Dominion Dawn Of A New Day: BotM Dominion of Najra-Va

[Darth Solipsis]

​

Dark Avatars be praised..​

Csilla was just the beginning, the devastation unleashed nothing but an opening salvo into the Age of Annihilation brought by the Brotherhood of the Maw’s Dark Crusade. Their enemies revealed themselves that fateful day, their strengths and weaknesses laid before the Great Enemy like offerings. We know their fear, we have felt their wrath, and now we know where they call home.

The Unknowns Regions grow restless under the lash of the Brotherhood who licks it’s wounds from the Great Battle of Csilla. The horde demands blood, but before a campaign can be made into the Core Worlds or Imperial Space we must rebuild our navy and rearm ourselves with something ‘greater’ than Mercy ever was.

Najra-Va was our answer. Najra-Va would be our STARKILLER.

The Heathen Priests gather among the wreckage of a long dead culture, their abandoned temple defiled and sanctified in honor of the three Dark Avatars. A celebration is to be held, praises of glory to the Hidden Maw and it’s mighty aspects for the bountiful slaughter on the barren world of Csilla. The greatest of Warlords are invited alongside the MAW’s mightiest champions, a great feast given and a sacrifice worthy of the Dark Gods they serve. Let today be remembered as the Dawn of a New Day.

Shipments of Kyber move through the vast expanse of the Unknown Regions from the isolated planet of Ilum to the ravaged world of Najra-Va. It is here amidst the broken planetoids that the Brotherhood embark on their most ambitious project ever. Engineers from the Deep Core World of Epoch, secretive resources of the FINAL DAWN, and the industrial might of the Hidden Maw have come together. Resources from across MAW space, from the Dread Forge over Osseriton to the densely populated Goshen War Camp have been called upon to construct a technological terror so powerful it would bring the galaxy to it’s knees.

Shipyards, prefabricated forges, and even the mighty Holy City of Gehinnom itself anchor over the decimated Najra-Va. The Great Work has begun, with the successful design of Mercy a bigger, better design is to be constructed using the planetoid itself as the placeholder for a massive hyperspace-capable superlaser in mimicry of the great STARKILLER BASE.

Lead the way for the greatest weapon the galaxy has ever seen to come forth, build and explore the decimated planet. Uncover the secrets within the great hollow center and leave your mark on the future great weapon to come. The World Is Yours, take it.

Deep within the Unknown Regions, away from the planet of Najra-Va lies old abandoned First Order outposts. The mighty Master of the Knights of Ren, Kyrel Ren provides knowledge on the locations of such storehouses dating back all the way to the Age of the Empire. Here within such a ghost outpost on an unidentified world lies the next step in the Great Journey through a great weapon of death. Investigate the outpost and seize any schematics on such a weapon.

INTO THE UNKNOWN

THE DARK VOICE | BROTHERHOOD OF THE MAW
NAJRA-VA | HOLY CITY OF GEHINNOM

​

Sinister eyes peered into the void as a great work began in the wreckage of a dead world. This place had once served as a test bed for one of the most powerful weapons in the galaxy, it would now do so again under the Hidden Maw’s careful watch. Csilla had changed everything.

Where once the Brotherhood would charge head first into the Unknown, throwing bodies and viscera at their opponents in an orgy of violence, Csilla showed the galaxy was willing to band together and face their fears. While the Great War had not changed, the Brotherhood had. They developed caution and planning.

The Light-Sworn had felt fear.

Now they would know pain.

With the recovery effort of the Hidden Maw’s fleet and massive armament program to refit for the coming battles in continuation of the Great War, the Brotherhood found themselves protective of their assets and secretive. The Dark Voice watched from afar and personally oversaw the project from his lofty seat in the great halls of the Holy City of Gehinnom. There was much to do in preparation while the eyes of their enemy fell back on licking wounds of their own and protecting the Chiss from further incursion.

Much to do indeed.

The Dark Voice turned from his grand view and faced forward on his blackened throne. Yellow orbs of contempt burning with the fires of Mustafar and a cold glare as icy as the snowfall on Hoth fell forward as a servant cowed. Falling to his knee the slave beckoned the Voice of the Maw and reported that company would be within his chamber soon.

Good.

 

[Aldo Garrick]

Objective 2: The World Is Yours
Resurrection Class Battlecruiser ‘Magnus’
——————————————————————————
Operation: FINAL DAWN
Tags: Open​

The Resurrection-Class Battlecruiser ‘Magnus’ sat in orbit of the dead world, Najra-Va’s history as a test bed for Starkiller Base was crucial in it’s selection among the worlds within the Unknown Regions for the ambitious project at hand. It was no mystery why the FINAL DAWN was here, such a grand venture needed to be tended to delicately at every avenue to ensure it’s success. The secretive sect of Sith sympathizers and Deep Core dwellers was here at the beck and call of their Dark Lord, Darth Solipsis . A firm hand to guide the chaotic wave of violence that is the Hidden Maw.

