Junction They Came From The Wall | SO & HR Junction of Ord Vaug and Bassadro

[Del Mirah]

Tags: Daxin Veyr | Warren of the Narrows

The static in Del's brain only cleared when Daxin's hand grounded her. His reassurance was a small mercy, but it couldn't stop the spiraling questions. Had she just killed someone? The scout lay in a crumpled heap, an undignified pile of armor silenced by a clumsy accident. She wasn't a warrior; she was a student who preferred the predictable logic of a datapad to the messy reality of combat. Despite the tremor in her hands, her legs moved. Survival was a powerful motivator, and she trailed behind Warren and Daxin as they navigated the shifting geometry of the temple.

The familiar hallways had become a distorted maze of smoke and flashing emergency lights. Even with her perfect memory of the floor plans, the structural damage made every turn a gamble. Warren's sudden halt sent a jolt of alarm through her. He looked physically ill, clutching his head as if under pressure. Del opened her mouth to offer a sharp, logical correction about staying on schedule, but the air in the corridor curdled before she could speak. A cold fear pressed against her chest, turning her breathing shallow and frantic.

"What was that?" Warren's voice was strained, echoing the dread pooling in Del's stomach. A suffocating silence followed. The distance they had just covered seemed to stretch into an infinite darkness. Del raised the paddle gun, her knuckles white as she aimed into the gloom. She searched for a target, her mind begging for it to be a trick of the light or a mechanical failure in the temple's systems.

A snap-hiss shattered the quiet. A red blade ignited, bathing the far end of the hallway in a bloody, rhythmic glow. The light revealed a massive Dowutin Sith, his armored bulk filling the corridor like a nightmare. The giant didn't bother with a slow approach. He simply thrust a massive hand forward.

The invisible strike hit Del like a speeding freighter. The air was punched from her lungs as she was launched backward, her scream cutting short when her back slammed into the cold stone wall. Her vision blurred into a swirl of grey and red, the paddle gun clattering to the floor just out of reach.

 

[Darth Strosius]

Equipment: Lightsaber - Sword - Dagger - Robes
Tags: Corazona von Ascania / Novac Lyrikal
--------------------------------------------

The second floor of the building proved to have far more interesting than the first already, even at a mere glance. The layout was proper, less inviting and a slight bit more clandestine than the archives below. The information here was sequestered and locked away to be sought specifically rather than splayed wide open for all to see. It did still leave the question of if what He sought would be here amongst the archives on this floor of course but if it would be anywhere then it should be somewhere here.

Unfortunately Darth Strosius wasn't left alone to have time to peruse and browse the selections at hand as He'd have liked. A familiar presence pricked at the back of His mind just before He heard careful steps coming down the staircase on the far end of the room from where He stood, and an interested hum escaped Him at the recognition. What a shame that He hadn't had Kasir accompany Him to the temple. Seeing that reunion would be quite fascinating, but alas.

She wasn't alone either but the pair of Jedi were moving down to the second level cautiously in a manner that implied that there likely wasn't any assistance waiting behind them on the roof. He could handle two, of that He was certain. Darth Strosius couldn't quite conceal His presence even at the best of times anymore, certainly not in a place such as this, so instead He did the opposite. His darkness radiated in a shroud, flowing through the archives like a poison through water and making His exact whereabouts unclear.

"You know," His voice echoed across the room, projected and with its origin just as uncertain as the Sith that spoke it. "I think you should count yourselves rather lucky. I'm here for something specific, perhaps if you can aid me then you can both leave here alive." There was a pause before a sinister note crept into His voice. "And in one piece." The words were spoken like a cutting whisper but echoed just like those that had preceded them. A targeted remark to one of the Jedi and a clear warning to the other.

"How does that sound?"

 

[Novac Lyrikal]

Darth Strosius Corazona von Ascania

as novac caught up to corazona he gave a small nod "made sure everything was locked up when i left. im with you on this." je had a look of worry but determination in his eyes. as they went down the stairs and reached the second floor a wave of darkness swept over novacs mind like he was stepping through a door. he stopped and put his left hands on the wall next to him and almost threw up. was this what the presence of a sith felt like? it was nothing like what novac had ever felt in his life. it was strong and he could almost taste it. it was awful. novac forced himself to swallow. "im-im ok that was just...a lot..all at once. whew ok, im good, im good." he was saying it to corazona but also partly to himself.

