Invasion Total Eclipse of the Heart || Objective 4: We'll Be Holding On Forever

[Velzari Tharn]

O B J E C T I V E - 4
S A R K O - V I

(Jedi Shadows, RIS Agents, and Assassins)

During its height, the Order of the Silver Jedi worked tirelessly to resolve civil unrest on Sarko VI. The volatile world found its footing under the Silvers’ guidance, establishing trade networks, attracting investors, and receiving humanitarian aid. Even after the Order collapsed, the people of Sarko persevered, resisting overt corruption and standing on its own two feet as an independent trade world in the Expansion Region.

But no good deed goes unpunished.

Centers of trade and commerce, especially those who stand apart from the galactic powers that be, are perfect targets for hungry agents of the Underworld. Sarko VI was no exception. The longer it remained a neutral trade hub, the easier it became for criminal organizations to take root and flourish. It began with small rackets. Smuggling, profiteering, and fraud were just the beginning. Black Sun’s operation only grew from there, eventually expanding into spice running and poaching. The credits were good, police intervention was sparse, and there were no defense forces or Jedi Orders to shut down the party. That is, until the Planeshift.

Being ripped from its celestial position was an ironic lucky break for the people of Sarko VI, who finally saw the Underworld’s grip weakened substantially. Without access to the hyperlanes that once enabled the syndicate to move their black market goods, Black Sun found its influence on the planet quickly waning. Sarko’s entrance into the Republic was a proverbial nail in the coffin… but all is not lost yet.

If credits are not enough to sway the locals, then fear will do the trick. Black Sun has a plan to eliminate a large force of Jedi and law enforcement agents in one fell swoop, a move that -if successful- will demoralize the government and remind them of who the movers and shakers really are.

A recently apprehended suspect has revealed the location of a major Black Sun operation in the warehouse district. According to the perp, a massive stockpile of illegal contraband is awaiting pickup as the syndicate clears out of the Sarko system. The intel may prove too good to be true, but there’s only one way to find out…

Black Sun: Our sacrificial plant has been arrested by Sarko’s police force and is spilling his guts as we speak. Black Sun assassins, bounty hunters, and foot soldiers lay in wait for the Republic to arrive. Wait until the Jedi and their minions are inside the warehouse, then spring the trap. When the doors are sealed and there’s nowhere to hide, open fire, throw dioxis grenades, and cross blades - whatever you have to do to eliminate them. It will be like shooting fish in a barrel.

High Republic: Local law enforcement confirms that Black Sun is storing a massive collection of black market goods in a warehouse on Sarko VI. Sansanna spice, modified blasters, stolen swoop bikes, and even slaves are on the manifest recovered from an apprehended syndicate informant. A task force of Jedi Shadows, RIS operatives, and local police units is prepared to breach the warehouse and recover the contraband. Extreme caution is advised: the raid is almost too convenient to be true.

 

[Razmir Tezhyn]

OBJECTIVE 4
WAREHOUSE RAID
PREPARING THE AMBUSH
AMBUSH OOC ETA - Monday, 28th of July

Razmir took a final drag from his cigarette before he tossed it and put it out under his boot. The smoke curled in his lungs, stinging with a corrosive familiarity that helped to steady the nerves. He stood with one hand in his the pocket of his suit pants, tailored overcoat tossed lazily over his shoulders. Shadows played across his face.

"Couple more minutes," he remarked, exuding blasé confidence.

Smoke curled from his lips, caught by a ray of moonlight that got through the rare crack in the boarded-up warehouse windows. They'd picked a massive one. Filled with empty crates and rows upon rows of shelves, each packed to the brim with boxes of inconsequential contents.

Raz overlooked the maze, hidden away in the rafter-walkways near the ceiling. The warehouse walls extended multiple stories high, with plenty of catwalks criss-crossing in positions to overlook the ground floor. The Republic expected to find stockpiles full of spice here today. Instead they'd find empty crates, and stacks of office supplies, expired foodstuffs, and all other kinds of unwanted things. That, and the Black Sun, prepared for their arrival.

"Keep steady until I give the signal. Anyone fires before I say so gets a blaster bolt in the back of the head personally delivered by me," Raz spoke into his comms-link. Tight-beam frequency, connected only to the people within this warehouse hall.

Razmir dug a small amulet from his pocket and leaned forward, setting his elbows on the walkway's railing. It fit snug into his palm. A small teardrop made of chitinous material, harvested from a rare, worm-like creature. Taozin amulet. It hid his presence within the Force, obscuring him even from learned Jedi Masters. The exact type of people who'd be filing into the warehouse soon.

"They'll be confident. Expecting a simple series of arrests," he said.

Black Sun would be lying in wait for them. Armed with devastating dioxis grenades and the tools to counteract its effects for themselves.

"We'll give them a lesson they won't soon forget."

Black Sun: Thayne Tameron Sal Katarn Xeykard Damien Dooku V1-L8 Rostam Khavarzai Koda Fett Keys Kingsley Mercy Morrow
High Republic: Cerys Dyn Brandyn Sal-Soren Sara Celwik Sera Rosh Balun Dashiell Mishel Rik Perris Kyric Thayze Montserrat

 

[Brandyn Sal-Soren]

Every now and then, I get a little bit nervous
​

Brandyn offered an slightly encouraging half-smile. "Sorry that your master could not be here, Balun," he said with a slap on the shoulder before releasing his momentary grip on Balun's shoulder, "we will get her back...I promise." The events on the ancient Sith World of Katabasis had left many shaken. Some had reported that the comatose Jedi Master was still mumbling, saying words in a tone not her own. If it was really that goddess Shiraya that had possessed her, Brandyn would not be leaving that alone.

He glanced around at the assembled team, and wondered - not for the first time - if it might be a little overkill. "Tamnen, you got that spike pack...?" He could not finish the question as the stocky, well-built Intelligence agent threw the pack to Brandyn.

