Skirmish Blackest Night: Jakku Jedi Enclave Raid [BOTM v JEDI]

[Darth Solipsis]

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It had been years since they had left this world, since they scoured the surface for plunder and harvest. Those were simpler days, simpler times when the Brotherhood armada plucked innocents from their homes, enslaving them into indefinite servitude, and utterly transforming their minds into that of the fearful obedient slave-soldier upon each world they touched. The anointed slaves would fight or die, the cycle would rinse, wash, and repeat.

This world was special to them, ripping the skeletal remains of the super star destroyer “Ravager” from the depths, the Brotherhood found the foundations of what would become the “Fatalis” here. They would also encounter for the first time the heroes of the light, the defenders of truth and justice who rose from the sands to defend the people of Niima Outpost and it’s neighboring settlements. It was here the Jedi led by Romi Jade had interfered in their great work, the subsequent capture and escape of said Jedi laid a foundation of conflict that would define the coming struggles with the New Jedi Order, Romi Jade , and Cedric Grayson .

It started here, they had not forgotten.

Nearly five years later, the Brotherhood had swollen into a vile mass. Their reach expansive and cruel, touching the lives of nearly all sentients in the galaxy with the affirming hand of the Dark Side of the Force personified by the Brotherhood’s totemic deities, ‘the Avatars’. The MAW destroyed everything it touched with cold disregard, it butchered person after person in a galactic act of unbiased genocide that threatened to swallow the galaxy whole. They would wipe clean the slate, light the fire that would give birth to a new dawn, a Final Dawn.

The New Sith Order have uncovered the location of the Jakku Jedi Enclave, wrestling a Jedi Compass from one of the foul ilk of Lightsworn that dwelt within, their body broken and their mind shattered but not before revealing what the Sith desired. Seizing a code given to members of the New Jedi Order and Wayfinders passing through, the New Sith Order call upon the forces of the Brotherhood to return to Jakku with fire in their hearts. With the majority of the New Jedi Order locked in inquests and investigations, the Brotherhood aim to silently enter and strike the first blow in the mission to eradicate the Jedi.


Map and Information on the Jakku Enclave

The Brotherhood of the Maw have arrived at the edge of the Jakku system, entering the system onboard a single modified Resurrection-Class Battlecruiser known as the ‘Prophet’. With cloaked signals and jammed communications, the flagship of the Dark Lord Halketh lets loose the dogs of war upon the surface of Jakku. The New Sith Order have taken charge of spearheading the assault on the Jakku Jedi Enclave where the MAW’s long hated enemies dwell. Do not allow a single vessel to exit the system, aid the New Sith Order in scrubbing the Jedi off the face of the planet, and finally burn the enclave. Take no prisoners.

The New Sith Order has come. This is the first strike out of the shadows, the first fire that will be lit by the daggers in the dark. The long enigmatic Sith have come leading the charge with the forces of the Brotherhood at their rear. Wrenching access to the facility from one of the Lightsworn’s own, their attack will be one of surprise and devastation. Let no Jedi survive,

Kill. Them. All.

 

[Darth Solipsis]

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DARK LORD OF THE SITH | VOICE OF THE MAW

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His boots crushed inaudible against the grains under his weight with each step he took forward, his black cloak brushing against the sand like a artist’s utensil. The Dark Lord of the Sith approached in the dead of night, followed by the hooded black figures of the New Sith Order and the amassed Mawites ready to take their revenge on the Jedi of Jakku. It had been a long time since they had graced the planet, since then the Dark Lord had faced a great many notable Jedi, including recurring conflicts with the Enclave’s leader Romi Jade .

They moved in the shadows, approaching on foot with no forewarning or sign to alert the Jedi within. His clutched the only means of finding their quarry, within the palm of his hand laid the Jedi Compass that would lead them straight into the heart of the enemy where they would be laid low. Broken and utterly destroyed, they would leave their bodies for the galaxy to see as it burned all around them. They would not hesitate, they would show no mercy.

The night sky was filled with countless stars outlining the beautiful desert sky amidst a planet littered with the remains of the old world. It was almost a shame the silent night was ending. They came upon an elevated landing field built flushly into the form of a wedge shaped capital ship, it could of even been an ISD. Rust and decay had taken it’s toll, time did not stop for anything and it’s ravages we’re felt by any and all in it’s wake.

The Dark Lord paused, with a snarl he looked upon the compass. “Clever.”

The Sith’ari looked back upon his flock with dark grimace and dagger-like eyes piercing the flesh of those before him with his sulfuric gaze. “Leave none alive.”

Approaching the scrap heap that once was the proud symbol of a dead nation, the Dark Lord approached the turbolift entrance hidden just as the Jedi had revealed to Lord Letifer back on O’Reen. His cold portly hand rose up and with sickly fingers he entered the code granting them access. The doors opened, their way revealed.

Down the rabbit hole they’d go.

​

 

[Aaran Tafo]

With a start, his gaze turned to the sky. Empty sockets narrowing as a chill raced up his spine. An icy hand gripping him by the back that not even the persistent heat of Jakku's scorching sun could warm. From his position in the common room. He simply stood up from the couch. His tone as calm as always as he addressed the room.

"If you have any evacuation plans. I'd suggest you enact them."

There was no further elaboration. No further explanation. As Kyra Perl once attempted to make exceedingly clear. He had no authority here. So it was best to frame everything as polite requests or suggestions when dealing with these folk. It seems that Romi Jade's shroud of secrecy had finally come to an end. This Enclave, while small and typically populated with skilled Jedi only truly managed to survive due to how difficult it was to find.

And if the presence he could feel at the entrance was any indication. That secrecy was at an end.

The Maw had come. The New Sith Order was here. His jaw set as his boots echoed loudly on the floor. Knowing that would ever passed this day was simply a prologue of what was to come.

As he walked through the halls, he idly wondered where Wyatt Morga had stashed Peace. The giant space station would be an invaluable resource in this day and age. But such ruminations would need to be left to a later date. As much as secrecy could protect someone. At the end of the day, few things were better than a solid wall between you and your opponent.

At least, that was how it was in Aaran's mind. But of course, to a warrior. The best route always did seem to be a straight line.

Making his way towards the entrance. Hands folding behind his back. Saber at his hilt and the iconic jacket of the New Jedi Order upon him. His sockets, hidden by sunglasses trailed the turbolift as it descended. The raw malevolence contained within such a small space was almost sickening to look at through his supernatural sight. But he endured anyway.

He would stand here and hold the line. No matter how long it took for others to get to safety

"I'm afraid that this enclave is typically invite only." His voice was heard as soon as the doors opened. Not a single ounce of fear in his voice. His hands falling to his side, his saber in hand, but not yet ignited. Simply staring ahead.

"I showed up here unannounced once. Never heard the end of it. Master Jade has little patience for trespassers or those who violate hospitality." Somewhat exaggerated, but all true. If a little tongue-in-cheek.

"I would suggest you leave."

Darth Solipsis

 

[The Mongrel]

Location: Jakku, Jedi Enclave Main Turbolift
Tags: Open

There were some who believed that barren, arid Jakku had once been a lush and fertile planet, full of grassy hills and woodland groves, where fruits of all kinds grew freely and life was easy. The local scavengers, those who had lived here for two dozen generations and more, laughed at those who told such tales... but they positively cackled at a different group. For there were those who believed that Jakku could be such a verdant place again, that its dusty surface could be turned back into a temperate paradise. The scavengers knew better, and not just because they'd lived here a long time.

They had seen people try.

