Private Smoke and Shadows

[Valery Noble]

​

Outfit: Jedi Jumpsuit |
Weapons: Lightsabers

The descent onto Hirsi was smooth, but Valery felt the tension long before her ship even breached the atmosphere. She had come here for information — whispers of Sith movements along the border had reached the Alliance, and Hirsi, sitting precariously between their territory and the Sith Order's domain, was too valuable to ignore If the Sith were active here, she needed to know why.

But the moment her starfighter cut through the thick, hazy clouds above T'sehk, the capital city, she felt it.

Pain.

Not her own, not yet, but raw and tangible through the Force, like an old wound ripped open anew. At first, she thought it was just the familiar stench of Sith presence — there was no mistaking their darkened signatures, their emotions running hot and violent even from a distance. But there was something else. Something sharper.

They weren't hunting. They were fighting.

Her amber gaze flicked down toward the city below. The streets were slick with neon light, a maze of towering structures and narrow alleys, but she could see the signs of battle even from up here. Smoke curled into the air, thin trails snaking up toward the night sky. Blaster fire flickered in the distance, bursts of red and blue cutting through the urban sprawl.

And in the center of it all — standing against the Sith — was something else.

Someone else.

Valery's fingers flexed around the controls as she set her fighter down on the outskirts of the district, her engines barely cooling before she was already moving. The city was alive with tension, the fight drawing closer, the fear of the locals simmering beneath the surface. S She didn't know who the Sith were fighting. She didn't know if they were friend or foe.

But she was about to find out.

Drythamis ​

 

[Drythamis]

⠀

⠀

⠀

⠀

Hirsi, Streets of T'sehk.	LOCATION
Die fighting and killing as many Sith and Imperials as possible.	OBJECTIVE

There is blood and carnage upon the surface of Hirsi within the streets of the capital city of T'sehk.​

Blaster fire screamed as it slashed through the air - the bodies of anti-Imperial insurgents and Sith-Imperial troopers plummeting to the ground. The deaths of countless many, as Sith agents worked to provide devastation with their crimson blades of fell origin. Yet, amongst the masses of insurgents stood a figure of ivory fur and albino skin. Amber eyes glimmered with anger, hatred, rage, at the prospects of these creatures. They had felled his people, felled so many - it seemed only fitting to pay them back in blood and gore and suffering. Claws slashed outward as the hulking Nymaen advanced forward - one Imperial trooper gurgling as his throat was torn free from his body and tossed aside with a contempt-filled flick of his ebony claws. There is death here, and as the Sith move to greet him, he responds only thusly in a howling roar. There fought the Last Prince of Heraklios, for in his wrathful rage, his hatred knew no boundaries when it came to the Sith. For they would experience death at his hands.

❝SITH! COME UNTO ME, SO I CAN SEND YOU TO YOUR EMPEROR!❞

The Sith rush him en masse - they are no fools. Lightsabers scream to rip and tear at flesh - only for him to dodge and evade. His weapons possessed little resistance to their plasma edge, yet it mattered not. A mace lashed out at one of the Sith; a helmet crunched inward as he collapsed. Another impaled through the belly and hewn asunder by a durasteel blade. Again and again, he marched onward, one Sith, two Sith, four Sith, until at last half a dozen stood dead before him. Blaster bolts flew towards him; a cutting motion through the air as he took their shots when he could not afford to dodge. Indeed, as he made his way to the center of the fighting, blood and gore stained him. Across from him stood a dozen Sith and many of their troopers - many more of their numbers felled by him and whatever insurgents who lived to still fight. This world had died once. Now it shall be his tomb - but not before he snaps the spine of their advance upon it. A howling roar preceded his ferocious words.

❝COWER OR FIGHT, IT MATTERS NOT! YOU CANNOT ESCAPE ME!❞

There is no end to their number. They are Legion, but he is indomitable yet still. He will break the mountain, sunder the spire, carve the storm open. For he is the Last Prince of Heraklios, and even as he plunged into the horde of Sith and Sith-Imperial Troopers with reckless abandon, he fought on...

For his name is Drythamis, and his rage shall know no end...

'They will fall before me. I will avenge my people, even if it means killing every last Sith imagineable.'

TAGS: Drythamis Valery Noble​

⠀

⠀

⠀

 

[Valery Noble]

​

Outfit: Jedi Jumpsuit |
Weapons: Lightsabers

The clash of battle rang through the city, a cacophony of blaster fire, clashing steel, and the guttural cries of the dying. It rattled through the streets, through the alleys slick with rain and blood. And at the center of it all — like a force of nature made flesh — was him.

Valery saw him before he saw her.

A beast of fury and vengeance, ivory fur stained red, his massive form moving through the Sith like a scythe through grain. His roar shook the very air, daring them to challenge him, daring them to die. And they did. Again and again, they fell beneath his might. And for a moment — just a moment — Valery stopped.

Not out of fear. Not even out of hesitation. But because of the sheer, raw presence of it all. The carnage, the brutality — it was a scene out of some warlord's nightmare, and yet, somehow, the Sith troops still came, still pushed forward, as if trying to drown a wildfire with their own bodies.

Now, it was time for her to make her move. The violet glow of her lightsaber erupted into the fray like a second dawn. And then, she was moving like lightning. A shadow of speed and precision, weaving through the chaos with a grace that did not belong in a battlefield so soaked in blood. The first soldier barely had time to register her before her saber cut a clean arc through his torso, the scent of burning flesh mingling with the rain. She pivoted mid-step, twisting low as a blade slashed over her head, missing her by inches. In an instant, she surged up, a brilliant streak of energy cutting through the night as she carved another enemy down.

She didn't stop.

A backstep. A flourish. The Force coiled around her like a storm, heightening every movement, every strike. A trooper fired wildly, his blaster bolts screaming toward her — only for her to spin, deflecting the shots with the ease of someone who had done this a thousand times before. The bolts ricocheted into another's chest, dropping him before he even understood what had happened.

And then she was gone again, slipping through the horde like a phantom.

A dancer in the storm. A bolt of violet destruction. Even in the thick of his rage, Drythamis would see it. Feel it. The way the battlefield changed around her presence, the way the Sith hesitated, their momentum faltering under the combined fury of a warrior-beast and the Jedi who had become his shadow.

The numbers still favored the Sith.

But suddenly, victory did not.

Drythamis ​