| Location | Moonside Inn
| Objective | Hostage Crisis - Resist the Call
There was beauty in their contrasts. In the way they all killed. The Felucatian, who stalked and hunted like a beast, and tore her way through her opposition just like one too. The empathetic duelist, so long an exile, whose weapon of death doubled as an instrument, something for him to express himself with music rather than death. Then, there was her own craft, her own method. Killing dispassionately, though such a thing was opposite to her nature and education alike, all too mindful of how complete her failure had been, last she killed with the fire in her heart.
Quietly noting just how volatile Jonyna's adoptive daughter was in her fighting style, she offered her a reassuring nod of her head nonetheless, ere turning her attention towards the door. The Duchess pretended not to pick up on Haliat's apology to his own quarry. Though she could never respect the sanctity of life quite as profoundly as he did, she had come to respect him for it; in a culture of warriors, a tempering voice like his own made all the difference. If she ever strayed too far from the righteous path, she knew he would be there to speak his mind, and remind her of her oaths.
Rayia's laugh took her aback, and so too did the reveal of the room's occupant. The lightsaber he held made his identity rather simple to guess, as too did his presence in the Force; Jenn could only silently curse herself for her lack of formal training in the Jedi arts, for she would surely have felt it otherwise. At least this newcomer provided the rest of them with vital information; the Knight's location, as well as that of the other hostages and hostiles. Just as she opened her mouth to return the greetings and introduce herself with her name (for urgency demanded that she eschew her list of titles), a radio crackled to life, drawing her unseen gaze towards it.
And we were progressing so silently.
Before she could order the others to proceed with her plan of action, the Padawan took action, picking up the radio and transmitting over something that... left her well and truly bemused. Was that really going to work? Were those amateurs stupid enough? Shaking her head, she decided that the answer to that question of hers did not matter. The mission had been made a little more time-sensitive now that she knew the terrorists to be at least professional enough to perform status checks.
"By all means", came the Ersansyr's eventual response, her voice melodious in spite of the helmet's vo-coder system. "Another Jedi is all too welcome a help in this endeavour of ours; we accept it gladly. Now, let us be quick and decisive in our advance. "
And with that, she headed down the stairs leading to the level below, though not before stopping by one of the Hastati covering that access point to listen to his report. A quick scan revealed about eight contacts on the floor below; news she took in stride, doing nothing to interrupt her slow, confident advance down to the stairs. Judging by the fact she did not particularly stick to the shadows, nor give a quick look around the corner beforehand, the Duchess no longer cared for stealth.
"Intruder!" called one of the terrorists, dropping a still-lit cigarette he'd just taken a single drag out of to pull up his blaster carbine, kept around his body by a sling. Though a disorganized lot, they were quick to answer his warning, weapons brought to bear and fingers shifting towards the trigger... and even then, Jenn kept on walking, as if she held no fear in her heart. To an outsider, it well and truly looked as if the warrior held no adrenaline in her body in that instant.
Calmly lifting her left hand, she curled her fingers inwards.
The sight of eight men being lifted off the ground and slammed against the ceiling brought her no joy, nor sorrow. No stimulation. She knew that if she gave in to the temptation, if she reveled into her power, she may very well just lose herself to it, no matter how sweet its siren song. They cried out in panic, and did so once again once she released her hold on them and allowed them to crash back down to the ground. By that time, she had brought her lightwhip to bear, the snap-crack-hiss all too readily recognizable.
It was not a weapon meant for close close, confined spaces, nor was it as noble as the sword. Alas for the Crimson Veil, the luxury of the Moonside Inn would be their undoing. No claustrophobic corridors here; even the space between rooms was spacious enough to allow for some breadth of movement, and so it allowed the Duchess to swing the elegant weapon with deadly grace, sending the the arc of energy flowing through the air like water. It had been too long since she last allowed her kad'yustapir to sing its song, and she had missed how it resonated within her very heart.
The nature of the weapon prevented the spilling of gore, and made the display all the more artistic for it. Blood would not mar this act of beauty, even as it sliced with ease through three of the rebels before they could finish mustering back to their feet. Of the eight, two had been quicker to reach for their fallen weapons, blindly squeezing the trigger in a moment of panic before they even finished aligning their sights on the oceanborne nightmare walking towards them - and so, with an almost dismissive gesture of her hand, Jenn waved them off, sending them crashing against a nearby wall.
Why had she denied herself this raw might for so long?
"I would have offered you parlay", spoke the Ersansyr in her melodious voice, even as she drew one of her twin pistols and finished off a stumbling terrorist with a mercilessly accurate shot to the head, "had you faced me as warriors, and not cowards hiding behind hostages."
Another practiced motion of her wrist, betraying the long hours spent training all by her lonesome in the most secluded and desolate sections of the Onderon Highlands, and two more of her foes were sent to the next adventure, the streaks left on their bodies where the water-like energy had passed speaking of the technique on display. Finally, she deactivated her deadly, if graceful weapon, carefully returning it to its position on her belt once more. Of the two she had sent crashing against a wall, one appeared to be suffering from a concussion. The other was turning tail and making a run for it.
He did not get very far, a plasma bolt finding its way into his back.
The last survivor, Jenn considered in silence, pushing the barrel of her pistol against his forehead.
"How many of your accomplices are left?"
Cold, and dispassionate. Not an ounce of adrenaline in her body indeed.
