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Star Wars: The Crimson Covenant / Re: CC: Corellian Birthright
« Last post by Medivh on November 06, 2024, 11:34:49 AM »
Corellia

The battle continued to range around the small platform, ignored intentionally by the Corellians, and by lack of knowledge by the Republic.  At least for the moment.  At some point, the Republic would figure out that something was up, probably as soon as that the artificial gravity wells that allowed for the controlled travel through this area were shut down.  Then they would send someone to investigate, and they would see those auxiliary craft docked ...

It was the High Commander's job to keep the Republic occupied and distracted while Mara did her work.
It was not going to be an easy task.  The nets were designed with counter-theft. A wrong move, and they would self-destruct.  They were also not built for boarding, almost the entirety of their size was devoted to the power source, electrical work, and of course, the gravity-well cone.  To make any headway, Mara had to essentially work on the system from the outside.

Everyone on her craft had donned airtight space suits, the oxygen in the docking-pod had been filtered out to elsewhere in the ship.  Mara too had put on a suit - afterall, most Corellians did not know what she was, and certainly many wouldn't trust a droid, especially one who looked like such a perfect replica of a human.  Her suit had a modified arm that would allow her to do her most critical work without raising the attention of her compatriots.

"Opening airlock in 3..2...1"
With a light hiss, the doorway opened, revealing the outer panel of the platform that they had docked against.  The gravity well net was still humming, and with the artificial gravity in the ship turned off, they could feel the pull toward it.  Mara had cautioned about possibly falling sideways, and her team was braced against the bulkheads.

The bolts on the side panel were loosened and the panel itself was removed, to reveal the power maintenance hatch. A long, thick hose was passed through the auxiliary craft and brought to the hatch where it was carefully attached to the input.

"Preparing for power-surge"

Mara glanced up from the hose that would deliver the disabling source of energy, up at the mechanical chronometer the hung over the airlock.  Again, timing was everything.  The plan was to disable every single gravity-well net at the same time.  They had worked quickly, ahead of schedule by enough seconds that Mara held up her hand for them to wait.

Click click click.  The chronometer hit its target and Mara lowered her hand.

"Go"

There was a rumble as the generator powered up, beginning to deliver the energy into the platform at their side.
"Increase the power to maximum.  We need to knock this thing out before it realizes what we are doing"
"Yes Maam"

The hum of the generator grew louder, Mara's eyes turning to the power maintenance hatch.  a solid red light would be good - meaning the system was overheating and shutting down.  A blinking red light?  That would mean the self-destruct was activated.

Mara watched intensely, waiting for the first sign of trouble.
"Maam, we are delivering at maximum capacity"

Then it lit up - the bright red light on the side of the hatch, along with a low, solid beep. And then a minute later, darkness, and silence.
"Confirm it's been deactivated"
There really was no need - as soon as the platform grew quiet, they could feel the gravity pull disappear, sending a few of them floating through the cabin.
Still, never too careful ... a quick readout showed the system was down.
"Alright.  Head back to the cockpit. Monitor comm chatter,and let me know if anything looks like a threat"
Mara took the place of the soldiers, unlocking the power hose and placing her gloved hand toward the socket.  A single finger extended, , the rubber exterior retracting to reveal a metallic plug, and she slipped it inside.

Almost instantly, she could feel the platform's coding, washing over her senses. It had gone into a kind of hibernation to protect it from the power surge, but there was enough underlying activity for it to respond to her biometric coding.

Her consciousness slipped through the dense language, finding the passwords and rewriting them, as only a programmer, no, as only a machine could.

It made her introspective.
SHe had spent so much of her existence trying not to be a machine, and yet here she was, once again, acting as little more than a computer.
Not that it really mattered.  She knew she had little time left. And her last act would likely be both her most computerized, and her most human at the same time.


TBC
2
Star Wars: The Crimson Covenant / Re: CC: The Crimson Covenant
« Last post by Syren on November 04, 2024, 08:43:18 PM »
“You and I got some troubles we’re facing
I know we can make it staying high in low places.”

-Beach Weather

Contruum

Moon Base

“You?” Involis breaths. “You brought us here?”

The tension in the air pulls tight like the loop of a noose.
 
Allom answers, “Indeed we did.”

