Populate The Caldera Musters! | SO Populate of Askaj & Valyrant Prime

[War Marshal Helix]

Objective I: The War Council
Tags: OPEN​

As much fun as Helix had been having, it never hurt to have a little R&R. He'd been carving a gore-slick path to Firefist, juggling his numerous competing alliances without any of them being the wiser, and otherwise being a blight on the galaxy. Watching Sith bicker at one another was as close as he got to recreation these days. That, and his little pet projects.

Part of him didn't want to focus on anything else. He wanted to feel blood on his carapace again, to drink it in with a million freshly-formed taste neurons. Nonetheless, he knew it was for the best, and what was more, it was mandatory. It would be improper for him to fail to appear, given his new station. Thus, the lanky metallic gargoyle had come stalking in upon the heels of his immediate superior, Lirka Ka . Of course, he had other loyalties and entanglements, but the gormless masses didn't need to know about those. To most present, he was simply a dutifully obedient horror that they could point towards anyone or anything that they didn't want to see anymore. The aptly-titled War Marshal.

He glanced over the assembled mass appraisingly. So many volunteers, quick to pledge their support to defend the "holy worlds." Rubbish. Sith never did anything unless it promised personal gain. They were here to strut around like brightly-colored birds during mating season, and of course, to lick their superiors' boots.

Too cynical, perhaps. Helix had a hard time believing that there was any such thing as too cynical, at least when it came to the Sith. It was rarely even worth considering other motivations than short-term gain.

He, like the Imperator, kept silent. This was one battle he was more than content to let the Sith fight for themselves. Whether the "holy worlds" stood or fell mattered not at all to him. He was only interested at all because it had been too long since he'd peeled open the trademark white armor of a stormtrooper. He'd found that inside, most were just scared meat like anyone else.

The Imperial Confederation was making the worst mistake of their soon-to-be-truncated lives in coming to Sith space, if the intel was good. The fact that he didn't rank among the top five of the worst monsters in the room confirmed as much. Helix prided himself greatly on his creative and exotic murder implements, and more battlefield data on their use was never a bad thing.

Whatever ended up being decided here today, he had a feeling he'd not be in for a long wait to find out for sure.

Helix was an entirely uncageable creature. One could only point his predations in a constructive direction, or they'd fall on anyone within range. Sometimes they still did. He'd been considering lately that his list of "allies" might be due for a trimming. The chaos of an Imperial invasion would certainly be a prime opportunity for accidents to happen...

 

[Zal Aditi]

​

The Omen
Sutta-Class Battlecruiser
Orbit of Brosi

Tags: Darth Caedes



Objective II: The War Preparations

Zal Aditi paced the bridge of The Omen, looking out through the wide, floor-to-ceiling viewing window at the blighted world below. Around her gathered the second half of her master's Corpse Fleet, strangely colored gasses dissipating as the portals to the Nether slid closed behind these Athysian carriers. Crewed by the undead, these vessels were a haunting promise of what lay in store for any who dared raise the wrath of Korriban. The ships hovered like dark birds above the dying planet Brosi, once filled with lush forests, now a festering pit of blight and chaos.

The comms crackled. Zal ceased her prowl and turned her back to the window, glancing sharply towards the communications trench as she mentally reviewed the intelligence she had gathered one last time.

"Incoming transssmisssion," hissed Ssa-Ran-Diip, Omen's Comms Officer. "The Locum Pacissss."

Her tall form bent as she knelt, readying herself to give her report to her master and king. Such a pity Elmindra Xitaar was not here at the helm of this ship she was so fond of... alas, the Falleen was otherwise occupied, deftly commanding the sociopolitical battlefield of Ziost. Such a pity...

"Proceed."

The blue and glowing form of Darth Caedes flickered before her as the connection was made. The planet at her back, Zal Aditi raised her head.

"Master."





​

 

[Srina Talon]

Tag: Revna Marr | Darth Caedes | Zal Aditi | Elmindra Xitaar | Madrona A’Mia | Kivah
Location: Locum Pacis [Cognition Throne]

O B J E C T I V E 2
F L O R R U M
____________________________________________________

Moving through the Nether was hauntingly beautiful.

Horrific—But beautiful all the same.

The lights of hyperspace typically swirled past in a kaleidoscope, but this pathway held less light and more engulfing shadow. There was an ominousness to it that was born not only from the method of travel but heavily reinforced by those who helped make it possible. The alabaster Empress was familiar with all manner of wraith and undead conjuring, but the Locum Pacis boasted more than a few variants that seemed designed to make skin crawl.

To make the heart stop.

Srina rest in the cognition throne as if she were a sculpted effigy, silent and still, in what could have been a gilded grave. The insectile arms of the seat were dark and sharp, curving about her like a death shroud. It was an unintentional reminder not of who she was, but what, she was. What she was…And what she would become again when the Order required a weapon. She seemed lifeless while the ship tore free of the bowels of the Netherworld, its passage a scream, clawing through the skin of realspace. She did not reply to Darth Caedes immediately, though his psychic touch reached her with clear familiarity.

It was…Different. But it wasn't intrusive—So she didn't fight it.

The fact that she held a mental bridge so strong with Revna Marr that it was able to stretch through to Caedes was rather impressive. It was other than the bond she had forged with Darth Empyrean if only because it wasn't a constant line of bi-directional communication. Her mind was still her own. She could feel her husband anywhere in the universe without thinking. He was always there. This was more a meeting place where they might send messages through, securely, and without prying eyes and ears who might wish them ill. It was what let her communicate with the raven-haired young woman during her captivity…Even, when it shouldn't have been possible.

The words from her host echoed in her skull like whispers rebounding through a long, hollow tunnel.

Florrum.

Of all places, the hypergate of this forgotten dust heap was their destination. It was quite possibly the most unwelcoming planet in the sector…Full of sulfuric geysers and acid flats. It was not a place where the living went to keep on living, but a location, for the unwary to find their final resting place. There was so much death present that it was akin to breathing in a funeral pyre…

Slowly, her internal voice rose, brushing with unmatched elegance against the cerebral fortitude of the nearby Sith. It was unclear at first. A whisper that seemed…Too delicate, for the Dread Queen. There was a soft, maternal touch to Revna that would brush through her without harm.

<<…I hear them...>>​

She let her consciousness drift outward, through webs of dark thought, and it would soon become clear to her companion that her thoughts were many. Complex and elevated—Otherworldly. The bond between herself, Caedes, and Revna was not intimate in the way Sith of old often claimed, even if their connection transcended her own. There was no manipulation, no control. It was observational. It was wisely threaded with caution, reverence, and the grim patience of apex predators metaphorically circling one another whilst sharing a proverbial meal.

Lavender eyelids fluttered and dark lashes dusted against pale cheeks while gold-hewn orbs found the nearest viewport. Her gaze reflected the fading Netherlight and the sickly glow of Florrum's orbit, and she felt herself become more physically aware with every passing moment. The light broke across the sharp planes of her features like oil across marble—beautiful, terrible, and cold.

Her eyes closed again before the cognition throne slowly began to unwind from her body so that she could sit up. She had never been a fan of Vong technology, but the strategic value of these devices couldn't be denied. She couldn't say it was comfortable, but, incredibly useful.

"Brosi burns…"

It was the first time that her true voice had graced the air in hours. Her words were so quiet that they were nearly lost beneath the hum of the command bridge. Yet it carried as her words always did, nestling themselves almost sweetly, achingly, along the comprehension of Lady Revna and the King. "Makem Te is hollowed…And Florrum might just be the first to scream."

She glanced at the back of Darth Caedes , wondering absently if he could hear it too. It wasn't often that others were capable of seeing things as she did, nor, would they understand the pale urgency in her empty tone. Perhaps, he was different.

He was correct, however.

They were back on the frontlines regardless of the reason; their enemies, scheming with war as if there were a game to be had. Echani were typically able to predict battles long in advance, but the presence of the Hypergate left things in a state of flux. She folded one leg neatly over the other, clad in black fabric so dark, it seemed to have been created of the void. It swallowed light.

She—Swallowed the Light.

"…Do you require my assistance, Darth Caedes?"

Her voice echoed, multi-toned, while her head tilted and endless burnished orbs seemed to find focus. The cognition throne left her with too much time to find for the Darkside to find purchase in her bones. The bridge would sweep with a floral scent, jasmine, before it ended in a touch of petrichor. She had been still for too long, and power pressed outward from her pores, ending in a metallic note that could only be described as ozone. The Empress…

Had come to aid her beloved children, to safeguard the worlds that they considered to be most holy. To bear the weight of what must be done…No matter the cost.

Such was her duty to the Sith Order.

"I believe I have rested…Long enough."

 

[Kivah]

Objective II: War Preparations Florrum

"Well that was fraking unsettling." Kivah glibly announced to the command deck as the Severance left the Neatherworld alongside King Caedes' fleets. She gave the Captain a moment to hear the reports of those under him before motioning him over. She may be in command, but the Lernea-class carrier was still his ship. Her first command as a graduate of the Sith Academy on Korriban.
"The ship has successfully transitioned back from the Neatherworld with all systems intact. His Highness has also sent a message that you may begin your preparations when ready." The Captain... Marlow, relayed to her, and she gave him a nod.

