Annihilation The Shatterlight of Ka’thaa’rahn

[Sibylla Abrantes]

​

Location: Ghral'teth System, Aur Diamonds Sector
Era: Post-Stellar Convergence | 902 ABY

Once hidden deep in the Wild Regions, Ka'thaa'rahn was flung into the Aur Diamonds Sector by a galactic stellar convergence. The violent spatial shift destabilized the planet's star, Teth'kaar, and now, signs of a supernova are accelerating. Amid the rising stellar pressure and tectonic chaos, the planet's rigid caste system is crumbling.

The Ka'thaaran Warrior Caste (Ka'dyraal) rejects outside help, invoking their ancient doctrine of Glorious Extinction. In contrast, the Engineer-Lorekeepers (Ka'venn caste) struggle to protect soul crucibles, the entechment crystalline matrices holding the consciousnesses of ancestor minds. These relics are tied to the Force nexus beneath the capital city and are said to maintain soul crucibles, crystal vaults containing the ancestral minds of the Ka'thaaran elite, protected and energized by entechment technology.

The message from Lorekeeper Vael-Shen, smuggled through a lattice signal relay, has reached multiple systems. Now, councils across the Southern Systems and fringe territories face a decision, each a gamble with lives and legacy.

This is Lorekeeper Vael-Shen of the Ka'venn caste. I speak not for conquest nor conversion, but for salvation. Our star, Teth'kaar, is dying. Our castes fracture. Our soul-crucibles are at risk. This plea is not sanctioned, but it is necessary. We ask for aid before the time runs out…

~ Unauthorized distress signal, intercepted in the Southern Systems, origin: Ka'thaa'rahn

Open to all! Please enjoy yourselves ^_^
It is a sandbox. Feel free to start in medias res!
Do PVE! Do PVP! Whatever you like, please enjoy.

Objective 1: "Embers of Salvation" – Political Intervention
Location: Aboard the Neutral Observation Platform KALLISTOS, stationed in temporary geosynchronous orbit​

The chamber flickered with light as distant worlds came online -- fractured holos of senators, aides, Captains, Wardens of the Sky, Force Organisations, and commanders from across the Royal Naboo Republic, the Southern Systems Assembly, the Alliance, Confederacy, spreading across traderoutes towards the Mandalorian Sectors, Underworld and even echoing alongside the Blackwall. The emergency session had barely been called amidst a summit of neutrality, but the chamber's pulse now beat like a heart in crisis.

The discussion had become a storm of principle versus pragmatism.

Humanitarian factions, envoys, and interested parties from the Southern Systems argued fiercely for intervention, citing the risk of psychic feedback from the soul crucibles and the ethical failure of standing by.

Complicating the vote were fresh intelligence reports. Already, rogue vessels were identified, some flagged as mining guilds and others as pirates that had already broken toward the system edge, aiming for Ka'thaa'rahn's unclaimed relics. And worse, Ka'dyraal warrior emissaries had transmitted a brief, coded warning:

[[ Any vessel violating orbit shall burn with us. We do not require your mercy. ]]​

The Assembly has not reached a consensus. Intervention remains unsanctioned.

But the stars don't wait for votes.

Three stark paths lay ahead. One called for envoys, be it diplomats, medics, anyone willing, to aid those brave enough to defy caste law and seek escape. Another demanded quiet precision: covert teams sent to extract key figures like Lorekeeper Vael-Shen and safeguard the fragile soul crucibles. The last was silence; close the borders, watch the collapse from a distance, and let a culture out of step with galactic values perish by its own decree.

Save the oppressed and risk legitimizing their oppressors.

Or turn away and let the crucibles fall silent, erasing an entire culture from galactic memory.

Objective 2: Echoes in Crystal Entechment
Location: The Crucible Vaults of Eshan'kai & The Grove of Echoes​

Buried in vaults carved into the world's crystalline mantle, these towering monoliths of entechment soul crystals pulsed with faint, conscious light. They were not simple memory banks. They were psychically active engines, the culmination of ancient hybrid Ssi-ruuvi science and Ka'thaaran spiritual dogma. Minds -- living minds -- had been bound within them.

Generations of the Ka'sharr servitor caste, bred for compliance and clarity, had been harvested and transferred into these lattice matrices to power defense systems, knowledge engines, and even planetary infrastructure. Some believed the crucibles to be Force bound archives, sentient repositories of unparalleled wisdom. Others saw them as cages of ritualized torment, where souls were stretched into undeath, their purpose reduced to eternal servitude, and yet a more pragmatic group saw them as technology for profit, as perhaps a viable energy source.

Some teams worked to save and ensure the survival of the soul crucibles from the destruction of the supernova. Others sought to steal them, driven by whispers of sentient tech that could enhance Force connection or power new energy sources. And some arrived with only one purpose, destruction, believing that true mercy lay not in rescue, but in release.

Objective 3: Fractured Skies – The Last Exodus
Location: High Orbit above Ka'thaa'rahn Lattice Debris Belts​

The orbit above Ka'thaa'rahn had become a graveyard of light.

Refugee ships, jagged and jiry rigged from repurposed lattice tech, burst from the atmosphere in chaotic trails, dodging gravity rifts and debris storms. Some carried frightened civilians, Ka'venn caste defectors, scholars, and even children. Others masked darker intent: privateers, raiders, and stowaways masquerading as survivors.

And behind them all, the planet's guardians rose in flame.

Ka'dyraal war frigates opened fire on their own, seeking to end what they called a dishonorable escape. Their message was clear: "If we die, we all die."

One vessel drifted alone, spinning gently in orbit, its hull cracked, its core glowing with anomalous entechment pulses. The signal was unstable. The crystal lattice in its engine bay was active… and alive. Whether a trapped refugee, sentient soul, crucible-powered entities, or something darker, it was calling out.

The orders weren't clear. The laws weren't either.

Escort the evacuees and risk retaliation from the Ka'dyraal. Intercept drifting vessels, salvaging what minds or technology remained, even if hope had already fled. Or draw a hard line, halting the looting by force, even if it meant turning weapons on desperate crews and fleeing refugees.

Objective 4: SuperNova Countdown Begins
Bring Your Own Objective​

As Teth'kaar nears collapse, the fate of the entechment-bound world hangs in balance. Political factions are divided, untapped resources are at risk of being lost forever, and rogue vessels swarm the system for profit or prophecy. Bring your own objective using the Ka'thaa'rahn's locations as you race against the clock before Teth'kaar supernovas.

The system teeters on the edge.
The supernova countdown has begun.

​

 

[Sibylla Abrantes]

Objective 1: "Embers of Salvation" – Political Intervention​

Location: Aboard the Neutral Observation Platform KALLISTOS, stationed in temporary geosynchronous orbit​

Interacting with: Open for Interaction!

The stars were screaming.

Not with sound, but light; a red-gold swell pulsing from the brink of a supernova. Teth'kaar, once a cold white sun in an isolated corner of the galaxy, now bled gravity and plasma in chaotic surges, tearing holes in space time that warped local comms and sensor data. The stellar convergence had begun.

