Populate On the Precipice || SO Populate of Varunda IX

[Aspect of Defiance]

The realization did not strike Sith space in a single moment. It arrived in uneven stages that built upon one another until the truth could not be denied. It began with agents who served in the shadows of Core systems. They carried whispers of instability to the intelligence channels of the Sith Order. Information brokers repeated the same warnings in their guarded codes. Soon after, scattered reports breached the Blackwall from Mid Rim outlets, describing a crisis that grew in scope each passing week.

The final confirmation came only when the Empress sent a small expedition from Jutrand to pierce the veil directly. Her command settled the debate. Her will ensured no fragment of evidence remained uncertain. When her message returned with absolute clarity, it spread through Sith space with the force of a storm.

The authority in the Core had fallen. The Heart of the galaxy lay exposed. The old throne sat empty, its keepers scattered or silent. What had once ruled with confidence now drifted without a voice to speak for it. That emptiness carried a promise that only the strong could fulfill.

The first to act were not armies raised by decree but individuals driven by their own hunger. Lone captains slipped through narrow routes. Raiders crossed the Blackwall in unmarked ships. What had once been fortified bastions of order now lingered as faint ruins or hollow defenses. The very sight of them tempted every enterprising Sith who gazed Coreward.

The Empress did not ignore this mounting ambition. She gathered the newly expanded Dark Council on Jutrand and made clear that the future of the Order would not be shaped by scattered plunder. The Core would be claimed with purpose. The march would be unified. Under her authority the campaign was named. The Sadow Campaign would be the next great movement of the Sith.

In preparation for that march, she ordered the first controlled opening of the Blackwall. The barrier that once divided two galactic powers shifted by her decree. Scholars, engineers, and the most disciplined of the Order turned forgotten sciences and Dark Side insight toward a single structure. It would allow passage. It would preserve control. It would carry the ambition of the Sith into the very heart of the fallen Core.

The first Blackgate now stands at the edge of the void, lit by power that vibrates through its frame. It marks the threshold of an era shaped by the Empress and enforced by the Council she commands. Beyond it lies a realm without a ruler. Through it pass warriors, acolytes, nobles, and captains who seek claims that only the strong can keep.

Some chase forgotten vaults. Others hunt for worlds to claim. The ambitious look for the glory that comes when an empire is rebuilt by ruthless vision. Generals test their soldiers.

The Blackgate opens to them all. The Empress watches. The Core waits. The future belongs to whoever reaches into that void and refuses to let go.

Spoiler: OBJECTIVES

With the Core Worlds and Mid Rim now exposed to any who dare to strike, the Sith have gathered to decide how we will rise above every opportunist who circles the ruins of the old order. This council is the place to speak, to shape the plan, and to turn the Sadow Campaign toward your own vision.

Will you argue for the liberation of the Core or the domination of its people? Will you demand the harvest of its resources or the ruin of worlds that once claimed pride they never earned? How will the Sith descend upon the heart of the galaxy, and what remains of it once we are finished will depend on the choices made here.

Let your intent be clear. The future is waiting to be carved open.

For years the Blackwall has concealed Sith space from the foes that gathered beyond it. Some argue it protected us. Others claim it confined us and kept the Order contained for the sake of unity. Whatever the view, the barrier remained an unbroken shield that many enemies shattered themselves against.

Now the enemy that once pressed upon it is gone. With the Galactic Alliance no longer forcing its way into every weakness, a controlled gateway has been opened. A fortified hyperlane now cuts through the Blackwall, monitored with care, yet significant enough to draw attention and celebration alike.

Watch as the clouded barrier splits and the defensive stations shift aside. The space beyond is open. The path into the Core is visible. The only question that remains is how you intend to use it.

The worlds just beyond the Sith border, those that once hid behind the Blackwall, served as a barrier to our advance for many years. Without the Alliance to reinforce them, many have fled their fortresses in search of safety far from Sith space. Others remain behind their walls with thin garrisons that can barely hold a line.

These first steps into former Alliance territory are unsanctioned and perilous. No Legion will march beside you. No official support will answer your call. If you have the resolve to cross the line on your own, then return with spoils or do not return at all.

Spoiler: TAG LIST

Darth Carnifex
Darth Prazutis
Srina Talon
Gerwald Lechner
Aerik Lechner
Quinn Varanin
Lirka Ka
Taeli Raaf
Darth Caedes
Madrona A’Mia
Naamino Zuukamano
Varin Mortifer
Lysander von Ascania
Naniti
Lina Ovmar
Irina Jesart
Selene Valeheart
Elane II of Kuat
Lark
Reina Daival
Ivalyn Yvarro
Delvin jeth

 

[Gerwald Lechner]

WEARING: This
WEAPONS: Ferrum Solus | Blodmåne | Strømafbryder
SHIP: Vigfjall
TAG: Irina Jesart | Selene Valeheart | @OPEN

Gerwald did not speak immediately.

Political assemblies had never suited him. He preferred action, the clarity of movement and consequence, to rooms heavy with calculation and unspoken rivalries. Yet experience had taught him that wars were not won by strength alone. Empires required direction before force could be applied. He stood here not because he enjoyed it, but because leadership demanded presence as much as it demanded resolve.

Irina Jesart and Selene Valeheart remained just behind him, close enough to watch the chamber through his stillness. He wanted them to understand this moment. Not the pageantry of a council, but the discipline required to endure it. The chamber was not filled with tension or anticipation. It was filled with opportunity held in check by restraint, and by the knowledge that a single careless declaration could shape the course of the campaign.

The Blackgate had altered the character of ambition. What had once been abstract now possessed form and access. The Core was no longer a distant subject debated in theory. It was reachable. Gerwald could already see how that reality fractured the room. Some saw a realm to govern. Others saw a prize to be stripped bare. A few regarded it only as a wound to be widened until nothing remained to challenge them again.

He did not object to any of those instincts.

He objected to inaction.

“The Core is not empty,” Gerwald said, his voice even and measured. “It is leaderless. Confusing the two will weaken every claim we attempt to make.”

He let the words stand on their own.

“Every unsanctioned strike through the Blackgate diminishes what follows. It consumes value before it can be assessed. It provokes resistance before purpose is declared. If the Sadow Campaign is shaped by impulse rather than intent, then we will inherit instability instead of dominion.”

