Dominion Of Dominars and Velgrathi | SO Dominion of Omwat and Seswenna

[Aspect of Victory]

Seswenna
902 ABY

The shattering of the galaxy’s hyperlanes had driven many worlds into chaos and anarchy, with shifting borders and lost avenues of transit isolating dozens if not hundreds of systems from the Unknown Regions to the Outer Rim. The Second Legion’s eastward marches had been among the many systems ripped from Sith control, a tapestry of freshly conquered worlds cast aside and away from their overlords and left to their own devices. Seswenna was one such world.

A world of shipyards and industry that had served as one of the final cradles for the Second Legion’s armada, Seswenna has had no contact with the wider Sith Order since the start of the Sundering and based on preliminary reports from our pathfinders and scouts it seems as though it has drifted away from the Hydian Way as well. The world has been isolated for some time now, and that fact became very apparent the moment that a Sith reclamation fleet arrived in the system. Though to call it a single Sith reclamation fleet would not be anything but inaccurate, for after all, even as the Sith desired the reestablishment of their governance over lost worlds, they were conducting themselves under the Velgrath ritual. Thus, even as the reclamation fleet arrived, it was accompanied by forces of banners across Sithdom, reminiscent of the days of disunity, factionalism, and warlordism of the Triumvirate.

It was an opportunity to catch up, already rumours abounded of Sith that had claimed full fleets, and were in the process of restoring them at recently retaken Sluis Van, of other Sith fortifying their recently made conquests like on Morrigel, gaining the loyalty of those with a near zealous idolatry, as more and more carrion circled in a bid to claim the greatest prize of them all.

The Fourth Legion.

Deals are made and broken, lightsabers drawn and clashing against each other under the furore of blasters firing. The frontrunners of the present could easily be the dead and forgotten of the future, as more and more Sith begin to draw themselves interest of what lies ahead: glory, conquest, victory.

Turning their eyes towards a great prize, Seswenna.

Contact was reestablished with the orbital shipyards first and foremost, and it would seem as though those stations are the last remnants of Sith authority in the system. The planet itself was abandoned by most officials and military forces once the population began to riot as food and amenity supplies became critical. Seswenna itself has devolved into utter chaos and anarchy without any Sith presence planetside to keep law and order intact.

The interim governor never made it off-world, and as such, the remaining officials and military forces have largely been reduced to squabbling amongst themselves, not unlike the overworked and poverty-stricken masses below, across the shipyards and vessels in various stages of completion. This is inexcusable. The shipyards of Seswenna must be returned to their full functioning capability if the reclamation of our lost territories is to succeed, the people brought in line, and the failures of Sith still present remind the price of their cowardice.

Restore law and order, such is the will of the Emperor.

Objective 1: Chaos is a Ladder

What remains of the garrison and government of Seswenna, before it was ripped from Sith space, has retreated to orbital stations and half-finished vessels. Without clear leadership, they have proven themselves incompetent and worthless, as the planet itself has fallen into disrepair and disorder.

Take the orbital shipyards and bring these pitiful remnants to heel, show them the might of the Sith and the cost of defeat. Additionally, there are plenty of vessels that were still being built when the planet was lost, from fighters to capital ships, all in various stages and states of functionality. If there was ever a moment to pad a fleet with spare ships or crews without any need for payment, then now would be the time.

Objective 2: Keys to the Castle

Seswenna’s governor didn’t manage to escape the planet like many other officials did; their shuttle was shot down while trying to flee Seswenna City when the rioting began. Based on the crash site and the condition of the shuttle itself, if the governor didn’t die on impact, then the locals made quick work of them afterwards.

Mobs of starving and furious locals make any attempts to reassert control over the world difficult, but there is one advantage that could tip the tide. Automated defences and droid storage depots across the planet were put into security lockdown when the chaos began, a lockdown which can only be lifted via the governor’s genetic key being used to access the planet-wide network in the capital building.

 

[Cassian Ravel]

"Madness."

Tags - CT-312 , Jacen Breska , Rae Cooke
Objective: 1

Spoiler: Music!

"Hold the line. I don't care if your lungs are on fire or your armor's slag—you do not break formation."

The command came through grit teeth and over crackling comms, nearly drowned in the thunder of plasma fire and the screaming rupture of failing bulkheads. Smoke and sparks vomited from a collapsed service tunnel to Cassian's left, shrouding the world in a flickering haze of orange and blue. A triad of Sith troopers—men he'd drilled into formation himself—dragged a wounded gunner back from the breach, armor scored with molten lines, flesh hissing where it met overheated durasteel.

Cassian stood in the open, his back to the twisted wreckage of a refit gantry, barking orders with the cold fury of a man who knew precisely how many seconds remained before they were overrun. The viewport behind him—cracked, but unbreached—offered a spectacular view of the chaos outside: half-finished hulls drifting like corpses, docking arms wrenched into claws, and enemy dropships swarming from low orbit like carrion birds descending on a carcass.

Velgrath. Damn this madness.

It wasn't just a battle—it was a feeding frenzy. Rival Sith warbands, pirate cultists, and scavenger guilds all clawing for the same bones. And here he was, pinned to the flank like a rusted nail, one of the last officers holding the Echo Ring's pressure corridor.

