Public Sith Empire Exploratory Fleet Bane’s Blade; Operation Force Factor

[Christoph Kudmol Voytger]

A den of filth. A institution of sin and debauchery. A world that cried out from neglect and over indulgence. Chyrra was a world that had fallen into the sights of the Eleventh Sith Empire at long last, a neutral world that had fallen between the borders of the ruinous High Republic and our glorious Empire. Producers of Spice, Chyrra was a free world that would sell this substance to anyone. Pharma companies, cartels, manufacturers, it did not matter so long as credits flowed as freely as the spice. It was sickening, their greed. Their need to simply treat a substance as precious as Spice as a commodity to be traded to those who would pollute it for base pleasures of the flesh. No, today Chyrra would learn. They would learn that they were a world that had been spared the rod for far too long.

Sirens blared in the launch bay of the Sith Destroyer. A sound that intentionally muffled the sin of second thoughts. The sin of cowardice in the face of glory. It commanded order, readiness, that all would find their assigned stations and descend to deliver righteousness at the tip of a blade or blaster. This is where we would find him. Legionnaire Voytger. Another drone in a sea of red and black plastoid armor. A man who had only finished his training a month ago and had now shipped off to his first real assignment. Being the opening salvo in bringing a mining planet into compliance.

"The objectives are simple." a helmetless senior Infantry officer said. A grizzled man of a dozen campaigns stood inside the a dropship overlooking his young unblooded legionnaires, the sirens muffled from the metal walls of the ship.

"This is not an invasion! We are not here to occupy! We are to teach these degenerate scum a simple lesson! That if they are to sell Spice they will sell it to us and us alone! No more dealing with Cartels! No more selling to Jedi scum!" The man spoke with conviction, as if the deed had already been done. As if the depraved ones below had already been defeated. As if victory was but a guaranteed fact. It had swelled Christoph to see such bravery and certainty radiating from his commander.

"We are to drop below at the Mining Conglomerate's Headquarters and Operating Facilities. Despoil and destroy operations and take high ranking personnel. Operatives are in the city tracking down other VIPs and their relations. Our unit will be hitting the Spice Caverns and their main base of operations in the field!." it was time. The hour to earn the glory of the Eternal Sith Empire. To bring honor to her and her glorious Empire.

"GLORY TO THE TALON EMPRESS! GLORY TO SRINA TALON! GLORY TO THE SITH!!" A crescendo of voices rang out in haunting unison after the commander had called upon and cried out her name. The Empress feared and beloved by all.

"HAIL! HAIL! HAIL!" Christoph and his brothers and sister barked in return like a pack of ravenous wolves.

"LAUNCH!!" As if she had willed it herself. The shuttle shunted forward out of the hanger bay and into the void of space.

Moments passed, atmosphere and friction rattled the hull followed by the familiar sound of heavy blaster cannons firing into the swarm of Sith shuttles planet bound. It wouldn't matter, none of their efforts would matter. For they were on the side of sin and debauchery and Christoph and his battle brethren were on the side of the angels. Avenging Celestials sent to bring the word of and might of her name Empress Srina Talon. They were already dead, they had just not been grieved yet.

With a hard THUD the shuttle hit the ground, Christoph stood from his seat and with bated breath the shuttle ramp opened to an ocean of light and color. A green blaster bolt of emerald jade sang forward and struck the wall behind him. Singeing it black.

"MOVE!" A trooper cried out before a blaster bolt from a corporate security guard silenced them forever. Their body had hit the ground with a sickening thwack before the smell of burnt flesh and plastoid filled Christoph's senses.

Pressing forward it was clear they had made it to a massive camp filled with semi-permanent structures and facilities directly outside the Spice Caverns. The mission was simple. Punish the heretics, raid their facilities, take their spice, destroy their equipment, slaughter anyone who got in their way, man woman or child. Miners and their families would bleed so that glory and honor would be brought to the name of the Talon Empress.

