Heist on Y’thal
Hyperspace Lanes
Y’thal
Hyperspace stretched out all around, scattering starlight that gently illuminated the Reaver DarkHawk’s Sith Fury Interceptor with a cool, blue shimmer. Inside, the steady hum of the ship’s systems blended with the quiet focus on the bridge, creating an atmosphere of purposefully determination.
Ty, as his close friends would say, was completely in his element at the helm. Every deliberate move he made showed just how seasoned he was. As a Duros with nerves as tough as steel and lightning-fast reflexes, he handled the controls with the ease and confidence of someone who truly knew what they were doing.The Reaver responded in perfect harmony: swift, silent, and deadly. This ship wasn’t just a machine—it was a living extension of his will, and few pilots had earned its respect the way Ty had.
“Course correction locked,” Ty murmured, crimson eyes fixed ahead as the stars blurred by. “Smooth as always.”
A snort of artificial sarcasm crackled “Smooth? Please,” Ellee, his custom co-pilot droid, drawled with a voice as sharp as a razor. “I could fly this glorified scrap heap through a black hole and still serve cafe’ before you even thought about blinking.”
Behind them, the presence of another figure filled the cockpit with a quiet, looming gravity. Hades sat back with his arms folded, his gaze never leaving Ty. Though many in the galaxy whispered his name with a mix of fear and respect. Hades wasn’t there just to stand by. His years spent in naval warfare had taught him the value of every small detail, and as he watched Ty, he absorbed every subtle gesture, each one sharpening his own hard-earned skills.
In that small space, three distinct minds hummed with unspoken power—one flying the ship, one maintaining its perfect efficiency, and one silently planning for battles yet to come. The Reaver hurtled forward through hyperspace.
Ellee, the ship’s custom pilot droid, lounged—if a droid could lounge—beside him, her photoreceptors flashing with calculated sarcasm. Over the years, Ty had grown oddly fond of her sharp wit and biting commentary, even if he’d never admit it aloud.
Adept DarkHawk Sadow stood near the viewport, arms crossed, a silent predator watching the streaks of hyperspace blur into oblivion. His presence was a blade honed to perfection—silent, focused, deadly. Each breath he drew felt deliberate, as if every motion was a quiet step in a plan only he truly grasped.
“Approaching Y’thal,” Ty announced, breaking the tension that had settled like smoke across the room.
“Good,” DarkHawk’s voice was low, like the whisper of a storm before it struck. “The Inquisitorious expects efficiency. We won’t disappoint.”
From the cargo hold emerged Master Bentre Stahoes into the flight deck. Consul emeritus of great renown, now something even more dangerous—a warrior unburdened by title, but no less deadly. His gaze, sharp and calculating, lingered on DarkHawk before shifting toward the viewport.
“Efficiency’s fine,” Bentre said, his tone calm but carrying an edge sharpened by experience. “But we’ll need more than that if Y’thal’s anything like the last planet the Inquisitorious sent us to.”
A soft laugh, both melodic and predatory, echoed from the far corner of the ship’s flight deck. Tasha Vel’Versea, Bentre’s wife and a master assassin, leaned casually against the wall, her sapphire Lekku coiled over her shoulders like living shadows. Her eyes, sharp as vibroblades, flickered with amusement. “And here I thought you enjoyed the thrill of improvisation, dear.”
“Improvisation gets people killed,” came a gruff voice from the hatchway.
Daro Vane stepped into the flight deck, his presence solid as durasteel armor plating. A Force disciple and Obelisk Marauder, Daro’s reputation preceded him—every scar, every grim expression spoke of battles that survived through sheer will and unrelenting violence. His gaze lingered on Bentre for a moment too long before shifting to DarkHawk.
“What’s the mission status?”
DarkHawk’s eyes remained fixed on the shimmering void. “We’re to secure supply caches hidden in Y’thal’s outer colonies. Intelligence suggests minimal resistance.”
“Intelligence always says that,” Ty muttered under his breath.
Ellee’s photoreceptors flickered with mock excitement. “Oh, ‘minimal resistance,’ right. You mean like the last time, when ‘minimal’ turned into a full-blown disaster, the Reaver spent a month in the shop, and the resident brooder went full melodrama for a week? Yeah, real minimal.”
“Resistors you know I don’t brood,” DarkHawk’s voice cut through the droid’s sarcasm like a vibroblade.
“Your denial is exhausting,” Ellee quipped, her voice dripping with smug satisfaction.
As the ship neared realspace, the shimmering waves of hyperspace peeled away to reveal the ominous gray sphere of Y’thal looming in the distance—a planet cloaked in shadow, its surface scarred by ancient wars and forgotten battles.
