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Large spanning mesas used centuries ago for cities. They had risen up, then crumbled in the wake of time and neglect. Now… they were rising once more. With the relocation of the Silver Jedi and the refugees fleeing the Sith Empire?
Slavery was booming.
Valleys flooding with wealth, mesas restored, all on the backs of flesh.
It was always expected that the day would come when the Sith Empire made their presence known though. Preparations had been made and with the Rebel Alliance nipping at the heels of the Empire now was the perfect opportunity to set the plans in motion.
The Crown of Zygerria invited the Dark Lord of the Sith and their delegates to the Zygerrian Royal Palace. Situated on the largest mesa of the world the Queen of Zygerria offered a proposal to Emperor Zambrano.
But there are rumblings that threaten the easy ascension of the world into the framework of the Empire.
League of Voss cells have slowly crept through the society. One of the cities of Zygerria, renowned for its many fighter pits has rebelled against the Crown. They must be put down, ensuring that its rebellion won’t spread across the surface of the planet and jeopardize the potential alliance between Zygerria and the Empire.
To show their seriousness the Merchant Houses of Zygerria have opened its markets to the Empire. Large infrastructure projects (both in space and on the surface) are drawing in investments from the Sith.
Zygerria Four was reconquered for the Slaver Queen a decade ago. Now an expansive slaving market, it is now hosting a large showcase for visiting Empire dignitaries.
Showing the benefits of open slave trade on Zygerria.
OBJECTIVES
Crush the insurrection of former slave-fighters in one of Zygerria’s mesa cities.
Bring Empire industry to Zygerria and invest! (Company tier ups!)
Attend the slave market on Zygerria Four and see for yourself what Zygerrian hospitality has to offer.
It hadn't been very long at all since Vestille's promotion. A Captain no longer, he now found himself a Major among the ranks of the Legion. His first new assignment? Handle a situation the old fashioned way.
The parameters hadn't been more clear. Among the towering mesas stood a city that had once been a part of the Zygerrian slave empire, a supposed crowning achievement and in a form of golden era in that particular industry despite its controversial methods and ethics. Regardless, as diplomacy opened up with the Sith Empire in the midst of a slave revolt turned full blown insurrection, it was clear that in order to assist their potential new allies with several aspects to bring to the table, the insurrectionists had to be wiped off the map entirely to ensure that the Zygerrian's grip on their monopoly wasn't overthrown or disrupted any further. It was only fitting that, as part of the negotiations, the Sith Empire would lend a helping hand in bringing these collared dogs who had turned rabid back down to heel as a gesture of good faith; an agreed free reign rules of engagement provided that the city and it's potential razed to the ground. It was as such that a particular hand was needed, someone who had seen this situation countless times before and a solid track record in bringing rebels and lawless scum to order.
On that morning, Vestille and the 31st Army Group, transported by a supporting fleet, jumped into the system and made orbit with the planet Zygerria IV. The command structure, in typical fashion of the former Captain of the 105th, had been briefed in full detail of the battle plan and their specific duties during the operation in a short but ultimately no nonsense manner by their Commanding Officer which in turn was passed down to the men. As they boarded their transports and descended from their hangar down to the planets surface, the swarm of shuttles soon split off to their waypoints that would lead to their individual landing zones. The Major, of course, went feet-first with his men; the new position meant very little to him in regards to the expectation to sit above orbit and play with his troops' orders like a puppet master pulling on strings. No, he wished to be there at front-line to make a difference to both his men's and his enemies' morale alike yet there was something deep down that played on reluctant strings of doubt, reminding him of a time long ago where he had been provided more men than he had ever been given before, if only to watch them all fall on the battlefield with him the only survivor. Dagobah had been hell yet the Sovereignty had helped sooth his mind and give him the mental tools required to handle such a responsibility of manpower but... Was he truly ready to take up the mantle once again?
The ride was no doubt rough as the city no doubt had anti-air defenses that were now trained on the descending transports, filling the sky with streaks of turbolasers and the occasional blast of a transport being engulfed in flame. Communications were frantic between pilots, declaring their maneuvers and the losses that were being sustained before boots had even touched the ground yet they pressed on, ducking and weaving their craft through the sky with every hope that they would make a safe landing and offload their troops. In regards to the Major himself, his dropship rattled and shifted with the occasional maneuvers to avoid incoming fire, the troopers strapped up within being none other than the Gravewalkers, his men all the way from the Sovereignty who had survived the mud and blood of fighting for their new cause, becoming something of a personal elite guard for the former Captain. Of course, he was perhaps not as special as some of the more notable figures within the Sith yet it seemed only fitting that they'd follow their Commander to the bitter end. In fact, Vestille didn't want it any other way. The Gravewalkers had become the closest thing that he could relate the concept of brotherhood to, perhaps even family. To be separated from them would have simply created more problems in his already twisted psyche.
