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OOC Cantina / Re: Server Outages Possible
« Last post by SWSF Hoppus on August 04, 2025, 04:50:29 PM »welp it happened, im going to attempt to get us on to a new server as soon as I can. but very busy so not sure when that will be.
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OOC Cantina / Server Outages Possible
« Last post by SWSF Hoppus on July 30, 2025, 05:33:04 PM »Something is up that we're using a lot of bandwidth, if the site is down at some point in next week just try again later. I'll fix it up as I find time to do so!
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Star Wars: The Crimson Covenant / Re: CC: The Crimson Covenant
« Last post by Syren on July 23, 2025, 08:40:44 PM »“Hey, all
Don’t you give in to the games they play
They bend minds of all
But never change their ways.”
-Common Saints
Dathomir
Surface: Temple of the Voss-Ra
Following Elder A’kram, they descend further and emerge into an inner sanctum.
The room is massive, far walls ensconced in craggy shadows, where others await them. Three Voss-Ra Elders – Bashir, Sati, and Tariq – stand on three points of a large circle carved into the ground. Elder A’kram takes his place on the fourth. In the center, above them, Elder Ni’jad stands on a stone dais and motions for Seif and Dahlia to enter the circle. She takes a defensive stance, flicking both wrists as she levitates off the ground. The darkness mixing with the emerald of her eyes pleases them immensely, a true testament to all they have worked toward.
“You have nothing to fear, Your Highness. No harm will come to you here.”
“Not sure I believe that.”
“Yet it is you who came to us.”
Seif considers this. They had arrived unannounced at their sacred site, demanding an audience, making threats. As angry as he is, they must indulge them in these rituals. He nods to her, and she plants both heeled boots back on the ground. They cross the circle together and stand on either side of the dais where Elder Ni’jad raises his arms and recites an incantation that reverberates into the corners of the cavern. The air around them flashes and shimmers brightly before solidifying into a translucent barrier seemingly sealing them inside.
Elder A’kram waves a thickly robed arm slowly in front of him. “We may speak freely.”
“What the hell was that? What did you do?”
“Erected a ward,” Elder Ni’jad says pointedly. “To keep our words among those meant to hear them.”
“And the catch?”
“Crossing it before we bring it down will remove those words from your memories. Choose them carefully.”
He should have known. They have always been secretive, evasive, but he has never felt they intentionally misled him – or so he thought. Until Dahlia, he had never questioned them. Placing his faith in theirs. Every insidious suspicion she had raised had infected him over the past year, and then his errors were laid bare at Contruum. The Voss-Ra is nothing if not cunning, but he will not let it deter him from extracting what he came for.
“I ask you to do the same.”
Elder Bashir clasps his pale, thin fingers together. “Very well. Tell us why you have returned.”
“For the truth.”
The finality of his tone is not lost on any of them. His earlier admission was a twist she did not see coming, although it explains his behavior since they departed Contruum. So, that is what the Inquisitor told him. Something about his mother. Nothing like a bit of family trauma to bring everyone together. The trick with her father almost threw her, but she recovered quickly enough. She had never seen him outside of photage, carefully selected stills she imagined were meant to curate a certain perception. One that didn’t immediately scream he’d be hijacking the legacy gene, banging his absolutely bonkers sidepiece, and traipsing across the galaxy as immortals. The wonders of branding. She contemplates what the Voss-Ra will do, considering what they stand to lose. Seif appears in no mood to be dazzled by their glamours and guile.
Elder Ni’jad nods from the dais, “You shall have it. It is time.”
“It is time.”
“It is time.”
“It is time.”
“It is time.”
“Now?” Dahlia asks skeptically. “You have never been forthcoming in the past with anyone as far as I can tell. Not even with him, the one you kept so close. Do you now offer because you have the power to strip that knowledge from us, or does the prospect of losing him and thereby this chance at fulfilling the prophecy make sharing a more attractive option?”
Elder Sati’s rebuke is sharp: “We have been opaque, and intentionally so. Our history with the prophecy is…complicated. We feel discretion best.”
“Where has it gotten you? In this, the Inquisitors were not wrong to point out your failures. You are dangerously close to losing control, again, and I have played my role well for all of you. As you trained and instructed me. Hidden away at the Citadel Inquisatorious until I took up the mantle of Involis and served our mission. I need you to do better than it’s complicated. That, I have earned, Elders. For Winton. For the Covenant.”
“We agree, but do not discount our methods. We have our reasons. As you well know, not everything is what it seems. Where shall we begin?”
“Let us start with the question you have yet to answer. My mother.”
Tariq’s serpentine lisp is almost wistful. “Yes, your mother. Beautiful, reckless. Traits shared by many associated with the prophecy. You were taken from her, hidden from your parents, all because of elitist hatred fueled by war. Therefore, you could not be used by them or others who served their own needs.”
“Instead, you used me?”
“To be used in service of the prophecy is the greatest honor. A holy purpose. Our end is tied to the rise of the Sith, which means you are missing the point. You were taken, but we did not take you. You were given to us. All we were told was that this was part of a larger plan to keep Elle Greyson from the Federation Viceroy and under the family’s control.”
“But you knew she was alive?”
“Not until much later. While your father’s exploits spilled out into the public, culminating in a conflict on Corellia that threatened to engulf the galaxy, we never knew what became of your mother.”
“With as much knowledge as you have and hoard, forgive me if I find that difficult to fathom. You told me she died.”
“Given the nature of your birth and how your family reacted, we assumed the worst. Even though she survived, she was a prisoner to her family as well as the visions. The things she saw likely began to consume her. It was only calling out through the Force, establishing that connection, that we discovered she was alive. Protecting you from your father was obvious, but we could never be certain Elle Greyson was not being used as a weapon against the prophecy. Another of Alexander Winton’s ploys. We did not attempt to find out, and we never told you.”
He draws in a quick breath, swallowing the wave of dread. “And now?”
“She is gone, her voice silenced in our minds. After the Jedi found her.”
“They killed her.”
“That, we do not know.”
He is crushed but also relieved. They have much less to gain through deceiving them now, and so he takes some comfort in that. There is nothing he can do about it anyway. One more thing he must accept. Despite these answers, the anger does not dissipate entirely.
“If you had no hand in her fate, why not tell me? Why let me believe she was dead all this time?”
“There was a clear and credible threat if anyone discovered who you were, and we would not set you on that path. For your benefit, as well as ours. We told you that you were important, but even that does not begin to explain the depth of it.”
“I know.”
“Yes, but you do not understand. The Greyson name is intertwined with the prophecy itself, and the source of the visions that have been passed down through generations. The seers of the cycles with visions more powerful than those we could ever conjure. The Greyson line holds the true form of the prophecy as the Persephonea Oraculum. Some, Princess Dahlia already knows, as it was shared by her captor and Master, so many years ago.”
All eyes fall on her. Put on the spot. The images surface in her memory, things she had disregarded due to more pressing, selfish matters. Things that were there all along.
“Do you remember what you saw, what the holocron showed you?”
“A corrupted Jedi, creating life where none existed. There was an archivist, or something like that, another Jedi sent to Naboo, afflicted with knowledge of where we came from and what our bloodlines meant. She broke the code and fell in love, and the prophecy entered the chat, so to speak. She introduced the visions into the bloodline so that once our fathers joined with a Greyson, our mothers saw the prophecy too. A prophecy the Jedi tried desperately to hide.”
Stunned, Seif turns to her, “You…never told me you knew this.”
“You were never much interested in the things I had to say on Byss. Something tells me you hear me now.”
She looks among the Voss-Ra with narrow eyes, emboldened.
“These bits and pieces do us no justice. Your lack of transparency has cost us all dearly. A whisper here, a suggestion there. Conspiring in the shadows won’t get us what we all want. For this to be finished. Fulfilled. If we are taking a different approach in this cycle, then might I suggest you commit to that. Confessing may well be the key to unlocking what has so long eluded your grasp. What have you kept hidden from us?”
“You think you want these answers, but the burden is great. This is why there are five Elders chosen among us to share it with – four to oversee and one to validate. Our rituals guide us, but a scope this vast can only be influenced, not controlled. Not entirely. That is the mistake so many who come to know these words make. The Jedi wanted to keep this buried and those descendants as far from one another as the galaxy is wide without realizing that by attempting to conceal it set it all in motion.”
Seif steps back from the dais and sighs, “A clandestine plot guised as faithful stewardship.”
“Destiny is not a plot. Perhaps we have been more judicious than was necessary, but one can never be too careful with such things. What you decry as secrecy and manipulation is merely a failsafe against creating more who would twist it as others have. In these ways, we are the keepers of it. The Crimson Covenant. An Oraculum may see deeply into the prophecy, but they could not decipher it alone. It seldom made any kind of sense to them or anyone else. No one to connect it to the things happening around them. That is its power.”
“No one to connect these things…without the Voss-Ra. A symbiosis of your own. If you have this knowledge, why not intervene?”
“Direct intervention is not our purpose. Our connection with the Oraculum allows us to interpret what they see through our own magics, bringing order to the chaos of their mind. It is not always precise or perfect, and so we must choose the paths to take with the information we channel from the conduits. The Voss-Ra also cannot directly kill one of The Four. We can only facilitate interactions or create circumstances where death becomes more probable in service of it. Influence, not control. This was not feasible or sustainable in the early cycles, but it became our focus. We swore this as part of the Covenant because in our past, the Voss-Ra did not operate in the interest of the prophecy.”
Seif shudders at the thought, “What do you mean?”
“Before our time, the Voss-Ra tried to stop it. Our Order ferried Persephone away, cursed her sterile, to maintain the rule of the Keto dynasty on Empress Teta, but it only began the first cycle. The corrupted Jedi called upon the darkest aspects of the Force to spark life in the third-born daughter of the Empress, stolen from her the way Seif was stolen from his mother. Thus, the Royal Four of the Force were brought into these worlds.”
“Really? What changed?”
“The Voss-Ra disciple who advised the Empress and the Guild did so to keep them in power and our Order in favor. Through these actions, we realized our part in this was never to stop it but to bring it to pass. And so, as atonement, we began to seek out the descendants, following the bloodlines across sectors and star systems.”
“And brought them together.”
Elder Ni’jad nods, “After Centerpoint, we thought it was over. Our best chance imploded with that station. We communed with the dark spirits, performed our rituals, and beseeched the Oraculum to reveal what came next. In the blood magic, we saw a new Four. Left separated, they each held potential to bring galactic peace that would allow the light to flourish.”
“An abomination of the abomination.”
“We intended to hunt and kill you all before that ever happened, but as you grew, a new future began to take shape. Patterns that confirmed a new cycle and with it the promise of the Sith rising once more in Winton’s triumph, if only you could be brought together. We took more drastic measures this time. Guided by the Oraculum’s visions, Elle’s visions, influencing pieces that led to ruin so many times before. She outlined the course of this cycle, showed us the way. She is the reason you both stand before us now, as allies, united in this journey.”
A sympathetic ploy, one he does not take. Instead, he pushes them further.
“And again, you have allowed another the opportunity to bring it down around us.”
“Do not be so easily fooled by what you see on the surface,” Tariq counters gravely. “Lady Adubell, like Winton, allowed the prophecy to corrupt them. Believing they play roles they are not meant to play. It led Winton to his end. Adubell will follow and take others with her. We have seen it.”
“I’m still stuck on the part where you were going to kill us,” Dahlia scoffs with a shake of her head. “When you revealed yourselves to the four of us on The Wheel as kids, you could have done it. You meant to do it.”
“Yes,” Sati replies without a trace of remorse. “But we saw your power and the potential it held.”
“Lucky for us.”
“Your interpretations have been wrong before, and you gambled with their lives long after that. Striking down Masterton and Patten would have served these goals, but if I had triumphed over Winton, this would all be over!”
“We would never have known the two of you could unite unless there was a confrontation. That came with risks, but our faith remains, and here you both are.”
“Removing myself as a threat to her does not diminish the threat Adubell poses to us all.”
“Adubell’s thirst for revenge and need for control, untethered by the bounds of morality and mortality, has left her with a singular focus. Much like Alexander Winton, she will pursue it to that conclusion, which leaves an opening for you to then seize upon it. As we have said, it is the mistake they so often make. It is the nature of power and always ends the same.”
“Wow. What a convenient way for you to avoid any accountability.”
“No one is denying we have used others to help us achieve our goals, or in doing so, some have gone too far. Their involvement held potential to influence the prophecy in our favor, and therefore, it is a risk we took. We may not have collaborated with Adubell and her…operation, but all outcomes provide opportunities to drive things forward and set up the elimination of the remainder of The Four. Affection for them, waning or not, is of no consequence to their fates. Not this time.”
“Still, a dangerous gambit. One that has not yet paid off. Faith can be misplaced.”
“That it can, but we have learned much throughout our history. They are not the first. Others, before them, also tried to capitalize on what the prophecy appeared to offer them. It self-corrected in ways we never could have imagined and took several cycles before we were able to track patterns and map associations as they related to the outcomes. That is where Alexander Winton’s work with Medivh Guldon took us by surprise. A gateway to isolating The Four through their very genes. If he had only stayed the course. He bent this marvel, this gift, so thoroughly it was nearly impossible to untangle from within his cycle.”