The Shatalat Irrigation System had been a corporate pipe dream, an attempt to make use of a useless world. Jakku had no ore, no fuel, no stone worth quarrying; for millennia now its people had subsisted on scraps of the past, for there was nothing else to trade. With no raw materials to exploit, some now-forgotten corporation had decided to try to create agriculture on the planet, hoping to find some way to create exports that might actually be in demand. Hundreds of millions of credits later, all that had come of it was a vast tunnel network full of dust. No water, no fronds, no fruit.

The whole irrigation thing just hadn't worked out.

And yet the tunnels, like most abandoned structures on inhabited worlds, hadn't stayed abandoned for long. There was always some beast or vermin ready to move into the ruins of civilization, making some sentient's broken dreams into a comfortable den. If the ruins were intact enough, they often became home to scav crews, smuggling rings, slavers, street gangs, or various other criminals. In this case, that wasn't quite what had happened. The Shatalat Irrigation System had become home to a gaggle of Jedi. But just like when animals nested in such places...

... the exterminators had been called in to root them out.

It had been years since The Mongrel had set foot on Jakku, but he remembered the feel of the planet well. It was dry and rough and gritty, hot in the day and cold by night, gradually leeching the water out of every inch of exposed skin. Of course, the warlord had far less skin now than the last time he'd been here, exposed or otherwise. He had been a minor marauder then, with few scars beyond his leg brace and the burns and lacerations of his torture. Now he was almost unrecognizable, a hulking cyborg who was more machine than man. But one thing was the same.

He still bore the same burning hatred for the Jedi.

The last time the Mawites had come here, raiding the scavenger outposts and scouring the starship graveyards for useful scrap, they had run up against the New Jedi Order for the first time. Duels had erupted across the planet. Some the Jedi had won, some they had lost, with prisoners taken back to now-lost Gehinnom... though even those mighty dungeons had proven unable to hold them for long. The Jedi had been able to strike at them freely during that incursion, protecting the local settlements without fear for themselves, because their home was hidden.

But that had finally changed. The enclave was found.

With the aid of the strange compass that the Dark Voice had somehow obtained, the Mawites had been able to locate the hidden Jedi enclave. The Prophet of the Avatars himself was leading his most powerful servants, skilled in the dark arts, through the entrance at the Jedi landing field. It was The Mongrel's duty to secure the only other entrance to the Enclave, to ensure that no one could escape. And after a half hour's search, they had found it. Even with the coordinates, the entry dome to the irrigation complex had been well-hidden, almost invisible among the endless hills of dust.

The Mawites could never have found it unaided.

But the entry dome no longer blended into Jakku's sand dunes. The Mongrel kicked it, and heard the reverberation of metal as his steel-toed boot struck. A vertical shaft leading straight down into the Jedi hideout, just as their information had promised. The warlord smiled; now there was no escape for the mage-knights. Of course, the input locks would keep the Brotherhood out for the moment; they were mechanisms accessible only to the Jedi. That meant there was only one solution: to blast them apart in order to access the turbolift shaft.

"Ready the charges," The Mongrel commanded, waving his Scar Hound tech-monks forward. The Mawite specialists began tinkering with the sealed turbolift doors, fitting them with the high explosives they'd brought along. The detonation would have to be both powerful and precise in order to breach the potent Jedi defenses, but The Mongrel was confident in his tribe's mechanical aptitude. They would find a way in... and if they could not, they would simply bury this entrance, and let the Dark Voice and his vile mystics clear the facility from its now-single entry.

At last, they would have their revenge.

 

[Ishani Dinn]

Objective: Assist in the defense of the Enclave
Location: The dunes near the Enclave
Accompanied by: Arlo Renard, a Chaldean Mystic
Tags: Darth Solipsis The Mongrel Aaran Tafo Romi Jade

Jakku wasn’t very far from Chaldea. Not very far at all.

Ishani had gone there in pursuit of a Mystic who was said to dwell among the dunes. The role of Mystics on her homeworld had always been precarious; they were not accepted by common society, and usually lived as hermits in the backwoods and wilderness. But Ishani had never heard of one choosing to live on another planet, even one that was a mere stone’s throw from Chaldea.

She had found her Mystic hunting for food. When she tried to speak to him, he hushed her, intent on his prey. Once he had speared the lizard and roasted it over a fire, he offered her some of the meat, speaking his first words to her: “The meat’s a little tough, but it’s not so bad once you get used to it.”

Dinner had been the icebreaker—er, sandbreaker?—and soon she had him talking at length.

“I’m Ishani Sibwarra,” she introduced herself. “Are you Arlo Renard?”

“That’s my name.” Wiping his hand on his pants leg, he held it out to her. She shook it. “When you first approached me, I thought you were a Jedi who had wandered away from the Enclave. That is why I ignored you at first. Apologies.”

“I received some Jedi training, but I don’t consider myself one of them,” Ishani said. Her place among the galaxy’s plethora of Force User sects remained undefined, not because she fancied herself a student of all traditions, but because she couldn’t make up her mind what she was. “I didn’t even know there was a Jedi Enclave here.”

The Mystic gestured vaguely. “It is hidden, or it’s supposed to be. I live here, and so I encounter them as they come and go. I don’t bother them, and so far they don’t bother me.”

“Well, I didn’t come here for the Jedi,” Ishani said. “I came here to see if you would train me. As a Mystic.”

“The way of the Mystic is total. You cannot mix it with your Jedi training, or any other tradition.” Throwing down the picked-clean remnants of the lizard, Arlo crossed his arms over his chest. “Just as you cannot lie to me, Ishani Threepwood.”

Her eyes widened. “How—how did you know my real name?” she whispered.

“Because Persis Solusar foresaw that you were coming, and told me so.” His brow furrowed. “You use the Force to make your lies more convincing. But I do not allow the Force to affect me. In all this time, did you not know that you were using the Force to deceive others?”

“I…” But the rest of Ishani’s answer, if she did indeed have one, was lost to the low rumble of ships flying overhead. They flew in the direction of the Enclave, like jagged black shadows passing over the stars.

Ishani stared up at them in horror. “Sith!” she exclaimed, leaping to her feet.

“Dark Siders,” Arlo agreed, standing up. “It isn’t safe here anymore.”

Yet Ishani wasn’t thinking of her own compromised safety. She had heard the reports; she knew the biggest threat to her homeworld wasn’t GA imperialism, it was the violent, destructive conquest of the Brotherhood of the Maw. If they were bold enough to attack their nextdoor neighbor, even if they were only targeting the Jedi Enclave, how long would it be before they were right on Chaldea’s doorstep?

“We have to help them,” she said.

“And how would we do that?” Arlo replied. “We are both outsiders, and there are clearly a lot of them.”

“So? The Jedi will take all the help they can get, I’m sure.” Again she looked up at the sky. “If you help me help defend the Enclave, and things get too rough, we can leave aboard my ship.”

“If things get too rough, we’ll probably be dead.” But Arlo sighed. “I tolerate Jedi. I do not tolerate Sith. They are proof that Bartych Halcorr was right—such power does not belong in the hands of mortals. It turns them into rabid beasts that must be put down.”

Ishani’s heart clenched as though a vice were wrapped around it, but she knew he was more or less right, at least where the Mawites were concerned. Arcturus Thesh and the days when she herself had been a Sith Acolyte had never seemed so far away than when she compared them to the exploits of these marauders.

“If we're going to help, then let’s go,” Arlo said, hefting his spear and breaking into a run. Ishani followed him, dashing across the sands toward the Enclave under siege.