“Emperor Schrag will never stand for this.”

The hollow laughter that follows, echoing across the vast space of the platform, is far from reassuring.

“Schrag has become weak,” Faraas says evenly. “He hides behind that boy, granting him such latitude and longevity. The galaxy could be the Empire’s again in an instant – all he needs to do is move to seize it – but alas he does not. Shrewd as he may be, Schrag has never been a coward, and yet he hesitates, hidden away at the citadel on Byss. Trusting our fate to Trevaithan…and another Winton.”

D’Cera tilts her mask back, amused, “You brought us here to air your grievances with Schrag’s succession planning?”

“That seems a bit trite for us Inquisitors, no?”

“Not when you consider what we stand to lose. The last Winton ruined everything for us when Dementat followed that traitorous redhead to the grave on Centerpoint. Schrag did what he could to rehabilitate the Empire but coming back from that kind of a loss, one that allowed the Republic to grow into the menace it now presents, was an arduous task even for the most seasoned tacticians. Leveraging a questionable truce to bolster galactic standing was an…unexpected move, but contaminated by a Winton and her associates.”

“So, this is about me. Typical.”

“Not just you,” Allom hisses, tone rising in annoyance. “The Empire. The Sith. We will not be defeated by the spectacular hubris of The Four again.”

Involis has taken in their surroundings and assessed the nature of their setting. A private chat in a symbolic setting. Intimate, industrial, but the poetry is too nuanced for the Inquisitors which tells him there is something more, not just beneath their masks but beneath their motives. The misgivings about Dahlia are not a surprise, considering they mirror those about Karen and likely any other Winton that came before. Their pettiness, superficiality, and vanity read as liabilities unless you know how best to exploit those to one’s advantage. They could also be envious that they are not as favored now by the Emperor, or at least the appearance of what now sits on Schrag's throne. More Voss-Ra smoke and mirrors, a testament to their commitment and their power. However, his counterparts have gone to great lengths to arrange this little scene and so he must know what has compelled them to do something so melodramatic.

“What makes you so certain that she will fail?”

Allom raises an arm and extends a finger at D’Cera directly.

“You are not the true Daughter of Darkness the sorcerers have foreseen. You plot and you play but you toil away while the Republic is ripe for the crippling. The Four lives in part to your attachment and subsequent inaction. You, my dear, are not playing to win.”

D’Cera squares her shoulders, defiant, “Is that so? The implication being that there is someone who is – tell me, I am dying to know.”

Feraas ignites his saber, “Someone far more powerful than either of you.”

“I suppose we will see,” Involis counters, igniting his own. The jagged weapon eases out of his armor to match that which pulses within its center.

Feraas feels its power radiating, words whispered uncoiling like tendrils in his mind.

Faraas and Involis clash together in the center of the platform. Brothers come to blows. These are ideological lines, ones that he has only recently crossed. Whatever they think will happen by taking Winton out of the equation is one hell of a lie. As his saber connects with Faraas’s again, and again, and again, he wonders just what kind of evidence they had been presented to the contrary. The Inquisitors know their roles under Emperor Schrag’s rule, having hunted down scores of Jedi and Force-sensitives across the galaxy after being expelled from Chandaar. So many had been slain and with each one they struck down they knew the significance of it. In it. Exterminate any potential resistance to their power so that once the Sith rose there would be no one who could stop them. All of these actions are predicated on Winton proving victorious over Masterton, Patten, and Gellar.

What has changed?

D’Cera senses the shift, a compulsive desire behind it, and extends both hands to separate them with a burst of telekinetic energy.

“I am not the only reason you summoned us here.”

“Not entirely. Disappointed?”

“Kinda am.”

“You are only an instrument, Darth D’Cera. Means to an end. Except this time, not ours. There are other tools to be leveraged. It is the piece of the Etheralis we have also come to reclaim. To return to the one it truly belongs to.”

“The Etheralis? Who has filled your heads with such a big word?”

Allom laughs from where he has been standing sentry to the skirmish before them.

“An old mentor, from what we were told. The one whose counsel you disregarded. You have made too many enemies, my dear. Not enough allies.”

“There it is,” she says sharply, angling her head her cousin’s way. “Told you she would be a problem.”

