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

[Malcolm Ironmaster]

Tag: Lily Decoria

The Jedi Master Musketeer ran towards the first Jedi he found. "For Light and Life, Jedi," Malcolm said as he got within voice range. "How can I help?"

 

[Dominique Vexx]

​

Dominique listened as Aurelian described the situation as it was reported from the planet below. Given the Councilor's swagger, the situation being grim did was not much of a surprise. Corellia did not belong to the Empire, but they had obviously been making strides at conquering the world for some time. Unfortunate. The planet below had its own industrial strength and would have been quite the boon for the Republic. Much as she loved Denon, it was always prudent to diversify your portfolio.

A slight lift of the brows accompanied Aurelian admitting some of his own were on the surface. Good to hear he felt so confident in their abilities. Dominique then nodded with Aurelian relaying with Ayumi's help they were doing what they could to get people free. That was good to hear. Unofficial efforts in spite of the official line with plausible deniability. Risky, obviously, for those involved, but necessary. "Good. I have little interest in them securing prisoners, and the endless negotiations needed to free them from the efficiency of Imperial bureaucracy."

Aurelian was frank in his assessment about the probably outcome, which she appreciated. There was no need to sugar coat things. Accurate information was by far more valuable than creative imaginings.

She'd thought to comment about their readiness, however, when he leaned in closer to confide something more. Dominique expression grew faintly harder when she heard the news. Sibylla was on Corellia? Of course, she would be. "If you hear any news about her location, I trust you'll let me know." Especially if she were captured.

The Chancellor had just finished the little tête-à-tête saying those of the Empire and Republic shared certain qualities in common. There might be one they did not share, and it could require a much firmer hand if the time came.

"Were I in their position, neither would I. Even without the reports of their Intelligence Operatives influencing events, the Galactic Empire's movements are far from subtle or difficult to read." Despite the lack of guile, however, they did not lack in means of securing what they wanted. A formidable opponent. What else should they expect after their construction of a Death Star?

After conversing with Aurelian Veruna , a broadcast was received by the Republic fleet from Aiden Porte and put on speaker for Dominique to hear. Golden rings vanished for a moment behind their lids before they opened once more. "Not even so much of a 'by your leave.' They really do lean too havily on the presumption that because they are not part of the government their actions have no consequences." And by 'they' Dominique meant the Jedi Order. As per their usual. "Force be with them."

A broadcast swiftly backed up by another before the Chancellor had finished turning from the communication officer. Lily Decoria shouted about the Empire opening fire on civilians and engaging in a massacre. Dominique's lips thinned in response.

She turned and cast her eyes out the viewport in the direction of the Imperial blockade. Under different circumstances, the Republic would be pressed to respond to such a plea. These were not those circumstances. Help would come at the cost of all out war. It was a cold calculus, but a necessary one. If they had overwhelming firepower with which to deter a response by the Empire they could do it.

A gaze turned toward Aurelian Veruna once more. No words were issued. If he had a thought to signal whether any unofficial help might arrive that was what Dominique sought. She slowly drifted closer to him once more, her voice soft, "Make certain the Jedi are evacuated as well." Her countenance was no one of soft concern of life loss, but cast toward what might follow should the wrong people end up in Imperial hands. The fewer that might be trapped planetside the easier to disavow any knowledge of their actions.

Hardly seemed difficult to assert that given how they thought to use the Republic as a means to protecting people rather than a partner. Were they coordinating their efforts through some liaison not mired in battle below?

"Can we get any recording devices down there?" It might be cold comfort to the people of Corellia, but any scrap of evidence could help bolster interstellar response to the Galactic Empire. Perhaps, in time, they might be able to give back some of the freedoms lost this day. None of the lives, of course, but the Republic had not come to Corellia with the intention to wage war.

Aurelian Veruna | Ayumi Pallopides | Cynan Obaith | Zark San Tekka | Elian Abrantes
Aiden Porte | Lily Decoria | Mishel | Abel Denko
Aparitae Desyk | Redak Boyd​

 

[Abel Denko]

PLAZA, KOR VELLA

The reports that crackled across the comm had been difficult to listen to even before the dropship broke atmosphere. Fragmented accounts carried on panicked breaths and screaming channels that spoke of citizens brutalized in the open, of bodies burning in ritual, of people lighting themselves aflame or being forced into fire while chanting the names of false gods. Each word struck like a hammer, not because the cruelty was unfamiliar, but because it was intimate, deliberate, and meant to hollow a people from the inside out.

Abel Denko seethed in silence as the city rose to meet them through smoke and ash. He had long accepted the Galactic Empire as an evil born of fear and dominance, a regime that had once placed a blaster to the galaxy’s temple and dared anyone to blink. This was something worse. This was a hand pressed to the mouth of a world while the blade slid in slow, and Abel felt something ancient and unforgiving coil tight behind his ribs. He would not stand for it. None of the Jedi would.

The hatch opened, heat rushing in like a living thing, and Alina was already gone, a streak of white and gold cutting cleanly through the ruin below. Abel followed a heartbeat later, stepping into open air without hesitation, letting the Force surge up through his legs and spine as the ground rushed toward him. He fell like a thrown spear, momentum arrested at the last instant as power flared beneath him, stone fracturing outward when he struck in a kneeling impact that sent smoke and embers billowing in a violent ring around his landing point.

He rose from the crater with deliberate calm, shoulders rolling as if shedding the descent itself, ash sliding from his cloak in slow cascades. His lightsaber ignited in his right hand with a clean, resonant snap, its glow cutting a hard line through the smoke, while the light-shield flared to life along his left bracer, translucent and steady, a quiet promise of defiance made manifest.

Abel turned his gaze toward the chaos unfolding around them, toward the inferno and the civilians caught between madness and fear. When he spoke his voice carried like a vow laid across the battlefield, low and certain, shaped by resolve rather than rage.