“Strap in,” Ty said, voice low but certain. “Let’s see what ghosts this rock has waiting for us.”
And as the Reaver descended into Y’thal’s atmosphere, the team could feel it—an unseen tension coiling tighter with every passing second.
Tension. Tension. There was always tension. There was always a tension to everything that he did. Whether it was as a Consul in the Clan, or a mere peon, Bentre stahoes had always been a tool. It didn’t matter whether he had been a tool for Clan Naga Sadow or a tool for the Overlord. It didn’t matter whether he was a tool for the Will of the Force or he has a servant to his own desires. Bentre Stahoes was a tool.
He was a tool of death. That is, he was like a blade between the ribs. He was a knife in the night. He was a stilleto in the back. He was a shoto saber in the gut. He was a tool. We was to be wielded. It did not matter whether the Overlord understood his real purposes. He had always operated on two levels.
On one, he was a benefit to the Clan. On the other, he was operating to his own benefit. On one level, he was a valid leader and a stalwart champion. On another, Benter Stahoes was a mere peon to serve the greater good. Or the greater evil. He didn’t really worry about such moralities. Honestly, Bentre could not care less where he fell on someone’s moral spectrum.
“Point me, Overlord. What do you desire of your former leader-servant?” The words were insincere. He would be pointed. He would follow orders as long as they aligned with his goals.
He smiled.
Tasha'Vel made her way into a seat and strapped herself in..“Without Tension there is no excitement.” She sat there, fingers drumming om the seat as she thought for a moment before she looked at Bentre, Daro and Darkhawk. “So what exactly are we doing here on Y'thal? Tell me we are not fetching some trinket off of a pedestal like some damn fool.” She crossed her arms in front of her. “Tell me we are hunting someone. I much prefer to track and kill.”
She then laid her head back and rubbed her temples. “I swear another fetch quest of artifacts and I am gonna slice someone’s finger off.” Her thoughts then turned to Bentre as she stared at her husband. Just what was going through his mind?
Bentre looked at her wife. Seeing her staring, he put on his widest smile and waved.
She rolled her eyes and turned back to look out at the bridge. “Frackin Arse.” She muttered under her breath before saying aloud. “Just let me know when we are heading out.”
DarkHawk informed everyone that the Inquisitorious left operation parameters for each of them. Opening a secured compartment behind the control console. DarkHawk retrieved its contents and handed everyone a sealed file with FOR YOUR EYES ONLY stamped over each member’s name. Unsealing their file, it contained one single data card. That card contains a commission voucher, offering a $75K bonus to the member that returns with the cache of goods while preventing the others from retrieving the cache themselves.
Well this changes things, DarkHawk thought.
Hades took the data card and plugged it into his data pad. As its contents scrolled across the screen he frowned. This was beneath him. If the Clan’s current and former Consuls hadn’t asked for his presence on this mission he would have passed on the idea outright. But as it was, here he is. He replaced the data pad back in it’s pouch on his duty belt. His dark brown robe purposely made to look worn and disheveled, was pushed aside revealing the Dark Jedi General armor. The façade was in line with a personal motto of his: “The dumber people think you are, the more surprised they are when you kill them.” And in many parts of this galaxy an apparent lack of wealth usually equals lower intelligence. As ignorant as that may be, any advantage given to him in a fight he will eagerly accept.
The older Sith made his way to the temporary bunk DarkHawk had assigned him. He checked his gear in methodical silence. His final check was his weapons. His lightsaber in it’s leather scabbard in the small of his back. His scatter gun he named “Betsy” on a quick release under his robe and his Reynold’s DE-21 Slugthrower pistol on his thigh holster. After securing the extra ammo and additional goodies to either his person or the pack he was finally ready to go. He attached the pack under his robe on a sling. He turned and exited his quarters and entered the common area of the ship. The others have already gathered there.
“I am ready when you are, Consul.”
Daro took the sealed package and handed it down to Warpa, his Aleena Pilot. Warpa had a knack for all things ‘illegal’ and some would even say he had a pension for the downright immoral. But, while you could argue his motives. One thing was certain. He was good at just about anything he set his mind on. This trait is what lead to such odd-pairing and partnership.
Daro took a mental note of everyone within the room. He eyed weaponry, observed stance and cadence. People could tell you everything you needed to know about them without even uttering a word.
“Well?”
“I think you’re gonna like this, boss.” Warpa grinned and leaned onto his cane. “Lots of credits to be earned with this one.”
“You know I don’t care about credits. Prestige is more import..”
“Yeah, yeah. But credits are what puts fuel in the Harlequin’s Kiss and food in our bellies.”