Involis glowers darkly, “Adubell sent you.”

“She appeared at the Inquisitorious shortly after you two last departed. Fascinating women with a rather…interesting perspective. She made some compelling arguments.”

“I’ll bet. Surely you see through these lies? How she is using you?”

“She told us of the power in uniting the Etheralis. Bringing all four together as they were meant to be. You are merely a distraction. A false idol. The Lady Adubell is the rightful heir to the Prophecy Persephonea! She will bring forth the return of the Sith.”

D’Cera has got to hand it to Adubell. Immortal and totally delusional? Neat! Off the rails does not even begin to cover it. She would dare to try and take this from her? Blasphemy! She would feel bad about not killing her when she had the chance except she, like, did – and yet here they are. A maniac mixed up with her father’s quest for immortality now seemingly bent on retconning their entire existence.

This is not the role she was meant to play, Involis muses. This interloper. Rage ripples through him.

“Adubell may have enchanted you with her promises but this serves only her interests if this is what she now claims. The Sith will not rise in her name – only a Winton victorious will create the future we seek. The Voss-Ra have foreseen it. You know this. You have always known this. What magic now has you so twisted that you believe otherwise?”

Allom snaps back sharply.

“Not magic, merely fact. The Lady Adubell transcends death. The sorcerers may see many things, but they do not know everything. They have been wrong so many times before, misplaced their faith so egregiously it defies logic. Do you deny this?”

The words, laced with venom, pierce the armor to sting his skin beneath. The Voss-Ra raised him, taught him, trained him, and that blinded him to certain truths. Truths that have become more glaring and unavoidable which informed his path forward. Dahlia has only exacerbated this situation, acting as both a foil and a future to his journey. They have made progress throughout the cycles, adjusting and recalibrating the pieces and players into position, but ultimately failed to execute on the promise of the prophecy and the glory it purports to reward them.

“I do not.”

“Then you see our predicament,” Faraas sighs. “Trust the Voss-Ra when their failures mount or seek a new path to victory through Adubell? The prospect is…refreshing. A broken stalemate. Even you have to see the value in it, Involis. Winton must be eliminated but you have a choice. Die with her or rule with us.”

Allom nods to him, “All you must do is surrender your armor and the fragment that lies within it. Yours will make three – quite a collection. We are so close. Join us and bring forth a new era.”

It surprises him how easily the words appear on his tongue, the strength of his belief, “No.”

Whether they anticipated this answer or not, they do not show it. A hush falls over the platform.

“So be it, Inquisitor Involis. You will give us the Etheralis or we will take it from you.”

“Then we will kill you both.”

D’Cera’s saber is pulled into a tensed, gloved hand, fingers curling slowly around the hilt. The brilliant pink hue reflects off the blackness of her mask.

“Neither of those things will be happening tonight, darling.”

“Once again, your Highness,” Allom says, saber glow casting menacing shadows across his form. “You are very, very wrong.”







-TBC
3
Star Wars: The Crimson Covenant / Re: CC: Corellian Birthright
« Last post by Syren on October 14, 2024, 04:56:34 PM »
“But there’s no need to worry
Confusion has its own embrace
Your mind needs to worry
Your heart loves a race.”

-Folk Implosion

Corellia

Surface: Coronet

Riley Patten promised he would stay out of trouble.

Since Mara departed, this had worked well. Inspector Thekla backed off, apparently swayed by whatever information she and the High Commander shared. In turn, Riley was given a wide berth and returned to regularly scheduled duties. Veritaas was reinstated – ensuring that Project Succellus, and the latitude it brought to address their situation with the prophecy remained intact. Soldys needs people he can trust in the right places, despite any missteps in the past. He took accountability and assured the High Commander his judgment would not be compromised in the name of secrecy again. For his part, Riley jumped back into patrols with Cassidy and Sixta, something he thoroughly enjoyed. 

Even as the specter of the Republic loomed over them, he took comfort in keeping the streets of Coronet safe.