And Ka'thaa'rahn would not survive it.

Yet in the middle of the chaos, hundreds of vessels now encircled the dying world like vultures or saviors, depending on which side of the argument one stood. A neutral council of Royal Republic delegates, Outer Rim Coalition officials, Force Orders representatives, and independent planetary envoys, Trade Captains, and Corporate heads, all here either in person or by holographic design. Every one of them was arguing.

"…they use people as batteries," a Bothan senator hissed. "How is this even a question? They breed a caste specifically for energy extraction...entechment violates every ethical standard!"

"They also preserve their kin in a way we do not understand," replied another from Maramere, voice calm. "That planet holds hundreds, maybe thousands, of crystalline crucibles imprinted with ancient living memories. It has a Force nexus on the verge of collapse. We can't just let it vanish."

A scavenger captain smirked from the corner. "You won't have to. Someone'll be down there already, ripping the lattice cores out like teeth."

The holo-display flared as a recorded transmission played again...the one that started all this:

"This is Lorekeeper Vael-Shen of the Ka'venn caste. I speak not for conquest nor conversion, but for salvation. Our star, Teth'kaar, is dying. Our castes fracture. Our soul-crucibles are at risk. This plea is not sanctioned, but it is necessary. We ask for aid before the time runs out…"

– Unauthorized distress signal, intercepted in the Southern Systems, origin: Ka'thaa'rahn

The message had been caught by a dozen passing ships. At first, it was dismissed as a trap. But then as it continued, the disturbance in the Force also grew. signal detailed the coming collapse of Teth'kaar, the system's dying star, whose stellar convergence had fractured natural gravity wells and displaced planetary orbits. Ka'thaa'rahn -- a xenophobic, isolationist warrior world -- now stands hours or days from atmospheric instability, tectonic rupture, or total vaporization.

And the vultures had come.

Sibylla stood with her arms crossed over the golden sash of her Naboo diplomatic robes. Outside, the nebulas cosmic clouds swayed in gentle bursts, as if ignorant of the cataclysm unfolding light years away.

The Ka'thaaran Lorekeeper's hologram flickered at the center dais, crackling with static, but unmistakably clear.

Around Sibylla, the chamber boiled with deliberation. Sibylla said nothing, yet her thoughts were already miles ahead, across stars, beneath red burning skies.

They entech their people. They breed them for it.

She'd read the deepcut briefings, the ones scrubbed from public access, reports smuggled out of the Wild Regions before the Stellar Convergence slung Ka'thaa'rahn into view.

Generations conditioned for sacrifice. Crystalline lattices embedding souls into machines, into weapons.

Even now, the Lorekeeper's words echoed: We ask for aid before the time runs out…

Her fingers drummed against her arm.

"The position is complicated," Sibylla murmured to Senator Sarn beside her, the Ithorian's eye stalks sweeping over the young woman's form, nodding in agreement.

"We condemn entechment," she said, louder now. Her hand touched the edge of the projection, anchoring her. "We condemn a caste system that feeds on the backs of its own children."

She moved to the dais, placing her hand on the edge of the projection.

Her eyes lifted, sweeping the chamber, dozens of faces frozen in debate, fear, judgment.

"But to do nothing?" she continued, voice sharp with clarity. "After we've stood here and sworn, time and again, to aid the displaced? How can we suddenly decide these lives are too complicated to matter?"

Yet it was so easy to simply say aloud than to act. For acting meant resources and manpower would come into play; lives that could very well be lost and risked in an attempt to lend a hand where a majority of the population desired none... where Ka'thaar'an Warriors were willing to kill for it.

 

[Aether Verd]

KALLISTOS
"The line between a vulture and a guardian is drawn by action."​

The chamber throbbed with tension—rhetoric clashing against moral outrage, idealism battling pragmatism. Yet through it all, the Mand’alor stood silent.

Helmed. Watching.

Aether Verd’s projection loomed quietly at the fringes, bronze visor unreadable, arms folded behind his back in warrior’s poise. The light of the dying star beyond the viewport reflected faintly off his beskar, casting sharp angles in the dim council chamber.

He had been invited only to observe—no voice, no vote. But when the Naboo delegate stepped forward and stripped the debate to its essence, when clarity cut through the chamber’s self-righteous noise, Mand'alor the Iron moved. A single step forward.

Then his voice emerged—modulated, smooth, edged in steel.

“Inaction,” Aether said, “does not suit the Royal Naboo.”

“And it never suits Mandalorians.”

A pause. The visor turned across the gathered faces—senators, envoys, scavengers, and soldiers alike.

“Ka’thaa’rahn’s sins are documented. Its fate is not. That question remains… unanswered. And while the galaxy debates whether these people are worth saving—others have already begun to profit from their fall.”

He shifted slightly, arms still behind his back.

“The Mandalorian Empire does not offer charity. But we do offer services.”

“Should this council pursue intervention—military, logistical, or strategic—you will find our terms reasonable, our soldiers professional, and our reach… extensive.”

“If you seek to extract refugees, we can secure the landing zones. If you wish to retrieve relics, we can breach the vaults. If you need a perimeter held while your diplomats deliberate—”

Aether tilted his helmet slightly, the faintest motion of ironic courtesy.

“Then we will hold the line.”

Then the warrior stilled, his projection returning to rigid attention.

“Send the contract. We’ll send the fleet.”

And with that, Mand'alor the Iron returned to silence—waiting for the galaxy to decide whether it would act, and how much it was willing to pay.

Sibylla Abrantes

 

[Rojuhr Pouihl]

​

Mission Entry:
Objective: Not Yet Applicable (I.E. - I don’t know yet xD)
.

SCENE: DEEP SPACE – APPROACHING KA’THAA’RAHN SYSTEM

The stars bent and flared as Task Force Arestul ripped out of hyperspace into chaos. The four Loki Attack Cruiser joining The Celestial City Supercarrier, the two DP2000 Torpedo Frigates, and the Loki Class Escort Cruiser who were bringing the captain back from “The Bastion Games”. A dying sun—Teth’kaar—swelled in the distance, shedding arcs of fire like a wounded god. Rojuhr Pouihl stood on the command deck of The Celestial City, his face hardened by urgency, his heart pounding. They were still several sectors out, but it was already clear how bad things were.

Report.

“Multiple civilian flotillas in-system. An Ethereal Class Heavy Carrier Mk II as well as a Scion Class Escort Carrier and several and several Shepherd Class Transports are on-site… but oh by the Force…”

What is it? He was clearly not mad at the officer, but this was not the time for hyperbole.

“The star… it is potentially going Supernova… and… flares… that and debris… just took out more than half of his group… all of those souls…”

Rojuhr’s breath caught in his throat. He didn’t need to ask—he knew which one. The screen flickered to show a ship buckling in fire, hull screaming apart in silence: The Oath’s Keeper—Tantor’s commander's vessel before the war. A ship that had once carried laughter, debates, and late-night strategy sessions between him, Zev, and Liram Angellus.