His gaze moved across the council without challenge or invitation.

“There are paths available to us. Governance. Subjugation. Extraction. Ruin. Each demands different tools and different tolerances for chaos. None of them can be pursued at the same time without undermining the others.”

He shifted his stance slightly.

“The Core has already fallen through its own failure. What remains undecided is whether it will be shaped by design or reduced by appetite.”

His eyes settled again at the center of the chamber.

“Which future do we intend to impose, and what discipline are we prepared to enforce in order to ensure it lasts.”

He did not speak again.

The silence that followed was deliberate.

 

[Darth Strosius]

​

Objective: The Gateway
Equipment: Lightsaber - Sword - Dagger - Robes
Tags: Lina Ovmar / Naamino Zuukamano / Elmindra Xitaar / Open!
--------------------------------------------

Darth Strosius stood at the head of the Harbinger of Absolution, the crew of the bridge silent to match His own disposition as He stared out of the viewport into the wide open space beyond. Rather unusually the Harbinger wasn't skirting along the edge of Sith space or at the rear of some existing formation, lurking in the background. Instead it was open in its glory and presence, and it wasn't alone. The Order of Wonosa was no great military power when compared to most within the wider Sith Order. It certainly was no Legion or the powerbase of a Dark Councilor after all.

And yet, to call the fleet that surrounded the Harbinger anything less than an armada would simply be inaccurate.

There were but a handful of proper Star Destroyers, all Kaas-Class as one might expect, yet what it might have lacked in one regard it more than made up for with its groups of cruisers and smaller vessels. A score of Eliminators guarded the edges of the grouped vessels, flanking the core which was composed of several Arbites. Each cruiser was escorted in kind by frigates, typically Indictables but with a healthy mixture of both cargo and escort Altorius models as well, and between them all sat hunting packs of Wyrms and even a few formations of the Shikkars had been assembled.

Evidently Darth Strosius hadn't come to simply observe the first Blackgate's opening, He'd come ready to wage war. And that was precisely what He had ordered from His forces before their arrival at the edge of the Blackwall. This was not a simple show of force, this was the realization of a dream that He'd been pursuing for the better part of forty years. And He would be damned if He let any Imperator, any Councilor, or any other vile false-Sith take the victory that was rightfully His and His followers' to claim. Darth Strosius had waited for decades to see the Core lie open and He would not be denied it now.

"Those eldest among you who still remember the dying days of the last Sith Empire will know well what we have gathered here for." His voice didn't just echo on the bridge but across the whole vessel and the rest of His fleet, broadcasted in an open channel for indeed any who wished to hear the words of the Lord of Wonosa. "Those who descend from them, mentored by them, fought alongside them, will have heard tales and stories of the war for yourselves. But for those of you who have never known of a prominent Sith power in the galaxy before this current iteration, listen well now."

Darth Strosius inclined His head as He pictured Coruscant in His mind, the gleaming heart of the galaxy itself. It was high time that it stopped beating. "The Tenth Sith Empire was beset by the Core's accursed Alliance and propped up in their efforts by the detestable Jedi. With countless soldiers and sheer scorn they tore at the walls of the empire, for who save the Core could claim dominion over worlds? For who save the Jedi could lead the galaxy's people? In their pride and arrogance they assaulted the empire with a pitiless war, a single front in a war on all sides yet the most devastating one by far in the end."

His gloved hands tightened into fists. "Worlds were burned, armies decimated, fleets destroyed. Innumerable lives lost in order to stem the tide of the Core's forces. A valiant, yet ultimately doomed effort. Betrayed within by the fools who thought themselves our rulers, they left the empire to be ripped apart by the Jedi and their bedfellows in the horrid New Imperials. These traitors still claim leadership over us even now, for now at least. But while they sit so high above, we can still right the wrongs of the past. Avenge the fallen and retake what was lost. The Jedi have scattered, the Alliance has faltered, the Core is vulnerable!"

His "wings" flared, their pale golden glow visible even from outside the bridge's viewports. "For an eon the Core Worlds have pilfered and profited from the Outer Rim! They have exploited and thrashed against us in our very homes, dragging their ill-gotten gains back to the Core and leaving the scraps for the petty criminals to fight over. They have cultivated and endorsed the cycle of organized crime within the Outer Rim so that they can sit safe and well supplied back in their Core while we struggle and starve! The history of the galaxy is the history of the parasites of the Core Worlds!"

A pause was allowed, to let the vitriol of His impassioned words settle into the hearts and minds of His followers. To prime them for what was to come. "But now, the Core's bastions have faltered. Their partners in their vile deeds, the Jedi, have faltered. The Alliance has fallen! And now it is high time that we, the children of the Outer Rim, take back our birthright! Thousands of years the Core Worlds have stolen from you! Detested you! Oppressed you! And each time we have risen to stand against them they have struck us down with hatred and arrogance, but now they are the ones laying stricken and exposed!"

He cast a hand forward and the entire Harbinger seemed to lurch forward in response, much to the surprise of its crew. "Go forth now! As the Core has sapped and siphoned from you so shall you reclaim what you are owed! We will show the Core Worlds the same mercy and dignity with which they have been shown us. None." There wouldn't be a safe world left between Sith space and the Holy Worlds now. "Crash upon their worlds like the waves of wrath, take what is rightfully ours and with it we will rebuild the Outer Rim into what it was always meant to be. Leave the Core as it has left you, desperate and clinging to nothing but hope! Scour their cities, burn their homes, and slay all who would oppose you! My Wonosa,"

"Begin the Reaping!"

 

[Elane II of Kuat]

​

Sith-Imperial Tag Channel: Darth Strosius

Her gaze shifted from the bridge of the Meniium-Scrani Industrial Station, as the station settled neatly along the hyperspace lane out of the Eleventh Sith Empire and towards the Core of the Galaxy. This was the gateway to the most profitable sectors of the galactic market and the Sith-Imperial Banking Clan would not allow the Lords of the Sith to bring ruination upon them.

And her resolve only hardened when the first sights of Darth Strosius 's fleet came through on the scanners, though her eyes narrowed at the signature of the Harbinger of Absolution as confirmation that the Heretic was more than ready to sacrifice whatever was necessary to achieve his goals.