In the evenings, he spent time catching up with Gemma. They may not be able to be together physically but grew even closer through their support of one another. Admittedly, the physical distance was starting to become intolerable, the need to touch and kiss her sometimes overwhelming. Soon, he told himself. Gemma was deep in training with Nevylinn at the moment, and their fractured relationship found a middle ground in honing their respective skills as Aunt Mara worked with High Commander Soldys. She confessed it was difficult to engage the Jedi otherwise since so much of her trust in them had collapsed completely. She knew they meant well but those intentions were constricted by rules that always seemed to wind up in some self-sabotaging fiasco: e.g., anything they had ever done. There are no apologies for her cynicism and he doesn't expect it.

She was not trained as a child, only ever on the periphery of their teachings through her mother’s recollection of the knowledge the Jedi who delivered her and the infant Dahlia to Rutherford Gellar imparted to her. This was not typically their way yet, as she sarcastically intoned, none of the refugees or some of the newer members were trained as children – they only found their way to the Jedi at different times and through very different circumstances. The point of contention, once so stridently enforced in the past, seemed now to be overlooked given their dwindling numbers. Gemma knows not everything they believe is rubbish but the galaxy and their role in it most certainly do not align with their ideals and assessment of the matter. 

They must take things into their own hands - agency above all else.

Their conversation inevitably wanders toward their pending nuptials. Things to do before they die. Regarding lists, declaring your love for someone is pretty high up there. Gemma agrees the gardens at the Patten Ranch would be perfect – a place they know both his mother and her sister held a fondness for. It would be a way to celebrate their love while honoring those who came before. Their path, contingency or not, may not be what they would have chosen but neither Kimber nor Melanie knew what they knew. Riley wonders if discovering the loop and the Voss-Ra’s hand in it would have changed how they approached their situations and, darkly, if it could have saved any of them. Would his mother have made it off Centerpoint had she known? Would she have even been there in the first place?

These are not questions that ever lead to satisfactory answers. No way to change the past.
 
They must only focus on the precarious present and potentially ominous future, ready to give up their own lives to fulfill the prophecy and return to counter the galactic threat of the Sith.

As Mara, unbeknownst to him, is ready to execute her mission within the display of the High Commander's boundary-pushing exercise, Riley swings by the People’s Council offices to deliver CorSec resources for new arrivals to stay safe in the capital. He makes a point to check in with Della to see if there is anything she needs - the organizations work well together while serving the people on multiple fronts. Unfortunately, but not surprisingly, she is in a meeting but he runs into Circe, as Octavia Valles, in the corridor looking somewhat panicked.

“Hey, you okay?”

Her eyes land on him, focus, and she reaches for his arm.

“I got a most distressing call from Agent Theon. He mumbled something about an incident then cut out. I cannot seem to reach him now. Given, well, everything…I’m worried.”

Riley tilts his head toward the entrance, “Well, come on. I’ve got my shuttle right outside.”

“What if something happened? We can’t just go rushing in there.”

“Do you want to stand around or find out?”

Circe sucks in a breath, letting her assistant know an urgent matter has come up, and follows Riley out of the building.

Deep Space

They race to the Asunder with little conversation between them. She is fretting, mind spiraling in all sorts of dark places. Everyone has been a wreck lately as the emotional toll of the Republic’s threats takes shape among the populous. She has had little time to process what happened after they left the larger group on the ocean cliffs. Citizens from all walks of life sought their services, so many of them fearful of what may come while others remained hostile and defiant. Admittedly, a more Corellian attitude about the whole thing which led to conflicts between those in the crosshairs of the same danger. The cognitive dissonance alone was staggering. The Republic is an everyone problem and one already on their doorstep. Now something may have happened to Donovan and it fills her with a sickening dread.

Once they dock, Riley pulls his blaster and steps in front of her, “You ready?”

She nods.

He enters the consular vessel cautiously. Nothing seems amiss at first glance although filled with the same eerie silence as when he spent time here training years ago. A ghost ship drifting through the stars, safeguarding Jedi through the guise of official, albeit secretive, CorSec business. As they move further into the ship, to the spaces the droids seldom came lest they overhear the secrets they exchange, it becomes quickly obvious something went down. There is a lingering, almost chemical scent in the air that reveals itself when they turn down the corridor toward the converted training area. The dark scorch marks on the walls and paneled floors confirm the sinister feeling tingling the tops of their spines. They exchange a tense glance. Riley braces himself against the wall before swinging into the open space. His trained eyes scan for a target but see nothing moving, only a thin haze of smoke in the air, and then…

The aftermath.

