Dominion Fistful of Fire || SO Dominion of Firefist Superhex

[Aspect of Defiance]

Firefist.

Companion Besh.

One of the micro galaxies that drifted at the distant edge of existence, orbiting the greater whole like a lone spark in deep water. A gem nearly within reach yet separated by a gulf no fleet had ever bridged. It had lingered there for ages, untouched and out of sight.

Until now.

Planeshift had come. The violent reshaping of reality struck the prime Galaxy with staggering force. Entire routes shifted. Star patterns no longer aligned. Worlds fractured and crumbled into drifting stone. What many witnessed as upheaval became something far stranger for Firefist. Companion Besh did not simply move. It was hurled toward the larger Galaxy. Close enough that its light touched familiar charts. Close enough that its borders felt exposed. A precious gem no longer locked behind distance, but hovering just outside the reach of any power bold enough to claim it.

Chaos invited ambition. Profit followed calamity. As Firefist drifted nearer, the peoples within its bounds saw both threat and opportunity. The Tof felt the shift with particular force. Their home had endured the violence of the Planeshift. Their fleets were strained. Their rule weakened. But proximity to the wider Galaxy promised a chance to repair what had been broken. Long ago, their warbands had crossed that gap and brought ruin to distant stars. Memory of that conquest did not sleep. With the barrier thinner than ever, the thought of repeating that old march stirred deep within their ranks.

Before any new invasion could begin, their gaze turned inward. The Tof sought to reestablish control over Firefist itself. Their empire rallied. Ships were called home. Commands spread outward to every system they still influenced. In that renewed push for dominance, their attention fell upon an old enemy. The Nagi had once labored under Tof rule and later broken free of it. With Firefist shifting and tensions rising, the Tof resolved to crush them again.

War drums echoed. Fleets rose. The assault on Nagai space began with full confidence that the old order would be restored.

That confidence lasted only moments.

Outside Firefist, another power had taken notice. The Sith felt the Planeshift as keenly as any scholar or cartographer. Where others saw disruption, the Dark Order saw an open gate. A micro galaxy brought close by force was an invitation. New territory. New resources. New ground for conquest. Armed with certainty and purpose, the Sith crossed the threshold into Companion Besh.

The first engagement was decisive. Tof vessels fell apart under the opening strike, broken across the upper atmosphere of Nagai space. Fire rained from orbit. The Tof assault dissolved in the span of a single exchange. On the ground, Nagai defenders met the invaders with all the strength they possessed. Above them, the balance shifted as the sky tore open under the Sith advance.

Dropships descended through smoke. The dark-armored forces established their presence upon soil that had already been battered by conflict. The Tof had no chance to recover. The Nagai had no moment to understand who had arrived.

And here the truth settled in.

In grand irony, for once they would be heroes. A timely arrival to free the Nagai…or perhaps merely put them under different chains.

The Sith had not come to save Firefist. Their purpose lay far beyond mercy. Yet circumstance placed them in the role of rescuers. The Tof fell before them. The Nagai gasped in relief beneath their shadow. The first foothold was secured not through negotiation, but through the remnants of a battle they had not started.

Now Firefist stood open, its worlds exposed to a power that rarely acted without calculation. The Tof had been halted. The Nagai had been spared from one empire at the very moment another extended its hand.

The storm of the Sith had reached Companion Besh, and the path deeper into Firefist was now clear.

Spoiler: OBJECTIVES

With the first Tof fleet broken, scattered remnants still cling to pockets of territory across Firefist. Isolated warbands, stranded cruisers, and entrenched garrisons refuse to yield, and the Sith move quickly to erase every remaining foothold before the Tof can regroup. This phase of the campaign calls for targeted strikes, hunts through shattered moons, boarding actions on crippled vessels, and the establishment of firm control over the newly freed Nagai territories.

The Sith goal is simple: sweep through these last holdings and erase the Tof presence from Companion Besh before they can regroup. Every outpost, every bunker, every ship that fled the opening strike must be hunted down and crushed to secure the staging ground for the deeper push into Firefist. This is not a campaign of mercy. It is a clean execution of dominance meant to ensure no rival force rises again.

As the fighting unfolds, another layer of conflict rises. Sith forces now stand on Nagai soil, and the victory has left both sides facing difficult questions. Nagai leaders want clarity on what Sith presence will become. Sith commanders argue for the level of influence required to secure a stable route deeper into Firefist. Each negotiation, each display of strength, and each careful alliance begins to shape how Nagi will fit into the wider push into Companion Besh.

Political envoys meet with Nagai elders to establish terms of governance. Military officers argue for occupation zones or supply routes. Spies manipulate rival Nagai clans to ensure Sith stability. Even Sith Lords arrive to impose doctrine or promise protection. Whether through diplomacy, pressure, or calculated persuasion, every move shapes the political future of Nagi and its role in the wider campaign through Firefist.

Beyond the front lines and negotiations, Firefist itself opens wide. The Planeshift has disturbed long–sealed regions across Nagi and its neighboring systems. Uncharted ruins pulse with strange energy. Drifting debris from shattered Tof vessels falls across remote plains. Ancient warnings whispered by Nagai elders now point toward locations that outsiders have never seen.

Those who avoid open conflict or political strain can still find purpose in the aftermath of this upheaval. Searching ruins, retrieving artifacts, exploring lost paths, interacting with locals, and following unusual Force echoes all offer room to build stories entirely apart from the main campaign.

Spoiler: TAG LIST

Gerwald Lechner
Aerik Lechner
Eira Dyn
Reina Daival
Darth Valar
Darth Carnifex
Helix
Darth Strosius
Darth Prazutis
Quinn Varanin
Madrona A’Mia
Korran Dorn
Markus Evremonde
Srina Talon
Darth Caedes
Lirka Ka
Taeli Raaf

 

[Darth Prazutis]

The first thing to move was the sky.

Not the bruised firmament over Nagai, that had already been broken, already painted in the burning wreckage of Tof warships, but the deeper sky, the unreachable dark between galaxies. There, in the quiet gulf where Firefist had once drifted like a forgotten coal beyond the prime Galaxy’s concern, something vast took notice…and reached back. Planeshift had torn the firmament of reality open like old cloth. What scholars called a cosmological event, the Sith called a wound. Hyperlanes twisted. Star maps went dead. Whole sectors woke to find themselves strangers in their own night.

For Firefist, for Companion Besh, it had meant acceleration. What had been a remote cinder now burned closer. Once, the distance between Firefist and the greater Galaxy had been the kind of gulf only legend or madness could cross. Now its light touched familiar charts. Now its routes, broken, jagged, murderous, could still be traced.

The Sith Empire had been waiting for something like this.

They had come to Nagai first, riding the shock of Planeshift like a storm-front. The Tof assault fleet that had lumbered across Firefist to reclaim its old slave-world found not helpless people, but the shadow of a greater empire falling over them. Tof warships died in the first exchange, cut apart in the high reaches of Nagai space by guns they had no names for. Their solar sail cruisers crumpled and burned, atmospheres catching fire under the opening lances of Sith cannons.

For the Nagai below, it had been a moment of whiplash: one invader devoured by another, green giants falling from the sky like burning idols while dark-hulled star destroyers carved across the firmament. Cheers had mixed with terror. They did not know these newcomers. Only that the Tof died screaming in their shadow. It was there, amid the wreckage of broken Tof fleets, amid smoke drifting over Nagai cities anong the Sith fleets, that the Kainate had arrived in force.

Shadow Armada task forces ghosted into the fray, dagger-sleek silhouettes knifing through the battle lines to shatter what remained of Tof cohesion. The Black Iron Host deployed in disciplined waves, Immortal Legion phalanxes crashing down in drop-transports along the Nagai fronts to stabilize the lines and turn routed defenses into ordered occupation. Behind them, the Dark Legion’s distant war-fleets howled for blood, their hulls crowded with Graug hordes already singing death-hymns to wars not yet named. From orbit it looked like a rescue. From the Sith perspective, it had been nothing of the sort. Nagai space was a staging ground, nothing more. The Tof had been a plug in the wound that Planeshift had torn open. To secure Firefist, the plug had to go. Once the plug was broken, the wound had to be widened.

That was where the invasion truly began. Just as quickly as the Kainate came the bulk of their war fleet left, vanishing amongst the stars without a trace.

Some time later...

The Nether screamed as the Helldrive turned.

In the blind dark between stars there was a place where no light existed, only pressure; a place where the normal geometry of space folded, bent, and screamed under the weight of another realm. That was where the Eternal Rule traveled now, not through hyperspace, but through the raw churning of the Netherworld, forced into a trajectory that pointed at a single bright point in Firefist: Tof. On no conventional chart had this route ever existed. On the boards of the Eternal Rule it was a line of blood-red runes and data streams, cycling through arcane prediction-models and sacrificial calculations. AQUILA whispered to them, its digital voice layered over with the murmuring chorus of the ship’s bound sorcerers.

“Phase-stride stable. Helldrive corridor holding.”
“Destination: Firefist Microgalaxy, Companion Besh, Tof System.”
“Seventy-two breaths to emergence.”

