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

[Tansu Treicolt]

All the excitability of being in a modified TIE was diluted by the coziness of the space. Knees, shoulders, elbows, had all been bumping one another the entire ride. A tangle doubled when any sort of armour or getting-ready came into play. But all the discomfort paid off amply when nobody shot them straight out of the sky and they landed smoothly on the ship without detection. Score!

Tansu's stiff salute confirmed understanding of Tydeus' characteristically firm mono focus.

"Strange y'ain't want any lollygaggin' aboard a cruiser on a countdown."

She trailed the boys down the ramp, a slowness in her step as she inhale-exhaled and stretched herself out through the corridors of the vessel, seeking the presence she'd grown up with.

It was a muddled place. Not easy for her to sense through. All wrought with darkness, smattered with light, like sunshine prickling through the canopy of a dense forest.

Her probing continued as they crept through the corridors, gratefully majorly unseen thus far — other teams drew distraction. In tandem, her fingertips grazed the ship's lining, drawing memories of her cousin being dragged through the very halls. She frowned, finding no pleasure in the images.

"He's heavily guarded." She finally said, once she had a better sense of which way to go. "No surprise." But it wasn't accurate enough. She intensified her touch and the ship answered her spread palm in flickers of borrowed memory: armoured guards with matching helms moving to reinforce, voices snarling in the guttural tones of beasts rather than men, the stink of ozone thick in the interrogation wing.

Any affability faded at the sudden spike of agony that trilled through the presence she'd sourced out as distinctly Kyric's.

"He's being tortured!" She gasped, yanking her hand away from the wall. Urgency motivated her step henceforth.

They moved in silence, their footfalls swallowed by the hum of the refueling cycle. With every turn, the dark grew heavier.

By the time they reached a broad causeway, she didn't need to touch the walls. The presence ahead was unmistakably not Kyric, but certainly something that stood in their way: great, crushing weights in the Force. Predatory, patient, waiting.

Another step, and the echo of claws on metal scraped through the gloom. Two shadows shifted in tandem—vast, hulking forms that made the deck groan beneath them. The corridor yawned open, and the darkness resolved into figures.

She swallowed hard, steel edging her voice, and took a step to conceal herself before a big confrontation.

"Reckon we found the welcoming committee. Y'all into a rush or somethin' more sneakity?"

Tansu knew her preferred approach often err'd to a kick-the-door-down favourite, but Talsin typically opted for something more planned and cautious. She silently pined for the bum rush option.

____________________________________________________________
TEAM TTT: Talsin Lota | Tydeus of Tion
OBJECTIVE FREE THE CUS: Kyric
SOON: Krasskorr the Maw | Brutalis | Meliant | Lord Creuat Creuat
____________________________________________________________
​

 

[Raylin Fall]

​

Four-grenades, three fragmentation, one flash.

Scattergun.

Med-pack, trauma kit, bleed kit.

Suppressed slugthrowing rifle.

Eight magazines for it.

Commando Armor.

Knife.

Disruptor pistol.

Enough for a ship-boarding problem. The doors swung open- the heart of the enemy's mobile base and prison complex came sprawling before him. He had brought enough meds for multiple people- and more importantly, brought in especially for the scenario that the prisoners were wounded. He tagged along with two Jedi- Inosuke Ashina and Lorn Reingard , and when the door opened, the Commando ducked down, shots going wide from the Mandalorian. The Ithorians fire came first, and luckily for Raylin, he was behind the Jedi.

Undisturbed by the gas and force-nullifying effects, the Commando raised his rifle, and ran a drill at a very close distance, in very short order towards the Mandalorian. Two to the chest, one to the head. His shot spacing was quick- his "split time" was clinically efficient. And at this range? He felt confident about his chances hitting the target. Cruelly, perhaps, also-

The man didn't go for the helmet, not necessarily. No, right in the T-box. His rifle had a low chance of penetrating the Mandalorian's armor, maybe. But it would definitely hurt like hell. And, at Raylin's training- he went for the visor. The only real weak spot on a Mandalorian helmet. Maybe he wouldn't break it, but a rifle round to that part of the helmet may crack it.

However, Raylin failed to realize that it was Koda Fett he was shooting at.

CRACK,CRACK, CRACK!

​

 

[Krasskorr the Maw]

DSE: Brutalis
FOOD: Tydeus of Tion Tansu Treicolt

​

Just when the hybrid believed that today couldn't possibly take a turn for the worse, Brutalis strolled down the corridor, leading to an encounter in the same confined area. It was as uncomfortable as one would expect when two ferocious creatures are placed in a small enclosure.

