Annihilation The Shatterlight of Ka’thaa’rahn

[Kalantha]

THE SHATTERLGHT OF KA'THAA'RAHN
… a Royal Naboo Republic Story

Aboard the neutral orbital station KALLISTOS, the Queen of Naboo stood stalwart and resolute. Despite her youth, she carried herself with a stillness that conveyed wisdom and political precision. These were attributes that had followed Kalantha her entire life, from a childhood of tutelage at the Royal Academy all the way to now, when she sat the throne of the Royal Naboo Republic during what many would regard as the galaxy's most chaotic season in nearly three decades.

The Sundering Dawn had caught everyone by surprise. Entire star systems were shifted across the galaxy in an unparalleled event, all thanks to a culprit known as Calladene - what was happening now to Ka'thaa'rahn was another symptom of the Sundering, though it was on the extreme end of the spectrum. Most worlds affected only suffered climate change or political upheaval... this poor world, once located in Wild Space, found itself on the edge of the Sith-occupied Aur Diamonds region, soon to be betrayed by the collapse of its unstable star.

Queen Kalantha reviewed the unsanctioned distress signal delivered to the powers of the Southern Systems carefully. She and the Royal Assembly behind her found themselves in a tough position; of course, the right thing to do was to save as many Ka'thaarans as they could manage before the world burned, but that would require the Republic to disregard the planet's official refusal to accept aid. And to make matters worse, there were some present that believed that the sins of the Ka'thaarans - their use of entechment in particular - was damnable enough to doom the entire world to death.

There were many unknowns here, but that was indisputably not an option the Naboo would take.

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

“And it never suits Mandalorians.”

"Believe me when I say that the Naboo are quite familiar with the actions that do suit the Mandalorians," the Queen retorted sharply. She was certainly referring to the Neo-Crusader assault on Theed and Dee'ja Peak. "What you perceive as inaction is the process of governance that the Royal Naboo Republic was founded upon: agency of the planets within our stewardship. The Royal Assembly prides itself on the preservation of the practices and traditions of worlds within our territory; though that steadfast commitment is clearly put to the test when galaxies converge and star systems find themselves flung from Wild Space to the Mid Rim."

She gestured to a hologram of Ka'thaa'rahn, drawing the Royal Assembly's eyes to the display. Projections, calculations, and simulations ran like a wild storm of data as scientists tried their best to predict what might become of this doomed planet, and when.

"Ka'thaa'rahn did not choose to fall under the Republic's stewardship, and as the message from Lorekeeper Vael-Shen reveals, the Ka'thaaran government officially refuses our aid. Were there more time," she went on to say, looking over the senators and representatives gathered, "I'd recommend that proper diplomatic brigades be formed and dispatched to the capital. But there is precious little time left for Ka'thaa'rahn, and that time is running out as we speak."

Her eyes locked on Senator Annis Riyaré of Naboo itself, and for those who could see the Queen clearly, they might have noticed a shallow nod from one woman to the other. Kalantha's next words thankfully aligned rather closely with those of Naboo's representative.

"There is no time for a proper vote, and there is no question in my mind that evacuation should be offered to those who would seek to accept it. The religious ceremonies and practices of the Ka'thaarans should not condemn those who wish to leave them behind to death."

"Therefore, with the powers vested in me as your Queen - and solidified during this time of turmoil by the emergency powers levied me by this Assembly - I decree that the people of Ka'thaa'rahn be afforded an opportunity to flee their world, aided by the Royal Republic and its allies."

The Queen then turned her gaze to Aether Verd and offered him a similar nod. "Much like the Ka'thaarans, the Mandalorians should be given a chance to be better than their kin; Manda'lor Verd, we offer you the contract you seek. The Mandalorian Empire is requested to aid us in this mission to save the people of Ka'thaa'rahn."

"Send your fleet."

Tags: Sibylla Abrantes | Aether Verd | Annis Riyaré​

 

[Ailmar Dawnstone]

Dawnstone Relief, here for the people.

TAGS: Bit of background

From scattered fighters to imposing dreadnaughts, hundreds of thousands of space-faring vessels filled the void around a ticking time bomb of a planet, surely for the final time. Among them floated fourty odd colossal ships resting far beyond the orbit of Ka'thaa'rahn and beyond the hyper lane jumps. These were not just any ships; they were capital ships painted in stark black with red accents, proudly displaying the emblem of the first Rebel Alliance—a symbol of hope for the less fortunate inhabitants below. These were a mix of ShaShore frigates, Dreadnaught-class heavy cruiser, Consulars, Nebulons, Braha'toks, and the renowned MC-80 capital ship, once formidable war machines. Stripped of their shielding and armaments years ago, they had been repurposed as bulk freighters and, now, as evacuation vessels. Countless squadrons of Simiyiar-class light freighters, each bearing the mark of the rebellion, darted back and forth from the capital ships to the planet's surface. They were part of a desperate evacuation effort just like that during Coruscant all those months back, return for another round.

Plenty of favors had been called in for this little jaunt across the stars, primarily through logistics fleets from the alliance shown in force mounting a grand total of six odd super freighters and their escorts far outside of reach with the rest of the fleet. Packed in like womp rats the lot of them could likely hold millions each, but thousands would do in this time of need.

This tested fleet did not belong to Ailmar or his exploratory corporation—not even now, at least. For now, they remained under the control of his father and Dawnstone Logistics. These ships bore the mark of the rebellion as a result of a secretive deal struck following the wide spread distress call. It was this deal that had summoned a vast portion of the transport fleet to the skies above the bursting star, placing them under the temporary command of Ailmar and his team of humanitarians. Over the past weeks, their efforts had been remarkably efficient, with a staggering number of civilians safely escorted from the planet to new beginnings beyond.

Becoming one of the largest civilian contributors to the evacuation efforts, Dawnstone Logistics and Antares Exploration found themselves employing over a million associates within the past month to man the ever-expanding fleet. This surge in activity funneled credits throughout the system and into the pockets of the Sephian family.

The previous month had brought massive change to both Dawnstone Logistics and Antares Exploration. Both having procured multiple warships from a bygone era, largely mothballed, restored, or repurposed assets from wherever they could find them. The largest of these was the Andor, an aging Mediator-class battle cruiser. Ailmar's crew, currently aboard this majestic vessel, had overseen its restoration to its former glory in this time of urgent need. Staged alongside three MC90 Star Cruisers and six MC30c frigates, including the Spirit, these ten vessels now comprised the Antares Exploration fleet. Under the command of Ailliance authority while in system. Dawnstone and his men would play by their rules for the time being, it was only proper after all.​

"Privateerin' she calls it"

TAGS: Open to all! Jonyna Si

Twenty thousand years of conflict spread across the stars and one moment within would feel all too insignificant.The existence of everyone present was in truth, insignificant- from the lowest recruit among countless thousands to the officers who led them. However, no less important were their contributions to this day, when faced with the Annihilation of an entire sector at the whim of a star gone nova. Stood aboard the flagship of the Antares Exploration fleet, Ailmar Dawnstone addressed his crew working their stations within the bridge, eyes affixed to the star threatening to bust at any moment. Fear threatened his every word, but still he remained on for the task at hand.