"The Order of Wonosa is our first foe on the board, though it is a shame that I will not be able to see his face as my forces block his advancement." Elane's expression remained a mask of polished politeness as the word's escaped her decrepit lips, knowing that she would be breaking her agreement with Lord Strosius but if that was the price to pay to restore her rule over Kuat and its Shipyards, then so be it.

Her hand glided over to nearby console beside her chair, a single gloved finger pressing the button as the command signal was sent from the station to the rest of the Sith-Imperial Banking Clan waiting nearby, supplied primarily by the Trade Federation of Planets.

Providence Class II Cruisers appeared first, then Munificent-class II Heavy Star Frigate, GH-4201 Class Modular Core Ship reinforced with plenty of Lucrehulk Class GH-3201 Cargo Freighter and finally the centerpiece being Tambor Pattern Lucrehulk Class III Battleships.

Their engines gave a distinctive hum as they moved into proper formation, using the lucrehulks as the center and the support ships forming two defensive wings. "Send these Cultists to the Underworld of the Force, FIRE!!" She said into the communication device knowing that a single shot would mark the beginning of war over the Gateway and her rebellion against the Lords of the Sith.

TXA Starbreaker-class Seismic Mass Driver Cannon and HVC-369 'Covenant' Hypervelocity Cannons bellowed from the decks of the fleet, sending projectiles towards the awaiting Wonosa's fleet.

 

[Darth Carnifex]

The Yaldabaoth cut through the void, a sharp dagger-like instrument of war and suffering. A host of smaller Eschaton-class Star Destroyers surrounded it, an armada that radiated power and authority, each one crewed by the fanatical legions of the Eternal Father. They moved with singular purpose, all their wills subsumed by the One; their Dark God. Before them stretched one of the many border worlds that had once formed the divide between the Blackwall and the Galactic Alliance frontier.

A frontier which no longer existed.

Yet, even so, vestiges of that frontier continued to cling on. Military units which refused to heed the central government, Jedi Knights who rejected the political reality of the now-defunct Alliance. Local governments sought safety and surety in these dwindling remnants of security, deluding themselves that they could withstand the tide of darkness about to crash down around them.

The Sith fleet made no effort to obfuscate its approach, arriving in the system within full scan-view of the planet itself. Shock and awe was the first weapon in their arsenal, craftily deployed to stunlock the planet's political and military leadership as the full scope of the enemy force gradually made itself known. Whatever scraps of the Alliance flotilla they'd managed to cobble together into a defensive line couldn't hold a candle to that of the Sith Empire's. Any hope of a realistic defense died at Atrisia, along with the Faithless machine that wrought such catastrophe.

The Alliance reeled, the Faithless faltered.

And the Sith surged forth.

From the Yaldabaoth, the Eternal Father watched the mismatched marble of the frontier world grow to fill the bridge viewport. They would soon be within weapon range of the defense fleet, which had long been in the range of the Yaldabaoth's weapon systems. This game the Eternal Father played was one born more of amusement than it was tactical acumen, though it would be a discredit to wholly discard its merits. They'd come with an ultimatum, one which would only be delivered once and once alone.

Submit or die.

In the Eternal Father's left hand was the collar, and in His right the sword.

Which would drop first?

Darth Prazutis | Ellissanthia ​

 

[Varin Mortifer]

Varin stood in his chamber staring into the visor of his helm. It did not reflect his face. It reflected his past, his experiences, his pain, his fury. It showed him the infernal gates that held his wrath at bay. The being within clawed, gnawed, gnashed at the bars. Bit by bit the gate weakened. His grip tightened around the shell, his leather gloves creaked against the metal. The fires of the darkside stirred and writhed beneath his flesh, from within his bone, below the marrow. He was the vessel of The Eater of Suns. The Son of Bogan. And His Disciple called for a purge.

The Jedi had taken everything from him that he held dear.

His eyes burned a vibrant orange as he slowly rotated the helm and placed it on his head. The rebreather kicked on, and the visor lit up with life, casting a dull red glow against the walls. He grabbed his instruments of violence and rending. The mace, and his saber. The Erinar diamond from within called to his flame, and his flame called to it. A communion of destructive force that would slaughter the sheep of light. The diamond was hungry, and a banquet was lying in wait for it.

He holstered the mace to his back and clipped the crossguarded hilt to his belt. Before stepping out of his room, he grabbed his rosary of bone. Running his thumb over each bead and back again he walked down the halls of The Harbinger, listening to Lord Strosius’s words. Carving them into his memory. The promises of what was promised to him were within his grasp. His heart thudded in his chest as he boarded onto the bridge. The metal of his boots tapping onto the floor announcing his arrival.

Lord Strosius called for His warriors, and Varin came. His breathing remained deep, laced in the back with anxiousness for blood and conquest. He stood in the background of the bridge, awaiting his orders. Awaiting for his master to wield him like the weapon of violence and destruction that he was.

He would not hold back the fury he had within him. Cities and planets would burn.

Darth Strosius | Naamino Zuukamano | Lina Ovmar | Elmindra Xitaar​

 

[Naamino Zuukamano]

Outfit:
Belt of Strength, Field Com-Scan Link, Phrik Breastplate
Well Worn Boots, Weal & Woe

Mid Rim
Near Varunda IX
Tags: Elmindra Xitaar | Darth Strosius | Varin Mortifer
Lina Ovmar
Opposition: Elane II of Kuat

Events on the war front had developed such that more forces were needed in order to properly push their cause to the core. Naamino wished for nothing more than to be the tip of that spear. His vehemence for domination of the core, which had begun as a very personal vendetta against the Galactic Alliance, had since been carefully fostered and molded by his Master into something akin to a holy crusade. Their foes needed to be vanquished, the core awaited enlightenment and order under Sith rule.

Naamino stood on the bridge of the Harbinger of Absolution, though of course he'd selected an appropriately mindful placement amongst Darth Strosius' own crew, somewhere befitting the Acolyte of Elmindra Xitaar. Thus, he had an excellent view of the Prophet when he launched into a speech. The zabrak found that he immediately related to and was inspired by those proclamation.

