Dominion A New Age | SO Dominion of Ryoone

[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.

 

[Commodore 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.

 

[Serina Calis]

"Vengeance."

Tags - OBJECTIVE ONE: Lirka Ka Commodore 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.