Junction The Great Battle of Coruscant | Second Great Hyperspace War | Junction of GA-Selvaris, NIO-Raydonia, BotM-Shihon, SJC-Myrkr, AC-Ventooine

[Constantine Oliva]

Spoiler: Pickett Line 253

Revenge

Glory

Raptor

10 Warrior-IIIs

Allies: Relynia Sorrene Atlas Drake Karlist Rax Gallius Orcana Albrecht F. Herlock Culas Vile
Enemies: Marlon Sularen Aldo Garrick Tu'teggacha​

A beeping alerted me to a request for my presence on the bridge. I stood and stretched. I’d never been a man for paperwork, though that wasn't quite what I was doing. My writing had finally become legible, though it wasn’t quite up to the standard I had for myself, nor close to what it’d been before I lost my right arm. As commanding officer, my quarters and office weren’t far from the Revenge’s bridge.

We’d received transfer orders recently, ones that meant a brief stop at Coruscant before continuing on towards the front. The journey was uneventful so far, not that I expected much to happen. We were on the final stretch of the journey to Coruscant, likely why the bridge had requested my presence. The jump was nearly over.


I stepped through the doors before they finished opening. The sound of a dozen personnel snapping to attention met me. With a salute of my own, they returned to their duties. A few strides later, I stood next to my Second in command, who’d been overseeing the bridge during the jump.

“Well Captain, what is it?”

“Sir,” The man spoke in a hushed tone, “We’re receiving reports from the Home Fleet. We’re not sure, but it seems Coruscant’s under attack.”

“What?” I hid my shock. “Who?”

“The ships seem Mawite.”

Brotherhood forces? In the Core? At Coruscant? How?

Questions could wait. Action was necessary. Minutes away, battle awaited.

“Get me Captain Sorrene,” I waited as the Air Group Commander was contacted. “Captain. Suit up and get ready for combat. Coruscant is under attack.”

The connection was severed as I turned to give more orders.

“Relay all information we have to the other captains. I want the Glory's fighters ready for launch too. We don’t know the layout of the battle field, so we may be in for a rough fight. I want all guns ready and shields raised as soon as we come out of hyperspace.”

My words were met with a resounding “Yessir!” I took my place on the bridge, waiting the minutes till we emerged from hyperspace…

Thankfully, we were far from the fighting. I could see the battle in the viewports, well away from the 253rd. Unfortunately, we were on the wrong side of the fighting. The brotherhood armada waited between my line and any allied support.

“Begin jamming our presence, I don’t want them knowing exactly where we are.”

“Aye sir.”

I stared into my commander screen, where a rough map was begin to take shape. There was a battle, alright. As sensor data began to flow in, the map became more clear. But there still hadn’t been enough time to get an accurate picture of how many were present, only the general areas held by the combatants.

Small craft began to leave the hangars of the Glory and Revenge, while the Warrior Corvettes took position screening the three large ships. The lightly armed Raptor fell to the rear, protected by the heavy guns of the rest of the line. No enemy forces were within range, nor were any facing our way. Yet.

This was going to be a hard battle.​

 

[The Mongrel]

Location: Coruscant, approaching Galactic City
Tags: Ignatius Rausgeber | Atticus Draco | Keilara Kala'myr

Spoiler: TL;DR

• The Mongrel remembers Coruscant
• He prepares to drop along with Ignatius's LuchsHai crew
• He contacts Mercy to ask about her scouting and potential targets
• He asks Ignatius about the paper in his breast pocket

All these years, all this blood, and where had it brought him? Back here, to Coruscant. Back home.

The Mongrel started out of the rusted cruiser's viewport, looking down on the bright jewel at the center of known space as it came closer and closer. So many people, so much teeming traffic and commerce and life. At its height, Coruscant had been home to a trillion people. Even now, after so many wars and invasions and genocidal regimes, it was not so far from that number. It was still full of beings drawn from hundreds of species and cultures, all connected by the thrumming currents of trade, labor, politics, and recreation that drove life here.

The warlord could remember Coruscant only faintly, though that was no surprise; he only ever got hazy flashes of memory from back then. The Scripture of the Hidden Maw preached of the Galaxy To Come, the perfect paradise into which all who died in the Brotherhood's name would be reborn once all the corrupt regimes of the current era were burned down and ground into the dust. The Mongrel was caught between the Galaxy To Come and the Time Before, that time when he had not yet been The Mongrel.

A time that had largely been plucked from his mind. The Mawite torturers had made certain of that.

But even then, the marauder-turned-warlord felt a stirring somewhere deep in his blood, a faint sense of recognition. His family had fled this place when he'd been young, escaping the One Sith invasion to seek refuge at the furthest edge of the galaxy. They'd failed, of course. War was an Avatar, one of the three guiding principles of the universe, and there was no escaping it. The proof was in the irony of that very moment: the boy who would become The Mongrel had fled Coruscant to escape the Sith, and now he'd returned to aid the next Sith attack.

The warlord was not given to introspection, but he found these thoughts difficult to shed. Half-remembered fragments continued to dance through his mind: the smell of artificial rain in a concrete hab block; the hum of a speeder bus engine, waiting to take him to school; proud smiles his parents wore when they read his report card. It was that last one that bothered him most, for he found that he could only remember the smiles. The faces themselves were utterly lost to him; he could not have picked his own family out of a crowd.

Why did that bother him? It'd ceased to matter long ago.

The Mongrel finally shook off these distractions; there was no use dwelling on his own lost childhood when he was poised to make a hundred thousand fresh orphans. They had come to Coruscant not to conquer it, but to see it burn. They would teach the people of the Galactic Alliance that their corrupt, self-serving government was not so powerful as they believed. It could not protect them; only faith in the Maw could do that, delivering them into the coming paradise. At the same time, they would break the hated Jedi, crushing the very heart and soul of their order.

Well, one of their orders. The first one to face them.

But the Jedi were not The Mongrel's concern, not in this particular battle. They would meet their fate at the hands of the Dark Voice and his secret order. The Warlord would instead ensure that Coruscant itself was ravaged to an extent that its people would never forget. It was time to crush infrastructure, pillage markets, and burn residential districts to the ground. Already his agents had scouted key locations throughout Galactic City for his marauders to target. Now, with the aid of their speeder trucks, they would rapidly destroy those targets.

After all, no one walked anywhere on Coruscant.

"We're nearly there, suh," the man called Rotgut told him, breaking him out of his strategic considerations and melancholy alike. The Mongrel inclined his head, following the mangled marauder back to where the LuchsHai technicals were being prepped in the cargo bay. The warlord's burning gaze swept across the assembled slave-soldiers who would be his crew for this particular attack, sizing them up, judging their capabilities. He knew better than to dismiss any of the grubby, ragged-looking warriors; he had once been much like them.

The Mongrel's crimson visor lingered on the one called Iggy, the driver. He remembered this particular auxiliary, and he was surprised when it occurred to him where he remembered the man from: Port Sorrow, back on Rhand. Few of those who'd been on the ground there, amid the crashing station and colossal orbital bombardment, had managed to survive. The Mongrel had marked this man as one to watch back then, as he'd organized the loading of slaves from the port, and his survival meant that he was all the more interesting.

If he survived this battle, they would have words.