However, due to the presence of his aforementioned Master, Naamino curbed his enthusiasm so the energizing words impacted him internally but not a trace would outwardly show other than a stoic nod here or there. At the conclusion of those rousing words, those gathered responded with gusto.

That fierce enthusiasm was soon dampened by early warning systems that they were under fire. Naami's ice blue eyes snapped to the nearest tactical display and read in real time what Strosius' own crew were soon relaying to him. The zabrak turned on his heel, spine straight, voice low and curt with the sudden urgency of the situation.

"Master, permission to take a squadron out to punish these interlopers?"

 

[Ivalyn Yvarro]

Irina Jesart | Selene Valeheart​

Ivalyn watched, waited as the pause lingered in the air, not with silence, but expectation. When it finally broke, it did so with a voice tempered in iron and intellect.

"Dark Councillor Lechner speaks rightly. The Core has not collapsed, it has only paused. Waiting for the next hand bold enough to press upon the map. But what and how we press, matters."

She stood there, a step forward not as a gesture of authority but of commitment. "You speak of dominion, I speak of durability. You speak of conquest. I speak of continuity. The First Order, for all its failings, understood this: that war is not only won with fleets, but with infrastructure, governance, and memory." She turned slightly, she let her words fall like banners.

"Let us not simply inherit the ruins. Let us name them. Stabilize them. Designate protectorates, not plunder sites. Move our fleets, yes, but behind them, move our engineers, our overseers, our flags. If we intend to reshape the Core. Let it not be a wildfire. Let it be architecture."

Ivalyn allowed just a moment of silence, then added with cool precision. "If the Core is to kneel, let it kneel to order, not chaos wearing our face."

Then, one final note, a whisper of steel wrapped in silk.

"If that vision demands discipline, then allow the Commonwealth to aid its suzerain in such an endeavor."

 

[Lark]

Objective: The Gateway
Tags: Darth Strosius Varin Mortifer Naamino Zuukamano Elane II of Kuat and others

Deep within the bowels of the Harbinger of Absolution, a beautiful whistle began to echo throughout the narrow corridors. The tune on Lark's lips formed a strange, yet horrifyingly beautiful contrast with the surrounding chaos. A melodic trill, one the whole galaxy would miss when the rhythm reached it's end. It sounded louder than it should, most of the crew was either listening to Strosius' speech or preparing for war. The head and the hangars of the ship were bustling, like a brain firing synapses to the body, propelling them into action. That left the belly of the beast starving.

Infiltrating the ship had not been a simple task. Lark had apprenticed themself underneath the tutelage of one of the line chefs that often worked the Harbinger, under a false identity they had created for themselves three weeks ago. As the young gourmandizer Rye Quincy, Lark had hoped to find a non-violent, non-disruptive means of boarding the ship. The biggest hurdle, Rye quickly realized, was not the ultra-tight security and panopticon of the Sith. It was that Rye was too good at making food. There aren't any connoisseurs of fine dining on the Harbinger, Colby Attis, the lead line chef, had bellowed after Rye made a delicious chicken and broccoli stir fry. These chowhounds will gobble up any slop you toss in front of them! It wasn't until Rye learned to cook worse that they were allowed behind the counter of the mess hall. Less salt and pepper, more spit and sweat. Rye almost blew their cover by making a mushroom-vegetable risotto with a special spice they had learned from some recipe book from Naboo. The smell had begun to attract nearby staff, and though Rye argued that a hearty rice-based meal was exactly what they needed before the eve of battle, Colby shut the whole thing down.

Now Rye's purpose for existing had concluded. Down they sank, back into the recesses of Lark's shattered psyche. The whistling ebbed on and on, pitch alternating between sweet and sorrowful.

Boarding successful, Lark had changed out of their apron (that they weren't even allowed to embroider) and back into black and gold robes that they hadn't donned in years. Don't ever take us off again, they whispered. That emptiness was...

For a moment, Lark stopped whistling. Alisteri... no, best to call him Strosius on his own flagship. Darth Strosius was concluding his speech, and a spectacle could be undone by a poorly phrased finale.

"Crash upon their worlds like the waves of wrath, take what is rightfully ours and with it we will rebuild the Outer Rim into what it was always meant to be. Leave the Core as it has left you, desperate and clinging to nothing but hope! Scour their cities, burn their homes, and slay all who would oppose you! My Wonosa,"

"Begin the Reaping!"

Lark smiled gently, and resumed the whistling, a songbird balancing on a string. The hallways alternated between warm and chill. There was a reason they had returned now, of all times. With the Galactic Alliance gone, a whole swath of the galaxy once off-limits to someone like Lark was open season. Strosius would be his in. A conversation the two of them had over a year or two ago still lingered in the deepest chambers of Lark's mind, like that dream you had as a child that you never forgot. Though some time had passed, Lark would honor that promise they made to their friend.

And then, Lark would rip the Core apart, molecule after molecule, until they found their brother.

 

[Lina Ovmar]

Armour | Staff
Allied: Darth Strosius Naamino Zuukamano Varin Mortifer Lark
Enemy: Elane II of Kuat
​

Lina’s boots echoed softly off the Harbinger's corridor as she moved without haste through its corridors. She could feel the anticipation thrumming in the force, the breath taken before the plunge. This moment was long awaited, the moment the Sith finally marched on the core. With the Galactic Alliance gone, its chaos was ripe for the taking. Opportunity presented itself at every turn and she would not take a back seat. Not this time.

Alisteri’s voice rumbled through the speakers, and Lina felt the fire ignite, a candle he had lit the first day she’d set on this ship that now tore through her soul in an uncontrollable inferno. She could see it in the faces of the crew as she passed them, all of them still heads held tall listening to the Prophet of Bogan, fire and pride burning in their eyes.

The hiss of the doors to the bridge was muted by the thunder in his voice and for a moment Lina paused, drinking the image in, the way the crew looked to him, the passion that drove him and guided their wrath. Lips parted into a smile as she approached behind him as the ship lurched. She was glad she had chosen to leave the helm of the armour she bore behind, she wanted him to see the effect he had not just on his Wonosan’s but on her.

"Begin the Reaping!"