Admiral Garrick stood at the viewport on his bridge gazing out at the constitution as it took place. A lone Praetorian-class Star Destroyer came into view over the recently constructed orbital dockyards hastily built by the resources of the Dread Forge and the slave labor of the countless victims taken by the Brotherhood. The Sith cultist and Admiral stood straight with his arms crossed as he rose his right hand to cup his chin in thought. He watched Crucifix I Destroyers pass by in the backdrop with distain and turned briefly to his subordinate at his side,

“Barbaric designs, these marauders and soothsayer cultists will be our doom.”

“We are under their umbrella sir. Our fate is tied to theirs.”

“I’m aware Captain. That doesn’t change my opinion on the matter, we do what we must to advance the Brotherhood’s crusade for the eventual coming of the FINAL DAWN. With this weapon we will have the power to return to the Core Worlds and make war upon the galaxy proper. I long for the day when we seize the galaxy by the throat.”

 

[Irratar Hemstagon]

"Deep... in the halls of the Broken Skull, lies the blade....!" A chorus of female voices echoing in a chaotic orchestra sounds over the marble-layered deck of the Temple. The cloaked woman knelt in the very middle of the star-shaped chamber lowers her gaze, as she reaches her arm to her face, removing the white mask... All around her, crimson Dark Side energy emits from the very floor, circling around the room as if it has a will on its own. "I see... I see..." The woman moves her tattooed palms over before her face, as purple lightning sparkles start errupting from underneath the skin. The momentary light produced casts the shadow of the fabric hood aside, only to reveal the empty eye sockets, over the two red straps, carved against her cheeks vertically, like an everlasting rail of tears, from an invisible eye...

"The Great Fiend... is calling us."



The Dark Side calls. Echoes in the cold void. Screams. A symphony of Dread and ancient chains, clacking against eachother in the invisible dungeons. Moments later, through a a sudden flash, gateway from the Hyperspace, emerges the long spiked keel of the Blood Spear. Her hull tainted by a dark aura, embracing the massive warship as she pierces through the cold void. Only so much can an eye recall from the countless carved symbols and spikes and golden statues, spread all across the armour of the vast abomination, which is slowly pushed forth by the monsterous roaring engines. At the very forecastle, over the numerous turrets and cannon batteries, stood proudly, the tall complex of the Dark Temple-Palace. A becon of the grim phasma that surrounded the warship; A mere indication, of the horrors one would face, by venturing onboard the Spear. Behind her, several escort warships of the same architecture. Long chains and chaotic gargoyle statues cause discomfort, at the least, to whoever rested his gaze upon them for too long...


"What an abomination..." Irratar Hemstagon intoned. He stood tall, onboard the bridge of the Spear, with both his palms resting calmly atop eachother, on his long, highly decorated hilt, held against the ground before his belt. "Savages, Lord Prince... No better than the worshippers of the Fiend..." The armoured female figure behind him commented, before the view of the miscreation; The Holy City. "And yet; They own the stars... And the army to run them red... This is what you could call...." replied the Prince, with his eyes fiery by the taint of the Dark Side, as he embraced the view. A new beginning. A new challenge. A new Dawn. He held back his words, before completing his sentace; No particular reason. Only for him to enjoy just a little bit of satisfaction of its meaning:

"Good Business"

The Spear shall approach the Holy City from the distant void, slowing down her speed the closer she were to the site. Armed to the teeth, bringing her own breeze of corruption, the Spear seemed to call through the very Force; A Darkest Call; Ritual casted by the many dark adepts of the warship, easy to sense by all masters of the Dark Arts as a grim hawling, through the invisible mountains of the Force.

In time, clearly awhile after the Athysian host has made itself more than visible, a transmission shall be sent, to establish a communication channel...

 

[The Mongrel]

Location: Moon of Najra-Va, Abandoned Temple
Tags: Open

In a long-dead village on this forsaken moon, the Brotherhood of the Maw celebrated through the night.

Csilla, the greatest of their battles yet, was behind them. They had faced down the great powers of the galaxy, and though they had emerged bloodied and bruised, they had survived. They mayhem they had sown and the riches they had plundered would ensure that none would ever forget their assault on the Chiss capital, not in a thousand years. The Brotherhood had proven once and for all that they could stand toe to toe with the mighty fleets and lightsworn champions of "civilization" and come away unbroken. From here the battles would only grow more difficult and more numerous as their foes united again and again to stop them.

And The Mongrel would have it no other way.

The Bloodsworn raid leader strode through the abandoned streets surrounding the ancient temple, a slight sway to his step - partly because of his lingering injuries, and partly thanks to the alcohol beginning to course through his veins. In his fist he clutched a drinking horn made from the hollowed-out chitin of a Branchlurker's knee spike. It was brimming with bloodmead, the potent alcoholic beverage brewed by Brotherhood beastmasters from Gore Wasp nectar. The syrupy liquid was strong and sickly-sweet, like sugared whiskey, with an aftertaste like the juices dripping from cooking meat. The digested prey of the Wasps, preserved in their honey, lent that effect.

