Faction [THP] Call to Arms

[Valery Noble]

The message was clear. The storm is no longer a vague horror on the horizon; it is here. Whispers of a new superweapon have now become certainties. Rebel intelligence confirms that the Empire has constructed its terrifying weapon and is ready to unleash it upon the Galaxy. The time for a united resistance against this evil has come, so the call for action has been sent across the stars.

The Hidden Path is moving.

Now, as cells from across the galaxy answer the call, the whole Network mobilizes. This is the largest coordinated effort yet, with fleets, Jedi, and ground forces all preparing for what may be the most important battle in recent decades.

The galaxy will remember what follows.

​

Objective I: The Hangars of Hope

Location: Rebel Fleets across Odessen, The Core and the Mid Rim
The Hidden Path's scattered armada gathers. Old GA vessels, stolen freighters, forgotten warships, and rebel-built carriers now form one fleet. Engineers work around the clock. Pilots run drills. Starfighters are fueled and loaded. Everyone knows what's coming, and everybody understands that not all will return.

What you can do:

• Prep a fighter with your wingmate. Go through a launch sequence together. Add a moment of camaraderie or tension.
• Fly a training run and run into a rogue signal.
• Share a drink or a game of sabacc in the crew bay the night before battle.
• Personalize your ship or droid before departure.
• Say goodbye. To a friend, a lover, a holorecording.

​

Objective II: Jedi at the Brink

Location: Eshan Jedi Enclave
The enclave on Eshan burns brightly in the Force. It is the last stop before the frontlines, close enough to enemy space to be dangerous, but secure enough for massing Jedi. Masters gather to strategize. Knights and Padawans spar, meditate, or simply prepare for the path ahead.

What you can do:

• Share a sparring match or Force exercise with another Jedi to steel yourselves for what's to come.
• Receive or give a final lesson before battle. Something that might save a life.
• Debate philosophy. Should the Jedi even be part of this? Explore your doubts.
• Forge or repair your lightsaber or equipment
• Have a personal moment with a loved one or dear friend before heading off to war.

Objective III: Rally on Odessen

Location: Odessen Jungle Outposts and Medical Barracks
Odessen is the heart of the Network and now its arteries flood with soldiers, medics, and volunteers answering the call. The jungle hangars and surface outposts brim with activity. Supplies are packed, medical crews organize and briefings are held in repurposed hangars while refugee shelters clear space for troop quarters.

What you can do:

• Join a medical unit and prep field hospitals or medbays to prepare for the real battle.
• Coordinate logistics with others.
• Say goodbye to families or refugees who remain behind as the soldiers go off to war.
• Host or attend a last bonfire. A farewell for those who may not return.

 

[Jack Wright]

Obj. II
(Tags: OPEN)
​

Jack loved snow.

One of Eshan's redeeming qualities, honestly, and a nice moment's reprieve before charging into the fray of battle. For now, the Jedi was content to lau down amidst the snow-coated grass, chilling for lack of a better word among the Enclave gardens; no rule against is, last he heard.

Right ankle rested above the bent knee, rotating his booted calf in circular casualness, letting his apprehension to what's coming to drift like the cold breeze. The back of his dishevelled head laxed on both gloved palms, watching the skies of the planet provide a momentary serenity, absorbing it as much he can.

Was he nervous? In truth, Jack had reservations, more than anything. The Force was crying for action, the lingering darkness that threatened not only their former allies, but all that can be rightfully be called 'life'.

The circumstances were distasteful, to put it mildly, but what other choices were there? They were Jedi, they helped the people, even those at odds. It was who they were, which Jack hoped, would always be.

 

[Iris Arani]

​

Iris wiped the sweat from her brow, ignoring the wince that was brought with it. Pain had steadily become a fact of the every day. Without the tub of bacta, the air burned her skin, made her scarred and ruined muscles ache. Despite that though, she was here. No, because of that she was here. All these scars, it was a war just like this one that had brought them.

The more she could do to help stop it from happening to another, the better.

Her gaze lifted, scanning over the crowd. Medics of all flavors, volunteers, the occasional doctor, field medics. All from different walks of life, all from different species and beliefs. They were all here for one reason, no matter the fear or disdain they had for war.

"We'll never be able to save them all." It was something every doctor, every combat medic knew. Her eyes were instead focused on the volunteers. From how the colors shifted, they were already aware. Good. A smile splayed across her face as she tapped one of the medical supply boxes she'd been carrying.

"But with everyone here, with all these supplies, we'll save as many as we can. Make sure they're all packaged properly. Any breach, any containment, is a life as risk that's already at risk. Hurry, but don't rush. Even this has lives in your hands." With that, they moved. Their backgrounds now didn't matter. They had one goal in common.

