Junction The Price of Order | GE & THR | Corellia & Hosnian Prime

[Pillar of Faith]

A High Republic & Galactic Empire Junction
​

The Core has fallen. The Alliance shattered after the Death Star struck Atrisia, and the shock rippled outward. Refugees pour from former Alliance worlds into Republic space as warlords carve up the margins and the Empire's advance becomes unavoidable. Some welcome the Emperor. Others run, driven by fear and need. The Republic answers what calls it can, expanding beyond the Mid Rim to bring Belazura, Nubia, and Hosnian Prime under its protection. These worlds gain security, but they also become the new edge of Republic space, bracing against the Empire's push west.

Corellia is next to call for aid, though its loyalties remain uncertain. A Republic Defense Fleet jumps in from Nubia, while a second delegation arrives from Hosnian Prime with aging Alliance ships. They are met in orbit by Imperial Star Destroyers. Neither side fires. The fleets hold position above Corellia, locked in a tense stalemate.

On the surface, the city of Kor Vella teeters toward collapse. The fleets are visible from the streets, and panic spreads through the city. ISB has operated here for weeks, quietly reshaping the planet's government. Kor Vella has become their focus. Spies move freely. Bribes change hands. Businesses are squeezed dry. Officials disappear and are replaced by loyalists. The Empire has already taken root, and the city feels it.

Stormtroopers and droids now patrol the streets. Some citizens accept the new order. Others resist, openly and violently. Tension coils tighter by the hour.

Corellia's future will be decided today. The question is simple. Which side will you be on?

(Diplomacy and Discussion)​

Republic and Imperial fleets face one another in high orbit over Corellia, weapons charged and targeting solutions locked. The Empire opens a channel, forcing the first move into the open. Words may delay bloodshed or sharpen it. Every transmission carries risk, and every hesitation tightens the noose. A single misstep could turn the standoff into open war, yet restraint may cost Corellia its future.

Imperial Angles:
The Imperial's may press for Corellia's immediate compliance, framing occupation as protection and stability. They might offer guarantees to the planet's leadership, threaten overwhelming force, or probe for weakness within the Republic line. The hail could be sincere diplomacy, calculated intimidation, or a stall while reinforcements close in.

Republic Angles:
The Republic must decide whether to answer at all after the Emperor's intent to destroy Naboo. They may demand Imperial withdrawal, attempt to buy time for Corellian voices to be heard, or expose Imperial aggression to justify escalation. Trust is thin, and every reply risks legitimizing an enemy who may already be preparing to fire.

(Espionage, Relief Efforts, Small PvP)​

The announcement of a new Imperial-aligned Governor ignites the city center of Kor Vella. Crowds surge through the plazas as protests fracture into riots. Clashes break out between loyalists and resistance cells, drawing in security forces and civilians alike. The situation is volatile, and control of the streets may decide whether Corellia tips toward order or open rebellion.

Imperial Angles:
Imperial agents may inflame the unrest to justify harsher measures, steer violence toward resistance leaders, or stage incidents that frame dissent as terrorism. The goal is to break public resolve and present Imperial rule as the only path to stability.

Republic Angles:
Republic operatives may move to protect civilians, support local resistance, or expose Imperial manipulation in real time. They might turn chaos into momentum, helping the city push back before the Empire can lock it down.

​

As fleets hold position and Kor Vella burns, the rest of Corellia does not stand still. Shipyards, spaceports, back channels, and forgotten districts become pressure points. Independent actions taken now can shift the balance quietly or violently. This is the moment for personal missions, covert strikes, and decisive gambits that may never make the holofeeds but will shape what comes next.

Spoiler

Jedi and Dark Jedi Angles:
Force users may sense disturbances across the planet, drawing them toward hidden confrontations, hunted informants, or relics tied to Corellia's past. Jedi might work to prevent further bloodshed or extract civilians caught in the chaos. Dark Jedi may exploit fear, hunt rivals, or secure influence while attention is elsewhere.

Republic Angles:
Republic operatives can sabotage Imperial logistics, secure shipyards, evacuate key figures, or coordinate with local cells outside Kor Vella. Quiet victories here could weaken the Empire's grip before open conflict begins.

Imperial Angles:
Imperial forces may conduct targeted arrests, seize infrastructure, or eliminate emerging threats under the cover of unrest. Intelligence officers can tighten control, ensuring that when the stalemate breaks, Corellia is already in Imperial hands.

Anti-Imperial Angles:
Smugglers, dissidents, former Alliance fighters, and independent cells may seize the moment to strike back. They can move weapons through blockades, extract targets marked by the ISB, or ignite uprisings outside Kor Vella. For many, this is not about the Republic. It is about denying the Empire another world, by any means necessary.

 

[Redak Boyd]

| All Imperial Forces
| All Republic Forces

OBJECTIVE ONE-Diplomacy

The void above Corellia was silent, but it was no longer neutral.

Imperial warships held a rigid formation in high orbit, their spacing exact, their vectors locked. Power flowed steadily through their hulls as fire-control systems remained active but idle. A cordon had been established. It was clean, measured, and unmistakable. No advance was made. None was required.

Across the orbital plane, what appeared like Republic vessels maintained their line. They did not press forward, yet neither did they withdraw. Their presence read as posture rather than preparation, a show of resolve intended to test where authority truly lay.

On the bridge of the Imperial flagship, discipline reigned. Displays tracked every Republic hull, every micro-adjustment in thrust. There was no sense of imminent battle, only the weight of consequence.
Imperial Commissioner Redak Boyd was summoned to the command dais. He took his place without ceremony, eyes moving once over the tactical plot. The situation required neither flourish nor delay.

"Open the channel," he said.

The link engaged. Encryption aligned. The transmission carried across the void, clear and unadorned.

"Republic vessels. The Grand Vizier has instructed me to convey her greetings and to reaffirm the Emperor's desire for peace and stability within the Core.

The Empire has established a lawful orbital cordon over Corellia at the request of the planet's recognised governing authorities. Imperial forces are present to enforce that cordon and will not initiate hostilities.
Republic vessels in this theatre are not designated hostile. However, continued manoeuvring intended to test or intimidate Imperial positions, or to cross the established boundary, is unacceptable.