The streets were alive with fire, harsh voices, and pulsing music. Burning torches lit every alcove and alleyway, and huge wicker men woven from dried Lao-mon vines had also been set alight. Inside them, captured Alliance and NIO banners, uniforms, and other equipment burned in a blazing offering to the Three Avatars. They had once contained prisoners, as well, those captured personnel who had been too injured to be worth pressing into labor as slaves. But the lighting of the effigies had taken place at the beginning of the festival, which was now in full swing, and the screaming had stopped long ago. The heat was so intense that not even bones would remain.

More plunder had been thrown atop the charred corpses, keeping the fire going. Even now, marauders sorted through the huge piles of loot in the central square, brawling over the choicest offerings to cast into the flame; personal trophies had to be taken in combat, but anyone could make a tribute to the Avatars out of the general plunder. Of course, not everything would burn. Practical items like blasters and armor would be sorted out of the piles, to be used in the next conquest. The question of who got them was simply decided: whoever could seize them and keep them from the other marauders deserved to have them, by right of strength and cunning.

The Mongrel turned away from the square, heading up toward the temple. Perhaps he would look through the plunder later, but first, the feast awaited. Staggering forward, the Bloodsworn marauder threw open the doors, letting the sounds of the temple wash over him. Huge tables had been set up inside, each of them enough to seat fifty. They had been heaped with fine foods, some of them delicacies hunted from the worlds under the Maw's banner, others seized from the rich households of Cspalar when the Brotherhood had ravaged the city. Bloodmead flowed freely, and the men and women most favored by the Maw ate and drank their fill.

It was an honor to be permitted into the feast at all; most of the Brotherhood, even those who had fought amid the snows and skies of Csilla, were confined to the festival tents outside. But The Mongrel knew that he had earned this honor, earned it by commanding much of the ground assault - not to mention dueling a Jedi and coming out of it alive. He would have many new scars as his wounds began to heal, marks of the great battles he had survived, proof that he was worthy. New battles would soon follow, and new scars... but for tonight, it was time to eat, drink, and celebrate. There would be gluttony and boasting in every corner before the night was through.

The raucous hall echoed with the savage joy of the Maw.

 

[Darth Solipsis]

INTO THE UNKNOWN

THE DARK VOICE | BROTHERHOOD OF THE MAW
NAJRA-VA | HOLY CITY OF GEHINNOM
Irratar Hemstagon

​

Vruuuumm.

The sound of a holographic image display would echo through the chamber, an image of the Dark Voice and one of the Athysian Prince as a communication channel was opened after the brief transmission. The daunting pressure of the Dark Side permeated the very image of the Dark Lord as he looked upon the Prince with a terrible glare. The sight of the Voice robbed many of breath, stealing an ounce of strength and resolve from those he set his vile gaze upon. During the Gathering so long ago now, he had touched upon the minds of the Hidden Maw's most powerful champions and filled them with horrific zealotry. Now he had abandoned his false trappings, the ceremonial garb reserved for the Voice of the Maw, and adorned the robes of his true persona hidden in the shadow of a black hood. The awfulness of his wretched form revealed for all to see, his presence a flensing, frightening force.

He did not speak at first, he observed and studied the man briefly before speaking with a hushed tone.

"You've come."

He raised his head, looking upon the Prince with eyes of praise and dark grimace beneath the surface.

"I can feel the palpable aura of the Dark Side. The carrion call of the Bogan."

The Dark Voice rose his hand in gesture, beckoning the Prince forth with a rigor mortis claw from the otherside of the hologram.

"You will come to me and speak, we have much to discuss I sense."

 

[Irratar Hemstagon]

The eyes of the Prince sparkled by the taint of the Dark Side remain pierced on the grim figure, sharing no words. Only a slight nod towards the holoprojection. It felt as there was little to be spoken, the two parties were in need to voice. As the holoprojection is disconnected, mere seconds after the Dark Lord's call, the Prince turns to the nearby figure. "Prepare my ship; It seems we have our answer..." the Prince spoke, as he walked calmly away from the bridge. The figure nods his head, before gesturing with his arm to the nearby operators. "The Lord's shuttle. Keep a hoplite squadron at the ready..." the almost soulless-sounding voice of the noble came without color, or strength; As if it was but air, forced through the torn lungs.

In due time, Irratar Hemstagon 's shuttle was enroute to the Holy City. As soon as directions for landing were to be given, the shuttle would reach. The external colour deep red, with several black symbols all across the wings and cabin armour. Clearly, indications of the blessings, or prayers the shuttle had received by the owning cult.

