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[Onansi of Thyrsus]

IMPERIAL ASSEMBLY
Irveric Tavlar Rurik Fel Cromwell Arjant Clevenger Caarlyle Rausgeber DECEASED Erskine Barran
Noel Strasza Julian Qar Fiolette Fortan Willan Tal

"Such a being that mingles with powers of resurrection and darkness was bound to be an enemy of the Order. I'm sure it was expected to be later, rather than sooner, but this is where we are now. " Onansi declared.

Waving a hand in the direction of the Major Strasza and the Field Medic Qar, Onansi appraised them curiously.

The Carlaci Corps volunteered for IMPMAG? The allies that had benefitted from it the most had undoubtedly been the Silver Concord, then the Ashlans. The Galactic Alliance had very little interests within the Tingel Arm now that the Sith Empire was gone, and so whatever forces on loan had likely been returned. As such, with only the Silver Jedi forced to suffer the consequences from the possibility of Haketh's death... How was he meant to care?

"It is unlikely that there will be war caused from Halketh's death, Major. Forces sent to our allies or not, the man made a declaration that he was no longer Imperial. No longer bound to the Order that secured the hold of his Barony. Any power within this galaxy worthy of being called a major, already knows of this traitor. Feigning ignorance to declare war on our Order? Nobody wants that." It would be good to finally put an end to this bureaucracy and truly open the Order to Total War though. And besides, their alliance was with Jedi. Peacemakers, and weaklings.

"Bathe the world in fire. They are insurgents, rebels against the cause of the Order. Worst of all, led by a Dark Sider whose declaration would've undoubtedly summoned vengeful entities of remnant Sith forces." Onansi gave a look to those that were of a similar mind as he. To Rurik, Rausgeber, and Clevenger, reluctantly, but nevertheless. "You do not let a leech grow fat off of its sustenance of you. You rip it off and cast it away. We cannot let this traitor grow stronger by being soft-handed, careful of the opinions of 'allies' who are just as likely to fight with us, as they are to cower and flee, in fear of being named killer, in war."

 

[Irveric Tavlar]

I M P E R A T O R
NEW IMPERIAL ORDER
RAVELIN | BASTION
Willan Tal | Onansi of Thyrsus | Mithrad | Fiolette Fortan | Arjant Clevenger | Noel Strasza | DECEASED Erskine Barran | Julian Qar
@Rokiwillsit

WRITING ON THE WALL
​

Without much deliberation, the New Imperial High Command had exhausted any peaceful solution before ever bringing it to the table. All would be made right with blood and iron, nothing else would do here. After all, that was evident the immediate instance of the announcement of Lord Halketh's open call for rebellion.

In Empire- there was one solution for rebels at its core. They all knew it, they all knew the path they'd walked had been walked before- but the question came with who and what was a rebellious entity on Carlac. Was it purely the government with elements of the Carlaci Corps? How much of its population was complicit was another matter. But they could not simply wage the total war which New Imperial doctrine had adapted itself to throughout the Third Imperial Civil War.

"So what I'm being told is that...Lord Halketh- where ever this man might be is supposedly untouchable...and so what...to fold to his demands?" He says in response to Major Strasza.

"We all hold part of the correct answer...but in the end, whatever the Galaxy thinks- none of us should care. We have a planet in rebellion, sedition. I hold no sympathy for the sycophant, narcissistic parasite who had declared this revolt. Whatever lofty virtues he might espouse, he dabbles with darkness and he will face the consequences. Within twenty four hours, the Iron Sun rises over Carlac." He says before looking to Caarlyle Rausgeber

"Lock down the orbital sphere of the Carlac system, ground support will follow to seize control of the planet. Sedition will be ripped from its roots and this world will be normalized. Anything short of that is a negligent measure. Whatever consequences this deceitful vermin has waiting for us...we'll address then. But we have no time to deliberate any of that. Is there any further input this High Command has of this matter?" He inquired following his decisive declaration.

 

[Halketh]

C U N N I N G
C A E L I T U S
Irveric Tavlar Willan Tal Julian Qar Fiolette Fortan Cromwell
Onansi of Thyrsus DECEASED Erskine Barran Caarlyle Rausgeber Arjant Clevenger Mithrad

​

Discussion with the tribe's leader had gone about how he expected it to: the refusal to leave their home. So it would be then, they would be at the mercy of the dogs should they be discovered. It wasn't until a voice rang distantly in his mind that he halted in his gait, freezing in his tracks amidst the sleet and snow pouring down from the skies. The decision had been made. They were coming.

One half of him twisted in the throes of silent anxiety at the thought, whilst the other accepted it with all the silent grace one could have expected from him. Into the depths of his darkened mind, he retreated, reaching out through the blackened veil to seize a singular red thread trailing from himself to another.

"The time has come." His voice resonated across that line, reverberating to the unseen.​

In the same distant space, Ravelin, The Assembly would animate further. Poised with eerie discipline on the fringes of the meetings stood the statuesque guards expectedly, yet this trio had been particularly motionless. No subtle shifts or changes in their posture gave away their humanity. No rise could be seen from their shoulders as they breathed in the tense air. It was all as it had been orchestrated to be.

With the reverberating command issued forth, sunken eyes beneath visors shifted, each glancing toward the one beside them until at once they all stepped forward in unison. Once. Twice. They severed access to the exit with their position, barring the door.

"Yes. The Final Dawn has come." The soldier on the left spoke in response to The Imperator, lifting his hands to pluck the helmet from his head. Red, glowing eyes decried his involvement in the scheme, as did the gaunt, ashen face staring with indifference toward those gathered. He was unliving. Their enemy's own tether to this room and meeting, a plant, fixed firmly into place to spring a trap.

Beside him, the others mirrored his motions, echoing his words with their dead, struggling vocal cords.

"The Dark Lord sends his regards."​

It all happened so quickly after. The snap of hands to belts seized the trigger mechanisms secured there, and at once, the buttons were compressed. Packed densely into the soldiers' bodies, the charges swallowed up their spark; flame to powder, the simplest of mankind's advancements. Thunder bellowed, shaking the fortress as not one, but three undead destroyed themselves in fiery, high impact explosions-

-with the Assembly trapped inside the room with them.


