped forward once, the air tightening, softening, then sharpening around the point of his focus. His eyes locked onto, as his blade came to life. The blue blade igniting part of the corridor.

"By the will of the Force," Aiden said, voice calm but edged with unmistakable finality, "Your path of destruction stops here."

The next breath he took was steady, centered, the kind drawn by a Jedi who no longer sought to negotiate but to end what must be ended.

"And if you choose to continue," he added softly, stoice and determined. "Then by that same will… you will be destroyed."

 

[Shade]

Allies: Mykel Dawson Jonyna Si
Enemies: Lysander von Ascania Varin Mortifer Naniti

Genarius unfolded below her like a fractured dream—floating platforms trembling under distant detonations, metal walkways shuddering with every shockwave that rolled across the city. The freighter's ramp hissed open behind her, but Shade was already stepping into the humid air, the smell of coolant, smoke, and ionized metal settling over her like a second skin.

The city groaned under the assault. Towers flickered with failing power grids, emergency beacons blinked in uneven rhythms, and distant screams cut through the rising steam. Civilians ran past in panicked bursts. Some stumbled. Others froze. None of it altered Shade's pace. Her steps were calm, measured, collected—each one deliberate as she adjusted the fall of her coat and moved into the nearest industrial corridor.

The Force pushed against her senses—no gentle current, but something jagged, cutting through the haze. She felt three distinct signatures in the city, sharp and cold, but she couldn't read their rank or status. She couldn't have. She wasn't a Jedi, and her training had never gone that far. But what she could feel was intent—heavy, focused, pointed like a blade. Whoever these individuals were, they weren't random rioters. Their violence had direction.

Shade slipped deeper into the corridor, letting the shadows close around her. The red emergency lights stuttered overhead, reflecting in thin crimson lines across her eyes. The floor trembled beneath her boots as something massive collapsed several platforms away, the shock rattling steam pipes against the walls.

She didn't break stride.

A burst of overheated vapor hissed from a cracked conduit, briefly swallowing her in a rolling cloud of steam. She stepped through it without hesitation, her breathing even, her mind narrowing into the same razor-calm focus she held on every infiltration. Her fingers brushed the hilt of a knife, drawing it free in one smooth, silent motion.

She entered a junction chamber—heat gathering in pockets along the grating, steam billowing in slow waves across the floor. Machinery beat like a strained mechanical heart all around her, wires humming with unstable current.

Across the chamber stood someone.

She couldn't tell their rank. She couldn't tell their origin. She couldn't tell anything specific.

But she could feel the darkness rolling off him in thick, oppressive waves.

Hostility. Violence. Purpose.

Enough to chill the air between them despite the heat.

Shade didn't posture. She didn't flinch. She didn't shift her stance beyond adjusting her weight into perfect balance, her knife low and ready.

Her voice slid through the steam, steady and controlled.

"Step away from the relay."

An explosion above shook dust loose from the ceiling, drifting through the light like ash. She kept her eyes trained on him without blinking, every part of her still and coiled with quiet precision.

"Whatever you're doing here…"
A breath. Calm. Certain.
"…you will not continue it."

The steam curled around her as she took a slow step forward, knife angled subtly—not threatening, but promising.

"Walk away."

She didn't raise her voice. She didn't need to.
Her certainty carried farther than volume ever could.

 

[Zefgahld Qojex]

OOC: I got bullied on the way home today! Unbelievable!! This STILL happens to me in my mid-thirties! I guess now's the best time to take some anger out on NPCs... Still looking for a Jedi partner, by the way, but I'll go solo for the Sorosuub if I must. I get that everyone wants to have fun fighting... But I'm waaaay into lore and worldbuilding, on my end. It's nothing to worry about if we're all focused on entertaining ourselves and each other, right? Perfect time to kill a few mercs!

Weapons: SSK-7 heavy blaster pistol and an E-11 blaster rifle.

Equipment: https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Xcalq-3GA_portable_computer

Objective: Sorosuub Research Center Blueprints/Schematics

"Falo Loffkeq" was well on her way to making even more of a name for herself! It really was amazing that a backed-up, constantly moving and edited profile could do in the right slicer's hands!

The disguised Zefgahld Qojex vanished from the Jedi and mercenary platoon to make her way, separate from the crew, yet in comlink contact with several of the other mercs and Jedi alike; while she had called for aid, the varied forces had split up only moments after making their way past the initial rendezvous point. No matter... She had put the word out, and that was all she could do - whether anyone would help her or not was up to their own personal initiative. It was that way for everything, when all was said and done. The lithe Amaran kept to the walls of the immense, rectangular or spired building as she swiftly - and as stealthily as possible - made her way along, keeping to the shadows and ducking into alleyways where she could afford to do so.

As she was peering out of an alleyway to attempt to glance around a corner, the leering visage of a Gran missing his left eyestalk roared furiously as he turned the corner - he must have heard her! Instinctively, even as she gasped and stumbled back, a fingerless-gloved hand jerked down on the trigger of her E-11.

TSHEW!