“His cycle? That would mean his overlapped with Karen and Alexia’s.”
“By design, my dear.”
“If the Winton was my father, who were the others?”
“The Four in that cycle were Alexander Winton, Celeste Masterton, Kyri Patten, and Rutherford Gellar.”
“That doesn’t track,” Dahlia objects sternly. “Neither Celeste nor Rutherford died during that time. And Celeste wasn’t even a Masterton by birth.”
“Actually, she was. One who married another with the Masterton name.”
“You…you did that. Were you behind the death of my parents as well?”
“They were not your parents, Princess Dahlia. But no, you have the Empire to thank for that. They want Gellar for his connections and resources while using the rest of you as valuable commodities to be leveraged where necessary. Put simply, greed and power. Not terribly original, but not unexpected either. Emperor Schrag was wise to diversify his approach to fortifying the faction, even if he could not quite execute on it in the end and lost his life at Trevaithan’s hand. A course corrected. You see, Alexander Winton, in his quest for immortality, had to die to achieve it. And die he did, before Celeste Masterton and Rutherford Gellar. His ambition may have ended his cycle, but his first life ended at the direction of none other than Kimber Patten.”
Dahlia gasps. Seif’s mouth is fixed into a frown.
Sati snorts, “They thought they were so clever trying to hide her in the Hapes Cluster. Rescuing her from the clutches of the Empire only for her to turn around and use that torment to order his death. He may have overstepped his authority with an egregious audacity, but it was she who began the new cycle.”
“As Melanie began ours. That’s…insane. I thought they were both, like, light. Or good.”
“Those are only words. Kimber Patten may have been born with a face for the fools to believe, but she did unspeakably cruel things while in service to the Empire. We all hold capacity for evil, but not all evil serves these ends. Your father broke her because he could. Given his…inclinations, Alexander’s resourcefulness allowed us to use him to gather the successors long before his execution. We knew we needed to act quickly if the cycle failed due to his hubris, and so, Karen Winton, Melanie Masterton, Kimber Patten, and Valerie Gellar were already in place with established connections exactly when they needed to be. Things already in motion and significantly farther along.”
“Quite the setup,” Seif tuts darkly. “Ruthlessly efficient, as usual.”
“Yes, well, we saw him giving in to the same temptations we had seen before and leveraged that lust for power to unleash The Beast in Alexia to test Karen, who prevailed and seemed poised to bring us victory and fulfill the prophecy once their cycle began. We miscalculated Alexander Winton’s moral abandonment and subsequent betrayal of Medivh, Karen Winton’s surprising pragmatism, and Melanie Masterton’s cold resolve. It was as close as we ever came.”
“Miscalculation? That must have been quite disappointing after so much effort and planning. Tell me, how exactly did my father abandon his morals? I was under the impression he never had those to begin with. You clearly anticipated this, so why the surprise?”
The Elders exchange furtive glances. It is Elder Bashir who continues.
“Your mother, as it turns out. Queen Monica Greyson received the visions as well, but these were less debilitating than her sisters. She named those in the next cycle, which gave us time to plan accordingly but also provided your father with leverage of his own. As an Oraculum, she would whisper the words of the texts, speaking of great power for Winton, and their connection to the Sith. It was fragmented, full of non-sequiturs, and he decided he needed to get his hands on something more tangible than the ramblings of his wife. He used his position within the Imperial Security Bureau to track the location of Sith artifacts throughout galactic history. It is in this search that he found Korriban, or Moraband, as it is now called. Convinced the prophecy was hidden there, he sent Alexia to find her destiny, a destiny he promised her…but the text is not what she discovered.”
“What did Alexia find?”
Elder A’kram motions to the center of Seif’s battered armor.
“That very piece of the Etheralis.”
-TBC
Don’t you give in to the games they play
They bend minds of all
But never change their ways.”
-Common Saints
Dathomir
Surface: Temple of the Voss-Ra
Following Elder A’kram, they descend further and emerge into an inner sanctum.
The room is massive, far walls ensconced in craggy shadows, where others await them. Three Voss-Ra Elders – Bashir, Sati, and Tariq – stand on three points of a large circle carved into the ground. Elder A’kram takes his place on the fourth. In the center, above them, Elder Ni’jad stands on a stone dais and motions for Seif and Dahlia to enter the circle. She takes a defensive stance, flicking both wrists as she levitates off the ground. The darkness mixing with the emerald of her eyes pleases them immensely, a true testament to all they have worked toward.
“You have nothing to fear, Your Highness. No harm will come to you here.”
“Not sure I believe that.”
“Yet it is you who came to us.”
Seif considers this. They had arrived unannounced at their sacred site, demanding an audience, making threats. As angry as he is, they must indulge them in these rituals. He nods to her, and she plants both heeled boots back on the ground. They cross the circle together and stand on either side of the dais where Elder Ni’jad raises his arms and recites an incantation that reverberates into the corners of the cavern. The air around them flashes and shimmers brightly before solidifying into a translucent barrier seemingly sealing them inside.
Elder A’kram waves a thickly robed arm slowly in front of him. “We may speak freely.”
“What the hell was that? What did you do?”
“Erected a ward,” Elder Ni’jad says pointedly. “To keep our words among those meant to hear them.”
“And the catch?”
“Crossing it before we bring it down will remove those words from your memories. Choose them carefully.”
He should have known. They have always been secretive, evasive, but he has never felt they intentionally misled him – or so he thought. Until Dahlia, he had never questioned them. Placing his faith in theirs. Every insidious suspicion she had raised had infected him over the past year, and then his errors were laid bare at Contruum. The Voss-Ra is nothing if not cunning, but he will not let it deter him from extracting what he came for.
“I ask you to do the same.”
Elder Bashir clasps his pale, thin fingers together. “Very well. Tell us why you have returned.”
“For the truth.”
The finality of his tone is not lost on any of them. His earlier admission was a twist she did not see coming, although it explains his behavior since they departed Contruum. So, that is what the Inquisitor told him. Something about his mother. Nothing like a bit of family trauma to bring everyone together. The trick with her father almost threw her, but she recovered quickly enough. She had never seen him outside of photage, carefully selected stills she imagined were meant to curate a certain perception. One that didn’t immediately scream he’d be hijacking the legacy gene, banging his absolutely bonkers sidepiece, and traipsing across the galaxy as immortals. The wonders of branding. She contemplates what the Voss-Ra will do, considering what they stand to lose. Seif appears in no mood to be dazzled by their glamours and guile.
Elder Ni’jad nods from the dais, “You shall have it. It is time.”
“It is time.”
“It is time.”
“It is time.”
“It is time.”
“Now?” Dahlia asks skeptically. “You have never been forthcoming in the past with anyone as far as I can tell. Not even with him, the one you kept so close. Do you now offer because you have the power to strip that knowledge from us, or does the prospect of losing him and thereby this chance at fulfilling the prophecy make sharing a more attractive option?”
Elder Sati’s rebuke is sharp: “We have been opaque, and intentionally so. Our history with the prophecy is…complicated. We feel discretion best.”
“Where has it gotten you? In this, the Inquisitors were not wrong to point out your failures. You are dangerously close to losing control, again, and I have played my role well for all of you. As you trained and instructed me. Hidden away at the Citadel Inquisatorious until I took up the mantle of Involis and served our mission. I need you to do better than it’s complicated. That, I have earned, Elders. For Winton. For the Covenant.”
“We agree, but do not discount our methods. We have our reasons. As you well know, not everything is what it seems. Where shall we begin?”
“Let us start with the question you have yet to answer. My mother.”
Tariq’s serpentine lisp is almost wistful. “Yes, your mother. Beautiful, reckless. Traits shared by many associated with the prophecy. You were taken from her, hidden from your parents, all because of elitist hatred fueled by war. Therefore, you could not be used by them or others who served their own needs.”
“Instead, you used me?”
“To be used in service of the prophecy is the greatest honor. A holy purpose. Our end is tied to the rise of the Sith, which means you are missing the point. You were taken, but we did not take you. You were given to us. All we were told was that this was part of a larger plan to keep Elle Greyson from the Federation Viceroy and under the family’s control.”
“But you knew she was alive?”
“Not until much later. While your father’s exploits spilled out into the public, culminating in a conflict on Corellia that threatened to engulf the galaxy, we never knew what became of your mother.”
“With as much knowledge as you have and hoard, forgive me if I find that difficult to fathom. You told me she died.”
“Given the nature of your birth and how your family reacted, we assumed the worst. Even though she survived, she was a prisoner to her family as well as the visions. The things she saw likely began to consume her. It was only calling out through the Force, establishing that connection, that we discovered she was alive. Protecting you from your father was obvious, but we could never be certain Elle Greyson was not being used as a weapon against the prophecy. Another of Alexander Winton’s ploys. We did not attempt to find out, and we never told you.”
He draws in a quick breath, swallowing the wave of dread. “And now?”
“She is gone, her voice silenced in our minds. After the Jedi found her.”
“They killed her.”
“That, we do not know.”
He is crushed but also relieved. They have much less to gain through deceiving them now, and so he takes some comfort in that. There is nothing he can do about it anyway. One more thing he must accept. Despite these answers, the anger does not dissipate entirely.
“If you had no hand in her fate, why not tell me? Why let me believe she was dead all this time?”
“There was a clear and credible threat if anyone discovered who you were, and we would not set you on that path. For your benefit, as well as ours. We told you that you were important, but even that does not begin to explain the depth of it.”
“I know.”
“Yes, but you do not understand. The Greyson name is intertwined with the prophecy itself, and the source of the visions that have been passed down through generations. The seers of the cycles with visions more powerful than those we could ever conjure. The Greyson line holds the true form of the prophecy as the Persephonea Oraculum. Some, Princess Dahlia already knows, as it was shared by her captor and Master, so many years ago.”
All eyes fall on her. Put on the spot. The images surface in her memory, things she had disregarded due to more pressing, selfish matters. Things that were there all along.
“Do you remember what you saw, what the holocron showed you?”
“A corrupted Jedi, creating life where none existed. There was an archivist, or something like that, another Jedi sent to Naboo, afflicted with knowledge of where we came from and what our bloodlines meant. She broke the code and fell in love, and the prophecy entered the chat, so to speak. She introduced the visions into the bloodline so that once our fathers joined with a Greyson, our mothers saw the prophecy too. A prophecy the Jedi tried desperately to hide.”
Stunned, Seif turns to her, “You…never told me you knew this.”
“You were never much interested in the things I had to say on Byss. Something tells me you hear me now.”
She looks among the Voss-Ra with narrow eyes, emboldened.
“These bits and pieces do us no justice. Your lack of transparency has cost us all dearly. A whisper here, a suggestion there. Conspiring in the shadows won’t get us what we all want. For this to be finished. Fulfilled. If we are taking a different approach in this cycle, then might I suggest you commit to that. Confessing may well be the key to unlocking what has so long eluded your grasp. What have you kept hidden from us?”
“You think you want these answers, but the burden is great. This is why there are five Elders chosen among us to share it with – four to oversee and one to validate. Our rituals guide us, but a scope this vast can only be influenced, not controlled. Not entirely. That is the mistake so many who come to know these words make. The Jedi wanted to keep this buried and those descendants as far from one another as the galaxy is wide without realizing that by attempting to conceal it set it all in motion.”
Seif steps back from the dais and sighs, “A clandestine plot guised as faithful stewardship.”
“Destiny is not a plot. Perhaps we have been more judicious than was necessary, but one can never be too careful with such things. What you decry as secrecy and manipulation is merely a failsafe against creating more who would twist it as others have. In these ways, we are the keepers of it. The Crimson Covenant. An Oraculum may see deeply into the prophecy, but they could not decipher it alone. It seldom made any kind of sense to them or anyone else. No one to connect it to the things happening around them. That is its power.”
“No one to connect these things…without the Voss-Ra. A symbiosis of your own. If you have this knowledge, why not intervene?”
“Direct intervention is not our purpose. Our connection with the Oraculum allows us to interpret what they see through our own magics, bringing order to the chaos of their mind. It is not always precise or perfect, and so we must choose the paths to take with the information we channel from the conduits. The Voss-Ra also cannot directly kill one of The Four. We can only facilitate interactions or create circumstances where death becomes more probable in service of it. Influence, not control. This was not feasible or sustainable in the early cycles, but it became our focus. We swore this as part of the Covenant because in our past, the Voss-Ra did not operate in the interest of the prophecy.”
Seif shudders at the thought, “What do you mean?”
“Before our time, the Voss-Ra tried to stop it. Our Order ferried Persephone away, cursed her sterile, to maintain the rule of the Keto dynasty on Empress Teta, but it only began the first cycle. The corrupted Jedi called upon the darkest aspects of the Force to spark life in the third-born daughter of the Empress, stolen from her the way Seif was stolen from his mother. Thus, the Royal Four of the Force were brought into these worlds.”
“Really? What changed?”
“The Voss-Ra disciple who advised the Empress and the Guild did so to keep them in power and our Order in favor. Through these actions, we realized our part in this was never to stop it but to bring it to pass. And so, as atonement, we began to seek out the descendants, following the bloodlines across sectors and star systems.”
“And brought them together.”