The flagship shuddered with suppressed energy. The Qoritwai-class battlecruiser was five kilometers of predatory intent, its obsidian hull veined in dull crimson where alchemical conduits carried reactor-fire and sacrificial power along its frame. Paired Chirikyât autocannons slept along the ax-blade prow, their barrels cold for the moment, their spirits restless. Layer on layer of shield projectors hummed like a choir in anticipation.

It was not alone.

Flanking the Eternal Rule in the screaming dark were the spear-fleets of the Shadow Armada, dagger-shaped star destroyers, heavy cruisers, corvettes, frigates and other support ships running black. Their running lights were dead; only the baleful glow of engine cores marked them as anything but moving voids. Where most navies formed neat, numbered battle lines, the Kainate’s formations moved like a precise hunting pack, silent and coordinated; each commander knew the dirge they would sing upon emergence, and that knowledge was enough.

Behind them, fat-bellied troop carriers and grotesque fusion-hulks bore the seeds of planetary doom. Some carried the Immortal Legions: Lockstep phalanxes in their hundreds of thousands, armored columns and walkers nested in labyrinthine hold decks, Augur cadres asleep in chains of stasis coffins, their dreams whispering through the hull. Others carried less civilized things, Graug war-hordes chained beneath the sigils of the Dark Legion, Graunk warbeasts sedated in grav-cages, siege engines stacked like titanic bones. Others still carried hordes of ravenous Sith birthed monsters forged from the depths of laboratories beside Taeli Raaf and the Order of Arcane Syn.

All of that force focused on one world.

On the Eternal Rule’s primary bridge, the war was already alive.

The command deck was amphitheater-steep, descending toward a throne of black metal and bone, the Throne of Dominance, wired into the battlecruiser’s mind and the minds of those who served upon it. Holographic telemetry hung in the air like a constellation made of wounds: The Tof system’s distorted star map, projected fire lanes, estimated fleet dispositions cobbled together from ancient charts and fresh scan-ghosts slipping in from Vanguard probes.

Right the center of that cosmos sat the Shadow Hand. Darth Prazutis, Elysian Grandeval Mortarch and Dark Lord of the Kainate loomed upon the throne like a statue carved from the same night that lay beyond the hull. Qâzjiin’vraal, his warplate, was fully sealed, black surfaces swallowing the light of the consoles around him. Xûl-Karzaan stared ahead with its predatory mask, angular panels and vein-like channels that pulsed with an inner, sullen glow.

Through neural feeds and ritual bindings, the ship’s sensorium spilled into His perception as easily as breath. He tasted plasma flux in the reactors. He heard the distant footfalls of Crownguard sentinels outside the bridge as faint percussion in the back of His skull. He felt the shadow of each warship in His fleet like a weight on the string of His awareness, each one a blade aimed at the same throat.

Beside and below Him, the machinery of command waited.

Warmaster Brutus Mallear stood at the lower dais, heavy in his own battle-plate, his helm clipped at his belt for the moment, scarred face lit in cold blue by tactical projections. He commanded the Immortal Legions here, their triune host arrayed in neat status-lines along one flank of the main display: Phalanx divisions, Gear cohorts, Augur cadres, each tagged, each ready. On another console, a hololithic glyph marked the sigil of the Dark Legion; from that node came the guttural vox-howls of Khaans reporting their readiness, Malgrog’s deep bellow occasionally cutting across them like distant thunder. On yet another, the glyph of the Flight Barony burned like a stylized wing of fire. There, Baron-Knight formations of the Xarûl and its kin ships reported station-keeping, Force-touched pilots seated in alchemized cockpits, starfighters resting in their launch racks like sheathed knives, hungry to be drawn.

The Blackblade Guard’s icon pulsed nearer the bridge. The Highlord’s vox-sigil flickered once on a private channel—a single rune of acknowledgement, then silence. His entombed warriors stood ready along assault corridors and boarding bays, life-sarcophagi waiting to be aimed at whatever fortress or flagship the Shadow Hand pointed them toward.

All of it…waiting for a single moment. “Thirty breaths.” AQUILA intoned, its avatar a faint, cloaked silhouette at the edge of Prazutis’ vision. “Nether turbulence increasing. Projected emergence solution nominal.” The Mortarch’s gauntleted fingers flexed once on the armrest of the throne, claws rasping against the engraved black iron. “Bring it.” His voice rolled, deep and multi-toned, distorted through layers of processor and sorcerous echo. “I would see this world before I burn it.”

Short Time Ago...

Tof did not understand what was about to happen to it.

The aquamarine orb spun in Companion Besh’s dark like a jewel, oceans vast and deep, broken by chains of verdant islands and fortress-archipelagos. For ages its people had cast their sails into Firefist: Great solar galleons and lumbering war-barges, their prows carved in brutal iconography. They were raiders and slavers, kings of their own enclosed sky. Their home defense grid reflected that arrogance. Orbital bastions ringed the main populated archipelagos like teeth, heavy gun-platforms and shipyards nested in the shadow of defensive stations. Wide-framed cruisers and sailships hung on patrol, their crews unaware of the onrushing nightmare boiling toward them through a realm they had no charts for.

The first warning was not a scan. It was a shadow. Space above Tof bowed. Stars went out in a ring, swallowed by a growing circle of black that did not reflect, did not refract, only erased. The Helldrive corridor tore open in orbit, reality caving inward as something impossibly large pushed through. The Eternal Rule came howling out of the Nether like a blade being drawn. For a heartbeat it was wreathed in afterimages: Ghostly silhouettes of dead starfields sliding off its hull like dust, shards of Netherlight that flickered and died as they struck its shields. Then it was simply there, five kilometers of black iron theology, prow angled down toward the planet, cannons reorienting with cold, predatory grace.

Around it, in precise, doctrinal choreography, the Shadow Armada pack bled into realspace. Destroyers unfurled along preassigned vectors, cruisers cutting in behind designated Tof patrol routes, interdiction fields blooming like invisible snares across likely hyper-approach corridors. The encirclement pattern, the Celestial Noose, ducted itself into being in moments, the fleet locking into a slowly tightening halo around the world.

On the Eternal Rule’s bridge, Tof icons flared into existence across the tactical holo as scans took them. “Local defense grid awake.” Mallear reported, voice clipped, professional. “Twenty-six major bastions. Seven shipyards. Multiple patrol groups. Power curves are antiquated. Hull designs match historic profiles.” The Shadow Hand leaned forward in his throne then “Green giants clinging to green stones.” Prazutis murmured. “So small.” AQUILA overlaid firing arcs and engagement envelopes, simulating Tof responses, running a thousand iterations of their first panicked volleys. None of them ended well for the defenders. “Shadow Armada elements have maneuver superiority.” The AI concluded. “Recommend surgical decapitation of orbital assets prior to ground insertion.”

“Of course.” The Shadow Hand replied. His helm tilted forward slightly, gaze focusing on the largest cluster of Tof stations, massive platforms clustered over a continent-sized island chain bristling with gantries and docked warships. “Begin with their pride.” He rose. The motion drew every eye on the bridge. Even in a world of Sith and monsters, His presence was a wave of gravity that swallowed the room. “Open all channels to command elements.” He said. “Mark this as Primus Directive, Operation…Tidebreak.” The codename rolled out across encrypted networks like a falling axe.

“Tof thought to reclaim Firefist while the galaxy reeled.” Prazutis continued, voice amplified, carried to bridges, Legion command hubs, Baron-Knight cockpits, even down into the muffled speaker systems of Graug troop-ships. “They failed on Nagai. Their fleets broke. Their slaves saw them fall from the sky like frightened gods pulled down and strangled.” He paced slowly toward the forward viewing port, armored bulk moving with a predatory deliberation that made the deck plating seem suddenly fragile. “They will not rise again.” He said. “Not as raiders. Not as rulers. Not as anything but a memory we choose to leave behind. As marrow ground beneath our dominion.” His gauntlet lifted, claws flexing as if He could already feel the world beneath them.

“Shadow Armada, tear out their eyes. Blind every bastion, gut every shipyard, break every fleet that lifts its sails in defiance.” Holo-glyphs flashed green as admirals acknowledged, silent litanies of Eclipse whispering through their vox-nets. “Immortal Legions, prepare for saturation descent. Phalanx in first wave, Gears in follow, Augurs embedded. I want their major islands taken in a single planetary night cycle. No static fronts. No sieges allowed to linger. Encircle, break, annihilate.” Mallear bowed his head, face lit with the reflection of planned landing zones. “Dark Legion.” Prazutis went on, and the battlenet channels crackled briefly under the roar of distant Graug war-cant. “You have feasted on countless worlds in our service. Feast again. Malgrog will deploy where resistance is greatest. Let the Tof learn there are worse things than defeat. Let them understand extinction.”

