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As the Death Star III moves into position over Atrisia, preparing to ravage the planet, the Galactic Empire's fleet gathers around it. The Emperor's new weapon has jumped into enemy territory, and fleets from across the galaxy will surely arrive in an attempt to destroy it. The destruction of the Death Star would not only spare Atrisia, but would also halt the dark ritual happening on board, protecting the Empire's Sith and Imperial rivals from the devastating Force Storms that Solipsis is preparing to unleash.
In amongst the Imperial star destroyers, the assembled pirate fleets of the criminal syndicates jump into the system above Atrisia. The Death Star looms over them, true to its name. A monument to death. TIE fighters scream out from hangar bays to face screens of fighters, and in no time at all is the space filled with a colourful array of lasers and explosions. The grand battles of empires and alliances is above the ever-grasping hand of the Black Sun, which opts for more underhanded tactics amid the star ravaging battles.
From the bays of Hapan Battle Dragons, several shuttles and their fighter screen soar towards the super star destroyer, the AVS Tython with one goal in mind: to claim it as their own. Inside, the shuttles are packed tightly with aliens of all sorts, some with heavy armour and some with none at all, wielding axes and blasters in equal tandem. It even smells, in one much more than the others.
Cannon fire rocks the shuttles in a bombardment of flak, with the pilots yelling something foul out in Huttese.
Fett stood near to the front, eager to disembark. His task was simple: to remain on task.
The underboss of the Black Sun willed an eternal eclipse, and he would have it.
The Imperial Navy and the Death Star now have a way to enter the Atrisi System.
Odria's strike force micro-jumps to Atrisia III.
A decommissioned Star Destroyer, the Gilded Talon, is crashed into the Anshin shield gate.
The damage to the shield gate allows the Empire to deploy ground forces from orbit.
The strike force falls back under heavy fire after deploying its troops.
--------------------------
The Atrisian Commonwealth - isolationist, protectionist, technologically advanced. The One Sith had ravaged them many decades ago, and after their liberation, they had looked obsessively to defense. By 902 ABY, there was perhaps no single system anywhere in the galaxy as heavily fortified as the Atrisi System. Layer upon layer of siege platforms, interdiction stations, secret weapons, self-repairing satellites, self-replicating missiles, factory ships, gravity mines... a nightmare to besiege. But the Emperor's despised enemies, the Lightsworn, had taken refuge there. And so it was the Emperor's will that an example be made, no matter the cost.
The practical matter of how, of course, the Emperor left to His subordinates. Many plans were bandied about, many strategies considered, all of them likely to end in horrific casualties and failure. After all, it was not merely the Atrisi System that had to be broken; it was the combined fleets of virtually every other major power in the galaxy. This was the ultimate strategic challenge, not so much an uphill battle as an upmountain one. In the end, it was not a veteran military commander who suggested the tactic that earned the Emperor's favor. It was Governor Odria Kaelthron, whose knowledge lay not in armies but in planetary security.
Odria had been the first Planetary Commissioner of CorpSec, many years before. In that role, she had learned much about the ways a planet could be locked down... and the ways those lockdowns could be bypassed. She was no great Imperial patriot, no true believer in the sinister faith of the Church of the Dark Side. That was not what motivated her to devise Operation: Durasteel Shrike. No, her aims were entirely self-serving. If she could pull off the impossible and crack the Atrisi System, then the Emperor's gratitude would surely bring her wealth and power beyond even the considerable amounts she had so far amassed in her long life.
Of course, she would have to risk it all in order to have any chance at succeeding...
... like a grand gamble in her most beloved game, Pazaak. Oh, how Odria Kaelthron loved Pazaak.
In Sabacc, there were entirely too many variables - different rulesets, shift tokens, value-changing cards. Pazaak was simple and pure; it was all a matter of probabilities, numbers that could be calculated and strategized with. If Odria drew an Eight, then a Five, she had a total of Thirteen - and a ten percent chance on the next draw to take up a Seven and earn a perfect Twenty. She had a sixty percent chance to draw lower than that, which would bring her closer to the goal but keep her in the game. And she had only a thirty percent chance to draw higher, going bust, losing the hand. With those odds, she'd be a fool not to draw again.
Attacking the Atrisi System was more like choosing to draw another card at a total of Eighteen. Her opponent, she imagined, had drawn a total of Nineteen and decided to stand. That was a good strategy; the odds of getting from Nineteen to Twenty were only one in ten, so to draw again would be foolish. But if Odria, at only Eighteen, chose to stand, she would lose. She had no choice but to take the risky draw, to pray for a One or a Two. Except that she had brought a Side Deck, of course - plus and minus cards that could influence the total score, expanding her options. These were her strategies. This was how she would break Atrisia.
Or, if luck still turned against her, how she would meet a truly spectacular end.
Nineteen was her opponent's starting total, she imagined. Only a perfect score would win this game.
--------------------------
The first obstacle in any invasion of the Atrisi System was the Atrisian Breakwater, a network of interdiction stations and colossal energy shields intended to force incoming ships into a few narrow, heavily-defended pathways. If the Imperial invasion fleet was halted at the very edge of the system, not even the Death Star could save them; they would be overwhelmed and picked apart before the battle station could get into firing range above the capital, Atrisia III. But what alternative was there? How could anyone get past the overlapping network of stormseed hyperspace buoys and interdiction stations without fighting through?
Odria Kaelthron prepared to play the first card from her side deck.
The Sovereign's Pride, her personal Imperial III-class Star Destroyer, hurdled through hyperspace on a direct course for the Atrisi System. Time to see whether the modifications made to her ship would serve their intended purpose... or scatter their atoms across the Breakwater. "Engage HIMS system," Kaelthron ordered, her hands clasped behind her back as she stared out the forward viewport. At her command, ensigns sprang into action, and systems throughout the Pride hummed. The Star Destroyer and her small accompanying strike force had been equipped with hyperwave inertial momentum sustainers for this moment.
The HIMS systems would only grant them a one-way trip. They could briefly keep a ship in hyperspace as it crossed into an interdiction zone, preventing it from being pulled back to realspace by conserving its forward momentum within a static hyperspace bubble they generated... but they couldn't allow a ship to jump to hyperspace from within such a bubble. If Odria and her strike force failed on the other side of the Breakwater, there would be no escape for them. She had drawn up to Seventeen, she imagined - a seventy percent chance of going bust on the next draw. And it would be a spectacular bust - a bright flash, then disintegration.
A nervous ensign counted down. "Realspace reversion in three... two... one... mark."
