Skirmish Where Shadows Linger | THR & LS vs GE & BSS

[Spirit of the Dawn]

Darkness blooms across the CORE in the aftermath of the GALACTIC EMPIRE’S rise to power. Agents of the light rise to meet them, but so too do the denizens of the deepest dark. Criminal Syndicates who once struggled under the oppressive weight of law now find themselves operating with impunity in the shadow of the EMPIRE. If the forces of good are to stand against the coming tide, they must overcome their differences and unite against this great enemy.

Following the BLACK SUN SYNDICATE’S decisive attack on the HIGH REPUBLIC, a member of the the HIGH COUNCIL, Kyric Karis, has been captured by the enemy and taken aboard the SEPULCHRE; the seat of the notorious DARK SIDE ELITE. There, Knight Karis discovers the missing senator of Eshan, Feridade Parthi. The Emperor’s Chosen move in tandem to transport the two prisoners of war to the EMPEROR, but all hope is not lost.

Seers Henna Ashina, Jannik Morlandt, and Romi Jade have witnessed the battlecruiser’s passage for the planet BYSS, where Darth Solipsis awaits within his newly constructed CITADEL. Their visions reveal not only the imprisoned JEDI KNIGHT, but information on the elusive PROJECT: STARDUST…

Objective 1: Tempest of Blades

A strike team of Jedi assembled from within the ranks of the Lightsworn and the Jedi Order move in unison to waylay the Sepulchre while it stops to refuel in the final leg of its journey. The Jedi are tasked with collecting any and all information pertaining to the Galactic Empire’s war effort and the looming danger of PROJECT: STARDUST.

Dark Side Elite stand ready to face the forces of the light. Solipsis’ loyal champions call forth profane might in the defense of their flagship, leaving nothing to chance.

Face the Emperor’s champions with saber in hand and send them screaming to the Nether.

Objective 2: Eye of the Storm

While the brunt of the assault force engages the Dark Side Elite head-on, smaller teams infiltrate the Sepulchre in search of priority targets to cripple the ship of its key functions.

Storm the engine room, take the shield generator, and empty the prisons of captured Jedi not yet ready to abandon the fight. Every advantage must be claimed to defeat this galactic menace.

 

[Wymar]

P E N I T E N T
THE GALACTIC EMPIRE
Battle Armor [MODIFIED] | Lightsaber
GE | OPEN
FOCUS | Kyric​

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BUT WHERE'S THE GANG NOW?​

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THE SEPULCHRE
902 ABY
GALACTIC EMPIRE​

The crackling shards of lightning emerged from his gloved finger tips into the Jedi, to draw the pain, the darkness and the hatred from this battered vessel so doggedly holding unto the delusions of light. Hope. Compassion. The two pillars of which the Jedi guided their hand. It was superficial damage at best, but wretched in the sharp tangs of pain that enraptured his mortal essence, the electricity felt from the hairs on his skin down to the nerves and muscles that clung to his skeleton.

<"Your crusader cult. Where are their bases of operation? Who is among their ranks?"> He interrogated, his voice muffled and scratchy with the interference of the vocoder within his armet. His armor having since been repaired and upgraded since their duel on Arkania but nevertheless crafted in a knightly styling reminiscent of the great houses of Serenno though still its ebon coated foundation of Imperial Knight battle armor was still present, the forlorn and lost Iron Sun of the old empire etched into his chest. A remnant of what remained beneath the armor.

He nodded a few times before he splayed his fingers again, sending another stream of violet electric shards toward the Jedi, lofting his chin in disgust to the pathetic, beaten knight for the few agonizing seconds before he lowered his hand again. <"There is no hope of saving them...if you think the Alliance will break so easily, what makes you think your friends will stand stalwart under such scrutiny, Karis?"> He said, crouching down near the knight as he laid strapped to the interrogation table.

<"If you will not serve the Empire by your own will...I will see to it that you spend eternity bent at the knee to the Dark One."> He assured.