To spare as many from death as possible.

 

[Ayra Lowe]

// Padawan Lowe //
// Objective II // Train //
// Focus // // OPEN //

---

---

It was no secret to the Padawan that as far as she compared to her peers in combat, the Echani was sorely lacking in any martial expertise. She had only recently crafted a lightsaber of her own and, outside of deflecting a few blaster bolts and a deadly duel with a locked door, lacked any real experience in a combat zone.

Yet the Empire wouldn't wait for her to brush up her skills and become a master of her craft. So when the call came for Jedi across the galaxy to unite and fight against the darkness, Ayra answered the call as readily as any other.

There was little bravery or courage behind her being here, only a knowledge that she must be. Even if she could push back but a nudge against the dark, she needed to be here.

A breath shuddered out of her chest as the Echani attempted to calm her nerves, walking forwards toward the training ground the lone Palawan would hope to find anyone to practice with. Whether it was a master teaching valuable lessons to prepare them all, or a padawan like herself that hooped to practice whatever skills they already had.

 

[Acier Moonbound]

Location: Odessen - Odessen Outpost

Equipment:
Field Gear | Lightsaber | Tic

The holorecorder cast a faint blue light across his face. Ace leaned forward, elbows on his knees, and spoke into the static. A final message for his brother Aether Verd ... just in case.​

​

"Aether… the Path's moving. Big strike. If you're going to be there, and I've got a feeling you will, just be safe. Don't do anything reckless, vod. You're all I got."​

​

He lingered before sending it, thumb hovering over the prompt. Tic whirred from his perch on the crate beside him, one photoreceptor flickering impatiently. With a faint twitch of a smile, Ace pressed send.​

​

Another message sat queued, this one meant for Sibylla Abrantes . He couldn't send her a recording, he didn't want her to see him. Not like this. Not after what had happened on Dathomir. Once he had sent the encrypted message on his datapad, Tic chirped a note of concern.​

​

"I know." He muttered, running a hand through his ashen hair.​

​

The droid tilted his head, that familiar tic, then hopped down with a metallic clink. He bumped against his shin once before scuttling ahead, forcing him to rise and follow.​

​

When they stepped out into the Odessen night, the air was humid and thick with the smell of pine smoke from the bonfire being built in the outpost yard. Refugees and volunteers streamed past, laughter too loud, songs pitched against dread. Some gave him a wide berth. He didn't blame them.​

​

Ace found a quiet corner near the medbays and sat against a support strut, his lightsaber holster in his lap. Tic climbed up beside him, settling on his thigh and chattering softly, static-tinged notes that sounded almost like reassurance. Ace's fingers tightened on the leather strap of his weapon, knuckles white. He kept his gaze low, shadows painting his scar, his freckles, the lines around his eyes.​

​

The bonfire crackled. Someone passed by and left a thermos and a coin in his pack. Tic nudged it with a curious beep, but Ace didn't move. He just sat in the half-light, coiled tight, silent - not yet ready to speak, not yet ready to explain why he was being distant.​

​

OPEN​

 

[Valery Noble]

​

Outfit: Combat Jumpsuit
Weapons: Blasters | Lightsabers

The enclave on Eshan was never built for this many people. Hangars meant for a handful of transports now groaned under the weight of starfighters and freighters, their crews working in shifts to keep every machine running. Barracks overflowed, with soldiers sleeping where they could between briefings. Even the courtyards were crowded with Jedi, some sparring to sharpen their focus, others sitting cross-legged in meditation

Valery moved through it all with a heavy sigh. She had been on her feet since dawn, coordinating with commanders, mediating disputes, and setting schedules that would keep the flow of soldiers and supplies manageable.

From the central planning chamber, she stood before the holomap that showed the latest deployments. A datapad rested in her hand, its glow reflecting in her orange eyes as she made quick adjustments to fleet positions. The chatter of aides and officers ebbed and flowed around her, but her attention remained on the larger picture.

Still, she knew her role here was not only to lead. When others came to her, whether Jedi, soldiers, or commanders, she listened. Some needed orders, others only needed to be heard before stepping into battle. With the map still flickering before her, she drew in a slow breath and set the datapad aside.

Anyone who approached would find her ready.

Open​

 

[Aether Verd]

Moments following Acier's message, a response crackles back...

Brother.

We'll be there. On which side remains to be seen.

Do whatever you must to make it out alive. I'll be waiting.

And I'm sure your lady friend will be too.

