Diplomacy Empire Day | GE Consecration of Imperial Center

[The Contingency]

EMPIRE DAY - CAPITAL CROWNING OF CORUSCANT IMPERIAL CENTER

WAR HAS RETURNED TO THE CORE WORLDS.
In a lightning campaign, the GALACTIC EMPIRE
has liberated the Core Worlds from the weakening
grip of the GALACTIC ALLIANCE.

Following the INVASION OF CORUSCANT,
Imperial STORMTROOPERS march openly through
the streets. Crimson banners brazenly are placed
around GALACTIC CITY in open display.

With the New Jedi Temple in disarray, and the Senate
rotunda in ruins, the heart of the democracy has been destroyed.
In its place lies a new order that is efficient,
united, and absolute.

Now, as the banners of the Empire are raised above
the skyline once more, the capital is reborn.
The world once known as Coruscant, is reconsecrated
by the will of the EMPEROR himself as..

..IMPERIAL CENTER.



​

​

The Galactic Empire, having achieved a decisive and symbolic victory, now returns to the seat of galactic civilization to stake its rightful claim. No longer a fractured world ruled by ineffective bureaucrats and hollow idealism, Coruscant, renamed once more as Imperial Center; is reconsecrated by the will of the Emperor, his Ministers, and the Imperial war machine.

In a dazzling and foreboding display of Imperial might and ceremonial grandeur, the legions of the Empire parade through the streets of the new capital. Imperial banners are unfurled. The voxcasters broadcast to trillions across the Core as lightsabers are cast into a forge at very feet of the former New Jedi Temple, now Imperial Palace.

This is Empire Day.

A day of renewal. A day of loyalty. A day of revenge.

---

Objective One - The Imperial Palace
​

With the New Jedi Order defeated and the galactic capital reclaimed, the New Jedi Temple, once a bastion of treason and rebellion, is under placed reconstruction to serve as the new Imperial Palace. A potent symbol of the Emperor's uncontested rule.

Imperial banners, black and crimson, unfurl across the flanks of the monumental structure. Stormtroopers line the walkways. The sounds of boots, drums, and horns fill the square as OIT (COMPNOR) regiments march in unison.

At the palace steps, the Grand Vizier's closest advisors, and secretive members of the Church of the Dark Side, cast the collected lightsabers of slain Jedi - from knight to youngling, into a furnace built for such ceremony. Each weapon ignites the pyre with blue flames and violent sparks of residual energy from the screaming kyber crystals. The fire rises with each fallen Jedi's saber, the last rites of a dying age.

Across the city, fireworks thunder through the Coruscanti skies in forced celebration. Citizens, half in awe, half in terror, watch as Empire Day becomes not just a spectacle, but a sign of renewed Imperial dominance.

---

Objective Two - Massacre on Tython
​

With Coruscant reconsecrated, only one threat remains: Tython, the new sanctuary of the New Jedi Order.

The Emperor has dispatched the Dark Side Elite to lead a final strike: a purge, brutal and absolute. Sending the Imperial Navy to surround Tython's orbit, interdicting all traffic, attempting to prevent any escape. No Jedi, Padawan, or Youngling is to survive. Tython must be cleansed.

Descend to the ancient world to finish what began with the fall of Coruscant. Libraries will burn. Temples will crumble. Jedi bastions will be razed with orbital fire.

This is not a battle, it is an execution.

The Age of the Jedi is over.

---

Objective Three - The Conditioning of Teta
​

Far from the fanfare of Imperial Center, a quieter but equally sinister transformation begins on Empress Teta.

Once the heart of the Krath Cult, the Iron Citadel rises again, rebuilt stone by stone under the watchful eye of Tetan Governor Alars Keto and his OIT attachés. This dark fortress is soon to house the Office of Imperial Truth (OIT), the Empire's new engine of propaganda, surveillance, and indoctrination. COMPNOR wearing a new face.

Posters line the streets. Loudspeakers recite Imperial slogans. Holo-feeds air state-sanctioned triumphs. Even Tetan youth are brought in for early re-education under programs.

Meanwhile, Imperial search-and-destroy teams prepare to root out the remnants of resistance once harbored during the reign of the Dark Empire. No cell, no whisper of rebellion, will be allowed to survive.

Teta will not just comply, it will believe.

​

 

[Aggadeen Myi]

THE VICE ECONOMIC CHAIR
AGGADEEN IN THE GALACTIC EMPIRE vol. I
Issue #1 w/ Open to Interaction​

Imperial Center, Birthplace of the New Empire.

This planet was referred to as the Crown Jewel of the Core Worlds and is often considered the capital of the galaxy. Now, it lay fully under the control of the Galactic Empire, which had waged a long and arduous campaign against the Galactic Alliance for this territory. However, from a military perspective, the Jedi were far from defeated.

As long as they maintained their temples for training and had Masters to instruct them, they would continue to be a persistent challenge for the Emperor. Yet, this was a concern for the Dark Side Elite, not for Aggadeen himself. His elevation from a simple Intelligence Operative to the Vice-Chair of the Treasury had been confirmed and sanctioned by the Imperial Ruling Council.