“Alright ladies and gentlemen, we’re here for the bomb star fixin’ to blow at any moment. Everyone and their mother is coming around for a pound of flesh, so we’ll be assisting the Jedi primarily. I want us tight with them, escorting the civilian ships to safety.”


Dawnstone took a step closer to the front end of his ship, peering through the glass at all of the newcomers both friend and foe alike. Just a few weeks ago he'd been harassing imperial remiants and their holdings in a pursuit of liberation- now the question of some temporary truce was flooding the mind. To them, he and the rest of the exploration were pirates, terrorists, rebels. He wasn’t so certain they were soon to let him and his own off the hook without a flight.

Being a pirate in all but name, and therefore without access to secure alliance channels, a call was placed over the open channels on low tunes, broadcast short but still likely picked up on by prying ears of the imperials and Sith.

“This is Captain Dawnstone of the Antares Exploration Hailing all Alliance and Jedi forces. The 42nd and 91st logistics fleets are answering a favor, and are ready to evacuate civilians. Any word on the locals blocking orbit? We can be waiting much longer before this star cracks." ​

 

[Thilarii Altinova]

Ka'thaa'rahn – The Crucible Vaults- Able Platoon
The music!
Lysander von Ascania + Bernard + Victor Lee Burukai + Corazona von Ascania + Darth Carnifex

From one shit show to the next, those of the 139th commandos were constrained to a war effort beyond their say. However, for such a terrible event as this, delays could be made for the recovery of assets. Most of the GADF weren't likely to be on station, off fighting on the frontlines far beyond reach. However, Thilarii was anything but. Pulled in by favor alongside his command element, he and the rest of ABLE were dropped in hot through flak fire onto the surface of a dying planet, making a very loud entrance through an atmospheric jump onto hard ground before the shepherd and her crew turned for freedom. Interference from the detonating star had left the commandos without their droid support, forcing them to remain light on their feet as a result.

A race to the rally point ensued, rejoining the Jedi and their efforts to infiltrate The Crucible Vaults. Why the commandos were there of all people had boiled down to the same as always, protection and insurance. However, already they'd run into trouble linking up with their two jedi protectorates. Having spoken with the lady on previous assignment, Thilarii reached out to one Corazona von Ascania over personal commutations, attempting to, anyway.

"Book Worm, this is Able actual, how copy?"

A short pause befell the commandos while checking their own holographic maps, deciding amongst themselves what the best course of action forward was. Without support and extraction on hand they had no choice in the matter but to push forward into hell, regardless of what horrors awaited them. Refusing to waste any more time than absolutely necessary given the currant state of affairs, Thilarri reached out for a second time as they closed the distance by way of holomaps. On their way in, sensors were placed at various points to cover their rear, better safe than sorry.

"Book Worm, do you copy? This is able actual in the blind."

It'd not be long before those sensers were tripped, alerting the commandos to a presence not welcome by any but their own. Soon it'd of been a firefight, though until that fateful shot they'd close the distance until contact was established with their force sensitive allies.

For they were in the blind after all, without proper knowledge of the situation given before arrival.

 

[Kroeger]

D E M O N
IRON LEGION
'THOSE ONCE LOYAL'
ILV 'Long Night of Solace' Pellaeon IV-class Star Destroyer

Imperius Indomitus

IF I HAD A HEART
​

The Iron Legion's mobile command fortress aboard the 'Long Night of Solace' emerged from hyperspace with a elegantly violent snap into real space in the wake of the Imperius's fleet. The blast doors to the command bridge opened to a metallic hiss to the communicative dialogue of naval personnel toiling over squadron patrol patterns, atmospheric conditions, ship system statuses and communications as the command staff strode about above the working stations of the ship's crew. Nestled before the bridge's viewport, the captain of the vessel, Adrian Thire was dishing out taskings to his subordinate when Kroeger approached.

"See that's it done..." The Captain, Adrian Thire said, concluding the discussion before his gaze shifted to man, all but clad in the panoply he'd wear when he was due to enter combat from the commander's seat of a Cataphract. Bodyglove, camoflauge fatigues with a duraplast armor plate displaying his rank over his heart, though half covered by the tanker's jacket open and strewn over it, loose comms cord looped into a control panel strapped to the armor which controlled his push-to-talk, frequency and channel of communication.

"Kroeger...I believe Imperius is calling for the others aboard the bridge of his vessel. Already told them you'd remain aboard here and take it via hologram." The more reasonable course as opposed to clearing a shuttle from the hangar bay whilst his men were equipping themselves and their vehicles to hit the planet's surface.

"And when's it supposed to start?" He asked, lofting a brow, barely seen from the tightly woven bandages that kept his disfigured, cybernetically repaired face and skull structure held in place.

"Any minute now, I can put you through if you'd like." Thire proposed, already centering his attention on the hologram's control panel.

"Please."

And within an instant, Kroeger's image was projected alongside the relevant parties within the bridge of Imperius's command ship. The brief was short, concise and to the point. Preferable to the usual ear-beating of staff officers who hoped to plump the opinion of their superiors in the context of quarterly evaluations. Kroeger nodded.

"Affirm. I have Trade Federation detail I'm charged with escorting myself. Pin a vicinity grin to the strongest concentration of the kyber and those within the same grid zone identifier. We'll weave our defenses in together, get what we can and move unto the next one. We'll set a back stop of no more than six hours, my men can be ready conditions one, on the ground, within thirty. Going to be detailing a battalion for the protection and another in reserve in-case things get particularly out of hand." Kroeger explained.

"Captain Thire will send through the overlays for our tactical assembly area, fires plans and air coordination measures once I get those proximity grids. Barring any further questions at this time. Demon out." Kroeger said in similar pragmatic curtness before the hologram cut. He turned his attention to Thire with an upwards nod.

"Status on atmo and air control? Seems there's a lot of noise but I'm not sure how much of it is relevant to us. Whatever you don't need for self defense, I want a squadron for air-to-air superiority and a squadron on-hold for CAS if I need it, beyond my gunships." He explained to the captain who nodded in affirmation.

"Simple enough, Dagger and Hammer squadrons. Outlander and Mauler respectively will be tasked to you." He said, flicking his fingers along one of the tactical control panels fixed to the holographic table, presumably sending the tasks to the relevant squadrons.

"Not for me, I can handle that myself. Get one for 'Iron Will', I'll be taking the lead with 'Dreadnought'." He said, referring to the specific battalions by callsigns. The Captain nodded, working the tacpad once more.

"So it's done. Need anything else from me?" Thire asked to which Kroeger shook his head.