A flurry of violet bolts sliced past, and Cassian ducked instinctively behind a support strut, rifle braced tight against his shoulder. He lined up the shot—not rushed, not desperate. Just correct. A squeeze, a burst, and one of the onrushing zealots dropped mid-leap, his warcry ending in a wet, choking gurgle. Cassian didn't spare the body a glance. He turned, moved, swept for the next vector.

"Ramos, cover lane five. Jegg, fall back and rearm your squad—no heroics, we're not corpses yet. All units: collapse the center, hold the ring!"

His voice snapped through the noise like a blade.

He could feel his men starting to buckle—not from fear, not yet, but from attrition. Ammunition was running low. Armor integrity warnings were flaring in every HUD. And they hadn't had reinforcements in three hours.

Cassian toggled his command link and checked the tactical overlay. More red. Too much red. Deck Six had gone dark five minutes ago, and Deck Eight was flooding with vacuum. That made Echo Ring the new frontline.

And they were outgunned. Outnumbered.

Perfect.

Cassian stepped out again, rifle raised, leading a counter-volley from the front line himself. He didn't yell. He didn't chant. He acted. Troopers surged behind him like a rippling tide, the kind only a commander could make move—not with glory, but with discipline. Because when everything else is shattered, order is survival.

An explosion rocked the entire corridor—one of the magclamps detonated. Cassian was thrown from his footing, armor slamming hard against the deck. His HUD scrambled, screamed proximity warnings, red on red on red—

Then came the sound.

Boots.

Marching.

Too heavy to be friendly.

Cassian rolled to one knee, blood in his mouth, rifle trembling in hands that hadn't truly rested in 900 years or more.

"I need fire on corridor eleven. Now."

Silence on the line.

Only static.

They were alone now.

"If anyone can hear this…" he said, voice low, calm, controlled—transmitting on all emergency bands, "...this is Commander Cassian Ravel of Darth Virelia's forces. Echo Ring is collapsing. We're still fighting. But we won't hold another breach without air support or reinforcements."

Another crash. Another scream. Another life lost behind him.

"If you're out there… now would be the time."

He raised his rifle again, braced it on his knee, and aimed toward the breach—toward the shadowed corridor that stank of smoke, ozone, and blood.

"Let's remind them what a Republic commander looks like."

And then, calm as ever, Cassian Ravel pulled the trigger.

 

[Darth Virelia]

"A search for a corpse."

Tags - Miasmær , Cin , Quinn Varanin
Objective 2


The city was a grave of smoke and screaming.

Seswenna's once-proud capital—crowned in the archives as a triumph of Outer Rim industrial coordination—now sprawled before her like the carcass of a flayed beast, its bones picked clean by a thousand desperate hands. Towers burned like torches in the night, their steel exoskeletons peeled back by riots and shelling. The wind carried ash, rage, and the low, animal hum of a city that had torn itself apart and hadn't stopped twitching.

Darth Virelia stood at the center of it all.

Her boots crunched down on scorched ferrocrete as she descended the shattered steps of what had once been Seswenna's Ministry of Order. It was now just a broken fang jutting out of the plaza, windows gone, banners shredded, its facade defaced with blood and fury. Around her, the perimeter crackled with the whir of reactivated security pylons—temporary suppressor fields projected in a dome of violet static, corralling her retinue and screening them from the encroaching chaos.

Behind her, Legionis specialists knelt over a mobile console, filtering through drone telemetry from the crash site. She didn't glance at them. She didn't need to.

Her violet eyes were locked on the horizon—on the riot smoke curling from the districts beyond, on the silhouette of the governor's shuttle wreckage distantly outlined by fires.

"You said they dragged the body," she murmured.

One of the handlers nodded. "Correct, my Lady. We believe the shuttle was downed by a localized rocket barrage. The mob got to the crash site within minutes. We've confirmed multiple corpses stripped of gear and—"

"Not the corpses," Virelia said, quiet and precise. "The body. The governor. Where."

The specialist faltered. "We're still tracking. But signs point toward them being taken further downtown. Into the maze."

Virelia's breath slowed. The maze. A subdistrict of collapsed maintenance corridors and subterranean passages, where riot leaders and gang factions now ruled over starving enclaves like kings of ash.

"Then that is where we begin."

She turned, her black cloak catching the heat-ridden wind like a banner of wrath, its alchemized edge hissing where the air burned impure. The plaza trembled faintly beneath her—echoes of distant explosions or the footfalls of something heavy moving through the wreckage. None of it mattered.

Because the key was here.

And through it—the droid armies, the planetary defense grids, the automated bastions once designed to repel an entire Outer Rim incursion.

Locked. Waiting. Sleeping.

Virelia tilted her head to the sky, listening.

Above, her reinforcements had begun to descend—sleek, drop-bodied skiffs and atmospheric dropships painted in the black and violet livery of Project VESPER. They came with surgical precision, falling like knives in the dark, their engines howling through the ruin-choked air. Not an army. A needle.

"Spread the search pattern. Prioritize body acquisition, then DNA retrieval. Dismembered or burned is acceptable. If the governor's rotting in a stew pot, I want the pot. If they're worn as a trophy, I want the man who wears them. Alive. Screaming. Dying."

