Invasion &nbsp; Total Eclipse of the Heart || Objective 3: And If You Only Hold Me Tight

Bastila Sal-Soren | EQUIPMENT: Ariadne's Arm

Bastila Sal-Soren · Jul 27, 2025

B A S T I L A . S A L - S O R E N

OBJECTIVE 3

AD_4nXft4wCK6dNAJ7TEoycDmt0lV44vFblweSz3X7rpN5BIaM-BD0jdtZShkmyi2BA6Pg-j5ty5yiH7ySCJvAZYCr0RoiqrXkRrvDy8NvsgO1qucdpoW12Jt9hLJOqq0CrEqMvd5v9aFw

Bastila had made her way towards the main complex, she had gathered several pieces of information and direction along the way that had told her that her sister and the other High Republic elements had bunkered down with the Dimok resistance. It seemed like the best place for her to head towards, and now she had heard the shouting below and seen the smoke rise, she knew it was the right call. Warzone’s were harsh, this one exploding so quickly like a barrel of ship fuel left near a flame, but none of it compared to the cold edge of the voice that came towards her from the far end of the walkway.

She didn’t need the Force to know she was being assessed.
The woman who’d spoken, everything in her posture, in her presence, didn’t hesitate. Bastila turned slowly, and stopped walking as to keep a respectful distance between them, utter silence filling the area, a contrast to the chaos below that bled sound through every crevice of the walkway and the stage that had taken the view from their vantage.

The voice cut through the haze like a sharp blade. It hit precise and low with an unreadable intention.

"You falsified your landing permits. You are her sister?"

Bastila turned again with deliberate movement so she had her saber arm closer to the new comer. Her boot falls scratched softly against glass scattered on the floor of the walkway, the sound oddly pristine against the background din of blaster fire, flames, and distant screams. Her face was straight on the speaker fully now. Eyes trained, her posture composed. This person wasn’t the only person who could assess.

There was no mistaking the woman’s presence. The Force thrummed, quietly and insistently at the edge of her awareness. She had had never felt this level of intensity though before, in her time infiltrating pirate rings and smuggling circles she had always had warnings, but this wasn’t just some opportunistic killer. She was watching someone designed for moments exactly like this.

Fate had made sure Bastila was raised for them, too.

“I didn’t falsify anything,” she replied, her voice smooth enough to match the woman’s, but even while trying not to, her tone had a layer of detached irony that almost came across as nervous. “I accessed something that was mine once. Still is, depending on which part of the family registry you care to believe.”

She stepped forward, a pace or two. She made sure it wasn’t aggressive, but it also wasn’t shy.

“You’re not local enforcement,” Bastila continued, gently circling the conversation. “Too calm.”

She met the woman’s gaze, studying it not just for threat, but for intention. There was precision in her stance, yes; but also something else dangerous that gave Bastila pause. It wasn’t quite restraint, not quite curiosity. More like…assessment. Like the target had changed mid-mission.

She lifted her chin slightly, eyes narrowing in something just short of a smile.

“You’re here to kill her.” The unspoken question hung there.

Her fingers hovered near the belt of her suit, drawing her weapon. She wasn’t going to be caught unready by this.

“You’re here for Briana,” she said, quietly. It was not a guess, she knew it deep down. It was a fact.

Still, the assassin didn’t move.

Bastila’s voice lowered, more intimate now, as if she were speaking not to a threat, but to a mirror. “You don’t get to kill her,” voice like steel. “Not without going through me first.”

A flicker of something in her eyes; resolve, shadowed by responsibility. She was not her sister’s keeper. But she would not stand by while something like this closed in on family.

Crack-hiss

The violet hue of her lightsaber lit up around her.

For years Briana had sacrificed everything for her younger sister. Bastila may never have truly appreciated that until this very moment, but now it was up to her to stop the monster to protect her big sister. The one who meant more to Bastila then the galaxy itself.

Briana Sal-Soren

Ariadne · Jul 27, 2025

We're Living in a Powder Keg

She didn't move. Or even reply. Her gaze lingered on Bastila, unintimidated by the revelation of the lightsaber. She gave her nothing.