 

[Kylass Starhaven]

OBJECTIVE: Free Feridade Parthi
CURRENT LOCATION: En-Route Hyperspace - Cipactli-Class Assault Cruiser, the Voidranger
ROGUE LANCE STRIKE TEAM TAGS: @-TBD
OPPONENTS TAGS: @-TBD

The R9-Z9 Astromech Droid, Ninez, clattered a chorus of beeps and pitched chirps as he was raised into the astromech dock inside the old Delta-7Jedi Starfighter. The Starfighter was a relic of the early Galactic Alliance New Jedi Order class of Jedi Starfighters. Battles from another life-time within the Jedi Order of the Alliance had left scorched and gauged scarring on its arrowhead bow. Most of the green paint had been sheared off and left the Jedi Starfighter’s barren gray plating exposed. Only the faint outline of the Jedi Order sigil refused to fade entirely, faintly still brandishing its stencilled arc and ignited saber emblems. Ninez barked another rumbling of electronically synthesized protestations and counter-arguments as his long time master, the Jedi Lightsworn Kylass Starhaven rounded the nose of the Jedi Starfighter.

“I am aware of the brute force nature of our entry vector, Ninez,” replied Kylass, running her hand against the hull of the Jedi Starfighter while her darting silvery eyes tracked her the numerous pre-flight checks. “I would much rather you go ahead and boot up Astromech Droid Navigations Systems and prepare the Deflector Shield Generator and Sensor Array.”

Kylass walked up to where the R9 Astromech was slotted into an armored socket and ended her hands caressing inspection by tapping the droid on its swivelling head. “Should I need more tactical analysis, old friend, your counsel shall be requested,” said Kylass with a tilt of her head and a raise of a grey ashen brow. Ninez belched a single rude deep note and turned his head away. Kylass frowned and stuck a gloved finger at the droid. “Language,” Kylass said and turned away from her Jedi Starfighter to scan the hangar bay of the Cipactli-Class Assault Cruiser, the Voidranger.

Assembled in busy groups around their Starfighters were the Jedi Lightsworn who had been arranged underneath her in a new command named: Rogue Lance. Kylass took a long breath when she eyed the members. This was her first command in a long, long time. The Arkanian was in her fifties, despite her mid-30’s appearances, product of her Arkanian lineage, but it still meant she had amassed a life-time of war already.

Still, a pang of unease struck her. She had come to the Lightsworn as a vagabond, a rogue Jedi, divorced from the Order, and lost with the death of her Atrisian Jedi Master. Here and now however, she had been recalled to the front once more. First at the Invasion of Arkania and now here, she had to shed her comforts as a hermit and return to what the duty of a Jedi had always been, to serve.

Kylass crossed her arms over her grey Jedi Robes and Templar-Class Jedi Temple Guard Armor’s white and gold plating. She marched forward into the center of the ring of Rogue Lance member starfighters.

“Rogue Lance! Assemble,” shouted Kylass, announcing the beginning of the debrief.

As she waited for the members of the strike team to file in, Kylass glanced to the side and towards the flurry of beaming bands of white and blue of hyperspace outside the hangar’s shield. They were approaching the refueling station the Imperial Command Ship the Sepulchre was docked in. On board was High Republic Jedi Knight Kyric , efforts of the Master Seers Henna Ashina and Romi Jade had sensed it as so. This would be a baptism of fire for Rogue Lance and herself, her command would be tested severely. Kylass looked back into the hangar and eyed her strike team.

“Let’s begin then,” said Kylass, beginning the debrief. “This will be a deep-strike and rescue mission. While the Imperial Command Ship is docked into its refuelling sequence, the Voidsranger will make an abrupt hyperspace exit. Rogue Lance will be scrambled. Fight your way through the Starfighter Screen and get to the Command Ship. Form combat pairs or trio’s, keep tight and hit hard. Once inside we’ll coordinate a search. Jedi Master Seers will provide us with Battle Meditation and Sensory Guidance in the search for imprisoned persons.”

Kylass stopped and surveyed Rogue Lance one more time.

“What we do in life, Lightsworn, echoes in the Force for eternity,” said Kylass. “Let us not disappoint. May the Force be with you all.”

Kylass nodded a salute and unfurled her crossed arms. “To your Starfighters, Rogue Lance!” she barked and spun on her heel to march back to her Jedi Starfighter.

Reaching into her armor’s utility belt, she removed the face plate and locked it over her visage, a snapping hisses announcing its vacuum sealing. As the canopy slid open on her Jedi Starfighter, Kylass climbed aboard and jumped into the cockpit. She flicked on start-up sequences and checked her Starfighter’s monitor systems and gauges. All that was left was for the Flight Command aboard the Voidsranger to call out the warning for incoming hyperspace exit.