“By my sword...” he said, the words as unyielding as the blade in his hand, “they will be judged.”​

Tag: Aiden Porte , Mishel , Alina Grayson

 

[Aurelian Veruna]

Location:
Tags: Dominique Vexx | Aparitae Desyk | Ayumi Pallopides | Cynan Obaith

Aurelian barely masked his reaction as the new reports rolled in. Extremist cult. Civilian burnings. Mass casualties. He closed his eyes for half a second, then opened them again. Of course it had turned into this. The Jedi broadcasts followed, raw and furious. He felt the familiar mix of irritation and relief. Heroics. Loud ones. Good. Let them draw the fire.

"They're down there," he said quietly, more to himself than anyone else. Jedi never stayed out of the fire when it started. They ran toward it and dared the galaxy to follow. That instinct had ruined wars and saved lives in equal measure. Today, it could be useful.

Dominique's glance told him she was thinking the same thing, even if she wouldn't say it aloud.

Aurelian leaned closer to the console, pulling up projected flight paths and Imperial coverage zones. "We can send non- military transports," he said. "Lightly crewed. Fast burn in, faster burn out. No markings. Soldiers aboard, just enough to hold a perimeter. Pack the rest with recording gear." His mouth tightened. "If the Empire wants to pretend this is order, let's make sure the galaxy sees what that order looks like."

His fingers hovered over the display, already adjusting vectors. The risk was obvious. Interception. Boarding. A single turbolaser shot and everything went to hell. He accepted that risk without ceremony. There were worse ones.

He looked back to Dominique. "The Jedi will keep attention planetside. They can't help themselves. Let them play hero." A faint, dangerous smile touched his mouth. "While they draw eyes and guns, we pull out every Republic operative we can. Citizens first. Assets second. Jedi last."

He straightened, expression hardening. "If Imperial batteries light up our transports, we answer. Not with a fleet advance. Clean. Precise. Enough to make them think twice about calling it an accident."

His thoughts snapped back to Sibylla. Kor Vella. Smoke and shouting. Her voice steady even when everything else burned. He shoved the image aside and forced focus. Get her out. Everything else was noise.

"She's my priority," he said, voice low. "I need a clear window for her extraction. I don't care if the Jedi complicate things as long as they buy us time."

Aurelian glanced once more at the Imperial formation. Still perfect. Still smug.

"Let them stare at the heroes," he said. "We'll do the quiet work."

​

 

[Cynan Obaith]

Objective: 1
Outfit: Duster Jacket suit
Allies: Dominique Vexx | Aurelian Veruna | Elian Abrantes
Opposition: Aparitae Desyk | Redak Boyd

Cynan watched the ongoing discussion between the high chancellor and the imperials. He was impressed to see unwilling she was to back down from the pressures that the imperials were given. It was a tricky situation and Cynan knew that he would be less careful with his word selections and attitude. There was little time that Cynan had for those that desired to oppress and harm innocent lives who were trying to live the best lives they could for themselves and their loved ones.

He did notice that the King hid a smile at Cynan's comments. Something that the lord took great pride in, not everyone could make the King of Naboo nearly crack like that. Moving closer to them, he listened to what the king had to say about the growing situation and the assessment made about having to be very cautious since they could not afford to begin a war.

"Pardon any intrusion I may be doing here, but I must side with my king here. Even though I strongly believe we should be fighting for the liberty of Corellia, right now we do not have the resources to end this tyranny." Cynan interjected in a low voice, still desiring to keep his voice down and away from the ears of the imperials. "I can organise my guards and humanitarian support for the kingsguard and other High Republic forces." Cynan offered as additional work to be done.

"The humanitarian aid could also remain or continue to operate after this, offering food and medical aid. While doing so, they could also be an effective spy network to provide some insight on what is going on. So if war ends up being inevitable, we can have more awareness of what is going on planet side." Cynan stated, it was something he was aiming to have them do something similar when Cynan had the chance to develop them further as an organisation.

 

[Sibylla Abrantes]

​

Location: Kor Vella
Interacting with: Remowa
Nearby somewhere: Cassian 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

The moment it happened, the world seemed to tilt.

Sibylla's breath left her in a sharp, silent gasp as Lady Marthis Deyn collapsed, then Ralo Venn, then Calon Prex -- one by one, their lives extinguished with such casual, amused cruelty. Horror swept over her heart shaped face unchecked, hazel eyes going wide as her mouth parted in shock, as if words might somehow pull air back into their lungs.

They did not. The oppressive sense of the Force pressed down with merciless delight at the beck and call of the Darkside Elite, and Sibylla felt it even without touching it, that suffocating weight and terrible finality as their bodies fell in an agonizing torment that wrecked their bodies. It was an ugly, terrible death. And watching it unfold only augmented what Sibylla was coming to know about the cruelty of those who would use the Force to end an innocent life without regard or shame. There was no helping how adrenaline surged through her veins, followed immediately by a hotter, angrier, flash of a far more dangerous revelation.

This was madness, and that woman was insane.

So this was the Empire.

The Death Star over Atrisia had been a horrifying broadcast of the sheer amount ofnumbers and names it had taken, all scrolling past a screen. This was not. This was intimate and up close in all its savagery. Watching a woman snuff out lives without hesitation, without remorse, and then turn with a self satisfied smile to place the blame at Sibylla's feet. The injustice of it hit her so hard she nearly staggered, fury and revulsion twisting together in her chest even as the fire outside continued its relentless advance, flames licking closer, smoke darkening the sky beyond the glasteel.

For a heartbeat, fear threatened to lock her in place, icy fingers tightening around her spine.

Then Aurelian's voice shot through her mind with the utmost clarity -- If they think you're soft, use it. Let them underestimate you. Do whatever it takes to survive.