then a voice echoed through the space. give him what he wants and he'll let them live? please. "and we should believe you why? what are you even looking for?" if novac and corazona knew what he was after then they could protect it and keep it away from him, hopefully. "also you really think we would just hand over something? who are you, show yourself."

novac really didnt like not knowing where the sith was. he looked around seeing nothing but shelved and pillars. this was good, novac had plenty of places to climb and use to attack from if needed. he felt him hands start to shake, this was a sith, a real sith. he wasn't sure he was really ready for this but knew he couldnt just let them be or let corazona fight alone. he had to calm himself if he was going to do this. he did what his master taught him, visualized the fear in his mind as a ball of ooze, grap it with his hands, throw it out and shake his hands off and wipe them clean. he did this with his eyes closed, once he finished he opened his eyes again, ready for whatever would happen next

 

[Kasir Dorran]

Cali Ziiva
​

There was a rasp of her blade against his and the familiar whisper of resistance. He noted the angle of her intercept, checking for any overcommitment in one's wrists. All tension bled from his grip before her intercept had finished registering. The Jedi's stance was firm. He'd give her that much, and nothing else. But discipline without imagination was just a longer way to die.

"Predictability might be your strongest suit." Or the softest noose around her neck, depending on how quickly she would continue to adjust.

Her insistence on naming him 'Bob', twice now, threaded itself with the same buoyant refusal to drown. Kasir found it.. illustrative. Sentient beings needed names the way they needed gods, something to hold the outline of a thing too large or too cold to touch directly. The pink one had chosen her own illusion, so let her swallow it whole.

"I find your hospitality redundant."

Why rush? Dawn was indifferent; life and death were just constants in his experiments. The Sangnir inhaled so shallowly that lungs barely registered the air.

His head angled a fraction, wanting to search her very soul for purchase. "You're quite boring, you know. For one with so many titles."

Pale digits twisted outward at midshaft. The lateral shift bled into an angle that might clear her guard, or might not; the uncertainty was the point. Then the momentum reversed, swinging back toward her left flank with silent steps.

"City's in better hands if it burns."

After, he advanced. The off hand rotated the rear shaft of the saberstaff a quarter turn inward. The first strike climbed from below, a diagonal cut, its only ambition to try and float her guard open. The second was already leaving him as the first finished asking: a lateral sweep at sternum height. The third he threw from the elbow, shorter and vertical, to address the joint of her neck. The face was irrelevant, so he looked to her feet, where the truth would arrive first.

 

[Zaiya Ceti]

Outfit: x x x x x | Equipment: x x x x x x | Weapons: x x x | Companion: Domxite
Interacting with: Gerwald Lechner

The jungle breathed. But in a way that let Zaiya breathe with it, feeling the leaves whisper, the branches creak, and even the ground humming quietly beneath it all, interwoven with the Force in a way that the Lovalla saw it not just in the color hues, but in the way that intangible energy flowed.

She stepped into the clearing like a walking, colorful candlestick, her bioluminescent patterns shimmering softly across her skin in a calm wash of blue threaded with quiet gold and edged with a faint glint of cobalt blue and citrine of determination.

She had felt him coming long before he stepped through the last veil of green. So as she slowed to a stop, Zaiya took a moment to simply look at him, her head tilting slightly, opal-blue eyes bright with open curiosity as they settled on the Sith Master, because the way the Force curled and coiled around him… it felt like a wolf.

Moorja he said.

"Oh!" she chimed softly in that annoyingly delighted tone despite the tension curling at the edges of the Force. "Yes, I remember. You are the very intense one."

A breeze slipped through the clearing, lifting strands of magenta and teal through her hair. Her bangles chimed lightly as she shifted her weight, utterly at ease in a way that defied the moment. But that was Zaiya - a paradox wrapped in an oxymoron, smothered in contradictions!

"You're a long way from Moorja, Wolfie," she sang lightly, a flicker of cyan rippling through her glow with a wry little hum. "Did you take a wrong turn at Seltos?"

And just like that, those iridescent blue eyes drifted over him for a moment, not assessing in a tactical way, but feeling him through the Force, annotating the pressure of the Darkside, his intent, and the quiet inevitability of his movement.

Her hands slipped into her pockets, fingers brushing the small seeds she'd tucked away earlier, making them softly click together like tiny, secret chimes.

"If you'd like," she offered gently, bright as ever, "I can give you better directions."

The Lovalla gave a small tilt of her head, reflecting a hopeful little spark in her glow. After all, she had to give the padawans plenty of time to get away.