The two-eyed Gran's stomach leaked an indescribable bile-yellow fluid with the pattering of water hitting a rock, and he moaned as he fell forward, the virbrodagger he had prepared in advance for the Amaran clattering out of his hand as his gurgling form collapsed face first into his own (presumably) stomach acid. Retching and looking around, the fox alien reached down to pick up the aggressor's fallen dagger - crude, leather-wrapped thing with a black blade - after determining that there were no other aggressors in the immediate area. Slipping the dagger into a slot on the black bandolier that hung around her slim shoulder, the Amaran ran across the road and into another nearby alley, leaving the wounded mercenary or would-be looter - she wasn't sure which that ugly bastard had been - behind to meet an unknown fate.

Hefting her E-11 and swallowing in an attempt to calm her pounding heart, Zefgahld sighed as she ventured steadily and carefully through the alley, contact-purple eyes surveying left and right, up and down as her slim legs propelled her faster. She ducked into a shadow beneath a bread vendor's market stall outside the corner of the alley - and not a moment too soon! A surprisingly fat blue Rodian with brilliant yellow eyes, purple spines and what looked like a disruptor rifle began to level the weapon from a corner diagonally in her direction! She had been spotted!

The Amaran gritted her teeth and closed her eyes, moving slowly away from her current cover so as not to attract any more attention, and praying for the Light Side's blessing as she heard the disruptor rifle charging up...

From a domestic rooftop above and across from the Amaran, a strange thing followed as it emerged in her vision: a howling Givin sporting bizarre, indented and carved bone-scars (so cool - I love making my NPCs unique) along his external skeleton leapt down from the building, clad in hole-strewn black robes that hung in tatters from an oddly strong and rugged frame. He landed in a flourish, a silver, hook-handled lightsaber blade flaring blood red in the air before him, a disgusting, wounded and pus-covered purple tongue flailing out of his repulsive mouth as he dropped into a ready stance and snarled at Zefgahld's hiding place in defiance, just as the Rodian's disruptor rifle fired!

BASHOOOOM!

The Givin didn't even have time to move from his strange, crouched position of defiance! His hulking form - robes, underlying armor and all - was encompassed in brilliant orange light for a second or two; then he vanished along with the brilliant light. Zefgahld raised herself upright from behind the grain crate she had sheltered behind at the same instant, lining up her E-11 just after the Sith's form had vanished and even as his lightsaber began to extinguish and twirl towards the ground, she pulled the trigger...

Lard Ass's fat-chocked azure throat exploded in a flash of scarlet, either side of the front of his neck dispersing in ashen tatters into the wind, even as the sounds of battle began to intensify around the two: the crackle of lightsabers, angrily shouted orders and the squalls of the dying and cries for aid...

The lightsaber hilt clattered to the duracrete first, not even bouncing. The Rodian's proboscis-mouth worked, but no sound came out. His chubby frame fell back against a wall, and he slumped onto his fat butt in a sitting position, his head lolling downwards.

The Amaran had scooped up the fallen curve-bladed lightsaber and ducked into the next alleyway without watching the Rodian's final moments.

Apparently, even in this new, life-changing circumstance, the Light Side was still looking out for her!

 

[Balun Dashiell]

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

The Soldiers were a force to be reckoned with, too much for the local security alone. These Troopers, clad in black armour, were well-equipped for warfare, unlike the security personnel who were scarcely trained for an urban skirmish with a criminal element. Situated at the front of the line, Balun had a clear view of the rifles they carried, the armaments they bore upon the unsuspecting city, and it crossed his mind that without reinforcements, he and the few currently positioned weren't to last.

Caught out in the open streets of the Port Authority Sector, there wasn't much in the way of a defensive line. Speeders lining the curb offered some small cover, while the barricade they had established continued to be whiltered down, burned and blasted away by the incoming hail of blasterfire from their aggressors. Chief among them, a woman who ignited a glowing maroon lightsaber and turned to stare directly at Balun. A smile, brief but caught through a glimpse as blurred plasma pulsed back and forth between the two groups.

'Chit, these guys can't take her...' He thought as he stepped back behind cover momentarily to allow his sword arm a short reprieve from his soresu defence. Local Security, fewer in number than the invaders, were already focused on the soldiers and would surely be gunned down trying to prioritise the one with the glowing blade. Not to mention the potential harm that Jorryn Fordyce might unleash upon others lest Balun keep her attention solely focused on a prospective battle for her life.

"Fall back to the Port! Covering fire!" He barked to the men and women alongside him. The Spaceport would be better equipped to defend against intruders, a natural high-security location meant to mediate those coming to and from the city, offering them better options for staying the fight. He, on the other hand, would need to buy them time somehow. The Force-User who smiled his way couldn't be allowed the opportunity to kill indiscriminantly, and yet her armed entourage would make a one-on-one engagement nigh impossible.

A flick of his left wrist caught the latch to his holster strapped upon his hip, and he quickly removed his sidearm. The K-16 Bryar Pistol raised at his side while he paused for a couple of deep breaths, and soon stepped out from his cover once more, firing several shots from the blaster and then alternating to focus on deflecting the responding weapons fire he had incurred from the enemy. He did his best to keep the focus, preparing himself for the need to fall back lest the opposing force-user take the bait. Let her come, let her troops have a show, and let his own people continue to fall back while they danced the song of blades.

