Annihilation The Shatterlight of Ka’thaa’rahn

[Parvati]

Objective 4
Aboard Ambition's Reach​

The thunder of cannon fire sang against the mountain's flank, each bolt Parvati loosed carving streaks of light through the airless void. Precision. Purpose. The few misses were theatrical, blasts cracking stone, shaking the fortress as if to remind it who had come to claim it.

For a moment, their enemies rallied, returning fire with enough concentrated heat to nearly seize the cannon's mechanisms. A calculated risk. Parvati didn't flinch. She drew a ragged line through their defenses and tore it open, blistering steel and shattered courage erupting in her wake. Close. But not costly. She would not be denied today.

Then the world shifted.

The hyperspace jump bled into reality like a wound torn through physics. The mountain city didn't vanish, it lurched. Time fractured. Air fled. All around them, rock and snow and debris scattered like seeds caught in a storm of stars. Thaal'quorr was no longer on Ka'thaa'rahn. It was theirs, and it was adrift.

Parvati rose from the gunnery platform like a queen leaving her throne. Her boots clicked with purpose along the metal walkway of Ambition's Reach, each step a decree. She did not stumble in the zero-G shift. She glided, poised even amid the chaos of stolen gravity.

She tapped her commlink. "Excellent work, Mr. Tezhyn," she said smoothly, her voice like silk over steel. "Try not to die before the credits clear."

She moved deeper into the ship, hand brushing the grip of her sidearm. Not from fear, no. It was anticipation. Her pulse quickened with the thrill of the unknown.

This was the part she relished.

Beyond those bulkheads waited cyborgs and secrets. Augments unlike any the Core's surgeons had ever dared attempt. If she could get her hands on the designs, the implants, the ideology, she wouldn't just expand her empire. She would evolve it. Vice and velvet would always have their place, but this?

This was ascension.

Her smile returned, slow and serpentine. There were toys to collect. And monsters to tame.

Razmir Tezhyn Jerec Asyr Kinley Pryse K4-ZAN Zayah Bane

 

[Bastila Sal-Soren]

The Vault’s pulse lingered in the air like a second heartbeat, heavy and rhythmic. Bastila felt it through the arches of her feet, through the stones beneath her boots, through the breath she didn’t realize that she was holding.

She had come when she felt the tremor, not in the ground, but in the Force. A tug, unmistakable, like the brush of a familiar hand reaching through a storm. Brandyn.

Now, standing at the edge of the narrow path, she could see him, his silhouette tensed, one arm instinctively outstretched toward her, the other braced against the trembling wall. Beside him, Jhoren, shoulders tight and Jaw clenched. That ever-present edge of grief sharpening into something unspoken.

She stepped closer.

"Of course you didn’t stay put," Brandyn said, glancing back. There was the shadow of a smile there, but it was fleeting. Beneath it all she sensed, relief? A quiet, unguarded note she hadn’t expected. She let it sit between them without comment.

Instead, she took in the Vault. Its presence pressed at the edges of her mind, not violent, not overt—but vast. Old. Not empty, but listening. She let her senses skim across it, sifting through its texture, the silence behind the sound.

“What did you feel?” Brandyn asked.

She hesitated. Not because she didn’t know, but because putting it into words felt like giving it form.

“It’s not waiting to be opened,” she murmured. “It’s waiting to be answered.”

Jhoren scoffed softly. Not disagreement. Deflection. “This place isn’t waiting to be understood. It’s waiting to be ended.”

That was when she looked at him.

Really looked.

The lines of his face hadn’t changed. But the way he stood; weight slightly off-balance, as if caught between staying and fleeing. The satchel clutched too tightly to his chest. The flicker in his eyes when the Vault pulsed again, casting faint, shifting shadows.

Brandyn turned toward him then, saying something about the Council. But Bastila wasn’t listening to the words anymore.

She felt a flicker, like hesitation buried under duty. Fear dressed in purpose.

He brought something here. The thought slid into her mind with terrifying clarity. Or it followed him.

The quake came then; abrupt and unnatural. The ground twisted beneath them, a grinding sound from deep within the stone. Bastila caught herself with one hand, riding the tremor like a breath caught mid-inhale. Brandyn’s hand grazed her arm, steadying. She nodded once, brief, grateful.

And Jhoren, he snapped.

“Sith are here!” he shouted, eyes too wide. “We cannot let the Vault fall to them!”

But she felt no other presence.

No Sith nearby. No distant dark signatures. Just the Vault. Just them.

And the thing clawing at Jhoren’s spine.

"Jhoren," she said, quietly, but he didn’t look at her. “There’s no one else here.” Or was there? Something had started to feel at the edge of her mind.

His knuckles whitened around the satchel.

Brandyn stepped forward, commanding. "Bastila! There is something vile at play. Do not let it take hold. Jhoren... give me the bag!"

But Bastila already knew he wouldn’t.

Not without breaking.

Her voice was soft, barely more than a breath: “He doesn’t know who he’s protecting anymore.”

For a heartbeat, the Vault answered her. A deep, resonant hum; like approval. Or grief.

