Public [THP | TDC] Operation Reckoning

[Valery Noble]

The Hidden Path is making its move.

After the brutal raid on Kattada and the exposure of the Dark Court, the rebels and Jedi of the Path have begun piecing together the spiderweb of influence behind their rise. And one thread has led them deep into the storms of Sevarcos II, to a place known as the Eviscerant Yards.

Disguised as an industrial mining complex, the Yards are more than they appear. Beneath its automated operations and fortress-like security, they serve as a major resource hub for these Sith warlords, including those whispered to be part of the Court itself. Spice refining, weapons deals, slave labor; it all flows from this one artery, pumping blood into the veins of the Sith war machine.

Aris Noble encountered their presence here once before. Now, the Hidden Path comes to put an end to it. The mission is simple: disrupt, destroy, and sabotage this part of the Sith industrial complex. Strike teams are already en route under cover of dust storms and shadowed hyperspace routes. From the skies above the Spiral Cut to the depths of "The Ditch," the battle for Sevarcos begins.

Operation Reckoning is a go.

Objective I: Break the Chain​

Target: Crucible Ridge Refinery
Strike Team: Hidden Path Saboteurs & Jedi

The Crucible Ridge Refinery is the beating heart of the Sevarcos operation. Here, raw spice is processed, purified, packaged, and shipped out to Sith-aligned markets across the galaxy. Disabling this site would throw production into chaos and deal a heavy economic blow to the enemy. The team is tasked with sabotaging machinery, destroying product, and making sure this place doesn't recover quickly.

Mission Goals:

• Sabotage processing lines and conveyor systems
• Contaminate or ignite stored spice batches
• Bypass vaults and destroy secured high-grade stock
• Shut down power relays and emergency systems
• Set refinery to overload if possible

Objective II: Sever the Head​

Target: Calis Central Overseer Tower
Strike Team: Jedi Shadows & Intelligence Operatives

The Overseer Tower is the nerve center of the entire mining complex, a symbol of the Calis family's dominance and cruelty. From here, shifts are scheduled, lives are monitored, and profits are calculated. The strike team will breach the tower, eliminate high-level targets, and extract whatever intelligence can aid future operations. A bold strike here could send shockwaves through the enemy command structures.

Mission Goals:

• Breach from above or underground via covert transport
• Slice comms relays to intercept and jam transmissions
• Neutralize or capture Calis family personnel
• Extract AI logs, shift data, and logistical records

Objective III: Silence the Whip​

Target: Section B "The Ditch" & Bastion D-11
Strike Team: Frontline Rebels & Jedi

The lowest pit of the mines is where resistance dies. But not today. Section B houses the oppressed and discarded, while D-11 keeps them in line through fear. This mission's goal is twofold: liberate anyone still breathing and dismantle the mercenary garrison's ability to fight back. Expect heavy resistance, but bring freedom.

Mission Goals:

• Free surviving prisoners and get them to evac
• Destroy or disable their defensive systems.
• Collapse tunnel access points to prevent pursuit
• Engage mercenary troops stationed at Bastion D-11
• Jam their comms to prevent reinforcements from coordinating

 

[Connel Vanagor]

A DAY OF RECKONING
Sevarcos II
Eviscerant Yards

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

Objective I: Break the Chain
Sevarcos II, Southern Hemisphere — The World of Endless Wind

The Raven shuddered as it slipped out of hyperspace, its blacked-out hull ghosting against the ochre storms of Sevarcos II. SERAPHIM’s voice thrummed across the squad comms like a calm overseer:

“Sensor blindspot confirmed at the planet’s northern pole. Deploying trajectory mask. Enemy buoys registering atmospheric interference.”

Michael Angellus — gave a sharp nod from the pilot’s seat, hands light on the controls. Beside him, BB-30 (BRED) trilled an almost gleeful warble, his dome rotating toward the viewport.

Zzrt-whiiiiiir (Translation: You’re insane. I love it. It’s about time!)

The dropship’s angular form knifed downward, plunging from orbit in a steep dive. At this angle, the Crucible Ridge Refinery was over 200 kilometers away, but the approach was surgical: slipping under the orbital net, threading through storm currents, bleeding velocity like a hawk stooping on prey.

Two miles from target, the bay doors hissed open. Wind screamed through the cabin, pulling at armor plates and visor seals. The crucible’s crimson haze painted Omega Squad in flickering light.

Angellus’ voice came across the squadline:

Green light. HALO jump. Give’em frell and see you on the other side!

One by one, the squad stepped off into the gale. Dark figures tumbled into the endless wind, parachutes sealed, bodies angled for terminal velocity. To enemy sensors, they were just flecks of storm debris.

Connel waited until last, standing in the cargo bay, Dawn’s Light across his back, eyes narrowing. For some reason, he could not find his mask, Buster was there, not normally, but he was there, and “helping” it was when he saw Katarine Ryiah with it that things made sense. Or did they?

…

Once the mask was on and clamped, he gave his best friend one last headscratch and stepped back to the ramp. Something in the Force tugged at him — a presence, coiled and waiting. He didn’t hesitate. He dove.

As the squad fell, the Raven dropped into the basement of Crucible Ridge’s sensor field, skimming 200 feet above the scarred terrain. Engines roared in short, controlled bursts; the ship ghosted between jagged basalt ridges, black against black.

Then came the second package.

The cargo clamps released with a metallic CLANG. The REEK thundered out of the hold, wheels slamming into the dust with a bone-shaking impact. Its rotary cannons immediately spun up, SERAPHIM tying targeting data directly to its droidbrain.

Jeremiel gripped the remote yoke from his chute harness, guiding the transport like an extension of his own body. The REEK bucked and weaved, smashing through obstacles, firing wildly into sensor nodes, droid patrols, and mercenary positions.

[Contact drawn,] SERAPHIM intoned flatly, even as the cannons stitched arcs of fire across the refinery perimeter. [Engagement ratio: optimal.]

Explosions flared in the crimson storm. Drawing mercenaries, drawing drones, every turret in range swiveled toward the REEK.

Exactly as planned.

Two miles out, Omega Squad’s parachutes bloomed — silent black canopies catching the wind. They ghosted into the dust, dropping into cover beyond the refinery walls.