​

 

[DECEASED Erskine Barran]

2
THE_WOAD
OBJECTIVE 1: NORMALIZATION
RAVELIN, BASTION

Grand Imperial Assembly: Irveric Tavlar Onansi of Thyrsus Willan Tal Cromwell
Enlil Noel Strasza Caarlyle Rausgeber Arjant Clevenger Mithrad Julian Qar

​

Happy to cede speaking time to the others, Erskine was pleasantly surprised to see Lord Rurik standing to speak on the matter next, being the only other New-Imperial of note (besides Lord Erskine and Lord Halketh) who fought on Ilum's snowy surface, and thus one of only two MIA reports handed in after the kyber-excavation affair. Both Barran and Fel had sneered in the face of abject horror that day, and the Woad in particular had many pieces to pick up from that fight in particular. Starting the fight with 220 Goliath tanks and 32 Scout-AFVs, only to prevail with just 40 tanks and five AFVs, the overly-costly victory on Trench Mountain (and his duel with the Mongrel) left the Stormchaser in no position to pursue Darth Solipsis and retrieve the New Order's resident Miraluka, a decision that would inevitably lead to the Carlaci revolt as Erskine knew it. With less of an obligation, and even fewer resources to do anything about it, Rurik would find himself equally unable to do anything about the Warlord's MIA-status, making the endeavour seem twice as futile in hindsight.
So you also wish to bait their forces, their undead an' the man himself outta the woodworks? Absolute patrician!

Seeing the Lord-Executor making a point of leading the efforts on the ground, Barran knew that Fel had particular axes to grind with the Miraluka's new Mawite friends, and thus began making plans with the 501st in mind, seeking to play the role of the sacrificial-lamb on the ground as Lord Erskine planned to from the start. However, the Blue-Hearts' Brigadier-General had no choice but to extend an olive-branch at the the earliest opportunity, leading the Stormchaser to do something he always chided himself for doing, sending unexpected datapad messages without invitation. It would be more than necessary to establish that link with Lord Rurik anyway, which helped Lord Erskine come to his decision, pulling his datapad and typing out his message to the Imperator's right-hand man as he gritted his teeth with momentary self-disdain. Other speakers would have their say, Thyrsus, Prefsbelt IV and even Carlac's legendary deputy-speaker, but the Stormchaser slapped his fingertips over the touch-screen keyboard regardless, reaching out before it was viewed as barging in on the operation.

<<Greetings from the Galidraani Free-State, Lord-Executor.

I see you also wish to play the Miraluka's little game on the ground, as like me, I am guessing you also have your own game in mind. You're free to correct me if I'm wrong, of course. However, with all that being said, I request the honour of tagging along with a beefed-up contingent of mine own. Perhaps we can mow down larger swathes of the undead without worrying too much about ammunition-reserves this way.

And so, if you would have me, it would be my honour to fight these traitorous freaks with you.

Regards,
Erskine Barran.>>

By the time he was finishing up with his message to Lord Rurik, Onansi had stood to speak again and had given way to the Imperator himself, making finalized decisions on the matter before Barran could even send his message off; and yet, as was the norm with Lord Halketh as an Imperial, was always seen as an unexpected occurrence by the others, long before it had been subconsciously expected of him after becoming Darth Caelitus. After finally hitting send, the Woad could see that three soldiers had walked in and taken the floor in clear view of everyone, with one saying,'Yes. The Final Dawn has come.', before they all removed their helmets. Revealing glowing red eyes, these soldiers had seemingly been killed and reanimated for this exact purpose, attempting to sow terror on the Grand Imperial Assembly, and in turn attempting to sow terror on the New Imperial Order in it's entirety. The speaker would briefly turn back to the two others before all three looked directly at Irveric Tavlar, hoarsely groaning,'The Dark Lord sends his regards.', in unison as the guards instinctively tried to either shoot these zombies or to protect any speaker within reach.

'GET DOOOWN!!!!!'

Sensing danger a little late, but reacting in time to save his Lord-Protector's life, Lord Erskine tackled Lord Willan to the ground and protected him with his own body as the triple-detonation lit up the room in fire, smoke, bone fragments, ash and splinters of every sort being blasted in every conceivable direction. A lot of which would leave their speaker's podium in a sorry state, but it didn't help enough to stop some of those fragments and splinters peppering the upper-left side of Barran's back and his left tricep, enough to incite blood-curdling screams of agony and discomfort as Lord Willan tried his hardest to pull the wounded, obscenity-spewing Woad to safety. Tiles, lights and even slats from the roof above were falling through the intermingling smoke from the fire and the shockwave as the Free-State's leader pulled Lord Erskine out into the surrounding foyer, only stopping to lay the Woad down on his good side once they reached the least-devastated parts of the conference building.

To strike at Tavlar alone was a bold move for anyone to make, but to strike at the entire Grand Imperial Assembly in the heart of Fort Imperator with undead soldiers was an entirely new hornet's nest to kick in anger, and whether it was ill-advised or not, time would surely tell.

'AH'LL BE SEEIN' YE!!!! EVEN IF YER BOIZ END UP CHOWIN' ON ME - AH'LL BE SEEIN' YE, MIRALUKA!!!!'

 

[Caarlyle Rausgeber]

BASTION
IMPERIAL ASSEMBLY
Halketh | Irveric Tavlar | Julian Qar | DECEASED Erskine Barran | Fiolette Fortan | Cromwell | Noel Strasza | Onansi of Thyrsus | Arjant Clevenger | Rurik Fel

​

Rausgeber appraised the others and their suggestions of others with wry derision. A stern glare of glowering condescension. Clevenger and then Onansi, conversely incurred an appreciative nod. The Admiral Regent could at least respect what the men said, given they appeared to be on the same page. Even Fortan seemed to understand at least the premise of where they stood. Rebellion was a sickness. And this was not your typical kind. Insurrection occured nominally, due to an organised populace, who wished for reform. For a supposed better or more liberal society. Halketh's own work, seemed not to be with that at all. It was the work of the Sith. Trickery. The sort of trickery Project RUUSAN would soon, hopefully annihilate.

However, it was the testimony of Lieutenant Qar, whom the Admiral Regent reeled upon. He regarded the Carlaci officer with a pointed slits, and steepled his fingers. "So lieutenant, what you seek to inform the Assembly today of, is that this medical corps on Carlac, has systematically had its stores pilfered?" Rausgeber raised an eyebrow, he was rather surprised no one really jumped on this. "And that these stores have been, dispatched elsewhere?" He paused, and pondered on this. Halketh certainly was working with someone. And it seemed, based upon this, this someone required medical equipment. Perhaps they were primitive, or low in stock. But how much information could the good lieutenant be privy to? There were questions to be answered. Admittedly, tertiary to most of the assemblies queries. But still critical. "How long, if I may lieutenant, has this sort of... Theft been occurring?" He then paused again, "And are you certain that these stores have not merely been isolated beyond your purview? Excuse my incredulity lieutenant. You are but a lieutenant. And I imagine there is a great deal you may not be privy to." Carlyle then stopped himself, before he went too far. "This is not to say, your evidence before this assembly is not valid. But just to ask, you are certain that these have not been stored on planet. For perhaps a protracted siege, amongst these insurgents?"