They didn't disintegrate. The Pride appeared against a backdrop of stars, her escorts popping out behind her. Well, most of them, anyway; something had gone wrong with the Tribute Collector's jump trajectory, and it had simply vanished, vaporized halfway through the Breakwater. There was no time to consider that. Odria had drawn a Six, a certain bust, but played a Minus Five from her side deck. She was at Eighteen now - one step closer to winning the hand, but with the odds still against her. "Lock targets and fire," Kaelthron commanded, and the battle group responded. Laserfire lashed out at nearby hyperspace buoys, slagging them.
Interdiction fields failed as sophisticated technologies were reduced to scrap, and the bridge crew released a collective breath they'd been holding since the jump from Byss. They'd opened a hole in the Breakwater - they weren't trapped here like womp rats in a maze. One ensign let out a triumphant whoop - until Odria silenced him with a glance. They couldn't celebrate yet. The opening they'd made was small, barely large enough to bring in the Death Star and its escort fleet... and it was temporary, too. Atrisian tech was infamous for its self-repairing capabilities. If they failed here, they had only led more of the Navy into the same trap.
The fleet still had to get the Death Star past the Five Rings - the killing ground of the Atrisi System.
But not the Pride and her strike force. They had another task.
"Engage micro-jump," Kaelthron ordered.
--------------------------
The Emperor's command was clear: punishing Atrisia with the Death Star was only part of the Empire's mission. In order to achieve His goals, there would have to be boots on the ground. Imperial soldiers must deploy to hunt the Lightsworn, and to punish all those who had sheltered them - military or civilian. Odria did not pretend to understand the particulars of the dark ritual which other officers spoke of in hushed tones. She knew nothing of the arcane ways of the Church of the Dark Side, and did not care to learn. All she knew was that, if the Emperor wanted troops on Atrisia III, then she must bring His troops there.
With the power of their HIMS systems, the strike force could bypass the Five Rings - at least on the way in. But Atrisia III had plentiful defenses of its own, most significant among them the Anshin. This two-layer shield gate protected the entire planet, and doubled as a shipyard and well-armed defensive platform. If the shield could not be breached, then the Empire would not be able to land troops. There was some discussion of a mystical solution, a dark ally of the Emperor who could fold space itself and transport soldiers through dark nexuses. Odria did not care for solutions she did not understand, so she made her own.
The ensign counted down again. "Reverting in three... two... one..."
This time, they emerged into a withering barrage. Powerful Atrisian early-detection systems had long since picked them up, cataloging their numbers and warning the system's vast defensive network of their presence. Heavy fire splashed immediately against the Pride's forward shields as she and her escorts appeared above the Anshin, fire that even they could not endure for long. "All vessels," Kaelthron ordered, her pulse pounding as sensor readouts screamed in her ears, "open fire on the Anshin gate. Aim to disable defenses." For a moment she doubted herself. She had left her comfortable palace for this?
Atrisian defensive technology was self-repairing, well-shielded, and ubiquitous. They couldn't take it down in time.
She had drawn a Five. Bust. But she had a Minus Four in her side deck. She could tie the hand.
Odria permitted herself the slightest of smiles. "Scramble all drop pods," she ordered, "and prepare to pull back." She had personally overseen the design of the Shrike-class drop pod for this precise purpose; each was equipped with an Individual Field Disruptor with enough power to allow the pod to slip through the dual shields surrounding the planet. They would be able to fall directly on Jar'Kai, moving to capture key points in the city... and to punish its population for sheltering the Lightsworn. Larger shuttles, the ones carrying armored divisions, would have to land further out, working their way in from beyond the Great Wall.
It would be a hot drop for the Imperial soldiers now departing her strike force's hangar bays - the hottest, and for many the last, of their lives. They would be facing not only the orbital defenses of the Anshin, but also the planetary guns of the Great Wall that surrounded the planetary capital of Jar'Kai. Kaelthron expected thirty to fifty percent casualties on the way in, and the survivors would have to do without orbital support... unless the strike force could damage the Anshin enough for their fire to slip through. And with enemy reinforcements surely converging around them, Odria's ships would soon be fighting for their lives.
Nineteen on her board, Nineteen on her opponent's. A tie. A hand that could go either way.
Now she had to draw again. Would the last card in her side deck be enough to win?
A smile curled at the corners of her wizened mouth. Yes, she loved Pazaak.
The deep hatred those in power at the Diarchy held for the Empire stemmed from a clash in the galactic north that saw these zealots retreat from the known galaxy, and their return was viewed as an affront to the very Diarchy itself. So the powers that be had agreed to meet. That is what brought Reign here, to a conference room aboard a Galactic Alliance capitol ship.
Reign eyed the delegates across from him, senators from their once enemy yet potential new ally.. as long as the threat of the Empire remained.
"The Diarchy is willing to ally itself with the Galactic Alliance in order to eliminate this Imperial menace. What we require however, is for you to allow the passage of our fleets and armies through the Ghost Nebula."
He looked over his shoulder at the hulking form of his one time apprentice, now raised to Optio and Nominal "Fist of the Diarch" Gavin Vel and the lithe form of his other pupil and raised Optio Ryu Jung.
"We have the strength to end this conflict, but we would rather not fight through your space to reach the real enemy"
He had heard rumor that the senators gathered here were more "keen" to negotiations with the Diarchy and a potential friendship, while for Reign it would be a friendship of convenience alone. The Galactic Alliance has seemingly severed its official ties to the Jedi Order, which earned them points in the Diarch's eyes, still had to atone for corruption and the constant war it found itself embroiled in.
"My hope here is to find favorable terms for mutual aid, as long as this threat exists."
He would wait for the answers from the senators.
However, negotiations were cut short by the blaring alarm claxons. Intelligence had announced the arrival of the Empire themselves, heralded by no less than a new Death Star. However, before the Diarchy Delegation can summon the aid of their fleet, the ship they are on is suddenly under attack by Imperial Star Destroyers and Ships bearing the sigil of the Black Sun Syndicate.
It would appear that the war has come to the Diarchy.
Gavin stared out at the suits. Not that they were actually wearing suits, but that was how he thought of the people who made decisions from the safety of a starship. Cowards. To him, anyone who never risked their life outside of a council chamber or command deck fell into that category. Reign, however, had insisted that they needed these cowards, so Gavin did his best to appear civil. He was not sure how well the act was working. The gargantuan Sith loomed over most of those gathered, a dark wall of muscle and menace, his black robes trimmed with gold to echo Reign's own attire. Compared to some of the ceremonial things Reign had forced him into before, these robes were tolerable, but even so, Gavin always carried the aura of a predator in a cage. No matter how still he stood, it was clear he was one wrong word away from exploding on everyone present.