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

"Speech"
'Thought'​

 

[Lorn Reingard]

Tags: Bastila Sal-Soren | Imperius Indomitus​

Lorn felt the air shift in the corridor, a heavy feeling of dread. The lower levels of Edic Bar were all metal and pressure hum, the slow pulse of grav anchors fighting a gas giant's pull. Beneath that mechanical noise, something else tugged at the edges of his awareness; a ripple, a bruise, a memory he'd hoped the galaxy had the decency to bury.

Bastila's last comment was still hanging in the air. She had been throwing jabs at him as to why they were down in the lower levels instead of facing the Sith charge head on above. He had explained to her over and over again, that if there were to be sabotage to the city, it would be down here. The other Jedi could defend the innocent, they would defend the whole damn floating city from destruction. But Lorn couldn't focus on her tone now. He lifted a hand, stopping her without looking back.

"…Quiet."

He took another step forward. The hum of the grav anchors vibrated through the walkway, a steady heartbeat for the city. But the Force beneath it was anything but steady.

He knew this feeling.

It wasn't a face or a voice; it was the cold pressure of inevitability pressing against the edges of his mind like a hand closing around his throat. This was the same presence that had cut through three Jedi as if they were little more than reeds in a storm on Enarc. A giant in black armor. A monster given purpose.

"Bastila," he said quietly, still staring down the corridor toward the anchors. "Listen to me."

He didn't turn. He didn't want her to see the muscle tightening in his jaw. "If this goes wrong down here," he murmured, "you run."

He felt her bristle behind him but he didn't let her speak. "That's not a request."

He had already made peace with what he sensed waiting in the dark. He'd felt this presence once before and survived by something dangerously close to luck. The city couldn't fall, and if someone had to hold the line while she escaped with the knowledge of who was down here, it would be him.

The turbolift at the far end of the walkway chimed. It was a sound too soft, too polite for the dread that rolled out of it like a storm front.

Lorn's hand closed around his lightsaber hilt.

 

[Drystan Creed]

EDIC BAR

"Evasive maneuver, peeps. Might get a little bumpy," Drystan called out as he shoved the shuttle's throttle forward. The transport freighter wasn't armed—but it didn't need to be. It was fast, sturdy enough to take a hit, and that was all this run required.

"You guys ready to put some food on the table? Ah, who am I kidding—none of you bastards look like the type who even use tables." He tilted his head back toward the cargo hold.

Armed to the teeth with blasters, grenades, and other, more vicious tools of the trade, a cadre of mercenaries and thugs were packed inside—no doubt eager to join the upcoming assault.

"Either way, the bank's a few clicks out. Get ready to meet and—"

A violent jolt cut him off. A micro-missile from the city's defense grid slammed into the hull. Superficial damage, but enough to rattle his teeth.

Every meter forward met thicker resistance—more blaster fire, more missile salvos. Being the designated driver for a band of mercs on their way to loot and pillage was proving harder than when he'd volunteered. He needed a drink after this. Speaking of which, he was halfway through a bottle of whiskey, the half-empty amber glass sitting innocently in the seat beside him.

"Hold on, lads. Defensive countermeasures coming right up." His eyes darted across the control layout, settling on a lever he hoped would release the flares. But an ominous sound told him otherwise.

CLICK.

Drystan froze, tilting his head back as his eyes widened. The freighter's entire cargo hull had been ejected.

"Oh… kark."

His display feed showed the massive metal container—along with every single passenger—plummeting downward. It smashed straight through a building somewhere in the city center, absolutely not their intended target. A delayed implosion followed, collapsing the structure into a jagged pile of rubble.

"Chit, chit, chit!" Drystan swerved hard, dropping the shuttle a short distance from the smoking ruin. He jumped out and sprinted toward the debris.

His off-hand tangled in his hair while his prosthetic covered his open mouth. This was not ideal. Not even remotely.

Through the Force, he could sense the life signatures—all present, though battered. The hull section had embedded itself into the ground at an angle that wedged the door shut. He was going to have to cut them out.

"Hm. I'll chalk it up to a malfunction," he muttered to himself. "Just need to wipe the system logs before anyone checks. Yeah… that sounds convincing."

Sven Halestorm

 

[Jace Rhane]

​

I AM ONE WITH THE FORCE, AND THE FORCE IS WITH ME​

If things were different, Jace would have loved to have come to the place in lieu of fighting, much more in favor of say... well, enjoying the view. But instead, Jace found himself at the tail end of a battle, a war once more. But, much smaller scale. Sith presence flooded his mind. Jace often remarked that the force was like a pond-

Something you could dip your hand into, but the water always returned to it. But the dark side of the force, the things that moved so darkly, clouded the water. It was hard to see through it, to see what was at the bottom. It was what made Sith so hard to predict, and made Sith incapable of predicting things. The Jedi were said to have superhuman reflexes. Some called it premonition, seeing things a few seconds into the future to anticipate them. But really, Jace felt, that it was simply trusting the force for your actions.