Instead, she lifted her arm towards the window that was not more than a meter from where she stood. A small blaster popped out of the cybernetic arm, and released a repeating burst of energy bolts into the window. It cracked with the first shot. Shattered with the third. She gave a dozen.

Below the walkway, glass rained down upon civilians and responders alike, drawing some eyes upward but barely for a moment.

Ariadne's expression remained emotionless. "There is no need for two of your family to die this day. Do not follow me."

At the far end of the walkway, footsteps scuffed against the durasteel threshold, civilians or responders, maybe both, drawn by the sound of breaking glass. They paused as they caught sight of the violet saber still lit in Bastila's hand, its glow casting long shadows across her face.

There was a moment of frozen tension. Then, without a word, the group began to cautiously retreat. Whatever confrontation was unfolding here, they wanted no part of it.

OUTFIT: xxx | TAG:

Bastila Sal-Soren | EQUIPMENT: Ariadne's Arm

Bastila Sal-Soren · Jul 27, 2025

B A S T I L A . S A L - S O R E N

OBJECTIVE 3

Glass exploded across the walkway and shattered like a million strands of fate across the realm of possibility.

A blast of artificial wind tore through the corridor as Ariadne opened fire on the window. The sound was violent, even more so then the woman wielding it. It felt like a different threat of violence though, she was so much more like a predator. That sent a feeling of dread down Bastila’s spine as her mechanical arm retracted with clinical efficiency.

“There is no need for two of your family to die this day,” she said, voice flat. “Do not follow me.”

Her voice echoed through the corridor, conflicting with the pitter patter of the last of the glass hitting the ground. It was at this moment that Bastila took the advantage and moved.

The Force surged like a thunderclap beneath her skin, propelling her forward in one explosive motion.

She didn’t speak. She gave no warning.

Ariadne’s silhouette had already begun to turn to head through the ruined window, but Bastila was faster.

"I said you have to go through me first," Bastila said, voice low, controlled, but burning at the edges. "I’m sure I’ll be enough for you."

Then she struck.

A flurry of jabs and slashes, not wild but swift with tight control, the sort taught by temple masters and honed in darker places. Her movements sought to find the weak points in Ariadne’s defence, every step testing for a break in rhythm, searching for that joint that may not have been reinforced, or a micro-delay in her pivot.

But Ariadne was built for this. A shield had emerged from her arm, it’s blue energy allowing it to contest with the violet of Bastila’s lightsaber. Blade swipes aimed at Ariadne’s torso and arms found themselves being effortlessly blocked with screaming energy clashes there was no hesitation now in Bastila’s movements. She had committed and she had to see this through.

No matter the cost.

Bastila moved in closer.

It was too close for any ranged weapons and too fast for evasion.

She took one resounding breath and saw the decision.

The violet blade raised in a swift vertical slash; it was not aimed not to kill, but to disable. To end this before Ariadne had the chance to fight back or escape.

Briana Sal-Soren

Blaire Sal-Soren · Jul 27, 2025

Blaire was among the first to take refuge in the hotel lobby but she was far from the last. At least two dozen others fleeing the chaos of the courtyard had followed her inside, many kept running through the halls or up the stairs. A handful overturned the worn lounge furniture that had presumably sat in this lobby for years.

Blaire for her part took the time to catch her breath. She, perhaps foolishly, tucked her blaster back into the waist of her pants. She did not want to be spotted with the weapon and taken for an aggressor and selfishly she did not wanted to been seen with the weapon and thought a savior either.

She was not here to save anyone. No, she had not come here to save anyone but the sand had shifted under her feet and she found herself staring at a whole new situation. She wasn't a Jedi like her siblings, or a soldier like Jaa but she wasn't helpless either.

Well, she hadn't felt helpless until she was accosted by one of the others hiding in the hotel lobby.

A woman reached out and grabbed Blaire by the front of her clothes. Blaire tried to yank herself free from the woman but her effort was futile. She pulled and twisted and yanked, growing ever more furious and ever more fearful with each failed movement.

She looked like a toddler throwing a tantrum and the woman simply held on effortlessly with only one hand. The strange woman's other hand remained under her cloak along with an ominous blue glow and the faint buzzing of an energy weapon.