As Reign spoke, Gavin shifted his weight and folded his arms, thankful that his master was the one leading the exchange. He could never have played the diplomat, especially with people he instinctively saw as enemies. His idea of negotiation boiled down to three words: Submit or die. That approach had not proven effective in the grand game of galactic politics. When Reign glanced back at him, Gavin gave a sharp, confident nod, the gesture carrying more meaning than words. It was his silent way of saying, I am fine, do not worry about me.
The moment was shattered without warning. Alarms screamed across the ship, red lights pulsing in the chamber, and Gavin's hand immediately shot to his lightsaber. He pivoted sharply, scanning through the viewport, his instincts ready for a fight. The sight outside made him pause. A massive fleet of Sith warships had ripped into realspace, their formation blotting out the stars, and at their center hung a titanic sphere. His brow furrowed as he muttered an audible, "What the......." The scale of it was staggering. The thing dwarfed even the largest destroyers in orbit.
His jaw slackened, awe breaking through his hardened exterior. "Uhhhhh, Reign. What the hell is that thing?" Gavin asked, his mouth hanging open as he stared at the superweapon. The word impressive was not nearly strong enough to capture what he felt as he looked upon the Death Star.
He shook his head and forced the wonder aside. Collecting himself, he turned back to the senators who were already dissolving into panic, their voices overlapping in frightened tones. Their fear stank in the Force. Gavin's eyes narrowed as he looked back to Reign, his voice steady but edged with urgency. "What is the plan, master?" He was ready to throw himself into action the moment Reign gave the word. If it meant pulling these terrified politicians out of the fire, so be it.
Perhaps saving cowards was one way to forge an alliance.
A chorus of laughter erupted throughout the shuttle as the pilot (speaking fluent Huttese) demanded a drag from the T'bac cigarillo that had been lit up somewhere in the packed craft as the ship carried the heist crew (one of several, Velis understood) on a vector towards the AVS Tython: a flagship of the failing Galactic Alliance (located within the Atrisi system) sent to defend the Atrisians as they fell under attack by the rapidly rising, malevolent entity which is the resurgent GALACTIC EMPIRE!
Velis joined in with the laughter to help keep up appearances so as to not stand out from the crowd. It wasn't that funny. Still, it helped to break that certain looming dread one feels in a dangerous situation, and the Albino had come to learn that feeling all too well with thanks to these invaders who were hellbent on destroying the once-a-upon-a-time dominant power that had been the Galactic Alliance. It had cost her a lot to get right after that botched job in the Jedi Temple, and this next job was a way of paying back her dues. Medical debt wasn't a good look on her, but after today, she would be solid again.
Silence quickly came back to fit it's way into the din of the mischievous and villainous agents of the Black Sun Syndicate as they all waited to see what happens next. They knew the risks, of course. Chances were high that they were going to be shot and destroyed well before they even got onto the ship. Anti-air defences, starfighter screens, and complex shield patterns made this a job far, far more dangerous than anything Velis had embarked on before. But the risks were worth the reward.
Credits were one thing, and solving her debt issues (gained from her recovery time after the last Coruscant attack) would be a great benefit, but credibility among the agents and Vigos of the Syndicate itself to help her rise up through the ranks?
Sign her up, Velis had said.
"Oi, Fett."
When that faceless, yet indomitable mask of the greatest Bounty Hunter in the entire galaxy turned to look over his shoulder for the Albino, she grinned up at him from the back of the shuttle.
Fett could stay at the front all he liked, but for her part Mauve chose to sit as far away from the ramp as possible. She sat with datapad in hand, trying to stop the raging storm of emotions swirling within her. Fear. Doubt. Anxiety. She could feel them eking from some of the others too, no matter how much of a brave face they put on.
Du Vain wore simple black thermals, an armor weave vest, and a utility belt. A gun of command sat in a holster strapped to her thigh, not that Mauve was intended to be the muscle for this heist. Far from it.
Biting her cheek, Mauve tapped out a message on her datapad to Quinn Varanin
first.
The words of senators blurred together, Caelus had recently been having some trouble with his internal processing. His "Caelus" persona was taking a slight downshift in productivity. Harming his usefulness and wanting him to return to Diarchy space and patch his faulty issues. Yet, it was time for treaties and the Chancellor was here to ensure the Galactic Alliance had a process of Order that was not the same as the imperials now in their core.
Then the klaxons screamed. The lights dimmed red and the conference chamber fractured into chaos. Senators leapt to their feet, aides stumbled with datapads, and Gavin's armored bulk braced itself instantly for war. Caelus rose more deliberately, head bowed in a perfunctory gesture.
"Excuse me," he said, voice calm despite the storm crashing through the ship's systems.
He left the chamber without another word.
The corridors outside shuddered as the Tython adjusted for combat. Crew rushed past him in waves, shouting orders, carrying rifles, sealing blast doors. None paid him much mind as he slipped away from the main arteries, cutting through quieter maintenance corridors that spiraled downward into the vessel's gut.
When next he paused, it was in shadow. His case opened, and the mask of Caelus Vire was shed piece by piece. In its place rose the other, the armor of Nihil, dark plates catching the emergency glow like fragments of some predatory machine. The transformation was as familiar as breathing. The Chancellor was gone. The Silentarri of the Network had taken over.
Fully armored, Nihil exhaled once, a sound that hissed behind the helm's voice modulator.
He pressed deeper into the Tython's vast and labyrinthine structure a hunter vanishing into steel and shadow.
Ryoshu sat among the Diarchy delegation, the still point at the edge of their circle. Only speaking when spoken to. She was quiet, reserved, her hands folded in her lap.
As an envoy of Paradisum's culture to the Diarchy she learned how to handle that form of integration. Her position now was as a Chancellor of culture in the Diarchy's "Senate" the chancellorate. If the Diarchy were to bind itself to the Alliance, then it must be done without uprooting the roots of any world brought under their banners. That was why she sat here. That was why she endured the noise.
Then the alarms sounded.
Crimson light fractured across the polished floor, and the senators' voices snapped into panic. Chairs toppled, aides scrambled, datapads clattered to the deck. Ryoshu did not move. Only her hand drifted to rest lightly upon the long lacquered scabbard of the odachi at her side.
Her crimson-auburn gaze turned to Reign. Silent. Waiting.
The moment belonged not to her, but to the Diarch. She would move when he commanded.
OOC NOTE! xD - OPEN to all PVP and what not just give me a Tag!
