Faction [TSC] Terror in Tapani

[Acier Moonbound]

Location: Calipsa - Calipsa Estate

Equipment:
Acolyte Robes| Lightsaber | Cybernetic Arm

OBJECTIVE 1 - LIFE DAY​

Neriah kept talking, because of course. Sith loved to talk. 'Advice' on pain, the inevitability of being torn apart, how the galaxy didn't care whether you survived intact or hollowed out.

Ace listened just long enough to register the shape of it. They always did this - the monologuing, the oversharing, the need to dress brutality up as philosophy. As if cruelty became meaningful once you wrapped it in inevitability. He'd heard it from Lords, apprentices, cultists, executioners. Different voices, same sermon. He didn't care.

Just because he had found his resolve amidst the chaos, these were still horrific acts. Her words slid off him without purchase as he advanced, senses stretched forward. If this was supposed to be instructive, it failed. Pain wasn't a revelation. Nihilism wasn't wisdom. It was just the excuse people reached for when they didn't want to be responsible for what they'd chosen.

Then he watched Neriah answer the employee's 'why' without emotion, watched her flick the bolt aside like it was nothing, watched the Force tighten around the woman's throat.

He didn't intervene. As much as he wanted to. The employee's body hit the floor and Neriah turned back to the others, she spoke again, cool and detached.

Then she blamed the order. Stone. Screams. Then silence. Ace didn't react outwardly when the ceiling came down, he slowed for half a step, long enough for the meaning to register.

That wasn't what he meant. She hadn't sealed the route. She'd erased it. Turned containment into execution and wrapped it neatly in his words, his authority.

He felt the anger spark, the kind that came with realizing someone had twisted your intent into something uglier and worn it proudly. For a fleeting instant, the thought surfaced uninvited:

Kill her.

Someone that apathetic. Someone who could kill like that and feel nothing, who could justify it with borrowed orders, would only get worse. Left unchecked, she'd become a future catastrophe wearing a human shape.

His grip tightened around the hilt... then the moment passed. Ace forced the thought down, locking it away with everything else he couldn't afford to act on. Killing her here would raise questions. But the conclusion stuck: she was dangerous.

When Neriah said to meet back up with Varin, he didn't respond. He simply turned and angled toward the central hall. They hadn't caught up to Varin, but they were walking in his wake.

Charred bodies littered the stairwell ahead, armor warped, weapons fused uselessly to the floor. Ace stepped over them with practiced care, eyes tracking the gouges in the stone, the scorched pillars, the unmistakable signs of a duel that hadn't been fair for long.

Ace felt it settle in his chest, whatever Varin had unleashed deeper inside the estate, it wasn't finished cleanly. And whatever remained alive past this point would be broken.

Ace exhaled through his nose and kept moving.

Neriah Calven | Varin Mortifer​

 

[Ghruna]

OBJC 1

"Check the exterior, go to the far side." She gestured with a jerk of her head. "Doubt they'd come back out this way."

"Khraun vah skorr na," she muttered under her breath in Maldrani as she walked away.

Ghruna set off into a run to skirt around the palace. She wasn't particularly sensitive to the Force. She wouldn't have found the escape route had it not been for a string of people rushing out of it.

She charged without a second thought. She couldn't catch everyone, so she ignored most of them and aimed to get into the escape route to cut it off.

She hacked down two people, kicking their bodies aside. Behind the door were stairs down.

The corridor narrowed as Ghruna pushed deeper into the corridor.

Panic had already outrun her. Once again, another young noble saber rake came at her with a Lightfoil. This one had some fancy moves but he was already exhausted. In the narrow tunnel he couldn't avoid her reach as she stabbed out at him.

There were shouts ahead. A noble family who had found the escape tunnel crashed into those feeling Ghruna.

---

Sith loved to talk.

Not all sith loved to talk. Some preferred breaking things.

Ace exhaled through his nose and kept moving.

Acier would perhaps notice, in the next corridor, the faintest imperfection in the wallpaper.

It was a hidden escape door. It suddenly swung open.

A group of nobles burst out. They saw Acier and immediately started down the corridor in the other direction.

"She's coming! Leave the bags and shut the door!" the oldest of the group shouted at a servant who had been carrying their bags. Apparently nobles did not travel light, even when fleeing a genocide.

The poor servant was left to squeeze the door shut.

Which was almost immediately smashed open. A small man, bleeding from cuts all over his face appeared to have run straight through it.

It appeared that way, until Ghruna ducked through the shattered hidden door, both hands on his tunic. She had used the still-alive man as a battering ram.

As the servant turned to flee, she was happy to use him as a missile too. She launched him after the servant. They collided heavily.