This new role provided him with a certain level of flexibility to oversee the growing Imperial Economy and to integrate the numerous worlds of the core under their control as the Alliance pulled back their fleets.

"Building an empire is easy, maintaining an empire is the hard part. Our former colleagues in the New Imperial Order learned that very well once Emperor Fel died." He muttered quietly to himself, casting a glance at the datapad before him.

One report after another had arrived from the lower levels of the city planet, suggesting that economic activity was gradually bouncing back from the conflict as starships were cleared away and skyscrapers were demolished to pave the way for new developments.

"We understand such sentiments as well, Vice-Chair Myi. The Neimoidians have invested much in Empires before and they don't often pan out well. Still there is little harm in restructuring certain assets of the Federation into new economic boards for how we say....liberation of funds." The voice coming through the holographic line belonged to none other than Senator Monaray Dod , who had escaped the occupation of Cato Neimoidia and was currently residing on Fondor.

While the idea of credit laundering was acknowledged, it was also seen as highly questionable, especially with Imperial Intelligence keeping an eye on specific happenings.

A transfer of such magnitude would require time, and time was a luxury that the Vice-Chair had in short supply, simply stating, "We shall see, Senator Dod."

A mere stroke of his beard was sufficient to conclude their conversation, as Aggadeen transitioned from a secluded area of the Imperial Palace to the front gathering to participate in the burning of the lightsabers.
​

 

[Aether of the Iron Order]

AX-01 Vanguard Mark I
Jedi Securitron Model Parts
[Aether's Build]

Weapons : 1 Training lightsaber x 6 | Hot 'n' Heavy Compensator | 7 War Maul

|

TAGS: Open to all
Objective Two: Evacuate survivors and delay or disrupt the genocide unfolding on Tython.

Tython – Rooftop of the Jedi Temple


Aether stood upon the sloped roof of the Jedi Temple, high above the restless grounds below. The wind stirs faint curls of smoke across the spires, carrying with it the scent of scorched soil and ozone. From a distance, he appears as a silent sentinel, tall and still, and like a statue carved to honor some long-forgotten war.

Within the polished contours of his armored form, systems stir passing through data streams and input. Beneath the matte finish of his chassis, power surges in steady rhythm, mapping trajectories, tracking movement, preparing for what is to come.

The Jedi below hurry through the courtyards, guiding younglings and injured toward hidden escape vessels. Every second counts as the distant roar of engines and the sharp rumble of detonations press closer.

Aether was forged to serve in battle, designed for protection, and refined by the will of those who once believed in peace.

He was the last shield of defense for those seeking to leave in peace.

Should the enemy arrive, they will find no frightened prey waiting for them. They will not strike down unarmed Jedi without his resistance. Aether would meet them here, high above the sanctuary they intend to burn, and he would show them what it means to stand against genocide.

Let them come in numbers, let them believe this will be easy.

Aether intended to give the younglings their chance to flee. And for every moment he could delay, for every inch they try to take, he will be there in an unyielding ready to take down those that would bring harm.

 

[Corazona von Ascania]

Obj II - Evacuating Younglings | OPEN

"Quickly, now. Do not stray from one another."

The core was collapsing in on itself. There would be time to analyze what went wrong after - if - they survived.

Tython's temple was under siege. Shepherding a group of younglings, Cora moved towards the hangar where what remained of their evacuation vessels waited. Behind her, a group of children garbed in identical sandy brown robes followed along. Whenever she turned around to do a brief head count, she was struck by the sight of eight terrified little faces.

Another Jedi knight flanked the rear of the pack. As they continued on through the corridors, one of the children let out a whimper. The Force itself bore down on them with incredible pressure; a warning that even the greenest initiate could feel in their bones.

"Remember your breathing exercises," she urged as they turned a corner. "We are at our bravest when faced with our fears and continue to move forwards."

The Jedi were on their back foot. Perhaps they would fall here, but she'd see the next generation live on.

Even if they had to be dispersed among the stars.

 

[Alexandra Feanor]

Jedi Temple - Evacuation Point
Tending to any injured while Evacuation is under way.

Equipment:
Robes
Spear
Sabers

Corazona von Ascania Aether of the Iron Order​

---

Alexandra stood, watching the others and having brought a ship of her own to help individuals off the planet. It would be hard for her to do much more than that for now, keeping her robes tight around her form as she stood there and speaking very little to others. Anything she lifted was through the force, and those who watched would see her left arm remaining quite still through the whole evacuation. It was only her right that she ever moved or seemed to use ever since the battle on Coruscant and now more than ever that was clear as she helped someone up to the ship's ramp.

They could not be bogged down and this evacuation was clearly needed the second that Coruscant had fallen. Infact she was quite sure it would not be long until they came for Tython, a gem that would be all too tempting to deface and tear down. She knew well that those of darker origin thought that way and would not let a beacon like Tython stand unchallenged.

She recognized Corazona not far from her, and the other one who seemed to likely be one of the Temple Guards. Interesting individuals and she was certain that there would be more to see soon, but she also knew that meant they had little time left.