 

[Darth Sycophantia]

​

[]

Comfortable Liar - by Chevelle​

Tag: Christoph Kudmol Voytger

I lingered within the farthest shadows of the hangar bay, precisely where I wished to be; unseen, unnoticed, little more than another stain of darkness cast by the cold durasteel walls and the towering hulls of warships preparing for slaughter. The air reeked of engine exhaust, sweat, and fanaticism as the soldiers below roared their praises in thunderous unison, chanting vows of conquest and glorious adorations for their Sith Empress, Srina Talon .

As I continued to watch the Sith soldiers and the small clustered circles of Masters standing beside their obedient Apprentices, a crooked grin spread across my lips beneath the shadows of my hood. "Such loyal little puppies," I whispered in mocking admiration, my voice dripping with venomous amusement, but only music to my ears, "their Empress should be so very proud of how eagerly they bare their teeth whenever she rattles the chain."

A quiet laugh escaped me then, cold and sharp as a vibroblade. "I do wonder; when she throws the stick, do they fetch it for her as well," I mused whilst I moved toward my assigned transport shuttle. Still, I had not studied these new breed of Sith closely enough to render final judgment upon them; personal dissections, after all, would come much later.

The journey to the planet's surface was dreadfully uneventful, though the Sith soldiers crammed within the shuttle seemed determined to transform the silence into a contest of swollen ego and blood-drunk fantasies; soldiers, all around me, boasted of the enemies they would butcher.

Apprentices muttered desperate promises of glory to impress their Masters.

Masters themselves spoke with that same tiresome arrogance Sith always wore before a battle they believed destiny had already handed to them.

When at last the transport slammed violently into the scorched landing zone, the bay doors split open with a hiss of steam and the entire rabid pack surged outward into the chaos beyond.

I exited the shuttle without urgency, walking calmly into the slaughter while bodies collapsed around me in twitching heaps of armor and burnt flesh. Blaster bolts shrieked past my head, some close enough for their heat to brush against my cheek, yet I weaved through them almost absently, the Dark Side guiding my steps while the battlefield drowned itself in screams.

My own lightsaber had been lost long ago to time, betrayal, and ruin, leaving me to search the dead for a replacement worthy enough to spill blood in my grasp once more. Then I saw it, a powered-down hilt lying beside the mangled corpse of a fallen Sith Apprentice whose eyes still stared upward in frozen disbelief.

I extended my hand slowly, and through the Force the weapon tore itself from up off the ground and snapped into my palm with satisfying weight, as though the battlefield itself had offered me tribute.

I examined the fallen Apprentice's lightsaber carefully within my grasp before igniting it with a sharp snap-hiss, the crimson blade flickering unevenly as I waved it through the smoke-filled air of the battlefield. Every movement revealed another flaw; poor balance, unstable resonance, weak craftsmanship born from impatience rather than discipline, and I could not help the look of disgust that crept across my face.

"Pathetic," I hissed bitterly, lowering the blade slightly as its hollow hum echoed in my ears, "a poorly crafted mockery to the only true and reliable companion a Sith shall ever possess."

 

[Christoph Kudmol Voytger]

Christoph had seen Sith before. All his life he had spent it preparing to be of service the priesthood on his homeworld. Dark cloaked scholars and monks dedicated to the Eternalism of the Sith and the nature of the Dark Side. Men, women, and beings that were certainly intimidating to gaze upon, for they were the Force's Chosen. The ones who would usher in a better and brighter Galaxy through faith and doctrine. Robed force users who carried out the dogmatic and pure teachings of The Red Gate.

But Christoph had never seen this before. He had never even envisioned in his most vivid of dreams or haunting nightmares. Having taken refuge behind a large bolder with his squad, Christoph had a moment. A mere fleeting moment to see her.