Gone.

“The Retribution?” he asked hoarsely.

“Holding position between the Teth’kaar debris stream and evacuation vectors. She’s absorbing hits, but she won’t last.”

Rojuhr’s jaw clenched. On-screen, The Retribution—Zev’s carrier—braved the maelstrom like a sentinel knight. Every flare of the star scorched her armor. She wasn’t fighting; she was shielding—a final penance for old mistakes.

Rojuhr (low, to himself):
Always the stubborn one… I should’ve answered sooner.

He straightened and barked, All wings, launch! Prioritize civilian extraction vectors. Shield The Retribution! I want a full formation between her and that star!”

“Sir—what about the planetary magnetic surge? It’s throwing everything out of alignment.”

Then realign! I didn’t come here to watch another friend die!

The bridge burst into motion. Fighters screamed from launch bays. The Celestial City shifted her massive bulk, weapons turned not toward an enemy, but toward debris—to defend. It was becoming too hard though… the Loki Escort “Mischief” was caught in a flare and terminally disabled. “Mischief caught in a flare and sending out escape pods. They’re being picked up by one of the Shepherd Cruisers but that one will effectively be out of room for evacuation!”

Get them out of here. There is nothing more they can do.

---

SCENE: SECURE CHANNEL – ROJUHR TO ZEV (Audio Only)

Rojuhr (voice rough, choked):
You better be alive, you karking nerf-herder. I’m not ready to lose another brother.

Static crackled, then—

Zev Tantor (weak but alive):
…Took you long enough, Pouihl. I thought you were still mad about that game of dejarik on Denon.

Rojuhr (smiling despite the tears, knowing that wasn’t the falling out):
Still am. But I’ll win the next one, besides, you threw the fit about my hand.

Zev:
…Get them out. If I don’t make it…

Rojuhr:
No. No ‘if’ you Schutta! You will. Just hold.

Zev:
…Promise me Rojuhr…

Rojuhr:
... I promise.

SCENE: COMMAND DECK – THE CELESTIAL CITY

The stars outside roiled with solar fire and grief. Emergency lighting flickered across the faces of bridge officers. The loss of The Oath’s Keeper still echoed—some had friends aboard. Some had family. All had memories.

Commander Delana Reece, Rojuhr’s tactical officer, stood unmoving at her console. The data scrolled across her screen—hull integrity, evacuation trajectories, solar instability charts—but her eyes weren’t reading it. They were locked on the screen showing The Retribution, scorched and crumbling as it moved to cover yet another fleeing transport.

She muttered, not realizing she’d spoken aloud.

“He knew he wasn’t coming out…”

Rojuhr:
He might yet. But he didn’t wait to be asked.

The silence that followed wasn’t empty—it was held. Held by duty, by raw focus, by the sheer weight of everything still left to do.

Senior Engineer Brav Talos, who had once served under Zev during the Reconstruction Campaigns, snapped his spanner onto the console in frustration.

“We should’ve gotten here sooner—I should’ve rerouted the relays faster, the jump matrix—”

Rojuhr turned to him sharply, not angry, but commanding in a voice that didn’t tremble.

Talos. Stop. I get it, and we all have ghosts. You want to mourn him? Finish what he started.

Talos straightened. His lips pressed into a tight line. A nod. And he got back to work.

SCENE: STARBOARD FLIGHT BAY – ARCHANGEL SQUADRON READYING LAUNCH

The pilots were suiting up. Squadron Leader Elia Vorn, helmet in hand, stood facing her squadron. Her voice shook but didn’t break.

“Zev Tantor trained half of us before we ever got wings. He didn’t ask for credit. Just that we flew smart… and flew back.”

She paused.

“We lost too many out there. I know. But you fly now, or they died for nothing.”

Silence.

Then a unified “Ma’am, yes ma’am!”

---

SCENE: OBSERVATION DECK – MOMENTS LATER

Rojuhr stood alone, watching as the Celestial City held orbit against a system falling apart. Ka’thaa’rahn’s atmosphere was destabilizing. Magnetic fields roiled like angry oceans. And Teth’kaar… was still swelling.

Behind him, Commander Reece approached. She didn’t speak at first—just watched with him.

Reece:
“Do you think we’ll have time to come back?”

Rojuhr (quietly):
Not for long. Maybe not at all.

Reece:
“Then we record everything. We remember the names. We do what he asked. Save them.”

Rojuhr nodded.

This is the job. Lead now. Grieve later.

---

SCENE: WIDE SHOT – KA’THAA’RAHN ORBIT

Task Force Arestul moved as one—silent lights against a dying sky. They did their best to pull transports into safe corridors, cleared paths through debris, and shielded each other from the flares. The Retribution, blackened but intact, limped behind the fleet like a wounded warhorse.

They had not escaped yet.

But they would.

Because loss does not stop the mission. It makes it sacred.


SCENE: KA’THAA’RAHN ORBIT — MOMENTS AFTER EVACUATION BEGINS

As the first waves of evacuees cleared the worst of Teth’kaar’s radiation wake, a new signal spiked across the comms. Distorted. Erratic. Hostile.

“Incoming vessels—Ka’dyraal signature. Local military. They’re… locking onto the evac ships?”

Bridge silence. Then—

“They’re firing.”

The screen bloomed with impact markers. Two small transports—unarmed, overloaded with civilians—burst like fragile shells beneath pulse cannons.

---

SCENE: COMMAND DECK — THE CELESTIAL CITY

Rojuhr's voice thundered across the deck.

Who the frell gave that order?!

“No response from Ka’dyraal command structure. War frigates are acting autonomously. Running dark, encrypted IFFs. Repeat message from them on loop—translating now...”

The translation scrolled across the screen. It was a cold mantra, ancient in origin, once used by fanatical planetary defense cults in the Outer Rim:

“If we burn, we burn together. No cowards. No survivors. All die loyal.”

Commander Reece (stunned):
“They’ve embraced a death spiral. They think mercy is betrayal.”

Rojuhr:
Then we show them what loyalty really looks like.

“Sir! The Retribution is moving to intercept! They’re putting themselves between the attackers and those trying to escape!”

He power-strode to the command console. Dammit Zev!

All units: Ka’dyraal war frigates are hostile. Designate them rogue. We protect the innocent. Neutralize only as needed, but stop them now. As he looked out on the bridge he yelled. I want firing solutions, and weapons on every one of those ships we can target! NOW! He was not yelling at them, but each member on the bridge knew that it didn’t matter if he did. They felt the exact same way right now.

---

SCENE: SPACE BATTLE — TASK FORCE ARESTUL VS KA’DYRAAL WAR FRIGATES

The battle that followed was surgical, reluctant, but unyielding.

• Elysium strike fighters streaked across the flanks, targeting weapons arrays with precision EMP torpedoes.
  