The response was immediate, a roar that rippled in the force in response as sunlight engines flared, pushing the armada forward toward the gate, yet as she reached him her hand stretching for his fire slammed into the Harbinger, alarms blared as the crew scrambled for reports. Fury rose like wildfire, whatever softness she might have had in the moment vanished as her eyes shifted from green to glittering block orbs.

As the young zabrak stepped forward, ready for action, Lina stepped past allowing Strosius to respond as she addressed the crew. “Show me who dares.” Displays lit up, highlighting an array of ships. This was a war fleet that had been sitting in waiting, all of them bearing the signature of the Trade Federation. She stepped back turning to Naamino and Alisteri.

“Why waste resources, when we can split them open from the inside?” Her hand extended, shadows unfolding from her palm until a staff rested in her hand. “With your blessing, ki Sosûtudas?” She’d not open a netherportal on his ship, not that she needed his permission, but she knew well enough the distaste he had for the realm she played too easily in.

 

[Irina Jesart]

Wearing
Tags: Selene Valeheart Gerwald Lechner Ivalyn Yvarro​

Irina reflected her Master's stillness, her fire ringed eyes watching the room as Sith settled into their seats, all were here to play their part in carving the path forward into the core. This wasn't as simple as obliterating an enemy, this was about seizing hold of a now empty mantle. It would be a scramble as each sith sought to seize their share of the spoils.

The whole thing made her sick to her stomach, reminding her too much of a home she had burned away. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. This was the Sith, she was a Sith. The actions she had taken that day had set her on this path and there was no turning away from it. She let out a slow breath, feet shifting as she settled, bracing herself for the lessons that would come.

Her eyes flicked to Gerwald as he spoke, laying out the truth of what lay before them, his silence an open invitation for others to make their demands and petition the room. This would be their only chance to make their case and have it sanctioned by the Dark Council.

Her gaze moved to @Ivalyn brows furrowing. What she said made sense, but the Order was made up of many individuals who thrived on chaos, there would be plunder no matter how hard they tried to rein it in. If the Sith could not plunder without, they would do so within. There needed to be a balance between the two.

She held her tongue, her eyes shifting to her companion, wondering if she thought the same.

 

[Rowyna Galeway]

Ship Name​	Class + Tonnage​	Shields + Hull Status​
DCV Valiant​	Cimmerian 750m​	Shield: 100% | Hull: 100%​
DCV Veracity​	" "​	Shield: 100% | Hull: 100%​
DCV Kingsword​	Kimbrell 1600m​	Shield: 100% | Hull: 100%​
DCV Knight​	" "​	Shield: 100% | Hull: 100%​
DCV Centurion​	Vindicator 750m​	Shield: 100% | Hull: 100%​
DCV Courageous​	" "​	Shield: 100% | Hull: 100%​
DCV Caerus​	" "​	Shield: 100% | Hull: 100%​
DCV Dreadfast​	Dagger 260m​	Shield: 100% | Hull: 100%​
DCV Draugr​	" "​	Shield: 100% | Hull: 100%​
DCV Diligent​	​	Shield: 100% | Hull: 100%​
DCV Dauntless​	​	Shield: 100% | Hull: 100%​
DCV Drake​	​	Shield: 100% | Hull: 100%​
DCV Diomedea​	​	Shield: 100% | Hull: 100%​
DCV Direwolf​	​	Shield: 100% | Hull: 100%​
DCV Dryad​	​	Shield: 100% | Hull: 100%​
DCV Decisive​	​	Shield: 100% | Hull: 100%​
DCV Myrmidon​	Mukhtiar 190m​	Shield: 100% | Hull: 100%​
DCV Meteor​	" "​	Shield: 100% | Hull: 100%​
DCV Maverick​	​	Shield: 100% | Hull: 100%​
DCV Minokawa​	​	Shield: 100% | Hull: 100%​
DCV Fearless​	Fortan 200m​	Shield: 100% | Hull: 100%​
DCV Formidable​	" "​	Shield: 100% | Hull: 100%​
​	​	​
DESIGNATIONS​	WOLFPACK RED​	​
B1 - B4​	Bolt x4​	Shield: 100% | Hull: 100%​
K1 - K8​	Kelly x8​	Shield: 100% | Hull: 100%​
​	​	​
​	WOLFPACK GOLD​	​
B5 - B8​	Bolt x4​	Shield: 100% | Hull: 100%​
K9 - K16​	Kelly x8​	Shield: 100% | Hull: 100%​

​

The Blackwall loomed ahead, a fractured scar across realspace, the force storms that once held the barrirs in its vast, unnatural grasp... Was now pocked with irregular apertures where hyperspace routes bled through like wounds. From the bridge of the DCV Valiant, Captain Rowyna Galeway watched as the task force advanced in disciplined silence, their formation tightening instinctively as they approached one of the Blackwall's navigable holes.

The stars distorted, light stretching and bending as the fleet slipped through. For a breathless moment, space itself seemed to resist them. Then, with a shudder that reverberated through the hull, the Valiant emerged into the Mid Rim, a region that had once been the beating heart of the Galactic Alliance. Now, it was quiet. Too quiet.

In the months since Brosi, the galaxy had changed. The Alliance had fractured and fallen, its worlds scattered and leaderless. In its absence, the Commonwealth, under the careful guise of aiding its Suzerain, the Sith Order, had begun to move outward, extending influence where stability had collapsed. It was not conquest, officially. It was guidance. Restoration.

Galeway's mandate was simple, at least on paper. By directive of Commonwealth High Command, she was to chart and re-establish contact with the lost worlds of the old First Imperial frontier, systems that had drifted into isolation, neglect, or quiet defiance. Worlds that, according to the briefing, needed to be guided back home.

She had been issued an outdated star map, its routes marked with annotations that no longer reflected the reality of hyperspace after the Blackwall's emergence. Alongside it, High Command had assigned her three additional carriers to support the expedition more than enough force to make a statement, if one were required.

Among the ships under her command was an oddity.

The Bercey IV prototype appeared on no official manifest. On paper, it was a simple weather corvette a vessel designed for atmospheric analysis, storm prediction, and scientific survey work. Useful, but hardly remarkable. And yet Galeway knew better. The Bercey IV had teeth. Not enough to stand in the line, but enough to survive long enough to run back to the fleet if things went wrong. A ship built for observation, yes but not helpless.