Azrael’s voice crackled in:

[Ground. Clean. REEK’s got their attention.]

Gabriel’s HUD lit up as SERAPHIM fed him refinery schematics, power relays glowing like arteries in the dark. He keyed his datapad into a nearby relay port, slicing with decisively.

Sariel scanned the wall with his cloak drawn close.

[Snipers inbound, but they’re not looking our way. All eyes on the distraction to this point.]

Raphael slung his heavy repeater across his chest, grin audible in his voice.

[Jeremiel, drive that beast like you stole it.]

The REEK answered with a full rocket barrage, the shockwave rattling even Omega’s landing zone.

Above, the Raven banked hard, engines screaming as it drew fire away from the REEK. Michael’s voice was tight but steady:

SERAPHIM, paint targets. Let’s make this fun.

BRED shrieked a challenge, spitting sensor-jamming countermeasures as Michael’s hands danced over the controls. The stealth dropship wasn’t meant to dogfight — but Michael made it dance anyway, diving into intercept patterns, keeping hostile air skiffs from swarming the REEK.

“Target locks broken,” SERAPHIM confirmed. “Pilot Angellus, your odds of survival remain… acceptable.”

WEE-Oooooo [Translation: Acceptable? We’re aces, baby!]

I’m not used to you being nice!


WEE-Oooooo [Translation: Me neither!]


Master Ryiah… I’ll line us up if you man the guns and hit those targets!


Michael just smirked and banked again.

While the squad regrouped and began their push toward Crucible Ridge, Connel slowed his stride. The Force prickled sharp, like frost against his skin. He felt them before he saw them: a darker presence, watching from the shadows of the refinery spires.

His hand fell to Dawn’s Light.
He broke off without a word.

The rest of Omega Squad pressed on, their mission clear: sabotage the refinery, overload the systems, leave the Calis spice empire in flames. The REEK roared defiance in the distance, cannons barking, rockets blazing.

And Connel, alone in the storm, stalked the darkness that had come hunting for him.

TAGS • ARE • WIDE • OPEN • TO • ALL • Katarine Ryiah • Delsin Shaw​

 

[Everest Vale]

Outfit: Personal Armour
Equipment: Lightsaber, Bracelet, Earrings, Seer Stone, Wayfinder's Flare, Atrisian Dancer, Engagement Ring
Tag: Jane Qyssiyana

The shuttle dipped low through the storms of Sevarcos, its hull rattling with each gust of poisoned wind. Dust and ash smeared against the viewport until the world outside became nothing but shifting streaks of ochre and rust. Eve sat at the front of the hold, steady in her silence, her hand brushing over the wooden hilt at her hip. Stillness hummed faintly, the white crystal within alive as if it, too, sensed where they were going.

The Eviscerant Yards.

The name alone pulled at her. Serina’s shadow still lingered in her chest like an old wound that simply refused to heal, and walking into one of the Court’s lairs only made it burn hotter. Her jaw set as she breathed through it, letting the storm outside mirror the storm within. She couldn’t afford to stumble here, not with what was at stake. Not with Jane by her side.

Her gaze slid to her Padawan. The youngy girl’s presence in the Force was bright, raw, and still so new to the path she walked. Protectiveness rose in Eve like a tide, almost overwhelming in its weight. Jane had chosen to be here, and Eve had chosen to let her, but the responsibility sat heavy. She would see her through this. She had to.

The shuttle jolted as it touched down in the lee of a jagged ridge. Through the hiss of venting hydraulics, the refinery came into view. Even cloaked by storm and distance, the Crucible Ridge complex was alive with harsh light and endless noise. Towers belched smoke. Conveyor lines wound like steel serpents into the earth. The smell, burnt spice and oil, reached them even here.

Eve rose, drawing her cloak tight around her shoulders. She breathed once, grounding herself, and then keyed the ramp.

"Here we are," she said quietly, voice carrying the calm she had to project even if her heart was racing. She turned to Jane, meeting her eyes with steady silver.

"Stay close, Jane. I believe in you. Remember what we're here for and keep your focus. We go in fast, quiet, and stop this place in its tracks."

The storm swallowed them the moment they stepped onto the soil. The refinery loomed ahead, a beast of smoke and iron. And somewhere inside, waiting in its depths, was the darkness Eve could already feel curling at the edge of her senses.

 

[Noodles]

Outfit: bomber jacket, layered skirt + leggings, boots
Equipment: portable slicer rig, satchel of wires & snacks, HUD goggles, headphones
Tag: Acier Moonbound Vakhari Lutris Valaine Valentine

The dust storms clawed at the armored shuttle as it cut low across the jagged ridges of Sevarcos II, and Noodles' boots hit the grit with a heavier thud than she liked to admit. The Overseer Tower loomed ahead, cold durasteel ribs jutting up like the spine of some dead god, lights burning through the haze. She hugged The Nest tight to her chest, cables and antennae rattling against her patched bomber jacket, as if the machine itself might steady her pulse. Her satchel clinked with too many gadgets she probably didn't need but couldn't leave behind.

404 wasn't here. For once, she hadn't let him follow. This wasn't the kind of place he could help. It felt wrong without him bumping against her ankle or chirping his broken little beeps, but she told herself it was better this way, safe back on the ship, out of range of what she knew was coming.

She risked a glance at Ace. Tall. Silent. Steady in a way she wasn't. She tried not to let him see her nerves, drawing a sharp inhale through her teeth, then pushing it out in one long exhale that fogged in the storm-chilled air.

"Okay," she muttered under her breath, words tumbling out fast, half to herself and half to him. "Big scary tower, evil overlords, whole empire-machine thingy. We got this. We totally got this..."

Her grip tightened on her rig. Sparks of static snapped off the storm shielding as they crossed the perimeter, and her stomach flipped, but she forced her boots forward anyway.

"C'mon," she said, voice rising into the biting wind, a crooked grin tugging at her mouth. "Let's go kick some Sith-ass. Better keep me safe, big man."

And with that, Noodles marched toward the tower, heart rattling like loose screws in a tin can, but fire burning all the same.