Daro snarled a bit. Warpa was quick to cut to the chase. As usual.
Without saying another word the Obelisk twisted and made his way to the docking port.
He smiled. It was good to see how his fellow Sadowans were prepared to play their parts. He would do the same. He always had. He was prepared to be the tool.
Bentre Stahoes turned his lightsaber over in his mechanical hands thoughtfully. He had been an Obelisk for years. He hadn’t lost that part of himself. He looked at Tasha'Vel, then to Daro, then to Hades and finally at Darkhawk.
“So do any of your care if I take point?” He smiled a toothy smile at the Twi'lek. “I can keep eyes up front, to ensure nobody gets the drop on us.”
The Twi'lek glanced over the file and sighed. She really didn’t care about really taking this or the money. She was just there to support Sadowan efforts. “Credits make the world go round I guess.” She then prepared herself to head out once they reached the dock port. “Get this thing, get out.” She went over her tools, her blades and weapons. She then glanced up to her half Sephi pilot who had also come along. “Ready to go Vance?” He checked his ammunition, slung his slugthrower over his shoulder and nodded. “Always Tash, just point the way.” The Maurauder turned back to Bentre. “After you, I don’t care either way as long as we just get this over with.”
DarkHawk felt the demeanor change. Why would the Inquisitorious set such parameters on a Clan mission? There was something off about that. Needless to say they had their “orders,” what was in that cache?
Exiting the flight deck DarkHawk gathered the rest of his tools of the trade and locked down his helm. The sound of hissing, mechanical clicks and whirs, a combination of pressurized air sealing around the edges of the helmet.
The others gathered near the ramp to disembark, the door began to lower and the team headed into the unknown of Y'thal.
“Our target is half a klick to the east. Move out, head on a swivel. Master Stahoes, you have point.”
“Well then hop to it Bentre, I don’t want to be waiting here all day long.” She shrugged as she hopped down onto the ramp, Vance followed and leaned on the ramp support. “Yeah, Tasha doesn’t like to wait too long,she gets a little antsy.” She shook her head at the Sephi. She still was bored and just wanted to do something. If Bentre didn’t move, she would run to the cache herself.
He took off after his wife. He was not about to let her show him up. He had his eyes on the prize. He was a tool. He was going to let them use him to accomplish what he wanted.
He moved forward with an even stride. His head was on a swivel.
He had been neglectful in his study of the intelligence provided. He glanced back at Hades and the others before setting into a full spring.
To Hells with it. I got along this long being careful. I am not gonna fall to some piece of dark trash.
The tiny wolf is excited for his hunt. The dark whisper of the Sith spirit clawed at the back of him mind. You will deliver your secrets to me, whether you like it or not.
He shook his head as he moved forward. He had been given point. He couldn’t let the Twi'lek show him up. The spirit wouldn’t win either.
He would taste victory this day.
Tashavel just saw him sprint and she just grinned relishing the challenge, he had taken a bit ahead, but she wanted to show him some good spirited rivalry. A sudden burst of speed and she was almost to him. “You want to race to this artifact dear? Let’s do this!” She just grinned as she started to gain momentum. This was more like it. Poor Vance just lingered behind a bit from the two. “You go on I will catch up.” He replied slowing a bit.
The old Imperial looked on as the younger members rushed off of the ship and towards their objective. Hades shook his head and gave the faintest of smiles before muttering “Ah, to be young again.” as he walked down the ramp. He turned back and secured the ramp before moving off towards the others at a respectable pace. What is the point of being semi-concealed if you start running off halfcocked and drawing attention to yourself?
After ten minutes, Hades had closed the distance to his team as they had stopped to gain their bearing a time or two. He began to passively reach out with the Force, probing the jungle around him for any clues that might aid him in his mission as well as for any threats that might take an interest in him or his team. After a few moments, and having sensed none, he pressed forward. He moved off of the path the others had taken by at least fifteen meters, but continued to move on a parallel course. He checked his datapad once more. His personal ship, Omega 7 which is an Escort Shuttle, was in low orbit with Jeeves, his pilot droid at the controls and Bob, his sarcastic KX-series Security Droid ready to drop in when ordered. It was easy to have his droids follow a tracking beacon hidden in his own gear. Everything was in place.
They were close. It was almost time.
“Not gonna let him get this one!” In a short burst of speed, Tasha'vel sprinted ahead of Bentre. As they neared, she could see the target just ahead. “Time for the fun to begin.” Grinning, she closed in for the grab. Meanwhile Vance who had been taking it easy, saw Tasha ahead. “Well for kark’s sake!” And began to dash like a madman.