"No that'll do well enough, Captain. I'll leave you to it." He said to the man who nodded in turn, the 'Demon' turning to leave where he'd begin to load the 'HVAD' holding his own Cataphract and the command platoon along with it, his armored combat trooper helmet pulled over his head for the trip, a hand reaching under the chin of the helmet to pull a retractable cord from the helmet which he plugged into the communications control box mounted to his chest and readied himself for the descent as the chatter of various pre-flight checks and procedures saturated the comms. All white noise to him, the pilots knew how to do their jobs. He strapped himself into one of the jump seats in the crowded cargo bay of the transport which began its hasty descent not long after.

Within two minutes the thud of the bulky transport hitting the earth stirred him back to alertness before he glanced out the way of the descending loading ramp, revealing the bright bio-luminescence of the alien jungle. Several other 'HVADs' were landed in a loose, circular perimeter with each paced outward, autonomous laser turrets mounted to the dorsal of the transports on a slow scan to cover the troops as the vehicles thrummed to life and pulled from the bays, the squads of Stormtroopers piling into the troop bays of the Barran IFVs with each man getting a tap on his shoulder by either of the two sergeants standing at either side to keep accountability of who was boarding the transport.

Kroeger was the last aboard the transport, approaching 'Demon-One' with a brisk and urgent pace that still didn't ascend above a walk, a practiced and swift ascent of the vehicle before he pulled open the commander's hatch and dropped down into his seat, sealing it behind him and locking it shut before he took the second cord from his comm control panel and grasped for the vehicle's own commlink, plugging it in to use to the vehicle's power to amplify his signal.

<"All callsigns call in with redcon-one when able. Delta company will take lead at a crawl with their red and white platoons kicking out their dismounts to run recon. Staggered column, order of march will be Aurek, Besh, Trade Fed, Demon and Cresh. Acknowledge."> The radio chatter thrummed with the various subordinate commanders acknowledging and executing.

The repulsorlift vehicles began to align themselves in order, the recon platoon of scout troopers attached to Delta company pulling the speeder bikes from their Barran IFVs before jetting off into the forest ahead of them, a detachment splitting off to make for elevated ground in the hopes of establishing an observation post in overwatch of the resource extraction area.

<"Apocalypse this is Demon, requesting two ships, one left shoulder one right shoulder of my formation for overwatch."> He requested to his MAG-24 air assault detachment which had staged not far from Kroeger's landing point, protected by a platoon of stormtroopers and Barran IFVs.

<"Copy. Famine 21 and 22 as briefed enroute."> And soon enough the loud thrumming of the gunship repulsor engines sounded overhead, cheek mounted swiveling floodlights powering up to further alight the forest ahead of the formation.

<"Good copy."> Kroeger said before he switched to an external channel on his comms control panel.

<"Valoris Actual this is Demon. Enroute to objective area estimate five minutes."> He said, pushing through to Imperius.

 

[Tibera Jessen]

Objective 2
Tags: <Open>, Evy’armi’naken

Well the world's going to end, so we dance around the fire...

Working for the CIS was probably the sweetest detail that Tibera had been on in a while. The pay was great, and it didn't hurt her conscience quite as bad as some of the shadier stuff. This job for instance was one she could probably sleep soundly about when she was done, trying to rescue crystals that had the minds of the populace's ancestors inside them. Admittedly, the minutia of how these crystals worked went right over Tib's head, that wasn't really important anyway. All that mattered was these crystals were valuable to the populace, and to her employer, so she'd guard them with her life!

The armored warrior would have a decent amount of backup on this mission as well, which was a departure from having to scrap as a one woman army. As the CIS dropshuttle flew between towering lattices of crystal, the commandos readied themselves. They seemed a serious and determined bunch, and their droid forces seemed state of the art, nothing but the best for the Confederacy. It made her glad that she was on their side, fighting droids was tough without augments.

Sure enough, the shuttle reached it's dropzone in short order. It became clear they'd need more soon though, as the sheer amount of crystals was more than just one shuttle could carry. No, their current objective was to secure the drop zone and prepare civilians in the area for departure.

Above the dropzone was a sky glowing with bright oranges and reds, painted with the fluctuating brightness of the soon to explode sun. The corona of the star constantly spat out radiation and plasma, lashing out in its' death throes before that final, climactic expansion.

"Damn, glad this suit is pretty well shielded against radiation, have a feeling I'd be melting without it. Alright, no time to snap pics, time to get to work! We focus on the crystal harvesting first, then evac the civvies as we can!"

 

[Brandyn Sal-Soren]

The wind here carried a strange static, like it couldn't decide whether to hum or hush. Above them, the sky was a bruised gold, cracked by distant ash clouds. Beneath their boots, the mineral surface throbbed faintly with buried pulse—alive, but not living.

Brandyn moved with purpose, drawn to the vaults ahead. Crystalline spines jutted from the rock in scattered rhythm, catching the failing light with eerie elegance. Every few steps, he found himself glancing at the terrain... and then at the man beside him.

Jhoren Vel, a fellow Knight of Naboo, adjusted the strap of the worn pack on his back. The hike had not been easy, but he hadn't complained—at least, not until now.

"This does not seem like it is going to go well. We should be prepared for the worst."

His tone was mild. Maybe even tired. Brandyn glanced at him, but the Zeltron hybrid didn't elaborate. He just kept walking, his gaze locked on the half-submerged mouth of the vault ahead. A faint flicker of light shimmered from within—psychic, ancient, wrong.

"And just what exactly is the worst?" Brandyn said with a heavy sigh as he stepped over a too-big fissure in the path. There was a gravity to this place that pulled thoughts inward, and every step toward the vault felt like a step into something irreversible.

Jhoren did not reply except for a grunt. Brandyn cast him a glance, confusion mixed with concern.

They were nearly there. Brandyn, though, had started wondering if they should be. The hum in the ground had started to feel like breathing, it's dying breath, and his companion seemed to carry a greater weight than just the bag on his back.

| TAG: @Open |

​

 

[Makai Dashiell]

SHATTERLIGHT

Wearing | Gear : X | X | X | X | X | L3-37 | Interacting With : OPEN / BYOO

ABOARD THE SHORT SHALE

​

[ The crystals. They are alive Sir. ]

Makai slowly blinked. Standing aboard The Short Shale ,the assignment had been simple ; explore the recently discovered Aur Diamonds Sector for minerals and ores. What they didn't expect while being in the area was recovering a message. A distress beacon that had gone out, drawing other vessels in the area, including those of Aina Holdings.

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…

"Alive as in rainbow gems, Thirty-Seven? We mine those and I wouldn't consider them sentient but alive."

[No Sir. Alive as in sentient. The caste system has bred beings as livestock to power this soul-crucible system as mentioned in the distress signal. I myself do not have much programming on the situation, only what intelligence I have gathered from other organizations and signals in the area. ]

"Sentient? I can't even enjoy the prospect of a unusual crystal with such a horrific story." Which was a bit deflating on the personal knowledge front. Yet it wasn't long lived as wheels started to churn in his head. Solutions. "I can't leave them there while a sun burns out though, that is just cruel. Not while I have resources and vessels in the area."