Somewhere deep in the fleet, Graunk warbeasts bellowed in chained anticipation. Thirkazhul warlords howled blessings to gods of slaughter. “Flight Barony, when the first bastions fall, the sky is yours. Hunt their ships. Break any attempt at evacuation. No ark leaves this world without my will upon it.” Baron-Knight squadrons acknowledged in eerie, ritual synchronicity. Already, Sith Starfighters were cycling fuel, weapons, and pre-battle rites, pilots murmuring oaths over blood-slicked flight sigils.

“As for the Blackblade Guard…” His voice flattened, gaining an edge of private cruelty. “You will go where their kings hide. You will break the backs of hope and shackle their pride beneath our steel. The whole of their species will pay the price of their ambition. The Tof will learn the feel of collars around their throats.” On encrypted bands, Blackblade runes flashed once. Aboard their plate, entombed warriors turned as one toward drop-chambers and boarding pods. The Highlord’s distorted voice was a single, low note of assent. Prazutis stood at the lip of the bridge, staring down at the growing curve of Tof through the reinforced transparisteel. Oceans glittered like polished steel beneath the light of Firefist’s distant suns. How many stories had begun here? How many songs sung in pirate halls built on stolen misery?

It did not matter.

“All forces.” He said softly, and the ship itself seemed to lean closer to hear Him. “You know the doctrine. This is not a rescue. This is not a liberation. This is a correction. Today death comes for the Tof.” His gauntleted hand closed into a fist.

“We are the end of their story.”

​

Present Time...

“Range solutions locked.” AQUILA announced. “Chirikyât-type autocannons charged. Target: Primary orbital bastion cluster, designation TOF-ALPHA.”

“Shadow Armada batteries ready across line.” Came the chorus of admiralty reports.

“Planetary shields…nonexistent.” One sensor officer added, a note of almost offended surprise in his voice.

“Then this will be quick.” Mallear muttered. On the prow of the Eternal Rule, enormous focusing rings rotated into deployment, locking into place with titanic, grinding grace. Reactors deep within the hull howled as Amaranth generators poured their wrath into the autocannons’ hungry throats. For an instant, the barrels glowed like twin, containing suns.

“Fire.” The Shadow Hand said. The universe answered. Twin lances of annihilating fire vomited from the battlecruiser’s prow, crossing the space between ship and station cluster in the time it took a Tof officer to draw breath. Bastions that had stood for centuries, that had watched their people carve empires in Firefist, simply ceased to exist; armor vaporized, cores ruptured, crews reduced to ash and ghosted shadows burned into nearby hulls.

Seconds later, the rest of the Shadow Armada joined the hymn. Space above Tof became a storm: turbolaser spears, ion cascades, convergent beam-fire carving neat, brutal channels through Tof formations. Solar sail cruisers tried to wheel to engage, only to be gutted mid-turn, their proud masts snapping as molten hull slagged away. Shipyards burst like overripe fruit under mass-driver bombardment. Resistance came but in time the realization of futility would come. From the Eternal Rule’s hangars, the first Skarnath-class Legion Landers screamed free of the vanguard, their black and red hulls gleaming with dark sorcery, their engines keening as they plunged toward the azure atmosphere. Behind them came Reaver boarding pods, compact and ugly, aimed at any Tof ship maintaining integrity as the war in orbit began.

Graug carriers lit their launch-bays. Xarûl squadrons dropped like fanged meteors supported by Gorvahns, vast swarms of Nyctophage-class Wraith Drones swarmed from the depths of blackened carriers. Dark Legion war-fleets began that slow, inevitable move from holding positions to invasion trajectories. Planetary night began to fall early on Tof. On beaches where generations had once cheered the homecoming of victorious raiders, the horizon would now burn with descending fire. The oceans themselves reflected the oncoming storm, crimson streaks chasing across their surface like veins opening in a planetary throat.

High above it all, seated upon a throne that was also a weapon, Darth Prazutis watched the first act of the world’s ending unfold…and smiled behind His helm. The Kainate had come to Firefist. The age of Tof was over. The Dark Lord looked over to the Young Wolf, Aerik Lechner. "Prepare yourself. You will taste blood today young wolf."

Aerik Lechner | Darth Carnifex ​

 

[Darth Carnifex]

"Lord Father, I hunger."

Beastly, inhuman eyes watched the smaller figure as He approached, gargantuan body held together by thick, corded muscles and coiled sinew turning to meet Him. His immensity could hardly fit inside the modified transport, there wasn't even enough room for the beast to turn around completely. The best he could manage was a half-turn, his blunt-nose snout snorting bursts of violet and golden flame with every breath; forked tongue spearing the air in low, sibilant hisses.

The smaller figure, to whom the beast showed the uttermost deference, placed a clawed hand upon their scaled hide. Their connection was intimate and unbreakable, ethereal energy flowing from father to son, and vice-versa. The creature bore elements of His blackened blood, imbued in the very miasma of his creation and drip-fed to him in the creche. Though still an adolescent by most margins, the beast towered over everything around it; and it's hunger was insatiable.

"Soon, blessed destroyer, soon. A world of delights await you, from which you can gorge without limit." This seemed to mollify the beast, who lowered itself to the floor of the transport with a contented rumble of flame and smoke. He stroked the beast's scales for a moment, but let His hand fall to His side before stepping back. Turning, Darth Carnifex, Eternal Father of the Kainate, waved His hand, and a collection of ashen particulates rose up in front of Him in the shape of rectangular pillar.

Soon enough, the pillar reshaped itself into the image of Darth Prazutis, Shadow Hand and Mortarch of the Kainate. The Eternal Father's own image would likewise be transmitted in the same manner, a cloud of particles arising from the floor as if animated by dark magnetism. Both were bedecked in their respective panoplies of war, darkness and majesty radiating off of them like exposed reactor cores.

"Landfall imminent," rumbled the Dark Lord, voice like the shattering of tectonic plates. "The spear marks it's thrust. Good hunting." Carnifex's image dissipated like fog in sunlight, the message passed along with adequate brevity. Prazutis knew what Carnifex had in mind, little else needed to be elaborated.

Returning to the beast's side, the Dark Lord levitated up until He reached the saddle perched atop the beast's monstrous back. Seating and strapping Himself in, rider and mount waited patiently as their transport began to make their descent into Tof's atmosphere. The ship rumbled and shook as it was bracketed by anti-air fire, but little save for the strongest cannons could penetrate the quadruple reinforced armor studded about the transport's outer hull, and all intelligence reports concluded that the Tof possessed no such weaponry.

When it landed, it struck the earth like a meteor. Inertial dampeners worked overtime to keep the ship from breaking apart, but everything around it was broken and flattened from the concussive force. Locks disengaged, the disembarkation ramp slammed down like a death knell.

And Darth Carnifex astride Xorvyrnog emerged.

Signaling the end of Tof itself.

Darth Prazutis | Aerik Lechner ​

 

[Gerwald Lechner]

WEARING: This
WEAPONS: Ferrum Solus | Blodmåne | Strømafbryder
SHIP: Úlfs Reiði (Wolf's Fury)
TAG: OPEN

The sky above Nagi still carried the smoke of the Tof fleet. Columns of it drifted over the white stone terraces as the transports from the Second Legion settled into place. The landing gear touched down with soft vibration, and the ramp lowered to reveal the Dread Wolf stepping into the daylight. Gerwald Lechner paused at the edge of the platform, letting the air settle around him while the world absorbed the truth of his presence.

Nagai warriors waited beyond the cordon. Their armor bore the marks of recent fighting, and their eyes followed him with the careful attention given to a creature that might help or harm in the same moment. Some carried quiet gratitude. Others carried suspicion. All understood that the figure approaching them was not a stranger passing through their lands. He had come as part of a force that now shaped the future of their people.

Gerwald studied each face as he walked down the stone steps. The Nagai were lean and sharp, built for speed and precision. Their movements flowed with practiced control, and their stances showed pride held in silence. He respected that. Strength did not always roar. It often waited behind the gaze of a warrior who measured every choice. He had seen the same look in many clans across the wider galaxy.

Two of their leaders stepped forward. Their greeting was formal, spoken with careful restraint. They requested that he follow them to the site where the first conversation between their council and the Sith would be held. He gave a simple nod and fell into stride beside them. The escort moved through narrow streets lined with banners raised after the liberation of the city. Some showed victories from long ago. Others were freshly hung as markers of the day the Tof advance had been broken.

Children emerged from behind doorways to glimpse the armored figure walking with their elders. Some carried wooden practice blades. Others carried small charms shaped like the spirits of their traditions. When Gerwald met their eyes, they did not look away. The courage in their stare carried the weight of a people who had endured one conqueror after another. They wanted to believe this arrival might be different, yet they guarded themselves from hope. He understood that as well. Trust was a rare currency in the aftermath of war.

The escort led him toward a hall built into the slope of a rising ridge. Its doors remained open, allowing sunlight to spill across the stone floor. Within waited the first gathering of Nagai councilors and Sith representatives. The air inside held a steady quiet, the kind that signaled both caution and curiosity. These talks would decide how Nagi would stand within the reach of the Order. Whether it would rise as a partner or bend under a new authority depended on every word exchanged here.