"We ‘ave ‘bout two minutes till show time!” Rotgut said, and The Mongrel nodded in his direction. The man was perfect Scar Hound material, replacing his mangled physical form with unyielding metal, and the warlord was pleased with the crew Rotgut had chosen for him. Perhaps there was a place for him in the tribe proper. Again, if he survived. Turning to address his LuchsHai crew, The Mongrel pumped a mechanical fist over his head. "This is the heart of 'civilized' decadence," he told them. "Today, we make them bleed. When we've finished with them, they will never forget our wrath."

Sliding into the seat of the technical, The Mongrel prepared himself to drop into the fray. He was eager to feel the rush of wind against what little remained of his organic skin... and the rush in his blood that came with slaughter and plunder. But first, strategy. He opened a secure channel to one of his agents on the surface. "Mercy," he said into his wrist comm, contacting the savage personality now inhabiting Keilara Kala'myr 's body, "report. Have you identified our key targets?" Mercy's scouting would be a key element in their attack.

As he sat, the warlord glanced over at "Iggy"... and spotted a sheaf of paper sticking slightly out of his breast pocket. "A prayer?" he asked, wondering if it was some fanatical religious wish inscribed on the document. It was not uncommon among marauders to carry a scrap of parchment inscribed with curses upon their enemies, or requesting deliverance into paradise, with them into battle. Blood, they believed, would activate such an inscription, bringing vengeance upon their killers and ensuring passage for their souls into the Galaxy To Come.

 

[Khamul Kryze]

Engaging: Okkeus Dainlei

Allies: Darth Solipsis , Halketh , Kyrel Ren, BotM

Enemies: Jedi & allied forces

Temple of Doom

The skies above Coruscant grew dark, blotted out by the fleets above. No doubt those below were standing in awe at the appearance of such a force. The Alliance and their allies had believed that a mutual offensive against the Maw would be the first in a series of victories, and yet they only served to stir the hornet's nest. Now, in the heart of their capital, they would feel the sting of their foolish actions. As for the Jedi... the Alliance had abandoned them, leaving them alone within the locked doors of their temple. He could sense the overarching sense of dread looming over the minds of the Jedi, and took every moment he could to drink it in. He imagined what could be going through their minds, the uncertainty, the fear... the sense of hopelessness.

We have barred the gates… but cannot hold them for long...

What did the Alliance think they would accomplish, leaving their greatest protectors locked away like common criminals? In truth, it didn't surprise Khamul. Those that are not touched by the Force in such a manner fear its potential... its power. They only resort to these measures out of fear of what the Jedi could become. Even more disgusting was the compliance of the Jedi in the matter. Weaklings... all of them.

The ground shakes... drums... drums in the deep...

Long had the New Sith Order remained in the shadows... planning... waiting...

No more.

The time had come for them to finally reveal themselves to this planet of the weak and feeble. Today, they would take their appropriate place as the true harbingers of doom upon the galaxy. Their wrath would be known as they stopped the beating heart of the galaxy, crushing all who stood in their way. Khamul had relished in the thought of this moment, just waiting for the moment he could finally bring these would-be heroes to their knees, only to snuff them out for good.

We cannot get out. A shadow moves in the dark...

Khamul exited the shuttle alongside his fellow Sith, with the rest of Death's Hand close behind. His fellow Mandalorians immediately fanned out, taking to the skies as the Sith approached the doors of the temple. They would remain outside to crush any that were foolish enough to dream of escape. As they neared the doors, Khamul drew his lightsaber, the crackling of crimson plasma searing through the air as it roared to life.

We cannot get out…

Death knocked on the doors of the Jedi as Caelitus tore away at the temple, ripping away all that protected those inside from their inevitable slaughter. Khamul's hand rose to meet one of the Temple Guard that scrambled to defend their precious home, lifting him into the air as the man scrambled for breath. Khamul approached the floating, desperate guard, eyeing him as he let out a chuckle.

"They expected the likes of you to protect them? Pathetic."

His blade lunged forward, running the suspended man through. As the life faded from the guard's eyes, Khamul drew close enough to whisper in the man's ear.

"Death shall take you all."

With those words, the corpse fell to the floor...

 

[Lazarus Sloan]

NEW IMPERIAL ORDER
PRIVATE LAZARUS
THE RETURN OF GLADIUS COMPANY
START THE FIRE

---

---

​

08-41-87X ABY
Journal of Lazarus Sloan​

In those days, Gladius Company did not exist. I knew this because there were memorials and war songs that told me so. Stories told of martyrs who fought and died to secure the Braxant. Imperials have a long memory, and the honors of Captain Belisarius and Company never felt insubstantial. Everyone who was around back then kept their story alive, didn't let them fade into myth or legend. Real heroes, true Imperials, those men. I have still yet to meet any trooper who doesn't aspire towards what they achieved. Even deaths like theirs are coveted. Every soldier, if they must die, hoped for a demise so significant that the stories would go on for longer than they ever could have. It is immortality, of a sort.

Present Day
Coruscant
​

These days, Gladius Company lives again. Old souls rest while new soldiers live to carry the standard. By any other name, they'd be nothing but another faceless trio of platoons. Gladius was more than a name, it was an identity, an expectation, a legacy. Salvaging the name may have been the doing of a pragmatic general organizing his division. Nothing more than serendipity that two-hundred troopers would carry that weight again. Each and every one of them knew what it meant. They all knew what to live up to. Imperator as their witness, they'd make those old souls proud.

Private Sloan was among those two hundred, and he was one of the greenest that Gladius of new or old had ever seen. Not even a week out of graduation and formal admittance into the corps and he was already on a dropship descending toward Coruscant. He always knew his first battle would be nerve-wracking. But this? This was on level of its own. Undermanned, under-geared, facing the Sith in the center of the Galaxy? Sounded more like the start of a war holo-drama than something that could really happen.

Yet, here he was, kilometers from landing on the face of hell itself.

A feminine voice accosted from his left, "You got the shakes, Private?" It was Sergeant Kaylne, his squad leader. She was a broad-faced woman with poorly done cyborg eye that was hard not to stare at. Red hair, a demeanor that said she tried hard to be 'one of the guys'. They'd never spoken before, despite him having been assigned to her squad since his graduation five days ago.

Sloan only noticed the shivering in his bones now that the Sergeant had mentioned it. He held up a hand, watched it quake inexorably with nervous anticipation. "Yeah," he observed meekly.

"You'll get used to it. Remember your breathing and try to focus on something. Once we get down there it'll be just like the simulations, except everything will hurt a lot more."

Sloan blinked, stuck between whether or not that was a joke or a very poor attempt at a pep-talk. "Thanks Sarge," Sloan offered disingenuously.

ORACLE came over the comms with its signature pre-addressment chime. <"Gladius Company, one minute to touchdown.">

"Helmets on!" Sergeant Kaylne ordered. Her squad obliged.

11-18-87X ABY
Journal of Lazarus Sloan​

I can't remember the parts betwixt that order and the touchdown too well. As soon as my helmet went on, the next few moments became a blur. I think we were hit, or maybe we took fire as soon as we reached the surface. The only part that is clear to me is that I was afraid. Everyone's recount of our arrival is different. Metz said I killed three men, Valhoun said I hit my head, and Kaylne would always claim she couldn't remember either. That's always been my gripe with war stories, everyone finds their own rationalizations during the most chaotic moments. You can never really be sure of details beyond live or die, win or lose. I experienced it all for myself, and it's still a mystery to me exactly what happened. In the end, I guess, what matters is that I lived.