"Get you off-world super quick! No need to stick around here. Nothing but musty smelling rocks and history lessons. I don't think you want to stay for my class on botany." She leaned forward on the pads of her feet, saying almost conspiratorially, "... Unless you really, really want to?"

 

[Corazona von Ascania]

The Profane Temple | Darth Strosius Novac Lyrikal​

New Cov Jedi Temple Archives - Second Floor.

​

When Novac paused, so too did Cora. She placed a hand - her flesh hand - at his shoulder, warm and gentle. Given the Padawan's relative height, she had to stand on her tip-toes.

"The first time I encountered the Dark," she murmured, "it made me physically ill."

How long ago had it been when she'd found herself retching in temple corners? Novac's reaction was a reminder that she, too, had once been an apprentice. "Remember that bravery is not the absence of fear - bravery is pushing forward in spite of your fear."

He steadied himself quickly, and Cora withdrew her hand. She wore a muted smile.

Then, slithering from the far entrance to the archive's second floor, Darkness emanated on the heels of Darth Strosius. Every bit as potent and heavy as when Dorran had first brought her before him - battered and exhausted - but his was a strength that needed no preamble.

Corazona swept forward, a steadiness to her presence that had been absent in the rat's cage. She studied Strosius with a clinical sort of curiosity.

"How generous."

One brow lifted at the cutting little remark.

"You are welcome to help yourself to anything you may find on the first floor. Unfortunately, I do not possess the authorization for removal of certain artifacts."

The shelves and storage spaces around them glimmered with thin blue bands of light shielding - at this point, it seemed to be intended for damage prevention.

Something told her that he wasn't seeking copy of Makashi for Dummies.

"This man is known as Darth Strosius," she supplied to the Padawan. "He is an exceptionally powerful Sith Lord, styling himself as the Prophet of Bogan." Her tone remained even and conversational.

"He also ordered the removal of my right hand." She raised the prosthetic, thin, metallic fingers glinting with caught light. "Though the man who passed the sentence was too good to be the one who swung the sword.”

Cora lowered the hand back to her side.

"What can we help you with?"

 

[Milo Ferin]

Objective: Get into facility?​

Atham Harek​

"They'll put us all down, willingly. They'll surround you, kill you and everything we care about."

The day finally arrived, the one he had been warned about on Vendaxa.

Normally, running wasn't so terrible. Milo had spent enough of his life sprinting after loose livestock and hauling tools across fields. So making peace with all things uncomfortable wasn't entirely new. But running in full tactical gear now was a different beast entirely.

Goggles bounced against the bridge of his nose with every step; a strap was digging into the back of his helmet. The helmet itself was matte, darkened with a narrow visor slit and a comm bead tucked in his ear. Right now, it felt about three sizes heavier than it had during all his months of training. Sweat began to collect along the padding, sliding down the side of his face.

He was definitely carrying more than necessary. Okay. A lot more than necessary.

The pack on his back thumped through the long strides. It held med supplies, rations that were probably unnecessary, a length of synthrope, and because he’d panicked while gearing up.. an extra canteen, and three power cells.

Somewhere along the way, he’d told himself it was “being prepared.” In hindsight, it was “being Milo.”

Up ahead, Atham’s shotgun barked, a whump that punched a Sith. The figure was sent pinwheeling straight to the nether.

A hand brushed the slugthrower holsters at his hip. Compact and with a worn grip from all the recent hours at the range. He’d been practicing a lot. He could hit targets. Moving ones too. But he’d never shot at a sentient being before.

Lungs were burning as he pushed harder. The adrenaline hit him in a way training never really prepared him for. Hands tingled, legs felt heavy, and breathing wasn’t quite syncing as it should. Hopefully Sir Atham needed a sixth man on his team, because at this point.. it was far too late to turn around.

 

[Aiden Porte]

Darth Umbra​

The troopers death would not be in vain. The squad had taken up positions and began to open fire, precise shots, as the enemy began to drop, but Umbra moved against him. An attack strong and from Aiden's point of view, wasteful.

The Jedi Knight was able to sidestep and back two steps away as his hand shot forward, utilzing a force push at a trio of Sith that moved towards him. He didn't wait to see what happened to them, the force told him everything. They were no longer of importance to him.

Aiden turned his attention back to Umbra, as Aiden moved foward, with a series of quick lightsaber strikes against him. It wasn't brute strength Aiden relied on, but his mastery with the force and quickness on his feet. Swift and sudden strikes, to see how this Sith bested against it.