[ TRANSMISSION TERMINATED ]​

Acier Moonbound + Sibylla Abrantes

​

​

​

 

[Everest Vale]

Outfit: Personal Armour
Equipment: Lightsaber, Bracelet, Earrings, Seer Stone, Wayfinder's Flare, Atrisian Dancer, Engagement Ring
Companion: Isari
Objective 2
Tag: Ayra Lowe OPEN

The training grounds were alive with movement, though the energy that filled them was not the easy rhythm of routine practice. Every clash of blades, every deep exhale through meditation, carried the weight of what was to come. The air itself seemed to tremble with unease. Eve felt it in the stone beneath her boots, in the tightness in her own chest, in the watchful stillness of Isari padding faithfully at her heel.

Tigris' face lingered in her mind, the memory of her arms around her still warm against her skin. The quiet words they had exchanged before finally parting returned again and again, a fragile anchor against the tide of dread pressing in from every corner of the enclave. For Tigris, for Jane, for every soul who had gathered here, she carried that warmth forward. It steadied her steps, though the fear beneath them never quite left.

The enclave's young overseer passed between sparring rings, eye drawn to the shifting blur of silver and white as Echani blades found their marks. A young Padawan faltered before her, his stance collapsing under the weight of nerves. Eve stopped, silent, her eye following the tremor in his form. She adjusted his shoulders with a light touch, shifted his wrist with the gentlest pressure, until his guard steadied. He looked up at her, uncertain, almost apologetic.

She answered only with a nod and a soft smile, her hand firm on his shoulder, sending the calm of the Light through the touch. You are not alone. The message passed wordlessly between them, and something in his eyes settled.

Eve let her hand fall away and moved on, the echo of his fear staying with her. Around her, the enclave burned brightly in the Force. So many lives, so much hope gathered in one place. Every heartbeat felt like it rested in her hands, and the weight of it pressed heavily against her. She walked on in silence, unable to still the thought that would not leave her: how deeply she loved them all, and how much she feared losing them.

Across the way, Eve noticed a newer Padawan lingering at the edge of the grounds, one she recalled by name from the steward’s last report. The girl’s stance was tight with nerves, her steps uncertain. Eve approached at an easy pace, Isari shadowing her heel. When she drew near, she offered only a small nod, her voice gentle.

"Padawan Lowe, isn't it?" she said with a gentle smile. "Do you need any help?"

The words were plain, but the warmth behind them was steady. An invitation without pressure, a thread of reassurance offered in the midst of gathering storm.

 

[Michael Angellus]

​

PERSONAL FLIGHT LOG – Entry #
Location: – Liberator Carrier "Liberation"
Assigned Craft: My T-1000 X-Wing
Astromech Partner: BRED (BB-30)
Current Mood: Worried
Background Noise: I can’t hear anything over the rumble in my gut.

Growing up, I never understood how my father could feel so concerned about those around him. How, or really why he continued to serve.

Now I do.

We’re all here, being a part of something bigger than us. Something that we may never talk about, but history classes might, decades from now. No matter what happens.

I think I finally get it.

For years, I never understood how Dad could be so strong. How he could stare down entire fleets without flinching. How Grandpa before him, and his father before that, could put themselves in the fire for people they’d never even meet. It always felt impossible — like some myth carried on the Angellus name that I’d never live up to.

But now… standing here with the squadron, Atrisia hanging in the balance, and another cursed Death Star out there — it clicks.

We’re about to fly into a fight that’s not for us. We’ll be standing between the Empire and people who don’t even know we exist. People who may never know our names, our faces, or what we gave up for them. And for the first time, I get why that’s enough. Why it has to be enough.

This isn’t about being a hero. It’s not about medals, or some hollow victory speech. It’s about showing up. Being the wall when someone else can’t. Being the shield when the galaxy needs one, even if nobody ever says thank you.

I won’t lie — I’m not excited. My stomach’s in knots, and my hands won’t stop tightening and loosening on the yoke like they’re trying to work it out on their own. But this is where I belong. Not because of my bloodline, not because of my name — but because with these pilots at my side, we can be something greater than ourselves.

I’m no better than anyone else here. But together? Together we can be better than everyone the Empire sends at us.

Maybe that’s what Dad always knew. Maybe that’s what all of them — my father, his father, and the ones before — were really fighting for.

Bwoop-breep-dwoo [Translation:“Just so we’re clear, I still think you’re all clinically insane. Flying tin cans against a moon-killer? Brilliant plan. But—”]

—low warble, softer now [Translation:“—if this is where you stand, then so do I. Let’s burn bright.”]

…Yeah. Guess I’m not the only one who finally gets it.