[ That may not be possible Sir. We also intercepted this transmission... ]

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

Makai rolled his eyes.

"That's a lot of shit-talking for a group of people who waste perfectly good crystalline structures. We have a few vessels back behind us in orbit...granted mining vessels....but I am unsure if they have the ability to burn us out in orbit." A small pause. "Let's gather what information we have and make a plan. Maybe sent out a scouting vessel. If we get lucky we might just get to save some of this sentient crystals and discover new ores on the way in..."

[ The star is dying Sir. ]

"Exactly, and when its dead there will be no more weird caste people to stop us from mining the spoils."

 

[Lysander von Ascania]

Corazona von Ascania | Darth Carnifex | Victor Lee Burukai | Bernard | Thilarii Altinova

​

While Lysander's features had yet to be soured by the passage of time, the innocence of a boy in the depths of his gaze now burned with a malevolent glow. The emerald hue appeared twisted into something cold, something cruel. Perhaps, it was for the best that she didn't look too closely at him.

And even so, the acolyte found himself occasionally looking over to the one he once idolized, his response delayed, purposely so, allowing the silence to stretch; her words, though simple, tightened like a noose, more uncomfortable than the cramped space they were currently navigating through.

It should've been heavier on the heart, one where light once shone brightly.

Now, it was only smothered in darkness.

Cora was not the only woman in his life recently possessing the art of silence.

Just another voice leaving its mark in his mind.

He was as guarded as she, if not more; his walls could've rivaled the spires back on the Jedi's home, Coruscant, forged under heartache.

Finally, he released a slow exhale, but it was not to release any lingering emotions. "You would know.” His tone was precise and sharpened by bitterness.

In some ways, like pieces of a puzzle beginning to fall into place, Lysander’s world began to make sense. Though it came at the price of losing some of his immediate family, there was a strange comfort in a new connection. The Marrs. It was the very bloodline that spawned his dark side mentor, Revna, who had been the one to teach him Force concealment.

Knowing that the other blonde purposefully kept this information from him only added to the sting.

As they approached the grate, his hands were itching to pry it loose. But before he could act, something else caught his attention. It was his sister's hand, adorned with a ring. He suddenly paused, but not in a dramatic sense, yet long enough to let his focus linger longer than it should have.

"Thanks for the invite, by the way," he murmured, before removing the covering and descending into the access hall.

The landing would arrive with the grace of a loth-cat; his leather boots kicked up a cloud of dust upon impact. Slowly rising to his full height, he brushed off the dark gray tunic with a simple flick of the wrist. Over time, he found himself caring less about concealing his physical presence.

The darker tones now meant choosing strength over balance.

Using emotions as a resource.

It meant survival in a galaxy where ideals were constantly being crushed under hard truths by the Sith Order.

Woostri was a testament to this.

Even Ka'thaa'rahn was already lost. Its rigid caste system stirred nothing within him. Everything here would be observed with detachment.

As they ventured deeper into the vaults, he could detect different energies at play, some familiar, and others foreign. But none of it mattered. Not today. Today, he was no longer just the little brother. He was the guardian, carrying a vow engraved into his soul since the days when he still called Naboo home.

​

 

[Aiden Porte]

Orbital Station
Tags: Kalantha Sibylla Abrantes Aether Verd Annis Riyaré


While it would seem a normal day, turn into something else entirely. Chaos, a planet on the verge of being destroyed. Those sought to flee seemed to be held down by their own laws and such. This was something he wouldn't forget, ever in his lifetime. And his only task today that mattered was to not leave the Queen's side, ensure her safety. Which he had done on several occasions, yet today would be the most important. He briefed those of Shiraya's Hope that had accompanied him, not many....but those that were there experience would be needed.

Advice, encouragement and keeping the Jedi level headed. Although he was doing quite well all things considered. Which surprised several, as he promised the Shiraya Order that was indeed okay, and promised them he would....be okay.

"Believe me when I say that the Naboo are quite familiar with the actions that do suit the Mandalorians,"

Aiden took the smallest of steps closer to the Queen of Naboo, as remember all to well of the event she was talking about. He listened attentively, as much as possible. But this was not his arena, not in the slightest.

"Therefore, with the powers vested in me as your Queen - and solidified during this time of turmoil by the emergency powers levied me by this Assembly - I decree that the people of Ka'thaa'rahn be afforded an opportunity to flee their world, aided by the Royal Republic and its allies."

It is done then... Aiden thought, as the task to save those that could leave and wanted to.

Help was on its way.

 

[Kiran Arlos]

Short Shale
Objective: Be useful
Tags: Makai Dashiell

"Would you quit pacing back and forth. I am a droid and you are making me nervous."

"Oh shut it, this is a big deal." The sixteen year old glared at the droid for a moment, as he opted to stop but then continued to pace. Perhaps just to chastise the droid.

"And why are you carrying that thing." The droid pointed to Kiran's satchel, strapped to his shoulder. "That looks like one of those things high society woman wear to keep their contents in."

Kiran stopped as he turned to the stupid mechanical being. Kiran pointed a finger at it and let out a small frustrated sigh. "Adventurers wear this thing all the time....."

The teenager walked down the hall face turning a slight red. "Stupid dumb robot..." Kiran moved with a quiet fury and frustration as it began to dwindle the more he got distance and took several deep breaths. Taking a glance down to the satchel....

"It's not for women, its for all adventurers...." Kiran muttered under his breath again.

It wasn't long before he arrived where he intended to be, and just caught the partial end of the conversation.

"Exactly, and when its dead there will be no more weird caste people to stop us from mining the spoils."

"Master Dashiell, Sir Dashiell, Mr Dashiell...." Kiran cleared his throat before continuing. "Whatever it is I'm supposed to call you." Kiran adjusted the strap at his shoulder a bit. "We are going to be rescuing people right?"

 

[Jerec Asyr]

OBJECTIVE 4
SPECIFICALLY, BLACK SUN OPERATION KANDOR
SURROUNDING MOUNTAIN FORTRESS CITY OF THAAL'QUORR

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 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.

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.

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 Black Sun crew wanted to lift the mountain — literally — with seismic disruptors and grav drives stitched together from stolen military tech.

Kinley just wanted to feel the sky tear open in her wake. Outside, the spires of Thaal'quorr loomed in the distance.

The Infinity's Free set down its Ganker Limpet delicately and landed its impregnable bulk between the Limpet module and the mountain.

Moments thereafter, the outermost perimeter defenses began to fire on the Infinity's Free. He'd landed a bit closer to the mountain than most of the encircling Black Sun vessels, so as to draw fire.

For self-aggrandizing heroism, sure, but also because the Infinity's Free could tank much heavier barrages, and losing even one Ganker Limpet meant adjusting the remaining Limpets' spacing to be as equidistant as possible. The tech hadn't been meant for this, so perfection mattered.