 

[Lirka Ka]

PROFANE TEMPLE

TAGS: Lorn Reingard

Hungering ambition was clawing at the back of her mind. Her body writhing and squirming beneath that metal shell as that potent mixture of spice and combat stimulants surged like fire through her veins - it was a special enough occasion to warrant an injection. The Jedi should’ve felt honored.

Through the dust and darkness, Lirka saw with vision clear. Both in a metaphorical and literal sense - through technology, she stalked the presence of organic life before her, and her dark faith gave her the zealot’s pride to always taste victory on her lips.

This chaotic battlefield was her home, she was born in the pandemonium and had to venerate it. Now, the Jedi could witness the child of chaos once again.

Lirka had no great potency in the Force, as much as she now tried to rectify that fact. Yet still, she could smell the fear in the air. She was Dzara, they were the masters of terror and the eater of dreams. When the snap-hiss of the archivist’s lightsaber came to life, Lirka most certainly saw another dream to feast upon.

She could hear the skulking Lorn Reingard behind her prepare that murderous blow - but for all of that bulk, Lirka was faster than she seemed. Propelled by the whine of servos and the pumping of unnatural flesh pushed to its limits. A clawed hand shot out, grasping the Twi’lek by her face before their blow could land - and then she dropped low, twirling upon a heel with the horrible screech of metal upon the floor. With a snap-squelch she brought the broken Jedi in her hand along with her as a living shield to catch her would-be attacker’s blow, a bestial snarl of cruel amusement crackling through her helm.

“What a shame - I was going to ask for a book recommendation.”

She wasted little time after her quipping as her weapon quickly lashed out - a hasty hacking blow to put her foe on the defensive after the attempt at bringing her legs low.

​

​

 

[Darth Umbra]

TAGS: Aiden Porte

The Jedi sidestepped his overhead strike, sending a Force push out against his men, silencing a few of them. Umbra barely noticed; they were of no concern. Everyone was replaceable, everyone but him.

The Jedi swept his attention back toward Umbra, sending forth a dazzling array of strikes against him. Umbra's blade worked tightly, using a bastardized version of the defensive form to swipe the Jedi's strikes away while keeping his blade close to his body, not overextending and allowing the Jedi to take advantage of him. The Jedi was testing him, trying to determine his technique and how skilled he was. He would find out.

Umbra felt the Jedi move in the Force as they battled; he could almost see how it amplified his movements, making him quick, sure-footed, and lethal.

Umbra would test that power in the Force. As Umbra knocked the Jedi's blade away and began his own series of attacks, he used the Force to push against the Jedi, not in large, overwhelming attacks, but in small, pinpoint ones.

Umbra used the Dark Side and pushed against the Jedi's footing and balance as they dueled. He used the Dark Side to subtly press against his hips and elbows, trying to force the Jedi to keep his focus not only on the lightsaber duel that was occurring, but in the battle of wills that was between them as well.

As Umbra used the Force in an attempt to disturb the Jedi's balance and leave him open for an attack, his lightsaber followed in heavy attacks. Umbra was trying to overwhelm the Jedi both physically and in the Force.

 

[Gerwald Lechner]

WEARING: This
WEAPONS: Ferrum Solus | Blodmåne | Strømafbryder
SHIP: Vigfjall
TAG: Zaiya Ceti | Torvald

Gerwald watched her as she spoke, the lightness in her voice standing in quiet contrast to the tension gathered around the temple. She carried herself without fear, or at least without the kind most people showed when faced with what waited beyond the jungle. The attempt to steer him away from the temple was obvious.

So was the reason for it.

His gaze shifted briefly past her toward the jungle beyond before returning to her. The younger presences had already put distance between themselves and the clearing. He could still feel them through the Force, moving quickly, uncertainly, their fear carrying differently than hers.

Gerwald said nothing about them.

He had never been blind to the cost of war. That was the burden of command. Men who treated death like arithmetic rarely understood the weight of ordering it. Gerwald understood it well enough to know exactly what the temple behind her would become once the assault began.

The jungle would ignite first. Fire would climb through the canopy faster than most realized possible, and the old stone of the temple would not protect those trapped beneath it nearly as well as the Jedi would hope. The Second Legion had not come to settle into a prolonged siege. The Dreadborne had followed their Lord Commander to New Cov for one purpose. They would break the temple open, seize what mattered, and leave before the Republic could answer in force.