After Brosi, she had been lauded for her leadership. Commendations, citations, quiet conversations that carried the weight of future expectations. If she was honest with herself, the praise still felt undeserved. She had done what needed to be done. Nothing more.

Her gaze drifted to the tactical display. The Bercey IV sat there unlabeled, unofficial, a small silhouette moving beneath the protective shadow of cruisers and Star Destroyers. It blended into the mass of Kellys, Bolts, Daggers, and Mukhtiars that made up the task force's screen… and yet, its profile was just different enough to catch her eye.

No one else on the bridge seemed to notice it.

But Galeway did.

 

[Kurayami Bloodborn]

Location: Hangar of the DCV Centurion

Ship: TIE/in 'Huxian'

Kurayami knew that this was all part of the reclamation campaign. That wasn't hard to pin down exactly. Exact details were a bit fuzzy, but he didn't rightly care for those most times, point him at the thing and tell him to take care of it. Also be sure to tell him if it absolutely had to be quiet, otherwise things had a tendency to go sideways a lot faster. Though in all honesty they still got screwed at some point usually. "R6, need a hydrospanner, oh and a a plasma torch. What do you mean can't I use my lightsaber? Are you insane? Okay I know you resemble the remark you pile of scrap, just bring me the tools you busted junkheap, or I swear, I will sell you to the next Jawa that makes an offer. Or worse the next Anzellan..." The arguing during maintenance went on for the next few minutes with the droid making some rather rude remarks in binary that led to long strings of inventive cursing from the Corellian.

As the two were finishing the final touches and closing up the last panel the warning came over the PA that they were headed through a tear in the Blackwall and had exited into the Mid Rim. His mind started to race as to which worlds were once under their purview. He shook his head, unsure of exactly where their destination was but knowing that he was going to be ready for anything so with that in mind he gave the order. "Get in the ship R6, engines and sensors primed, I want the Huxian ready to take off at a moment's notice, I mean as soon as I strap into the cockpit levels of readiness. I don't know where we are headed, but something tells me it is likely to be a hell of a ride when we get there, buddy." THe sad 'dwoo' of acknowledgement that came from the droid showed a deeper level of worry than Kurayami expected as he checked the plates on his XC-86 armor and locked the helmet into place. "It's okay R6, that was an oddity, I won't be caught off guard this time, plus I got my good armor on this time. See?" The reassurance brought a trill of agreement from the droid as he loaded into the fighter from the underside and began starting the systems checks.

Rowyna Galeway

 

[Lirka Ka]

WAR COUNCIL
TAGS - Gerwald Lechner Ivalyn Yvarro Irina Jesart

Ahhh. The beauteous dance of bureaucracy - Lirka had almost missed since those days of yore when Grand Moff Ka had been a creature festering in the Galaxy. There was always something to discuss, something to manage. This Empire was a carefully held together collection of fiends at the end of the day, and those fiends had been given quite the juicy target.

Most of the bureaucrats denied themselves savagery. Perhaps that is why the newest of Councillor was here - dissenting voices sharpened the blade.

Click click click, Lirka’s claws rapped against the table in front of the hulking metal monster. She may have been a savage but she at least still had the decorum to not interrupt. Let the words of Gerwald Lechner and Ivalyn Yvarro hang for a time before the Once-Sephi’s rumbling voice could buzz out of her helmet.

“We have been presented with a disunited core. Indeed the Councillor speaks true, it is far from an empty place…indeed, quite the opposite.”

Lirka’s words did all but always gain the murderous glint to them rather quickly. She was a creature of violence and subjugation, a slaver and butcher.

“Let us not delude ourselves into prospects other than the simple fact we are entering into destabilized enemy territory. By our very venture into this place we our inheritance to rebellion and instability - so many of the worlds in our path lay as the former holdings of the dearly departed Alliance. It is doubtful the sympathizers of misguided and childish democracy disappeared overnight.”

Not accounting for whatever assets still remained in the event of active military endeavors against the encroaching Sith - Lirka hadn’t even decided to talk about the prospect of interjection from the Core-Emperor and his lackeys yet.

“Will they kneel? Some certainly might. Obedience, rewarded. Rebellion paid for with the ultimate sacrifice. It is only logical for us to expect resistance and violence going forward, even with our open hand offered. A great many people of the core lack the security offered by power now, and with the assistance of the church I am certain many will come to accept the suffocated meager existence many of the shriveled yokels behind the Blackwall live.”

It was no particularly hidden fact that most people lived rather miserable existences beneath the yoke of Eternalism - prosperity of the strong was the way of the Sith. That’s why Lirka remained rather fond of them after all these many decades.

“For as long as they dream, and for as long as they hope. They will stand capable of resistance. So let us wash away their hopes, and demolish their dreams. The Alliance is dead, the foolhardy democracies of the Senate dissipates. The future of the Core is the storm of the Sith, and let those before us who still harbor rebellious thoughts have such things crushed under the weight of fear.”

Dzara. Dream eaters. The prattling of Anoat and Darth Nefaron pushed forward into the politics of the Empire - fear was a powerful weapon. A disorganized core had little chance to organize an effective resistance against the Legions, a few worlds as rebellious example and other systems would fall in line. A bout little different than long departed Moridinae.

 

[Elmindra Xitaar]

Naamino Zuukamano | Darth Strosius | Varin Mortifer | Lina Ovmar | Elane II of Kuat​

The truth had revealed itself to Elmindra Xitaar in layers over time. She had watched the reports accumulate—coded whispers from agents buried in Core-adjacent systems, the careful repetitions of information brokers, Mid Rim signals that slipped past the Blackwall with increasing urgency. When the Empress’s expedition from Jutrand returned, doubt ended. The Core’s authority had collapsed. The throne sat empty. The heart of the galaxy lay open and ripe for the taking. Finally. It was time for the Sith Order to seize the opportunity to take what was rightfully theirs.