The arc of the bag brought Brandyn's eye line to bear on Cerys for just a moment. She still looked distant, detached from the mission. That knot that had been in his stomach since yesterday tightened, just a little.

When the drop ship rattled a little, Brandyn took the dangling hand grip by instinct. "Alright. We are coming here on pretty solid intel," he said, resigning himself to his role. They already knew the briefing, and he trusted them to get the job done. He, Balun and his former padawan tasked with accessing the Black Sun comms network, Kyric Karis would lead the infiltration team.

Brandyn still wasn't sure about the new Jedi to the council. But no one entered Brandyn's circle these days without earning their way in. Too much was at stake now to go easy on people. There was too much to lose to trust easily.

"But don't go in here expecting it to be a stroll in the Lake Country. Eyes open. Head on a swivel. Expect things to go sour. Remember your training. I would like everyone to go home to their partners tonight."

The landing sequence brought a hiss, and a shudder as the airbrakes deployed and the repulsors strained.

A nod was given to Kyric, but Brandyn's eyes did not convey confidence in the man - but a hint of suspicion.

He spun on his heel, letting inertia do the work. "Balun. Cerys. Let's get this done quick, don't want to make Karis wait too long for us."

OUTFIT: xxx | TAG: Balun Dashiell Cerys Dyn Kyric | EQUIPMENT: Lightsaber, Spike Pack

​

 

[Cerys Dyn]

Every now and then I get a little bit restless​

Yesterday felt like a lifetime ago. If it was, it had been a lifetime of Brandyn and Balun annoying her by trying to talk to her like everything was alright.

Balun didn't know better. How could he? She wouldn't tell him. She didn't want to, even if she knew where to start.

The sudden appearance of a spike pack being tossed through the air caused her to start. Her eyes glanced about, wondering if anyone had noticed how distracted she had been. Her eyes found Brandyn's gaze. She quickly looked away.

He was worried about her. He needn't be worried. She could take care of herself.

Brandyn looked serious. But he often did. She rarely saw him loosen up, at least he had that going for him. His words carried weight, but even as he spoke she could only hear what he had told her yesterday coming out of his mouth again. She wanted to punch him in his annoying, nagging lying face.

You saw the evidence.

She clenched her jaw in defiance to her own good sense. He was wrong.

She cast her attention to the rest of those in the drop ship. She knew few of them, and would have been fine knowing less.

She was fine.

"Yup. Got it," Cerys said to Brandyn's last moment exhortation. That was all he was getting.

⊱⋅ Once upon a time there was light in my life ⋅⊰​

A few days earlier...

Cerys had been lingering near the council chambers for some time. The council had already finished, and Brandyn had spoken with Cerys briefly as he departed. They had organised a spar for later. He was convinced that he would be able to best Cerys this time. It was unlikely.

Her master was not the one she had come to see though. No, that honour belonged to the Grandmaster of the order to which she was slowly acclimatising too. There was a pressing matter than simply had to be resolved. So, Cerys lingered, waiting for Briana Sal-Soren to depart the council chambers.

Upon seeing the warrior Knight step out the doors, Cerys pushed off the wall and walked towards her with a quick step. "Grandmaster!"

Cerys felt the awkwardness crawl up, and grip her throat.

"Grandmaster Sal-Soren...I have come...to apologise...for my behaviour on the training balcony early on in my tenure here with the Order."

Her lekku twitched in the way they seemed to reserve for moments of embarrassment. Bringing up the event again brought fresh shame.

Briana slowed as the call reached her, turning in the direction of the voice, both brows lifting when she saw who it was. "Thank you, Cerys." She said after a beat of silence, giving a slight inclination of her head. "I was wondering if you would ever bring that up again..." Her eyes seemed to study her in that observant sort of way that said she was listening and paying attention to more than just the words being spoken. "I think we can both agree that day wasn't your proudest, but we all make mistakes, and I let that go a long time ago."

Cerys felt calm wash over her, a burden roll from her shoulders. "Thank you...Grandmaster Sal-Soren...I am trying...to be better. Thank you for giving me this chance."

| Tags: Kyric Balun Dashiell |

| Equipment: Twin lightsabers - Vowsake, and Dyn's Mercy |

| Guest writer: Briana Sal-Soren |​

 

[Kyric]

Solemn Blade
"True mastery begins where individual ego ends."
In Twilight Hours

Rain descended from the night sky in a heavy downpour. It beat down on the city like an endless stream of drums—a constant companion in a time of great uncertainty. The streets were empty. Not a single light burned within the darkness. Even the dropships above aired in the way of caution, their bright lights inert as they quietly touched down in back alleys and empty lots. It felt to Kyric like the whole city held its breath in anticipation of the coming assault. Danger lurked out in the shadows, but he knew not if he were the predator or the prey.

Separated from the target warehouse by a broad thoroughfare, Kyric scanned the exterior of the building through a set of electrobinoculars. The yard was devoid of movement. He shifted his attention to the south facing windows and grimaced. Durasteel sheets and wooden boards covered shattered window panes. Not an uncommon solution given the cost of transparisteel instillation, but such a simple explanation didn't sit right with the kiffar. Those very same boards served as a barrier to reconnaissance. Was it truly a coincidence or a sign of something more sinister?

Kyric's communicator beeped thrice at his side—a signal that the remainder of the strike force finished unloading from the dropships. He stowed the binocs, tucked away into a leather holder on his belt, and turned away from the warehouse.

The advance team sent alongside him stood ready for the assault. The Jedi Knight recognized a mixture of trepidation and anticipation within many of them. More than their lives were on the line today. The manifest detailed enough drugs and weapons to destabilize entire cities. Slaves listed not by name or species, but serial number, set the blood boiling within them.

Kyric joined the others as they marched out the building into the rain. He lifted the heavy hood of his inherited cloak to ward away the chill. The advance team positioned themselves across the street while the kiffar fell back to inform the recent arrivals of his findings.