Imperial units will maintain current stations and exercise restraint. Any breach of the cordon, intentional or otherwise, will be met with an immediate and proportionate response in defence of Imperial assets and Corellian security.

This is not a provocation. It is a declaration of status and intent.

We expect Republic forces to acknowledge the established perimeter and hold position.
Awaiting your response."

The channel remained open, the words hanging in the space between fleets.
Above Corellia, the stalemate hardened.

 

[Aiden Porte]

Kor Vella
Tags: Feng Huang Wuxia Wukong ​

Aiden Porte moved through Kor Vella with Shiraya's Hope at his back, no crests, no speeches, only purpose.

The streets were chaos. Smoke curled between towers. Sirens wailed and then cut out. People ran in clusters, clutching children, dragging the injured, glancing up at the sky where the fleets hung like omens. Stormtroopers and droids patrolled the avenues with mechanical calm, and every shouted order made the crowd tighten like a fist.

Aiden felt it all in the Force: panic spreading faster than fire, anger snapping into violence, despair trying to convince good people to do cruel things just to survive.

"Medical first," he said, voice steady. "Keep them moving. Keep them together."

Shiraya's Hope fanned out in practiced pairs. One guided civilians into alleys and sheltered doorways. Another hauled debris off a crushed speeder. Aiden knelt beside an older man with a bleeding scalp, pressed his palm to the wound, and let the Force cool the pain long enough for him to breathe.

"Easy," Aiden murmured. "You're not alone."

A child stared at him with wide, wet eyes. Aiden offered a faint smile and held out his hand. After a heartbeat, the child took it, small fingers gripping like a lifeline.

Blaster fire cracked in the distance.

Aiden's head lifted. His senses stretched toward the plaza: a baton line forming, civilians trapped between factions, a spark waiting for an excuse. Above it all, the Empire's intent sat cold and clinical, control by fear, order by example.

He rose slowly, his presence calm against the city's fever.

"If they push into the crowd, we pull civilians out," he told Shiraya's Hope. "If they strike the Republic or these people, "

His hand settled on the hidden hilt at his belt.

"They'll be met with steel."

He stepped back into the flow of Kor Vella, drawing citizens toward safety one breath at a time, while the shadow overhead dared the city to break. Aiden did not dare back.

He simply held the line where lives were.

 

[Cassian Abrantes]

Kor Vella
Northern Sector
Tags: Open Indirect: Sibylla Abrantes

​

Cassian Abrantes felt Kor Vella before he saw it clearly.

The air tasted like scorched duracrete and fear. Above the skyline, the fleets hung in a cruel, silent balance, Republic lines holding steady, Imperial wedges looming like a threat that didn't need to speak. Cassian's jaw tightened at the sight of them. After the Emperor's declaration against Naboo, nothing about this could be treated as "containment" or "peacekeeping." It was occupation in slow motion.

The ramp dropped.

Cassian had sent word to Sibylla that he was in city, sending her his coordinates, if she needed them.

Boots hit the street in a hard, unified rhythm, Republic Defense Force pouring out, disciplined, fast, and careful not to turn a panicked crowd into a stampede. Cassian moved with them, eyes scanning angles, rooftops, choke points. Kor Vella was already tearing itself apart, loyalists clashing with resistance, civilians caught in the middle with nowhere clean to run.

"Keep it together," he called, voice sharp over the noise. "Med-lane down the center. Steady."

They ease into the fray, calming, deliberate and true. Protection at all cost.

 

[Krasskorr the Maw]

FOOD: Briana Sal-Soren

​

The city of Kor Vella was a power keg and the announcement of a new Imperial-aligned Governor had finally provided the spark. From an elevated position on a heavily modified Imperial speeder bike, Krasskorr watched the chaos unfold, his long tongue gliding over the jagged, sharp teeth that filled his twin mouths.

The plazas were a churning sea of shouting humans and fractured resistance cells, the air thick with the acrid scent of smoke and the electric hum of security batons. To the Empire, this unrest was a calculated opportunity to secure Corellia within their sphere of Influence, but for Krasskorr personally it was a messy inconvenience better left to the capabilities of Stormtroopers rather than a member of the Dark Side Elite.

The speeder groaned beneath his massive, scaled frame, the repulsors whining as he navigated a debris-strewn side street. He was moving to intercept a group of agitators, his obsidian claws gripped tight around the handlebars. Suddenly, the bike's front vane clipped a jagged piece of masonry, a remnant of a fallen statue.

The impact sent a violent shudder through the chassis, jarring the primary power coupling loose in a spray of blue sparks.

The engine's whine turned into a dying scream. With his steering locked and momentum unchecked, Krasskorr became a multi-ton projectile. The bike skipped off a stone planter and careened directly through the transparisteel facade of a corner cafe, the structural supports buckling with a deafening crunch.

"Ah crud..." The words barely escaped his lips, as his massive armored shoulder shoved a pile of shattered tables aside. Krasskorr emerged from the settling dust, shards of glass falling from his hide like diamonds. He looked entirely unbothered by the destruction.

In his left claw, he held a warm, sugar-dusted pastry he'd snatched from a tray during the slide. He took a deliberate, crunching bite, his golden eyes scanning the terrified patrons who had yet to flee.

If the Empire wanted a staged incident to frame the dissenters as agents of chaos, a three-hundred-pound Saurton crashing through a local business was an excellent start.

 

[Ayumi Pallopides]

Objective - 1
Tags: Dominique Vexx Aurelian Veruna

Ayumi moved with a measured grace, the sound of her approach muffled by the sterile corridors of the ship. Her features framed by long, dark honey hair that fell in a sleek, disciplined curtain down her back. Her gaze was steady and she had mentally prepared herself before even stepping into the room. Her attire was a mastercraft from Sasori as she moved glad to see things were not going to fall to an inexperienced or out of experience one at least. She wore a form-fitting tactical suit of pristine, bone-white materia plating and reinforced fabric that contoured perfectly to her athletic frame. The high, structured collar of the suit melded into a matching floor length cloak and cape combination depending on how she adjusted it, which billowed slightly behind her like a captured cloud. Every inch of the ensemble, from the integrated gauntlets protecting her forearms to the reinforced plating at her knees, spoke of a high-tech design meant to bridged the gap between a diplomat and a protected fighter. "Oh this will be fun." She said it under her breath before going to the doors and shaking off the last of the nerves.