And Bastila understood: this place didn’t house a secret.

It was the secret.

Brandyn Sal-Soren

​

 

[Kinley Pryse]

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

O B J E C T I V E - 4
OPERATION KANDOR: MOUNTAIN HEIST​

"This is Delivery Bird Ambition's Reach, Ganker Limpet in position. Sound off, scoundrels, how's it looking out there?"

Kinley slammed her response switch, a sharp beep confirming she was locked in for whatever madness they were hurtling toward. As the button clicked, she gritted her teeth. Then, all at once, the ragtag fleet of scoundrel ships jumped to hyperspace in unison.

The jolt of the transition snapped everyone to full alert. Kinley's jaw literally dropped as the stars warped around them and unbelievably there it was. A mountain. A mountain, floating in the void of hyperspace like some ancient, defiant relic.

"What the frak…" she breathed.

Then, her comm crackled:

"Alright, you know the drill! Let 'em in."

She was already moving, springing from the pilot's seat and striding toward the airlock. Time for some... aggressive negotiations.

Razmir Tezhyn Parvati K4-ZAN Zayah Bane Jerec Asyr

A Smooth Criminal

 

[Makai Dashiell]

ORBIT

Wearing | Gear : X | X | X | X | X | L3-37 | Interacting With : Kiran Arlos

"That's smart, if they happen to get by, that just means there isn't as much orbital activity, at least of the aggressive nature." Kiran glanced over to Makai.

"Right?" While he appreciated the opportunity here, the prospect of dying on the way down to the surface wasn't in his cards.

"Correct. Or there's so much orbital activity they can't shoot us all down."

Watching together, Makai kept a close eye on the screens and readouts as the shuttle went down to orbit level. So far, so good. The half-Galan was beginning to think his theory was correct ; there was just too much going on for anything to affect a majority of his ships passing down into the atmosphere.

Fifteen agonizing minutes later, the shuttle had touched down in a valley not far from some of the reported caverns. They had made it successfully and had begun to report the situation on the ground.

"Let's go Kiran."

SURFACE

The Aina Holdings vessels managed to nestle themselves in the valley without much atmospheric resistance. A few pot shots but nothing Makai considered worth getting upset over. Lumbering vessels remained idle, the piloting crews would be ready to take off at a moments notice. Throngs of miners and maintenance workers and geologists were getting out of the vessels at a rapid pace, moving down the ramp and towards an elaborate entrance to one of the caverns that contained sentient crystals.

Security had taken point, long blaster rifles at the ready. Some of the miners carried tools that could be used for protection. News was spotty but all of them knew chaos was occuring on the planet. That nothing was safe.

"Keep up Kiran, just stick close to myself or security. We're going to attempt to evacuate the sentient crystals...obviously they can't move and from what I hear the planet regards them as cast-offs..."

Realistically, Makai knew he wouldn't be able to save all of them. This was one of those 'do your best' scenarios.

 

[Voli Cholrass]

Current Outfit

Voli was nervous heading to her very first mission. She wasn't a year into her training but already Voli was being thrown into the Mustafar fire. She lived a sheltered life away from war and violence. Her parents were hellbent on preventing her from seeing adult rated Holofilms for crying out loud. Not that Voli ever listened to her parents having pirated gory horror Holomovies and even working in a Holotheater that showed classic Horror Holofilms. But this wasn't a movie, this was reality. A whole planet could be blown to smithereens and who knows what kind of enemies that she and Dreidi Xeraic would encounter. Being a Jedi was filled with danger and one mistake could either end with Voli being a world of pain or dead.

In her excitement of trying to know who she was, Voli could very well end up as atoms in the Galaxy. Just dust and echoes. "Master wouldn't put me in situation where I could die right?" Voli thought her fingers coiling around the Pre Built Lightsaber that Dreidi gave her for this mission. This was the first time that Voli was given an actual Lightsaber rather than the various training sabers that Voli was using over the months. All Voli knew were the basics of Shii-Cho something that Dreidi taught Voli before they left alliance space and went to Naboo.

She gotten a lot better under Dreidis watchful eye since then but she was nowhere near combat ready. At least that’s what Voli thought. "Master knows best I guess," Voli thought. "Or maybe she's the type who thinks that I'll learn if I'm faced with the prospect of death."

"I understand Master," Voli said sitting with Dreidi. "Just feel a little uneasy that's all. I sense all sorts of things happening of the planet. Conflict, terror, fear. I don't know what to make of it."

Voli brushed her white hair over her shoulder. "I'll stick close Master," she said. "I just hope I can make it with my head intact."

 

[Kiran Arlos]

"Correct. Or there's so much orbital activity they can't shoot us all down."

Kiran smirked and nodded simple as it was good thinking. He was sure Makai never had any bad thinking. He was the heir to his company and as popular as this one was. Kiran had done his research as best as he could, he had to make sure he knew what he was getting himself into. But, given the state of his life right now, he didn't really have any choice in the matter. He had to get a foot in the door and make something off himself, something that would put the past to rest.

"Let's go Kiran."