"No movement anywhere around the buildin'," Kyric reported to Brandyn. The kiffar nodded to Balun and Cerys behind him. Neither of the two Jedi were familiar to Kyric, but that was true for most of the Order. He didn't exactly make himself available to them.

"I've sent men ahead of us, but I ain't expectin' them to find nothin' till we're inside. If Black Sun is movin' product here, they've covered their tracks well."

The kiffar's hand fell to the hilt of his blade. He ran his thumb down the braided cloth wrapped tight around the hilt; the grainy surface captured his focus for an instant. The storm raging within Kyric's mind faded away, forgotten in lieu of the suspicion with which Brandyn watched him. Among the Pillars of the High Council, the Grandmaster's brother proved the most unapproachable. An unfortunate turn given the joint-operation assigned to them by his sister.

"Once we get inside, I'd fancy takin' point. I'm feelin' mighty bad about this. And I think if somethin' happens, we'll be better off with you still at the head of this thing, Sal-Soren." Kyric unclipped the force-infused sheath from his hip and held it in his right hand. Water rolled down the treated wood without damaging its surface. His bandages, however, were sopping wet.

• Brandyn Sal-Soren | Balun Dashiell | Rik Perris | Sera Rosh | Sara Celwik | V1-L8 | Drystan Creed •​

 

[Sal Katarn]

Inside the Warehouse
Razmir Tezhyn
​

Sal sat on a crate, his helmet next to him, slowly loading slugs into his revolver.

"Mhm," grunted the taciturn mercenary. Not one to speak none too much. Especially when the occasion didn't call for none.

Far as he could see it, first glimpse these Republic-types would get of him would be the nasty end of his anti-tank rifle. He supposed it might be a touch overkill, since they were aiming to drygulch these fellas, but nobody ever complained about having too much firepower. Nobody except those senatorial folks, who he never paid much mind to anyhow. What did they know about killin'.

Listen close, cause this is the first and only time he'd a mind to think about all the gear he was bringing in. You skip this part of the post and that seems to be on you. Katarn brought an old beskar helm he'd taken from a Mandalorian, a long time ago. It was pretty beat to hell, but it would get the job done. After he loaded his last slug, he slid the helmet into place. The targeting systems came online, blinking softly. He wore a terentatek duster, some bracers fashioned from the hide of a leviathan, boots of alchemized leather, an armorweave vest, shock gloves, a bunch of gas grenades on a bandolier, along with a variety of KrupX Munitions slugs at his belt. In a hip sheath he had a cortosis knife. That about did it.

SI-74 Anti-Tank Rifle | AEL Leviathan Bracers | AEL Terentatek Duster | KXP Revolver | DAX-15 LIS Grenade

 

[Thayze Montserrat]

|| TOTAL ECLIPSE OF THE HEART ||
Head in the Clouds - Chapter 1
———
TAG: Balun Dashiell | Brandyn Sal-Soren | Cerys Dyn | Kyric

TELL MË​

SARKO IV

The last time Thayze was in Sarko IV, the first time he’s ever been in a matter of fact, was for a humanitarian mission. The inhabitants of the planet struggled because of the planetshift, so he was stationed there to help alleviate a piece of their suffering. That’s been Thayze’s first outworld mission in months, after the Sith assault on Enarc which left him battered, and mentally destroyed.

It hasn’t been easy, these past months, his seemingly certain knighting at the start of the year seemed to escape his grasp in real time, and Naboo court politics since the exaltation of Queen Kalantha to the High Chancellorship has been making home, less like home. His progress has been slowing down, and the mission that he has been assigned to are increasingly getting trivial to the aspiring Jedi. He’s been assigned to a star-studded team of high-profile Jedi, but what is this raid if not just a PR move? The High Republic’s valiant effort has uprooted crime in the Southern System once again. What a headline that would be.

What a headline it would be.

Thayze joined the others; His Master’s twin brother, a new Kiffar Jedi Knight he trained with, and two other padawans, under the illuminating lights of Sarko IV moon, seeping through the clouds and rain which hugs the planet like their life depends on it. Kyric’s reports doesn’t sound good, what he thought would be a PR victory for the High Republic’s might very well end up as a bust. An empty warehouse, judging from the Kiffar’s report and from the sound of it, is bad for business. Either they were late, the precinct was compromised, or tip-off was a foul play.

The young Jedi followed the rest, guarding the rear on their way to the warehouse. He feels a disturbance in the Force; his midichlorians are thumping inside his blood vessels akin to how a baby warn a pregnant mother of dangers. Yet it might just be his state of mind, tainted, distracted… broken; it’s getting increasingly hard to trust his own guts and instincts these days.

So he just do what he does best; resting the tip of his fingers on his lightsaber hilt while trying his best to sense anything outside of their normal space and time cognition.
​

 

[Balun Dashiell]

TOTAL ECLIPSE OF THE HEART: OBJECTIVE 4
INVENTORY: Spacer Apparel, Echo Stone & Lightsaber
LOCATION: High Republic Troop Dropship, making landfall
ALLIES: Brandyn Sal-Soren , Cerys Dyn , Kyric , Thayze Montserrat
OPPOSITION: Xeykard & The Blacksun Syndicate

Balun Dashiell stood among several other members of the Jedi Order and soldiers of the High Republic aboard the Troop Dropship as it descended through the atmosphere of Sarko IV. Together, they had left Naboo, embarking aboard a capital vessel before reaching the Venzeiia sector, joining a larger portion of the High Republic Navy and completing the journey to the Sarka System.