Elmindra stood in silent observation of the Empress’ Blackgate from the unfamiliar bridge of the Harbinger of Absolution. For years she had argued the Blackwall strangled trade and advertised weakness behind mysticism. Now, with the Galactic Alliance gone, the opening felt overdue—controlled, watched, profitable. The Shadow Campaign was not a raid; it was a correction. Elmindra intended to be present for first opening, even if that meant standing among Wanosan cultists rather than her own crew. Her own flagship, the Omen, wasn’t more than a microjump away, but she had decided to take the opportunity to witness Darth Strosius in action and invest further in their tenuous alliance that might yet be made useful.

As Strosius prattled on, Elmindra paid more attention to the effect he had on his people than the speech itself. Despite his aggressive abrasiveness, she had to admit she held a begrudging respect for the fanatical devotion he seemed to inspire in his people.

His history was selective, his fury almost theatrical, but the point was effective: Outer Rim grievance sharpened into permission to destroy the opposition. He promised reaping where she might have preferred something less… messy, but rage did move armies effectively.

She glanced sidelong at Naamino Zuukamano , noting her apprentice’s rigid posture and stoic mask. Deceit did not come easily to him, but he was learning to control himself and his emotions. Still, she could feel more than see the flare of interest that followed each condemnation of the Core and the promise of violent retribution. When the speech reached its conclusion, as if on queue, early warning klaxons cut through the fervor.

The zabrak turned to her, eyes bright. “Master, permission to take a squadron out to punish these interlopers?”

Elmindra glanced at the tactical display with an icy calm, surprised to find the attacking ships had been identified as Trade Federation. One sharp dark eyebrow rose and her lip threatened to curl with amusement. Well, well. What an interesting turn of events this was. She was sure both Darth Caedes and Ufsa'ynth'aris would be rather intrigued to learn of this development.

“Denied,” she answered flatly. “I have no doubt your punishment would be swift, but we are guests here, and I wish to see how our host chooses to handle the situation."

Then her reptilian gaze slid to where Lina Ovmar stepped up beside them to get a view of the readout herself.

“Why waste resources, when we can split them open from the inside?” The woman asked, summoning a staff built of shadows to her palm like it was as easy as breathing.

"The Omen stands by to lend aid, as does my apprentice..." Elmindra said to Strosius, a quiet challenge behind her large crimson eyes, "if the enemy fleet proves to be beyond your capabilities, Darth Strosius."​

 

[Darth Prazutis]

The ultimatum went out once.

It was not spoken twice. It was not clarified. It was not softened by diplomacy or padded with a longer leash. It came as a clean transmission that cut across every surviving frequency like a blade across a throat: Submit or die. The world answered with the only thing it still possessed, pride. A stitched-together broadcast, defiant and trembling beneath its own forced courage, declared refusal. Their command tried to make it sound like unity. Their generals tried to make it sound like resolve. Their Jedi, those few presences still clinging to the shattered idea of the Alliance. Up in orbit, the Sith fleet didn't react the way lesser conquerors reacted.

No cheers. No laughter. No ritualistic gloating.

Only the slow, disciplined shift of formation as ships aligned into geometry older than military doctrine, a procession, not a battle line. The Yaldabaoth held center, a dagger of war and suffering, its escorts tightening around it like a crown of blades. And behind the theater of the Eternal Father's arrival, behind the spectacle that had already broken the planet's confidence, another shadow moved with quieter inevitability.

The Eternal Rule drifted into position like an execution platform.

Its five-kilometer silhouette didn't look like a carrier or a fortress. It loomed like judgement made manifest. Layered shielding hummed in restrained harmonics, a stacked litany of defenses that made the ship feel less like metal and more like a moving law. Within, on the expansive bridge, the lights dimmed without instruction, as if the vessel itself recognized the moment it had been built for. The Shadow Hand stood before the viewport in full warplate. Qâzjiin'vraal drank the bridge's light; Xûl-Karzaan faced the planet as if it were already kneeling. The helm gave no expression, only the sensation that something ancient was staring down into the world's thin atmosphere and finding it small.

A hololithic lattice hovered beside Him. Defense flotilla, surface batteries, shield nodes, comm spines, government bunkers, evacuation corridors. The entire world reduced to simple anatomy. The refusal broadcast ended and at first, the Mortarch didn't even more. Then he spoke, quietly, directly, into the fleet net. "They chose the sword." He paused, cold and absolute. "Then we don't invade. We don't bargain. We don't waste Legions on a lesson that can be taught from orbit." He turned slightly, gauntlet lifting, the Throne of Dominance flared, its systems fused into ship systems and Sith craft alike. When his armored hand settled onto it, the bridge felt the change the way a living thing feels a predator step closer.

Power routing shifted. Shield harmonics tightened. Comms sharpened into crystal clarity. The fleet received direction then, as if a single will had taken the helm of every ship at once. "Mark the targets." Prazutis said. On the holomap, red glyphs began to bloom over the planet. They weren't random points, nor indiscriminate slaughter. Symbols. The places where defiance lived, command headquarters, governor residences, legislative centers, hardened garrisons, anti-orbital clusters, bunker networks. The skeletal structure of refusal.

But there was something else in the marks, something the sensors couldn't explain. A pattern that wasn't tactical. A pattern that was ritual. Above the planet, the void seemed to darken, not into literal night, but into an oppressive wrongness, like the system itself had learned fear. The more frightened the planet became, the more precise the targeting grew. Panic didn't just fill their comms. It fed the lock. Prazutis's voice came again, this time like a sentence carved into stone. "Begin." The fleet answered like a choir answering a hymn.

First came the ion salvos, not to "disable", they wouldn't play at mercy, but to silence the world's nervous system. Ion cannons spoke in coordinated arcs, ripping through atmospheric stations and shield harmonics. The planet's lights died in continent-wide waves; orbital defense grids stuttered mid-cycle; commands began to fail in sequence, not because they were hit once, but because the entire lattice was being forced into collapse. From the nightside to the sunlit hemisphere, grids collapsed in synchronized failure, whole continents falling dark as if the planet had been turned face-down.

Then the turbolasers spoke.

Not as scattered bombardment, not as wasteful rage, as doctrine. Batteries raked the upper atmosphere in disciplined lances that kissed the surface and left behind fire that didn't spread like wildfire so much as march like an army. Spaceports vanished in blossoms of superheated debris. Power hubs became expanding rings of ruin. Transit arteries, bridges, mag-rails, fortified highways, were cut with surgical cruelty so that even the instinct to run became useless. Fires ignited in every time zone; ash fronts began to circle the globe, smearing cloudbanks into bruised belts visible from orbit.