The Savrip had demonstrated his loyalty to the Emperor on multiple occasions, both during the Dark Empire and the Galactic Empire, and deserved the respect he was owed. However, today was not the day to get on the hybrid's bad side as his temper reached a boiling point.

With a guttural snarl, he lunged at the Savrip, closing the distance in a blur of muscle and fury. Twin jaws snapped shut, slavering teeth clashing as they sought to tear into the thick hide of his former ally. Armored claws hammered and raked with savage intent, each strike sparking off scales and scraping against bone.

The narrow corridor forced them into brutal, close-quarters combat leaving his lightclub useless at his side, its weight forgotten as raw instinct took command.

He could naturally smell something beyond the corridor as the distinct scents of Tydeus of Tion , Tansu Treicolt , and Talsin Lota became increasingly noticeable.

Having spent ample time aboard the flagship, he was familiar with every odor, from the oily residue on machinery to the refined fragrances of the Imperial Officers, and even the tired sweat of the Imperial Engineers laboring down here.

But right now in the throes of savage battle. He could not care one bit.

 

[Feridade Parthi]

| Location | Aboard The Sepulchre, Fondor
| Objective | Defy and Survive

The sounds of blows landing and loud grunts echoed in the interrogation chamber. The senator of Eshan had found himself as an unfortunate guest of the Empire following his prompt capture on Fondor at the hands of Koda Fett , delivered to the enemy in the attempts to persuade him to become a sympathizer for the Empire. All such attempts since his capture had failed as the Echani spat blood onto the floor, followed by labored breathing, a dry laugh preluding a sny comment, "Surely this isn't... the best the Empire has to offer its guests." He coughed as he cleared his throat, catching a breath as he began to chuckle. ​

​

The stormtrooper that had been beating him turned to the technician at the console in front of the senator, giving a single curt nod as the technician turned a knob. Powerful currents of electricity surged to life through the binds that held the senator, the Echani's body convulsing and contorting in response as he grit his teeth. His voice wanted to scream and cry out in pain, but he refused to give his captors the satisfaction of breaking him. Ten seconds of excruciating agony passed, a lifetime it felt like, before the technician turned the knob back down, cutting the electricity off. ​

​

Parthi slumped forward, only held up by his bindings as the stormtrooper reached forward and grabbed a fistful of his hair, pulling his head back, "All you have to do is swear allegiance to the Empire and all of this can be over." His eyes seemed dull for a moment, before his amber eyes focused on the stormtrooper, lit with defiance. A streak of blood trailed down from his forehead and into the corner of his eye as the Echani spoke. "I think I'd rather die than serve the likes of a deranged Sith." he spat blood as it smattered against the stormtrooper's helmet.​

​

A fist swiftly struck him across the cheek, as he grunted, the stormtrooper stepping back as he flexed his hand, "Hit him again..." he said as he took a step back. Once more, a powerful surge of electricity coursed through his body, causing the Echani's head to snap back as his fingers curled into fists, strained groans trying to escape clenched teeth. All he could do was hope that someone out there had found the hidden signal that had been transmitted, breadcrumbing his location with sparse pings since he was captured, and was daring enough to rescue him. Hope...What a concept, he thought to himself as he resisted the temptation to scream out in agony.​

​

​

 

[Aiden Porte]

Location: Sepulchre
Allies: Ceton Kyric Feridade Parthi Lorn Reingard
Enemes: Open.

Aiden regarded the Yinchorri as the words left his mouth, low and certain, like the rumble of a durasteel war drum. Ceton, since he had know him he had always carried that edge of fearlessness, a warrior who treated the Dark Side as little more than another opponent to bleed. That strength was a fire the Jedi needed, but it was also a flame that could consume too quickly if stoked without care.


"Dark Side Elite," Aiden repeated quietly, as though weighing the words on his tongue. His gaze lingered as they descended the ramp via ship, into bay. Already, the enemy was to be upon them, and he wasn't going to falter. The presence he felt within it was no ordinary malice. It pressed against the edges of his mind, waiting for a misstep, an opening.


He shifted his eyes back to Ceton, a faint curve tugging at the corner of his mouth. "If you insist on holding their attention, I trust you my friend." His tone was calm, even, but there was a gravity beneath it. "But do not mistake their fury for carelessness. They've been forged for this very moment, just as we have. They will not break easily."