Survive.

Sibylla drew in a shaky breath and forced herself to straighten, even as her hands trembled faintly at her sides. Her eyes burned as she looked at the bodies, then back to Remowa, shock hardening into a colder, more resolute form. Dominique knew she was here. Aurelian knew. Cassian had her last coordinates. She would not die here, not like this and certainly not by this crazed woman's hand.

And while her voice wavered slightly with grief, disbelief, and horror, it slowly began to thicken with steel.

"Are you mad?! You killed them," Sibylla exclaimed, the words leaving her with stunned clarity, outrage cutting cleanly through the shock,"Unarmed diplomats and civilians!"

The flames outside roared louder, reflected in her eyes. She swallowed hard, fear still very much alive but she refused to look away.

"If you want a spectacle," Sibylla continued, her voice settling into calm control as she lifted her chin, defiant despite her racing heart, "then take me. Arrest me. Parade me through your Imperial courts if it pleases you. But do not pretend that this was anything other than murder."

"Sibylla," he said, voice low and urgent, eyes still tracking targets through the smoke. "Talk to me. Are you safe?"

Cassian's voice crackled through her comm, and in a flash fear ignited once more that the message would be heard by Remowa . But then again, at this point, it did not matter.

She wasn't alone.

And after Kalantha, the Republic would not tolerate any threats against its diplomatic envoy.

 

[Remowa]

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

As the flames blazed against the building and black smog started to swirl around the ceiling due to the extreme heat, Remowa merely hummed a soft melody while Sibylla Abrantes ' expressions shifted quickly from disbelief to anger, ultimately resting on a stance of defiance against the Dark Side Elite.

It was a courageous facade, even with the bodies scattered around her and the looming threat of being imprisoned in an Imperial Jail Cell for the falsely accused crime of murdering innocent councilors and civilians. The official narrative that would emerge by the end of the day was irrelevant; what truly mattered was the Galactic Empire demonstrating its supremacy over Corellia by any means necessary now that official negotiations had broken down.

She began to walk with a slow pace, closing the distance between them without a hint of urgency.

She certainly didn't look like a woman fleeing from a burning building; rather, she resembled someone leisurely walking through the Imperial Gardens, completely unfazed by the envoy's accusation of Murder. The gentle click of her boots gradually slowed to a halt as she positioned herself directly in front of Sibylla, her shadow once again encroaching upon the unfortunate woman.

For a brief moment, she simply stared at the envoy, perhaps contemplating the idea of having her taken away in handcuffs to an Imperial Transport. However, in an instant, her menacing smile vanished, replaced by sheer boredom, as if she were gazing at a piece of fruit that had lingered on the vine just a day too long to be of any use.

Spoiler: Permission from Writer

Suddenly, Remowa's hand struck out. Her sharpened nails, enhanced by the previous polishing, glinted in the firelight for just a moment before they slashed into the Envoy's face. The claws scraped diagonally across her skin, leaving behind a jagged trail of crimson.

She didn't stay to watch the blood well up or to hear whatever cry of pain might follow.

Turning on her heel, Remowa stepped toward the jagged opening she had ripped into the wall. She didn't offer a parting threat or a clever quip. She simply walked out into the orange haze of the burning city, the black lipstick on her mouth set in a thin, neutral line.

As she disappeared into the smoke, Sibylla was already forgotten. To the Dark Side Elite, the girl was nothing more than a speck of dust to be flicked from her sleeve and left to burn in the ruins.

 

[Bastila Sal-Soren]

The Republic fleet continued to hold its silent vigil above Corellia, most had their hull lights dimmed, shields humming at readiness. A silent breath before the dive. Below, the planet burned in patches, Corellia was not yet aflame as a whole, but it was fractured, the situation turning volatile faster then anyone could comprehend. Violence did not spread evenly here, instead it erupted and flared before it vanished, and reappeared elsewhere, as if Corellia itself were trying to decide what it could endure.
Bastila Sal-Soren sat cross-legged in a shuttle alcove that was adjoining one of the main hangars, her eyes closed and hands resting lightly against her knees. She had not long ago shut out the bridge feeds, the constant chatter from Aurelian and the Chancellor, the constant pressure to observe what was going on down there.

There was an understanding in her that had appeared not long before her blackout, that this was not a situation that would be solved by watching.

She took a deep, breath in.

The Force answered, and not gently.

It was wrong here. Not dark like the Sith worlds, it wasn't corrupted in any singular way, but it was strained. Like metal bent too far without breaking, screaming silently under pressure. Millions of lives pressed together in fear and motion. Orders shouted. Blasters fired. Convictions clashing with consequences.

She let herself sink through it, layer by layer, past the noise and the sharp edges. She knew that the situation on Corellia was larger then this, but she had one job to do, one singular purpose that while it had not been her assignment on this day, she knew she was the only one who could truly help.

Find her.

At first, there was only interference. Too many minds. Too much fear. Corellia resisted being read.

Bastila steadied herself, narrowing her focus until the galaxy fell away, leaving only a familiar shape she knew how to reach for.

Sibylla.

The connection was imperfect, smeared by distance and to much motion; but it was unmistakable when she did find it. Resolve edged with fatigue. Focus wrapped around urgency. A presence moving because stopping was not an option.

Most importantly she was alive.

The certainty struck her hard enough that she opened her eyes.

She rose immediately.

There was no announcement. No briefing. No request. Bastila moved through the hangar with quiet purpose as the shuttle crew reacted on instinct, scrambling to clear a path as the boarding ramp lowered.

A single clone trooper fell into step beside her without hesitation.

“Handmaiden,” he said by way of acknowledgment, helmet tucked under one arm.

She inclined her head once. That was enough.