Alas, after brief turmoil in the air, the transports landed and allowed their platoons to disembark. Stage one of the Operation was simple, gain access to the city itself. The insurrectionists knew that they were coming and whilst this perhaps could have been dealt with in covert actions, a direct one seemed both more efficient, less time consuming and left a more public message to those still in chains who might have been watching the uprising and seeing their own opportunity to break their chains. With four entrances to the city itself, the 31st Army Group started to spread themselves out along the various mesas that surrounded the city, forming a well-rounded encirclement of the outer perimeter. The insurrection, by this move, would be cut off from potential reinforcements or external cells that might be called in for reinforcements once the fighting broke out deep within the belly of the beast. Infantry dug themselves in, marksmen prepared their long-ranged weaponry and the supporting companies set up their heavy weapons. A bombardment was to begin, one that would deliver a clear message to those that sought to defend their freedoms that their opponents had arrived and were ready for a fight. As Vestille watched, sat atop a mesa watching his men surround the city and prepare their positions like ants and though his tacpad, it only took him a single word to begin.
"Fire."
With the order, mortars began opening up on the outer perimeter, hoping to cause whatever damage to both defensive structures and any insurrectionists that attempted to bolster their first line of defense. The siege had begun.
Shortly after his quick foray to Etti IV, the Emperor of the Sith Empire found himself looking over the desolate landscape of the Zygerrian homeworld from the viewport of his private quarters on the Behemoth. Even from this angle, he could see the bustle of activity around the Zygerrian capital, hundreds of freighters and pleasure yachts moving to and from the royal palace, the slave markets, and the gladiatorial arena. In some ways, it reminded him of home, though Zygerria lacked the distinct and beautiful jungles that covered nearly every square meter of Panatha's landmasses.
Undoubtedly, it was just as hot and humid as Panatha.
After the Empire's resounding victory over the Silver Jedi, the League of Voss, and the Galactic Alliance there had been a movement in the fringe systems, a revolution as the bastions of light and democracy that had so stifled the less ethical elements of the galaxy had been toppled over. Criminal syndicates vied for former power and prestige, while slave empires like the Zygerrian's rose up from the ashes of persecution to continue their ancient practices and traditions without the moral scrutiny of the Jedi or Republicans.
And while slavery was not fully permitted within the Sith Empire, it was still a valuable source of income and influence among the rich and dark side elite. Preliminary talks had concluded several weeks before, crudely detailing a plan to absorb Zygerria as its own semi-independent fiefdom under the Sith Empire. To fully codify and ratify such action, the Sith Emperor planned to meet with the Queen of Zygerria in person at her palace and come to an agreement that was beneficial to both states.
His shuttle was prepared to leave in five minutes, and after a quick cursory evaluation of his ceremonial garb and lightsaber, he departed for the hangar. Moments later the Crestfallen II emerged from the Behemoth's hangar bay and swung down through Zygerria's atmosphere to join the cacophony of other vessels as they navigated the aerial trade lanes.
Objective: Obey your master as he attends to business Allies: [member="Darth Carnifex"] // [member="Verse Taggart"] Enemies: TBD
"You have been studying your history, my apprentice?" Darth Amortem asked Tehkyram. The two were in the standard Omicron-class shuttle sitting opposite each other as it made its way down through the Zygerrian atmosphere. It had been a quite long journey out from Amortem's estate on Serenno to Zygerria, exacerbated by the noble figure's physical ailments. Tehkyram was a strong manservant, but he was not patient. Having to humor the dawdling old man was tiresome, and both parties knew it. The difference was, of course, that the master relished in it.
"Somewhat, my master," he answered deferentially. "Is there an issue you wish to discuss?"
"Yes, yes. Tell me, of all the great societies that practiced slavery, what is their shared fate?" A morbid question, one that both parties undoubtedly knew the answer to.
"And why do they collapse? Does slavery play a role in it?"