Aiden rested his palm on his saber, the cool weight familiar, grounding.

He drew in a breath, letting the Force carry the next words with quiet conviction. "Together, we'll see Kyric returned to the light. And if the darkness stands in our way, then yes—" his eyes narrowed, glinting with tempered resolve, "—we send them screaming to the Nether."

"Lorn, we have made contact, pressing further ahead." The Jedi Knight sent word via coms to Lorn, as a means to keep in touch

Ceton

 

[Ceton]

There was a fight in his future, he knew it. He would go to the field of battle, wherever it lay, and enter it with all that he had. The Light Side was going to blind out the darkness, but what he was going to be doing? The Force and its many deep secrets may not be his speciality, but he could, and would go toe to toe with the dark siders. Sith, general dark siders, whoever.

Looking at Aiden Porte, the yinchorri snorted. “They are dark siders. They’ll come in with their magicks, and their rage.” Ceton did have his own faults, his pride, his ego, but he knew how to fight the darkness. He would enjoy the battle ahead.

Regarding their cool conviction, Ceton could feel the fire of the light in this ship, in this mission. They would need it.

Aiden Porte

 

[Corin Kaze]

Enough time had passed.

Since arriving on Atrisia, his days were spent in quiet, meditative contemplation. The only sounds being the low, cold breeze rustling grass and leaves as it sent faint ripples across the lake. It was a peace unlike any other, content to remain for the rest of his days. But, the galaxy would not for Corin, for anyone, to rest their head for long enough, or even much time at all. Kyric was captured and so the Jedi swept in to rescue him.

He downed a batch of stormtroopers with deft flicks of his lightsaber and a rising kick, moving further down the hallway towards the brig. Coming face to face with a bounty hunter, Corin only continued on. The Force enveloped around him, drank up to a point those mismatched eyes seemed to gleam. With an exhale, he vanished from view. From behind the bounty hunter, a violent and violet arc of his lightsaber bore down for the man.

Tohu

 

[Tohu]

Tohu scoffed, "Heh, bucketheads are fodd—"

With an exhale, he vanished from view.

A grave rumble reverberated through him and the very fabric of space and time holding reality together rippled. Sudden heat of a presence filled the cold emptiness behind him and sweat broke over his nape.

Instinct, borne of the gutters of Nar Shaddaa, reeled him away from the forbidding swelter and desperately swung the vibrosword against the descending lightsaber. The scorching plasma cut through his blade as if it were air and drew a deep cut across his chest.

Tohu stood flatfooted in stupor, staring at the odd-eyed Jedi.​

Corin Kaze

 

[Brutalis]

ALLIES: Krasskorr the Maw
ENEMIES: HUNTING SOON.​

With a guttural snarl, he lunged at the Savrip, closing the distance in a blur of muscle and fury. Twin jaws snapped shut, slavering teeth clashing as they sought to tear into the thick hide of his former ally. Armored claws hammered and raked with savage intent, each strike sparking off scales and scraping against bone.

The narrow corridor forced them into brutal, close-quarters combat leaving his lightclub useless at his side, its weight forgotten as raw instinct took command.

One moment Brutalis was standing there. reptilian eyes scanning and accessing. Not sure if he should stare at Krasskorr the Maw 's left pair of eyes or his right. Instead the mantellian savrip focused on the median and caught the subtle shift of body language. A snarl, an expression that he returned with his own before tooth and claw lashed out against him! The corridor's durasteel foundations moaned as Brutalis felt his body being pushed against the cold metallic wall with a thud. Green blood leaking onto the bulkhead from the sudden, but anticipated lunge and assault by the other monstrous darkside elite. Mantellian Savrip's had a infamous reputation for their immense pain tolerance and lack of fear. This was apparent in this instance, but as far as advantages went thats where things ended. The growing marks and wounds spoke for themselves.

For quite some time Brutalis had been, in his mind, the largest and strongest of the Darkside Elite in terms of raw physicality. This was the case for both the Empires renditions, till now. Two apex predators on one ship in one cramped corridor was all it took to trigger natural instinct. A trait that both the hybrid and savrip had in spades. They were two bull rancors locked into a territorial dispute. With an aggressive roar Brutalis pushed back! Attempting to gain ground where he could in the small space, shoving his clamped scaley forearm in one of Krasskorr's maw further back. While the hybrids other maw dug into his hulking trapezius muscles. The savrips off hand flexed and mimicking the same savage movements to rake against the hybrids chest and arms.