Present Day
Coruscant
​

"Get the hell up, Sloan!" Valhoun's voice was nearly drowned beneath the roar of blaster fire. His hand seized Sloan's arm, drug him with dire haste into a crater where the rest of the squad had taken cover.

Sloan saw at least three bolts pass only inches within taking Valhoun's head clean off. It took a sudden impact of his chest to snap him out of his daze. It was his blaster, returned to him with insistence by their Sergeant. Stupefied hands slowly felt around, got a grip on the weapon in spite of debilitating tremors. He rolled over, crawled up to crest the precipice of the crater with his firearm. Ringing in his ears and and sonic disorientation made every voice unintelligible.

Instinct and reflexes took over. He stared down the sights in a haze and squeezed the trigger with every discrepancy behind the firing indicator.

 

[Travot Ravenna]

Location: Mykal-class Courier Galactic Wanderlust, nearing the Jedi Temple
Allies: Phalsi Drynchen | Finley Dawson | Zorah Cinsilo
Enemies: TBA

"We're too late," murmured Travot, tilting the yoke of the courier to the left, sending the craft in a gentle corkscrew spiral downwards. Smoke rose up from across the towering skyscrapers and cityscape around them as the Sith's machinations yet once again came into play, striking at the heart of one of the most major galactic powers.

Lanyria, his nautolan padawan leaned forward in the bubble canopy, "I never could have imagined a place like this. Never imagined anything so big could be so...vulnerable."

Travot winced at the thought, "Perhaps because it is so big, so symbolic - it became a target. There's some value in defense in being overlooked."

She smiled, "That's we're in this, and not some star destroyer?"

"That and there's only me - a star destroyer's a bit too much to handle, even for me..."

The craft skimmed just over one of the outer landing pads before gliding to stop. He looked around them, but he saw no-one. That worried him.
He toggled his comlink to one shared by many of the Silver Jedi known to be en route to Coruscant to investigate the happenings surrounded their brethren's temple.

"This is Jedi Knight Ravenna, I am landing on the South-eastern side of the Temple. Does anyone copy?"

 

[He Who Was Lost]

Konrad Harrsk Ishida Ashina

​

The intensity of the battle only became fiercer with every passing minute. The screams of both innocents and those that were guilty lambasted his ears through the audial receptors of the helmet. The Maw's surprise attack took the lives of hundreds, if not thousands by now. He had learned, when he joined them that they were well versed in the arts of raiding. Most of their fighting force was crude, rudimentary compared to the civilized Galaxy. But their zealotry and brutality was unmatched.

A reality that he realized the governments of the known reaches of space were unprepared for. Especially so after facing Sith who at least put up a front of 'caring' for their people. By doing so, they forced themselves to play by the imperceptible rulebook that bounded great nations in warfare.

The Maw was not chained to such rules and battle etiquette.

Atop the building with him, other mercenaries held position.

Paid to hold back the fated reinforcements for the occupied Jedi, He Who Was Lost retained his spot to prevent relief forces speeding past their lookout.

Antsy trigger fingers did not wait for the darkly clad Ronin to give an order. The first of the gunmen to fire of their own volition triggered the rest of them to open fire on the haphazard highway of racing vehicles that crisscrossed over each other layer by layer. Unsuspecting riders found plasma to raining out on them, slaying both inorganic engines and flesh and blood passengers and drivers. Repulsor propelled metal crashed into buildings, even each other as they fell out of the sky.

He Who Was Lost could only watch.

His gift of the Force and his paltry holdout blaster were of no use at such distances.

Off the ledge of the building he leaned, watching thoughtfully before a vision rose up to the front of his mind.

Sensations of both familiarity and adrenaline coursed through him. He could see nothing, save for both ivory and obsidian strands of hair blowing in the wind. The force spoke its mysteries to him, manifesting purpose and action in his bones and muscles. He raised an enshrouded arm, index sprung out at a single speeder as it raced towards them through the traffic.

"Do not fire upon that vehicle."

His one order, since they had made it to the planet.

Off the ledge he went, black robes flapping as the wind snapped them up to either side of his torso as he gained momentum. He felt as if his insides were moving out of position, threatening to burst forth from the sealed mouth that held back the cries he internally wished to let out.

He bypassed vehicles and weapons fire as they lanced past him. From its place beneath his robes, a black hilt was produced, aimed downwards as his body, enhanced by the Force crashed into the hood of Ishida Ashina and Konrad Harrsk 's vehicle.

Magno-grip boots activated simultaneously with his heavy impact, locking him to the lopsided surface of the speeder as the warding presence of the Force dissipated. Crimson spilled out from the hilt's emitter, and the masked Ronin stabbed down at the base of the windshield to send the laser sword on a direct course to burning a slag-hole through the controls and driver.

 

[Dhalinar Greystar]

Enemies: Darth Solipsis
Allies: Romi Jade Auteme Saan'an Gaelor Kirie Aayla Shan
​

Even as he watched the transformation he could not believe it. It was not until the simultaneous attack on the temple and Coruscant herself began that he began to feel the tide of darkness washing over the planet, system, no, the entire sector. How had the Jedi been duped like this? He fell to one knee, the darkness overbearing to him as sensitive as he was to the Force. A small hand pressed against his forehead. He pulled it away to find the hand slick with sweat.

"The Jedi Are Dead"

The small Jedi let out a snarl that rivaled that of the Sith'ari and he flung out a hand to the padawan still standing dumbfounded. It reminded him of one of his old Padawans. The entire ship had been overrun with Rakghouls and he stood there, sniveling like a newborn Rancor cub as death hurtled toward him, as the jaws of the beast sought to close around his throat. This boy was much like his padawan in other ways to. He could see it in the Force. There was great potential, if he applied himself and survived this day.

He reached for the Force and shoved, throwing the Force at the Padawan violently.

"Heard Master Nimdok you did!" He shouted as he whipped his own lightsaber from his belt. "Run you fool boy!" He ducked a slash that almost split him down the middle. He had thought the Sith would ignore a downed small target like himself but it was clear the man was done playing games and he would not ignore a Master, regardless of his or her size. The roll and leap had given him ample room he realized as he stood on what had once been a good man's desk. His green eyes focused on the Sith Lord.

He would learn why the Corellians called the Jedi enclave in Coronet The Saber. He leaped into the air, his long, dreadlocked hair and green lightsaber cutting through the air like an emerald sawblade.

 

[Caltin Vanagor]

IT'S ALWAYS DARKEST BEFORE THE DAWN...​

Location: Coruscant Great Hall

Spoiler: Lightsabers

"ELOAH" (Secondary - Long Handle)

"CONSERVATOR" (Primary - Long Handle)

Spoiler: GEAR

Comm-link, Rebreather, Custom Robes, Battle Armor,Toraynor-Henkan(mind crystal added)Advanced Jedi Utility Belt

Spoiler: STARSHIP/COMPANIONS

Starship: Starlight Sentinel, (Jedi Interceptor in landing bay, Dilorian and Bike both in cargo bay)
Companion: Astromech R01R - "Roller", Pilot droid Mu51c - "Music"

Tag: Jax Thio Rannan Kol

The attacking Sith shock troopers fought brutally, all using every tactic no matter how potentially heinous against their foes. Caltin was immovable his lightsaber moving with a speed that was but a blur as it blocked the incoming weapons fire. The big guy was not immobile though as he was throwing troopers through the air and either out windows or into each other. Slowly the massive Jedi Master moved towards his would-be killers when he heard a familiar voice on his comm-link.