 

[Aris Noble]

He hadn't figured out a way through Darth Virelia 's armor. The cloak, how she could absorb his strength through the plates to empower herself, it wasn't something he'd solved. And yet, being a Jedi wasn't about doing everything by himself. The others would handle her, and in exchange, he would help the people below.

His mask remained on, mostly to help him filter out the overwhelming scent of Spice and other such fumes. For him, it was too much in the Ditch, the kind that he'd likely break out in a coughing fit or worse. Given the nature of the mission, that wasn't going to be acceptable. "You focus on healing, I'll do the fighting. If it gets too much for me, I'll call you over."

He glanced to his side, giving a brief smile under his mask to Zaiya Ceti . She'd be able to feel it at least. "Though I should be fine."

 

[Valery Noble]

Outfit: Jedi Jumpsuit
Weapons: Blasters | Lightsabers

The dust storms of Sevarcos bit into her skin as Valery stepped down from the shuttle. Behind her, the Jedi strike team fanned out, saboteurs and Knights alike moving with the same mission. Every one of them knew what was at stake. The raid on Kattada had been brutal, and this operation was their answer.

Tonight, the Path would strike back.

Her orange eyes fixed on the silhouette of the Crucible Ridge Refinery in the distance, its towering structures rising out of the haze. The glow of security lights and the hum of machinery gave away the sheer scale of the operation. Spice, weapons, lives... all of it fueling Sith dominion.

Valery reached to her hip and ignited her lightsaber, the violet blade cutting a clean line of light against the storm. The sound alone drew the attention of her team, steadying their focus. "We move fast," she said, "Get inside, plant the charges, and tear apart everything that keeps this place running. Do not give them time to recover."

The ground vibrated faintly under heavy machinery, and from within the refinery came the sound of blaring alarms. The Sith knew they were here. Figures moved already, weapons drawn, armor glinting.

Valery raised her saber and surged forward, leading the charge into the storm. Whatever resistance the Sith threw at them, she would carve a path through it. This mine would fall, and the Sith would feel the cost of striking at Kattada.

Lysander von Ascania ​

 

[Darth Virelia]

"DEPLOY THE GARRISON!" - OBJ 2 Kito , Shego Striga , Kamon Vondiranach

The storms of Sevarcos howled around the Calis Overseer Tower, sand and spice-dust grinding against transparisteel in a constant rasp that drowned even the sound of thunder. From the tower's crown chamber, Darth Virelia stood where the world bent around her. The glass panes stretched floor to ceiling, giving her a view of the Spiral Cut's knife-edge ridges and the distant veins of refineries bleeding smoke into the yellowed sky.

The tower thrummed with power beneath her boots. Sublevel reactors fed the refinery chains. Spire-length conduits hummed with energy. The Calis Tower was more than a command post—it was a throne. And tonight, she would show the galaxy that those who dared invade it would choke on the dust of their own ambition.

Her voice carried through the comms relays like a velvet knife. Every Court commander, mercenary captain, overseer, and sentinel heard her. The words were not barked orders, but an invocation, honeyed and venomous in equal measure.

"They come cloaked in dust and shadow, convinced the storm hides them. Jedi. Rebels. The wretched Path. They crawl across my world as though it is theirs to cut apart. They think themselves clever—disrupt the heart, sever the head, silence the whip. Operation Reckoning. How poetic. How predictable. They believe they move against us. In truth, they have walked into the theater I prepared."

The chamber dimmed as she raised her gauntleted hand. Holographic overlays ignited in the air, outlining the known objectives of the Hidden Path. Red glyphs scrawled across refinery sites, prison blocks, and strike corridors. Virelia circled the projections like a predator stalking prey.

She gestured, and the image magnified: conveyor systems stretching like veins, storage domes glowing with volatile spice gas.

"They mean to poison our blood. Sabotage lines, torch our product, collapse the refinery. It would starve us, if they succeeded. They will not. We have garrisons in place, ready to seal and purge. Any saboteur that enters those halls must learn what it means to suffocate in fire. Lock down secondary doors. Vent corridors into the storm if need be. Their mission goals become their tomb."

Her tone coiled tighter, a whisper that every listener leaned into despite themselves.

The hologram shifted to the tower itself, the seat of power beneath her feet. Virelia's violet eyes gleamed as she stared into the image as though she could already see the intruders clawing at its walls.

"This is the heart they most covet. The head they would cut. They will breach from below, from above, perhaps cloaked in silence, perhaps draped in light. Jedi Shadows, spies, assassins. They want our records, our lives, our dominion. Let them try. Every floor is a blade. Every stair a choke point. They may find their way into this tower, but they will never leave it intact. For every file they reach, three more will burn in their grasp. For every life they take, the price will be an empire of corpses."

Her hand fell against the console, the tower's tremor echoing her emphasis.

A darker projection appeared: jagged tunnels plunging into the mine's gut, bastions carved from stone and ferrocrete, cages packed with the forgotten.

"The rebels play liberator. They will descend into the Ditch to free the broken. How noble. How foolish. Those who remain there are bait and burden both. The Path will bleed itself dry trying to ferry them through the storm. You will cut them down in the tunnels. Collapse routes after them. Jam their comms until they choke on silence. Let their mercy weigh them down until it drowns them."

Her voice rose now, silk hardening into steel, carrying to every commander as if she whispered directly into their ear.

"Understand this, my Court: they are not hunters. They are quarry. They do not decide our fate—we decide theirs. They speak of reckoning, but we are the debt-collectors. Their courage is admirable, but it will not save them. It will only perfume the air with sweeter fear when we break them."

She paused, allowing silence to hang for one measured beat. Then her head tilted, lips curving in the faintest suggestion of pleasure.

"Bring in the special talent, the agent of toxin and fear. Let the Path learn why storms on Sevarcos are feared—not only for the dust that scours the skin, but for the horror of a painful, choking death."

The chamber lights flared back to life, bathing her in the pale glow of the storm outside. She turned her gaze skyward, as though she could pierce the clouds and dust with her eyes alone.

"To all who serve the Dark Court—fight as though you are inevitable. Because you are. They cannot kill what the storm has already made eternal. Tonight, the Path does not end our dominion. Tonight, they validate it. Break them, burn them, silence them. Let the dust drink their names."

