Dominion A New Age | SO Dominion of Alpinn and Qi-Ko

[Lirka Ka]

They called it Shattermarch.

With the declaration of the new Third Legion, a crusade of reclamation had been decreed by the Emperor. A wave of renewal, ambition, and expansion meant to sweep across the Galaxy heralded by the massive vessel Darklight. The ship now hung over the world of Delrakkin as the final preparations were made for the gathered fleet of the Third Legion to make their first diving blow into the great unknown, with the massive form of the unarmed Sith ark hanging over the world as it eclipsed the stars themselves in its raw presence. A looming visage of what was to come as the Galaxy came to see the beauties of what the Sith had created behind their Blackwall. Soon, with bursts of light as each vessel made their daring jumps into hyperspace - the Shattermarch had begun.

At the head of this crusade stood the newest of the Imperators, Lirka Ka. Once a rival of the Emperor in service of the Kainate, now broken from the yoke of the Eternal Father's dominion. An appointment made as test, punishment, and opportunity both. For this crusade was to be a delicate one, a pursuit of culture and reclamation in the wake of a galaxy sent into chaos in the wake of the Sundering Dawn. Worlds once mapped now lost, wealth, relics, history sent into the abyss of catastrophe. The Third Legion would reclaim what was lost, and in their reclamation the dominion of the Sith would expand greater than ever before - for the first time in history, Companion Besh: Firefist, now stood closer than it ever had in recorded history. A bounty the Sith would reap.

It was a task to be approached with the utmost caution, a coordinated blow to bring low a whole micro-Galaxy under the shroud of the dark side. So, patience had become key. They would pave their path through the chaos on a bold route, charting new lanes wherever they could. The first world of the crusade was one close to home, yet was to be a crucial test for the ability of this vast menagerie they called a Legion to operate.

The world of Ryoone was to be the first brought back into the fold, a world of ash and industry that now like distant Delrakkin saw the looming shadow of Darklight upon its skies - as each vessel in the armada soon burst from hyperspace to spread the word. Astral storms crackling in the sky as the Tempestarri beckoned the arrival of the third as if divine intervention had torn apart space itself once more. As the storm died, a swarm of drop ships, landers, and various other vessels flocked to the surface to do the dirty work of reclamation.

Ryoone was far from the savage places they would encounter in the days to follow, but it was success in a place of relative peace like this that would be herald to if this bout was doomed from the start. The volcanoes of Ryoone would be the catalyst upon which all they had built would begin. Where the path would be laid for all the glories, tribulations, and uncertain days that would follow.

Today, the Shattermarch dawned.

Objective I - Council of Commanders

Within the imposing central spire of the Darklight, a vast circular chamber awaited the arrival of the Legion's leadership. Encircled by towering holographic displays mapping the scattered remains of known hyperlanes and unexplored sectors, Imperator Lirka Ka and her senior officers convene. Sith Lords, strategists, and influential commanders enter one by one, each bringing their own agenda, fears, and ambitions. Discussions will shape not only the immediate objectives of exploration but the very philosophical underpinning of their endeavor. Here, influence can be asserted, power consolidated, or rivalries inflamed.

Objective II - Darklight Bazaar

The grand plaza aboard the Darklight has transformed into a bustling market and cultural exhibition. Merchants, traders, diplomats, and representatives of dozens of Sith-aligned worlds display their finest wares, exotic treasures, and rare technological marvels beneath vibrant banners and lanterns of crimson and gold. This bazaar serves as both a celebration of departure and a demonstration of imperial wealth and cultural diversity. Here, alliances are formed, secrets traded, and rare artifacts that may prove crucial in the uncharted sectors beyond are acquired. Sith of all ranks intermingle freely, creating opportunities for subtle negotiations, strategic alignments, and clandestine intrigue.

Objective III - Reclamation

The Obelisk Forge of the Darklight churns, a myriad of monuments and totems quickly printed to spread the word of Sith doctrine upon Ryoone. The droning Psychotronic broadcasts of the Vox-Pylons heralding forth the arrival of the Legion assets entrusted to secure the spread of the Sith cult upon this to-be-newest addition to the Empire. While the oppressive weight of the Darklight looms overhead to ensure a smooth and swift colonization of Ryoone, things are rarely so simple. Ensure the unbothered arrival of this cultural cargo in the wake of the violent planetary activity of this world. And of course, even with the manipulations of the Vox-Pylons to try and woo a willing populace - not all will look kindly upon this invasion of culture.

 

[Kelora Priestly]

Official Response from High Basileus Kelora
Regarding the Sith Order's Incursion into Ryoone (Crown Sector)

To All Commonwealth Citizens, Military Commanders, and Allied Observers:

It is with measured determination that I address the unfolding crisis on Ryoone—a world under the Commonwealth's protection that now finds itself at the center of an unlawful incursion by the Sith Order's Third Legion. Commonwealth Intelligence has confirmed the presence of the flagship Darklight in Ryoone's orbit, with operational deployments that clearly align with Imperator Lirka Ka's expansionist objectives. This is not simply a military movement; it is a calculated effort to undermine our sovereignty and destabilize the Crown Sector.

Through continuous intelligence updates from our field operatives and analysts, I have been briefed on the immediate threats posed by the Sith Order's activities in our space. As a result, I am issuing the following operational directives to counter this incursion:

Intelligence reports confirm that the Darklight's spire has become the center of Sith leadership activities. Sith strategists and high-ranking Lords are convening there to solidify their chain of command and outline their territorial ambitions. Commonwealth Intelligence is tasked with monitoring all communications from this Council, prioritizing real-time infiltration and interception. Psychological operations are authorized to exploit known rivalries among the Sith, sowing discord to undermine their unity from within.

Our agents report that the grand plaza aboard the Darklight has been repurposed into a lavish bazaar, hosting trade delegations and representatives from Sith-aligned worlds. This is a potential nexus for arms deals, black-market trade, and alliance-building. Commonwealth Intelligence operatives are ordered to coordinate with local trade networks to insert covert assets into this market, gather critical intelligence on the Sith's logistical capabilities, and, where possible, disrupt supply lines that support their military build-up.

The deployment of the Obelisk Forge and Vox-Pylons on Ryoone is a direct attempt to enforce Sith doctrine and cultural hegemony over a Commonwealth world. Intelligence has flagged these installations as both propaganda tools and potential command nodes. I have authorized defense forces to neutralize these broadcasts at the source and to protect communication networks from infiltration attempts. Psychological operations will run counter-broadcasts, championing unity, resistance, and the Commonwealth's principles of self-determination.

Let there be no misunderstanding: the Commonwealth will not stand idly by while the Sith Order attempts to subjugate our citizens and rewrite our values under the guise of cultural enlightenment. We will remain vigilant and resolute, defending every world that calls the Commonwealth home.

High Basileus Kelora

Merryn Sellek | Kurayami Bloodborn | Davorin Orsava ​

 

[Lirka Ka]

OBJECTIVE I - Council of Commanders

A legion assembled. A fledgling thing that was demanded to fill the shoes of the giants that had taken years of proper consideration to build, things commanded by Sith of grand renown compared to a supposedly-Kainite brute that danced between reviled and tolerated depending where one stood on the spectrum of the Sith's many denominations. A lofty challenge indeed, a precipice of greatness or annihilation.

A test by Primordial Darkness in political form. Lirka Ka would never shirk from the crucible of worth, especially that had pulled the murderous hound back into being a commander-of-men once more.