Moments later, the shuttle disengaged, engines flaring as it peeled away from the fleet and angled toward Corellia’s upper atmosphere. The planet swelled in the viewport, green and blue beauty smeared by smoke plumes already visible even from orbit.

Bastila closed her eyes again as they descended, reaching once more for her charge. She wasn’t searching now, but instead tracking, her hand placing destination keys into the shuttle’s systems so that the pilots could navigate the chaos below.

Across the channels she heard a scattering of voices. One overly familiar to her stood out enough.

“Aurelian.” She didn’t need to introduce herself. He knew her voice better then anyone. “I’ll get her.”

Then it hit her.

Agony tore across her face, sudden and vicious, like a blade dragged from cheek to jaw. Bastila gasped, one hand flying up instinctively as pain echoed through her senses, it wasn’t her own, but it had been close enough to steal her breath.

Sibylla.

Hurt. Not mortal, not yet, but sharp and violent, immediate pain.

Bastila pressed her palm to her face, teeth clenched, grounding herself through the shock. The shuttle shook as it cut through turbulence, flames licking across the hull.

The Clone was at her side in an instant. “Contact?” he asked, already bracing, already moving to action.

“We need to go faster,” Bastila said, voice low but steady despite the pain still ringing behind her eyes. “We need to get to her three minutes ago.”

The pain faded to a throb, but the urgency did not. If anything, it sharpened.

The shuttle burst through the cloud layer, city lights flashing beneath smoke and fire as Cassian’s coordinates locked in like an automatic relay, Bastila’s passes and codes allowing an instant connection with his own and immediately locking onto Sibylla’s connection as well. They were close now. Too close for delay.

Bastila straightened, hand falling back to her side, her saber removed from her belt and a blaster was checked in the holster at her thigh.

“I’m not losing her,” she said, it wasn’t to the Clone, nor to the ship, but said perhaps to the Force itself. An oath made in the moment.

The shuttle screamed toward the surface, its rear access hatch opening to allow the violence of the air to flow around her, whipping her robes and hair around like it meant nothing to it.

And Bastila went with it.

Her form dropped to the ground and for the first time since she was a child Bastila was back on Corellia, the ancestral home of her family.

And she couldn’t care less.

OUTFIT: XoXo | TAG: Sibylla Abrantes Cassian Abrantes Loken Aurelian Veruna Dominique Vexx Remowa EQUIPMENT:

​

 

[Lily Decoria]

Objective: 2 - Protect the protestors
Outfit: Jedi Attire
Equipment: Arwr Da, Hydrangea Moonblade (concealed)
Ally: Malcolm Ironmaster
Opposition: Sid Berik

Lily held no fear for her own life, not out of arrogance or misjudgement of the situation, there was too much priority focus in her mind on ensure the safety of the lives behind her. The silver eyes focused and she maintained a strong barrier that would deflect the attempts to fire upon the crowd directly behind Lily or at the Jedi herself. She breathed in deeply, her message was sent out. The call for aid was made and the galaxy would know that the Galactic Empire were all too happy to fire upon its citizens with little provocation. That the fear of even a little hint of rebellion was a massive concern to their fragile egos.

Ironic since the harder they squeezed like this, the more determined people would become in fighting back.

Hearing the voice of another Jedi, Lily looked over to them and nodded her head, "we need to make sure everyone is unharmed and these imperials are left alone." She called out to the other Jedi, Lily then turned her attention back towards the imperials and breathed out slowly. The barrier wasn't a perfect measure but it would hold back a decent amount of their attacks.

"End this massacre now! This injustice goes no further!" Lily growled loudly as she remained firm in her stance. It did not matter the numbers. It did not matter their experiences. Lily wasn't just another Jedi. And she wasn't someone who stood aside and allowed atrocities like this to happen without consequence. Lily had been trained to survive, battle hardened and worked her life to fight on the frontlines against evils like this. There was no concern or sense of fear in her eyes as she started down the stormtrooper who seemed to be the one in charge.

If there was going to be a fight then she was going to ensure that they all regretted thinking that they could handle a warrior like her.

 

[Malcolm Ironmaster]

Tags: Lily Decoria

Malcolm nodded. "On it. Master Malcolm Ironmaster, at your service, by the way," he said, snapping his blue saber on. "These monsters won't take any more innocent lives today. Today, we are all the Republic. For Light and Life." He settled into a defensive stance, ready for when the barrier failed.

 

[Redak Boyd]

| All Imperial Forces
| All Republic Forces

OBJECTIVE ONE-Diplomacy

Things were getting out of hand. It was true that the Republic forces were posturing, their efforts to destabilise the Imperial presence and their ordained authority seeming to work.

What troubled Redak most was not the audacity of the manoeuvres, but their coordination. This was not the work of scattered insurgents or opportunistic agitators. It bore the mark of intent, rehearsed and patient, a slow tightening of pressure rather than a sudden strike.
Redak sighed, frustrated at the reports that were coming in.
Each data-slate told the same story in a different dialect of numbers and casualty projections. Trade lanes disrupted. Planetary security units stretched thin. Civilian sentiment charts dipping into unfavourable gradients. None of it catastrophic in isolation, but together they painted a picture he did not like.

Things had escalated beyond measure and the Vizier would not be happy.
That thought alone carried weight. The Vizier did not tolerate improvisation masquerading as initiative, nor disorder justified as necessity. Redak could already imagine the silence that would follow the briefing, the careful stillness that preceded correction.
He looked around the command deck and took note of those present; his report would require such.

Faces were drawn, lit from below by hololithic projections and status readouts. Officers stood with rigid posture that could not quite conceal fatigue. A few glanced at him, then away again, as if hoping his gaze might pass over them when the accounting was done.
For now, he would attempt to take the heat out of the matter.

Stability first. Control second. Reprimand later. There was no virtue in allowing pride or doctrine to inflame a situation already teetering on the edge of open confrontation.