Blaire reached for her blaster…

"You are not my target…" her assaulter asserted. The buzz faded and the blue glow dissipated. With no effort at all Blaire was sent crashing into the concierge desk after a simple shove from the crazy woman. A crazy woman that Blaire had the retch inducing realization that she recognized.

She watched as the woman raced toward a back staircase and for a moment relief washed over her. Relief to have survived against who she assumed this stranger truly was and relief that she was for now being left alone. In all her relief she managed to see out the front display viewport of the hotel. She looked past the chaos and saw the stage and above it a series of raised pathways. Her eyes traced the airwalks and she realized they could be be accessed from this very building and then she realized why she was alive enough to feel relief.

Chit,

Blaire pulled her blaster and began running as she could up the same steps as her attacker. Throngs of people were coming down the stairs seeking to escape, foolishly, out to where the blaster rifles were shooting. Flight after flight, floor after floor, she ran until she spotted signage point to the overwalk.

She ran, blaster out and heart pounding, finally she reached the overwalk just as it exploded. Blaire ducked back behind the threshold. She could not see her attacker but she could hear the bone shaking WHUMP of some energy weapon, the high pitched of glass shattering, she could smell the ozone being fried from the strength of whatever weapon had been used to blow a hole in the glass surrounding the overwalk. She also heard voices. The same one that had dismissed her in the lobby minutes earlier and another, one way that was too familiar.

Blaire threw herself back around the corner and into the walk way, her blaster raised and pointed down the corridor.

"Get away from my sister, you btch."

| Outfit: xxx | Tag:

Bastila Sal-Soren

Briana Sal-Soren | Equipment: xxx |

Isur · Jul 27, 2025

Isur was by no means someone who was in any fight for any purpose besides credits. It was why he was shipping out with the aquatic crewed Marauder corvette. And why he was here today. The Karkarodon was all for some fights. He hadn't expected to be put off to the side like this, separated from his crew. But his species? Lone hunters.

He could hear the bellow of the Herglic, and the thunderous steps. He was engaged as Isur looked around. There were others with him now. Good. One being could only too much.

"Malrok." He growled.

The aura he was projecting. Isur prepped his axe again and following the rushing Rips. Jedi were nearby. He would do what he could to sow confusion and focus their efforts elsewhere.

Blood was going to be filling the water.

"Plaza."

As he continued he'd allow the Force to cover him and deflect bolts. A swing of his weapon would tear into armor.

Malrok Duskwell

Dreidi Xeraic

Voli Cholrass

Ariadne · Jul 28, 2025

We're Living in a Powder Keg

The Jedi struck first. She was fluid and precise. But Ariadne kept pace.

Her shield met each blow with a hiss of the two energies. She matched the tempo of the Jedi with ease, calculating options and respond in a fraction of a heartbeat.

Then the Jedi committed, stepped in close, blade arcing for a disabling strike.

Too close.

Ariadne's right hand snapped forward.

A single jab, with surgical precision, slammed into the Jedi's throat. Cartilage collapsed. Air stopped.

While Bastila reeled, her left hand moved independently, servos whirring as it caught the lightsaber hilt. A twist. A jerk. The weapon spun through the broken viewport and vanished into the open air.

That's when she heard it. The faint whirr of a blaster charge. And a threat poorly formed.

Ariadne turned, just a glance, and in the same instant, seized Bastila and drove her back into the fractured glass. It groaned under pressure as she pressed her metallic palm into the Jedi's chest.

Her voice was calm. Bored, even.

"Blaster. Out the window. Now."

There was the faintest hint of annoyance. Just a twitch of her eye.

"You'll take 0.2 seconds to fire. Less for the bolt to reach me. I only need 0.1 to cave her sternum."

The glass cracked louder beneath Bastila.

"If it holds. If not...she falls first."

She blinked, barely. Besides that...perfect...stillness. Back by screaming vocals from below.

"Throw it. Or she dies."

