Faction Chapter Two | Tarkin Doctrine

[OPCOM]

​

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.

GHORMAN | COMPNOR · POLITICAL INTRIGUE · INSURRECTION



By the time the first shots are fired, COMPNOR has been on Ghorman for months. Its influence having travelled through sympathetic broadcasters, private donations, and weapons shipments passed between intermediaries. Public anger for the vacuum left by the Galactic Alliance and the longing for order established by the Galactic Empire has found new willing sponsors. Opposition leaders who once struggled to fill a meeting hall now address crowds in the streets. Behind them stand men and women whose loyalty belongs to an Empire most of Ghorman believes gone.

Tonight, those investments come due.

Demonstrators converge on the government district as armed factions move among them. Within the ministries, officials discover that colleagues have stopped answering their calls. Security commanders receive contradictory instructions across the planetary networks, accusations of corruption and betrayal compete with appeals for calm amidst violent upheaval.

It’s a powder keg waiting to go off. COMPNOR's chosen successors wait for their moment to declare a new government, but must live long enough to do so. The current administration still commands loyal security forces, and the streets contain people pursuing causes no Imperial handler controls. A crowd can turn, an ally may hesitate, and an ambitious revolutionary may decide that Ghorman's future belongs to them alone.

Into that uncertainty, the Empire sends its best agents to bring the government down. Protect the figures prepared to replace it, confront those resisting the coup, and ensure that the victorious administration honours its commitments as angry mobs burn and loot the capital. Beneath Ghorman lie kalkite and other valuable resources; their passage to the Empire’s High Command must be secured by the incoming government that emerges. Across the galaxy, other factions will watch a government fall while its own citizens carry the banners.

Let them wonder who among their advisers has already received an offer.

 

[Lucan Tirall]

[THEME]​

"Godda..." The death stick fell from Lucan Tirall's lips as an explosion tore through the upper floors of a building some distance ahead, sending a shower of shattered transparisteel cascading into the avenue. He watched the burning debris fall with an expression of profound disappointment. The death stick, an exceptionally expensive specimen acquired from a private merchant on Jedha, disappeared beneath the boots of a passing CompForce trooper. "...mn it."

The streets of Ghorman had descended into chaos. Thousands of demonstrators crowded the avenues, waving Imperial standards and revolutionary banners as blasterfire crackled from government buildings. Overturned speeders burned along the roadside, storefronts had been looted, and emergency sirens wailed through the city. Months of careful political agitation had finally produced the desired insurrection, though the resulting spectacle was proving considerably less orderly than COMPNOR had anticipated.

At the center of a diamond formation of CompForce personnel walked the Director of Advanced Weapons Research. Beside him shuffled a prominent Ghormanite civilian whose importance to the insurrection had been emphasized repeatedly during briefings. Tirall had forgotten his title almost immediately. Industrialist, financier, community leader, it hardly mattered. He was a puppet either way, a fat one at that. No, his duty was to appear in photographs demonstrating solidarity between Ghorman's patriotic citizens and the returning Empire. That was all.

"I understand you grew spiders?" Tirall inquired, attempting to make conversation as they navigated another stretch of debris.

The civilian looked confused. "I didn't."

"Oh." Tirall considered this revelation for a moment. "Well... either way, I don't really care."

The man opened his mouth, evidently uncertain whether an apology was expected, but another burst of blasterfire interrupted whatever he intended to say. The CompForce formation tightened immediately, troopers raising their weapons toward the surrounding rooftops as the procession slowed yet again. Tirall glanced upward with evident irritation. An armed security speeder had emerged through the smoke above the avenue, its weapons beginning to traverse toward the advancing demonstrators.

"SHOOT IT DOWN!"

Several CompForce troopers raised their rifles, while others pushed the Director and his bewildered companion toward the relative shelter of a damaged transport. Tirall resisted just long enough to express his displeasure at being manhandled before reluctantly accepting the necessity of cover. Above them, weapons fire erupted as the security vehicle maneuvered between the surrounding buildings. "Unbelievable," he muttered, brushing dust from his sleeve. "Absolutely unbelievable." He turned toward the civilian, who was crouching beside him with both hands clasped over his head. "Do stop trembling. It's terribly unbecoming."

"Director, they're shooting at us!"

"Yes, I had gathered that." Tirall peered around the transport toward the government district. Somewhere ahead, the planetary administration remained stubbornly in control of its ministries, while COMPNOR's chosen allies struggled to convert their numerical enthusiasm into anything resembling an organized seizure of power. The original schedule had called for a public appearance, a few photographs with the local leadership, and a carefully worded statement concerning the restoration of Imperial order. Instead, Tirall found himself crouched behind a ruined speeder in an armored vest, surrounded by revolutionaries who seemed more interested in shouting slogans than accomplishing anything useful.

He sighed.

"Captain!" Tirall called toward the nearest CompForce officer. "Would you kindly explain why we are still standing in the middle of this bloody avenue? Ask for help!"

TAGS: OPEN ​

 

[Severin Voss]

THE JACKAL
COMMISSIONER OF COMPNOR

Kazimir Tragovic | Lucan Tirall | @Imperial Intelligence​

The speech had been playing for eleven minutes before finally it was switched it off. Beyond the shuttered windows of the unassuming apartment, unrest threatened to shatter the sudden silence. Somewhere below, on another floor, or inside a nearby building, glass shattered. The sound drew
the attention of a nearby man, a prospective minister of the government-to-be, seated uncomfortably across the table from another. That man was Severin Voss.

The minister had scarcely touched his drink.

"Commissioner, you must understand. The situation has changed."