The INV Sularen's Revenge emerged from hyperspace arriving at the edge of the Atrisia System soon to be followed by a fleet of twenty Imperial Warships and then the rest of the Imperial Armada that been assembled by the Imperial Confederation to confront the Galactic Empire. Since the destruction of Cademimu V and Ord Cantrell, the Confederation had watched as the Rogue Imperial Faction threw the Core Worlds into Chaos as they waged their war of aggression against the Galactic Alliance scoring numerous victories against them in the process.
It was truly a shame that the Galactic Empire had been allowed to run rampant in the Core Worlds and inflict such amount of devastation in the Core Worlds. While high-profile members of the Confederation such as Supreme Commander Marlon Sularen had strongly advocated for taking action against the Empire since their initial takeover of the Deep Core, they had been overruled by the Empress and other influential figures like Exarch von Strauss who instead sought to strike out against the Sith Order in the Thandon Star Cluster and nearby Sith-controlled planets. It was a foolish endeavors which would end up in an embarrassing defeat for the Imperial Confederation.
Now thanks to the it's pointless distractions with the Sith Order, the Imperial Confederation faced an enemy that was growing stronger and more powerful who appeared to be unstoppable as they carved a path of destruction and chaos across the Core Worlds. However here at Atrisia, it had one last chance to prevent such an outcome, to prevent the Galactic Empire from further asserting their power within the galaxy and effectively contain the threat they posed to galactic stability.
Thus Sularen would find himself on the bridge of his Flagship as it arrived at Atrisia at the head of a large Imperial Armada. Already the Imperial Fleet had breached through Atrisia's defenses and begun their planetary invasion while also attacking Alliance naval forces in the area with the assistance of the Black Sun. Fortunately with the arrival of the Confederation's Armada, the Alliance and their allies would have enough strength to turn the tide and force the Empire to retreat before their Death Star got into range of the planet itself.
"Get me in touch with the other Naval Commanders." Sularen instructed to the senior communications officer, calmly seated in his command chair with his most trusted subordinates standing beside and behind him as usual. "Right away sir." the officer replied as he complied with the Supreme Commander's order and patched him through with the three other naval commanders who along with Sularen would be leading the Confederate Imperial Armada into battle today. "This is Supreme Commander Marlon Sularen, all Fleet Commanders report in." Once he would get confirmation of the arrival of the other fleets, the Confederation's intervention against the Galactic Empire could properly begin.
Today they would put an end to the threat of the Galactic Empire once and for all. This would be a turning point from which the Imperial Confederation would bury the Galactic Empire into the dark pit of history.
A large Confederate Imperial Armada arrives at the edge of the Atrisia System under the command of Supreme Commander Marlon Sularen.
She had grown used to the copper and red skies of Korriban.
It surprised her that she was able to acclimate from a synth world like Jutrand to one that was so changed, but, the diminutive Echani was nothing if not resourceful. Her projects for the Mandalorian Empire had been completed in record time with aid from Darth Caedes
, and she could truthfully say that she was pleased with the result. He was a font of knowledge that somehow commanded the personage of a King while remaining…Himself. For that reason, she had invited him and anyone he wished to explore the Iron Eidolon whilst her guests learned their way around their new warships.
The Mandalorian Empire had sent a team, Death Watch, to take up her offer of War Games to enhance their training and make good on her word to keep them properly outfitted while they were committed to her service. They had chosen an empty patch of space nearest to the Blackwall that wrapped around the Horuset System to test three classes of vessel (Iron Eidolon, Lunarfang, and Daemon) whilst supporting those who had come to repair the holes in the supernatural barrier.
It was a problem that had been exploited by Imperial Forces, not so long ago, causing the Holy Worlds to come under fire. It was caused by the planeshift, naturally occurring, but a problem nonetheless.
The darklit vessels that she had created drifted in formation, their lines sharp and predatory, like a pack of wolves circling a kill. The Blackwall loomed nearby as a seemingly endless, obsidian scar in space, pulsing faintly with a certain "gravity" that no instrument could fully measure. From the observation deck of the lead warship, Srina took stock of the Death Watch members that had fallen in line surprisingly well. Her light armor gleamed in muted silver and black, with plating, weave, and fabric that was strategically cut to allow her the utmost freedom of movement. Her long ivory hair was strewn with braids and had been drawn up into a single, severe ponytail.
Even at rest, her bearing was poised and precise—As if she were made of marble.
Her hired hands milled about the edges of the deck, telltale helmets telling anyone who they were, regardless of who held their contract. These were warriors that she had trained and invited to one of their most sacred places in an expression of respect. It was…Difficult. Srina, did not (to put it mildly) like Mandalorians as a rule, but Aether Verd
assured her that his brethren were of a higher caliber than what she had endured in the past. That they were worthy of the air they stole. Her grace toward them was both out of prudence and a courtesy toward her godson.
He claimed to be capable of making warriors out of mongrels. Of bringing pride and strength back to his people. Time, certainly, would tell.
"You have all endured much during training…Take this moment to regain your strength. There is more still to learn, and our work for the day has not yet been completed."
Her words were for Death Watch, but also for the Praetorian Guard who served as their opponents. It pleased her that they were beginning to look worse for wear, proof that her credits had not been misplaced. The pale Empress of the Order turned toward Aether Verd
to comment on their progress when she felt something in the Force shift dramatically. It started faint, like a whisper at the edge of hearing. It grew swiftly. An echo of something far away, beyond sight, beyond what lay before her. Death. Not the personal, immediate kind, but a vast gathering tide of what may soon come to pass. She knew the twisting feeling of it in the pit of her stomach well enough to trust it.
Gold-hewn orbs narrowed, and she drew a slow…Steady breath.
"Something is wrong."
Her voice was low, but she took several steps nearer to the viewport where the ominous light of the Blackwall cast an oil-slick sheen across her armor. Her mind reached out for those of the Sith Order that she had forged a mental connection with, a passing of souls, in a shared mindscape. She had intended to have Darth Caedes
and Revna Marr
as guests for their hospitality…But they would feel what she felt, if they hadn't already noticed, and from behind that silent communication—They would sense the shape of her concern. Thin lips creased into a frown while her corrupted gaze seemed to search for answers in the emptiness of space…But there were no answers. Just silence.
The Dread Queen deeply did not like being kept in the dark.
< Mama… something bad is coming. It's already here. >
Her throat tightened as she pressed the words into the bond, clutching her cloak harder. Guilt and frustration spilled in waves, but beneath it lay a steel core of determination. She had made choices — selfish ones, necessary ones — and she would not regret them. Her ties with Mauve had bought her this knowledge, but the cost was steep.
