Faction The Scars of Kintan (SJO and any/all jedi)

[Weyland Castril]

If there was something Weyland wished he was right now, it wasn't being able to see but rather to be more adjusted. The sight of three Jedi, it was intimidating in its own way. He recognised the three of them as Padawan learners, more competent than others he'd seen but still younger than him. He saw the brightness in them, the levity in their souls, yet still all around them was guilt and pain, each carried their own he supposed. It scared him a little, but it also made him smile - he'd felt the same from some of the soldiers on Baros and Kesh. Somehow he missed it, fighting. He was a stranger in a strange place.

Weyland smiled at Auteme, taking Ryv's hand with a quick shake, nodding to the large one, Aaran as he came up. Even with a great distance between their experiences, he could feel the beginnings of similar feelings among the Jedi before him, replaying events over and over in their heads; it was always hard. Hard not to regret. But, one must learn to let go. Fear can lead to anger, and anger to hate. There was no use in dwelling on the evils - though he should practice what he preached, or thought.

"Nice to meet you, three. I didn't get to thank you before, Ryv. Been stuck in a Bacta tank for a week. But seems you've been off saving people, again."

Weyland tried his best to be a comfort, he'd been in his shoes. All of them. When the largest of them moved to comfort his friend, Weyland felt the warmth extended, they needed each other. Every Jedi had a duty to protect those who could not protect themselves, one could not waste their gifts with idle hobbies. They had to be present, for the greater good. The talk of combat, being thrown around like nothing reminded him of how one of the Brutes tossed him around like a empty pillow case. He didn't quite enjoy it, but sometimes you lose control and that was okay.

"Yes, good work indeed. I'm sure you all did what you could." The Padawan gave off a strange sense of altruism, in his walk and his talk he could feel good intentions. But he wasn't sure if it came from a good place, for him. The same could be said for the larger Jedi. But it wasn't his business to pry. Weyland had no metric for what was too much or too little and he couldn't judge them for how they felt either.

Surely the extinction of the populaces of Kesh, Maldra and Formos would haunt him for all time. But he was here, among his kin now. The Bryn'adûl could wait. "I could eat." However clearly forced as it was, the Jedi Knight smiled to Aaran but the smile didn't linger.

Tag - Auteme | Ryv | Aaran Tafo

 

[Zara Tate]

New Kalandra
p3

After Vale had left, Zara used the truck for her meditation. Closing her eyes and reaching out with her senses. She used the Force to search for lost soldiers in the rubble. Unfortunately. All she found were bodies.

An hour later and Zara was standing near the back of the truck. Riggs and Vale were both close by. All three of them smothered by the desert heat.

"Okay. That wraps it up. Anything else?" Vale tapped her wrist comm. Then turned to Zara.

"Nope. That's everyone I could find. I'm just sorry it wasn't more." Zara nodded.

Riggs scratched his beard and sighed. "It's fine. We knew the chances of survivors was low. Even on both sides. You did good. Right Vale?"

The dark skinned woman shrugged dismissively. "Whatever. I've made note of the recovery locations. We'll still have to scan all the buildings manually with the medical gear. Just to be sure. Can't go skipping anything. Orders are orders, an all that."

Riggs turned a wave towards Zara. "Just to be sure. No offense."

She held up a linen wrapped palm and shrugged, "None taken. The Force isn't perfect. And... For what it's worth. I hope you find something. I really really do."

Vale just sighed and waved them both away. "Fine. Then we're done here. Riggs... Go finish up with the others. Jedi Tate... Good work. We'll take it from here. You're dismissed."

Zara turned and shrugged likewise, "So... That's it then? No more need for a volunteer Jedi digging in the rubble?"

The strong woman shook her head. "No. Like I said. We'll take it from here. You head back and tell your Jedi friends that this area is covered for survivors. Maybe they'll put you someplace else for the rest of day. Who knows."

Riggs just shrugged and leaned his armor against the truck. Giving a following wave as Zara took her leave.

"Anyway. Good luck Jedi. See ya."

"Yeah. See ya." Zara nodded.