Elder Ni’jad nods, “After Centerpoint, we thought it was over. Our best chance imploded with that station. We communed with the dark spirits, performed our rituals, and beseeched the Oraculum to reveal what came next. In the blood magic, we saw a new Four. Left separated, they each held potential to bring galactic peace that would allow the light to flourish.”
“An abomination of the abomination.”
“We intended to hunt and kill you all before that ever happened, but as you grew, a new future began to take shape. Patterns that confirmed a new cycle and with it the promise of the Sith rising once more in Winton’s triumph, if only you could be brought together. We took more drastic measures this time. Guided by the Oraculum’s visions, Elle’s visions, influencing pieces that led to ruin so many times before. She outlined the course of this cycle, showed us the way. She is the reason you both stand before us now, as allies, united in this journey.”
A sympathetic ploy, one he does not take. Instead, he pushes them further.
“And again, you have allowed another the opportunity to bring it down around us.”
“Do not be so easily fooled by what you see on the surface,” Tariq counters gravely. “Lady Adubell, like Winton, allowed the prophecy to corrupt them. Believing they play roles they are not meant to play. It led Winton to his end. Adubell will follow and take others with her. We have seen it.”
“I’m still stuck on the part where you were going to kill us,” Dahlia scoffs with a shake of her head. “When you revealed yourselves to the four of us on The Wheel as kids, you could have done it. You meant to do it.”
“Yes,” Sati replies without a trace of remorse. “But we saw your power and the potential it held.”
“Lucky for us.”
“Your interpretations have been wrong before, and you gambled with their lives long after that. Striking down Masterton and Patten would have served these goals, but if I had triumphed over Winton, this would all be over!”
“We would never have known the two of you could unite unless there was a confrontation. That came with risks, but our faith remains, and here you both are.”
“Removing myself as a threat to her does not diminish the threat Adubell poses to us all.”
“Adubell’s thirst for revenge and need for control, untethered by the bounds of morality and mortality, has left her with a singular focus. Much like Alexander Winton, she will pursue it to that conclusion, which leaves an opening for you to then seize upon it. As we have said, it is the mistake they so often make. It is the nature of power and always ends the same.”
“Wow. What a convenient way for you to avoid any accountability.”
“No one is denying we have used others to help us achieve our goals, or in doing so, some have gone too far. Their involvement held potential to influence the prophecy in our favor, and therefore, it is a risk we took. We may not have collaborated with Adubell and her…operation, but all outcomes provide opportunities to drive things forward and set up the elimination of the remainder of The Four. Affection for them, waning or not, is of no consequence to their fates. Not this time.”
“Still, a dangerous gambit. One that has not yet paid off. Faith can be misplaced.”
“That it can, but we have learned much throughout our history. They are not the first. Others, before them, also tried to capitalize on what the prophecy appeared to offer them. It self-corrected in ways we never could have imagined and took several cycles before we were able to track patterns and map associations as they related to the outcomes. That is where Alexander Winton’s work with Medivh Guldon took us by surprise. A gateway to isolating The Four through their very genes. If he had only stayed the course. He bent this marvel, this gift, so thoroughly it was nearly impossible to untangle from within his cycle.”
“His cycle? That would mean his overlapped with Karen and Alexia’s.”
“By design, my dear.”
“If the Winton was my father, who were the others?”
“The Four in that cycle were Alexander Winton, Celeste Masterton, Kyri Patten, and Rutherford Gellar.”
“That doesn’t track,” Dahlia objects sternly. “Neither Celeste nor Rutherford died during that time. And Celeste wasn’t even a Masterton by birth.”
“Actually, she was. One who married another with the Masterton name.”
“You…you did that. Were you behind the death of my parents as well?”
“They were not your parents, Princess Dahlia. But no, you have the Empire to thank for that. They want Gellar for his connections and resources while using the rest of you as valuable commodities to be leveraged where necessary. Put simply, greed and power. Not terribly original, but not unexpected either. Emperor Schrag was wise to diversify his approach to fortifying the faction, even if he could not quite execute on it in the end and lost his life at Trevaithan’s hand. A course corrected. You see, Alexander Winton, in his quest for immortality, had to die to achieve it. And die he did, before Celeste Masterton and Rutherford Gellar. His ambition may have ended his cycle, but his first life ended at the direction of none other than Kimber Patten.”
Dahlia gasps. Seif’s mouth is fixed into a frown.
Sati snorts, “They thought they were so clever trying to hide her in the Hapes Cluster. Rescuing her from the clutches of the Empire only for her to turn around and use that torment to order his death. He may have overstepped his authority with an egregious audacity, but it was she who began the new cycle.”
“As Melanie began ours. That’s…insane. I thought they were both, like, light. Or good.”
“Those are only words. Kimber Patten may have been born with a face for the fools to believe, but she did unspeakably cruel things while in service to the Empire. We all hold capacity for evil, but not all evil serves these ends. Your father broke her because he could. Given his…inclinations, Alexander’s resourcefulness allowed us to use him to gather the successors long before his execution. We knew we needed to act quickly if the cycle failed due to his hubris, and so, Karen Winton, Melanie Masterton, Kimber Patten, and Valerie Gellar were already in place with established connections exactly when they needed to be. Things already in motion and significantly farther along.”
“Quite the setup,” Seif tuts darkly. “Ruthlessly efficient, as usual.”
“Yes, well, we saw him giving in to the same temptations we had seen before and leveraged that lust for power to unleash The Beast in Alexia to test Karen, who prevailed and seemed poised to bring us victory and fulfill the prophecy once their cycle began. We miscalculated Alexander Winton’s moral abandonment and subsequent betrayal of Medivh, Karen Winton’s surprising pragmatism, and Melanie Masterton’s cold resolve. It was as close as we ever came.”
“Miscalculation? That must have been quite disappointing after so much effort and planning. Tell me, how exactly did my father abandon his morals? I was under the impression he never had those to begin with. You clearly anticipated this, so why the surprise?”
The Elders exchange furtive glances. It is Elder Bashir who continues.
“Your mother, as it turns out. Queen Monica Greyson received the visions as well, but these were less debilitating than her sisters. She named those in the next cycle, which gave us time to plan accordingly but also provided your father with leverage of his own. As an Oraculum, she would whisper the words of the texts, speaking of great power for Winton, and their connection to the Sith. It was fragmented, full of non-sequiturs, and he decided he needed to get his hands on something more tangible than the ramblings of his wife. He used his position within the Imperial Security Bureau to track the location of Sith artifacts throughout galactic history. It is in this search that he found Korriban, or Moraband, as it is now called. Convinced the prophecy was hidden there, he sent Alexia to find her destiny, a destiny he promised her…but the text is not what she discovered.”
“What did Alexia find?”
Elder A’kram motions to the center of Seif’s battered armor.
“That very piece of the Etheralis.”
-TBC
14
Star Wars: The Crimson Covenant / Re: CC: Refuge
« Last post by Medivh on July 07, 2025, 02:03:07 PM »Corellian Sector
Drall
High Orbit
Mara had worked with the engineers, slowly rewiring and reconfiguring a fleet of gravity well nets, changing their internal makeup so they could be controlled, not by the Republic that had purchased them, but by the Corellians who had captured them. The nets that had been used to control traffic into and out of the Republic; control traffic between the Republic and the Corellian Sector - they would now be a key element of Corellian defenses, making sure the Republic could not just drop in unannounced.
But wiring and engineering could only go so far. The gravity well nets were a technology created by the now long gone Trade Federation, and their proprietary technology included a bio-tech programming mix that prevented theft of these remarkable devices. The Corellian engineers didn't understand why Mara was uniquely suited to bypass the system; they only knew that their instructions were to not question her.
And she had some time ago ordered them away. Hovering now, alone, in the space above Drall - far above, that the planet appeared more like a ball in the distance than a planet - the nets had been tethered together with cables, wires connecting them all to a single ship.
Mara's ship.
The Refuge
It was the vessel she had traveled with Nevylinn on, through the galaxy, seeking answers, and now it was where she was spending hours upon hours and days upon days, isolated.
The anti-theft technology was possible to get around, but it was slow work, and it required Mara's bio-signature to work through the system, making the required adjustments. Even now, she was sitting in the chair, her eyes closed, lids fluttering, as the cable extending out of the back of her neck ran through the cooridor, and out to the next gravity well net she was reprogramming, her consciousness, swimming amidst a landscape of code, floating in a way not unlike a lone pilot traveling amongst the stars.
Navigating through one cluster of programming, finding the right destination, and then tweaking it. The first few had been particularly slow, as trial and error were required to ensure the program worked, without the risk of the failsafe self destruct triggering, without programming bugs. Now, it was copying and pasting the code that was perfected, line by line. But still slow work. Lonely work.
How many days had it been now? How many weeks? Even as she worked, her conscious typing and tweaking, her thoughts also lingered on everything that was to come. Riley's wedding. She wondered if it would be traditional, what kind of dress Gemma would wear, what kind of doppy grin Riley would have as he saw her walk down the isle. She wondered what emotions she would feel, seeing the one she had cared so long for finally in the care of another ...
Flash
Mara was startled by the sudden change. It had been so long since she had experienced one of these Force visions. Her powers had been maintained, but the prophetic nature of the force did not often reach out to her, whose powers were, afterall, artificially created.
Perhaps something about this weightless state of consciousness had opened her up to its power? She might ponder it more, if not for her efforts to pay attention.
She was running
Always running in her visions, a sign of urgency of danger
The grassy hills outside the Patten ranch on Corellia, the sound of wedding bells in the distance. She could feel that she was LATE, and she was running faster.
The bells suddenly cut off short, a final deafening dong along with a crash that echoed far louder than the chimes had.
Flash
She wasn't on Corellia - she was, again, on a space station, the sound of crying. Riley crying. She was back on Centerpoint, when the station was slowly self-destructing, when she was saving Riley and leaving Kimber on the cold steel floor.
But even here, something was different. She felt watched, and heard, a cackling laughter from somewhere behind her.
"You cannot save him. He's doomed to die"
Flash back on Corellia now, she could see the danger now, could she why she was late.
It wasn't for the wedding - or maybe it had been?
Ahead, she could see the red blade strike against the blue, as two nearly identical women fought.
Adubell and Nevylinn
Adubell was not alone - there were shapes, shadows with her that were attacking. . there he was ... Riley was dressed in a stunning tuxedo, the Corellian ceremonial stripe on the side of his pants, the blaster out, firing; Gemma, beside him, her white gown in sharp contrast to her own saber blade, and now she was running toward the sisters.
Mara, running, faster, her own yellow bladed light saber igniting.
Adubell, the better fighter, the undefeated, was holding her own, her weapon flashing as it struck each of their weapons, pushing them back. Adubell's reddish-yellow eyes turning to Mara.
"You can't save him. He's doomed to die"
Her laugh, a cackling, evil laugh that lacked the warmth of humanity lingered, even as Mara found herself back amidst the code.
She was breathing hard - a reflex that had been programmed into her, even though she didn't need to breath. She knew that prophesies and images lacked clarity, and this one was hardly new. It only told her one thing.
Time was running out.
TBC
Drall
High Orbit
Mara had worked with the engineers, slowly rewiring and reconfiguring a fleet of gravity well nets, changing their internal makeup so they could be controlled, not by the Republic that had purchased them, but by the Corellians who had captured them. The nets that had been used to control traffic into and out of the Republic; control traffic between the Republic and the Corellian Sector - they would now be a key element of Corellian defenses, making sure the Republic could not just drop in unannounced.
But wiring and engineering could only go so far. The gravity well nets were a technology created by the now long gone Trade Federation, and their proprietary technology included a bio-tech programming mix that prevented theft of these remarkable devices. The Corellian engineers didn't understand why Mara was uniquely suited to bypass the system; they only knew that their instructions were to not question her.
And she had some time ago ordered them away. Hovering now, alone, in the space above Drall - far above, that the planet appeared more like a ball in the distance than a planet - the nets had been tethered together with cables, wires connecting them all to a single ship.
Mara's ship.
The Refuge
It was the vessel she had traveled with Nevylinn on, through the galaxy, seeking answers, and now it was where she was spending hours upon hours and days upon days, isolated.
The anti-theft technology was possible to get around, but it was slow work, and it required Mara's bio-signature to work through the system, making the required adjustments. Even now, she was sitting in the chair, her eyes closed, lids fluttering, as the cable extending out of the back of her neck ran through the cooridor, and out to the next gravity well net she was reprogramming, her consciousness, swimming amidst a landscape of code, floating in a way not unlike a lone pilot traveling amongst the stars.
Navigating through one cluster of programming, finding the right destination, and then tweaking it. The first few had been particularly slow, as trial and error were required to ensure the program worked, without the risk of the failsafe self destruct triggering, without programming bugs. Now, it was copying and pasting the code that was perfected, line by line. But still slow work. Lonely work.
How many days had it been now? How many weeks? Even as she worked, her conscious typing and tweaking, her thoughts also lingered on everything that was to come. Riley's wedding. She wondered if it would be traditional, what kind of dress Gemma would wear, what kind of doppy grin Riley would have as he saw her walk down the isle. She wondered what emotions she would feel, seeing the one she had cared so long for finally in the care of another ...