 

[Keilara Kala'myr]

Ziare Dyarron | Keilara Kala'myr
COMPNOR (ISB) Junior Agent, Nite agent | Slave of the Maw

Objective: Kill the enemies of the Maw
Location: Jedi Enclave, Jakku
Equipment: FS-18-UP2 Omega Phase Assault Rifle | 2x PV-16 "Sunfury" Pulse Pistol | Druetium Armour | Viper Mk. I Skinsuit | 2x Vibrodagger || Stealth field generator || OPBC-01m
Allies: Darth Solipsis | The Mongrel
Enemies: Aaran Tafo | Romi Jade | Ishani Dinn

[ Planet Hell ]
"Galactic Basic" | ~"Telepathic" communication ~ | << comm. channel >> ​

Freedom, I have not felt this many times; finally that weak little girl was asleep and I didn’t have to deal with fighting to control this body. The first mission; where I can thank the Maw for creating, liberating, freed, and giving me a purpose. Needed more than that? No. I looked around the area with contemptuous disgust as I headed for the building, disguised. It was a little new yet, Ziare never really disguised and hid herself, not even on Serenno. The thing had beauties; she didn't know about me, but I knew about both of us. And with the help of MANIAC, she easily got false memories of the time I was in control.

I didn’t understand why she wanted to belong to the NIO so much. Here was the obvious opportunity, Maw, who is strong and will cleanse the Galaxy of weak worms and bring a new world. A nicer new world where only people like us have a place. A satisfied, mocking smile appeared on my lips as I ran silently along the wall until I reached the entrance. Here was my commander, my warlord, The Mongrel . I turned off the camouflage a few feet away. I remembered Carlac, I didn’t want to make a similar mistake to what she did there.

"Warlord, what are your orders? Where do you need me?" I asked.

I couldn’t wait to finally dip my blade into a Force User, or just shoot them. I wanted to laugh when I thought that Ziare was terrified of them. Pathetic! Luckily, the Warlord saw some creativity in her and didn’t kill her at Carlac. Meanwhile, while I waited for an answer, I instructed MANIAC to map the area and observe movement, signs of life. No one here will surprise us here, just we them. No one will survive this day from the ranks of the enemy.

I couldn’t wait to finally test myself on the battlefield. Everything was both novel and exciting at the same time; after all, on some level, even I was a newborn, a new person. Soon, a ruthless, predatory smile appeared on my lips again. Let them come! I felt like I was going to have a very, very good time today. At last, freedom, death, torture, suffering. I have been waiting for this for a very long time…

 

[Dakrul]

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Objective: Kill all of them
Location: The main entrance of the encalve
Allies: Darth Solipsis The Mongrel Keilara Kala'myr
Enemies: Aaran Tafo Ishani Dinn

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Dakrul was obscenely enthralled at the prospect of killing Jedis. How he loved their cries, their pleads as he drained the life force from them drop for drop. They were creatures of the light, their ugly shine eluded to be drowned out. He would cast darkness over this enclave. Spread the almighty influence of the Avatars all the way to the beddings of the disbelievers. They would wake to the sound of War, feel the cold touch of Death, marvel at the wonder of Rebirth.

His giant form trotted behind the Dark Master through the sands, dune upon dune they marched through the night. Unancouned and in silence lead by the Sith'ari himself, his loyal flock would descend upon the opposing herd to cull them entirely. That was the task at hand today. Plain and simple just like the undead Cha'ta'ri liked it.

He could tell they were close, everyone could, tension was in the air, the wish to take lives and offer them to the Avatars, the wish to die a death suitable for paradise. It became absolutely apparent once their ruler Darth Solipsis declared it so.

”Leave none alive.” he announced to his assemblage.

The four-armed monstrosity bowed his iron-crowned hide in respect to the prophet's demand. The cosmic error wished to summon his kin upon these lands, his drove of hellspawn, along with his brethren he would usher in calamity, he just needed bodies, bodies, and souls to trade for the flesh of his own.

As the entrance of metal and iron slid open a light bearer came into sight, to Dakrul a humanoid shape of emitting light with obsidian eyes, to the mortals in their ranks a blindfolded Jedi in azure. Aaran Tafo .

Without a second through the over three-meter insectoid rushed into the burrow, he was undeniably excited. Smelling the blood and gore of a massacre in the making, souls to tribute, fear to instill in those that so vehemently declared to not fear at all. First through the door, his humongous arachnid-like form crawled into the tunnel on all six. He was slow, but massive and encroaching menacingly, he radiated death.

His body a rotten carcass, iron slabs and plates quite literally drilled into his flesh, pale matt chitin armor further coating his trunk. Like a maddened bull he charged at the defender before him, a rampaging sithspawn set lose upon all those that dwelled below. He wanted to ram and crash right into the man before him, but he wouldn't stop there. Whether he would hit his target or not he would attempt to charge deeper into the enclave. There was but a sole guardian of light against a troop of shadows, his flame would flicker and die, Dakrul was sure of it. None could stand in the way of the Maw, ever since Rhand it was clear no enemy was too great, no cost too high.

 

[Marcel von Ascania]

"I'm afraid that this enclave is typically invite only."

"I would suggest you leave."

“Yeah! Go away!”

At some point, Creed had skipped to her Master’s side. A lot was often lost on the girl, but she knew an emergency when she saw one. “You weren’t invited!” She made a shooing motion with a flick of her wrist, tossing back the long sleeves of her robe. Creed had fished the garment out of the lost-and-found box after losing her own, and this replacement was roomier than expected.

She stood on her tiptoes and leaned closer to the Jedi Knight, whispering loudly.

“What if they do have an invitation??”

Sith could perform perversely inhuman feats, she’d heard. It stood to reason that producing an invitation to the Jakku Jedi Enclave could be one.

Still, that seemed unlikely. Creed tilted her head to the side. The temple was rapidly filling with a darker presence and all of the bad feelings that came with it.

A thought struck Creed like lightning. Did she have an invitation? Had she been given one and forgotten? Frantically, she began to search her robes, patting herself down and peering into the enormous sleeves.

Aaran Tafo Darth Solipsis The Mongrel Ishani Dinn Keilara Kala'myr Dakrul

 

[Vesta]

all the good girls go to hell​

Location: Jakku, Enclave
Equipment: Lightsaber
Tags: Open

Last she faced the Jedi it had been to devastate Myrkr, casting asteroids into its surface like stones into a pond. She'd operated under the Sith Empire at the time, earnestly working to impress her father, and though those resources had been incredible under the right guidance their ideology had been a hindrance - to both itself and to her. Here, now, the Sith Lord strode across the sands leading towards the secret entrance to the Jedi enclave of Jakku, tailing Darth Solipsis and his band of marauders, not as some envoy of a dead empire but as her own master - as Darth Mori.

Their interests had aligned after Ziost, though she still remained skeptical of the man and the lot that followed him after their meeting and especially after Korriban. Still, from behind narrowed slits her amber eyes remained trained on the man's back as they approached. She heard his order, though she didn't quite care to obey because of who was giving the command so much so because she agreed with its conclusion, and nodded wordlessly as the entrance slid open and they filed in. The.. conclusion.. was precisely what enticed her to follow along with this chaotic band of Sith, though she supposed the similarities between her views and the man that led them made it slightly easier for her to swallow her pride.

It also helped that the conclusion they were after was death.