The ruling military caste's weird artillery hammered at the Infinity's Free. On the bridge, Jerec kept a very close eye on sensors and windows, gauging the relative positions of the Black Sun ships' Ganker Limpets around the fortress...

 

[In Rhan]

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

There was a great deal of political importance and fleet maneuvers happening above the planet, and the battle over the fleeing civilians was, in In's estimation, the most important thing anyone could be doing. She couldn't affect that, though. She was one medium-class freighter with a crew of two. Her guns wouldn't have been so much as a distraction to the forces of the Ka'thaa'rahn warrior caste, and her shields couldn't withstand them.

But. She was fast, and largely beneath notice. Every shot that went her way was one that wasn't going to the defenders or the civilian. The shortwave radio crackled with voices and chatter, very little of which had to do with her. With all bands open, some were simply the collective misery and fear of the refugees aboard their ramshackle ships, begging whatever forces that be for intercession and salvation. A few were forces looking to help.

One of them sounded promising. Ailmar Dawnstone

“This is Captain Dawnstone of the Antares Exploration Hailing all Alliance and Jedi forces. The 42nd and 91st logistics fleets are answering a favor, and are ready to evacuate civilians. Any word on the locals blocking orbit? We can be waiting much longer before this star cracks."

"Captain Dawnstone, read, this is Civillian freighter Dancer in Green, about to run the blockade." In barked into her radio. "We're going down for more, Captain, and we'd appreciate some cover!"


The Dancer in Green plunged through the civilian flotilla and into no-man's land. In's sensors screeched as various planetary defenses took notice of her apparent suicide run towards the Warrior-Caste lines. She didn't have the seconds to silent the alarms. After the frantic dodging and weaving to get past the fleeing ships, being out in opens space felt immensely vulnerable. What was she doing here, In silently protested. Getting herself and Niysha killed for what - the chance that they could make it to the surface and back through an active battlefield, to get thirty more of the potential billions of lives on the planet to possible safety? Maybe sixty, or even ninety if they managed multiple trips? Drops in the bucket. This wasn't her. She was a freight hauler. A nobody! She had no business playing at being some kind of hero or Warden of the Sky.

Gripping her yoke in white-knuckle desperation, In saw the last moment to flee blaze past her. A turbolaser shot skipped off of her shields, a second whizzed by. The Pantoran woman threw her ship forward into a full burn, plunging down towards the surface of Ka'thaa'rahn like a meteor. Anything less than every drop of speed wouldn't be enough. Every second might mean another life saved.

The Dancer weaved, dipped, and rocked as it began taking heavy fire. In didn't have time to wait for support. All In could do was hope for backup and do everything within her power.

 

[Mr. Usher]

WASTE NOT, WANT NOT​

Spoiler: Mr. Usher – Biomass Construct Types

Mr. Usher – Biomass Construct Types

Husk (1 HP)

• Human-sized (~1.7m)
• emaciated build
• Role: Reconnaissance, infiltration, mimicry
• Traits: Fragile, quick, capable of speech and tool use
• Notes: Can impersonate civilians, workers, or low-level officials; often deployed in groups or as sleeper agents

Warrior

• Size: ~2.3m tall, muscular and predatory
• Role: Frontline assault
• Traits: Bladed limbs, enhanced strength, fast reflexes
• Notes: Highly aggressive; used for direct engagements and biomass harvesting in active zones

Prowler

• 1.5m at shoulder
• quadrupedal with elongated limbs
• Role: Stealth raids, sabotage, dismemberment
• Traits: Sinewy, silent, capable of wall-crawling and burrowing
• Notes: May cloak or camouflage in environments; often sent ahead to break defenses or ambush targets

Hulk

• ~5m tall,
• massive and heavily armored
• Role: Biomass hauling, brute force, siege and suppression
• Traits: Slow, near-unstoppable, at full biomass, capable of carrying or deploying smaller husks from its mass
• Notes: Typically deployed for structural demolition, biomass transportation, or heart anchoring.

The collision was not tactical. It was ritual.

​

The Threnody of Mercy came in fast, trailing false Alliance transponder codes and solar flare distortions to confuse long-range tracking. Its hull was little more than carved bone lacquered in reflective paint, barely held together by alchemized sinew and void-pressure seals. It did not request docking clearance with the evacuation freighter.

It simply crashed into it.

With a glancing strike of violent embrace, the hulls kissed—steel screaming as the Threnody's impact modules broke open, spilling biomass cargo like parasites into a ruptured artery. Dozens of tangled organisms—some in humanoid form, some not—flooded through the firelit breach. Airlocks sealed behind them. Transmissions went silent.

Those aboard the evacuation freighter were consumed. Were assimilated..

Soon after, orbit gave way. The Threnody of Mercy broke from the husk of its feeding stage and spiraled downward, heat-slick and silent, toward the bleeding jewel of Ka’thaa’rahn.

Mr. Usher had never before tasted a world in its death aria.

A transmission pulsed outward in encoded binary, slipping between systemwide evacuations and distress beacons. He knew someone who would adore the crystalline latticework of their memory engines. He would send her a shard, wrapped in marrow, as a gift.

The shuttle landed in a collapsed orchard, where the air was sweet with rot and tradition. The doors did not open so much as peel back.

They emerged.

A HULK-class husk dropped like a plated obelisk into the mud, dragging behind it an entechment disruptor bristling with nullsteel hooks and crucible tethers. Its orders were simple: locate the Ka’venn, consume their secrets, and bring home their gods.

Prowler units slithered under temple foundations and beneath the bones of still-warm cities, camouflaged by false skin and dim prayers.

Warrior husks—narrow-jawed and blade-limbed—broke into shrines and storm shelters, harvesting what biomass they could. They consumed as they went, expanding, multiplying, vomiting new forms from twitching cocoons before moving on.

And above, high in the blackness of a fractured sky, the evacuation freighter shuddered once more… as the digested dead were compressed into nutrient-forms for later repurposing. They stacked themselves neatly for transport.

“I thank you for your contribution to my preservation.”


“Your extinction is deeply appreciated.”


Location: Spreading from landing zone
Objective: Loot what would be wasted
Tags: OPEN​

​

​

 

[Niysha]

Objective 3: Fractured Skies
Att: In Rhan , Ailmar Dawnstone , Jonyna Si , Alora Vizsla
Location: Rapidly descending from orbit, past the military blockade
Currently: Flying around the Dancer's cargo bay like popcorn

While it was cold comfort, Niysha was very glad she managed to get the potentially weapons-grade fragmentation that was tool boxes and sloppily-stocked crates locked away in the smuggling compartment before the ship was hit by turbolaser fire. The Dancer was a rugged beast - it was something that Niysha had come to know as characteristic of Besaid-class freighters - but "rugged" was no help when faced with capital-grade guns. The Dancer's impressive shields reduced what might've vaporized a less durable vessel into just a vicious impact that sent the boat rocking.