She'd take her leave and head back toward the refugee camp now. Maybe grab some lunch on the way. It had been a strange day for Zara thus far. She wasn't exactly looking forward to more of it. Bleh.

But. Such was life and living. She had volunteered for this, after all. The least she could do was suck it up and finish it out. She felt like she owed the Silver as much. Well. I guess. She kinda felt like they all did.

Hoping that the scars of Kintan could finally heal.

 

[Taiden Keth]

Location: It Doesn’t Matter.
Objective: Hearing the Language of Pain.
Tag: Solo

White clad Echani silently did their duty, out of sight and mind. The Ex Army of Light Thyrsus heart crafts they moved in were sleek, white and almost fragile in their design compared to more modern corvettes. Old now and worn, they did not have many journeys left in them.

Taiden and the Keth honor guard walked among the rubble, looking for survivors in the forgotten places, basements of small stores, old superstitious local temples, or cantinas where the criminals called the shots. An army of light warehouse which the planet still had after all this time got a surprise visit, its long-locked doors dusty and worn. All these lesser-known hideaways saw the arrival of one or more white-clad Echani warriors or Jedi, their time spent here plotting resistance with the locals long ago, giving them entry to places others wouldn’t find. Many he came across wanted help, equally as many in these far off places wanted to be left alone and he respected both. Seeing a few friends graves or old warriors he had fought beside in the AoL, Taiden stopped to pay them the respects they were due in thought and deed.

Passing silently among the survivors, medicines were delivered, and he would aid those he could with his healing. Saving some lives and comforting the passing of others as they faded. As the hours past Taiden found his strength waning and stopped on one bombed street, seeking to meditate against rubble and stone. Almost struggling to find his center and peace amidst the turmoil, yet even now in the debris children played ahead of him, younglings using broken sticks and half inflated balls.

The sight gave him some hope both for Kintan but also Eshan. One day.

 

[Jerek Morrows]

Death was a precarious topic among Jedi.

There were many who mourned, and there were some who were hard line and taught to release themselves from attachments. The real question remained, what approach was proper? And for that question, Jerek remained stoic, silent, and situated next to the shallow grave. The truth about life and death relative to the Jedi Order, was actually very simple.

Emotions were inexorably part of the human experience. There was no full on way to eliminate them, and to deny them outright was just as inhuman as to indulge them to their extremes. A Jedi did not learn to dash the things that made them human. If anything, they learned better how to understand and deal with those emotions in order that they might best be prepared when they had to do so.

Jerek felt the nagging pain that came with facing such turmoil, and yet, he coped with it. A Jedi coped well with stress so others could have relief. Perhaps even more so, the Jedi Sentinel- charged with being the faces, the arbiters, and the voice of the Jedi among the common people of the Galaxy.

So, when he heard the voice of the young Zeltron come closer, he broke his vigil and cast his gaze toward her. A moment of remembrance for the dead, but lifetime of compassion for the living. That was his calling.

Jerek slowly stood, dark robes fluttering to the dirt beneath him. He offered the girl his most genuine smile, weak but present. "Kyra," he recalled her name. "It is good to see you alive, and relatively unscathed."

It was unlikely that the scars on her memory would fade, even with time. Still, experience might, perhaps, help her along the Path of the Jedi.

Kyra Perl

 

[Wyatt Morga]

Offering little more than a genetle laugh at Jend-Ro’s more than obvious denial, Wyatt let his arms fall to his sides with a slight slap against his thighs. Wyatt heard them both as they moved to continue walking, making sure he didn’t fall behind the other two. He was taller than both, heavier set certainly, but his steps were just as quiet - doing no part in raising more dust and sand into the air.​

​

“Its certainly an option. I believe Peace has a few teams working on rescuing survivors now…”, he offered with tempered idle, trying to drive the guilt he still held from his mind.​

​

Perhaps it was the right choice in abandoning the planet for the moment; but it didn’t sit well with him regardless. He sighed to himself as his gaze moved back to the horizon to watch for more ships coming onto the planet.​

​

“Do the Silvers have a plan moving forward, Elise?”, he said with a glance to her.​

​

“Jend-Ro and I -”, he said with a glance to the Jedi Master, volunteering him for a job without asking.​

​

“- would certainly help if we’re able. Just say the word.”​

​

Jend-Ro Quill │ Elise​

 

[Elise]

Elise swallowed hard, nodding at them both. None of the past 24 hours was sitting right for anyone. But now was not the time to linger on what was lost or what was felt. Wyatt's guilt was a balm in a way-- A reminder that her pain was reasonable. Justifiable. It had been his actions that help her save what she did; it was because of him that she was still here to help.