For that reason, even now Alexandra reached out through the force. She bound herself to it once more, bound herself to the living flow as it weaved its way between every living thing on the planet. She did this both in order to know when the enemy would arrive, but as well to take hold of the very life around them. To will its presence and the force that flowed through it to heed her request and call for aid. Roots, Vines, Bramble, and all manner of life that could would impede the progress of anyone coming towards the temple by foot. It would be just enough to ensure the majority could get out of here.

That was why she paused, looking out over the forest and after helping those last individuals onto the transport she would sit. She would reach out with her right hand, leveling it in the air infront of her before closing her hand. The action to link herself more directly with the force, with the trees, bramble, bushes and all other life she could, letting it move and continue its work all while she offered her mind and strength.

 

[Solidor Slane]

​

​

| Location | Jedi Temple, Tython​

| Tag | Corazona von Ascania , Alexandra Feanor ​

​

Stormtroopers were pouring in from all directions, opening fire as a barrage of blasterfire was launched at a fleeing group of younglings. The air seemed to shift and brighten as red laser bolts reflected off an unseen barrier, the air seeming to fracture like breaking glass. The barrier would hold as the flora spawned by Alexandra Feanor grew into place.​

​

An elderly Jedi had his arm outstretched while he held his cane tightly in the other. Just in time. He sighed in relief, as he ushered a group of older Padawans towards Corazona von Ascania 's group to get to the hangar. ​

​

Following the Foundation's efforts to free the temple and Tython from the Dark Empire, Solidor had opted to stay behind to help rebuild and teach the younger Jedi when they returned as the Alliance finally took back the planet, for those who came after.​

​

The Temple on Tython had just been taken back by the Alliance and it seemed just as quickly to be taken away by the sudden arrival of the Galactic Empire. The Force's ebb and flow was a shifting tidal wave, becoming unpredictable and hostile. He winced as he felt the Light and those unfortunate to get caught by stormtroopers and the Dark Side Elite get snuffed out, letting out a pained grunt.​

​

 

[Nathan Bloodscrawl]

Wearing: Jedi Guardian Armor (Dark Blue)

Armed With: Nathan's Jedi Lightsaber.



Incompetence.

Incompetence at the highest levels.

Only that could explain the fall of Coruscant, and subsequently, the core worlds.

Nathan had his clone and Nuetralizer forces pull out of the Core completely. They had taken a wallop this time. He had come to the inescapable conclusion that their entire gear needed to be updated. It would be irresponsible to keep throwing them into conflict otherwise.

All those lessons of history, and still they had chosen not to learn. They had killed Darth Solipsis once already, and instead of scouring the Galaxy of his supporters, instead of going out of their way to fortify the core worlds against exactly the sort of humiliation it had just suffered--

--the fools in charge had simply carried on like it was business as usual.

His artificial daughter, Sera Mina , had positioned one Bacta-Works Cruiser on the planet for a massive evacuation of Tython, but he knew getting it off world would be a narrow business, even with its absurdly high defense and stealth drives active since the Sith had arrived in Tython 's space. He couldn't afford to be connected to that. He had instead 'scavenged' an old Davro-Class Light Freighter to get a large number of knights and students out of the combat space.

Despite being around Jedi, he had rarely felt so alone.

They had retaken this planet. They had just as quickly lost it.

Now they would have to expend three times as much blood to retake it.

Nathan had no words of wisdom to offer the others as he clutched his Jedi Lightsaber, it's white blade from the tiger fang crystal of his long deceased friend, Eldridge Parrnosso, a Cathar Jedi from the plague. He had obtained his old friend's crystal from a terrible trial in an old mineshaft on Cathar itself.

His Dark Blue Guardian Armor, its visor a tinted white color gleamed against the fire of explosions in the distance.

He did not wait for the others to start. The fight had to be taken to the enemy. Waiting patiently was what had gotten them into this mess.

The more of the enemy he killed, the less of them there was to kill his comrades.

So Nathan Force Jumped from the top of the temple and Force dashed into the approaching enemy, meeting a wall of Blaster Fire that he redirected with a mix of Soresu and Shien as he approached.

Only in range against the opening squads that opposed him did the Form One come into play. Nathan was in pure kill mode.

Heavy, unforgiving slashes of his white blade chewed through armor, limbs and pride the blows from his white saber in a mix of Form One and Soresu ripped apart one squad then another, then another in rapid succession as he cut his way into the enemy marching towards the temple, deflecting shots back at their sources as much as he slashed into more Imperial Stormtroopers, who became so panicked they started a tactical retreat as he got closer and closer.

Nathan had one singular goal: Buy as much time for those he was evacuating as possible. No matter how many must die on the Empire's side for escape to be successful. He felt nothing for them. Not even contempt. They were weak willed slaves of those too proud to ever let the old argument finally drop.

His Force Valor would serve him well, enhancing his strength, reflexes and speed. Whatever his disgust and frustration with the leaders of the Alliance and the Order, his motives to protect the lower ranks were pure.

He knew what it was like to have a home destroyed. Family slaughtered by fanatics. The memory moved his blade into the direction of Sith Troopers.