This was the sort of situation where she probably should've been sitting down, or at least strapped in. Unfortunately, hindsight was flawless. Right now, the only safe places on the ship would be the cockpit or any place with crash webbing. Niysha was in neither situation, so she rushed towards the cockpit, where In was already surmounting the daring task of blockade running Ssi-ruuk warships.

Another near graze rocked the ship as it pinged at an angle off of the dorsal deflector shields. The Miraluka saw it coming only moments before the impact, but that was enough to grab something to steady herself against another round of acute impact wounds. This time, she lurched, but didn't bang her head on anything. As the Dancer steadied its path, Niysha got to her feet, hopped into the co-pilot's seat, and strapped in.

"We're set," she commented dryly. The pain of horrified, dying people had been thoroughly overridden by the panicked stress of an active fight for her life, and the dull pain of the contusions she'd have to check out later, when they were safe. "Pass me what systems you can't afford to focus on. I'll do what I can."

 

[Vemric Keldra]

KELDRA
ORBIT | KA'THAA'RAHN
TAG: In Rhan | Niysha | Jonyna Si | Ailmar Dawnstone | Open

LACRIMOSA​

The distress call would not go unanswered.

The Confederacy had its own uphill battle after the stars got flung asunder and hyperlanes either destroyed or shifted. They had teams out mapping new routes right now. But it could not ignore the plight of those in need.

That and Vemric just needed to get off the frozen rock that is Rothana.

And new tech never hurt anyone.

So he took charge of another Task Force to the chagrin of his advisors. When would they learn that he was no desk jockey and good-natured Head of State? All the continuous begging - even after two and a half years - was obviously not getting him to stay put and out of danger.

Maybe he had a death wish? That would be something that would send their hair on end - especially Xazzex Xivar 's. It was already bad enough for her to be the Vice-President. Perhaps he should look into the financial books some time to see where some of the Confederacy's money goes. Not everything goes into care packages for the....refugees.

And here he was about to bring in more of them.

"Make sure shields remain in place against radiation." came his almost bored order toward Miles next to him. "And Admiral," he glanced at Miles as they grey-haired man turned away to ensure the order remains in place across the fleet.
"Yes, Sir?"
"I don't have the same qualms as the squeamish Jedi or even the Naboo Republic. Shoot down the aggressors. No quarter. If they want to act like vultures against those trying to escape the inferno, then shoot them down like the carrion fowl they are." he said. Kalantha would probably have more heart attacks about the Confederacy's actions, but Vemric never agreed to be a bleeding heart ally. He agreed to keep the Southern Systems safe and prosperous and the refugees seeking asylum secure. No one said anything about him being googly eyed about everyone like the Jedi are.

Not that the Naboo Grandmaster shies away from getting things done.

Umbara was proof of that.

Miles looked at his long-standing Superior for a minute. They had been in countless battles together. Countless refugee runs. He had served the Sephi in front of him since his days as an Ensign. This man had shaped his career - made him what he is today. He would most probably die commanding the Requiem that he started his career on.

But lately, Vemric's orders had gotten more...cold.

He didn't know the Sephi to be heartless. He was never a warm individual - especially after they lost Maja on that Kamino campaign decades ago - but he wasn't one to give a No Quarter order. Especially not after Rhand. Something was changing.

But old habits can't be broken.

"Yes, Sir." He kept his face blank, but his voice tremored ever so slightly. Was this right? Do these orders plague Vemric as they plagued him? He studied the marbled face in front of him for a second longer, trying to find any tell. He was the one person that knew this face better than anyone else in the Confederacy.

But there was nothing.

It sent a chill down his spine as he turned to give the order that settled another weight on his old heart.

Poll looked at the blinking red light on the comms panel for a moment before pressing Receive and listening to the transmission coming through his headset.

"This is Captain Dawnstone of the Antares Exploration Hailing all Alliance and Jedi forces. The 42nd and 91st logistics fleets are answering a favor, and are ready to evacuate civilians. Any word on the locals blocking orbit? We can be waiting much longer before this star cracks."

"Sir, we have a transmission from fellow liberating forces." he said, whether to Vemric or Miles, he didn't know.
"Play it." came the Sephi's order.
Poll replayed the transmission over the speakers.

Vemric's eyebrow twitched ever so slightly at the words. All this faffing around lives that do not want to be saved. The Jedi and their ilk never fail to do this. He was still waiting for the Republic's hissy-fit about Jas Katis ' actions at Deeja Peak, which he personally had no problems with. It got the Mandalorians out, didn't it? The supposed renowned Republic Vanguard couldn't manage it. The Supercommandoes were laughing at them.

Well he was about to give the girl-queen another thing to rage about.

"If he's wondering what to do about the blockade then let's make the equation easier." he said, turning to face the bridge. "Have the Reaper punch a few holes in that blockade. I don't care how - if they want to send solars, they have leave to. Let three of our Corvettes scatter the rest. The rest should be ready to catch any civilians that actually want salvation. And someone please send a ship to that derelict with a detachment of Marines. Salvage and stabilise who and what we can before we all go up in smoke before the Supernova even had a chance to do what it is supposed to. And make space in the hangar for incoming refugees and have the droids make some food for them." he ordered, his old self seemingly shining through. "And everyone, I repeat, everyone, should be prepared against boarders. Blasters on lethal and bayonets should be able to flay paper. Anyone that have not been brought aboard by our own and in designated areas should not be on our ships."

The bridge bustled to make it so, eyes wide and continuously darting toward the infernal star. But the ships adhered to the order and moved into their positions and before long, devastating cannon fire streaked toward the local blockade from the Battlecruiser known as the CNV Reaper while Corvettes darted in to break the rest of the blockade while other Confederate ships did what they could to take on as many of the fleeing populace while trying to avoid scattered ravagers from the opposing caste.

Meanwhile, a singular ship made its way toward the derelict, the Marines onboard waiting with baited breath and the technicians among them fretting about stabilising the volatile crystals.
​

 

[Voli Cholrass]

Current Outfit

Voli lived most of her life in the Core Worlds particularly Coruscant, though she was a little curious about the Galaxy, she never had a vested interest in exploring it mainly because she was content in writing her holoblog and reading about the Occult. Yet when Voli started training to become a Jedi, she never anticipated her life to change so fast. Voli expected changes but never to this degree, she never thought she would leave the New Jedi Order and join the Jedi Order in Naboo Republic. Voli never thought that she would be far from home away from her parents. Not that they would care.

But Voli's Master: Dreidi Xeraic explained to Voli that she needed to steel herself as being a Jedi meant that she'll bouncing around from planet to planet helping others. Voli understood it but understanding was a lot different than experiencing it. And right now Voli was a stranger in a strange universe. It was even stranger when Voli followed her Master on a dying planet to collect crystals of unimaginable power. Voli was rather tempted of the prospect of grabbing the crystal and see if she can't use its power to crack open the Sith Holocron she had back home, but Voli knew it won't be easy. Dredi had become increasingly wary of Voli during her training and was always keeping a watchful eye on her. This was Voli first mission despite not being fully trained but Voli was aware that Dredi was making sure that she succeeded without succumbing to her curiosity.