Kylass closed her eyes from behind the face plate and threw herself into the guidance of the Force, engaging a battlemind meditation with the amplification of the meditation band circlet around her armored coif. She reached out into the Force and opened herself to its ebbing and flowing currents. Thoughts dimmed, memories of battles past quieted, and her nerves tempered it’s reflexes.

Rogue Lance and Kylass would soon find out what they were made of.

​

​

DIV BY Braze​

 

[Krasskorr the Maw]

​

The Dark Side Elite served as the foundation of the Galactic Empire's strength, yet now they had been reduced to mere guards for a few prisoners. These captives weren't even significant in the eyes of Krasskorr's limited understanding; they were just Jedi, plentiful throughout the galaxy.

For every one that was eliminated, ten more would emerge, claiming to be the living embodiment of the Light Side of the Force.

A true catch for the Elite might have been the Chancellor of the Galactic Alliance or the Chair of the High Republic's economic council, but unfortunately, they would have to wait until the Emperor deemed the situation satisfactory.

A massive claw pressed the button on the terminal while the door to his room stood open, granting him access to the corridor of the SEPULCHRE.

His animalistic instincts and an insatiable hunger for everything around him had led to his separation from the other members; from the most insignificant criminals to the most esteemed nobility, no one was safe from his appetite.

There wasn't much to occupy his time on the vessel since they had halted at a nearby Imperial refueling depot. Perhaps once the Imperial Garrison was distracted he would make his way down to the cell-block and rip the head off of Kyric .

 

[Meliant]

The Sepulchre​

Objective: Harass Coworker

The doors to the interrogation chamber opened quite suddenly, and Meliant came prowling into the room. He had the distinct posture of a bored person looking to cause a little trouble - and he only had to follow the stench of cooking Jedi to find a pot worth stirring.​

​

"Wymar. What a lovely helmet you have now. Put me in touch with your armorer when you have a chance?" ​

​

Sardonic as usual. Meliant languidly crossed the room and posted himself comfortably against a wall, arms folded across his chest.​

​

"Oh, I didn't mean to interrupt. Pretend I'm not here."​

​

​

Wymar Kyric​

 

[Tydeus of Tion]

OBJECTIVE: My Own.

The boy from Tion sat at the controls of the heavily modified TIE Avenger as they made a combat takeoff from the hangar of the Lightsworn cruiser.

He did not care for their speeches or their objectives. He came for one reason and one reason alone: Kyric needed his aid. And he would not deny help to one of the only friends he had left in this galaxy.

"Fighter screen shouldn't be a problem," Tydeus glanced at the two other occupants of the cramped cockpit, Tansu and her boyfriend, Talsin. "Stygian triprismatic polymer coating."

Turned out Talsin's story was not dissimilar from Tydeus' own. Only he'd managed to hang onto his wealth and titles and land. Meanwhile, some fool in the Confederation was turning Tydeus' homeworld into a penal colony. He would deal with Her later.

After he saved Kyric.

After he killed Kaine.

Then he could save whatever was left of his homeworld.

"Here we go."

The Sepulchre loomed ahead, just as expected, and swarms of fighters were being disgorged to meet the sudden ambush. Tydeus pushed on the throttle, accelerating to maximum speed as they whipped down through a horde of screaming starfighters undetected, a tiny black blur reflecting sensors in the vastness of space.

Tydeus didn't pause to take any shots at them, leaving the Jedi to sort that out on their own as he piloted the TIE down into the swiftly approaching hangar bay. Crossing through the energy field restraining the vacuum of space just as another imperial craft took off, Tydeus brought them into a landing approach. The imperials wouldn't know what to make of the TIE Avenger, after all it sure looked like one of their own craft. It would buy them a moment. So would Tydeus' outfit, clad in the simple flight suit of a TIE pilot, with duraplast plating over the top. He supposed he looked more like an Inquisitor than he cared to admit.

The TIE Avenger settled onto the hangar's deck. Tydeus looked between Talsin Lota and Tansu Treicolt before he pushed the button to extend the ramp and open the rear hatch.

"Remember, I'm not here for any of their objectives. I'm just here for Kyric. Ready?"

The ramp lowered.