– Michael A.
We are going to kick their… well… you know…

TAG:

This is where he is speaking

 

[Connel Vanagor]

A Reckoning is Coming
ESHAN
ENCLAVE

Michael, Gabriel, Azrael, Sariel, Raphael, Jeremiel, Connel, Raguel
[Any text in brackets signifies comm-link usage and not face to face conversation]

The call was made.

The team was enroute.

Mother was here, she was coming with her own puppy “Cooper” to pick up Buster.

He knew.

He hadn’t left Connel’s side all morning, more “clingy” as some may call it than normal. He never liked being separated from his best friend, but this was different. Buster was acting “extra” as if he saw ahead that something would happen. Buster’s behavior was unusual, as if he sensed a change was coming. His attachment to Connel grew stronger, and he seemed to anticipate the separation. The team’s impending arrival would mark the beginning of a new chapter, but Buster’s anxious demeanor hinted at an underlying unease about what lay ahead..

Mother could see it as well. She had just lost her husband, she was not going to lose her son too. That is when she took a pendant off from her neck, and reached over to put it around Connel’s. It was a “t” shape, a cross, she went on that he would give it to her every time he left on a mission, with the direction that he would get it back when he returned.

Obviously that didn’t happen after Coruscant.

She explained that she wanted this to be his and his way of mentally preparing himself, like it worked for his father. She even nudged him like any mother would, about that cute brunette Katarine Ryiah , maybe he could continue this with her. Of course this made Connel smile, bringing him out of his doldrums, mothers have a way of doing that. It was embarrassing though, to think about conversations like this with your mom. So he wanted to change the subject. He went to promise her he would come back, she stopped him and said not to, never to, his father never did because you could not. She told him to be who he was. Be the man she raised.

Then she lifted Buster in her arms, who gave her kisses, and as she fed him treats, that was Connel’s cue to walk away.

This walk made him angry.

Angry at the galaxy.

Angry at the Galactic Alliance, though it was not the fault of many of them. It was bound to happen, but they were too big to handle themselves. There was still loyalty, but he was angry at those who let the innocents suffer.

He was mad at how fractured the Jedi are now. All because of Risen Sith? (The Opposite of Fallen Jedi) All because of ideology?

He was angry at himself for letting himself be this angry.

Then Connel stopped himself and dropped into a Lotus position (cross legged), and began to meditate. He meditated on his father, what his father would do. This WAS the first battle of this magnitude he was entering without his father present. He wasn’t sure what to do, but he had to be strong. He had to step up.

So… he would. It was as simple as that.

He wouldn’t be nice about it though.

No… the “Nice” Vanagor died. Evil had their chance. Now? Now they deal with him[/I/].

TAGS • ARE • WIDE • OPEN • TO • ALL​

 

[Krass Wyms]

Eshan was a beautiful place it really was... she sound of the snow crunching underfoot as she walked from the ship was a small thing. The feeling of it on her bare skin... a different sensation then in the forge as the quartermaster of the jedi had brought equipment that might be needed. If war had to come then she was going to make sure the jedi had only the finest from advanced and crafted crystals to gear that would help them. Her eyes flicked around the temple itself as she took them all it.. she was also here to deliver a datapad with the ignition codes for the Hidden Paths leader... she had only recently finished the construction of the Hidden Path itself. She had a few other pieces to deliver, special orders that had been formed upon the kyber anvil by her and her team.

"Who are you?" The voice came out as someone approached her... not surprising she wasn't known she controlled and spent her time in the forge... she outfitted, she didn't travel and... here she looked up at him. THe sight must have been something as her hair was pulled back into a ponytail with only a few bangs loose and framining her face. Skin bronzed lightly from the heat of the force and muscles gleaming under the light of the planet. Thick trunks of flesh that showed veins like beskar cords, definition that most others never knew they had... and she was also Kazuund and most in the galaxy had never seen the armorers. As least not the women... cause most wouldn't be able to tell them apart.Krass waited a moment and looked at him as her hammer on her hip gleamed, arms crossing over her apron before she was looking up at him.

"I am Quartermaster Wyms, here to deliver on some orders that came in." She said it and indicated the ship she had come in on. The Kyber series X-Wing as it looked like the void of space and absorbed the light practically. The case holding an eyepatch for Everest Vale as she walked and the padawan joined her... not knowing who she was but following. her throat catching the light as the purple kaiburr crystal gleamed.. no power coming from it here on this world but it was inset to the embersteel choker she wore for the heat resistance and strength. "So where have you been? I don't think you were at any of the temples." He asked it and waas so innocent sounding as she looked up at him. "I serve the temples in another way, by manning the celestial forge to craft items for the jedi. If you lose a hand come to me, or an eye, or a leg... I also make ships for some and sometimes crystals for a lightsaber."