And sometimes, the force called for you to die. It was as simple as that. Jace had no qualms with dying, he only had qualms about dying in the wrong spot. But he wasn't going to die here. He knew that for a fact. He could feel it.

He kept his hands folded together, the long hallway leading to one of the landing craft for the Sith forces. They would have to come to him. All their hatred. All their malice. He took a deep breath, drawing air into his lungs. He breathed in deeply, filling not just the lower parts of his lungs, but the upper. He filled them completely, taking special time to let the air fall into them. He let his heart beat faster, drawing higher oxygenated blood into his body. Yes, Jace could have used the force to rejuvenate himself- and he most likely would. He would breathe deeply in the fight, draw upon the force, and steel himself during the fight.

Footsteps came rounding the hallway. Droids, too, by the sound of it. He was kneeling on the floor, robes and armor. The very picturesque version of a Jedi Knight, if there ever was one.

"There is no emotion, there is peace."

He said aloud, his eyes still closed. Gone were thoughts of fear, apprehension. It was common misconception that the Jedi did not possess these emotions- loss, guilt, shame, bitterness. But they were simply taught to not act on them. Lest they end up like their Sith cousins, or worse, like the Jedi of old.

Still closer, they came.

"There is no ignorance, there is knowledge."

The warrior-poet model was something Jace followed closely, a scholar and a warrior alike. Yes, he was a Guardian Jedi- he was suited for combat, for protection. But that did not mean to slack off and not care about the worlds he visited, the people he interacted with, the cultures he came into contact with. But that also meant being a student of the enemy, their tactics, weapons, thoughts, beliefs. Warfare and combat and dueling was not as simple as swing-the-sword-better. He had to understand Sith tactics, their bladework, footwork, beliefs. The things that drove the enemy were things to exploit, to understand. And perhaps, hopefully, reach a peaceable conclusion.

Thud-thud-thud. They were very close now.

"There is no passion, there is serenity."

Passion was good for many things. A passion for peace, a love of another- a wife. A passion was something to behold. It was, however, not to be acted as a guiding tool. Jedi did not guide themselves, align themselves, or strive to accomplish their goals based on passion. Centering yourself was important. Avoiding bloodlust, avoiding anger, wrath, revenge. Too-often he saw Jedi that toed the line with Sith teachings, beliefs. Espousing the desire for war, for rebellion, invoking violence rather than striving for peace. He saw many Jedi- even here, that were befitting more of warriors than Jedi. Perhaps that was necessary, but ultimately, he knew that it was part of the reason that the Alliance was currently fracturing apart. It was a downfall of many Jedi, leading their unnecessary death and ends, or worse, the deaths of innocents.

And all too often, even, it led to an even greater tragedy- the betrayal of one's self to the dark side. He thought of Sith as creatures of passion- forgoing discipline and resisting the lust of power. He saw them not as all villains, but rather the same way one would look at addicts of a particular drug. They were men and women of power-hunger, desiring more power. Very rarely did he find them cartoonish villains, mustache twirling ne'er-do-wells doing evil for the sake of evil. They were lacking self-respect, they were simply too weak to resist the allure of power, knowledge, or the dark side itself. The phrase was true- they looked into the abyss, and blinked. And came out worse for it. It was why the Sith built many things, but never kept them. His Master remarked that the Sith often built houses with no intent of ever repainting them.

Their Empires and legacies were built on matchsticks. Every single Sith Empire was ruined from partially within. He had not found an exception. Even the so-called greatest of them were felled, and more often than not, the best of them turned away from the darkness at the end. What was that to say about them? Most often, they were Jedi once, or turned away from the teachings for one reason or another. And all they needed often was a gentle guidance back to the light, but often, they did not get that chance to, or it was far too late. Jace was a believer in redemption- but not abdication from punishment.

"There is no chaos, there is harmony."

He could not, let himself be be pulled into panic, into the chaos of combat, of the galaxy. Making decisions in a stable state of mind was key to winning. Panic and ruination was unbecoming of a Knight of the Jedi Order, much less a level-headed warrior. Even in the midst of a raging hurricane, Jedi had to be centered, had to find their inner peace, their calm. No, it was not easy to do- combat and battlefields were chaotic. But they could not let themselves be pulled into a panic.

Thud-thud-thud. They were behind him. Roughly ten feet. He started to draw the force into his body, his legs, feet, hands.

"There is no death, there is the Force."​

This was perhaps the most difficult for the ones outside the Jedi to grasp. Yes, every single living creature was going to fade back into the force. Death was not the end, death was simply a matter of fact. They were all on borrowed time. But they had to believe and trust in the Force. Trust that the Force guided them, had a purpose to it all. And that if they were to shed their mortal coil, their return to the force, their joining of the force was for a greater good, a purpose. Death was not something to be afraid of, to avoid. The Sith did their best to elongate their lives artificially, mechanically or with foul manipulation of the force. It was why they looked so... disgusting at times. Broken, withered bodies held together by the dark side of the force and hatred. His Master said that even without the force, mean people tended to look mean.