She moved like a predator. Every single step calculated with an otherworldly grace that radiated a sinister aura of violence. She wasn't like the Sith back home. Not the hooded shades of monastic clerics reading sermons from profaned grimoires and holocrons. It was almost hypnotic to look upon her visage, that of an apex predator in its prime. One that need not skulk or cling to the shadows. The mere presence of it was enough to send prey and lesser predators scattering about like scared pups. She was beautiful. Like looking upon a master crafted painting imbued with the blood of its creator.

He wanted to serve her, to kill for her, to die for her. How could he not? How could anyone gaze upon a creature who belonged to the rightful masters of this galaxy and not be moved to commit violence for them. Everything in his body told him to drop to his knees and swear fealty to her. Christoph had begun to step towards her almost hypnotized by a Sith so perfect and supreme than any other he had ever seen.

"VOYTGER!! DOWN!" a rough and hard hand and slammed onto Christoph's shoulder. Shattering his perception of time and space sending him crashing back to reality.

Blaster bolts and the din of battle came raging back to him. Christoph had to fight, he had to steady his focus once more towards the mission. He could not die here on some mining planet against heretics and degenerate scum that polluted this world through the sin of existence. No, he would die on a more glorious front if he had anything to say about it.

Resistance had been harder than expected. Sth Forces were caught strewn about a front of two or so kilometers long taking refuge behind whatever they could get. Boulders, broken mining equipment, downed gunships and shuttles. It didn't matter so long as it provided cover from the oncoming storm of bolts and bombs. It had made sense as to why resistance was so fierce here.

Corporate logic was to keep your on site workers and their families in housing further away from the caves. Make the product harder to steal or sabotage from disgruntled miners and security forces. The bulk of their forces would be concentrated here. An easily dug tench system with all their equipment a hundred meters away provided security and cover for their operation. It had to go.

"Thresh! Konrad! Bunti! Voytger! Orders from the top have stated there will be no fire mission for the trench line! Misfires could hit the caverns. Stim Protocol. Die with honor." Like selecting names out of a hat, Christoph's heart sank. So be it.

A fireteam from every squad along the front was chosen to be given stimulates, a melee weapon, and a pistol to charge and rush the trenches while the rest provided fire from the rear. They could not risk orbital bombardement of the caverns. So a suicidal charge devoid of care for casualties was the best option. Removing his helmet, Christoph dropped his blaster rifle and gripped a vibro-hatchet and a heavy blaster pistol in his hands. Watching as the squad field medic went around to his fire team one. They were injected into the neck with a cocktail of drugs and stimulates ment to dull pain, heighten aggression, and increase adrenaline. It was all but instant the effects.

A loud ringing of sirens blared from tech troopers backpacks, but Christoph didn't hear it. As soon as it was time and the signal was given, his feet had already began to stride. A howl of screams echoed across the front as men and women chemically altered on stims rushed the front trench a hundred meters away and closing. All Christoph could see was red as he lifted his pistol and fired as he sprinted towards what may be his doom. Sprinting until his heart pumped battery acid into his veins and his lungs burned. Closing and closing one step at a time.

He wondered in those last moments of sanity if the Sith he saw earlier would notice him. If she would see his deeds for her and be proud.


Darth Sycophantia

 

[T'zarna Khab]

Location: No Man's Land, Chyrra
Objective: Observe and resist
Tags: Christoph Kudmol Voytger , Darth Sycophantia

A deep haze of confusion descended over the trenches. The lines between friend and foe were being blurred, and weapons of slaughter culled men by the dozen. All of this witnessed on a viewscreen from the safety of a bunker in the lowest levels of the corporate safehouses. Chairmen of corporations, the de facto heads of state of this planet, were bickering on how best to repel the invaders. Their words were like the annoying buzzing of gnats which deserved to be swatted.

"We must hold the line until we can evacuate the city!" One chairman said, his slimy tendrils thoroughly disheveled by his shouting.

"Throwing too many resources at civilian interests would be a net negative on our returns for a successful operation..." A clinical-voiced droid translated for a chairwoman.