She said it with some pride... it was her vocation, she should take pride in it and she had developed for the most part the circuits and parts needed that most sabers had the ability to slice beskar and resist cortosis. Her eyes flicked around as she got a few more looks but went around the temple looking at things. Giving out some of the packs she had for herself but avoiding most of it until she saw Valery Noble and looked up at the woman. In her combat suit. "Grandmaster Noble." She said it looking at her and pulled the datapad out as she spoke. "A gift from Grandmaster Ike, it will have everything you talked about and more. There is a tea bar for it instead of a wine bar." She said it while walking. "I have other things to deliver." She said it while walking with a small smirk on her face.

 

[Caelan Valoren]

Objective 3

He struggled mightily with what was happening.

Truthfully, he was not of the group who sought to wage war against the enemies of peace and light. He did not believe that was a path that would bring anything good to fruition. War only ever created more devastation, more death, more despair. Even a victory for the light could never come without the loss or injury of good people, both physically and mentally. So many had died in the past, and many more would die in the future if they could not find a way to resolve differences without the need for shedding blood.

But he understood the difference between aggression and defense. The organization going on around him was related to the latter. There was strong evidence that something of great evil had been constructed by the Galactic Empire and now they were set to bring it to bear upon the galaxy and sunder life, and possibly whole worlds, from existence. Standing against that was the right thing for the people around him to do, though not the right thing for him personally. Wardens did not seek to become embroiled in battle itself, instead seeking to end it through diplomatic means, or to provide assistance in other ways, such as healing the wounded and tending to the needs of the displaced.

For those who wished, Caelan was present to discuss their doubts, assuage their fears. He would not stop anyone from going into battle. His presence was meant to be a calming one, to remind them of who they were and what they were doing, and assure them that someone would be there for them when they returned, especially if they needed aid. Other members of the Wardens were scattered throughout the galaxy, some even at that moment working on Odessen to prep medical facilities for the outcome of war.

For his part, he sat within one of the training rooms on Eshan, meditating and allowing a calming effect to waft off of him to everyone within the temple, trying to take the edge off, helping calm the nerves of those who went to battle. But the door was open.

ATTIRE: Link | WEAPON: Lightsaber | COMPANION: BD-F8 | OTHER: Sigil Bead (Necklace), Prosthetic Left Arm

TAGS: Open​

 

[Lestra Thairk]

Tags: Acier Moonbound

His eyes glanced across everyone at the outpost, those speaking to loved ones, the ones leaving messages for their loved ones to listen to. It had made him realise that in this moment, he had no-one. His parents were in Diarchy space. They had stopped replying to the messages he had sent them. He was alone. There was no-one for him to leave a message to. No-one for him to update. He rested himself against his spear in thought, his face twisted in some form of grimace as he tried to steady himself.

Come on Lest'. You're meant to be the one who doesn't let this stuff bother you. Water off a duck's back and all. Just keep moving. This is the same as any other mission. You've always been alone since you left home. Even at home you were alone. Had more in common with wild dogs than your own family...

It was hard. Hard to snap yourself out of a funk once you started to get into one. There was a lot Lestra had been trying to hide from. Run from. And it was all building up on his shoulders now. Weight that he couldn't let go. It wasn't weight he could share. Which is why the lad did what he always did. Standing himself up straight, and giving his arms a big stretch, he shoved a toothy grin on his face. There were people who needed to see a smile, to be cheered up.

And so Lestra started to wander around, trying to see where he could do his Tharik magic the best. Which is when his gaze fell upon the familiar sight of Acier Moonbound looking...more glum than Lestra was used to. Well then. He made his way over towards...his friend? Yeah. That worked. Strolling on over, before stabbing his spear into the ground as to announce his arrival. His eyes darting over towards Tic for a moment. Lestra wasn't a fan of droids. Not overly. But a companion was a companion at the end of the day. Either way, Lestra clapped his hands together before dropping down onto the ground with a thud.

"Well. Look at this. Looks like perfect real estate for me to park myself down and ponder over yonder."

Did any of what he said make sense? Probably not. But that wasn't what he was trying to do. Talking was a good way to get people out of their own head sometimes.

 

[Corazona von Ascania]

OPEN​

"Focus on suturing the vessels first, nice and slow. The speed with come with practice."

Cora has been confined to a hoverchair the last - and first - time she'd visited Eshan's enclave. Certain events, expedited by the looming cataclysm, held her grave force wound in check for the moment.

She was pleased to see how quickly the Hidden Path had mobilized after sending out the call to Valery. For her part, the knight held a last minute class in wound healing. It was a cursory lesson, something that came together in one of the temple's atriums.