The Prince shall not alter his posture while onboard the shuttle. Escorted by the several thick-armoured warriors, wielding their square shields and having their curved Athysian blades a grip away, in the sheaths by their belts. He shall pace out the landing bridge upon disembarking on the dark City's ground. He takes a deep breath, moving his yellow eyes across, clearly studying any single detail of the terrain; The troops... the structure... The energy surrounding it... He gently moves his ring-filled fingers over his forehead, stroking his invisible hair back, as his palm scratches over the black tattoos his skull was painted with, over the ears and neck...




Darth Solipsis

 

[The Messenger]

The shriveled form of Dark Father Dagothur, wrapped in the fine silks once adorned by mighty Deacon Marduk came into view. The Heathen Priest glided through the sea of champions and worthy on approach to the defiled halls of the ancient temple. Flanking his wretched body was two Palatine Guard followed by more Heathen Priests such as the powerful Mar'Sika . They had gathered their dark presences together in celebration of Csilla, soon the halls of the temple were filled and preparation began for the beginning of the ceremony. Only Anabasa , War-Priest and Sith was left to arrive among the dark figures, yet among them the mighty Dark Voice was not.

The temple hosted long tables and huge banners blatantly displaying the proud banner of the Hidden Maw. The inner chambers filled with sounds of sinister gales of the most-chosen, foods from the finest quality to the blood-drink of the most savage were laid out before them. Rivalries among the Warlords were set aside to make merry, and among the chaos of the hall a sacrifice was brought in. A lone Chiss nabbed from the homeworld Csilla.

A roar rumbled the temple, the combined savagery and war cries of the Brotherhood as all eyes fell before the youthful blue-skinned woman as she was forced kicking and screaming to advance. Dark Father Dagothur approached The Mongrel with his walking stick in hand, a staff in it’s own right and a symbol of his authority. “Tell me child, do you feel the Avatars’ blessing upon you? Chosen and Warmaker. You are most honored here my dear Bloodsworn champion”

 

[Tu'teggacha]

Location: Unknown World, Abandoned Outpost
Tags: Open

The searchlights of the assault shuttles illuminated the weathered durasteel of a landing pad, and some of the tension left Tu'teggacha's shoulders. After hours of searching, combing this desolate planet for the lost First Order facility Kyrel Ren 's information had led them to, they had finally uncovered its precise location. The old defenses, huge turbolaser turrets and missile pods that studded the base's exterior like the quills on a nexu's back remained still and silent, probably unpowered for some eight centuries. "Bring us in," the Taskmaster ordered, satisfied that they wouldn't be vaporized upon approach. Soon, the secrets of this place would belong to the Maw.

The destruction of the Mercy had taught the Brotherhood hard lessons about the cost of their war, a dark crusade in which almost the entirety of the rest of the galaxy stood against them. They had learned that even a weapon as powerful and advanced as that battlestation, which had packed the destructive power of the Death Star into a frame one sixteenth that ancient weapon's size, was far from invulnerable. Despite its tremendous offensive capabilities, which it had put to good effect over Csilla, it had proven to have the same kind of defensive flaws that had taken down all the planet-killers before it. Despite the annihilation it had wreaked, it had itself been annihilated.

The Brotherhood was too devoted to their cause, and too savagely stubborn, to allow that to be the end of their efforts to burn entire worlds to ash. But given the tremendous resources that had gone into building the Mercy, consuming much of the plunder from worlds like Mar'Zambul, Crakull, and the Croke colonies, they could not afford to allow their superweapons to easily fall victim to Jedi infiltration or overwhelming fleet power again. They needed a new approach, an advantage in technology or mysticism that would ease the path to utter destruction in the next great confrontation. And in order to secure that future, they would need to look to the past.

That was why they had come to this far-flung outpost.

The assault shuttles touched down, and marauders swarmed out, securing the desolate landing pad that extended from the barren cliff wall. Soon they would venture through the huge hangar doors that controlled access to this long-abandoned base. They would scavenge supplies to fuel their war effort, but that was only a secondary goal. Their main objective was to access the First Order computer systems, and to delve into their ancient superweapon research. It was out here, at the edge of the galaxy, that Starkiller Base had been conceived of, tested, and ultimately built. The echoes of that weapon lingered in the shadows, both at Najra-Va and in hidden labs like this one.

Tu'teggacha only hoped that brave Maw champions would aid in finding them.

 

[The Mongrel]

Location: Moon of Najra-Va, Abandoned Temple
Tags: Open

Before The Mongrel could find his seat, a new procession made its way into the temple hall. The marauder respectfully bowed his head as the Heathen Priests entered, Dark Father Dagothur leading them... and a struggling, screaming captive held in their midst. The tribesmen turned as one at the sight of their spiritual guides and the sacrifice they had brought, pounding their flagons on the feasting tables and chanting discordant praises to the Hidden Maw. In general, no marauder respected anyone who had not proven themselves in combat. The priests were a rare exception. They were a conduit to the Avatars, and thus the bearers of holy teachings.