 

[Aggadeen Myi]

THE IMPERIAL TREASURER
AGGADEEN IN THE GALACTIC EMPIRE vol. I
Issue #6 w/ Redak Boyd ​

First it was the Galactic Alliance, and now this… High Republic.

It seemed democratic states possessed a pathological need to challenge Imperial sovereignty, their leadership blinded by the same tired rhetoric that had led their predecessors to ruin. Their obsession with Corellia was particularly wearisome. To the sentimentalists of the galaxy, it was a symbol of the old Alliance and the defunct Corellian Confederation.

To the Imperial Treasury, however, Corellia was a cold calculation of industrial output and shipyard capacity. Its full integration was the necessary correction required to stabilize the Imperial economy in the wake of the financial catastrophe that was the destruction of the Death Star III over Atrisia.

Aggadeen had been on Coruscant when the reports arrived from Cato Neimoidia. The Grand Vizier's transmissions had been precise: a Republic fleet in transit, a blatant provocation that required an administrative response. As a member of the Imperial Ruling Council, the burden of representation fell to him.

The rhythmic thud of his own boots was shadowed by the heavy, synchronized steps of his Novatroopers escort. Their black and gold plating caught the cold light of the corridor, standing as silent sentinels of authority against the stark backdrop of Imperial banners.

He paused for a fraction of a second, adjusting the cuff of his simple light green uniform with meticulous precision. The blast doors hissed open to reveal the command bridge. Aggadeen stepped forward, his gaze sweeping over the pits before settling on Redak Boyd

"Let us hope that the Republic Delegation is not bogged down in personal ideals to realize that the Galactic Empire is the foremost sovereign power of the galaxy. Despite personal and unfounded rumors stating otherwise..." He said in a rather firm tone of voice, knowing that confidence was key to projecting a united front at this meeting with the rumored New Chancellor.

The first transmissions had been broadcasted, the opening move in a game of high-stakes diplomacy. It was now for the Republic delegation to decide if they possessed the wisdom to reply accordingly, or if they required a more… costly demonstration of their error.
​

 

[Cerys Dyn]

Corellia. The industrial world had seemed an unlikely fit for a resident, aged Oathwarden, but Cerys had pursued the lead despite her hesitancy. The planet was in a state of upheaval. The last gasp victory on Atrisia had been the last gasp of life for the Alliance, and Corellia now stood on the precipice of Imperial occupation. In the chaos, Cerys moved about and sought out the Oathwarden and the possibility of getting them to be her new master.

"Are you sure...?" Cerys began the question, but her guide shot her a glare that seemed to be designed to silence her.

Her unease had been grown. One too many seedy back allies into this tour of Coronet City's oldest factory district had seen her grow more and more suspicious.

She tugged on the Dug's shoulder. "Tebvua...where are you taking me?" She demanded.

He shrugged her off and shot her another glare that said, "Be quiet." Before he could hiss the words though, he looked to her left.

Cerys' senses spiked. She spun about...saw a shadow...and felt a sharp sting in her neck...

