Diplomacy Empire Day | GE Consecration of Imperial Center

[Cesare Demici]

Theme

They did it. The Deep Core was theirs. By all rights, any true Imperial should look upon such a day and hold their head high in praise to their Emperor. One should march through the streets, singing songs of might and glory, basking in the splendor of their victory...

but not Cesare.

His eyes, still stained yellow from his growing connection to the darkness within him, would hold no spark, no excitement for this victory. In the place of excitement was only a cold sense of purpose, and the ever-present thirst for vengeance. He had grown no closer to gaining an audience with the man responsible for his father's death. Not even the carnage he wrought upon Coruscant could get him a single inch closer to confronting Solipsis. It was infuriating, but Cesare could push his frustrations to the side... for now. The solution was simple. He had yet to bring enough destruction to the Jedi to garner favor with the Sith'ari. A proper sacrifice had not been made yet...

Soon, however, such a sacrifice would present itself.

He sat silently in the landing craft, his mind calm as they touched down upon the ground of Tython. This very planet was once the site of the Dark Lord's demise at the hands of Rurik Fel, Dagon Kaze, Heinrich Faust, and other brave individuals, at the cost of many of their lives. The planet itself had been shaken to the core, with reality warping and contorting on the planet, bending itself to the Sith'ari's will. Cesare had not been there, but he knew the stories all too well. And now, he was here to place his own stamp on the planet's history. Today, he would unleash such great and terrible violence upon the Jedi.

Today the children of the Light would be put to the sword.

Today... there would be no mercy.

He stepped out of the craft as it touched down, his hand resting on the hilt of his lightsaber as he approached the steps of the temple. The temple... another holy relic to desecrate with the ever-expanding abyss that was the Dark Side. Cesare welcomed the thought, and as his feet met the steps, a wicked grin flashed across his face.

Another day, another reckoning.

 

[Ellayina L'lerim]

Information and Tags

Minister of Intelligence, Director of SHADES, Torture & Interrogation Officer​

"Galactic Common" | <"High Nelvaanian"> | ["Essonian"] | ~ telepathic communication ~ | << comm. channel >> ​

Objective: The Imperial Palace
Location: Imperial Palace, Coruscant
Equipment: White uniform | Viper Mk. I Skinsuit || Empyrean gland || OPBC-01m
Tags: Shannic Wulf | Aggadeen Myi | Da'Razel | Open

They had won; Ella was still struggling to believe it; especially after their last failure. But at long last, their years of hiding, growing in the shadows, and working behind the scenes had borne fruit. As always, the woman wore her white uniform, stepping confidently into the newly... the renamed Imperial Palace. Orders had already been given by her, and the majority of her personnel and her agents were stationed on Empress Teta to reinforce Imperial ideals among the locals. The time had come for the Core Worlds, softened by years of complacency to return to the Imperial path. That was the highest priority now.

Her leg still ached, a reminder of the injury Katherine Holt had inflicted upon her during their last encounter at the old Senate building. Though the lightsaber wound had healed well thanks to the best medical care available, the young woman still felt the lingering pain. And she knew the treatments would have to continue for a while longer. Still, this was not an event she could afford to miss. In truth, her presence here felt less like a choice and more like a duty.

Being here - whether expected or not - was something Ella had demanded of herself. After all, she served an Emperor, was blood-related to an Empress, and her father ruled an entire planet. Most of the L'lerim family were known for being perfectionists and unyielding by nature. Ella was no exception. She wouldn't have settled for less, and she had worked tirelessly to earn her place here as the Minister of Intelligence. And the Imperial Palace itself, built from what had once been the Jedi Temple… It was magnificent.

As she made her way through the vast halls and corridors toward her designated position, Ella kept one eye on the data feed projected on her retina. Outside, lightsabers were already burning in great piles. MANIAC had compiled historical records for her, and now she understood: this had once happened before, under Palpatine’s rule after the execution of Order 66. History was like poetry; it often rhymed. And now, the woman was satisfied—they would guide the Core Worlds back to the proper path.

First the Core, then the entire galaxy; Ella had grand ambitions, and hopefully they aligned with the vision Darth Solipsis had imagined. By the time she reached her post, she spotted her mentor, Shannic Wulf , standing nearby. Ella stepped forward to greet her.

"Ma’am, thank you for the invitation. It’s an honour to be by your side on such a significant day and occasion." she said respectfully. Ella respected few, but Wulf was one of them.