Suddenly, the Dark Father changed course, approaching the spot where The Mongrel stood. A strange thrill ran down the marauder's spine as he realized that the Heathen Priest meant to address him. He was still unaccustomed to being honored; it had not been so long ago when he had been among the lowest of the low, struggling to survive at the bottom of the heap. Even with the mark of the Dark Voice upon him, a corrupted blessing bestowed when he had been reborn on that forgotten colony world, he had been forced to claw his way up bit by bit, proving his strength and cunning. He had hoped to survive, but he had never dared to dream of this.

"The Avatars choose who lives and who dies," The Mongrel replied, "so I feel their blessing in each battle I survive. War rules my life, Death guides my hand, and Rebirth made me who I am." It was true; he no longer even remembered the life he had lived before the Maw, not even the flashes that had occasionally plagued him in those early days of his career as a marauder. Back then, he had been half-mad, so lost in his pain that his mind could contain only a base, animalistic cunning and desire to share his agony. But with each battle he endured, a jagged shard of his old self had been pulled away, like pieces of shrapnel removed from a wound.

Now he was fully reforged, ready to serve the Maw with a mind made whole, molded back together in the fires of faith and battle. It was the Avatars he had to thank, and their guiding principles: self sufficiency, right of conquest, and a belief in the impermanence of all things. The Mongrel now accepted something he had tried to fight against in his old life: that there was no escaping fate. Heroes and villains, gods and monsters, all were subject to the insurmountable power of time. Every cycle came to an end. Everyone and everything died. But the galaxy spun on, and something new would always rise. But sometimes people had to be pushed into letting go.

"Let the greatest honor tonight be to the Dark Three."

 

[The Messenger]

The Dark Father smiled with a wicked grin of satisfaction in The Mongrel 's words, the Heathen Priest gave a curt nod and pressed his hands together in mimicry of prayer.

"Blessed be. You've honored the Hidden Maw with your faith and zealotry, such deeds are not scarcely forgotten my child. May the Avatars grant us continued resilience through the ages as we bring down their holy wrath upon this bleak stagnant galaxy."

His attention drifted away, momentarily drawn to the struggling sacrifice being brought up on stage before the crowd of warlords and champions. Brought up kicking and screaming, fighting tooth and nail. The Chiss woman struggled against her assailants and would-be wardens. Dagothur scoffed and shook his head in amusement while speaking out of the corner of his mouth with his eyes still focused ahead,

"They never learn. Such a shame they fight against Rebirth's holy touch so, their people are admirably well entrenched if not impossibly outnumbered. Their intellect could of been a great resource harnessed against our enemies but I suppose the information gleaned from their wretched hive on Csilla will do. I take great pleasure in watching each and everyone of them die."

He wasn't joking, a sick sense of enjoyment spread across his face as the Heathen Priest basked in the fear radiating from the sacrifice. A worthy end for unworthy prey.

 

[Derix Tirall]

Objective 2: The World Is Yours
Resurrection Class Battlecruiser ‘Magnus’
——————————————————————————
Operation: FINAL DAWN
Tags: Aldo Garrick​

There was a certain idyllic beauty in mass destruction.

Take the destruction of Alderaan for example. The Rebellion nearly had been disbanded in the aftermath of the great silencing. Thus, as history was doomed to repeat itself, the Galactic Alliance and all it's allies would crumble in the face of the power the Brotherhood would soon possess. A smile tugged at the edge of High Regent's lips as he pondered the thought.

The metallic armored doors to the Bridge of the Magnus opened with a hiss shortly after the lifts screeching stop. The twin Palatine Guards which served as the Regent's personal bodyguards made the way for him to exit first, with both following in lock step behind him. Eventually the red clad warriors stopped directly at the end of the catwalk overseeing the Pit Crew.

The High Regent offered the Admiral a toothy grin as he spoke to him "These shipyards are only the beginning" He paused to guide his hand to the vewscreen in front of him, the Captain, and the Admiral. "Our factories will burn the skies of these worlds to oblivion as our army grows. In time, these thugs will no longer be necessary"

Like the Admiral, the High Regent also had his reservations with the marauders and cultists of the Brotherhood. Among their number he saw not the desire to reforge the galaxy, but to plunder it.

He noticed the lone Praetorian Class Star Destroyer lurking in the void. A worthy successor to the Resurgent, the Praetorian was a powerful battlecruiser in it's own right. "Nice to know the shipyards are operating without hindrance"

 

[Kyrel Ren]

Objective: 3


The Maw’s time was running short. Csilla was a sign of that. The time was short to bide one’s time within the Unknown Regions, the galaxy had now become aware that the Unknown was not the same as empty. The barbaric forces led by the Heathen Priests, and the man known as Solipsis had some mystery that Kyrel could not place. The voice in his head he was sure was not him, the voices often shifted from that of Vader, Sieger, and many others. When it remained an original consistency , the voice was dark, deep and carried a frightening tone that carried an echo with it.