But, those questions would be answered later. The Sovereign Imperator now demanded his attention, and Carlyle provided it. Tavlar spoke powerfully, decrying this threat. Good, very good. And then his sovereigns gaze was turned to Carlyle, drawing the Admiral Regent in. Carlyle's posture stiffened itself, as his intense gaze was bestowed upon the Sovereign Imperator. He sat tautly, and rigidly. "There will be no half measures milord." Carlyle reassured him with a nod, "As soon as this session of the Assembly is concluded, I will move to oversee preparations for the construction and make up of our fleet." He allowed a pregnant pause. "I would also like to add, that I will, authorise the distribution, if I may, of certain implements designed by Prefsbelt Command, specifically for the elimination of force users. To ensure that this, threat of this wicked sorcery, is purged. Eminently."

And then there was an awkward pause, as three guards shuffled forward. Rausgeber turned to face one of them. As he sat right behind him. And then. The helmets were removed. Their eyes glowing insidiously. "The Dark Lord?" Carlyle snapped, turning his seat around to address the newcomers. There was a preparing to verbally sear these interlopers, "I'll have you know-" And then he saw it. The hands reaching to belts. Someone in a thick Galidraani advised to take cover. Only a moment too late. "Oh..."

Carlyle had attempted, at the point of ignition to leap from his seat. Only a moment too late. He caught the full brunt of the blast. The warlord was forced atop the conference table, blown backwards by a concussive, incendiary blast. He hit the table, almost crossing its entirety, with a dull thud. Not that Carlyle could hear. His ears were ringing.

For a moment, he lay there. His face seared, and sizzling. Hair blackened by the blast. The force of it. Internally, he could feel the bones cracking. The nerve endings sizzling, flesh searing and blood rushing. Rest. Escape. All his instincts told him to run. And yet. Political moves had to be made. Although caught in the blast, the genetically enhanced body he had kept moving. Assassination attempts of this sort, had been exactly what Carlyle had designed to the body to survive. It was, ideally a superhuman form. Adrenaline began to pump. Natures own painkiller. It was time for the show. Rolling onto his stomach, Carlyle began crawling, across the table. The Admiral Regent winced with each and every move. Initial analysis indicated, broken left humerus, and four ribs, three left and one right.

Not to worry. Rausgeber, with some pain, made his way to Tavlar's place, and limply getting off the table, knelt beside the man. Assessing any damage. This was a time for loyalty. To display where one's place lay. And for now at least, that was at the side of the Sovereign Imperator. "Medic!" He barked, clutching his wounded arm. His white uniform, a crisp black. With shrapnel from the blast torn through, "I want a bloody medic! The Imperator!" Rausgeber barked, leaning down over Tavlar, checking his life signs, he spotted the Carlaci medic, Julian was it? "Lieutenant! So help me by the Force, if you are a doctor get you arse over here!" Carlyle bellowed at the man, reaching across his body for holster on his belt with his good arm, "Help, make sure he's alright! You will ensure the health and stability of your sovereign, I'll cover you!" Rausgeber snapped, there was no knowing if there were more of these assassins. Or if there was even inside help.

But if there was inside help then....The pistol twitched and turned to Julian. No one was at this point beyond suspicion. If these were messengers of Halketh's, then the traitor may still be among them. Perfidious as it was. And what better traitor within there with them, to finish off the weakened lions, than the supposed whistleblower medic? Still. While adrenaline fuelled paranoia ran deep, he could not deny that there may have been the need for a medical professional. Hopefully, the sight of a medium rare Admiral Regent angrily shaking a pistol was enough to discourage any ill-intent. "You at all harm the Sovereign Imperator, at all compromise his safety, or his health? I will ensure your suffering is eternal!"

 

[Fiolette Fortan]

​

​

Perhaps it was her 'old-world' sentimentality that disapproved of starving out systems, but if she knew Sith. There wouldn't be a single person on Carlac who wouldn't be fighting whether they wanted to or not. Reluctantly she was inclined to agree with the Warlord of Thysrus. Of course, the Sovereign Imperator had a point - thus Carlac's fate had already been sealed. The matter of the Sith however would be something else entirely she supposed, but first was to suppress the rebellion.​

​

If Fiolette were to contribute any further to the Assembly's meeting, it was cut short. All she could hear was Barran scream. Her feed was cut, and from what she could tell before it was cut - the Sith did exactly what they always do. Put on their dramatics for the show, a prelude of what was to be, no doubt. From the safety of her villa on Ord Trasi, the Galidraani summoned her personal guards who escorted her to the shuttle landing pad.​

​

"I want every detail on this Lord Halketh that is available to me, make copies and pass them onto her Lordship Kassandra Distorith ." Fiolette ordered her assistant. Whilst the bodyguards sat on either side of the Galidraani. The view of Ord Trasi faded as the shuttle ascended toward the void.​

​

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Irveric Tavlar | Willan Tal | Caarlyle Rausgeber | Noel Strasza | DECEASED Erskine Barran | Mithrad | Rurik Fel | Arjant Clevenger | Onansi of Thyrsus | Enlil | Cromwell​

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​

​

 

[Noel Strasza]

L U C K Y
M A J O R S T R A S Z A
Ravelin, Bastion

​

They could only go back and forth so many times, verbally pacing like anxious animals trapped inside of enclosures far too small to house them all. So many ideals, so many concepts, so many schools of thought, and it all boiled down in this melting pot that made the decisions that saw people like her shipped off to fight in wars. It was maddening to her, to be here, to listen to them pick each other apart rather than focus on the monumental task at hand. They were perceiving it, perhaps, precisely as Halketh had wanted them to; as if he had outright declared war against the New Imperials when in actuality, those words never departed him. It stank, through and through, and the cyborg wasn't too keen on it.

But it seemed regardless of the caution she could emphasize they practice, they would go anyway.

That was what warlords did.

It was all they knew how to do.

It was obvious bait and the Assembly seemed keen to take it.

Strasza folded her arms, furrowing her brow deeply as she fell into a state of listening, weighing the options and resolve offered by those gathered here, and she remained in that posture until the guard positioned just off to the side caught her attention briefly. She had taken a headcount of the room when she entered, and they had been amongst those she accounted for, however, they distinctly were a cut above the others, it seemed, as for a moment she doubted they were even breathing at all. The discipline of the Fortress guards, she chalked it up to, ridiculously high standards to meet for a nice, cozy assignment close to home, at the heart of the Order where none would dare strike.

