Mission The Heat is On [DCN]

Ivalyn Yvarro · Apr 9, 2025

Sith Order: Blackwall | Commonwealth: Blackshield

OOC Note: If you are a smuggler, and would like to assist the Commonwealth, you are welcomed to join. Just ask that you join our discord for better coordination. This mission was devised utilizing the classical map, and occurs in what the Commonwealth would consider, B.S.E. Before the Signal Era.

Darkwater Freight is organizing a convoy from Lharakyone (Dyspeth) to Kirua'agam (Najarka) to deliver equipment for a geothermal stabilization system in one of the most volatile environments in the Outer Rim. Crews are tasked with hauling sensitive cargo across old and unstable trade lanes, navigating storm anomalies, and deploying encrypted DarkNet buoys along the way. On arrival, captains are authorized to take on passengers, data, and goods bound for the Commonwealth. Side jobs include charting stormseeds, running under-the-table trades, and dealing with Najarka's weather, terrain and increased Sith presence. Whether you're a smuggler, merchant, or just need a paycheck, there's plenty of heat on this run—both literal and otherwise.

All writers begin with task one, and may proceed to any and all tasks at your leisure.

Task 1: Getting through the Blackwall - The Blackwall isn't just a line on the map—it's a political, technological, and sometimes literal barrier between Sith space and Commonwealth territory. Your first job is getting past it.
Task 2: Mountain Descent - Najarka's not friendly terrain. You'll need to descend treacherous mountain paths (or fly low through narrow ridges) while hauling massive equipment for the geothermal project
Task 3: Navigate the Storms - Stormseeds are tearing up hyperspace lanes. You've got to chart them, dodge them, drop DarkNet relays in safe zones, as you go.
Task 4: Extraction Ops - People, cargo, secrets—they're stuck on the Sith-side of the Blackwall, and they need a ride. Your job? Get them across the line safely.
Task 5: Survive - No matter which job you take, one rule applies: Survive. Ideal for: literally everyone. Just don't get spaced, scorched, or sliced.

Assisting with the mission, the Commonwealth Merchant Marines, and the the Guild's Torchlight Fellowship.

Davorin Orsava | [Open]

Raqos Yvarro · Apr 9, 2025

Coren Starchaser | [Open]

Aboard the DCV Barb, the Combat Information Center flickered to life beneath a curtain of static and interference. The overhead lights stuttered with age and low funding, casting the room in a moody half-light that matched the storm-choked skies of Dyspeth below.

Outside the viewport, the Dyspethnian orbital station hovered like a tethered ghost, its exterior pocked and weather-worn, transmission arrays blinking sluggishly in the swirling stormlight. It had seen better days—so had most of them.

Fleet Captain Raqos Yvarro sat like a man holding court rather than commanding a ship. His regulation jacket hung carelessly over the back of his chair, the sleeves of his uniform rolled to the elbow, collar popped just enough to be infuriating. His boots, polished to a gleam, rested comfortably on the console edge, as though he owned not just the Barb, but the station, the planet, and the sector besides.

Across the deck, his second-in-command moved with quiet purpose. Xesh, the ship's navigator an expert stellar cartographer, embodied the kind of silent competency that made others nervous. Jaguarfolk or Onca, by lineage, her tail twitched in rhythm with the console's soft beeps, the only outward sign of her perpetual state of low-grade disdain.

She walked past the console and, without a word, knocked Raqos' boots to the floor with one fluid sweep of her tail. He let them fall like it had been part of his plan all along and rose to his feet with theatrical grace.

Clearing his throat with all the ceremony of a galactic emcee, he addressed his bridge crew with a smirk.

"Ladies, gentlemen, and beautiful questionables—today, we are going to make history."

Xesh didn't look up. Instead, she gestured to a nearby screen, where stormseed patterning danced in angry red clusters. "You're aware the stormseed inversion window just shrank by 12%, right? And that your prizefighter slicer installed the primary relay connector upside down? Which means the data reads like a toddler on glitter stim."

Raqos gave her a charming wink. "That's why I have you, Xesh."

Still not looking at him, she replied flatly. "You have me because you don't know how to read a compressed gravitic signature without coloring outside the lines."

"Semantics," he said with a grin, then turned to the comms station. "Open an encrypted channel to all our… volunteers."