Come on up to the Great Hall… let’s have a family reunion.

Did he just say… whatever, anyway a virtual tidal wave of Acolytes and Marauders came pouring through the main doors. Caltin balled up his free hand into a fist and slammed it hard into the ground. The resulting wave of energy was enough to knock many of them backward hard through the opening, and in some cases into each other. Those that advanced again was right in position for his next move, all to turn to draw attention strictly on himself and allow the guard to pick their targets, or escape.

Suddenly the Great Hall was ground zero for an immense lightning storm. The Marauders he did not cut down with his lightsaber were targets for powerful electrical bolts of elemental energy. The one in the center, clearly a leader of some sort, was the only one he would speak to.

You won’t be finding any Younglings today.

Would the Darksider listen? Highly doubtful. At this rate, did Caltin really care whether or not he did? Nope. Not at all.

... YET THE DAWN ALWAYS COMES.

 

[Allyson Locke]

​

//: Coruscant //:
//: SIA Headquarters//:
//: Dimitri Voltura //:
//: Taiia Locke //: Kyyrk //:
//: Hedgehog's Dilemma //:

Communications rattled in the small dim office. Lights flickered, and shadows danced against the walls. Voices shouted, orders commanded, and once more, the nightmares came true. The writing was on the wall, and yet they missed every single word. All of the missions, the endless investigations, and sleepless nights - they were for nothing. Once again, the Jedi of the Alliance was the sacrificial lamb, and the Sith - the Maw was their executioner.

A single glass flew across the office, smashing into the adjacent wall smearing it with the amber liquid. Allyson had lived through this nightmare before, the betrayal of someone they had trusted. Except there was a difference, this time they knew - the answers were right there, all of them. Still, the betrayer was one, two - so many steps ahead of them. There was nothing Allyson could do.

Leaning back in the office chair, she looked up at the ceiling; the dust that had settled shook with the world crashing around her. She could easily run, leave - no one would notice. There were so many worlds she could hide on, forget this moment, forget the people here, and just walk away from it. So many times, it had crossed her mind. Everyone that she had called a friend either hated her or had left themselves. With each and every passing day, she felt more alone; she couldn’t hold on to anyone - not even her own karking padawan. A hand rested on her side where the scar of his brutal attack remained. It was a sick reminder of how she failed him.

Allyson hunched over at her waist, letting her arms hang freely as she let her head drown with drunken thoughts. She tried to remember the last time she was sober. Was it before or after the decree of their house arrest? Was it before or after she decided to ghost Taiia Mataan?

Dear Taiia,
I’m sorry. I can’t do this.
Allyson​

Allyson groaned as she remembered the Confederate woman and how easily she had found her way into her heart. She sat up and complained louder, “You going to drop a damn SSD on me again?” Allyson shook the nearly empty handle of whiskey as she asked no one in particular. Giving up, the bottle was uncorked, and she took a sip straight from the bottle and continued to listen to the comms.

It was still chaos. An odd memory resurfaced; the spy couldn’t quite put her finger on who had said or when. But, the memory played clear enough in her mind. It was a reminder, one that weighed on her, kept her pushing forward, and the one that made her accept the Shadow of Knowledge title. The New Jedi Order - they had no leaders. There was no one to show them the way, to guide them - no one to help shoulder the weight of the galaxy. There were no masters to help, to hold their hands as they fell, as they failed and stood back up. They had no one.

The chair spun as Allyson watched the ceiling. Dust loosened and fell on her gently while the fan continued to spin, unaware of the chaos that brewed around it. Glass dragging against the hard floor echoed behind the battle and desperate escapes. Allyson just stared at the ceiling, abandoning the Jedi once again.

<Buy time!> A voice cut through the crackling feed on her desk, and Allyson stopped as she passed it in her chair revolution. <Buy time--for those evacuating the young-> Allyson stopped and looked at the device quickly using the Force to trace it, “There’s still kids here? They haven’t gotten them out? Didn’t they learn from the last time?!” A string of swear words cut from the Corellian’s cracked lips. It was how she met Zaavik the first time - he was a youngling nearly killed when the SSD had collapsed the Temple. “Not again.” Allyson began to dig around through the mountain of old Atrisian take-out boxes. A terminal, one that all upper SIA personal had access to. It was the network source, and Allyson could help - this was how she could help.

Quickly she patched through after hearing the AI confirm the order with the other voice. Fumbling with a few wires, she attached the comm device to the terminal and began forcing the networks to sync up. Her voice cracked through, <This is Ag->, Allyson stopped and sighed - today, she wasn’t an agent of the SIA. Today she was Master Locke, Shadow of Knowledge.

<This is Master Locke; whoever is helping the younglings, I’ll help smooth the network out. Please get them all out.> She knew what she was doing could also help the attackers, but not many knew about the escape routes they had implemented and taught the young. Fingers danced across the keyboard as she hunched under her desk and began to help the AI Frank route the pathway for those escaping. As she did so, she knew her next task, and with another port, her hand rested on the system. Fueling it once more with the Force, she jump-started the download of the secure files the SIA had on everything, especially the Maw. Every Jedi, Sith, Rogue, whatever, all of it was being downloaded and wiped. Anything that belonged to the Alliance and NJO’s system was beginning its purge order and condensed into a specialized drive that Allyson had programed.

“You owe me big time IVI .” She grumbled under her breath, already feeling the strain of what she was doing. “Force, I should stop drinking.” Allyson winced as she laughed to herself. “I swear to Ashla if a karking SSD falls on me again...I’m going to lose my chit.”

Spoiler

I don't know who's all where D: sorry for the tag if you're not doing any evacuation with the kids, but what Allyson's doing should help everyone by bypassing locks and such for escape.
Dagon Kaze
Zark San Tekka
Cotan Sar'andor
Yula Perl
Geiseric
Okkeus Dainlei
Black Mynock
Sakadi Marathi Sinvala
Bernard of Arca
Jax Thio
Inosuke Ashina
Heinrich Faust
Aeris Lashiec (I got ur library gurl)
Arlo Renard
Creuat
Viera
Thalia Senn
Phalsi Drynchen
Aayla Shan
Henna Sarratt
Ishida Ashina
Romi Jade
Caltin Vanagor

ALL THE JEDI!

 

[Adhira Chandra]

Gathering Storm
The Executive Building // The Chancellor's Office // Coruscant
Chimera

Adhira Chandra had governed as one of the most powerful women - indeed, people in the galaxy - for nearly two decades now. For the uninitiated, Coruscant was a loud and overwhelming place. For Adhira? She had grown accustomed to the hustle and bustle so much so that she could now distinguish between the louder and quieter days of the galactic capital. Today had been a quiet day. She gazed down at the datapad on her desk, scrolling through the upcoming bills and agenda items that lay before the Senate that required her attention before they could be brought to the floor. Surprisingly, there wasn't even anything exciting. Some infrastructure bills, a budget reconciliation, and a monument dedication on Jakku.