" Koushonbake! Yatuka mee fething bayana! " He bellowed and let out another monstrous alien roar. The scene causing the traffic of imperial personnel to slow down in awe of the two titans going at it and fear as other, more experienced, personnel swiftly pivoted away from the scene and took a longer route to their destinations.

 

[Da'Razel]

SEPULCHRE -
​

Tag Direct: Wymar | Meliant | Kyric | Casi Braste |

Tag Indirect: Kylass Starhaven | Lorn Reingard | Inosuke Ashina | Sars Sarad | Tansu Treicolt | Raylin Fall

Equipment: Bōchōr | The Vow of Saud | The Helm of the One-Eyed Prophet | Korrûg Kuûr

The Qabbrat offered relief.

Tails of smoke wisped through the chamber, ghastly serpentine trails vanishing into unseen crevices.

Incense hissed from matte black macabre pots, their bellies filled with Korriban sands.

For those who listened, the room answered, whispers, chimes, a sing-song murmur of a mouthless choir, formless voices, a union of breathless things, but a rhythm rising and falling in the near silence.

A trap of trances for any who lingered too long, luring them into the endless illusion of thin clouds of phantoms twisting into faces, fingers, half-born forms.

His breath faltered. Deep inhales broke into ragged exhales. Like a gnawing sickness, the shadows crawled inside him, clawing at his lungs.

Up until a half dozen inhales ago, the Saint had been an image of perfect stillness.

There had been an arrival.

An ancient will, manifested upon him.

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...​

The Saint sat, bare feet, black talons pressed to the deck. His frame unmoving, his silhouette suddenly still as stone. Only the predatory gleam of leathery, fire-kissed skin betrayed the life within.

His eyes flashed open.

Deep, earthly, cinder-scented air clung to him, filling every sinew, every bone with its charge. His calling. His task.

He rose to his feet, not by choice but as though strings yanked upward, a puppet animated by powers mightier than himself. His entire being wanted, desired, needed it. Fate pulled taut, demanding fulfillment. His gods' vision to be made manifest.

Vermin were aboard their holy vessel. Vermin who dared intrude upon this sanctum of angels.

Alarms blared. Red lights strobed. Da'Razel stood before the altar he had erected with his own hands.

"I will not fail you, my lord."

"Dzwol shâsot cun kar nulis"

His bare feet struck the metal walkway as he erupted into motion.

The ship was enormous, perhaps the largest vessel he had ever walked, a cathedral of iron carrying thousands. To even board it was suicide. The most elite warriors of the Galactic Empire called this place their home, their chapel. To intrude here was to throw oneself knowingly into the abyss.

The very air was poison to the uninitiated. It reeked of depravity, filled every corridor, vent, and junction. Darkness that clawed from behind no matter which way one turned. Darkness that whispered into ears even when no one stood beside them. It reminded the remained of their failures, taunted them with hungers never sated.

To the Darksiders among them, it was nothing their own inner void did not confront them with at every turn and every step. They drank the poison willingly. Bathed in it. Called it cleansing.

To the Lightsiders, it was drowning. The voices of the dead and damned pressed upon them. The countless billions slain by the shadows who stalked these halls. Like being touched by a malignant moonlight.

It was the captive they sought.

But it would be him they would find.

He felt the wailing edge of the great blade yearn for Jedi flesh. A weapon, once drawn, could only be appeased by blood and shattered sabers.

Even more woeful, even more sinister was the prickling release the Korrûg Kuûrs trigger demanded. It was not like the Bōchōr, the Bōchōr thirsted for combat, for opposition.

The revolver had no such ambition. It only sought to deliver death. No conflict, no dramatic battle, no test of strength, just ice-cold, yet thousands-of-degrees-hot death. For it to release the accursed rounds gripped tightly in its chamber, to birth them from its barrel, to bask in the freedom of their trajectory, and then, like a dying star, to collapse its mark into a death of deaths amongst the galaxy. To snuff out souls so that nothing would be left to move on into the nether. A finality only it knew.

His iron mask sealed shut ver a visage marked by stalwart determination. A hiss, then the crimson glow of his eye slit narrowed to a predator's focus. Clarity flooded him. No doubt. No consideration. Just a task, and the almighty need to complete it. A clarity only the deepest of faith could deliver.

Closer now. The torture chambers but a few more corners out of his peripheral.