 

[Vireth]

---

---

Imperial Centre, Core Worlds;
THE GALACTIC EMPIRE!
Tags: Aggadeen Myi | Da'Razel | Shannic Wulf | Ellayina L'lerim |

[ MEMORIES OF GREEN ]​

Plumes of smoke rose in the air from the built bonfire as the Imperial elite gathered under the banners of a New Order to usher in an unprecedented era of peace, freedom and justice a millennia after Palpatine's declaration.

Sat on the edges of the celebration, upon the steps leading up to the Imperial Palace was Vireth of Kuat: a child from the Church of the Dark Side whom had been well versed in doctrine, purpose and aesthetic in order to serve the new paradigms which had replaced the old with the new.

A pair of yellow artificial eyes looked upon the ruined city landscape of Imperial Centre with an air of brooding. The air itself seemed to be alive and warped by the very power of the dark side itself, she felt. One would be tricked into thinking that this young woman, who had spent a childhood and adolescence preparing, training and studying for this great day, had an air of someone who was not enjoying the festivities at hand.

On the contrary they would be mistaken.

Above her, near the entrance to the newly consecrated Imperial Palace, the elite had gathered to celebrate this day of days.

In her short life Vireth had only heard whispers of the Church of the Dark Side. Her superiors in the Raithal Military Academy had not shared their existence until she had come of age (at sixteen) to be brought into the fold. They had tested her, trained her and gave her a curriculum that would make her useful in the new paradigms that were set to bring about under the machinations of the GALACTIC EMPEROR. Now that his destiny had been brought about they were here, just a few metres away from where she sat, gathering to perform passages of rite, celebration and ritual in the aftermath of their great victory over the decadent Jedi and their foolish alliance.

It was said that the Sith could reach out into that ethereal space where the dark side itself laid to feel and embrace moments such as this. As she sat there watching over the city they had just conquered, with the red banners of the resurgent GALACTIC EMPIRE being raised on the former monuments and bastions to democracy, Vireth quietly wished that she had that same power that only Gods could wield.

Vireth imagined the ecstasy and euphoria of this moment- a man, no- a deity who had returned from the precipice of alleged defeat in the old Star War and who had now vanquished his enemies to plant the flag of his people upon Coruscant itself to bring them back to where they belonged. The most devout and loyal of his subjects had never believed the lies of the Jedi. Even after the Core Wars, where the Dark-Imperials had been usurped by the rebellion that had called itself The Foundation, Vireth and the others knew that was not their fate.

Belief had been turnt into truth.

Fate exorcised in favour of reality.

They were looking upon his work, and the galaxy wept at the coming.

For the first time in a thousand-years the Empire reigned supreme over the Core, and the rest of the galaxy would soon follow!

---

 

[Alexandra Feanor]

Jedi Temple - Evacuation Point
Impede and Delay the Imperial Forces

Equipment:
Robes
Spear
Sabers

Allies: Aether of the Iron Order Corazona von Ascania Solidor Slane Nathan Bloodscrawl Corin Kaze
Enemies: Darth Apophion Cesare Demici​

---

Alexandra continued to sit at the edge of the transport platform. Her eyes looking down towards the green below, towards the vast forest that spread out from the base of the temple. Her hand moving still, the right hand dancing through the flow of the force, pulling on the strings that connected the life below to the greater flow of the Force. She would give the threads a tug, a simple small shift in the flow that would force the roots and vines to grab at stormtroopers, to pulled them down to the ground and onto their knees or against the trunk of another tree.

Though, Alexandra could already sense the presence of two others. Two that she could not find any comfort in knowing how close they already were to the temple. Thankfully, the majority of those who were unable to defend themselves would have been moved to this area and their evacuation would be much easier.

But they could not get everyone onto these transports, not in the time they had left.

And she knew that.

Alexandra's eyes ran down to her left hand, knowing any combat she got into herself would also be a hard fought one, even against someone half as skilled as her. She wasn't certain if she could keep herself safe in the best of cases, not like this, but those thoughts would be pushed to the back of her mind. It was more important that they escape than she did. They would provide a future for the Order that Alexandra couldn't, untainted views of the Galaxy.

Cesare Demici was the one her eyes moved to focus on though. Far below, but still her gaze would seem to run right through him, as if she were standing infront of him in that moment before roots would break through the surface. He would feel them curl up and around his foot, moving up his shin and legs. She doubted this would do more than delay him, but even then he would notice that the similar fate his Troopers were facing behind him was far worse for them.