Her dark eyes drifted from the pad and up to the panoramic view that she enjoyed of the Federal District from the high perch of the Chancellor's Office. One could be forgiven for missing the beauty of Coruscant. The delicate symmetry of the neat lines of sky traffic juxtaposed against the elegantly tiered skyscrapers grazing the utmost reaches of the atmosphere. The crystal clear blue skies and the dazzling star glinting like diamonds off of the duraglass windows of the towering buildings of the cityscape. She allowed a brief smile before returning her attention to her work, swiping this way and that, setting the agenda for the upcoming session.

Then, something caught the Chancellor's eye, a stain on the cerulean horizon. Her eyes jerked upward in curiosity. A single plume of blackish gray smoke rose from the dome of the Senate Building. Her jet-black brows rose, marking her curiosity, but there were no alerts on her screen. Probably an electrical fire she thought. The Senate Guard had it under control.

She returned to her work. Then - BOOM.

The floor quaked beneath her feet and another, much larger blossom of fire and ash rushed into the atmosphere from across the distance. "Hm." Adhira pressed the intercom button on her desk "Jan-Si? Has something happened at the Senate Building?" She waited for a beat, but there was no response from her secretary. "Jan-Si?"

The door to the Chancellor's office hissed violently and a rush of sapphire passed through the narrow passage, black rifles raised in defense. The Balmorran rose to her feet in an instant, surprised by the sudden intrusion, but more alarmed by the realization that she was suddenly in the presence of a full battalion of her own personal guard. "Captain?" Her tone demanded answers, but her expression pleaded for an explanation.

Then, the room darkened ever so slightly. The old woman whipped around just in time to see the star of Coruscant blotted out by the presence of an alarming number of ships in the sky.

"Ma'am. We need to evacuate immediately." ​

​

 

[Relynia Sorrene]

[ANV Revenge]
[Captain Relynia Sorrene - Ship's CAG]
[X-Wing Space Superiority Fighter]
[Pickett Line 253]

"Keep your hands close to your karkin' body!"

Relynia's hands lunged forth, hooked around the lieutenant's wrist, and pulled the Corellian past her-- straight into her extended right leg. And with a sudden sweep, her opponent fell to the floor, Grimacing.

"You'd think a marine would have an idea of how to fight!" She held back a hearty laugh while her opponent grasped her extended hand.

"I was taking it easy on you, Cap'." Shuren grinned, now at a grounded stance while she swiped the trickles of red from her lips, "We both know that ya' flyboys can't throw a punch." They exchanged a steady glare, then a loud stream of laughter. Though, none of the others in the Revenge's rec-room dared to look toward the commotion; at least not when they had registered Relynia's distinct Chandrilan accent and its underlying Reeceean tones. Clearly, she had done an phenomenal job at solidifying her reputation.

"Come on." The captain wiped a single bead of sweat from her forehead, "Another match. For your sake, I suggest you don't take it easy on me."

She threw the first punch; but before Relynia's hand could connect, the ship's sirens rang, and sent her barreling toward the floor-- confused, frightened, suddenly anxious. Huh...? The 253rd was on a transfer mission, they weren't supposed to enter combat. The journey to Coruscant was supposed to be uneventful... No. The captain stopped that train of thought quickly. She knew better than to expect such hopes to come to fruition.

The two women glanced again each other's way, before speeding off toward their respective stations. On the way, Relynia's hand found her communicator lodged in her equipment bag. Her anger discharged immediately as she dialed in a line to CIC, "This is Captain Sorrene. What the Hell is going on!?" She barked loudly into the small rectangular device. What came out, she couldn't believe. Her face sank, betrayed noticeable anxiety at the bridge's report. Coruscant was under attack... By the Brotherhood.

Relynia kicked against the matted floors, as she sped off for the pilots' locker room.

---

The captain scrambled down the breadth of the Revenge's portside hanger; her two squadron leaders accompanying her until each path diverged and met a different fighter. Few of the others spared time to catch their breaths. Fewer took the time to catch their footing.

"Come on people! Let's move! Let's move!" She barked through the pressure sealed glass of her helmet. Her subordinate pilots seemed to read her expression amidst the chaos.

Relynia clambered up the rungs of a stepladder, soon met by the feeling of her body making contact with her fighter's seat, calmed slightly by the slow descent of the canopy's transparisteel screen toward a locked position. Deep breaths began, though only in addition to the rapid succession of flicking switches and surveying of the dashboard-- She was working with precision equipment, it would be best that she steadied herself. And for the moment, at least, it worked. Relynia was finished with her pre-flight checklist within the minute. And now she sat in wait, collecting her strength for the battle to come, making her own silent prayers for the the pilots under her command, even if they didn't know how much she cared.

The captain banished notions of running with another few intent scans through the transponder contacts. They were all family to her, the pilots, the rest of the crewmembers. And right now, their families were in danger.

The Brotherhood had finally gone too far. For that, they would pay. Relynia would see to it.

The hanger doors crept open now, and once again revealed the strange comforts of realspace, the boundless charcoal-black sea. Only, all comfort had vanished. Only chaos survived. Only Coruscant's burning silhouette remained.

She shivered once in fear. But her fear quickly turned into anger, And her anger boiled in her stomach, in her mind. Until it reached a breaking point, and Relynia came rushing out the hanger.

Spoiler: ANV Revenge - Air Group

Serpent Squadron - 12 V-Wing Heavy Interceptors
Razor Squadron - 12 X-Wing Space Superiority Fighters

Constantine Oliva​

 

[Zark San Tekka]

NEW JEDI TEMPLE
CORUSCANT
DEEP CORE
Halketh Cotan Sar'andor Caltin Vanagor
Rurik Fel Willan Tal DECEASED Erskine Barran

"What the blithering hell happened?"

"Something is wrong. I sense a disturb-"

General San Tekka's holoimage flickered suddenly then cut out. Despite his arrival from the Western Reaches that very day Zark could not be present with the Triumvirate military commanders for he'd returned to Coruscant as a Jedi Master to comply with the Senate's latest edict. Perhaps in a way it was for the best. Imperials always made him uncomfortable. He'd been forced to kill so many fanatics sworn to the Sith or Knights of Ren. This new breed apparently rejected the darkside but their ideology still unsettled him. Evil could work in many ways.

"Karabast!" the Jedi cursed when he failed to reestablish his comlink, "Blasted cutting edge tech."

Before him loomed the Kyber Arch, a monument to fallen Jedi maintained here in quiet seclusion. Lightsaber crystals collected from their broken blades were fused together forming a shrine that was both magnificent and ominous. He often came here to contemplate the Force's mysteries. Self reflection would have to wait. It was a short walk to the Great Hall from here and Master San Tekka could still move with haste when needs must.

He was not the only one who leapt to defend this place. Zark saw others bold enough to meet the Sith onslaught in a bloody first stand. A towering Jedi in white robes and black armor who appeared to be more muscle than man charged forth without hesitation. Another held a distinctive looking bryar pistol in one hand. It seemed like every time he met Sar'andor something was either on fire or about to explode.

The final line of their creed departed him bolstered by The Force, projecting his voice as thunder through the expanses of the structure, rattling it at its foundations: “The Force shall set me free.”

With grim resolve Master San Tekka stomped forward through the incoming soundwave. It dented the Alliance issue guardian armor he still wore even in this sacred temple. He raised the crossguard saber in his hand and adopted a defensive guard.