"So Master," Voli smiled. "My very first mission and it's a place where everything is going to hell. Do you have any idea where these crystals will be?"

 

[Bastila Sal-Soren]

The shuttle systems cycled in quiet intervals, emitting a soft, mechanical hum—like a lullaby composed by a machine unfamiliar with comfort.

Bastila sat at the edge of the open ramp, one foot on the deck, the other resting on the scorched mineral ground. The wind from the ravine tugged at the hem of her coat, threaded with an unnatural static that hadn’t faded since their arrival.

She had watched them go. Her brother and Jhoren—confident, capable, moving with the calm assurance that implied stay behind, we’ve got this. Brandyn’s instructions had been simple: remain with the ship. Keep it ready.

But everything about this place felt like a warning unspoken.

Beneath the shuttle’s struts, the ground pulsed faintly. Not a tremor. Not weather. Not even power.

Intent.

The kind of presence that lingered in ancient sites—where memory became architecture and emotion was etched into stone. Only this didn’t feel sacred.

It felt aware.

She stood without hesitation. The decision had already been made long before her body caught up to it. A quick brush of her palm against the control panel sealed the ramp and locked the shuttle into standby. Systems entered a dormant, guarded state. No alarms. No farewells.

Outside, the wind caught her hair as she stepped into the open.

She paused, drawn upward by something instinctual.

The sky was on fire.

A bruised gold stretched across the heavens, laced with streaks of ash and slow-moving veins of flame. Distant clouds hung heavy and motionless, lit from within by a dull crimson burn—less like weather, more like a wound in the atmosphere itself.

There was no thunder. No movement. Just the silence of something watching.

She started walking.

Her pace was steady, measured, but it lengthened the farther she went. The path Brandyn and Jhoren had carved into the terrain was still fresh—scattered gravel, displaced shards of glass-veined stone.

The light shifted as she descended. It no longer came from above, but from beneath—the faintest, unnatural luminescence leaking through fractures in the ground.

She paused only once.

A shallow sinkhole had cracked open just off the path. Inside, crystal filaments wound through the rock like nerves exposed beneath flesh. They pulsed once. Softly. Like breath.

Bastila stared for a moment longer than she meant to.

Then moved on.

As the terrain narrowed into a cragged descent, she touched her comms unit, voice low but steady.
“Brandyn, I’m en-route to your position. I know what you said… but I felt something. I’m not staying behind.”

She didn’t wait for a response. She never did.

Brandyn Sal-Soren @open

​

 

[Sibylla Abrantes]

Objective 1: "Embers of Salvation" – Political Intervention

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

Interacting with: Aether Verd Alora Vizsla Annis Riyaré Kalantha Aiden Porte

Sibylla didn't flinch when the Mand'alor stepped forward.

If anything, she stood straighter.

The chamber may have bristled at the sound of his modulated voice from his holoprojection, the rasping edge of metal and command, but Sibylla had lived through two Neo-Crusader raids. She still remembered the smoke curling up from Dee'ja Peak, the taste of ash in the wind, and the sharp crack of the cliffside being bombed as she feel to near death. She had nearly died twice during the siege had it not been for Lysander von Ascania . The fields around her family's vineyards had burned. The capital had crumbled. The Plasma refineries looted.

And yet this Mand'alor stood there now, proposing a temporary alliance based on credits exchanged and a contract.

She didn't look away from the blue of his holographic visor.

Because he was right.

It wasn't Naboo's nature to stand down. Just as Countess Riyare spoke in emphasizing action, the Queen made sure of it then.

A breath slipped through Siyblla's lips, not one of victory, but something deeper. Resolved. Grounded. Her fingers flexed at her sides in slow rhythm: curl, release, curl again.

Thank Shiraya, the Queen's words had shifted the tides.

Not with volume or theatrics, but with that elegant gravity that came from centuries of monarchy balanced by reason. One decree had turned a chamber of arguments into action. And in its wake, Sibylla stepped forward into the light of the Lorekeeper's fading projection, the flicker casting ghostlines across her face.

Yet a few still objected, arguments bursting like sparks in dry kindling. Some praised the Queen's courage. Others called it foolish. The scavenger muttered something about 'idealism gilded in silk.' A Rodian Assemblyman suggested rescuing only those with 'strategic value.' An envoy from the Southern Systems said nothing at all, his silence weightier than any insult.

But the Queen had spoken.

All the while, Sibylla did not retreat to her seat. She stayed at the edge of the dais, the strand of golden chainmail filigrees tickling her cheeks from her headdress, peering at those who objected still.

"Let the record show," she said, voice steady, unshaken, "that the Royal Naboo Republic does not craft its principles to suit politics. And it does not abandon lives simply because those lives are inconvenient to defend. "

She didn't look at the scavenger. Didn't need to. Let him chuckle. Let him talk.

Her gaze locked instead with the Mand'alor's.

"Mand'alor," she gave an inclination of her head, "Your terms are accepted by our Queen," she said evenly. "Let the stars bear witness that House Abrantes will stand beside her. Your steel may hold the line. Ours will carry those who wish to cross it."

With that, she stepped back toward Countess Riyare, casting her a brief smile in a small ember of camaraderie between daughters of Naboo. As the Senator of Naboo, the Countess had plenty of sway. It would mean more neutral worlds and those she allied along with those of her House would also likely provide resources.

As thoughts raced in her head, Sibylla remained at the edge of the dais while an assistant neared, taking her quiet instructions to reach out to her father regarding the matter. She'd been in constant communication with him regarding the matter.

It was then that Senator Sarn leaned in, the Ithorian voice a soft melody of layered tones.

"You stir waters others hoped would stay still, Miz Abrantes."

She smirked, but just barely.

"Stillness, in my experience, rarely means peace. More often, it's where inconvenient truths are left to sink."

She let that hang, then added, more quietly, "There's no clean solution. But history won't remember what comforts we chose to protect. Only who we chose to let burn."

Then, as if summoned by the very weight of her words, the holofeed stuttered.

A new voice surged through the static.

[[ --this is High Caan Orryx of the Ka'dyraal Caste. Any intervention will be met with lethal force. We require no salvation. Withdraw. ]] ​

The words hit like cold metal against warm skin. The Lorekeeper's plea and now the Ka'dyraal's threat lay bare beside each other, like two sabers ignited in a narrow corridor. One shimmered with desperation. The other with finality.

Sibylla's breath caught, but not out of fear. But out of certainty.

There would be no saving them all.

The path ahead was carved in flame and sacrifice.

And whatever choice the galaxy made now -- someone would die for it.