< Black Sun has confirmed it. Their deal for Isotope-5 is sealed. Solipsis is moving... creating something devastating… and it's not just us he's after. He's coming for everyone. >
Her chest rose and fell with shallow, uneven breaths. She wanted to be seen and believed. No longer as the fragile child hidden behind laurels and names, but as the heir worthy of the Empire.
< I'm here already. I'll prove to you — to them—why they should look to me. >
Every word was laced with urgency, but also longing. She poured herself into the bond, letting her mother feel everything she could not say aloud: the storm of guilt, the thread of fear, the fire of her ambition. All of it, bared.
As if on cue...Time itself seemed to slow while the bidirectional line of communication that lay between herself and Quinn Varanin
flared to life. It arrived with a certain pressure behind her sternum, which was followed by a tug in the Force that was unmistakable. Quinn. The voice of her youngling bled through her, layering over her mind, trembling yet fierce. Emotion that was not her own bubbled and spilled over like a cup that was too full, swallowing her in guilt and clawing desperation. Srina could feel it all. See it all— as if for a moment they shared form.
The name Solipsisstruck like a bell. Isotope-5. Black Sun. Atrisia. Pieces falling into place.
For a heartbeat, the ice in Srina's chest cracked. She didn't pull away and allowed Quinn's flood of feelings to fill her: the storm, the plea, the fire. When she answered, through the same mental medium Quinn had reached out with, her tone was cool water poured over a forge, sweeping, and all encompassing. It was steady, controlled, cold, but never cruel. She would never, ever, leave her children alone.
<<Let go of the past, child. It cannot be undone...But we will course correct. You have me...Always.>>
Always.
The connection broke.
Srina's empty expression hadn't shifted at the news, but there was a glint of something in her eyes that could have been called light...If it wasn't so hawkish and chilling. The very nature of her being seemed to alter in the way matter changed states from liquid to solid. From quiet taskmaster to a stoic warrior who knew with grim acceptance that the lull in warfare had come to an end. The Echani-born Sith had been waiting since Brosi for the other shoe to drop, and it finally had...Just not from the foot she expected.
There was a plot unfurling somewhere far beyond their borders.
The quiet woman let her thoughts and intentions filter to the King and future Queen of Korriban once more. She would need their help and likely the assistance of those who had skill with a particular form of Sith Sorcery. Srina headed toward a terminal to place the rest of the Sith Order on high alert. It was her duty to inform the governing bodies of any imminent threats, though they may not be pleased that she planned to take things into her own hands. Full mobilization might take too long...But they didn't need to wait.
They could take the fight to the enemy.
Now.
"It seems that the games have ended, Mand'alor. We are already on warships that are contracted to fight for me...Will you honor your agreement?"
Srina raised one hand and extended her fingers toward the Blackwall, and power bled from her like the first tremor before an earthquake. Around them, the void darkened, the strength in the wall stirring as if in response to her call. Veins of light, violet, cold, and ancient, crawled across the chasm, bending and coalescing...But it wasn't enough.
Not on her own.
She needed her brethren to open a doorway. To stabilize it.
Senator Tiberius "Tiber" Septimus III, Senator of Niahelios, drummed his fingers against his arms, surveying the Diarch's retinue. There was the Diarch himself, but with him was several individuals- a woman and two men. Ryoshu Akutagawa
seemed quiet, taking in the moment, as did Caelus Vire // NIHIL
and Gavin Vel
. All deferred to Diarch Reign
as the principal negotiator, who was thankfully fairly blunt.
"The Diarchy is willing to ally itself with the Galactic Alliance in order to eliminate this Imperial menace. What we require however, is for you to allow the passage of our fleets and armies through the Ghost Nebula."
He looked over his shoulder at the hulking form of his one time apprentice, now raised to Optio and Nominal "Fist of the Diarch" Gavin Vel and the lithe form of his other pupil and raised Optio Ryu Jung.
"We have the strength to end this conflict, but we would rather not fight through your space to reach the real enemy"
He had heard rumor that the senators gathered here were more "keen" to negotiations with the Diarchy and a potential friendship, while for Reign it would be a friendship of convenience alone. The Galactic Alliance has seemingly severed its official ties to the Jedi Order, which earned them points in the Diarch's eyes, still had to atone for corruption and the constant war it found itself embroiled in.
"My hope here is to find favorable terms for mutual aid, as long as this threat exists."
Tiber leaned back, pondering his demands. The first ask- access to Imperial Space through the Nebula- made tactical sense, otherwise, it would be neigh-impossible to reach the Deep Core- and the heart of the Empire. But something about the ask didn't...quite sit right with Tiber. He'd have to consult the GADF.
The second ask- mutual aid- was far more telling because of the conditions attached to it: 'As long as this threat exists'. Tiber had read the briefings prior to departing Fondor, and if he wasn't making himself small, he would probably sense the pure malevolence radiating off this man, likely from a lifetime of exploring the Dark Side. This man- this Diarch- didn't seem keen on building an enduring coalition of democracies Tiber had espoused. But as the Empire grew bolder by the day, did they have the choice?
None.
But at the very least, the Alliance could do this on their terms.
"Diarch Reign, what you say seems reasonable, but could you expound on what you mean, particularly mut-"
Suddenly, klaxons blared. The view from the port- filled with the viewed of Atrisia- was now filled with Star Destroyers, beltching out TIE Fighters and-
"By the Force", Tiber breathed.
A battle stationthe size of a moon was now orbiting Atrisia.
The tranquility of the conference room was now filled with orders screamed and the pounding of boots on durasteel, and panicking aides. The Dirach's retinue, to their credit, reacted admirably- Gavin Vel
immediately sprung into action, lightsaber in hand. Ryoshu Akutagawa
remained seated. And Caelus Vire // NIHIL
...simply left the room.
"This is a mighty fine mess, isn't it?", Tiber said rhetorically, surreptitiously making sure his lightsaber was still in it's holster as he peered out the port once more, examining the Star Destroyers, then blinking as he recognized a sigil that was decidedly not Imperial.
PERSONAL LOG: FLEET CAPTAIN GYM HALPERN (RET.)
DATE: [REDACTED] LOCATION: Atrisia PRIORITY: Secured / Personal Eyes Only ASSIGNMENT: Planetary Defense STATUS: En route + executing
Don’t really like the idea of taking over a ship I had no hand in being a part of previously, but that is the case here. Sasori has done a lot of good, and I will stand to protect their people from the Empire if I can. Taskforce Stonewall is coming with me. I have faith in my crew and their ability to adapt, but I can’t shake the feeling that this mission carries more weight than just defense. Protecting Sasori interests is not just about strategy; it’s about ensuring their survival against an enemy that shows no mercy.