The Dread Wolf stepped past the threshold and took his place within the chamber. The Nagai met his gaze without fear. He respected that. There was strength in a people who stood firm even when uncertain. He had not come to make promises he could not keep, nor to speak soft words that held little value. His presence alone told them he understood the weight of what stood before them. The future of Nagi would not be forged lightly. It would be shaped by those who had endured fire and remained standing.

The talks would begin soon. And the Dread Wolf was ready to listen, guide, and claim what must be claimed.

 

[Darth Valar]

Troop transports were never quiet, even in orbit, without the friction that would press down upon the hull in a flare of heat and pressure that could tear a person to pieces; there was always noise. Voices echoed as orders were repeated and jokes shared between friends, desperate to share a final moment, or eager to pass the time till their next splash of violence. Some kept to themselves, quiet, though gear and weapons clicked and clacked under their ministrations as they conducted their final checks of the equipment that might save their lives.

The reinforced tread of boots clacked with each prowling step in Darth Valar's stride, all the louder for the enclosed space, her pacing form limited to only the grated walkway between chairs. She pivoted away from a line that only she could envision, a sharp turn that sent her back in the direction she'd come from, only to repeat the cycle a few seconds later as static crackled beneath her skin, flickers of light contained within the all-encompassing form of her bodysuit and the layers of armour placed on top.

She cared not for the stares of those who watched, sealed away within the cradle of reinforced braces that pushed them down into the seats, prepared for any crash the vessel might face. Stuck waiting for the moment when they landed, an option of safety that had been denied by Valar the moment she considered the constraints she would face. The Force would provide, whether it wished to or not.

Boarding lights above flashed, a sickly crimson between the cage of its reinforced frame. Around the Sith, warriors braced themselves for arrival, fingers jittering with anticipation as they wavered ever closer to the deactivation switch of their restraints. Then, with a swooping pressure across her shoulders that artificial gravity generators should have restrained, the vessel landed.

Behind the landing ramp, Darth Valar stretched her left hand, a spark of lightning coursing through her veins and down into the fingers as static crackled in the air. A storm on the horizon, peaking through the clouds. She stepped forward, and with another hiss of pressurised gas that leaked from the seals of the vessel, throwing the landing ramp to the floor, her stride carried her downwards onto the tarnished stretch of the hangar bay.

Her other hand flickered to the side, a skittering motion that left a red haze in the wake of her lightsaber. An afterimage of the bolt that was deflected back into the Tof defenders, their forces unprepared for the soldiers that returned fire, or the sudden lash of energy that ruptured from Valar's outstretched fingers, a stream of plasma tearing through the air in search of prey. She did not allow these ones to scream.

Undaunted by the soldiers that gathered around the hangar bay entrance, the Pantoran strode forward, her head raised high and an amused smile painted across her lips, concealed by the expressionless plates of her mask, a concession to the danger of the void. Ruefully, she regretted that the Tof would not see the expression that crossed her face in response to their defiance; their determination would only leave more bodies to add to the pyre.

Tags: Korran Dorn​

 

[Korran Dorn]

EMBERS

Tags: Darth Valar​

The first thing Korran felt was the hunger.

Not the Sangnir kind, not the blood-deep ache he kept leashed beneath iron will and colder purpose, but the hunger of a battlefield blooming. Fear sharpened the air like ozone after lightning. Defiance echoed in the metal bones of the station. Across the hangar, the first volley of blaster fire snapped through the air, accompanied by the unmistakable pressure-wave of Darth Valar’s descent into carnage.

Korran stepped out from the shadowed interior of the follow-up transport, boots clicking once against the ramp before the roar of battle swallowed the sound. His cloak, dark as spilled oil, snapped behind him in the depressurizing draft.

What remained of the Tof fleet had fled here, scattered, wounded things, clinging to a fortress moon as if broken stone could shield them from inevitability. Their warbands had resisted surrender, burrowing like vermin into the last corners of Companion Besh. Admirable in spirit. Worthless in outcome.

The Sith were not here to negotiate.

They were here to erase.

Valar’s lightning lanced across the hangar, turning three Tof into charcoal silhouettes before their bodies hit the deck. Korran watched her carve a path through the defenders, methodical, radiant, merciless. A shard of admiration tugged at him through the Force, cool and clean.

He stepped forward into the widening gap she created.

Tof defenders rallied near the inner blast doors, heavy rifles braced on overturned cargo crates, a last desperate bulwark. Their bolts hammered toward him in a furious curtain of green fire.

Korran walked into it.

With each shot, his saber snapped to life, a viridian blade igniting with a deep, predator’s hum. It swept low, then high, carving arcs of light that painted streaks of reflected fire through the air. The Force draped around him like a mantle, diverting bursts that slipped past his blade and bending their trajectories subtly aside. The world narrowed to movement, flexing muscle, the hiss of redirected shots, the crunch of metal beneath his pacing steps.

Then he reached them.

The first Tof lunged with a vibro-axe. Korran caught the haft in one gloved hand, yanked him forward, and split him from clavicle to gut with a downward cleave. The next received a kinetic blast that snapped his armor inward like crushed tin. Two more fired point-blank; both were silenced as Korran’s will tightened around their throats, lifting them, writhing, before slamming them against the bulkhead with an echo that drowned their final breath.

Smoke drifted. Bodies slumped.

His voice, when he spoke, carried like winter wind through metal corridors.

“Your dominion ends here. By order of the Sith Empire, Companion Besh will be scoured clean.”

He strode into step beside Valar as deck crews poured from the transports behind them, the Sith war machine rolling forward in a tide of black armor and crimson blades.

“The hangar is secure,” he said, tilting his head toward her with a tone edged in dry amusement. “The Tof dig in deeper along the garrison levels. I sense three pockets of resistance, one entrenched, two mobile. Their desperation is… loud.”

His saber hummed low as he angled it toward the nearest corridor.

“Shall we quiet them?”

There was no mercy in his smile, only purpose, sharpened to a killing point.

 

[Aerik Lechner]

TAG: Darth Prazutis | Darth Carnifex​

The young wolf did not look away from the viewport. Tof filled the glass. An aquamarine sphere caught between the distant suns of Firefist. The world seemed calm from this height. Calm enough that someone unfamiliar with war might have mistaken it for untouched territory. Aerik knew better. Calm only meant a breath before a strike. The Eternal Rule glided in silence above the planet, the dark glow along its hull pulsing with restrained intent. Aerik felt that intent beneath his skin. It did not speak to him in words. It simply waited.

The first movement was not in the ships around him but in the distant curve of space itself. The Helldrive corridor still rippled behind the fleet like a wound that refused to close. Aerik could feel the lingering tension in the air, as though the ship itself had not fully settled after tearing out of the Nether. Engineers murmured over consoles. Tactical officers held steady breath as they watched the screens shift from prediction to reality. Across the formation, the Shadow Armada drifted into the Celestial Noose pattern with practiced ease. Their engines glowed in scattered points of red and white. They reminded Aerik of eyes in the dark, watching prey that had not yet learned it was cornered.

When the first readings came in from the battlefield, they appeared as small shapes on the holo. Tof stations. Tof cruisers. Tof shipyards. Icons marked each one. Old designs. Old profiles. Old weapons. Aerik had studied them in passing during his time in the academy, but seeing them lined across a living map carried a different weight. They were relics trying to hold back a storm they could not comprehend.

The Dark Lord shifted forward in his throne. The bridge grew quieter. Even the background hum seemed to withdraw. Aerik kept his face still. His breath steady. His attention fixed on the moment before violence begins, the moment that draws a thin line between thought and action. He could feel the anticipation in the fleet. Graug transports stirred in their berths. Fighter pilots whispered oaths at their consoles. Vox channels across the Immortal Legions pinged with readiness signals. Orders moved with discipline through the ranks, carried by commanders who knew how the first strike shaped the rest of the war.

The Eternal Rule's cannons unlocked from their resting points. Rings rotated into place. Aerik watched the soft rise of energy along their frames. A low tremor ran through the deck as the reactors fed the charging sequence. There was no need for the pup to speak. No one expected him to. His role was to observe, to learn, to absorb the rhythm of a Sith war machine in motion. He had seen battle before, but never from a command throne of this size, never with weaponry that could peel continents if directed to do so.

The Shadow Hand gave the order.

One word.

The universe obeyed.

Twin beams tore through the void. They did not streak. They did not drift. They carved. Tof bastions that had stood for generations disappeared in the glare. Hulls liquefied. Support structures collapsed. Crew quarters vaporized in a silent bloom. On the holo, entire defense rings vanished between one breath and the next. The remaining stations flickered in panic, firing disorganized volleys at a target they could not reach.

The Shadow Armada struck next. Their batteries lit the darkness with concentrated cascades of fire. Turbolasers locked onto patrol formations. Ion bursts disabled old reactors. Destroyers sliced apart the larger sailships with precision fire. The fleet did not shout its victories. It advanced without pause. Every ship knew its axis, its lane, its kill zone.

