Faction Chapter Three | The Emperor’s Will

[OPCOM]

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The recall travelled through frequencies long believed dead, carrying the same command to scattered fleets, abandoned garrisons, and dark servants who had concealed their allegiance beneath another banner. The message was clear: Come home, the Emperor commands it. A directive that shook loyalists to their core, word from the Emperor himself, not seen since the Galaxy itself united against the Death Star III. Locked in combat with Jedi Master Romi Jade, the Emperor was thought lost when the superweapon was destroyed. Recognized chain codes passed between warships assembling in secret. Veterans returned to their stations, bringing fellow soldiers, their grievances, and their ambitions with them. The crimson imperial crest soon flew openly again, with transmissions carrying the Sith’ari’s will spreading across the Old Empire like wildfire.

Above Ord Mantell, Imperial Star Destroyers emerged in battle formation, their guns turning toward the defenses protecting the deepdock and Mantell City. On Ghorman, months of COMPNOR agitation reached their culmination as agents and armed proxies moved to overthrow the government and secure the resources needed to sustain the returning fleets. At Yinchorr, the Sepulchre carried the Dark Side Elite toward a sealed vault, an ancient relic, and unfinished business with those who had betrayed their oaths. Each operation would lay a foundation for the campaigns to come. The officers on the bridges, the soldiers in the landing craft, and the operatives awaiting their signal had answered the same summons. Together, they would give the galaxy reason to fear the Empire once more.

YINCHORR | DARK SIDE ELITE · IMPERIAL RECLAMATION SERVICE · VAULT EXPEDITION



The summons came without a transmission. A cold tremor passes through the Force, touching the Dark Side Elite across the distances that separate them. For an instant, the weakened bond pulls taut. A familiar presence, like a suffocating miasma presses against those who can sense it from impossibly far away.

The Sith’ari calls to his followers.

No clear words follow the feeling, an impression that persists when the presence recedes. Ibaris Varanin speaks to the Dark Side Elite, informing them that the wait was now over. Yinchorr, and something waiting beneath its Royal Guard Academy, was in their grasp.

Above the world, the Sepulchre arrives.

For generations, the Royal Guard Academy forged servants whose lives belonged to the throne. Beneath that facility lies a more recent addition: a vault commissioned for the Emperor after the fall of the Galactic Alliance. Within it rests the Oracle Stone of Chirikyât, an instrument fashioned by the Sith'ari himself. Through its visions, his servants may find the first indication of where he calls to them from and perhaps how to reach him. But the academy has not remained faithful, among those holding its grounds are Imperials who pledged themselves to rival Sith after the destruction of the Death Star III. They believed the Emperor gone, now they occupy the academy and stand between his chosen servants and the relic they have come to reclaim.

The Dark Side Elite will suffer no traitors, there will be no mercy.

Breach the academy. Hunt down the turncoats who hold it. Descend with the Imperial Reclamation Service into the vault and recover the Oracle Stone. Those who betrayed the throne are to receive no quarter, but beware.. the stone offers visions of possible futures, and the desire to believe them can become a prison of its own. Recovering it will require strength of will and a mastery of the Dark Side. Knowing which revelation to trust will demand more.

Somewhere beyond the reach of their senses, the Emperor has stirred.

Find the stone. Follow the vision. Find him.

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[Taiazma Sardasa]

The shuttle started to shake as it entered Yinchorr's atmosphere, its starfighter escort either side of it as the re-entry heat began to fade. Glancing out at the landscape below, Taiazma found himself contemplating the future, knowing that the True Emperor's return would break the stalemate of a galaxy currently ruled by pretenders, a transformation in which he intended to claim his rightful share.

With that quiet resolve, he curled his long, snake-like body tightly beneath him, tucking his four arms under the folds of his dark cloak as the shuttle descended toward the only landing platform clear of the siege. Across the cabin, a group of Reclamation agents finished checking their weapons and charging blasters for the assault, fully aware that most of them were unlikely to make it back alive.

Taiazma felt no pity for the men as the vessel touched down and the ramp groaned open to deploy them as close to the facility as stealth allowed. He knew their opponents were no ordinary rebels, but seasoned officers who understood Imperial tactics to the letter and would counter them with ease. Keeping that situation in mind, he slithered down the ramp, his heavy maced tail carving a noticeable line through the sand.

"This is Croshere to Sepulchre," he spoke into his wrist communicator, ensuring command logged his coordinates before the interference closed in. "I have landed three clicks north of the Academy and am proceeding as planned." Behind him, Captain Vane emerged from the shuttle's shadow, his squad falling into lockstep as they fanned out across the ridge.​

 

[Maestus]

As The Sepulchre erupts above Yinchorr, the terrifying herald of impending divine retribution, not far in its wake appears the Praedo Mundus, the flagship of Maestus. Once an orbit is established, a nondescript Lambda-class shuttle descends towards the surface, Any scans would reveal a single biosign, Twi'Lek.

As she piloted the shuttle towards the surface, Maestus mind wandered to the Oracle Stone of Chirikyât, the mission objective. Long had it served Darth Solipsis from the beginnings of the Maw, enhancing his vision and honing his decision making. She had intimate familiarity with the materials that it was forged from, sharing an origin with them. Little did she doubt the Stone would aid him yet again as before.

A harsh smirk cracked one corner of her mouth an old thought repeated once more. Here we go again. Back in the saddle as it were. She'd be lying if she said the prospect for battle hadn't woke some long slumbering part of her, her fingertips brushed against the hilt of her saber hanging from her belt. It had been far too long since she's had a good fight, and something within told her the fight was only beginning.

As the shuttle broke through the atmosphere, Maestus scanned the ground as blobs and peaks began to take distinct shape into the trappings of civilization. Locating the Academy and an acceptable LZ, she programs the navicomputer and sets it to auto. As the ship sets to landing, she moves to the back, the top of the ramp and closes her eyes.

Deeply, she draws in a slow and measured breath. Attuning herself to the task at hand, she calls to her mind's eye the lava scorched surface of Mustafar, birthplace of herself and the obsidian from which the Oracle Stone was forged. It was that shared connection to the fiery lava rivers and iron trees that she centered on, searching the miasma of vibrations galloping through the Force currently, until she felt it. Not heard, saw or touched, but felt. She opened her eyes, grim resolve, firmly entrenched.

She can feel the shuttle start to land, so she checks herself as the landing struts touch down. It seems her wardrobe gets simpler the older she gets. No fancy or ornate robes as in her youth, nor was she nude, either. These days she opted for functional. A coarse, sleeveless grey undershirt with a short sleeved, black open front tunic with silver trim, belted together. Saber hilt hangs solo on her belt, rugged, loose cargo style pants and her well worn boots complete the ensemble.

Stepping down the short ramp and onto the ground of Yinchorr alone, her Chosen having remained on the Mundus for this mission. As she started her path to the Academy, it was an abundance of caution with which she moved. While confident in her abilities, time was a more valuable commodity, and being delayed dispatching loyalists of the falling regime. Pleased she landed closer than she usually manages, she allows herself a grin as the Academy looms large ahead.