He wanted to say meat shields, but didn't. Restraint looked good on him, he thought.

With another showman's flourish, he activated the transmission mic and cleared his throat again.

"Right then. Gentlebeings, gentlepaws, and sentients of fine disrepute—this is Fleet Captain Raqos Yvarro of the DCV Barb, under the grand charter of the Commonwealth Merchant Marines, the Office of Strategic Services, and whoever else signed the paperwork while drinking."

"Let's skip to the part where we thread a needle through the Sith Order's Blackwall and try not to die."

Mostly.

"Your job—assuming you're sober enough to follow the blinking lights—is simple: map the stormseeds, drop the darknet relays, get to Najarka. Do not get caught. Collect cargo and passengers that officially don't exist and definitely cannot be named. As for the secrets you'll be carrying?" He took a long sip of his synth-caf. The stuff tasted like freighter fuel and bad decisions.

"Some of them could kill you. Others might just ruin your life. Either way, you'll be more interesting at parties."

A pause. His tone dipped low and dry.

"We'll do one run. If you live, we do another. Welcome to the Courier's Convoy. If you've got debts, grudges, or open bounties, I suggest you settle them now. You're not coming back the same way you left."

"Or at all, if you screw it up."

Beat.

"No pressure. Start your engines."

He closed the channel with a satisfied tap and looked around the bridge.

Xesh stared at him like he was a walking migraine. "Why," she asked, deadpan, "am I always stuck with you?"

"Because I'm amazing," Raqos said with a winning smile.

From the comms station came a bored voice—Lieutenant Kess Virel, half-Keshiri, half-Echani, and wholly done with this day already. "Because he needs a babysitter."

Raqos pointed at her without looking. "I will literally demote you."

"Please do," she said. "Then I can get transferred to a ship that functions."

"This ship functions," he shot back.

Xesh flicked her tail. "On hubris and spite."

Matma Bernu · Apr 9, 2025

Raqos Yvarro

Matma shifted minutely in the cramped cargo ship navigating the Blackwall. His only concession to the austere, cramped conditions was a small sigh- a huff, really. Couldn't let his men see him uncomfortable- they had a hard mission ahead of them. His older men- the one who could remember the Cateclysm, who were with him on Tython and so many other campaigns during the Great Hyperspace War, and witnessed the marginalization of the Chiss under the Empire- knew the stakes. The youth- the ones who grew up on tales of the glory days of their civilization, who lived as refugees- were all too eager to make their mark, prove themselves as men.

Matma would have to watch them closely. Few of them had an idea of the potential dangers they faced. Even fewer knew what fate awaited Chiss caged behind the Blackwall. That was the task- ascertain the situation, and give aid and supplies to the Chiss refugee on Najarka. The former First Imperial Knight was almost tempted to visit Dosuun- it had been so many years, and the Chiss had thrived there. But it was nothing but pain for Matma- memories of a family he had, a wife and daughter lost on Csilla trying to evacuate their family, friends dead, students lost during the brief upheaval following the fall of the First Order. He was aware of a new government in place- a Commonwealth- but that was the long and short of it.

Matma was startled out of his reverie by the polite cough of the captain, motioning him to the cockpit. Wordlessly, he followed him. "We're about at the checkpoint", the captain said, motioning to port. "Papers are all arranged. You and your friends are my crew. You have some level of freedom to move about the port."

"But don't draw attention to yourselves", he warned, pulling down the lever and reverting to real-space. "These papers won't stand up to strict scrutiny. And frankly, I don't know why you want to come into Sith space, but I'm not here to die for whatever karked-up cause you got going on. But it's your money."

Matma, silently listening the whole time, nodded.

"Very well. I'll gather the men, get tell them to get ready for the port."

Kurayami Bloodborn · Apr 9, 2025

So, yet again Kurayami found himself out on some fool mission. This was his first major outing since his return from his last visit to the Netherworld, a place where he had gained the inspiration for the name of the ship he was flying today. The mirror-sheen of the polished chromium hull and aurodium accents of the Olys Turhaya were easily noticed as it reverted to realspace. It was not long before the ship formed up near the rest of the convoy, it's size suddenly very apparent. "S3-RV0, I told you to approach at quarter throttle you psychotic bucket of bolts!" The C-series astromech bleeped, whirred and flailed the two servo arms that were free there was a bit at the beginning that sounded like, 'But DAD!' "No I don't care how I would have flown the approach. I was meditating and you threw me halfway across the meditation chamber with your antics!" This was followed by the facsimile of laughter from the astromech unit.