Moving to the bridge's holotable, Kivah activated a map of the system. Florrum didn't have much going for it, just a moon and the hypergate, yet activity still buzzed through the orbitals. Even the trade lane that had once passed through was now gone thanks to the planeshift, leaving the system void of all else. In the Severance's hanger she had 180 defensive satellites to choose how to deploy, nine squads, the bulk cruiser's entire hanger compliment.
"We'll place the bulk of the satellites around the gate, of course. Even if it's not the focus of the Confederation's attack, our forces will have screening to rally nearby." She moved the holographic map for the captain to see, "Then, a squad here, and here, on the far sides of the moon and planet. Deny the enemy a place to hide. One more here, on the close side of the planet to the gate." She pointed where. "We'll disperse sensor probes around each position as well, then the outer system limits, off the ecliptic. Deny them any place to hide, no cover to reorganize behind, or an unseen approach."

"With six squads on the gate, that's one-hundred twenty satellites, two-hundred forty quad turbolasers." He nodded, either in approval or pleased that his little ship would be adding a dreadnaught's worth of firepower to the fight around the gate and three heavy cruisers' worth laying in wait elsewhere. Either way, Kivah didn't care. He'd bowed and turned to dispense her orders to his crew and that was enough.

As the Severance began to move, Kivah began the mental math of comparing a quad light turbolaser's output to a regular one. Forget heavy cruisers, a single flotilla of Crownfire Satellites outgunned Marlow's carrier. No wonder the man was happy.

Darth Caedes | Revna Marr | Srina Talon | Zal Aditi | Elmindra Xitaar | Madrona A’Mia​

 

[Revna Marr]

Objective Two
Location: Aboard the Locum Pacis
Direct Tags: Darth Caedes // Srina Talon ​

Revna had barely recovered from the events that led to her breaking her chains that bound her to the Shadow Hand of the Kainate, before she found herself once again facing that which was certain in any Sith’s life:

War.

She was no stranger to it, nor was she a stranger to the enemies that threatened to take what rightfully belonged to the Sith. Once again, the Imperials…or rather the remnants that clung to the ashes of the prior installment…were on the move again.

Fiery eyes, tastefully lined with shadowy kohl that partially hid the blackened veins that had begun to spread from her eyes and her temples, watched the back of Darth Caedes as he stood just ahead and in front of her. He was staring out the viewport of the Locum Pacis as it ripped through the planes of the Netherworld. There was a throne, his, right next to the one that Revna was lounged in, and on the other side of that was another insectile themed throne that held and guarded perhaps the most precious woman in Revna’s life, someone who was akin to a mother - the most powerful woman in the entire Sith Order.

Srina Talon, the Sith Empress.

Revna's gaze shifted from the King’s back to glance at the pale and ethereal Echani woman; she had been such a source of strength and encouragement for Revna, and the young raven haired woman felt such a strong bond to her. It was an honor to be here beside the wintry woman, an honor to work with her and Darth Caedes in defense of the Holy Worlds of the Sith. Revna's new home.

Caedes’ voice slipped into Revna’s mind, following the pathway of their mental connection that had been forged what felt like ages ago; that line of communication was open to Srina as well, so that all three Sith could communicate with one another without the risk of others hearing what was said.

Revna couldn’t quite hear the spirits beyond, but she could feel them and their eagerness. The restlessness that echoed through the nether, the void - a hunger from them that the Vahla woman knew all too well. It mirrored the same hunger that pulsed like a black hole within her very center, that thing which yearned to draw all life and essence into it.

- I feel them. Restless. Hungry… - she responded back through the mental pathways that connected the three Sith together.

Several heartbeats later, the Locum Pacis tore itself from the Nether, dropping back into real space and just beyond the orbit of the Sith world, Florrum, and its Hypergate that allowed access directly into the heart of the Holy Worlds. Around the Meditation Sphere poured a legion’s worth of spacecraft, the Corpse Fleet of Korriban, ready and prepared to fend off unwanted intruders.

Revna shifted in her seat, a faint crease shadowing her brow as sharp stabs of pain needled their way through her lower back and down her left leg. It was an unfortunate and much despised side-affect of the incomplete healing she’d undergone after the forced removal of the cursed spinal cage Darth Prazutis had placed on her. Something she was still learning to manage, to adapt to.

Beside her, Srina stirred - sitting up a bit in her throne. The Empress’s voice - soft but undeniable - slipped through the space around them all. The raven-haired woman was content to simply listen and observe, and she he pondered the Echani’s words, their meaning.

These worlds would be the staging ground for what was to come. For what was to become undone.

Darth Caedes shifted into command mode, and Revna listened and watched her beloved for a moment in awe as he stepped into his element. He immediately reached out to his Apprentice, and gave orders for Commander Kivah; his part of the Sith war machine was on the move, ready to go where he directed. Elsewhere, Revna Marr knew that the other Lords of the Caldera were doing the same, though a portion were meeting together on Ziost with other leaders of the Sith Order and her allies, to debate what should be done next - all in preparation to meet the Imperials head on.

Srina spoke to the King, asking if he needed her assistance for anything, commenting that she had rested long enough. A faint smile touched Revna’s lips; indeed, the time for rest had come to an end.

“Likewise - I will endeavor to assist either of you wherever and however I am needed...”

 

[Elmindra Xitaar]

Objective One: War Is Coming
Outer Rim | Stygian Caldera | Ziost

​

Dark power resonated within the cold, cavernous expanse of the circular war council chamber. Holographic projections of the Stygian Caldera's worlds flickered and spun at the center, casting an artificial glow on the assembled warlords and the great floating statues of ancient Sith conquerers that drifted in slow silent vigil.

Elmindra Xitaar, First Lord to the King of Korriban and Admiral of its Fleet, stood among them, keen slit-pupiled crimson eyes studying those gathered with cold calculation, weighing each of them and the pieces they represented in the grander game. Her presentation was a marriage of militance and opulence, as much elegant as it was severe. She wore a tailored uniform in a deep forest green to compliment the sage tone of her Falleen skin, sharp in the shoulder and fitted at the waist yet adorned with intricate gold filigree, while some of Korriban's rarest jewels shimmered at her throat and dangled from her ears—a silent testament to the planet's resurgence under her King's reign.

At her side stood Ufsa'ynth'aris , the handsome Chiss Master of Ceremonies to the King. His bearing was calm, diplomatic, and watchful—eyes constantly weighing the currents of power in the room.

Warmaster Gerwald Lechner silenced the idle chatter and commanded the attention of the council with his address. Resonating with the confidence behind the claim that the Holy Worlds would not be relinquished, Elmindra's spine straightened even more. The Dread Wolf made his pledge, then demanded the same of the other attendees.

Darth Anathamous, Governor Kaila Irons , was first to speak up and Elmindra was appreciative that she had. The woman's conviction and resolve was admirable and the First Lord couldn't agree more with her stance on the importance of victory in this conflict.

Elmindra's gaze slid to Dark Councilor Taeli Raaf , the meeting's host and one of the few who had earned the Falleen woman's respect, as she too made her contribution. Her assertion that losing Florrum would create a challenge for the Order was well-founded but, even with the hypergate, Elmindra wasn't sure it was the greatest priority.

Among those present, Ivalyn Yvarro , Vizier of the Commonwealth, and Velda Nar-Donna , Countess of Corellia, made their commitments. Then spoke Elane II of Kuat , the representative of the SIBC, echoing Elmindra's own thoughts about how Florrum, while vulnerable, might not serve as a sustainable stronghold; Makem Te on the other hand, rich and more defensible, could prove a far greater strategic asset to an invader committed to sustained occupation. Elmindra silently hoped the Confederation would blunder into targeting Florrum but knew prudence demanded readiness for worse.

Deciding it was time, Elmindra added her own voice to those weighing in on the fate of the Holy Worlds.

"As First Lord to the King of Korriban, allow me to extend Korriban's gratitude to those gathered who intend to commit forces to the defense of the Holy Worlds. The King and I both know what it took to reclaim the Stygian Caldera from the Ashlan Crusaders; I assure you, we will not see these worlds fall to foreign conquerors again." She let the words sink in before continuing.

"Though the hypergate near Florrum is perhaps a more obvious target, should the Imperial Confederation show some foresight, I am inclined to agree that Makem Te offers more valuable resources and could prove to be a more sustainable stronghold in the long run, which is why I intend to be there myself," she asserted, glancing first at Taeli Raaf, then to the Iron Banker, before addressing the assembly at large once more.

"As for Brosi, considering that it has already fallen victim to plague and blight, we are of the mind that it would be best to lean into its fated destruction as it would be just as effective in deterring invading forces and it would allow pledged resources to be better utilized elsewhere." It was perhaps a bold proposal, but she trusted Ufsa'ynth'aris would be able to propel the point further. She gestured to him in turn. "I will soon yield the floor to Korriban's Master of Ceremonies to speak more on the matter of Brosi."