  
• Archangel heavy interceptors flew cover, intercepting missiles meant for fleeing civilian ships.

But it wasn’t always enough.

One frigate rammed a freighter full of orphans being escorted by a medical corvette. There was no choice left.

Rojuhr’s order came like a cleaver:

Weapons free! Take it down.

The Corellian Torpedo Gunship Hammerlight fired—one direct, beautiful shot.

The rogue frigate split in half. That, however brought the fury of other frigates on them, they were out of position and though assistance was coming, it was too late. The Hammerlight ignited in a ball of flame.

---

SCENE: PERSONAL MOMENT – ROJUHR ON THE DECK AFTERWARD

After the battle, the command deck was quiet again—but not calm.

Rojuhr stood by the viewport, watching one of the disabled Ka’dyraal frigates drift, its engines offline, its crew alive. Behind him, Reece approached, her voice hushed.

“We just shot down several of what used to be their navy.”

Rojuhr didn’t turn.

No. We put down a madness that forgot what it was protecting. There will be more coming anyway.

He finally looked at her.

If they truly believed in death together... then they never truly believed in life at all.

SCENE: ORBIT OVER KA’THAA’RAHN

The star Teth’kaar had swollen beyond its chromosphere, unstable gravity wells forming between solar arcs. Even the vacuum rippled. Every ship's hull creaked under invisible strain.

On the command deck of The Celestial City, sensors screamed.

Commander Reece:
“Sir—Teth’kaar’s fusion band just collapsed. It’s not a flare anymore—it’s entering pre-supernova phase.”

Rojuhr:
How long?

“Maybe thirty minutes, maybe thirty days, until the wavefront destabilizes orbit. ”

Rojuhr nodded, silent. Then—

“New contact—hyperspace signature approaching fast.”

“Unidentified class, no known beacon. Wait… correction—Venator-class Star Destroyer. No registry in current GA database.”

The bridge went still.

Reece (quietly):
“That class hasn’t flown in over 800 cycles. No wait, sensors readjusting. Courageous Class… It’s the Indominable!” The ANS Indominable commandship of Gym Halpern . An old friend to many, and former XO to Late Admiral Liram Angellus.

Then the screen lit up.

A sleek, battle-worn but gleaming Courageous-class ship broke through hyperspace in full burn, riding the collapsing gravity well with impossible control.

Painted boldly across her hull, in old stylized Aurebesh:
ANS INDOMITABLE

---

SCENE: COMMUNICATIONS BAY — SECURE HOLOLINK

The feed crackled, distorted by radiation and gravitational flux—then cleared to reveal a face not seen in years.

Captain Gym Halpern. Minimal streaks of silver in his beard, fire in his eyes. Not a relic—a revenant.

Halpern (firm, clear):
Rojuhr. I heard Ka’thaa’rahn was dying. I heard Zev was trying to save it. I wasn’t going to let you do this alone.

Rojuhr (quietly):
We lost him.

Halpern lowered his head for a long moment.

…Then we honor him. I brought everything I could strip from my sector. Evac pods. Fire tugs. Atmospheric lifters. I’ve got volunteers from four systems, and a hangar full of medics who refused to stay behind.

Rojuhr (beat):
…You old bastard.

Halpern (grinning):
Takes one to know one. Now let’s finish what we started.

 

[Imperius Indomitus]

W A R M A S T E R
LORD INDOMITUS
Through war, we bring order.
Through strength, we bring unity.

The Iron March - OPERATION WRAITH SEED
Order. Strength. Discipline.

Kroeger | Open

WRAITH SEED​

Ghral'teth System | Outer System | Imperator Rex

A dying system, a dying star, a dying civilisation. Minus One. It was not much more than that. He did not hear of the system before its distress call and only that made it the target of research which yielded ... intriguing results. Their civilisation, ripped out of space had fascinating technology that coincided in its properties with other pursuits that were currently in progress. This could provide a further improvement to Fyyar's Legacy.

The Imperator Rex arrived in the system with two escort Destroyers, a Transport and a Landing ship, aboard the 181st Stormtrooper Legion ready to deploy to the surface as well as the Iron Legion of Arminius Kroeger . Hired after the recent negotiations with the Trade Federation and quickly put to use. This deployment was not on the original schedule or contract, but credits and opportunity offer little to chance. Imperius insisted.

In the main hangar of the Rex, the Warmaster had gathered the commanders, either through physical presence or holo, to begin the briefing. A holo-terminal set on the ground in front of him, as the Pureblood stood in his warplate, his voice stern and deep, detailing what was about to happen.

"The star of this system went into instability following the Planeshift, the system and its surrounding area will succumb to a supernova in a difficult to determine - but soon timeframe. The people of the planet, divided into castes, are falling apart due to this crisis with the various groups aspiring to different ends. It matters little to us. We are not here to rescue the civilisation."

So far the holo was showing the system, it now zoomed in on the main planet, Ka'thaa'rahn, and then its capital city.

"The civilisation uses some form of highly developed crystal or kyber entechment for their own chronicles and serve as energy source. Suggested to be highly conductable and potentially appealing to the Force - they are our target. We secure an area," The holo zoomed in on a portion of the fantastic capital, "and hold it against either the natives or whoever is foolish enough to oppose us. Meanwhile engineer teams will start extracting as much of this crystalline matrices as possible. We protect the engineers and prospectors, they do their duty and we will leave before the star's life ends."

His black eyes scanned the present soldiers. The commanders of the 181st, of the Iron Legion, the ship and wing commanders and of course the engineer teams that were part of the operation.

 

[In Rhan]

Objective 3: Fractured Skies – The Last Exodus
Location: High Orbit above Ka'thaa'rahn Lattice Debris Belt

Something horrible was going down on Ka'thaa'rahn. It'd been all over the radio, all over the news. The star was going to explode, and due to cultural reasons, part of the native species were entering into some sort of death-pact. Judging from the flotilla of human tragedy making thier way out of the gravity well under fire from their own government, this was a contentious thing. Already, the Galaxy's forces were arriving in their multitudes to help. Mercenary lords standing by, active fleets running interference, and an Imperial expedition making their way towards the surface all against the backdrop of a dying star.

The fleet couldn't protect everyone. Civillians in their multitudes, huddled in everything from personal shuttles to cargo freighters. Some of them, at a glance, wouldn't even be atmospherically sealed. Were the people inside wearing EVA suits? Were they packed so tightly that they could only pray that the shields kept the pressure in while they passed respirators back and forth? In's blood ran cold.

There were fleets here. Intervention forces, humanitarian efforts. They were doing something - she'd just add to the chaos. A nobody freighter caught in all this madness? They'd likely just assume she was here to loot and salvage before the planet imploded. Another half-mad spacer looking for a cheap credit. They had this well in-hand.

"They're firing."

The screen bloomed with impact markers. Two small transports—unarmed, overloaded with civilians—burst like fragile shells beneath pulse cannons.