Sighing, Kurayami brushed the droid off to the side despite it constantly protesting that it would do better next time. He took a deep breath as he slipped the helmet of his XC-86 armor in place. Once more he could see the space around him through the Force, not the ship, but the space around it and the life beyond the hull were visible to him.

A ping from the lead ship of the convoy. The DVC Barb. "R6 patch it through, I don't trust S3-RV0 to do it right now. He can go monitor the reactor power levels." The voice that came over the comms was unmistakable. Kurayami took a long drink from his flask through a retractable straw as he listened to Raqos Yvarro outline the objectives for the run. Well that made everything much easier. "Switch to broadcast frequency, R6."

Kurayami smirked beneath the helmet as the droid followed orders and dialed in the frequency for the run. "DVC Barb, this is Olys Turhaya, a blockade runner that doesn't technically exist. We'll it does just not under that name. Not important. What is important is I have plenty of space on this vessel for people after I chart those routes for ya. Oh and don't worry about the sobriety...I don't."

With that out of the way he turned back to the droids. "R6, start activating stealth systems. S3-RV0, go activate one of the T7 units to watch the comms. I need you on power management and engines. R6 wait by IFF just in case once stealth is fully engaged. Here's to hoping silent running gets us in and out alright."

The A deep breath later and Kurayami slid the throttle forward keeping his senses open while making sure that he paid attention to all the data scrolling through his HUD as well. This was going to be a hell of a ride to say the least.

Matma Bernu |

Raqos Yvarro

Kaia Starchaser · Apr 9, 2025

Her father was really the one who should be doing this. What, with the Tachyon Rising being a prime previous smuggling vessel hooked up with all of the exploration gear that it ever could need? And yet he was the one who was missing now. Well, missing was a loose term. Warden of the Sky Master Starchaser was out there, using the anomaly of Xelec to bounce around the galaxy. That was why Kaia has updated the Pulsar and moved the Sojourner Veilsight close to the Blackwall.

She had some work to do. And with the technology she had? She could use the Force and what her company was producing.

The Pulsar leapt ahead of Veilsight a few microjumps and as it reverted, Kaia got to work. Right now she was looking for any marker in the Force, or space that would delineate the Blackwall. She knew there were more things after this, but she was a pilot, a starborn, she had her skills. And she was going to use them.

Davorin Orsava · Apr 10, 2025

Muhktiar III

Raqos Yvarro | Open

Standing beside a small viewport, Davorin gazed out into the void towards the Blackwall. His pale hands cradling a set of prayer beads; a pattern of three amber beads followed by three obsidian ones reflected in the soft light from above. With each inhale and exhale, his thumb and index finger moved in a smooth and steady rhythm, mirroring each inhale and exhale.

His voice was but a soft murmur amidst the noise coming from every direction. “Eve's wisdom lights my path; Lilith's strength clears the way. I shall walk forward with balance in my heart.” The words were far more than just a collection of syllables thrown together, they felt alive, reverberating deep in his core. Amidst the uncertainty that swirled around him like a second skin, it was more than enough to anchor him. While energies outside of the Muhktiar III raged, Davorin only felt tranquility washing over him. More than just another religious philosophy, it was something he embodied— a path he had walked for as long as he could remember.

A heartbeat later, he heard Captain Rajos' commanding voice pierce through the comms, occasionally touched by levity, but he continued through the last few beads, then placing them around his neck and under the black shirt beneath a trenchcoat of the same hue. He noted the confidence in Rajos' tone, finding himself grateful for it; such energy often uplifted the spirits of those around him.

Moving away from the viewport, his steps were silent like a ghost. The layout of the ship was already ingrained into his memory, noticing some areas becoming busier, and the air filled with conversation as different crews prepared for the challenge ahead. There was no need for the operative to acknowledge them, instead keeping his gaze forward as he drew closer to the bridge.

For him, the real test, the one that would determine his worth, lay waiting on Najarka.

Raqos Yvarro · Jun 2, 2025

Aboard the DCV Barb, the air shifted as Fleet Captain Raqos Yvarro gave the final command.