The eyes, they never lied.

He opened his own eyes when the Sith droid approached.

He stood up quickly, pivoting on his left foot, his right hand drawing his saber. He grasped the hilt with both hands- and bisected the droid, and pushed it into a nearby Sith warrior, slamming him against the wall. He moved forward, pressing the attack. Blue blades met red blades, as he caught the Sith by surprise. He offered no quippy remark, no retort. The Sith were here to fight, they were here to battle and take, pillage and cause havoc. He would not let them.

 

[Kito]

//: Ayra Lowe //: Mercy //:
//: Sword in Sig //:
//: Attire //:

The Sith were becoming more emboldened as the days progressed after the fall of the Alliance. Jedi were scattered, hiding in enclaves that no longer knew what to do. Many clung to tradition, following the Code as the foundation of their lives and training. Academies and Orders were built to keep Jedi on the path of the Force and carry forward its teachings.

But what now?

From what the Shaper knew, the New Jedi Order was fractured — some retreating to the Hidden Path, others aligning with the Shirayan Code, the Order housed within the Republic. Kito was neither. Her former Master had used a word for Jedi like her.

Bokken.

The term always made Kito pause. A bokken was a wooden sword meant for training rather than battle, yet in skilled hands it became far more than a practice tool. It had no metal edge, no true blade — but with precise technique, a bokken could still cut cleanly through paper. Its danger came from the skill behind it, not the material.

Her Master would often use the term, sometimes with a hint of derision, pushing his Padawan to dive deeper into Ashalan doctrine. But Kito had never found her place there — nor among traditional Jedi. Even now, she struggled to fully align herself with the Shirayan doctrine.

She thought quietly to herself: while others might see something lesser — something like a wooden training sword — Kito knew she was just as sharp and deadly as any traditional Jedi.

The white tooth hanging from the thread of her necklace rolled between her thumb and forefinger. Every so often, she dragged the tip across the pad of her thumb. The sharpness, the sting, grounded her as they drew closer to the battlefield.

Since the fight on the Death Star, her mind had wandered more before battle. She felt hesitation where there used to be thrill. There was still excitement, anticipation — but her thoughts always circled back to the same quiet question: What if?

What if this was her last fight?

What if she wound up in another cell — this time with no rescue?

Anxiety tightened in her chest, but a small prick, a bite of pain in her thumb, made her pause. A droplet of blood formed, bright against her skin. She raised her thumb to her lips and sucked it clean until the bleeding stopped. Her eyes remained focused on the shuttle window. The fighting had already begun; she could feel the push and pull of the Force stirring through the battlefield below.

Kito let her thoughts drift toward happier memories. They kept her grounded — they had saved her life more than once. Her breathing slowed. Her hand returned to the necklace at her throat. Even if this was the last moment, she needed to be calm. To accept it.

Her mind offered logic and reason.

Her heart screamed to live.

"Let's go." She finally spoke to the Echani beside her. Kito's tone was different — softer than usual. There was a hint of tenderness she didn't bother to hide. She didn't expect the girl to be hardened, not the way Kito was. She remembered how she had found the Echani by accident, and wondered why she was here now, ready to face the front lines at her side.

Kito stood, adjusting the blades at her hip as the shuttle dipped lower, preparing to drop them directly into the fight.

She stepped to the edge as the hatch began to lower. One hand rested on the hilt of her odachi. Her ember eyes slid toward Ayra. Kito stared for a moment before looking away.

Kito wouldn't say it aloud — but she knew she needed to protect her.

The ramp opened fully, hot wind rushing in as the battlefield roared beneath them. Kito reached out and grabbed the Echani's hand, knowing she would hesitate if left alone. Over her shoulder, Kito flashed her a smile — bright and fierce — as they dove into the chaos below.

 

[Jonyna Si]

Enemy: Lysander von Ascania
Friend?: Mykel Dawson Shade ​

The concept of a cloud city was always a strange one to Jonyna. Someone who had grown up in the mountain-sized trees of Cathar, living among the clouds to begin with. She always found serenity in the thin air of the highest branches, being able to see the stars unimpeded from the top of the canopy.

Coruscant always felt so artificial, and so did this. A tree-top created by technology, where people lived in monotony.

But the clouds still felt real. There was no changing that. No recreating a sense of weather. Even on somewhere like the now Imperial Capital, the clouds still felt real, because even the greatest technology couldn't alter nature itself. The patterns of the universe.

But what could was the Dark Side. She could feel it the moment she landed the Reaper.

But the one that drew her attention the most was that of one of the three. Imperius Indomitus was the loudest, by far. There was no doubting his presence was the blackest hole in the Force, at least nearby. Nothing could compare to the sith lords she'd fought on Woostri. But today, her focus was on another.

It almost felt familiar. She was drawn to it by instinct, purely because of a gut feeling.

As she approached, her hand instantly went to the hilt of Liz, waiting for what happened next.

She couldn't be the first to act here. She knew that. She was so used to wanting to, but...

Something told her otherwise.