A red blade from a Dark Side Elite blocked his killing strike on a Stormtrooper and attacked him in the Djem So style. Nathan didn't budge as he repelled frenzied hammer blows, before parrying with Soresu at the last second and beheading the Elite.

For any Jedi witnessing this, it was a devastating spectacle to see him in action. He hadn't even identified himself when he arrived, and his mask concealed his features as he rampaged through the approaching ranks, each strike designed to kill with the maximum of efficiency...


Alexandra Feanor

Corazona von Ascania

Solidor Slane

Aether of the Iron Order

 

[Ishida Ashina]

TYTHON | HALL OF THE SUN
LIGHTSWORN OF CLAN ASHINA | LEADER OF THE COMPANIONS | BEARER OF THE RING OF JUDGEMENT

Face tilted skyward, Ishida stared unflinchingly as the inevitable approached. Her jaw set with a disapproving grunt. There wasn’t anything to be said — only actions to take.

Henna Ashina , for her part, had foreseen enough to interpret what her half-glimpsed dreamings meant. Verily, the writing had been on the wall. And when Coruscant fell, it sealed the deal. Their allies had been too weak to uphold that which had withstood decades prior to their hubris and now the Bogan loomed over Tython and darkened the skies with the belly-fire of their descending ships.

The rest of them moved to protect what was most sacred. Many ships from her automated fleet had already collected those who chose to live on Tython, taking them to the safety of Atrisia instead. Only a few remained, if only to diffuse the firepower of The Dark Empire’s approach.

Only the few of them remained, all gathered around one of the last-standing bastions of Ashla — a tower dedicated to the Light. Here, at this stronghold, they would be stronger and have greater access to their ultimate ally as the darkside thickened everywhere else planetside. Their wounds would heal faster. Their focus would be impenetrably honed.

At first, it had felt wrong to Ishida to move The Hall from the place her Master had maintained it for so long, but it felt worse to let it succumb to darkness from inaction. Thus, the decision had been made to prepare it for liberation from its roots. And while they gathered on the stairs, to defend from evil’s purge, the ground trembled beneath them.

Ishida descended three steps in silence. By her side, her brother and her partner. She looked ahead, beyond either of them and toward the impending conflict. The treelines felt thick with oppression, and it would only be a matter of moments before the ephemeral stillness was replaced with violence.

While her hands remained steadily rested on the hilts at her hips, they buzzed with anticipation.

“Tell me again that the signal is clear to the remaining fleet?” The question was to Castian. Asking her brother for anything was near futility. If Ishida was poor with words, her brother was worse. “And they will not linger in these darkened skies longer than necessary.”

---

ALLIES: Castian Vero | Inosuke Ashina | OPEN TO LIGHTSWORN AND JEDI
ENEMIES: DARK SIDE EMPIRE | OPEN

 

[Da'Razel]

IMPERIAL PALACE - CORUSCANT
Open to interaction​

A thousand sabers of the fallen.
A thousand stories, tales of hope, of dreams.
A thousand kyber crystals.
A thousand candles.
A thousand offerings to the gods.

How hot? How blindingly, searingly white must a flame burn to melt the very essence of a lightsaber?

That was his first thought, one that dimmed quickly, vanished like a shooting star across the night sky.
An afterthought to an afterthought, as his mind raced to grasp the destiny that had come to fruition before him and the destiny still to bloom.

Da'Razel had witnessed it.
Would witness it.
With his own eyes, he had seen the threads of fate, no, of prophecy, warp and bind themselves into reality, made manifest by the hand of his Dark Lord.

Coruscant was theirs now.
Billions of souls for the Empire.
An ocean of kindling spirits floating among the reflections of stars in a dark tide.

His entire life had led to this moment.
And every breath since that victory, his enemies felled, his allies triumphant, his Lord ascendant, had been a confirmation of his divine purpose.

He would never forget this day.
And while he would savor every dripping second of the celebration to come, he had devoted himself wholeheartedly to its preparations.
To make his vessel worthy of what was to come.

The normally ironclad, gold-hung Saint was dressed in opulence far beyond the means of mortals.
Draped in divine silk, a tunic hung loosely across a bare chest.
His muscular crimson torso, oiled and coarsened, bore the hue of red sandpaper, dusted in the ochre tint of the Sith species' ancestral world.
A unique belt, woven from hundreds of tiny golden buckles, stitched together like the scales of a fish, branded his waist in a stream of liquid shine.
A white sash of tightly wrapped linen clung to his hips, falling to his ankles, revealing bare, feet, claws black as obsidian.
His neck and wrists were strung with hoops of gold.

The only armor: his golden helmet.
A single vertical slit marked the face of the Church's most devout.
It glowed faintly red, like a coal clinging to its final ember, and though no eye could be seen, any who gazed into the Midas touched visage would feel it staring back with sudden rapturous, eager intensity.
Behind his golden skull hovered a halo of the raptured, shaped like a crown of sun rays. Radiance captured in an object.
Ornamental at a glance, yet too advanced in design to be merely decorative.

If ever a mortal man had looked immortal, it was now.
A devil in the pelt of an angel. A demi-god of no clear alignment.