End Log
The battlespace beyond Atrisia looked like a spilled beehive—tracks crossing tracks, transponders fighting other people’s transponders, and the kind of sensor bloom that made junior officers believe in ghosts. Gym Halpern stood in the Sato holochair and let the plots swirl around him, the Saotome biocomputer teasing order from the mess as if it were born to it.
Catapults clapped. Grav-lattice cradles flexed open, flinging silver-and-white arcs into the black. Solari Silver Shields went first—heavy escorts with Cater Phalanx projectors baked into their bones—then Silver Blades and Silver Wings fanned wide as the Sakuma Mk.V knifed through lanes they had no right to own. Deck crews on the Liberator-class anchor ship in the rear sector threw thumbs and slammed blast doors like their lives depended on each one.
[“QUILL-1 copies,”] came the corvette captain, tight and eager. [“Tree is growing.”]
A new crown of green status pips marked the screen. Early warning. If anything tried to sneak in late and ugly, it would trip the wires.
[“ANVIL affirmative,”] the MC-7500 answered, voice rich with Mon Cal steadiness. [“Batteries cold, teeth sharp.”]
[“BULWARK, roger,”] the MC-400a’s XO cut in, [“Sentinel grid awake. You get jumped, we eat the first salvo.”]
The Stellan’s spine throbbed as the drives leaned into a long, royal push. Ahead—far inside the mêlée—the other two Trinity anchors were maneuvering: Avar on the high plane, Elzar low and opposite, each one dragging orbits and responsibilities behind them. Between the three, if they hit their timing, they could throw a shield over the planet that not only held—but vanished when it had to. A planetary veil. A reprieve the enemy would hate.
[“STONEWALL,”] a cut across the net, probably Atrisian voice polished and overworked, [“confirm you are taking Trinity-Three slot. We show your velocity vector still five degrees high.”]
Halpern’s jaw ticked once.
Confirmed. Car’das micro in twenty seconds. Keep the lane clear.
[“Acknowledged. And… thank you for keeping the outer sector clean.”]
He didn’t answer that. He watched his fighters.
“BLADE flights,” his Air Boss called, “split BARCAP routes—odd-number on the rim, even-number down the middle. WING flights, SEAD posture only. No heroics. You see a late arrival align on our backfield, you blind it and break it. SHIELD flights form on Stellan for Cater. You know the drill: our girls and boys come home under your umbrella.”
[“Copy, Flight,”] chimed three different voices in near unison. It would have sounded rehearsed if not for the engine howl behind every word.
On his left, the Tactical Chief leaned in. “Sir, hostile pair on vector one-nine-four—confed hulls. Transponders valid, guns hot, aim inside the Empire. They’ll cross our bow in two minutes.”
Halpern’s mouth twitched into something that could be mistaken for a smile after a long day.
They’re not friends. Today they are not the problem. Flag them ‘do not spook.’ Put a polite box around them and route our CAP to visually understand before we fry a potential ally.
“Boxed,” Tac said, already painting the corridor in gold. “CAP Two on intercept for eyeballs only.”
The deck shuddered as the Whammy Drive spooled, a deep-bass thrum under the soles that every spacer learned to trust or hate. The Stellan didn’t carry a net—this wasn’t a full interdiction—but the pulse would trip safety interlocks on careless hyperdrives. Long enough to reveal predators. Long enough for the pickets to spot teeth.
[“Whammy at thirty percent,”] Engineering reported. [“Drives stable. Regulators green.”]
[“Affirm.”]
He took a breath and finally, quietly, brought Striker into the matrix.
STRIKER-ACTUAL(@Kayla Luspark), Stonewall. Your sector is south by west, inner bowl. We are not your dance partner today—we are the doorman. If you need a hole punched or a roof over your head, you call ‘HIVE’ or ‘STONEWALL.’ Otherwise—go ruin someone’s plan.
The Car’das translator chirped as the micro-jump solutions solved. The Stellan’s massive bulk curled ever so slightly, like a predator flexing before it pounced.
Halpern said into the fleet net, calm as a frozen lake.
This is Stonewall. On my mark, we are executing a micro-jump to Trinity-Three anchor. On arrival: Shields to Trinity-harmonic. We will not fire unless the devil’s breath is on our necks. Air Wing—you will look bigger than you are. That is an order.
“Five,” the Navigator counted, voice steady. “Four. Three. Two. One—mark.”
Space stuttered.
The Stellan stepped.
They came out riding their own shadow—dead-on the mark between Avar and Elzar—and the holochair threw off a haze of green confirmations as the Yuánshuài barriers laced themselves into the other two ships’ fields. For a heartbeat the planet wore a cloak of pale aurora that only instruments could see.
[“STONEWALL, we have it,”] Another controller said, awe bleeding through professionalism. [“Trinity harmonic is clean. Prepare to begin phasing.”]
Halpern repeated, and his Shield Chief walked the resonance down the slope like a soprano finding a note. Purified crystals sang in three throats. Stygianfire whispered. The shield began to flex, then smooth, then slide into the frequency where a targeting array would swear on its mother nothing was there. The shield was not ready, but at least the Stonewall was getting ready.
“Cater Phalanx,” the Air Boss barked, “project forward cone over lanes Red and Blue. SHIELD flights, lock and hold. BLADE, widen. WING, play blindfold; I want every hostile sensor operator cursing their great-grandparents.”
Whammy pulse, now, Halpern said.
The drive coughed its low thunder into the dark. Far along the rim of the tree the corvettes had planted, three red motes blinked where jump safeties tripped and ships stumbled.
[“QUILL-2 singing,”] the captain said, voice too satisfied to hide. [“Late arrivals with Imperial signatures. Courses adjusted—now pointing away.”]
Tell them we saw them. Then forget their names.
Closer in, a knot of fighters wove through the outer screen—High Republic patterns on one wing, hard-edged Imperials-from-not-the-Empire on the other, both hunting the same prey. The comms lit with professional contempt and barely-civil brevity. Halpern kept his mouth off that channel. He gave them the thing they needed most: a roof that would not collapse and a door that would not slam shut.
hold line abreast of me by six thousand meters. If the Death Star sniffs for us, scatter-jump by section on call-sign LANTERN. Until then, we are the planet’s coat, you are the umbrella. We’re moving into position.
[“ANVIL copies.”]
[“BULWARK, roger.”]
He let out a breath through his nose. In the holochair, the Stellan’s living systems pulsed gently—agenal streams like a heartbeat through the Seven Points. He didn’t touch the rail. He didn’t need the comfort.
On the plot, the Trinity veil settled like a tidepool. The rim bristled with his CAP. The picket tree kept singing.