The young leaving now would never change that outcome.

It would only change who died when it happened.

< Oh you know, everything is peachy, taking the newbies out on this mission today, going to see how well they do in crash landings. >

Gerwald closed his eyes for the briefest moment.

The sound of splintering trees and screaming acolytes carried through the Force a heartbeat later, followed by the unmistakable presence of Torvald laughing at his own disaster.

Of course.

< If you destroy another dropship before we leave this world, I am docking your rations. >

There was no heat behind the warning. Torvald had been crashing transports since before half the Legion had been born, and Gerwald had long since accepted that the old wolf somehow survived through equal parts stubbornness and spite.

The reply settled something in him nonetheless. Torvald was alive. Operational enough. That was sufficient.

Gerwald continued forward at the same measured pace, closing part of the distance between himself and Zaiya before finally answering.

“You should leave with them.”

There was no threat in the words. No anger. He stated it plainly, almost quietly, which made it heavier than if he had raised his voice.

“We are taking the temple.”

The declaration settled between them without exaggeration or spectacle. The title of Dread Wolf had not been earned through empty threats, and there was nothing uncertain in the way he spoke. Gerwald stopped a short distance away, his attention fixed on her while the jungle shifted softly around the clearing.

“How many people die before that happens is still a choice.”

The tension sat quietly within him as he spoke. The temple would fall whether she stood before him or not. The Legion would advance, and if resistance demanded it, turbolasers would answer. He had accepted that before ever setting foot on New Cov.

Yet part of him still wanted her to walk away.

Not because he believed she could stop him. Not because he mistook her brightness for weakness. He simply understood exactly what would happen if she stayed.

Gerwald held her gaze for a moment longer.

“One warning is all I will give you.”

 

[Atham Harek]

Tags: Milo Ferin
Objective: Get into facility/Manage Jedi


​

Atham and the Commandos turned, were about to train their weapons on Milo, when Atham smiled and briefly stopped. They reached their destination quickly, huddled around the opening to the facility. Dead security service and scientists and civilians peppered the ground, and Atham took a moment's pause to grieve their loss. But he was a soldier of the Republic, a denizen of Naboo, and a gentlemen.

He could not afford their memory and their murders to be sullied by unnecessary distraction and pause.

"Hello old bean." The Commandos took cover at the entrance, while Atham pulled up a hastily-drawn map of the interior based on schematics they were able to produce. The Commandos took a moment to gather what they could, before Atham stepped into the threshold of the facility. He was on point, first in and last out. Any good Officer would do the same, and he feared little of his falling. His troops could do the job alone, he wagered.

But if you wanted to go fast, you went alone. But if you wanted to go far, you went together.

No doubt, inside, there'd be Sith forces, after the same thing they were.

"Now, Milo, we were sent to this foul place to recover the data herein. But, should it be cantankerous or perhaps even villainous.... well."

He gave a shrug.

"Not all science is good science, hm?"

The Commandos pressed on, and Atham took the time to fix his beret, the darkening corridors of the power-failing facility being rocked by the occasional explosion outside. The Commandos steeled themselves, and with their new Jedi friend, pushed inward. Voices were up ahead, distant, but still there. They were not alone.

​

 

[Lorn Reingard]

Tags: Lirka Ka​

The sickening sound of snapping bone and flesh echoed through the archives. Lorn flinched, the blue light of the archivist's blade vanishing as the weapon clattered onto the stone floor. He had already committed to the swing, his golden blade carving a horizontal strike through the air with lethal intent. Instead of the jarring resistance of metal armor, his saber slid through soft, organic matter with haunting ease.

Horror rooted him to the spot as he looked up. The Twi'lek was gone, her body severed in half by his own desperate attempt to save her. The Sith held the remains like a grisly trophy, her metallic snarl piercing through the silence of the room. Lorn barely had time to process the guilt before the Goliath's weapon lashed out. He threw himself to the right, the energy filament whistling past his ear and scorching the shoulder of his tunic.

Adrenaline masked the grief as Lorn scrambled back to his feet. He thrust his palm forward, channeling a concussive wave of Force energy directly at the monster's chest. He didn't just want to stagger the beast; he wanted to force it to drop the archivist so she could at least rest on the floor rather than in those clawed hands. The shockwave rippled through the dust, aiming to knock the heavy frame off balance.