Two little sparks of light. Dozens of lives cut short by dogma and pride. They couldn't save everyone. The thought occurred to In, and on it's heels was an even worse one. How many people were still trapped on the surface?

Her fingers were moving before the smuggler even realized she'd made a decision. She'd be flying through an active battlefield - fine. The Besaid-Class had more protections than most freighters, and it could haul ass with an empty cargo bay. In flipped toggles, directing power to her engines and forward shields. Everything away from her guns. The freighter screamed towards Ka'thaa'rahn's surface, swerving and streaking between civillian transports.

Maybe a shot hit her instead of one of them. Maybe a short was wasted aiming for her and not for an antique civillian tug that could never take a glancing turbolaser hit, let alone directly.

In threw her civilian radio frequency open, plunging into hostile fire. "Pan-Pan, pan-pan! This is civillian hauler Dancer in Green en route to Thaal'quorr to attempt evacuation. Please do not shoot me! Please advise dropoff vectors! I can only fit thirty at a go!" In reported to whoever was listening.

Somebody was doing something. But if In only managed to get thirty more people off the planet and somewhere safe, it was worth risking everything she had.

She leaned back in the cockpit to shout down into the ship. "Niysha! Move everything that isn't bolted down into the smuggling compartment! Make as much room as possible! Jettison whatever we don't need!"

Niysha and whomever else.

 

[Niysha]

Objective 3: Fractured Skies
Att: In Rhan
Location: High orbit above the Ka'thaa'rahn Lattice debris belt
Currently: Preparing the Dancer to take on refugees. And by Bogan will it be prepared.

When the Dancer came out of hyperspace, Niysha was already half-dazed. The horrible, deafening sound of untold millions, maybe billions screaming in wrath and fear and pain as they faced their inevitable end was, for several minutes, too much to bear. In was busy in the cockpit. She likely wouldn't even notice Niysha huddled up in a corner, bracing against the G-force of a huge freighter hurtling through debris and oncoming fire. She'd notice even less that her companion was breathing much more loudly than normal.

She needed. To calm. Down.

Niysha sank to the deck and took one long ragged but extremely deep breath. She fell into herself. The galaxy was awash with emotion. Far denser, far more electric than she'd ever seen. The one space battle she'd already been in had nothing on this one. The people here weren't fighting for their lives; they were scrambling desperately to not die... or to force others to die with them. Millions, billions of innocents under the yoke of a powerful warrior caste that dictated that their suffering was dogmatic reality. It almost felt like home.

Deeper. The space around her was awash with panic and hate, righteous fury and desperate terror. All negative, all powerful, all so thick that it choked the lungs. She could barely breathe, let alone move, but she had to push deeper. The anxiety was a swamp so thick that simply dipping in had already sucked her down to drown. That was something that she hadn't been prepared for... but she knew how to handle. Niysha - her pathetic meat far behind her, and her weary and anxious spirit well on its way to follow - managed to tear her way deeper.

At the core of this mess, she found what she was looking for. A few scattered, brilliant sparks of hope. Some people here could see the light at the end of their path. They were moving forward; they had to. It was the only thing they knew to do when faced with oblivion. Huddled in durasteel carcasses that some genius had tricked tiny, dying stars into, they could only move forward.

When two of them winked out, Niysha tore her way back to herself. She stood, set her jaw, and got to work.

On her way to set the ship to combat readiness, flipping switches and enabling crash webbing, Niysha made sure to slap the comms open for the whole ship. She'd need a direct line to In up in the cockpit at all times, or this wasn't going to work. For the second time in as many days, they very well might die from proximity to a star. Fortunately, they had practice this time.

"On it," she confirmed, finally. It'd taken her a solid minute to get back to her captain. "In, we can evac the planet or we can cover the escaping freighters and pick up drifters. We do not have time to do both." As she spoke, Niysha was actively moving between rooms. Her voice came through the comm speakers unsteadily as she passed from the galley to the rooms to hydro to finally end up in the cargo bay.

They were light, at the moment. Not completely empty, but light. She probably wouldn't have to jettison anything. Niysha rushed over to one side and found a sled, then pushed it around the cargo bay, filling it as best she could with crates, loose boxes, and whatever other debris would turn into flechettes during a firefight. "We could fit more than thirty back here," she shouted to the comms as she pushed the sled full of loose debris to the smuggling compartment beneath the cockpit, "but not many more, and it wouldn't be cozy."

 

[Jonyna Si]

TAG: Open

The Dawn of Hope had arrived. Normally they would have been set up to act as hospital ships, but today they were purely for evacuations. Jonyna sat in the front seat of it all, sitting in the forward bridge of the Dawnbreaker.

A fitting name for a ship in all this, she thought. The death of a star was always a magnificent thing, but it was also one of those things that would always lead to things like this.

The death of millions, if they weren't led elsewhere.

The Royal Naboo Republic had been one of those governments Jonyna never had the chance to interact with. She just wasn't in the area all that often, outside of the occasional visit to Ryloth.

As they entered the system, Jonyna was quick to act.

"All ships, raise ion shields to full. We'll need it to keep the radiation from the star at bay. Lifeline, begin evacuation protocals. Send in everything we can down there. I want the Tenacities and Astrocats on standby, Sylvar knows what the sith will do to throw a wrench into the evacuation this close to their borders."

 

[Alora Vizsla]

"Just to be clear," Alora rippled into holographic glory, "Gambit and I go anywhere and everywhere for the right price. We don't care how upset they'll get, no blockade keeps us out or in. So if you need something shipped, we're your Kenobi." And Gambit's services didn't come cheap, but how many ships specialized almost exclusively on stealth? A lot of credits were poured into Gambit over the years to stay up to date with advances in detection capabilities.

Everyone finding it inexcusable to ignore the plight of the people, no matter how repulsive, could accept or decline Alora's offer. She wasn't going for funsies though. People hosted inside crystal? Oh, that sounded cool, but that didn't mean anything to her. And as for entechment... yeah, no, that would probably get Alora helping hasten their star exploding rather than worrying about getting the blueprints or whatever. She had enough tech in her life -- and body -- as it was, and power was not an issue.​

Sibylla Abrantes | Aether Verd | OPEN​

 

[Jerec Asyr]

OBJECTIVE 4
FOR BLACK SUN

"Do you know," said Jerec to his co-conspirators, underworlders all, in a downright dank lair, "what every scavver worth his salt, and every emperor, and every Jedi, is going for on Ka'thaa'rahn? Sure you do; it's obvious. The tech, and the lattice shavvit, and the gene-spliced slave laborers, and those sacred place rumor bits, and the archives, and the wealth, and the salvage, and whateverthefeth. But we're going for none of that. They'll figure it out. Let'em have it."

A holoprojector spat a futzing static image of a lumpy piece of tech, old as balls and the size of a small starfighter.

"Behold the key to glory."