...everything faded to black.

~~~~~~~~~​

"Brandyn?" She murmured. His judgmental glared seemed to linger on her.

"Balun, stop smoking...it's gross..." She muttered.

The face of her former master, her late master...her mother...flashed before her. But Cerys mentally looked the other way. The shock of the woman's appearance snapped her free from the drug induced slumber that had been slowly letting up.

The faces, of those who has stood beside her before she ran away, faded from view. Replacing it was a cold, metal grey room with a lightly shimmering force field un front of her. She tried to move, but her feet and hands refused to budge. It was only there that she was conscious enough to realise her arms were restrained above her head...she was hanging in the air.

"Suspension field?" She said, the curtain of unconsciousness almost fully lifted, "what do you want from me?"

Domaric Mordane Balun Dashiell​

 

[Aurelian Veruna]

Location: Objective I - Diplomacy
Tags: Dominique Vexx | Ayumi Pallopides | Redak Boyd | Aggadeen Myi | Rhys Gorne

Aurelian stood at the viewport, hands clasped behind his back, eyes fixed on the Imperial formation hanging over Corellia. Clean lines. Perfect spacing. No fear. He felt a flicker of appreciation before he crushed it. This was not a parade. This was a warning.

Hosnian Prime had welcomed them with cheers and banners. Senators shaking hands like the future was settled. Now this. He exhaled slowly, jaw tightening. So much for momentum.

He turned and began pacing the bridge, boots tapping against the deck. Reports scrolled past on the tactical displays. Imperial cordon confirmed. Multiple Star Destroyers. ISB presence planetside. He had expected pressure, not occupation dressed up as procedure. Corellia was already slipping, and they all knew it.

Aurelian glanced toward the Chancellor. Dominique looked composed, but he could feel the weight settling on her shoulders. First days in office and already staring down the Emperor's fleet. Wonderful timing.

He keyed a private channel to the Admiral. "Hold our line," he said quietly. "No sudden thrusts. But ease us into a better angle. I want options if this turns ugly." He paused, watching the Imperial ships adjust by fractions. "Your read on them. If they fire, can we win?"

He cut the channel and let the silence stretch for half a breath. He hated waiting. Always had.

Turning back to Dominique, his tone softened. "I'm sorry," he said. "This isn't how your first act was supposed to look." A crooked smile followed, thin and sharp. "Though I suppose no one can accuse you of starting small."

The Imperial channel remained open. Polite. Precise. Smug, beneath it all. Aurelian stepped forward, posture straightening as instinct took over. Nobility was a language. He spoke it fluently.

He opened the channel.

"Imperial vessels," he said, voice steady. "This is King Aurelian Veruna of Naboo. Stand by for the Chancellor of the Republic."

He closed the transmission without waiting for a reply. Let them sit with it. Let them wonder.

Aurelian looked back to Dominique, eyes bright now, dangerous with interest. "Let's see what they want," he said.

​

 

[Dominique Vexx]

OJBECTIVE I: Thin Ice Diplomacy

Chancellor Dominique Vexx of the High Republic stood upon the bridge as ships settled into facing off against the opposition. She'd risen to her feet the moment they'd entered the system and it became clear events would not proceed as smoothly as expected. From behind her lilac glareshades, the Denonite regarded the positions of Imperial vessels in orbit of Corellia. Her ears remain open to the orders being passed around; there was no need for her to micromanage them, but she made sure no one was being too aggressive at this juncture.

After her acceptance as Chancellor by the vote of the people, Dominique had made a few alternations to her wardrobe. Given proximity to the Galactic Empire she'd opted for an outfit embodying qualities of a defender or protector. A high collar, long sleeves, and a flowing white jacket accentuated in deep purple to show a professional, but uncompromising Republic to those they met. Loose white pants helped present an official presentation. Even prospective allies would like to know they weren't talking with mealy-mouthed cowards. Someone that would stand-up for them.

Or against them. Imperials had even less tolerance for the weak than fearful, potential allies.

A soft chuckle followed Aurelian's statement. "Were every negotiation straightforward and amicable. We'll make it through." Rank had its privileges, but it also had its duties. Something she had happily deferred to Aurelian while he'd been Chancellor so she could focus on her personal interests with Denon. The chips had fallen as they had, however, so there was no use gnashing one's teeth over it.

Time passed slowly as the Imperial forces broadcast their... request that the Republic abide by the 'cordon' placed about the world below.

Her golden eyes noted when Aurelian cut off the transmission after he told the Imperials to stand-by awaiting her response. "Do we have any assets below that can confirm or refute what the Galactic Empire said? Some means of breaking the stalemate as we both claim to be here at the request of the lawfully recognized government of Corellia." Seeing how the Imperials hadn't trotted out some poor Corellian representative, however, Dominique figured they didn't have nearly so tight a control of the world as they claimed.

She wouldn't keep the Imperials waiting long, however, before she indicated for the channel to be opened.

"This is the Chancellor Dominique Vexx of the High Republic." A beat. "There appears to be some confusion, as the Republic was also invited to Corellia by the planet's recognized governing authorities." She paused to smile with a a slight upward bow to her brows at this 'unforeseen' twist in events. "An unfortunate misunderstanding the three parties should be able to resolve to maintain the peace and stability of the region. Perhaps, if we knew what the governing body asked of the Galactic Empire, we could begin to understand the circumstances that have brought us together."

"As to the cordon, I see no reason that our two people cannot find a means to coexist. However," Dominique paused just for a beat, "should the people of the Corellia be in any clear and present danger, I hope we can swiftly work together to resolve such crises rather than squabble over perimeters drawn on a holomap. I trust, however, the people below are at present under no such duress, Commander?" The rank drop was intentional as a means of goading or suggesting they introduce themselves; otherwise Dominique was free to make up whatever title she like regarding the person on the other end.

Protests wouldn't be much of an excuse to run a blockade. Vague allusions to the Governor being 'installed' wouldn't either. On the other hand, if there were solid evidence of a coup or means to commit genocide the scales might begin to tip. Dominique hoped her counterparts weren't too eager to find out which side had the bigger blaster. War might be good for certain industries, but peace allowed more efficiency.

Redak Boyd | Aurelian Veruna
Ayumi Pallopides | Aggadeen Myi | Rhys Gorne​

 

[Shade]

Kor Vella smelled wrong.

Not just smoke and overheated circuitry, though both hung thick in the air, drifting up from the lower plazas where riot suppression had already turned ugly. It was the other scent that bothered Shade more: fear layered over familiarity. A city that had known industry, trade, and movement for generations now felt like it was holding its breath, waiting to be told who it belonged to.