She raised one hand, fingers curling in a slow, elegant grip—and the Force screamed downward, rippling through the broken stone and ash like a seismic breath.

"And if anyone resists…"

Her eyes burned neon violet as she donned her mask on.

"You remind them who rules after the end."

 

[Cin]

SESWENNA
OBJECTIVE 2
- Darth Virelia - Miasmær - Quinn Varanin -
​

The longer he was under Virelia's command, the more he realized how... unique, she was.

She was fearless in the face of him. So much so, that Cin had begun to assume every person she associated with would have the spine she did. But that was not the case. The rank and file were nervous. The few low-status Sith he'd seen got twitchy when he passed. It felt good, to know that even among the Sith's monsters, they considered him a monster.

But none feared him like they feared her.

Hidden among VESPER's dropships, a dark form dove into Seswenna's atmosphere. The dragon kept it's body tucked, following the slipstream of a Sith ship. Just before he impacted the ground, however, he spread his wings, a dull crack snapping the air as wind caught him. Then, with a heaving shrug, the Dragon pulled itself forward in the air, skimming the surface, until he found Virelia.

He landed quietly behind her, seamlessly transitioning from slithering flight to ponderous walking just in time to hear her orders. A low crocodilian growl rumbled the air around him, letting his unease be known. A mission where he wouldn't be able to spread his wings, to steal someone alive and un-immolated? It didn't exactly play to his strengths. Which was... exciting.

He wanted to see if he could do it.

Cin spoke in Virelia's mind. His voice was rough, but no longer painful to hear.

I am with you.​

 

[Darth Strosius]

Objective: 2 Find the Body
Equipment: Lightsaber - Sword - Dagger - Robes
Tags: Kasir Dorran / Darth Malum of House Marr / Open!
--------------------------------------------

It was quite a shame what had transpired on Seswenna, a world cast adrift from its familiar shores and its people set upon one another in desperation. An unfortunate fate for such a developed and valuable planet. One that it needed to be saved from, restored the chaos and devastation into a new bastion of the Sith on the edge of Sith space. It was rather fortunate in that regard that the interim governor had perished, although their choice of key for the city was inconvenient given the circumstances.

Finding one body amidst the carnage that wracked Seswenna's capital would be difficult indeed but Darth Strosius was tenacity incarnate and a hunter at heart. Not to mention He was very adept at dealing with riotous individuals and would-be revolutionaries. Both of which comprised most of the city's population at the moment. They had been the ones to finish the disgrace of a governor and thus they would be the ones to lead Him to the remains, whether they be strung up in display or buried in an unmarked grave.

The Uzstafas Guard had hit the ground running the moment that Darth Strosius had set foot planetside, the search for leaders and figures of note among the riots would be a difficult task but not one that was unfamiliar to the Order of Wonosa. They had seeded enough riots of their own to know where to start looking. Unlike the other initial landing forces, Darth Strosius and His followers offered the mobs they came across a rather simple choice.

To accept them as their liberators or resist them as their executioners. Thus far, many had chosen the latter.

Darth Strosius dropped the body of the militia member, what must have at one time been some security personnel which had joined in with the rioting against the governor, and glared at the wreck of the shuttle. There were too many marks and signs of activity to easily pinpoint one track to follow but from what little He had gleamed from the corpse at His feet before their demise the governor had been dragged deeper into the downtown area. No doubt swept up by their former constituents and brought to some fitting place for a swine's grave.

Hopefully they had left pieces to be found amidst their dragging, otherwise this exercise would become rather tiresome very quickly indeed. He sighed and tapped on His commlink as He stepped away from the shuttle's wreckage, finding no clear blood trail to follow. :"The governor was hauled off into the city. I doubt they lasted long given the crowd but I'm not seeing anything we can use to unlock the security systems. Everyone link up on my position and be prepared to establish a perimeter, the body can't be far.":

 

[Kasir Dorran]

Objective: 2 Find the Body
Darth Strosius | Darth Malum of House Marr | Open ​

Breaking apart resistance piece by piece was an echo of his very essence.

Kasir inhaled deeply under the obsidian helm, his enhanced senses piercing the atmosphere like a vibrodagger through flesh. The scent of scorched durasteel lingered in the air, mingling with the tantalizing metallic tang drifting from every direction. Indeed, this was a testament, if nothing more, to the planet’s turmoil.

Heartbeats pounded wildly, some echoing with panic, while others in bloodlust, both of which he recognized intimately. There was no doubt in his mind that the rebellion would be suppressed, or even better, dominated, for such was an instinct as ingrained as the next step in a waltz.

No mercy, no hesitation, the Sith only knew how to demand control.

At his boots lay a lone figure, sprawled out in a grotesque display, yet his saberstaff remained clipped at his side, a mirror to another foe who had faced the other Sangnir. A shared hunger for dominion, perhaps, as it would be clear that not only were driven by the same mission, but also in vision.

From the depths of his unforgiving gaze, black as the void, and quiet as a dying flame, the Darkseeker observed the shuttle's wreckage from afar. More than an weapon, more than a shield to the only figure he truly served, Kasir was here to be a silent menace. And though he detected no immediate threat, it mattered not, for he was always vigilant, and ever calculating with cruel intentions.