Among the Jedi present, Cerys Dyn was the closest to him, and that was saying a lot. Balun had been fighting against her combatant personality, a stubborn refusal to allow others to get close to her, out of some misguided sense of traditionalism to the old ways of the Jedi, which, in Balun's mind, was causing her to miss out on the experience of having friends and more in her life. He hadn't set out with this goal in mind of his own accord, of course. Her Master, Brandyn Sal-Soren and Balun's own Master, Ala Quin , had ambushed them both in a blind meeting of sorts, to which at the time impressed neither of them at all. As time had passed, though, Balun had become more and more intrigued by Cerys. The sense of challenge from both her rivalry as a skilled fellow student of the Force, as well as a quick-witted and sharp-tongued young rogue similar to himself, had only encouraged him to want to get to know her more, and perhaps she would learn to ease up a little more with his support.

Master Sal-Soren was another story, though; he was the one of whom Balun hadn't met until this operation. This was a serious, full-scale operation, in which the Jedi and High Republic military and navy were pushing on several tactical fronts. To complicate matters, Brandyn had just informed Balun of the Ala Quin's comatosed condition, a recent result from a mission that had gone awry in Balun's absence. He had asked numerous questions, despite the little time available, and this was not the right place for them; even Balun understood this.

Balun's life was a complicated mess, spread thin by his dedications to numerous different areas and specialised fields, not to mention the raising of his son, Kellan Dashiell . There was his Company Dashiell Retrofit, and then there was Jhaessa Prime, where Balun was spearheading the colonisation project under the representation of Dashiell Incorporated, utilising his entrepreneurial experience and his Father's guidance, where his knowledge and time fell short. Training under a Jedi Master while juggling all of these responsibilities, Balun's life was a full-time job and he simply didn't have any personal time; Ala Quin had been excellent in catering to his unique situation, having taken him under her wing knowing his circumstances beforehand, but having heard what had happened on Katabasis, Balun now regretted not being there alongside her and felt guilty for it. He couldn't help but wonder if, somehow, he had been there, perhaps this could have been avoided.

The Dropship suddenly jerked, and then jolted Balun from side to side, his right hand raised and holding tightly to the railing lining one side of the interior ceiling for support as he braced himself. They had landed along with the other craft, and he turned to watch as the boarding compartment opened with a loud hiss as the airlock unsealed and the world's natural air came rushing in.

"Balun. Cerys. Let's get this done quick, don't want to make Karis wait too long for us."

"On you, Master", Balun replied firmly as he reaffirmed his commitment to the task at hand, uncliping the hilt of his weapon with his right hand and reaching out to give Cerys Dyn a light tap against her shoulder with his left, lifting his head in a half nod, a silent means of checking in with her. He didn't need to say anything to her, especially with others around. Knowing her, she'd take anything he said as offensive in any case and probably feel embarrassed in front of the others; thus, he simply gave a half-smirk and turned back to follow Brandyn.

The downpour of rain did little to encourage a sense of calm as Balun walked out into the open night air, his free hand running up the zip of his jacket to keep his upper body warm. At the same time, he followed Master Sal-Soren and soon enough rendezvoused with another group, including members Thayze Montserrat and Kyric , who were awaiting their arrival. So far, there had been no reported activity or sightings of hostile activity, which was a good thing, yet suspicious at the same time. Intelligence had pegged this location as the place to be, so naturally, they had been expecting resistance upon arrival.

Why in the seven hells was it so quiet?

"Speech"
'Thought'​

 

[Scavera]

D R O N E S
---
H I G H _ R E P U B L I C​

She knew blasters as a misbegotten lover.

SX-21 had always been faithful to her on the blaster range. A derelict war-companion against this Long Darkness. It spent its days settled in her closet on the Neo. It kept her armor and clothing company, rarely taken out on walks. Instead it rotted away. Forgotten and mistreated. A tool for battles she never saw. Patrols on Rimward planets never brought her within more than sixty meters of a gunman. Her survivalist kit couldn’t make room for such an oversized boomstick.

It persevered.

Fat, humid splotches of rain slicked across its surface. The first touch of the field on the weapon. Water wicked around the heat-breaks in the barrel. The cross-hatched grip was all that kept it secure in Scavera’s glove. The dual-scopes were hazy, useless.

Maybe it was better to live in the guncase.

The rain flickered against her photo-reactive battle-armor. The mirrors knew not what to do with the onslaught of reflections and mutated colors. It defaulted to a slate grey hue. An oncoming storm. She was fully visible save the natural camouflage grey upon an urban-center broke.

Kyric. Knight Kyric was her acting squad leader. She disliked the formality of military action. She was a skirmisher, a raider – pitched battles didn’t fit her. Fighting alongside a Jedi soothed that anguish. They had a reputation. The order fell into chaos often when bolts started flying.

It was a price she paid for working with the High Republic.

Seeing Kyric ready himself, Scav racked a power-cell into the scatterblaster.

---
Kyric Brandyn Sal-Soren Balun Dashiell Rik Perris Sera Rosh Sara Celwik V1-L8 Drystan Creed

 

[V1-L8]

TAGS: Kyric Brandyn Sal-Soren Balun Dashiell Rik Perris Sera Rosh Sara Celwik Drystan Creed Razmir Tezhyn Scavera​

SOMEWHERE IN WAREHOUSE – SARKO VI

The durasteel crate hadn't moved in hours.

Low-profile and industrial-gray, it rested in the shadow of a rusted loading gantry like any other surplus container stamped with old Zygerrian trade codes. But beneath the grime and storage serials, inside a reinforced magseal coffin lined with durasteel alloy and sensor-dampening foil, something stirred.

V1-L8's optical systems flickered online in absolute silence. A slow dilation of photoreceptors glew dim red behind the narrow slit of his helm. The crate was sealed closed, its outer shell bathed in dust and fading warehouse light—but his vision pierced the seams. Perception into the walls, through the mesh of the surveillance blackout netting he had laid earlier, movement painted itself in infrared: Lifeforms outside. One pacing. Two stationary. Three prone. A perimeter.

His auditory sensor adjusted, parsing distant voices through the steel. Comms chatter, muffled footfalls, the static hiss of an earpiece.