"But rest assured," she stated with unshakable resolve, "Korriban has been preparing for this eventuality and we will be present at every front in this war. Our King's absence here is explained by his actions on these fronts. Even now, his Corpse Fleet arrives at Florrum, where he prepares to commit one of our most fearsome weapons—the hordes of undead. An unyielding, expendable force."​

Additional tags: Darth Malum of House Marr | Darth Virelia | Eira Dyn | Quinn Varanin | Lirka Ka

 

[Mercy]

Mercy wasn't a high-ranking Sith. Sure, she was strong, but she was not a Lord of the Sith, nor a Queen or even a Princess. In the aftermath of the Kaggath she had been given a taste of what it meant for people to follow her.

She had liked it.

Still, she wouldn't have been here if she could only rely on her own titles. Good thing she didn't have to.

She knew people. That was a strength of its own.

Mercy was the apprentice of Ashin Varanin. A strong name, but perhaps one that had more meaning in a previous Empire than this one. But Mercy also knew Quinn Varanin and was not above using people's names to push her way into situations.

She somehow managed to sit behind the princess.

Gods, Quinn sounded pretentious, like she had watched one too many noblesse oblige historical docs on the HoloNet.

It was her duty to make sure her head didn't get too big.

As the next speaker took their turn, Mercy reached out... And flicked Quinn's head from behind.

"You got a fancy arse army now, princess?" Mercy's voice accompanied the flick. "Did the discount store give them for free or did you have a coupon code?"

A little smirk.

Oh, that might set her off.

 

[Ufsa'ynth'aris]

"Attending the Assembly is much like attending an opera. One applauds the performances, attends for the dramatics, and leaves before the predictable final act to avoid traffic."​

―Ufsa'ynth'aris, ten minutes earlier...​

​

​

Outer Rim
Sith Holy Worlds
Tags Darth Virelia | Elane II of Kuat | Ivalyn Yvarro | Lirka Ka | Gerwald Lechner | Kaila Irons | Taeli Raaf | Quinn Varanin | Velda Nar-Donna | Darth Caedes | Elmindra Xitaar | Eira Dyn | War Marshal Helix | Mercy
OBJECTIVE I — ASSEMBLY OF ZIOST

Ufsa'ynth'aris stirred only once the last of Elmindra's words had been spoken. He rose and stepped forward with unhurried grace, the heavy folds of his azure-gold robes shifting atop the motion. He offered no bow, no grand gesture. Only the barest inclination of his head towards the assembly. These people were no better than him.

"Representatives," he began, his voice a slow, purring drawl with the lilting, calculated rhythm of someone who enjoyed making others lean in to hear him better.​

"Honored Governors. Esteemed Councilors."​

A faint smile ghosted the corner of his lips.

"I am Ufsa'ynth'aris. Syntharis, if that's easier. I serve as Voice to the King of Korriban, Lord of Commerce, and Master of Ceremonies."​

Right then.

"I want to level set. Here's what we know about Brosi."​

He raised a hand, counting off with his fingers.

"Brosi is a forest world, rich in life—formerly. Now it is home to an ecosystem in free-fall. The Candorian Blight, as many of you know, is airborne, incurable, and terminal within seventy-two hours. It targets all biological organisms, which means it will not stop at the people. It will take everything. Total ecological collapse. It's created what one might politely call a... biohazard nightmare. And yet we know, once there's nothing left to consume, the virus itself will perish. And so, it would seem, its weakness, it's cure, if you want to call it that, is hidden within its most deadly aspect... its voracious hunger and the requirement to feed."​

He paused, letting his face grow visibly solemn, broadening his shoulders and standing tall.

"Now, to the point..."​

He gestured to Elmindra on his left.

"It is our opinion that the population of Brosi, such that it is, cannot be saved. Put frankly, attempts at mitigation are failing. The quarantine is, at this moment, absolute. There is no end in sight. Worse, as things are, any notion of sending aid in is, at best... performative, and at worst, suicidal. Therefore I propose we stop pretending Brosi is a rescue mission and recognize it for what it truly is... a weapon in war."​

His eyes burned crimson beneath the glow, narrowing just slightly.

"We unleash the King's Jen'ari legions upon the surface. They will not falter to illness. They do not succumb. We allow the plague to finish what it started—let it strip the world bare. Meanwhile, we and this... Imperial Confederation... are left with a planet so deadly, so violently uninhabitable, that no invader can hold it. Not without paying the steepest of butcher's bills." ​

He paused, eyeing the assembly for effect.

"But! You ask, what of Brosi? Some of you may know, Brosi is one of only a handful of worlds known to yield both Hfredium and Zinsian, two rare minerals of growing military-industrial importance in these times of war... and right here in our very own Holy Worlds. Thankfully, this blight cannot affect either of these useful mineral veins. Nor will it degrade the existing infrastructure responsible for their extraction, their refinement. It will not inhibit the Jen'ari either, who, by the way, function as both the unflinching warrior and the unresting laborer. And when the virus runs out of living matter to feed on, it will die, too. And Brosi will remain—ugly and scarred maybe, yes, but still ours."​

He folded his hands neatly behind his back, eyes sweeping the chamber.

"Make no mistake. What we are proposing is nothing less than a total sterilization of the world. But I assure you—it is also a shrewd optimization of our circumstances during these trying times. The King is confident in his Jen'ari's ability to maintain regular, if not improved production quotas, providing us with resources invaluable to the sustained defense of our Holy Worlds."​

Another pause. He inclined his head again, polite and formal.

"Thank you," he said.​

"I yield back the floor."​

 

[Darth Malum of House Marr]

​

Of all the Dark Councillors.

He was the last to speak.

It made a sick amount of sense, he supposed.

Of all the Dark Councillors.

He was the last to be seen.

Yet, sat upon the four thrones which had been made to sit the four Dark Councillors of the Eleventh Sith Empire, even as behind them, rose two twin thrones empty, that which were meant to sit the only two figures that held a power greater than them... it was an incomplete puzzle, a fourth throne sitting empty, yet, of the three assembled.

Of three assembled, summoning court of Sith Lords across the Imperium, despite whatever antipathy may or may not have existed between the three, they put up quite the united front, against the plotters and schemers that performed and prostated loyalty to the state, to the Emperor, or some further ideal of alliance in the face of mutual enemy. The Emperor's Executioner, had taken middle seat, the Emperor's chosen, his record unmatched, his confidence infectious, opening the way forth. The Mother of Monsters had taken right most seat, a figure of renown and mystique, the host of these proceedings, she brought forth matters practical rather than ideologue.

Leaving only him.

Black gauntleted fingers, tapped along the armrest, as a masked face, sharing the same look that which his most great and famous ancestor shared some four thousand years ago... who knew, perhaps in this very room. He was dressed for war, even sat upon the throne, tapping away, he was clad in shadow, black armour that glinted in the light of the room's luminence, sabatons, greaves, a cuirass, vambraces, and gauntlets all made of steel and plate. Around his belt, a sheath, from which a beskar hilt promised a weapon forged for war.

He idly wondered, which of those who volunteered their tithe were more likely to betray their cause to the enemy.

He was no stranger to the ways of the Imperial ways of war, especially in how they worked so hard to subvert him... indeed, where his mistakes had allowed them to do. The memory of Vazela still rankled the skin, the reminder that the Empire of the Lost had deployed Sith Lords in their war machine, annoyed him beyond measure.

He flicked his gaze up, as the debates, the proposals rung out. As red eyes catalogued those who knew, and especially those he did not. Which of them then... which of them indeed, he mused between breaths drawn from nostrils, and released out from lips.

Which one of them would betray them?

He quite enjoyed the image, of a Shikkar breaking across skin, flesh, and bone... they only needed to him give him a target.

Only needed to give him the excuse.

Alas, not yet, his Tsis'Kaar had to be held at bay... for now. As he awaited, the Chiss that the Governor of Korriban had sent in his stead, spoke loftily on terms that he idly wondered if T- Darth Arcanix would oppose on principle, after all, he did entirely. The Chiss proved the equal of the Lord of Korriban in lofty proclamation, the lips of reeked of the words of the Clawdite.

If that was not obvious with the obsession with the dead rather than the living.

And the scantily hidden ambition.

He rose in the stillness offered in the Chiss taking his place.

Eyes flowed to him, irrestible, that which was their youngest Dark Councillor, taking steps across the pavillion, melodic steps, that seemed to echo across the silence that for barest moment, the room entered.

Until, he stood in centre of the room.

Masked gaze staring up at the holomaps presenting the state of the Caldera, fleet movements organised, spread from the worlds, or sent for from the Sith capital.

"I am afraid, my lords and ladies, that theorising of where the strike shall come will be a fool's errand," The voice was cold, dispassionate, seeking something within the stars, that was beyond them all, "It is as my first missive informed you all," A sharp scrape filled the air, as the beskar hilt was held within black gloves, the Sith Steel singing, hissing, in the wind, as it pointed at the Tion Cluster, and from its void, welling up from its essence.

The marks of warfleets became visible.

Warfleets carried by engines made for war, bedecked in guns, and crews trained for this singular moment, sailing across the bridge that Mintooine presented.

And then, the Caldera was aflame.

The ships broke apart, as fleets diverted course.

Makem Te, Florrum, Brosi, Dromund Kaas, Korriban, Krayiss II, and even noble, icey, Ziost, that which planet they held their feet upon.

Were aflame.