"Good," she nodded after lingering over a Padawan's shoulder as they tended to a practice dummy meant to simulate damaged human flesh. "In the field, you need to be quick to assess an injury. Use the Force to mend the most crucial aspect of a wound first - like stopping a hemorrhage or removing poison - but be mindful of your energy. Stitches can always bind flesh, and bandages will protect skin."

The Padawan, a Rodian male, blinked up at her.

"But how will we know when to use the Force, and when to use more…conventional methods?"

Cora straightened, slow and careful. She sucked a thoughtful breath in through her teeth. Ilum still burned brightly in her mind, the aftermath of separating those who had a chance from those who would soon return to the Force.

 

[Malora Varis]

CALL TO ARMS..?​

Location – Odessen Jungle Outpost
Objectives – Objective 3
Tags – Open
Paraphernalia – Lightsaber, Bodysuit, Outfit

​

No matter how oft the prayers to the Moon Goddess graced her lips, it would not dampen the rising tempest within her. The evergrowing rift between duty and ideals, for her calling was to be a diplomat--to resolve conflict by word, not mindlessly darting around the scorched warzone seeking to halt the slaughter. Yet when the orchestra of life louded with urgent battle drums, its call could not be denied by even the staunchest idealists. This was no war to be tamed by sweetened offers or charming deception. It required unison, an unbroken coalition. For one was but fragile leaf, to be carried away by the lightest breeze, yet together they may weather the storm... Yet its (metaphorically) threatening clouds lay heavy above the tall treetops, their thunder not yet heard, but their lightning had pierced the serenity already. Footmen paced around, bidding their untimely farewells to their loves, pleading to whichever deity may hear their call for mercy and protection. The song of Ashla lingered on the planet, louder than Bogan did, but it was slower, tinged by sorrow rather than its usual optimism. As if lamentation had weaved itself into the strings, weeping through their adagio.

Amidst their mournful melodies, the crackling of the flames shaped the canvas. Whilst some may hone their martial arts or prepare mind and body for the challenges ahead, Malora could not bring herself to any feat, staring solemnly at the blend of fiery hues that moved like waves over the logs. Her fingers brushed past the intricacies of her lightsaber, the very tool she had not dared ignite since her daughter's passing. Its heat too uncontrollable, its darkness too dominating, and her beating heart too fractured to overcome that terror. Her thumb brushed over the switch near its emitter, ready to swap the stunning lens for the Adegan one, a vow laden with promise of destruction--for it would alter her weapon to be capable of killing and not solely harming a living, breathing soul. A shaky breath drew from her lips, while the tempest of confliction razed in her mind, as if pleading her to turn back. To return to the comfort of passiveness. The Jedi told herself that she was not ready: Not to fight, not to act! She did not even know whether her Solari crystal would still hear the purity in her heart, whilst she only heard Bogan's dissonant chords when her composure cracked.

Its click was washed out by the noise of chatter behind her, more dialogue tinged in the unforgiving shades of fate. The Pantoran lifted her gaze, not noticing the silent tear that rolled down her powdered cheek. Her golden eyes flicking from the nearby tents to the distant outpost. Its almost calm was akin to the one before a storm, the moment charged with unknowingness... Perhaps they were ready, or perhaps this would be the hammer that will fall, deciding their swift end.

​

 

[Devin Virell]

Michael Angellus Zane Cameron Nash Tavros Alison Sky ​

​

The hangar was alive with noise, the kind that seeped into the bones and made it impossible to forget where he was. Mechanics shouted over repulsorlifts, fuel lines hissed, and tools clattered hard against durasteel. To most that would’ve registered as chaos, but for him, everything was simply moving with purpose. Everyone aboard the ship knew what was coming. And everyone knew what it might cost.

He took another look at some of their faces.. it was possible that some of them wouldn’t be here tomorrow.

Devin could smell the coolant and ozone; it was sharp enough to sting the back of his throat. For a moment he leaned against the scarred hull of his X-Wing, boots planted, pretending his posture was casual. It wasn’t. The pilot’s shoulders ached from too many hours in the cockpit lately.

The pin-up on his ship’s side was half faded now. He tapped it with two knuckles, more ritual than joke. “Don’t let me down,” he muttered. Whether he meant the ship, the drawing, or himself.. he couldn’t say.

His new astromech beeped something that almost sounded provocative. A smirk unfurled along his lips. "Yeah, yeah, you're the brains of the operation."

Pilots moved all around him. Some laughing, some whispering. In one corner came the murmur of a sabacc game. The temptation was always there, tugging at the edge of his focus

Instead, he pulled a battered datapad from his pocket. The journal. An index finger unlocked he screen, then he was staring at the blinking cursor. Words crowded his throat but refused to fall. What was there to say?