They were early...

Clutched to his chest, locked beneath rigid alloy fingers, rested the GLX Firelance. Modified. Refitted. Tuned for lethal precision. The rifle had not been moved since it was cradled there like a fething sacred object. Targeting HUD activated next. Everything in his line of sight pulsed with wireframe outlines in his photoreceptors. Kill-zones, structural weaknesses, scatter probabilities. Calculations resolved in milliseconds. His ever learning brain, if it could be called that, was already three steps ahead. Every cache was mapped. Every tripwire set. Remote charges beneath the western stack. A magnetic detonator in the ceiling brace. An anti-vehicle mine hidden beneath a repulsor pallet marked "Hydraulics." Dioxis canisters stashed inside pressure pipes, rigged to detonate on signal.

​

There would be no escape. Not for his payout.

 

[Drystan Creed]

SARKO IV: BOUNTY HUNTING

Munch. Munch. Munch.

Another day, another credit. And what better way to earn it than doing the one thing he actually enjoyed?

Perched lazily atop a steel rafter, Drystan sat with one leg dangling, the other propped up as he gnawed through a nutri-bar clutched in his gloved hand. Beside him, leaned against the metal like an old companion, rested his blade—part relic, part war machine.

Below, the warehouse buzzed with barely concealed tension. Mercenaries, cutthroats, and guns-for-hire packing the warehouse for a welcoming party. Drystan didn't know their names. Didn't care. They weren't here to impress each other. They were here for a job.

"Chocolate," he muttered, chewing thoughtfully. "Still prefer vanilla. But better than berry."

Despite the storm about to unfold beneath him, he wore his calm like a second skin—unbothered, unhurried. His posture was slouched, casual. But the armor clinging to his frame was bleeding-edge, and his sheathed blade whispered of violence and precision. He was ready.

He wasn't here just for the money.

The bounty, sure. But not just the credits. No, he was here for something else.

A proper challenge. A worthy mark. Someone to test his steel and spirit against. That was worth more than any stack of credits.

He finished the bar and dusted his hands. A flick of his visor. HUD pinged. Still a few minutes before showtime.

Drystan smiled to himself, eyes scanning the warehouse floor as he pulled a cig from his pouch.

Kyric Brandyn Sal-Soren Balun Dashiell Rik Perris Sera Rosh Sara Celwik V1-L8 Scavera

 

[Mercy]

Objective: Sit and wait around
Allies: herself for now | Thayne Tameron later
Enemies: Rik Perris | Sera Rosh

This wasn't exactly Mercy's idea of a good time.

Sitting around, waiting for the fight to come to her, praying that it will come sooner rather than latter.

But Razmir Tezhyn and her had come to a shaky understanding. Mercy didn't know it at the time, but her meddling with Ashline Terminal ruined some of his rolling plots. In the end Mercy, Razmir and the Vigo of Ashline Terminal created a little pact. Raz didn't have to worry about any blackmail material against him, in return he would make sure there were no more plots aimed at Ashline Terminal, and Mercy would gain a Vigo ally that was closer to the current rule of law in the Black Sun.

Perfect being a newly-minted Vigo herself. She was in a position some might call awkward. No specific turf that was her own, no operations she made a monopoly of. She wasn't a spice baron nor could she pointed to a district that she owned. That made her a wild card in Pazaak.

She could use allies.

"We'll give them a lesson they won't soon forget."

"You know, I never was a fan of school." Mercy said conversationally as she waited alongside Razmir and Sal Katarn . "I left the Sith Academy and found Nar Shaddaa... absolutely gorgeous compared to the stuffy paper and sand of Korriban."

Mercy knew that's not what Razmir had meant, but she would take any opportunity to poke at the stuffy lad.

He was far too serious.

 

[Damien Dooku]

Objective IV
theme

​

"Couple more minutes," he remarked, exuding blasé confidence.​

Damien rolled his eyes in the Vigo's direction, his fingers dragging the stump of a burned-out cigarette away from his lips as he surveilled the eventual battleground to come from the rafters above. It wasn't in his typical day-to-day to sign on to jobs that involved going against the various Orders of Jedi across the galaxy. Hell, he did his best to steer clear of both the Alliance and the Republic alike when he could as well. He'd never hear the last of it from his mother if he'd managed to climb further up their list of criminals, sure, but in reality it was a matter of principle most of the time.

While he'd settled into this life without much regret, it had never settled well within his gut to go after civilians and the innocent. He'd strike at rival gangs with no hesitation, but the last thing he'd wanted was to get into a scrap with folks who were just trying to make the galaxy a better place. That might come off a bit hypocritical given the circumstances and his lifestyle, but it'd kept him grounded in a life that was quick to have you lose yourself in the glamour and grime that followed.

This time...things were different, though.

Blackmail was a hell of a thing.

"When this is done..." Damien's eyes cut sharper than a monomolecular-edged blade towards Razmir Tezhyn , the one who'd put him in this situation in the first place. "Our score will be settled." He turned on his heel after lingering just long enough to let the murderous gaze in his eyes roll over the Vigo, then headed over to a set of stacked crates where a number of lesser-ranked goons were grabbing gear and gossiping about the upcoming plan. Damien walked through them and grabbed a handful of grenades, attaching them along his belt adjacent to the thermal detonators running along the opposite end.

One of them had the stones to mutter something beneath his breath about Damien, clearly not enthused about this outsider who'd swooped in close to the Vigo, unaware of the circumstances that forced the scoundrel to be there. A fist chopped him in the throat, dropping him down to his knees where he clutched at his windpipe for air. Damien knelt at eye-level with the gangster, a hand swiping the Taozin necklace from around his neck despite a number of them still available in a crate.

His lips curled into that devilish grin of his, and he raised back up to his feet without aknowledging the trio standing around him once again. A silent promise to never work with Black Sun was made under his breath as he sauntered away from the staging area at an agonizingly slow pace. He wasn't there alone, which was the only saving grace to the situation. Morrow had been scouted out not long after the two had went separate ways, and by the fate or the force, the two friends were working together once more.

