Diplomacy Empire Day | GE Consecration of Imperial Center

[Aurelian Veruna]

The soft ping of the door chime cut through the dim penthouse light.. Aurelian didn't flinch, but his guards did. Andros and Bex were already moving before the second tone sounded, stepping forward in perfect sync, blasters drawn low but steady. Aurelian followed them, slow and deliberate, pacing toward whatever surprise awaited at his threshold.

He hadn't expected visitors, certainly not tonight. The skyline itself was still bleeding, and the air outside smelled of carbon scoring and melted ideology.

The door slid open with a mechanical hiss, revealing Senator Vexx, Dominique.

The faintest smirk tugged at the corner of Aurelian's mouth, a flicker of mischief in the gloom. His eyes danced between her immaculately poised form and the matching CorpSec silhouettes behind her. Practical, of course, but still, he couldn't help the way his smile deepened.

"Lower them," he said without turning. His voice was calm. The guards obeyed instantly, holstering their weapons with military crispness. "If Senator Vexx wanted me dead," he continued dryly, "she'd have sent a contract, not a doorchime."

He stepped into the light, hands clasped behind his back, posture smooth and self-assured. "Dominique. You always know how to make an entrance. Come in, though I warn you, it's not quite the penthouse standards of Denon." He gestured grandly, mockingly, to the half-furnished room behind him. "Only the best for a rival King and their incognito escorts."

Without waiting, he turned and walked toward the balcony, trusting she would follow, his voice trailing back like a ribbon of silk. "Andros, Bex, stay here. Make yourselves comfortable with the other guards."

Outside, the city burned beautifully. The wind caught his coat as he stepped onto the balcony, the railing cold under his hand. The saber-pyre still raged in the distance like some ancient funeral rite resurrected in technicolor. He tilted his head toward it, but his attention flickered sideways as Dominique joined him.

He studied her profile for a moment, his lips curved into something softer than his usual smirk, though not entirely free of it.

"Well?" he asked, gesturing vaguely toward the madness. "What do you make of all this pageantry and flame? Think it'll reach Denon's doorstep soon?" He paused, then added, his voice lower: "Or are your boardrooms too insulated to hear the march of boots anymore?"

It wasn't a jab, not really. More like a dare. His eyes lingered on her, too long to be casual, yet not quite impolite. There was something oddly reverent in the way he regarded her, not like one greets a senator, but rather a fellow actor in a play whose script had just turned… interesting.

"I'll admit," Aurelian went on, resting both hands against the rail, "I expected brutality, of course. What I didn't expect was the grandeur, its symmetry impressive. It's almost poetic... They've dressed conquest in the trappings of faith."

A moment passed, and his voice dropped a note. "I suppose the galaxy has always had a taste for empires, hasn't it? But I wonder…"

He turned to look at her fully, lips curling once more into that dangerous, lazy smile of his. "Are you here to pay respects to the new gods of the core, Dominique, or to see which ones you can seduce?" His tone was light, teasing, but the question lingered, smoky and suggestive, between them. He wasn't sure which answer he preferred, but that hardly mattered. He was enjoying the question too much.

Dominique Vexx​

 

[Dominique Vexx]

Dominique didn't blanche at the sight of Aurelian's guards poised to strike as the door open. Why shouldn't they be cautious? They were not yet on friendly territory, presuming an accord between an Empire and a Republic could be reached.

Her palms turned outward with Aurelian's dry remarks about how she would have had him shot. What could she say? He was right.

The smile on her lips broadened at the invitation soon followed by a most dire warning of his accommodations. She strode across the threshold fluidity and without hesitation. "Perhaps. At least they didn't put you in a tower in the slums." It might not be to his standards, but it could be much worse. "You might be surprised what zealots will do," she added if the very thought sounded impossible.

Aurelian didn't bother to linger, of course, and soon made for the balcony. As expected, Dominique followed. She wasn't there to talk with his guards, after all.

His unexpected guest stepped out into the crisp air in her sharp, white jacket; the lilac glareshades were half-transparent with her golden rings clearly visible and cast out over the city before them. What the man thought to find, she couldn't imagine, but the smile was nearly extinguished in that moment. There was little to smile about, now.