The planet tried to answer. Ground-to-orbit batteries clawed upward. Mismatched ships in their defensive flotilla surged forward like frightened animals trying to bluff a storm. The Sith didn't even bother to "dogfight" the defense line. The Kainate dismissed it outright. Point-defense webs and flak curtains stitched the void with mechanical certainty. Mass drivers and precision turbolaser fire punched holes through ships that still believed bravery was a physical defense. Hulls ruptured. Atmosphere vented. Burning wreckage painted temporary comets across the planet's sky, visible proof to everyone below that their shield in orbit had just been turned into a funeral display. And then, then came the part that made the world understand it was not merely being attacked. It was being punished.

The Chirikyât-type autocannons awakened. Their wrath gouged the worlds crust in brilliant plumes visible from orbit. Not one. Not just the Eternal Rule. Across the heavy elements of the formation, siege-grade weapons rotated into bombardment arcs. Ventral mounts shifted. Cooling systems surged. Magnetic systems braced. The first volley hit the surface and the planet seemed to flinch. Seismic readings spiked across the entire sphere, aftershocks skipping through tectonic plates until even distant coastlines shuddered and cracked. Hypervelocity rounds didn't explode like ordinary munitions, they hammered, driving shockwaves through bedrock, turning fortified districts into collapsing geometry. Entire garrison complexes vanished beneath rising curtains of dust and fire. Bunkers built to endure years of siege were reduced to tombs in minutes, their entrances crushed, their corridors collapsing into themselves as the ground heaved like something trying to vomit out the idea of resistance.

From orbit, it became clear that this wasn't a battle, but an execution. Above it all, the Eternal Rule remained perfectly still, immaculate, while Prazutis stood at its heart like a high priest at an altar, one gauntlet on the Throne of Dominance, his helm angled downward as if listening to the planet's terror the way others listened to music. All the while the power of the Dark Lord flowed through the bedrock of the vessel, reaching down to the planet below as the Dark Side took hold of the planet. As the fleet fired, the sky over the marked targets began to bruise with unnatural auroral stains, concentric rings and broken arcs that mirrored the glyphs on the holomap. Civilians looked up and saw patterns in the clouds that felt like sigils. Soldiers watched their scopes fog and frost and fill with red static. Commanders tried to issue orders and found their own voices stuttering in their throats, drowned beneath a pressure that made every word feel like blasphemy.

Beneath such stains the world began to die. A vortex of force energy drawn upward that killed everything beneath it, stripping the force from the world itself. He made the fleet's annihilation feel like the Dark Side itself had approved the targeting, killing everything above his vacuum. He leaned forward more, and his voice slid into the planet's comms, into whatever channels still lived, into bunker rooms where officers had jammed their fingers into their ears and still heard it.

"You wanted a story." Prazutis said, calm as a guillotine. "A brave frontier world defying monsters." A pause, long enough for the fleet to keep firing, long enough for another population center to become a crater. "This is your story." He lifted his free hand, slowly, and closed it. On the surface, a key command district collapsed into silence as its shield node failed and the follow-up strike arrived with perfect timing. A governor's residence once a symbol of stability, became a widening ring of molten ruin. A tower died mid-broadcast, its final image frozen as a bright flash swallowed the feed.

The fleet didn't stop.

It moved methodically, target set to target set, the pattern repeating across hemispheres, coordinated strike waves walking the world's longitude lines until there were no intact regions left to speak from. The world's resistance was not simply defeated but rendered meaningless. They were made an example of.

At last, a transmission crawled up from the surface: thin, broken, stripped of pride.

"We submit, please...terms."

Prazutis let it repeat once. Twice. Long enough for everyone on the bridge to hear what was really being said. It wasn't that they submitted, but that they were wrong. Then he answered, and this was the final horror, because it was still calm. "That choice is no longer yours to make." Another pause. Missiles and packed shells fired down towards the world, their detonation saw the first volley of Nihilblight deployed over the surface.

Darth Carnifex​

 

[Selene Valeheart]

THE WAR COUNCIL

Wearing: Link
Tags: Gerwald Lechner | Irina Jesart | Ivalyn Yvarro | Lirka Ka

Much like during the celebration on Jutrand, Selene had opted to accompany her Master to the council meeting. Her role was not one to speak, but simply to observe. While Valeheart would’ve preferred being out there, getting her hands bloody. Selene felt learning the intricacies of how the Sith Order operated was equally as important.

Thus, the young woman stood to attention, arms held behind her back as she listened to Gerwald speak. Her eyes focused, casually glancing around as others spoke, mentally noting their names and faces.

She spared a glance over to Irina, immediately picking up that her fellow apprentice wasn’t exactly comfortable being here. It was a similar feeling to the celebration, but here she could see the shift; the conviction, as Irina settled herself.

Their Master had begun the discussion, opening the floor for others to speak, to which Governor Yvarro did just that. And Selene found herself agreeing with what the woman was saying, and yet there was a particular concern that quickly struck her mind.

Across the galaxy the Core was seen as an example of stability. It rarely mattered who it was in charge. But the fact it was still in a chaotic mess with the Alliance’s collapse? It would be a great cause for concern to those further out in the galaxy.

What chance did they have for stability, if the Core wasn’t capable of it?

But this was the Sith Order after all, in-fighting was part of what made the Order thrive, for better or worse. The idea of protectorates was a sound one, but would a Sith in control of a single portion ever be content?

Selene doubted it, and it seemed she wasn’t the only one, if the look in Irina’s eyes was anything to go by. While she hadn’t gotten to know her fellow apprentice a whole lot, it was enough to know they were thinking the same.

Her attention snapped back as another spoke one, Lirka Ka. A face Selene recognized from the prior celebrations, as one of the three newly anointed members of the Dark Council. The Once-Sephi’s words had Selene’s thoughts lingering around the same thing that had been on her mind.

Capitalise on that desperation of the Core denizens, those that want a sense of security and stability, no matter who it was from.

But she kept that thought to herself.