"You about ready for this sh*tshow to begin?" Damien leaned against the railing as he watched a few last-minute preparations being complete beneath them. A hand left his jacket, tossing a cigarette in his direction. Damien took one out for himself and continued walking, still on the move to a better vantage point before the ambush would begin.​

Thayne Tameron Sal Katarn Xeykard V1-L8 Rostam Khavarzai Koda Fett Keys Kingsley Mercy

​

 

[Morrow]

Blue light from a datapad holoscreen illuminated the bottom half of Morrow's face. In the darkness, his lit-up features floated like an apparition. A long black cloak blended the rest of his body into the shadows. Blue eyes hid in the umbra cast by the brim of his hood, rereading the message as if he hadn't fully absorbed it the last time.

rodeostar001xx 14 Hours Ago

where are you?
morrow?

Fingers curled with hesitation, Morrow's hand hovered in waiting over the device. He stared at the screen while chewing the side of his tongue, brow tight with ambivalence. Last time he'd seen Talin Treicolt , the night had ended with a very confusing series of events. In truth, he hadn't expected to ever hear from her again. It had been weeks, but she'd finally broken the silence. Finally, Morrow began typing. Until now, he had been putting off a response in case she was trying to drag him into another poorly planned retributive mission. He started typing.

976EVIL Just Now

working


It was frustrating that he felt the need to say anything to begin with. That tingling urge to reciprocate her correspondence in the hopes it would go further. It made him sick. And not in a youthful, romantic kind of way, either. His reply wasn't exactly what he'd imagined he'd say. Sure, it was a cop out, perhaps even a bit of a dismissal, but there was no way he'd tell her where he really was. 'In a warehouse about to ambush some Jedi' wasn't exactly the kind of thing you'd divulge to anyone, let alone to a Jedi.

Not like he should care what she thought, anyway.

"You about ready for this sh*tshow to begin?" ​

Morrow quickly shoved the compact datapad back into his pocket. "I've got a weird feeling about all this," he confessed. It was a presence he was sensing, though he was entirely oblivious to that capability and especially how to interpret it. With a deft hand, he caught the cigarette between his fingers. He slid it behind his ear, obscured underneath black fabric. No chance he was going to smoke it, though he wouldn't bother to elaborate. "Don't know how to describe it," he continued, reaching between the flaps of his cloak to retrieve a pair of small macrobinoculars. Peering between a gap in the boarding of a nearby window, he scanned the warehouse's rainy exterior.

Several figures stood at a distance, half-obscured by the weather and gradually growing in size. "Oh," Morrow croaked softly. He zoomed, taking stock of the group across the thoroughfare. "I see them." He pulled his head away from the window and handed the binoculars over to Damien.

Morrow's voice sounded over the secure comchannel: <"We've got eyes on the Jedi. Just over a dozen, at least. Maybe more.">

Elastic whined as he pulled a breather mask over his face. Tapping fingers counted the dioxis grenades on his belt. Then, he retrieved the blaster rifle that hung limp in a sling over his shoulder, uncollapsing the stock with a metallic click.

"I just hope this chit is worth the cred."

_____________________________________________________

Damien Dooku | Sal Katarn | Thayne Tameron | Xeykard | V1-L8 | Rostam Khavarzai | Keys
Kingsley | Mercy | Razmir Tezhyn ​

 

[Kyric]

Solemn Blade
"True mastery begins where individual ego ends."
In Twilight Hours

Deep within the crowded warehouse, a flicker of emotion danced along Kyric's awareness. He turned away from Brandyn Sal-Soren almost immediately. The kiffar's booted foot scattered a puddle on his pivot back, cerulean eye locked on the warehouse's single point of entry across the thoroughfare. Though Kyric couldn't place the presence outright, the sensation of something familiar pushed him forward. There were few people in the galaxy who he felt such strong of a bond—only his kinfolk, those burdened by the weight of unsung legends numbered among them.

Not one of them registered in Kyric's mind as low enough to work alongside the Black Sun Syndicate. The vile organization represented so much of what their Legacy opposed. Worry blossomed in the Jedi Knight as he considered the alternative.

Danger. Death. Deceit.

Kyric shook his head and turned to Scavera. "We're movin' in, now. Sal-Soren's team covers our six. Everyone else, form up."

The duo crossed the broad street under the cover of a storm cloud as it rolled lazily over the moon. V1-L8's advanced life form scanners would pick them up nonetheless, forewarned of the approaching danger. Three others fell in around Kyric. They moved like shadows toward the rear side of the building, intent to reach the access point before the moon's light descended again onto the city.

With Thayze Montserrat on Kyric's left and Scavera on his right, the kiffar slipped deeper into the darkness. The two borrowed RIS operatives trailed ten paces back, clutching blasters in a practiced grip. More life-forms moved into range of V1's sensors, then, local security forces hand-selected by those spearheading the operation. Local law fanned out in groups of three across the rows of stacked crates and towering durasteel shelves.

The kiffar spotted the rafters above and silently signaled to RIS behind him to keep eyes on the sky. They repeated the gesture to the lawmen behind them, maintaining a steady line of communication from the tip of the spear to the hands which guided them.

Concealed by the many Taozin Amulets afforded to the Syndicate by the Vigo, Razmir, even the deft and otherworldly senses of the Jedi struggled to pierce the darkness all around them. Still, they crept ever forward, hands poised on their weapons in an effort to pierce deeper into the haze.

Kyric clutched the hilt of Resolute tight and breathed deeply. At some point he clenched his jaw and squared his shoulders, likely an effect of the stillness. He released another deep breath to ease the tension within himself. His wrapped left hand rose to a metallic beam about head-level and he tightened his grip on it, using it as a leverage point to squeeze through two tall shelves which had fallen into a precarious lean.