Along the left wall, Sirona lies still on her back, head turned away. Donovan is facedown, closer to the corridor, comlink clutched in his hand, looking as though this was as far as he could drag himself. There are two sabers nearby, both closest to Sirona. In a word, Riley thinks, fuck.

“Circe!”

She appears in the doorway, registers the situation, and drops beside Donovan. Riley moves to check Sirona. She is already cool to the touch and he lowers his head. Circe stirs behind him.

“He’s still got a pulse,” she calls hopefully, using the wall console to call for a medical droid. “What about Sirona?”

“She’s gone.”

Circe stifles a sob, finding herself clutching Donovan’s hand.

“How could this have happened? So few people even know they are out here.”

“Stranger things have, uh, happened.”

“What if we are not alone? Whoever did this could still be onboard.”

“Can’t rule it out,” he says, keeping his blaster ready as he surveys the rest of the space. “Nothing else really here though. If someone boarded them, we would have seen evidence of a fight closer to the dock. An attack this far into the ship seems unlikely.”

Her face tightens, “You don’t think?”

“We don’t know. Let’s get him stabilized, check the rest of the Asunder, and see where things stand. I’ll notify Veritaas but no sense in calling reinforcements and risking exposure if we don’t need to. We’ll need discretion and hopefully a firsthand account. I know what it looks like but let’s try not to jump to any conclusions.”

She cradles her Jedi savior and murmurs distantly, “A bit late for that.”

Riley promised to stay out of trouble but - for a Patten - trouble always finds a way.






-TBC
4
OOC Cantina / Re: Kids
« Last post by SWSF Hoppus on October 14, 2024, 03:51:38 PM »
Yeah its a lot of fun to think back to when I wasn't that much older and the sort of excitement/imagination that I brought to every experience, especially star wars... and to see that in him. I wish I still had that vivid imagination!
5
OOC Cantina / Re: Kids
« Last post by Medivh on October 14, 2024, 03:26:00 PM »
Quote from: SWSF Hoppus on October 14, 2024, 08:21:06 AM
Watched A New Hope with my 9 year old this past weekend, it was his first Star Wars cinema. I think we'll finish up the original trilogy next weekend. Fun to watch him experience it... at some point I'll let him get started on Rebels, too (we limit television and movies but exceptions must be made...)
I've watched episodes 4, 5, 6 and 1 with my oldest (now 11), and Episode 4 with my middle child (7).

It is an amazing experience to pass on to the next generation
6
OOC Cantina / Kids
« Last post by SWSF Hoppus on October 14, 2024, 08:21:06 AM »
Watched A New Hope with my 9 year old this past weekend, it was his first Star Wars cinema. I think we'll finish up the original trilogy next weekend. Fun to watch him experience it... at some point I'll let him get started on Rebels, too (we limit television and movies but exceptions must be made...)
7
Star Wars: The Crimson Covenant / Re: CC: Corellian Birthright
« Last post by Syren on September 13, 2024, 09:53:40 PM »
“Maybe it’s perfect
Maybe I lack control
Coz you’re still the coin in the air
And I don’t know where it leaves me
Heads or tails
Wings or sails.”

Eli & Fur

Corellia

Far from the exercise, the faux-Agent Cale Theon keeps a steady system patrol aboard the Asunder.

The High Commander felt it best to keep Jedi out of the fray, something Donovan agreed was best. They had enough problems and handing them two living violations of their insipid laws would not be one of them. Not today, at least.

Gemma’s call took him by surprise. The loss of life was tragic and he is grateful his sister is not among the victims. The presence of a traitor raises more uncomfortable questions and reveals the depths of their situation with Gemma's controversial take on it. Prophecy as a stage play, a rotating cast across generations with characters that seldom escape their run. There are rare exceptions but there is no denying that those orchestrating horror behind the scenes take great care to close the loop when they can. Rutherford Gellar and Celeste Masterton are evidence enough of that.

For those caught in the prophecy’s glittering web, it is always a matter of time.