OUTFIT: xxx | TAG:

Bastila Sal-Soren | EQUIPMENT: Ariadne's Arm

CT-312 · Jul 28, 2025

	
//:  
			 
		 Lily Decoria
  //:

//: Sepan City, Sepan-8 //:

//: Attire //:

//: WEARING: Halcyon Armour | Contact Lenses | Ancile Shield | Barca //:

//:  EQUIPMENT: VW 864 Maser Rifle | LO-18D | LO-22S | Sunshot Pistol //:

//:  40|40 Active Mag : 2 Backup Mags x LO-KI/22 Standard Slug Round | Shiva Knife | S.A.N.D. Powder //:

//: ADDITIONAL EQUIPMENT:  2x Kushute Grenades //:

//:  2x Ion Grenade | 2x Flash Grenade | 2x Incendiary Grenade | 2 x Smoke Grenade //:

//: 1 x Arrow head of Absence | Taozin amulet //:

//: OBJEECTIVE 3 - SEPAN - 8//:​

It was an interesting predicament. The Camo Scout had been assigned to the Princess, yet here she was. Assisting the Black Sun’s campaign under borrowed colors. Ripoblus markings painted hastily across the hull of the dropship and its four drop pods. “Tatical assistance” they’d called it, for this civil war. Plausible deniability, if anyone asked.

Inside the cargo bay of the dropship, CT-312 was securing the final box of incendiary grenades and thermal detonators. Stuffing the payload into the three of the pods Remote detonators snapped into place. Smooth and efficient. Final. Above the tinted visor of her helmet, her HUD scrolled the briefing one last time in a faint green glow.

<:// Location: Sepan City, Sepan-8 //:>

<:// Assigned: 
			 
		 Quinn Varanin
  //:>

<:// Environment: Urban, Dense //:>

<:// Local Threats: Dimoks & High Republic Presence //:>

<:// Support the Black Sun. Provide aid to local faction Ripoblus under Rip General Karvok Sarrel. Raze the capital. Support civil war. Engage Republic Forces discreetly. //:>

As the dropship descended into Sepan-8’s atmosphere, entering into Sepan City air space. The ship’s frame groaned as turbulence rattled its frame. The city lit up its skies in defense. Flak impacts peppered the metal frame as it shrieked from the stress. CT-312’s magnetic boots kept her in place as she did her final equipment check. Fingers moving systematically. It was routine. She slid a datachip labeled with Ripoblus propaganda into a side pouch.

Red lights washed over the bay as the silence was interrupted by the ship’s intercoms.

“ETA IN THREE. HIGH ALTITUDE. DROPPING IN HOT.”

CT-312 grabbed a duffle bag of thermal detentator as she moved to the back right pod. The only pod not rigged to blow. She slammed her fist against the outer casing with a dull, Thud. An old ritual. With one last breath, she stepped inside, securing herself in. CT-312 pressed the interior hatch button to her right. Hiss. A loud hydraulic hiss followed as the metal coffin sealed shut.

Darkness enclosed her. Only the faint pulse of the navigational system lit inside the pod. There was no countdown, just the sound of her own breath inside the helmet. WHAM. Without so much of a beep, the pod jerked violently. CT-312 felt the G-force slam throughout her body as the pod launched from the ship with an explosive force. Three more drop pods followed in a fiery red trail across the sky, punching through the clouds. Descending into the city’s heart.

BOOM. CT-312’s drop pod slammed into the top of a corporate tower. Steel and duracrete buckled as the pod went through several office floors. Cracking ceilings and bursting through furniture, slowing it to a halt in a wrecked conference room. Sprinkler lines hissed and wires sparked. Smoke curling around the seams.

BOOM. BOOM. BOOM. Three other drop pods landed around the immediate area. One cratered into the sidewalk, sending duracrete flying like shrapnel. Another obliterated a parked luxury speeder, turning it into a melted wreckage. The last hit the side of an apartment high-rise, collapsing the balcony. People screamed. Others scattered. It was as if the sky was falling.

Inside the tower, CT-312 pulled the release lever. The pod’s hatch ejected out. Stepping out into the ruined conference room. Glass crunched under her boots. Her LO-18D was raised. Already scanning. The floor was littered with crushed chairs and corporate holo-posters. Flickering with images of “retreat weekends” and smiling executives.

The Scout continued to step forward, her visor quickly calibrating and began pinging targets beyond the building’s walls. CT-312 walked toward one of the broken panoramic windows. Far below, spotting a Turbo Tank in Ripoblus markings. Tearing through a fire station with its heavy chassis. Rolling onto the main road as it began making its way to the Embassy Square.