Above it all, the sky burned with silent threat.

Even through the haze, the shapes were unmistakable. Republic hulls holding formation alongside aging Alliance frames, scarred and stubborn, facing down the cold geometry of Imperial Star Destroyers. No fire. No retreat. Just tension stretched tight enough to hum.

Shade did not look up for long.

She moved through Kor Vella's mid-level districts with practiced ease, civilian coat pulled close against the wind, hair braided tight and functional despite the chaos. No insignia marked her. No visible weapon announced her purpose. In a city crawling with stormtroopers, droids, and informants, anonymity was not a luxury. It was survival.

ISB had been here for weeks. That much was obvious.

Businesses shuttered overnight. Officials replaced without ceremony. Security checkpoints that did not exist a month ago now sat at every major junction, manned by forces that smiled too easily when papers were presented and watched too closely when they were not. The Empire had not arrived in orbit today.

It had simply stopped pretending it was not already here.

Shade slowed near the edge of a transit concourse overlooking one of the larger plazas. Below, a crowd surged and fractured, chants breaking apart as loyalists and protesters collided. A line of stormtroopers advanced in formation, shields raised, batons crackling. Somewhere to the left, a stun grenade went off. People screamed. Someone fell.

She catalogued it all without stopping.

This was not where she was meant to intervene. Not yet.

Her objective lay two levels above, in a repurposed logistics office overlooking the ship lanes, a place that had changed ownership three times in the last year and now served as neutral ground only because no one had decided to claim it openly. A temporary blind spot in a city full of eyes.

Dillon Kaiel would be there.

Shade did not know him well. She knew his name, his movements, and the fact that he had chosen to stay on Corellia when many others had fled. That alone made him either principled, reckless, or deeply committed to something worth risking everything for.

Those were the kinds of people this moment would be decided by.

She entered the building without pause, passed a pair of guards who pretended not to see her, and climbed the last flight of stairs on foot. At the landing, she stopped, adjusted the fall of her coat, and stepped inside.

The room was spare. Functional. A wide viewport looked out toward the orbital lanes, the distant silhouettes of capital ships framed like a frozen argument in steel.

Shade took in the space, then the man waiting within it.

"Dillon Kaiel," she said calmly, her voice low and even, shaped to carry without drawing attention. "Thank you for agreeing to meet."

She did not offer a hand immediately. She did not sit.

Instead, she positioned herself where she could see both him and the city beyond the glass, posture composed without being rigid, eyes steady and assessing.

"Kor Vella is close to tipping," Shade continued, not as an accusation, but as a statement of fact. "The Empire is already acting as though the decision has been made. The Republic is hesitating. And the people in the streets are paying for both."

Her gaze returned fully to him then, intent and unflinching.

"I am here to understand where you stand," she said. "And whether there is still room to influence how this ends before the first shot in orbit turns into the last one on the ground."

A pause, brief and deliberate.

"This does not require speeches," Shade added quietly. "Only honesty."

She waited, patient as the city burned below them, prepared to listen before she ever chose her next move.

Dillon Kai'el

 

[Dillon Kai'el]

Corellia, Objective II
Tags: Shade

​

Dillon was not standing. He was lounging, and rather comfortably at that. His hands were folded neatly in his lap, as though he were simply awaiting a business meeting. There was a calm air about him, and the man wore a gentle smile on his face.

"Dillon Kaiel," she said calmly, her voice low and even, shaped to carry without drawing attention. "Thank you for agreeing to meet."

"The pleasure is all mine, Miss Shade."

He listened attentively as the woman went on about the state of the city and inquiring on his intentions. If they had room to influence the outcomes. A serious one, this one was. The old man could not help but remissness to a rather serious young woman he had known long ago. One who seemed so ready to lecture him when he offered her sweets behind the back of her mother. Of course, his daughter was long gone, but her blood had brought on a thousand years of new generations. She had left him a fine family to wake up to.

"Where I stand is on the ground," Dillon stated plainly, a very underwhelming initial answer. "But I'm sure that's not what you mean. I've seen many battles. There is a time to wonder if you can even make a difference and a time to ignore the urge to question and simply get to work. If you want my honest opinion, the time has passed to ask questions. All that's left to do is choose a course of action. To that end, our enemy is clear."

The Jedi Master stood and began to stretch, his joints cracking as he got himself comfortable. His grey eyes drifted to the window, and the man let out a sigh.

"It's a shame," the man lamented. "The weather is lovely today."

The shame, of course, was that there was blood soon to spill in the streets of Kor Vella. It was hard to enjoy the weather in a battlefield.

 

[Elian Abrantes]

Aurelian Veruna Dominique Vexx Indirect: Sibylla Abrantes

​

Elian Abrantes stood a step behind Aurelian, close enough to be useful, far enough not to be in the way.

For once, he knew when to keep his mouth shut. This wasn't a dinner table sparring match or a hallway quip back on Naboo, this was war held back by etiquette and the thin patience of people with charged guns.

Light armor hugged his frame, the kind the Kingsguard allowed for someone new, enough to protect, not enough to announce. He kept his hands where they belonged, eyes scanning the bridge.. Shadow and watch. That was the role today.

So he swallowed the slick comment that tried to rise, set his jaw, and stayed silent, present, steady, and ready if the quiet broke.

Yet he couldn't hide the nervouseness he was feeling today. this was a whole new thing he was being introduced to. It took a bit to persuade them to let him be here, so he wasn't going to do anything stupid to ruin or jeopodize their trust.

Even more so, he promised Sibylla, he'd rather face the wrath of a thousand star destroyers before meeting her anger.

 

[Shade]

Objective: II
Dillon Kai'el

Shade did not correct his posture or attempt to draw him to his feet. Dillon Kaiel looked entirely at ease where he was, and she had learned long ago that comfort, when chosen, could be just as deliberate as readiness. Instead, she adjusted her own stance slightly, angling herself so the city beyond the viewport and the man before her shared her attention.

His answer landed as she had expected it to. Not evasive. Not indecisive. Simply grounded.

When he spoke of work needing to begin rather than questions continuing, her gaze sharpened by a fraction, not in challenge, but in alignment. She took a single step closer to the window, stopping short of standing beside him, allowing the view of Kor Vella to sit between them like a third presence in the room.