The vines, bramble and roots strangling or killing troopers in their own ways. Alexandra using the very planet against those who sought to enter the temple, not allowing anyone who would be capable of cutting their way into it or blasting through the doors to get close enough to do so.

She only hoped these delaying tactics would save just those few more while people like Solidor, Bloodscrawl, and Corin could do more in the field.

And she hoped that her delaying tactics would keep herself away from any of those with a blade capable of reaching her neck.

 

[Damien Zannen]

ENEMIES: Ishida Ashina Inosuke Ashina Castian Vero
​

Zephyrs stirred and a figure cut through the sky, unseen and unheard. It moved like a shadow cast by the heavens themselves, an unseen current of power that bent to the beings will. His figure blurred across the clouds above Tython, a pale light of dawn brushing against the black, crimson and silver accents of his uniform. It slowed, suspended and overlooked the temple grounds. With a calm exhale, it began to descend. The body hovered upright, a red cape fluttering softly branded with imperial marks and his arms out slightly like a god come infer judgement.

His boots touched the ground without a sound. The air around him seemed to still in reverence. Or maybe that was fear. Standing tall, his broad shoulders caught the light. Glinting off the silver-plated armor adorning his gloves, boots, and belt. The symbol of the Galactic Empire sat bold and unforgiving on his chest in the form of a pin. He had blonde hair combed back neatly, his piercing blue eyes scanned the temple steps with quiet disdain. A smirk curled at the edge of his lips, charming, yes, but undeniably arrogant. He knew what he was. A god amongst mere mortals.

With a exaggerated grace, he reached down and unclipped the lightsaber hilt from his belt. A gesture that was casual, almost polite. He turned his gaze to the horizon. Black smoke already curled from the far distant devastation occurring as orbital fire began its work. " Jeez. Just look at that horizon. I just dont understand how you all can just chat and miss," He paused and smiled with his teeth. ", this beauty. Hmm. Oh well. In the name of the Emperor." A accusing gloved finger pointed at the three several meters away.

With a snap-hiss Damien's lightsaber ignited with a deep reverberating hum and bathed half of his body in crimson red. " You are under arrest."

 

[Nathan Bloodscrawl]

The Empire surged like a tide as Nathan cut into the imperial troops and Dark Side Elites, telekinesis activating grenades and detonating them early.

Nathan's blade moved constantly for killing patterns only in the Shii-Cho/Soresu style he was using.

Deadly white fans of light passed through flesh and armor, bisecting or beheading as necessary.

Nathan was a living wheat thresher, a relic from a bygone era showing infantry and special forces what the Crucible of the Gulag Plague had taught those like him.

He punched, sliced deflected, each blow or deflection or slice killing someone on impact. His enemies surrounded him on all sides but it meant they were in range of his white blade as he continued to cut down squad after squad, soldiers screaming frantic requests for either reinforcements or air support, which ever came first before the last thing they saw was his white blade crashing down on them.

Another Dark Side Elite came into range, this one yet another grinning, sneering psychotic, who attacked him with a curved hilt Lightsaber.

Nathan parried every one of his foe's elegant slashes without moving, and solely using Form One just to make a point before beheading the Elite.

His Force Senses, honed through decades of continuous combat, let him detect the Sith Assassin sneaking up behind him. He caught the knife thrust aimed at his back on instinct, beheading her with his free hand before telekinetically flinging her knife into the skull of a stormtrooper about to shoot him.

A Sith burst from the tree line with a falling Avalanche attack. Nathan met the Sith's power blows shot for shot, deflecting and parry before backhanding the Sith so hard that the Sith's neck broke.

Nathan floated the Sith's red lightsaber with telekinesis, and hurled it spinning into a crowd of soldiers before leaping back into the frey to devastate the advancing hoard. He would not relent. He would kill and kill and kill to hold off the temple from being overwhelmed, though even he knew he must retreat back to it eventually...

But not before he sprang up a surprise or two...

He hit a switch on his belt, and an EFR Super Heavy Battle Droid sprang up from a pit in the forest, it's shield going active as it spit plasma bolts in short but devastating bursts. He had his spies painstakingly assemble by hand for weeks close to the temple just in case the plan at Coruscant failed. He had chosen the best spot where it's firing would be most effective...