Soon: Meliant | Lord Creuat | Krasskorr the Maw

 

[Aiden Porte]

OBJ: 1
Approaching Sepulchre
Tags: Open @High Republic


The Sepulchre hung in the void like a predator at rest, its hull bristling with the silent menace of turbolaser batteries. Even as it refueled, the dreadnought radiated confidence, as if daring anyone to strike it. Through the transparisteel of the shuttle viewport, Aiden Porte fixed his gaze upon it. The Force churned around the vessel, restless and foul, like the breath of a cavern beast disturbed from slumber.

He drew in a slow breath, let it out. His fellow Jedi moved with purpose behind him, checking gear, whispering to others. Aiden remained still, letting his awareness sink into the current of the Force. He could feel them waiting aboard the Sepulchre. The Dark Side Elite. Champions forged in shadow. They were not hunters tonight. They were guardians, shields of Solipsis' will.

"Rescuing Kyric is our top priority. We will not leave him here to die."

His hand brushed the hilt at his side. A weapon, yes, but also a promise. The Empire would not bury the truth in silence; not while Jedi still stood.

The words of their commander for the mission speaking to them.

"Remember your training. Remember your purpose. The Dark Side will try to twist you, break you. Do not let them.

Aiden nodded to him then looked back to the Sepulchre, its shadow looming larger as the shuttle closed in. His jaw set, his thoughts narrowed to the moment that would come soon.

 

[Ceton]

The Paladin of Glory was being dispatched. Sent towards the Galactic Empire. He was all for this fight. For pushing back the dark.

“Dark Side Elite, huh?” Ceton spoke, offhandly to Aiden. “You find the missing Jedi, I’ll handle the darkness?” The bandolier with his three sabers was all primed.

“I can bring their attention to me, and that should be enough for the ones who can sneak to do so.” The Yinchorri was ready to fight. He knew that the compassion for protecting Kyric and the other Jedi was going to lead him, it was going to send him exactly where he needed. And that would be here. Fighting these Dark Side Elites.

Aiden Porte

 

[Lorn Reingard]

​

Lorn moved like a shadow, his cloak pulled tight as he and his small strike team slipped through the access conduits of the Sepulchre. The massive ship hung above the refueling station, a predator at rest. Getting aboard had been anything but simple. Weeks of planning, coded transmissions from sympathetic smugglers, and more than one dangerous encounter with Imperial patrols had brought them here. Every step onto the flagship was fraught with risk, but it was the only option he would consider.

The Jedi Order couldn't allow Kyric to be paraded before the Emperor, nor the secrets of Project: Stardust to remain hidden. That's why Lorn had insisted they move before the larger assault. Others would come in fire and fury, a distraction meant to draw the Dark Side Elite into the open. But Lorn had chosen the quieter path, slipping his team into the beast's beating heart before its claws could close around them.

The metal under his boots thrummed with the ship's constant power. The air felt colder than most stations, sterile and damp, as if the Sepulchre itself breathed the dark side.

Lorn slowed the group, motioning for silence. He reached out with the Force, searching, hoping for a familiar flicker of light, Kyric's signature or perhaps the senator's. Instead, a tide of black water answered him. It pressed in from every corridor, oppressive and vast, drowning out the quiet flames he sought. The darkness was suffocating, a thousand unseen eyes pressing at the edges of his awareness. He drew back as if pulling his hand from fire.

"They are here," he whispered, his voice barely audible over the ship's low hum. "But the dark covers all. We'll find no easy trail." The strike team looked to him, some with fear in their eyes, others grimly determined. Lorn met each gaze, steady and unwavering, even as unease twisted deep inside him. He knew what awaited: champions of the Emperor, predators honed to carve through Jedi. But he had sworn himself to this cause, to Kyric, and to the fragile light still flickering in the galaxy.

He gestured forward, his cloak shifting. "Stay close. We find Kyric, we move fast. Before the storm breaks." With that, they pressed deeper into the Sepulchre, trespassers in the maw of the Empire's most terrible weapon.

@OPEN​

 

[Prowler II]

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ALIAS: GRAVEMIND
LOCATION: MEDBAY
OBJECTIVE: ???

Bathed in a cyan-green glow. A shadowy figure gazed apon the broken form of an elderly man. The mans body suspended by tubes and wires. A puppet on strings. Yet the puppeteer seemed absent in this instance. Prowler II , one of the Masters most faithful and trusted. Had been mortally wounded, a near causality of Arkania.