Even with Julian Qar 's entry to the room, the Major kept her focus on the issue at hand, and though he moved to stand beside her, she said nothing to him. Briefly, crimson lenses flicked in his direction, wondering if he was bold enough to lash out at those higher-ups present that he had tried to warn them and raise the alarm far earlier than anyone else had. He had every right to, in the commander's mind, and none would dare chide him for it.

When Tavlar spoke next, the room fell to silence, allowing his resolute words to echo through the chamber with the steely determination he had built this very empire upon. So it would be then, they were going to war. Good. She was starting to remember how utterly awful it was to be at any other state. This one would not be like the others, that much was clear, and typically she knew they did not operate on the basis of such little information, but there wasn't any other choice, really. It was a matter of time before whomever Halketh's allies were moved to bolster and reinforce Carlac, setting up shop in the middle of New Imperial territory, something that was a threat in its own right explicitly.

The soldier nodded at the orders slowly, glancing between the tense, passionate faces as his question hung in the air.

The shift of motion to her left caught her attention and she glanced behind her, narrowing her sharp eyes toward the very same peculiar guard from before. Focusing on them, her internal scanners set to motion, penetrating their armor to seek vital signs and information. ​

"Yes. The Final Dawn has come."

No.

Her eyes widened as she took to motion, reaching back reflexively to where her sidearm oft rode, only to return empty-handed. The weapons check upon her entry. She was unarmed.​

"The Dark Lord sends his regards."

Time seemed to slow as Noel rushed forward, synthetic body overcharging in an instant. Across the floor she slid in the seconds before the inevitable, twisting herself to rather abruptly intrude upon Irveric Tavlar 's personal space- a last-ditch effort to shield him from the brunt of the blast. And at once, everything went white. Her vision flickered sporadically, sensors damaged to the point of uselessness. She was on the ground, staring at the charred, debris-littered floor. She couldn't move. The HUD projected across her dying lights flared with critical alerts, but she couldn't understand them. Black, sludge-like ichor covered her body, rushing over the synthetic limbs and tissue as the only remains from their hidden assailants.

Get up.

Fingers twisted unnaturally and pressed against the ruined floor, scraping to find purchase. The dead ringing in her ears smothered the howls from the others in the room. Reeling, she could do little to help them. Fruitlessly, she struggled against the floor, trying to push herself upright over and over and over habitually, thrust headfirst into systemic shock so quickly she didn't realize one very important thing--

Both of her legs were missing.​

Irveric Tavlar Onansi of Thyrsus Mithrad Enlil Cromwell DECEASED Erskine Barran Willan Tal Caarlyle Rausgeber Arjant Clevenger Fiolette Fortan ​

 

[Irveric Tavlar]

I M P E R A T O R
NEW IMPERIAL ORDER
RAVELIN | BASTION
Willan Tal | Onansi of Thyrsus | Mithrad | Fiolette Fortan | Arjant Clevenger | Noel Strasza | DECEASED Erskine Barran
@Rokiwillsit

E L E G I A
​

The armor was waring thin...and had now- shattered. Irveric's attention was drawn to the undead automaton's eerie words for just a moment before a flash engulfed Irveric's vision. A familiar flash. One that wrenched him back through the past. The moment of reckoning, of punishment. New Sundari. Mandalore. It was more than a decade ago by now- the very moment which unmade and remade the Imperator. Embedded that Beskar demon horn within his scalp. A violent occurrence within a series of violent events within a violent life.

He was familiar with little else- than the struggle to endure, to survive, to defeat and overcome. Violence made him, unmade, remade him...and ended him. The flash of white soon snapped into a shroud of deep and endless darkness that took his vision. Nothingness- of all the horrors he'd bared witness to, this was by far the most traumatic. For there to be nothing at all, in spite of every fiber of his being reflexively and instinctively stringing together nervous responses to the lethal blow it'd taken, in spite of the cybernetically enhanced skeleton and nervous system working like it never had before to pump the lifeblood continuously through his tortured form. It was a struggle that permeated in the mind all the same.

In that blanket of nothingness, the Sovereign of the Empire was brought low- hearing and feeling nothing else but his heartbeat and violent ringing that deafened any other attempt to envelop his senses in what was around him. There was- for the first time in what felt like a life time all its own, fear.

It permeated for what felt like eternity as the fight continued and struggled to latch unto any node of resistance- to endure. To live. A fight he'd been buried against the odds of several times before. In the bloodied muddy trenches of Kintan, the ruined streets of Sundari, the pale green ash of Harnaidan, the blood red tides of Dubrillion and Vjun...Ravelin. The very site of his greatest triumphs. All testements in the last argument of kings that he was a survivor. And now- in the lungs of power to the Empire he build with bloodied hands...he laid dying.

But oddly- that fear....dissipated. Dissipated into a sensation he'd never had expected in this moment.

A welcoming presence.

A serene comfort overtaking him. A sense of familiarity which he hadn't felt since childhood in Garang, or in the nights alone with Lyra in the days of One Sith. A sense of calmness and ease of mind he'd been fully separated from for the vast majority of his adult life. And in his mortal form's greatest peril, he felt in earnest.

There was an ethereal embrace around him, as if his fight was finally over. Thus always to the traitor he was- he was struck by a cloak and dagger among his retinue. For as much as he yearned for a death in battle...perhaps this end was just as fitting.

Regardless...after a lifetime in service of Empire...he'd been finally relieved of duty...for the rest he deserved.

Whatever any of them sought to do...Irveric Tavlar had met his end.

 

[Rurik Fel]

M A N _ O F _ I R O N
NEW IMPERIAL ORDER
LORD EXECUTOR
KNIGHTS OF THE EMPIRE
NIV DISSIDENT AGGRESSOR
Iron Skin | Lightsaber
Cromwell | Onansi of Thyrsus | DECEASED Erskine Barran | Caarlyle Rausgeber | Noel Strasza

​

Chaos. Had Rurik not been so deeply entrenched in his thoughts, he might have been able to ground his senses in search of what was 'off' in Ravelin. However- since the fall of darkness, he'd allow his guard to be down in this realm. How could he not? It was his domain more than any. The realm of Fel, home. He neglected to place the protection of the Imperator paramount, above all else and when these parasites entered and enveloped the room in explosive fire. He failed him, failed them all.

His argent blade struck to life with a characteristic hiss akin to steel across leather in an attempt to thwart these terrorists before soon enough he was sent aback from the thunderous repeat of explosions- shrapnel and fire awash against his Iron Skin- perhaps- the very vessel which preserved his life from his envelopment explosive chaos.

He was struck by a sense of shock and dismay before eventually he was able to wrench himself to his senses. The immediate sight was grievous...horrific. Blood was awash every surface, every ornate article shattered in a richochet of shrapnel and devastation. Within the most secure room of the most secure city within an Empire that prized itself in its orderly nature...its lungs of command hacked in bloodied fury. His ears were ringing as he saw the bodies clammor toward the Imperator. Though Tavlar was divergent from the Force...he could sense immediately, that sense of dread in the air.