"Somewhat, master. Populist distaste for slavery fuels militant abolitionist sentiment which often times can fuel democratic inclinations and encourage rebellion." A textbook academic answer, flawless but incredibly basic in analysis, with little critical thought.
Darth Amortem smiled and chuckled. "Very good, my apprentice! And to think, when I had purchased you, you could not even read or write. Now here you are, engaging in collegiate discussions on history. How wonderful. The Emperor will be very impressed when he sees what I have accomplished in you."
Tehkyram's eyes went wide. He dare not ask for clarification, but the idea of someone as lowly as him being in the company of the Sith Emperor, the Dark Lord himself, was incredible. It was an honor to merely gaze upon the Emperor, especially for a lowly apprentice such as him. And yet, he would be within his physical presence, perhaps at his side! It was a far greater honor than Tehkyram felt he deserved.
"Yes, yes, my apprentice, we will be meeting the Emperor. And I will be introducing you to him, make no mistake. You are my handiwork, and I must champion it." A wry smile from the master betrayed his reading of Tehkyram's mind. Then again, Tehkyram was never one to broadcast his thoughts silently. "But no, the reason I am here is not for your benefit. You may be apprentice, but for today you are my manservant. But meditate, if you will, on your answer to that question. Meditate on it as I parley with our Emperor as well as our host."
The shuttle continued its descent into the air traffic lanes of Zygerria. As it did, Tehkyram closed his eyes and tried to meditate on the discussion. But already, there were two major distractions. The first was the familiar scent of battle. Somewhere on the planet, there was a battle being fought, a nasty and vicious battle where blood was being spilled in great and terrible quantities. It was delicious and would be overwhelming if not for the second distraction: a darkness of overwhelming force. The darkness flowing out from within the source was even greater than his master's, it was-
A quick and sudden electric shock forced Tehkyram's eyes open in a spasm. His master's finger crackled with dark electricty, and his face was in an impish grin. "Focus, my Apprentice," he kindly berated Tehkyram. "You will be able to ogle the Emperor when you meet him. Until then, ruminate on what I have discussed."
"Yes master. I apologize for going astray and thank you for correcting my course."
Tehkyram struggled to earnestly assess the question posed to him and his answer as the shuttle continued its descent.
Kor Vexen Slave Markets, Zygerria Accompanied by Zyana Saryn
The towering armored Sith General strode through the slave markets of Zygerria with his close aide, Zyana Saryn trailing behind him in a casual attire. The markets were bustling with activity, as was expected of a world whose primary means of income was through the trade and sale of slaves. A profitable market indeed, even if a majority of the galaxy condoned its practice, yet it was slaves that Vexen had come down to Zygerria for during his brief time away from commanding the Legion. The large Anzati would be moving at a rather casual pace, though the shorter lieutenant would have to keep up by moving to a quicker step. The buzz of chatter in the market seemed to quiet down as the armored Sith walked through, the crowds moving off to the side, Vexen walking with an aura that commanded both fear and respect, creating an atmosphere that was almost palpable.
The walk through the market between Vexen and his aide was relatively silent, only after they had passed through a majority of the stalls and on to a more secluded area did Vexen's Lieutenant speak up, " Sir if I may, what brings us here to a slave world? " Vexen would pause in his tracks as he looked off to the left as if looking at his Lieutenant from his peripheral vision before turning towards a tunnel that had several barred cages built into its walls. As they passed through Vexen's vocoded voice would be heard, " Do you know what a caged beast and a soldier on the field have in common Lieutenant? " Vexen would continue to walk at his usual pace, an unspoken notion that the Lieutenant had learned from Vexen to be a rhetorical question. Not too long after he would continue speaking, " An insatiable desire to live, and doing whatever it takes to continue living. A common instinct for anyone, to preserve themselves..."
Vexen would pause in front of one of the cages, a lone figure shackled in the dimly lit cell, his disheveled hair obscuring his face. Vexen would stare at the man for an extended period of time as the shackled man looked up, his piercing dark eyes visible through the hair that dangled messily in front of them. The two would stare at one another, Vexen's expressionless gaze looking upon that of a man who was no older than his early forties that despite his situation still held a burning fire in his eyes. A spark that refused to fade away into non-existence despite the scars that adorned the man's body to show years of physical strain and torment. Vexen would gesture for one of the Zygerrian guards, seeming intent on taking in this slave.