The voice was accompanied by waves in the Force. The waves themselves brought about visions, some of those visions had come to pass. As what occurred on Csilla was something of a spiritual awakening within Kyrel, now that he had been convinced that he was now walking the path to the next prophecy. To see himself seated before a throne, and himself leading armies of monsters against all of the galaxy, for he was convinced that both the Jedi and Sith must die. All of them had to die for only through resurrection through the Maw’s embrace lied salvation.

The first step towards salvation was the creation of a new weapon. One of which Kyrel long knew of in his fascination with history. That of Starkiller Base. The power of such a weapon was not only capable of traveling through hyperspace at a rate akin to a gamma ray burst, but could split like a shotgun blast hitting several worlds. While he coveted the Force above all, he recognized that a new era of terror had emerged that super weapons now had a use in bringing the galaxy to heel.


He knew of such places that could hold such knowledge. Dangerous places that had been operated by the old First Order centuries ago, even rumored to be used by Darth Sidious during his reign as Emperor. Accompanied with him were his Knights of Ren, and within the stolen craft known as the Night Vulture. The craft zipped through the edges of the system. The site of a testing ground for weapon had carried an outpost of which Kyrel would make use of its secrets. Nothing was said, for the Ren knew of they’re master’s intentions. They would only serve for Kyrel would serve the Shadow’s wishes. The craft, docking next to the airlock. Extending the boarding clamp to the door. When the door emerged, smoke cleared and with it Kyrel emerged in his armor that paid homage to both Vader and Kylo Ren alike but carried his own mark.

The Ren stepped carefully within the darkness, with the blades of red igniting to illuminate the darkness. Reminiscent of Kyrel’s time serving within the First Order, much of the design was familiar yet carried an archaic air with it. His senses heightened as he felt like he was being watched throughout the corridors the Ren following close behind him. They would have to reach the research part of the station and Kyrel would access the records from there. The voice was all but quiet now, and Kyrel took that as a sign as he was close.

 

[Bendak Crail]

Objective: 3


Despite yet another close call with death on Csilla. Bendak was starting to believe he was carrying a fatal case of bad luck with him. First Mustafar, now Csilla. He didn’t know how he made it out, but knew that his resolve was not weakened, for now he followed his Master to the far depths of space for knowledge. Kyrel had only shared little of his plan, but as with the Siege of Mustafar, Kyrel was always up to something alive or dead and carried a trick up his sleeve.

The trip to this outpost was silent, not much of a word was spoken amongst the Ren. It was like a job as usual not many would speak in or out of a mission, and Kyrel was seldom on details. All they knew was that secrets lied within this First Order outpost. Capable of bringing great reward should one uncover such secrets within.

Bendak said nothing, only following close behind when they managed to finally dock on board. All around them the area was dark, little breathable air within, but was little issue for the Masked Ren. With a few lightsabers ignited to bathe the halls in crimson light. There were old useless things, Datapads, Stormtrooper armor long obsolete along with the blasters. Decay was everywhere.


Yet he knew something was not quite right with Kyrel. The dark figure seemed wary of what happens on the station, while to Bendak only seemed to remain nothing but a derelict relic. They continued to say nothing. Moving as if they were shadow. Even within the darkened halls they didn’t seem to encounter much issue. All they had seem to find was relics long forgotten, but when they walked the path to halls filled with work involving tubes, beakers even what seemed to be experimental work that showed gruesome discoveries of skeletons, and mangled droids.


Yet he himself was starting to notice something was not quite right with the station, there was something off putting, he could finally notice the uneasiness of his Master, and understand that the outpost was not exactly empty after all, clutching his saber tightly while they kept roaming the dark halls. He was ready to act as soon as his master did, for nothing would stop them from reaching the prize that his master sought within such a derelict place.

 

[TK-818]

Bendak Crail | Kyrel Ren​

The Knights of Ren arrived in full force on the barren surface of the unidentified world, making land for the dock ahead they touched down upon an old First Order outpost. This structure, this station, held information their great master Kyrel Ren knew would bring forth a weapon of unspeakable horror. Documents, data, and weapons schematics for a planet killer of unimaginable scale. It was only natural for they, the Knights of Ren, to be among those who would recover such powerful documents for the Brotherhood. It was their divine right to rise once more in the power gap that would follow the Great Journey out of the Unknown Regions into Known Space bringing with them death for all who would oppose them.

Csilla was just the beginning.

The Ren would spread the teachings of the Shadow across the galaxy and all would fear the reign of their master over any other. The Brotherhood would be their greatest instrument, their mightiest weapon, their sharpest tool.

Entering the station, the Knight of Ren could feel something amiss in the air. An odd uncertainty that confused him and drew upon his curiosity to no end. The station seemed empty, following in the wake of their master it appeared as such yet his thoughts deceived him. He could sense something waiting beneath the surface, beneath the facade of emptiness and decay.

Sinh spun his poled weapon slowly, twirling it into a ready stance as he followed along carefully. To what end would they find what they were looking for?