Flash
Mara was startled by the sudden change. It had been so long since she had experienced one of these Force visions. Her powers had been maintained, but the prophetic nature of the force did not often reach out to her, whose powers were, afterall, artificially created.
Perhaps something about this weightless state of consciousness had opened her up to its power? She might ponder it more, if not for her efforts to pay attention.
She was running
Always running in her visions, a sign of urgency of danger
The grassy hills outside the Patten ranch on Corellia, the sound of wedding bells in the distance. She could feel that she was LATE, and she was running faster.
The bells suddenly cut off short, a final deafening dong along with a crash that echoed far louder than the chimes had.
Flash
She wasn't on Corellia - she was, again, on a space station, the sound of crying. Riley crying. She was back on Centerpoint, when the station was slowly self-destructing, when she was saving Riley and leaving Kimber on the cold steel floor.
But even here, something was different. She felt watched, and heard, a cackling laughter from somewhere behind her.
"You cannot save him. He's doomed to die"
Flash back on Corellia now, she could see the danger now, could she why she was late.
It wasn't for the wedding - or maybe it had been?
Ahead, she could see the red blade strike against the blue, as two nearly identical women fought.
Adubell and Nevylinn
Adubell was not alone - there were shapes, shadows with her that were attacking. . there he was ... Riley was dressed in a stunning tuxedo, the Corellian ceremonial stripe on the side of his pants, the blaster out, firing; Gemma, beside him, her white gown in sharp contrast to her own saber blade, and now she was running toward the sisters.
Mara, running, faster, her own yellow bladed light saber igniting.
Adubell, the better fighter, the undefeated, was holding her own, her weapon flashing as it struck each of their weapons, pushing them back. Adubell's reddish-yellow eyes turning to Mara.
"You can't save him. He's doomed to die"
Her laugh, a cackling, evil laugh that lacked the warmth of humanity lingered, even as Mara found herself back amidst the code.
She was breathing hard - a reflex that had been programmed into her, even though she didn't need to breath. She knew that prophesies and images lacked clarity, and this one was hardly new. It only told her one thing.
Time was running out.
TBC
15
Star Wars: The Crimson Covenant / Re: CC: The Crimson Covenant
« Last post by Syren on July 02, 2025, 07:18:41 PM »“I have been searching for peace
Looking for something out of my reach
But it’s coming for me.
I know it’s coming for me.”
-Damian Lazarus
Dathomir
The shuttle streaks through a scattered, storm-laced sky.
His fury is righteous, and he has used the time to both contemplate and heal while instructing her where to go. She does as she is told, for once. The shift in him is not exactly subtle, and while Dahlia is dying to know what brought about this unexpected sojourn, she knows confronting the Voss-Ra is fraught with risk. She had failed in doing so herself and pondered the reception to their visit. His relationship with them spans the whole of his life thus far, and so she would let him take the lead. She hopes he knows what he is doing.
She veers through valleys that grow narrower as mountains rise on either side and sets them down in the location he provided. She stares ahead with a grim expression.
“I’m guessing this isn’t black tie?”
He grumbles something and slams a fist against the ramp controls, which lets in a stingingly crisp and surprisingly damp gust of wind. He wears his armor, still damaged and scuffed, but holds the helmet loosely at his side. She joins him, opting for a black bodysuit with a chunky belt to which her saber is fastened, hair swinging from a high pony she’d been perfecting in the last hour or so before their arrival. The bacta pad affixed to her shoulder covers a clean wound, one that would improve with time. Otherwise, she is as she has always been: that bitch. Seif, on the other hand, is still looking pretty rough. His movements may still be unsteady, but the sheer anger radiating from him causes the Etheralis fragment within the broken chest plate to glow brightly. Its energy washes over her, soothing some of the anxiety that surrounds the low-level dread emanating from this place. He acts as though all of this is familiar and takes no notice of the worrisome glances she has thrown at him. He could have at least prepared her.
At the bottom of the ramp, directly in front of them, a towering temple of what appears to be bones lies at the base of a great peak, surrounded by gnarled ridges that weave their way down to thin lines that disappear into the flat, circular, sandy space surrounding the entrance. It looks almost as if they hold the structure, guarding whatever is inside with an ominously tender embrace. The sand appears to shift as they approach.
She reaches down and rubs it between her gloved fingers. It is not sand, but delicate ash. Light and gray. Wind-swept yet held in place and manipulated into symbols. Some recognizable. Others foreign. Ancient and alchemical. It continues to shift seamlessly before their eyes, ripples parting to create a smooth and narrow path to the gates.
“They know we are here.”
It is stated so flatly that Dahlia cannot discern if that is a good thing. They move forward, ash hardening below their boots, and they cross unharmed to gates that swing open. Inside, a pulsing glow illuminates a simple foyer with four distinct archways. A single symbol is etched above each arch so that they must move closer to see clearly. It is not a language she recognizes, so she looks to him for guidance.
“Letters, initials. As they are named, from left to right. W, M, P, G.”
Winton, Masterton, Patten, Gellar.
“How…very.”
They choose the left-most arch since she is the “W” in this situation. Torches along the increasingly rocky walls spring to life as they near and dim as they move away. Tendrils of incense, pungent with musk, hang in the air and seem to beckon them. The ground beneath them slopes steadily downward, and they finally step out into a small cavern seemingly carved directly into the mountain. It is empty except for a stone pillar topped with fire and someone facing the far wall. Not exactly the welcome they expected.
“Hello.”
The figure stiffens and slowly turns around. The dim light of the fire catches the copper hues of his hair and deepens the wicked smile spreading across his lips. Alexander Winton steps forward, arms outstretched.
“My darling, Dahlia. How good of you to come.”
She remains where she is, Seif frozen just behind her.
Alexander moves toward them, “How proud of you I am. All the damage you have done, all that is left to be destroyed and rebuilt. We are so close. You truly have lived up to the Winton name.”
Her fingers graze the hilt of her saber, a movement he catches. It stops his advance.
“Enough. You are not my father.”
“We are whoever we need to be,” it says, façade fading in a distorted cloud of smoke as the Voss-Ra transforms. Ceremonial headdress, pale skin streaked with ash, sunken eyes glowing amber, and a garish squiggle of a mouth with two rows of jagged teeth, still smiling. “Forgive me. I am Elder A’kram, and you, my dear Daughter of Darkness, are not where you are supposed to be.”
“My detour,” Seif says sharply, stepping in front of her. “We have come for answers. You want us to fulfill the prophecy, then we need the clarity you have denied all others.”
“A detour? Unwise and unsanctioned. Orders not followed. We have received word that you assaulted and threatened our emissary, Darth Erinbol. Is this true?”
“It is. He is fortunate that I did not take it further.”
Elder A’kram considers this, “Your faith is shaken, Involis. You radiate with mistrust.”
“My name is Seif. Seif Guldon-Greyson. Son of Viceroy Medivh Guldon and Elle Greyson.”
“That is who you were. You became Inquisitor Involis and transcended into The Beast, an honor bestowed upon so few, a catalyst for so much progress. We have taken considerable care to ensure you were ready for this moment, and up until you appeared through that tunnel, you have not disappointed us. Now you come demanding answers when we have given you such power and possibility.”
“You gave, yes, but you took as well. Took more than I even knew.”
“A specific answer you seek, then. Out with it.”
“What happened to my mother?”
“You know what happened to her. You were taken from her, and we raised and cared for you until you came into your own.”
His resolve is strong, and he presses on with an indignation in his voice that causes the Etheralis fragment to spark in its casing.
“That is not the whole story, though, is it? How could it be? Nothing is ever as it seems with the Voss-Ra. Adubell may be ruthless, but she is thorough, and she discovered what’s left of the Jedi has been up to all this time. She told the Inquisitors, turned them against us, and they tried to stop us. Stop everything we have worked so diligently to accomplish. Thankfully, we prevailed. Princess Dahlia defeated them.”
She shrugs, flipping her pony over one shoulder.
Elder A’kram flashes a grotesque grin, evidently pleased with the outcome.
“Impressive. Not an easy victory, I gather. Unfortunate. That they were corrupted in such a way. And the Jedi, if you can even call them that anymore, desecrated our shrine on Empress Teta.”
“And on Naboo? What did you desecrate there? For all I have done, for all that I have sacrificed, you owe me this. No more half-truths or I swear I will burn this temple and everything you stand for to the fucking ground.”
A’kram appraises him, no doubt feeling the fury grow as the Etheralis pours power into him. A long, tense moment of silence passes. Dahlia realizes this also means her, but refrains from objecting in the moment. Seif is super scary right now, and she wants to see how far he will take this. A decision is made and, with a subtle nod, A'kram turns back toward the wall behind him. Waving a hand, another cave appears that he steps through. So many glamours and tricks, she thinks, is everything in this place an illusion?
Seif starts after him quickly, but Dahlia grabs his arm.
“Not that I am not totally enjoying this comeuppance and everything, but you warned me not to question them. Not to push lest we face the consequences. Are you certain this is what you want?”
“You are literally the nosiest person I have ever encountered. Always so inquisitive, so desperate for answers. Now is our chance, and here you are second-guessing it?”
“I only mean…”
“I know what you mean, and what I said. Contruum…changed things, and if what Inquisitor Feraas told me is true, then the time for subtlety and submission has long since passed. I need to know.”
He holds her gaze, and she eventually inclines her head as his arm slips out of her grasp. These secrets, so intentionally obscured, have shaped the course of so many lives and the galaxy right along with it. His abrupt pivot indicates he is ready to challenge their role in it, and yet she hopes he is prepared for answers he may not be ready to hear. She hopes they both are.
Princess Dahlia squares her shoulders, tips her head back, and follows him and the Voss-Ra Elder into the darkness beyond.
-TBC
Looking for something out of my reach
But it’s coming for me.
I know it’s coming for me.”
-Damian Lazarus
Dathomir
The shuttle streaks through a scattered, storm-laced sky.
His fury is righteous, and he has used the time to both contemplate and heal while instructing her where to go. She does as she is told, for once. The shift in him is not exactly subtle, and while Dahlia is dying to know what brought about this unexpected sojourn, she knows confronting the Voss-Ra is fraught with risk. She had failed in doing so herself and pondered the reception to their visit. His relationship with them spans the whole of his life thus far, and so she would let him take the lead. She hopes he knows what he is doing.
She veers through valleys that grow narrower as mountains rise on either side and sets them down in the location he provided. She stares ahead with a grim expression.
“I’m guessing this isn’t black tie?”
He grumbles something and slams a fist against the ramp controls, which lets in a stingingly crisp and surprisingly damp gust of wind. He wears his armor, still damaged and scuffed, but holds the helmet loosely at his side. She joins him, opting for a black bodysuit with a chunky belt to which her saber is fastened, hair swinging from a high pony she’d been perfecting in the last hour or so before their arrival. The bacta pad affixed to her shoulder covers a clean wound, one that would improve with time. Otherwise, she is as she has always been: that bitch. Seif, on the other hand, is still looking pretty rough. His movements may still be unsteady, but the sheer anger radiating from him causes the Etheralis fragment within the broken chest plate to glow brightly. Its energy washes over her, soothing some of the anxiety that surrounds the low-level dread emanating from this place. He acts as though all of this is familiar and takes no notice of the worrisome glances she has thrown at him. He could have at least prepared her.
At the bottom of the ramp, directly in front of them, a towering temple of what appears to be bones lies at the base of a great peak, surrounded by gnarled ridges that weave their way down to thin lines that disappear into the flat, circular, sandy space surrounding the entrance. It looks almost as if they hold the structure, guarding whatever is inside with an ominously tender embrace. The sand appears to shift as they approach.
She reaches down and rubs it between her gloved fingers. It is not sand, but delicate ash. Light and gray. Wind-swept yet held in place and manipulated into symbols. Some recognizable. Others foreign. Ancient and alchemical. It continues to shift seamlessly before their eyes, ripples parting to create a smooth and narrow path to the gates.
“They know we are here.”
It is stated so flatly that Dahlia cannot discern if that is a good thing. They move forward, ash hardening below their boots, and they cross unharmed to gates that swing open. Inside, a pulsing glow illuminates a simple foyer with four distinct archways. A single symbol is etched above each arch so that they must move closer to see clearly. It is not a language she recognizes, so she looks to him for guidance.
“Letters, initials. As they are named, from left to right. W, M, P, G.”
Winton, Masterton, Patten, Gellar.
“How…very.”
They choose the left-most arch since she is the “W” in this situation. Torches along the increasingly rocky walls spring to life as they near and dim as they move away. Tendrils of incense, pungent with musk, hang in the air and seem to beckon them. The ground beneath them slopes steadily downward, and they finally step out into a small cavern seemingly carved directly into the mountain. It is empty except for a stone pillar topped with fire and someone facing the far wall. Not exactly the welcome they expected.
“Hello.”
The figure stiffens and slowly turns around. The dim light of the fire catches the copper hues of his hair and deepens the wicked smile spreading across his lips. Alexander Winton steps forward, arms outstretched.
“My darling, Dahlia. How good of you to come.”
She remains where she is, Seif frozen just behind her.
Alexander moves toward them, “How proud of you I am. All the damage you have done, all that is left to be destroyed and rebuilt. We are so close. You truly have lived up to the Winton name.”