A commander-of-men that was forced to attend meetings and string together this disparate force of warriors across the entire expanse of the Empire's worlds into something resembling an at least somewhat unified entity. A loathsome prospect compared to her younger years, rampaging her way at the tip of spear, like she had upon Serenno not many cycles before. She would have to trust in the many field commanders and warriors that flew under the banner of the Third now - yet, she would not leave them without command from their Imperator.

While awaiting the arrival of those souls that would form the council of command of the Third Legion's motus operandi, the Once-Sephi's booming and mechanically distorted voice thundered off the Sith-Imperial comm networks, time had taught her many things, paramount of them all was the necessity of tact.

"Servants of the Empire, Warriors of the Third, heed my words! Today, I am expecting a modicum of tact from you all: we are not a warfleet, we are not a tool of simple, brutish, conquest. We have been entrusted with the mission most pure of spreading the word of the Sith, as such this is to be a peaceful sharing of culture - you are not to fire unless fired upon, if they are to joust with words show them the superior intellect of a Sith-Imperial. If I am to see monsters and savages among my ranks, understand that you will be answering for your animalistic idiocy to me."

Equal parts command, equal parts threat. A quintessential representation of this newest Imperator. Now, Lirka turned upon her seat to face the growing assembly, watching for familiar faces, watching for those would-be-allies, would-be-enemies, foes, comrades, and everything in between. A simple thing, yet nothing would be more crucial to the success of this expedition than what would be decided upon in this Spire.

 

[War Marshal Helix]

Objective 1: Attend the council​

Helix's carapace rippled in amusement as he entered. He'd never have calculated that "tact" was even in Lirka's vocabulary. Nonetheless, he'd never turn down a chance to visit new places and slay new things. He was rather fond of the creature, deranged as she was. He didn't have many friends or allies, and was always keen to keep the few he could lay claim to.

To say that the current debacle was an awkward one, would be to understate. The locals did not seem happy to see them, not that anyone ever was. The demand for a peaceful cultural exchange made him raise a metal eyebrow, but this was not his operation. He'd be here when the negotiations inevitably turned sour, and the stick was needed above the carrot.

He calculated that this would only be a question of time. A statistical certainty. The assembly now present could only be held to civility for so long, and the natives would not suffer their presence forever.

The mechanized apparition folded his hands serenely atop the table, registering the cool metal under his nanosensors. He was, without question, one of the "monsters and savages" that the Imperator had so "tactfully" alluded to, but one didn't lead a successful crusade full of anything else. He at least liked to think that his atrocities had a certain panache.

He didn't speak up or give an acknowledgement. His presence was enough.

 

[Ivalyn Yvarro]

Objective 1​

The Major would go to work.

Ivalyn Yvarro was well on her way to meet with the Sith Order. An incursion into Ryoone had been reported, foreseen, in fact, by the Embers of the Ebon Tide. She should have heeded their warnings when they first spoke of it.

"Initiate Shadow Directive 001," she instructed Omnia, her voice calm, each word precise as though delivered from a throne room rather than a command deck. "Activate Cultural Preservation Act, eight-four-four."

A beat of silence.

"Wake the Senator."

The Senator.

A holdover from the days of Ren and Fortan, this artificial intelligence had been created by the First Order at the height of its power, an entity dedicated to the preservation of First Imperial ideology, its cultural bedrock and political architecture. Ivalyn's own experiences with the Senator had been, at best, complex. But in a crisis such as this, there was no room for sentimentality.

"Initiate the Signal."

Her command hung in the air, deliberate and composed. She knew the Sith's ambitions all too well: the eradication of Commonwealth and First Imperial culture in favor of their own dark designs. She would not let Ryoone, or the Commonwealth, fall to such hubris without resistance.

Omnia's response came through the ship's comms, her voice smooth and modulated with the calm precision of a trusted confidante: "Shadow Directive 001 initiated. Cultural Preservation Act eight-four-four is now active. The Senator is online, Grand Vizier."

A pause.

"The Signal is transmitting."

Ivalyn exhaled, a measured breath, her posture straightening as though steeling herself for the meeting ahead. She would not yield. Not to the Sith. Not to anyone who sought to erase the very essence of the Commonwealth she had sworn to protect.

And so, with a voice composed and unwavering, she pressed on, her will as unyielding as the ancient marble halls of Dosuun.

"Balance have mercy on us all," Ivalyn uttered, the words leaving her lips with a pang of regret that only one well-versed in duty over sentiment could appreciate. She shut her eyes tight, bracing herself for what was to come. Awakening the Senator risked the possibility of Vigil being overwhelmed by its dogmatic programming, but she had no other choice. Pressed against the walls, the Commonwealth demanded every measure at her disposal.

"Omnia," she continued, her voice cool and precise even amid the tension, "redirect Spectres, CID assets, and CSB on Ryoone. Ensure Mount Kaelith and other key Commonwealth localities are secured." A moment. "Deploy the Imperial Guards in full measure."

Every asset would move into place, and begin the work against the Sith Order. A pause followed, the weight of her decisions pressing heavily upon her shoulders. She exhaled slowly, her posture straightening as though to steel herself against the onslaught of uncertainty.

The Senator would awaken now, its programming honed in the days of Ren and Fortan, a relic of the First Order's iron-fisted governance, now a tool in her arsenal. She knew what that would mean: the Senator's grip over the Commonwealth Media & Broadcast Corporation Systems would be immediate, its influence seeping into every broadcast, every official statement. Soon, Crown City Radio would come online, the unmistakable tone of First Imperial broadcasts filling the airwaves, smooth, authoritative, and unyielding. It was a risk, but in the face of Sith incursion and cultural eradication, one that could not be ignored.

She drew another measured breath, her gloved fingers lightly brushing the edge of the console as though to steady her resolve. "And so it begins," she murmured to herself, her voice a quiet echo of the burden she carried.

Ivalyn's gaze drifted to the hololithic portrait of her mother, and then to the original Grand Moff of the First Order. For a moment, that familiar visage, composed, unyielding, stared back at her with a quiet accusation that only her heart could truly feel. She turned away, unable to hold its gaze any longer. Had she failed? Had she let the Commonwealth and its First Imperial heritage slip through her fingers, a legacy she had sworn to uphold?

Her lips pressed together, the inside of her cheek smarting as she bit down in frustration. A coil of anger unfurled in her chest, hot, insistent, and unbidden. Her gloved hands gripped the railing of the command chamber, the cool metal grounding her as she stood alone with Omnia, the hum of the ship's systems punctuating the silence.

Her comms flared to life, a sharp burst of static that heralded the approach of the Darklight. She straightened, shoulders squaring with renewed purpose. "Omnia," she commanded, her voice steady and clipped. "Dispatch an encrypted message to Kroeger ,and to any Imperial nations willing to heed our call."

A beat.

"Then prepare a separate message to the Minister of Order herself, Madelyn Lowe ."

She drew a measured breath, her gaze steady on the stars beyond the viewport.

"Dosuun is not far from Ryoone, not really, and within the heart of the Crown Sector lies all that I, and many First Imperials, hold dear: home."

Her tone carried the weight of heritage and the promise of defiance, a testament to the legacy she refused to see extinguished.

One last message was sent. Sent to Taeli Raaf a call for aid as Ivalyn prepared to meet with Lirka Ka and the rest of the Third Legion.