With that, she lowered her hand and dismissed the holograms. The comms channels hummed with the aftershock of her words. Somewhere in the storm, ships burned toward their doom, rebels whispered prayers, and Jedi tightened their grips on their sabers.

Darth Virelia smiled.

The reckoning would be theirs.

 

[Zaiya Ceti]

Outfit: x x x x x | Equipment: x x x x x x | Weapons: x x x | Companion: Domxite
Interacting with: Aris Noble

Zaiya was glad that she had made her own version of the auto-adjusting helm she'd made for Aris. The holographic, shimmering blue and pink visor covered the full length of her face, allowing her to breathe normally without being overwhelmed by the spice and fumes.

The last thing she wanted was to turn into some kaleidoscopic version of a disco party glow ball in the middle of a battlefield.

Not the sort of attention she wanted to bring to the table.

"Okay!" Zaiya chirped out to Aris, flashing him an encouraging smile, but all the same, being able to feel his reassurance through the necklaces that joined them as much as he was able to feel her support of him.

"I have your back, Your Highness!" She quipped, flashing a mild teasing grin, before the Lovalla Padawan darted forward, expanding her senses to determine where she would be needed the most. Clipped to her multicolored hair, the kyber hair pendant gave off a shimmering shine, boosting her ability to expand her senses as much as allowing her to focus on what needed to be done.

 

[Kito]

//: Objective 2 //:
//: Darth Virelia //: Shego Striga //: Kamon Vondiranach //:

Kito's feet skimmed the side of the building as she sprinted upward, fire bursting from her soles with each step. Climbing through floors would waste time; she needed to cut the voice at its source — the one they only called the Mistress.

As much time as she has spent on Malachor V, Kito hasn't been able to gather a lot of information on this group of Dark Siders who now call it home.

Her run-ins with patrols had only given her a few physical descriptions of their members, but further investigations had not been a current priority.

Remembering this, Kito felt a thickness in her throat. Personal matters had taken shape, had drawn her attention away from her mission.

Still, Kito knew, despite berating herself, she wasn't going to change.

She doubted the group had any link to her past, yet they were still darksiders, and every one of them would count toward her penance.

The voice still echoed above. Kito pushed harder. End it fast. Cut off the head of the snake.

A window came into view. Her flames erupted, blasting her from the wall in a streak of fire. She smashed through the glass in an explosive entry, flames warping the shards into molten drops as she landed in a crouch.

Heat licked the air with every step as the Shaper rose. It had been too long since a fight demanded her birthright. Tonight, the so-called Mistress of the Court would feel all of it.

Without further announcement, Kito stepped forward, her fist shooting out as a sphere of fire shot out from her.

"Sith talk too much." Kito knelt down and darted forward towards the armored woman, ochre ion blade igniting into the curved edge of a katana, with the aid of the fireball as a distraction — the young Shaper aimed to strike low at the armored woman's knee joint with the saber.

 

[Aris Noble]

"Good."

He didn't even argue against the highness comment this time, instead briefly letting his hand brush against hers before his attention turned forward. Here in the Ditch life was at it's worst. He didn't need to be able to feel the Force to see it. His expression tightened for a moment, but he didn't hesitate to follow Zaiya.

She was as ever an inspiration. Already trying to find the people who needed her most. His gaze shifted, finding the opposite. The guards. There was one, already leaving a whip. They never got the chance to swing it as Aris seemed to appear beside them, breaking them with a single, powerful punch. He looked to the slaves, the broken and fearful.

"Move. Gather all who you can. All of you are going to escape today."

Zaiya Ceti

 

[Katarine Ryiah]

Location: Aboard The Raven
Objective: Help & Send off Shadows
Tags: Michael Angellus Connel Vanagor

The atmosphere aboard The Raven was one of charged anticipation. Katarine watched as the Omega Squad started to suit up and get ready for the jump. This was not a job she would want. True she was a Jedi and she was no stranger to combat, but Kat's talents did not lay on a battlefield. She was never the commander of armies that many great Jedi of the Clone Wars were. She preferred to do her fighting in the Underworld, rather than against the Sith, especially considering the blood mutation she had. But somebody had to do the dirty work and it looked like Omega Squad was that somebody.

She couldn't help but feel a bit nervous as she watched them all starting to jump. She of course didn't want any of them to get hurt, but she especially didn't want Connel to be injured. She'd been with the Hidden Path a little over a month now and Connel was one of the only friends she'd made. They had been spending a lot of time together. Well of course Buster was her friend too. The little pup was aboard the ship, whining slightly because he knew that Connel was going away. She knew how he felt.

She saw Connel's mask laying next to Buster and picked it up, walking over to him as he searched for it. She gave him a nervous smile, Buster at her heels looking nervous too. "Be safe out there." Then without putting too much thought into the gesture she kissed him on the cheek and pulled his mask over face. Her own cheeks were flushed slightly from embarrassment, but also because she wasn't sure what that action was supposed to mean. She wasn't really ready for it to mean anything deep, but she couldn't deny she was worried about him. Even if this was just a friendship he was shaping up to be one of the closest friends she'd had in a while. If it was more? Well she wasn't ready at that point, nor was he, since they both spent a lot of time blaming feelings on Buster, which she was about to do once more.

"Buster is worried so just come back okay?"

With that he was gone and she scooped up the little pup, bringing him with her to settle behind one of the gun turrets.

"Ready when you are Captain Angellus." She was no pilot, but she could shoot well enough to provide support in times like these. She'd much rather be in the air than on the ground that was for sure!

 

[Kamon Vondiranach]

Eat. Sleep. Train. Repeat.

Regeneration had taken time. Far too long, really, but it had ended a few years ago. He was whole again, though his body had changed as part of it. It was an older form this time, though still the half-Echani, half-Corellian he was used to. That was what he was born as nearly a thousand years ago. Long had his life been, but not long enough to reconcile himself with his children or their children. Perhaps he never would. Perhaps he should give up on trying and merely focus on what he was good at: killing.

KILLING IN THE NAME OF peace.