Ghruna noticed Acier, but only offered a grunt.

She turned back to the escape route. She had left a pile of bodies littering the corridor, but Arris hadn't provided particularly clear instructions.

Was she supposed to guard it now or join the assault?

She looked back at the door, trying to work out if there was some way to block it again. Perhaps bludgeoning it open with a human hadn't been the wisest course of action.

 

[Varin Mortifer]

The pain stung and burned up his side as he sat, both hands loosely laid on the arm rests. A deep inhale and exhale escaping him as the wound stretched and constructed, a pained grunt leaving his throat.

He could hear the echoes. The echoes of his home down the corridors, voices he knew but could not see. He's fingers dug into the stonework of the chair as he remembered the siege on his home.

He was no different now than the man who took everything from him.

Guards entered the throne room weapons trained on him, yelling for him to get down. Varins eye glared at them, he said nothing. His hand flexed crumbling a stone pillar right by them as he sent the stone pieces towards the now charging men, penetrating their armor.

The sounds of metallic impacts then gargling filled the air as the dead now lay at the foot of his steps. The scent of fresh running iron hung in the air as blood pooled and trailed around the bodies.

He remained seated, the voices still calling to him. The corridors still shifting between now and what was his home.

My home, My Throne

Acier Moonbound | Ghruna | Neriah Calven | Arris Windrun​

 

[Jas Katis]

TAPANI | TRADE FLEET
CORPORATE FEDERATION | HELLION PRIVATE MILITARY GROUP
TAGS: Vestra Tane | Nyles Kote | Tibera Jessen
ENGAGING: Vestra Tane | Karok
GEAR: In bio | unit equipment

THEME​

Their enemy made themselves known in spectacular fashion. On one end, a Sith’s blade ignited to deflect the incoming flurry of blaster bolts. On the other, a Gen’dai with enormous claws bared to tear the defending troops to shreds.

The flashbang was unceremoniously hurled back at the Hellions, though luckily it had little effect on them. The armour was doing its job. But a new problem arose when the two Sith proceeded to advance towards the defending Hellions. :: Kark, move back! Move back. :: One officer called out over the comms. Under suppressing fire, they began to systematically retreat further into the ship.

As the troops moved further into the ship, more defenses were prepared to stall the two Sith. Thermal detonators hidden behind pillars and doorways, repeaters behind barricades to set up a crossfire, the troops also took the time to reload and switch their rifles over to a more deadly particle setting to combat the Sith more effectively.

Force users never were their specialty, but they had a few tools to help them at least survive.

Once their enemy caught up, they let loose once again with a barrage of overwhelming blaster fire, only this time they were a lot more confident. But Jas knew better than to simply try and overwhelm them. With a gesture of his hand, he tried to wrap the Force around the Sith’s lightsaber to halt her defense and perhaps let a few bolts through.

The Gen’dai was going to be a much bigger problem. Explosive bolts would only do so much to halt its advance, they needed something bigger.

Luckily, from an adjacent hallway also sending blaster fire at them, a hidden weapon was waiting for a clear shot. Once the Gen’dai appeared in the soldier’s scope, a cacophonous boom rang through the freighter’s halls over the carnage. The AMR’s shot would sail forth at a blistering speed towards the Gen’dai in hopes of blowing them apart with an explosive shot.

 

[Neriah Calven]

Tag: Acier Moonbound

"Do it."

Once again, matter of factly, Neriah just spoke. Her gaze focused on Acier's grip around his hilt. It was a familiar sensation. Feeling. Neriah had felt that way. Specifically about Kirie There had been plenty of nights where that feeling had been the only one that had kept her warm at night. But now? Nothing manages to keep her warm.

"I won't fight you. I won't stop you. Most of the Acolytes would kill each other. None would miss me."

Even now, as she paced behind Acier, letting her gaze travel across the corridors, Neriah just held her hands behind her back, clutching her diary in both hands as she stepped behind him. Her gaze flickering around at the slighest movements as she sighed.

"I told Arris, exactly what I'm about to tell you. I want to die. I don't deserve to live. I lost that right when I failed my Master. The Jedi won't accept me. And I'm too pathetic to live alone. I'm a coward."

One might have wondered what Neriah's game was. Why she was talking to Acier about this. But he was different to the other Acolytes. How exactly? She couldn't quite figure that out.

"I owe nothing. Have nothing. No-one will care. Warmth. Joy. Life. None of it is mine. Not even anger. Wrath. It's all ran out. I'll be forgotten. How it should be. So hurry up, and get it over with. Arris couldn't go through with it. Maybe you can."