Aerik watched the patterns unfold with a calm that came naturally to him. He registered the arcs of falling debris. He noted the shield fluctuations on target displays. He studied the way Admiral commands overlapped without conflict. His mind moved through the battle like a wolf tracing scents through a forest. Quiet. Methodical. Present.

Dropships deployed. Heavy landers broke into the atmosphere. Reaver pods launched toward Tof vessels still trying to escape. Legions moved into their drop formations. Graug carriers disgorged swarms of their beasts. Fighter wings streaked forward with white trails that cut across the battlefield.

Amid the unfolding storm, the Dark Lord spoke to him.

"Prepare yourself. You will taste blood today, young wolf."

"I am ready."

Aerik gave a single nod. Nothing more. His face remained composed, and his breath stayed steady. The words settled into him the way cold water settles into stone. The pup did not need to roar. He only needed to listen.

The world beneath them burned.

The war ahead waited.

Aerik waited with it.

 

[Lily Rhodes]

Jaibrek
Tags: Revna Marr Darth Strosius Velok Brokentusk

​

Pejjane was burning.

Awnings that had covered the streets and protected market stalls from the elements were torn, flapping in the wind brought by the to Tof fighters that ripped through the skies above.

Jaibrek had been hit hard by the Planeshift alone, without the Tof forces pushing the frontier. Lily had come back here to escape the war, to escape the darkness that bled through the Sith Order. And yet war had found her anyway.

Her staff spun, cracking the skull of a Tof dropping him like a sack of grain, before catching another's jaw. They'd taken the port, pushing into Pejjane proper, carving through fleeing civilians. She'd come to the market for supplies when the Tof attacked. It was the third one this week alone.

She dove for a stall as blaster fire ripped towards her, sinking behind its counter splinters showered her.

“Chit, where's that big lump when you need him?”

Lily had seen Velok tear through a ship similar to the one that filled the sky now. Granted it had been smaller, but still. So much had changed since then. She had changed. The incoming fire stopped and Lily moved, force wrapping around her as she teleported appearing beside them the phrik staff in her hand slamming down with enough force to break the arm holding the blaster before he could bring it around on her.

She snatched the weapon from the air as he dropped it, crumpling him with a sharp smack to his temple.

 

[Darth Valar]

Fallen bodies marked the way, their still-warm corpses sprawled across the floor like scattered headstones, a passage bored into place with each swing of the headman's axe, neither clean nor perfectly formed. Splatters of blood bubbled from the leaking wounds where scorched flesh had torn open, an accompaniment to the smell of burnt meat that wafted in the enclosed space, sealed between the rayshield of the hangar bay and the titanic blast doors ahead.

Darth Valar's prowling stride reached her fellow Sith in time for the last body to collapse, the spark of life in their eyes fading with a gentle whimper.

"You waste your time with words to the deceased," she said, her voice quiet amid the flurry of movement around her. Her lips curved with sinful delight at the sight of their people in action, the leviathan of war awoken, if only to toil with the most simple of prey. There would be time for greater conflicts; now, however, the matter was pest control.

With a deep stretch of her shoulders, Valar turned her head towards the passage ahead and the doors that blocked the way. Their armour plates, a deep silver that had tarnished grey over time, were coated in reinforced layers of durasteel, impressive in the sheer mass they moved every time the doors were sealed shut, a defiant protector in the stand between the vacuum of space and the fragile bodies that sheltered behind it. Their removal would take time if they were to be blown apart with the proper explosives.

"Yes, I sense them. Their desperation overlaps, the frantic heartbeat of a beast determined to go down in victory or defeat. It is not enough to silence them; they must be crushed into dust, an effigy to the sheer hopelessness of their defiance."

Another step carried her to the doors, their sheer bulk dwarfing her in size, yet she was undaunted by such petty aspects as matters of scale. In the grand scheme of things, the doors before her were nothing more than a spec of dust, slivers of a world mined for a strength that would eventually falter. Her arrival was only a matter of cutting the inevitable short. With a flick of her wrist, her crimson blade deactivated, holstered to a clip on her belt.

An inhale of breath gathered in her lungs, a measure of power that settled within herself as simply as breathing. She desired more, filled with a hunger so deep that it became something more than a want, a need that burned, reaching towards the storm at her heart. Power flooded her veins, a gate opened to the cruelty of the endless ocean, a downpour of energy pressed through pipes fit to bursting without care for the vessel that bared the weight of it all.

The power gathered in her hands, sparks of twilight barely contained by a press of will that strangled the slivering forks of crackling lighting that reached outwards, desperate to consume, before they were yanked backwards, under her control for the moment. She gathered strength, a measure of intention sharpened into a blade, then pushed towards the door, both hands stretched outward in sharp claws.

Defiant till the last moments, the door vanished in a flare of warped light, a brightness so twisted it became a darkness that chewed away at the corners of vision and something deeper, an existence torn asunder, what remained of the durasteel crumpled inwards, a hole bored through the centre, carried into the corridor beyond where piles of ash tumbled in a silent wind.

"Come, let us hunt those who thought themselves kings," She whispered, quiet as wind chimes on a night of mourning.

There was work to be done. Her steps echoed in the quiet as she passed through the opening in the door, her shoulders slouched, a hand held close to the hilt of her inactive lightsaber, as she stepped past the littered remains of a blaster rifle, and another pointless fight ended far too soon.

Above, the sirens blared a warning for all those within.

Tags: Korran Dorn​

 

[Darth Strosius]

​

Equipment: Lightsaber - Sword - Dagger - Robes
Tags: Lily Rhodes / Revna Marr / Velok Brokentusk
--------------------------------------------

The Firefist Cluster had proven an interesting obstacle. Totally alien and unknown species and technology blending with those familiar to the wider galaxy, offering a series of potent challenges with each world that the Sith sought to drag into their domain. But of course they weren't the only conquerors seeking to rule the cluster. The Tof had made use of the shifted galaxy, either in their own desperation and necessity or simply for their own gain, to strike at their neighbors within Firefist in unintentional tandem with Sith forces.

The Third Legion had shattered the Tof for the most part but there were plenty of them which had escaped the clutches of the main battles. Raiding parties already engaged when the Sith arrived, forces which had fled from the main conflict mostly intact, and those which had just barely made it away from the fighting and were in desperate need of resupply and repair. It mattered little, the Sith Order didn't discriminate in prey.

The Harbinger of Absolution had been hunting such disparate scattered Tof forces even while the Third Legion had still been embroiled against the bulk of their military. Darth Strosius saw no reason to send His own vessels and soldiers to fight alongside such a wretched Imperator, not when there were other prizes to be gained. The Tof had supplies and technology the likes of which the Order of Wonosa could typically only salvage or buy second-hand. Now though, they could pilfer from the fallen Tof as they pleased.

A trail of bounties which had led them to the world of Jaibrek, currently under siege by a Tof raiding party. Soon to be formerly under siege as the Harbinger and its fleet cut a swathe through the Tof vessels. Sending forces planetside was the next step of course, fighters streaking through the atmosphere to engage the Tof's own crafts and make way for the flood of shuttles veering towards Pejjane and other such major areas of combat. Unlike most Sith forces, the Order of Wonosa was very familiar with coming as liberators and saviors rather than conquerors. Their arrival was heralded by every comm channel being overridden before the first of their ships even made it through the atmosphere.

 

[Revna Marr]

Tags: Darth Strosius // Lily Rhodes // Velok Brokentusk
Gear: Armor, Lightsaber
Location: Jaibrek​

Once again, Revna couldn’t help herself. She had to join her Master on yet another mission, another excursion. This time it was beyond known territory and into a new place that they knew nothing about. The Planeshift had wreaked havoc upon the galaxy, and many places were still recovering, and many others had been lost forever. This new place was the Firefist Galaxy, and the wider Sith Order had answered the hail for aid from the Nagi people - but not as saviors. Oh they would indeed “save” Nagai and its proud people, but there would be a cost for them to pay.

There always was.

The Order of Wonosa, however, did not come as conquerors. Strangely for a Sith group within the wider Order, they were heralds of recovery and aid. Darth Strosius had spent decades perfecting His method, His craft, and it paid in dividends. Whereas many of those who were “liberated” by the Sith of the Sith Empire served out of fear or obligation…those that chose to integrate themselves with the Order of Wonosa did so of their own free will and choice, and it was usually because the Wonosans stepped up and provided whatever aid was necessary - and thus securing very fragile loyalty and trust from those that were helped. It helped swell her Father’s ranks, too - and that of course was a plus side to all of this.

Revna, the favored Apprentice of Darth Strosius, was near to His side observing how the fleet cut through a Tof raiding fleet. Fear, agony, and death poured its black ichor into the Force - something for the gathered Sith to tap into and feed from, to take power from. She had always hated doing so, but it was a necessary evil to use someone else’s suffering to bolster her own energies so that she could do whatever was to come next. The ripple of death that she could feel awakened her ever present Void-Hunger, but today she did her best to ignore its insistent tug on her awareness. There was a time and a place to use it, and this was neither the place nor the time.