And then he had blown all the mines his spies had also buried here while disguised as alliance officers and local farmers.

Blasts ripped through the advancing army as the Super Heavy Battle Droid unleashed a storm of fire. He knew even this wouldn't hold. He needed to retreat.

He teleported his way back to the top of the temple.

"That bought us only so much time." He said to Alexandra Feanor in a voice disguised by modulator (Which sort of sounded like masked Kylo Ren) He always sought to make it as difficult as possible for his enemies to identify him.

That was when he spotted Cesare Demici .

Nathan felt the wriggle of his past. Saw the familiar Demici features from one of the family he had slain.

"I'll be back." he said to Alexandra before Force jumping off the top of the temple to land in Cesare's path.

Nathan brandished the white blade.

"Another dead Demici..." he muttered almost under his breath. "I challenge you, scum. Your family never could be trusted. It's nice to know one of them has finally decided to reveal the true colors of their pathetic bloodline."

Did Nathan know the circumstances of what had led Cesare here? Of course not. This was pure Dun Moch. But he was drawing on his past as a son of Ession. He knew the Demici's were a proud lot, and always had been.

He wanted to see if that pride would rise to try and silence him...

Either way, he was going to do his best to kill him, just as he had once killed his Ancestor.

Preferably by Mou Kei...

 

[Sarcev Pestage]

Shannic Wulf . Da'Razel

Theme

The Church had found its way... as it always had. Faith had proven fruitful, and doubt had been subdued. Sarcev had never given into doubt. Even when those that had laid claim to the Imperial title in the wake of the Dark Empire had perked their noses up, he never faltered. They, as so many others, had sown the seeds of doubt among the followers of the Church, and yet they endured. Their unyielding, unwavering devotion to the Dark Side had proven time and again to be a boon. A boon that Sarcev would never take for granted.

He watched silently as Da'Razel held his own personal ritual, lighting each candle with a particularly intimate motion. Seeing individuals like him gave Sarcev a sense of... was it peace? It almost felt as such. Whatever the Jedi preached, there was always some modicum of solace within the never-ending dark. After all, what was meditation, if not a pursuit of that very same blank, endless emptiness? What was self-actualization, if not understanding that the ceaseless abyss was the end all be all?

Behind his masked gaze, Sarcev smiled. Was it joy? Perhaps. One couldn't help but to feel some form of pleasure from this ritual. The Deep Core was theirs... after so many years of hiding... fighting... manipulating... it was finally theirs. And the Jedi paid for it, pound for pound, with their very lives.

His eyes flashed with the faintest hint of excitement.

He looked to his colleague as he lit the final candle, a nod of respect leading him to his interaction with this face oh so new to him.

"Well done, Da'Razel . Your devotion is clear to all. It is a rare thing, to find one so faithful."

 

[Aiden Porte]

OBJ-2
Corazona von Ascania

Aiden's adventures to Ukatis to find his old friend Roman Vossari had led him back into the meeting of an old friend Cora. Padawans together several years ago, before he left the Alliance and returned to his home on Naboo. Ukatis itself was on the mend, as Aiden offered his services to help while things were back in motions. No doubt not tied by any contract, clear to come and go as he pleased. As a newly Knighted Jedi, he couldn't stop fighting even for a minute. Not while there were reckless hate and such whirling around.

"We are at our bravest when faced with our fears and continue to move forwards."

Aiden brought up the rear as they rounded the corner and in route to the hangar bay. "Trust in Master Ascania. We will look after you." Aiden looked over to Cora and gave a small nod as he looked back.

"Things seem to be clear, but I feel a shift in the force. We must be on guard. I'll hang back a moment or two and guard our rear."

 

[Darth Apophion]

Objective II: Massacre on Tython

ALLIES: GE
ENEMIES: JEDI
​

The winds howled as Apophion passed through the outer gates of the temple. Then, without warning, the great doors buckled inward, smoke spilling into the main chamber as the Sith Lord walked in with slow, deliberate steps. His vermilion lightsaber was already lit. He was not here for words or diplomacy. No, he was here to kill.

The first Jedi came charging from a side corridor, a younger knight in tattered brown robes, fast yet reckless. "You don't belong here!"

Apophion suddenly shifted his stance and cut low, severing both legs at the knees before driving, then turning to drive his saber through the Jedi's back and out of his chest.

"You were too eager."

The second stood at the top of the grand staircase, a woman in her prime. Her green saber was steady, her breath controlled. "You'll find no victory here."