Severin rested the remote on the table beside his gloves.

"Yes," he said. "That was the arrangement."

The apartment had belonged to a commercial attaché before its furnishings were displaced by communications equipment and a portable holoprojector. Severin had retained the table along with two poorly maintained lounge chairs. He preferred having somewhere to sit with people, particularly when they began explaining why they could no longer honour their commitments. It aoperated tonight’s explanation concerned the crowds.

"These people are angry."

The candidate had welcomed the crowds when they cheered his speeches. Now that he could hear them from the next street, on the eve of inciting a revolution, his enthusiasm had diminished.

"You asked them to be."

The minister was unamused.

"I asked them to demonstrate."

Severin studied him for a moment, feigning an almost sympathetic expression.

"It appears they are.”

A faint tremor disturbed the drink between the minister’s hands.

"The agitators, the armed men. They need to stop before this gets out of hand.”

Severin nodded.

"Of course. However, some of those armed men are protecting your supporters."

The minister was grasping at straws.

"Then the others."

"Mm."

He took a small drink, savoring the flavor before replying in a matter-of-fact manner.

"You were rather fond of them this afternoon."

The man looked down, realizing the gravity of the situation he found himself in. Severin gave him time, there was something truly special about watching a man drown in a pool of his own making. A siren sounded off somewhere beyond the building, piercing the muffled windows, before slowly receding.

"I cannot be associated with a massacre."

Voss placed his glass on the table.

“You made a promise to remain with the people of Ghorman, whatever the hour demands. That is a statement of solidarity.. I applaud your sacrifice.”

A beat.

The tension was kinetic and palpable.

"My family..”

The man said at last.

“They're still in the city."

Severin drew a datapad from beside the glass and offered it to him.

"Write down the address. Wife, children, favorite pet. Whoever retrieves them should know their names."

The minister searched his face and after a brief moment of hesitation accepted the datapad. While the stylus moved, Severin turned toward the window. A dull orange light touched the edge of the shutters, within seconds a sonic boom shattered the glass. The minister covered his face in a panic, visibly frightened and disturbed by the level of escalation unfolding outside the abode. Debris covered the apartment floor, the sound of battle now permeating every inch of the room.

Severin extended his hand out for the datapad, "At your leisure, Minister." For several seconds there was only the sound of the communications equipment in the adjoining room. The man handed him the datapad, prompting the Commissioner to rise from his seat, and retrieve his coat from the back of the chair. The candidate watched him put it on.

"What happens now?"

"You wait here."

"And then?"

Voss adjusted one cuff of his coat as he slid it over his body.

"You govern what remains."

He made for the door.

"You make it sound so ordinary"

Severin opened the door, pausing for a moment to retort.

"That is rather the point. The Empire expects your cooperation from this day forward... we own you."

He left the man with his drink.

"All stations. Jackal."

A pause.

"Status report."

 

[Kazimir Tragovic]

CODE NAME: WARDOG

Tags: Lucan Tirall , Severin Voss

Theme

This day had been a long time coming. Months of recon, countless hours of instilling upheaval, and copious amounts of credits greasing the right hands all finally came together, culminating in a day of proper pandemonium. People took to the streets in protest of their planetary government, calling for change and wishing to bring down whatever poor bastard got designated the scapegoat. In that chaos, amid the smoke and blood and plasma, Kazimir finally felt whole again.

Not all of the groups had escalated to violence. Some pockets had opted to retain a more peaceful, if yet stern, approach, taking care to march in solidarity without provoking the planetary security forces to unleash their plasma. At their helm was a rather outspoken twig of a man named Yuri Bar'Rato, a man of strong words and even stronger convictions. An idealist, just the kind of man needed for riling up the populace. The kind of man that could preach hope for hours.

The kind of man Kazimir hated.

Yuri had made it clear that those following him were not to engage the opposition with force. Something about 'taking the high road' and 'being better than the oppressor'. A bunch of pointless drivel, in truth. There would be no way through for COMPNOR without violence, for violent was their nature.

No matter... Yuri would be useful to COMPNOR, one way or another.

Kazimir took to the streets, though not among those marching against the government. He had procured a uniform belonging to a member of the planetary security forces, wearing it and carrying himself among the rest of the security forces as if he belonged their as much as any of them. They stood their ground, at first, hoping to maintain what little piece of order that yet remained in the area. Unfortunately for them, order was not on Kazimir's to-do list today.

He waited for the right moment, scanning the crowd for any excuse to make his move. Finally, one of the protestors broke the rules of the march, throwing a piece of scrap metal at a nearby group of guards. Flashing a wicked smile, Kazimir quickly drew the blaster from his side, raised it up...

...and shot Yuri between the eyes.

As their leader dropped dead on the ground, the crowd erupted with shrieks and screams, many calling for blood and blaming the security forces for the assassination. Seconds later, the crowd began to charge, forcing the other guards to fire into them. From there, everything proceeded as it should, though Kazimir would not be around to see it unfold. He had already dipped into a side street, moving into the shadows where he had left a package for himself. He quickly shed the uniform, changing into his usual operational gear. Along with his clothes, Kazimir had stashed a commlink, a second blaster, several explosives, and most importantly, his mask.

He quickly set the uniform aflame, ensuring no evidence was left behind before darting down the darkened street. Tradecraft was almost like breathing to him at this point. Evading the enemy was a small matter, especially to one so accustomed to this particular brand of ultraviolence. Once he had found a quiet corner, Kaz fell back against the wall, keeping his profile out of the light as he reached for his commlink.

<<Wardog to Jackal. Problem's been handled, awaiting further orders.>>