 

[Kroeger]

RYOONE, CONTESTED TERRITORY
CONTRACT | THE IMPERIAL COMMONWEALTH
902 ABY

D E M O N
IRON LEGION
'THOSE ONCE LOYAL'
Ivalyn Yvarro

MOGOTT
​

The red light on his comms panel flashed in tandem with a digital chirping note. It continued for a moment before finally, his eyes opened with a sudden snap of his gaze, half crimson cybernetic photoreceptor and half organic. He sat up in the stunted bed of his rather spartan quarters. Though Kroeger had postured himself as the leader of this element of Imperial mercenaries, Captain Thire had his ship and had the more lavish accommodations befitting of its commanding officer. He lifted a thumb to run along his cheek, a spittle of blood from where the crude Dark Imperial cybernetics meshed with his flesh, a common occurrence without the bacta treated bandages that had been finely wrapped and weaved over his face. A meticulous process which he'd go about personally or assign the tasking to a medical droid which was slower but often less cruel with the movements utilizing its more exact servoes and pre-programmed techniques.

His metallic hand reached for the night stand with a faint tremor of his digits as the digital chirping continued on, pulling open a metal cannister of cigarettes neatly arranged with a strip of nylon keeping them in place. He thumbed one up and out before sparking it alight, hunched forward over the bed as he took a long draw of the stimulant before he pressed the hand clutching the thin, paper wrapped cylinder to his temple, a plume of grey fluttering into the dim, cold fluorescence of his quarters.

A low sigh left his lips, a note even of that insignificance thrumming with cybernetic manipulation before he pressed a thumb unto the call button, answering. Background chatter from the Long Night of Solace's command bridge was audible before one of the bridge crew called Captain Thire to the commlink, the naval officer leaning over its position at the holotable before he spoke up.

<"Was worried for a moment there, Kroeger. We've got an encrypted transmission from the Imperial Commonwealth, the First Order remnant state lingering near Sith space. A contract, I'd wager."> Thire explained as Kroeger nodded, bringing the cigarette to his lips once more with a long draw from it.

"Yeah. Sounds like it. With any luck, gunning down Sith ourselves." He said, another draw of the cigarette before he spoke again. "How long is the jump?" He asked. They were in orbit of Morak as presence patrol overseeing a Trade Federation survey team on-surface.

<"Not long, not from where we're at. I can set the course but I've no further details...you'll likely want to reach out yourself."> He suggested to the Legion Commander.

"I'll be up there in a minute. Our troopers on the ground should have three weeks sustainment. I don't anticipate being longer than that. Get a good vector of approach from the Commonwealth and jump us." He commanded to the Captain, in a tone that wasn't so stern or authoritative, spoken as one peer to another.

<"Copy, already underway. I'll see you in a moment then."> Thire replied before the comms panel returned to its idle state. Kroeger unseated himself, pulling open a lockbox and unwrapping a fresh roll of the bandaging which he began to wrap and weave around his features until they tightly conformed to his face and skull. He donned his usual attire, befit of going planet side. An armorweave bodyglove with fatigue pants in the Iron Legion's hasty camouflage pattern of greys, blacks and rust red brushstroke. The front plate of tank trooper armor strapped over his chest with his tanker's jacket loosely fitting over it, the left shoulder sewn with the symbol of his Iron Legion with the right holding the symbol of the 1st Armored Assault Division of the New Imperial Order. A far cry from the crisp greys, blacks and whites befitting of an Imperial officer. A uniform which had been suspended on its magnetic hangar in his closet for at least several years now. The last he recalled wearing it, an award ceremony part-way into the Second Great Hyperspace War.

The door to the bridge opened with a metallic hiss with the psychedelic cobalt starstreak of hyperspace alight in the bridge's viewports. Its personnel remained well at work in their stations, neglecting the customs and courtesy of announcing the Commander's arrival by Kroeger's direct standard operating procedures. He approached the command table where Thire stood up fully, nodding once to Kroeger.

"I've got the comms address for Grand Vizier from the Trade Federation. Ready to transmit whenever you're ready." He said to Kroeger, skipping formalities in favor of the expediency of business. Kroeger flattened the embered tip of the cigarette into the edge of the metal panel where a small waste disposal unit sat near the center of the bridge, the door opening with an automatic sweep of the remnant herbs into the bin.

"Put us through." He said before Thire would look to the communications officer sat near, nodding upward once in affirmation of Kroeger's command.

The holoprojector came alight in a translucent blue image projecting the Grand Vizier upon her answering. The two contrasted one another starkly within the same shades of Imperial identity. Kroeger, disfigured and half-way donned in his panoply befit to command his chosen machine of war, a Cataphract main battle tank. The image of him might be vaguely familiar from reels presented by Gat Tambor upon their meeting.

<"Grand Vizier. This is Arminius Kroeger of the Iron Legion...been told you have work for us. We're enroute to the system of Ryoon at this time...what's the current situation and what is expected of my Legion?"> He asked, his still organic brow lofting with the inquiry.

 

[Darth Virelia]

"Vengeance."

Tags - OBJECTIVE ONE: Lirka Ka War Marshal Helix



They called it Shattermarch.

The name alone was a lie.

There was no marching here. No clean lines, no orderly cadence. There would be no trumpets, no banners, no civil parades down cobbled avenues. This was not a march.

It was a descent.

And Serina Calis was its blade.

The doors to the Council Chamber groaned as they parted—not quickly, not hesitantly, but with ritual weight. No fanfare. No title announced. No ceremonial heralds. Only her footsteps.

One by one.

Each like a judgment falling.

Each like a coffin sealing.

She entered without a word, and for a moment, the room did not breathe.

The glow of the chamber's star-charts painted her silhouette in hues of dying gold and fractured blue, but she swallowed the light, absorbing it into her void-armored skin. The Tyrant's Embrace—her armor, her body, her legend—moved like a predator through still water. A machine carved in the shape of a woman, or perhaps a woman who had long since rejected her flesh and become a machine of will. The cape behind her whispered like a throat being slit in slow motion.

And then the eyes.

Six of them. Violet. Slanted. Unblinking. Arranged across her mirrored helm like the facets of some ancient predator reborn in steel. They swept across the chamber—measuring. Counting. Hunting. One by one they found every Sith Lord, every war councilor, every leech that had clawed their way into this chamber believing they had something to offer. Something to say. Something to take.

They would be wrong.

Because today, Serina Calis was not interested in talk.

Today, she had something better.

She had a Commonwealth world.

The word alone nearly tasted like blood on her tongue. Ryoone. Industrial. Fortified. And formerly—insolently—tied to that pathetic, malfunctioning doctrine of the so-called Commonwealth. A regime that claimed to be the antithesis of Sith power, all while enjoying the luxuries of an Empire they had neither the teeth nor the stomach to build themselves.

She remembered her last encounter with that awful little councilwoman, Ivalyn Yvarro, that lacquered mask of civility barely hiding contempt. The woman had dared to mock Serina at the Free Trade Council.

It had taken everything in Serina not to kill her where she stood.

Now?

Now she didn't need to restrain herself.

Today, the first world to fall beneath the shadow of the Third Legion was Ryoone. A place once claimed by the very faction that dared to mock her. And that made this a cleansing.
Not conquest.
Not diplomacy.
Not even domination.

An execution.

And the beauty of it—the true artistry—was that it would all be done legally. No assassination. No black-site terror. No need for a whisper or a knife. Just orders. Doctrine. Policy. The weight of a title that now bore her name—Arch-Commandant of the Third Legion.

Second only to the brute.

Serina didn't care if Lirka Ka was already speaking. She didn't care who else was present or what strategic drivel they intended to open with. She walked into the center of the chamber and took her place at the circular table without asking. She didn't sit.

She stood.

Tall. Still. Inevitable.