The Virulence swept low over Zygerria, engines shrieking through a dust storm; there was naught but oblivion here. The sand and the wind had made these cities and unmade them time and time again, an endless cycle of birth and rebirth. Vilka glared out in the storm. Perhaps civilisation was due a miscarriage.
She’d always hated cities, breeding grounds of the wretched- slavery even more so. Slave and slaver, she bore them disgust alike. They struck too close to home, she supposed. The thought sent white-hot spikes through her heart, fury building behind the flames of her eyes. Everything was orange here, it seemed, monochromatic nightmare; best add some red. Vilka grinned at the thought, the shuttle driving lower on the city by the second.
Given the streaking mortar fire and tempest of turbolasers that already engulfed the horizon, it was no leap to assume Sith troops had landed ahead. Even now, whisking over the desert, she felt the air tremble. An entire planet in fear. These days, such things were not a rare sight in the Sith Empire’s blazing trail.
Wait- that wasn’t fear. Anti-air. Distant thumps left shimmering black clouds in the sky, followed by a howling storm of flak and blaster fire. The shuttle rocked and groaned, hull spotted with shrapnel as it banked to a stop over the perimeter, engines spitting fire. A white flurry of landing jets set the Virulence down amidst the dust, its thrusters all but blown out in the process.
Its sole occupant strode out through the dust to gaze out upon the atrocities ahead with eager eyes.
Location: Mesa City Objective: Feed Intel to Sith Forces Allies: [member="Vestille Thumahra"], [member="Vilka Pharro"]
Sitting in traffic with his hands clasped over the steering wheel of a hired speeder, Sebastian adjusted the dial on the radio in the hopes of finding an Imperial channel. Only Zygerrian gibberish, disrupted by static played on every station, causing him to give up after several frustrating more minutes. The blockade had held up traffic for at least an hour, sectioning speeder lanes to other routes away from the fighting which had broken out in the city.
Explosions sounded in the distance, muted by the notes of a jazz melody played over local speakers to welcome Imperial forces. The shells rattles warehouses, although they sounded very far away. Imperial operatives were awaiting Sebastian and he could not afford to waste any more time. He turned the speeder off the lane and flew towards the walkway. Looking over his shoulder to check and see if any Zygerrian officials were watching him, he parked in a civilian lot and opened the door.
Sebastian looked ahead and could see the sign which had been attached to his operation file. "Close enough." He said to himself as the warm air hit his face. Opening the back door of the speeder, he grabbed his briefcase and locked the door, then strode down the street towards the painted sign.
The walk to the block of apartments took him around ten minutes, which would have much more had he stayed in the traffic. Striding past Zygerrian locals, he noticed the population grow thin as he reached the building. Sebastian turned into an alleyway and slid a passkey into a console, which opened a door. He slid inside and closed the door behind him, which locked automatically. Inside, he was greeted with a metallic staircase which wound down into a cellar. He gripped the handles and made his way into the labyrinth below.
"Agent Thel, it's good to see you." A Zygerrian woman wearing a neat uniform greeted him in perfect basic. Recoiling at her use of the word "agent", the mathematician chuckled coyly and lost the ability to speak for a few minutes. He knew he was technically a member of Imperial Intelligence, but a full blown agent? No, he was just a university student.
"I'm not an agent, miss, I'm just a mathematician." Sebastian finally spoke as he splayed a hand against the air in a gesture of refusal. The feline woman returned the small bout of laughter and lead him through the cellar. Narrow corridors covered in bulletin boards, containing photographs and graphs lined the walls. Agents and operatives passed them by as Sebastian followed the woman to his station.
"Very well, here is where you'll be working." She said as she unlocked an isolated door as the end of the corridor. Inside, a large terminal mounted with computer screens and several keyboards was built into the wall. There were no windows, only the flickering light from a slowly dying lamp. A console measuring frequencies stood at one side of the desk, where a chair for Sebastian was inserted.
"We need to source the locations of any cells in the insurrection and shut down their network." The Zygerrian operative informed Sebastian. "Refresher's in there, you'll be answering to Major Thumahra via comms." She gestured towards a door in the wall to the right, then turned back to face Sebastian.
"Thank you, that will be all." The slicer said, looking towards the exit. She nodded her head and left him alone. He made sure the door was locked and removed his jacket, which he placed over the back of his chair. He plugged in his headset and secured it over his head, adjusting a dial on the terminal to make sure it worked. Sitting down, he pulled in the chair and turned on several buttons, bringing the computer system to life. Green code rolled down the screens and the waves on the spectrum analyzer began to flow up and down.