"Let's make history."

The words landed like a promise. Engines thundered to life as the aging corvette surged forward, leading a ragtag armada of Commonwealth ships, traders, smugglers, and all manner of allied scoundrels into the unknown. Their destination: the Blackwall, where stormseed patterns shifted like a living maze, and Sith Imperial patrols waited like wolves at the edge of the dark.

The further they drew from the Dyspethnian orbital station, the more the weight of the mission pressed on Raqos's shoulders. Yet, standing behind the helms station, sleeves rolled, jacket draped over the back of his command chair—he held himself with the relaxed posture of a man who'd walked into too many fires and always found the exit.

Xesh, ever the voice of unshakable logic, reported from her station, tail flicking in the crimson glow of the CIC's battle lights.

"Stormseed patterns are shifting faster than anticipated," she said, her tone smooth and cool as a Corellian whiskey. "We'll need to adjust our trajectory accordingly."

Raqos gave a short nod, voice calm but firm. "Do it."

Then, with that easy authority that inspired confidence, he turned as another presence entered the bridge, a tall, composed figure in Celestial Knight robes. The ceremonial lines of his attire barely shifted as he moved with silent grace.

"Orsava," Raqos greeted, voice warm but edged with the gravity of the moment. "Welcome aboard." He stepped forward and clasped the man's forearm in a solid grip, a warrior's greeting. "Your expertise will be invaluable."

Before the moment settled, a shift in the air, a subtle change in the room's rhythm, heralded

Rowan Cordé 's arrival. She moved like a shadow given shape, her dark eyes carrying the weight of secrets no one else dared name. Her cloak trailed like ink in the dim red light. He gave his aunt a nod of acknowledgment.

The bridge came alive then, consoles flaring to life, screens awash in data streams, alarms flickering like ghost lights in the gloom. The ship's aged systems thrummed under the strain, hull plating vibrating as they pressed into the Blackwall itself.

"Keep her steady, Helms," Raqos said, his voice unwavering. "Steady."

His eyes flicked to the science team, hunched over their consoles, beads of sweat forming on their brows as they worked to chart the unchartable.

"Science, tell me you're getting this," he called, that charming confidence cutting through the tension like a vibroblade. The navigation console blared, klaxons screaming in protest. The hull rattled with an unholy shudder that set every loose plate trembling.

Raqos steadied himself on the back of the helmsman's chair, eyes locked on the tactical map, reading the shifting clusters of red and violet like a gambler watching loaded dice tumble. Then he lifted his gaze to the viewport, now filled with a churning void of white and violet, the Blackwall's reality-bending maelstrom swallowing the very stars themselves.

His grin, a smile honed by backroom deals and barroom brawls, flickered into place.

"Alright, people, this is it," he drawled, voice rich with that velveted swagger. "We're in the thick of it now. And we're coming out with more than we went in with, secrets, passengers, and a few scars if we're unlucky."

Xesh's muttered reply was dry as Tatooine dust. "Which we probably will be." Her tail gave a single flick before settling, her focus locked and deadly calm.

Raqos leaned forward, the bridge's red glow catching the edges of his smile. "Once we breach the stormseeds, the goal is simple: stay alive, chart enough safe paths to get the refugees and the cargo through. After that…" He shrugged with a roguish tilt of his head. "Improvise. Which, as you all know, is my specialty."

As if on cue, the ship shuddered violently, an alarm howling through the deck. Raqos's grin only widened. "And here… we… go."

He turned his attention back to the viewport. Inertial dampers struggled to compensate as the first wave of turbulent energy swept the Barb and the convoy around it. The bridge lights flickered as gravitational eddies clawed at the hull, sensors shrieking like tortured souls. Beyond the glass, the Blackwall opened its jaws, lightning danced like living filaments, arcs splitting into cosmic branches of white and violet.

"Eyes up!" Raqos barked, his voice a rallying cry. "Hold it! Hold it steady, keep it together!"

His gaze cut to Orsava, his tone urgent but even. "Orsava, what's the read on the Force? How bad is the turbulence? And how deep are we in it?"

Around them, the storm roared, and the Barb pressed on, engines howling, crew braced, and a captain who wore the maelstrom like a crown.

Matma Bernu |

Coren Starchaser