She was a survivor. Whether she liked it or not. Whether she wanted to survive or not, Neriah's body always reacted without her mind's wishes. Without her heart's wishes. She might as well have been a passenger in a body that didn't want to listen to her. Either way, it was another view into the psyche of the Ex-Padawan who had become so very broken. Who had lost control of her life and doubted she'd ever get control of it again.

​

 

[Shyra Kessai]

Tag: Open
Objective 1

"Come on! Breathe! Stay with me!"

Cries and screams echoed throughout the air of the capital, as smoke and fire spewed through the air. Heat radiating all over the surroundings, as a single man repeatedly attempted to perform CPR on a bleeding body, huffing and puffing as the smoke clung to his face. Even stuck to the inside of his lungs as he kept pushing. Over and over again...

"I ain't a doctor...but ain't you suppose to stop the leakin' first?"

A pale index finger suddenly shot in front of the man's view, the sounds of chains jingling over the panted breaths, pointing directly at the stubs of where an arm should be, where the "patient's" life blood was oozing out of. What was their relationship to the man trying to save them? Brother? Son? Cousin? Uncle? Friend? None of it mattered to her as she crouched down, resting her arms against her knees as she watched with curiosity, whilst the man just started at Shyra in utter confusion.

"I...What are you...Just...Forget it. Help me! We can still sav-"

"Nope."

"...What?"

"Nope. Saving isn't really my...thing, y'know? Pain makes us stronger. If he dies, he dies. Ain't my fault. Ain't yours. He was just weak."

"You...You're insane! He's...I don't...want him to be in pain! I-..."

"Oh. In that case, I can put him out of his misery."

The man stared in utter disbelief, as Shyra pushed herself up to her feet, the jangling of chains following her movements as she made her way over towards the bleeding near-corpse, before raising her foot, and ending the suffering of the oh-so poor unfortunate soul, before her gaze flickered over towards the man.

"...Looks like you're in pain as well. I can put you out of your misery."

She pushed her hands together, letting the sound of her knuckles crack echo around them, before Shyra stepped closer. One thing she was slowly learning was that not everyone could deal with the pain. Not every could survive it. Not everyone could last it. And as one of the few who could survive pain and suffering, it was her job to to "aid" those who couldn't.

​

 

[Acier Moonbound]

Location: Calipsa - Calipsa Estate

Equipment:
Acolyte Robes| Lightsaber | Cybernetic Arm

OBJECTIVE 1 - LIFE DAY​

Neriah spoke up again and Ace stopped. She'd told him to 'do it', meaning she'd read him earlier. Her confession kept spilling out behind him, of worthlessness, the desire to be ended. She sounded just like Reina. Ace listened the way you listened to a collapsing structure: alert, furious, refusing to let it fall on you.

"Enough."

The word cut through like a blade. He didn't turn at first. Didn't raise his lightsaber. The massacre around them dulled to background noise as he held still.

"And I'll tell you what I told Arris." He continued, voice low and controlled. "I didn't ask. Keep your trauma to yourself. Or save it for someone who cares."

Then he turned, just slightly. Not sympathy. Not anger. Assessment.

"And don't confuse restraint for mercy." Ace added quietly. "I will kill you if it comes to it. Just not today. For now, shut up and live with it."

He turned away, decisively, cutting off any response as he moved forward down the corridor, leaving it very clear on where she stood.
Ace registered the escape door a half-second before it gave way.

Then he noticed it. The wallpaper's imperfection. Suddenly, Nobles spilled out in a rush of silk and panic, shoving past one another, abandoning bags, servants, dignity. Ace didn't pursue them. He watched instead, the old man barking orders, the servant left behind, the door dragged shut with trembling hands.

Then it exploded inward. Ghruna came through like a living battering ram, the man in her grip still alive just long enough to scream before she used him again. Bodies collided. Bones broke. The corridor became a mess of limbs and blood and sound.

Ace's jaw tightened. Not because he was horrified, but because the violence was senseless. She grunted at him, already turning back toward the route she'd butchered open, uncertain whether to hold it or press on. The question hung there, unspoken.

"Block it." Ace said to her, sharp and immediate. "Collapse it properly. No one in, no one out."

Then Ace's dark eyes settled on Neriah, and with a jerk of his head, he motioned for them to continue.

Shortly, the pair would finally arrive into the throne hall as the echoes finally died. Varin sat at the center of it.

Seated on the patriarch's throne, blood trailing from his side, helm removed, mace resting against the chair as if this were an ending rather than a battlefield. The air around him felt heavy, compressed, like something immense had passed through and left a vacuum behind.

Ace slowed but didn't stop. His lightsaber remained lit, low at his side, and he took in the scene once, wordlessly. Then his gaze settled on Varin, steady and unreadable.