"You are not welcome here," Lorn said, his voice thick with a protective rage. He didn't wait for a response. With a sharp gesture, he caught a jagged chunk of masonry in the Force and hurled it at the Sith's head. He followed the projectile immediately, closing the gap with his golden blade raised to strike. He would not let this creature mock the dead any longer.

 

[Cali Ziiva]

Friends! None
Not Friends? Kasir Dorran
Objective: Keep Sekrits Safe and have a Nice Chat
Equipment of Note: Mobile Workshop, Lightsaber (Blue) with Lens Modulator, Bubblegum Popper Gloves

​

Cali's face split into a wide grin when Kasir accused her of predictability.

"Boring? Well, ya know, ya shouldn't go around setting fire to places and maybe they'd throw ya a party." But, you know, that was just a cute little Zeltron talking about nothing.

The Pink One's grip on her saber twisted their blades together as she surged in and back out of their lock as Kasir sought to throw her off and move toward her left. Two could play at testing the other's footing.

One foot swung outward as she hopped and clashed with the first strike with the shriek of saber strikes. The blade swept upward to keep the lateral sweep away as she spun under it and away from the warrior. The third she side stepped and brought her blade down to hold it between them and away from her body for a moment. "Nothing's better if it burns, Bob. So why do ya say it is? Come on. Don't be shy. I'm a great listener."

But Sith didn't like to be 'bored,' right? Warriors didn't like talking during duels. So, Cali pranced away from their lock and started swaying, her weight shifting slightly from one foot to the other and back, glowstick twirled at her side. "Even when someone's trying to kill me." The Zeltron giggled before her pink self flowed across the intervening distance. A limber figure, the Zeltron's shoulders moved with her torso to conceal the blow until the last moment. It wasn't for his head. She aimed for the outside or back of the upper leg. Kasir would probably figure out her game pretty quick unless he was consumed with the need to kill. Cali really was a Sith's polar opposite in conflicts like these. Death wasn't the objective though it might happen nevertheless.

 

[Darth Strosius]

Equipment: Lightsaber - Sword - Dagger - Robes
Tags: Corazona von Ascania / Novac Lyrikal
--------------------------------------------

Darth Strosius clicked His tongue at the unfamiliar Jedi's response, although it was unheard given the distance between them. Unlike His voice such small sounds didn't quite seem to carry across the second floor. Small sounds such as careful footsteps or the almost silent drawing of His sword into His unoccupied hand. "And here I had always been told that you Jedi were meant to be the welcoming types. Disappointing." The title was spoken much like one would some insult.

While they stuck together He weighed His options and maneuvered around the shelves and cases. He couldn't simply pilfer them with the shields in the way, not in any quick manner at least and certainly not without knowing what it was that He was grabbing. Some items could be quite harmful to a being such as He and having any sort of injury or impairment before engaging the two Jedi was simply out of the question if He wanted any chance at success this day.

But while the shields kept Him from just plucking something as He pleased, they did offer one slight boon. A solid, enough, surface for Him to sink His clawed gauntlets into without making too much noise. "'Authorization?'" He scoffed. "I seek direction, not permission." Darth Strosius needed something more reliable than just His own vision and assumptions before He made any move to disable one of the shields and take any of the contents laying behind them.

With any luck He could coerce the information out quickly and without unnecessary bloodshed. Then again though, He'd never quite been a believer in luck. "Oh make no mistake Jedi, if I was the one that required your hand to be cleaved..." The projection of both presence and voice cut out all at once, leaving Him very easy to spot even before He spoke. Unfortunately, He had used the misdirection to shift around and stand atop one of the shelves that the pair of Jedi had been walking past.

"I'd have done the deed myself."

His lightsaber ignited, the crimson blade coloring His dark robes in its glow as He leveled His sword in the other hand towards the pair below. "But speaking of the past, you can indeed help me with that. I want everything that this temple of yours has on the ancient being known as 'The Son' in several mythologies. Comply quick enough and I might even allow the both of you to glimpse a revelation from the Force that only I have yet seen, just to watch the horror on your faces when you realize how wrong you've all been in your beliefs."

 

[Zaiya Ceti]

Outfit: x x x x x | Equipment: x x x x x x | Weapons: x x x | Companion: Domxite
Interacting with: Gerwald Lechner

You should leave with them.

As if it was ever that easy, Zaiya thought to herself, even as the faint smile perked along the corner of her pink lips, a soft, cool blue to teal ombre fluttering over her mottled spots and rosy golden skin in mild, if seeming calm, amusement.