He was dead. The evidently ever enduring man...killed in the capital of the Empire he'd constructed. Rurik immediately closed his eyes in solemn, muttering the Imperator's last rites before his cold gaze reawakened to the horror around him.

"Avenger, lock down Fortress Imperator." He cut through the malaise of confusion to the man, giving him a direct order to break the stun before glancing to the rest of those around him.

"Get the Imperator's vitals...assess injuries." He managed his composure even as his hand around the dead hilt of his blade trembled slightly with each moment. He knew the gravity of his situation. He knew the grave implications that soon fell unto his shoulders.

If he was truly slain or incapacitated, in this state. Rurik , in the New Empire's moment of reckoning would have to seize command and right the ship.

 

[Julian Qar]

✚ T E N _ O F _ S W O R D S ✚
Ravelin, Bastion
[ x x x x ]​

Julian’s eyes narrowed just as the other had at him. Stolen? Perhaps it seemed the way he spoke and the jumble of his words had caused confusion among the Grand Admiral. The doctor would have been quick to correct, lifting his hand to shake away the misguided information. Though he held on to the thought, his attention snapped to Tavlar, waiting for the man to finish his speech so that he could address the accusations thrown at him. “To address your comments from before, Grand Admiral, the medical supplies were not stolen...I shipped them away so Halketh would not have access to them.” He would start, holding his breath to hopefully stop the raging fires stoked between his gut from the accusations. Oh, this was not the good doctor's day...

“I reckon you think titles mean somethin’ where I’m from. Let me clarify somethin’ - I may be a lieutenant on paper - but, I run the department. I was the one that called out to seize medical aid to the Carlaci military and its civilians. I was the one that shipped off the supplies, and I am the one who is in control of the entire medical division on Carlac.”

“I - you know, I come ‘ere tellin y’all what work I’ve done from the inside for our cause, once again. When not a few months back I stood in front of a committee just like this one and spoke to a group of y’all when Halketh went missing. An you know what happened? I got ignored. No one went lookin’ for ‘im and then he comes back, not a fucken scratch on’im and still no one asked any fucken questions...yet here we are.” Julian shook his head and sucked his teeth, his metallic tips pushed a groove into the grain of the table. He was angry, for once, the docile and often soft-spoken man had raised his voice at those around him, without even thinking. All of this would have been avoided had someone just taken the time to listen...but Julian was just another lieutenant, a doctor, he held no title that would allow his voice to be heard above the crowd. It was a shame.

“All I came’ere ta do was to tell y’all that on behalf of the once Carlaci Medical Division, we picked a fucken side and we’re workin' to bleed the system dry from the inside...Fucken...who, who do you think patches up our boys on the field? Who do you think ships off rescue teams to find bodies and bring’em home? Dead or alive. It sure ain’t a fucken wookie with a jump rope, it’s my team. The same team that’s gonna be doin’ that sh*t movin’ forward, no longer under Carlac…” It had been a lot, he’d never spoken nearly as much as he did, and with little regard to anyone’s titles, ranks, and the like. Julian was on a roll, why not add another bit of verbal rubbish to the fire he’d already started.

“Y’all can do whatever the hell you want with me, I don’t give a f*ck at this point. You can’t fire me, I already quit. You can take my license, court marshal me, but let it be known that we wouldn’t be in this fuckin position if y’all had just lis-”

"Yes. The Final Dawn has come."

Julian shifted over quickly, watching as the bodies of those stone guards started to move and without even a second’s notice - impact.

M E M E N T O _ M O R I
- what we've lost -​

The doctor shook himself awake, instinct had forced his mind in one direction, but his thoughts were quickly ripped from him when every word Caarlyle Rausgeber was barking at him fell into place, creating direction.

"You at all harm the Sovereign Imperator, at all compromise his safety, or his health? I will ensure your suffering is eternal!"

The doctor nodded, working to regain some control in his jumbled thoughts, there would be aches and pains he'd feel later but for now, all that mattered at this moment was tending to the Imperator. Julian dipped into his pockets, pulling the artificial eye and shoving it into the open, metal socket on his head. Systems booted, Julian did what he was made for - he went right to work tending to Tavalar, calm, and not afraid of his fate.

“You can l-lower your weapon…go m-make sure my w-wife is ok...tend to the others....” He managed, throwing himself into action to retrieve the man’s vitals just as many had barked at him. The diagnostic tool confirmed there was a pulse, thready, yet stills signs of a fight. Just as he’d done many times before the medic looked down at the man, scraping off the debris that anointed him. “Imperator, Tavlar, my name is D-doctor Qar, I’m here to help.” Those words, his speech had always been his grounding, hoping the sound of his voice had sparked activity but as just as he’d started on his compression, his lifeline was punching at him to let go.

“Come o-on…Come on.....don't you fucken dare...not right now...Come on!” He’d grit his teeth, feeling the weight of the entire galaxy on his shoulders now. His compressions were heavy, filled with intensity as he tried everything his body allowed to ignite that failing heart. It just didn't want to budge, and neither did the doctor. More compressions followed. Pulse check.

Nothing.

And at this moment there was a decision drawn before him, urging him to act. Though what followed seemed far more barbaric and risky. He wasn't one to shy away from anything that meant saving a life. Julian couldn't waste any more of his thoughts, calculated and the like on anything other than saving the man laying on the ground before him. Boy was he thankful to have sent the gun-toting admiral away.

The doctor slipped his hand by his side and pulled the knife, the one that had seen so much. It was that same knife that had ended the lives of many and had saved countless others. Frantically going back to work, he carved away at his armor, cutting away what scraps remained glued and charred to his flesh, exposing him to the theatre. The incision he’d made was quick, right underneath his rib cage and without thinking, in went his hand, performing his saving throw - internal cardiac massage.

Though...it was too late.

It had been twenty minutes without a pulse, without brain activity, without any bodily function and all it did was pull the doctor lower onto that podium he’d hated performing on. It was over. Everything he’d done had not worked.

“T-t…” He stuttered, he couldn’t be brought down by this moment into a pile of bones and ash..it was too soon. Julian cleared his throat, looking around the theatre as their eye locked onto him, awaiting words of promise, words that would help jump-start their resolve but he couldn’t...he wouldn’t...he wasn’t able to. He watched a man wrestle within the belly of the beast, claw his way from muck and ire, to pronounce a victor, to watch him survive, but his fight had ended. A fight the doctor had to learn early on that he had to respect, despite all that he tried.