Zygerria was a known as a world of contrasts. Zygerria was, to Jantar, nothing of the sort. Slavery was about as interesting to her as pod-racing, slave-fighting and big business. If it didn’t involve fashion of dark-sided magic – or preferably some combination of the two – she was not in the least interested.
But she was here. Here because, despite being an entirely selfish and spoiled individual, she was dutiful. OK, in part it was because she envisaged duty equating to learning – and that was something she always had time for – but belonging was becoming more and more important to her.
She had no family. Not a few relatives – but none. Not even a lineage. Although, recently on Dathomir, it was revealed she had Vahla blood in her veins, but no means of identifying where she came from.
But she put that aside for now.
So, she chose the mission she least wanted. Why? What didn’t kill you made you stronger, so she decided to press ahead with that philosophy. And given her recent poor showings in combat, she chose to press on with that assignment.
So she sat in a drop-ship, part of a small force allocated to the site of one of the centres of insurrection. Kill or be killed. When you put it like that, Jantar’s interest was definitely piqued.
So much work to do... So many different moving pieces that needed to be in place if Mythos was going to hunt down the Galactic Alliance into extinction. The Ancient Eye had been a good first step in the various experimental projects and world building infrastructure designs but the axe prevented any of that from being permanent. The only permanent thing that there ever would be was that Mythos would return to where he was born from, The Sith Empire. The Magnus hovered ominously over the orbit of Zygerria amid the sea of freighters and star destroyers almost camouflaged in their midst, something rare for such a unique ship. In the command port Mythos oversaw the world and prepared for the venture that both he and This Ship needed to continue the war. Although in size and style it might not differ from many Sith Ships it did in the way it fed itself, it's fuel was the souls of the living. The technology of entechment came to Mythos in one of his many trips to the edges of the Galaxy, in the Sii-Ruuvi empire, a race that fascinates him almost as much as the Anubians do. With it he created this behemoth with a single purpose and mission: To Destroy Capital ships with as much power as possible. The Magnus forward firepower was without equal in the Ancient Eye and to his knowledge, anywhere else.
Mythos gathered his resources and freighters, credits and spices, wines and gems that he escaped with from the collapse of the Ancient Eye here in a single fleet to establish a power base with the banner of the Sith Empire. The fuel for the Magnus was souls and here slavery would see that quota fulfilled tenfold. His fleet needed to prepare, The Cathedral ships filled with workers and building materials were at the ready. Mythos had the plans for the Oversight, The Sister of the Foresight, here in Zygerria... but he would need some help.
The Help of the Sith Empire.
With as much material as he was able to procure from his own ventures he had reached a thin line of logistics. The Sith Empire provided all the durasteel he needed to make the rest of the plans possible. In the Command port of the Magnus a Holographic, Three Dimensional image of the blueprints of the Oversight was shown. It was a version of the foresight, much more heavily armed, floating several thousand feet in the surface instead of orbit and instead of it being designed as a shipyard using components of space traffic it would create the ships using the labor force it was presiding over.
Half Shipyard Factory, Half Slave camp, Full profit.
The inside of the Magnus was entirely practical but the Anubians made even that look the flare of royalty and command. Gold and Sapphire lines the edges of the table and the very carvings upon the hologram table were welded manually using rare metals such as silver and chromium. In each corner of the ship the massive, bipedal, canine-like humanoids worked almost in a hive mind like state to see the preparations of the logistics be set. From a deep glowing red in the entire cabin green and blue light slowly began to take it over.
"Prepare the freighters and contact ground control. Set the deliners to paint the foundations and limits. Double check the gravity wells at topside."
The blue shine of the hologram beat against the yellow of Mythos' eyes. His cape now heated his back as the stress and focus of the herculean operation before him took it's toll. Calculations of weight and distance clogged his mind. If only [member="Ultimatum"] could make it, it was his infallible mind that made the first flawless, it was now up to Mythos to do the same. Could he? Match the glory of Mustafar? One flaw and his first act in the Sith Empire is glorious flop. Everything now began to move.