"...You done 'basking' in glory?"

Neriah Calven | Varin Mortifer | Arris Windrun ​

 

[Arris Windrun]

OBJECTIVE ONE
Nearby: Ghruna | Acier Moonbound | Varin Mortifer | Neriah Calven | Madrona A’Mia | Valephor Crokell

When the cyborg's vision returned, the figure on the pillow was gone. All she saw were the results of her outburst - broken stone and shattered glass. She looked every which way to find her assailant. As soon as she did, they summoned a powerful push of the force, an invisible wave of power that crashed into her body. It sent her flying until she landed flat on her back.

She drew her other revolver, the one she hadn't yet fired.

The phantom spoke. "You are loud in the Force, Arris Windrun."

Her cybernetics began to work against her. She could sense the fear from her co-processor. A lack of control they thought they were rid of. Her legs wouldn't move, so she was locked on her back. Her left arm felt unresponsive; dead. Hell - she couldn't even sense it. The right arm began to move on its own, the one that held the loaded gun. It bent at the elbow, pointing the barrel's end towards exactly where the co-processor sat in her skull.

Arris breathed heavily.

"There isn't anywhere in this galaxy you can hide from us, and we're coming. Your power is not yours to wield. Your cybernetics belong to us when we will it."

It was indescribable... the fear she felt in that moment. As her finger began to slowly squeeze around the trigger. It was one thing to face death, but another to experience that moment so powerlessly. No confrontation. No decision. No way to fight back. She didn't want to surrender. She would've cried if her eyes had ducts.

The weapon discharged, but no slug escaped its chamber. Something possessed the weapon to misfire. The round exploded, and the others in the cylinder did with it; a hot flash of fire and a deafening blast; her hand was gone. It was a testament to the revolver's construction that it remained largely in one piece.

"We will call you, and you will answer. Or we will end you."

The figure vanished at the last syllable.

Whatever power held sway vanished, too, and Arris fell back against the floor and screamed.

 

[Tibera Jessen]

Location: "Mercy's End" Starport, Tapani sector.
Objective II: The Corral
Tags: Gillem

All at once things became much more quiet, fire was no longer raining down from on high, usually a good sign, but not now. If a sniper wasn't shooting, it means he was repositioning. With any luck, he was skittering off somewhere to hide. Unlikely, but a merc could dream! Pipedreams of peace aside, she needed to make a move and fast. More Sith would be coming soon.

The only way through was to barge into the tower and hope someone could extract her. There were some friends left in atmosphere, maybe they could salvage this pear-shaped op after all! Actually, that gave her an idea. One that, while a longshot, might just be enough to save her skin.

One of her contacts for the protection detail was a deadly Mandalorian who commanded quite a large force in the sector. A call to him wouldn't go amiss...

"This is Sergeant Jessen, calling in to Admiral Nyles Kote . I request a hot drop of droids on my current position. Have a pickup ready shortly after the drop! I have a score to settle with a sniper..

With that she ended their communication abruptly. There was no time to wait, she needed to keep pushing into the tower. In a mad dash, Tibera made her way up the stairs to the double doors of the building. Breaching the door was probably the best bet to disrupt any defenders inside. No time to plan it all out though, just act on instinct. Instinct was what got her this far, that and a healthy dose of luck!

Tibera kicked in the door, firing several quick shots from her blaster. Sad thing was she was probably still outgunned even with her hand cannon. Every shot was a wild blast, aimed in the general direction of an adversary as she ran. It was hard to find good ground, not much here that was made blasterproof. Splinters flew threw the air and chunks of masonry clouded vision on both sides. Screams, shouts, and bangs erupted intermittently across the battle, making it a chaotic mass of plasma and death.

 

[Mercy]

Tags: Lysander von Ascania | Naniti

Mercy listened quietly, first to Naniti and then to Lysander.

But she was pleased. Even if the grim paint on her face didn't show her happiness or joy, it was radiating out of her eyes. The bleed of amber in her eyes, inspired of passion, though it also made her look murderous. Joy and murder went hand in hand with her anyway. So it was difficult to really get a beat on what Mercy was feeling at the best of times.

"My oh my. Aspiring Lords and so bloodthirsty already." The tone at least was approving. "I have to give this one to..."

The smile turning sharper, a little game of it, as she dangled the prospect in front of them.

"Naniti. I like the murder in your words, the lack of care... a woman to my heart. You get the honor of leading the first charge." The sharp smile suddenly became hungry. "And you can execute your plan. Before you board..." Tone turned sweetly. "...you will kill our allies of convenience, before they can become a problem for us."