"The Imperials have not forgotten Felucia, have not forgotten Tion, they are not so shortsighted to believe that an attack upon Brosi, upon Florrum, upon Makem Te, shall be the bridge to conquer the Caldera. They know, as well as any of us, that any strike or skirmish upon the Blackwall, invites a counterattack a thousand fold in strength, that will turn New Alderaan to rubbles not seen since Darth Sidious' retaliation against its mother planet," The masked Dark Councillor continued to stare, mesmerised by the flames, lulled into a certain calm, before, as moments become seconds, he turned to face all those gathered, the blade returning to its sheath.

Yet, his hand remaining upon the hilt.

"They know they have singular opportunity, while the First is facing Endor, the Second faces Naboo, the Third continues its Shattermarch, the Fourth continues construction, and the Tsis'Kaar and Kainite are spread across the Empire in bidding of our Emperor and Empire," The map expanded, Sith systems illuminated in an eery red glow, as the entire galaxy came into focus, the Imperial Confederation laying abreast across the Perlemenian, the first to reach the Caldera, but certainly not the last, the Mo- Mandalorians, only a jump away from Odacer-Faustin, the war continuing to rage against the Alliance along the Maw frontier, as an increasingly costly cold war laid across the Aur Diamonds, and finally... the Diarchy, continuing their march along the Hydian.

Serenno flashing dangerously upon the map.

As one by one, brown, orange, green, purple, and blue, coalesced upon the map, shimmering in dangerous harmony, as the red stood alone upon the galaxy.

Alone against the entire galaxy.

"They will strike every single world in the Thandon Star Cluster, and if we fail to hold, then Korriban and Krayiss II shall be the next to fall, until every trace of Sith civilisation within the Caldera is extinguished," He turned his masked gaze to Lord Lechner, "We are asked what we shall pledge, I echo the words of the Governor of Echnos, I expect it of all of us, I pledge everything, the Tsis'Kaar, House Marr, myself..." He breathed a heavy breath through his nostrils, "...I pledge myself to this war, I volunteer now for all to hear, as my great ancestor did once so long ago, to defend the Sith Empire, to defend the Sith people."

The blade drew forth once more, hissing as it burst into blue flames, pointed at singulr point upon the holomap. The map echoing the motion, as now it was the Imperial Confederation in flames.

"...I pledge to lead us to the gates of New Aldeeran itself."

Gerwald Lechner Taeli Raaf Elane II of Kuat Ivalyn Yvarro Lirka Ka Kaila Irons Darth Virelia Quinn Varanin Velda Nar-Donna Elmindra Xitaar Eira Dyn War Marshal Helix Mercy Ufsa'ynth'aris
Mentioned: Vazela

 

[Kasir Dorran]

Soah Ty’Jyn
Objective BYOO: Do your part too
Korriban

​

The cargo bay of his 578-R appeared as a cavern, swallowed by the very shadows he so often wore like a cloak. Outside, the red dust clung stubbornly to all that it touched, but here, within a metallic womb, it was kept at bay. The hatch was open, and so he allowed the air to pass through, whispering its secrets. It felt alive, even, with undercurrents of anticipation. The Sith's mind would acknowledge a single fact, for a storm was near, and it was inevitable they would soon find themselves in the fray.

The Darkseeker, forged for countless battles, found joy in violence, the dance of survival and strength. Yet Soah was not Kasir. This would be a baptism not of blood, but of her very essence.

Along with his apprentice, they had only recently resurfaced from another mission, the blood of their foe still painted across skin, for death seemed to follow their trail.

And now, he took a passage of time to braid the Felacatian’s hair.

Though it may have been the first undertaking, his travels across the galaxy had exposed him to a myriad of different styles, from those here on Korriban, to others more tribal on Felucia, and even those of witches on Dathomir. There was a sense of ritual in it, a rite of passage rooted in this tradition.

Calculated as always, but this time, not cold, he was calibrated with gentleness beneath that veneer of malevolence, like a machine.

Beside him on the crate lay his gauntlets, deathly white hands now revealed. As he came around before her, ghostly fingers slipped into dark strands, weaving through them like smoke.

“If you fall..” His voice sliced through the air like a dagger. “..they won’t see me mourn.”

The lie unfurled easily; it was not meant to deceive, but to protect, by not allowing his own truth to cut deeply.

At the crown of her head, Kasir worked with the kind of precision that came naturally to a duelist, folding three equal strands with the rhythm of a dancer.

The evening's sun slowly caught his armor. "But I'll still feel it," he admitted, a pause as long and empty as the void in his chest.

Every tress pulled against her scalp was like a vow, a promise that he’d bleed before letting her fall. She was small, not even rising to his shoulders, but the girl’s fire burned bright, albeit fragile. Over the past year, it was the only warmth he allowed himself to guard.

With each pass, he folded more hair, and after a period of time, twin braids were like armor along her skull. Lastly, at the nape of her neck, he secured them with a thread.

Finished, and standing beside her as shadows flickered, a nod would gesture in the direction of a durasteel crate in the corner. Inside lay a set of armor plating. “It will only protect you if you remember what burns beneath it." His stance and gaze alike would serve to convey the message. "If you weren't ready, I would be facing them alone." Another pause, voice softer now, "I believe in you, Soah."

​

 

[Darth Caedes]

(Left to right; Srina Talon, Darth Caedes, Revna Marr)​

"You must break them before you engage them. Only then will you ensure victory."
—Darth Tyranus, to General Grievous


O B J E C T I V E 2
F L O R R U M

Revna Marr | Srina Talon | Zal Aditi | Elmindra Xitaar | Madrona A’Mia | Kivah

"The Hypergate of Florrum," Caedes announced in a monotone display of showmanship.​

"Welcome back to the frontlines..."​

The Empress stirred. Her throne uncoiled from around her, legs clicking and twitching, flaying open.

"Brosi burns," she said ominously, her gaze on something far off.​

"Yes," Caedes whispered to himself, nodding.​

Belatedly, he turned to face Srina, a curious look in his eye—as if he were just now seeing her for the first time.

"Makem Te is hollowed," she continued.​

"And Florrum might just be the first to scream."​

​

True. He grinned, envisioning the dead below. They would make this world scream, indeed.

"My Lord," came a call from the Comms trench.​

"Zal Aditi."​

​

The warbling noise of a floor-embedded holoprojector, behind, caused Caedes to turn. Blue light sputtered forth and took shape, carving out the image of a monstrous and slender, avian-featured omwati woman. Zal Aditi, the Voice of Hunger and Beastmaster of Korriban, knelt in life-size before him.

"Master," she greeted, her feathered head rising to reveal a pair of fiercely intelligent, cold red eyes.​

"All is in place," Caedes preempted, closing the distance so that Zal's image knelt before him, mere inches away as in life.​

"Begin your operations over Brosi," he said, grimacing.​

"Lay that world to rest, death doula. Make of it an empty garden, inhospitable but to we who command the tides of plague and of undying. Lord Seer Madrona A’Mia has prepared for this eventuality. You are to work closely with her, my Apprentice, for this endeavor will require the genius of you both. We will not let the enemy push this near to our heart in the Holy Worlds, Zal Aditi. Do what you must."​

With a flick of his wrist the hologram crackled and fell away, leaving Caedes to again stare at the vision outside his viewport. Florrum, and it's nearby Hypergate. That tenuous boundary between here and there, the living and the dead—a door at which clawed the hungry legions of wraith spirits begging to be set to feeding.

"Do you require my assistance, Darth Caedes?" Srina asked, presently, speaking into his thoughts.​

The noise broke him from his reverie and he turned his head towards her, casting his gaze overtop an embroidered shoulder.

"I believe I have rested... long enough," she explained.​

"Likewise—I will endeavor to assist either of you wherever and however I am needed," added the Lady Revna.​

A knife's edge grin carved itself upon his sanguine features and a glint took to his eye. He nodded.

"Telemetry?" He asked, tilting his head towards the trench without breaking his gaze from the Empress.​

"Yes, sir," responded a voice, dutifully.​

"Prepare to fire the warclaws."​

"All craft are nominal and showing green. Firing solutions readied," came the return call.​

"At your command."​

No, no, he thought.

"Would you like to do the honors, My Lady Empress?"​

Hesitating, the officer responsible turned, dragging his gaze to the Empress in question.

.:: After all, it's only fitting... ::.​

 

[Darth Prazutis]

The skies above Dromund Kaas did not thunder, instead? Instead, they screamed. Where once a planetary storm had loomed eternal, now its lightning had purpose. Bolts of bloodfire lashed across the heavens in ritual arcs, carving Sith runes the size of cities into the roiling sky. No longer mere atmosphere, the storm had become an orbital incantation, a planetary ward of annihilation. Ancient ritual beacons flared across Midwan's towers, all across New Kaas City their crimson lenses projected glyphs of war into the clouds, each sigil drawn from forbidden tomes and fueled by the lives of thousands. Dromund Kaas was not bracing for invasion. It was becoming an altar, a world turned inward, not merely to endure, but to sacrifice all who dared step upon it and defile its sacred surface.

Far within the colossal factories of Dûrtar Machanon, the ground quaked with every blast of great war horns forged from blackened brass and reinforced with the bones of slaves. Their blasts caused the foundations of the earth to tremble, disrupting communications across the upper atmosphere. Sithspawn convoys, wreathed in binding glyphs, marched toward orbital hangars beneath the rhythmic shriek of pulse sirens. Furnace flares painted the sky in molten crimson, casting the vast assembly lines in silhouette: Armored siege droids, towering walkers, and black hued assault transports rolled forward like a funeral procession for stars.