VADM Zahori Denko Netherblade Fleet Sith-Imperial Armada Obj: Koensayr Expansion
Recent discoveries by the Imperial Armada in preliminary exploration into Zygerria have been brought to the attention of Admiral Zahori Denko. These discoveries made by agents of the Armada have revealed several untapped veins of metals beneath the mesas of Zygerria just begging to be mined and utilized by Koensayr Manufacturing and, by extension, the Sith Empire. The admiral erself was being brought down to the planet aboard a shuttle in order to oversee the plans to create a mining colony.
"Admiral, we are nearing the colony."
"Bring us down slowly."
"Admiral, the representative from the Zygerrians is here to see you as requested."
"Good. Ensure that he is treated like a guest of the Empire. And he does not leave my tent."
"Yes ma'am."
Two empires would be coming together to form something even greater.
2
Objective: Construct the Oversight. (Foundations laid out and gravity wells popped up)
After an hour most freighters were topside and most gear, foundation material and metals were top side too. In the images and screen in the Magnus there was an area that showed the arrival of equipment as well as their condition and quality upon arrival. So far everything proceeded exactly as Mythos had forseen. Scores of indentures slaves from Nibelungen were brought down and several hundred square miles were flooded by Mythos' personal rouge entourage of Anubians, Nubians and Valkyr. The foundation of the oversight would be created with massuve explosives, then after the crater was made, the teams of supervisors would paint it so the droids could match up the dimensions and begin puttting down the gravity wells that allowed the massive moving parts to float and be set in a timely manner. This would not be an undertaking that would end quickly, The Oversight, if built properly would be the single biggest shipyard not in orbit and not in a cloud world that he had ever seen. As big as a space station, with it's own gravitational pull but within the atmosphere of the planet, that was what the oversight would be, a testament to infrastructure and Sith Engineering unmatched in this side of the galaxy.
"From here I will make my own Druckenwell. [member="Ayden Cater"] will weep as I outdo the work the Gods made for him with mortal hands. "
His statement was accompanied by the roar of seven Cathedral ships flying overhead of the Magnus and headed straight for topside. These were the weapons, much like the foresight the oversight was to be armed to the teeth but unlike the foresight it's slaver sister would have almost three times the amount of firepower that it's mustafarian counterpart had. After a few hours after the third sunset the support beams were in place and all gravity wells were not only placed but at full power, fed by several Rhydonium reserves that due to the location were accessible. A natural source of fuel sped things up but it was the restless work ethic of Mythos and the Anubian consort he brought that kept everything moving at the pace of a pod-race. Mythos needed very little sleep and by extension so did his armies.
With the wells bringing everything in, droids placing the biggest peices of the levitation arcs and the workers moving the stone and gravel at the cost of their own well being the oversight now had all of it's foundations laid out and just in time for the weapons to arrive. The Oversight would have a very special area built outside of it's infrastructure... A Military Base.
Off about sixteen clicks north of the Gravity wells another foundation was made especially for members of Mythos' personal elite militia now fully under the banner and laws of the Sith Empire. This was to be Fort Sage, in honor of Sage Bane and it would serve as a traning facility. Mythos called it "Zygerria's future regiment of maneuver and military excellence". In was in essence the basic training of his special forces, here they would come to graduate or die.
Most Zygerrian cities were similar in design, and this one was no exception. Those who fancied themselves ex-slaves had managed to overrun the city from within, now manning the turret emplacements that lined the looming fortress walls of the city. Sith forces had already engaged the insurrectionists on the ground, those that managed to touch down eagerly joining the battle at their side.
Two AT-PAT walkers could be seen in the short distance, having been deployed near the edge of the mesa in order to ensure that they made it to the ground safely. The small fighter escort that had accompanied the walker transport hadn't been as fortunate, shot down by turbolaser cannons and even laser turret equipped Brezak. The slaves had managed to mount the beasts, using their size and agility to their advantage.
Still slowly making their way towards the front-lines, one of the walkers began to open up, releasing sixteen armed speeder bikes that glided along the ground with great speed. They would arrive at the battle first, hoping to assist the 31st group in any way they could.
Within one of the walker cockpits stood Ballen-Ist, fully donned in his personal combat armor. The Pureblood had done little so far, simply accompanying the officer in command of the walker assault. The Sith held a certain degree of respect for the Sith-Imperial military personnel, acknowledging the tactical prowess some of them displayed in live combat.
Turbolaser fire shook the interior of the AT-PAT violently. Luckily, the turret emplacements were not powerful enough to obliterate the walkers in one shot. Given time, that was a different story. Until they were taken out, air-superiority would likely be difficult to attain.