Then she shifted towards Lysander.

"But don't think I don't hear the wisdom in your words, Von Ascania. I like the cut of your jib. The next battle? I will call on you. And you can lend your insight when it is being planned."

Mercy was described as many things. Psychotic, crazy, murderous, a rampant schutta and horrible influence.

But now Lysander and Naniti got to see another side to her. One that inspired loyalty in those around her, from Arris Windrun to Quinn Varanin to beyond. She was never greedy when it came to helping her allies, her friends, or giving them opportunities to shine and become stronger, better.

"Ah, hold that thought." She raised a finger and turned away from them.

A moment later a new screen opened up on the console.

It had the image of Madrona A’Mia after Mercy called her up.

"Darling, I just realized something... you do recall our agreement, yes? The force-sensitive children for the Covenant? I'd hate to think it slipped your mind and they'd vanish... without a trace."

 

[Naniti]

Objective II
The Siegemother

Lysander's word held a usefulness to them. Reason. Mercy was inclined to favor the more ruthless and final option, however. And naturally that made it the Togruta's problem to deal with. Somehow. There really was no winning when it came to dealing with people like Mercy. Then again, gaining favor with them was a form of winning; after all, the more useful you were, the less likely you ended up being the one removed.

As for when the decision was made, the violet woman neither flinched nor smiled. Leading the first charge was hardly why she'd come along, but it could play well for her future. If she survived. It was always a question of survival in the end. "As you command." Before she boarded she was to deal with the pirates as well? That must imply some measure of authority to issue the command to the Sith fleet then.

Before any demands were expected of them, however, Mercy had something to tend to herself. A message for the Neti. Apparently a polite reminder for the other woman to... well, presumably capture the Force-sensitive children given the alternative was them 'disappearing.' Hopefully the implication was when they disappeared they were simply killed. What else could Mercy mean? What else would the Neti do? But if it were so simple then why so coy?

While Mercy spoke, Naniti glanced over at Lysander curious if he had any reaction to the statements. He knew the Neti for longer. To what extent the Togruta was unaware, but more than herself personally at any rate.

Lysander von Ascania | Mercy

 

[Varin Mortifer]

He felt their presence as they entered the throne room. He felt the frustration of Acier, and the way he swallowed his anger. Though no matter how much he tried to hide his folly, his sin, pride would always show. Not far after pride was always fury. It just would take time, the pressure would continue to build in him and he would eventually crack, Varin would be at the front row seat when that happened, until then Varin would wait and watch him.

Not far behind him was the aggression and mindlessly chaotic violent Ghruna. The scent of blood and anger that trailed off of her was thick. The trail of bodies she must have left in her wake must have been plentiful. To give into the bloodlust and bask in it, was truly a gift. She would make a great warrior. She was already on her way.

Trailing behind her almost absently walking over bodies, emotionless and broken. Neriah was emotionally dead inside. Blocking out all forms of emotion. It was pitiful. The cowardice that clung to her like a stench filled the room over the prior two. But, that did not mean she was weak in Varin's eyes. It is possible she were more dangerous than Acier or Ghruna. An emotionless killer. He had fought someone like her, they cut corners. They wanted nothing more than to end a confrontation quickly and hide away.

Disgusting…

Acier spoke, his voice cutting through the voices around the corridors. Spoke in His throne room in that tone. Varin's gaze fell to him. A soft scoff leaving his lips.

“You and Neriah were once Jedi?”

His deep voice trailed towards them as he glared, the glowing iris of his eye almost seeming to burn through the three of them.

“Surely, you have not forgotten that training already to just stop and watch around you.”

He shifted in the chair, his brow sweating from the deep wound. Its sting again radiating through his chest, reaching into his lungs like the grasp of death were trying to put him down but he endured, as he always had. The wound slowly began to close up, cauterizing itself finally. Bigger wounds were harder to heal.

“Look around you, acolytes. Tell me, does this truly look like glory to you? Does this look like a worthy war? Do we truly fight other warriors?”

He waited for a moment for them to speak, any generous speaker would. His eye fell to the mangled dead Jedi on the steps, shards of their partially bled crystal littered the floor not far at Acier's feet laid the mangled warped hilt of the Jedi's lightsaber.

“We only contributed to a slaughter. A culling. Guards, rulers, servants, men, women and children lay dead all around us. And you believe I would call that glory? You are incorrect.”

He slowly stood up, pulling his mace to him. Its weight grinding across the floor before it stopped. He rested his palm on it, almost leaning on it for support. He had lost a lot of blood, but he stood, not showing that he was greatly wounded, a lucky hit.

“Arris never responded to my confirmation. Their ruler lies in his own grave now.”