"System wide-all Imperial Forces. This is a deescalation order. Hold positions and maintain all sanctioned cordens. Lethal force is prohibited unless absolutely necessary."

His voice carried evenly across the deck and out into the system beyond, clipped and precise, stripped of emotion by long habit. He watched the confirmation lights bloom one by one as units acknowledged receipt, a constellation of compliance flickering into place.
He hoped this would recalibrate the chaos on Corellia.

Hope was not a strategic asset, he knew that well enough, but it was sometimes all that stood between order and momentum slipping entirely out of Imperial hands.

 

[Malcolm Ironmaster]

Objective: 2 - Protect the Protesters
Ally: Lily Decoria
Opposition: Sid Berik

Staring down the stormtroopers, Malcolm entered a meditative state, reaching out to touch the Force in preparation for the battle to come. Like a mantra, he softly said, "I am one with the Force, and the Force is with me. I will fear nothing, for all is as the Force wills it." The blade of his saber hummed, casting his rugged features in an electric blue glow.

 

[Da'Razel]

CORELLIA - KOR VELLA - PLAZA

TAGS OPEN TO ALL
Tag Direct: N/A
Tag Indirect: Aiden Porte | Wuxia Wukong | Feng Huang | Cassian Abrantes | Balun Dashiell | Cerys Dyn | Mishel | Alina Grayson

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

The fire surged eager to draw forward, hungry and righteous.

But their advance was halted. Lightbearers…

A Knight. Blue blade. Eyes hard with righteous certainty.

Parting sacred flames like a curtain torn asunder.

Then came the others.

A crater bloomed in the street behind the first, stone fracturing outward as a second figure rose from the impact like judgment given form. A Master. Lightsaber in one hand, light-shield shimmering on his bracer. Behind him, a streak of white and gold already cutting through the smoke. More followed. A Padawan with hunger barely leashed. Another Master, conserving her strength with efficient precision. Warriors all, drawn to the screaming and the fire like moths to sacred flame.

The audacity of it quickened something molten in his chest.

Jedis. Here. Standing between the faithful and their divine purpose, wielding the Light as though it were anything more than a flailing candle against the furnace of the God-Emperor's will.

The Kotjontû blazed in his grip, its Barab core bleeding heat through Quadanium seams, casting his gilded armor in hellish orange relief.

The cultists behind him swelled with fervor, their chanting rising to meet the confrontation. This was the moment. The false prophet had revealed himself. The Saint of Fire need only…

His vox crackled.

The encrypted transmission cut through the cacophony of faith like a blade through flesh.

The cipher was unmistakable: Imperial High Command. Priority override. The words that followed were clipped, clinical, bearing the unmistakable cadence of bureaucratic authority.

"System wide-all Imperial Forces. This is a deescalation order. Hold positions and maintain all sanctioned cordens. Lethal force is prohibited unless absolutely necessary."

Da'Razel's grip tightened on his warhammer until the servos in his gauntlet whined in protest.

You do not leash a saint, he wanted to scream. You do not muzzle the voice of God.

Fury rose in him like magma through a fissure.

His blood roared with the injustice of it. Here, here at the threshold of holy victory, with the false prophets laid bare and the fires of purification spreading the God-Emperor's truth, and now the soft-bellied administrators in orbit demanded restraint.

They who had never felt the sacred heat.

They who counted lives in ledgers and weighed souls against political convenience.

Parasites feeding on power they did not earn and could not wield.

Da'Razel had watched their kind infest the halls of Coruscant like termites in holy timber. Fat. Complacent. Unworthy of the thrones they soiled with their presence.

And yet.

And yet.

The God-Emperor's chain of command was divine in its own right. To serve was to obey. To obey was to sacrifice, not merely flesh, but pride.

The will of the faithful must bow to the will of the whole, even when that whole was governed by lesser men. This was the burden of the truly devout. This was the price of sacred service.

Da'Razel exhaled slowly, the sound hissing through his vocoder like steam escaping a pressure valve.

"Halt."

The fire worm shuddered to a stop. Flamers lowered. Torches dimmed. The red-robed acolytes turned as one toward their Saint, exchanging uncertain glances but obeyed, their fervor banked but not extinguished.

"The heavens have spoken," he declared, his voice resonating across the smoke-choked street.

The Saint surveyed the column behind him: hundreds of the faithful, soot-stained and wild-eyed, trembling with unspent violence. But among them walked others. Converts. Those who had witnessed the truth of the God-Emperor's love and chosen submission over immolation. Shop owners who had knelt rather than burn. Families who had accepted the mark of ash and oil. The desperate. The hollow. The reborn.

"Bring the converts forward. Gather the believers. Those who have witnessed the truth this day, let them be counted among us. Let them hear the word of the God-Emperor and know that salvation was always within reach."

He moved among them now with the gentleness of a shepherd tending wounded flock. His massive armored form, still radiating heat, still trailing smoke, bent low to touch foreheads, to cup tear-streaked faces, to whisper blessings that only the faithful could hear.

"You have chosen wisely," he murmured to a woman clutching two children to her chest. "The God-Emperor sees your faith. He welcomes you into His light."

She wept. Whether from terror or relief or genuine conversion, it did not matter.

When he had blessed the last of them, Da'Razel ascended a shattered fountain at the intersection's center, its waters long since boiled away, its stone blackened by his passing.

He turned then, gore-red visor sweeping toward the Republic lines where the Jedi and their precious refugees huddled behind barriers of light and good intentions.

The Saints vocoder boomed his words with perfect, surgical clarity across the gap between salvation and damnation.

"And what of you, Jedi?"

"You stand there clutching your little light, so proud of the lives you've pulled from the fire. But tell me, what have you saved them from?"