Instinctively, his right hand dropped level with his newly constructed saber: Soltide.

​

High Republic: Brandyn Sal-Soren | Balun Dashiell | Rik Perris | Sera Rosh | Sara Celwik | Thayze Montserrat | Scavera | Talin Treicolt
Black Sun Syndicate: | V1-L8 | Drystan Creed | Razmir Tezhyn | Koda Fett | Damien Dooku | Morrow | Sal Katarn | Mercy | Xeykard

 

[Talin Treicolt]

Friends: Brandyn Sal-Soren | Kyric | Balun Dashiell Rik Perris | Sera Rosh | Sara Celwik | | Thayze Montserrat | Scavera
Criminal Scum: V1-L8 | Drystan Creed | Razmir Tezhyn | Koda Fett | Damien Dooku | Morrow | Sal Katarn | Mercy

Working.

An ominous reply, considering their last job. Talin shoved the datapad back into her pocket, away from the rain. What had driven her to send the message to begin with? She had lived a lifetime in the few weeks since their last encounter. Short a hand, the encounter with the Sith nightmare had been a stark reminder of mortality. It was the that feeling which had sent her packin’ from Atrisia to Naboo to begin with. The comfort of Kyric’s familiar face was a short cry of Su, but they were still on the rocks - and Talin wasn’t ready for the chalice of compassion her sister would force feed her just yet. Perhaps it was that same familiarity for which she sought out in Morrow. Seems like he didn’t echo the sentiment.

"We're movin' in, now. Sal-Soren's team covers our six. Everyone else, form up."

Shovin’ all those feelings down, the Jedi focused on the task ahead. Kyr had made her promise all the promises when she begged to come along, their visit interrupted by very important Jedi business - no funny stuff, no playin’ hero, no losin’ anymore hands. His word was law. She kept her promise, following loyally behind the knight as their party entered the warehouse.

Rain pattered upon the roof with metallic pings. She could hear her own breathing beside, as she crept along the darkned rows. Watching the gesturing back and forth sent a shiver rollin’ down her spine. This was not the chaos of a rogue Jedi sliver. It was not the adventures of Lin and Su, mischievous and endearing. The scent of death was in the air. The stakes were real this time - and it wasn’t just her life on the line. Blaster in her prosthetic hand, saber in the other, crossed at the wrist, just like pa taught her. Her head was on a swivel, squinting through the holes between boxes on shelves. Though she could barely see anything in the dark, she expected to find eyes peering back at her.

 

[Xeykard]

Mercy | Sal Katarn | Razmir Tezhyn | Morrow | Kyric | Balun Dashiell | Brandyn Sal-Soren | Cerys Dyn
​

"Most students don't become strong," he said, voice cutting through the dark. For someone so large, it was perhaps an unwelcome surprise that he could sneak up on them. Unlike Mercy, however, he did not let himself idle. Two days he'd spent in this warehouse -- he knew every catwalk and corner, shelves from end to end, what boxes said food, what said materials, and which hid the Black Sun's many traps. He knew the way the little light from the storm outside would cast in from the few windows and entrances; he'd made friends with the shadows that light cast.

"They are here," he warned, a moment before the crackle of their comms spoke up with a confirmation. A look to Mercy. "Violence is a teacher. You were never meant to be a student. Not today."

A look to Tezhyn. "On your mark." His tone betrayed it -- between the two of them, he only trusted himself to make that call; and he would, if Tezhyn delayed by even a moment. Yet, success? Perhaps that would change his mind.

And he stepped away, the darkness welcoming him again. He prowled closer, crossing silently through the warehouse -- two young men first spotting the arriving Jedi, a masked mercenary in the rafters, a hunter-droid making the same realization as him.

It was time.

He crossed his own men -- a platoon of hardened Sith legionnaires, with the best equipment his legion had access to; forty of the deadliest shots in the Scar Worlds, even in the Order, if they could be counted among them. He touched them as he passed, a gentle pat on the shoulder or back. They readied their weapons in silence, and took their positions.

His was a more gruesome task. He flitted closer, crawled like a jungle cat, behind a set of boxes embedded into a tall set of shelves, and molded himself to the darkness there. This was the work he had been missing. Once, in a simpler time, he'd pursued Jedi and traitors across the Empire; now they would come to him willingly.

Their fates would be the same.

 

[Koda Fett]

With the Black Sun rising, it was for the best to get in on the ground floor. That meant a lot of jobs. Over and over. It made for a decent amount of credits, though nothing was more coveted than those black crowns.

The suit of armour stood there, leaning with gauntleted arms over the breastplate and the helmet dipped low. His blaster carbine hung from his belt lined with pouches, containing no small amount of tools for the trade - one could rightly guess their nature was all things violent. Listening in on Razmir and Xeykard, with that bird beside him, it seemed to be about time to stop lounging around.

Fett preferred to be in the know. Being informed was an advantage few appropriately valued. Xeykard, Raz, Mercy. He knew them. Some newer thugs though, were unknown to him. Fodder, maybe. To serve as suitable distractions for when the Jedi burst in and need someone to cut down or peddle a lesson in morals to. One, however, was said to be a Dooku. He knew that name, at least. An old Imperial one. Earlier, a passing glance all but confirmed that connection with Damien's familiarity to Lucien.

It made one wonder how Imperial royalty came to trudge around the gutters.

Mercy - Sal Katarn - Razmir Tezhyn - Morrow - Kyric - Balun Dashiell - Brandyn Sal-Soren - Cerys Dyn

 

[Brandyn Sal-Soren]

Every now and then, I get a little bit nervous
​

Ah, hell. It had to be raining.

A quiet nod was given to Kyric's insistence on going in first. There shouldn't be much more resistance than a few droid enforcers, or hired thugs. Brandyn felt a chill run up his spine, as if thinking that this would be easy had doomed it to be otherwise.