His stride was slow, yet his towering frame, thundered through the gangways. He barreled down the halls, an armored mass crashing through crew and droids alike. Flesh splattered against durasteel. Machines hurled aside by the ironclad berserker.

Then a silhouette appeared before him. A figure revealed by firelight.

A chosen. A newcomer. A stranger, yet one anointed.

"The Lady Braste," he gasped, lungs rattling with exertion, a trail of unapologetic chaos in his wake.

"Oh, revered one!" his voice blared, mechanized and twisted. "It is a Jedi incursion! My master has warned me, they seek to free our captives. We must secure the asset at once, mighty Elite. It is not far. I have been tasked."

He could speak no more. His legs surged again, hurling him down the passage in a frenzy. A silent prayer lingered for the Lady's aid.

Moments later, he tore through the gates of the Detention Block. He had not been given the prisoner's exact location, but he knew. He felt. At this moment, one of the Elite must already be at the Jedi's side, cloaked in their blood, bleeding them of truth.

"Elites!" his voice boomed, fractured with static. "The Jedi strike! They seek our prisoners! They come even now!"

He barreled deeper into the complex. Two entrances lay ahead. He would station himself at their center.

One armored claw clutched the grip of his cursed blade. The other lingered over the revolver fastened at his waist.

He had been tasked.

 

[Lord Creuat]

B L A C K G U A R D
Tansu Treicolt | Talsin Lota | Tydeus of Tion
Brutalis | Meliant | Krasskorr the Maw
SEPULCHRE​

At long last.

The key to the Galaxy finally in the palm of their hands. Kyric was the apple of their eyes, and thus a long obsession for the Executor. Despite his growing power there was still time to corrupt the son of Ryv and have him serve as the Emperor’s prized apprentice. It seemed that everything was going as his Master had foreseen.

Coruscant and the Deep Core theirs as promised.

The Alliance fracturing with star systems proclaimed by the Empire.

And now the Sword in their possession.

It was all a folly for the Jedi and their desperate allies to still resist the pressing might of the Dark Side. So desperate they dared to attack the Sepulchre as if to offset their footing. A surprise to see them on an offensive instead of consolidating whatever strength they had left, yet this was a fool’s mistake and they would pay the price tenfold.

The Sith Lord followed the stench of the Jedi, though there was one light that seemed familiar to him. Upon discovering who it was Creuat’s eyes widened with insidious glee and determined to capture this particular individual. The daughter of Maynard and Loske, old allies from a distant past. A worthy asset to serve the Empire and further Kyric’s descent.

Striding through the halls, getting closer and closer to the Treicolt, he found two of his subordinates clashing and biting at each other’s throats. The sight was disappointing and infuriating for the Nautolan. “Enough!” and the Force pulled the two beasts apart from each other and were pushed into the wall. They were bigger and mightier in physique, but they would recognize their place before the Sith. “Should the Jedi achieve their objective in freeing the Sword I will have your hides,” he would not suffer shame from the Emperor for the lack of discipline within the Elite. The hybrid and the Savrip were then released from Creuat’s hold, before addressing them. “I can sense the Jedi nearby. However, there is a girl among them. Kill the others, but leave her to me.”

 

[Ran Serys]

Allies: Open
Opposition: Open
Nearby: TBD

Infiltrating the Sepulchre was no simple operation, but the combined minds of the Lightsworn and The High Republic had done it. Several strike teams moved apart from each other but in unison to complete their mission of rescue and retrieval. Among one of these strike teams was the Jedi Knight Ran Serys. While Lorn Reingard , Inosuke Ashina and the main squads met the Dark Side Elite and their agents head on, Ran and others would meet a different enemy in time and task. They would storm and hold the engine room, the shield generator, and the detention level long enough to empty the cells of captured Jedi and allies alike. So when the time came, Ran and those assigned split from the main team and set themselves to the task.

Ran pointed herself like a hidden dagger toward the engine room. She moved quickly, quietly, and with the knowledge that the engine room, if secured, would give them the time needed to complete their main goals.

 

[Casi Braste]

Objective: Defend the Brig
Friends: Da'Razel
Opps: Kylass Starhaven

Casi was taken aback when the priest recognized her, his mighty voice announcing her arrival. She was of course known aboard the Sepulchre, being the the most recently chosen by the Emperor, and a Jedi to boot. That alone had made some waves, but she had believed it was only amongst the Elite themselves. The priests were ever present though, and she wondered what it meant to be not only be on their radar, but to be seen as someone worth reverence. Another mystery of the Dark Side she had yet to figure out.