Not a sound escaped her.

And yet the room felt louder for it.

A thousand unspoken words coiled behind her eyes. Threats too sharp to vocalize. Warnings better left unsaid.

She looked at no one in particular—but everyone felt watched.

She would not deign to speak first. She would let them stumble over one another to form plans, to posture and peacock, to stake their claims. And then—then, she would move. With the cold grace of a woman who had already decided what this campaign would look like.

And gods help the fool who suggested mercy.

Anyone who so much as whispered hesitation about Ryoone would be branded a traitor. She had already resolved it. If a single Sith, officer, or opportunist voiced support for the Commonwealth—for "caution," for "diplomacy," for "re-integration"—she would end them here and now.

She did not forgive.

She did not forget.

And today, she had license.

From behind her helm, her lips barely moved. She didn't speak aloud. Not yet.

But the words burned through her like scripture carved in fire:

I will salt the soil of that world with her name. I will leave nothing but blackened statues of my triumph and silence. Let the Third Legion remember that our first step into the stars was taken by breaking a Commonwealth world over my knee.

Let them talk.

Let the Imperator play empress.

Let them believe she would remain silent forever.

But Ryoone would burn.

And when the ashes settled, the first true act of the Third Legion would be hers.

And the Commonwealth would weep.

 

[Fel Vinic]

Objective II - Darklight Bazaar

Tags: Open
Gear: Light-up jacket | Sith Armor | Two lightsabers | Shades​

It was moments like these that made living in the Sith Empire worth it. A wide range of commodities as far as the eye could see, ranging from simple common products to fine luxury selections. He was walking through the bazaar while finishing some skewers, but he was only getting started. He still needed to see a stylist about getting his hair moisturized. He had put it off for a while, and with so many vendors, there had to be someone willing to help him. As he stumbled along the bazaar, he eventually found what looked like a hair salon. A storefront with glass panes and a neon sign advertising its services. There were people in chairs, humans and otherwise, receiving some sort of TLC to their heads and faces. Fel walked up to the front desk, and the receptionist acknowledged Fel as he walked in. At first she was a little nervous since Fel was the first sith to walk into the establishment. But his light-up jacket made him less intimidating in her eyes, so she didn't know what to think of Fel.

Fel could sense her confusion. He thought his hair was the point of attention, or the jacket. But these were petty distractions from the care that he desperately needed. "Do you have anyone available?" He asked.

"Uh yeah... Karus? We have another one." The receptionist said before one of the stylists looked over, and his heart was in his throat as he saw a sith standing at the front desk. Fel smiled as he walked over to the stylist and sat in the chair.

"S-So uh... what're you looking for?"

"Hot oil treatment. Hair's been singed after being in one too many duels. I'll pay whatever it takes." Fel was so fixated on his struggle that he didn't notice the stylist trembling as he was looking for the things he needed.

"Y-Yeah... Don't worry, I can work with this."

While this was the Sith Empire, there were some establishments within its borders who didn't actually deal with the sith. To many they were revered as bloodthirsty killers. So to finally meet one was overwhelming yet Fel did not fit the mold, adding a sense of peculiarity for the laborers.

 

[Darth Strosius]

Objective: 3 Subvert the Message
Equipment: Lightsaber - Sword - Dagger - Robes
Tags: Open!
--------------------------------------------

Southern expansion had only recently been a topic of interest among the ranks of the Sith, one brought to the forefront when knowledge that the Firefist galaxy had wound up just beyond their borders. As Empyrean expanded the Blackwall eastward, a Third Legion had been raised to spread the Sith southward before any powers or horrors could arise from Firefist and into their backlines. While the official reports declared the Third Legion's advance as a means of securing Firefist, the truth was all too obvious in this first endeavor.

The Shattermarch's first goal seemed to be shattering the Commonwealth's illusion of safety, a reminder that none were safe from the expansion of the Sith. Especially not those who had blistered and writhed so much against their rightful rulers. It was quite the sight from an external perspective, one that He so rarely got to enjoy. A lackey of the Kainate using her newfound position to encroach upon worlds aligned first and foremost with Taeli Raaf. Two extensions of His foes being at odds was incredibly rare these days.

Darth Strosius had been advised by some of His followers to simply sit back and enjoy the show as it were, to watch how debate and conflict marred the two sides until a resolution that solved nothing and only infuriated both parties was established. Another patch of internal wounds to be smoothed over in the name of the Sith Order's cohesion. But He was nothing if not an opportunist, and when such a rare moment as this came about He sought to exploit it fully.

Hence His arrival in the wake of Darklight's own, allowing the Third Legion's grand vessel to begin dispatching its forces and devices meant to bring the world into compliance. The Harbinger sat on the edge of the system in a rather uncharacteristic display of inaction, simply observing and listening in on whatever comm-traffic it could scrounge from Ryoone. It didn't take long for problems to arise with the occupation and induction, news of local resistance and more organized Commonwealth efforts coming onto the field making the masked man grin in amusement.

When the calls for aid from the Vox-Pylons began to come all the more apparent and frequent Darth Strosius finally broke His observance with a fanged smirk adorning His hidden features as He sent forth His shuttles. Himself among them. They would come to "assist" the broadcasts, such was what they would report as they veered past Darklight and towards the surface of the planet. One could only wonder if they'd be able to reach the pylons in time however. After all they were encountering local resistance, there was no telling what could happen.

And if He had His way, there would be no witnesses to tell what happened either. No one to report that Darth Strosius and His forces would be engaging both the Third Legion and the Commonwealth discreetly, no one that would see the slicing of the vox-pylons and the replacement of their messages with those transmitted from the Harbinger, no one that would be any the wiser amidst the chaos evolving on the surface. So long as the pylons kept transmitting to the Darklight as expected then there shouldn't be any significant alarms raised on that front, and He had no qualms about putting down whatever forces the Commonwealth would send to defend their world from the broadcasts.

It was almost too perfect really.

 

[Kimora Min]

Objective II

Darklight presented a unique opportunity to the Agency. Thousands of voices from societies across the empire all spreading mountains of information inside this metal box. Not all of it was useful information, but there was gold in the dirt. You just had to sift through it all. Or have someone else do it for you. Either way, this untapped source would prove fruitful once Agent Min set out her bait.

She was in disguise. She did not wear her signature combat armor, as she was not expecting trouble this time around. She was mingling with the rabble, but at least it was Imperial rabble. They were civilized for the most part. Instead, she wore standard civilian athletic gear. That way, if she needed to run, she wouldn't be hindered. Two blasters were attached to her hips. She wouldn't go unarmed no matter what. She wore a leather jacket that reached down to her knees and red Gunray-Bans.

The market was thriving as the celebrations went on. The music was loud and cheerful. So many colors. So many faces. So many voices.

"Happy Departure Day!" she exclaimed as she was approached by revelers.

To be discreet is to appear as if you belong. Dont rise suspicion and observe until the time is right. She continued on through the crowd, searching for her contact. There was an artifact salesman with a small storefront on Darklight. Someone in their employ had information that was important to the Agency. There were rumors of a foreign terrorist group preparing something big to strike the empire. They've flown mostly under the radar, but Kimora has tailed them for the past few years. She has had brief encounters with their accomplices, but has yet to find any true evidence of their existence. Not yet, anyway.

 

[Taeli Raaf]

Objective I: Attend the Council
Sub-Objective: Firefighter
Lirka Ka Darth Virelia Ivalyn Yvarro War Marshal Helix
​

Ten minutes.

Ten metaphorical minutes.