 

[Mykel Dawson]

​

Panicked mobs of civilians flooded Canard street amid a mad dash for survival, all streaming one direction while cackling marauders stalking them fired indiscriminately to sew mayhem and stymie the movement of the city's defenders to respond.

Through it all, a lone figure in a black cap and trench coat cut through the stampede.

He should have been bowed over moving against tide of so many bodies, but the civilians flowed around him as they perceived a pillar in the middle of the street in their minds' eye. The small parting made him easily visible to a trandoshan pirate, who paused firing in surprise.

"Already tired of running? Shame, the chase has only started." The trandoshan gave him a toothy grin, revealing twin rows of razors. "You look like you'd go far. I'll even give you a little head start."

The man simply stopped before the towering reptilian, offering no explanation. He kept his head bowed and hands stuffed in his pockets, the bill of his cap obscuring the top half of his face.

The Trandoshan frowned, then raised his carbine to the man's head.

"Since you were brave enough to come up to me, then I'll end it nice an' quick for yah. How nice of me, doncha think?"

His grin returned as he fired, aiming to bore a sizzling hole right through the forehead.

Nothing came of it aside from the soft click of his trigger.

He tried squeezing a few more times in vain before cursing in defeat.

"Just my luck, fething garbage jams now of all times. Just cleaned it today too. Ah well, looks like you get to meet the Dame then--"

He reached for his holstered sidearm, but the grip on his heavy blaster faltered as he finally took in his surroundings. Every single member of his crew now stood frozen in place with their smoking weapons in various postures, still as statues. It was then the trandoshan noticed how utterly quiet his surroundings had become, completely devoid of the violent cacophony unfolding throughout the city.

Crimson eyes flickered about the macabre arrangement until they settled back on the man, fear rising. He then jolted as the man's gloved hand was raised, fingers shaped like a gun.

"Bang."

The trandoshan was now rendered petrified like all the others, face stuck in one final expression of horrifying realization.

[I've just reported that Canard street is cleared of hostile activity! ⋋_⋌ ]

<Not quite,> The Consular told his AI. <We still need to take out the trash.>

All the previously stunned mercenaries came back alive with movement, but their eyes remained glassy with no conscious activity. One by one, they gathered into a neat line before marching away toward a nearby large trash chute with such perfect synchronicity that would have left an Imperial drill sergeant blushing. The Trandoshan who had been taunting him was at the front of the formation, breaking off to hold the chute open for the rest of his comrades to climb inside. From there, they would soon be treated with a freefall from Edic Bar toward the gaseous planet below at terminal velocity.

The trandoshan was just about to climb into chute himself when Mykel stopped him, noting his large bandolier of grenades.

<On second thought, why don't you skip back to your dropship?>

Just like that, the trandoshan started skipping back up the street like a giddy schoolgirl, primed to deliver an explosive message to a sure-to-be-bewildered pilot and rearguard: there was no escape. If the city burned, then they would burn right along with it.

<Now it's clear. Progress on analysis?>

While Mykel was clearing the upper commercial blocks of riff-raff, he had dedicated Hecate to parsing through the city's surveillance system to conduct a forensic analysis of disturbances being caused by the Sith. It was vital to secure evacuation routes for fleeing civilians, but the Jedi also wouldn't allow the Sith conductors of this gong show to continue to scurry about and engage in their machinations with impunity.

[There appear to be several small enemy strike teams converging toward several critical junctions, likely for sabotage.]

<Well, we can only take on one and hope the rest will cover us. Give me the closest.>

Hecate fed the technopath's mind footage of an armored Sith dispatching a civilian with a physical takedown. As he witnessed the clip, Corazona von Ascania 's talisman under his concealed armor warbled softly in the Force with a distressing note he did not recognize.

<We'll take them. Inform Control that I'm in pursuit.>

Mykel's trench coat now billowed around him as he had practically taken flight with a burst of speed, a rush of black now heading for the nearest access point below.

___________________________________________________________________

Jonyna Si Shade Lysander von Ascania Varin Mortifer Naniti​

​

 

[Tamsin Starfall]

Theme: And so it Begins
Equipment: Twin Omens | Black Robes | D-10 | Multi-Tool | Stars Enchained | Mind Crown
Location: Edic Bar, Genarius
Tags: Ala Quin

The thought of those words spoken into her mind terrified Tamsin. The thought that the thing inside her was a version of her and that she was capable of such an act. She knew well the demon wasn't even remotely joking on the matter. If it could ignite the atmosphere, it would but thankfully the atmosphere of this world was argon a non-combustible gas.

As she dwelled on it, the beginning of battle rage all around her, mostly missing her because of how small and unnoticeable she was. That and the convent forces were pushing forward past her. She didn't even notice she had stopped moving with the flow, but something caused her to look up towards a spire in the distance.

As she looked up, she saw a ship firing on the spire, as its blast seemed to hit and then bounce off into the clouds. It drew her curiosity, what in the hell could that? She knew of no shield that could bounce a shot most were built to absorb. It seemed like a force ability, but she didn't think anyone could do that to a ships cannon.

As looked up she didn't even notice her comm had clicked on until she heard a voice over it. "Hey, who is this get off this line we are currently engaging the enemy! We need a open line to command." Tamsin shook her head in confusion.