He had spent the last hours lighting over a thousand candles.
Not for illumination, no.
Artificial light like lamps scattered the darkness, pushed it away.
But candles, embraced it.
They revealed it.
It was a distinction the initiates of the occult knew well.
And for what they were about to do, the darkness had to be present.

Yes, a pyrokinetic of his caliber could have lit them all with a single thought.
But this was sinful, sin of sloth and pride.

The godly laid in the act itself.
The first act of this glorious night of devotion.

And the Darksider wished to be present for every flame.
So he had gone, one by one, birthing each fire into existence.
And in that small task, he found a kind of tranquility.
A new meaning.
Rebirth, into this new chapter of the galaxy.

The flames were lit around a singular object. A centerpiece forged specifically for this ritual, an object placed into the cold, glaring midnight air of what had once been known as the Jedi Temple. Here, at the tip of its steps, at the cusp of its entrance, they would set ablaze the Jedi's legacy once and for all.

Before them stretched the endless jungle of durasteel and glass, beams and walls, every language of the galaxy, every color it had ever known, every species that could reach it, every way of life that could be lived.

And it was all theirs now.

Emerging in sight, climbing the same endless stairs their invasion force had conquered, the participants of this ritual arrived: brothers, sisters, preachers, disciples, chapter-heads, lords of the Church.
And at the entrance stood the white-clad, lanky figure, emotionless, greeting each guest with whispers of Sithic benediction, or murmured lines of sacred verse.

It would begin soon.

 

[Auteme]

Tython
A Journey's End
​

She felt silly, gardening in a place like this -- a pail and spade, as though the island needed her hand to become beautiful. What weeds could she remove? Every flower was more beautiful than the last. What could she water, that was not fed by the lake that surrounded them? But she did it anyways, every step mirroring one of his. Echoes were usually more difficult to read than this, but there were years and years of them here, that sole caretaker, who knew every blade of grass by name, who greeted the little things that marched underfoot.

She danced along, watered those few that struggled here, removed the ones whose time was spent. In truth she could not see the difference, but that was gardening; some seeds were planted that she would never see grow.

Some steps crossed his last -- that flash of violence, of familiar and rancid dark. Some she remembered personally, those few ragged breaths, that final apology. She'd spent years, enraged, knowing that Solipsis yet lived and that he did not; to step on his sacrifice seemed the ultimate insult, the ultimate injustice that needed righting, through all the power and violence she could muster.

But he'd known the truth; always had. His final thoughts had gone to his friends, to her.

So they gardened a while, until her nails were sufficiently dirtied, and her arms tired from carrying water all day.

She sat with the tree, that old friend, and rested a while. From here she could feel the impending eclipse; she could see the children fleeing, boarding the transports. Those who fought on did so with the fervor appropriate for the occasion -- but that passion resided in too few to make a difference.

"I'll need to go soon," she whispered. "But I'll be back. Soon, I hope."

 

[Mercy]

IMPERIAL CENTER
BOULEVARD
Sael

Mercy was lounging lazily in a seat in front of one of the cafe's. The sun was setting, the chair was comfortable, she had already polished off one beer and truly everything was right in the world.

At least for the moment.

While elsewhere Jedi were being rounded up and attacked, on Teta they began a centralized indoctrination machine, and the Jedi Temple was being turned into a Palace Mercy was just enjoying the sight of victory. She didn't kid herself, her own little part in the Jedi Temple hadn't tilted the battle in any meaningful way.

But that didn't matter.

"See that building over there? That was the Jedi Temple. Just a day ago I was dodging Jedi coming out of my arse in there. Today they have karked off after decades of occupying it. Balance... The Force loves that chit." She said it with a hint of pride to her apprentice. This was the first day that they could walk on Coruscant without even attempting to hide.

She stretched and glanced to Sael.

"Do you want a beer? Have you ever had a beer in your life?" They had counted together to try and figure out how old Sael was exactly. When you were a slave they didn't exactly do a book keeping on it. To her delight they found out she was old enough to have a drink.

One more potential drinking buddy.

Life was truly good.

 

[Castian Vero]

Location: Tython
Allies: Ishida Ashina | Inosuke Ashina
Objective: Evacuate and slow

Quite often it fell to Castian to bring a smile to Ishida's face.

Well, not a smile as in actual physical expression, but behind the paint and mask. To make her brows frown just a touch as she held herself from laughing in truth.

She needed more joy, not less, when they decided to commit to a life like this.

Even Castian had difficulty finding any joy in the current track of things. They had been given forewarning that this might happen by Henna, but knowing it might happen and seeing it actually enfold were two different things. Even Cast felt a touch hopeless at it all. How often would they have to watch the same thing happen before it would be enough?

“Tell me again that the signal is clear to the remaining fleet?” The question was to Castian. Asking her brother for anything was near futility. If Ishida was poor with words, her brother was worse. “And they will not linger in these darkened skies longer than necessary.”

"It is clear, my Lord." Cast murmured softly while watching the sky himself. "They all know their mission, they will get out those that cannot protect themselves, they know this is about living to fight for another day."