The priest towered over her menacingly as he explained himself, and before she could get a word in he began to stride confidently down the corridor yelling his purpose. Casi followed.

"You're eager to serve, aren't you?!" she called after him. As swift as she was her legs didn't have the powerful strides of the Devaronian warrior, and she fell behind him. She was taller for a human woman, but he was an entire foot taller than her. As she followed, she realized he was serious about the threat as the approached the shipboard detention center. The sounds of combat filled the halls. The priest hefted his sith sword in one hand and sidearm in the other, both of them distinctly sith in origin and design. She hesitated to ignite her lightsaber, wondering what the priest might think, but she knew it was now, or be caught dead when the Jedi realized they'd arrived.

From her hand, the azure blade sparked to life. With any luck, it might have given the attacking Jedi pause, even if for a moment, to realize who they were fighting. Though the blade still carried the memory of it's life as a Jedi's weapon, it had long since been perverted, a weapon of peacekeeping that had numerous times been turned into an instrument of murder...

 

[Wymar]

P E N I T E N T
THE GALACTIC EMPIRE
Battle Armor [MODIFIED] | Lightsaber
GE | Krasskorr the Maw | Meliant
FOCUS | Kyric​

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BUT WHERE'S THE GANG NOW?​

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THE SEPULCHRE
902 ABY
GALACTIC EMPIRE​

Were it not for the vocoder inflecting his voice, those present might've been able to pick up the faint huff of amusement to the Elite's remark of their similar panoplies. Kyric was an ever defiant soul, the fire in his heart thrumming with every jolt of Wymar's electric fury through his mortal coil. He'd sooner break before he bent to the will of the darkness. He lifted his helmeted chin in a show of disdain to his continued resistance. He moved aside his cloak, grasping a gloved hand for the saber at his waist and pressed the opening into Kyric's chest.

<"Your sacrifice...will be for naught. If I ignite the blade and end you forever...your friends will weep, your order will be pulled from the shadows like the rodents they are and snuffed out forever. Your resolve is strong...but like any mortal soul, it can be broken. Lest...you join us."> His thumb inched closer to the activation switch before the vessel's alarms came alight. His visored gaze lifted, glancing toward the sole entrance to the interrogation chamber before he peered back to Kyric.

<"All too easy..."> He muttered. And so the Lightsworn had come to him. His gaze shifted to Meliant. <"They're coming for him. Now is our chance to eviscerate them. Go and make slaughter...I will ensure they don't take Karis."> He affirmed to the other Knight, bringing his saber away from Kyric before he ignited the crimson blade, its cross guard splaying out in infernal fury immediately after.

 

[Lorn Reingard]

​

Lorn's body tensed as the brig door opened, revealing movement rather than shadows. A bounty hunter's carbine fire streaked down the corridor, an Ithorian's radcannon howled, and in an instant, the strike team's careful infiltration shattered into chaos.

He moved without hesitation. His saber snapped into his hand, its golden light slicing through the sterile gloom. The blade blurred, deflecting a radcannon burst that would have cored him. A numbing heat flared against his arms, a stark reminder the Sepulchre offered no room for error.

"Master Ashina!" Lorn barked, his voice firm but calm. "Guard the corridor. We can't let them trap us." His eyes flicked to Raylin, who crouched, firing precise shots at the Mandalorian. "Keep the Bounty Hunter pinned. Buy us space!"

Lorn stepped forward into the line of fire, his cloak billowing. His saber angled low, sweeping aside Jerec's blaster fire as he pressed closer. The Force felt muted here, smothered by ysalamiri or foul contraptions. Lorn dug deeper, past the suffocating darkness, searching for his allies' resolve, their presence. He anchored himself in Inosuke's stormlike conviction, and Raylin's clinical focus. That was enough.

Blaster fire scorched past his cheek, close enough to singe hair. Lorn pivoted, his saber flashing. The blade arced, sending one shot ricocheting into a wall panel, showering sparks. He raised his voice, intending it for his strike team, but also for any other ears within earshot beyond the brig.

"We came for Kyric Karis!" His voice held an unyielding resolve. "Stand in our way, and you will fall."

Even as he spoke, his breath was tight, his jaw clenched. He held no illusions: their enemies weren't simple guards. They were here for blood, and this fight would draw the Dark Side Elite like wolves to scent. But they had to hold, had to carve a path through the chaos, long enough to find Kyric before the storm truly broke.