Pathetic.

A gloved hand rested on the thick glass pod. Fingers tapping slowly. The hooded figure leaned in close. " Your getting sloppy. My old, friend." His head shook negatively at the bacta tank.

He blinked away a shadow.

" So sloppy. Your no use to the Master, not like this. I could do you a favor..." Shifting away toward the control panel. He shook his head again. It was another phantom. Pushing it aside his cruel hands descended toward the power setting. Within his mindseye he could envision it clear as a neutron star.

Seething. His resolve sharpened and he...Blinked again. Another wraith.

PROWLER II

" HEEL!" Mouthed the silence.​

ALIAS: GRAVEMIND
LOCATION: KYRICS INTERRIGATION CELL
TAGS: Meliant Wymar Kyric

Entering the cell, GRAVEMIND cradled a object. Wrapped in the silk of a webweaver. " Wymar , PROWLER SENDS HIS REGAURDS. A, ah, blessing, I think he called it." His hands unwrapped the silk. It was alchemical. A dagger lined with deep green edges.

" Devaronian blood poison. " he paused lifting the blade up. Brandishing it. Admiring the symbolism and method of transformation it could invoke with its kiss. " Exquisite choice." He set the dagger down on a adjacent table carefully and backed away. Pivoting. He took his leave.

" At your hand. If you wished." Air hissing from his teeth




[OOC:] EXIT THREAD
​

 

[Brutalis]

A massive claw pressed the button on the terminal while the door to his room stood open, granting him access to the corridor of the SEPULCHRE.

Heavy foot falls sounded down the corridor. The hulking figure occupying much of the corridor space. On passers slowed and let the hunched savrip pass. His destination was the intelligence wing to be debriefed on a incoming mission. That was in till, the corridors blast door opened further down the hall. Revealing the equally mastodon form of Krasskorr the Maw .

Nictitating membranes blinked twice over his keen eyes. A long tongue flickered tasting the air and acknowledging the others presence. But Brutalis never stopped in his path. Not till he came closer and slowed his pace.

Yellow eyes scanning over the low over hang and width of the corridor.

He hissed, glaring at the space between Krasskorr and everything else. Enough average humanoid. " Yatuka bamohh " A claw pointed to the side. Brutalis gestured, casting one eye back as the others behind him to let him pass.

" mee bom bom lhonu " He added, hissing in huttese.

 

[Inosuke Ashina]

Retribution was inevitable.

Inosuke stifled his emotions to a forced calm. In their place, he exuded a storm of certainty. These conflicts were always personal when the adherents of the Dark Side met the Jedi who had sworn to destroy them. Now, however, it was even more so. They had taken the young warrior he'd watched grow up, taught, and had come to think of as his second son. The certitude quenched any rage or distress he might have felt; this wouldn't go unpunished.

Kyric's presence was a small flicker in an ocean of stygian. For a brief moment, Inosuke could feel him before the Dark Side drowned their fleeting connection. Around their broken thread, he could sense the intentions of Krasskorr the Maw , though he could neither recognize nor pin down the source. The Force was muddled here.

"I sense he is in danger," Inosuke announced from beneath his hood. It was obvious Kyric was vulnerable given the circumstances. However, the Master's implication would be clear to all who heard him. There was something more happening. Lorn was correct in their assertion to move quickly.

Two guards stood sentinel outside the entrance to the brig. Inosuke appeared down the cooridor from them, coming through a side door. Just as one of them began to shout, Inosuke raised a hand and seized every muscle in their bodies, choking the nascent yell. Fingers clenched into a fist, forcing the guards to slam into one another. Then, his closed hand opened halfway, waved towards the wall with a fluid flick of his wrist. Their armor thudded against the durasteel paneling as they were sent into the wall, their heads whipping back in unison to knock the consciousness from their bodies.

Inosuke approached the door, stepping around the two-man pile before it. It didn't open when he tapped the door control. A glance turned to the Lorn and strike team. He could have cut the door down with his saber, but it would render the concealment forfeit. Surely someone else had the skillset to get this door open?