He turns his attention to more pressing matters. While Demaris may be in the Corporate Sector with a few potential suspects, Donovan finds himself on a ship with one. Gemma made it clear the Force-sensitive refugees may not be who they claim to be. It is a convenient position, possibly meant to exploit their assistance by ingratiating themselves and lulling them into lowering their guard.

Sirona has kept to herself since the desecration of Centerpoint Station. He left her meditating not long ago and would like to imagine that is what she continues to do. She has not made a move against them with plenty of opportunity to do so. She even had a chance to strike a more damaging blow to their efforts when the High Commander joined them. Sirona is the one who brought him from the surface. Donovan was nothing compared to a strategic target like Artemis Soldys. She could have taken that shuttle down before they ever reached his cruiser, or crashed the shuttle into the Asunder killing them all.

A tactical victory that would have robbed Corellia of further hope to combat the imminent Republic threat.

That is not a phrase he ever thought he’d think. The Republic, a galactic enemy. He never cared much for politics in his old life, much too busy with the salacious duties of a Corporate Sector heir. It never touched him, all those happenings outside their opulent little world. Such privilege, the luxury of being an Atrii. To not care simply because it did not personally inconvenience him in any way. Let others suffer so long as he did not have to deal with it. That seems like such a very long time ago. The Jedi set him on the straight and narrow. Something else he is grateful for. They are not perfect, nor is he, but their ways allow him a chance at real purpose. A path to absolution. Yet, his mind drifts to other things.

Circe.

It turns out path and purpose come at a price. Feelings that are felt and acknowledged but must not be acted on. It helps that they are both playing other people since the galaxy believes them long dead. Lives lost in the early days of the Republic’s swift and spectacular downward spiral. For many it made it real. If they could kill someone like Circe Prescott, in principle, as a symbol of dissent in a democratic society, then they could do the same to anyone else - and they did. There are the true believers out there bent on ensuring this all goes south and, so far, they are making great work of it. Threats near and far.

Near being his primary concern.

Donovan rises from the chair and retrieves his saber, stashed away to complete the CorSec ruse but always nearby. He clips it to his belt and steps into the corridor. It is quiet, as the cruiser tends to be in their patrol of solitude and reflection most days, but now that silence is laced with suspicion.

Do other enemies masked as allies walk among them?

He is relieved to find her exactly where he left her, meditating in the galley with her back turned to him. He approaches slowly, rapping on the archway with a knuckle to signal his presence although he knows she already senses him. Her body stiffens.

“I have news. Not good, I’m afraid.”

She lowers her head, “Tell me.”

“We’ve lost Oz and Lysette,” he says, choosing his words carefully. “It seems Lysette was not on our side after all.”

“And now you have come to see if I am?”

“I would like to know where you stand, Sirona. You have been through a lot and it would be understandable if your feelings are…complex. Nothing we’ve experienced has been what anyone would consider normal but know that I am here to check in and support you.”

“I will be fine."

“I am pleased to hear it but not certain I believe you.”

“You do not know what I felt when what was left of that station imploded. The things I heard. Madness. It was pure madness.”

He eases further into the space, curious.

“Madness?”

“The spirits of those trapped within, no way out, so much fear, confusion – they did not know it would end that way. In an instant, so many lives cut short. Everyone’s last thoughts bombarding me, invading my mind, and then…then there was her. They told me she was waiting there.”

“Who? The one who attacked the Republic?”

“A voice clearer than the others, cutting through the noise. She spoke directly to me.”

Donovan is so close to her now. Was this who she referenced before? The one who had come to let the darkness out? Perhaps she had…in ways they had not considered. He moves closer still.

“What did this person tell you?”

In a single fluid movement, Sirona rises and ignites her saber, twisting around with a controlled strike. Donovan jerks backward reflexively, hand finding his weapon just as her blade clashes with his in a sickening hiss. Her eyes have a green glint to them that he has not seen before, expression determined but faltering.

“She told me to turn on you,” Sirona says evenly, advancing on him. “To prevent you from trying to take what is rightfully hers.”

“Sirona, stop this! This is not you!”

“None of them deserved it. Not one worthy enough to claim victory. We are but mere mortals, and she a goddess. Soon…she will reign.”

Donovan pulls back and flicks his wrist to create some distance between them. She rights herself quickly and attacks. He engages her defensively as their sabers clash.