Lorn pressed forward, saber in hand.

Inosuke Ashina | Raylin Fall | Jerec Asyr | Koda Fett | Sars Sarad​

 

[Jerec Asyr]

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!"

"We came for Kyric Karis!" His voice held an unyielding resolve. "Stand in our way, and you will fall."

Reeling from a toilet lid to the back of the head, Jerec staggered out of the way. Much as he'd been gearing up at the idea of going up against a Jedi champion mano a Ithoriano, the name Kyric Karis changed everything. He'd won like three hundred credits on Karis at Ruusan. Pretty decent prizefighter, an up-and-comer, a reasonable investment.

"That way," he said accurately.

Because it stuck in his craw to be remotely helpful to a Jedi in even the most profit-motivated of circumstances, he looked back and shot the crate of concentrated ixetal cilona he'd just delivered. Purple gas began filling the area rapidly with the scent of death sticks. Potential symptoms: mild hallucination; sense of unreality; mild euphoria; coughing; significant loss of Force senses, visions, what-have-you. Some variants of ixetal cilona had been known to strip away Force sensitivity entirely, but this wasn't that. This was just playing with terrain.

That was his final shot and the escaped Jedi with the toilet seat was quite close, per the evidence of the toilet seat, so he didn't have time to reload. Instead he turned on the personal shield belt and attempted to pistol-whip Jace Rhane with the multispectral radcannon.

 

[Aiden Porte]

Location: Sepulchre
Allies: Ceton Feridade Parthi
Objectives: Rescue Feridade Parthi
Enemes: Open.

Aiden's gaze lingered on Ceton, studying the warrior's restless fire. There was no fear in him, only the anticipation of the clash. The Jedi Knight exhaled slowly, letting his own calm seep into the air between them like water against flame.

"You're right," Aiden said at last, his voice low, measured, but unwavering. "They will come with rage. With tricks and venom in their words, their blades, their very breath. They'll try to drown us in it." He shifted his weight slightly, one hand brushing the hilt at his belt. "But the Light doesn't need to match their fury. It needs only to endure."

Ceton did exactly as he said he would. That was the distraction Aiden had counted on.

He pressed forward into the side corridors, moving with deliberate speed, each step guided by the Force. Darkness pressed against him at every turn a constant whisper of hunger gnawing at the edges of his resolve. It was not the baying rage of common Sith; this was disciplined malice, orchestrated by the Elite. He narrowed his focus. The mission came first.

Feridade Parthi.

The name echoed like a beacon in his mind. He let his senses stretch through the hull, past the walls humming with power conduits and the metallic thrum of the Sepulchre's heart. There, faint but unmistakable, a flicker of fear, restrained behind composure. A political mind, trapped in the belly of an enemy warship. The Senator was alive. Aiden's blade hissed to life as shadows stirred ahead. Two figures in black stepped from the gloom, their armor lacquered and cruel, crimson lenses staring unblinking. Their sabers snapped to life in response, twin rivers of scarlet blocking his path. He raised his own, not with haste, but with calm precision, the silver glow steady in his grip.

"I am not here for you." he said, voice carrying along the corridor. "I will not be stopped."

The first strike came fast, rage-infused, meant to batter him down. Aiden met it with quiet strength, his counter precise, letting the enemy's own momentum feed into his riposte. The second lunged low, forcing him to step back, redirecting with a flick of the wrist that sent sparks skittering off the wall. He did not linger. Each deflection was another step forward, another breath closer to the Senator's prison. He could feel the door not far ahead cold durasteel wrapped around a fading light.


Hold on, Feridade, he thought, teeth clenched as he forced the Elite back with a sudden surge of momentum. The galaxy has not abandoned you. I am coming.

 

[Kelan Dhal]

ALLIED TAGS: Ran Serys
ENEMY TAGS: TBD
THEME: Light in the Dark

This was it.

No pirate gang. No slavers.

This was war. This was the good fight.

Kelan was rightfully nervous.
​

That being said, he was doing a good job keeping it to himself. When the call went out for volunteers, the Jedi exile felt the call to join up. He had been aiding refugees who had arrived from the core, so this was quite the jump, but he signed on nevertheless. Embedded with one of several strike teams, Kelan and his fellow teammates were tasked with the sabotage of the Sepulchre's key systems and the rescue of Jedi prisoners aboard the horrid vessel. For this operation, the Jedi exile had shed his heavy cloak and donned attire more in line with the members of the Jedi Order in service to the High Republic.