Her fingers graze the hilt of her saber, a movement he catches. It stops his advance.
“Enough. You are not my father.”
“We are whoever we need to be,” it says, façade fading in a distorted cloud of smoke as the Voss-Ra transforms. Ceremonial headdress, pale skin streaked with ash, sunken eyes glowing amber, and a garish squiggle of a mouth with two rows of jagged teeth, still smiling. “Forgive me. I am Elder A’kram, and you, my dear Daughter of Darkness, are not where you are supposed to be.”
“My detour,” Seif says sharply, stepping in front of her. “We have come for answers. You want us to fulfill the prophecy, then we need the clarity you have denied all others.”
“A detour? Unwise and unsanctioned. Orders not followed. We have received word that you assaulted and threatened our emissary, Darth Erinbol. Is this true?”
“It is. He is fortunate that I did not take it further.”
Elder A’kram considers this, “Your faith is shaken, Involis. You radiate with mistrust.”
“My name is Seif. Seif Guldon-Greyson. Son of Viceroy Medivh Guldon and Elle Greyson.”
“That is who you were. You became Inquisitor Involis and transcended into The Beast, an honor bestowed upon so few, a catalyst for so much progress. We have taken considerable care to ensure you were ready for this moment, and up until you appeared through that tunnel, you have not disappointed us. Now you come demanding answers when we have given you such power and possibility.”
“You gave, yes, but you took as well. Took more than I even knew.”
“A specific answer you seek, then. Out with it.”
“What happened to my mother?”
“You know what happened to her. You were taken from her, and we raised and cared for you until you came into your own.”
His resolve is strong, and he presses on with an indignation in his voice that causes the Etheralis fragment to spark in its casing.
“That is not the whole story, though, is it? How could it be? Nothing is ever as it seems with the Voss-Ra. Adubell may be ruthless, but she is thorough, and she discovered what’s left of the Jedi has been up to all this time. She told the Inquisitors, turned them against us, and they tried to stop us. Stop everything we have worked so diligently to accomplish. Thankfully, we prevailed. Princess Dahlia defeated them.”
She shrugs, flipping her pony over one shoulder.
Elder A’kram flashes a grotesque grin, evidently pleased with the outcome.
“Impressive. Not an easy victory, I gather. Unfortunate. That they were corrupted in such a way. And the Jedi, if you can even call them that anymore, desecrated our shrine on Empress Teta.”
“And on Naboo? What did you desecrate there? For all I have done, for all that I have sacrificed, you owe me this. No more half-truths or I swear I will burn this temple and everything you stand for to the fucking ground.”
A’kram appraises him, no doubt feeling the fury grow as the Etheralis pours power into him. A long, tense moment of silence passes. Dahlia realizes this also means her, but refrains from objecting in the moment. Seif is super scary right now, and she wants to see how far he will take this. A decision is made and, with a subtle nod, A'kram turns back toward the wall behind him. Waving a hand, another cave appears that he steps through. So many glamours and tricks, she thinks, is everything in this place an illusion?
Seif starts after him quickly, but Dahlia grabs his arm.
“Not that I am not totally enjoying this comeuppance and everything, but you warned me not to question them. Not to push lest we face the consequences. Are you certain this is what you want?”
“You are literally the nosiest person I have ever encountered. Always so inquisitive, so desperate for answers. Now is our chance, and here you are second-guessing it?”
“I only mean…”
“I know what you mean, and what I said. Contruum…changed things, and if what Inquisitor Feraas told me is true, then the time for subtlety and submission has long since passed. I need to know.”
He holds her gaze, and she eventually inclines her head as his arm slips out of her grasp. These secrets, so intentionally obscured, have shaped the course of so many lives and the galaxy right along with it. His abrupt pivot indicates he is ready to challenge their role in it, and yet she hopes he is prepared for answers he may not be ready to hear. She hopes they both are.
Princess Dahlia squares her shoulders, tips her head back, and follows him and the Voss-Ra Elder into the darkness beyond.
-TBC
16
Star Wars: The Crimson Covenant / Re: CC: Corellian Birthright
« Last post by Syren on June 17, 2025, 06:42:25 PM »“Oh, ye of little faith
Remember your twisted fate
Heaven is just a game
Not meant to last
There is no other gate
Remember your trials and pain
That bind you every day
These too shall pass
Let not your heart be troubled.”
-Lady Blackbird
Corellian Sector
Drall
Gemma Masterton sings into a vibrant verdant wonderland, lush and teeming with life.
It was a voice once heard by many. One rich with possibilities. Now it drifts through these lonely forests as she sprawls across a smooth outcropping of rock, warmed by latticed beams of sunlight. The transfixing notes free her from some of the resentment seemingly stuck to her like an inky pitch. A release into the living world around her. The vast foliage that swallows them in secrecy and shadows presents a unique opportunity to ponder the perilous distinction between victory and victimhood as it relates to their current situation.
She’s been selfish and unkind. Anger, quaking and molten, runs through her at the many oppressive expectations. Everyone wants something from them. Even the Jedi. Good or evil – two concepts rendered meaningless by their overuse and questionable application – begin to feel familiar beneath a grand enquiry. What does it mean to be a Masterton anyway? There is history attached to the name, a precedent set. Only some of it is true, and the rest is shaped by the stories others tell.
Nothing about where they came from is natural. The same point of origin, different paths and worlds, all lead back to destruction. She has both laughed and cried at and with this knowledge. The events of their lives the direct result of some plot or scheme they have reacted to, for better or worse. The shimmering threads of fate are difficult to predict with complete accuracy despite any claims to the contrary. She cannot imagine the Voss-Ra planned for every uppity interloper bent on using the prophecy for their own ends. If The Four are so integral to it all, it is not anyone else’s to claim or use, which means Adubell is more than a misguided nuisance. The depth of her delusion puts everything at risk. A greater threat to these ancient plans than any one of them. Mara’s words have tumbled through her mind, and with each passing day, she becomes more convinced of their plan.
What some see as fatalism, Gemma sees as agency. They are actively engaging in the prophecy. Really leaning in. Nevylinn, predictably, does not condone this approach and urges consideration and caution. She agreed to help Gemma strike a balance between the dueling aspects of the Force, but at every turn, she crumbles before her own rage. The reality of what she must do clashes with the life she envisioned for herself, the one she wishes she could have if not for, well, everything. The love, the money, and the happy ending. She has dabbled in acceptance, but it brings little consolation. Self-involved as she may be, she would not put anyone else through this. Another cycle that claims more lives. It may seem defeatist, but defeating Dahlia isn’t worth it at this point. No one ever said she couldn’t lose after she’d won. Such a lovely little loophole, a tear in the grandest of plans. Mara may be convinced their roles are not set, but where Dahlia is concerned, the heel most certainly fits.
To die is to ask a lot of someone. Yet, that is what she, Dane, and Riley must do to end it. But they must stop Adubell first. Keep her from going after Dahlia by diverting her attention here. A plan wild enough to work, even amongst the whims of romance. The others do not have to follow them into the underworld. She would find comfort in the sacrifice, knowing they would make things right again. Maybe she is the delusional one.
Then again, maybe not.
*
In the sparsely accented training space, deep in the dense woods, Nevylinn tests her again and again. Her form is impeccable after so much practice that it becomes more a matter of motive than skill.
“You do realize she will come for us,” Gemma prods, deflecting an attack. “Mara told us the Infiltrator made sure she knew Adubell would be the one to take Riley from her.”
“Yes.”
“How do you reconcile that? Is that the will of the Force? For the virtually unkillable replica of your fallen sister to wipe The Four from existence, all so that she can use the Sith to bring more terror to the galaxy?”
Nevylinn does not falter in the face of these glib comments meant to unsteady her.
“I have made my peace with what must be done.”
“You say that now.”
She strikes suddenly, but Gemma counters easily as they circle each other. Nevylinn commends the dedication, how Gemma has used their time to hone her abilities despite her recovery. Spite being the operative word embedded there. For every breath of clarity she gains, she slips back into anger so quickly and allows the purported sins of the past to push her over the line. Nevylinn is there to pull her back, to keep her from giving in entirely, but they teeter on a blade's edge. As she had witnessed with her sister, after starting down the dark path, there are few compelling reasons to turn back. The temptation is too immense, the power too great. She aims to reinforce a different solution.
“You are one to talk. There is another way to put these fears and machinations to rest.”
“I'm aware.”
“Yet you resist, take no measurable steps to achieve it. Anger is a byproduct of fear, and you, Gemma Masterton, have been frightened for most of your life. Everything that has happened happened because The Four were forced into making terrible choices. Situations that would otherwise not have occurred were not for the intervention of others. Do not forget that I knew Melanie Masterton. More so than you.”
It is a truth that still stings, but Gemma is prepared for it. She knew the living, breathing Jedi Melanie Masterton, not the pale shade she encountered. Nevylinn is satisfied that she doesn’t take the bait this time and continues.
“We trained together before I joined the Council on Chandaar. She was bright and beautiful and damaged and so very certain. But that certainty came from things someone else told her. Those ideas were placed in Melanie’s mind, and they have now been placed in yours. What seemed to anyone else like a spectacular tragedy unfolding mercilessly across the Holo was only ever the expected result of a series of calculated triggers. You know better and can therefore choose another path. You do not need to die to end this, but it does mean you have to pull it out by the root – defeat the Voss-Ra and reclaim your lives. Set about righting the wrongs of the prophecy yourself, not leave it to us to clean up your mess once you are gone.”
Gemma’s attack is precise but restrained, fighting against the pulsing darkness in her heart. They have been cleaning up the Jedi’s mess since they were driven from Chandaar. So many lives were shattered and extinguished because of their blindness. The audacity.
“You think we are taking the easy way out? None of this has been easy, Nevylinn.”
“I never said it was. Those are your thoughts, your words. The focus on blame clouds your judgment. It makes you an easy target for their lies.”
“Except they aren’t all lies, are they? I know we are being manipulated and used, but I also know there are forces at work here beyond the plans of scheming monsters that have haunted my dreams since I was a child. Beyond knowing Riley’s face before I knew his name. Both of those things can be true.”
“Many things can be true, Gemma. Truth does not make something right.”
Their sabers clash again, with Gemma taking a more offensive posture. The fight is alive within her. Nevylinn can feel the emotions clawing at her, distorting her sense of self and purpose. To feel unmoored in this life is a terrifying thing indeed, and she is desperately trying to be an anchor.
“The Four were united again for a reason. We cannot deny what we felt, what we did on Hesperidum when we were all together. There was a power far greater than imagination at work there. Our predecessors prevented the Empire from prevailing, and the Sith never rose, and now we are the pendulum swinging in the opposite direction. Our lives are tied to the others named in the prophecy, and the horror will continue, repeatedly, until what they saw comes to pass. Only then can it be stopped. The power behind the prophecy is more than those who seek to control it.”
“I know you believe that,” Nevylinn replies, tone not entirely free of judgment. “Outside of Riley's birth, do you know what happened aboard Centerpoint Station?”
"I know Melanie killed Karen Winton.”
“Who told you that?"
“Dahlia."
“And who told her that?”
Her face falls, remembering who ultimately orchestrated their kidnapping as children, who turned Dahlia in the first place, “Adubell…”
Nevylinn lets it hang there. So much action ignited on whispers. An unbridled fury fills the space, but Gemma, surprisingly, deactivates her saber and steps back. She feels the Force course through her, competing currents of very different streams, as the blackness begins to bleed from her vision. Yet the ache remains deep and painful.
“That only suggests she would use us against each other to get what she wants. Dahlia had proof.”
“Be that as it may, you are not as pragmatic as you fancy yourself, and react in ways they expect you to. The way Melanie no doubt reacted when she reasoned out that version of the story’s natural conclusion. It was designed to create conflict. Look at the situation from an outsider’s perspective, removed from attachment or emotion.
Gellar was already dead, and Patten was in labor on a station she could not escape from. Masterton thought she was their only hope, and she acted on impulse, ignited by what she thought she knew. She could not fathom that she could be wrong. It was determination that bordered on obsession, fueled by years of trauma. Trauma they inflicted on everyone involved. They led her to that conclusion, and they were all on that station for a reason. If you are looking for blame, Gemma, there it is. By your logic, Melanie doomed you all to this as someone in cycles before doomed everyone else who came after.”
“She didn’t know!” Gemma bites out, patience waning.
“She didn’t want to know! You don’t even want to know. You can’t change it. Can’t undo what has been done. The Voss-Ra expected Winton to win, and when she didn’t, they were forced to reassess the situation, which is when they turned their attention to all of you. Survivors, children. They sought you out, assigned roles to you, terrorized you, and then sat back and marveled at their clairvoyance and power when this had all been part of an elaborate fabrication they conjured from their corrupted magics. The truth is, the Voss-Ra is always going to find a target, another in your scattered bloodline somewhere to play those parts in their visions. You must take responsibility for your actions and control your feelings. You can stop this.”
“I don’t even know where they are!”
“Yes, you do. They were present at Empress Teta, but that was a sanctuary, not their home. You’ve seen them in your dreams. You’ve sought out and fought those in the form of others who tried to get close to you. There is a connection. Use that to find them.”