Soon enough, Aurelian prompted about what lay before them. Dominique turned her attention to him instead with a shadow of the smile returning; the man was a far cry better than the fires. "The Executive Board is about as insulated from these affairs as the Senate chamber. Aurelian." The corners of her lips curled upward further. She trusted he'd understand that meant both large bodies were equally oblivious. "Not all of them. Those under my influence can see reason." Or be forced to see reason, anyway. "And the reports I've read show the Empire expanding in our direction. Never a good sign. Though, officially, the Board doesn't favor any galactic government so long as they can see reason." Or credits.

A soft snort followed. "Personally, I still favor the Republic. The Alliance only played to Darkwire's ambitions, and an Empire would sacrifice everything for their cause. Freedom would be the least of the things lost. We have made great strides to improve conditions on my world; not matters prioritized by a militant group with considerable Sith influence."

With his reflection on the brutality, Dominique listened once more.

She had her own thoughts, which mirrored those of Aurelian's own, but they weren't pressing. After all, despite poetic reflection, he had a more direct and personal inquiry about her presence there. "As I said before, the CSA doesn't see the Empire as an enemy, so if a few words of adoration facilitate profitable arrangements -- so long as it is not illegal to do so -- then so be it. But as a Senator... or a citizen of the Republic, I couldn't help but think we haven't had a chance to talk. Truly talk. Away from the rabble and gossipminders. There's no better time than in the den of a predator."

"Whether that's about economic forecasts, or the personal ambitions of a suave, cunning, and intelligent ruler, would be up to you." Dominique's smile had returned to its former strength. Would the man dare to so much as tease what he really wanted, and what it would take to acquie it? If there were someone that understood discretion and wasn't bound by lofty ideals of moral purity, however, it would be a Director of Denon. Much was possible if they worked together. If their interests aligned.

Aurelian Veruna​

 

[Corin Kaze]

Solidor Slane

Corin came to assist Solidor onto his feet. He teased something of a small, faint smile. It rounded out his eyes.

"I can only wish the same," answered Corin.

The students around them did not know him. He could see them look upon him with a sense of strangeness, in idle wonder that left them curious. His glancing gaze met a young Duros who shied from his odd, patterned eyes. The presence of Solidor and his extended familiarity calmed them, somewhat, given the circumstances.

"Ships from the Sworn Host have touched down to help evacuate settles and the students in the temple. If we can lead them outside, then we can get them to safety off-world."

 

[Ishida Ashina]

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

A younger Ishida might have scoffed at Castian's question. Not registered the depth of it. But years and experience had rooted deep, and the memory of her late Master still burned bright. He'd sacrificed himself so she could continue to fight — on this very planet.

It was a hard reminder but a necessary one. And it shifted something behind her ribs. She gave Castian a mixed look, brief, but deep.

"Today won't be our final day."

Nice of her to just group him into a mutual death like that. Assumptive to a fault!

"One day more for us, is one day less for enemy." She glanced at him, unsmiling still, but eyes aglitter.

Further discussion truncated in an instant at a new arrival floating in from above, prattling on.

Ishida's listless, unimpressed gaze levelled at the darksider with token silence that spoke louder than any vocal rebuke. The only break in her gaze was to flick to her brother, a shared deterrence to words, and her lover, who understood both Ashina's revulsion for dialogue.

When she looked back, there was no agreement in her eyes, nor flinching fear.

How could she fear at the steps of the Hall of the Sun? A beacon of light that reinforced her strength and deterred the focus of the bogan? The Jedi's power would be amplified, the Sith's impaired.

He held no authority here. Not in law to arrest, nor power to destroy.

As if the Hall itself protested his arrival, the tremour beneath their toes deepened to a mightier quake. Stones groaned, duracrete cracked, and the grassy spread around the structure started to rip and separate from the roots.

Ishida shifted her weight to counter the rumble and snapped out her hand, beckoning a tidal force to spike into the Sith's front. An opening for all those by her side.

"No."

---

ALLIES: Castian Vero | Inosuke Ashina | GONNA MAKE IT TO Corazona von Ascania + Alexandra Feanor
ENEMIES: DARK SIDE EMPIRE | Damien Zannen

 

[Sael]

​

As pattern foretold, Mercy did not lie. Nor did she sugarcoat the truth.

At first sip, the beer curled her lip into a knot of disgust. She set it down, stared at it, and then up at Mercy who seemed to enjoy hers. She tried again, tried to appreciate the bleed of bitter ale on her tongue, the slide of foam into her belly.

Maybe it would grow on her if she didn't concentrate so.

On that thought, she listened to Mercy, and found the lesson. Though it was subtle, she smiled. Her Master had an affinity for remarking on size, as if it were all either of them were.