"You will not pass, slaves of darkness."

 

[Rannan Kol]

Location: Coruscant Great Hall
Equipment: The Dark Sacraments, Apostles Vestments
Allies: The Maw
Enemies: The Jedi; Caltin Vanagor

---

​

A Shockwave of force threw many of the Marauders ahead of him into the air. As bodies were flung astray Kol would sidestep several that came flying at him. At one point a Marauder nearly landed on him but the Dark Jedi Master casually stepped to one side, dodging around the flung body in the process which landed and slid across the floor some feet away. When Kol looked ahead again he'd see the Jedi Master still poised after having slammed his fist into the ground and created the tidal wave of force that had thrown so many others around as though they were weightless.

It was not long after when lighting arced across the Great Hall, striking many and wreathing them in an energy that left them lifeless or incapacitated husks. A bolt shot at Kol too but like he'd sidestepped the thrown bodies of the Marauders he escaped the electrical touch of bolt as it came for him. Leaping backwards he'd have flipped in the air and come down in a crouch a short distance away, a black spot burnt into the floor where he had been standing moments ago.

When the Jedi Master spoke Kol was quick to reply...

"On no?"

...a thin smile had appeared on the corners of his mouth as Kol regained his footing, standing to his full height with hands once again joined together palm to wrist behind his back...

"Your wrong Master Jedi, I've already found them. Can't you see."

...when he spoke Kol would have sunk his parasitic teeth into the ebb and flow of the force, poisoning it and manipulating it until it began to weave a fictitious scene that the Dark Jedi would thrust outwards and seek to sink into the mind of Caltin Vanagor . Illusions. Images. Younglings, cut down; their bodies drained of the force. Blood and flesh woven into a heinous depictions of art. Terrifying visages. Phantoms that would haunt even the most stalwart soul and claw at edge of his mind, scraping away flecks of willpower one by one.

At a distance it was easy to see how strong Master Vanagor was, how powerful but Kol knew every man had his weaknesses so he would test his enemies mind before he tested his body. Like fingers scraping across the plaster of the mind, piece by piece and little by little it could be torn away...

"It's to late."

...Kol quipped...

"This day has been written. You've already failed."

...the force reacted to him, it dimmed in his presence like it was being touched by a malignance. He brought his hands around ahead of him, touched his fingertips together prepared to retrieve his lightsabers while watching...​

​

 

[Kyyrk]

Taiia had selected Kyyrk to aid her in a mission to escort a Viceroy to her husband's home planet deep in Galactic Alliance territory for an event Kyyrk no longer cared to remember. A birthday party? Family reunion? It did not matter. What mattered was that the galaxy was not as safe as it once was. The two knights had been dispatched along with a small flotilla of naval ships. The Viceroy's own. They were there as a symbol, nothing more. Kyyrk didn't know why he'd been selected, but it worked out in the end. There was business on Coruscant he needed to tend to. Business that Lord Mataan would also take an interest in, even if she did not know it yet.

At the Knight's insistence, they docked at Galactic City, and Kyyrk led the way into the winding streets. Little did he know how good, or how bad, his timing could be. Within the hour, alarm klaxons were sounding. Bombardment inbound. Citizens seek shelter now. A single glance towards Taiia was all Kyyrk needed. The two broke into a sprint, deviating from their course. They had been en-route to meet an old friend of Kyyrk's. But now they had a new mission.

The Maw were attacking. And unlike the Galactic Alliance, the Confederacy had an all too clear image of what was to come. The Jedi had been confined to their temple. Like fish in a barrel. They were vulnerable. Why the Galactic Alliance had trapped their finest defenders like this, Kyyrk did not know. Allegations of corruption, they claimed. But it was not the first time the people of Coruscant had turned on the Jedi. Why they saw fit to offer the Jedi on a silver platter to the Maw? That bore investigating.

But not now. This dire implication could be discussed later.

For now, Kyyrk and Taiia sprinted through the streets of Courscant en-route to the Jedi Temple. "Taiia, find us an entrance! I'll try to make contact!" With each passing day, Kyyrk grew more and more comfortable in his role as Knight. He was a nobody to the Confederacy. Just another soldier following orders. He never was, nor ever had been, the Lord Commander. His experience was useless. His knowledge wasted. But in this moment? He was the superior soldier. And they weren't on a sanctioned Confederacy operation. His tone of voice was calm and tempered. An implied trust between himself and Lord Mataan. He was taking charge of the situation. He'd failed the people of Coruscant once. He'd not do it again.

His fist raised to just below his jaw as the two ran through the streets, dodging civilians and other inanimate obstacles as they ran. "Agent Locke, this is Kyyrk. Can you read me?" Kyyrk wasn't sure if comms were jammed or not, but he could only hope at this point. "We're inbound to the temple. Get us a way in, and we'll help in whatever way we can!" Kyyrk punched a pair of buttons on his com, setting a recurring broadcast. "To any Jedi that can hear this message, help is on the way. Hold out as long as you can. We'll be there."

No, today Kyyrk was not a Knight of the Confederacy.

The Octarchy had to have faith in something. Today's faith was carried in the statement of a single man.

We'll be there.

Allyson Locke || Taiia Locke || Open to Allies and Opposition

 

[Silver Solus]

Rescue People! Be a Hero!

​

​

Location: Spaaace!!
Allies: [ NJO | SJC | GA ]
Enemies: [ MAW ]
Tag: [ Alora Vizsla ]

“Space! The Final Frontier!” Silver caroled as she dashed into the cockpit after yet another lightening-speed tour of the amazing ship. Bouncing to stand behind Alora’s chair, she peered at the all-too familiar blur of starlight across the screen.

“Because we cheat,” she explained. “We jump into hyperspace and miss it. Planets, you have to experience!. No cheating!” Leaning forward eagerly, awaiting the magical moment when they dropped down into normal space, her friends’ purple hair tickled her nose.

“How do you get your hair purple? I mean there’s so many ways. Fiberoptic Hair, Nanites, microcircuitry. Anything is possible, like silver eyes! I know you can do that. I don’t know why everyone wants me to wait to get one poked out first.”

The counter ticked to zero, and Silver was tossed backwards, hard. Her helmet shot away from her like a plas-steel bowling ball, her gauntlets skittering under just out of reach. Half-recalled lectures on always, always being strapped in during Hypespace translation suddenly made sense. She’d had her armor on, and was saved anything worse than busies, but still … her head hurt.

Lightening and small novas erupted across the view screens, nearly blinging her without her helmet. Desperately she lunged after it, the crazy evasive maneuver knocking it across the cabin again. Pouncing upon it as if she were a soldier landing upon a grenade, she curled over it, panting heavily, sliding across the floor.

Shoving it on hurt, meaning her head was all swollen but she was too scared to stop and do first aid.

See first, plan later, right? Another lurch and she laughed, her stomach turning over … well no; her stomach had stayed in place as the ship flipped. Already balled up, she simply shoved away from the wall, and snapped open to snap her mag-lock boots onto the floor.

Probably, probably should have had them on, too, despite how exhausting it was to move with them turned on. Leary of taking a step just yet, the young Mandalorian flung out her hand and pulled with all her might.

Nothing happened.

Alora spoke then, and Silver laughed once more, a shining joyous thing. “We can be heroes now,” With easing of her fear, and the centered purpose at the core of her, the pink gauntlets floated to her hands.