While the others raced and were on hunts of their own. Daro and Warpa were heading to the coordinates given to them. The jungle was a tangle of vine and discomfort as they pressed on. Yet the Force spoke to Daro, as Warpa complained, making it difficult to focus. However he couldn’t help but to feel like something ominous was lurking. Tailing them. He felt hunted.
In that moment they heard the low rumble of a growl that caused the Aleena to gulp.
“Wha, what was that?”
“Keep moving.” Daro snarled as he rested his hand on the cool durasteel of the hilt tucked inside his robes. His feet dug into the leaf litter as he tried covering their advance. Concealing their approach with the Force. But whatever was tracking them. Wasn’t following their Force signature. It was following their scent.
Another rumble came deep from a hungry belly and seemed to be closer. It was keeping pace with them even as they rushed through the foliage. If whatever stalked them wanted to. It could be on them in an instant.
They continued and as they moved down a ravine they could hear the sound of water. A stream that cut through the hazardous terrain. In fact making it more treacherous. However, Daro knew that water worked wonders when breaking scent trails.
Daro rushed into the water but Warpa was reluctant. A reluctance that would cost him as a Vine cat burst through the canopy and landed on him. Latching onto his cloak and thrashed.
Daro cursed in a foreign tongue and leapt backwards, igniting his lightsaber with one smooth motion. The cat let go as it heard the weapon come to life and snarled while taking up a defensive posture. Warpa scurried away, unscathed but shaken up as Daro and the creature squared up. In the background he could see a temple. This creature was in the way.
Daro remained calm and let the animalistic tendencies of the beast override it’s caution as it bound forward. With a juke to the left, he rolled his weapon and sliced an open gash the entire length of the beast. It soldered and released the smell of charred flesh into the air. Writhing in agony before fading to black.
“To the temple.” Warpa just looked up panting…
“Are you kidding me?!
Tasha'Vel felt the rush of the wind against her skin as she pushed herself harder, sprinting through the thick jungle. The weight of the challenge pressed down on her, but adrenaline and sheer determination carried her forward. Behind her, Bentre and Vance struggled to keep pace, their frustration evident in the curses muttered under their breath. She allowed herself a smirk—this was hers to win.
The dense foliage whipped past as she nimbly leaped over roots and ducked under low-hanging branches. The Force surged through her, sharpening her senses, guiding her every step. She could feel the presence of the others, Daro and Warpa were close to the temple, but so was something else. A disturbance. A threat. Whatever they had encountered had slowed them down, and that was all she needed.
The temple loomed ahead, its cracked stone facade worn by time and jungle overgrowth. Her lekku twitched as she skidded to a stop, heart pounding in her chest. She had made it first. But the final stretch was not yet over. The cache was hidden within, and she had no doubt the others would arrive soon enough, eager to claim it for themselves.
Drawing her blades, she navigated the ruins with swift precision. The inside was dimly lit, the air thick with the scent of damp stone and decay. Ancient markings lined the walls, whispering forgotten secrets of the past. She pushed forward, trusting her instincts. The Force led her to a hidden chamber, where a pedestal stood in eerie stillness. And there it was—the cache.
Tasha wasted no time. With careful hands, she secured the container, feeling the weight of its significance. Whatever the Inquisitorious deemed important enough to set them against each other, it had to have some reasoning, or a sick joke. That wasn’t her concern at the moment, that is for a later time. Her concern was getting it back to the Reaver first.
She turned on her heel, sprinting back the way she came. A sharp shift in the Force warned her, Bentre had arrived. “Not fast enough,” she muttered to herself. As she neared the exit, she extended a hand behind her, unleashing a powerful telekinetic wave to hurl debris into the path of her pursuers, creating a temporary barrier.
The moment she stepped back into the jungle, the entrance behind her collapsed in a thunderous roar of stone and dust. She didn’t look back. She ran.
She could hear the others in pursuit, but she had gained too much of a lead. Vance called out to her, half-laughing, half-annoyed, but she didn’t slow down. The Reaver was in sight, its ramp lowered, waiting. Victory was within reach.
With one final burst, she launched herself onto the ship, the cache secured in her arms. The engines were already rumbling as Ty waited onboard, anticipation etched on their faces to see who arrived first. She hit the controls, sealing the ramp just as Bentre came into view, his expression a blend of disbelief and begrudging admiration. Behind him, the others trudged toward the Reaver knowing what they just lost out on.
Tasha leaned against the bulkhead, catching her breath, “Welcome aboard, Ma’am” Ty said. She let out a small laugh looking back at the others, shaking her finger. “Too slow, boys.”
The mission was hers. The credits were hers. And more importantly—it was done and over with.