If words were weapons, then he always left them sheathed. That wasn’t to say interrogation was beneath him, but his real strength lay in the shadows. Rather than inspecting the crash site, or commanding the guard ranks, he pursued a different objective: to mold the battlefield's contours. Whether by subtle or brute force.. that, for now, was left unseen.

Citizen or unforgiving fauna, it mattered not for the apex predator within his black heart stirred hungrily above them all, driven by a more primal instinct. Every step taken was the result from countless hunts, and soon, he began tracing the edges of the rooftops, ever alert to threats from snipers, or whatever may have struck down the shuttle.

Preparing to push deeper into the capital, he was met with a comm message. Still, he awaited more direct orders.

 

[Miasmær]

Tags - Darth Virelia Cin Quinn Varanin
Objective 2


This was Miasmær's first time seeing something like this. Certainly she had seen violence before, enough time spent in the pits on Loovria had taught her all she needed to know of murder and bloodshed. But war, slaughter, anarchy? That was new. The scale of it intimidated her as she stood behind the woman she had come to call master- well, mistress.

Miasmær hung on Virelia's every word, focusing on her when everything around their little coterie burned. The mission wasn't a difficult one to understand: find the body.

With Virelia's final words Miasmær would bow her head in acknowledgment before beginning her task. Stepping through the suppressor field Miasmær would be immediately struck by the smell. Death, ash, still raging fires elsewhere which illuminated the distance as great pillars of smoke raised into the sky. Around her skittered the dregs, those unwilling or incapable of fighting and who scavenged the remains of the dead for food, Miasmær's gaze only briefly flittered over them, disgust evident on her features.

She strode forward, confidently, those few animalistic survivors nearby shuffling away as to not draw her ire. She headed towards The Maze seeking her prey. Arriving near the entrance to the maze Miasmær couldn't help but note just how similar to the slave pits of home it was. Her jaw set, teeth grinding in frustrating.

Movement in her peripheral was quickly met with force- literally. Miasmær would spin, reaching out both with her arm and the force as though commanding the winds themselves. Before the dreg even had a chance to realize what happened he would be thrown through the air towards Miasmær, stopping only a few feet away while being suspended in the air.

"Who controls The Maze?"

The creature held before her let out a whimper of fear, soiling themselves soon after. Miasmær's lip would curl up in disdain. Her fingers, curling inwards, would be the only external sign as she would press on the creature's body with the force. Power, soon to be bone breaking, pressed in on the creature who would quickly begin stuttering nonsense.

"The Maze! Who. Controls. It?" she would demand, her voice dripping with venom as it quieted with each word until all that was left was a whisper and a promise of violence.

"I-I don't kno-"

Miasmær's fist would close before the man could even finish his sentence, a sickening snap from the man's neck accompanying the gesture before the corpse would slump down, collapsing to the pavement.

Her eyes turned to the darkness, more forms shifting uncomfortably.

The interrogation began anew.

 

[Darth Virelia]

"A search for a corpse."

Tags - Miasmær , Cin , Quinn Varanin , Adean Castor
Objective 2


Virelia stood perfectly still.

In the chaos of a city devouring itself, her stillness was more frightening than a saber. She let the smoke curl around her like incense. Let the distant screams form rhythm. Let the ash coat her boots like warpaint. Everything was performance. Calculated. Poised.

And her monsters had come.

Cin's presence rippled through the Force like molten tar. Her senses twisted around it as the dragon's shadow fell over her, massive and unhurried, cutting across the cracked plaza like a blade. When he landed behind her with the reverence of restraint, the very air seemed to exhale. That he obeyed no hierarchy but hers was not lost on those watching. The commandos stiffened in silence, their postures perfect, their instincts screaming.

She didn't turn.

She didn't need to.

His voice—I am with you—curled into her skull like hot smoke in velvet. No pain. Not anymore. He had learned how to speak to her without breaking her bones. That, she thought, was devotion worth cultivating.

A thin, pleased smile ghosted across her lips.

"Then Seswenna is already halfway tamed."

Her voice was low, luxurious, the kind that stroked your spine while pressing a blade to the back of your throat. Her eyes, though, remained fixed on the skyline—on the faint flicker of fires through the smog and the guttural pulse of violence beyond their temporary calm.

"Let the others burn their way through this city like children playing with matches. We," she said, finally turning, finally looking at him, "...will peel back its skin and teach it to kneel."

Behind her, the city whimpered.

And then came the girl.

No, not a girl. Not anymore.

Virelia's violet gaze flicked toward the suppressor field's edge where Miasmær had stepped into the ash. Her silhouette wavered in the heat-distorted air, a lithe shadow with a spine like a blade and hands made for ruin. Her apprentice. Her indulgence. Her blade-in-training.

Virelia watched her go, silent, until the first kill rang out through the ruins. The Force whispered of the violence—rough, eager, unrefined but effective. A scream, a snap, a death.

A lesson, writ in shattered vertebrae.

The second scream came sooner.

Virelia's eyes fluttered shut in brief, satisfied acknowledgment.

"She's learning."

Her words were a purr now, intimate, spoken as if to no one—and yet heard by Cin, heard by the shadows, heard by the city itself.

She moved.

Crossing the plaza in slow, deliberate steps, she descended the broken avenue where Miasmær's presence had begun to reverberate. Virelia didn't rush. Her walk was elegant, sensual, sovereign—every movement a command, every breath a vow.