"Keep your wits about you, Karis," Brandyn said, but it wasn't really for Kyric to hear...more to break the tension.

If it had been any other moment, he might have shot a surprised glance at Balun for his forwardness in putting his hand on Cerys' shoulder. It was more than appropriate. Even nice of him. But he had seen Cerys tear people down for less overt acts of friendship. Perhaps she was growing. Elenna Sylari had apparently been the perfect person to help the Togruta.

He pushed the feelings of failure down before they could bloom.

"Tamnen," Brandyn said as he trudged through the rain, "keep your team close. We can hide you from Force senstives. Don't go wandering off if things get messy."

He nodded to Cerys. And then tapped her on the arm. "Now."

With each step, his presence diminished, the Force bending around him as he pulled himself into spiritual shadow. He could feel Cerys disappear in his sixth sense. And then they pushed the borders of their absence beyond themselves, to the RIS operatives, and Balun as well.

A steady stream of water ran down the side of the building, preventing him from leaning against it when he found his spot to the left of the door. He scanned the team with a practiced eye, looking for cracks, tells of nerves or hesitation.

"We find a comms terminal, jack in...and then secure everyone's exit. Keep it simple. Play it smart."

Comms went quiet. Tamnen’s team fanned out behind the Jedi, movement precise and low to the ground. Everyone crouched, just slightly, as a ripple of tension slid through the group.

This will be fine, Brandyn lied to himself.

| OUTFIT: xxx | EQUIPMENT: Lightsaber, Spike Pack |

High Republic: Kyric | Balun Dashiell | Rik Perris | Sera Rosh | Sara Celwik | Thayze Montserrat | Scavera | Talin Treicolt
Black Sun Syndicate: | V1-L8 | Drystan Creed | Razmir Tezhyn | Koda Fett | Damien Dooku | Morrow | Sal Katarn | Mercy | Xeykard



​

 

[Cerys Dyn]

Every now and then I get a little bit restless​

The weather suited her just fine.

Cerys trudged behind Brandyn, rain streaking down her montrals. She lightly shrugged off Balun’s attempt at support, a twitch of the shoulder, nothing dramatic. Brandyn missed it. Of course he did. He missed everything worth catching.

She bristled.

She was glad Brandyn wasn’t her master anymore. What had he done for her, really? What had anyone done? The High Republic, the Jedi Council, even Naboo. All so sure of themselves, all so empty when it mattered.

Each step landed harder than the last, water splashing up her legs in sharp slaps. She needed to hit something. Anything. The puddles would do.

Her eyes flicked toward Balun.

That stupid mop of hair. That stupid calm, like he could fix anything with that patient, lopsided smile. He was just like the rest of them — all talk. All kindness offered too late.

A sharp pain lanced her chest.

It wasn’t fair. She knew it wasn’t fair. He didn’t deserve the anger. But she did. She was allowed to be unfair. Life didn’t wait for fairness. It just took, without warning, without asking if you were ready.

A hand on her shoulder. Brandyn. It cut the spiral short. For now.

“Yeah. I got it,” she muttered, tone clipped and low.

She pulled the Force around herself, cloaking her presence, like he’d taught her. The one useful thing he’d given her.

She fell into position behind her former master.

Balun, too, wasn’t visible in the Force, but she could still hear him breathing. She didn’t turn her head. Just gave him a side-eye glare that said it all. Shut up.

⊱⋅ Once upon a time there was light in my life ⋅⊰​

A few days earlier...

She smiled. And then she didn't. The smile wouldn't leave easily, though, so she looked away for a while. She felt silly. It was just the way the wind blew Balun's hair about. It was...nice hair.

She exhaled slowly through her nose, as if that might clear the thought from her mind. It didn't.

There was a quiet pressure building behind her ribs, tight and unfamiliar. Not pain. Not exactly. Something else. Like standing at the edge of a precipice and realising no one was watching to see if you jumped.

"I don't know how to do this," she said. No edge. No anger. Just the words, plain and unarmored, as if saying them aloud might reduce their weight.

She didn't look at him. Just kept her gaze fixed on a crooked tree in the distance, bark stripped from one side like some long-forgotten scar.

Her hand drifted to her side, fingers curling slightly into her robes, barely noticeable, but tight with restraint.

It would be easier if he said nothing.

It would be worse if he did.

When Cerys spoke up, however, Balun turned back to glance her way and noted she had averted eye contact. Both eyebrows lifted marginally, curiosity visible across his face as he initially wondered what she meant. It wasn't long before he remembered their first discussion, or rather, argument about Jedi being emotional and having attachments. He knew that Cerys was still finding it difficult to make friends among the other Jedi; it wasn't just him that she had been pushing away, as the odd story he had heard every now and then had piqued his interest, and her name had come up.

"There's nothing to know. Nothing to do right now" Balun assured her, a slight curl to the corner of his lips as he tried not to smile, lest she assume he was doing so at her expense; "Instead of thinking, look around you. Notice the plants, the flowers, the people. Listen to the sounds of our environment. Focus on what you can smell and feel. Let your senses take over" he suggested, believing that she was putting too much pressure on herself and instead sought to offer her a way to distract herself. A means of calming the mind and bringing peace to her core, whether she would admit that she required it or not.

The corner of her mouth perked, just slightly. There was a lightness to how she looked at him that was as rare as any other treasure. "You are asking me not to over think...have you met me?" And surprisingly...she laughed. And nothing went wrong.

| Kyric | Balun Dashiell | Rik Perris | Sera Rosh | Sara Celwik | Thayze Montserrat | Scavera | Talin Treicolt |

| V1-L8 | Drystan Creed | Razmir Tezhyn | Koda Fett | Damien Dooku | Morrow | Sal Katarn | Mercy | Xeykard |

| Equipment: Twin lightsabers - Vowsake, and Dyn's Mercy |

| Guest writer: Balun Dashiell |​