Death, after all, was her domain. Aaran Tafo and his petulant brat of a padawan stepping into view as the doors to the turbolift opened were, then, perhaps the first to find this conclusion - a foolish endeavor, though she supposed it was the only quality she admired of them; that they never forgot their mortality. Hearing the girl, Marcel von Ascania , speak, however, did inspire doubt in the mental faculties of their next generation. She sighed, her eyes rolling behind momentarily shut eyes, and waited for the few that stood in front of her to move out of her way. Their youth were indeed the ones she wanted to kill, her interest in destroying the future of the Jedi before it ever came to fruition. Though perhaps the fact that she did not expect there to be anyone worth her putting forwards real effort was the real influence behind her intentions.

A blind man and an imbecile were certainly not placing themselves very high on her credible threat list.

 

[Darth Tennacus]

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Location: Jakku, Wandering Pilgrim
Affiliation: Brotherhood of the Maw
Mentions: The Mongrel Darth Senthral
Objective: Deploy the Whispering Swarm


It didn't surprise Tennacus to hear that they were hiding in the likes of some scrapyard excuse for a planet like Jakku. In a way it was clever, albeit for a fleeting moment. Had the planet not been notorious for its smouldering waves of heat and throat-quenching humidity, the Sith Lord might have deployed himself over the likes of reinforcements which served beneath him. Grave wounds of days long passed provided a certain intolerance to intense temperatures; and in the end, this was but a stepping stone to greater things. His energy was best reserved for the time being, but he would certainly make his mark for the Brotherhood, and remind the Jedi of what dwelt at their disposal.

Once the hidden entryway had been located and targeted upon, the Phantom vessel undraped itself from invisibility, gliding over the cloudless skies in silence. Tennacus waited within the cargo bay, leaving Darth Senthral and 77-B to pilot the craft. Several high-rising durasteel crates aligned behind him, and the sounds of ghastly screams echoed out between the seals, shaking wildly with the promise of aggressive rushes of adrenaline. Tennacus had reached out to the Force to feel their hunger, their hate, and their rage. His hand wandered over the exterior metal, hushing calmly, although the beasts within did not comply.

"Soon, my children. Soon."

The Sith reached his finger to his ear, connecting the commlink between himself and the viper probe droid.

"77-B, open the cargo bay doors."

"Yes, my Lord."

There was a brief pause as the mechanisms of the cargo bay doors rocked and twisted behind the steel, eventually unfolding the rear doors so Tennacus could step out alongside the extended ramp. His eye averted down below. Sharp winds grazed over him from the altitude, along with a waft of humid air which made him turn away in disgust. He looked back to the large crates, and concluded with,

"77-B. Deploy the Whispering Swarm."

Automated ramps carried the crates across the cargo bay floor towards the rear opening. Without another word spoken between them, ten crates were individually dropped from the skies, crashing down upon the sands of Jakku in sporadic deployment. Each creature had been equipped with a shock collar, of which Tennacus would issue an electrifying shock if and when necessary. The crates rattled and shook violently as they tumbled along the brown wastes, eventually coming to a halt after friction demanded they discontinue motion. Silence stirred among the inhabitants within, rearing up in boiled concoctions of aggression and starvation, smelling the promise of slaughter in the air. This specific swarm had been domesticated through Sith Alchemy and vigorous training to acquire a sense of control over them; but in the presence of foe, they would ultimately serve to feed themselves.

An assuring click emanated across each lid of the crates, followed by a hiss of air. The lids suddenly swung open, and the menacing beasts finally reared their ugly heads.

"The time has come, my children."

Ten domesticated Xenomorphs sprung out of their respective crates, crawling their way along the sands. This was their first time being deployed in the likes of warfare, but their vigorous training methods made Tennacus confident that they knew what they were doing. A quick shock of their collars asserted an aspect of dominance over them, serving to remind them of the days of their subjugation. They had been desensitised to the Brotherhood, and repetitive shocks had instilled upon them the consequence of attacking fellow Mawites, while Sith Alchemy had played its role to find comfort in the presence of the Dark Side. They were the Brotherhood's weapon: a tactical combat unit released to aid them in their goals, emerging so suddenly before the likes of unexpectant enemies.

They were the Whispering Swarm.

Their black bodies moved quickly along the sands, narrow elongated tails flailing wildly as they switched between four-legged scurries and bipedal movements to find their way towards The Mongrel and his associates. Once they had reached him, it would fall on him to employ the Force if necessary to bring them to a sense of control for his own purposes, but Tennacus wanted to be sure of their continued service nonetheless, and decided to reach out to Darth Senthral through the commlink.

"Lord Senthral, I need you to deploy yourself and join on the front lines. While they know the Brotherhood, your connection with them runs deeper. Set them upon our enemies, and leave no Jedi alive."

 

[Jared Starchaser]

Jakku, a world of much history, and a current location of a Jedi Enclave. With his father tied up at some Jedi meet and greet or another, Jared was taking it upon himself to deliver some Jedi that were traveling from the Rim and Unknowns to the first point he could get them to. Sure, maybe it would have been easier to leave them in the care of the Underground, but with Jakku not being that many parsecs further, the Wayseeker-Jensaarai had made his decision to deliver the Padawans directly to the Jedi temple.

It would be good, he could land, relax, resupply. Well, relax as well as anyone could on the desert sands. He was a child of Corellia and Csilla, and space. His mother’s world, Miral, was lost to him, she having left very early on and not making many trips to return. But still, a way to refuel his battery packs, and his ship’s fuel? He would be fine with that. Armor left on the ship, Jared opted for Jedi combat leathers under his dark robe. Lightsaber on his hip.

While here, and once the Jedi Padawans were handed over to the next Jedi to watch them and removed from Jared’s care, he moved himself towards the Green Room. A bit of a calm distraction and area of life amongst the desert here. However, things felt… off.

What he did know was that once he was off this rock, he’d be checking himself into a coastal world for a few weeks. They always had interesting creatures to fight. And fighting from the sea made things all the more interesting.

 

[Halketh]

D A N S E
C A E L I T U S
prox. Dimitri Voltura
'The Prophet'

​

"Sand. Desert. Heat. Yes, let's bring Caelitus, what a marvelous idea." The Dark Lord muttered bitterly with a grunt as he cinched the final strap of his chest guard tightly around his ribs, "Icy planet? Sure, absolutely, any day of the week-" he continued his whining, though his voice trailed with the wane of his enthusiasm.

Jakku. It was a place of contestation, once a place of great research, and now it stood as a hideaway for Jedi in training and a fallback point in situations of panic. The first place, of course, the Brotherhood sought to destroy as their ire was provoked by the Jedi and their attention turned upon them. To the Dark Lord, it was merely another name uttered during a meeting, a place designated for the hellish carnage he would invoke and reduce to waste when he was finished. Another stepping stone on his warpath.

Rather than wind the familiar blindfold about his features, he had chosen to don red, circular sunglasses in his typical flair for irony. It would be far too hot for his helmet; suffocation didn't quite suit him by his figuring. The Miraluka huffed childishly for the last, slapping an armored hand against the gaunt cheek scarred by his dance with the Iron Imperator, and dragged his skin downward. "There's nothing quite like sand in plate boots, is there?" He addressed his company directly, turning his head toward The Dragon dwelling within the armory beside him, "Or sweating so badly you could stick to a window. Yes, I quite love blisters on my footsies, thank you." Had he eyes, no doubt they would have been rolling.

His focus turned forward with the reach to claim his lightsaber, and he tucked it neatly into its sling against his hip.