But there was something she could do, while she waited aboard the Harbinger before landing planetside. Though the Tof raiding party was being successfully sliced into, she decided to boost the crew around her using a technique her Master had taught her some time ago: Battle Meditation.

She was a lot stronger and more confident in her skills and abilities these days than she had been when just an Acolyte - and thus the usually challenging ability was not so difficult for her. The crew of the Wonosan fleet responded favorably to her encouragement, her whispered suggestions, her gentle pokes and prods. She could have tore into their minds and took control - but that was not the way her Father had taught her.

When it became clear that they had cut through Tof opposition, she withdrew herself from the meditation and took a deep breath. Despite her strength and power, such an ability was rather draining. She would take a few moments to regain some energy before she set about whatever next task her Master had for her.

Though she hoped it involved using her lightsaber to relieve the heads from whatever Tof remained. She was already itching for a fight, and they hadn’t even set foot on solid ground yet.

 

[Jorryn Fordyce]

// Lady Jorryn Fordyce //
// Objective // The Cinder Council //
// Focus // "Templar" //

---

---

The glow in the sky above earned this slice of the galaxy its name, an orange hue dying the land in a beautiful glow as the Tof ships continued to burn in the skies. Whatever maggots sought to climb from the corpse and continue their attempt to consume would be quickly snuffed out by the Dark Lords.

The legions had already managed to snuff the ambition away from the Tof, the only thought they were allowed as they were felled would be that they had never stood a chance to begin with.

A quiet thought wondered if the Butcher King was leading the charge, handling the scraps much like he had back on Alvaria. The view had been grim back then, and Jorryn was thankful she hadn't been on the receiving end once again. Yet there was an art to the butchery, one she wished to view more closely.

For now, however, she found herself alongside the diplomatic agents of the Sith Order, commanded to bring the people of Nagai into the Sith fold. The leadership would be managed by the Dark Council and other members of significance, to manage the intricacies of peace and war that the Sith would bring.

There was a frail caution in the red eyes of the Nagai present, their minds twisted by rumours and history of the Sith Empire. Many of them didn't know if the occupation was preferable or not to those that came to claim them. The rumours were no more true than they were false, the Empire had a wide range of activities and it all depended on the whim of those that decided to listen to the Empress.

Fortunately, it was Gerwald Lechner that arrived first to manage the discussions. Though Jorryn only knew him from a brief encounter during their celebration, she regarded the man as measured in his approach. There was no ill-will from the conversation, even as he bit at her words. If anything he presented the image a councillor must.

The Echani paced silently amongst the delegation, the eyes of young and old alike curious as to how the conquerors would demand their service. It was a hard thing, to be so unsure, but it was important for the people to know that they were safe so long as they served.

And they would serve.

A small hand waved to a child in the crowd before an elder stepped in the way, his eyes made it clear that he didn't support the new conquerors. As much convincing as the leaders of Firefist needed, the people were just as important to educate. There were educators in the building awaiting the Sith delegations, soldiers, and leaders.

All of whom curious about the rule that the Sith would bring and what place the Nagai had inside the Order. Jorryn could feel the timidity in their blood, and the caution. She could feel a dark cloud of the force lingering over the meeting area, but there was something else.

A strand.

It pulled, gently at first, through the crowd of Nagai. Amber eyes searched for what it may be, but there was little she could see past the crowd. So she pressed through them, making her way past the gathering as she departed from the delegation. And eventually her eyes caught where the strand led.

A circle of elders and soldiers, all surrounding a figure in strange armour. Something ancient obscuring the figure beneath, unable to make out if it had been a fellow Sith or something else.

No matter what it was, it had earned Jorryn's curiosity.

For now, she watched the figure speak, doing little to hide away from being spotted. This was the Sith's world now, and if that was to be contested it wouldn't be in shadows.

 

[Olyssandra]

Location: Mission Bay, Sith Shuttle, Northern Island Chain Airspace - Tof
Thread Objective: The Unclaimed Glow
Objective: Kill the Tof clan heirs.
Tag: Reina Daival

Whilst the Kainate invasion fell underway to dismantle the current Tof ruling order, work was already commencing in the shadows to destroy its future. Much of that task had fallen to Olyssandra. She, along with a mercenary who she had yet to fully acquaint herself with, had been given the responsibility of killing the heirs of a prominent Tof clan. It was their task to sever the Tof bloodlines, to ensure that no future Tof dynasty could arise to challenge the eternal sovereignty of the Dark Dyad.

Knelt in prayer, Olyssandra had been silent for several minutes, her shrouded silhouette a picture of devotion to the Dark Lords of the Sith. The small-statured Shikkari Priestess rose to her feet just after the PA system came on, with the pilot announcing that they were only minutes away from the designated jump point. Turning, she made her way to the holo-dais at the head of the mission bay, before activating the projector. Crimson lights bathed her pale features as her eyes traced the lines of the projection, which was a detailed, three-dimensional map of the hidden Tof compound and the surrounding environment.

The northern islands were a harsh, frigid landscape of jagged black rock, steaming geothermal vents, and storm-lashed seas. The compound’s primary defense was its isolation, which had seemingly allowed it to escape from the main thrust of the planetary invasion.

Its sanctity would not last for long.

“Mercenary Dawn,” Olyssandra spoke up, addressing the mercenary by the name she had given. Her tone came quiet, yet effortlessly commanding in spite of her tiny stature. She turned then, briefly regarding the taller, red-haired mercenary with a focused gaze that held a flicker of curiosity. “Make ready for the jump. Once we reach the planetside, we will scale the cliffs of the target island. The storm should aid in covering our approach.” She finished.

Olyssandra tapped a few buttons on the holo-dais’ control console, at which point six distinct, strong-featured faces appeared in the holo-projection—the Tof clan heirs. The elfin priestess then downloaded the holoprojections to her gauntlet comp, before transmitting the files directly to the mercenary.

“These are our targets,” Olyssandra stated. She paused briefly then, her tone carrying a chilling certainty when she spoke again. “Come morning, they, along with the future of the ruling Tof clans, will be destroyed.”

Spoiler: Loadout

• Midnight Graveglass
  
  • Arms
    
    • Velocity-7 Dart Shooter - L Forearm
      
      • Mk. I Saberdart - Blood Boiler Payload (6)
      • Explosive Dart (6)
• Midnight Harmony (2)
• Siqsa-S1 Semiautonomous Seeker Obscuration Canister (2)
• FAE/MDE-01-S1 Semiautonomous Seeker Thermal Explosive (2)

 

[Korran Dorn]

ASH

Tags: Darth Valar​

The last echoes of Valar’s devastation were still settling when Korran stepped through the drifting haze, his pace unhurried, almost languid. Where she prowled, he simply arrived, like a shadow that had always been in the room yet only now chose to be seen. Ash clung to the air in slow-falling veils, disturbed only by the faint tug of the dark side curling along his shoulders like a living mantle.

He regarded the ruined bulkhead, what little remained of it, with a faint, contemplative tilt of the head. The metal had not merely melted; it had ceased. Not destroyed, not broken, but erased from the narrative of existence in a single, decisive sentence. Valar’s strength was never subtle, but there was a kind of artistry in the brutality she wielded. Even he could acknowledge that.

“Your hunger,” he murmured as he approached her, voice smooth as deep stone under running water, “continues to carve beautiful absences into the world.”

His gaze lingered on the drifting flakes of blackened ash. Only then did he glance toward her, pale gold eyes catching the hangar’s alarm lights as if they had been made for that glow.

“But do not think the dead beneath your feet are deaf to the things you say. They are simply… slower to listen.”

A faint smile touched the edges of his lips, a ghost of amusement, distant, imperial, utterly unhurried. Then it was gone.

He stepped past the first of the fallen bodies with a reverence that almost looked like mockery, fingertips brushing the air above the corpse as if feeling the last echoes of fear fading like cooling embers. Whispers of the dying rippled along his senses, but they brought him no thrill, no satisfaction, only context.

Valar sensed desperation ahead. So did he. But beneath that, threaded like a discordant note in a symphony, Korran felt something else: the moment where hope fractures. Where resolve sours into inevitability.

“That heartbeat you described…” he said softly, eyes narrowing toward the corridor. “It is already faltering.”

He lifted his hand, inhaling slowly. The Force curled toward him in a silent tide, no storm, no crackling fury, only a deep and unstoppable pressure, like the ocean descending.

“Kings do not flee into their own ship’s bones,” he mused. “They cling to the idea that the next corner, the next sealed passage, the next desperate barricade… will make them sovereign again.”

He began to walk, each step disturbingly quiet against metal still warm from slaughter.

“Let us educate them, Darth Valar.”

A pause. A glance over his shoulder.

“And remind them that a throne is not claimed by those who run… but by those who decide how the running ends.”

With a subtle gesture, the shadows ahead thickened, like a shroud drawing itself toward the fleeing prey.

Korran waited only long enough for Valar to join him before continuing into the corridor, into the hunt.