Ages he had spent concealed on the world of Jedha, deep beneath the ground below old rubble that had once stood as a temple. It was a quiet place that kept him out of sight and out of mind. People didn't bother him there and he didn't have to deal with the fact that he had family roaming the galaxy as the very thing he desired to kill. It was bad enough that he knew this fact. Knowing that evil persisted in his own flesh and blood was difficult for him to deal with. Not just in his children, but their children as well. For someone who had once worked tirelessly to eradicate evil to have become the progenitor of it... was tough to bear.

But bear it he must, because until one of them killed him, he would not die, even though he wished for it. Gone were the days when someone he trusted would have done it for him. Hawk? Gone. Rach? Gone. Spencer? He couldn't get near her. Quinn or one of the others? They might do it, but he didn't want them to do it because it would just make them darker, further twisted in their ways. He'd much rather suffer endless life than that.

Sometimes, though, his routine was interrupted. Eat. Sleep. Mission. A new organization had formed in the galaxy that was centralized around the concept of taking the fight to those who deserved to be crushed. They didn't hold governments. They remained hidden in the shadows in order to prevent reprisal attacks. These were people he could fight beside. At least it gave him something to do other than merely exist. When was the last time he had something like that?

This was how he had come to be on Sevarcos II.

An ancient warrior, clothed in white, hidden within the current that few could utilize. He walked across open terrain where others traversed buildings. Climbed mountains where others flew over them. The current was like that. It allowed him to go where he wished, unimpeded, unknown. To the point he could stand inside of a room in a tall tower and watch as a young woman burst through the glass, drew her weapon, shaped fire, and attacked her foe. He admired her tenacity, her pluck in going for the head of the snake. But he didn't reveal himself, for he knew that the head of the snake was never alone.

Where there was one, there was always another.

ATTIRE: White Robes | WEAPON: 2x White Bladed Lightsabers

TAGS: Kito | Darth Virelia | Shego Striga​

 

[Zaiya Ceti]

Outfit: x x x x x | Equipment: x x x x x x | Weapons: x x x | Companion: Domxite
Interacting with: Aris Noble

ZAiya located a few prisoners while Aris fought the guards. The lingering warmth of his hands pressed over hers encouraged her, as did her own spark to help as many as she could.

It wasn't long before she slipped past him midfight, moving toward the line of shackled prisoners. They stared at her as though she were some dreamlike figure in all her bioluminescent glow.

Well, that was the effect of being a walking mood ring.

"Don't worry. I'm here to help," she assured them, lifting the bangles that jingled along her arm. With a quick selection, her solid-state hologram multitool shimmered to life, cycling through programs to find the right key for the shackles.

"Let's see if we can get these off."

 

[Michael Angellus]

​

PERSONAL FLIGHT LOG – Entry #1964
Location: – Crucible Ridge - Sevarcos
Assigned Craft: Raven Dropship
Astromech Partner: BRED (BB-30)
Current Mood: Come and get me!
Background Noise: The sound of the ship itself (and of course BRED)

• REEK

Alright, this is where the fun starts.

The Raven was skimming the Sevarcos atmosphere, nose angled just enough to make us look like another blip in the northern sky. Polar entry to scramble the sensors — a trick Dad used to talk about in the mess hall back when I was too short to reach the ration dispensers. Never thought I’d be the one flying it. Guess things come full circle.

Behind me, Omega Squad was silent except for the occasional click of gear or the hiss of a rebreather seal. That silence is worse than chatter. It meannt they’re ready. It means they’ve all already accepted that this is a one-way ticket unless I fly perfect and they execute flawless. Connel is leaning against the wall like the shadow of every Jedi I’ve ever read about, sabers strapped, unreadable under that mask would be normal, but his mask is off. And somewhere in the middle of all that gear and muscle, BRED. Wish I had half his confidence.

Katarine Ryiah’s on the dorsal guns. No words from her, but I could feel her focus from here. Jedi, soldiers, saboteurs — all stacked in this one bird, trusting me to put them on the X. No pressure.

We’re two clicks out at this point when SERAPHIM pinged in my HUD — [“Sensor basement achieved. Altitude two-hundred. Commence release.”]

Deep breath.

“Copy,”

I muttered, mostly for myself.

Rear ramp hissed open. The night air clawed inside, freezing, howling. One by one, Omega stepped out into the void, vanishing like ghosts. No hesitation. Bren first, Jeremiel last. Katarine and Connel had some kind of moment… oooo it’s pretty spicy. Mental note, tease him about that and hope against hope he doesn’t dismember me… After a few moments, and one last headscratch for Buster, Connel went without a sound, just a whisper of cloak and steel. My eyes tracked them until they disappeared into black sky, like sparks falling into a storm.

Then the Raven bucked as I pitched us to the basement and brought us closer. It wasn’t until the ping, that we dumped the REEK. Big ugly beast of a transport, metal skin screaming against gravity as its repulsors kick alive. Jeremiel was on the controls before it even cleared the ramp, wrestling it like a rodeo beast. He gunned it sideways, drawing attention before the refinery even knows we’re here. Beautiful chaos.

SERAPHIM’s voice was smooth in my ear — [“Target painting initiated. Hostile AA positions: marked. Conveyors: marked. Heat signatures at vault entrance: marked.”] My HUD blossomed with red icons, neat little death notes waiting to be signed.

That’s the cue.

I shoved the throttle. The Raven growled, dropping lower, skimming the jagged ridges like a predator. My hands were steady, but my pulse was racing. Spice tanks, power nodes, conveyor arteries — all glowing targets now. The others were down there threading the needle. Me? I’m the cover fire, the distraction, the storm.

BRED whistled something smug —

Wooo-beeep. [Translation: “Try not to miss, hotshot. It’d be embarrassing.”]

I smirked, lining up the first pass.

“Don’t worry, buddy. Turtle’s shell is bulletproof.”

“Weeep-bwoo.” [Translation: “Mine isn’t… but I get you....”]

I’m not used to you being nice to me.

“Weeep-bwoo.” [Translation: “You’re not the only one.”]


End log.


– Michael A.
Who knew Turtles could fly? Wait, what’s a “Turtle”?