Da'Razel began to pace, slow and deliberate, addressing not just the Jedi but the crowds on both sides, his faithful and the frightened alike.

"You offer them... what? Refugee camps? Displacement? A life of wandering from one crumbling Republic world to the next, chased by the same chaos that consumed the Alliance?" A low, contemptuous laugh rumbled through his vocoder. "You save their bodies and abandon their souls. You pull them from the flame only to cast them into the cold."

His gilded gauntlets rose to swash the air as if to free himself of the pesky stench.

"The Jedi preach peace. Harmony. Balance." The words dripped with disdain. "Pretty lies for pretty temples. But where was your peace when Atrisia burned? Where was your harmony when the Alliance shattered like glass? Where is your balance now, as you scramble through the ruins of yet another world you failed to protect? Where was your harmony when the galaxy needed it most?"

Da'Razel spread his arms wide, encompassing the burning city, the smoke-filled sky, the fleets circling overhead like carrion birds.

"You have no answers. You have only retreat. Only mercy, that hollow virtue you cling to because it costs you nothing."

He lowered his arms, voice dropping to something almost intimate.

"The God-Emperor offers something you never could. Purpose. A place in the grand design where every soul, every soul, has meaning. Even in death. Especially in death."

Behind him, the congregation had settled into kneeling positions, heads bowed, hands clasped. The sermon had begun in earnest now, acolytes moving through the ranks with censers of Korriban incense, filling the air with that sweet-sick sacred smoke.

"This world belongs to the Empire. These people are Imperial citizens. And you... you are trespassers. Interlopers. Heretics playing at heroism on soil that is not yours to defend."

His voice lowered, become almost intimated, despite his contempt. "But you may take your refugees, false prophets. Gather your wounded. Flee with whatever scraps of hope you can carry."

He knelt down before his congregation, raising his hands in benediction.

"But know this: every soul you 'save' today will live in doubt. They will remember the fire. They will remember the certainty they glimpsed in the eyes of the faithful. And one day, perhaps tomorrow, perhaps years hence, they will return to us."

His voice rose, filling the street, drowning out the distant sounds of combat and sirens.

"Because mercy fades. Compassion exhausts itself. But faith..."

The congregation answered as one, voices joining in sacred chorus:

"Faith is eternal!."

Da'Razel bowed his head, leading them in prayer, while the fires he had kindled continued to smolder across Kor Vella, banked but not extinguished.

 

[Cassian Abrantes]

Tags: Sibylla Abrantes Bastila Sal-Soren Dominique Vexx Aurelian Veruna ​

No response. Just the faint hiss of the encrypted channel and the distant roar of fire.

His stomach tightened, but he did not freeze. If Sibylla was pinned, if comms were jammed, if she had gone quiet by necessity, then the only answer was distance closed fast and clean.

Cassian broke into a hard run, cutting through smoke and sirens, following the last known coordinates on his HUD. The city fought him every step, crowds surging, debris in the streets, heat shimmering off burning storefronts. He shoved past a toppled speeder shell, vaulted a fallen barrier, and kept moving, breath steady through the mask of discipline he wore like armor.

Another shuttle screamed overhead and dropped into a nearby intersection, repulsors blasting ash into spirals. The ramp hit, and a Jedi stepped out, cloak snapping, posture calm in a way the street could not afford.

Cassian did not slow, he found the Jedi's gaze. No words. No introduction. Just a brief, silent recognition: same direction, same urgency, same name at the center of it.

It didn't take them much longer to arrive to her location, weaving through the chaos to get to her.

"Sibylla, can you hear me?!"

 

[Loken]

Loken had learned, over the so far very short course of his service, that there were moments when orders stopped mattering. That occasionally he had to go against that command node in his head every so slightly.

This was one of those times.

The shuttle screamed its way through Corellia’s upper atmosphere, hull plates rattling as turbulence clawed at them. Warning lights flashed amber, then red, then steadied again as the pilot wrestled the craft back onto its descent vector. Loken stayed planted near the ramp, boots magnet-locked to the deck, one hand braced against a support rail.

He’d been never been planetside before. Corellia was said to never be quiet; not even in peace time, but this was something else, something different. The city below wasn’t just alive; it was breaking under it’s own pressure. Smoke columns marked where fighting had already burned hot enough to scar the skyline. Traffic patterns were chaotic and non-controlled. Emergency beacons flared and died in quick succession.

Across from him, The Handmaiden; Bastila if he remembered his conditioning correctly, stood with her eyes closed, one hand pressed briefly to her face before she forced it back down. Loken had seen men take shrapnel with less reaction than whatever had just hit her.

That wasn’t fear.

That was pain and strangely not hers.

He didn’t ask how he knew. He just knew.

“We need to go faster,” Bastila said, when he stepped closer, her calm voice almost broke through her clenched jaw. “We need to get to her three minutes ago.”

Loken nodded once. That was all the confirmation he needed, his helmet showing as much emotion as his face beneath did.

He keyed his comm to internal squad frequency, even though there was no squad with him now. An old habit. An old comfort. Active insertion, urban hot zone, escorting priority asset. The words went nowhere, but saying them grounded him.

He checked his rifle, then checked it again. Power cell seated. Safety off. Blaster held loose but ready.

He glanced at Bastila. He noted how Jedi moved differently when they were focused. It was not tense, nor was it relaxed. It was just; Aligned. He also noted that she wasn’t pacing, like many of the civilian assets did in these situations. She also wasn’t bracing like he was. She stood as if the shuttle were already beneath her feet, the city already mapped in her mind.

Whatever bond she had with Sibylla, it wasn’t theoretical.

The shuttle lurched hard as flak fire reached up from the lower districts. The pilot swore over the intercom, adjusting course.

“Two minutes out,” the voice barked. “Landing won’t be clean.”

“Never is,” Loken muttered, more to himself than anyone else.