Turning away from the shattered window. CT-312 had no jet pack and there was no way she was jumping. Stairs… But this high up? ‘No.’ Turbolift it is.

Making her way through the floor towards the lift, her HUD pinged. Displaying signatures in the next room. A cluster of pale faced office workers still glued to their desk. CT-312 paused. Looked. The office workers were in shock as they stared motionless. Their city is going through a civil war and they’re still working? Shaking her head, as she stopped in front of the lift. Muttering under her breath “Corporate slaves.” The turbolift chimed as she pressed the button.

Ding. Doors slid open, CT-312 stepped inside. Hitting the lower ground floor button. As the doors closed, typical jizz music started to play. The lift began its descent. She vented a sigh through the vocoder.

Ding. Too early. The lift stopped mid-descent. Doors opening. A terrified office worker stood on the other side. Eyes wide, staring at CT-312 who stood silent staring down the worker. The worker didn’t say a word, a trembling hand hitting the “close” button over and over.

Tck-tck-tck-tck-tck. Doors shut. Waiting. Tapping her boots against the floor and inspecting her rifle in her hand. The lift came to a slow halt.

Ding. Underground parking. Doors opening once more, CT-312 walked out calmly. Unzipping the duffle bag, she began taking out the thermal detonators. One by one arming and planting the charges on structural support columns. As she made her way out with the duffle bag, CT-312 pulled the fire alarm for the whole building. ‘Can’t say I didn’t give them a chance.’

Outside, she moved a few blocks back. Climbing to a nearby rooftop with the help of her repulsor back. From her perch, CT-312 knelt. Taking out the remote detonator from her pouch. Flipping the cover off the trigger switch. Clicking it once.

BOOM. The ground shuddered. Glass shattered across the street. The explosive filled drop pods detonated in sync. Blowing out the bases of nearby structures. A cloud of ash and dust erupted outward in a violent shockwave as the tower began to fall. Chunks of debris rained down on the streets. Smashing into speeders, shattering windows, sending civilians in fleeing panic.

From the rooftop, The Scout knelt motionless. Visor catching the firelight. Underneath the helmet, CT-312 didn’t smile. But it was close. That would get the High Republic’s attention. ‘Let’s see how they respond.’ Stay hunkered down and leave civilians to die or to scatter their defenses to help the people?

Either way, CT-312 aimed her field downrange, right toward the Embassy Square. One can only stay in one place for so long.

Allies: 
			 
		 Isar du Vain
 
		 Diamond Dog
  
		 Isur
 
		 Fenn Stag
 
		 Sal Katarn
 
		 Keys

Briana Sal-Soren · Jul 28, 2025

SEPAN 8 — EMBASSY SQUARE

Briana momentarily watched as Lily left, her form disappearing into the smoke to shepherd civilians to safety as she'd asked her to. The rhythm of her heart ticked up a notch, as it always did when she had to watch those she loved and cared for head off into danger and the unknown. But, if there was anyone she trusted to handle herself, it was Lily. She'd grown and changed so much since they'd first met a few years ago, and Briana trusted her skills, her tenacity. Lily was a Padawan in name only, really.

Setting her lips into a firm, determined line, Briana turned her sites towards her own objective and set off at a jog... not noticing that her own flesh and blood dangled in the balance, just some stories above her as she left.

The air had become impossibly thick as she worked to catch up with the President. Not only from the acrid tang of smoke as homes and businesses burned and collapsed, but from the oppressive tension of fear and hatred lingering in the air, and clinging to her skin. Every sound, from the distant screams of panicked civilians, to the sharp crack of a weapon discharging — all of it vibrated with that familiar feeling of a world teetering on the edge of collapse. She'd felt it after Astor's death on Hapes, the horror, anguish and fear erupting within the city, the Force becoming exceedingly clouded and without any clear indication of which way the scales would ultimately fall... of what the future held.

Briana shook her head, willing away the grim thoughts trying to take root inside her mind. Now was not the time to get lost in the past, or thoughts of 'what ifs'. There were people here who needed her, needed her to stay focused and alert.