TAG: Katarine Ryiah

This is where he is speaking

 

[Aris Noble]

Aris struck down another, then another. It was easy enough to pick out the guards, considering how the slaves themselves looked. Emaciated, broken. It was those who weren't sick looking that stood out, and he could see the whips they had, the weapons. Chaos had already started throughout the facility, and it'd only be a matter of time before things were turned to killing rather than subduing.

Better to take advantage of it now.

There was a crack as he snapped the neck of another and moved on, already striking out for the next even before the first's body had fallen. Quick and efficient, he had to cleave them all down if he wanted to save as many as possible, give Zaiya the chance to rally them.

Zaiya Ceti

 

[Iskera Valest]

The Crucible Ridge Refinery was a lung designed to breathe poison profit into the galaxy. Its arteries of conveyor belts rattled with ore-dust and vapor. Its domes sweated volatile gas behind pressure seals that whined like overstrained glass. The Hidden Path would come for all of it. She knew that before the alerts ever lit.

The storm outside pounded the walls with dust, a percussion she found steadier than any heartbeat. Iskera's gloved fingers rested on the railing, eyes tracking the rhythm of the line far below. Calculation. She measured time between valve releases, noted where coolant pooled, watched which ducts drew most air. If saboteurs tampered here, she would know it in seconds.

She checked her kit: glass vials lined in foam, twin syringes clipped beneath her belt, a compact pistol loaded with darts that hissed when primed. Her body ached for the clarity of preparation—the cold comfort that came when tools were ready and outcomes divided into columns of "possible" and "preventable."

The rebels believed in symbols. Break a refinery, topple a tower, and the Court bleeds. It was the sort of thinking born from desperation. They would expect soldiers to hold the choke points. Instead, they would find someone who preferred scalpel to hammer.

She had rerouted circulation in the west wing, diverting half the air flow through narrow pipes dusted with her latest compound. Odorless. Irritant at first, then a tightening in the chest, then paralysis if the dose climbed high enough. She hoped the Path operatives entered without respirators; if they came equipped, she had other measures.

The comm buzzed. A clipped report: shadows moving through the storm, close to the intake hatches. She exhaled once, slow, and let her pulse flatten.

Vyn Daldoure

 

[Lysander von Ascania]

Objective I: Break the Chain
Leidimas Sith Plate
KA-10 Requiem | Lightsaber
Tag: Valery Noble
​

A dark flame seared through his veins, settling in the pit of the teen's stomach, urging him to unleash the violence coiled within as Darth Virelia's voice poured through the comms. He lay in the shadows, clinging to that cadence, waiting to strike with a silence more traumatic than any scream.

They think themselves clever—disrupt the heart, sever the head, silence the whip. Operation Reckoning. How poetic. How predictable. They believe they move against us. In truth, they have walked into the theater I prepared.

The refinery yawned beneath the young Sith like a wound. Its edges spiraled downward into shadow. Lysander lay prone in the collapsed maw of a maintenance alcove down one of the walls. The dust outside made visibility a challenge but nothing that would prove too difficult. The precision rifle was fused to him like an extension of his own frame in the same manner his lightsaber so often was. The press of the stock locked firmly into the pocket of his right shoulder.

Absent of the helm, there was no obstruction. His cheek rested against the comb, feeling only the thrum of his own pulse. He was more relaxed than he had ever been before. Lysander's right eye was sealed to the scope, the left closed. The entire world of Sevarcos II was nothing more than a single frame in which one of the Jedi stood. A fool, robed and unaware, rushed in blindly near another who wielded a purple saber.

Dust settled on his nose and across the obsidian armor, but he did not shift, never blinked more than necessary. His left hand cupped the forestock, fingers curling around the magnification dial.

The air itself tried to whisper of danger, but he let the thought dissolve into the ritual that had carried him through every trial. He inhaled deeply, drawing breath into his diaphragm, feeling his ribs expand, then let it flow out. Tension bled from his muscles with every release.

The purple blade became a beacon, its glow cutting through the haze with ease, effortless to spot, and too familiar. Once, that color had been his own, before he realized the Light only knew how to fail him. But Lysander’s focus was not on her. Through the scope, he tracked that same robe Jedi running nearby.. the true mark.

He followed every step, the crosshairs gliding like a vulture, for it would be impossible to evade or escape from the wrath preparing to close in. The magnification dial was turned with slowness, each twist drawing the victim closer to their inevitable fate.

The Jedi’s chest filled the glass, so close in view, he could sync his breathing with the figure if he wanted to. The index finger slid forward next, brushing the curve of the trigger, not pulling, but acquainting itself, the way a Nexu might claw the air before attacking.

Another twist followed, but this one was a fraction of the many that had come before it.

A final exhale left him, a slow release of air that was the slowest he breathed all day.

And in that next exhale, came a familiar pause, absolute stillness before the storm.

In the perfect quiet, he pressed the trigger.

The suppressed shot was devoured by the silence, a lethal slug tearing through the air with lightning speed. It crossed the two hundred meters in less than a quarter of a second, piercing just outside of where the man's heart lay.

From sheer force alone, the impact sent him backwards several paces, a burst of crimson spraying from the wound, capable of splattering the others nearby.

Lysander did not indulge in the sight for long, already moving on from the memory.

Only the wind remained, a fickle companion, to carry away the final trace of air from a Jedi who dared to set foot on Sevarcos II.

This land would not mourn him.

Propelling himself to his full height, rifle gripped in one hand while the helm was in the other, he launched into a sprint. The muscles of his legs allowed him to traverse the edge of a crumbling wall, meanwhile, his emerald gaze scanned the expanse, searching for the next target.

 

[Vakhari Lutris]

Under her vision.
Tags: Noodles Acier Moonbound Valaine Valentine

As they had silently entered, hiding within the currents of dust. The commands of Darth Virelia would send the tower into a lockdown, with the overseeing of all the defensive systems being tasked to one Vakhari Lutris.

She excitedly spins in her chair as her gloved fingers are planted on the keyboard. In truth her little eyes wanted to watch the carnage, to witness the endless struggle between Sith and Jedi.... However, the one thing that overpowered her hidden lust for death was the girl's own intense desire to have everything working within levels she deemed perfection.