_____________________________________________________

Lorn Reingard | OPEN
​

 

[Jerec Asyr]

Not a bad day for business, all in all, and not bad at a personal level either. Straightforward task list: Drop off a Black Sun shipment of refined ixetal cilona at the brig - a spice known for impairing Jedi abilities. Stick around to watch through various doors as various people electrocuted various other people. Feel some satisfaction and fulfilment. Say a few private words in memoriam for Quekko, the finest of first mates, murdered by Jedi forty years ago. Steel his face, not that anyone here could read Ithorian expressions. Wipe a tear from his eye, kind of a process for an ithorian. Adjust the shoulder straps and nutrient levels of his ysalamiri harness, because it was very nice not being around the Force and he'd gotten used to that on Springheel and the Dark Side Elite (despite being reliable customers with great taste in spice) were just Jedi with extra steps.

Surely someone else had the skillset to get this door open?

Jerec toggled the brig door.

This revealed Inosuke Ashina , Lorn Reingard , their strike team, and some incapacitated guards, and Jerec felt the most profound Life Day morning gratitude of his life. If he hadn't specifically been wearing a ysalamir to dodge the Will of the Force and suchlike things, he'd have thought the Force and its Will were being kind for once.

He drew down immediately with his standard sidearm, a multispectral radcannon, and started blasting at both obvious Jedi leaders. He also had a personal shield belt and a cortosis knife as matters of basic prudence around here, but those would take a second. Priority one was shooting.

 

[Koda Fett]

Seeing members of the syndicate aboard, it seemed the Black Sun had become rather intertwined with the Galactic Empire of late. Fett was busy collecting a score of credits after placing a batch of Alliance dissidents in the brig when the Jedi began their assault, thinking it best to slip out before the fighting reached him.

He would consider himself luckier than most, so when the doors opened to reveal two Jedi, the bounty hunter blamed Jerec's own misfortune instead.

Fett snatched at the blaster carbine hanging from his waist, firing from the hip as he withdrew the blaster pistol from its holster and took aim. Carrying his Force-nullifying yossubi gas, it mimicked the effects of a ysalamir around him.

Jerec Asyr - Inosuke Ashina - Lorn Reingard

 

[Darth Vinaze]

Darth Vinaze's reputation preceded him not because of his magnitude of power like the other Sith Lords of the galaxy, but because of his followers. How one became a follower of Vinaze was seldom seen, and what happened to a disciple after their initiation was a mystery, but over the years his nebulous cult had grown, shrunk, and grown again. Some said that his Sith scientists of Tash-Taral had escaped the fall of the Warlords of the Sith, or so the evidence suggested when the Jedi Council found his laboratory deep in the desert sands years later. Some said he had saved many of the Palpatinian Monks of Exegol, who had completed his training as an alchemist and introduced him to the prophecy of the Sith'ari that he had preached for so many years. In the wake of the Empire's fall to the dark side, many Imperial Knights of Fel had gone missing, rumored to be the ones who had not submitted willingly to the new Emperor, and were instead corrupted by evil in the shadows. The Jedi had accounted for a few of those knights when they had been slain defending the Prophet's battle meditation on Coruscant.

Now, Vinaze had a new disciple in his gaze, the likes of which he had seen before, but with so much more to promise. Da'Razel had immediately reminded the old Sith of his first apprentice, Kuric Taumin. Both men were the sort of warrior Devaron produced best, but they differed where it counted. Kuric had been trained as a true Sith, and had died like one: failing to usurp his master's place. He had been driven by nothing but lust, greed, and hatred. But Da'Razel had piqued Vinaze's interest in part because he carried himself in the opposite way. The Saint was devoted not to his own gain, but to the Church, utterly so. His natural strength was bounded by his ability to control himself, and from his lips sang the praises of the Dark Side. Vinaze had lived when the Ashlan Crusade burned its way through the Tingel Arm, fueling their fire with righteous faith in the Light. There was great power in it, and he believed that the Church of the Dark Side could replicate their fervor.

Thus, the Prophet came to the Saint while he slept, the realm of dreams serving as his message, where the Sith would appear closer to his true form...

Da'Razel.
I have borne witness to your works, to your faith.
You are a premier instrument in the symphony of the Dark Side,
your voice is a choir that sings hymn to Him, our most holy.
Your work on Archais has pleased not only I, but the Emperor.
I would have you be my eyes in a matter of great importance.
The stars have whispered to me of a plot to steal from us what we have rightfully gained,
The Son of the Sword.
The Jedi will try taking him back. I am certain of it.
Go and enmesh yourself with the Emperor's Elite,
of your passage be assured.
Be wary, for though they serve the Emperor not all are men of faith.
Show no mercy to the Jedi, and make no concessions to heretics or heathens.
Know that these Jedi have made a home in the shadows,
they may even have tasted the Dark Side,
and they fear it nonetheless.
The stakes have never been higher,
the Emperor's grand plans near fruition...