"I am not able to do that," the Lovalla Knight replied, holding her ground, but not in a manner of arrogance, but one that said the young woman was simply doing so because she must.

"I have those I need to protect and defend as well before I follow," she added simply, rocking on the balls of her feet as her smile grew broader.

It was a matter of saving lives. Of ensuring the most precious of their Order were able to escape. It wasn't about the temple. Or the ruins. Or the artifacts inside. History, yes, was important to protect, but far more important were the living.

"But I am curious, does it always have to lead in death?" she asked, canting her head to the right as she studied Gerward, her iridescent blue gaze lingering on him as he stopped a few paces away. He didn't attack her, nor did he provoke. Instead, he simply said what he needed to say.

See, that was telling. It told Zaiya that the man before her was not the sort to make wild decisions. No, the wolfie was purposeful in them. Contemplative. And with the amount of Force power that seemed to radiate off of him, Zaiya knew from experience that facing him off was going to be tricky. This time, she was on her own.

But nature was on her side.

"Why not… something else?" The questions kept coming, the Lovalla's tone openly curious as it was searching. Trying to understand. "Maybe a yummy meal, a good story, or how a very questionable travel decision turns into a surprisingly nice memory?"

The Lovalla gave a small, hopeful tilt of her head as the faintest glimmer of gold warmed her over the edges of her mottled spots, the Force seeming to react to the young Jedi Knight's queries as it fluttered around her.

"Why conquest?" she asked softly. "Why take, when there's so much to just… see?"

The seeds clicked once more in her palm with a tiny, steady beat, those opal blue eyes never leaving his.

"What do you get out of this?"

 

[Gerwald Lechner]

WEARING: This
WEAPONS: Ferrum Solus | Blodmåne | Strømafbryder
SHIP: Vigfjall
TAG: Zaiya Ceti

Gerwald watched the faint shift of color move across her skin as she answered him, the glow settling somewhere between calm and resolve. She held her ground without posturing. There was no challenge in it, no attempt to prove courage through defiance. The decision had already been made before he stepped into the clearing.

That alone separated her from many he had met.

Most people tried to convince themselves not to fear men like him. She simply accepted the danger and remained anyway.

His attention lingered on the way she spoke about the others. Protection came first. Not the temple. Not the relics. Not the history buried beneath stone and root alike. The living mattered more to her than the place itself, and Gerwald believed that part at least was genuine.

The questions that followed did not surprise him.

Curiosity moved through her as naturally as the Force itself. She asked about death, conquest, and taking as though she genuinely expected there to be an answer worth hearing. There was no accusation sharpened beneath the words, no hatred pressing against them. She was trying to understand him, which was somehow stranger than if she had simply condemned him outright.

Gerwald had encountered Jedi before who mistook compassion for wisdom. She did not feel like one of them.

The jungle shifted softly around the clearing while she spoke, leaves stirring overhead as though the world itself leaned closer to listen. Even the Force around her moved differently than what he had felt within the temple. The old structure carried discipline and restraint carved carefully into stone over generations. Zaiya carried something alive by comparison, fluid in a way that resisted rigid shape.

Hope, perhaps, or stubbornness dressed in softer colors.

His gaze dropped briefly toward the subtle clicking sound in her hand before returning to her eyes. Seeds. Small enough to overlook if he had not spent years around worlds where life itself could become weapon, shield, or message depending on whose hands held it. Yet the longer she spoke, the clearer it became that the delay was only part of it. She truly wanted to know why he stood here. Why the Legion had come. Why men followed the Dread Wolf into places like this knowing exactly what would happen once the first order was given.

Gerwald understood the question even if he had long since stopped asking it himself.

Behind him, somewhere beyond the jungle and the temple alike, the Second Legion continued to tighten its hold around New Cov. He could feel it through the Force in fragments. The Dreadborne moved and position themselves to bring a pressure that was slowly building toward the inevitable outcome.

And still she stood there asking him about stories, meals, and memories as though the galaxy had not spent centuries proving what it was.

That more than anything held his attention.

“Conquest?”

The question came without accusation.

“Revenge.”

He let the word settle for a moment.

“New Cov, this temple, it was a bastion for Valery Noble and her ilk. I saved her life, and that of her apprentice Briana Sal-Soren during the Cataclysm that overtook Naboo. I stayed behind when others of the Confederacy had already made it off world, and I ensured they survived as well. How did Valery repay the kindness shown to her by those who did not align to her world view?”

The question hung for the briefest of moments.