That's all she really wanted when it came to dealing with the issues of stability within the Sith and ensuring that their vassal state continued to enjoy, if not amicable relations, then at least tolerance. She had successfully, at least for the moment, defused the issue with the Blackwall for the Commonwealth while a more permanent solution was worked on.

And then the message from Ivalyn had arrived...

As a first stop for the newly formed Third Legion, they had arrived on Ryoone, a planet within the Commonwealth's Home Sector, and started establishing some sort of proselytizing technology to spread the enlightenment and superiority of the Sith and their culture. While the Najarka Accords had allowed for some cultural sharing between the Sith Empire and the Commonwealth, it had been tightly controlled by both sides. Now, the newest Imperator and her command staff was possibly threatening to disrupt that delicate balance and pitch them into a conflict with the vassal that kept their western flank secure.

To say, when a raven formed of wisps of darkness, swooped from the shadows and exploded into the striding form of Darth Arcanix, that she was unamused would be putting it lightly. Amethyst eyes smoldered and sharpened as she took in the attendees and the situation that was rapidly developing on Ryoone. The Commonwealth had deployed a fleet and who knew what other assets might be activated to protect their autonomy, and now she was going to have handle this. She had appeared as Lirke issued her order that no one was to fire upon the Commonwealth forces...

"They won't be answering just to you, Imperator, if someone violates your order. They will be answering... to me," she remarked, her voice sharp as interstellar ice. "Just as I want to understand why your forces are on Ryoone, preaching the Sith superiority within a system that is part of our vassal, in the first place and not advancing towards Firefist."

 

[Ivalyn Yvarro]

Ivalyn was mere moments away from arriving at the meeting where the Sith Imperator was holding their so-called "accords" regarding Ryoone. Information streamed in steadily: the Commonwealth Intelligence Directorate and her own agency, the Order of the Golden Flame, were providing her with a steady flow of updates.

The Firefist Galaxy, which lay on the border of Commonwealth space, had become a particular point of interest. Indeed, the Crimson Spine hyperspace lane now seemed to pour directly into it, according to the newly minted post-Planeshift mappings, information that, no doubt, should be at the very fingertips of the Sith Order itself. Which would have negated the presence of the Third Legion in Commonwealth space to begin with.

An assistant patched Kroeger through, someone who had once been part of the old Empire that Djorn Bline , her father, had once been part of and whose fervor had left its mark on the man. Through the secure, encrypted channel, Ivalyn addressed him, her voice carrying the cool authority of her office. "Kroeger," she greeted him smoothly, her tone both polite and precise. "A pleasure, and yes, I do have a situation."

The Dosuunian paused, her gaze steady and unwavering."At present, I have Sith proselytizing to my citizens, marching through my streets, and quite likely a Sith Imperator with an itchy trigger finger somewhere nearby."

A beat.

"I want them out of my system; however, they have yet to fire a shot. Thus, I am waiting, waiting for someone to lose control of themselves."

That was it exactly.

"I currently have a fleet en route to the Ryoone system, waiting to engage the Third Legion as we speak." As well as a Dark Councilior overseeing the situation but Kroeger needn't know that. No, not at all, Ivalyn now quite understood her father's preachings from the so-called, 'Book of Tavlar.'

Her voice remained calm, measured, unshaken by the enormity of what she was contemplating.

A pause followed, each second stretching with deliberate tension. "Let me be quite clear," she said, her voice cool as a blade. "There is no room for Sith among Imperials, a notion that must now be demonstrated once these Sith decide to act as Sith, as they inevitably do."

The Grand Vizier glanced at her chronometer as her pilot's voice crackled through, informing her that they were approaching docking with the Sith Order vessel.

Another beat.

"Long live the Empire."

Kroeger | Taeli Raaf | Lirka Ka | War Marshal Helix | Darth Virelia ​

 

[Lirka Ka]

OBJECTIVE I
TAGS: Darth Virelia War Marshal Helix Taeli Raaf Ivalyn Yvarro

It was a proper mess. But what good was a test if there wasn’t an obstacle to overcome? It certainly wasn’t a particularly surprising turn of events, the call for expansion had come from the Emperor himself and what was a good Imperator to do but answer?

Lirka made good silent note of the first to come of the gathered assembly. The agreeable metallic form of dear War Marshal Helix whom Lirka was certain would be a pivotal, if not fickle, element of the days to come. She respected the mind of mercenaries, and what better force was there to bolster the menagerie they called the Third? A savage Mechanoid, ultimately, but one she was confident enough in bribing with the sweet prospect of eventual slaughter.

Darth Virelia stood there proud as ever, of course. The general displeasure of her current station radiated off the woman though Lirka gave it little mind for now - let her be mad, rage was a powerful tool after all. Yet as she chafed perhaps she would get some of that well learned maturity that came with having a real job. Lirka certainly took great pleasure with the organized chaos of how Empyrean ran his Empire - yet she had found it to make a mess of some of the younger sorts, they forgot the importance of duty to dance alongside their self-interest. Compared to the fickle element she could control in the form of Helix, what was Calis but the chaos Lirka knew she had ultimately very little control over? If nothing else, a good threat of the noose that hanged over both of their necks would be enough to impart the importance of their mission onto her.

Of course it was the appearance of Taeli Raaf that made the whole debacle a bit messier than she would have preferred. Yet for once in Lirka’s life, she had none of the residual fear that came with dabbling in the Dark Council. This was her mission, she had been entrusted with the Legion, and while they may not have been equals. Lirka understood she was more than just another cog in the Imperial machine this time around, the path to the seat she sat her metal-ass upon this time had been a bloody one. She would not let it slip so easily - besides, everything was…legal enough.

Something that might have passed for humor hummed from the Once-Sephi’s helm at Arcanix’s interjection.

“Thank you the accentuation.”

At the end of the day, they had to yield to the council to some extent - but Lirka would not allow fear of her metallic fist to be stolen so readily. If this was to be a bloody day, she would certainly remind the Legion the cost of being sloppy.

Lirka’s arms gestured wide to the various galaxy maps, hyperlane layouts, data charts, and other bureaucratic drivel that surrounded them. Then she spoke with a stern calmness, oft had she built a reputation for fiery rage: now was a chance to show capability beyond that.

“I would trust you understand better than most to foolishly charge into Firefist blindly is as good as suicide. Companion Besh shall be an obstacle to overcome with careful consideration once we understand the state of it post the anarchy of Planeshift. Patience is a virtue.”

Why Ryoone? A good enough question.

“A test of tact. I am here to spread the good word of the Eternalist cause, so decreed the Emperor himself. We are merely passing through Ryoone and enabling our missionaries to operate effectively as possible. My maps show this as a world outside of our domain, and as such it is the mission given to the Third to spread the beauty of what makes our Empire great to all systems that lay outside said domain.”

And if that beauty must be shared with blood? So be it. A legion was a legion after all.

 

["Templar"]

//: Spencer Varanin | OPEN //:
//: The Bazaar, Ryoone //:
//: Attire + light brown cloak on top //:
//: Objective II - Darklight Bazaar //:

The Bazaar on Ryoone was unlike anything Templar had expected. From the planet’s geology, she wasn’t expecting this much life among the people. Especially since the Sith’s arrival, the planet had become a strange hybrid of cultures. The Relic expected the Sith to come in full swing. Claiming the planet as her past memories recalled how the Sith acted eons ago. Instead, Sith merchants, traders, diplomats, and representatives flooded into the native markets. Like invasive roots winding into soil. Both the inhabitants of Ryoone and the Empire’s chosen had meshed into a singular restless crowd. Bright banners of the Sith worlds mixed with the local’s crafts. Foreign wares displayed alongside Ryoone's traditional items.