By the time she reached the edge of the maze, three more bodies hung in the air like puppets with cut strings. Miasmær stood in the center, coiled and breathing like an animal too close to release. Her eyes burned.

Good.

Virelia's hand came to rest gently on her apprentice's shoulder—not as comfort. As claim.

"You must listen more carefully," she whispered, tone as soft as silk sliding across a blade. "Bones don't speak, my dear. Only pain does."

Miasmær said nothing at first. Her teeth clenched, her body rigid beneath her mistress' touch. But she didn't resist. Not outwardly. The tension was all within.

Virelia leaned in closer—breath on skin, words like a secret.

"But you are beautiful when you're cruel."

She let her hand trail downward, briefly brushing the girl's jaw with gloved fingers before withdrawing.

Her eyes flicked to the shapes lurking just beyond—figures hunched behind debris, eyes wide, limbs twitching in anticipation or terror. She let her voice rise, crystalline and clear.

The Force surged.

The dregs stumbled back as something moved through them—not a scream, not a shove, but gravity, a pull at their minds, their spines, their fears. One of them—a woman no older than twenty, wrapped in bloodied silks—collapsed to her knees, hands trembling.

"Please— I know where he is—" she choked, coughing blood and filth. "I swear—I saw—he's in the substation, near the slag wells—please don't—"

Virelia's hand lifted and the girl fell silent.

Not dead. Just silenced.

"We ask once," Virelia said to Miasmær, not unkindly. "Then we make them beg to answer."

She turned toward the alley, her cloak swirling behind her like liquid midnight.

"Come, pet. The maze opens."

"Let's see what your cruelty can uncover when it's guided."

The streets narrowed.

What passed for pavement here was rubble and bone, melted signage and rusted scaffold twisted into maze-like spires. Even the smoke felt thicker, clinging to the skin, tasting of blood and burning polymers. Somewhere ahead, the slag wells pulsed with industrial heat, and from them came the dull mechanical groan of still-active systems—power, perhaps, or something worse. If the girl's words were true, the substation lay just ahead.

But so did company.

No blasterfire. No shouting. Just the echo of deliberate movement—a pattern, too disciplined for scavengers. Shadows darted above, across collapsed skybridges and bent rebar gantries. Glints of lenses. Muffled static. Scouts.

Partisans, perhaps. Another Sith's retinue. Or worse—remnants of Seswenna's old internal security, still clinging to dead authority. Whoever they were, they were watching the approach through the ruins, calculating. Preparing.

A coded signal burst briefly across the comm grid. Virelia's HUD caught it: scrambled encryption. Not hers.

This was no longer an empty maze. It was contested.

And somewhere in the furnace of the slag wells, the governor's corpse—or what remained of it—waited, desecrated, or guarded, or both. A relic wrapped in chaos. But it wasn't the only prize now. The droid control uplink had likely survived. Which meant…

Someone else wanted command.

Someone else had come for the key.

A simple command rang from the lips of Virelia:

"Burn them all."

 

[Miasmær]

Tags - Darth Virelia Cin Quinn Varanin
Objective 2

Two more had refused to speak, and now they joined the first in a slowly rotating carousel of corpses. Miasmær's attention flickered to a fourth wretch, her mind beginning to calculate how long she could keep this up. As a body slowly came into the frame of her vision she could feel her mind straining, never before had she used the force like this. Small bursts of kinetic energy were as much as she had ever needed, and while Miasmær had long kept her body fit and well tuned she had let her force powers fall by the wayside.

As Miasmær would raise her clawed hand towards the fourth of the wretches she'd stumble back slightly, a coughing fit overcoming her. Her hand would shoot to her mouth to cover this outburst of weakness, the three bodies beginning to lower slightly as her concentration waned. This display of weakness, however, enraged Miasmær as she wiped her mouth with her free hand she'd prepare to begin the slaughter again only to be interrupted.

Her mistress spoke to Miasmær, her voice soft but chastising as a gloved hand came to rest on Miasmær's shoulder. Miasmær would straighten slightly as Serina whispered to her, Miasmær's skin prickling in an unconscious response. Yet as Serina's attention focused elsehwere Miasmær would step back and let her take control of the situation, the three bodies previously being used to decorate Miasmær's space being discarded with a half acknowledged force shove that sends them careening into the far wall with sickening cracks of bone against stone.

Serina, with barely any effort compared to Miasmær's interrogation, teased the truth out of these creatures in seconds. Miasmær, partially in awe, would only watch.

In silence Miasmær would follow her into the dark, following Serina's gaze up as activity above would draw her attention. Scavengers? Maybe whichever warlord took over The Maze had soldiers positioned at the gates to alert them of activity.

The command came simply, three spoken words encouraging violence-

Miasmær would hesitate, as if unsure if it was she who had been spoken to. Yet she would not hesitate long.

With a force-empowered jump she would launch into the air in pursuit of the scouts, her saber, now ignited, would be silhouette by the plumes of smoke in the distance. One of the scouts, perhaps overestimating their abilities, would turn to begin firing at Miasmær with a repeating blaster rifle.