“Need an umbrella, then, Kezec?” Dimitri asked as he fiddled with the fastening on his vambrace. “I’m sure a man of your talents could think of something.” He, himself, was sensitive to the brightness of desert worlds. It was part of the reason he avoided Tatooine as far as possible. The Force-imbued Voltura signet ring allowed him better toleration of bright lights than his unprotected Energy Vampire brethren, but he was still not a fan. The Vulture, on the other hand, made deserts sound much worse.

“I’ll be sure to bring some bacta along then for your little blisters.” the Dragon then said with a straight face as he reached for his Sith sword and tied the scabbard about his waist.

"Awh, that's so kind of you, my gloomy friend." The Dark Lord quipped back with a smirk, finding himself chuckling at the gloom suspended over his comrade's head, the sour mood as palpable as the world around them. "Quite alright, quite alright, I'm sure. We can have a spa day after all of this business is concluded." Hands swept his hair away from the frame of his face, brushing it back along his head to free his features of its span.

“Really? A spa day? Are you going soft on me, Vulture?” Dimitri asked, digging a finger in under a pauldron fastening to maneuver it better so as not to pinch him. Of course, he knew how eccentric his macabre friend could be.

"Sure, a man treats himself to a nice relaxing day at the spa and suddenly he's soft. It would do you a world of good, Dragon, maybe even fix those cracking scales of yours." He couldn't help but chuckle as the flick of his wrist saw the holstered sidearm leap from its slot on the wall into his grip, and the sonic pistol found a place nestled at the small of his back. Begrudging stride carried The Vulture toward the final piece of his armor left on the mannequin erected to house it, and he lingered before the object with a pensive hum. "Definitely not," he decided aloud, leaving the cloak where it dwelled, "you know, actually, umbrellas would have been nice, and had I known this was where we were going next, I would have packed a pair." His armored fingers splayed out in a hum drumming wave by his shoulder, eventually leading to the overturn of his palm, "I've gotten everything I need, though I'm content to linger here until we arrive."

He turned his head downward, focusing his Sight through the deck beneath their boots, watching the Mawites scuttling about and running amok on his ship. "I much prefer galas to-" once more, those fingers waggled and his wrist flicked toward the floor in gesture, "-whatever sort of mosh party that is."

Glancing up from where he was still fiddling with his pauldron, Dimitri looked over to where his eccentric friend was motioning to. He didn’t need to see whatever it was that Kezec was seeing, for he could very well hear the cacophony below their feet. Sometimes having uber hearing was just a burden. “I think..” he winced as a far off crash sounded somewhere in the hangar, “...a gala would be a much better pastime right this moment.” It just baffled him how careless these Mawites could be with property. Class was clearly lacking. ​

​

"Perhaps I'll just have to make a gala out of Jakku." the Divine spoke decisively, turning his head back over his shoulder to flash a pearled smile, "It's time to dance, Dimitri. We shan't keep them waiting longer."
​

J U D A S
D A R K L O R D
WOE | WEAL
prox. Dimitri Voltura Darth Solipsis Darth Mori Dakrul ​

It was no more enjoyable on the surface of the world than he had anticipated prior, though the crunch beneath his every step only served to further the curl of his lip with disdain. Amidst the tidal wave of black sweeping over the sands, he stood out, a single droplet of white in an inky stain cast by the brush strokes of Fate. The New Sith Order had come to Jakku, a world meant to serve as a respite for the Jedi would become no more than their tomb, deconsecrated by the presence of Darkness, and twisted at the will of Twin Dark Lords emerging forth at the helm of the madness.

Elsewhere, his soldiers waged war alongside his allies, leaving him in only the company of those Sith who would sooner see his head removed from his shoulders than actually defend him- merely for the sake of claiming his status as their own. It was a narrow, winding line the Dark Lord strolled so languidly upon, and one that he seemed to have no trouble navigating. The gentle hiss of the dry wind across the distant dunes earned a whispered curse of malcontent in turn. By the Avatars, he despised this place.

He ventured forth here as twice-traitor, his first act dealt unto the Jedi with the murder of his Master so many years ago. The second act of his gilded insanity saw him fell The Imperator and cripple the New Imperials. He pondered briefly in his stride how many more would come. It was inconsequential to him, ultimately, his end would always justify his means. His speculation ended as The Dark Voice activated the lift for their ravenous lot, and at once he was in the midst of descent.

The tendrils of pestilence unwound themselves from his coattails, unfurling to choke the hope out of the air and smother what harmonic notes of courage resonated freely within the aura of the enclave. It was a place of sanctuary no longer. His Presence was a maddening one, disjointed and chaotic, it threatened to simply burst from the seams and destroy everything in its path- the one chaining it included. Rage and bloodlust drove the allies surrounding him, yet his unwinding aura suggested everything but. Great discipline held the power at bay, restraining it to reveal only what he willed it to and nothing more.

He was greeted, however, with a mirrored image.

A reminder of what could have been.

Aaran Tafo and Marcel von Ascania .

It was a Jedi and his padawan whose Presence befouled The Vulture's senses, as much he found abhorrent and was unabashedly fond of showing, especially once the falsettos of their tone reached him outright. The miraluka tilted his head slightly, brows raising in the pair's direction. "One against all, my this is so romantic," he hummed, dismissing the girl, and torqued himself to the side as Dakrul's lumbering form surged from the rank of Sith behind him, "quite romantic indeed."​

"How does it feel?" He leaned in, letting his voice whisper. "To break your chains."

He hadn't given an answer at the time, knowing full well his chains would not be broken until he had seen to it that those who had placed them so many years ago had been slaughtered. And this place was the first link. The Dark Lord of the Sith animated, clawed gauntlets flexing out to either side with his eloquent steps, and each one unbound the unnerving Presence he bore more and more. Sickening despair bled from him freely, strangling out the stoic strength of the enclave, casting the hope residing within from the heavens to shatter upon obsidian spires. It was simple to kill. Simple to wound. Simple to maim.

But to inflict suffering, to invoke despair, to crush the Light from the eyes of those who gallivanted about within its rays, was a process he was intent on enacting fully. He would not simply lash out in conquest, nor would he crush the foes he encountered here outright. The Divine had set his mind on simply one thing; to make them suffer. Within his Sight, the twin beams of silvered iridescence shimmered even through the shade of Dakrul, unable to conceal themselves from his attention. Further inspection saw more and more illuminating the distance, in the corridors, the chambers, beneath their feet.

The stench of the last stand soured what little mood he held onto.

A clawed hand seized a crushing grip of the air, the Dark Lord's focus situating itself upon the padawan he attempted to send crashing into the wall with a torturous grasp through the ephemeral. "Quite some Master you must be," he spoke with deceptive calm, only driving the venom of his assessment deeper, "dragging your padawan to the front just to watch you die. 'tis a fitting occasion, most of ours are dressed for a wake." With Dakrul barreling on the Master and the girl outright disregarded and left for his allies, Caelitus pressed deeper into the passage in search of its beating heart.​

​

 

[Zaavik Perl]

Revenge of the Sith
Jakku, Jedi Enclave
Ripley Kühn
STEAMBREATHER

---

---

​

Granular winds carried volatile dust into Zaavik's solitary eye. Sand stung into his cornea, eliciting tears that doused his vision with an obstructive sheen. Between a hood, sand scarf, and eyepatch, his field of view was already hazardously narrow. Thus giving the watering an avenue to threaten blindness entirely on its own. Both hands gripped tighter on the reigns of his commandeered luggabeast as he blinked tightly and rubbed his eye on his bicep.

A sudden stop nearly sent him off the front of his mount. "Whoa there," called a strange, accosting voice. Zaavik blinked quickly, trying to expedite the process of clearing his vision. He could sense the faintest notion of danger, adding to his furtive urgency. There were several men surrounding him by the time he could see with adequate clarity.