He moved to stand half a step ahead of Bastila, not to block or shepherd her, it was just there. Clones were made to be shields. Some habits didn’t need orders.

When the landing thrusters fired, the impact rattled teeth. The ramp slammed down into smoke and heat, the noise of the city flooding in all at once: blaster fire in the distance, shouting, sirens, the deep thunder of something collapsing not far away.

Cassian’s coordinates blinked on Loken’s HUD. He was close. Yet still too close to everything else going wrong.

He raised his rifle and scanned the street beyond the ramp, then leaped out after Bastila who had already exited the shuttle. His jet repulsor ignited just before he hit the ground to maintain his landing. His helmet glanced back at Bastila.

“Clear.” he said.

She met his eyes briefly, steady, resolute, carrying something fierce beneath the calm and then inclined her head. “I know.”

Then they moved.

Into the smoke. Into the noise. Into the kind of mission no one ever planned for, but every clone understood the moment it began.

Get in. Get her out.

And don’t hesitate.

Sibylla Abrantes Cassian Abrantes Aurelian Veruna Dominique Vexx​

 

[Dominique Vexx]

Dominique listened to Aurelian's proposal. It wasn't without risk, but neither was having two fleets standing toe-to-toe in orbit of a planet. All it took was an 'accident' of shooting the wrong ship or an errant bombarding of the planet with a stray shot. Safer play was to do nothing, but it wasn't the right one.

Most people wouldn't appreciate the calculus involved in moments like these. Corpos were just shy of Sith-evil if you asked certain parties. Heartless, soulless drones that only cared for credits. Action or inaction in times like these could be viewed as a matter of credits or -- more importantly -- influence. The Republic fleet would lose respect in their leader if they turned a blind eye to Corellia and let the Empire run rampant as they will.

One had to maintain poise and decorum despite the emotional turmoil of the moment.

Then the Chancellor straightened slightly at Aurelian's low addition. Yes, poise and decorum. That was precisely what Dominique sought to portray when it came to word about Sibylla being trapped in a war zone on the planet below. If anything happened to her, Dominique would hold the Empire personally responsible for it. Aloud she'd recognize any Republic citizen would be pursued, but privately Dominique knew her objectively was threatened when it came to Sibylla.

When one had as few, genuine friends as she did, one tended to be a touch protective.

Before Dominique made any brief remark, Cynan stepped forward and drew her attention. "Understand that anyone participating in such action will be disavowed if caught." Her golden eyes met the other man's to make certain the harsh truth had already been accepted as a consequence of what was on the table. "I can fight for citizens swept up in a drag net. Any overtly found to engaging in rebellion will be out of reach." Unless the Republic got hold of a valuable Imperial operative in turn and the governments engaged in a trade, but that was hardly something to hedge your bets on.

"Let's do what we can, gentlemen. The people of Corellia should not suffer so the coffers of a few are filled." Ironic coming from a Corpo such as herself, perhaps, but Dominique personally walked a fine line.

Aurelian Veruna | Cynan Obaith | Ayumi Pallopides | Elian Abrantes | Bastila Sal-Soren | Sibylla Abrantes
Aparitae Desyk | Redak Boyd​

 

[Aiden Porte]

Kor Vella
Direct: Da'Razel Alina Grayson Mishel Abel Denko Feng Huang Wuxia Wukong
Indirect: Dominique Vexx Aurelian Veruna
​

Aiden felt it before he saw it.

The smoke still choked the boulevard, and the fires still smoldered behind the cult's line, but something in the air changed, like a current finding its direction. The panic that had been a constant roar softened at the edges. Not gone. Just…steadied. As if the city had remembered how to breathe.

He heard it too: the subtle change in cadence. The way civilians stopped running in blind bursts and began moving in tighter groups. The way comm chatter sharpened into clear callouts instead of fear-soaked fragments. The way even the cult's chanting faltered for half a beat, as if something unseen had stepped closer.

Aiden's grip stayed relaxed on his hilt, but his senses widened.

Three presences touched the field like lights kindling across a dark ridge, distinct, familiar.

​

"On your left, Knight Porte."

"Heard you needed a hand?"

“By my sword...” he said, the words as unyielding as the blade in his hand, “they will be judged.”

"You three are welcome sight. Shiraya's hope is assiting with the civlians, we need to shut this massacre down, and it can start with him." The Jedi Knight pointd towards Da'Razel in the distance. His voice filled the air.

Aiden did not rise to the sermon.

He let Da'Razel's last words hang in the smoke, heavy with borrowed certainty, and then he cut through them with something simpler. Truer. The kind of truth that did not need a chorus.

His saber hummed softly at his side, blue light painting the ash on the street and the edges of frightened faces. Aiden's eyes stayed on the Saint of Flame, steady and clear.

"This is over," Aiden said.

"You can dress it in prayer and incense," he continued, voice even. "But what you did here is murder. What you are doing is genocide. There is no doctrine that redeems it."

The congregation shifted, some tightening their kneel as if bracing for impact. Aiden felt their fear and their fervor, and he did not lash at it. He simply refused to let it become an excuse for more bodies.

"You condemned yourself the moment you set innocents on fire," Aiden said, and the words landed like a door shutting. For a moment, the street held its breath.

The Jedi Knight moved with a calm, effectiveness that could seemingly rival his fathers, Aiden began his advance along the right side, as Mishel had taken the left. that could leave Alina and Abel to take the center.

 

[Alina Grayson]

Alina stepped forward past the trio that stood by her side.

She did not posture, nor did she raise her blade in defiance or lift her voice above the thunder. Instead, she simply walked through the haze, through the broken city, until the smoke parted around her presence like it recognized something it could not consume.

She did not need to shout to be heard.

Where Da'Razel stood in fire, she stood in stillness. Where he demanded attention through noise and fury, she commanded it with quiet authority.