He exhaled slowly and let his gaze drift about. Beyond them, the fleet gathered. Old GA hulls, freighters, forgotten warships. An armada held together by stubbornness and spit if he had to guess. And yet, it was beautiful.

There was another thought pressing at the back of his mind. The Death Star. Even that name felt like a curse. He’d seen a few holos, recon imagines. Sure, he’d flown against destroyers, frigates, even the goofy looking dreadnought, but this was something else. It was more than a ship; it was a weapon capable of striking fear into the entire galaxy. Yet here he was, ready to strap himself into his X-Wing.

Still, he’d take the knife. Better to go down swinging than to kneel.

Another figure caught his attention. Michael Angellus . In his route toward him, another stood from their squadron. Passing by, he tipped his head toward Zane Cameron . It was more than acknowledgment; it was a pull, an invitation to join them.

The grin returned, a little sharper this time, masking the tension beneath his exterior. A note of mischief flickered. "You done writing your memoirs, Angellus?" He forced out a light tone. "We've got a Death Star to crash."

It sounded like a joke, and the laugh that followed, was a shield against his nerves.

 

[Ayra Lowe]

// Padawan Lowe //
// Objective II // Train //
// Focus // Everest Vale // OPEN //

---

---

As the padawan observed the sparring grounds, a small comfort carried itself across the wind. Eshan was her people's home planet after all and, despite this being her first steps on the planet, the wind managed to calm her staggered breath somewhat as she shut her eyes to fill her lungs.

"Padawan Lowe, isn't it?" she said with a gentle smile. "Do you need any help?"

The words came as calmly as the wind, and as Ayra opened her eyes they turned to greet a fellow Echani. There was a warmth in her voice and smile that helped ease the nerves the girl felt. Looking over the other woman it was apparent that despite a similar age, her counterpart was far more experienced than she was. The eyepatch spoke a quiet story of battle, but it was the confidence and gentleness the woman spoke with that told Ayra most of what she needed to know.

Reasserting herself, the younger Echani took a small bow towards her elder before addressing her.

"Oh, greeting master. I'm flattered that you know my name." The surprise was genuine. Ayra had hardly done anything to stand out as being a Jedi, but there was a comfort in the fact those leading the Padawan's into battle knew the names of those they would command. "I'm assuming there is much I need help with before the battle starts, but what matters to me most is knowing that I can defend myself."

A hand clenched tightly as she worried about her next words. The Padawan didn't want to be a liability to those she would be fighting alongside, but it was also a battle she must fight. If the masters were concerned about the girl's abilities, then there was a possibility she would be left behind.

"If it's not too much to ask of you, master, would you be able to help me practice a touch? This battle is too important to be a liability, the others won't be able to stop the Empire if they are worried about protecting the girl next to them." Pale blue eyes lit up more fiercely as she looked into Everest's gaze. "I want to able to help you all put an end to this, and to do that I need your help."

"If you have the time that is."

 

[Nash Tavros]

ABOARD THE LIBERATION
ENGAGING: [OPEN]​

Just for tonight, let's be winners
Who finally did something right
​

"No, no, no!" Nash's voice bounced off the deck as he hung over the wing of his assigned X-Wing so he could get a better look at what Cav was doing with the capacitors. "No -- this one goes here." He pointed with one hand, then tried to smooth his hair back, only for it to fall down again. He was upside down, after all. "That one goes there. Got it?"

"Don't raise your voice at me, Scavenger," Cav said. His words belied a mood that was not apparent in his typically flat monotone. "This is a pristine machine. It would be a shame to get your vital fluids in the seals."

Nash smirked; he wasn't convinced that Cav was joking. "Remind me to ask the Quartermaster if they can get a restraining bolt for you. That's the problem with you antiques. Can never find replacement parts."

"Unrelated inquiry: where is the nearest garbage compactor chute?"

He heaved a sigh and pinched the bridge of his nose lightly. "Just put everything back together, Cav. I just need you to get your eyes -- photoreceptors, whatever -- on everything so you can oversee whatever maintenance droids they put on the detail." The blood was starting to rush to his head, so he straightened, effortlessly sitting upright. His duty coverall was unzipped to the waist, tied around him, exposing a white tank top undershirt that was, at least for the moment, still clean.

"Scavenger." Cav wasn't finished with him, apparently. Nash bit his lip briefly, then settled himself on his stomach on the wing and gently lowered himself down, dropping effortlessly next to the droid, at whom he aimed an inquisitive and expectant look, as if to say: well? "Have you documented your wishes for what will happen to me if you die tomorrow?"