With a spin of the saber Miasmær would send the blasts scattered to the wind before descending on the scout. Before he'd even have a chance to scream Miasmær would be on him - her hand outstretched before pushing down and crushing the scout into the roof of the building. As armor would begin to crack and he'd fight to stand Miasmær would land beside him, idly twirling her saber to slice him in half.

Leaving the corpse behind Miasmær would continue the chase with another force imbued jump sending her flying through the air.

They will not esca-
​

Once again she would begin to cough, her frame falling from the sky in the pre-planned arch and she would stumble through the landing. She'd pause, taking a second to catch her breath as her eyes would follow the running silhouettes of the scouts. After a few prolongued seconds she'd finally have her breath back, launching back after her targets with renewed vigor.

 

[Delsin Shaw]

OBJECTIVE I: Chaos is a Ladder
TAGS: | Cassian Ravel | CT-312 | Jacen Breska | Rae Cooke |

Fighting among the stations. What was left of Sith Forces upon the world, holding the line against the government and militia-men of the planet of Seswenna. The calling of men for support to provide covering and resources so that they could continue to hold the station was heard on many lines of communication. They were doing their best to hold the lines. To retain whatever form of Sith Influence upon the station for which many of our fleets were being made. More over, these resources were being used to stand up a new legion. One that could help bring the Sith Order into a stronger galactic positioning. I showed up to help.

Having already had to deal with some of the marauders after landing in the bay, My energy sword sung is vibrations as it cleaved through their minimal armor. Breathing in deeply to walk through one of the melted through blast doors they had used to break into the Station, I reached up to my ear piece. Pressing a finger to it to activate the communication system.

"Any remaining Sith Forces, call in your position. I am here to aid you."

Iconoclast in my delivery. The intent was to give them a small boost in morale as someone, anyone was coming to their aid. Even more so if it was a Sith who could provide reinforcement strong enough to be a hundred men for them. I made my way through the halls. Staying close to the wall so if hate was sent in my direction, I could jump into cover, or more easily defend myself. Boots kept quiet and silent as possible. If I could sneak up on someone...

Speaking of, there was a fireman team of the Military. Holding blowtorches and cutters trying to break into a room. The blast door sealed tight. Blackend soot over its face after being hit by blaster fire, and the bright glowing red of torches slowly creeping through its metal.

"Well, Hello there."

They turned around and without missing a beat started to bring up their rifles and pistols to fire at me. My off hand reached out with the force. Crushing each weapon they had in their hands to be unusable. One pulled the trigger to have the weapon explode in his hands. Using that moment to close the gap, the energy blade bisected his form. Finishing any chance he could have lived from the explosion. My hand reached out to the collar of plate armor of another soldier. The blade slammed into his body just under the lip of the chest plate. Turning around now, I moved his body to be a shield as a woman yelled a battle cry and fired her backup weapon into her compatriot.

I just threw the dying body of the man onto the woman before releasing a wave of Sith Lightning at them. Holding the stream of energy down upon the both of them. Her screams echoing in the halls in a shaking fashion. their bodies held in this lightning ignited from their clothing and gear. Burning and shocking them to death. By the time I released it, their bodies were charred and smoking. Their faces contorted in pain from the powers of the Force.

"Allied Sith Forces, hold out as long as you can. I will be there as fast as I can. Having to fight my way to you."

 

[Cin]

SESWENNA
OBJECTIVE 2
- Darth Virelia - Miasmær - ​

Cin's shadow darkened Virelia as she and her Apprentice ventured into the collapsing city, a whisper as claws scraped against stone. He was a large creature, that he knew, but he had never been one for unnecessary grandeur. After all, it wasn't the roar that made the monster.

It was the silence before.

The Apprentice's work with her victims was commendable, her master's work even moreso. The Dragon did nothing but watch on, content to wait his turn. He knew his strengths- meddling with the mind, manipulation, he was not yet equipped for. His time would come.

Movement. Danger in the Force. Three words.

"Burn them all."

Miasmær hesitated. Cin did not. He knew who those words were for.

The Dragon drafted a breath, and oxygen became scarce in the confined space. A dry southern wind plumed between the buildings, beginning pleasantly, and ending with an uncomfortable, prickled heat over the skin. Cin worked his jaw, considering the angle, and how best not to torch Virelia's pet. Then...

Burning rage poured from the Dragon's maw, spilling more like liquid than fire. It flowed, a white-water current of licking flames, overtaking the majority of the scouts as they fled Miasmær, climbing up their legs, clinging to their skin, melting flesh like so much waxpaper.

Curiously, the river of fire parted around the Sith themselves, as if it had a mind of its own. And as soon as it did it's grim work, Cin snapped shut his jaws, and so too did the flames recede. He could not kill them all... but he was certainly Virelia and the Apprentice could manage from there.

He let a puff of smoke out the corner of his mouth, almost gloatingly so, before turning his gaze back ahead.

 

[Adean Castor]

Deep under cover, tailored robes were traded for a scout's uniform and a worse for wear wrap drapes over her shoulders and head. Despite the airs Brassius put on in public being a pillar of cold vanity expected from the Zambrano line, they quite thrived in such missions. The agent of the Tsis'kar enjoyed disappearing into a role, the weight of their borrowed name weighing in the background of their ever conniving mind.