White and gold armor caught the firelight but did not bow to it. Her long, golden hair spilled across her pauldrons, untouched by ash, her lightsaber was active in her right hand and burned gold at her side.

Her gaze lifted to the Saint of Fire, calm and unwavering.

"You speak of meaning like it must be forged in blood," Alina said, her voice carrying through the broken plaza with a clarity born of the Force itself. "Of faith, as though it justifies the horror you’ve left behind you. You bless children who watched their homes burn. You call surrender salvation."

She stepped past a mother still clutching her child, past a man with ash-streaked cheeks who flinched at Da’Razel’s benediction. Alina’s hand brushed the child’s head gently, her presence a balm against the lingering heat.

"You ask what we offer them?" Her voice stayed quiet, but it rang like steel drawn from its sheath. "We offer them freedom. A chance to choose their path without a blade at their throat or fire at their back."

She let the silence linger for a moment. Then her eyes returned to the Saint.

"You offer them a place in your order but only if they kneel. Only if they accept your God. Only if they burn. That is not purpose. That is coercion. That is fear."

Around her, the refugees did not kneel. They stood tired, injured, weeping, but upright. And behind them, Jedi moved not as soldiers, but as shields. One held a child’s hand. Another was binding a wound.

Just presence. Just protection.

"You talk of Atrisia. Of Alliance failure. Of our shortcomings." Alina’s expression did not shift. It didn't need to. "Yes. We remember. We carry those wounds every day. But we do not justify new ones with the pain of the old."

She turned slightly, allowing her voice to reach not only the Saint, but the faithful behind him the converts, the terrified, the uncertain.

"You want them to believe compassion fades?" Her voice was softer now, but no less firm. "Then watch us stay. Watch us heal. Watch us carry them, over and over again, through ash and ruin if we must. Not because it's easy. Not because it's glorious. But because it is right."

A breath passed. The Force swelled around her, not aggressive, not brimming with power, but alive, anchored. Unshaken.

Then her eyes returned to him fully, and the weight of her presence settled like a quiet truth.

"You burn the world and call it clarity. We stand in your fire and call it a choice."

"And if they come to you in time," she said, not to Da'Razel, but to those watching from behind the Saint, "let it be because they chose to. Not because they were broken into it."

The wind caught her cloak as she turned her head slightly, listening to the rhythm of the street.

"The Force does not ask for submission," Alina said quietly. "Only understanding. Only connection."

And then, after a pause, steady and unwavering:

"Faith? I can tell you about faith. It is hollow, in it you will find no salvation. Only one thing is eternal. Hope."

She did not need a chorus. The silence that followed was her answer.


TAG: Da'Razel Aiden Porte Mishel Abel Denko Feng Huang Wuxia Wukong

 

[Aurelian Veruna]

Location: OBJ I
Tags: Dominique Vexx | Cynan Obaith

Aurelian stood still amid the rising noise, hands braced on the edge of the console as voices stacked over one another in his headset. Status pings. Fragmented feeds. Half-finished sentences cut off by interference. The kind of chaos that never showed itself on holos but lived in command rooms like smoke.

He hated waiting. Always had.

Cynan's voice cut through cleanly enough, grounded and practical. Humanitarian aid, guards folded into Kingsguard operations, eyes and ears that could stay behind when the fleets pulled away. Aurelian turned toward him, really looked this time. Not a courtier. Not posturing.

"That's good work," Aurelian said. His tone softened a fraction. "Organize it. Keep it clean and quiet. If this planet burns further, people will remember who fed them and who didn't." He paused, thinking ahead despite himself. Leaving always felt like failure, even when it was strategy. "We won't be gone forever. The Republic won't accept this standing. Neither will I."

The words settled heavier than he liked. A promise, whether he meant to make one or not.

Another voice came in. Familiar. Steady. Aurelian's head lifted slightly as Bastila keyed in. I'll get her.

His chest loosened in a way he didn't acknowledge aloud. Bastila was already moving. Of course she was. If there was one person he trusted to reach Sibylla through fire and confusion, it was her. Jedi or not, she didn't miss what mattered.

"Copy," he said into the channel, quieter now. "You have priority clearance. All support is yours." The line went dead, but the tension eased just enough for him to breathe again. Sibylla wasn't alone. Not anymore.

A sharp call from comms pulled him back. Aurelian turned, eyes snapping to the officer as new data streamed across the holotable. Imperial orders, system-wide. Deescalation. He stilled, then let out a slow breath through his nose. Good. That meant some Imperial still understood consequences. Or at least feared them.

"Log it," he said. "All batteries stay cold unless fired upon."

He shifted back to the console and keyed a new channel, fingers moving without hesitation. "First transport in," he said. "Switch to clone and Handmaiden frequency. Patch me through."

Static flared, then voices. Boots on pavement. Wind shear. Blaster checks. The sound of a city tearing at its seams. Aurelian leaned closer, forearms resting on the table, eyes fixed on nothing at all.

This was the part he despised. Plans laid. Pieces moved. And then silence where action should be. Kings didn't bleed on the ground. They listened to others do it for them.

He stayed there, jaw tight, dangerous smile gone. Waiting. Listening.

​

 

[Ayumi Pallopides]

Aurelian Veruna Dominique Vexx

Ayumi was listening to what was happening and feeding the information to her ship. The kingsguard seemed preoccupied and she wasn't certain what the others wanted but she was looking at it. THey could move quickly but she was seeing much of the development here as she went. her attention going to the interface as the pilots were showing everything was ready to move. She listened to the king and to Dominique while she moved and spoke. The man she had been asked to coordinate with was busy but she wanted and was prepared to help as her eyes were on the screen to check everything out. "YOur kingsguard is busy coordinating information. Just tell me where to get it and they should be able to help."