 

[Aldo Garrick]

Objective 2: The World Is Yours
Resurrection Class Battlecruiser ‘Magnus’
——————————————————————————
Operation: FINAL DAWN
Tags: Derix Tirall​

The moment he heard the doors swing open his veteran instincts kicked in as he shifted his gaze immediately center fold as the High Regent approached the command deck flanked by two Palatine Guards. The Red Guards zealously followed their master as he neared the Admiral and Captain alike. With a polite bow he adjusted his head and hung it low,

“Ah well met High Regent Tirall, what honor brings his lordship aboard this day? I agree your lordship, these shipyards are but a taste of what is to come.”

Admiral Garrick looked out the viewport briefly, interlocking his fingers behind his back as he glanced off at the stars before settling his wandering eyes back onto the Praetorian in the distance.

“Production for Operation: FINAL DAWN is at an all time high sir. With the new addition of O’Reen under our belt we have a substantial workforce and gene pool to draft for the next generation of soldiers under the FINAL DAWN.”

“We are ahead of schedule.”

 

[The Mongrel]

Location: Moon of Najra-Va, Abandoned Temple
Tags: Open

The Mongrel watched impassively as the Chiss sacrifice was brought to the center of the hall. He had to admire the woman's fighting spirit; she was behaving exactly as he would in such a circumstance, clawing for any chance at survival - or at least revenge - even when the odds were utterly impossible. He had been blessed so far, as the Dark Father had said; when he had faced Jedi or overwhelming armies, he had always managed to survive through grit and cunning. But the Avatars did not promise eternal fidelity. One day, his blessings might run out. One day, he might find himself in the same place as this Chiss woman, with no chance of escape.

He swore to himself that he would face death with the same ferocity.

"It is so," he finally replied, emerging from his thoughts. The Mongrel was not a warlord, and did not concern himself with questions of grand strategy in the campaign against the Chiss. His only concern was direct victory over whatever force the warlord he served pitted him against, and thus far he had done well. He agreed, however, that the Chiss would be unlikely to ever join the Brotherhood's ranks in any significant numbers. They were a rigid society, and their regimented traditions had allowed them to survive the Unknown Regions thus far... but that same rigidity kept them from embracing the Maw's gospel of rebirth, for rebirth could only follow great distruption.

They would never accept that the old cycle was coming to an end.

"Let this sacrifice be a symbol of the Death that will follow our War," he intoned, watching as the Chiss woman was brought to the altar. "As you say, blood and fire will end the galaxy's stagnant hierarchies." Somewhere along the line, The Mongrel had stopped merely struggling to survive among the marauders and started to truly embrace the dark gospel of the Maw. It fueled him now, gave him strength through faith. Only by believing in the Final Dawn, the inevitable close of a cycle that had led to unending suffering as Jedi and Sith traded blows for tens of thousands of years, could he - or anyone - see true hope in this broken universe.

"Who will wield the knife, Dark Father?" An honored role.

 

[Kyrel Ren]

Objective: 3

TK-818

The halls were an eerie quiet, as the group of masked mauraders made their way through the various sections of the station. Yet he felt the eyes of the darkness watching him, studying the Master of Ren, yet he didn’t pay no mind to it. That was until when he saw a section that read the research labs. To his surprise he foound it all too easy. Given that a station had been abandoned for centuries. You would think there would be something to guard it.

As soon as he thought that, he instantly regretted it, as a pair of eyes emerged, and what came out was a big bulky black droid. Reminiscent of Imperial Dark Troopers. Emerging in a pack, with the lead one in a quick move, knocked over Kyrel’s saber from his grasp. The saber sent flying across the hall. With Kyrel grasping arm to arm with the droid as if in a wrestling match. Strength to strength. Both trying to push and pull back each other while the other droids in the squad emerged and started firing blasters upon the group of Ren.

Still locked in a grip with the lead droid. Focused on his rage, he started to push back with his undead strength, and soon started to crush the arms of said droid. Before with a powerful force blast. Sent the droid flying across the hall. Before smashing into a wall, going through it and several of the durasteel wall. Pulling his saber back into his hand, the crimson blade igniting with a hiss. With a growl in his voice. The crimson blade bathing the darkness. “Knights, you are released, destroy these obsolete droids!”

 

[Marlon Sularen]

NAJRA-VA , UNKNOWN REGIONS
On Route to the Magnus...

Najra-Va. Sularen had never heard of this Planet before. The Planet had been used as a test site for the Starkiller Base Superweapon utilized by the First Order and now the Brotherhood of the Maw had established a strong presence her aiming to build a Second Superweapon after the destruction of the first one over Csilla. To Sularen the development of these Superweapons were a waste of resources allocating important resources which could have been used for the construction of Star Dreadnoughts into massive weapons of mass destruction which would only see action once before being destroyed.