Her brows pitched up in surprise at the scope of impact from the Dark Empire's blow. Thirty systems! Sael could barely fathom this. She hadn't been to thirty planets, and therefore the sheer amount seemed incalculably massive and devastating.

"Their leaders must be afraid.." Sael murmured, and fingered a line down the condensation of her glass. This was a war she could be a part of, maybe, one day.

"Their followers must be afraid, many nations fear they'll suffer the same fate as this planet and the others."

Remarkable power.

"And The Empire won't stop. Not with this traction. I could help."

____________________________________________________________
Mercy
____________________________________________________________
​

 

[Aurelian Veruna]

Aurelian didn't respond immediately. He watched her, a familiar habit, carefully weighing her words against some internal measure. In the distance, the saber-pyre cracked, casting unnatural blue flickers. Dominique looked like she belonged in control rooms and board meetings, and yet, tonight, there was something else about her.

"So," he said, his voice smooth as silk, "you do favor the Republic." A beat passed. "I had a feeling. You're far too rational to favor absolutists, and too elegant to pretend you're a revolutionary."

His fingers tapped lightly against the durasteel railing, eyes still fixed on her. "And yet, here you are, trading glances with a self-declared future king in a penthouse with no staff, no lighting, and exactly zero manners." He turned toward her more fully, his body relaxed, the posture of a man who had never known fear or consequence.

"Tell me something, Dominique." His tone dropped, intimate, as if they shared a secret at the center of a volcano. "Is it the potential you see in me? Or just the chaos? Because either way, I'm flattered."

He took a careful step closer, never overstepping, always playing the game with glances and implications. "I know you're here for Denon. You always will be. That's not a criticism. It's why I trust you more than half the so-called loyalists choking on their own noble titles." He paused, letting his smile turn thoughtful. "But what I truly wonder is what you actually want, Dominique Vexx."

He stepped past her slowly, his shoulder brushing hers with just the ghost of contact before he turned to stand behind her. He was closer now, his voice a quiet, unmistakably charged whisper at her ear. "You've made Denon safer, stronger, profitable. But you're not just a caretaker. You didn't claw your way into the Corporate Sector simply to be a steward."

He gestured lazily toward the burning skyline, the high drama of it all. "These people think they're playing the endgame," he murmured. "But I think you're playing something longer, something bigger. So tell me..." He leaned in, his voice barely a whisper. "What does the Senator of Denon actually want? Power? Legacy? Or something more indulgent?"

He let the question hang there. Not a trap, but an invitation. Then, of course, he smiled again. That dangerous smile, the one that signaled trouble was near, and temptation nearer still.

"And if the answer is me," he added, tilting his head slightly with mock gravity, "well, I'm open to negotiations."

Dominique Vexx​

 

[Sharad Dhavale]

TYTHON
Echo Squad
Gamma Platoon
Second Prefsbelt Exile Brigade​

Opps: Corazona von Ascania | Alexandra Feanor | Solidor Slane | Ishida Ashina | Auteme
Maties: Darth Apophion | Cesare Demici

​

​

Boots clattered against the deck plating as the infantry disembarked. Attired in their black gaberwool uniforms and plastoid plating, “Masks on, maggots!” Sergeant Rickhard barked as they moved in group formation. Sharad Dhavale struggled against the pack he’d been foisted with. Rickhard, wearing a field cap and respirator mask saluted at the field Captain organising the landing zone. “Echo Squad, Gamma Platoon, Second Prefsbelt Brigade. Reporting for duty, sir.”

The captain looked uninterested as he martialled the arriving ground forces. “Seems our reinforcements have arrived.” The imperial drily mused, assessing his datapad. The Captain looked far more bored than bothered. “You are to move ahead, reinforce the incursion and insure the Lords are not hindered by the Jedi Vanguard.” The Captain returned to his data tablet as the hangar, “Forces are disparate. Our attack, hurried. Advance further into the temple. Await a target.” He looked up from the pad and gave the sergeant a nod. “Happy hunting.”

“Yessir. Thank you sir.” Rickhard barked, looking at his men, “Grenades ready, rifles armed, let’s bloody go!” At a canter, the six Prefsbelt auxiliary veterans marched toward the fray.