​

Continuing the story as Casi Braste ...

 

[Casi Braste]

Objective: TBD
Friends: Da'Razel
Opps: OPEN

It had been a whirlwind of events since her induction into the Elite. Coruscant, Tatooine, Archais, and more. She had bounced around the galaxy hunting the Jedi, surpressing that pang in the back of her mind that told her she couldn't do it, she couldn't fight the Jedi. But she had, and with each encounter she was growing more assured of herself, of her power. There was a reason it had been her plucked from the temple and brought to see the grim truth of the Force. Day by day, Casi Braste the Jedi Knight was giving way to Casi Braste, Imperial Enforcer.

The journey to Byss had offered her a chance to catch her breath, which she had taken to gladly retreat from the scrutinizing eyes of her comrades in a meditation chamber. She had struggled to find her focus in her fall to the Dark Side. Her Jedi training had long failed to keep her mind clear, even before she had joined the Empire. She knew that many of the other Elite meditated like the Sith, letting their hatred fester and boil and somehow become their strength. Yet to Casi it was not something she could harness. Her thoughts would drift to her master, to the sight of her body on the floor, torn by lightsabers, and Casi would be numb, not angry. She knew it was why she had struggled to bleed her lightsaber and finally settle in to her new place. But the numbness had given her one strength, the ability to put it all away and focus on what had to be done without wallowing in it. Here along in the meditation chamber, though, she shed a tear.

Her strained attempt to meditate was interrupted by turbulence of the ship. Alarms began to ring, along with the signal for the Sepulchre's resident squadron to take to their starfighters. She snatched her lightsaber off the floor in front of her and sprung to her feet, opening the meditation pod and swiftly exiting into the hall. Subordinates rush around, taking to their positions. She wondered if any of them knew what was going on, though she doubted it. They responded only to the blaring noise in their ears that told them it was time to die for the Empire.

Casi's stride broke into a jog. She wouldn't have time to return to her quarters if they were under attack, meaning she would be without her armor, or even her Jedi robes, instead having to sport her off-duty attire. She worried it might leave her vulnerable, gripping her lightsaber tightly. Rounding a corner in the labyrinthine halls of the ship she spotted the first person she felt might give her a straight answer.

He was dressed as a Priest of the Dark Side, not an uncommon sight prowling the halls of the Sepulchre. She never knew what business they had exactly, but to be aboard on the journey to the Emperor's sanctuary meant he was someone of note. Where had come from, and where was going, she couldn't know, but she stopped before him with a demand.

"You! Tell me what's going on, now!"

 

[Kyric]

Lightning arced over Kyric's body in waves of inescapable pain. Held aloft by a trio of durasteel locks clamped around his ankles from below, and remaining wrist from above, he could do little but struggle against the agony visited upon him each day by the Emperor's Elite. This wasn't Kyric's first stint in imperial bindings. Only a few short months ago did the young Jedi escape an imperial mining colony with the unintended assistance of Rhis Fisto. It appeared the Emperor's Executor took extra precautions this time around to avoid a repeat of their last encounter.

No stormtroopers stood guard over him, nor inexperienced student recently swayed to the whims of the Emperor. His captors were proven warriors of the Elite. Even Lord Creuat himself eked out time each day to stand watch over Karis, to taunt him in between bouts of dreaded pain.

Not the most ideal of circumstances for an escape.

Kyric gritted his teeth until the violet lightning finally ceased. Wymar's voice sounded hollow as he interrogated the Jedi. Devoid of the qualities one came to expect when speaking to another; monotonous and without warmth, he demanded information that Kyric knew better than to reveal. But how much longer could he last beneath the lash?

He shook his head weakly in answer.

The lightning began again. It bit into Kyric's ruined flesh like a ravenous beast. The scent of burning meat intermingled with ozone within the tiny chamber as the kiffar's body convulsed under the Dark Knight's power.

"I told you on Arkania," Kyric began, his body still shaking as the last of the electricity coursed through his system. "I ain't turnin' my back on nobody. I'll keep them safe until yer Lord strikes me down. Nothin' else to it."