In the thick of the jungles sat Valcantha, the Iron-Blooded Epicanthix of Tyûk lined the trenchwork in concentric rings, their armor painted with wargrease and ash. The forges rang like war drums. Warriors drew their blades and raised them skyward in ritual salute, as the trial-bell tolled: each strike signifying one thousand conscripts made ready. Thunder was drowned by chorus, an entire continent chanting in perfect cadence, each word an invocation of fury. Across the outer training pits, the weak were culled. Executions were not a penalty, they were fertilizer for true strength.

Moridahl, the shipyards of Shâsot launched entire battlegroups into orbit, each ship ritually branded with the name of a massacre: "Tion.", "Commenor.", "Mandalore.", "Togoria." Sith Pureblood warpriests stood on hulltops as the warships rose into the clouds, casting sacrificial victims into the ocean below. As blood hit the waves, the coastal tide turned black, the planet itself accepting its glorious tribute amidst a sea of agony.

But then, far to the north…within the city of Grathok'ta, the world howled. There was only holy madness. The Pyrefields of Kaalgoth erupted in miles long ribbons of fire. Siege-beasts, the size of towers and stitched from bone and flesh, were lashed to obsidian haulers by fifty Graug apiece. War-priests of the Dark Legion tore open their own chests in frenzied rites, painting armor in blood while chanting verses of the Khor'Gar Vhaldrakk, the Sermon of the End-War. Far within the Citadel of Malgrog, the Ur'khal Drokhaal was struck. The war-bell had not sounded in ages. Its cry sundered birds mid-flight. It shook windows in Kaas City. It ruptured the organs of unworthy Graug. Every lifeform on New Gratos dropped to its knees and the air trembled, and in the silence that followed. The world stopped.

Every screen. Every warhorn. Every hololithic display, from the lowest Flayed March tunnel to the darkened vaults of the Sith Citadel, flickered. Dimmed. Died. For six full seconds, the world held its breath. Then came His voice. The voice did not come from the sky, it came from beneath, from the marrow of the world, from the Umbral Maw itself. It was not heard but instead felt by all who walked the planets surface. It did not speak through speakers or holoprojectors but bled into the minds of all who dwelled upon Dromund Kaas, crawling like molten iron behind the eyes and into the soul.

"People of Dromund Kaas…sons of thunder, daughters of ash…my children of war." His voice was titanic, dragging each syllable like rusted chains through the very crust of the world. It resonated in bunkers and tombs, in slave pits and sanctums, pouring through circuits, seeping into the air, wrapping around every throat like a vow. "The time has come. The veil has lifted. The wolves of the Confederation come for our throat. But they have made a fatal mistake. They forgot who we are." The heavens ignited above the Citadel. Lightning, first crimson, then black, split the skies in ancient glyphs of war. "They come for the Stygian Caldera. For our holy worlds. Ziost. Korriban. Dromund Kaas. The beating heart of the Sith. They come to purge the old ways, to break the Empire, to silence the dark." His voice grew deeper. "They come with banners, with fleets. The fools. They thought our silence was surrender. They thought our stillness was sleep. But they do not realize… we are the eye of the storm. And now, we open." The Dark Lord paused then. "Look to your blades. Look to your wounds. Look to your chains. You were forged for this. This is the reckoning the galaxy has earned. This is the price of memory." His voice expanded, terrible and sacred. "Soldiers, your veins run with the wrath of gods. Engineers, your forges are shrines of obliteration. Sith, your minds are vaults of terror and flame. Slaves, your blood writes the scripture of our dominion. You are Dromund Kaas. You are the Caldera. You are the storm."

Then his voice dropped, into something quieter, it dropped until it was nothing but a simple whisper from inside the soul. "If they breach our skies, they will drown in ash. If they touch our soil, it will rise up and devour them. If they take one step toward our sanctums, we will show them what hell truly means." A beat between one sentence and the next that bent the world still "And if they reach the gates of my Citadel…then I will show them what the Dyarchy does to trespassers." Above, a nova of crimson energy tore through the clouds. The storm above the Citadel contorted into a vortex, a beacon seen from every holy world in the Caldera. His words thundered one final time. "Today, we carve the circle. Tomorrow, we fill it with fire. Let the galaxy remember: the Sith do not forget. The Sith do not forgive. And the Sith…are eternal." There was silence. Then the last invocation, a declaration thundered from the mountain of dread itself. "Long live the Kainate. Long live the Sith. Long live Dromund Kaas."

A deep stillness followed the wake of the Dark Lod's words, in that silence the world erupted. Graug howled oaths from the Blood Pits. Sith warpriests collapsed in ecstasy. Citizens fell to their knees in streets and sanctums alike, their fists raised to the sky, screaming into the dark with voices that merged into a single, seismic roar:

"WE ARE DROMUND KAAS. WE ARE THE STORM. WE DO NOT FALL."

The War Council chamber wasn't silent in the aftermath of the Dark Councilor's words, it was holding its breath.

Holograms flickered without cause. Great statues trembled. The air had thickened, tasted of ozone and old blood, as if the stone itself remembered something it had buried deep. Every Force-sensitive present would feel it, like standing on the edge of a great abyss and realizing it was looking back.

Then, the planet screamed. Far above Ziost's frozen skies, the auroras fractured into crimson, like veins opening in the heavens. Storms gathered with no origin, but not of water or wind, storms of memory, of pain, of power remembered. Monasteries cracked. Creatures wailed. The sky wept black snow, and then? Then the gates opened. Not swung. Not pulled. They parted, as if something more ancient than physics had demanded their opening. Darth Carnifex stepped through first.

The Eternal Father. The Butcher King. The Twice-Emperor. A relic of gods and monsters, draped in armor draped in annihilation. Every step He took was echoed in the Force like the footfall of a dying star. Time slowed around Him. The room didn't merely go quietly. Instead, it wilted, as if sound had forgotten how to exist in his presence. His eyes, twin suns, bore into every soul like judgment passed long ago. His very being was a wound in reality, and yet beside him?

Darth Prazutis. The Shadow Hand. The Elysian Grandeval Mortarch. The Lord of Lies. In his plate, Qâzjiin'vraal was blacker than entropy and inscribed with runes still bleeding from the forge of dread, He walked not as a man, but as a curse come to life. His helm, the Xûl-Karzaan, stared as if it could see your sins, your ancestors' sins, and the ones you had not yet committed. From Him bled an aura that suffocated hope. Around Him, the Dark Side whimpered in devotion. His cape hissed like flayed silk, dragging behind Him like the shadows of a conquered galaxy. Together, they moved like the axis upon which apocalypse turns. The Sith Dyarchy. No herald spoke their names. No announcement carried their rank. The chamber knew. The Force knew.

Some in the shadows of this grand gathering fell to one knee, others merely stood frozen, their tongues bound by fear, pride shattered beneath the sheer immensity of their presence. This was not political posturing. This was not ceremony. This was the coming of Sith divinity. They did not ascend to their place, they claimed it, as if it had been forged for their boots alone. Two figures who shaped the destiny of the Sith for over half a century, spanning beyond the birth of many in this very room. Twin thrones loomed behind them like tombs waiting to be filled, but the Dyarchy did not sit, not yet. The Dark Side roared in exultation. The world itself seemed to sigh, a planet in relief, now that its the blood of Sith Royalty had come.

Darth Carnifex | Darth Virelia | Elane II of Kuat | Eira Dyn | Velda Nar-Donna | Ivalyn Yvarro | Quinn Varanin | Taeli Raaf | Kaila Irons | Gerwald Lechner | Lirka Ka | Darth Malum of House Marr
​

 

[Darth Trayus]

Objective I: The War Council
Tags: OPEN​

Silently in the darkness, he would walk. His walking stick lodged in his hand. He did not need it, but it sold the old man persona well, and it hid his lightsaber well inside if he ever needed to use it. He silently watched as all the Sith Lords spoke.

He would wait for a few moments until the time was right to reveal himself.

"The galaxy is burning yet again," he would say as he slowly approached the podium. "I am Darth Trayus of Trayus Academy of Malachor V...while your war is not directly mine, it will affect every and all Sith in the galaxy...with that in mind.

I have come here to offer the services of Malachor to you in this war. My assassins and I will help bring the Confederate scum to their knees."

He would say as he looked at the fellow lords and representatives of the Sith order in the assembly. Decades ago, they would all have been his enemies when he was a Jedi, but now he had to look upon them as allies. While he did not exactly follow the Sith code, and he hated both the dogmatic views of the Sith Order and the Jedi, he knew that with this invasion, Malachor would likely be their next target after Korriban and Dromund Kass.

The war was coming to all the galaxy...and it was time for the Sith of Malachor V to pick a side and fight in the coming wars.