“She killed them. Her Order waged war because they had to be eliminated. This is just one more fragment of her legacy still standing. I aim to destroy it, not because it must always end in death, but because this is the recompense of peacekeepers who use the title as justification for genocide.”

 

[Daxin Veyr]

Warren of the Narrows

A snap-hiss shattered the quiet. A red blade ignited, bathing the far end of the hallway in a bloody, rhythmic glow. The light revealed a massive Dowutin Sith, his armored bulk filling the corridor like a nightmare. The giant didn't bother with a slow approach. He simply thrust a massive hand forward.

"Del!"

Daxin turned towards the sith. He heard Del's scream before it was cut out. He immediately reflected the Sith's anger back at him.

For the first time, she needed to call him out for losing self control and she was incapacitated.

He charged forwards, not even thinking about the explosive earrings he had been given. The sith raised his hand.

Daxin didn't even feel the Force move. He just felt his feet leave the floor. Then his back his the ceiling. He was pinned there, held by an unseen force as the Dowutin stalked forwards, lightsaber in hand.

 

[Darth Nefaron]

Jedi Scum: Balun Dashiell
Dzara Bro's: Lirka Ka , Helix​

Just as expected, the Jedi defenders had sought out larger prey rather than bother with the Corpse Lord. No doubt Strosius and Carnifex would have their fun, but for the true Dark Lord, this was merely a simple acquisition, though perhaps pillaging was a better word to use. That being said, there were brave fools who attempted to stop Nefaron as he made his way toward the temple, young Jedi who thought themselves wise and full of purpose.

When they choked on their last breath, Nefaron wondered if they still held onto their nobility.

Still, the Jedi defended their temple with ferocity. The main entrance was too heavily defended, and it would take far too much time to breach it. Thankfully, the ancient structure was well preserved, and the Jedi had done all they could to preserve it. That was until Nefaron used his own terrible blade to carve an opening into the stone that was just wide and tall enough for himself and his entourage to slip through. Empty halls lay before Nefaron, halls that once bustled with younglings and Padawans now lay silent, save for the sound of distant battle. The Corpse Lord reached out, allowing the Dark Side to guide him toward his prize, but in doing so, he felt another presence, one that appeared attuned to him by some past trauma. Of course, that list was long, so it took a moment for the culprit to become visible in the force.

Balun.

Nefaron smiled, a quiet chuckle passing from his hood as he paused, his droids awaiting their master.

“So he has recovered. He is far stronger than I gave him credit for.”

One of the droids approached, a series of low beeps and groans that translated into a vague statement of concern.

“We will have company. The chamber I seek lies ahead. Conceal yourselves and defend it while I claim my prize.”

The droids acknowledged and withdrew into the shadows of the corridor while Nefaron continued on, his goal ever so close.

Yes, Balun, I am very much here. Your destiny awaits if you are brave enough to seek me out.​

 

[Milo Ferin]

Objective: Feth science
Atham Harek
​

Milo's legs were still burning at the threshold, quads ready to fold under as he stopped. His pack had gained ten kilos without any momentum .. funny how that worked, the body wanting to keep score. Atham's acknowledgment landed somewhere between reassuring and disorienting; one second he had four rifles finding him, and the next he was 'old bean'. Quite the emotional whiplash. Probably could've announced himself better instead of sprinting in behind a squad of Republic Commandos in a combat zone.

The dead bodies pulled his gaze before he could stop it; he forced himself to look at the other man instead. Shoulders were forced back down. "Hello, sir," slipped out behind a tight nod.

Eyes drifted toward darker interior; already something inside was pressing against the teen's senses. The presence simply felt wrong. A slow exhale left him. "I'd rather the science that doesn't have legs." Well, the good kind wouldn't chase anyone down the hallways, that much seemed reasonable.

From there he fell in close behind. Conduits overhead were struggling. Enough to make the back of his neck prickle. A shape darted across one of the branching corridors, far too fast for him to identify. But the Dark that came in waves from it also reminded him that it wasn't friendly. Training had a protocol that said wait.. but adrenaline had a different opinion entirely, and it was much louder.

His compact slugthrower found itself in a two-handed grip before the decision caught up. Milo bladed his body against the wall, weight forward on the balls of his feet. His barrel stayed low until the shift came; the trigger finger moved, and the muzzle flash ate the shadows for a breath. Recoil cracked up through his wrists. Whatever it was, it hadn't dropped, and skittered further down into the dark.