She shot him a side glance as she walked, recognizing that it was him that had seen the bigger picture when she could not. That was no small thing to her.

Her hand reached out, skimming his shoulder moment. A wash of warmth followed, hitting the edge of his guilt. It was a small gesture, but like him, it waas all she could currently offer. She dropped her hand and immediately redirected her attention to the wreckage line of the city.

Their plan?

She took in a deep breath. "We need to evacuate them. These dunes are known for sandstorms that strip flesh from bone. Without proper shelter, they cannot remain. Forgive my bluntness but-- what exactly would Peace need to safely house these people?"

Peace was not Sjo's ship, and Wyatt was not one of her men. She had heard of its disjointed state. As far as she was concerned, sjo now had a reason to be as invested in its construction as they did.

 

[Wyatt Morga]

There was a light in this dark guilt, the ever gentle touch of Elise. Wyatt’s eyes glanced up from the ground he walked on, away from the path - and offered Elise a gentle, washing smile. Yet, as his gaze moved past her; he noticed Jend-Ro had managed to disappear. Wyatt couldn’t help but offer a slight laugh at that, assured he left because of the hug he had offered him.​

​

“It seems I scared him off…”, he jested before slowing himself to a stop.​

​

“As far as Peace…”, he said with a glance upwards to the barely visible station in orbit. From here, it was almost indistinguishable from a small moon; albeit the large outcroppings that ships sped in and out of to dock.​

​

“It needs food. Supplies, beds, medicine… With those things, Peace could easily handle whatever is needed.”, he said with a smile.​

​

“There's enough space for any of them.”​

​

Elise │ Jend-Ro Quill​

 

[Kyra Perl]

Kyra's attention fell to the familiar voice, her gaze hollow as she stared at Jerek almost uncomprehendingly. Last he had seen of her, the padawan had attempted to shield him from a blast of Darth Prazutis 's dark energy.

Last she had seen of him, he had stood before her, pushing out a wall of light that had washed all corruption from their midst. Her body included. She had been unresponsive after that. Nothing like fucking up tutaminis and absorbing the power of a sith lord to send one's mental health into a loop.

JJ had brought here her to help her process, but as it turned out-- seeing Jerek was all she needed. Life flickering back to the surface of her features: delight followed by pain.

He was alive.

Oh right, events had sucked.

She wavered in place for a moment, then ran forward. She barreled into his chest, her small frame not slowing for impact. Her arms snaked around him in a tight hug, her pain palpable. Echos of her mistake still rang through her core. All she could do was hug him tighter, water spilling from her eyes.

"I told you not to die," she complained, her voice raw.

Jerek Morrows

 

[The Shadow]

Dark figures congregated on the periphery.​

​

Though the Sith had entirely departed, though by design or by chance there were those who scurried to gorge on the destruction left in their absence. They had no true name, at least none that they took for themselves. Some called them the Children, others called them the Vultures, but regardless of their name, they came where the Sith had once been. Improvised armor was strapped to their bodies, covered in profane mockeries of religious vestments inscribed with runic scripture. Many of them wore hoods that covered their entire head, others wore helmets of burnt or rusted metal, but the one who called themselves the leader of this congregation wore a hood reminiscent of the wraith-like apparations occasionally encountered on the Sith tomb world of Korriban. ​

​

His true name had long since been discard, and he was known only as the Shadow now. One eye gleamed with the illumination of a single red photoreceptor. In his hand, he carried an enclosed contained the shape of a cylinder, likewise inscribed with the same markings as on their clothing.​