---

A mismatched set of Black Sun-aligned medium freighters, non-participants in the gunplay and easy to mistake for refugee ships other than the minor detail that they were going down and not up, blazed toward the deadly dangerous mountain city of Thaal'quorr.(1)

---

"See, the real treasure is none of the above. It's the fanatical bastards who made this place such an ouroboros mess in the first place. And it's their hard target. It's the Ka'dyraal military caste(2), or whatever fraction of them survives this with a flexible new perspective, and their fortress built into a mountain so deep nobody could dig it out short of a base delta zero.

"So we are stealing them and their city. By stealing their mountain. Comrades...let me tell you about Ganker Limpets."

---

Most of the Black Sun freighters aimed to touch down at equidistant points around the mountain, at the edge of the assumed range of its defensive emplacements. If they unloaded their identical cargoes safely, and if the handful of remaining freighters were able to stay airborne so as to make a three-dimensional shape between their positions and enclosing the mountain, this might, might, let them see another day.

---

"The real treasure, folks; the good stuff. I call this Operation Kandor. Let's make some memories."



(1) Thaal'quorr - Capital City & Warrior Seat:
A ancient citadel fused into the side of a hollowed mountain, and is both fortress and temple. It houses the ruling council of the Ka'dyraal warrior caste and the planet's principal military command. Sacred duels, executions, and caste proclamations are held on its Obsidian Causeway, an arena bathed in ancestral flame.

(2) Military: Elite and Hardened - Ka'thaa'rahn maintains a disciplined, high-tech military composed of elite cybernetic warriors, sentient crystal constructs, and lattice-bound ships. While small in number compared to galactic empires, their warriors are trained from childhood and employ tech integrated with entechment-enhanced cognition.


Razmir Tezhyn K4-ZAN Zayah Bane Kinley Pryse Parvati

 

[Annis Riyaré]

OBJECTIVE 1 - POLITICAL NEGOTIATIONS

Annis Riyaré, Countess of Lopenthé, Senator of Naboo

Location: KALLISTOS
Gear: Voidstone bracelet
Tag: Sibylla Abrantes Aether Verd

Spoiler: wearing

Countess Riyaré, Senator of Naboo stood at the podium ready for this debate, it needed to be done for the sake of due process but dear gods it needed to be done quickly, inactivity amd stalling could render any decisions made here entirely pointless anyway.

She looked as Aether Verd stepped forward and made his forceful declaration, she agreed with him and would speak herself in turn.

"Gathered Delegates, the people of Naboo do not wish to stand idly by and we will not commit to inactivity. As our honoured guest, Mand'alor Verd has confirmed the sins of this world have been well documented, but this culture was put in place by people long since dead. Would any of us like to be condemned to death for the crime of simply following the only life they know?

Perhaps we should condemn the mandalorians for the barbarism of their ancestors? Or perhaps even condemn Naboo for what our own ancestors once made manifest? We have had the right to be better, and so should the Ka'thaa'rahn.

The Republic is an enlightened government and as such the actions committed by the people asking for our help are criminal, and they shall remain criminal. Perhaps there are those members that will require justice to be served in the future, but we cannot serve that justice, nor can we put this civilisation on a path to a brighter future if we dont save them first. If we are to declare ourselves their executioner without trial or chance of forgiveness, then this is not the assembly that I grew up desperate to serve."

She stepped back and breathed, she could feel her heart beating and she looked dead in the eyes of one of the other senators who had not long argued for the planet to be abandoned to their fate. He withered at her stare.

Part of her wished it proper to use her position as the representative of the Queen's homeworld to encourage her to use her executive power to move things, but erosion of democracy would poison the growing civilisation much more than a few culturally backwards individuals ever could.

 

[Razmir Tezhyn]

OBJECTIVE 4
MOUNTAIN HEIST

The atmosphere aboard the Ambition's Reach had never been tenser.

Razmir double-checked the readout for their shields. Deflectors up, all systems nominal. Somehow that didn't take away the nervous edge he felt as their ship barreled through the atmosphere of a dying world, nose-first toward a mountain range. He'd been part of some hair-braned schemes, but this heist sat at the pinnacle in both its boundless audacity and suicidal recklessness.

"Cardinal," Raz called down the corridor behind him. "How's our cargo looking? Make it through hyperspace alright?"

As the mechanic of their crew, Cardinal had been charged with overseeing the unique cargo they were ferrying to the Ka'thaa'rahn mountains. He'd explained to Raz that the massive piece of delicate machinery essentially boiled down to a specialized hyperspace engine. Or that's what Raz picked up from the long-winded explanation full of technical details and enthusiastic praise Cardinal had given him.

"Everything in the green! We just have to get this beauty planetside and we'll be one mountain richer!" Cardinal yelled back from across the ship.

A mountain richer. Razmir almost hated how literal that phrasing was. Almost. If he was being truthful, the entire scheme had made his icy, blackened heart sing with vile ambition.

"Get us down in one piece there, Carv," he spoke to his pilot.

The elder Defel, the best pilot on their crew, grunted his acknowledgement and flipped a few switches in preparation for evasive maneuvers. Razmir meanwhile checked on the beckon calls for the several other freighters slave-rigged to the Ambition's Reach, each carrying the same cargo. The group flew in a loose formation, with the Ambition taking the lead. It would stand out as more responsive to sudden threats and more nimble in the execution of its evasive maneuvers.

Jerec Asyr K4-ZAN Kinley Pryse Zayah Bane Parvati

 

[Corazona von Ascania]

Tags | Lysander von Ascania | Bernard | Victor Lee Burukai
​

"You've gotten good at concealing yourself."

Ka'thaa'rahn was a mess of a system. A rigid caste structure, a living library built on a horrifyingly unethical backbone, and the upper echelons embracing an inevitable heat-death of their world.

That last one wasn't so much of a problem if they weren't intent on dragging the unwilling with them.

While those with a better mind for politics discussed how their individual factions would respond, the Ascania siblings were currently tunneling their way into the crucible vaults through a network of ventilation shafts. The pair had only recently touched base after rebellion had engulfed their home world, and had barely said greeted one another when Lorekeeper Vael-Shen's message reached Cora's datapad.

The ride to Ka'thaa'rahn was relatively silent. Cora had busied herself with holomaps and information streams. The distress call would attract samaritans and vultures alike. Though they intended to be the former, some would see them as the latter.

The trek across the surface was silent, too. They made themselves small and unassuming, and Cora was surprised at how easily Lysander's presence in the Force shrank down to a pinprick. She only commented on it once he lowered the grate, shutting the pair out from the cacophony on the surface.

Even in the darkness of the ventilation shaft, even facing away from her brother, Cora couldn't bring herself to look at him.

How could she, when she'd killed their father?

"I…"

It was impossible to broach this subject in a comfortable way. The past few weeks on Ukatis had been spent coordinating aid, reactivating the emergency housing program, and meeting with the surviving advisors to decide who would plug the impending power vacuum. Compartmentalizing all of that away felt wrong, but she did her best.

Cora tapped at her wrist comm. A tiny, blue-lit map projected out in front of her.

"Looks like we can drop into an access hall just a few rows down."