“It goes deeper than that. All of this is not merely the result of their blind faith. They didn't will this into existence.”
Nevylinn has had quite a bit of time to ponder these things, and while she concedes there are esoteric elements and undercurrents, it is firmly rooted in the dark side of the Force. Even actions taken in the name of the greater good leave bitter traces of a deeper corruption of the self. If the intended outcome is for the dark to triumph over the light, then anything done in service of that would hold darkness. The contingency could create even greater suffering than another cycle. That is why they must stop Adubell and the Voss-Ra. She sighs and smoothes the edge from her voice.
“Perhaps not, but you are not bound by their needs or their whims. I am not demanding your forgiveness, nor even asking you to trust me. I am asking you to trust in yourselves. There are more lives at stake than your own. You asked for my help and I have given it. All I ask in return is that you consider the alternative. One that may avoid this dreadful outcome you’ve resigned yourselves to. You may be aware of it, but will you give it the attention you give your contingency? Will you try?”
Gemma apprises the face of the Jedi who left them to fend for themselves warily.
All part of a larger problem with the codes and mysticism that shroud their ways. They point fingers at others, wielding variations of the same energy with beliefs no more outlandish than their own. Still, beneath a wounded surface, she knows the intent is not hostile. Futile, perhaps, but not hostile. The Jedi seek a peaceful path despite the significant and growing body count. She struggles to meet her in the middle, to not scream about how unrealistic those ideals are, and not dismiss her outright, as is her immediate inclination. Peace is not how they win. It may be in vain, a moot point in the larger scheme, but she sees they need hope, and she would not deny them that. They will need them in the fight to come. Like it or not, they are in this together.
“Alright, Nevylinn. I will.”
-TBC
Remember your twisted fate
Heaven is just a game
Not meant to last
There is no other gate
Remember your trials and pain
That bind you every day
These too shall pass
Let not your heart be troubled.”
-Lady Blackbird
Corellian Sector
Drall
Gemma Masterton sings into a vibrant verdant wonderland, lush and teeming with life.
It was a voice once heard by many. One rich with possibilities. Now it drifts through these lonely forests as she sprawls across a smooth outcropping of rock, warmed by latticed beams of sunlight. The transfixing notes free her from some of the resentment seemingly stuck to her like an inky pitch. A release into the living world around her. The vast foliage that swallows them in secrecy and shadows presents a unique opportunity to ponder the perilous distinction between victory and victimhood as it relates to their current situation.
She’s been selfish and unkind. Anger, quaking and molten, runs through her at the many oppressive expectations. Everyone wants something from them. Even the Jedi. Good or evil – two concepts rendered meaningless by their overuse and questionable application – begin to feel familiar beneath a grand enquiry. What does it mean to be a Masterton anyway? There is history attached to the name, a precedent set. Only some of it is true, and the rest is shaped by the stories others tell.
Nothing about where they came from is natural. The same point of origin, different paths and worlds, all lead back to destruction. She has both laughed and cried at and with this knowledge. The events of their lives the direct result of some plot or scheme they have reacted to, for better or worse. The shimmering threads of fate are difficult to predict with complete accuracy despite any claims to the contrary. She cannot imagine the Voss-Ra planned for every uppity interloper bent on using the prophecy for their own ends. If The Four are so integral to it all, it is not anyone else’s to claim or use, which means Adubell is more than a misguided nuisance. The depth of her delusion puts everything at risk. A greater threat to these ancient plans than any one of them. Mara’s words have tumbled through her mind, and with each passing day, she becomes more convinced of their plan.
What some see as fatalism, Gemma sees as agency. They are actively engaging in the prophecy. Really leaning in. Nevylinn, predictably, does not condone this approach and urges consideration and caution. She agreed to help Gemma strike a balance between the dueling aspects of the Force, but at every turn, she crumbles before her own rage. The reality of what she must do clashes with the life she envisioned for herself, the one she wishes she could have if not for, well, everything. The love, the money, and the happy ending. She has dabbled in acceptance, but it brings little consolation. Self-involved as she may be, she would not put anyone else through this. Another cycle that claims more lives. It may seem defeatist, but defeating Dahlia isn’t worth it at this point. No one ever said she couldn’t lose after she’d won. Such a lovely little loophole, a tear in the grandest of plans. Mara may be convinced their roles are not set, but where Dahlia is concerned, the heel most certainly fits.
To die is to ask a lot of someone. Yet, that is what she, Dane, and Riley must do to end it. But they must stop Adubell first. Keep her from going after Dahlia by diverting her attention here. A plan wild enough to work, even amongst the whims of romance. The others do not have to follow them into the underworld. She would find comfort in the sacrifice, knowing they would make things right again. Maybe she is the delusional one.
Then again, maybe not.
*
In the sparsely accented training space, deep in the dense woods, Nevylinn tests her again and again. Her form is impeccable after so much practice that it becomes more a matter of motive than skill.
“You do realize she will come for us,” Gemma prods, deflecting an attack. “Mara told us the Infiltrator made sure she knew Adubell would be the one to take Riley from her.”
“Yes.”
“How do you reconcile that? Is that the will of the Force? For the virtually unkillable replica of your fallen sister to wipe The Four from existence, all so that she can use the Sith to bring more terror to the galaxy?”
Nevylinn does not falter in the face of these glib comments meant to unsteady her.
“I have made my peace with what must be done.”
“You say that now.”
She strikes suddenly, but Gemma counters easily as they circle each other. Nevylinn commends the dedication, how Gemma has used their time to hone her abilities despite her recovery. Spite being the operative word embedded there. For every breath of clarity she gains, she slips back into anger so quickly and allows the purported sins of the past to push her over the line. Nevylinn is there to pull her back, to keep her from giving in entirely, but they teeter on a blade's edge. As she had witnessed with her sister, after starting down the dark path, there are few compelling reasons to turn back. The temptation is too immense, the power too great. She aims to reinforce a different solution.
“You are one to talk. There is another way to put these fears and machinations to rest.”
“I'm aware.”
“Yet you resist, take no measurable steps to achieve it. Anger is a byproduct of fear, and you, Gemma Masterton, have been frightened for most of your life. Everything that has happened happened because The Four were forced into making terrible choices. Situations that would otherwise not have occurred were not for the intervention of others. Do not forget that I knew Melanie Masterton. More so than you.”
It is a truth that still stings, but Gemma is prepared for it. She knew the living, breathing Jedi Melanie Masterton, not the pale shade she encountered. Nevylinn is satisfied that she doesn’t take the bait this time and continues.
“We trained together before I joined the Council on Chandaar. She was bright and beautiful and damaged and so very certain. But that certainty came from things someone else told her. Those ideas were placed in Melanie’s mind, and they have now been placed in yours. What seemed to anyone else like a spectacular tragedy unfolding mercilessly across the Holo was only ever the expected result of a series of calculated triggers. You know better and can therefore choose another path. You do not need to die to end this, but it does mean you have to pull it out by the root – defeat the Voss-Ra and reclaim your lives. Set about righting the wrongs of the prophecy yourself, not leave it to us to clean up your mess once you are gone.”
Gemma’s attack is precise but restrained, fighting against the pulsing darkness in her heart. They have been cleaning up the Jedi’s mess since they were driven from Chandaar. So many lives were shattered and extinguished because of their blindness. The audacity.
“You think we are taking the easy way out? None of this has been easy, Nevylinn.”
“I never said it was. Those are your thoughts, your words. The focus on blame clouds your judgment. It makes you an easy target for their lies.”
“Except they aren’t all lies, are they? I know we are being manipulated and used, but I also know there are forces at work here beyond the plans of scheming monsters that have haunted my dreams since I was a child. Beyond knowing Riley’s face before I knew his name. Both of those things can be true.”
“Many things can be true, Gemma. Truth does not make something right.”
Their sabers clash again, with Gemma taking a more offensive posture. The fight is alive within her. Nevylinn can feel the emotions clawing at her, distorting her sense of self and purpose. To feel unmoored in this life is a terrifying thing indeed, and she is desperately trying to be an anchor.
“The Four were united again for a reason. We cannot deny what we felt, what we did on Hesperidum when we were all together. There was a power far greater than imagination at work there. Our predecessors prevented the Empire from prevailing, and the Sith never rose, and now we are the pendulum swinging in the opposite direction. Our lives are tied to the others named in the prophecy, and the horror will continue, repeatedly, until what they saw comes to pass. Only then can it be stopped. The power behind the prophecy is more than those who seek to control it.”
“I know you believe that,” Nevylinn replies, tone not entirely free of judgment. “Outside of Riley's birth, do you know what happened aboard Centerpoint Station?”
"I know Melanie killed Karen Winton.”
“Who told you that?"
“Dahlia."
“And who told her that?”
Her face falls, remembering who ultimately orchestrated their kidnapping as children, who turned Dahlia in the first place, “Adubell…”
Nevylinn lets it hang there. So much action ignited on whispers. An unbridled fury fills the space, but Gemma, surprisingly, deactivates her saber and steps back. She feels the Force course through her, competing currents of very different streams, as the blackness begins to bleed from her vision. Yet the ache remains deep and painful.
“That only suggests she would use us against each other to get what she wants. Dahlia had proof.”
“Be that as it may, you are not as pragmatic as you fancy yourself, and react in ways they expect you to. The way Melanie no doubt reacted when she reasoned out that version of the story’s natural conclusion. It was designed to create conflict. Look at the situation from an outsider’s perspective, removed from attachment or emotion.
Gellar was already dead, and Patten was in labor on a station she could not escape from. Masterton thought she was their only hope, and she acted on impulse, ignited by what she thought she knew. She could not fathom that she could be wrong. It was determination that bordered on obsession, fueled by years of trauma. Trauma they inflicted on everyone involved. They led her to that conclusion, and they were all on that station for a reason. If you are looking for blame, Gemma, there it is. By your logic, Melanie doomed you all to this as someone in cycles before doomed everyone else who came after.”
“She didn’t know!” Gemma bites out, patience waning.
“She didn’t want to know! You don’t even want to know. You can’t change it. Can’t undo what has been done. The Voss-Ra expected Winton to win, and when she didn’t, they were forced to reassess the situation, which is when they turned their attention to all of you. Survivors, children. They sought you out, assigned roles to you, terrorized you, and then sat back and marveled at their clairvoyance and power when this had all been part of an elaborate fabrication they conjured from their corrupted magics. The truth is, the Voss-Ra is always going to find a target, another in your scattered bloodline somewhere to play those parts in their visions. You must take responsibility for your actions and control your feelings. You can stop this.”
“I don’t even know where they are!”
“Yes, you do. They were present at Empress Teta, but that was a sanctuary, not their home. You’ve seen them in your dreams. You’ve sought out and fought those in the form of others who tried to get close to you. There is a connection. Use that to find them.”
“It goes deeper than that. All of this is not merely the result of their blind faith. They didn't will this into existence.”
Nevylinn has had quite a bit of time to ponder these things, and while she concedes there are esoteric elements and undercurrents, it is firmly rooted in the dark side of the Force. Even actions taken in the name of the greater good leave bitter traces of a deeper corruption of the self. If the intended outcome is for the dark to triumph over the light, then anything done in service of that would hold darkness. The contingency could create even greater suffering than another cycle. That is why they must stop Adubell and the Voss-Ra. She sighs and smoothes the edge from her voice.
“Perhaps not, but you are not bound by their needs or their whims. I am not demanding your forgiveness, nor even asking you to trust me. I am asking you to trust in yourselves. There are more lives at stake than your own. You asked for my help and I have given it. All I ask in return is that you consider the alternative. One that may avoid this dreadful outcome you’ve resigned yourselves to. You may be aware of it, but will you give it the attention you give your contingency? Will you try?”
Gemma apprises the face of the Jedi who left them to fend for themselves warily.
All part of a larger problem with the codes and mysticism that shroud their ways. They point fingers at others, wielding variations of the same energy with beliefs no more outlandish than their own. Still, beneath a wounded surface, she knows the intent is not hostile. Futile, perhaps, but not hostile. The Jedi seek a peaceful path despite the significant and growing body count. She struggles to meet her in the middle, to not scream about how unrealistic those ideals are, and not dismiss her outright, as is her immediate inclination. Peace is not how they win. It may be in vain, a moot point in the larger scheme, but she sees they need hope, and she would not deny them that. They will need them in the fight to come. Like it or not, they are in this together.
“Alright, Nevylinn. I will.”
-TBC
17
Star Wars: The Crimson Covenant / Re: CC: Corporate Greed
« Last post by Syren on May 26, 2025, 03:15:24 PM »“Well do you see
The futures holidays are for me
Just let me know
Where to go
Where you go after the fall.”
-Zero 7
Corporate Sector
Etti IV: Mondder
They keep it together until they are alone.
A united front in the face of yet another tragedy and all the suspicion it arouses. Inside the masterfully decorated penthouse atop the Gellar tower is another story. Taarek has finally pieced together that despite his best efforts to spare the Force-sensitives he managed to get off the capital from the Republic’s unjust actions, it may have been a setup all along. He hates feeling as though he has been used. He put his own life and safety on the line for what he felt was the right thing, when in actuality it may have been a clever ruse in service to the prophecy. His eyes land on Shendo’s face, expression tight. He does not outright accuse him, but it is enough.