He stepped over the Jedi as he walked towards them, the wings slowly sinking back into his body, the horn doing so as well. His ruined helm now loosely clung in his free hand. He towered over the two prior Jedi, and met Ghruna face to face.

“Lets not waste her time, and try to find her. I don't leave anyone behind.”

He walked past him, the corridors still warping back and forth between his memories and the current, some of the decor and walls taking the form of his home.

“I would have words with her and Mercy about this mission.”

He did not look back at them as he spoke, leaning on his mace like a crutch as he wandered down the halls.

Acier Moonbound | Ghruna | Neriah Calven | Arris Windrun​

 

[Anet Raine]

OBJECTIVE THREE
Tags: Olana | Kirie | Riffraff Ranat | Skael the Patient

With crossed arms over her chest, Anet tapped her foot impatiently as the ranat rattled on. Oddly, she had already forgotten about the bird. It was strange, but she lacked the awareness to question it. No, all attention was on Riffraff.

Well, not all. She glanced Kirie's way not once but twice. The two acolytes hadn't crossed paths since their incident in the Red Library. The scholar had heard she went off-world for a while. It seemed everyone was being pulled to Nar Shaddaa except her.

"Oh c'mon, you sayin' yer afraid of puttin' your weird little magic tricks to use on some actual work. Are we gonna have a problem? You too good for digging out the ground for a foundation? Cuz that's first, and if you're not willing to give it a go I can always make sure Mercy gets my report stating as much."

Her neck jerked back when Mercy was mentioned. Riffraff's bluff was met with a raised brow.

Anet wasn't stupid. She knew a Sith Lord could kill her in an instant. Honestly, most Sith at the Academy could, but that didn't mean she had to fear a threat.

"Somehow, I doubt our great Triumvir cares to read a report." She added a little click of her tongue at the end.

Still... She didn't want to sit around and do nothing all day. She looked to Kirie again, then at Olana, and finally, when her eyes returned to Riffraff, she shrugged.

"And how exactly will my 'weird little magic tricks' be of use to you, hmm?"

 

[Vexorion]

​

[]

Torture Me - Davey Suicide​

Objective: 1 - Life Day
Tag: Open

Vexorion guided his daughter through the hidden corridors beneath the city, passages older than the regimes that pretended to rule above them. The walls sweated mineral dampness and whispered with the afterimages of lives erased, their geometry subtly wrong in ways that bent the eye and unsettled the mind. He moved with ritual patience, one hand brushing sigils carved by hands long since dust, the other hovering close to her shoulder; not to restrain, but to anchor. She followed without complaint, small boots splashing softly where condensation gathered, her presence a fragile warmth against the corridor's glacial memory.

The corridors collapsed into a throat of stone and rust, disgorging them into the sewers where the city's waste and sins converged. Black water crawled along the channel like a living thing, breathing out fumes that tasted of rot and old lies. Pipes groaned overhead, their vibrations echoing like distant, muffled screams. It was here, amid the stench and the darkness, that she finally spoke.

"You took a long time finding me," she said, not accusing, just stating a fact that had weighed on her in the dark. Her eyes searched his face, reflecting the faint, sickly light as if trying to measure the distance between abandonment and intention.

He did not stop walking. "It takes time," Vexorion replied, his voice low, steady, carrying through the sewer's vast hollow. "Ripping secrets from the minds and mouths of bad people isn't always easy."

He said it as one might explain weather or gravity, an immutable truth of the universe. The water rippled as if disturbed by something beneath its surface, responding to the quiet certainty in his tone. She absorbed his words in silence, nodding once, as though this explanation fit neatly into a worldview already shaped by fear and endurance.

They moved on together, their reflections stretching and warping across the oily surface of the sewer flow. Above them, the city lived on, ignorant and safe in its ignorance, while below, something vast and patient listened to every footstep. Vexorion felt it coil its attention around them, curious rather than hostile, and tightened his grip on his daughter's hand just enough for her to feel it. In that moment, the horror of the depths seemed almost secondary; not because it was diminished, but because it had recognized him, and allowed him passage.

The Sith Assassin slowed, the sewer's distant echoes folding inward as he turned to his daughter, his silhouette fracturing in the warped light like something half-remembered. "When I get you back to my ship," he said quietly, each word settling with deliberate weight, "you stay hidden and out of sight until I return." His gaze softened, not with warmth, but with priority. "You were my first concern. That never changed."

The darkness seemed to lean closer as he continued, voice dropping to a near whisper. "We will speak more of our reunion, of everything that was taken and everything that remains, but not yet." Somewhere far above, a presence stirred, unaware it had already been marked. "There is one final person I must visit," he finished, and the sewers trembled as if they understood exactly what that meant.