To think of how fitting it was for him to have the heart of the New Imperial Order nestled within the synthetic palms of his make, feeling his essence leave the vessel and become one amongst the stars. Julian held his breath, looking past them all as their bodies became the heart that would carry on his legacy. For now...for now, he’d close this chapter...knowing the weight of those four words that followed.

“Time of death….1853.”​

 

[Tulan Kor]

​

“How you are fallen from heaven, O Day Star, son of Dawn! How you are cut down to the ground, you who laid the nations low!"

Theme

One Hour Ago-​

It was never a business that Tulan liked to do- protection details. But Tulan was supposed to be an expert on a broad variety of subjects. Truth be told, he hadn't- up until a few weeks ago, done much of the protection detail. At least, not close protection details. Security work was easy enough. But close protection details were far more complex, had more variables.

It was there that Tulan's expertise shined through. He didn't stubbornly seek to do his own thing. He sought out professionals for advice and training. Mercenaries, bodyguards, former Senate guards- doctrine, training manuals, all were put forth tomake sure that the security team that Tulan had put into place were going to be the best that they could.

But now, on the eve of it all, Tulan felt off. Something was brewing.

Tulan was with the QRF and extraction team, watching intently on the screens and monitoring helmet cameras, periodically managing via radio and commlink to adjust where needed.

And then it all went to shit.
​

Now
​

The QRF team stormed down the hall, Tulan leading- orange and white Katarn armor, repainted to match the Imperial insignia. Tulan entered the chamber, ushering those who were still alive. Triage units began to examine the wounded. It was brutal, but it was realistic- there were simply no saving some of those caught in the explosion.

Then, Tulan began to search for one specific survivor. All those inside were valued- comrades, soldiers, politicians. But truth be told, he did value one above the others.

The Imperator.

The Imperator, who had instructed Tulan to hell, and Tulan, who, had emerged on the other side, or barely surviving each time. The Imperator, who had plucked Tulan from a life of imprisonment and retribution from the Alliance. The Imperator sent for Tulan, and Tulan returned his loyalty tenfold.

And now, Tulan and the Commandos he had hand-picked, came upon the doctor working on the Imperator. It did not take Tulan long to search with his eyes alone that the Imperator was gone. A lifeless form, once exhibiting strength, now lay among the bloody mess. Tulan took a moment, reaching up to his helmet, undoing the magnetic seal. Tulan stood over the doctor- and despite his short stature, Tulan had to exhibit strength. And sometimes strength was kindness.

He placed a gloved hand on the shoulder of the Doctor, gently squeezing. Tulan's next words carried with them a weight of sincerity, a sort of grandfatherly approach to kindness and the small gestures that showed the true humanity, the true soul of Tulan. His words were soft, meant only for the Doctor to hear.

"I know you did what you could, son."

Tulan's face was marred, scarred and he could no longer smile, frown on a majority of his face. His expression was with his eyes. They looked solemn. The anger would come later. Tulan only had time for the grief at the moment. Tulan deeply inhaled, reaching in the space between his armor and his undersuit. It was there that many soldiers kept mementos, notebooks, maps- something to have handy at any given moment.

It was there that Tulan kept an Imperial Flag- something that he had regrettably grown to use in his conflicts. He had covered many friends with it, sent sons and daughters back home to mothers and fathers, sent fathers to sons, mothers to daughters, mothers to sons with it covered. Tulan watched his Commandos take pause, as everyone seem to wait on baited breath after the Doctor said the four most damning words in the Imperial's history thus far.

Tulan laid the flag of the New Imperial Order over the body over the Imperator, to both hide his marred figure, to preserve his image of strength, and to honor him one last time. Tulan looked out to the congregation, a familiar feeling of loss creeping over him.

The future frightened Tulan more than anything. Revenge would come later, the why and the how. For now, it only mattered as the swarm of Stormtroopers, medics, and everyone else in the Empire came to aid the damaged and the loss, and to stand bewildered at the thought of an Empire without the Imperator.

Tulan's pale blue eyes glanced over to Rurik Fel . Tulan was a soldier, he had no issues following orders- but Tulan did not know where the succession lie at the moment, who was dead and who wasn't. But Tulan looked at the man of iron and flesh, a man hardened by war and choices. Tulan did not know him well on a personal level. But there were few in the galaxy, let alone the Empire, who did not know him by reputation.

Tulan gave him a curt nod, standing next to the Doctor, inhaling deeply, keeping his composure for the moment.

If he could cry, he would've.

 

[Lord Letifer]

LETIFER | NEW SITH ORDER
Operation: SMELTER

​

Sparks rained down from the ceiling of the battle-rocked chamber, the prior explosion a cry of WAR and a strategic strike meant to end the legacy of the Sith’s greatest enemy, not the Jedi, not the Ashla.. but a farmboy soldier from Dantooine turned Imperator. Irveric Tavlar.

Even as the fortress entered lockdown and security teams swept the area for wounded and further assailants, the depths of @Darth Caelitus’s betrayal had yet to be felt in it’s fullest. The Final Dawn and the New Sith Order were always.. efficient, anything else was unacceptable.

The crackling hiss screamed from the hilt of his lightsaber as he stepped into view from the shadows. The Court of Daggers assembled to ensure the Imperator was dead, and most of the Imperial leadership with him. Behind him assassins fell into view, into line, like ghosts in the night. Red sabers glistening to life like a light show amidst the emergency lighting.

“Kill them all.”

 

[DECEASED Erskine Barran]

boomer'd it again.
lol
ignore

 

[Michael Barran]

1
THE_SECOND_SON
OBJECTIVE 1: NORMALIZATION
RAVELIN, BASTION

Grand Imperial Assembly: Irveric Tavlar Onansi of Thyrsus Willan Tal Cromwell
Enlil Noel Strasza Caarlyle Rausgeber Arjant Clevenger Mithrad Julian Qar

​

'MILORD, FORT IMPERATOR'S BEEN ATTACKED!!!! YER AULD MAN'S THERE, MIND?!?!?!?!?'
What? So yer tellin' me ah have t'save that geriatric waste o' fresh air, after Thomas' death? Feth's sake, man....

'Kark it!', the Lord-Captain of the Highland Brotherhood responded after opening the gate to the garrison's sparring yard to respond, pausing only to snatch up his lightsabre for the first time in months. It felt glorious knowing he could go all out, understanding that if his father had been with the rest of the Grand Imperial Assembly, then there was a chance that Lord Erskine was wounded and had been carried off for treatment, or that the ancestral Laird o' the Woads would be too busy trying to rescue or protect the wounded to notice his second son's force-wielding presence on arrival. Following his second-in-command, the Wanderer would find pretty much every last subordinate readying themselves for combat already, and thus continued on, no longer needing the armour of his brethren thanks to his many tutors since his early days as a swordsman. Looking back to his First-Leftenant, the sweat of training exertion was still steaming off Lord Michael's shoulders, his arms, chest and back when he concluded,'You can catch up with the others in yer own time, McBain. Ah'm takin' deep-point the-day, so ah'm are!', with a casual waving farewell as he sprinted off past the guard-room and out the front gate.