Sharad fell in behind the sergeant as the squad of six moved into the confines of the temple. In the darkness now ushered by the Sith, the Prefsbelt auxiliaries were aided by the night vision baked into their helmets. Their world now illuminated in an intoxicating red.. “This is it.”
Corporal Hadi Marr mused, “This is it. All the time we drilled for it and we get to kill some Jedi.”

“Dibs on the first lightsaber we find.” PFC Granger snapped, “Gonna see if they’re really as light as they look in the holofilms.” Granger chortled, as they proceeded deeper into the compound, Sharad felt his heart beat faster and faster. It was one thing fighting against other fighters. Now they were creeping into the heart of a Jedi stronghold. He grunted and strained as the unit pressed further into the temple.

There was a snort, “Dibs? Screw you Tarr, you owe me and Sharad for that stunt you pulled last R and R.” PFC snarled, “Cheap bastard, thinking that dibs just means we’re gonna forget you owe us.”

“Can the banter boys.” Rickhard snapped, reaching for the comms unit attached to his cap, “This is Echo Squad. We have advanced toward localised enemy positions. Requesting point to reinforce.” Rickhard’s harsh voice snarled over comms, “Over.”

 

[Darth Solipsis]

DARK LORD OF THE SITH | GALACTIC EMPEROR
Throne Room, New Jedi Temple Imperial Palace

Sahar | Janus Strix | Keres Strix


​

The great doors of the throne room groaned open with mechanical finality, spilling cold artificial light across polished obsidian floors. The chamber was monolithic, a cathedral of cloth covered glass and half-installed Imperial lighting. Crimson banners of the Galactic Empire hung from shattered columns once carved with Jedi mantras, now desecrated and scorched by flame and time. Within the short time since the reclamation of Coruscant, construction had already begun changing this once sacred place into a monument of conquest. At the end, before a great window sat the throne, raised four steps above the floor, simplistic, solid black and unadorned.

Upon that throne sat the Sith’ari, silent and still, a figure wrapped in layered black, his face cold and distant with eyes burning with fiery embers. At his side, members of the Dark Side Elite, Janus Strix and Keres Strix , stood in wait. His voice, when it came, echoed through the chamber like a storm pressing in on glass.

"Come forward, child.”

His fingers curled along the throne's arm. A moment of silence. The hum of the chamber's power systems the only answer that filled the empty space between them.

"You have shown strength in your suffering.. in your chrysalis of pain.. but strength without purpose is as fleeting as the Jedi you helped bury beneath this very floor. Your final transformation is at hand.”

The Dark Lord glared, studying the approaching fallen Knight of the Empire like a cadaver, his terrible glare solely focused on her.

"The Force is strong with you. A powerful Sith, you will become."

The weight of destiny, the words echoed across oceans of time, spoken through centuries of the dark mantle. He rose, slow and deliberate. The lighting deepened, framing him like a shadow made flesh, his tone a coiled serpent now uncoiling.

"The galaxy is trembling, Sahar. It does not yet know whose hand tightens the noose. You shall enlighten them."

He stopped before her, gaze hollow yet consuming.

"Kneel."

​

 

[Arage Bao]

Location: Outside the Throne Room, Imperial Palace
Tag: Darth Solipsis | Sahar | Janus Strix | Keres Strix
Objective: Currently, gloat

Arage Bao remembered her last time in the Grand Jedi Temple.

The Alliance had been developing a superweapon. They needed a Jedi sample to perfect the design. In the end, Arage had stolen the weapon for her own ends, staging its destruction in a way that kept the Jedi suspicious ever since. At the time, she had been working with M, the elusive Director of the SIA. M had despised the Jedi nearly as much as Arage did. M's disappearance still troubled Arage, and she suspected Jedi involvement. There had never been any evidence, but Arage trusted her instincts.

Whatever became of M, their objective had been achieved. The Jedi had been erased from the Core and their temples were silent. In their place stood Imperials and Darksiders. Arage did not particularly admire the Sith or their kind, but at the very least, they were honest about what they wanted. That made them preferable, in a certain light.

So Arage Bao, Dictator of Humbarine and Queen of Kuat, allowed herself a rare moment of satisfaction as she paced quietly through the hallway. Her gaze moved across the walls, taking in the defaced murals that once honored Jedi heroes. Many were gone entirely, replaced with clean Imperial symbols and military iconography.

Beautiful.

She would wait to be called into the Throne Room. Patience had always been her strongest asset. It had carried her through the naval academy, through the rise and fall of the Admiralty, through the collapse of governments and the rise of new ones. She had survived all of them. More than that, she had thrived in spite of them.