Sularen's Shuttle jumped out of Hyperspace , revealing the full extent of the Brotherhood's efforts here on Najra-Va. The Holy City itself was anchored over the Dead Planet and while Sularen did not entirely approve of the Maw's Tactics given their history of enslaving and pillaging , the BotM was the only way Sularen could reshape the Core into his vision , a vision he shared with Darth Solipsis. A Purified Galaxy , free from the Troubles of Sith and Jedi one where he would rule over the Worlds that once defied him such as Corella and Duros with their recent blockade on Sularen's Throneworld.

The Shuttle soon received clearance and soon landed within the ventral hangars of the Resurrection-Class Battlecruiser. Soon enough Sularen , flanked by his Ten Crimson Guards as he began headed towards the bridge ready to discuss on how to move forward against the Galactic Triumvirate comprised of the Alliance , New Jedi Order. However with the recent events on Byss , the BotM was provided with a monumental opportunity. Especially when two of it's members turned on another member within the GA which might cus friction within the Alliance if Sularen played his cards right.

One Day , the Core Worlds would fall and with it's fall , it would be Purified just as Sularen envisioned. The Destruction of the Democratic History of the Core Worlds , and the elimination of rotten elements by annihilating entire worlds and spare those who would serve the Envisioned Pure Empire. Sularen would have his Revenge and would make sure anyone who crossed him would meet the fate of his enemies one-way or anothr.

Tags | Aldo Garrick | Derix Tirall ​

 

[Derix Tirall]

Objective 2: The World Is Yours
Resurrection Class Battlecruiser ‘Magnus’
——————————————————————————
Operation: FINAL DAWN
Tags: Aldo Garrick | Marlon Sularen​

"Excellent" He nodded as Admiral Garrick reported on the status of the nascent FINAL DAWN fleet.

"The galaxy lies in ruin" He stated matter-of-factly. With the Byrn'dual opposed only by the Silver Jedi Concord and the leaders of the Alliance, First Order and New Imperial Order focused on their respective witch hunts, be them internal, external or both. The Confederacy was another matter entirety. Their reentrance in the galactic scene could be catastrophic to the plans of FINAL DAWN.

"I must admit, our friend Sularen has shown he could useful in more ways than one. The political aspects of the failed Byss Blockade will make him a populist hero to those dissatisfied with the rule of Chandra" Although the High Regent initially had his doubts as to where the loyalties of the self-titled Lord Imperator, current events could not have played out any better. "Thus, he would be an ideal Grand Moff"

Eventually. It nothing but pure irony when the High Regent was informed of the Lord Imperator's arrival on the warship. "Speak of the Devil"

 

[Tu'teggacha]

Location: Unknown World, Abandoned Outpost
Tags: Open

While the Ren combed the station that Kyrel had reserved for his own secretive order, Tu'teggacha and his forces fanned out through the cliffside outpost, searching for similar secrets. The Taskmaster rarely took on a combat role of any kind, but he did prefer to oversee the Maw's logistical projects personally. Keeping the great horde supplied was a daily challenge of epic proportions. A constant flow of food and ammunition was only the beginning; there was an ongoing need for starship fuel, beast fodder, durasteel ore, and a thousand other valuable materials across the dozens of worlds where the Brotherhood operated. And there was always a pressing need for fresh soldiers.

There had been a time when Tu'teggacha had taken a personal hand in breaking every single one of the Maw's slave-soldiers, but that had long since become impossible. By the time of the battle at Csilla, tens of thousands of marauders had to be in training at a time, some of them cloned and some recruited. The Ebruchi had been forced to delegate to Lesser Taskmasters, instilling in them the dark arts of torture, discipline, and personality-forging... though none had come close to equalling him in those skils, much less surpassing him. He was still the greatest mind-shaper the Brotherhood had, and still performed his delicate work on high-value and high-priority captives.

Even so, he had been spending less and less time in his domain, the dungeons beneath Holy Gehinnom. Instead he found himself deployed over and over to the edges of Brotherhood space and beyond, running urgent new operations and putting his abilities through fresh tests. In a way he missed the old days - just him, his vibro-scalpel, and a screaming, thrashing prisoner to break down and reforge. Now he was reshaping the galaxy rather than individuals, and the work had lost some of the hands-on, personal pleasure he'd relished. Still, he could not deny the advances that the Brotherhood had made... nor the advances he himself had been granted. His power was greater than ever.

Which brought him back to the present, hobbling through the darkened hallways of the old First Order outpost. The place had been long, long deserted, and the first priority was to restore power so that a proper search could be conducted; too many things might be missed in the dark. The scavenging force had brought power cells and fuel rods with them, the crates carried between hunched labor slaves, so that they could reactivate the lights as soon as the generators were located. Thankfully, it didn't take long; the old First Order, like the new one, had prided itself on efficiency and organization. Their bases were intuitively laid out, engineered to maximize workflow.

"Bring the generators online," Tu'teggacha commanded, sweeping dust off the aging metal.