The unsaid hung between them, growing heavier by the second.

 

[Zayah Bane]

​

O P E R A T I O N . K A N D O R

| Location | Thaal'Quorr, Ka'thaa'rahn​

| Objective | [OBJ 4] Chaos Reigns​

​

With Black Sun beginning to show its hand in its resurgence, the Echani figured it was a good time to make an impression of herself in the shadow they cast. The ashened end of the cigarette between her lips crumbled as Zayah's gaze drifted. Amidst the ship full of mismatched criminals and grunts, she stood apart with her own group, remnants of her gang that weren't killed on Coruscant during the Dark Empire's occupation of the core. For what it was worth, they were loyal, if not a little overzealous in following her, and assuming the job went according to plan, their loyalty would be paid well. The Ithorian that had assembled this little band of misfits for the task was a bit eccentric to her, crazy even with what he was asking them to perform, but she wasn't going to question it too much. ​

​

She could handle herself.​

​

She reached back as she pulled out her vibro claws, a gauntlet with sharp talons capable of ripping and tearing through most things they came into contact with, or skewering a hole through anything unfortunate enough to take them, pulling it over her left hand as it locked into place around her forearm. Fingers flexed one at a time before she clenched it into a fist to ensure that they were snug. Her sidearm was already inspected and tucked in its holster at her hip as she glanced over at the rest of her crew, all of them already signaling that their gear and weapons were good to go as the freighter they were aboard arrived at its destination and touched down at the base of the mountain. ​

​

Zayah let the other misfits aboard the freighter out first in the event that their arrival was already met with resistance. Better to let the fodder that she didn't know catch the heat rather than herself or her own gang. All that was left was for the rest of their little expedition to make landfall and to set up the Ganker Limpets so they could get on with their grand heist.​

​

Jerec Asyr | Razmir Tezhyn | K4-ZAN | Kinley Pryse​

 

[Victor Lee Burukai]

Ka'thaa'rahn, Objective 2
Allies: ???
Enemies: Corazona von Ascania , Lysander von Ascania
???: Bernard

An explosion would make an entry for Victor Lee Burukai into the The Crucible Vaults of Eshan'kai. The High Baron of House Gyukia would step into the subterranean complex and take a deep breath. Ancient wisdom is what this place flowed with. The Galaxy was a cruel place, but the harvesting of souls? That was uniquely diabolical. Living minds trapped within stone, the potential for which the Songsteel blades of his kinsmen, the Zabrak of Smarteel, had cut their way through the cyborg creations of the Ssruuk to get to obtain. Victor peeled an enhanced humanoid body off of his blade and cast it aside, taking in the sensations of this place. He could feel it now, the energy coursing through the stone implanted into his mind. It made the Baron grin with some level of sadistic glee.

The power in their pain alone was simply glorious. Through the Blue Stone they spoke to him, wailing in eternal torment. It was music to his ears.

"My lord?" one of his sword-bearers began, inquiring on the state of his leader.

"We draw close to the crystal lattices," he stated. "I can feel the energy coursing through the stone now... The supernova causes them to cry out for relief. They long for death... it brings out their potency."

The use for these souls was something that Victor believed was lost on the Ssruuk. They were an advanced people with the capability to harvest souls, yet they lacked the forethought to compose with specific intent like he did. They were mindless creators who built off on instinct, below his mind. The soul was a powerful thing, and with it one could rival the power of the gods that walked the Galaxy, those called Jedi and Sith. To feed off of their power and torment was to transcend the limitations of mortal flesh.

House Gyukia was a clan of tradition. If he wanted control, the forefront Burukai patriarch had to look to higher power. Waiting for his insufferable niece Iria Lee Gyukia to keel over and relinquish her inheritance was growing dull.

"The Force is the conduit of action in the galaxy," he stated to his men. "We may barter in songsteel and spice, but always will our efforts leave our noble house on the backfoot. Our swords will turn the very tides of fate. We're establishing an intergalactic dynasty, not simply making a profit. Remember that, and let your blades swing true. No agent of good or evil will stand against us."

He strode onward, flanked by his men while curling the ends of his mustache.

What great fortune indeed. Perhaps planets should die more often...

 

[Parvati]

Parvati sat in a dim corner of the Ambition's Reach, swathed in her custom-fitted black bodysuit, this one stitched with a polished Black Sun insignia across the chest. Today, she wore her old colors. Mistress of the House of Parvati, former Vigo, eternal opportunist, she had slipped back into the fold of the syndicate not out of loyalty, but because this operation reeked of ambition, lunacy, and impossible payout. Just her kind of party.

Strapped at her thighs were two blasters—one long-barreled for sustained engagement, the other a sleek, discreet holdout meant for up-close corrections. She'd left her Sable droids behind for once. There were already enough bodies and egos aboard this ship; she didn't need to manage her own steel phantoms on top of it. No, today she was keeping it personal.

She hadn't expected to be smuggling herself into the heart of a dying world to steal an entire mountain. And yet, here she was, riding a freighter full of half-mad pirates and wild-eyed dreamers hellbent on lifting a sacred stronghold out of Ka'thaa'rahn's crust like it was a prize jewel to be mounted on a gaudy syndicate ring.

But Parvati wasn't here for the rock. She was here for what pulsed inside it.

The Ka'dyraal tech—entechment-bound, soul-threaded, engineered for warfare with spiritual resonance-was a kind of sorcery even the Sith whispered about. Machines with minds, warriors with ghosts. If she could get her hands on the blueprints, or better yet, a surviving specimen? The House of Parvati would not need an army. She would become the factory.

She knew little about Razmir firsthand, but that had never stopped her. She'd read the reports, pulled the right strings, sliced through every wall he'd built around his past. Jedi exile turned syndicate saboteur—her kind of contradiction. The rest of the crew? Colorful. Dangerous. Especially the Kage. Parvati kept a side-eye on her gear, not out of fear, but respect. You don't underestimate predators. You keep them entertained.

As the Reach pierced through the planet's decaying atmosphere, she rose from her seat with the grace of a coiled blade. Nearly six and a half feet in her heels, she moved like smoke in zero gravity—silent, deadly, unbothered. Her long stride carried her to the gunner station. She'd agreed to man the turrets, not out of obligation, but because someone needed to keep this vessel intact long enough for them to commit grand larceny on a planetary scale.

Fingers hovered over the controls, nails lacquered like obsidian blades. She smiled, lips barely parted.

"Let them try to stop us." she murmured to herself, locking onto a defensive signature. "It's not the mountain they should be worried about."

If they survived this? She'd pour herself something strong, light a deathstick, and start planning how to turn ancient death cult tech into a boutique weapons line. And if they didn't?

Well, at least she'd go out in heels.

Razmir Tezhyn Jerec Asyr K4-ZAN Kinley Pryse Zayah Bane

 

[U40a]

OBJECTIVE 4
BLACK SUN MOUNTAIN GANK

Razmir Tezhyn Parvati K4-ZAN Kinley Pryse Zayah Bane


U40a, Black Sun's music droid, was aboard one of the freighters, but in a truer sense it was permeating their comm channels, its perfect playlist algorithms both inspiring and inescapable.