Templar walked slowly through the bustling streets. Her light brown cloak and hood covered over the colors and armor she wore. The cloak brushed against shoulders as the crowds surged around her. Letting out a low deep growl, ‘Crowded. So many voices. Too many.’ Conversations layered on top of the local musicians playing, with shouting merchants and vendors.

It all sat uneasily with her.

Even after so many years, this kind of life was something she was not accustomed to. Templar wasn’t built for crowds. She had been forged for different purposes. Yet… she could not deny how much had changed since her time. Especially with how much of what she saw now was foreign.

Relics, items, trinkets, creatures, textiles, even instruments Templar had never seen half of these things before. The Sith Empire had grown into something vast while she had remained what she was. An old relic from the past. An old sword kept sharp for reasons never fully explained to her.

Templar’s “Master” had summoned her here. Told her to come. Told her to wait. There was no further explanation. Since her time since knowing her “Master”, she had learned that trying to figure out her “Master’s” intent was pointless. A sigh escaped her lips. She knew better to go against her word, especially when it was a request.

Turning into a side alley, it took Templar into a quieter space where the noise softened and the crowd thinned. The sound of the ever-present rumble of distant volcanic vents could be heard. A small stall sat quietly beneath a swaying canopy. It had trinkets of local craftwork lined on the table. Beads, small wooden carvings, tools, and charms. Nothing extraordinary like the main streets of the Bazaar. Yet, something caught Templar’s eye.

Behind the elderly shopkeeper, resting delicately on a pedestal was a small flower. Delicate and pale. Its petals thin as glass. ‘A flower. Here?’ On this volcanic rock where even breathing sometimes carried ash? The contradiction pulled at Templar’s curiosity. Slowly she raised a gloved hand from beneath her cloak. Silently pointing at the flower.

Following Templar’s gesture, the shopkeeper smiled gently. “Ah… this one.” The old woman’s voice was kind and patient. “A rare thing. It should not exist here. Yet it does. This type of flower only grows near volcanic vents, where most would wither. This one… survives.”

Templar stared at it for a long moment before speaking. Her voice since she woke was always a struggle, her throat still healing from the deep slumber. Words coming out slow and heavy. “H-How…much?” The shop keeper just smiled again. Shaking her head. “For you? Nothing. It is a gift. You see its beauty. That is enough. Welcome to Ryoone.” Her shaky hands picked up the flower behind her, extending it to the visitor.

With careful hands, Templar accepted it as though it may shatter at her touch. A small unseen smile formed beneath her helmet. Reaching back into her pack, pulling free a worn leather journal. Carefully she opened its pages and pressed the flower between them. Flattening it gently. Later, she would sketch this place. For now. She simply preserved the moment. Templar couldn’t remember much about herself or the past, but she did remember little things like this. Something familiar what she used to do.

From within her cloak, she withdrew a handful of credits and placed them quietly on the old woman’s stall. “My… T-thanks.” Templar managed in her broken voice. Before the shopkeeper could refute the Relic nodded in thanks once more. Turning around, stepping back into the flow of busy bodies, moving toward her waiting place.

Her thoughts wandered as she waited. Eyes settling on the crowd again, observing. It was not the world she remembered. But perhaps it never was. The leather journal sat beneath her cloak with the fragile flower pressed inside its pages. A small proof that something could survive where it should not. Maybe… maybe there might be a place for her in this current galaxy. Templar would wait and see of its worth.

Until then, the ancient Relic simply stood. Breathing in the sulfur-tinged air. Feeling the steady beat of her own heartbeat beneath the armor.

Her “Master” would find her.

She always did.

Spoiler: nearby

Fel Vinic Kimora Min

 

[Delsin Shaw]

OBJECTIVE I: Council of Commanders
TAGS: Ivalyn Yvarro | Darth Virelia | Lirka Ka | Taeli Raaf | War Marshal Helix |

Oh this was not on my bingo card for the year of our Lord, 902 ABY. The Sith Order's standing of a new Legion, and subsequent parading of it was to be a showing of how despite the fracturing of the galaxy, and the Planeshifting of various planets being moved about by an unseen force, it was to embolden the Order, and their Empire. It was to show that despite the creation of the Blackwall, that they were still strong. And yet, there was so much more that seemed to be causing strife among their ranks.

I stood to the side. An ally to the Legion and more specifically the construction of the Legion was to bring about a new age for the Order. Now being squandered and question by the likes of this "Commonwealth." I shook my head as others spoke up. Making note not to fire upon them. This was supposed to be a peaceful transition. A power dynamic that allowed the Commonwealth to be absolved into the Order so that the likes of the Alliance, The upcoming Mandalorians or other powers would not tarnish their power.

The Order wished to bring this Commonwealth under their wing to cultivate it. To strengthen it. However, it seemed all of these decisions and transmissions of the Commonwealth was, in my mind, counterproductive. What was the purpose of trying to fight back? This stalemate only showed that there was more at play here.

Ego.

A soft roll of my eyes as I stood next to the Six-Eyed Woman. I dared to not don my own white mask. Instead letting my face be seen. Even if some of the Sith Council had shown up to present themselves, last I knew, This new legion was on orders directly from the Emperor. If this Commonwealth was an ally of the Order, why would they force this gridlock?

Of course, I held no seat of power. I held no army at my beck and call. However, working alone for so long, being a simple man being thrust into the political game. I had a very outside look. One that dared to ask.

"The Sith Order needs approval from the Commonwealth to... parade troops on an allied world? Are we not trying to form stronger relations among us? What does the Commonwealth gain by causing this gridlock?"

While these forces of the Commonwealth had not directly stopped what was happening, it was clear. The abject notion of them showing up, and condemning the Sith Order was for the explicit purpose of turning the population against the Sith Order.

 

[Kroeger]

RYOONE, CONTESTED TERRITORY
CONTRACT | THE IMPERIAL COMMONWEALTH
902 ABY

D E M O N
IRON LEGION
'THOSE ONCE LOYAL'
Ivalyn Yvarro

MOGOTT
​

Sith. In reference to the Imperial Commonwealth it was the first most common likelihood of an adversary that she might approach the Iron Legion about. He was made aware of Viceroy Tambor's inclusion of Yvarro and her government in the Iron Legion's client task list per its management of the shell corporation 'Aurodium Sword' which sponsored and handled all of the mercenary and private military activities of the Trade Federation but beyond communications checks. However, this was the first they'd speak directly.

Kroeger's form hunched over the holotable as he nodded along with Yvarro's words. As much as he sought to portray a more clean cut and professional appearance, the prospect of flailing his long star destroyer with its meager escort of corvettes and a pair of cruisers into a system under watch by a Sith fleet drew him to pull a case of cigarettes from the inside of his tanker's jacket. He stood up fully, sparking it alight before he spoke.

<"So what then...do you plan to initiate combat? If you anticipate that a fight is drawing near, you need to make decisive action...however, I don't see the Commonwealth faring well here or in a more drawn out conflict."> For all the fanaticism and radical Imperial ideology that Kroeger had sown among his fighting men, he was a man of calculated pragmatism. He wanted nothing more than to spill Sith blood. But the means a wolf does to limp near, not a mosquito easily smacked away. If he was going to enter the fight, he was going to draw a decisive blow. He wasn't going to slam the proverbial fist of the Iron Legion against this only for the effort to sputter in futility.