Quickly, Kelan fell in line with the team heading toward the engine room, the first of several key objectives to ensure the success of ther operation. This was a military operation, and for the Outer Rim farmboy turned Jedi, this was quite the jump, but he was committed to putting forth his best effort. That being said, he knew better than to take the lead when there were far more experienced leaders amongst the strike group, particularly the awe-inspiring Mirialan who had taken the lead in the hunt for the engine room. Though there had been brief introductions before the asssult on the Sepulchre began in proper, Kelan had yet to actually speak to Ran in any meaningful capacity.

That was to change.​

Falling in next to the Wayseeker, Kelan spoke just above a whisper with his hand never leaving the weapon attached to his hip.

"We can't be far now. I'm not sure if the lack of resistance is a good sign or if this is a trap."

 

[Ran Serys]

Allies: Kelan Dhal
Opposition: Casi Braste Da'Razel
Nearby: TBD

“You’re right, Master Dhal. We’re not far at all.” Ran began. “And if you need something to be sure of, be sure that our proximity to the engines room, and the lack of resistance we’ve encountered is purely intentional.” The Mirialan Knight continued as she cautiously rounded another corner.

“My instincts guide the way to our progress and safety, but I fear that safety will be in question soon.” Ran admitted, as she held the small strike team back while a unit of armed imperial guards moved down another intersecting steel corridor. They were headed in the direction of louder alarms and more Jedi. When the guards disappeared and the coast was clear Ran put the others in motion. She stuck close to Kelan Dhal, and before the strike team could turn another corner she stopped. She stopped because she could sense the presence of a nigh immovable barrier that obscured the team's path to the engines room. Before she saw them, she sensed them. A Zealot, and a Dark Jedi. All it took was another corridor to meet them.

With her hands on her hips and the hilt of her saber, Ran looked at Kelan, then the other Jedi in their group. “It seems we will meet resistance after all. I sense dark side agents ahead.” Ran observed. “And here is where our paths diverge. Master Shiba, Master Toloi, Master Ginsu, double back, find another way to the engines room, take it and hold it. Our path is through the enemy, but we’ll be right behind you.” She gestured to Kelan and herself. That was we. It didn’t take long for the others to understand, double back and seek another path.

Before turning the corner, Ran turned to her fellow Knight. “Tell me Kelan, can I count on you to protect me, or replace me, or to hold our rescue plan together after it meets contact with the enemy? Can I count on you to complete this mission should something go wrong?” Ran asked evenly, courageously, like she’d become accustomed to the prospect of death as a possibility, because she had been. Then she stepped out into the hall for all to see.

The Zealot, Ran recognized him… from Coruscant. He was in the Senate Hall, and while she hadn’t engaged him at the time he had a look that was hard to forget. The ends of her lips twitched, and the bitter taste of a past defeat was in her mouth. The other was a young woman, blue lightsaber in hand but no enemy to the Zealot. She was not one of theirs. She was not a Jedi. Although she did seem familiar. But how?

Ran took one last look at Kellan and nodded. She took her lightsaber hilt in hand and silently ignited its royal blue blade. She wasn’t one to mince words with just any enemy anymore. They’d have to earn that right.

 

[Meliant]

The Sepulchre​

Objective: Defend Sepulchre

One of Prowler's masked hirelings stopped by to drop off a dagger - one lined with devaronian blood poison. Nasty stuff if you had blood. Since the dagger didn't interest Wymar, Meliant called it to his hand from where it'd been left and ran a finger casually over the blade.​

​

Kyric didn't seem pleased to see him. Fair enough. Not a lot of people on board the Sepulchure he'd be happy to see, Meliant imagined. That was until the alarms switched on. Intruders. It had to be Jedi. And that could only mean one thing…​

​

The Hidden Path was upon them.​

Just kidding - those people were losers. It'd be Lightsworn, most likely, though that accounted only for a marginal difference in the danger posed.​

​

"All by yourself, Wymar?" Meliant slid the dagger into his belt. "I wouldn't leave it to chance. Give that fancy blade a warm-up and take off a few of his limbs."​

​

The Emperor could give Kyric new ones… If he even actually wanted this corn-shucking provincial around.​

​

In any case, Meliant peeled himself off the wall, took his lightsabers in hand, and went slinking into the halls. All this fighting was beginning to wear a bit thin.​

Wymar Kyric Prowler II​