And for the first time all day, the chaos looked just a little bit organized.
The ships that came with Halpern are on the outskirts of the system (not in the fight at all) “protecting” the evacuation lanes (should things go badly).
Halpern in his temporary commandship is moving into the system into a preplanned defensive position.
Don't hesitate to DM with questions.
This is what he is saying to people, just like a cutaway
The Mandalorian Machine had seen many vessels, battlecruisers and city-ships alike, yet this… this was different. This was a gift, tribute to The Cause forged in the crucible of war and wrapped in the colors of two peoples who had once sworn each other eternal enmity.
Her many eyes roved across the towering steel passages as her fellow kith and kin wandered the corridors with barely-concealed awe. Dima whistled low and whimsical, dragging a crystalline claw along the bulkhead. The shrill screech of steel on crystal echoed as she went, a song of irritation to some, a hymn of satisfaction to her. The red-cloaked Praetorians of the Empress led them deeper into the beast, guiding with all the grace of a ceremonial procession.
She clutched her holy-book in her upper arms, gold-etched leather pressed tightly to her chest as though shielding the words of Manda itself from foreign eyes. Her lower arms rested behind her back, folded with military rigidity, her claws still and poised in their restraint. Every step was reverent to a god only she seemed to believe.
Eventually, they were led into a grand chamber that roared with the thunder of contest. Dima stopped mid-stride, talons curling into the deck as her gaze swept across the spectacle. A training hall, vast as a cathedral, where warriors tested one another in ritual war games. The clatter of iron and shriek of blades filled the air, accompanied by grunts of effort and the dull crack of bodies meeting with brute force.
Her kin, Ironborn children of Manda faced Sith soldiers in trial by combat. What had been dressed as cultural exchange was, in truth, a proving ground. Mandalorian pride met Sith arrogance on the floor, and the hall itself became an altar to conflict.
Dima's grip tightened on her book, her cloak shifting around her tall frame as if stirred by some unseen wind. She felt her god in the rhythm of each strike, in the cadence of violence. A smile curled beneath her mask, sharp and hidden.
When she finally spoke, her voice carried like a hymn through the cacophony. Low, steady, but drenched in reverence and command.
"Silver Steel speaks clearer than silver tongues. The only language our gods have ever known~"
The hall seemed to still for a heartbeat, even as blades continued to strike. To those who heard, her words rang as both blessing and warning, as though Ha'rangir Himself had whispered through her lips.
But then—something shifted. It was subtle at first, like a string plucked too tightly in the weave of the Force. The room's atmosphere curdled, and heads turned on instinct. Dima's ears twitched and flicked like living radars upon the sides of her helm, catching currents of silence as her emerald visor tilted toward the Empress. Srina Talon, had gone still. Her voice was quiet when it came, but to Dima it resounded like a tolling bell.
"Something is wrong," she uttered.
The words set Dima's nerves alight. She clutched her golden-scripted holy book closer to her chest as though to anchor herself, while her tail rattled against the deck in sharp bursts. Her many eyes tracked Srina with obsessive focus, parsing every flicker of movement. The almost imperceptible grimace, the fleeting ripple of her gaze. Behind that porcelain poise, Dima smelled the storm.
And then came the words that sealed it.
"It seems that the games have ended, Mand'alor. We are already on warships that are contracted to fight for me...Will you honor your agreement?"
The declaration spilled like oil on fire, and Dima turned her helm sharply toward Aether Verd
, her stance tightening with fanatical relish. Her tail rattled again, harder this time, anticipation coursing through her frame. She watched as Srina lifted one pale hand toward the massive wall of the training hall, and with it a swell of power pressed outward, choking the very air. The steel groaned under its weight, and warriors of both sides froze mid-motion, suspended between instinct and command.
Domina's laughter did not come, but her delight was visible in the subtle bow of her frame, in the predator's patience that lit her visor. A call to arms? Oh, how the gods worked in such glorious, mysterious ways.
She stepped forward, slowly, reverently, until she stood before the looming wall as if it were the altar of her faith. Her voice, when it came, was low but certain, carried on the edge of devotion and menace.
[FOR THE SAKE OF CONTINUITY, THIS WAS POSTED AS #3 PRIOR TO THE IMPLEMANTATION OF CHAPTERS. I HAVE REPOSTED IT HERE FOR THE SAKE OF EASE IN ONE PLACE. MAY IT BE CONSIDERED TO PRECEDE ALL OTHER POSTS]
Task Force Tapani— Battle Line
Flagship
The Edifice
Imperial III-class Star Destroyer Shields: ██████████ Hull: ██████████
The dark tide of hyperspace broke apart in a silent flare as the great ships of the Line took their stations, each one bleeding back into realspace with the measured precision of a parade. The Edifice, Cott’s own Star Destroyer, came first, her vast frame materialising with a slow inevitability that seemed to make the stars themselves blink and fizzle. One by one her escorts followed, the fleet knitting itself into formation around the looming bulk that awaited them: the battle station. Months in the making, and now at last she stood revealed; a station of power unmatched, a keystone about which the Empire’s dominion would be secured. Cott leaned upon the rail of the command deck, silent, watching the leviathans array themselves in readiness to defend the weapon that would end wars before they began.
“Officer of the Watch, initiate standard IFF handshake with Battlestation Control.”
The order passed across the bridge with practised efficiency, technicians and comms officers adjusting their stations to comply.
“Admiral, all ships confirm check-in. Systems green across the Line. Standing by for defensive station.”
“Acknowledged. Bring the Line into assigned sectors and maintain readiness state two.”
Cott moved toward his command chair, hands clasped lightly behind his back as the routine of deployment unfolded. The comms station pulsed once, signalling a secure channel.
“Battlestation Control, Fleet Admiral Cott transmitting. Authentication code T8-7-2, Task Force Tapani. We are on approach, holding pattern Kappa–Nine. Line assigned to perimeter defence per Imperial Naval Directive Aurek–One. All coordination will be routed through secured fleet channels. Control is to acknowledge perimeter assumption and suspend local vector issuance.”
The reply came swiftly, flat and procedural, a voice without inflection.
“Authentication confirmed. Task Force Tapani perimeter assumption acknowledged. Control suspends local vector issuance. All further coordination through secured fleet channels.”
Cott gave a single nod, satisfied. The Line was in place. The weapon was theirs to guard.
Tohu had never been in more intense affairs than these. Sweat poured down his face as he kept his eyes open narrow, didn't blink, watching Nero across from him. He was sweating too, or had to be beneath the helmet, -- maybe it was the missing climate control system some con stole and sold for scrap -- and staring back at him. Neither said a word, neither even breathed; he couldn't even hear his own heartbeat anymore.