The Empire was too strong to face head-on, not with the Alliance in active retreat all around the Core Worlds. So many planets... just... being abandoned, falling, sacrificed to forestall a harder push into deeper trenches of Alliance territory. He understood the grim calculus of it, but that didn't meant Castian had to like it.

"The question is not if they know." His hip brushed against her side, to check her slightly. "It is if you are still committed to living to fight another day."

Because Cast felt it through their shared connection.

Every bone in her body wanted to stay and fight, even if it meant to fall.

 

[Corin Kaze]

Solidor Slane

The Force cried out in anguish. Death permeated the air, thick with dread. It was as if the Core itself was dying, crumbling to ash around the Jedi that once stood so valiant in defense of it. The Imperial stormtroopers rushed into the halls of the Tython Jedi Temple, and the Dark Side Elite acted on their own devious mission. To steal, to slaughter. It created despair and it all bled into the Force, into the Jedi Master that felt it as if a personal wound struck upon him. Master Solidor winced and a batch of stormtroopers arrived behind him with their blasters raised to put an end to the old Jedi, all with the sound of footsteps coming to a halt and the readying of blasters.

It never came to pass as a violet blade swept through them.

Stormtroopers crumpled onto the stained marble, their plastoid burned with searing slashes as Corin stood over them.

"Master Solidor," he had not seen the Jedi since their stint in the Foundation, for however brief it lasted. His voice carried recognition and relief. "The Lightsworn have come to aid you. How can I help?"

 

[Darth Apophion]

Objective II: Massacre on Tython

ALLIES: GE
ENEMIES: JEDI​

Tython.

They all witnessed the end of a Great Age. The era was built by the Jedi, their senate, their guiding visions of prophecy, and their codes of balance. The dream of peace was over. The illusion of their supremacy was torn away. The dying of the Light cast by their order would no longer reach the stars. Now the Galactic Empire had come

Skies were already dark when the dropship broke the clouds. The silhouettes of thousands of warships cast a great shadow over the planet. Many Jedi Temples stood in the distance. Each one had its legend, and each would be conquered and purged nonetheless. There would be no mercy, no truce, no surrender. The city-world had fallen, and Tython had been named next.

The dropship touched down in silence.

Apophion descended the boarding ramp without haste. The ramp's edge hissed under the heat of the scorched earth, but he made no sound as his boots found the soil. The Force whispered through the ground, ancient and unsettled, like something stirring in the Force. Around him, the first elements of the Dark Side Elite fanned out, spreading across the terrain in purposeful silence. No war drums. No banners. Their only purpose was to eliminate all pockets of Jedi resistance.

The air here was different. He could feel it pressing against the inside of his chest, too heavy with memory. He stepped away from the landing zone and moved through the mist-slick grass, toward the path that once led pilgrims to the temple gates. The path was overgrown, untouched for years, yet it still felt worn, like generations of belief had bent the land beneath their feet. He paused at a fallen statue, once a guardian, now a moss-eaten ruin, its face broken and blind.

He looked into the void where its eyes had been.

"This is where it began," he said, not to his followers, not to himself, but to the Force. "And still they do not see."

 

[Rhys Gorne]

THE CORE WORLDS
TYTHON

The core worlds shake with the sound of the Imperial Warmachine.
The Jedi Order has despatched the Underground, a group of secretive and
Protective Jedi Knights to aid with the evacuation of the sacred Jedi Core Worlds.
The High Republic cannot interfere, they cannot be involved or risk the
Ire of the Imperial invasions upon their own borders,
already tested by Criminal elements.
Yet as the hour grows dark it becomes apparent that;
The Jedi Order is not alone
They have a secret weapon
They have:

“We are not at war with the Galactic Empire or whatever these Imperial opportunists have declared themselves as.” The response had been firm and swift. “The High Republic is not authorised to engage.”

That had been the official communication shortly after news of the Imperial war machine marching through the core worlds had finally reached the High Republic military.

It had been a communication that had been met with a mixture of response across the territories of the Republic. Some called it smart, they did not have the means or resource to fight someone else’s war. Let the Galactic Alliance fall upon it’s owns sword so to speak. Other’s declared it a heinous miscarriage of justice and that as the government of the free they should at least reach out a hand to help.

The Jedi were helping. They had sent ships the moment they could, to aid with the evacuation of the ancient and historically important temples of the core. Yet the Jedi were also a separate entity to the High Republic. The Jedi Order was it’s own rule, could make it’s own decisions and protect it’s own people.

Fortunately the Jedi Order had friends in high places.


Hyperspace faded away, bleeding into the cold dark blue of space and Tython, in it’s radiance hung ahead of him. Rhys’ hand squeezed the yoke as the fighters emerged silently, like a wolf pack into real space. Twelve Starfighters, blackened hulls with no IFF, no markings and sleek profiles slipped through the darkness towards the planet.

This was not Bravo Squadron, nor was it any of the other squadron’s of the High Republic. This was something else, something new and something that felt like it shouldn’t be talked about. Rhys himself wasn’t even sure if it even warranted a name, but when he had taken volunteers and quickly deployed a crack team of pilots to go in deep behind the lines of the enemy at risk of non-governed violence it had felt like the right thing to do.