He raised his hand and crushed her with the Force, bones shattering as she slammed into the stone columns behind her.

"You spoke like a Master, but died like an initiate."

The third came forward, older, his eyes steady, his form precise. "I do not fear you, Sith, all is as the force wills it."

They exchanged strikes, the Blue blade against his fiery vermilion one. He blocked well, strong footwork, counterattacked well, but his age was his undoing, his bones to old to keep up. Apophion stepped through his defense and drove his saber through the man's gut, then slowly drew back his lightsaber as flesh sizzled.

"You relied on form when you needed instinct."

Three Jedi, Three failures.

His vermilion lightsaber only seemed to burn brighter with each kill. The silence of the Jedi temple was broken by his booming voice. "ONE LOSS AND YOU CRUMPLE LIKE A HOUSE OF CARDS! IS HOW WEAK YOU TRULY ARE?!"

Apophion reached out with the force, and found many weak in the force, and too unskilled to conceal their presence. The Sith made his move to that location, a hangar where the younglings were being evacuated. Perhaps a champion of the Jedi would meet him there.

 

[Domaric Mordane]

Domaric Mordane stepped carefully down the long stair, his boots scraping against worn steps cut by ancient tools. The crimson and black banners of the Empire fluttered above, hung from scaffolding that crawled across the half ruined shell of the old Temple. It would take years for the renovation to be completed. Perhaps even a decade. But the message was clear: the Heart of the Galaxy belonged to Empire now.

A pair of Stormtroopers snapped to attention as he passed the outer gate, saluting wordlessly. The air was cooler here. Drier. The deeper he went, the more the light shifted. Artificial florescents gave way to older methods of illumination—paler and cruel in glow. Deeper still and even the noises of Galactic City were drowned out by the stone and silence.

The cell block was small. Six cells in total. Only one inhabited.

The man inside sat slumped on the edge of his bunk, still broad-shouldered despite the circumstances of his imprisonment. His silver beard was well trimmed, and though his uniform was torn at the cuffs, it was still clean. General Dhorra, commander of the 19th Stomper Brigade, had been captured mere moments before the last of his men were vaporized in the leveling of the Outer Districts. He had not resisted. He had simply watched, eyes glassed and distant, as the skies burned.

Mordane stopped in front of the cell. The red shield buzzed faintly, casting a pale sheen over both men. They regarded each other without speaking.

At least, Mordane reached into his coat and withdrew a slim flash of dark amber liquid and two metal cups.

"I do pity you, you know," he said, setting the cups down on the stone bench. "But I thought you might appreciate a drink before your execution."

 

[Aurelian Veruna]

Aurelian didn't recognize the skyline at first, it had been quite some time since he had visited Alliance controlled Coruscant. He told himself it was a distortion played by the city's own bones: familiar structures stood at odd angles, facades devoured by fire or plastered with crimson propaganda so thickly that even the memory of Alliance banners seemed distant. The wind at this altitude always carried a hint of ozone but tonight, it carried ash.

From the balcony of a penthouse tower, three figures stood cloaked in the flickering dark. Behind him, his two guards, Andros and Bex, kept their distance, still, weapons hidden but ready. The only sound was the gentle thrum of distant repulsorlifts and the occasional sharp report of fireworks bursting overhead. It was Empire Day, and the heart of the galaxy was burning.

Aurelian tilted his head slightly, absorbing it all with that strange mixture of awe and dread reserved for funerals and coronations. The banners were impossible to ignore: black and crimson, stretched across entire city blocks like some grotesque art installation of grief and pride. Every street he'd once walked during childhood visits now pulsed with military precision. Stormtroopers marched in perfect cadence, horns echoed from spires, and speakers uttered slogans into the night. It was all so well staged, so deliberate. The Empire hadn't just won, it was performing its victory.

He let out a slow breath, leaning against the balcony's edge, the chill of the durasteel railing grounding him. In the distance, he could still see it: the towering old Jedi Temple, now renamed the Imperial Palace. Lightsaber fires raged at its base like a hideous bonfire built from myth and rebellion. The blue and green glows of kyber crystals flickered and flared, burning away one ideology to make space for another. Aurelian's jaw tensed. He didn't look away. Their ambition was clear, and that was the terrifying part.