 

[Reina Daival]

Tag: Olyssandra
Objective: The Unclaimed Glow
Outfit

Already, she had become a hired killer. But it was what Colette had thought she'd always be. So was there anything wrong with Reina proving her right? That was she had always done. Proved others right about her. No matter how hard she had tried to go against it. She might as well accept it. At the very least from the research she had put into the Tof, it wasn't as if she was going to be heading after a species well known for their pacifism and love for the Galaxy. They focused on the Conquest. On being champions of battle. Today, they'd find out that you weren't able to win every battle.

The Mercenary ran her thumb over the lightsaber she had earned as payment for the last job with the Sith. It was ornate. Far more fanciful than Pequod when she had wielded it. But Pequod was the Blade of a Jedi. Of a Hero. The same could be said for Whisperwind. This weapon was the one Reina had chosen to use for her jobs with the Sith. For the mask she wore. She adjusted her hood for a moment, making sure it covered her face as she lifted it to cover her mouth.

In a way, it was a shame Reina hadn't brought Pequod with her. The crystal would have aided plenty in manipulating the storm to their own advantage, but Reina was capable enough. The wind and ocean were her speciality. It wasn't important though. Not yet. Her gaze instead focused on the map of the compound, and then on the faces of their targets. She wasn't going to bow in worship to the Sith like the Priestess had. Reina didn't worship anyone in that way. Instead she focused it on the map, frowning in thought.

"If they have a security control room, I can turn their defenses against them. Lock them into a tomb of their own making."

She flicked her finger out at a few points on the map, as if debating if they were possible locations for a control centre to be set up in. A small sigh escaping her lips in response as she shook her head. It could potentially be a cruel death for the Tof. Locked into their own compound, starving to death. It would ensure that even if they couldn't find all of the heirs, they'd more than likely die in that place. There was a part of Reina that was ashamed at her own thoughts. The part of her that had always dreamed of being a Knight that protected the innocent. That uplifted the weak. But the Tof weren't weak. They were strong. They believed themselves to the biggest fish in the pond.

Reina planned on showing them that no matter how big your pond was, it was nothing compared to the vast dangers of the open Ocean.
​

 

[Lirka Ka]

CINDER COUNCIL
TAGS - Gerwald Lechner Jorryn Fordyce

A quaint and bloody return to politics. That is what this really was to Lirka. Her Third Legion had been probing the edges of Firefist for some time now, scouts and pathfinders paving the way - and preparing for the utter annihilation of the oppressor that had come in the wake of those Riders of the Storm. Few things were more terrifying than those brief moments where the disparate Sith could unify into that murderous tidal wave that washed over that which they desired to control. Firefist, of course, was quite the prize.

This matter with the Tof? Drivel, ultimately. The armada around Nagi had been broken easily, the people of the Companion were not built from the same monstrous cloth of the wider Galaxy. They did not breathe war the same way, see empires rise and fall like the ebb and flow of tides. Perhaps in their little microcosm, it was fearsome. But to Lirka? Well, these people are simply more variables to process.

The concept of Firefist was the truly tempting part. It was still far away, wild. Riddled with foes aplenty to test one’s mettle against. Resources. Weapons. Meat. Lirka had a begrudging sort of respect of the Nagai people, they were warriors, forged in blood. Foolishly shackled by honor - but that was a fixable plight. They were a knife waiting to be sharpened and jabbed into the enemies of the Sith.

The Councillor walked with thudding feet upon the ground, the mechanized monster bristled with energy. Following her the glistening black armored attendants of her Legion, creatures to record her words and process the logistics as more and more of the Order’s forces prepared for landfall. The crowd of locals gave many of the growing assembly different glances, few of them pleasant. But for Lirka? Well it was nothing short of utter disdain.

It did not take a genius to note the cruel self-importance the newest of Dark Councilors carried herself with. Pride emanated from her being. Callous disregard for life with it - for while her helm may have been an emotionless thing, the glimmer in those slit-lenses had the calculating gaze of a Slaver assessing the stock once again.

This rabble had traded one oppressor for another. Humorous.

Finally reaching the assembly, Lirka awaited for the rest of the delegates to appear. Already plans formulated in her mind - to dig her claws into this newest of prizes was paramount. The potentiality of Firefist needed to fall into her lap, and the chain of the Dzara if the future was to proceed as she calculated.

 

[Darth Prazutis]

The universe answered. Fire walked across the heavens, and for a long moment the bridge of the Eternal Rule watched it fall in silence. Stations died. Shipyards came apart like rotten bones. Sailships tried to close the distance and found only lances of annihilation waiting for them, their proud masts snapping as molten hulls bled away into the void. The holo before the Throne of Dominance crawled with collapsing Tof icons, rings of defense shrinking, shrinking, leaving ugly gaps where once there had been proud bastions.

The Shadow Hand merely watched without saying a word, observing the pattern. It was there in the way the surviving Tof formations pulled back, not in ordered retreat, but in a staggered lurch, trying to form a clotted mass around one of the larger orbital anchorages. It was there in the way several smaller patrol groups broke off entirely and dove for the upper atmosphere, abandoning the void altogether. A few ships surged recklessly forward, not toward the Eternal Rule, but toward the bands of drop corridors punching down through the sky; Desperate, suicidal rams meant to break the invasion’s teeth.

“Predictable.” The Shadow Hand murmured, vox low. “They are raiders, not commanders.” AQUILA shifted the tac-display, highlighting the largest remaining defense nexus. A knot of bastions and docks hanging over a massive island-chain, its platforms already flickering with returning warships and scrambling escorts.

“TOF-ALPHA GRID attempting to consolidate remaining fleet assets.” The AI reported. “Multiple priority warships redirected to this position. Communications intercepts indicate home-defense rally point.”

“They herd around a rock and call it safety.” Prazutis said. “Mark it. We will split their shell from there.” Before Mallear could answer, the lights at the center of the bridge dimmed. Ash rose from the floor before the Throne, coalescing into a column, then taking on the shape of a towering figure.Armor, burning eyes, a smoldering presence. Across the gulf of Firefist, in a monstrous transport battering its way through Tof’s atmosphere, the Eternal Father’s will reached out to him. Darkness and majesty radiated from the ashen image like an exposed reactor core, matching the Mortarch’s own.

“Landfall imminent.” Rumbled Darth Carnifex, tectonic voice reverberating through the bridge. “The spear marks its thrust. Good hunting.” The Mortarch inclined His helm in silent acknowledgment as the image burned away, falling back to dust. That was the only form of recognition he gave it. All that need be said between them, their connection was so deep words often failed.

“The Eternal Father descends.” He said, just loud enough for the command staff to hear. “Mark all allied vectors for His landing. No friendly fire along His corridor. Where He strikes, you will widen the crack.”

“By your will, Supreme Excellency.” Mallear replied, already flicking runes across his console. New safe-lanes opened in the fleet pattern, a corridor of relative quiet carved amidst the storm, just wide enough for a meteor to fall.

Tof felt the change.

High on the high decks of a command bastion above the largest archipelago, a green-skinned lord in gilded armor clutched the rail of his viewing gantry as the sky beyond the transparisteel boiled red. His officers shouted readings, fingers stabbing at half-useless scopes. Old warning sigils flickered across antique displays.

“Enemy ships are everywhere, War-Captain!”

“Rally the fleet to Anchorage Crown!” The Tof bellowed, thick jaw clenching. “Form the Reef! Ram them from the sky! We are Tof, we do not hide behind rocks while others raid our home!” Bellowed orders rippled outward:

Form the Reef. In its wake heavy sailships wheeled into a crescent shield wall, prows pointed outward like spears. Great coastal batteries ground up from hardened bunkers, mouths glowing. Smaller craft swarmed around their mother ships, hooks and chains primed for close-quarters slaughter as boarding craft emerged. Across the archipelago, war-drums thundered. Signal fires lit on emerald stone watchtowers, their smoke clawing at a sky already scarred by falling wreckage. The Tof amassed like a horde pouring out to meet the defenders, the last desperate gasp of a falling Empire that once sought to conquer every reach of the Firefist as their own personal fiefdom. They would fight, in defiance, in ignorance even among the hordes that charged the Eternal Father with reckless abandon.

Few of them realized they were no longer arranging a glorious defense.

They were setting a table.

“Their pride gathers.” Prazutis observed, watching the Reef formation begin to coalesce around TOF-ALPHA GRID. “The Eternal Father’s shadow falls. We will not wait for it.” He rose from the Throne of Dominance, the motion rippling through the bridge like a pressure wave.

“Warmaster.” He said. Mallear straightened. “My Lord.”

“Maintain the Noose. Continue excision of their fleets. No Tof ship is to leave this system without my word on its transponder. Designate a landing lane, vector nine, grid Kesh, screen it with destroyer fire. That is our corridor to their throat.” The Warmaster’s response was immediate, followed by a deep bow. “Understood.”

“Deploy second-wave landers to secondary archipelagos. By the time the Eternal Father's transport strikes, I want three major island chains already in Legion hands.”

“It will be done.” Mallear said and meant it.