The order had come from outside of hierarchy, potentially from the Jedi, or one of the Admiral offices. It was what the called a rogue order, a directive with no source. The name had stuck in the journey and it hadn’t taken long for the unit to adapt it in honour of ancient starfighter traditions.

“Rogues.” He said into his helmet’s comms. There was no need for a rollcall, he knew the pilots that can joined, he knew where they were. “You know why we are here. This is it. No glory. No medals. We are here to run interference and allow the Order to get what they need off the planet.”

Already the ships were starting to break into orbit, fast and sleek, the Empire wouldn’t know what hit them.

“Keep it tight and fast. Hit what you can and do not get hit yourself. We are not here to win, the leash is off. Make the Empire bleed.” There was fire behind that last line as he led the squadron down through the atmosphere, lower and lower until they were practically skimming the treetops of the forests below. He couldn’t help but smile.

“Rogue Squadron. May the force be with you.”

ROGUES •TYTHON​

 

[Rhaz Camoa]

R H A Z . C A M O A

| Location | Dark Alleyways, Empress Teta​

| Company | The Elite​

Tap.....Tap..... Tap.... The sound echoed in the mind of a panic-stricken man, breaking out in a cold sweat as they ran through alleyways to get away from the sound. They gasped for air as they looked over their shoulder, the alleyway seeming to grow darker and darker, encroaching on their heels like a silent beast of the night. Tap....Tap....Tap... The sounds grew louder, like a clock ticking - down...down...down... The man cried out, grabbing at their head and screaming out in pain, as if a needle was being driven directly into their ears, clutching and grabbing at their hair. They had to get out of there, they had to warn the others, they had to get word out that they were being hunted by the Imperials storming the core.​

​

The man stumbled over garbage and empty, fallen cans, causing a commotion as they went tripping and crashing into the ground, grabbing at their skull, fingers digging into their skin and clawing, as if trying to get away from something or someone. Tap...Tap..Tap. The methodical sound slowed and stopped as the man's eyes opened wide, daring left and right. All that was heard was their labored breath, heartbeat so loud and fast that it could have been mistaken for the thrum of an engine.​

​

A single gloved hand rested itself against the man's shoulder, causing them to freeze. Their pupils dilated, eyes moving first, followed next by their head to see the white fingered gloves methodically tapping in rhythm against their shoulders. "Oh, how I've missed the scent of fear... I must thank Darth Solipsis for the opportunity he's provided me to finally enjoy some much needed...indulgences. I do hope your friends provide me with just as much of a thrill."​

​

The man turned his head to see a pale Lepi staring with a wide, toothy grin, eyes red with malice. He screamed out as he fumbled for his blaster, pulling and pointing it over his shoulder, "GET AWAY FROM ME!" The Lepi vanished as if a mere fleeting puff of smoke as the shot went off. "You know it is very rude to point a weapon at someone." The voice suddenly was heard opposite of the man, the Lepi leaned against the alleyway wall, "Someone could get hurt you know.". The man went to shift his aim, blinking to clear the sweat pouring down from their brow. The Lepi had vanished again, now reappearing in front of the man, sitting in front of him cross-legged with his hands laced together and his chin resting atop them, "My companion here would find it exceptionally rude if you tried that again." ​

​

The man went to point the muzzle directly between the Lepi's eyes, ready to pull the trigger. Something stopped him though, as if his finger on the trigger had locked up. The Lepi lifted his left index finger upwards from its interlocked position as the muzzle's aim shifted up and up, till the barrel was pressed directly under the man's chin, "I would strongly advise reconsidering~" The Lepi spoke in a teasing, singsong tone with a wicked smile forming on his lips.​

​

Janus Strix​

 

[Sael]

​

White and foamy, the stuff at the top had been referred to as a head. No matter how long she stared at it, she couldn't understand why, other than the fact it sat at the top. Strange.

"No." Sael blinked and looked across the table at her languidly sat Master.

"I haven't. My first foray into any inebriant was that Force awful glitterstim." Truthfully, the glitterstim hadn't been bad — it had been great, FUN! But the aftershock of it had been awful. Then Isar had said it would kill her and she swore off it then and there. And again later when she vomited from it.

"Maybe a small one?"

It was wonderful to be on the side of the triumphant. Like the galaxy had ordained the little slave's come uppance. From rags to luxuriating on the streets of Coruscant as chrome, glittery pieces of celebration fell from the sky,

"They fled so easily, only one battle?

Is that normal?"

____________________________________________________________
Mercy
____________________________________________________________
​

 

[Mercy]

Sael

Mercy chuckled but flagged down a waiter to order a small glass to pour some of her beer into. They didn't just have a 'small beer' sadly, but Mercy would make it work.

"You might think it is gross the first time you try it." She said as she re-poured, settling a bit of the amber and foam into the smaller glass, before pushing it into her direction. "In that way it's a bit the opposite of glitterstim. There the joy comes first and then death. With beer, it tastes bitter... but once you get used to the taste... ahh."