​

"The master has delivered unto us a gift, for which we shall cleanse this world of imperfection." The Shadow's voice was highly mechanized by the device worn around his lower face, "Purge the unclean, the Shadow requires their blood." Wherever there were refugees and survivors unattended for or still trapped in the rubble, the Shadow's faithful descended upon them with gruesome intent. Their bladed weapons fell in frenzied motions, portions of the dead carried away once the deed had been carried out.​

 

[Auteme]

K I N T A N
Tag: Ryv Aaran Tafo Weyland Castril ​

---

“Don’t push yourself,” she advised Ryv. Even though friends and allies had brightened the mood, he was still injured. “Once we get back to camp, we’ll take a break, okay? There are already a ton of rescue teams moving in. Reinforcements from Peace, and the rest of Kintan.” There were lots of people doing great work here, even in the midst of the devastated capital. The survivors were recovering back at the temporary medical camp. Ryv and Aaran has survived. Both of them needed rest.

She stayed mostly silent as Ryv and the other Jedi conversed, giving a slight wave to the knight when she was introduced. Was he a Miraluka? It just reminded her she needed to practice Force Sight. There were a lot of things she needed to practice, considering how beat up her friends were. Still, they were alive, and for that she was thankful.

Auteme listened closely to the other padawan’s account of his battle. She had the same thought as Aaran — Ryv had succeeded by keeping the Sith’s attention on him, no doubt saving many lives. It was clear that he was very determined to help and protect others. She felt good knowing that she could call someone like that a friend. “That must have been terrifying… but you were strong enough to face her, and that’s what counts.”

The teenager nodded with Aaran’s question and the knight’s comment. “Yep! I helped a bit with the preparation, big thing of stew, really good. Oh, and I can heal you once we get back. Well, mostly. Might be good to have someone more experienced take a look, too.” It’d been a while since she’d actually done any healing; Peace hadn’t had much need of that particular skill. The last time she’d healed anyone was probably just before she left the Silver Rest. She might be a bit rusty, but she’d try her best to help her friends. “Or, you know, we cleared out the medical bay on Peace. We all know how much Zeffo technology can benefit your health,” she said, chuckling lightly.

With that she set off with the others, keeping close in case either of the padawans needed support as they walked back to camp.

 

[Ryv]

Ryv didn't seem to particularly care about shame in the traditional sense. The moment Aaran stepped up, the smaller Jedi leaned on his larger friend. There was a high chance a number of his ribs were cracked, if not broken. His ankle burned with each step, but he just grits his teeth and kept moving. He knew they were right. Had he not put himself between Braith and the survivors, far less would have survived the initial assault. It was almost enough to forget about the horrible state of Kintan. Not a structure was left standing, bodies lined the roads, and blood coagulated in the streets. The scene came straight from a holoflick and the young kiffar hated it.

"Thanks for the pick me up, guys. I thought the same thing," he chimed in, even remembering sharing that exact sentiment with the Queen of Storms. "Never thought I'd be fine with dying, not gonna lie, but facing down death seemed like a joke in comparison to the bombardment deeper in the city."

Ryv nodded at both Auteme and Aaran before sliding the jacket from his shoulders. He held it beneath one arm while trudging through the scrap and rubble that was the city. "Honestly," he smiled in Auteme's direction. "Food sounds so good right now, dude. A bowl of stew and healing? Yeah, you got me with that one. Might hang around camp, try and find Wyatt, see what he wants me to do after the food. I bet there's a massive list of stuff," Ryv wiped at the thin layer of sweat starting to form on his forehead. He was so tired, every step he took made the next ten times harder. "Might be able to convince Cedric to bring a couple of guys out there as well, build up a rep with the silvers."

Further ahead of them the camp grew larger. They were likely a few streets away from the mass of Jedi, soldiers, and civilians. Ryv nodded to, waved at, and greeted anyone who looked his way. He hid his exertions and bore a gleaming smile; one meant to inspire the people of Kintan. In the presence of so many worse off than him, he straightened. With a gentle push, he took to his feet and carried himself with a sense of purpose.

"If the Jedi cannot be the pillar to hold these poor people aloft, who will?"