The men surrounding him looked like what he always expected Mawite minions to look like. Dirty, eccentric, and generally barbaric. He sneered behind his sand scarf. They must have been taking the opportunity to sow chaos with the uninvolved. Bastards.

"Don't you know it's a warzone over there?" the voice, now with a face, asked sarcastically as he pointed off into the distance. All of his accomplices laughed dubiously.

Zaavik followed the man's finger to the sight of a large ship in the distance, streaks of bright hostility falling to the ground beneath it. He hadn't been able to see it before. It occurred to him at the moment that he'd peaked a dune while trying to clear the sand out of his eye. The vantage point made it look a lot worse than he'd thought it was.

"Nothing to say, huh?" the man, presumably the group leader, asked with hostility.

"Maybe he's deaf!" one of the shouted with an air of venomous humor.

"Or stupid!" came a third.

More laughter. Zaavik remained silent, one hand resting on his saber hidden beneath an off-brown poncho. Eye wandering, he began to count his adversaries.

"Don't worry boys, we'll make him talk, won't we?"

Danger singed into Zaavik's awareness as blasters began to slide out of their holsters. The luggabeast's sudden bucking stopped him from drawing his saber in time. Mawites were shooting at its feet, sending it in to a frenzy of bucks and jolts. Zaavik didn't last four seconds before being thrown off, slamming back-first into the sand as his grip faltered on his saber. The hood fell from his head, sand scarf went lip and exposed his face. Air was forced from his lungs, causing his next inhale to rasp loudly as he wheezed desperately for air.

Guffaws and chortles grew closer, creating an urgency that forced Zaavik to rise. On a knee, he reached for his saber, but couldn't call it in time before another pang of danger drew his attention leftward. A hand had come out to grab him, he met it with a metallic grip across the wrist. Crushgaunt tech applied force great enough to shatter bone. The head Mawite screamed before force-laden volts were sent through his body.

Zaavik pulled the arm, directed momentum with his other hand, and shoved their head honcho into another. Metal flew across the air into his grip, igniting a sinister crimson from one end. Shots went off, blade whirled, limbs were severed, bodies fell.

"No, no, wait-!" one cried just before having his skull split by a sizzling flash of red.

A blaster screamed, sending a bolts Zaavik's way. He whirled, deflected it back to sender. Another came, he swatted it away. Slowly, he approached the group leader, the one he'd electrocuted, still on the ground.

"Wait- My Lord, I didn't-" the Mawite pleaded, throwing his weapon aside from his prone position. The sight of a red saber and yellow eye made him peg Zaavik as a Sith. "Please!"

Zaavik's boot tapped against the other during his stride, activating a blade that jutted out from the toe of the sole. A kick sunk the boot-knife into the Mawite's throat. Gurgles, chokes, and hacks sounded off beneath an overflow of ichor. The knife exited with one final yank of Zaavik's leg. Silently, he stood over the dying adversary for a long moment, contempt in his eye. One most of the twitching had subsided, he bent down to pull a receiver from the deceased man's belt.

Harsh chimes sounded, denying Zaavik access to the device. Returning to a knee, he pried the man's bloody eyelid open and tricked the scanner with a lifeless eye. This time, access was granted with a single bell. Chatter came out of the microspeaker, overlayed with static. Holographic diagrams came to life, showing positions and intentions. It let him pinpoint the Enclave's location even more accurately than he'd attempted from memory. He'd only ever been there once previously.

Both hands threw his hood back over his head, adjusted the scarf back over his face. An realization struck his mind, forcing him to stop mid-stride. He'd need to get back into the the device, probably several times. Slowly, he turned to the lifeless body of the once cocky accoster. Two metal fingers plucked an eye from the socket, pulling until the optic nerve snapped like a stressed rubber band. The macabre key was wrapped into a cloth before it was hidden away in a poncho pocket.

He found his luggabeast lingering on the edge of the fight he'd had, about half a kilometer away. It was still frightened, but some trained instinct kept it around. "Easy," he comforted with one hand out, slowly trying to get through the the animal. It made odd sounds and bucked away, still unsettled. "Come on ya' big gonk, I don't have time for this!" An uncertain timer was ticking down every second. Darth Daiara would only remain oblivious for so long. His promise not to split up into unnecessary danger was shattered for a second time, though it still unbeknownst to anyone but him. The sooner he got this over with, the more likely it would stay that way.

"Easy," he pleaded softly again as his hand stopped flat on the metallic apparatus that overtook the beast's head. "There we go." His hand stroked the tarnished metal, trying to calm the animal. As he climbed onto its back, the mount once again made irritated noises. "It's okay," he insisted. The scrap-hauling creature wasn't having it. It bucked again, sending an only half-sitting Zaavik into the air and onto the sand again.

Sitting up, defeated, Zaavik sighed. He popped the canteen off of his belt and went for a drink, only to find droplets. Turning the receptacle over in his hand, he saw a puncture where he'd landed on it. Further inspection found wet sand beneath him. Teeth clenched together as anger and frustration began to swell. He shouted inarticulately, letting go of his vexation by exclaiming, "You stupid mutt!" Zaavik shot to his feet, hurled the canteen as hard as he could at the luggabeast. It clanked off the metallic helmet fastened to the animal's cranium and ricocheted into the air.

With a snort, the luggabeast turned to face him directly. Zaavik's heart sank for a second once he realized the animal had suddenly chosen fight over flight. He stood his ground as the mount charged, ready to play matador. It went poorly. The luggabeast swung its head, metal surface smacking Zaavik off his feet and sending him off the side of the dune. The sand didn't stop him. He tumbled violently, creating a cloud of sand around a contorted pile of limbs. It went on for half a minute before a slope sent him into the air and landing onto flatter strand.

Scarf was long gone, hood once again fallen, Zaavik rose to his hands and knees, dazed. He shook the sand out of his hair and spat sand from his mouth, shouting Zeltronian expletives in-between every expelling of dust from between his lips.

 

[Zark San Tekka]

LAST GLEAMING
JAKKU SYSTEM
PRETTY MUCH NOWHERE
Aaran Tafo Marcel von Ascania Jared Starchaser
Darth Solipsis Halketh The Mongrel

​

"Blast."

General San Tekka was hunched over the cramped frigate's holotank. After their last campaign on Korriban much of Battlegroup Andor still remained in dry dock at Nadiri. Fortune placed his temporary command billet within the freestanding subsectors and just close enough for a timely response. If the Maw battlecruiser looming in orbit were anything to judge by destiny could only take them so far. Now he would need to rely on his comrades in the 342nd Star Corps.

"Talon Squad, battle stations," Zark keyed his vambrace's comlink, "Hard drop. Get tactical, marines."

With only enough time for a single pass over Jakku's contested orbit the Jedi Master had selected a unit of his most elite commandos. Despite its age and scars he still wore the same Alliance crusader armor. Last time he walked the desert sands Zark left it behind out of respect for Master Quill and another old comrade Romi Jade . This time he could not afford to show their enclave the same kind of courtesy. Each step taken toward the strike frigate's sole ventral hangar bay resounded off deck plating.

"You alright, sir?"

"I'm fine," he smiled, "To your pod, trooper."

Zark placed his crossguard saber inside the insertion vehicle and climbed on board himself. Ever since he'd taken the Barash Vow as a young knight he'd been a soldier. Now he was both. Jend-Ro had challenged his loyalty to the New Jedi Order with some difficult questions. At last here he was, crusader general in a war that had returned to the Enclave's very doorstep. Somewhere out there in the black an old hermit was humbly suppressing his sense of smug satisfaction.