"Uh I'm sorry I didn't….."

"Frak something has taken over the controls……" What the hell was happening she looked back up at the ship firing on the spire. The ship jittered and jerked and seemed to sway oddly like the pilot was losing control.

Unknown to Tamsin the demon had used her mind crown to hijack the ship through its comm's systems.

The Demon slithered through the ships systems like a serpent and the ship that had fired on @Ala Quinn , veered away for a moment before its speed accelerated. Turning so fast on a dime, the ship's hull shuttered and cracked in places. Then it dipped down kamikazing for a lower part of the spire. The crew inside running to any exit they could in horror at the doom that was about to befall them. The ship would slam into the spire as Tamsin watched on in horror…knowing damn well she or at least something in her had done it.

Tamsin little feet picked up speed she didn't know why but she had to run towards the carnage. "What have I done….." No it wasn't her but it was….

Spoiler

TLDR
1. Mentally highjacked the Ship firing on the spire.
2. Kamikazed the ship into a lower part of the Spire
3. Attempting to damage or break the Spire
4. Causing carnage and running towards it.

 

[Blade Ice]

Theme: Lick the Pavement
Location: Edic Bar, Genarius
Tags: Hwo

---

He didn't even glance over at the fighting and casually stepped over the head of a decapitated sith that rolled towards his feet. He just kept walking forward on his march to find a cantina and a stiff drink. Not even looking up as a ship crashed into a spire, the sounds of battle seemed not to bother him one bit.

He had seen so much war very little seemed to get his attention in terms of war anymore. He knew a few eyes were on him, but he could care less. If they wanted to come after him let them. Just as that thought came across his surface thoughts a small group of commandos or what he assumed were commandos probably just city guards decked out in descent armor came up to him with weapons drawn.

His footsteps slowed as they looked at him, not sure what to think at first until they laid their sights on his orange burning eyes. He came to a stop a few meters in front of them, noting their fingers on the trigger. In a second one of them was going to pull a trigger and it would all be over.

"Can you fine soldiers point me to the nearest drinking establishments?"

Then the trigger was pulled as soon as the words left his mouth. Five commandos became none in an instant as they fired on each other, thinking the other was Blade appearing beside them speaking to them. Five bodies collapsed to the ground in front of him with blaster holes in their heads.

"Guess not?" Blade sighed a bit as he took a moment to look at the dead grunts in front of him. "Not one of you had the will to fight it, shame didn't even get to pull my sabers." He then shrugged and continued to wander on to find a damn cantina then again maybe the jedi watching him would follow and he would get his real fight too.

Spoiler

TLDR
1. Being stalked by Hwo
2. Mind Screwed some Soldiers with a mental illusion into killing each other.
3. Where is that damn Cantina?

 

[Hwo]

Location: Edic Bar
Tags: Blade Ice

Curiosity got the best of him. Hwo found himself watching the mystery man leisurely stroll through the battle until being confronted by a group of Republic troops. What are you doing? He focused on the exchange, reaching out, hoping to feel the energy and understand the nature of the confrontation. He sensed . . . Confusion? Fear? It was short-lived. In a flash, all five soldiers opened fire simultaneously and dropped to the ground. “No!”

The Jedi Master sprinted toward the fallen troopers, but he knew it was too late to save them. He could, however, stop this sorcerer here and now, preventing further unnecessary casualties.

Unlike others in the Order, Hwo saw little need for ceremonial pronouncements or philosophical musings when dealing with enemies like the one at hand. This villain obviously dealt in death and destruction. Hwo’s mission was to stop him. Any debate today would be settled by the white-hot laser sword in his hand, not words of wisdom.

So he rushed to confront the Sith, taking his stand with only a few meters between them. His green lightsaber remained ignited, glowing in his right hand, and he readied himself for the inevitable engagement.

 

[Genesis Draykin]

​

Theme: Bad Moon
Equipment: [X]
Location: Edic Bar, Genarius
Tag: Connel Vanagor

She had reached the top of the tower and was setting up her nest, putting her rifle in the perfect spot. Then she had moved to set up her defenses first booby trapping the hatch to the nest with a stun grenade to slow anyone tried to come up the tower that way. Next she pricked her finger causing it to bleed in each corner of the nest she painted a rune in her blood while whispering a spell over it. A spell she could trigger on a command if she needed it.

The final thing she cast a spell over herself by uttering the words.

Gȃyita ku yema shuree pu tzear, dene shuree to, dene shuree aek, dene shuree irrar, azza nok sino gynet shuree.

As she spoke those words her awareness opened wide and as soon as it did, she looked up. Her eyes peering at the sky above her as a dark spot began falling towards her….

"Frakking Hell." She huffed to herself; she didn't think anyone would be fullish enough to approach from the sky. She reached up with her left hand to the sky and

Ci ilyato res birena, lat'lah shuree pu Gasilla!

Her hand flared with violet magical energy propelling it into the air, as it mixed with the atmosphere the wind began to rage, blowing with strong gusts. Hoping it would knock Connel Vanagor off course. She then moved for her rifle not taking her eyes off the black dot in the sky maybe she could take it out before it even hit the ground.