Few if anyone knew just how instrumental Arage's advice had been in the early stages when the Galactic Empire appeared on the Galactic stage and freed the worlds of Humbarine and Kuat along Balmorra. Only the Emperor himself would know exactly how helpful her insight had been.

After all, he wished to speak to her personally, once he had finished his business.

 

[Makai Dashiell]

Wearing | Gear : X | X | X | X | X | L3-37 | Interacting With : Myra Arceneau Dashiell , Phoebe Dashiell, Thirty-Seven

​

EMPRESS TETA

As the sun set on Empress Teta, so did many hopes and dreams. Not just the hopes and dreams he harbored, but also those of the everyday citizen.

Unlike those on Empress Teta, he was currently tucked away in a massive penthouse apartment overlooking the city scape. He had arrived not too long ago and held a Mining Guild conference. Visited the tomb of his deceased father-in-law. Spent some quality time with friends and family as next steps had been carefully plotted for business and personal ventures. The run up to the Empire overtaking Teta once again had been surreal, as if everyone had been holding their breath, wondering what this round would entail. Last time he had been stuck for two weeks in a bunker below ground with Casteel Mer'taal ,careful shots of whisky the only way they had tolerated one another.

This time Makai found it more subversive. Propaganda had been rolled out. Youths rounded up for 'educational courses' on the Empire. High from his perch in the city, he could see a flash of a blaster in the distance every so often - authorities trying to hunt out resistance cells.

They had planned to leave the planet but now it left Makai wondering what steps needed to be took to ensure the business ran properly. Last time the Dark Empire was hellbent on stopping all economic growth - which had led to their downfall in his opinion. Blocking off trade and commerce, pissing off business owners with vast expanses of credits and property was completely unwise. Hardball was one thing but no compromise made it impossible to do business.

Datapad open in front of him, Phoebe was dressed in her My Little Ropo pajamas, playing at the side of his desk with a little toy stable and a pack of the wildly colorful cartoon ropos. Thirty-Seven was near the desk, monitoring channels on the HoloNet and Darkweb for him.

"Have you heard any news on the business front?"

[ No Sir. Most wires are focused on resistance cells at this time. Judging from the HoloNet, many businesses are closed due to the unrest. ]

 

[Mercy]

Sael

Not for the first time Mercy noticed a concerning tendency with Sael.

She seemed to naturally gravitate towards desiring connection. To be part of something bigger than herself. It was the very antithesis of being a Sith, instead of seeking to break her chains, she was looking for ways to add more chains on her. Mercy was starting to wonder if it was like trying to teach a fish how to fly, or a bird how to dive into the ocean and stay there.

The glass was back in her hand and she swallowed a deep swirl there.

"Possibly." Mercy responded without giving her thoughts away too much. A foolish errand with someone like Sael, especially while being herself, because Mercy didn't do things subtly. She felt hard, she thought big, she forged ahead.

It was practically impossible for a mountain like that to hide her thoughts from a mentalist prodigy like Sael.

So why even try?

"Do you believe you need to be part of something to matter, Sael?" Truthfully Mercy had been planning on just sitting, enjoying the bliss of victory and having a good dozen drinks to get drunk fast.

But she had responsibilities as a Master.

 

[Janus Strix]

J A N U S. S T R I X
| Location | Throne Room
| Company | The Elite
| Tags | Open: Darth Solipsis | Sahar | Arage Bao

​

Janus stood quietly at the Sith'ari's side, perfectly still, presence wrapped in layers of silent menace. The obsidian beneath his feet felt smooth, cold, polished, a reflection of his own careful restraint. His gaze flickered briefly toward the approaching figure.

Sahar, a name whispered often recently, ripe with promise and peril. Janus tilted his head ever so slightly, his eyes tracking Sahar’s careful approach with quiet, detached curiosity.
Destiny had a way of sounding beautiful in words, though it felt infinitely colder in practice.

His attention shifted then, noting another presence lingering just beyond the grand doors. Arage Bao waited there, patient and controlled, the subtle ripple of her power and satisfaction a quiet counterpoint to the dramatic intensity unfolding within the chamber. A different kind of strength, yet equally compelling.

At a barely visible nod from the Emperor, Janus stepped forward smoothly, posture balanced perfectly between deference and quiet authority. He raised his voice, calm, velvet-edged, and carefully modulated to carry without disturbing the heavy silence of the throne room.