"Weapons tight. Confirmed targets only."

One by one the combat pods disengaged from their maglocks as the Last Gleaming drifted over Jakku's Valley of the Eremite. General San Tekka punched in the final course corrections himself based on readings from his own star compass. Each of the Jedi's marines landed within a kilometer of the compound. Their descent drew plenty of attention.

"Talon," the Jedi raised his energy blade like a beacon, "Secure this facility."

 

[Starlin Rand]

Objective: Defend the Enclave
Location: Jedi Enclave Entrance (?)
Tags: Darth Mori Halketh Darth Solipsis The Mongrel Dakrul Marcel von Ascania Aaran Tafo

Starlin was in the middle of brushing his teeth when he felt Darkness approaching the Enclave. Removing the brush from his mouth, he turned toward the general direction of the encroaching presences, his expression bewildered. Then he quickly spat out the toothpaste, grabbed his lightsaber, and headed for the entrance.

He’d come to Jakku three days ago in hopes of catching a much-needed break from all the fighting. His justified irritation was obvious as he rounded the corner to behold the newly arrived Sith.

“Oh great.”

Starlin Rand was clad only in a pair of blue pajamas and white socks. Catching sight of Halketh among the gaggle of Sith, his annoyance grew, but he maintained enough control to offer a curt nod and a “‘sup” to his one-time adversary. His Padawan braid was noticeably missing, leaving only burnt strands of hair in the spot where it had been (he’d just been knighted like, two weeks ago).

“Why are we all standing around like a bunch of slack-jawed nerf herders?” he inquired of his fellow Jedi, bewildered by their passive reaction to a literal Sith invasion. He recognized Aaran Tafo from a previous mission, and for a moment he thought he recognized Marcel von Ascania as well, only to notice her height and realize he had her confused with Cameron Crownwraithe (unless Cameron had grown a meter or two). Did Starlin have some kind of affinity for meeting blue-haired bimbos?...

He activated his double-bladed lightsaber, green blades flaring to life. “Unless you’re itching for a Round Two,” he said to Caelitus. “I’m going for the lady, even though she gives me the willies. All of you do, to be honest.”

His free hand thrust forward, green lightning arcing from his fingers and toward Darth Mori .

 

[Kyrel Ren]

Objective: Sneak into Enclave, gain new knowledge
Allies: Darth Solipsis The Mongrel Darth Mori Dakrul
Enemies: Aaran Tafo Starlin Rand Zark San Tekka
Nearby: Allyson Locke
Location: Within the Enclave

Jakku... Always Jakku it was where Kyrel often found himself at. A world he often went, maybe saw some signifigance when the First Order was at the height of it's power. When there was a time on which Kyrel was a dog serving one Master, not like much had changed. It was always trading one master for another, and Solipsis could be seen as another Sieger Ren to Kyrel. Who was the dead man to argue, as he walked upon the halls of the enclave, pondering his thoughts. The body of a Jedi Padawan was in the man's unholy grasp, his death mask in his other hand as he gazed upon the twitching body of a young boy. A chunk of flesh bitten out of the jugular, blood spewing onto Kyrel's own face. Considering what he had was a snack to quell his hunger for force sensitive blood as he started to strangle whatever life there was in the boy.

Kyrel had already been on Jakku for sometime before the arrival of the Maw, part of an excavation out in the Goazan Badlands. Digging up a threat long locked away by the Jedi, something to further his own plans for power. All of it a part of a plan, a plan to use the coming war to wrestle the Maw away from the new breed of Sith. A plan that carried actions carefully prepared without the knowledge of Solipsis, one could argue that Kyrel Ren had always thought as a Sith, operating among it's code and even coveting the long dead Darth Vader. Time would only tell if Kyrel's grand plan, his own schemes would come to fruition where he would take his revenge on all his enemies.

He had entered inside carefully, all by his lonesome. Decades against the Jedi from every order in the galaxy, had taught him to mask his own signature. He was able to slip inside as if a ghost, for one didn't live and survive as a wretch like he without picking up a few skills. Why did he venture alone, and without his Knights of Ren? Without any support? He walked aside it's very halls to gain new knowledge, knowledge that would further his own plans to assume control over the Maw. He learned that outright challenge towards Solipsis would not work, if he were to gain what he sought after he would have to gain that from the Jedi, Sith, and whatever he could use to his advantage. His days of being a loyal dog were done albeit to himself, for now Solipsis would only see him as a willing accomplice till the time was right. Something Darth Bane would frown upon, but something of which Vader would respect indeed.

The boy's eyes started to flicker, his body convulsed as he kept his feeding. He wouldn't be turned into the undead, no... No attention should be drawn to his activities here, not when the excavation was still under way for the tomb known as the "Well of Souls" Maw and Jedi alike would not know of his personal endeavors on this world, that was paramount. When he felt the delicious midichlorian filled blood had started to turn cold. He snapped the boy's neck to prevent any turning to take place proceeding to take the boy's head and smashing it onto the tile floor. He proceeded to march forth scouring the halls for the archives room, placing his death mask back on. He saw a room that was lit with different data streams, but before he could enter a presence in the Force was felt... Turning around he felt someone approach, someone so strong in the Force it ignited his hunger once more. His desire to consume and devour only rose, as he let out a growl to himself. "No.... No... Too soon! Not until I've gained the knowledge I seek..."

 

[Caltin Vanagor]

IT'S ALWAYS DARKEST BEFORE THE DAWN...​

Location: Jakku Enclave

Spoiler: Lightsabers

"ELOAH" (Primary - Long Handle)

"ELOHAI" (Secondary - Long Handle)

Spoiler: GEAR

Comm-link, Rebreather, Custom Robes, Battle Armor,Toraynor-Henkan(mind crystal added)Advanced Jedi Utility Belt

Spoiler: STARSHIP/COMPANIONS

Starship: Starlight Sentinel, (Jedi Interceptor in landing bay, Dilorian and Bike both in cargo bay)
Companion: Astromech R01R - "Roller", Pilot droid Mu51c - "Music"

Tag: Open

Yeah, Caltin was here.

The massive Jedi Master was here to drop off some supplies. The event on the Jadelight Beacon inspired him, he wanted to start teaching again, and he wanted to do some of it here. So some of his training droids and sabers needed to be brought in. This was going to be a simple, and shortstop, the big guy didn't even have his lightsabers on him. Of course, that meant that the voice in his head, me, would be joking about how this was the time for there to be a massive attack to happen as he was not prepared for it.

This was a joke that was too easy to make.

As the regular staff was running down the halls to their escape routes, Caltin checked his vambraces. They would have to do. So he made his way towards what the people were running from. A Sith apprentice, no older than fifteen and looking to be holding his weapon for the first time was walking the halls. The kid was full of misplaced rage, he felt like he was angry just for the sake of being angry. He even saw Caltin and froze in his tracks.

"Pre... prepare to die, Jedi scum."

Seriously?

Punching a few buttons into the comm-unit on his left vambrace, Caltin called for his droid "Roller" to bring his lightsabers to him as safely as possible. However, he would need to hold over in the meantime.

There's still time to leave, kid. You don't have to do this.

"Typical Jedi platitudes. I do not fear you!" The kid yelled as he slowly began to walk towards the big guy.

Actually, you are. I can sense it on you. Let go of it. Leave. No one has to be the wiser.

"I am no coward!"