“Oya! Let’s hunt!” she shot into the co-pilot’s chair and offered, “Navigation, sensors, or shields?”


​

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[Caltin Vanagor]

IT'S ALWAYS DARKEST BEFORE THE DAWN...​

Location: Coruscant Jedi Temple Great Hall

Spoiler: Lightsabers

"ELOAH" (Secondary - Long Handle)

"CONSERVATOR" (Primary - Long Handle)

Spoiler: GEAR

Comm-link, Rebreather, Custom Robes, Battle Armor,Toraynor-Henkan(mind crystal added)Advanced Jedi Utility Belt

Spoiler: STARSHIP/COMPANIONS

Starship: Starlight Sentinel, (Jedi Interceptor in landing bay, Dilorian and Bike both in cargo bay)
Companion: Astromech R01R - "Roller", Pilot droid Mu51c - "Music"

Tag: Jax Thio Rannan Kol

He is actually trying to manipulate me mentally, haven’t experienced this in a while.

The massive Jedi Master was prepared for what he was about to see, an old foe of his during the Clone Wars was a master of this tactic. On top of this, the changes Caltin had experienced to his body, mind, and connection to the Force had slowed any mental attacks on him. So Caltin was able to handle even a mind invasion now, not stop it, but handle it.

What Kol was showing him though, was still off-putting. Make no mistake, Caltin was not convinced that the images he was seeing in his mind were real, but still, it was still hard to experience. One of the younglings looked exactly like his late daughter, Caltin knew that his reaction to that image was going to come back to haunt him, but still, it happened, no sense crying about it now. Caltin spent a lifetime fighting these types of attacks and holding his mind like an impenetrable vault and while it was surprising that Kol could break his defense, it was a testament to the Darksider's strengths. These images in his mind seemed like an eternity, but lasted no more than a moment.

No, you failed. Even if what you have shown me is real, then they are one with the Force. If they have fallen, it means others were evacuated.

Lightsaber down to his side and freehand palm-up with fingers waving “bring it”, the big guy more than noticed the mentalist going for his own weapons. It dawned on him that this man standing in front of him was not a Sith, there was something different about his mannerisms. That disgusted him in a way that could not be explained. No, he would not dwell on it, or concern himself because it was clear that this monster was no slouch, but it was something he was not going to ignore.

Either way. Your only way out of here is back the way you came. Back out the door. Back down the runway. Back into your ship. Back off the planet and out of the system.

Cracking his neck, the big guy did not take Kol lightly, but he was not the Jedi that the Dark Jedi was thinking he was. What kind of Jedi was he? Well, Kol was going to have to learn that as he went.

... YET THE DAWN ALWAYS COMES.

 

[Chimera]

毒蛇
S M O K E
Adhira Chandra

​

A cast out. Pariah. Martyr. Many things the smoky shadow had been dubbed in his years of silent terror, none pleasant. A failure to his clan. A shame to his blood. A dishonor to those he was given power over to protect and guide, the reins he had clenched tightly in an iron fist until it was his callousness which brought them to ruin. The collapse of his promised empire had ejected him to the fringes of the galaxy thrice over, and now, the rising embers of another had ignited his flames once more and urged him from the shadows. His presence had been known as Darth Solipsis declared himself Sith'ari at the mock-feast held for the Sith of the galaxy. His worth had been valued in full on Csilla, where the precious daughter of Willan Tal had seen herself snared in his harrowing clutches. His shifting unpredictability had been witnessed by DECEASED Erskine Barran in full when he had handed the woman over without a fight, having accomplished his objective to divert the Galidraani forces to his position, rather than where they were needed most.

A failure to the people who spurned his name, perhaps.

But not to The Sith.

The promise of Coruscant's desecration had been enough to whet his appetite for the hunt once more, launching him into a whirlwind of action to silently aid The Brotherhood in his short tenure amongst their servile ranks. He did not serve their Avatars, he did not serve their Dark Lords nor their Sith'ari, he served only the Darkness. It was all best kept close to his chest, a secret devotion to satisfy a sole hunger alone was not enough to persuade his equals or greater that he held their best interests alongside his own. He was not a servant, nor was he a king, merely a ghost was he, bound to walk the line between empires and sift through their ashes when it was all said and done.

And it was he who aided in the holocaust that wrought the end.

The streets of Coruscant were admirable, as much the poet in his heart could admit freely, though the people far less so. They were hurried, too busy to stop and savor what peace meant in the seemingly meaningless everydays of their lives. Little did they know what awaited them in mere minutes. He despised them silently, watching with dead eyes as they disregarded one another and shoved through the streets with little care beyond their own pressing agenda. Though, he would have to paint himself a hypocrite if he was not a man on a similar mission this eve.

The gleaming monolith of a Senate Building rose high into the vaunted skyline, its edges casting a lengthening shadow from the dwindling sun as it settled to dream for the night. It was his sole destination. His sole purpose for visiting this world as it prepared to come under fire. And soon, the reason for his haste became obvious. The Brotherhood had arrived.

Panic erupted, transforming the citizens into stressed animals all attempting to breach the confines of captivity at once. Explosions thundered the duracrete beneath the soles of his feet. Beneath his grim half-mask, his lips twitched in some rigorous attempt to smile. So it was to begin in fire, then. Opalite eyes flickered to the growing building with his burst into an unnatural sprint, the flame within his soul igniting at the thought of tracking down the one he was to slay for his cause.

The Chancellor had governed the Galactic Alliance in stylish luxury, comfortable far from the conflicts where her staff and guard could shield her from the horror of what humanity and beyond could offer. It was to be no more, by Chimera's reckoning. He was the hand that would see her introduced to the terror of her people. Eloquent strides proceeded a graceful pounce and shift, the likes of which cowled his form and Presence beneath a smothering cloak of shadow- unseen and unfelt to the trained. Without a sound, the assassin landed on the other side of the fence just as the first explosion rocked the towering building.

Daggers formed in the eyes fixated up the side of the building, knowing full well she would be ushered off to the landing pad. It was situated at the top of the building, a climb too daunting for him even in his apotheotic state. His focus shifted to the feet of the building, sweeping low for any access point he could find. A grated shaft would serve him well enough, though he suspected it would lead to nowhere he wished, it was a point of entry nonetheless.

His form hissed with his exertion of energy, as daring as it was, and a blink forward saw him on the side of the bars shielding the ventilation from the outside.

Now it was on to his favorite endeavor; hunting his quarry.

​

 

[Rannan Kol]

Location: Coruscant Great Hall
Equipment: The Dark Sacraments, Apostles Vestments
Allies: The Maw
Enemies: The Jedi; Caltin Vanagor

---

​

Impressive. There were many ways that someone might resist or weather the mental atrocities Kol meant to subject Master Vanagor to but he had to admit that the Jedi Master was stoic. If asked Kol might have described his opponent as the 'rock', a piece of granite that existed planted in the earth, grounded with hidden reserves. One might wonder why Kol found this pleasing but wondering only lasted for so long.

As Caltin Vanagor gestured, making an almost 'come hither' motion with his hand Kol extending his arms to either side of him would open his hands and summon the 'Dark Sacraments' to himself. The Lightsabers each found a place in their masters hands, brought there via telekinetic force before activating and bathing the Dark Jedi in dark mulberry glow. One notable thing that was difficult to miss was their length. They were roughly half the length of a regular lightsaber, short blades by definition but still longer than a shoto style saber ensuring that they would not be mistaken for the latter.