Shendo is at his breaking point. He stares wearily at the group.
“I do not know how else to prove myself to all of you! I have gone along with your insane schemes, fought alongside you, followed you through danger, and still chose to come here with you and Demaris. I chose this, no one else. What else must I do to convince you?”
“We do not know that much about you. You, like Lysette, have kept to the sidelines. Inconspicuous and watchful. Your contempt for us is barely concealed. Perhaps that is on us for not looking more closely at the company we kept, but you must admit you see the pattern we now do."
“This is what they want,” Demaris says calmly, wading into the fray between them. “To sow division. Make us turn on each other.”
“And if we trusted too blindly? What if we have only seen what we wanted to see?”
It comes not from a place of malice but of history. His father, Seneca Cirque, trusted blindly in a Masterton, too. Followed her right into the grave. Taarek thought he had come to terms with that, in his own ways, careful never to project the path Melanie took with the one Gemma charts for them now. Melanie Masterton did not know what they knew. Neither did his father. If the prophecy is to be believed, and he has witnessed so much evidence to indicate it is, they were all doomed to those fates. But now, traitors among them, and several are dead. His faith has begun to slip, and he wonders if they are dooming themselves as well.
“All I am saying is that Shendo could have been sent for us and not even know it. He could have fallen victim to whatever dark magics that grey-skinned woman has been working on us. We never saw it in the others because we did not want to see it.”
“Maybe so,” Dane offers carefully, drink already in hand. “It is a disturbing pattern, and a fair question. We are placing our lives in your hands.”
“Exactly.”
Roman removes his helmet, “What do you suggest we do? Lock him up? Send him away? They may be counting on that to further hinder our ability to provide security for those we were sent here to protect.”
“He is right, Taarek. When we are questioning each other, we are not questioning what is happening around us. With everything going on in the Corellian Sector, Riley put himself at risk to reach out to us. To give us the information we now have. It is a lot to process, but we cannot lose focus now.”
“So, we sleep with one eye open, wondering when he’ll turn on us? We would be fools if what happened did not inform our actions.”
“I am not turning on anyone!” Shendo growls sharply, his face twisted. “You think I wanted these powers? This connection to the Force? I was perfectly content with the life I had scraped together for myself on Chandaar when genetics made me a Republic target, something they needed to purge from their society and systems. It wasn’t much, but it was my own. You offered to help me, and I took that help because I had no other choice. Are you saying you would turn on me instead? Now? After everything?”
He frowns, “I want to be able to trust you.”
“Then trust me.”
It has become a showdown. The tension is palpable, rising into a terrifying crescendo when Alka’s com rings. Saved by the bleep. She excuses herself and steps out onto the deck to answer it. An amber sun, sinking toward the horizon, drapes the cityscape of Mondder in angular shadows. It seems everything is an ominous symbol these days. The air cools her flushed face as she brings the device up.
“Yes?”
“You never checked in,” Garron Prescott says tiredly.
She nearly chokes, lowering her voice to a tense hiss, “Are you out of your mind? Don’t answer that. We’ve been busy.”
“And I grew tired of waiting for your call. Don’t worry, it’s not traceable. How did it go?”
She tells him everything with the Direx Board went well, but not before Corinthos made his objections known.
“Not surprising considering what he has lost. What else? We need to be quick, Lady Dawning.”
“He has support,” she mutters dully, absently rubbing a temple. “Support, I fear, may grow into a coalition against Dane, if not properly managed. The vote to oust him failed, but we know who Corinthos has at his side.”
“Good, we can use that. Tell me.”
Alka swallows hard and names all three of them.
“Thank you, I’ll look into it. We will speak soon.”
The com line goes dead.
Garron had been Rutherford Gellar’s most trusted advisor and confidante, posing as a valet and hired hand. He knows the ins and outs of the Sector better than anyone, which is how he managed to escape custody and remain hidden. She knows she would have likely been killed at her estate on D’ian had he not intervened, and so she makes good on her promise to inform him, careful to leave out any proprietary or incriminating pieces of business discussed. He only has the details he needs…for now.
Dane startles her, “You good?”
She whirls around, “Always something with the company. Creative clashes, etcetera, etcetera. You know directors.”
“Surely they can spare you for a production.”
“I cannot shirk my prima duties for the Direx Board entirely. Besides, I love it. The feeling of the stage beneath the points of my toes. The thrill of it all.”
She shifts the conversation elsewhere.
“Everything okay in there? It was getting pretty heated.”
He shrugs, “A tenuous truce, but it is the best we can hope for. Shendo agreed to test in our labs to probe any signs of mental tampering. Taarek agreed to back off. Trust must go both ways, right?”
“Right.”
She hates lying to him, but it is the only way. Keep Garron away from him, focused on running interference that would clear their path, while laying the groundwork to lure him out when they must. Dane continues to struggle with this, but the Jedi made compelling points that she sees slowly settling over him. Garron Prescott is not a variable they can afford to run loose for long, and Dane knows it. He pulls her into his arms, and she rests her head against the crook of his shoulder.
“You look so hot when you’re troubled. I can barely contain myself.”
She sighs, annoyed, “Somehow, you manage. What a mess.”
“Yes, but it is our mess. We’ll deal.”
“Whatever you need to tell yourself. I’m still a bit hazy on your focus now that we’ve been formally inducted into the Direx Board. That went better than it should have, but we are not out of the woods. Your veiled threats may only buy us some time. Some on that board are not cool with us being there, which could inspire…a more determined effort.”
“Haters gonna hate, babe. We do what we can do. We amass wealth to fund our little venture and maintain dominance in the markets. Contingencies aren’t cheap, you know.”
“Riley Patten has credits. Isn’t he, like, a bah-gillionaire or something?”
Dane huffs, smirking.
“True enough. Unfortunately, that Patten punks’ profile would make any movement of those credits or purchases subject to intense scrutiny, especially if he were allocating them toward, say, more morally ambiguous industries in the Corporate Sector. The Corellians are on high alert these days, and they have their own problems, which I am sure Gemma is only adding to. We need to raise capital ourselves and retain some liquidity in these uncertain times. Agility is key with this much ambiguity.”
“And if we do not need the contingency?”
He is sure they’d be able to package, market, and sell it as a solution to someone else, despite the obvious ethical objections. The highest echelon of the Sector would throw enough credits at him than he could spend in five lifetimes for the chance to secure their legacies so completely. Heirs and spares on tap to divide and conquer. His genetics have plenty of lethal applications, but better in his hands than anyone else’s.
“Something tells me it won't matter in the end.”
“But you do think it is possible? You think Gemma and Riley can stop the Voss-Ra’s plans?”
In truth, neither of them knows what that truly means. Although prophecy is a slippery, unstable thing - something to leverage and bend - can it ever really be thwarted? Dane tries not to sound as skeptical as he feels. She, like the others, needs something to hold on to.
“I know they will certainly try. This Adubell woman has attempted to skew things in her favor but failed to eliminate any of The Four so far. That, at least, works in our favor. We’ve proven ourselves more resourceful than she anticipated. Even Dahlia needs to play offense on this one, which I hope, for our sake, she does. Her death would doom all of us to a new cycle, so we either need to debunk the prophecy or fulfill it, whichever comes first. Abudell clearly has a lot of tricks up her delusional sleeve, and Shendo could be just another she pulls out.”
“Do you honestly believe that?”
“I believe in the possibility, however unlikely. Turning those who have ingratiated themselves with us is clever. Not something we expected. An opportunity to do both physical and emotional damage. A bit of a wager, trying that a third time without anyone comparing notes and taking action. I don’t want us at each other’s throats, but we must be sure, especially if he is someone overseeing your safety. We’re gambling enough with that as it is.”
“And my stalker? Could there be a connection? The Jedi seem to think there is a mystical element that tracks if Sirona was subject to a psychic attack.”
“Again, possible. She could have Force-sensitive agents at her disposal, similar to Lysette or Sirona, but the ones we know of were accounted for during that time. I admit the stalking could have been the start of a larger escalation that includes this kind of intimidation, but Irulan had a point. Someone knowing about the lie doesn’t necessarily mean they know the truth. They could be trying to get us to implicate ourselves.”
“Like do the right thing?” she laughs, stepping back to look up into his face. “Boy, have they misread their audience. That may be just as unlikely. If it’s not Garron or Shendo or someone on the Direx Board, who else is there? I mean, it could be more obvious than we think. What if Balthazar Nash returned to make us pay for what we did to him? He is the target of the lie, after all. Our testimony got him exiled, and Gellar Industries acquired Palace Arms in a hostile takeover. It would make the most sense.”
“We didn’t kill Preston, that’s for sure, but if Nash returned, he wouldn’t be able to stay hidden for long. I do see your point. If that is the case, what is he waiting for? Nash would waste no time dispatching us to reclaim what he lost.”
“Suffering is the point, Dane. That is what this all comes back to.”
“Suffering would be a luxury someone standing to profit in the Sector would not afford us. Not when time is money. Prolonging the process means they want more, and only one group comes to mind that has made several attempts over the years and failed to find a foothold in pulling our strings. If they are not waiting for us to confess, then escalation could be an attempt to make us fall in line. Someone just as obvious as the Chiss, and knows about the lie.”
“What? Who?”
A sly grin spreads across Dane’s face.
“It may be time to have that drink with Burke Pallus.”
-TBC
The futures holidays are for me
Just let me know
Where to go
Where you go after the fall.”
-Zero 7
Corporate Sector
Etti IV: Mondder
They keep it together until they are alone.
A united front in the face of yet another tragedy and all the suspicion it arouses. Inside the masterfully decorated penthouse atop the Gellar tower is another story. Taarek has finally pieced together that despite his best efforts to spare the Force-sensitives he managed to get off the capital from the Republic’s unjust actions, it may have been a setup all along. He hates feeling as though he has been used. He put his own life and safety on the line for what he felt was the right thing, when in actuality it may have been a clever ruse in service to the prophecy. His eyes land on Shendo’s face, expression tight. He does not outright accuse him, but it is enough.
Shendo is at his breaking point. He stares wearily at the group.
“I do not know how else to prove myself to all of you! I have gone along with your insane schemes, fought alongside you, followed you through danger, and still chose to come here with you and Demaris. I chose this, no one else. What else must I do to convince you?”
“We do not know that much about you. You, like Lysette, have kept to the sidelines. Inconspicuous and watchful. Your contempt for us is barely concealed. Perhaps that is on us for not looking more closely at the company we kept, but you must admit you see the pattern we now do."
“This is what they want,” Demaris says calmly, wading into the fray between them. “To sow division. Make us turn on each other.”
“And if we trusted too blindly? What if we have only seen what we wanted to see?”
It comes not from a place of malice but of history. His father, Seneca Cirque, trusted blindly in a Masterton, too. Followed her right into the grave. Taarek thought he had come to terms with that, in his own ways, careful never to project the path Melanie took with the one Gemma charts for them now. Melanie Masterton did not know what they knew. Neither did his father. If the prophecy is to be believed, and he has witnessed so much evidence to indicate it is, they were all doomed to those fates. But now, traitors among them, and several are dead. His faith has begun to slip, and he wonders if they are dooming themselves as well.
“All I am saying is that Shendo could have been sent for us and not even know it. He could have fallen victim to whatever dark magics that grey-skinned woman has been working on us. We never saw it in the others because we did not want to see it.”
“Maybe so,” Dane offers carefully, drink already in hand. “It is a disturbing pattern, and a fair question. We are placing our lives in your hands.”
“Exactly.”
Roman removes his helmet, “What do you suggest we do? Lock him up? Send him away? They may be counting on that to further hinder our ability to provide security for those we were sent here to protect.”
“He is right, Taarek. When we are questioning each other, we are not questioning what is happening around us. With everything going on in the Corellian Sector, Riley put himself at risk to reach out to us. To give us the information we now have. It is a lot to process, but we cannot lose focus now.”
“So, we sleep with one eye open, wondering when he’ll turn on us? We would be fools if what happened did not inform our actions.”
“I am not turning on anyone!” Shendo growls sharply, his face twisted. “You think I wanted these powers? This connection to the Force? I was perfectly content with the life I had scraped together for myself on Chandaar when genetics made me a Republic target, something they needed to purge from their society and systems. It wasn’t much, but it was my own. You offered to help me, and I took that help because I had no other choice. Are you saying you would turn on me instead? Now? After everything?”
He frowns, “I want to be able to trust you.”
“Then trust me.”
It has become a showdown. The tension is palpable, rising into a terrifying crescendo when Alka’s com rings. Saved by the bleep. She excuses herself and steps out onto the deck to answer it. An amber sun, sinking toward the horizon, drapes the cityscape of Mondder in angular shadows. It seems everything is an ominous symbol these days. The air cools her flushed face as she brings the device up.
“Yes?”
“You never checked in,” Garron Prescott says tiredly.
She nearly chokes, lowering her voice to a tense hiss, “Are you out of your mind? Don’t answer that. We’ve been busy.”
“And I grew tired of waiting for your call. Don’t worry, it’s not traceable. How did it go?”
She tells him everything with the Direx Board went well, but not before Corinthos made his objections known.
“Not surprising considering what he has lost. What else? We need to be quick, Lady Dawning.”