 

[Kasir Dorran]

Soah Ty’Jyn | Naamino Zuukamano

The Darkseeker was on Korriban when the distress signal pierced through the void. It was cold, urgent even, whispering to him of the ruins beneath Ka’thaa’rahn’s surface. A day later, aboard a Wonosan transport shuttle, they were moving silently through the planet's atmosphere. Cloaked in darkness, its engines hummed in a way that mourned for the fate that awaited so many; many of whom would perish under the trio's grasp.

Clad in armor that could swallow light, Kasir’s pale visage was a stark contrast to its ebony gleam. It, too, caught traces of the luminescent crystals through the viewport as they drew near. The Sith’s left hand, mechanical and cold as a grave, lifted to brush back strands of raven hair from his hawkish face, displaying a set of orbs that were devoid of hope. In their depths there was only hunger, a place where empathy was left untouched since his days on Dromund Kaas as a child.

Alongside his apprentice, he had brought with him a young Zabrak acolyte, one believed to possess raw potential—a blade now ready to be honed. Their meeting had been brief, forged amid a budding alliance on one of the Holy Worlds, and slowly evolved since.

Soon, the shuttle’s ramp lowered with a sharp hiss, and he slowly strode to the threshold with predatory grace. Despite the aura of death and decay that now surrounded them here, there was a certain elegance to his movements, a promise of danger to those who dared to come closer. The tension in the air was felt through the currents of the Force, a storm brewing on the horizon, and he was now ready to unleash his fury upon this place.

This was no quest for crystals, nor a search for ancient knowledge; it was a pilgrimage—to hunt Jedi.

His calculating gaze remained ahead, but the Felacatian never lingered far. For all his control, for all his dismissal, there was something in the way he never strayed too far.

Kasir's head tilted slowly, his gaze finding the girl first, subtly narrowing. "Don't make me regret bringing you here, Soah," he murmured, lips barely parting. "No distractions. Not even your own doubts. You are not weak. Prove it.”

A challenge, but one that offered a promise of growth.

Exhaling slowly, he shifted toward Naamino. "This place will shape you, if you let it. If not, then allow it to bury you." His voice was neither cruel nor kind but simply speaking the truth. As he took a moment to gather his thoughts, the weight of their selfish nature relentlessly gnawed at him, yet he knew he must carry the responsibility of guiding those who chose to follow him.

And as his attention remained fixated on him, he spoke once more, voice low. "Today, I will teach you the difference between survival and slaughter."

 

[Mr. Usher]

WASTE NOT, WANT NOT ​

Spoiler: Mr. Usher – Biomass Construct Types

Mr. Usher – Biomass Construct Types

Husk

• Human-sized (~1.7m)
• emaciated build
• Role: Reconnaissance, infiltration, mimicry
• Traits: Fragile, quick, capable of speech and tool use
• Notes: Can impersonate civilians, workers, or low-level officials; often deployed in groups or as sleeper agents

Warrior

• Size: ~2.3m tall, muscular and predatory
• Role: Frontline assault
• Traits: Bladed limbs, enhanced strength, fast reflexes
• Notes: Highly aggressive; used for direct engagements and biomass harvesting in active zones

Prowler

• 1.5m at shoulder
• quadrupedal with elongated limbs
• Role: Stealth raids, sabotage, dismemberment
• Traits: Sinewy, silent, capable of wall-crawling and burrowing
• Notes: May cloak or camouflage in environments; often sent ahead to break defenses or ambush targets

Hulk

• ~5m tall,
• massive and heavily armored
• Role: Biomass hauling, brute force, siege and suppression
• Traits: Slow, near-unstoppable, at full biomass, capable of carrying or deploying smaller husks from its mass
• Notes: Typically deployed for structural demolition, biomass transportation, or heart anchoring.

The last of the evacuees had not screamed.

There had been no space left to. The Threnody of Mercy was full—packed dense with bone slurries, muscle grafts, and the gelatinous remains of memory-bound Ka’thaa’rahni. Every corridor was a cooling pipeline. Every seat, a fermentation tank. They were organized, labeled, archived by age, caste, and DNA signature for categorized digestion.

Above the dying world, the ship waited. the Greater Ego was content.

On the surface, the cleansing continued.

The temple-fortress at the city’s edge was not a holy site—it was an entechment vault. Steel gates, soul-bound anchors, and high-pressure cryostasis vaults housed the planet’s cruelest inheritance: the crystals that scream, each filled with the locked essence of a Ka’venn ancestor, frozen in brilliance and torment.

Mr. Usher would free them. In his own way.

The assault came without formation.
The HULK advanced first, carving its own door through the durasteel wall with fist and bone and mass. Archaic rifles and chain-hammers broke uselessly across its chitin-plated torso. Where its stomach should have been, a hinged cavity opened—and a Warrior husk spilled out, fully formed and already running.

Warriors followed like knives with legs, bounding through sacred halls, cleaving through Custodians in a rhythms of wet percussion. Their claws became saws, their forearms split into coiling tendrils mid-swing to disarm or disembowel with adaptive precision. They were painters on a canvas of crimson.

Prowlers hunted through catwalks, rafters, and ventways, dropping silently behind sentries and dragging them into biomass furnaces disguised as reliquaries. One tore the vocal cords from a screaming acolyte, not for silence—but to learn the note. Moments later, it mimicked a prayer chant to lure three more into its grasp.

A warrior lost its left arm to a guardian’s grav-pike. It grew a new one from the corpse it fell upon. Another, pinned by concussion fire, burst into a crimson pulp—but not before ejecting a hardened cyst that unwrapped into a smaller husk, blade-first, mid-air. They did not die. They converted.

When the vault fell, it did not fall with grandeur. It collapsed inward like a wounded lung. Crystals were extracted by hooked gauntlets and biocoded tendrils. Some sang. Some wept. Others begged to be shattered. None were.

Each one was sealed in an alchemical carrier sack grown from the inner folds of the now-dormant Hulk’s back.

At last, the battlefield grew quiet.

The dead—those not already digested—were disassembled with professional grace. Plasma weapons were reconfigured and partially swallowed by drones to power biomass toolkits. Helms, rings, and medallions were scanned for memories and usefulness, then either taken or devoured.

A Prowler crouched beside the dying high Custodian and gently whispered his wife’s name. Not as cruelty. As closure her memories were part of the greater ego, and his would be as well, soon.

The biomass convoy began the slow march back to the shuttle. One Warrior dragged a priest’s crystalline spine behind it like a child’s toy.

Overhead, black wings unfolded from the hull of the waiting Threnody, casting a shadow long enough to cover the blood-slicked stone path.

“May your ancestors find warmth,” said a Husk in perfect Ka’thaa’rahni dialect, “in the bellies of our becoming.”​

Those that were consumed did not end. They joined the Greater Ego, memories seamlessly added to the sea of minds.
A horrific transition to a new form of life, perhaps kinder than the fate they bestowed upon others.


Location: Ransacked vault
Objective: Return with the haul
Tags: OPEN​

​