 

[Gillem]

GILLEM

Gillem waited towards the back of the room as the few pirates he had with him were stuck in their fire fight. Either these men and women were to drunk or overindulgent on the spice to shoot straight and react properly, Gillem did not know. What he did know was somehow, this lone mercenary burst into the room letting off shots like a mad-man. Firing at anything that moved while they ducked for cover bolts and slugs shooting around them and over their cover.

Gillem sat on the railing as the bolts whizzed by him, patting his pocket for his pack of cigarettes.

“Well….hell.”

He grumbled as he found his empty pack. He looked at the dead pirate that laid beside him and quickly grabbed his cigarettes.

“Appreciate it, boss.”

He lit the end and took a deep inhale as the gunfire died, quietly letting out an exhale.

“Alright, all y'all have fired enough! It's clear you all can't shoot straight.”

He quickly drew his revolvers and fired six quick shots, dropping the last of the pirates who were standing in the confusion.

Several thuds later and the room was quiet.

“Now. Come on out. I'm a fair man. I won't shoot. Not yet at least.”

Gillem was many things but dishonest was never one of them.

His boots tapped the floor as he slowly walked over his guns trained on the intruders location.

“Quite the display. But usually when you breach you have bodies with you.”

He stopped about twenty yards from them.

“Whad'ya say to a good old fashioned draw? Quick, clean and fair.”

He eased the hammers on his guns, still pointing at them.

“Winner walks out.”

Tibera Jessen​

 

[Lysander von Ascania]

Objective Two
The Covenant's answer to rising food costs
The Siegemother

Mercy | Naniti
Nyles Kote
​

As Mercy spoke, he stood motionless, letting the woman's words weave in the space between them. The selection wasn’t surprising; it wasn’t disappointing either. Deep down, it even resonated with one truth, that he was strongest as part of a whole, not its center. This was, in many ways, why he believed the Covenant to be so effective, even if he never dared to say it aloud.

So, the Togruta wasn’t given a crown, but a dagger and a stage. He understood the game which the Sith Lord played. That didn’t mean he could surrender his own moral architecture, shaped long before the Outer Rim ever called, layered as it was and, at times, inconvenient.

Only then did he incline his head, after Naniti spoke first. “Understood,” he said calmly. “You chose well.”

Naturally, an opportunity to work alongside Mercy in the future was welcomed; he’d spent years studying the nuances for such things, so the idea of putting his mind to work rather than only a blade was promising.

Given their shared experience in the field, he knew Naniti wouldn’t freeze when committed, and would be capable of issuing orders clearly. Lysander was also confident she’d handle close quarters well; sure, they might’ve pulled up to nearly every Life Day celebration in the galaxy recently, but they hadn’t missed a single training session either, and she'd proved herself time and again. On the flip side.. this also meant if anything went wrong, she would be the first to take blame. The first charge had a way of taking responsibility for any.. complications.

Then, there was a more curious chill as the image of A'Mia surfaced. Clearly, there were depths to this campaign Lysander hadn't anticipated when first setting foot in the Tapani sector. His time among the Neti, akin to a sister, made it easy to understand the outcome of these children. Or so he believed. Planting seeds for the future, to put it lightly. For those without the 'gift'.. maybe some mysteries were best left unexplored.

Both hands came together, one resting over the other, as his violet companion's attention brushed against him. Lysander turned his head to meet her gaze; he understood the question there, but chose that moment to elevate her before the task ensued.

“You’re ready." His chin lifted just a whisper. "This suits you.”

 

[Ghruna]

"Block it." Ace said to her, sharp and immediate. "Collapse it properly. No one in, no one out."

Then Ace's dark eyes settled on Neriah, and with a jerk of his head, he motioned for them to continue.

Ghruna gave a sharp nod. There was an intensity to the young sith she hadn't seen at the club on Nar Shadaa.

She turned back to the hidden tunnel. She was barely a deep thinking, let alone a structural engineer. She wondered how she would bring it down without burying herself.

“We only contributed to a slaughter. A culling. Guards, rulers, servants, men, women and children lay dead all around us. And you believe I would call that glory? You are incorrect.”

Ghruna was brushing dust off her shoulders as she entered the throne room. Varin was giving a particularly dramatic observation of the skirmish.

She had found that saber rake something of a challenge herself, but it had hardly been a battle.

He passed Ghruna and left. She shrugged. The maldrani went to look for one of those light foils. It would make a fancy carving knife. Or a tooth pick for the brave.

 

[Neriah Calven]

Tag: Acier Moonbound

"I think this looks like a lot of dead people."