"Call." Tohu said.
There was a moment of hesitation in the air before he put his cards on the table, face up. Tohu figured Nero had to be bluffing. No way he could beat this Yee-Haa: Sylop with a pair of twos.
Then Nero turned his cards over to show the dirtiest Pure Sabacc Tohu had ever seen in his life.
Tohu said, "You've gotta be kiddi--"but the shuttle engines came alive, rattling the deck under his boots. They were taking off for this gig, and he could finally blink again, breathe. He rose just as Koda Fett walked past, the familiar spurs jingling. Same sound he remembered the night Fett dropped him on Shaddaa. Same night he'd crawled to Skeevi Merrill
for a patch job he still hadn't fully paid for. This gig, Tohu thought, would square it. And surely even get him that bounty hunting license he'd been chasing.
He fell in behind Fett, grinning at what was to come.
Amalia looked at the Black vortex as it shrunk after her master and his guard droids had left through it, leaving her in charge aboard the Gluttoneria. Her neck felt stiff, her eyes heavy, but as usual, she retained her neutral expression and walked over towards the central console, tapping on the massive screen a few times as a holographic display of the local star system appeared, mapped out neatly thanks to the Gluttoneria's sensory system and scanners combined with the intel already gathered by the ship's AI.
A message popped up, it seemed that the main fleet under command of Marlon Sularen
was on its way, which was a good thing, considering the only ships she had managed to get her hands on were deviated from the Sector fleet of Corvus, and those were still on their way because of the fact that Corvus didn't have the best position when it came to the strange new hyperlane travelling. Still, only a few minutes before the Supreme Commander of the Imperial Confederation arrived, a handful of ships arrived at the location of the Gluttoneria, which for its own security had maintained itself in a steady position, remaining cloaked in order to avoid drawing too much attention before the main force would arrive.
Finally, when the Lord Commander's massive fleet started to arrive one vessel after another from Hyperspace, Amalia quietly moved her hand towards the control panel again. "Supreme Commander Solaren, Governor Visconti reporting."
Lina had remained on Korriban since her trip to the Nether with Revna Marr and Darth Strosius, accepting the invitation for an extended stay. She was coming to like it here, not only because of its rich and deep history but also because of the ease with which she could flit from one plane to the next. She contemplated the possibility of making another home here while watching the Mandalorian warriors' impressive display of fortitude and skill.
Once upon a time, she would have considered them an enemy, not simply because of the endless cycle of wars between Sith and Mandalorians, but because once she had started one of those wars. Or at least tried to, unbeknownst to her at the time, Carnifex was already elbow deep in a long game that cost the Madalorians half their people.
Her gaze moved to the Empress. She was the perfect picture of power and grace. Lina had to admire her for it. She blew a soft sigh out of her nose, a pang of sadness touching her heart. She could forgive her for loving Empyrean, but the bond she had with Carnifex? Was it possible for Lina to overlook such a thing? She wanted to, she wanted to believe that Srina did not know all there was to know…but how could she trust her?
A shift in the pit of her stomach brought her out of her quiet contemplations, straightening up from the wall she’d been leaning against. Lina tilted her head and listened. The normally calm hum from the force was alive with something she could only describe as screaming, like metal twisting and scraping. It set her teeth on edge.
Her eyes immediately sought Revna, needing to see her to know she was safe, when the Empress's words reached her.
She watched as power coalesced around her, a portal taking shape. Lina looked to the Neti standing at her side. Perhaps this was why the force had brought her and A’Mia together? With a nod of her head, she stepped forward. She could ask questions later; now she had a job to do. A staff materialised from shadows, its stem alight with glowing red runes as she stepped to Srina’s side. She cast the Dread Queen a look, inclining her head. Today, she would trust her. Today, Lina would face whatever awaited them.
Turning to the twisting veins of the forming portal, Lina drew on the darkness, the silent shadows in the corners of the rooms, the ones cast beneath their feet, all pulled towards her, her emerald eyes fading into obsidian orbs. Where violet cracked and twisted, bands of shadow coiled around them as she added her strength, the runes on her staff flaring.
The chamber had already stilled beneath Srina Talon
words when another shape stepped through the threshold alongside Aether Verd. The sound of beskar boots striking steel was unmistakable, slow and deliberate, each step a weight that announced its owner long before the crimson-visored helm lifted into view.
Korda Veydran came with the air of one forged in fire and ash. Scars ran across the plates of his armor like a chronicle of wars survived, and faint curls of smoke trailed from the seams of his gauntlet where a ritual ember still smoldered. He had been summoned at Aether Verd
side, drawn from the crucible of battle to stand before Domina's presence, and he did so without hesitation.
The hall's atmosphere was thick, every warrior frozen between motion and command, but Korda seemed to breathe it in like incense. His head inclined first toward Aether, the faintest gesture of acknowledgment, before turning fully to Domina.
"Forgive my lateness," he said, the words heavy, rumbling through the vocoder not as excuse but as liturgy. "The forge of war demanded its due before I could stand where I was called."
He came no closer than reverence allowed, pausing a respectful distance from her, his shoulders broad and unyielding, his scarred gauntlets flexing once as though eager to be tested. The glow of his visor fixed upon Domina Prime
, unflinching.
"I am here, as summoned," he continued, voice low and sure. "To bear witness. To serve where steel must speak, and to see the will of Kad Ha'Rangir done."
The words hung in the air like a vow, and Korda stood still as stone, a zealot bound by both faith and duty, waiting upon the signal that would unleash him.
Nero looked through his blast helmet at a losing hand. Pirates made their own luck. When Tohu was distracted he engineered a better set of cards with the grabber hidden under his sleeve. Getting caught with a device like that was a death sentence among Black Sun enforcers but the kid liked to live dangerously.
"There's no liars in this game mate," he reminded the grumbling bounty hunter, "Just players."
While the rest of the crew prepared for a bloody raid Nero gathered up his winnings. Credits mostly although there were a few shiny trinkets tossed into the pot as barter. This wasn't his maiden battle but even the Madclaw's first mate had never boarded anything as big as the Tython. Taking over a ship that size sounded like a suicide mission and he wouldn't be here if not for the Hutt's ransom promised to any survivors.
"I've got a bad feeling about this."
He watched the super star destroyer grow until it dwarfed their syndicate transport. They could make a run at one of the hangar bays and go in blasters blazing or slice into an exterior airlock. Neither option appealed to Nero. The airlock might bypass a few layers of security but they would be guessing where best to breach. Seizing a hangar meant savage work although there was bound to be turbolift access nearby.
Have fun!