"Dictator Arage Bao of Humbarine and Queen of Kuat."

The announcement lingered, each syllable crisp, precise, edged with respect that implied neither warmth nor threat.

​

 

[Sael]

​

The question struck Sael with such Force that she flinched.

​

She'd spent much of her life alone. Maybe not as the only slave in the household, but outside of anything that could count as together. Everyone was always individualistic, cautious, and self-serving. One servant did not look out for the other, and Masters rarely cared to either.

"I—" she started, then stopped, considering. Her face pinched in thought, brows dropping lower, lips lifting higher.

"I just thought it would be a good exercise in power, help you. The more experience I get the more powerful I can be."

Amber eyes flicked up. "I hadn't thought of mattering. I had only thought of growth."

____________________________________________________________
Mercy
____________________________________________________________
​

 

[Damien Zannen]

As if the Hall itself protested his arrival, the tremour beneath their toes deepened to a mightier quake. Stones groaned, duracrete cracked, and the grassy spread around the structure started to rip and separate from the roots.

Ishida shifted her weight to counter the rumble and snapped out her hand, beckoning a tidal force to spike into the Sith's front. An opening for all those by her side.

"No."

Even here at this "Hall of Light" Damien could feel the passive resistance to his presence. Yet it made little difference within his psyche. He welcomed it and let it probe his ego.

I am a Imperial Knight! The Fist of the Empire, Of the Emperor. A god amongst mere mortals. I dont need the darkside to dispatch this lesser version of myself. Arrogance swelled within him and pride flared like a red sun. His blood surged faster through his veins at the challenge. To face not one, not two but three jedi at once. In the heart of their power?!

Its glorious and ever bit of it will be mine! Another tale to swoon the citizens of Coruscant. Of the Galactic Empire!

His mind cemented itself the vey idea. And so when preternatural force came to bear against his front, He felt proud to endure, extending his own hand and grappling with the invisible force. The Ex-imperial knight splayed out his fingers and deflected the blast down into the grass and dirt below. Sounding with a retaliating thunderclap, debris scattering in all directions. A haze of dust. Duracrete, dirt chunks and minerals, mid-air, They shifted in trajectory on a lethal route back to the original source, Ishida Ashina .

And all it took was the flick of a wrist.

" Pfft! Please!" He chuckled aloud. "Dont tease me."

 

[Seer'aa Barran]

Information

Daughter of the Mawite Khan, Heathen Priestess Novice, Dark Side Elie Apprentice​

"Galactic Common" | <"ur-Kittat"> | ~ telepathic communication ~ | << comm. channel >> ​

Objective: Family History
Location: Gound, Tython
Equipment: Attire || OPBC-01m
Tags: Thomas Barran

Seer’aa had completed most of her studies aboard the Ark; after all, the space station was vast enough to support a semblance of normal life. The half-Twi’lek, half-Human hybrid girl had been born after the Second Great Hyperspace War, and even within her family, she had been a late-born child.

Given the girl’s notably high midi-chlorian count, it was hardly surprising that she had come under the wing of Y’sanne Stradd, destined to become a Heathen Priestess. Yet beyond that, as a member of the Scar Hounds Tribe, she had also been trained to fight from a very young age; though only in unarmed combat, which she enhanced with the Force.

Now, with the rise of the Galactic Empire, the adolescent had been accepted into the Dark Side Elite as well, in the capacity of an apprentice. She was still young, after all, and not yet the equal of the other members in terms of Force mastery; but she followed her father even here. Thus, she now had two paths of tutelage. Thanks to this dual path, her martial and spiritual education alike were at a particularly high level for someone her age.

That said, she had never been in a real battle. On the Ark, she had fought warbeasts and sparred with other members of the tribe, but those had only ever been training exercises.

She was an extremely curious girl by nature, always eager to learn more about everything and naturally, she longed to see the Galaxy beyond the Ark’s confines. Now, the Dark Side Elite and the Empire were heading to Tython. She knew her father hadn’t set foot on the planet in a very long time, even though the Dark Empire had once tried to claim it; and succeeded. But now, it was just the two of them aboard a shuttle, heading toward the planet.

And Seer’aa quickly noticed something odd: they weren’t flying in the same direction as the rest of the Imperial forces.

"Father, where are we going now? We've already left the area designated by the Imperial orders." she asked, curiosity shining in her voice.