Captain Thire gathered Kroeger's attention for a moment, motioning his hand to the holomap, the Iron Legion's formation was close to completing its jump. <"Get me an estimated time and approach vector of your fleet, Vizier. I'm not going to enter the system unaccompanied. Regardless...in the situation here, it best to posture for a political victory over a military one. If you wish to fight, the Iron Legion will do so as long as there is an open avenue of exfiltration. Once it begins to close, my Legion and I leave."> He was a mercenary after all with a support network consisting only of what the Trade Federation was willing to provide him.

<"But here...it would be best to shape the image of what is occurring, to provoke an attack which would spur defiance from the Commonwealth's people. Otherwise, I would not do battle with the Sith lest you've shaped the field and set the deck in your favor. To do anything else would be a hopeless wail of defeat which would serve only to drain your resources, manpower and instill a lack of confidence in the Imperial people in your ability to command."> Kroeger stated, drawing once more from his cigarette. Far less than an ideal situation.

 

[CT-312]

//: Quinn Varanin Darth Strosius | OPEN //:
//: Ryoone //:
//: Attire //:
//: Weapons: IQA-11, LO-18D ASSAULT RIFLE, & Vibroblade Knife//:
//: Objective III - Reclamation //:​

There was no drop for this mission. No screaming through the atmosphere. No violent jolt of gravity fighting inertia. Just a steady, smooth landing. It was almost too calm for DeathDrop. CT-312 sat in the back right of the dropship where she always placed herself. Inside with her were two familiar figures the Camo Scout hadn’t seen in some time.

MB-1782, towering at 6’8 ft, the massive and silent Shield Trooper. An immovable wall of armor and discipline.

CC-1441, the jetpack trooper. Always carrying that cocky grin you can feel beneath his helmet. Voice laid-back with his signature cowboy-esque charm.

Once the briefing inside the dropship was over, CC-1441 greeted them in his usual manner. His voice filled with genuine excitement. “Well, I’ll be damned. Ain’t this a sight. The old Woostri Squad, still breathin.” He laughed “And clearly up to no good!”

“Been a while.” MB-1782 rarely spoke, but even he couldn’t deny the sentiment. Giving a simple nod.

Dipping her head slightly, CT-312 recollected their first mission together as well as a few other staggering missions. “It has.” A moment passed, one of those silent nods of mutual respect. She never really had an official ‘unit’ before. But when it was with them, despite being sent on different missions— when they were together, this was their unit. Her squad.

“It’s an honor and pleasure to be deployed with both of you again.” Her voice modulated the words, but the warmth was genuine. A small smile formed underneath her helmet. “You both look healthy. Not bad for the walking dead.” allowing herself a brief quip.

A laugh burst from CC-1441 “Especially the assignments we usually pull!” While MB-1782 let out a deep chuckle, a small smirk formed underneath his helmet.

The dropship finally touched down with a final soft hiss of hydraulics. CT-312 did a final equipment check. A habit she always did before the mission truly started. As she stepped off the ramp, volcanic rock crunched under her boots. Heat shimmered along the horizon where distant vents emitted smoke into the ash-gray sky.

Before they could get any further, all comms lit up with a transmission. It was the voice of Imperator Lirka Ka . Her words were sharp and cold as ever, announcing the intent of the Third legion. Orders, expectations, consequences were given to not just one, but all of those belonging to the Sith Empire, other warriors, as well as the Third. The message hung heavily for a moment after it ended.

You are not to fire unless fired upon

MB-1782 and CC-1441 turned towards CT-312. “Observe and Report. For now.” The three began to fan out. Moments later a movement pinged on all three of their HUDs. The Jetpack Trooper adjusted his optics activating his comms. “You guys seeing that?”

“Incoming shuttles.” MB-1782 confirmed.

CT-312 focused on the shapes emerging from the haze. It was clearly Sith shuttles that were unmistakable, even at their far distance. ‘That’s… odd.’ What immediately drew her attention wasn’t who they were, but where the shuttles were going. They didn’t descend toward the settlements and supply lines… or anything set up by the Third Legion. Instead, they headed straight towards the Vox-Pylons scattered along the ridgelines.

MB-1782 noted. “They’re not reinforcing the front.”

“Or heading towards the inhabitants of Ryoone.” CC-1441 said carefully.

Her gaze narrowed behind the helmet. The Vox-Pylons were critical for broadcasting for the Third Legion. Any tampering with them could compromise the entire ground operation. CT-312’s gut tightened. “They’re not here for local resistance. They’re here for the towers.”

CC-1441 gave a low whistle. “We weren’t briefed on any Sith activity at the Pylons, were we?”

“No.” CT-312’s mind ran through the possibilities.

“Orders?” MB-1782 spoke low and sharp.

“We move. Get eyes on one of the Vox-Pylons, check what’s happening. If there’s tampering, we call it in.”

Before they could advance, another soft ping blipped across her HUD. ‘Movement.’ a single IFF signal that didn’t match or was recognized. Off to the side, slightly separated from the spaced out Troopers. ‘hmm...’ CT-312 remembered Imperator Lirka’s words. Holstering her rifle, quietly she slipped away from the other two. Circling wide around toward the unknown contact.

With careful steps, minimizing the crunching sound from her boots on the volcanic rock. The Camo Scout had her eyes locked on the figure ahead. The person stood oddly still. Back turned to her. Definitely not a Trooper. Nor the Third Legion. The posture didn’t belong, but it looked faintly familiar. CT-312’s hand moved to the back of her belt. Quietly drawing the vibroblade knife from its sheath. Closing the gap, the Scout’s breath slowed as she approached.

With one swift motion, CT-312 grabbed the figure’s shoulder and spun them around. Knife ready to strike—

Her eyes widened inside the helmet. CT-312’s mind yelled ‘CHIT.’ and at the same moment, the word slipped out in a low intense murmur “Chit.” Her hand froze in place. The blade hovering just short of its target’s neck.

It was her. The Princess.

CT-312’s grip on the blade loosened immediately as her mind raced. The figure’s unfamiliar silhouette made sense now. “Princess.” No armor, no trooper posture. But the question slammed into her all at once. Why was the Princess here? Out here. With the DeathDrop. No briefing. No mention of her arrival.

Taking a quick step back, CT-312 sheathed away her vibroblade. Suddenly dropping to one knee in apology, head slightly bowed. “My apologies, Princess.” Voice flat through the helmet’s voice modulator, carried genuine concern. “I failed to identify in time.” exhaling out softly. “The fault is mine.” Accepting the fact that this may be the end of her for making a costly mistake for striking at a Sith Lord. Especially a Princess. But still…

Her gloved hand hovered briefly at her chest, an instinctive gesture of respect. “May I ask… What brings you here?” Even as she asked, her mind remained sharp. Processing the unexpected variable now standing before her.

—

The moment didn’t go unnoticed for long.

A short distance away both MB-1782 and CC-1441 had been watching her movement as CT-312 broke formation. It was unlike the Camo Scout to veer off unless she had a cause too. CC-1441’s voice crackled lightly through comms tone somewhere between curious and shock.

“Well now… would you look at that.”

MB-1782 came up a step behind him. His voice was quiet and deep, “Sith Imperial Princess.”

Both watched from a distance as CT-312 remained kneeling. The tension was heavy. Even under their helmets, it felt like a blade or end of a blaster barrel against their necks.

“Ah, Chit.” CC-1441 whispered, concern and fear slipping into his normally calm voice. His hand instinctively hovered near his blaster. But he dared not to move. Would this be the end of CT-312?