Even though he felt a stab of anxiety at his gut, Nash choked on a forced laugh. "Cav, please, don't get all sentimental on me here in front of everyone."

"Sentimental? You misunderstood." Cav's unblinking photoreceptors looked right through the pilot. He didn't move a single servo. "I ran the calculations based on historical data, Scavenger. The odds of Striker Squadron returning from a fight of this magnitude without casualties is -- effectively -- zero. Individual survivability depends on user skill, opponent skill, and luck. On average, the odds are poor. Very poor. You have limited starfighter combat experience. It stands to reason that you are more likely to be destroyed."

Nash's tongue bulged his cheek as he stared at the droid. Not exactly the pep-talk he was looking for. He had always thought the droid's prickly personality was a feature of his manufacture as a combat droid, but after that? Nash crossed his arms over his abdomen, half-turned. Partway across the hangar, Devin Virell was chatting to Michael Angellus . He raised his jaw toward them in a very cool, very masculine nod that said sup without saying it.

"Scavenger?"

"If I die tomorrow," said Nash slowly, turning his attention back to Cav. "Hell -- if I die at all -- you can destroy your scavenge registration and take the Perihelion and go do whatever it is you'd rather be doing. I'll write out a testament, get it witnessed, the whole nine yards, okay? If I make it back tomorrow, I'll take a leave and take you wherever you want to be, since clearly that's not here."

"You misunderstood, Captain," said Cav flatly. "I have always belonged to you, to the Perihelion Run. These rebels are not my people. They would not likely appreciate my..." A pause as his servos whirred, his head cocking to one side in an almost uncanny facsimile of human posture. "... unique outlook on this existence."

"You could try being nicer to them." Nash suggested quietly.

"I cannot," said Cav. "You know this. It is my programming."

Nash shrugged. Worth a try. "I'll take care of it, Cav. Promise."

Just for tonight we're the victors
Who've come to settle the fight​

Zane Cameron | Alison Sky | Devin Virell | Michael Angellus​

 

[Everest Vale]

Outfit: Personal Armour
Equipment: Lightsaber, Bracelet, Earrings, Seer Stone, Wayfinder's Flare, Atrisian Dancer, Engagement Ring
Companion: Isari
Tag: Ayra Lowe OPEN

"Please, just call me Eve." Eve's smile was soft, an easy curve that didn't try to fix anything — only to meet it. She remembered that exact tightness in a younger version of herself, the way the body tried to make courage out of breath. She stepped closer and laid a warm hand on Ayra's shoulder, squeezing once, gently. The pressure said what words could not.

"Of course," she said, voice quiet and steady. She let the word sit, then continued. "You don't have to be at the frontlines if that's not where you belong. There will be roles — support, med teams, supply, listening posts — that matter as much as any blade. If those feel safer for you, there's honour in that."

She lifted her chin a fraction, offering Ayra the choice and the permission both.

"But if you want to stand with a saber, we can sharpen whatever you need."

Isari padded in closer, nosed Ayra's boot with slow, curious interest, then settled down with a soft blink, eyes half-closed as if she trusted Eve's call. She shifted when Eve moved and watched, patient as a stone.

"Whenever you're ready," Eve said. "We'll take it at your pace."

 

[Alison Sky]

The mirror above the sink was already fogged from her breath, though the refresher was cold. Alison pressed the thermometer against her lips, staring at the pale reflection that wouldn't quite meet her own eyes. When the small device finally chirped, she didn't need to look to know that it was hotter than yesterday, hotter than it should be.

Bloodburn.

The word scratched at the back of her mind, unspoken, unwanted. Her father's legacy, passed like a curse through bloodlines and bone. She'd told herself she was different, that the fire inside her was just nerves, just adrenaline. But tonight the heat curled through her veins like starfire, undeniable.

And yet, denial was exactly what she chose.

They needed her. Tomorrow, the stars themselves would burn with an impossible mission against an impossible weapon. The Death Star. Every pilot mattered. Every hand counted. And she wasn't about to sideline herself because her blood decided to betray her.

Alison snapped the thermometer shut, shoved it into her kit, and splashed cold water on her face. The heat beneath her skin pulsed on, steady and insistent, but she forced her expression into something calm as she pushed out of the refresher and back into the narrow corridor of the rebel outpost.

Voices carried ahead, the low rumble of nerves and laughter from her squadron gathered in the mess. Alison rolled her shoulders, smoothed the edge from her expression, and walked toward them with the easy swagger of a pilot born to fly. Inside, the fire burned hotter. But outside, she was just another ace with a job to do.