"I didn't come here to ask whether you think this can be saved," she said quietly, her voice even and controlled. "I came because you've already decided it's worth acting for."

Her eyes followed the distant silhouettes of ships in the sky, the unnatural stillness of fleets that had not yet committed to violence but threatened it all the same.

"The city can feel that hesitation," Shade continued. "People don't need to know who fires first to know they're being watched, measured, weighed. That pressure shapes behavior faster than any broadcast."

She turned back to him then, fully, meeting his calm with her own.

"You're right," she said. "There comes a point where asking what might happen only delays what will. But how action is taken still matters. Disorder favors those who want justification. Restraint favors those who want legitimacy."

At his remark about the weather, something subtle shifted in her expression. Not sentimentality. Recognition.

"That's usually how it is," she replied softly. "The day doesn't announce what it's about to become."

She folded her hands loosely behind her back, posture composed, patience evident in the way she did not rush to fill the space.

"I'm not here to tell you what to do," Shade said calmly. "And I'm not here to argue ideals while the ground shifts beneath us."

Her gaze held his, steady and intent.

"I want to understand how you intend to move," she continued. "So that what happens next doesn't fracture into ten different directions at once."

She let the silence return, deliberate and unforced, giving him room to answer on his own terms.

Kor Vella waited below them, unaware of how much hinged on conversations like this one.

 

[Dracken Pryce]

BYOO
​

It began when the Alliance fell. Corellia withdrew from the Senate days before, tipped off by its own intelligence, had abandoned the capital with its delegation. The Galaxy thought that Corellia would withdraw, as it had in centuries past. But a speech published by the Office of the Diktat penned and read by then Diktat Dracken Pryce galvanized the Corellian Confederation. Contrary to galactic predictions and against the advice of his Council, Dracken ordered the Corellian fleet, one of the largest national sector defense fleets in the Alliance, to help those in need. For weeks, the black and orange of the Corellian Defense Force and the green and white of Corellian Security spread across the Alliance. They fought pirates, Imperial incursions, and helped any who called out for help. Dracken had commanded them to feed them, house them, protect them, and so they did.

Corellian drives were a light in the darkness, heeding the call of all in the Core who had been abandoned or left undefended. They seemed to swell with numbers as the old Alliance navy began to fall in line, swearing to the Confederation. But this was not to last. The first ships darkened Corellia's stars in one of its far-off systems. A backwater of backwaters as far as the Core worlds were concerned. They came in force, decimating the land and taking the world, subjugating the people. The Imperials gained a foothold and from there, their insidious nature began to fester within the Corellian Sector. Unable to both fulfill the Diktat's orders and protect the Sector, the Corellians lost ground as systems one by one winked out; either from force of Imperial might or simply by the Councilor giving up without fight, swearing fealty to this new Empire.

When they darkened Corellia's main star, the Corellian system itself, it had been weeks of grueling space battles and ground assaults on outpost worlds and stations. They had effectively cut off the Corellian system from the support it had birthed from the old Alliance fleets. In fact, only the Home Fleet remained able to defend the system. But five inhabited worlds in a system as large as Corellia was a daunting task. Dracken led from the field, but even his tactical mind could not hold back the Imperial fleet. Especially when they had...Other options. A man known as the "Governor of Corellia" had, while Dracken was fighting over Tralus, taken the Corellian government in a coup. Fear gripped Dracken's heart. He knew the Darksabers would keep his family safe but without them in his arms, he couldn't know for sure. Connection to the Saber had also been severed which did not bode well for the Green Jedi Order.

All of their cannons and stations, fleets, and battlegroups couldn't stop them if they were cut from behind.

When he returned aboard Swordbreaker, sneaking in among the myriad of Imperial and civilian transports, he began leading a resistance in Coronet. He went to the gangs first. The Vics, the Atrisian families of Gold Sector, even the Yokai. Along with a few Jedi, they disrupted Imperial communications, undermined the Governor's rallies, and freed prisoners. But it was a losing battle. Betrayed by the youth of his own home, the Imperials had won. All he could do was free the Jedi. At least then, they might be free to join those from outside.

The Diktat crouched beside a Darksaber and one of his last Halcyon commandos. Those the Governor had ensured were systematically eliminated. Decades of research, training, and unspeakable acts that had culminated in one of the deadliest soldiers in the Galaxy...Ended in less than a week. Faceless soldiers to most Corellians, the death of the Halcyon Corps was just another casualty to the Imperials. The Jedi, however, were another story. But the Governor was close to getting what he needed to execute the Jedi en-masse. Another team was already at their mountain temple with the Swordbreaker, picking up younglings and staff who were training at the old temple. Dracken's team was here for those that had been trapped in the Saber. Its light had long gone out, an ominous sign on this dark and rainy night. A ring of Green Jedi knights dressed in Temple Guard garb stood vigil before the front, "Corellian Security Forces" clad in Imperial white watched with baited breath. Dracken cursed. Was he too late? An old Corellian Colossus Droid stood vigil over the Imperials, painted white, its visor a menacing red.

"Knights of the Green Jedi Order! By order of the Governor and the the Empire, we of Coronet Security demand you lay down your weapons and come peacefully! You are being charged with TREASON and CONSPIRACY to depose the GOVERNOR!"

In response, the Green Jedi, not ones to back away from a fight, lit their lightsabers in defiance. A line of green broke through the night, the rain coming off of them in waves of hissing steam. There were only four of them, but they looked so damn majestic.

"Fire!" The officer said.

"Now!" Dracken said at the same time.

A battle cry came from behind the security force. The giant Corellian battle droid turned, its arm cannon swung to face the new threat, but a mirror droid, likely right off the same assembly line as not many of the droids were ever made, slammed into it. The two Colossus Droids crashed into one another, titans of durasteel wrestling in the rain. Their servos whirred loudly under the stress as Dracken's droid subdued the Imperial one. Its vocabulator whined something as it tumbled, crashing through an Imperial transport. Its durasteel limbs groaned as it crashed to the permacrete. There was a great flash as Dracken's droid blasted a hole through its enemy and it was done. Silence held the plaza for a moment, even the Jedi left stunned.