“Fight this, Sirona!”

“She is still in my head…whispering…willing me…”

“No, she does not control you-”

“That is where you are wrong. She controls all of us.”

He parries and steps back, assessing the tremors of expression flickering across her face. She may be fighting but she is losing. He had only heard rumors of such possession, the Sith inflicting their will upon others, but he had never seen it manifested. She may not have been sent as a sleeper in the same way Lysette evidently had been but she arrived here vulnerable, her defenses down, and within the psychic attack left open the opportunity to strike. Donovan must disarm her before she hurts anyone.

“Sirona, listen to me. Hear me. You are safe here with us. We will protect you!”

She attacks again, this time more aggressively, but he is careful to deflect and keep her at a distance as he tries to reach her. What he does not know, what he does not yet understand, is the piece of an artifact this dark visitor had come to collect from Centerpoint and the power it holds. Adubell’s words, imbued with the essence of the Etheralis, coil deep within her mind – she no longer has control.

“The Jedi can’t protect anyone,” she laughs coldly, voice octaves lower than it had been only moments ago. “Not even themselves.”

The glint in her eyes flares a brilliant hue. He gasps, hesitating for the briefest moments but it is enough of an opening. Donovan feels the sear of saber upon flesh, into his forearm, down across his thigh, and he stumbles back. The Twi’lek comes at him hard now, swinging more wildly, sparks from contact with the walls showering across the narrower corridor he’s been forced back into. He brings his blade down against hers, both sparking against the floor as she whips a headtail against his face. Flinching, he throws himself forward, slamming her against the wall, their sabers tangled dangerously beneath them. She shoves him back and he staggers then spins to the right into a crouch, feeling the heat of her blade as it passes over him, and thrusts his hand outward to send a concussive Force blast that sends her tumbling back into the open space of the galley.

Donovan sags against the wall. His leg is screaming, realizing now it may be deeper than he thought, but manages to drag himself to where she lies still. He holds his saber out, not yet raised. He believes there is still a chance they could save her. He is not going to give up on her now-

She springs upright at an almost unnatural angle, gripping his throat and hauling him forcefully back across the room. Sirona almost seems to float as his legs scrape helplessly across the floor. They crash into the far wall with enough force to smash his head against it. Colorful spots explode in front of his eyes and her saber tip pierces his shoulder. Crying out, vision clearing, he watches the fury drain from her face.

His glowing saber is lodged through her chest, casting shadows on her features from behind. The glow dims but remains present in her eyes. Donovan deactivates his weapon. Hers drops to the floor and snaps off. Grabbing ahold of her as her knees buckle, he cries out again.

“No, no, no….Sirona, no…you were safe here…”

“No one is safe,” she sputters, weakly. “Not from this. From her.”

She sinks to the floor in his arms and a small, nearly guttural laugh escapes her lips. She raises her eyes to his as she begins to fade from this life.

“Really, Jedi. Do you think your sister is safe…with one of them?”









-TBC
8
OOC Cantina / Re: RIP James Earl Jones
« Last post by SWSF Hoppus on September 11, 2024, 08:10:50 AM »
Was so bummed RIP
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OOC Cantina / Re: RIP James Earl Jones
« Last post by Medivh on September 09, 2024, 11:24:02 PM »
For ANH, he said he didn't deserve to be credited for playing Darth Vader because the voice was too small a part of the character

https://www.cbr.com/james-earl-jones-didnt-want-credit-star-wars/#:~:text=Jones%20always%20shared%20the%20role,during%20the%20franchise's%20early%20days.
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OOC Cantina / Re: RIP James Earl Jones
« Last post by SWSF Eidolon on September 09, 2024, 06:21:28 PM »
aw, womp womp


I was reading through his imdb for memories, apparently he was initially uncredited in ANH for voice over!  I'm sure it was added in eventually but crazy.  Oversight or by request from the man himself perhaps?

I wonder if there's any sort of existing contract that permits them to continue using his voice over?  I had pretty much assumed they stopped using him at some point but it looks like everything up until Obi Wan series was him voicing.




Put a sock in it Jaffe!  RIP.



EDIT- Just read on Forbes, he signed over rights for AI to recreate Vaders voice with all his recorded material.
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