Below, across the layered streets, masses of citizens crowded along balconies and platforms, necks craned toward the spectacle. Some cheered. Some merely watched. Others stood in suspicious, patriotic silence. But they were there, present and submissive. The Alliance hadn't lost this world when the troopers landed, or even when the temple fell. No, this was the moment of defeat: this parade, this theater. It was when people traded resistance for rhythm. "They've made loyalty look easy," Aurelian finally spoke.

Andros stepped forward slightly. "Sir?" "Nothing." Aurelian shook his head. "Just thinking out loud." He tapped a small control on the inside of his gauntlet, and a tiny holomap flickered to life in his palm. Red zones pulsed around key infrastructure. Entire quadrants were labeled quarantine, under reconstruction, or worse, cleansed.

His spies had been right. The occupation wasn't temporary; it was a reconstitution. This wasn't just conquest, it was surgery. The Empire wasn't wearing the Core like a trophy, it was stitching it into its spine. Coruscant, now Imperial Center, was the marrow.

This would spread. Of course it would. The Mid Rim was next, the expansion into Republic-held sectors. Worlds softened by peace and art and idle discourse. Worlds like Naboo. His Naboo. The idea of those delicate lake cities strangled under Imperial banners made his fingers curl into a fist. Legacy. That word had once tasted like triumph. Now it tasted like urgency. The Republic wouldn't survive this next war without steel in its blood, without cunning, without someone who could play their games.

Aurelian turned from the balcony, the flames of the saber-pyre reflecting in his eyes. "Well," he said quietly, flashing that dangerous smile, the one that promised war dressed as wit and knives hidden behind diplomacy, "I suppose it's time we made ourselves useful." And with that, the would-be King of Naboo stepped back into the shadows of the Empire, ready to learn the rules of the game so he could one day burn the board.

@Open​

 

[Dominique Vexx]

IMPERIAL CENTER

Galactic Alliance. Galactic Empire. The Corporate Sector Authorities didn't care who was in charge of which planet so long as they could see reason. Costs might go up to grease the wheels of a new bureaucracy, but such things happened. They could weather change.

Despite constantly striving to supplant Coruscant as the central hub of trade in the galaxy, however, Dominique hadn't wished or sought the collapse of the Alliance by any means. Not that it had collapsed, but the loss of Coruscant was no small thing. The High Republic wouldn't fare much better if they lost the economic power of Denon either in her estimation. There was a reason the Empire had sought to claim the world and it went well beyond mere symbolism.

As a Director on the Executive Board, Dominique felt it a responsibility for her to visit Coruscant -- now the Imperial Center. After all, they favored no particular government, only good economic sense. As much of a rival as the planet was to her homeworld, new relationships had to be forged now that old faces were gone -- whether in hiding, replaced, or... excised. Not tonight, obviously, as there was much celebrating to be had. Lightsabers to destroy. Banners to raise. Perhaps a speech? Well, her time on the world need not be short and there'd be time to hash out understandings and contractual terms.

So, tonight, she thought to visit more familiar faces. The future King of Naboo, in fact, had come to... pay their own respects to the prosperous Empire? More likely to gauge how much of a threat they might pose to his world. Much the same, really. Many other worlds would do the same. Arguably, part of her own efforts were to demonstrate Denon was not a hostile party, but a potential business partner. Empires needed materials and supplies, after all.

For the sake of appearances, Dominique had taken residence in a different tower. One representative visiting another shouldn't be too odious, but if she were there on the CSA's behalf rather than the High Republic then being seen as too close would be counterproductive. A hovercar jaunt to where Aurelian Veruna was staying then.

Two guards stopped a short distance back from Aurelian's door as Dominique continued ahead. It didn't hurt to have a few members of CorpSec just in case someone got too 'festive' during these moments of transition. At his door, she reached out to touch the indicator to let him know he had a guest. It would do to compare strategies to avoid running head-long into one another.

Aurelian Veruna​

 

[Sid Berik]

Coruscant Palace And Senate District

FOR THE EMPIRE.



​

Sid Berik.

Once, a scared soldier, fresh from the recruitment drives of the old Empire, looked on. His rank- freshly pinned. No longer a Sergeant, no the Stormtrooper Corps decided that his status was better relegated to a Lieutenant. He was a symbol of Imperial pride, a testament to the tenacity and loyalty of the Stormtrooper Corps.

Some things made Soldiers cringe and fill with a sour taste- parades, marches, uniform inspections. But victory for the Empire, the sacrifice of so many to secure victory and peace in the Inner Core and to remove the stain of weakness- his troops deserved a parade.