MB-1782’s fists were clenched tightly at his sides. Jaw clenched, bracing himself for what punishment might come next. He had seen commanders, lords, inquisitors execute soldiers for far less than what transpired. This could be it. For CT-312.

 

[Lúthien Tinúviel]

Objective III: Enjoy the Show
Equipment: Sword | Dagger | Hidden Blade (Left Arm) | Prosthetic Right Arm | Armor | Hair Pin | Face | Drugs
Tags: Darth Strosius | Open

It was not always a card to play in this game. Sith who knew of its origins would be well versed in its application. More so the when, where, and how it was applied. Such was the case today. The Third Legion, led by a newly promoted Kainite individual sought to bring more world within the reach of the Blackwall. Its curtain of power and shadow reaching out and grasping more within its hand. That much was apparent. However, what really sent my sponsor to the moon and back, was the air traffic being spoken from one to another.

It took no hard look at the man to understand that his usage of contacts, military force, and subterfuge was to further his own gainful agenda. Surely to increase not physical might, but holding. A book with names who he had dirt on and to twist the knife slowly, and deliberately.

This short time I have learned much from him. His tactics and his application of words. Filled with sly, and dripping viscously into the ears of those who would even dare to open their ears. It was a work of wonder, and only helped me understand why the Maw, and how pervasive they became, was from the same tactics. Sith speaking words through and around the force in such a way was mesmerizing.

For now, we played this game. Watching and waiting for the precise time in which this little prick of a blade could be thrust and twisted to do the right amount of injury we wanted. Not just to enemies, but to rivals or others. It just... made sense.

"I do not wish to bring about a Curse Lord Strosius. This seems too perfect. To good to be true."

 

[Ivalyn Yvarro]

"Understood, Kroeger. I'm unable to speak fully at present, but we should meet. I'll dispatch a secure location once I've concluded my business here."

Ivalyn ended the encrypted transmission without further ceremony. There was no time for long conversations, not now. Not when the ash-laden skies of Ryoone were heavy with tension, and the Sith had made landfall under the pretense of legitimacy.

She stood just outside her shuttle, polished boots planted on the volcanic rock as the atmospheric hum of a second transport settled nearby. Her Belisaurius Guard surrounded her in their signature grey-and-cobalt armour, their visors fixed on every approaching figure. Between their disciplined ranks stood agents of the Order of Vigilance, watchful, silent, and the Sons of the White Wolves, ever eager for action.

Ivalyn strode forward, her bearing upright, elegant, and unapologetically Imperial. Her cape moved with a measured precision behind her, unbothered by the acrid wind that rolled off the smouldering plains. She entered the Darklight without hesitation.

The Third Legion was everywhere, watching, whispering, posturing. Their presence reeked of eager ambition, of soldiers and Sith alike hoping to carve glory from volcanic stone. The reports filtering in from her assistant offered a small measure of comfort: Mount Kaelith was secure, the domed cities under Commonwealth jurisdiction continued to report stability, and their security had been tripled. Military personnel remained at full readiness, alert but awaiting orders.

Many among her staff questioned how the Sith dared to breathe the ash-choked air without so much as a cough. Perhaps the Force sustained them. Perhaps it was something more, techno-sorcery or blind hubris. She had no doubt their vox-pylons, and other machinations were attempting to override the local terrain, but volcanic activity and molten rivers would test even their arrogance.

She walked deeper into the vessel. The command chambers were unmistakable: spartan, brutalist in aesthetic, cast in dark steel and crimson lighting. The air thrummed with ambition and contempt in equal measure. Sith Lords moved through the space like hunting cats, silent, self-important, and barely concealing their disdain for anything not born of the Dark Side.

Ivalyn entered with the full grace of a Grand Vizier of state. Her steps were deliberate. Her silence, weaponized. Eyes turned as she crossed the threshold into the central chamber, where the Third Legion had claimed dominion. She noted, instantly, the figures who lingered with thinly veiled delight at the current state of affairs, men and women who held no regard for treaties, nor for the rule of law.

She knew their ilk well. They would speak of decrees, of Emperors. They would claim that by the will of their sovereign, all previous agreements were now null and void. That the Commonwealth, like Ryoone, belonged to them by divine right and martial necessity.

And there she saw her: Lady Taeli Raaf, poised with the grace of a serpent and the cunning of a Dark Councilor. Ivalyn offered her a cool, diplomatic smile, neither warm nor hostile, but firmly measured.

"Lady Raaf," she said with effortless civility, her voice resonating in the chamber like the tone of a sovereign bell, "How very generous of the Sith to extend such interest in our beloved volcanic frontier." Her gaze turned toward Lirka Ka and then toward the others present, Sith officers, perhaps even Imperators, those who stood on ceremony but spat at treaties. "I trust your people are finding the terrain... accommodating?"

There was no venom in her tone. Just ice.

And beneath that glacial politeness, the iron resolve of a woman who knew precisely where she stood: between the fading embers of a fallen empire and the devouring fire of a new one.

But she would not burn quietly.

Taeli Raaf | Kroeger | Darth Virelia | Delsin Shaw | War Marshal Helix ​

 

[War Marshal Helix]

Objective I: Council of Commanders
Tags: Lirka Ka / Darth Virelia / Ivalyn Yvarro / OPEN

​

Helix continued his silent vigil, reacting only when Ka gave her "explanation" to the various concerned parties. Despite himself, an amused, iridescent sheen rippled briefly across the colony's surface. Utter nonsense, but it was the sort of diplomatic tripe one expected to hear from a leader who was fully aware they held all the cards.

He was more aware than many of the Imperator's actual philosophical leanings, and that they departed from the Emperor's at many key points. The locals were right to be concerned. It didn't take a tactical droid to see that one didn't typically bring a warfleet for simple proselytizing.

Were it up to him, there would be no such pretenses. He didn't give a Womp Rat's fundament for the Emperor's self-congratulatory missionary aims, or for the supposed sovereignty of the locals, but orders were orders. In his ongoing attempts to dig his influence into different corners of the Sith Order, the colony had been forced to do many things he found distasteful. What was one more?

It never hurt to have pull in as many corners as possible, so if playing nice was the cost, so be it. The more essential he made himself, the more he could become impossible to remove, and could suck up credits and resources from the war effort at his leisure.

He stared at the tactical display, eyeing the planet below hungrily. So much plunder ripe for the taking. His little mobile fiefdom sustained itself as much from theft as anything else, and the resources he had scavenged from Vassek in the wake of Nefaron's predations wouldn't last forever. Helix was far too disciplined an entity to prioritize short-term gains over long-term ties, but he found himself secretly hoping something would spark off.

He doubted he was alone. If he knew Serina, she was chomping at the proverbial bit to go handle things the old-fashioned way. He flashed the young warrior an unpleasantly knowing smile, the seemingly-solid metal of his beaklike faceplate parting to form a needle-toothed maw. The aperture vanished when no longer needed, receding back into smooth metal.

When one of the local representatives arrived, he almost smiled again. The triple-cluster of luminescent nanites atop his faceplate focused on them. Clearly agitated, and understandably so. Nobody was ever happy to see Sith ships in orbit above their world. Thus far, he'd limited any deployment of his own forces to a few small security details for the priests. Battle droids marching through the streets would not serve to ease the tension of the current standoff. His vessels in orbit were packed to the bulkhead with invasion forces, but most likely he would not be using them here.

Just as well. As amusing as a show of force might be, it was perhaps better to keep the troops fresh. There was no telling what awaited them in Firefist.