"This way!" She shouted, spotting the guards and

Laurent Costeau , waving the Griffon and the rest to move towards her, to guide them on the path of questionable safety. Lorn hadn't checked in since the chaos begun, but hopefully, that was because he was busy holding and securing the perimeter where the Vanguard had initially set up on arrival.

"Reingard, come in," she said over the shared comm channel, breath hitched from exertion — batting away the occasional blaster bolt. "We're heading your direction now, north of the square,"

The sound of an explosion going off from somewhere behind them, followed by another, then another, momentarily drew her attention. Each one seemed to get progressively closer, until a shockwave from the last, rattled the pavement underfoot and blew out the far window of a crumbling tenement just overhead. Throwing up her hand, a shimmering Force barrier snapped into existence, catching a rain of rubble before it could crush them, ushering the group to move faster and ride that pulse of adrenaline straight into the next intersection. "We have the President with us and secured. Rips are everywhere though. Imperial-grade gear, reinforced vehicles."

TAG: Lorn Reingard , Laurent Costeau | EQUIPMENT: Ligthsaber, Echo Stone, Astor's Dagger

Bastila Sal-Soren · Jul 28, 2025

B A S T I L A . S A L - S O R E N

OBJECTIVE 3

The swing should have taken the assassin’s arm off. Bastila knew it; every bone in her body told her it should’ve ended there.

But it hadn’t.

Now, she couldn’t breathe.

The jab had come faster than instinct. Ariadne moved like something unnatural, beyond human, beyond any training. A blink later, and Bastila was slammed against the glass wall.

Crack.

Her head hit first. Stars burst behind her eyes.

Then her saber clattered to the ground, lifeless.

The walls were burning. Or maybe they already had. It was hard to tell; everything was smoke and noise and the stench of scorched fabric.

“Briana…”

Her voice cracked apart before the name even finished leaving her lips. It vanished into a coughing fit that rattled her ribs and left a metallic taste in her mouth. Her lungs screamed for air, but there was only poison. Ash. Something sharp sliced past her like glass, or maybe splinters. Something big crashed just beyond the smoke, the stairs maybe, groaning, splitting, collapsing.

She stumbled blindly forward, she tripped and fell over some shape, a chair? It didn’t matter. Her hands were numb. Her thoughts were fireflies scattering in her skull.

Find a door. A window. Any way out.
But there wasn’t any. Just the heat. The weight of it pressing down from all sides.

She tried to rise, but her legs wouldn’t answer. There was a flicker of motion above, then something hit her.

She didn’t feel it land. She felt only the weight. Cold metal pressing down across her ribs. She didn’t know what it was until her fingers grazed it. The chandelier. It was ornate and heavy. From the drawing room. She remembered it now. Her mother had hated it.

Why am I thinking about that?

She tried to breathe. There was only pain. No air. A strangled sound tore from her throat.

“Brandyn… Blaire…”
Their names barely made it to her lips. She wasn’t even sure she said them aloud.

The ceiling groaned above her. Somewhere in the haze, distant voices were screaming. Or maybe it was just the house. The house that Sal-Soren built. The house that was falling.

Where was Briana?

Her protector. Her shadow. Always just a step behind her. She should have been here. She should have come.

But she didn’t.

And Bastila was going to die.

Alone, crushed beneath the weight of something that was once beautiful, once hers. Her vision darkened at the edges. Closing in like hands around her throat.

She couldn’t breathe.
She couldn’t…

Her lungs strained. Chest compressed. Every fibre in her screamed wrong; but it was all happening too fast.

Her breath caught. Then stopped.

A red shimmer trailed from her temple to her jaw, blood streaking down to her collarbone. Her own pulse screamed in her ears, loud and rushing, it was roaring, drowning her.

She couldn’t breathe.

Ariadne was toying with her. Testing, adjusting, like someone calibrating a machine. There was no hate in it. No thrill. No pleasure. Only purpose.

Bastila clawed at the arm across her chest. It was wrong. Cold. All she could feel was; metal.

Her eyes widened as the realisation struck.

The blade had hit. But not flesh.

Not even armour.

She hadn’t seen it before. The cybernetic connection was seamless, wrapped in synthskin, designed to pass as real. Now however the damage made it clear.

A shimmering coil of mechanical tendons twisted from wrist to shoulder beneath where her opponent’s skin should be. The lightsaber had hit, but the blade had only scored the plating. No burn, no blood. Just a hiss and a flash as her weapon had deactivated.