A heartbeat after he finished speaking, the door to the chamber opened up and Meliant strode in. Kyric's gaze hardened to stone, his cerulean eye burning with cold fury as he stared into the Elite's empty helmet. Kyric strained against his bindings for the first time in days. The metal groaned in answer, and for a moment, it appeared he would shatter them entirely and lunge at the newcomer.

But he didn't.

The durasteel held strong and Kyric fell forward exhaustedly. He didn't look up as Gravemind entered the room. The figure's words carried with them a new danger—a greater pain in the form of a horrific toxin on the edge of a jagged blade.

Kyric remained still, breathing slowly in an effort to preserve what little strength he had left.

---

Direct Tags: Wymar | Meliant | Prowler II
Fellow Prisoner Somewhere in this Block: Feridade Parthi
HELP: Inosuke Ashina | Lorn Reingard | Aiden Porte | Kylass Starhaven

 

[Jace Rhane]

​

Jerec Asyr l Inosuke Ashina l Koda Fett l Lorn Reingard​

He hated ships.


Not for any particular reason, it was really the lack of color that did him in. Everyone was the same. Triangles, sharp angles, gun-metal-gray. Not a lot of people really wanted to decorate the inside of a ship. It made sense, in some aspects. Say, the engine room didn't require anything, but the hallways could at least do with some sprucing now and again....

And he ESPECIALLY hated being kept in a brig.

Thus, when the shooting, explosions, cutting, and hush-hush clandestine black ops style rescue started, he was rather glad to be on the receiving end of the rescue. Even if they weren't directly here for him. Doors were opening, things were moving, but his connection to the force had been neutered. Luckily, Jace Rhane had one thing they didn't expect him to have:

The lid of a toilet that he'd ripped off in the (star wars roleplay) chaos. And he was creeping around, when an Ithorian was using some of sort of whacky-doo pistol to shoot at his compatriots. Somewhat hap-hazardly, somewhat put together, the toilet lid came screeching for the back of the Ithorian's head.

"Have at thee!"

Cried the drugged-up slightly Jedi.

 

[Sars Sarad]

---

The Sepulchre was immense, signifying the dominance of the Galactic Empire. Even by the standards of a Battlecruiser the ship was impressive.

As the Black Sun had begun to operate amidst the sanctions of the Galactic Empire his presence here was synonymous with that agreement. Unlike other Syndicate members; Bounty Hunters, Mercenaries, etc he hadn't lingered near the Detention Block or other areas. For his own reasons he lingered near the Hangars intent on making a departure once the Command Ship had finished refueling.

It was while he was waiting that he sensed a presence, a presence he was familiar with from Sepan 8; Lorn Reingard .

Like that force had done innumerable times in the past it set his mind to buzz. It began as a sensation but grew in potency. Once Sarad had connected with a presence via the force he could find it, like an invisible tether connected him to it. Obviously distance played a factor but here and now, so close his eyes almost widened with surprise.

Turning away he would have left the Hangars, a massive set of pneumatic doors hissing wide to permit his exit.

Entering the corridors of the Sepulchre he could sense the direction he had to move, like a path was opening for him taking him on the most expedient route.

It wouldn't take long until he found him.

There was a moment where Sarad centered his mind, unaware of any other confrontation the Sword of Shiraya might currently find himself in as he reached out...

"I can feel you, Jedi; can you feel me?"

...at his best he was capable of erecting potent mental defenses but Sarad was hardly a telepath; conveying a message to someone he was familiar with was the extent of his ability in that area of expertise. Nonetheless he wanted Lorn to feel him coming, he still felt the two of them had unfinished business.

 

[Tohu]

Cold shivers slithered down Tohu's spine, siphoning the blood from his face and seizing his body into a frigid stranglehold. With sheer defiance, he mustered a wild, challenging grin at Koda Fett as the number one bounty hunter sauntered past him like he didn't exist. Only when the jingle of the Mandalorian's spurs dwindled in the distance did the apprehensive grip relinquish its hold.

In its stead, a spark lit up in the void and ignited an inferno. Invigorated by the yearning hunger to snatch Koda's mantle, Tohu drew his vibrosword and darted towards the commotion where his greatest challenge awaited; to test himself against a Jedi and their ilk, to become the greatest there ever was!​

Corin Kaze