Undercover work did have its drawbacks, however, a prime example being the figures who had made their way to Brassius' squad's position. A wave of dread washed over them, partially due to the hulking beast among the group, but more in part due to the sickly sweet familiarity that emanated from the multi-eyed mask that lead that team.

Adean was wearing the wrong name for this.

And yet, in retrospect, it couldn't have been a better time to be caught as Brassius, when not even Brassius was using the name. The relief was short lived, however, when she caught the order for burning.

TAG: Cin Darth Virelia Miasmær

"Maybe don't burn them al-"

Emerald eyes widened in abject horror by the near-instantaneous carnage brought on by the scaled creature. The heat cast by the river of flame sent the Epicanthix

further along in her approach towards the two humanoids.​

When the unfamiliar figure leaped into action, she halted her approach, letting what remained of the scouting party rush to die in her stead. With grit teeth she watched her false comrades fall, letting her lack of presence take over as she moved along the edges of the makeshift battlefield.

The coughing fit got her attention, head tilting to the side. "Allergies? Illness? Pushing yourself too far?" She wondered allowed, turning her gaze to more fully address Darth Virelia. "You really do like the broken ones."

 

[Darth Virelia]

"A search for a corpse."

Tags - Miasmær , Cin , Quinn Varanin , Adean Castor
Objective 2


The fire still danced in her peripheral vision—Cin's fire, molten and elegant, roaring forth as though the dragon had exhaled his soul and called it war. She watched the heat ripple up the collapsed scaffold as the last of the scouts vanished into screaming, luminous ruin. It curved around her, of course. His loyalty burned hotter than his breath.

And as the charred wind settled, it brought with it a voice.

Not the cries of the dying.

But her.

Virelia turned her head just enough to meet the sound.

Tavis.

Of course it would be Tavis.

The girl—no, the woman now—slipped into the scene like a ripple in silk, her timing impeccable, her tone maddeningly casual. The kind of sharp that didn't need to raise its voice to slice someone's throat. And yet, beneath the offhand delivery, Virelia could feel the electricity—coiled around that name she would never use. Not out loud.

Tavis. She would always be Tavis to the others.

Virelia's eyes narrowed just slightly.

"Allergies," she repeated, voice cool and indulgent, "—to mediocrity, perhaps."

Her tone dripped with dark amusement as she pivoted fully now, violet eyes flicking between the three: the fire-dragon still coiled in slow menace behind her, Miasmær recovering her breath with silent fury, and Tavis—beautiful, evasive Tavis—standing there in ash and judgment like some half-bored goddess of war.

"Or maybe she simply forgot she's allowed to breathe between executions. I do tend to raise expectations."

A subtle nod toward Miasmær, whose embarrassment painted her posture more than her face. No shame, not truly. But frustration. Good. Let it simmer.

Virelia's gloved fingers flexed once at her side, calling her saber hilt back into her palm. She did not ignite it. Not yet.

Not unless someone gave her a reason.

"But I do so love the broken ones, don't I?" Virelia purred, finally answering the barb, stepping closer to Tavis with calculated grace. "They crack, and I slip my fingers into the seams. Mold them. Pour new purpose into their hollow little fractures until they're not broken at all anymore—just perfectly shaped."

A glint of affection touched her voice.

And for a moment, it wasn't clear if she was speaking about Miasmær, or Tavis… or herself.

She moved past both now, gaze cast up toward the slag towers—where enemy positions were already beginning to remobilize, distant red flashes cutting through the smoke. The scouts had only been the first net. The real teeth would follow.

She didn't look back as she spoke again—addressing all three now. But her voice had lowered, smooth and steel-hard.

"The key is within reach. The governor's corpse, if not already in enemy hands, is near the substation. I want that body—or enough of it to unlock this world's droid network."

She turned slightly then, just enough for her eyes to catch the edge of each figure.

"Cin, who by far is doing the most work at the moment, thank you. Please burn the back channels. Let them know what waits if they try to retreat. Miasmær, you're with me—recover, regroup, don't strain. And Tavis…"

The name curled from her lips like something silk-wrapped and dangerous.

She let it hang in the air just long enough to suggest something intimate. Something possessive.

"Scout ahead. Quietly. If someone's laying a claim on my prize, I want to know who. And if they're worth keeping."

The last word was honeyed rot—spoken with the kind of slow smile that meant too many things at once.

Then, without waiting for acknowledgment, Virelia raised one hand and sliced the air before her open with a quick, imperious gesture. The Force surged, tearing away the bent barrier blocking the alley that led into the slag well corridor.

Metal screamed. Concrete fractured.

The path to the corpse—and to the command uplink—was open.

She stepped through the breach first.

"Now move."

 

[Miasmær]

Tags - Darth Virelia Cin Quinn Varanin Adean Castor
Objective 2

Born from Fire
​

Miasmær, rage made manifest, flung herself through the air as dragon-fire roared around her. The heat of it evaporating the sweat on her skin as she streaked through the air towards her prey. One of the scouts, the unluckiest of the lot, had some kind of jetpack he has used to evade the ocean of flames that had disintegrated his comrades. Yet Miasmær could be far worst than fire.