Gerwald Lechner Taeli Raaf Elane II of Kuat Ivalyn Yvarro Lirka Ka Kaila Irons Darth Virelia Quinn Varanin Velda Nar-Donna Elmindra Xitaar Eira Dyn War Marshal Helix Mercy Ufsa'ynth'aris Darth Malum of House Marr

 

[Elane II of Kuat]

​

Sith-Imperial Tag Channel: Darth Virelia Lirka Ka Ivalyn Yvarro Taeli Raaf Kaila Irons Gerwald Lechner and others+

Elane sometimes wished that the assassin had taken both of her eyes; it might alleviate the discomfort of attending this Council. However, at least Elmindra Xitaar acknowledged her suggestion that the Planet of Makem Te would serve as the most appropriate target for the Imperial Confederation to seize in order to establish a stronghold for a campaign into the Caldera Region.

She adjusted herself comfortably in the chair, her face propped on her hand as the Chiss, quite a rare sight following the destruction of Csilla by the Brotherhood of the Maw Ufsa'ynth'aris began to speak with a degree of authority as the ceremonial aide to the King of Korriban, Darth Caedes. A proposal was put forth regarding the Plague-stricken world of Brosi, one that was decidedly unprofitable, for allowing the extermination of a population was ill-sighted.

Still she allowed the Chiss to continue taking notes on a datapad as Darth Malum of House Marr spoke up next in his usual fashion. If his intelligence was so sound in the first place why are they preparing a defense instead of attacking the Confederation outright and destroy their capabilities to launch an incursion.

Next the author of the defense directive and Dark Lord of the Sith, Darth Prazutis and Twice-Emperor Darth Carnifex , made a grand entrance into the War Council's chamber amidst considerable fanfare. It was high time for their arrival, as she was on the verge of dozing off and wished to remain in slumber if this was the extent of what the Empire could provide.

"I have several questions to ask the master of Ceremonies from the Kingdom of Korriban, you claim that the virus will die off without hosts. What evidence supports this? Has the blight exhibited this behavior on any other world? And what is to say that the Jenari will not become carriers of the plague and transmit it to other worlds once they are no longer required on Brosi." Elane had only a rudimentary understanding of science but even the undead can become unwilling carriers of the disease, and if the Jenari would be deployed elsewhere after Brosi they would have it spreading from one section of the Empire to another.

"Furthermore, are there contingency measures established in the event that the Jen'ari become compromised or fail to function effectively under conditions of blight saturation? If the production quota cannot be upheld or falls short, then the complete sterilization of the planet becomes an exercise in futility. I require actual documentation demonstrating their utilization as laborers, and that they are effective, before the SIBC would ever approve this plan." She explained with a hand gesture, perceiving it as a potential drain on the Order's finances and the war machine if the production of those two resources were to decline due to the employment of untested laborer zombies lacking mechanical expertise in handling mining equipment and extraction to the shipping ports.

 

[Madrona A’Mia]

The Omen
Sutta-Class Battlecruiser
Orbit of Brosi

Tags: Darth Caedes Zal Aditi​

Deep within the belly of The Omen, where star fighters might normally take residence, A'Mia lay in wait. The arboreal woman had undergone an even more grueling transformation than was typical for her, taking on an extraordinary amount of biomass in a very short time so that her body was mighty and swollen with tumultuous growths. Encased throughout her form were pockets of various Sithspawn and alchemically enhanced organisms. For now, the hoards slept.

More tree-like than humanoid, the woman's bark was ashen— stretched and cracked like the skin of white aspen. Pushing the natural size limits of her species (which can reach heights of sixteen meters), the Sith Shadow drank deeply from the dark side nexus on Korriban prior to setting out on the journey to Brosi. A'Mia now resembled a hulking baobab tree which somehow exuded both dark putridity, but also the promise of explosive vitality.

Such is the duality of botanical life forms, ever balanced on the edge of verdant abundance and the promise of decay.

Her face was difficult to locate amongst the engorged trunk and many twisting limbs, but nestled somewhere high in her canopy was that pristine, nymph-like face. Slowly, blue-green eyes opened as A'Mia woke from reverie and her tremendous bulk rustled faintly. Somewhere at the edge of her mind, she was aware that her peer Zal was communicating with their King and Master.

The neti's vast body shook again, as if in a strong wind, and she braced herself for the laborious task of moving so much mass. Thankfully, the Voice of Hunger would ensure she was dropped closely enough for the plan to be effective, but A'Mia would need to act fast after making landfall.

Brosi was beleaguered and beset, perhaps already to the point of no return. However the Lords of Vardin, Caedes' chosen, would ensure that there was no question as to the planet's fate.

"All things end, it's part of living,"

A'Mia crooned softly to her swarms, like a doting mother at the crib.

"Forest fire feeds the trees."

Her words faded away into the cryptic rustling of leaves, the hum of ten thousand wings and the chitinous clatter of so many more legs harmonizing with her oaken voice.

The Hoard-mother reached out to Zal's mind.

Unleash me.​

 

[Zal Aditi]

​

The Omen
Sutta-Class Battlecruiser
Orbit of Brosi

Tags: Darth Caedes | Madrona A’Mia



Objective II: The War Preparations

"Master."
​

"All is in place," Caedes preempted, closing the distance so that Zal's image knelt before him, mere inches away as in life.
"Begin your operations over Brosi," he said, grimacing.

The Omwati rose as Caedes addressed her, her lithe avian form unfolding gracefully to meet the tall King's holographic gaze at an even level.

Zal's devotion to Caedes bordered on the fanatical. He was, in many ways, an ideal, naturally possessed of the shapeshifting abilities she worked so hard to emulate with her Alchemical craft; but more than this, as King of Korriban, he had taken on the soul of that planet which Zal considered her truest family, had been chosen and forged anew by the ancient, roiling heart of it. By serving him, she served Korriban, and the tasks he laid before her were thereby sacred duties.

He was undeniably powerful, a true master of the Dark Side of the Force. As her master, he was exacting and unrelenting, holding her to the highest of standards. Yet her crimson eyes, when they met his gaze, held no fear. Her high regard for him was tempered with the intimacy of true understanding.

This understanding gave a calm surety to the almost ceremonial formality of her manner. Despite her deep respect for him and the complexities of power dynamics and hierarchy which should have created a gulf between them, on some level she regarded him as a peer - as family.
​

"Lay that world to rest, death doula. Make of it an empty garden, inhospitable but to we who command the tides of plague and of undying. Lord Seer Madrona A'Mia has prepared for this eventuality. You are to work closely with her, my Apprentice, for this endeavor will require the genius of you both. We will not let the enemy push this near to our heart in the Holy Worlds, Zal Aditi. Do what you must."​

She nodded once in acknowledgement, and he turned his attention to other matters, severing the connection with a flick of his wrist.
​

"Keep the Locum Pacis updated on all current intelligence reports and mission status," she instructed Ssa'Ran'Diip as she turned her predatory gaze back to Brosi and the many storm crows that had begun to fill the skies in orbit. "Use a rotating encryption."

Before her, Brosi festered like an open wound. The ecological chaos wreaked by the virus had thrown the planet into disarray; systems collapsed as flora and fauna alike succumbed to rot and ruin. Methane and other gasses had quickly built and ignited, and firestorms glowed in angry red patches across the surface, leaving black scars in their wake.

In the few places the firestorms spared, vicious winds and howling storms raged and tore through the land, shredding or drowning its denizens. It was as though the planet itself had become infected with the plague.

It was Zal's duty to ensure the annihilation of the planet was absolute - to help Brosi die. There would be no saving it. It must be wiped clean, sterilized before it could be shaped according to the will of its appointed guardian. That would not be Zal... but she would be there to guide Brosi's death, and to midwife its rebirth.

Still, the planet's death would not be swift. It would be slowed by the forces which, even now, prepared to descend upon the pestilent world in a foolhardy grab for power. But she had her own forces ready to deploy to the surface... the undead of Korriban, the Jen'koshu, immune to the Candorian sickness and ready to ensure Brosi's death. Tireless servants, they would also keep the mining facilities well-staffed as the current workforce perished.

Most importantly, the belly of the Omen held the Lord Seer of Korriban, Madrona A’Mia . The Neti bore within her monstrous mass the seeds of Brosi's destruction and its eventual reclamation. Zal felt a kinship to the woman. Though not a changeling, her form was fluid, ever changing and adapting to the needs of the moment. The Omwati bore respect for all who had mastered freedom of form in this way. In time, she hoped to learn from the tree-woman, or at least, to have a chance to examine her.

Zal could feel the shadow of A'Mia's mind in the bowels of the ship... a cold, sharp mind surrounded by the hum and chatter of myriad others. As though in answer to her awareness, she felt the Seer's message.
​

Unleash me.​

"Move into position for the Hoardmother's launch," Zal commanded in her crisp, musical tones. "Target Shoengen. The Ore-Lords cower in their fortress, but they cannot escape their fates."

First A'Mia to obliterate the Ore-Lords. Then the War Claws to cleanse the mines. And Zal would stay in orbit in The Omen, ensuring the quarantine siege eliminated any who sought escape from the plague planet.

It was time for Death to come to Brosi.


​

 

[Lysander von Ascania]

Darth Malum of House Marr Taeli Raaf Elane II of Kuat Lirka Ka Darth Virelia Velda Nar-Donna Eira Dyn War Marshal Helix Mercy Darth Prazutis Darth Trayus

​

No matter how many hours were spent near his cousin Malum, the Sith's shadow always loomed large, with ambition that could choke the very air around him. Here, he allowed himself to remain several steps back, so that he might observe, rather than engage; and so, this would allow him to catalog every movement, every shift in posture, all beneath the emerald flame of his gaze.. a gaze that seldom missed a thing.