"Keep up Kiran, just stick close to myself or security. We're going to attempt to evacuate the sentient crystals...obviously they can't move and from what I hear the planet regards them as cast-offs..."

"I'm with you!" Kiran said in a rather ecstatic voice, quite excited to actually be getting to work and doing something instead of running around looking behind him. The trip down wasn't as smooth as he would've liked, some slight shaking but it was expected and they finally touched ground. Kiran undid the straps and popped up, ensuring his satchel was on his shoulder, blaster strapped to his side and binoculars handy.

"Yes sir, Let's do this Makai." He had to remind himself to keep his cool and not be so.....excited. It was just good to be doing something that gave his life some sort of direction. This all started when he met Persephone, so he had to make a note to message her after this was all done.


Makai Dashiell

 

[Naamino Zuukamano]

Outfit:
Belt of Strength, Field Com-Scan Link,
Weal & Woe, Rakghoul House Robes layered with
Kor'ethyr Issued Kainate Trooper Armor
Armor Permissions
& Shadow Mask in place of a helmet.

Location: The Crucible Vaults of Eshan'kai & The Grove of Echoes
Commanding Officer: Kasir Dorran
Fellow Soldier: Soah Ty'Jyn

​

His orders were clear, and though the zabrak had never fought alongside the Darkseeker, he was no stranger to war even at the tender age of 16. Muscles flexed, a second and third Force blast burned through the air- vaporizing flesh and causing crystalline matter to shatter, flying in all directions as shrapnel.

The bulky figure of the teen moved onward, to hold the position they'd taken and let none pass through. Meanwhile it seemed Soah had another task, so the zabrak maintained focus on his rather singular task.

Funneling energy with mastery that alluded Naamino's understanding, Kasir used his skill to rend whole swaths of the ground. As the Sith Lord sundered reality to use the natural gulch that already existed in the landscape, the Kor'ethyr student pressed forward. Activating his second saber, the Sith student displayed an impressive though still intermediate variant of Juyo. It fed into his natural aggression and allowed him to flow through a platoon of oncoming soldiers and their hapless charges with barbaric precision.

Chaos reigned around him, the cries of war and confusion such conflict brings were heavy on the air. Very little registered for the teen, save for the deadly dance he vigorously stepped. A few cuts from his foes were near misses, and twice he was left with burning singes at the left shoulder where armor gave way to the second-skin suit beneath and his semi-exposed neck.

Darkness pulsed around him, he felt it rising up through the soles of his boots and around his masked face, like electricity and heady vapors. His chest was beginning to heave from exertion, but his limbs were vital, steadfast. The zabrak turned to regard the next wave he might face. Their colors were unfamiliar to him, but their bearing was unmistakably other to his narrowed, icy gaze. He raised the fuchsia saber to gesture at them across the killing fields, ready stance inviting their approach.

Opposition: Brandyn Sal-Soren | Bastila Sal-Soren | Open​

 

[Brandyn Sal-Soren]

The tremor still danced in Brandyn’s bones. Somewhere beyond the crystal ridge, the pulse of the Vault grew stronger, darker. It no longer merely hummed, but murmured. Speaking. Beckoning. And then, he saw him.

The young Sith, blade already drawn, closing the distance with that practiced, feral gait. A blur of motion and intent. Not yet close, but close enough. Brandyn’s jaw tightened.

His eyes slid toward Bastila, and with a subtle tilt of his head toward the ridge, he murmured, "Hold him off, will you?" There was no time for waiting, for more polite appeals or philosophical digressions. Jhoren stood coiled beside him, bag clutched like a lifeline. Or a trigger.

The hiss of plasma igniting broke the air. Emerald light bathed Brandyn’s face, flickering across the sweat-lined tension of his brow. He shook his head once, trying to dispel the static clawing at his conscience. That familiar gnawing whisper.

It was easy to kill him, the voice reminded. The man who helped murder your parents. You didn’t hesitate.

But this was different. This was Jhoren. "You are not my enemy," Brandyn said softly, stepping forward. "Show me what’s in the bag."

The other Jedi didn’t move. Didn’t blink. "Jhoren." His voice was firmer now. "You are not in your right mind. I need you to trust me."

Jhoren’s hand dropped to his belt. A second later, his blade ignited in a snap-hiss of defiance, azure light meeting green. "I am thinking clearly," he snapped. "It’s you who’s blind!"

The clash came hard and sudden. Sparks flew as saber met saber, the crystalline valley echoing with the hiss of each impact. Brandyn stayed defensive at first, testing, reading, not striking to wound but to awaken. "Don’t make me do this!" He growled.

"You already did!" Jhoren shouted back, driving forward, blade angled low.

Their boots scraped across shale, energy washing the rock face in violent light. Then, an opening. A flick of the wrist. Green light pierced through. A gasp. A slump. For a moment, time halted.

It was not the deranged Jedi but the bag that fell. It hit the ground with a heavy thud, the flap tearing open. A large, metallic charge, military grade, spilled out across the rocks. And Brandyn froze.

His saber dimmed, and his voice dropped to a whisper.

"...Shiraya help us."

| TAG: Bastila Sal-Soren Naamino Zuukamano |

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