As the scout watched in abject horror he would be dragged from the sky as the arching Miasmær would wrap her clawed fingers around his throat, dragging him back down to the surface of the planet. The two of them would impact the rooftop hard, crashing through the weakened structure into what had once been quaint living quarters. Miasmær, disarmed as the impact had ripped her saber from her hands, would retrieve a brick from the fallen debris and slam it down twice onto the man's head as he would reach for a knife.

Ultimately, as the man lay dying, Miasmær would grab him by the throat before floating upwards and out of the hole in the structure. Her eyes solely focused on the dying man, savoring it. She would stiffle another cough, pulling her out of her game. She didn't know why this was happening to her, she didn't feel ill.

The final drops of life would leave the scout's eyes as he and Miasmær hung suspended in the air silhouetted by burning buildings. The body would drop back into the structure as the saber below would lazily float upwards.

Slowly Miasmær would hover down to the building's roof while clipping her saber to her belt, landing with gravce before walking to Virelia's side. Already her mind beginning to ache with continued use of the force, though she would continue to push herself taking a second to rest wouldn't hurt.

The newcomer Miasmær did not recognize, her void-black eyes locking on Adean before turning her nose up at the girl. She would prepare to snipe back, a snide remark to put the girl in her place before Virelia would respond for her - Miasmær falling mute to not speak over her master. Virelia spoke too familiarly with the newcomer, and Miasmær's gaze would turn venemous as jealousy would begin to pull on her emotions. Part of her, the old part trained by an old master, told her to attack to secure her place as the sole pupil of Serina. But she stayed her blade, pulling her gaze from the two of them as she'd watch the dragon. A powerful beast and one Miasmær would certainly not want to tempt to violence.

Darth Virelia would give them their orders, and Miasmær found herself secretly pleased that she would be by Serina's side in the oncoming engagement. She watched in awe as Virelia would effortlessly rip away the barrier standing between the party and their prize. Slowly she would step in after Serina, unclipping her saber but not yet activating it as she tailed her mistress, ready for action.

 

[Darth Malum of House Marr]

Objective 2: Keys to the Castle​

It began as a drop.

A trickle, that flowed forth out from the inky depths of the quotidian night that was the nothingness of the galaxy, bespectled, illuminated only by the visage of stars hundreds, thousands, hundreds of thousands of klicks away. The space around Seswenna, the entire Seswennan Oversector had been aflame as of recent days.

The Velgrath's advance was stalling, most of those who had taken part of the initial incursions out beyond the safety of the Blackwall were either dead, or had fled back into the safety of the darkness. Fewer, and fewer still held up the torch of the Emperor's challenge, gaining what they had desired, or simply wishing to avoid the casualties that had been suffered in compeition against one another, or against the unknowns of the Rim.

What new Dominars proclaimed themselves found themselves on the disadvantage against already established ones, while the Velgrathi, fewer, and fewer as there were, cloistered themselves, clamouring for what frontrunners existed.

It was such weakness, that provided the Tsis'Kaar the opportunity to intercede.

Out from the darkness, what first began as a drop, and then a trickle, was fast becoming a deluge, as out from hyperspace, all those who battled over Seswenna, would turn their multi-coloured gaze towards an imposing sight. Space was quiet, but the light that alighted across their eyes was impossible to ignore.

A Darr-Itah class Grand Battlecruiser, a gargantuan vessel bedecked in gunnery across its ancient hull steamed forward a faint shimmer of blue, the only clue of the shields that wrung across its massive form. A speartip made manifest, as the triangular visage swung forward, its engines roaring alive, as it pressed forth. A primordial drake that stemmed from the age of the One Sith, a vessel that was as old as it was proud, that had survived the deprivations of the Core wars, only to serve under the flag of the enemy in the Rim, to now... be liberated once more under the flag of the Sith. A vessel, that was as famous as it was elusive, of the Tsis'Kaar armada, there was only one other vessel as elusive, as secretive, it fit the pattern of the order of assassins and spies... for as with the serpents, once the Darr-Itah was seen.

It was likely already too late.

The last time the vessel had been seen, it had been in the Maw, battling against two Alliance battlegroups and coming forth victorious, as the Maw fell under the banner of the Sith.

The Tsis'Kaar did not exist in a vacuum, no... in both Tsis'Kaar and Inquistorious wings, the Seswenna sector was particularly of interest. From the northward bid of Eriadu which held the Imperium's anti-slavery bid in utter contempt, to the southward notion of Seswenna itself, that once part of the Empire had castaway its allegiance.

Or else its governors had failed.

Sitting upon the command throne of the Darr-Itah, Malum's masked gaze fell upon the grey planet below, that which would be the first step in many a thing...

...So many first steps.

The transmission began, audio for those who could only hear, visual for those who could see.

​

"You may continue your Velgrath as you wish, but do not consider Seswenna to be a prize in it. This world is in rebellion, and thus under the juridstiction of the Inquisitorious of the Tsis'Kaar, we will accept any assistance from local Sith forces in its subdual, but for all intents and purposes..."

He leaned forward, his flowing black apparel flowing through the wind.

"...This world is mine."

Allies: Darth Strosius Kasir Dorran Adean Castor

Sith: Darth Virelia Cin Miasmær Delsin Shaw Cassian Ravel CT-312

Invited: Darth Nefaron War Marshal Helix Trayze Tesar Zachariah Conway Revna Marr Lysander von Ascania