Perhaps the dark lady had put her here simply because Vakhari was a prodigy with technology? Or, she was inclined to believe the young Lutris would cave to her compulsion to be perfect- And how could she say she had perfect skills if she just allowed the Jedi to walk on in?

It was hard to deny the temptation was there, to shut down defensive systems and watch people squirm as they are cut down for a purpose unknown to both them and the Jedi who sought to liberate.

She gently sipped on her coffee with one hand while the other went fast enough to rival a droid, the keys hastily being put in as the tower did just as Virelia desired. Key points put into lockdown, defensive turrets being brought to life, rows of spotlights turning the storm of dust against those using it for cover as ironically the light would blind them.

"Overseer to all units, until further notice the tower is being put within lockdown. You are advised to proceed to your assigned positions, check your weapons, and terminate any unknown persons."

Her voice spoke over the intercom, each and every soldier stationed within the tower receiving instructions via a secure link, while she also sent out another signal that would reach further.

This secondary signal had basic levels of encryption, enough to disguise it as a standard military transmission. As the ping from the secondary signal was sent out, its tendrils reached far into a space unseen and untampered by most.

This signal would mimic activity, the false heartbeat being set by Vakhari herself as she intently kept watch on her bait...

Meanwhile, the Court would be aided by Vakhari's own droids. Patrolling the area both inside and outside the tower, while they may have not appeared to be heavily armed... A wise set of eyes would know the real weapon was being caught within their sensors.

"An interesting day, isn't it?"

Vakhari playfully says to Valaine Valentine who was with her.

"Chances are they intend to use either explosives to breach the tower, or they will attempt to get past me within the system and get in that way. Either way, I'll keep you updated, 'kay?"

Using her free hand, she tosses Valaine an earpiece.

"Try and use that, keep yourself updated. But even then... I will be with you."

The orders have been given, defenses powered as Virelia so desired, the troops assuming defensive positions.

Stand and follow command.



​

 

[Connel Vanagor]

A DAY OF RECKONING
Sevarcos II
Eviscerant Yards

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

Objective I: Break the Chain
Sevarcos II, Southern Hemisphere — The World of Endless Wind

Jeremiel is already on the yoke, remote rig strapped across his chest as he freefalls—eyes on telemetry, not the ground.

[Oh don’t worry, Raphael. I’m loving this!]

The REEK surged forward in a rooster tail of red dust, rotary cannons spooling into a chainsaw scream. Mustafire clusters belch from twin tubes and peel open an emplacement—WHUMP-whump-whump—a blossom of shrapnel and panic.

One of the Mercenaries outside could be heard yelling “—what is that thing—”

Suppressing uplinks.
Three drones down. Two fleeing. New skiff launch—tagged.

Jeremiel juked the whole chassis sideways, shoulder-checked a sensor tower until it folds, then plowed straight through a barricade like it was paper. The dorsal turret swiveled—SERAPHIM on the trigger—neat, surgical lines of fire that ripped drones out of the sky and kicked mercenaries into cover.

[Next!]

Sariel and Raphael landed hot in the shadow of a slagged service gantry. Targets popped; they erased them.
Bang—bang—bang. Raphael’s heavy repeater turns a turret crew into a bad idea. Sariel threads needles at 300 meters, popping visors like zippers.

[Left tower clear.

[Right tower clear. Jer, keep singing.

The REEK obliged—grenade ladders raked a trench line. Two emplacements coughed flame, then silence.

Above, Michael Angellus could be seen dragging the Raven across the ridgeline in a low scythe. BRED flooded the sky with chaff and spite.

On the ground, Raguel moved with Michael’s vector—cleaning corners, dropping Sith-aligned foot soldiers who thought “cover” meant “safety.” Two controlled shots, reposition, two more. Efficient. Quiet only in the spaces between thunder.

Azrael ghost-walked into the staging yard—eyes on the line of spice transports humming with charge. [Hooking regulators.] He thumbed a clip, slid under a bay, popped a panel, and fed the system lies.

Warning—thermal thresholds rising.


[That’s the idea.]

One transport coughed, overdrew, then keened—Aegis safeties tripped, then failed. He’s already on to the next.

Gabriel knelt at the primary conveyor junction, datapad riding his thigh. He jacked in with a quiet click.
Hand me your ugly, your jammed, your proprietary. Fingers dance. Got you.

Conveyor logic flipped end-for-end. Pallets began trundling backward—product piling into choke points, loaders screaming at suddenly suicidal belts.

Conveyors in reverse. Secondary belts queued. Dispatch AI confused.


Good. Make it argue with itself.

Jeremiel floored it. The REEK carved a figure-eight through the yard: rammed gates, dumped flares, hard brakes, reverse spun, and pushed the wreckage into another firing arc. Rotary fire stitched a runway of sparks over skiff bays; the Hammerstrike barked—thunk-thunk-thunk—and a pillbox ceased to exist.

Jer, you’re smiling.]

[You can’t prove that.

Telemetry indicates elevated dopamine.]


[Snitch.]

A hunter-killer drone dropped in—sleek, fast, hungry. The dorsal turret tracked once—BRRRP—and tore its belly open. It cartwheeled into the refinery facade and stuck there, burning like a warning.

Sariel blew a pencil-thin hole through a shield projector the moment it cycled, and Raphael sent a brick of plasma into the gap. The projector burped, flickered, and died. A lane opened.

[Lane’s up! Omega, push! Raven! Give us an umbrella!]

[“Covering.” The Raven strafed the lane edges—just enough to make heads stay down.

Raguel cut a path for Azrael with quiet violence; Gabriel ghosted behind them, code unspooling, doors betrayed their owners. The team flowed, frictionless.

Connel landed in the lee of a storage tower and never slowed. Anyone—merc, droid, trooper—between him and that cold tug in the Force hit the ground in pieces or silence. Dawn’s Light hummed once, a single permafrost note, and a squad broke like glass.

He could still feel the brush of Katarine Ryiah’s lips on his cheek; the way her hands steadied his mask before the jump. A promise? A warning? He shelved the question without losing speed.