In that moment, she imagined that perhaps only the Dark Three knew where they were headed. Still, she hoped her father wouldn’t be mysterious, or speak in riddles. She hoped he would tell her plainly why they were not going where they were meant to go; at least according to official orders.

She would have loved to examine a few relics, if any remained on the planet. But it seemed that particular curiosity of hers would have to wait a little longer.

 

[Sahar]

Darth Solipsis Arage Bao Janus Strix Keres Strix​

​

The doors to the throne room opened, and with it the fallen knight stepped in, slowly sauntering to the throne with a bloodied sack she dragged behind her—one step at a time, methodical in approach.

Sahar observed the throne before her, its occupant peering out from above at her with eyes that matched her own in depravity and darkness, flanked by Sephi's bodyguards, whom she paid little heed to as she approached before the throne.

"My Lord."

She spoke coldly and abruptly, pulling the sack before her and emptying it's contents on the floor as several severed heads bounced out and landed at the foot of the throne. Nine heads of Jedi claimed in battle during the chaos that followed after the senate building was claimed, only one she had fought managed to escape, but it did not stop her from claiming the lives of nine other souls for the lord.

She knelt before him in reverence, bowing her head in silence.
​

​

 

[Thomas Barran]

Seer'aa Barran

1

​

Mt. Strife, Eastern Arros Range,
Northern Temple Valley, Tython (903 ABY)

How long has it been now?
Nearing thirty years yet? Maybe....

History demands I walk across it's woven path, but why?​

With a small host of Trilunar Clique heroes, along with a complement of Keshigs from the 1st Mawsworn Auxilia, the Great Khan of the Maw could more-comfortably protect his daughter as they walked yesteryears's southward advance. The first pilgrimage path of it's sort on Tython's surface, and there both father and daughter stood, looking down to the southern portion of Temple Valley, across to the very same lake where his mentor crossed to fight the Imperial Lord-General, to the same island where the great Warlord fought his last duel.

'Father, where are we going now? We've already left the area designated by the Imperial orders.'
'Very true, m'dear.... An' with it, we're already passing across a wild segment of our Tribe's recent history.'

​

'Look down t'yer left, for instance, down to that wee plateau near the valley-floor.', the Khan directed, pointing to the first of multiple approaching rises, smiling as he recalled the moment he intended to reveal. With the hand that rested reassuringly on Seer'aa's shoulder, the index would then point toward the valley-floor just beyond the rise, the Bloodhound then revealed,'For me, everything great - began there.... An' though many heartaches assailed me after the smoke cleared, I'll never regret the moment I stepped up to lead that assault. Ever!', beaming with pride, and doing little to hide the joy of the memories he made that day.

'I had only just offered my own right eye to the Emperor's,"Hâsk Jiaasen", ritual, just minutes before gracing that rise there, an' who do I meet for the first time? Of course, it was your mother. We stood as equals among Marauders then, an' she willingly joined us to fight the battle of a lifetime.... To stand with us, against Jas Katis and Hellions PMC, up here, at the mountain's mesa-flat summit.'

 

[Corazona von Ascania]

OBJ II
Friends: Aiden Porte Ishida Ashina & co.
Unfriends: Sharad Dhavale
​

One, two, three, four…

Cora counted the younglings and Padawans as they boarded the transport. Master Solidor Slane had done well in ushering the group of young Jedi towards the hangar, towards a narrow escape.

She had her back turned for a few short moments, cementing her trust in Aiden. Again, she counted.

Cora pulled two of the older Padawans aside. "Look out for them," she instructed. "Go to Ilum, with the others. May the Force guide you."

She waited until the ramp lifted back into the belly of the ship before turning on her heel with Aiden. She'd felt the shift, too, and her glance towards the newly minted Knight was as concerned as it was resolute.

As pair pressed their way back into the temple, the clatter of infantry boots and the chatter of gruff voices alerted them to an approaching insurgent force. Before they could turn the corner into a wide atrium, Cora held out her hand, the gesture bringing the pair of Jedi to a stop.

"They certainly are loud," she murmured. "I'll draw their attention. Go around and approach them from behind."

While the soldiers began to curb their admittedly amusing banter, Cora flung her hand outward. A telekinetic burst rippled from her like lightning, aiming to scatter the opposition while agitating the stone floor beneath their feet.