An ideal soundtrack piped through the Black Sun affiliates' comm systems, echoed in the airlocks and cargo bays, shivered in the mission gear.

All the comms defaulted to loud. For morale purposes.

 

[K4-ZAN]

[Obj 4] Operation Kandor
Thaal'Quor, Ka'thaa'rahn
Tags: Jerec Asyr | Razmir Tezhyn | Zayah Bane | Kinley Pryse | Parvati

This was not the droid’s typical forte, to say the least. K4-ZAN had listened to the crafty scoundrel spin his tale, and how they would do it. Even it had to admit that it was surprised by the ingenuity; the Limpets were a clever contraption. One he’d do well to note in the future. He was a warrior-poet by heart. What use would this place be, if it all went to dust? They were doing them a favor, to preserve them in any aspect. Even if unwillingly. The tech and potential components he could modify himself with once they searched through their takings, only served to sweeten the deal. Mind and body ever-hungered for more.

As the other had said; it would make for some good memories once it was all sold off to the highest bidder, and coercions made with the populace.

And so, while politicians in orbit wrung their hands over cultural preservation versus intervention treaties, and the planet’s crust fractured beneath tidal stress, others took action.

After the Ithorian’s very stubborn insistence, Ka’zan was left with a run-down trandoshan craft, swearing high and low that it was being merely borrowed. Especially as the vessel’s audio system screamed a particularly feral track of bass-heavy percussion that the droid could only describe as “aural combustion” — which, of course, he could not figure out how to turn off. It lacked structure. It lacked grace. But no matter.

There was a descent through the atmosphere with a slip past a blockade in conflict, the creaking hull grumbling like an aged warbeast, and touched down on the jagged shelf below the shrouded range—now a domain of the dying culture. The air shimmered with heat and static charge. Below the horizon, the supernova had begun to rise. A second, hungrier sun, promising total annihilation.

A motley crew of reprogrammed labor units, anarchic slicers, debt-sick pirates, and thrill-seekers was loaned for the task, other scattered ships to aid in dragging the contraption along. Their gear was mismatched. Their loyalty uncertain. But they shared the same goal. Upon touchdown, K4-ZAN merely gave a simple statement to announce over the ship’s comms. “You will act swiftly. You will not damage what must be preserved. Anything else is expendable.”

With a hiss of the door, the cargo bay opened. The droid unsheathed a blade at his side, idly checking it in the light, photoreceptor narrowing and widening in analysis, before it was sheathed. There was a rise of the cockpit to start to oversee what came next.

It was time to get to work.

 

[Darth Carnifex]

"Encroaching ingress, realspace reversal initiated."

The chaotic miasma of hyperspace bled away, pinpricks of starlight upon a black canvas rushing to fill its absence. Anchored at its center was Ka'thaa'rahn, a planet teetering on the precipice of oblivion. The sleek black vessel cut across the empty void like a hungry predator, sublight engines burning bright as it sped towards the doomed world. Incrementally, the hull vanished until the entire ship had been swallowed up by the stygian field now enveloping it.

"Cloaking field engaged, long-range scanners deployed. Detecting adversarial craft. Negative engagement." It was a good report, it meant that they'd hadn't been detected coming out of hyperspace. At least, not directly. The more sensitive relays in the system might have detected the anomaly of their ingress, but all other sensors would've be deafened to their approach. They continued unabated towards the planet's surface, breaching atmosphere at speeds that would've been destructive to a vessel of lesser design.

Skimming along the crystal forest, the Crestfallen slowed to a rumbling idle before slipping down into a clearing. The technicians worked to maintain the stygian field even as they remained grounded, the boarding silently opening to allow the passengers to freely exit the craft; twenty in total, each one emerging from the veil of nothingness one at a time. They all wore the armor and cloaks of the Sith, a myriad of species all bound by the same doctrinal creed. More than that, they were bound to the one whom they owed their allegiance.

Emerging from the veil, swaddled in the regalia of violence, was Darth Carnifex -- Dark Lord of the Sith.

A cloak of bladed scales hung down from broad shoulders, spreading out like a fan in His wake. Armor stamped and emblazoned with the deepest magick clung tightly to His powerfully honed physique, the very air around Him shimmering with latent power. His eyes, piercing gemstones of blacked obsidian and blazing topaz, glowered at the world around Him; as if the very existence of life not subject to His dominion revolted His every sense.

"This world," intoned the Dark Lord, the Sith around Him recoiling with its mere utterance. "Shall fall into shadow and flame. There resides within its lifestream knowledge coveted and sequestered for generations. Crystal matrices containing the wisdom of this world's ancestors. Just as its future has been stolen, so too shall its past. Go forth and breach this world's hallowed spaces, and recover all that you can. Destroy what cannot be taken. Kill those who stand in your path."

They sped away, seeking the entrances to the tombs and vaults below. Darth Carnifex followed at His own pace, the encroaching shadow of His arrival now beginning to press upon the Force like an inexorable glacier.

Smothering the Light where it could be found.

Same Location: Corazona von Ascania | Lysander von Ascania | Bernard | Victor Lee Burukai ​

 

[Kinley Pryse]

You've been hit by... you've been struck by...

O B J E C T I V E - 4
It's the ship that made the Kessel Run in less than 12 parsecs… She's fast enough for you, old man​

They called it a fleet, but Kinley Pryse had seen tighter formations in a back-alley swoop race. A ragged trail of converted freighters, gutted corvettes, and barely-coherent gunships burned toward Thaal'quorr, the mountain city rumored to hold vaults of pre-Collapse relics. The Black Sun crew wanted to lift the mountain — literally — with seismic disruptors and grav drives stitched together from stolen military tech. Their plan was chaos. Destruction. Profit.

Kinley's plan? Not crashing. She was here because Flint ordered her to be, which meant she had little care for the outcome and more for keeping her own skin alive.

She lounged in the pilot's seat of the Eidolon Endeavor, fingers dancing across the control interface like a pianist mid-solo. The ship thrummed with potential, all sleek hull and bleeding-edge thrusters. She could feel it in her bones. This wasn't just a cargo crate; this was a beast begging to run.

"…Just a test spin," she muttered to no one, biting her lip as she adjusted the yaw mid-course. "No harm in letting her breathe."

Her comm crackled — some goon captain barking about formation discipline, but Kinley dialed it down, the noise fading into static. She wasn't here for loyalty or legacy. The Black Sun could have their scorched earth. Kinley just wanted to feel the sky tear open in her wake. Outside, the spires of Thaal'quorr loomed in the distance.

Inside the Eidolon, Kinley grinned.

"Let's see what you can really do, girl."


Jerec Asyr K4-ZAN Zayah Bane Parvati Razmir Tezhyn U40a

A Smooth Criminal