"FOR CORELLIA!!!" Dracken screamed and his squad charged forward, rushing the Imperials.

"CONTACT! CONTACT! ITS THE REBELS! THE DIKTAT IS HERE!"

Dracken slugged the man in the face and put a blaster bolt through his chest. A gust of wind billowed and his white hair, wet with rain and sweat, flew about his face as a repulsor engine roared above him.

"Cease hostilities! Or we will be forced to open fire!" It was all for the records. They would likely doctor the footage to show only the rebels firing on helpless Imperial sympathizers. But even as the loudspeaker rang out, green and red blaster bolts rained down from above as Stormtrooper-like security forces air dropped on repulsor packs to put an end to the riot and the Diktat.

<We need to move sir> his Darksaber said, grabbing his arm.

"Right. The Jedi." Their mission. Dracken ran up the steps to the Saber, stone statues of the greats of their order dominating his vision as he crested the top.

"Diktat Pryce," one of the Jedi said. "You-"

"My ship is on its way now from the Temple. Gather all of your younglings and anyone else who wishes or needs to flee. Your families, pets, lovers anyone and everyone. Gather them to the top."

"The archives! We need to save them!"

Dracken nodded. They couldn't let this copy of the Jedi archives fall into the hands of the Imperials. They likely had some form of it from Coruscant, but this one also held the identities and family lineages of all of the Green Jedi past and present. That could not fall into the hands of the Imperials if they were to continue resisting.

"I understand."

​

 

[Jasper Kai'el]

Corellia, BYOO
Tags: Dracken Pryce

Lightsaber, Refuge, Respite, Order of Outcasts
​

Jasper's home was on Sacorria, the agricultural backbone of the Corellian Sector. Where it lay now, the planet was completely within the jaws of the Galactic Empire. He and senator Lander Stalwart had done what they could to evacuate as many refugees as they could. Now Corellia stood as the last reminder of what had been. His Galactic Alliance. The nation he loved, and the nation he had to leave behind. An attachment that had clouded his judgement for too long.

The High Republic were inbound to aid the system. He hoped that they would be enough. In the meantime, however, Jasper owed this place one last favor. He had always wanted to see the Green Jedi as a boy. The Saber was legendary. It was bittersweet, then, to see it amidst evacuation. Once more, he joined the ranks of the Jedi as a Master.

"The archives! We need to save them!"

"I understand."

Those were the words that filled Jasper's ears as he emerged from the mouth of the Saber. The Diktat had arrived, ready to evacuate the Green Jedi. In the distance his rebel forces waged war against the Imperials, alongside Corellian turncoats. In his hand, resting on his shoulder, he carried a Rocket Launcher. His expression was somber, and he wore no smile. To lose a place like this had an indescribably gravity. The water on his face really only gave it more definition, made his emotions clearer.

"They'll be swarming the front door the second they get a chance to breathe," Jasper stated. "I can think of one thing to drop in their path, but it feels disrespectful."

Jasper gestured to one of the statues nearby. A memorial to a hero. It felt wrong, but it would sure as hell slow the Imperials down. It wasn't an action he would take lightly, nor without input from the Green Jedi and the Diktat. It was a very spur of the moment tactical decision, the sort of habit he picked up fighting the Brotherhood of the Maw.

"Only at your word," he resolved.

That action wouldn't be his to decide.

 

[Da'Razel]

CORELLIA - KOR VELLA - PLAZA

TAGS OPEN TO ALL
Tag Direct: N/A
Tag Indirect: Cassian Abrantes

Equipment: The Furnance | The Kotjontû | The Vow of Saud​

Strong winds carry an acrid, sulfurous stench through the city square.

Burnt flesh, flesh burnt by fires spiced with Korriban sands, the smoke trailing from their ashes considered holy incense.

The sun hangs low, dormant and gehenna-gold, yet in defiant rebellion it casts molten golden beams into the wide dark waterways that cleave through the metropolis.

Light fractures against the giant glass monoliths that once housed wealthy vendor guild halls. Hollow now. Gutted. Skeletons stripped of flesh.

Reflections sparkle along the kilometer-wide hulls of Destroyer-level frigates undergoing construction buried in their drydock like cadavers of dead gods.

But the heavens are not uncontested. Two dreadnoughts circle in orbit, poised massive Damocles swords looming over the city of Kor Vella.

Countless fates balance on their blades edge.

Da'Razel surveyed the scene before him with silent, seething satisfaction.

He stood as a gilded sentinel before the plaza's heart, an icon wrought in Dallorian alloy and fire-scorched ultrachrome, while his congregation knelt in fervent supplication around him.

This place had once thrummed with bustling commerce, a tumult of hustling vendors hawking their wares, intrigued prospects haggling for prices and bulk, amidst idle crowds ogling and window-shopping.

Now it was a roiling congregation. A crucible forged in faith. An open-air cathedral. An altar to the Empire, consecrated in the ashes of traitors, criminals, and heretics.

The condemned hung bound to iron stakes, their forms doused and drenched in promethium.

Screams rang out like bells tolling.

Desperate yelps twisted into gut-wrenching pleas that eventually drowned in gurgling desecration.

Blood that boils. Screams that turned to smoke.

Souls rent from corrupted flesh, cast free to find their path to the cradle of the God-Emperor, the only refuge left for them, the singular light in a galaxy cast into chaos.

The Cult of Saud had come upon Correlia.

The golden bulwark of his armor hums as servos snarl and hydraulics whirl to life.

His artificial hand reaches skyward, fingers spreading in ancient salute.

Palm open, arm extended, embracing the molten gleam that bathes him in celestial radiance worthy of Imperial benediction.

He guides his gore-red visor across all the men and women gathered before him, seeing them all as who they truly are.

Not merely troopers and bureaucrats, traders and farmers, engineers and smiths, but as brothers and sisters.

Their shared love and devotion to the God-Emperor is a golden thread weaving their fates into a splendid tapestry of zealous faith.

The Saint of Fire's voice detonates across the square as he declares divine decree.

"Let us pray."

 

[Sid Berik]

LET NONE HIDE IN THE SHADOW OF THE EMPIRE
​

ENEMY UNITS: Rebel Hideouts

THEATER:

Corellia

FRIENDLY CV: UNKNOWN TERRAIN, SUSPECTIBLE TO AMBUSHES, ROE
ENEMY TCV: COMMAND AND CONTROL VULNERABILITY, LACK OF TRAINING, LACK OF COHESION, LOGISTICS
OBJECTIVE: SEARCH AND DESTROY


He marched with purpose. His black armor, sleek and imposing, matched the two platoons of Stormtroopers he was leading. He turned his head, his voice distorted by his helmet. Orders were issued. Stormtroopers stacked outside of doors, lethal precision on would-be dissenters. It was not even concrete evidence that led them here, rumors and stipulations, intelligence based on hearsay and rumor.

But such was the reality of the Empire. Even the breath of dissent, the thought of betrayal was guilt enough. He clenched his fist, and units executed their initial assaults. Doors were breached, mechanically or explosively. Screams of women, children, confused shouts from men. He watched as they were drug out of their homes, lined up on the wall. Foreheads against the wall, cuffed hands behind their back.