“Is that all you’ve got?” she rasped. Blood spattered across Ariadne’s forearm.

No answer.

Only pressure.

The window behind her groaned. She could feel the seam splintering beneath her spine.

She couldn’t breathe.

She tried to summon the Force, something to help, but it slipped from her like water through fingers. Her thoughts were scattered just like her pulse that beat erratically. Her hands rose, attempting to grab at anything to save herself, but Ariadne’s touch just increased it’s pressure.

Overwhelming constant pressure, no fury, no malice, just pure function.

Bastila choked, her legs buckling. Her boots slipped against the glass, tip-toes scrabbling for purchase.

And then…
She heard it.

Blaire’s voice far clearer than it had any right to be. Sharp. Closer than it should’ve been.

Bastila’s eyes jerked past Ariadne’s face, panic tightening every muscle in her body. Not just from the fire in her lungs, but from the sound. The presence. Blaire. Standing there, blaster in hand. Steady and unwavering.

No.

Ariadne’s voice still hung in the air, calm, surgical and laced with danger. A threat sharpened to a whisper.

“Blaire.”
She tried to say her sister’s name, to shout it, to warn her; but only a thin whimper escaped, torn apart by the iron grip pressed into her chest and the bruising muscles in her throat. Blood dripped from the corner of her mouth. Her vision swam. There wasn’t any more time.

But Blaire’s arrival gave her one thing. A moment. A sliver of space.

Bastila seized it.

Her left hand pressed weakly to the glass beside her, trembling fingers slick with sweat and blood. She reached inward; into the swirling chaos, into the screaming vortex of the Force that pounded behind her eyes, and pushed past it. Past the pain. Past the terror. Past the shattering image of Blaire in danger.

She summoned what little strength she had left and reached out.

Not with words.
Not with breath.
With will.

Her lightsaber came flying through the corridor, summoned by her mind and like a loyal pet it made one last attempt to end the assault on it’s master. The violet blade clashed loudly against the outstretched arm, the smell of burning metal and sparks filled the area as it cut deep and hard.

The ballroom faded at the edges.

And in the blur, she saw it.

Smoke and wood. A child’s sob.

The roof was caving in. Fire licked the window panes. No way out.

Not again.

She couldn’t breathe.

The lightsaber had done no more than cause some burns and frayed edges to the arm. The grip still held, Bastila was still dying.

She panicked now and struck blindly with the Force, shoving at Ariadne’s mind, looking for anything. But there was nothing there. No thoughts to grip. No fears. Just stillness.

Stillness and silence.

Her knees finally gave out.

The pressure on her chest didn’t ease.

Her hands pulled at the arm, pulled at any hope she had of survival.

And then; without words, without thought; her mind screamed:

BRIANA.

A desperate, unformed cry; ripped from her subconscious and hurled into the ether of the Force.

Blaire Sal-Soren

Ariadne · Jul 28, 2025

We're Living in a Powder Keg

The lightsaber hit her arm, skimming off the metallic surface and bounding away.

"Too late."

She pushed, just a fraction more, and Bastila's ribs cracked. It was a sickening sound. One that echoed in the already noisy catwalk. The glass cracked behind the Jedi. Ariadne pushed a little more, and it shattered.

Bastila dangled for a heart beat four floors above the permacrete far below.

The assassin let go.

She turned, and marched away from Blaire as screams filled the catwalk.

Her blaster extended again, firing multiple shots at the glass in front of her, and she jumped out towards the outside of the building. She caught a drain pipe, sparks erupted from the palm of her hand as metal scrapped across metal, slowing her descent.

She landed. And was walking towards the stage without missing a beat.

Her arm beeped. Comms from their Rip allies. They were wanting to encroach on the plaza. She tapped a command.

\\ TIGHTEN THE NOOSE. KEEP THE CIVILIANS PENNED IN. MAKE THEM KILL THEIR OWN TO GET TO US. //

Her right, human looking arm, reached behind her and pulled her sword from its sheath. The blue glow of the weapon was nothing in the chaos. Just an extra weapon that cut down those in the way of her and her target. And those that got in the way fell...easily.

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