That alone had to be enough.

At least for now.

Aaran Tafo | Auteme | Weyland Castril​

 

[Jend-Ro Quill]

Wherever there were refugees and survivors unattended for or still trapped in the rubble, the Shadow's faithful descended upon them with gruesome intent. Their bladed weapons fell in frenzied motions, portions of the dead carried away once the deed had been carried out.​

When Quill wandered away from Wyatt Morga and Elise, he'd thought he did it because he was overwhelmed by people again. Fatigue made that side of things much worse, and he was tired. But maybe the Force had been calling him and he hadn't realized it.

The Force shifted. Half a dozen decrepit, scrap-clad cultists swarmed a collapsed building, a rubble field really, homing in on buried souls and rescuers. Quill took a sharp breath, inhaled gooey dry spittle, and hustled forward as he coughed furiously. These attackers fit the bill of the Children of the New Order, the Sith-backed terrorists who'd left their mark across certain parts of the galaxy. He'd killed a few of them himself.

"No, don't-" He threw out a hand but too late. A rusty blade cut down a civilian and hacked twice more in quick succession. Quill shuffled to a halt a good twenty metres away from the nearest violence. CNO terrorists were happily mowing down everything in reach, a blur of motion so fast that Quill's frantic eyes couldn't track it. "No, they don't - they're not hurting you, please, they're-"

His tired brain refused to process the why of the attack, if any healthy sapient mind even could. Quill sagged, dusty and sweaty. Only a hand on a skewed I-beam kept him upright. His breath came quick and hard. There was so much motion, so many people doing so many awful things, that he stalled out. And he knew deep in his gut that he'd always remember that he froze.

Panicked incomprehension pivoted to anger so fast it hurt.

"No. No, no."

Snap went a cultist's neck, an action as easy as having the idea. The Force surged eagerly to that idea. Quill pulled himself fully upright and gestured clumsily, and another CNO terrorist's grimy blade cracked off its hilt, whirled through both his wrists. The bloody hands tumbled across some civilian or other as he struggled to free himself from the violence. Another cultist reared up behind the man, whose face Quill didn't see-

"No."

The third cultist took a Force push, at range, hard enough to launch him like a cannonball. He ragdolled through the rubble and out of sight.

Quill's lips were going numb from shock. "Not...no."

There were three more men here, and here they came, dripping with civilian blood. And they came on fast, no tactics, just a rush to cut down one tired old Jedi whose mind was spinning well outside designated safety parameters. Quill's fingers found a ridge of scar tissue on the back of his own head, barely detectable under the matted hair. He tried to swallow and found his mouth insanely dry. "Unaccep-"

The Wonderworker had taught him to take others' injuries on himself, and he did that often and with ease. What he'd never done in any serious way, for fear of crossing a line, was the reverse. He reached out with the Force, mental gloves off, and grabbed hold of the cut that had almost severed a fallen girl's neck. With half a breath he pulled that injury into himself. Blinding pain sheared across his throat, drove him to his knees, and sloshed blood down his shirt - but he was already starting the second half of what felt, just then, like a virtuous or at least natural cycle.

His slit throat vanished as quickly as it had come upon him, and each of the three charging terrorists fell with severed carotids of their own. Blood sloshed through gaps in their ragged black armor, through the holes in their masks. With one metaphorical hand he'd taken a wound on himself; with the other he'd passed it along to those who deserved it. The Dark Side, almost certainly, and that was a line crossed.

The girl whose throat they'd cut was whole, healthy, and escaping. A few other civilians were irrevocably dead at the terrorists' hands. These six terrorists were dead too, but there were more elsewhere.

Quill stumbled to his knees and stayed there, staring at bloody dust.

 

[Elise]

Elise looked over her shoulder in concern as Jend-Ro Quill disappeared from the group. Strange. Her stomach twinged, hoping the stranger got on ok. Wyatt Morga ’s words redirected her attention. She could only nod, a bit of lightness opening in her chest.

Finally, an immediate solution she could work with. Relocating a whole city’s population into proper housing in a hostile environment was no easy task. She thought it was wise of Wyatt’s people to prepare a starship that could house populations in times of strife. She did not say this, too distracted by her relief to pass on small compliments on starship design.