Some weapons were found. Beyond the measures of personal protection. One house had nothing but men inside. They were all silent, except for one. He was cursing at them. Sid turned his head towards him, before letting his rifle hang by his side. He drew his sidearm- a particularly nasty piece of equipment, a slugthrower pistol. Sid had run into enough Jedi over time to carry the weapon.

He cocked the hammer back, pulled the man away from the wall, and shot him in the chest three times. He said something about tyrants and about Empires falling. Perhaps. But it wasn't today. Stormtroopers and Imperial citizens were dead, attacked, and this man was intent on harming more. Civilization, as cruel as it was, had come to this place. Sid tucked his pistol away, and stepped into the threshold of the home. A wealth of intelligence and weapons. Explosives, homemade and otherwise, rifles, equipment. Radios, communications equipment-

All the things necessary to conduct war against a numerically superior force. His glove hands ran over the stacks of tools, before he stepped back outside into the street. One of his troops came up to him. His voice was encoded, but he broke the decoder down enough to be understood by the trooper- and those around him.

"₮₳₭Ɇ ₮ⱧɆ₥ ₳ⱠⱠ. ł₦₮ɆⱤⱤØ₲₳₮Ɇ ₳₦Đ ⱤɆⱠɆ₳₴Ɇ. ɆӾɆ₵Ʉ₮Ɇ ₳₦Ɏ Ø₮ⱧɆⱤ ⱤɆ฿ɆⱠ₴."

Sid turned as his troops lined them up for transport and interrogation. They had many more areas to conquer, to quell hopes of rebellion and dissent. Peace and order would come, whether these fools wanted it or not.

​

 

[Sibylla Abrantes]

​

Location : Kor Vella |
Interacting with: Remowa
Nearby somewhere: Elian Abrantes
Items: x x x x x
NPCs: Lady Marthis Deyn - Corellian noble, Council Member Ralo Venn, Director Calon Prex, the Civic Administrator of Kor Vella

Sibylla was already mid-sentence when the room shifted.

Polished solarium glasssteel windows framed the skyline of Kor Vella, sunlight glinting off spires and ship lanes, but the air inside the chamber had gone tight and thin. Members of the Corellian High Nobility sat in a crescent of lacquered seats alongside Ensterite delegates, Ambassadors, and industrial ministers who had not slept well in weeks.

This meeting had been requested in confidence by Senator Dracken Pryce from his personal ship, the Stormbreaker, a prerecorded message requesting dialogue and options, a chance to keep Corellia from sliding cleanly into an Imperial grip under the pretense of 'security' while the Senator Dracken Pryce was fighting over Tralus.

Yet it was all unraveling in real time.

"Your Excellency Abrantes," Lady Marthis Deyn said, Corellian noble, shipwright heiress, her composure cracking just enough to show fear beneath the steel. "The announcement just went through. An Imperial-aligned Governor has been appointed effective immediately."

Council Member Ralo Venn, an Ensterite and uncomfortably honest, leaned forward with his fingers steepled. "They're calling it stabilization. The Five Brothers are already fracturing and Imperial forces have moved to manage civil disturbances."

A third voice cut in, sharp and low. Director Calon Prex, the Civic administrator of Kor Vella, his temple already beaded withwith sweat as he reviewed his data pad with the news.

"City center is erupting, there are protests in the plazas and riots near the transit hubs by loyalists and resistance cells both... and Imperial forces are deploying... Wait, it says here that there is a potential sighting of Diktat Pryce by the Corellian Jedi Temple!"

Outside, the sound reached them at last of distant sirens in a rising roar, the city igniting around.

Sibylla rose slowly, the rustle of her skirts and her earrings giving a faint jingle as every eye turned to her. This was no longer a theoretical discussion about borders and allegiance or aide.

"So the Empire announces governance," she said evenly, "and unrest conveniently justifies occupation."

No one contradicted her.

She turned aside, fingers already moving at her wrist as she began a recording to transmit to Aurelian Veruna and Dominique Vexx , her tone composed by habit rather than circumstance, though the unrest beyond the walls pressed insistently at her awareness.

High Chancellor, Your Majesty, the Imperial Governor has been confirmed, and what began as protest has already advanced into riot. Kor Vella is is in chaos with Imperial security deploying across the city.

She paused, choosing her words with care.

I am presently engaged with members of the Council and the local nobility in an effort to assess both intent and consequence. We have also received indications that Senator Dracken Pryce may be planet-side. I shall endeavor to make contact with him, should discretion allow.

A beat passed and she added gently.

However should dialogue prove unproductive, I believe it prudent to consider extraction...for myself, and potentially for all involved.

And with that, she attempted to send the message through the interference. The signal struggled, flickered, then caught. Sibylla lifted her gaze back to the Council as the transmission cut, the weight of the moment settling like gravity.

"Now, let us continue our discussions and prepare, we must not lose a single second we have."

 

[Remowa]

Noble and the Chiss
The Chiss Woman vol. 1 |:| Issue #1: Noble Discussions w/ Sibylla Abrantes ​

Shadows clung to the walls as Remowa entered without ceremony, the doors parting with an eerie hiss. Her armor seemed to devour the light around her, rendering her almost indistinct save for the frigid blue of her skin and the ember-red glow of her eyes. Those eyes lingered as they swept the room, assessing, judging, holding the silence just long enough to make it uncomfortable.

She offered no acknowledgment of those present. Instead, her thumb pressed down on a small disc in her palm. A holographic transmission flared to life, replaying the final moments of Sibylla Abrantes urgent plea to the High Chancellor and the King of Naboo in orbit.

"…consider extraction… for myself, and potentially for all involved." Her full lips curled as the message concluded, the recording dissolving into a scatter of blue sparks.

"Here is the thing about unencrypted transmissions…" she began at last. Her armored gloves dragged across the table as she stepped forward, carving deep grooves into its surface. The movement was deliberate, almost languid, compelling every eye to follow even as it set nerves on edge.

She stopped just short of Sibylla Abrantes , fixing her with a stare that seemed to pierce straight through flesh and into her mind. Only after a long moment did her gaze drift away. "…they are easily intercepted," she continued, her tone smooth, almost conversational.

"Especially when the Empire controls Cornet City and its transceivers." Her smile widened. "Still, I should thank you. You've traveled quite far to expose the treasonous elements on this planet." She tilted her head slightly. "After all, any contact with Diktat Pryce rumored or not is grounds for execution."

Black-lipsticked lips parted just enough to reveal a sliver of teeth as she reached for her lightsaber.

However, the familiar sound of ignition was absent, as an empty chair was drawn from the room's corner, and the Dark Side Elite took their place with elegance. At this point, no further words were necessary; if they wished to beg for mercy or engage in negotiations, that was their choice.
​