 

[Acier Moonbound]

Location: Genarius - Edic Bar

Equipment:
Field Gear | Lightsaber | Cybernetic Arm

The Force had warned him of something. It didn't didn't come as a thought, it hit him like a punch through the gut. A spike in the Force, it was sharp, violent, directionless.

Ace listened, trusting his instincts. Without hesitation, his hand snapped outward and the Force slammed into every civilian within arm's reach, shoving them backward in a controlled wave. It wasn't hard enough to injure, but hard enough to hurl them behind the nearest support pillar and out of the incoming killzone.

The first turbolaser crashed into the far end of the pad like a falling star. The shockwave tore across the deck, shattering the surface, flipping crates, ripping up entire chunks of platform structure. The Flickerfox was hit badly too, but he could still sense Isobel Serraris through the Force's threads.

A wave of relief washed over him, he knew she was safe at least. Maybe she made it out, or survived through other means.

Ace braced, covering his eyes with his forearm, as the shockwave skidded him several inches before he dug in.

The second blast came closer. A little too close. The Force surged through Ace, telekinetically dragging a slab of fractured decking into a hovering shield. Shrapnel ricocheted off it in a rapid-fire storm of sparks.

Then came the ion pulse. Now that was a problem. Ace's cybernetic forearm locked up instantly, fingers curling into a frozen half-fist, servos whining, sparks jumping between the joints. The jolt rushed into the neural ports, stabbing straight into the nerves of his real arm. He grunted through clenched teeth.

Every electronic in sight blew out, flickering in and out, sparking here and there.

The ground lurched violently as a drop pod slammed down only meters away, tearing into the already-damaged platform. The whole pad buckled, half-collapsed, and Ace stumbled down to one knee before he pushed himself back up with his good hand.

His breathing leveled out instantly. There was no panic, shock or fear in his expression. Just irritation sharpening into focus. He shook out his organic arm. The prosthetic twitched uselessly at his side, still spasming, still locked. He didn't even glance at it.

Ace stood in the ruin, half-lit by burning tibanna vapors, white locs dust-coated, freckles and scar smeared with smoke. Civilians cowered behind the pillar he'd thrown them to, trembling but alive.

His face stayed but every line of him radiated the kind of quiet fury that belongs to someone who'd been pushed too far one too many times. He waited for whoever thought this was an entrance. Calm. Balanced. Absolutely pissed.

Vestra Tane
​

​

 

[Jorryn Fordyce]

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

---

---

The march continued in an ominous rhythm of footsteps, the starport security failing to withhold the covenant forces from their ruinous march forwards. As bolts continued to fly, they were bat away in turn by the Echani as she remained in the front of the line of troopers, many of the security deciding aiming for the troopers would be a more profitable affair.

For every trooper beside Jorryn that fell, another took its place in the firing line. The enemy security paced backwards, seeking a more defensible line as they prevented the Sith from pouring forth like an uncontrolled pestilence.

Such untrained forces would be little match, yet among their numbers lay potential threats.

A warning in the force told the Echani that an actually trained shot would come towards her, and the Echani responded by throwing her head back to avoid the first shot as her amber eyes fell to where it came from. It felled a trooper behind her, the sensation of his life essence dissipating in a breath. A hooded figure, though one that demanded an answer as she lay to the side of the firing line.

Jorryn parted from the side of her troops, a distraction giving her chance to close the distance a little to the figure that aimed at her. A hand raised to manipulate the force, hoping to seize the blood of whatever thought it a wise decision to fire upon her. She would rip the sanguine fluid from the figure's veins.

The attempt was cut short however, more blaster fire aimed directly her was as she paced forwards. It came from the Jedi leading the rabble that sought to slow them down, pinning her between suppressive fire of both the brunette and whatever hooded figure sought to take the opportunity to fell a Sith Lady early.

"Fire upon the Jedi, don't allow them to fall back!"

She commanded the troopers and they would follow, returning Balun Dashiell 's suppressive fire with some of their own as the Echani attempted to push forward towards Cerys Dyn 's location. The flanking position would need to be removed first so they could continue a forward push, and Jorryn sought to remove this problem herself.

 

[Connel Vanagor]

TEMPESTS, SLUGS, AND FIRE
GENARIUS
EDIC BAR

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]
• 
  
  • 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

Oh, he saw the violet energy skyrocketing towards him.

Blast it…

It was either dumb luck, or the Force that he was seen, especially so quickly, and the energy proved it was the Force. If he had waited a few more seconds, it would have helped, but Connel had just pulled his primary chute. Not taking a chance, Connel pulled a blade and cut the straps just before the gusts hit him.

Son of a…

That was it? Wind gusts?! Annoyed with himself, Connel closed up his wind resistance by tightening his body frame and aimed to pick up speed. He had a secondary chute he could pull, but not yet, not until the last possible second.

Okay… time to see if those cybernetics are worth it.

TAGS • ARE • Genesis Draykin
Personal Effects - Omega Squad Loadouts​