No one said you are. Now stand down.

"I'm going to kill you, Jedi!"

Don't make me do this, kid.

"Die, coward!"

A right hook floored the boy as his overhead slash was never able to connect. The young Sith was out cold and Caltin was left to stand there shaking his head.

This is your second chance, kid. Make something of it.

Reaching out, Caltin "grabbed" the lightsaber and clipped it to the back of his belt. He didn't want to use a corrupted weapon, but it would have to do until he found "Roller". Now it was a matter of getting back to the upper levels... the turbolifts should be okay.

... YET THE DAWN ALWAYS COMES.

 

[Ripley Kühn]

:// BYOO // REDEEM //:
:// i have seen the same, i know the shame in your defeat //:
Zaavik Perl

Shed, the charismatic bartender, reached for the oil can, an eyebrow raised in an unasked question. Shaking her head, the zeltron slid enough credits across the counter to close the tab.

"My thanks for your business again, Jedi. You stick aroun' much longer, and might be I can claim ya as a regular." He teased, taking the can from the counter.

"Don't know about that. Thinking of moving on soon." She drummed her fingers on the metal, thinking. "Tell me of the other settlements. Are they all as friendly?" She poked back.

Most in the bar we're anything but- scum, smugglers, scavengers. He, and a few others who claimed business with this enigmatic guild, had been the only to show her any bit of welcoming. She couldn't blame the natives- the arrival of one who was clearly different only to dig around in their business wouldn't be greeted warmly even in the core worlds.

"Oh, they're just chummy." He stated with a chuckle. "Whereabouts you talkin'? Most of the towns and villages are as you've seen, though less populated, and lacking amenities. Might be you run into a roaming pack of teedo, though, if you venture too far out, and you all of people don' wan' to meet them. Very terr'toral, thos-"

His musings were interrupted as the door whipped open wildly, slamming against the wall. An orange glare of the building storm greeted the zeltron as her headshot sideways to the commotion. An Abednedo stood in the center of the threshold, panting. Dust speckled his clothing and his snowy whiskers. Patrons stared as he caught his breath, holding firmly on his knees, as though he had made a mad dash for a drink.

"Lights.. Ships.. from the sky... Lot's o' them." He finally puffed out. "Not... familiar... landin' in the desert... to the southeast."

The statement hung for only a moment before the entire room launched into action. Shed darted to his office, slamming the door behind him. Drinkers and dicers alike scrambled for the exit, some gathering outside to see the spectacle. Ripley followed them, drawing up the hood of her cloak. There was little to see from the edges of the repurposed star-destroyer- the whipping winds and blistering sands made for poor visibility. Citizens began to filter back inside, anxious and disappointed murmurs both present in the crowd.

Pulling the dark bandana upwards, her gaze moved left, towards where a human loaded a speederbike. The zeltron hurtled towards him, shoulder first, knocking him off-balance. The daze lasted but a second, yet that was all the zeltron needed. All manner of insults were hurled towards her as she sped away, but quieted as she plucked the credit pouch from her belt and tossed it backward. She pressed forward as the bike built momentum, ducking her head to cover it from the stinging sands, leaving the town behind.

The heat in the rolling sands was scorching, yet it kept the Jedi grounded. The sand pulled forth memories of darkness and destruction, but the presence of warmth promised her this was a different time. Isolation left her to dwell in her thoughts. The secret enclave was not so secret, given a certain padawan's arrival from such had been the buzz of the Coruscanti temple for weeks after. She had never been, though, and didn't know it's location- for all she knew, it could have been a remote village that had drawn attention. That didn't seem likely.

A break in the howl of the winds caught her attention before it resumed once more. A second later came another, louder, yelling. Ripley slowed to a more cautious speed. She looked, wiping the sand from her eyes all the while, before a figure came into view. It was almost shrouded in the wild sands, and she had to blink before she realized it was there. The zeltron stopped the bike immediately, dismounting and taking the hilt of her blade in hand. The words became clearer as she approached- angry, and of her native tongue. Eyebrows raised in surprise.

"Hello there, are you alright?" She asked the man in zeltronian, squinting to see his face.​

 

[Aaran Tafo]

Location: Jakku Enclave
Tags: Marcel von Ascania Dakrul Halketh Darth Mori Starlin Rand

“What if they do have an invitation??”

His brow furrowed slightly as he spared a glance to his Padawan. Short, blue-haired and dressed in ill-fitting robes after her other pair had somehow been stolen by a roving pack of Bloggins the moment he left her alone for more than twenty minutes.

Normally, having someone so clumsy in a high stress situation might be a cause for concern. But for whatever inexplicable reason, the Force seemed to have a plan for Creed. No matter what danger she found herself in. She somehow managed to get out of it with nothing more than a few scratches at worst.

"If they do. Then we'll need to have a conversation with Master Jade about the company she invites over."

Any other form of reassurance or banter was rapidly cut short. An abomination of rotten flesh and steel was charging towards him at an alarming speed. The hulking brute towering over even Aaran's own muscular body. Dead set on crashing into him and knocking him off his feet. It was in times like this, exercise and physical strength would mean nothing. Physics would dictate that the smaller of the two would be sent flying from the impact.

Thankfully, Aaran was Force Sensitive. So the laws of physics were but polite suggestions when the Force was taken into the equation. A single hand was held out, aiming to catch Dakrul by the point of the shoulder. And as soon as his palm connected, local scientists found themselves filled with a strange sense of frustration for some reason.

Instead of being sent flying like the laws of physics would dictate. The Battlemaster simply slid backwards a foot or two. But for Dakrul, it would feel as if the air around him had turned into molasses for a split second. All that power, all that energy behind his strike had been stolen during the exact instant of connection.

All absorbed by the Jedi before him. Who with a flick of his wrist, released a portion of it. The air shimmering as former Lord of Carlac's own telekinetic assault of his Padawan was met with equal and opposite force all of it the stolen energy from Dakrul's initial charge. Leaving Creed unharmed.

"Apologies." He said, his tone still pleasant. But there was a note of steel in his voice. "All of you seem to be under some impression that this will be easy for you." With a push of a button, the golden blade of his lightsaber ignited with the iconic snapping hiss. Its wielder, settling into the opening stance of Vapaad.

"I am afraid that you are mistaken."

"Last warning. Leave. Now."

 

[Khamul Kryze]

Jakku... Jakku... the word itself seemed like iron on the tongue. Khamul had made it a point to avoid such a ball of dust and nothingness, and yet, the machinations of destiny brought him here nonetheless. The goals of the Brotherhood here were simple... base, even, but to Khamul, there was no greater existence. To test one's prowess in battle was not just a test of fortitude, but of one's own justification of existence. The Jedi were weak... they always had been; mislead by the never-ending messiah complex provided by the light.

Keepers of the balance... what a joke.

Khamul wasted no time as the dropships of Death's Hand descended upon the once-hidden Enclave. The Mandalorians that had recently flocked to his cause yearned for the opportunity to test their mettle against the likes of the Jedi. They wanted death, glory, and blood...

And Khamul would deliver it to them.

They swept the area, covering their flanks as they made their way to the Enclave entrance. The Dark Voice had deemed none worth saving, and Death's Hand would see that through. Any caught in their crosshairs would be met with an abrupt end, and Khamul almost found himself pitying the Jedi...

He would catch himself, remembering that those of a weaker disposition had no place in the galaxy. Should any progress happen, it would have to be at the cost of those that could not fend for themselves. If these Jedi were truly worthy, then they would survive this day. Nevertheless... they would have to survive.