Don't even care if the auld man sees what I am now, these Mawites were gawnty end up meetin' me sooner or later.

​

'Stand aside, gentlemen. I'm here t'help, so if you wouldn't miiiind....'

Within the space of ten minutes, the shirtless muscular mass of Woad fury had run all the way to Fort Imperator without stopping, following the billowing clouds of smoke for reference in a city he was still getting acclimated to at the time. Despite this, and the several near-accidents he encountered on his way, Lord Michael had no trouble in reaching the location, and even less trouble in gaining access when they saw the bright blue of his powered-on lightsabre on approach. Parting to grant him entry, the guards keeping the public from getting any closer weren't going to get in the way of the man they saw making his way towards them, with veins pulsating on his neck, temples and his arms, not even if they could. Not that they were force-sensitive, but even a force-dead could've noticed that Lord Michael had a certain aura about him, and these guards were no exception; the eyes were bloodshot, pores dripping with sweat, and mouth frothing with bloodthirsty anticipation, this would not be a good sign for anyone who dared keep Michael from the chaos that awaited within.

'Many thanks, and expect a few military vehicles in the next minute or so - those be muh boiz! So do be courteous an' part for them like you parted for me, aw'right? Good.... Stay safe, gentlemen.'

And just like that, the Wanderer left his new acquaintances where they stood and walked inside, keeping his fighting power pent up and intensifying without cheating, using his actual hands instead of his mind to open every door he opened on his way to the conference hall. Michael was readier then to play the New-Imperial game than he would ever be before or thereafter, though the second son of Lord Erskine would carve out his own path in the ranks of Tavlar's Imperium, silently growing used to the idea that politicians would be attempting to recruit the Wanderer endlessly after that day, though that potential circumstance only served to intensify the rage boiling from within him also. Everything was setting his pulses racing, and though it mattered very little to the young Lord as to what he would see when he reached ground-zero, Michael couldn't help but wonder what to expect on arrival, as no real sense or motive could be found in this random attack at the new heart of the empire. He hadn't known of Halketh's treachery on Galidraan III, returning home to reclaim the ancestral lands of his people but losing sight of the current-events that led to the bombings in the process, and being much farther outside the Imperator's circle of trust than his Tarkinist father had been.

However, the Brigadier-General's son would need to put that train-of-thought to rest not long after letting himself slip, immersing into the surmising process only to have it cut short by the sight of enemy assassins just ahead; turning round to face their new threat, the first victims of the Wanderer's wrath immediately understood the gravity of the situation that was unfolding before them. 'Oh, I'm sorry. It appears we're both heading to the same place, but that's as far as you're going to be walking today.', Barran began, stopping in his tracks only to click the index and the thumb on his free-hand, snapping the knees on the larger of the two before rounding on the (slimmer) other. Pacing forward three steps, the Lord-Captain of the Highland Brotherhood then stopped in his tracks and poised his chosen fighting stance, with the glowing blue lightsabre bared in a low guard at the right hip in absolute readiness before concluding,'So, before I continue - I'm going to ask you a simple question. Which of you knows more than the other? Now, I know there's more of you around here, so it's honestly as simple a difference as quick-death/slow-death right here and now. You know how this song an' dance goes.', with an air of extreme calm that made the uninjured one shudder visibly.

'Sorry about that, man. Any other day, literally any other day of the working year, I would've just thrown a knife between you both an' forced you both to fight..... Honestly, poor timing on your part.'

 

[Caarlyle Rausgeber]

BASTION
IMPERIAL ASSEMBLY
Irveric Tavlar [RIP] | Michael Barran | DECEASED Erskine Barran | Lord Letifer | Julian Qar | Noel Strasza | Onansi of Thyrsus | Arjant Clevenger | Halketh

Rausgeber shabbily picked himself up, coughing, and gagging slightly. His pistol was aimed right at Julian's head as he watched him work. But his eyes, in the darkened room turned to the entryways, and exits. Preparing, and sizing up the potential for the enemy. It was a terrifying prospect. But he looked down, "What are you doing soldier?!" Rausgeber chided, "Pick him up, we have to leave!" The Admiral Regent snapped, "Wife or no wife, our leader is dying!" Already, Carlyle was terrified for the political ramifications. The potential death of Irveric Tavlar spelt the end for a lot of things, and the beginnings of a multitude of queries. Would the New Imperial Order be able to survive this? Who would take over? Would the system of warlords in place survive this transition in power? What did it mean for Prefsbelt Command?

They all dashed in his mind. Carlyle grimaced, as he saw the doctor pause. There was shudder. Was this, was this it? "Time of death, 1853." No. Carlyle's eyes shot wide in horror, he immediately got down on his knees, and despite the grievous injuries, pushed Julian aside. The Admiral Regent straddled the body. Surely this was not true. Surely this couldn't be the case. Tavlar, he had disagreed with the Sovereign Imperator on policy for a great deal of the time. In fact, the Sovereign Imperator had ruled against him more times than not, but still, this was... Horrible. Carlyle pressed his hands to his jugular, feeling for a pulse. But nothing. Nothing. He tried to shake the man awake, but nothing. And then, oh dear. It dawned on him. This. This was a new era.

The Admiral Regent looked down at the man. He would not weep tears for Tavlar. But the man held his respect. Carlyle grunted, as he began to pick himself up. Wincing a little as his aching body strained against the action. "Well, lieutenant." Rausgeber mused, "This is a... This is a most unfortunate series of events." He swallowed, "I, look, if you can just, help me hoist him up, I'll get him out of here." He then paused, "You should go to your significant other." Rausgeber added, "Ensure their safety while I-"

He heard it, the ignition of lightsabers. Oh that wasn't good. That was not good at all. That was very, very not good. Clutching the back of Julian's head, Carlyle forced him down onto his knees, and ducked down with him. The command to execute everyone within was given, and Carlyle checked his pistol, and then gazed out at the Imperator. This man supposedly made rank. So surely would have some experience with a pistol. Wincing a little, Carlyle reached for the holster on Irveric Tavlar's still warm body, and apprised himself a pistol, and quiet as can be, passed it to Julian. "Seems we have guests." Carlyle whispered to the man, "Wait till you hear them come close, and we'll shock them. Blast 'em dead."