He did not arrive to spread influence, nor was there a need to raise his voice. He came to learn.

The teen came into view within the grand hall exuding natural grace, his tailored black suit, a silhouette against the light bathing the chamber. The unwrinkled surface of his attire betrayed nothing of the calculations beneath. Woven behind the jacket's surface, glistaweb lining cocooned him in comfort, a recent luxury adopted after many afternoons spent in Danger Arceneau 's company since leaving Ruusan. On his wrists, small cufflinks gleamed with the sheen of Devaronian blood-poison, more weapon than accessory.

Lysander's attention was first drawn to Ivalyn Yvarro , precise like a scalpel, striking him as someone you wouldn’t cross without consequences. Little did he know, in that moment, amidst the thrum of power, that of everyone present, she seemed to reflect many of the lessons instilled in him between Ukatis and Korriban.

But as his focus shifted to Kaila Irons next, he recognized the cadence of a leader already marching onto the battlefield with every intention to dominate. Then, Gerwald Lechner , whose words of the Second Legion were not for performance, but commitment and readiness, born of confidence, ready to bleed first for their cause.

From his spot along the chamber’s edge, he searched the faces; Quinn Varanin was one of two he recognized, from a brief encounter during a funeral on Jutrand among the Tsis’Kaar.

Elmindra Xitaar was easy to locate, even if Lysander had only noticed her a handful of times around Kor’ethyr Academy. Rumors claimed the Falleen had eyes and ears everywhere, and he believed them. Ufsa'ynth'aris was both smooth and composed. Together, they were a perfect union, as if fated to stand side by side in a HoloDramas.

A smirk threatened to break his stoic facade; he could almost hear the theme music playing.

As another spoke, it was then Lysander’s chin tilted ever so slightly, hands hanging loose at the sides before clasping behind his back. And finally, his gaze settled upon the youngest Dark Councilor, whose armor, mask, and posture all echoed of House Marr. The blonde did not seek to imitate him, for their natures were vastly different.. but to prove himself worthy of standing beside him one day.

In a final sweep, absorbing every presence, it felt like he was witnessing something rare, for every doctrine and individual was beginning to align in strategic unity, to preserve sacred ground and eliminate the Imperial Confederation threat.

 

[Srina Talon]

Tag: Revna Marr Darth Caedes Zal Aditi Elmindra Xitaar Madrona A’Mia Kivah
Location: Locum Pacis [Command Bridge - Near Revna]

O B J E C T I V E 2
F L O R R U M
____________________________________________________

The little, or perhaps not so little, Lady Revna—Was right.

The spirits were restless and hungry…Sensing the inevitable approach of war. Srina shifted a little more within the encasement of her throne, the cold, chitinous arms providing her with solemn clarity when they tightened and loosened about her seemingly delicate form. As if they were more than they appeared to be, not yet ready to release her, regardless of the relative isolation of the Nether splitting ship. It was quite the picture they made, frozen in time.

Darth Caedes illuminated by the morose light through the viewport, gilded with knowledge, and a presence that was as mysterious as the bones of Korriban.

Revna Marr at her flank, touched with restless strength, wrapped in jagged veils of something she couldn't quite put her finger on.

It was not through the psychic conduit that she noticed the pain in the raven-haired woman endured, but the keenness of her less-than-human eyesight. It was hawkish, cruel, and far more perceptive than it had any right to be. Were it not for that…The young warrior might have succeeded in keeping her agonies a secret. Srina unwound entirely from the cognition throne, and its limbs began to move rather erratically. Metal mandibles clicked in utter protest. This was not to be. The Empress must be made to stay. If only, if only, that were the case.

The inky blackness of her traveling dress pulled across the polished floor with nary a whisper as the holoprojected visage of Zal Aditi appeared and began to relay a status to her King. Srina listened quietly, not interrupting, and finally stopped moving once she reached the former acolyte who had once narrowly avoided stepping on her toes. She was a beautiful thing, despite her captivity. From the lattice of corruption that showed around her eyes to the dedication she portrayed while enduring lingering side effects…It had not diminished her. The alabaster woman bent at the waist, slow and unhurried, while platinum blonde tresses slipped over her shoulder.

Revna had all manner of people supporting her and likely didn't require more, but Srina would have been a poor mother-figure indeed were she to pretend not to notice. Her empathy was distant, cold, but not lacking. Soft lips pressed a ghostly kiss to the forehead of the young woman, there, and not there…The barest whisper of silk, without expectation.

It spoke many things that the Empress did not contain words for.

The pale Echani pulled away a moment later, as if she had never been, and deft fingers moved to smooth onyx-hair back as she had many times before. Aureate orbs fell back to Darth Caedes as the holo of Zal Aditi crackled and disappeared, and gold met gold across polished metal and thin air. There was a moment in which she almost regretted interrupting the stillness, the silence, of his thoughts.

For once she did? War would cease in possibility; it stopped becoming a potential. This was the moment in which they decided that the information that the Tsis'Kaar sang to the Caldera in droves was indeed accurate and worth acting upon. Srina found peace and purpose in war because of her ancestry but that didn't mean she relished the idea of once more sacrificing the children of the Sith Order before the altar of some foolish nation who thought they could trespass without consequence.

The Empire of the Lost…

The Alliance…

All had been held accountable for their actions in the form of cause and effect, purely, by their need to save a land that had never asked to be saved. Brosi was a perfect example, one of many, that to her knowledge? There was nothing left on the surface to save. It held the value of a mineral-rich asteroid, nothing more, nothing less. Right now…The Ziost Assembly was deciding the final fate.

It was only a matter of time.

Her head inclined to Caedes when he offered her the honors of beginning their endeavors. Her voice was soft and clear when she spoke, unnaturally sweet, behind the dark and terrible things they would inevitably do. "If that is your wish…I shall comply."

Everything about her seemed to harden and turn to stone, becoming the Dread Empress that all expected her to exemplify. Authority coiled around her like a living thing, pulsing beneath milk-sallow skin and unnervingly steel-calm eyes. The command bridge of the Locum Pacis fell into a reverent hush, the kind that preceded ancient sacrifice, or the first drumbeat of war. She remained cast in hues of amethyst and ash…Truly—Considering their options one final time.

One. Final. Time.

It was the duty of a ruler to question, to examine the probability of outcomes, before unleashing a final full measure on an unsuspecting system. The sanctity of their Holy Words was at stake…Which affected far more than the Caldera. Their loss would be an unparalleled blow to the entirety of the Sith Order. It affected every citizen, rich and poor, in ways that they had only begun to understand. The officer that awaited her word was unused to following the directives of someone other than his King…and yet, his King willed it. His gaze did not meet her own right away, but it was to be expected. Few could hold it without feeling the need to look away.

She saw too much. In her mind's eye…Brosi, indeed, had begun to burn.

That was the end of deliberation.

It was done.

"Commence."

 

[CT-312]

//: Drystan Creed Jacen Breska | Open //:
//: Factory, Brosi //:
//: Attire //:
//: WEARING: Halcyon Armour | Contact Lenses | Ancile Shield //:
//: EQUIPMENT: VW 864 Maser Rifle | LO-18D | LO-22S | Sunshot Pistol //:
//: Objective 2: The War Preparations//:
​

Inside the bay of the dropship shuddered around her. The turbulence of entering Brosi’s atmosphere could be felt through the metal frame into the harness at CT-312’s chest. The Scout was leaned back against the cold steel. Helmeted head thudded softly against the interior plating of the hull. Her body moved with rhythmic jostling of the gunship’s descent. The HUD inside her visor scrolled lines of mission data in a dull green glow. Flickering slightly with each shake. Reviewing it one last time before touching down.

<:// Location: Brosi, Imperial Research Facility //:>
<:// Assigned: Quinn Varanin //:>
<:// Environment: Industrial. Factory. Toxic Air Index: Medium to High //:>
<:// Local Threats: Candorian Blight, Infected Organics - Hostile. Highly contagious //:>
<:// Squad Size: 3 | Objective: Quarantine. Containment breach site investigation //:>

CT-312 stifled a yawn inside the helmet. Exhausted. No sleep… again. Another deployment, another sealed hellhole assigned to clean out with a rifle and a prayer. Her armor fresh from Locke & Key Mechanics was already caked in grit and grime from the last assignment. Blending with the already camouflage pattern of her plating. New gear, already scuffed. Just the way CT-312 liked it. Some new toys too. Quiet additions to be used in the assignments. Finally putting some of them to the test.

"I offer my recently acquired mercenary force. The DeathDrop has proven itself in warzones across the galaxy. I've joined them—seen firsthand their discipline and lethality."

A tiny sneeze escaped her helmet. CT-312 blinked slowly. ‘Someone talking about us?’ ...No. Probably just the dust and mud from her armor. Reminding herself to hose down her gear after the mission. Her eyes shifted lazily behind the visor towards the sound of a brief commotion. Helmet tilted slightly as a half-dressed man burst out of the dropship latrine. Shaving cream still clinging to his jaw. Drystan Creed . Their new recruit. New transfer.