As if to underline it she took a deep hard swallow from her own large glass.

"No, it's not normal." Mercy said after a moment of consideration. "Decades ago the One Sith and the Republic fought for years, from planet-to-planet, not giving ground until finally the Republic broke apart."

So why was it that the Alliance lost the Core in such a quick swoop? It was a question historians and academics would pour over for years to come.

Mercy had her own take, of course.

"Being large is not the same as being strong, little one." She reached out and ruffled Sael's hair affectionately. "One can be small, just as the Empire was before this battle, and bring down a titan." That is who Sael was, in her opinion. A small goblin, a worm out of her cage, but within was such strength the world would tremble.

"The Alliance was large but it carried on mainly by momentum. The moment something got in its path that refused to move, it broke apart, momentum sapped, their core shattered. They lost more than 30 systems in this one pitched fight. I am not sure if they will recover from this... they still could, or it might become attrition as they lose more and more until they disappear entirely."

 

[Shannic Wulf]

To call it a dream would have been an understatement. When she was first called to serve the Emperor, she had sworn to fulfil his desires, to realise his vision of a lasting legacy, one that honoured the spirit of the ancient Palpatine, and surpassed it.

Imperial Center had always been the goal: the chief ambition above all others. She knew that claiming the heart of the galaxy would force the Core to capitulate, and with it would come the resources and manpower necessary to construct an administration worthy of galactic dominion. Now, they had it. They were the custodians of Coruscant.

The old Jedi Temple had been be repurposed, its very nervous system reformatted and restored to become the heart of a new administration, a palace from which she would govern Coruscant directly.

She sat upon the dais, surrounded by cohorts of Imperial officers and governors, administrators and soldiers, Ecclesiastes and clerks, each one sworn in loyalty to the Emperor. The highlight of the day was yet to come: the execution of a score of Jedi loyalists, traitors every one. It was their dogma that had poisoned the Alliance and brought it under their sway. She watched with glee as sabers burned, thousands of soldiers marching past, their fanaticism focussed into a new militarism, an order that would outlast them all.

This was not cruelty. It was clarity. The galaxy had confused stagnation for peace, corruption for balance. The Alliance had dressed decay in the robes of democracy, and the Jedi had sanctioned it all with their sermons on compassion and restraint. Shannic had long since grown tired of those words. Compassion without discipline, mercy without structure; these had made the galaxy weak.

She remembered the first time she had seen Coruscant from orbit, its wounded skyline still bearing the scars of liberation. She had not felt sorrow then. She had felt vindication. This was the price of rebirth. The old world would be buried so that a new one could rise, obedient and pure in purpose. The end of a rotted age.

Her speech later that day would mark the beginning of a new chapter, one written in the language of dominion, not compromise. Solipsis had not claimed the throne to broker truces or mend broken pacts. He had come to reorder the galaxy. And she, his voice and his will in the Core, would see it done. As the direct ruler of Imperial Center and the head of the Empire’s government, it was her voice that would carry today. It was she who would embody the will of the Emperor’s might to the millions who would walk through the streets.

She glanced across the assembled loyal, letting her gaze linger on the banners, the black and crimson of the new Empire hanging where the tattered flags of the Republic once had. How easily monuments fell. How quickly people forgot who had ruled them. The Senate was gone. The Jedi were next.

And after today, the galaxy would remember who had replaced them.

 

[Janus Strix]

J A N U S. S T R I X
| Location | Dark Alleyways, Empress Teta
| Company | The Elite
| Tags | Open: Rhaz Camoa

​

Janus stood quietly in the darkness, listening to the rhythmic tap…tap…tap echoing softly ahead, his pulse matching the slow, measured beat. He wasn't one for chasing prey himself—usually content to pull strings from far above, hands rarely dirtied—but tonight, something had drawn him out. Perhaps it was the tension in Teta's streets, the intoxicating promise of raw, unfiltered fear that hung in the air, too alluring to ignore.​

​

He had stumbled upon the Lepi by chance, following the trial of screams, panic echoing through the narrow alleys like music drifting from a distant, sinister concert. Curiosity tugged gently, insistently, guiding him toward the unfolding drama. Janus leaned casually against the cool stone, observing the pale figure tormenting his victim with a quiet intensity. A wry smile curved his lips.​

​

Janus stepped forward slowly, a breath slipping between parted lips as his fingertips brushed the wall, savoring the chill of stone beneath them. He watched the man squirm and plead with eyes wide and desperate, heartbeats loud enough to count. Delicious. Janus spoke softly, voice velvet and edged, "You have quite the talent. Although…" he paused thoughtfully, eyes glittering with gentle amusement, "subtlety often leaves a more lingering impression."​

​

He tilted his head slightly and regarded the Lepi with calm interest. Janus's fingers ghosted lightly over the hilt of his saber, a subtle hint rather than outright menace. "But perhaps," he mused, voice barely above a whisper, eyes tracing the victim's shuddering breaths, "you prefer a quicker satisfaction?"​

​

The air between them filled with quiet anticipation, shadows pressing closer like an eager audience.​

​

​