"And you! What of the support you promised us for co-operation?! Why are we allowing your people safe haven on this planet??"

In the corner of the bunker sat a hooded figure. She was the Supreme Leader of a Dark Jedi cult, one formed to infiltrate planets. She was here to corrupt this world, but to do so, it must remain free of Sith influence. To lose this key hub of trade and influence to these raiders would set them back weeks. Something that galled T'zarna far more than dealing with the gnats.

"Worry not men and women of the board. The Fallen remember their benefactors," T'zarna buzzed, keeping her head down as she continued. "We will hold off the main advance. That should allow you to complete all objectives in short order."

Before long, a transport aircraft large enough to carry only a few squads was joining the defenders reinforcements. It held no troopers, no tanks, and no walkers. Instead, the hooded figures strutted behind T'zarna, igniting red blades in unison behind their leader. They were waiting for the queue from their leader, a queue that came when she leveled her own saber!

With a single motion she commanded The Fallen to advance with the next wave of troopers. Corporate security forces and private military would be reinforced by Dark Jedi hand picked for the task of standing against The Sith. It wasn't about killing opposition, but rather slowing them so that there would be time to escape.

Now the battle plans would be tested, and darksiders would be forced against one another. Only the strongest force weilders would survive this.

 

[Darth Sycophantia]

​

[]

Comfortable Liar - by Chevelle​

Tag: Christoph Kudmol Voytger - T'zarna Khab


I moved through the battlefield as though the chaos itself bent its knee before me, each step measured, each stroke of the borrowed crimson blade painted with dreadful elegance. The screams of dying soldiers became a chorus beneath the roar of blaster fire, yet none could touch me.

One fool raised his rifle and fired directly at my chest, only for me to bat the bolt aside with a flick of my wrist so effortless it bordered on insulting. Before the man could comprehend his failure, I extended my hand and seized his throat through the Force, ripping him from the ground and dragging him helplessly across the scorched duracrete toward me; catching his throat in my grasp with predatory calm while terror flooded his widening eyes.

In one fluid motion, I spun him around and coiled my arm tightly around his neck, forcing his back against my chest whispering into his ear with sinister and mocking tones, "I appreciate your participation in my survival" as I used him as a living shield against the trio of enemies ahead. Their blaster fire erupted without hesitation, bolts tearing into their own comrade's flesh as he writhed and gargled in my grasp. I could feel his heartbeat hammering wildly against my forearm while I redirected several of the incoming shots with precise movements of the lightsaber, sending crimson streaks back into the shooters.

One bolt pierced a man through the eye, another burned through a throat, and the third carved into a chest plate with enough force to hurl its owner lifelessly into the dirt. The battlefield fell silent around me for a fleeting moment, broken only by the choking breaths of the dying shield I held. When his usefulness expired, I discarded the corpse at my feet like refuse and looked around through the smoke, draped in death and shadow as though born from the war itself saying proudly, "That was amusing."

Through the veil of smoke and burning debris, I catch sight of a Legionnaire clad in brilliant red armor carving through the battlefield with terrifying precision, and for the first time amidst the slaughter, my attention is stolen completely away from my own kill count. The soldier moves with the cold discipline of a veteran forged by countless campaigns, every blaster shot deliberate, every strike efficient and merciless as bodies collapse around them like wheat before a scythe.

There is no hesitation in their movements, no panic, no wasted fury; only ruthless mastery sharpened by war itself. I find myself genuinely impressed, a rare sensation that curls within me like a serpent awakening from slumber, and I watch them tear through enemy lines beneath the glow of explosions as though the battlefield belongs solely to them.

A faint grin touches my lips beneath the shadow of my hood as I move forward through the carnage toward this soldier's position, already deciding that once victory is secured and the screams of the dying finally fade into silence, I must meet the warrior in great lengths hidden beneath that crimson armor.