 

[Cromwell]

A V E N G E R
IMPERIAL SPECTRE
PROVIDE REAL-TIME INTEL OF CARLAC TO ASSEMBLY
Irveric Tavlar | Rurik Fel | Willan Tal | Onansi of Thyrsus | Mithrad | Fiolette Fortan | Caarlyle Rausgeber | Enlil | Arjant Clevenger | Noel Strasza | @Roki Vulovic | Julian Qar | DECEASED Erskine Barran | Michael Barran

"Very well, Fel. All intelligence is to go through my station and I will funnel it to the appropriate military intelligence services, including the Major and Lieutenant's new information." he nodded to the Executor, muted himself and ordered his crew to take action while the rest of the warlords squabbled over the method of pacifying Carlac.

It was only when the Imperator decreed did he unmute himself and confirm, "Roger that, Imperator; I'll begin preparations immediately." he said as his mind drifted to the daring scoundrel that had smuggled him away from Coruscant's destruction at the hands of the Sith so many years ago. Zef Halo. He hoped the man hadn't retired. Even then, a solid sum of money would persuade him for one last ride.

Everything washed away in a blinding flash of light as the image of the assembly exploded. His heart stopped and eyes widened at the sight of destruction before him. Through the bile and smoke he could see the Imperator's form lying lifeless on the floor. Avenger froze unable to assimilate what was happening; his mind fired up a moment later slamming him back to duty. If the Imperator and the Executor was dead... the contingency that followed put the Spectres in charge. Hydra Protocol.

"Avenger, lock down Fortress Imperator."

The Man of Iron barked through the miasma of confusion and panic. Rurik Fel was alive.

"Harold, direct lockdown signal to Fortress Imperator."

"But, Sir, we'll be detected if--"

"I don't care! Do it!" he growled back, all the coolness about him melting away to the rage he'd withheld within since his parents were taken away. "I'll run circles around these feths. Uncloak, arm the weapons, the shields and full battle station."

"Roger that, Sir!"

The transmission with the Assembly began to jitter, its connection on its way to be interrupted.

"Rurik--" he roared. The Empire needed a strong hand now.

Keep every warlord and moff in line.

Varian could not witness the fall of the Old Galactic Alliance again.

"Maintain... Order!"

 

[Tulan Kor]

“You are my war club, my weapon for battle— with you I shatter nations, with you I destroy kingdoms..."

Theme
​

Their treachery, their desperation knew no limits.

The Sith did not attack with courage, in pitched battles. They simply could not win. The Dark Side was not as powerful as people believed- not the strength that Tulan had, not Tavlar. Kyber Dark had proven that. And it was only proven again, that the Sith only fell the Imperator through means of deceit, deception, trickery and lies.

The red blades springing to life brought Tulan's attention fully.

And a fully attended Tulan Kor was not something you wanted to be on the other side of.

Tulan's helmet clicked back into place, and his team went to work, engaging the enemy assassins directly, red blades meeting Disruptor rifles and Slugthrowers- the cheap, dirty tactics that the Sith employed, Tulan used personally. Slugthrowers and Disruptor rifles, disintegrators. The tools of scoundrels, liars, cheats. The people that won.

But Tulan saw one above the pack, saw one more in charge than the others. He seemed to have an air of command around him. It was because of this, that he would suffer the most. A single order was given that was verbal- as Tulan pointed a gauntlet at Lord Letifer .

"He's mine."

Tulan's body went forward, rifle clutched tightly in his hands. Orange and white broke through the assassin's attacks. Sith were predictable, Sith were forged by hatred, and hatred made you predictable. Angry people were not calculating in battle. The Sith were good at being sneaky. But in combat- he found them to be strong, tough, muscle-driven- but predictable. Red blades came crashing down on him.

Like it mattered on his rampage. His rifle fell one, then another, then it ran out of ammo. He didn't time to reload. Another Assassin came from the woodwork. Tulan muzzle-thumped him in the neck, then grabbed the weapon by the stock, and broke the rifle on the Sith's face. He was out of ammo.

But not options.

The same knife he used to nearly kill Nida Perl came sliding off of his forearm, and plunged into the lungs of the choking, confused Sith. The Sith wouldn't be able to fight much longer, much less live with a collapsing lung cavity. Nonetheless, never one to take chances-

Tulan put the tip of the knife behind his ear for good measure.

There were no Sith standing between him and their leader now, red blades cashing and cascading down on others around them. Tulan was the first to move. Short as he was, he was still a powerful man. He approached the Sith, a cautious stance, his left hand in a defensive stance, his right tucking the blade low. Nonetheless, Tulan was on the approach. The Jedi came at Sith with a sort of restraint, a sense that the battle was favored toward a draw.

Not Tulan.

Tulan was coming for the Sith's life.

​

​

 

[Lord Letifer]

LETIFER | NEW SITH ORDER
Operation: SMELTER

​

“Kill them all.”

Words that echoed throughout the chamber, a hushed tone that carried weight. His cloak fluttered forward, pushed aside by the forceful entry of his peers as the Court of Daggers entered the fray. Their hooded visages were a common denotation of their allegiance, their religious dogma that had been the target of the New Imperial regime since Kyber Dark.

Yet, they would soon discover a terrible truth, a fact indistinguishable and undeniable. While they had slain Sith far and wide, from the Empire’s Lords to the Warlords’ Kin, from Eternal to Ethereal, the might of the galaxy’s Sith had fallen short to the New Imperial Order. These were no ordinary Sith, no bloated cape and cowl with a crimson saber.. these were different, better, faster, stronger.. the fittest.

These were the New Sith.

Letifer parried the bolts that came for him, stray and precise attacks both. The Sith Assassin focused on the mission, he let the raw emotion bubble beneath the surface like a storm ready to blow out from within in a tempest of hatred. The mission was all that mattered, they had readied themselves for this.

Block, strike, parry, redirection.

Repeat.

The Assassin moved in the backdrop, making his way quickly to the High Command. His eyes locking in on Caarlyle Rausgeber from afar behind the dark mask covering his true visage. He removed his saber from the gut of his latest victim and stepped forward. Interrupted only by the rising form of Tulan Kor from a dead acolyte, the enemy separated him from his target, a fatal mistake.

His eyes fell down upon the foe’s weapon, a blade that had taken the life of a fellow Sith. Letifer took pause and chuckled under his breath, he paced to the right in anticipation as his opponent approached warily. He allowed his crackling blade to retreat back into it’s hilt and snapped it to his waist, his other hand immediately brandishing a Shikkar. He took up a stance pulled from Echani martial arts and waited for his opponent.

An insulting way to die, a fitting way to end his enemy.

“You’re nothing.”