“He has support,” she mutters dully, absently rubbing a temple. “Support, I fear, may grow into a coalition against Dane, if not properly managed. The vote to oust him failed, but we know who Corinthos has at his side.”
“Good, we can use that. Tell me.”
Alka swallows hard and names all three of them.
“Thank you, I’ll look into it. We will speak soon.”
The com line goes dead.
Garron had been Rutherford Gellar’s most trusted advisor and confidante, posing as a valet and hired hand. He knows the ins and outs of the Sector better than anyone, which is how he managed to escape custody and remain hidden. She knows she would have likely been killed at her estate on D’ian had he not intervened, and so she makes good on her promise to inform him, careful to leave out any proprietary or incriminating pieces of business discussed. He only has the details he needs…for now.
Dane startles her, “You good?”
She whirls around, “Always something with the company. Creative clashes, etcetera, etcetera. You know directors.”
“Surely they can spare you for a production.”
“I cannot shirk my prima duties for the Direx Board entirely. Besides, I love it. The feeling of the stage beneath the points of my toes. The thrill of it all.”
She shifts the conversation elsewhere.
“Everything okay in there? It was getting pretty heated.”
He shrugs, “A tenuous truce, but it is the best we can hope for. Shendo agreed to test in our labs to probe any signs of mental tampering. Taarek agreed to back off. Trust must go both ways, right?”
“Right.”
She hates lying to him, but it is the only way. Keep Garron away from him, focused on running interference that would clear their path, while laying the groundwork to lure him out when they must. Dane continues to struggle with this, but the Jedi made compelling points that she sees slowly settling over him. Garron Prescott is not a variable they can afford to run loose for long, and Dane knows it. He pulls her into his arms, and she rests her head against the crook of his shoulder.
“You look so hot when you’re troubled. I can barely contain myself.”
She sighs, annoyed, “Somehow, you manage. What a mess.”
“Yes, but it is our mess. We’ll deal.”
“Whatever you need to tell yourself. I’m still a bit hazy on your focus now that we’ve been formally inducted into the Direx Board. That went better than it should have, but we are not out of the woods. Your veiled threats may only buy us some time. Some on that board are not cool with us being there, which could inspire…a more determined effort.”
“Haters gonna hate, babe. We do what we can do. We amass wealth to fund our little venture and maintain dominance in the markets. Contingencies aren’t cheap, you know.”
“Riley Patten has credits. Isn’t he, like, a bah-gillionaire or something?”
Dane huffs, smirking.
“True enough. Unfortunately, that Patten punks’ profile would make any movement of those credits or purchases subject to intense scrutiny, especially if he were allocating them toward, say, more morally ambiguous industries in the Corporate Sector. The Corellians are on high alert these days, and they have their own problems, which I am sure Gemma is only adding to. We need to raise capital ourselves and retain some liquidity in these uncertain times. Agility is key with this much ambiguity.”
“And if we do not need the contingency?”
He is sure they’d be able to package, market, and sell it as a solution to someone else, despite the obvious ethical objections. The highest echelon of the Sector would throw enough credits at him than he could spend in five lifetimes for the chance to secure their legacies so completely. Heirs and spares on tap to divide and conquer. His genetics have plenty of lethal applications, but better in his hands than anyone else’s.
“Something tells me it won't matter in the end.”
“But you do think it is possible? You think Gemma and Riley can stop the Voss-Ra’s plans?”
In truth, neither of them knows what that truly means. Although prophecy is a slippery, unstable thing - something to leverage and bend - can it ever really be thwarted? Dane tries not to sound as skeptical as he feels. She, like the others, needs something to hold on to.
“I know they will certainly try. This Adubell woman has attempted to skew things in her favor but failed to eliminate any of The Four so far. That, at least, works in our favor. We’ve proven ourselves more resourceful than she anticipated. Even Dahlia needs to play offense on this one, which I hope, for our sake, she does. Her death would doom all of us to a new cycle, so we either need to debunk the prophecy or fulfill it, whichever comes first. Abudell clearly has a lot of tricks up her delusional sleeve, and Shendo could be just another she pulls out.”
“Do you honestly believe that?”
“I believe in the possibility, however unlikely. Turning those who have ingratiated themselves with us is clever. Not something we expected. An opportunity to do both physical and emotional damage. A bit of a wager, trying that a third time without anyone comparing notes and taking action. I don’t want us at each other’s throats, but we must be sure, especially if he is someone overseeing your safety. We’re gambling enough with that as it is.”
“And my stalker? Could there be a connection? The Jedi seem to think there is a mystical element that tracks if Sirona was subject to a psychic attack.”
“Again, possible. She could have Force-sensitive agents at her disposal, similar to Lysette or Sirona, but the ones we know of were accounted for during that time. I admit the stalking could have been the start of a larger escalation that includes this kind of intimidation, but Irulan had a point. Someone knowing about the lie doesn’t necessarily mean they know the truth. They could be trying to get us to implicate ourselves.”
“Like do the right thing?” she laughs, stepping back to look up into his face. “Boy, have they misread their audience. That may be just as unlikely. If it’s not Garron or Shendo or someone on the Direx Board, who else is there? I mean, it could be more obvious than we think. What if Balthazar Nash returned to make us pay for what we did to him? He is the target of the lie, after all. Our testimony got him exiled, and Gellar Industries acquired Palace Arms in a hostile takeover. It would make the most sense.”
“We didn’t kill Preston, that’s for sure, but if Nash returned, he wouldn’t be able to stay hidden for long. I do see your point. If that is the case, what is he waiting for? Nash would waste no time dispatching us to reclaim what he lost.”
“Suffering is the point, Dane. That is what this all comes back to.”
“Suffering would be a luxury someone standing to profit in the Sector would not afford us. Not when time is money. Prolonging the process means they want more, and only one group comes to mind that has made several attempts over the years and failed to find a foothold in pulling our strings. If they are not waiting for us to confess, then escalation could be an attempt to make us fall in line. Someone just as obvious as the Chiss, and knows about the lie.”
“What? Who?”
A sly grin spreads across Dane’s face.
“It may be time to have that drink with Burke Pallus.”
-TBC
18
OOC Cantina / Re: Andor Season 2
« Last post by SWSF Eidolon on May 22, 2025, 06:08:32 PM »The chemistry was positively there between them but like real estate love is all timing and it seems like he kept that boundary. The most passionate moment between them really was the end as the blast wave loomed with haste.
There is the question of what/if he knew of Bixs internal motivation for leaving and then that swaddling bundle of rebel spawn. Vel makes allusions near close it seems like but very vague and more like hope than hints of Bix having made right choice and no inkling of l'enfant.
But for Cas in Jyn, he probably has not looked at a woman the same way since Bix. Granted we don't get to see two seasons of her life, but Jyn is portrayed as even a stronger fighter and stronger spirited than Bix (granted give some leeway due to the torture of wailing alien babies she endured). Also while Bix looked to the bigger picture in structure and organization of Yavin while Cas was willing to leave it all behind, Jyn also was not big on the Rebel Command and structure, a lot or all of which probably came from her time with Saw.
There is the question of what/if he knew of Bixs internal motivation for leaving and then that swaddling bundle of rebel spawn. Vel makes allusions near close it seems like but very vague and more like hope than hints of Bix having made right choice and no inkling of l'enfant.
But for Cas in Jyn, he probably has not looked at a woman the same way since Bix. Granted we don't get to see two seasons of her life, but Jyn is portrayed as even a stronger fighter and stronger spirited than Bix (granted give some leeway due to the torture of wailing alien babies she endured). Also while Bix looked to the bigger picture in structure and organization of Yavin while Cas was willing to leave it all behind, Jyn also was not big on the Rebel Command and structure, a lot or all of which probably came from her time with Saw.
19
OOC Cantina / Re: Andor Season 2
« Last post by Syren on May 21, 2025, 10:46:49 AM »Saw some interesting discourse re: was there romantic chemistry between Cassian and Jyn in R1?
Based on what we now know, his heart was still with Bix, but it had been over a year, so imagine our boy was quite frisky. So, maybe? There were what could be interpreted as suggestive looks throughout, but ultimately I think he respected her for going all in to get those goddamn plans. And, you know, pewpew!
It does make that final shot of Bix looking out across the fields, wondering if one day Cassian's ship will appear there, far more tragic.
Based on what we now know, his heart was still with Bix, but it had been over a year, so imagine our boy was quite frisky. So, maybe? There were what could be interpreted as suggestive looks throughout, but ultimately I think he respected her for going all in to get those goddamn plans. And, you know, pewpew!
It does make that final shot of Bix looking out across the fields, wondering if one day Cassian's ship will appear there, far more tragic.
20
OOC Cantina / Re: Andor Season 2
« Last post by Syren on May 17, 2025, 12:17:53 AM »Finished my Rogue One rewatch and goddamn that is a solid story—an epic piece of the larger fight to come. It hangs together so well.
Knowing that on Yavin, Kleya, Vel, Wilmon, and Dreena were out there, although unseen, was strangely comforting to me. Leia too, given that Threepio and R2 were there and they all launched for Scarif aboard the Tantive IV. It gave additional context to all the things I had wondered about as a child when I first watched A New Hope. Where was Leia coming from? How did she get those plans? How did they get to that point? Jumping into the story so suddenly and without a frame of reference drove me insane over the years, but I am grateful, despite my general distaste for the corporate cash-grabs along the way, that we finally got this to see and understand what it took to rebel against the Galactic Empire.
My only thing that made me go hmmm is when, on Jedha, while they were in the cell, Cassian tells the others it's a first for him, which we know isn't true because he was imprisoned on Narkina 5. Now, he may have just been covering, considering he did not know whether he could trust them yet, but it still bugged me a little. A quibble, although a minor one. I suppose holistically Star Wars canon has been shot to shit and means nothing, aside from what it means to us.
Reminiscing a bit, when Vel told Cassian not to wait too long to reconnect with Bix it is because she waited too long to do so with Cinta, and she doesn't want him to waste that time, even though we all know he would be dead soon. I think Kleya was more of a leader than Luthen - by his own admission, he had been cut off for too long - and she kept him focused, grounded. There were times he teetered on being erratic, doubtful even, and she calmly, ruthlessly set him back on the path. I thought for a moment Kleya might be Andor's sister, but that has been debunked by Gilroy. It wouldn't make sense anyway when I really think about it. Leaving that unresolved, whether that be to constraints of the rushed final structure or a deliberate choice, resonates as something, someone Cassian could not save. It haunted him even in those final days.
I agree with you, Eid, that Dedra and Syril shared a belief in order, but Syril's belief was still tied to a humanity Dedra had suppressed for power. It ended their relationship, and it ended her career. She got order alright - the tidy, restrictive order of an authoritarian system she perpetuated.
I think there was confirmation that the planet Luthan and young Kleya were on was, in fact, Naboo, which was quite a cool throwback.
Gonna have to sit with this a while, but ultimately, I am entirely satisfied with this entry in the series. Really hoping Gilroy or others decide to tell other tales with such reverence for the characters and story.
Cheers!
Knowing that on Yavin, Kleya, Vel, Wilmon, and Dreena were out there, although unseen, was strangely comforting to me. Leia too, given that Threepio and R2 were there and they all launched for Scarif aboard the Tantive IV. It gave additional context to all the things I had wondered about as a child when I first watched A New Hope. Where was Leia coming from? How did she get those plans? How did they get to that point? Jumping into the story so suddenly and without a frame of reference drove me insane over the years, but I am grateful, despite my general distaste for the corporate cash-grabs along the way, that we finally got this to see and understand what it took to rebel against the Galactic Empire.
My only thing that made me go hmmm is when, on Jedha, while they were in the cell, Cassian tells the others it's a first for him, which we know isn't true because he was imprisoned on Narkina 5. Now, he may have just been covering, considering he did not know whether he could trust them yet, but it still bugged me a little. A quibble, although a minor one. I suppose holistically Star Wars canon has been shot to shit and means nothing, aside from what it means to us.
Reminiscing a bit, when Vel told Cassian not to wait too long to reconnect with Bix it is because she waited too long to do so with Cinta, and she doesn't want him to waste that time, even though we all know he would be dead soon. I think Kleya was more of a leader than Luthen - by his own admission, he had been cut off for too long - and she kept him focused, grounded. There were times he teetered on being erratic, doubtful even, and she calmly, ruthlessly set him back on the path. I thought for a moment Kleya might be Andor's sister, but that has been debunked by Gilroy. It wouldn't make sense anyway when I really think about it. Leaving that unresolved, whether that be to constraints of the rushed final structure or a deliberate choice, resonates as something, someone Cassian could not save. It haunted him even in those final days.
I agree with you, Eid, that Dedra and Syril shared a belief in order, but Syril's belief was still tied to a humanity Dedra had suppressed for power. It ended their relationship, and it ended her career. She got order alright - the tidy, restrictive order of an authoritarian system she perpetuated.
I think there was confirmation that the planet Luthan and young Kleya were on was, in fact, Naboo, which was quite a cool throwback.
Gonna have to sit with this a while, but ultimately, I am entirely satisfied with this entry in the series. Really hoping Gilroy or others decide to tell other tales with such reverence for the characters and story.
Cheers!