Once activated Kol cross the lightsabers in front of him, left over the right until they formed an 'X' which he held defensively at height with his shoulders. He'd stare at Vanagor from behind the pulsating hum of his sabers before stating clearly...

"You're wrong Jedi. If what I've shown you is real they exist no more, not even as part of the force for I've devoured them already, completely."

...the way he spoke insinuated that he would devour the spirits of the fallen so that they could never rejoin the force, it was meant to provoke a reaction from his opponent but no less than what occurred next.

Kol stood, his left foot sliding back and turning outwards as he struck a stance behind the vibrating glow of his lightsabers before the atmosphere rippled behind him. An illusion creating ripples in the fabric of perception but accompanied by substance. Another Kol would step out from behind the first to the left, then another to the right and so forth. In a brief span of time Vanagor would be faced by not one Dark Jedi but half a dozen. Mirror Images of the original.

Then they struck.

Whereas Vanagor was larger, easily larger than Kol and without a doubt more imposing in the physical sense Kol may have been the quicker of the two. In fact bolstered by Force Speed it was hard to perceive Kol as more than a blur following behind itself. They all moved that way, every image of Kol that Vanagor could see. Such a strong Jedi Master could likely focus on one image at a time, discerning illusion from reality but that could time.

Swarming Vanagor the images of Kol and Kol himself would attack the Jedi Master. Many of the attacks were merely apparitions, incapable of harming Vanagor but there were so many and Kol, whirling the Dark Sacraments in unison would strike according to his strengths using the misdirection of the Mirror Images before parrying with the left most of his lightsabers to deflect Vanagor's own saber aside and wide. In concordance with that Kol was moving, spinning around Vanagor in an attempt to come up behind him and whip his lightsabers against the Jedi Masters legs, the sides of his knees and his hips. Targeting places where he knew armor was historically weaker.

Even a glancing blow from the Dark Sacraments could prove detrimental, the Katak Crystals contained in the lightsabers were fatiguing and every blow had the potential to sap a little bit of the targets stamina.​

 

[Henna Sarratt]

let the sky fall
Inosuke Ashina

​

Henna felt the disturbance before the first step fell upon the temple stairs. Harmonics were drowned out by a single violin, screeching as the bow forced strings unnaturally. Then came a blast- distant, true sound kept at bay by thick temple walls, but its rumble shook the ground she sat upon. Gasping, she fumbled to return to the present, fleeing the surge of rage and darkness that had arisen in the vastness. As her eyelids shot open, the dim chambers were as she had left them, except the younglings in front of her were staring back. Fear and uncertainty painted their faces. They had felt it too, emerging from their meditations.

"Wha-?" She began, rising to her feet, looking to Inosuke.

<"Buy time-- for those evacuating the young--">

The intercom cut through her question. Though still shrouded in confusion, a moment of clarity came.

As her mind processed them, a flash of a memory, but not one of her own, floated before her as though she were living it herself. The smell of iron and blood and cauterized fleshed filled her nostrils. A shrill scream came from her side. A familiar site, ravaged by fire and war. As quickly as it came, it was gone again. Death is destiny.

"Those who would may not have otherwise, may very well find themselves in the fray soon. Either by directive or circumstance. Thus, we must all be prepared."

"We should prepare ourselves to face consequences yet unforeseen,"

They had been sitting ducks.

"Master Sarratt," Came from her feet. A glance down showed Arlond, a boy only up to her knees, grabbing at the edges of her robes. "What's going on?"

"We have to leave the temple." She informed him gently. Crouching to his height, she looked to the others behind him. "Go put your shoes back on. Be quick, and make sure they're laced well."

Each scurried to the corner where they had left them before meditation. Apprehensiveness returned to her face as she turned to the knight once more.

"How are we going to get them out? If they've breached the entrance already..." The whisper was quiet enough the younglings wouldn't hear, but an edge of desperation was still present.

 

[Raus Garrat]

HOPE

- 20 years ago -
​

It was simpler then. There were no worries, no conflicting thoughts, only the life a family could offer. True tender love, forever and always. Moments of simply existing within the same walls as the person one calls mother or father, sharing a meal or being enlightened with tales of old; stories of Raus' people being brave and strong warriors, able to topple even the most fierce creature.

"Okay love, it's time for you to go to sleep, we have to get up early tomorrow."
"One more story? Please?"
"Honestly, I've been reading to you for hours now, I'm a bit tired myself."
"Hmph. Fine."
"Hey now, what's with that? Remember, nobody here goes to bed angry."
"Do you remember that one story? The one with the bounty hunter?"
"Ugh, not again, Raus."
"It's just I wish I could fly like him. Do you think I could have a jetpack one day?"
"Hmmm.... we'll see about that kiddo. Just remember, you can be whoever you wish to be. I'll always love you. Now get some sleep."
"Love you too, night."

Sweet dreams...

- Present Day -

Location: Senate District, Rooftops
Allies: NIO | GA | ETC
Friendlies In Unit: 4x Imperial Corsairs
Situation: Critical

//WARNING!//

HOPE'S END​

"WE CAN'T STAY HERE! THEY'RE ON US-"

They were dropping like flies. Now only four remained, and they ran and avoided their foes like sheep escaping a hungry wolf. One by one they were crashing into buildings, falling from the sky, landing in streets only to be set upon by ravenous fiends and their brood. The state of things was... miserable at best. Nobody could have prepared them for what was already in place, waiting, understanding the tactics that would be enacted upon them. Would be.

As soon as they reached the vantage point on top of an office complex, there was already an ambush. A critical failure in judgement upon Raus' part, believing he was buying his men a moment of relief to escape from the depths that were nothing short of a bloodbath. Now they found themselves hiding within what remained of an apartment, listening to the sounds of multiple hostiles barge in; the hiss of lightsabers and the clanking of combat gear shuffled about as Raus and his battered team held their breath, readying for the opportunity to strike.

"NOW!"

A roar of anger flooded through the close quarters of the living room, blaster bolts shredded through furniture and walls alike, catching the pursuers by surprise and uniting them with a most grizzly fate. Even the Sith that tagged along, dead and bloodied. Good riddance. Now they could rest momentarily, and have a moment to think of what just happened.

"Raus, what the hell was that? Huh?"
"Give me a minute..."
"I want a damn answer, you flew us into a karking death trap, and now half of our men are DEAD!"
"What do you want me to say to you, hm? That my planning is always perfect? My orders failed us, and so did I. I can't take it back."
"That's rich. Look at you, some fly-boy now and you get the balls to believe you have what it takes. If only your mother could see you now."
"Let's not bring her into this. I understand you're angry, but we need to think clearly right now. You may not forgive me, but I still command you. Do you forget why we're here? What we do this for?"

Silence fell over the two men. The other two kept to themselves and tended to their equipment and minor wounds, burnt skin and the like. Raus faced away from his secondary, looking out upon the destruction. Here it was, the grand moment where he was to prove himself and capabilities as a potential leader figure for his people, and now most of the corsairs under his wing were dead, and he knew their families. They would want answers from him.

Answers he didn't have.

Hope he couldn't provide.

He would have to find a way. Or die trying.