“Wyatt,” his name slipped from her tounge, her warm tone belaying the gratitude his offer provided. “That would be-“ The force twisted, contorting with fresh pain. She said nothing. They were prepared for this— they were listening for this. Elise took off in the direction of the strife, the force embewing each step with inhuman speed. She could not move fast enough. By the time she arrived to Jend-Ro Quill ’s side, it was over.

Civilians ran past them. She wordlessly pointed out the correct way, landing on her knees at Quill’s side.

“Sith?” She asked briskly, her fingers pressing to Quill’s throat. The force enveloped him in a wash of healing energy. Much to her confusion, her fingers found his neck to be smooth. Unharmed.

But he had said he was not adept at healing. The splash pattern— his pain—

And then she listened closer, her whole attention focusing on the numb man before her. Oh. Her fingers left his throat, sliding down to cup his back instead. A sense of calm pressed into him, heavy and grounding. “Wyatt,” she redirected, her voice softer. Wouldn’t he know his friend well enough to explain this?

In the distance, more echoed of pain flashed through the force. There was more.

 

[Wyatt Morga]

The Force was often a cruel thing - as much as those who believed it alive might disagree. Wyatt was among that camp, that assumed the Force good - only corrupted in colorful moments of pain and rage; but what he felt for that split second, many meters away, was many layers of it. The most prevalent was desperation.​

​

Their feet carried them as quickly as possible, and while Elise dove to comfort and ground Jend-Ro Quill in a soft and grounding familiarity; Wyatt could not hold himself to do the same. His eyes wandered, through the gore; from blades snapped and cutting at wrists, to the dead and mangled corpses of civilians only cruelty hacked apart by their attackers. Even those closest - their hoods barely attached to the grotesque, garish display of what remained of them.​

​

Wyatt swallowed, and could feel the Dark Side permeating off of them… He knew what Jend-Ro had done; but he would not speak it. Not now.​

​

His gaze moved to Elise, concern riddled deep in his expression as he offered a quiet, careful warning -​

​

“We need to get back to camp. Warn the others - The Children are here.”, Wyatt offered, with a sudden inhale.​

​

His lightsaber ignited as echoes and sensations from across the city began to rise - and those who hadn’t been saved were either forced into the saving hands of the Jedi, or had their lives stolen away by the masked terrorist cell that now permeated the city in droves. There was hope the battle of Kintan would be enough -​

​

But the Sith grew ever bolder. Ever more craven. Ever more cruel.​

 

[Jend-Ro Quill]

Elise Wyatt Morga

Quill flinched at Elise's touch but didn't move. Too many thoughts passed through him too quickly to grab any of them. Guilt and horror dominated, the sense that he'd stepped off an irrevocable cliff. No matter how many details eluded him, the emotions were inescapable.

Memory flooded back with identical force: the bad old days decades ago before he joined the Jedi. Running with a ship thief crew that dabbled in piracy. Blood, literal blood, soaking his hands and getting under his nails.

"Shouldn't have left," he said. "Hoth. Shouldn't have left."

A good hundred meters away, the girl he'd saved was watching him. Bloody skin, throat intact. She looked about as rough as he felt. Her survival was cold comfort. Maybe he'd feel it more another time. Maybe he'd come to terms with what he'd done to save her.

Quill stood up shakily. "I need to go. You need to...there's more of them."

 

[Elise]

Elise grimaced, picking up images and sensations through the touch she refused to stop. “It’s okay,” she soothed. Her words felt empty against the trauma that rang through the man. Even her psyche shied from it, the chaos disorienting and biting. She took a deep breath, the wash of calm strengthening as she felt him spiral further. He wasn’t checking himself. The force around him was thick with the dark side.

Wyatt was only spared a look. A singular, tight look that demanded answers and bespoke sad conclusions.

“Hey. Hey now...” He started to stand, wanting to walk away. After the bloody scene painted before them, she couldn’t allow that. In the chaos of the moment, she made a quick decision. Her hand traveled with him, the master closing her eyes. The calm multiplied by tenfold; where it once brushed against him it now enveloped.