His uniform was sharp, impeccable. The armor his troops wore as he inspected them- his new unit, newly formed, newly minted- newly christened...

919th Advanced Reconnaissance Company. The 9-1-9. With the advent of war on the horizon and the inevitable, pathetic squalor of the Alliance rearing its head in foolish rebellion and insurgency, there was quickly a shift in focus to deter rebellion and deter large-scale insurgencies. A need was established, and a solution was debated on, discussed, and implemented. In Imperial fashion, it was quick, methodical on the decision to create the new unit.

Lieutenant Berik.

A field promotion, a new duty, and a victory parade. His Stormtroopers, Officers, Sergeants, all waited for his command. He turned his head, adjusting his cap.

"COMPANY-"
​

The snap-to, the sound of plated armor and weapons falling into position, raising to their parade positions.

"FORWARD- MARCH!"
​

The lockstep goose-stepping of the victorious Imperials began. Some onlookers were in awe, of their precision, their armor, their strength. Some were in fear. Either way, love or hate the Empire, it had come. With the sword and the shield both in hand. There was no escaping the Empire's strength in the Deep Core. The parade, the marches, the flyovers, they all demonstrated that. Coruscant was the case study for which all of the Empire would be judged on by the Deep Core. No more Jedi, no more Senate, no more quiveling, conniving, scheming Jedi or Senators.

Peace, not by love and not by hopes and dreams. True peace, through strength and control. The reality of the galaxy is that it needed an iron hand to keep the darkness at bay. Sith, Jedi, Alliances, Republics- they all ended the same. Faith in hope was all well and good, but it caused starvation, panic, disorder, crime, chaos. The Empire brought stability. It brought order. It brought peace.

And if there those that dissented, they would face the Empire's wrath.

 

[Thal Mantis]

​

THE DEATHLESS
Tython| Deep Core
TAG:
GEAR: Armor, Two Lightsabers, Utility Belt
Darth Apophion

​

The temple was a monument. A monument to vanity, to mistakes, to failure.

Thal looked upwards in the ceiling, standing in one of the many atriums. He heard the other Jedi die outside. His shoulders rolled. Around him, the air grew static, laden with hate, anger. He knew what they came to do. The Jedi had failed. The Jedi had failed him, the Core, and much more. And now, the Empire had come to kill him.

Or try, rather.

Thal breathed deeply as he felt the Dark Jedi step through the threshold. He heard his booming voice, screaming. Thal pulled his lightsabers into his hands, turning his body to face the juggernaut of a Jedi before he could reach the hangar. He scraped his lightsabers against each other, pacing back and forth in the liminal space that led to the hangar.

"Pick a God and pray."

Thal was unique to the other Jedi. He embraced his hate now. He embraced his anger. He knew what he was now. The Jedi held him back, held him at bay from his full potential. His father, his abandoning mother, now the Jedi. They all failed him. His strength was his own. He did not know what he wanted. But his eyes, narrowing, hateful, predator-like lasered in on the Sith before him. He breathed low and heavy through his nose, seething in rage. He tapped his lightsabers together, sparking the blue blades together. He wielded them like axes, as if they had more weight than they did.

 

[Darth Apophion]

Objective II: Massacre on Tython

ALLIES: GE
ENEMIES: Thal Mantis

​

The air in the corridor had gone still. The Sith Lord's silhouette filled the archway that separated Thal from the hangar beyond. Apophion stepped forward. The pale lights flickered.

"Prayers are for the dying," Apophion took another step. His eyes, their irises a glowing red, locked onto the boy in front of him. He could sense his anger and rage. "You wield your hate like a torch in a storm, hoping it makes you look taller. I have seen what comes after boys like you burn."

His eyes fell upon the twin lightsabers. The boy tapped them together, sending sparks skittering across the corridor floor. He moved more like a caged beast than a warrior. Though he drew upon his newfound power from the dark side, Apophion doubted he could shape it into anything disciplined, let alone elegant enough to pose a true threat.

"Your anger is loud. But it has no direction. You're a child swinging sticks at a shadow."

He stopped six paces from the fallen Jedi. His body turned slightly as he walked, not presenting his chest, but offering the edge of his frame. His right arm extended downward, low and relaxed, as the vermilion tip hovered just above the floor, angled outward, tracing an invisible line between himself and the Jedi that stood ahead.