 

[Wymar]

P E N I T E N T
THE GALACTIC EMPIRE
Battle Armor [MODIFIED] | Lightsaber
Darth Solipsis | Sahar | Arage Bao | Janus Strix | Keres Strix ​

---

---

MIRL​

---

---

CORUSCANT, IMPERIAL CENTER
902 ABY
THE GALACTIC EMPIRE​

Victory. A steep cost as any worthwhile battle was. In the waning hours of the Alliance's retreat, bodies were heaved and piled in the streetways and corridors surrounding the Jedi Temple. Wymar strode through the smoldering ruins and carnage of a broken city. The shimmering light of the Galaxy snuffed out into a vantablack darkess. One he helped to extinguish. Medics with the distinct green and white plating of their stormtrooper armor saw to the swift treatment of those that could be saved while rows of slain 501st were accounted for, their identity tags taken and the information passed on to the relevant parties.

The Crestfallen crouched down before the row of dead in solemn silence, his broken visor scanning across the length of slain. Rows and rows of them each in a similarly battered and broken state, the blood smearing their armor with some displaying single aurebesh characters on their helmets, drawn by the thumb of a medic using the blood of the slain. Most of them, Dorn. For dead. Whilst those Dark Side Elite gloated and bathed in the darkness that now seeped into this monolithic center of Galactic prominence, Wymar roamed in silence, contemplation.

He joined his master, Sahar in her summons to the Imperial Palace, his modified armor restored from how it was brutally damaged at the hands of a Jedi, one whose saber he claimed in the battle. The broken plates welded together by his own hand, the shimmering metal weld marks present in the reinforced plate. His cloak was strewn over his form, his sallet cast as a visage over his gaze as he followed Sahar into the throne room but kept the shadows as she approached and knelt, the Crestfallen mirroring the act but staying silent, hoping to escape the Emperor's notice or attention.

 

[Da'Razel]

IMPERIAL PALACE - CORUSCANT
Indirect: Shannic Wulf | Ellayina L'lerim
Direct: Vireth | Sarcev Pestage​

A golden, eyeless gaze stared out across the metropolis.

Their metropolis.

Red banners spanned entire blocks, swaying in the wind, looming clouds of crimson cloth.
Strange alien creatures heralding in a new age for this never-ending horizon of iron towers and glass spires.

He breathed in deeply, his bare, visible vermilion hued chest tensing and stretching. He wanted this moment to fester, to sear itself into himself.

He etched the now into his soul. All his life. All. His. Life.
Everyone he had met. Had studied under. Studied with. Prayed with. Prayed for.
Every sermon. Every drop of blood spilled. Every death delivered. Every sacrifice made, everything had led to this moment.

He emanated a warmth, a heat that pulsated about him, the inviting blaze of a bonfire beneath the stars.

As he exhaled, his golden gaze shifted toward the simmering voice that had addressed him.

A visage masked just as his own stared back at him, a worshipper draped in similar crimson he would don on any other occasion.
He smiled at the strangers words beneath his radiant veil, even offered a slight bow in appreciation.
Then his gaze drifted, aloof, reverent, toward the furnace, where the shrieking, screaming of kyber cried forth before finally bursting and disintegrating.
His attention returned to the stranger. And he spoke with mechanical distortion in his voice.

"Thank you, brother. Our shared faith is all I have, and all I truly need. Stripped of it, I would be no more. I am sure you're much the same."

Even through the machine static hum of vox modulation, his tone was warm, even kind, yet an unsettling undertone lingered still. He hadn't asked a question, yet it was questioning. Probing.

But today of all days was no day to be speak in shrouded suspicion or passive scorn. Today, all should bathe in the fulfillment of fate. For each of them had played, no matter how insignificant, a role in turning prophecy into reality. Their beliefs had bend the galaxy.

From beneath his robes, the black talons of the Devaronian pulled forth a lightsaber. It was that of the enemy he had bested in combat. His thoughts still lingered on the boy, the abyss, the power that had slumbered within. Raw, unfiltered, untamed.
His hand stilled, if only for a moment. A lingering pause, then he extended the hilt, toward the figure before him.

"I invite you, brother. Let me gift upon you the blade of my enemy, So that you too may partake in this rite. Burn this weapon, and along with it the soul of a Jedi."

His arm remained outstretched, a gift given.
But Da'Razel spoke again. "Tell me, what is your name, brother?"

And then, for a fleeting moment, another presence pulled his gaze

A girl. And a pair of golden, gleaming eyes. Resplendent. Lingering. Locked into the distance.
He came to understand, then: this moment, this beauty, was shared.

With all those who had taken part.