The force tried to lull him into a peaceful sleep. It promised a bliss escape, but in the end it did not force it. Elise’s aid was only ever a proffered hand. He needed help. They could not give him that I’m the middle of a battle field.

Whatever happened, her arms where there to steady him.

Elise looked to Wyatt, her tone deadly. “I will not leave the civilians in need.” Again. A second time. He wanted to turn and run. He wanted to save what was already safe. She wanted to save more. A bit of that hardness shone in her eyes. Perhaps she had touched Quill for a moment too long.

 

[Onrai]

Within orbit, the stealthed form of an old Sith battleship still lurked over the field of conflict. Vanessa Vantai had remained reclusive within the demesne of the Greater Maldrood for an extended period of time, but had decided to lurk and see what sort of action the Silver Jedi would maintain. A cloaking device had been rigged into the systems of the Ablution and it was currently floating near the fringes of the Silver Jedi fleet, running with thrusters off and power to weapons and shields.

Now was a good opportunity to try and change momentum. Unless, of course, she was detected.

Elise Kyra Perl

 

[Zara Tate]

New Kalandra
p4

Zara sat under a tent awning nearer one of the refugee camps on the edge of the city. The shade didn't much help the temperature and her linen wrap was moist from being held too long over her mouth too. She was starting to hate the feeling of sand in your eyes and the crack of dry skin against her knuckles. Such was the way of the desert sadly. Such was the way of Hutt Space.

Then came the warning of lingering danger. Unsurprising the Sith would have zealots in their ranks. However, how they got here? And why? Well. That was another question. Hopefully the Rangers would root them out. Without Fleet support any of these "Children" would be stuck planet-side. Easy prey for Silver ambushes, traps, and solid intel work around the major population centers. They came, they got stuck, they died. Especially if the Jedi Sentinels were involved.

Zara gave these goofballs a week. Tops.

Alas. Suicide didn't much sway Sith zealots. There would always be pawns of the Darkside throwing themselves upon the pyre of stupidity. Like moths to a flame. Acolytes died by the hundreds. Espcially if you promised them combat or a good death. Man. If only Zara knew where they found all these crazy people to throw at the Silvers. Pfft. Maybe the Sith grew them in jars. Like clones. But dumber.

"Figures."

Zara sat under a tent awning nearer the city campsites. I guess, now keeping watch for any suicidal darksider who wanted to run up to the nearest Ranger checkpoint and blow themselves up or whatever.

Jeez. What a terrible planet. She couldn't wait to go home.

 

[The Shadow]

Though their number dwindled, the Children were not deterred.​

​

They took each death as a blessing, another stone placed on the path that would lead them to eternal glory. Many gave their lives willingly, throwing themselves on Jedi blades or engaging Rangers without any fear for their numbers or superior training. Some died pitifully, their bodies crumpling to the ground without much fanfare or jubilation. Others had strapped explosives to their emaciated bodies and martyred themselves in a fireball that was capable of consuming an entire city block at worst and at its weakest a blast zone of five meters in diameter. ​

​

The weapons they carried were crude and archaic, rusting cycler riflers, scatter guns, and even bladed melee weapons. They ambushed the weakest Jedi, luring them in before flanking them with devastating close-range weaponry that couldn't be easily deflected by their lightsabers. From these dead Jedi, they took grisly trophies with the strongest of the Children even taking their lightsabers to use for their own gruesome ends. They burned dark runes into their skin with the Jedi's weapon, ritual scarification taking place wherever Jedi had fallen to the Children's wicked instruments. ​

​

All while the Shadow gleefully encouraged such acts, his long gnarled fingers tightly grasping the container marked with multiple warning labels. ​

​

Jend-Ro Quill | Elise | Wyatt Morga ​

 

[Jend-Ro Quill]

Elise knocked Quill out with remarkable ease, even considering his state of mind and health. He crumpled in the grit, just one more casualty. Soon enough there'd be someone to take him to a safe place, or maybe there wouldn't be. This planet had bigger problems than one man.