"Wait—how long 'til we embark!?"

The Scout stared, unimpressed. Shaking her helmet slightly side to side, the man was half dressed. CT-312 recalled Drystan from the Kaggath tournament. One of the competitors. He wasn’t weak. How he landed in the DeathDrop wasn’t her concern. If he could fight and survive. Then he belonged. Her gaze shifted to another familiar figure in the bay. TK-710. Jacen Breska . An old squadmate and battle buddy. Trusted in the field. It had been a while since they’d been in the same drop squad.

Overhead intercoms in the gunship’s bay speakers cut through the silence. The bay lights shifted to red.

“WE ARE LIVE IN FIVE. DROPPING IN ZONE. STAND BY.”

CT-312 unlatched her harness and stood up. Stretching slightly as she ran through her equipment check. Routine. Fingers patting across her chest rig, belt, weapons, ammo clips, and vibroblade knife. Everything accounted for. The Scout stepped toward her pod. Exhaling once, bringing her support hand up to the mouth of her helmet and slamming a gloved fist against the side of the metal casing of the drop pod. THUD. CT-312’s helmet turned slightly back to Drystan. Her words deadpan crackling through the vocoder, “This is the fun part." As she stepped into her pod. "It's better than walking." Keying the panel beside her, the coffin sealed shut.

[ Altitude Lock ]
[ Target Acquired ]

Three pods ejected in sequence. Flung out from the underbelly of the ship like bolt blasters from a barrel. The drop pods screamed through the atmosphere. Fire trailing across the rusted skies of Brosi.

BOOM. BOOM. BOOM.

Each pod hit hard into the ground. The metal capsules slammed into an abandoned stretch of the factory grounds. Black dust and dirt exploded outward in a wide halo of each drop pod. Cracked pavement and soil lifted into the air like smoke, covering the area.

Inside her pod, CT-312 yanked the overhead latch. Hiss. The front panel blasted forward with a hydraulic release. Embedding the heavy metal door into the ruined ground ahead. She stepped out, boots crunching on the fractured tile. Rifle up, sweeping the surrounding area. Her HUD pinged only two signatures, TK-710 and Drystan. Activating their encrypted private comms, voice flat. “Clear.” CT-312 turned her head towards the factory. The grounds were massive and dead.

Weathered scaffolding twisted overhead. Rusted conveyor belts hung limp. Industrial towers leaned at odd angles, another half collapsed. Across the yard lay acid burned containers scattered. Something slick moved behind one of them, just barely out of sight.

“Eyes up” CT-312 muttered, eyes scanning the factory’s ground. “I doubt we’re alone.” It was too quiet for comfort.

Moving up to the massive sealed doors of the main factory building. CT-312 stood beside the access control panel. Her left hand dipped into a pouch, pulling out the tiny LK Spider Slicer Droid. The 15 cm small droid blinked to life. Metal legs twitching. “Go.” The slicer droid crawled down her hand into the narrow gaps of the panel. Already going to work on splicing into the door’s system.

CT-312 turned, rifle raised with her back to the panel. Keeping an eye on their backs, just in case. A few moments later the B.A.R.C.A. system integrated in her armor chirped in her helmet. [ ACCESS GRANTED. DOORS OPENING. ] appeared on the HUD. The massive factory doors groaned. Shrieking as the metal slid apart with a grind. Inside the air was colder. It felt wrong. As the doors finally settled, the slicer droid came back out of the little openings. Leaping from the panel onto CT-312’s body, crawling back into its pouch.

Stepping forward inside, they crossed into the dark.

 

[Ufsa'ynth'aris]

"Attending the Assembly is much like attending an opera. One applauds the performances, attends for the dramatics, and leaves before the predictable final act... to avoid traffic."​

―Ufsa'ynth'aris, ten minutes earlier...​

​

​

Outer Rim
Sith Holy Worlds
Tags Darth Virelia | Elane II of Kuat | Ivalyn Yvarro | Lirka Ka | Gerwald Lechner | Kaila Irons | Taeli Raaf | Quinn Varanin | Velda Nar-Donna | Darth Caedes | Elmindra Xitaar | Eira Dyn | War Marshal Helix | Mercy
OBJECTIVE I — ASSEMBLY OF ZIOST

Ufsa'ynth'aris did not bristle at the questions. In fact, if anything, he seemed to welcome them, nodding along appreciatively.

He glanced in Elmindra's direction and something wordless passed between them, then stepped forward once more. This time he turned as he spoke, opening himself to the chamber's entirety, meeting with many keen eyes—unflinchingly, seemingly earnest—though his primary regard was on Elane. He took his time before replying, letting the silence of anticipation pressurize the room just long enough to pull every gaze into his gravity.

"Honored representative of the SIBC," he began, "I thank you."​

He smiled at Elane II of Kuat , as if he too were in on the secret.

"And not just for your candor—though I do admire that. But for your discernment. Admittedly, these are precisely the kinds of questions I myself posed when the King first briefed me on this solution. After all, the release of undead legions upon a dying world does have a certain grotesque and... mythic quality to it, doesn't it? Alas," he sighed, "sometimes 'grotesque' is merely the shape of practicality in wartime."​

His voice remained a smooth purr, effortlessly paced in a slow drawl.

"To your point: the Candorian Blight. We have had our best minds, our best scientists, biologists, virologists, adepts of the Force, you name it, observing this pathogen from the onset. Among them, one of our most prolific minds, Madrona A’Mia —Professor and Administrator of Kor'ethyr's prestigious laboratories on Korriban. There, she specializes in virology, alchemy, medicine, and the study of plague. She's involved Kor'ethyr's highest and brightest students on the matter and has enjoyed the privilege of Korriban's full financial backing in this matter. Together, we've coordinated efforts with adjacent planetary institutions, compared studies, shared information, all in an effort to understand this... Candorian Blight. I know that Brosi is important to many of us, and that includes the Lord Seer, A'Mia."​

He took a measured pause, meeting Elane's gaze head on.

"I will be blunt. There is no neat and packaged proof that this will work. I have not come here today professing to have discovered the cure. This blight is unlike anything we've encountered before, even considering it's similarities to other horrific pathogens of the past."​

He turned towards the Assembly, voice carrying.

"What we believe is that its lifespan cannot be infinite. Throughout all of its many adaptations, the blight seems always to require fuel. There is a steady process of consumption. In this case, biomass. Living systems, tissue, flora and fauna, the people and the forests—but not the machines nor the homes they lived in. Not the rocks and the dirt, nor the minerals beneath the crust. It can't eat everything, and the results of tests against similar albeit lesser pathogens in sealed and starved environments indicate that this thing may very well just die without food. At the very least, the virus is likely to become far weaker and far slower. We've learned and we're learning. The blight has vulnerabilities to certain aspects of the Force, and has not exhibited any signs of being able to disrupt either sorcery or enchantment, like that which binds the Jen'ari into undeath and protects them from typical decay, as I understand it. Sample studies of Brosi's air quality reveal elevated levels of diverse and toxic aerosolized agents all over the globe, released during the decay process of the world's many diverse lifeforms. What we've found is that areas with lower concentrations of active decay, lower concentrations of active contaminants being released into the air, tend to also yield viral samples exhibiting slower mutation speeds and less creative adaptive tendencies."​

He leveled his gaze and adopted a sober expression.

"But that is the entire point, isn't it? Brosi is already condemned. What we are suggesting is not a cure. It is a weaponization of an unfortunately inevitable outcome. Reminds me of something the King said in our conversations of Brosi."​

He chuckled, as if recalling a fond memory.

"He told me, we do what Sith have always done. We find the galaxy's terrors and we make them serve us. This blight cannot be allowed to leave Brosi under any circumstance, nor can the Imperial Confederation be allowed to establish a foothold there. The sooner that world's biomass has been eaten by the blight, the sooner we can work to dismantle it once and for all."​

He fished for a code cylinder as he spoke, setting it atop the surface before him.

"The Jen'ari will accelerate this collapse and defend the world from our enemies in the meantime. And it is important to note that not all undead are equal. When I say Jen'ari, I am referring to a much more expansive and complex hierarchy of sithspawn and spirits beyond your typical walking dead, many of them incorporeal and equipped with powers of both observation and in the Force which may be critical in the eventual defeat of this terror."​

His gaze slid back to Elane.

"You asked: what if we fail. Well, then we learn. If the Jen'ari underperform, which I do not believe they will, we are no worse off than we were before. We lose corpses, not credits. And this way we do not hemorrhage the lives of our frontline workers. We ensure the denial of enemy occupation, and that alone is worth deployment. And I fully agree, documentation is critical." ​

He tapped the code cylinder twice against the surface before him.

"Lord Madrona's reports have been attached to this proposal, as well as existing labor studies from Jen'ari deployments across a vast array of noncombat and industrial zones on Korriban."​

With a few console commands, Syntharis uploaded a packet of information and flagged it accessible to anyone present.

"At the end of the day Brosi's sterilization is not a moral proposal. It's wartime calculus. Deny the Confederation a foothold, and when the killing is complete... whether by plague, by undeath, or by the might of our military machine... the ores will remain. The facilities will remain. And we will remain positioned to use them."​