Neriah said, rather matter of factly. Maybe Varin was just hard of sight, now that he was missing an eye. Who knows? She didn't pay much weight towards Acier's comments anymore. He talked big. They all did. None of them gave her what she wanted. It was something she'd slowly have to learn to accept, as she glanced at the corpses, as if it was just a regular day, even kicking out at one of the corpse's who had came close to her foot.

Even now however, Varin's voice was still a buzz. An annoying buzz. Like all of the other sounds that had echoed through the halls. The pain. The suffering. All of it had just came muffled. So as Varin attempted to puff out his chest, to act as if he was wiser and more knowledgeable than the others, which perhaps he was right, looking at Acier and Ghruna,

"Though honestly? I don't care. Dead is dead."

With that, she spun around on the heel of her foot, twisting her boot into the blood beneath her and made her way out of the room, keeping her hands held behind herself as she walked calmly and unflinching.

​

 

[Vexorion]

​

[]

Torture Me - Davey Suicide​

Objective: 1 - Life Day
Tag: Open

Vexorion slipped back into the Palace as one might slide a blade into a wound that had never fully healed, his passage through the hidden corridors silent and assured. These passages knew him now; their angles and false walls yielded without protest, stone seams parting like compliant flesh. The air was heavy with incense and old power, a perfume meant to lull conscience into slumber, but it only sharpened his awareness.

With each step, the Palace seemed to remember him in fragments, echoes of past trespasses, of blood once spilled and carefully forgotten, guiding him onward with an intimacy that felt almost conspiratorial.

The corridor gave way to a massive bedchamber, vast enough to feel hollow, its vaulted ceiling disappearing into shadowed frescoes of forgotten victories and sanctified lies. Pale light spilled across silken drapes and gilded pillars, pooling around a colossal bed where the occupant slept in unguarded stillness.

Vexorion halted at the threshold, his orange, cat-like eyes igniting in the gloom, pupils narrowing as they fixed upon the sleeping male. He knew that form too well, the rise and fall of the chest, the practiced serenity worn even in dreams; an architect of suffering wrapped in luxury and false absolution.

Something ancient and patient coiled within Vexorion's chest, not rage alone but a colder, more reverent hunger. Justice had long ago proven insufficient for what this man had authored; it was a language too clean, too merciful. What stirred now was the promise of wanton murder, of an ending that would not balance scales but shatter them entirely, staining the Palace with a truth it could never again conceal.

As Vexorion watched, the shadows leaned closer, eager witnesses to what might soon unfold, and the sleeping figure lay oblivious, dreaming peacefully at the edge of annihilation.

His voice slid from the shadows, soft as a blade drawn slow, "Wake up, Slave Master. Your hour has come, and the Palace will remember this moment longer than your breath."

Producing one of his lightsaber daggers, he added as he held the plasma blade to the exposed throat of the waking man. "You sought to steal the one thing I love in this galaxy, and for that sin I will savor killing you, Mr. Joki, until your titles rot into their proper names. If these nobles knew your past, they would thank me for cutting you loose from their House and employment, a mercy you never learned to give me or my dead wife."

 

[Acier Moonbound]

Location: Calipsa - Calipsa Estate

Equipment:
Acolyte Robes| Lightsaber | Cybernetic Arm

OBJECTIVE 1 - LIFE DAY​

Ace shut off his lightsaber as Varin started to talk. 'Jedi'. Ace didn't bother correcting the behemoth, that he wasn't a Jedi. He simply listened, gaze flicking once to the shattered crystal and warped hilt at his feet before lifting back to Varin's burning eye.

Either the sarcasm had gone clean over the man's head, or Varin had seized the moment to sermonize. Still, annoyingly, he wasn't wrong. This wasn't glory. It was a slaughter. And the fact that Varin didn't revel in that senselessness earned him, if nothing else, a sliver of respect.

Ace tracked him as he rose and moved past, noting the hitch in his step beneath the bravado. The way he leaned on the mace wasn't theatrical. Varin was injured... or close enough to matter.

He let Ghruna drift off without comment. Ace had clocked Neriah's casual kick at a corpse earlier. He almost said something. Almost told her to show some measure of respect for the dead. But the thought died before it reached his mouth. Respect didn't exist for someone that hollow. It would've been wasted breath.

When the throne room finally emptied, Ace exhaled slowly through his nose and followed after Varin at a measured pace. Reflecting on what Varin had said earlier, about not leaving anyone behind, a huff escaped his nose.

"You think Windrun wouldn't leave you behind if you weren't answering your comm?" He asked.

Arris Windrun | Neriah Calven | Varin Mortifer | Ghruna​