Prazutis turned from the holo, helm lenses burning faintly as he once more regarded his apprentice. “Come, young wolf.” He did not wait for an answer. The command was a gravity all its own. As they exited the bridge, the doors hissed shut behind them and the ever-present hum of the command nexus faded into the deeper thrum of the Eternal Rule’s arteries. Crownguard in crimson-lacquered armor stood sentinel along the corridor, helms dipping in silent respect as their Lord passed.

“You have seen.” Prazutis said as they walked, boots ringing on dark metal. “How they break in the void. How they herd around symbols, not strategy. Take that with you.”

His voice rolled like distant thunder. “We do not simply kill. We diagnose, we observe. The beast tells you where to place the knife, if you listen and watch carefully. Remember that. It will keep you alive longer than raw strength.” They passed a transverse corridor where rows of Immortal Legionaries stood ready beside their racks, helmeted, masked, weapons mag-locked to their armor. Sith communicators quietly relayed cadence litanies and Tidebreak orders. Right at the far end, a cadre of Augurs moved like living shadows, their armor etched in runes, helms crowned in sensor spines and talismans. Several paused as the Shadow Hand passed, bowing their heads, feeling the gravity of His presence drag at the currents they manipulated.

“Many Sith mistake numbness for strength.” He went on. “They see slaughter and try to feel nothing. That is not power. The Dark Side is a blade. It cuts best in the hand of one who is present. Cold when needed, hot when required, never lost.” The turbolift doors opened before them with a sigh. They stepped inside. The cab dropped, weight pressing briefly down before repulsors caught it.

“Today.” Prazutis said, helm tilted slightly toward his apprentice, “You will see this doctrine written in flesh. For you, it is not enough to witness destruction from the bridge. You must wade in it, and learn how to shape it.”

Aerik Lechner | Darth Carnifex​

 

[Olyssandra]

Location: Mission Bay, Sith Shuttle, Northern Island Chain Airspace - Tof
Thread Objective: The Unclaimed Glow
Objective: Kill the Tof clan heirs.
Tag: Reina Daival

Dawn was a curious figure. Although Olyssandra considered herself to be fairly proficient at analyzing people, the red-haired mercenary who was to be working alongside—who she needed to be able to trust—was almost unreadable to her. It was only when she finally spoke did the small-statured assassin-priestess find herself with a thread to grasp.

A sadist.

Olyssandra tilted her head, gaze lingering on the fiery glint in Dawn’s green-gold eyes. That instinct, the desire to cause trauma and suffering, could be leveraged. It would undoubtedly prove useful on a mission which necessitated the elimination of an entire bloodline. It merely needed to be directed.

“Your suggestion has merit,” Olyssandra conceded. “Unfortunately, we need to directly confirm all of the heir’s deaths. We can not risk them escaping or being rescued.” She finished.

It was then that the pilot’s voice crackled over the intercom. The shuttle had arrived at the drop point. Olyssandra turned on her heels, moved to the rear of the mission bay, and punched a button at the corner. Warning klaxons sounded out as the rear ramp began to descend. All the while, the priestess’ mask materialized from her neck piece to conceal the lower half of her features while a hood formed gracefully around her head.

“Stay as close to me as you can,” Olyssandra called out, her voice steady and clear over the roar of rushing air.

Then, without another moment of hesitation, the priestess threw herself down into the storming void!

Spoiler: Loadout

• Midnight Graveglass
  
  • Arms
    
    • Velocity-7 Dart Shooter - L Forearm
      
      • Mk. I Saberdart - Blood Boiler Payload (6)
      • Explosive Dart (6)
• Midnight Harmony (2)
• Siqsa-S1 Semiautonomous Seeker Obscuration Canister (2)
• FAE/MDE-01-S1 Semiautonomous Seeker Thermal Explosive (2)

 

[Aerik Lechner]

TAG: Darth Prazutis | Darth Carnifex​

The universe answered. Fire walked across the heavens, and the bridge of the Eternal Rule watched it fall without interruption. Aerik stood near the upper terrace, close enough to see the first stations burn out of existence. Tof icons on the tactical holo blinked out in uneven rhythms. Whole rings of defense collapsed until the pattern looked hollow, as if someone had punched through the spine of their formation. Shipyards cracked open. Heavy platforms flickered. Sailships drifted into the path of the first volleys and came apart in sheets of molten steel. The void did not mourn any of it.

Aerik did not speak.

He did not need to.

His place here was to learn, not interrupt. So he watched the currents move across the screens and the stars beyond the glass. The Tof response revealed itself quickly. The strongest elements pulled back toward one of the anchored grids. Others scattered toward the atmosphere, abandoning the orbital line. Smaller groups broke formation entirely and made reckless runs toward the invasion corridors. Aerik recognized the desperation. He saw the way it shaped their choices. He saw the lack of order. He saw how they fought from instinct rather than doctrine.

AQUILA shifted the display, widening the projection until the largest nexus filled the bridge. The bastions and docks there pulsed with renewed energy as warships limped back into range. The Eternal Rule prepared to tighten the encirclement. Aerik followed the patterns and committed them to memory. This was how a collapsing force behaved. This was how an empire died in the void.

Then the light dimmed.

Ash gathered before the Throne. It rose in a slow column that pulled every gaze toward it. Aerik felt the weight of the presence that took shape. It did not merely appear. It imposed itself on the air. The silhouette towered over the bridge, eyes lit with burning power. The projection linked across the gulf of Firefist from a transport already tearing through the upper atmosphere of Tof. Aerik held still as the presence acknowledged its course and faded into dust once more. The bridge returned to its steady hum, but the weight of that moment lingered.

Movement resumed quickly. New vectors opened in the tactical pattern. A corridor formed through the storm for the approaching transport. Aerik studied the arrangement. The fleet folded around the opening with practiced precision. Every destroyer, cruiser, and escort recognized the pattern. It created the illusion of space while maintaining pressure across the system.

Reports began to fill the air as Tof forces rallied around their strongest island-chain. Aerik shifted his focus to the forward glass. The world below stirred with frantic energy. Sailships wheeled into a crescent formation. Batteries came alive along the coastlines. Smaller vessels gathered near the larger ships, their movements sharp and eager for close combat. From this height, the archipelago resembled a forge struck too many times. Smoke rose from half the structures even before the Sith touched the surface.

They wanted a stand. They wanted a final display of defiance. Aerik recognized that too. Pride made them predictable. Pride made them vulnerable. He observed the Reef that formed around the Tof grid and measured the shape of their strength. The pattern was impressive in its scale but flawed in its purpose. He understood why the Eternal Rule turned its attention toward it.

Orders swept across the bridge. The Noose tightened. Landing lanes opened. Secondary chains were marked for occupation. The fleet prepared to divide the world into separate zones of control. Aerik watched every step. Each decision revealed intent. Each shift in formation revealed strategy. He tracked the coordination between the ships, the Legions, and the beasts that waited below deck. All of it moved toward one conclusion.

Then the command came.

Aerik followed at Prazutis's side as they left the bridge. Crownguard lined the corridor in silent readiness, their helms turned toward the pair as they passed. The Eternal Rule thrummed around them, filled with the cadence of activation across every deck. Troops stood in formation. Weapons locked into place on armored suits. Augurs whispered over glyph-boards as the currents of the Force bent around their focus. Every step through the long corridor revealed another part of the war machine waking to its purpose.

Prazutis spoke as they walked. Aerik listened. He let each lesson settle without visible reaction. Strength came from understanding patterns. Survival came from knowing why opponents hesitated or charged. The Dark Side did not require numbness. It required awareness sharpened to a point that could cut through any battlefield.

The turbolift opened. Aerik stepped inside beside his Master. The Eternal Rule continued its descent toward the heart of the conflict. The roar of battle surged through the hull. The world of Tof waited below, and Aerik prepared himself for what he would walk through next.

He remained silent, but he saw everything.

 

[Reina Daival]

Tag: Olyssandra
Objective: The Unclaimed Glow
Outfit

Directly confirm their deaths. That was still fine by Reina's opinion. If anything, it would mean less unnecessary death. If she had done her plan, then everyone who was trapped in the compound would have starved. This way, it can be kept to the heirs, their bodyguards and whoever got in the way of the pair. Still plenty of bloodshed, but necessary.

As the Priestess reached over to open the rear ramp, Reina stretched her arms out to make sure she was ready to go. Double-checking over her equipment one last time. Lightsaber, check. Blaster, check. Medical kit, check. Back-Up plan explosives, also check. Hopefully she wasn't going to need to use those anytime soon. There seemed to be everything that she had set up. Hopefully some of it she wouldn't need, but it never hurt to be too careful.

"I'm not new to this. You don't need to tell me to stick close."

Even if Reina wasn't a fan of working in a pair or a group. She had always been more of a solo-worker. But if she wanted to get a name for herself, and to be better known for doing a good job, she would have to stick with people. Let them see what she was capable of. Starting with her leaping straight off after the Priestess, pressing her arms close to her body to guide herself down to the ground. Using the Force to manipulate and adjust the wind to guide her trajectory. There wasn't going to be a need for a parachute when she had the Force as her guide.
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