The pull sharpened. He angled toward it, alone by choice.

Enemy QRF deploying from D-11 Bastion. Thirty seconds to contact on Jeremiel’s vector.


[Thirty seconds? I only need ten.]

He hooked the REEK into a brutal drift, slapped the bumper into a stack of cargo pylons, and let gravity do the rest—steel avalanches into the QRF lane, flipping the lead speeder end-over-end. Mustafires followed, splitting formation. The anti-ordnance field coughed two angry barks—FALANKS chewed a rocket swarm into confetti.

[Nice bowling.]

[We’re open league.]


Azrael’s second transport screamed. Regulators redlined, then pop. A cascade began—like dominoes you could hear. [Two hot. Third going.]

Gabriel turned the conveyors into snakes, knotting the yard in a moving wall of product.
[Reverse. Reverse. Stop. Jitter.] Alarms overlapped alarms. The refinery’s own AI locked itself in a sanity loop.


Sariel tagged a heavy gunner mid-stride; Raphael cracked a riot shield with a burst that turned shock foam into vapor. The lane held.

Primary mission corridor achieved. Recommend Omega ingress now. REEK continue diversion along Vector Ghost.


[Copy. Jer, drag their eyes left.]

[With pleasure.]


The REEK roared into Vector Ghost—left of the lane, right into the teeth—throwing flares and hate, making itself the only story worth reading. Dorsal turret kept time, precise and merciless.

Omega slipped the breach like ink.

For a heartbeat, only the wind spoke.

Then Connel’s comm clicks open, his voice calm and made of steel.


[I have contact.]


A chill moved through the team like a shadow. No one asks who.


[Copy. We’ll keep the world loud.]


[And messy.]


The REEK laughed in engine and fire. The refinery screamed in alarms and confusion. Omega moves.

The dark pulls. Connel answers.

TAGS • ARE • WIDE • OPEN • TO • ALL • Katarine Ryiah • Delsin Shaw​

 

[Shego Striga]

SNAKES IN THE GRASS
Objective II
Darth Virelia | Kito | Kamon Vondiranach

V.E.N.O.M | H.Y.D.R.A​

The Overseer Tower groaned with the weight of war. Below, the Eviscerant Yards boiled with chaos as Path strike teams surged through smog-choked alleys and refinery chasms. Alarms wailed, comm channels screamed, and somewhere in the storm-drowned sprawl, slave pens were thrown open.

At the tower's peak, however, things were quieter. How Shego preferred it to be.

At the tower's peak, Shego sat hunched before a semicircle of data screens, emerald eyes flicking across feeds of security footage. Chaos was already erupting below: strike teams of the Hidden Path cutting into refinery choke points, Jedi carving through Sith mercenaries, prisoners breaking chains in the storm. She scrubbed footage with a swift hand, pulling heat maps, rerouting security drones, weighing odds. She wasn't fond of the math. Jedi never tilted the scales in anyone's favor but their own.

Behind her, honeyed words rolled through the chamber. Darth Virelia stood in the center, framed by the glow of holoprojectors, her voice syrup-sweet as she delivered a sermon to her scattered followers. She painted the storm as a crucible, the Path as gnats before the flame, her will as inevitability. A performance as much as a speech.

Shego said nothing. She trusted theatrics as little as she trusted mercenaries to meet deadlines. Instead, she flicked a pad, initiating a covert data transfer. M.O.T.H.E.R.'s backup servers would receive everything—shift logs, refinery manifests, slave tallies, spice outputs. Insurance mattered more than inspiration.

She crouched low under the console, sliding the connector into place. The pad's screen pulsed to life: Transfer in progress. Shego exhaled through her respirator, then froze as a phrase from Virelia's speech pierced the hum of machines.

"Bring in the special talent, the agent of toxin and fear."

Her ears perked, shoulders rising faintly. That was her que. She tucked the device beneath the console, adjusted the dials on her mask, and rose to her full height.

"Data transfer protocols engaged. But we'll need time~" she said flatly, cane clicking against the marble as she stepped from the shadows. Her visor turned toward Virelia. "ETA on our guest arrival?"

And then, as if The Force had a sense of humor. The windows shattered like ice under a hammer.

Glass rained down in glittering shards as a Jedi, Kito crashed through the panoramic wall, cloak ablaze from the flaming wreckage she had ridden in. Lightsaber ignited with a thunderous snap-hiss, she quipped coolly through the smoke:

"Sith always talk too much."

Shego didn't even rise from her crouch in the corner, still monitoring the progress of her data transfer on the flickering pad. Her respirator rasped like a steady metronome, her brow tightening when she saw the bar was only sixty-two percent complete.

"Figures. Right when the math starts working, someone throws a Jedi through the window~" she muttered, unimpressed, flicking a glass fragment from her shoulder.

Darth Virelia's plate would be full, and chances are things were gonna get oh so loud. But Shego only sighed, adjusted a nozzle on her mask, and limped for the opposite door.

"Stall em~" she advised casually, her cane clicking against the marble as if she were strolling through a garden. "I still need a few minutes."

But the Force stirred a ripple in her mind, subtle and heavy, like a stormfront rolling in. She froze at the door, head cocking, and then felt him before she saw him. Another presence.

The panel hissed open, and there he was. Kamon Vondiranach . An old man in plain robes, face weathered but steady, every step grounded in the calm surety of the Jedi Order. His saber remained unlit, but that only made him more dangerous.

Shego leaned hard into her cane, her silhouette framed against the fractured light. The respirator exhaled with a soft growl as her green lenses met his. Silence stretched between them until she tilted her head, voice dripping with mocking sweetness.

"Mm, awkward. Don't tell me you're the type of gentleman who roughs up a sick, crippled young lady? Because that's just poor sportsmanship~"

Her fingers flexed against the cane's grip, the hidden actuator within humming faintly at her touch. Under the sarcasm was calculation, testing his reaction, measuring the exact second to strike.

Shego's lips curved under the mask. "If you don't mind, i have a deadline. If you could just~" She shooed with a lazy flick of her wrist as if prompting him to step aside.

Ahead, this calm specter of a man stood barring her exit. Between them, the air thickened with inevitability.