Location: Arriving at Thustra
Objective: Reclaim the Throne
Tags: None, shoot PM first if gonna hop in plz
LONG HAVE I WAITED
Her machinations had been thorough and shadowy, broken and rebuilt, baptized in the blood of a planet, but finally,
finally the day had come. In the darkness Lirka had prepared for this most holy of days. Worlds had been wracked and reborn, great fueling stations, legions of workers and warriors trapped or enraptured in the Sephi’s thrall, and the factories that belched dark smog out onto a dozen worlds. For the Borderlands, right under the Empire’s nose, had been turned into a staging ground for this very campaign. While they fought in the north against the so-called “New Imperials”, squandering resources, throwing away the lives of warriors as planet after planet fell. Lirka watched.
Oh did she watch.
The Jedi tumor taunted her, it stood unmolested while the Empire surged against it’s traitorous foes, the jem itself: sweet Thustra, had laid merely a sector away. Her planet laid in hands not-her-own once more. But no longer. For this day would be echoed for millena to come, for today? Today was the Day of Reclamation.
As Lirka stood on the bridge of
her Autarch, the
Death of Hope, she took a sick amusement in knowing that thousands now flew in hyperspace to Myrkr: throwing themselves against the walls of Australis, but that was the goals of the Empire: this? This was Lirka’s birthright, it was beyond mere notions of Empires and the will of their Cultist masters. Around the Sephi the bridge was amuck with activity as the various menials scurried around the Moff’s flagship
These were her men: the important ones were at least. For just as long as she had prepared for this grand and holy crusade, she had seeded her dark seeds within the Empire: her
Lords of Nihl, all those men and women who had allowed darkness to rot away at their hearts until they saw the grim and dark truths of this Galaxy. They knelt to her will, for Lirka had ascended to the very manifestation of Lords’ so-called-God, and so did the Dark Matriarch watch over her massed servants. Knowing that within the grand landing bays more and more warriors shifted in their seats, hungry, waiting to strike out against the Jedi.
She suspected to find few.
Towering over all the various persons within the Bridge, Lirka’s armored form glanced to an elderly man in crisp uniform. The true commander of the Death of Hope, but he had bent the knee quickly, just like she would force Thustra to do.
“We will be arriving soon, Liege.”
The beastly Sephi merely gave a stark nod in response. Her head turned to face the streaking lights of Hyperspace. It was time. Time to finally reclaim a home that had been denied to her for over a century. She had dreamed of this day since she had walked side-by-side with the Confederate cowards to the south, and even before those days she had held the ember of Reclamation within her heart. And now? Now it blazed like an inferno.
A few shouts from the bridge, they were entering realspace now. Rising from her seat, Lirka’s voice thundered from her helmet: there was no distortion today, merely the thick accent that denoted her as one of Thustra’s nobility.
“Through Oath and through Blood, we have sworn to save this world! Save Thustra from it’s perverse state, to throw off the shackles of the conquer, and to finally lite the inferno anew! Cylys sai si syli! Mar tia veli shi aeraesar!”
And finally, the handful of ships that made up Lirka’s warfleet burst out of hyperspace above Thustra: it had been so long since she had laid eyes upon her home, a swirling mass of blues and greens and mountain ranges so vast and so mighty that they could be seen from orbit. But she could see the scars of conquest, the mighty industry that the Mandalorians had been able to muster on her world so long ago. Fire burned in her chest, the fires of hate fueled her, the heart of the entire Sector reduced to little more than a spec within the fold.
No longer.
Her voice thundered louder now, transmissions forced down to the planet below: from the lowest dens of the Under-Cities to the highest peak of the Grand Palace. They would hear her words, the words of their
Queen.
“People of Thustra, hear my words! For so long has our world crumbled, been forsaken by obscurity and our traditions perverted into hollow shells of what they once were! For hear my words and rally, hear my words and lay down your arms against my coming, hear my words and throw off the shackles of our new oppressors! Hear these words and know, Lirka Ka! True Queen of Thustra, has returned to claim her birthright!”
And to think, only over a century prior she had been this planet’s sweetheart, the dainty daughter of the King. And here she stood, moulded and reshaped by a hard and cruel Galaxy as Thustra’s savior.
But the Dark had taught her many things while she floated in the void, dancing with Death once again. And as the Sephi turned on her heels, heading down to one of the horde of landing craft ready to assault the key positions on the planet: she let her heart harden, and her resolve turn into the firmest of metals, she knew so many of her words would fall on deaf ears, and she knew without any doubt in her heart: Sephi blood would be spilled this day.
And the blood of the traitors would baptize her ascension, just as the flames of a thousand battlefields had done so before.