The Zygerrian Slave Empire was one of the few great regimes to stand the test of time, a symbol of oppression and a hub of slavery for thousands of years. Although there were stark differences between his home and Zygerria it reminded him of home with the bustling slave markets, popular gladiatorial arenas, the busy traffic of freighters and luxurious yachts filling the atmosphere and right in the middle of it all sat the royal palace. The people of Zygerria valued strength and their beliefs made them natural allies to the Sith.
The Shadow Hand found himself at Zygerria after the events of Etti IV, although he wasn't on the ground he was kept in the loop from afar and instead remained focused on the massive war machine under his purview. After the treaty with the First Order the former territory of the Galactic Alliance was carved up like a pie. He coordinated efforts with Supreme Admiral Croscal and retasked many of the war fleets that once assaulted the alliance to patrolling the core worlds for the second phase of their operation, capitulation. There were resources in the core that belonged to them and efforts in seizing those assets were directly in the purview of the military.
The core was rich and the Sith Empire's economy continued to boom from the new flow of assets from each core world's tributes.
As for Zygerria talks with the crown had proven quite successful and their delicate state was discussed in depth, while slavery wasn't entirely legal it was a valued component in many areas especially in the dark side elite, and that of chattel slavery that worked in the industrial heart of the Empire. The Zygerrian Slave Empire would join as a semi-independent state and a visit to the palace would ratify the accords.
For the Queen of Zygerria she would have both Emperor and Shadow Hand present. Prazutis had already linked up with the Emperor prior to their arrival, it was more of a statement to arrive as one unified force. So he sat aboard the Crestfallen II as it cut through the atmosphere surrounded by its royal escort, his attention focused on the confirmed assets within the system.
Jantar’s training had been extensive. And despite her infatuation with dark-sided magic – and her prima donna behaviour, she had endured a thorough grounding in combat before she’d been taught to use the Force.
In part, her master had wanted her to be able to defend herself without resorting to the Force – there were times when it was not available. And her master also believed that she needed to be multi-dimensional.
The surprising thing was that, despite her schooling, she displayed little to none of her repertoire when faced with a conflict.
Which was precisely why she’d chosen this mission. She’d vowed to complete it without using the Force.
Her education included cerebral matters – such as the folly of stereotyping people. But, to complement that, she understood that some people had generic drivers and needs, and slave fighters were no exception. Despite their ideals and intentions, they would not be able to resist the prospect of a gladiatorial contest.
Jantar made her way to the site the intelligence had suggested a cell of fighters was located. It was a small compound – bordered by a tall wall that was topped by subtly placed security sensors. But these were visible if you looked hard enough for them.
She marched up to the front gates and knocked loudly.
A small hatch opened and a face peered out – the features of the man clearly taken aback as to why, what appeared to be a young girl was demanding attention.
“I am here to represent the Sith. And I challenge your leader to a fight. If I win, you become loyal to me.”
“And when you lose, what’s in it for us?”
Jantar drew the man’s attention to the large boxes on a grav-sled she’d brought along with her. “Enough weapons to not so much start but end a small war.”
The hatch slammed shut and Jantar waited. Patience was not her strong suit.
Finally, she heard the sound of locks opening and one half of the gate opened, allowing her entry.
The man’s face told the story that he saw the young girl in front of him as a mere irritation for his leader, and he’d enjoy seeing her beaten to death.
“Need to check the merchandise,” he said, and Jantar opened the boxes to reveal blaster rifles, pistols, grenades, explosives and a few larger munitions.
“OK, follow me,” he said.
Jantar looked at one of the other guards. “Look after these until I return.”
The man began to smile and realised she was being deadly serious. The look of incredulition was priceless.
Objective 3: Attend the slave market, obtain "willing" test subjects
Slavery. For many Outer Rim worlds and cultures, it had been a vital component to their economies and it had been suppressed for decades as the Jedi and other forces of light controlled vast swaths of territory. The Sith Empire, as it grew, was also nominally against outright slavery. An image thing, nothing more though. There were ways around that, and with their invitation to Zygerria, she suspected those laws would change. That was not why she was here, however.
Taeli had come to famed slave markets of the Zygerrians to procure... subjects for her continuing experiments. While she had plenty of subjects collected from the campaign against Ession, she wanted to obtain a wider sample pool to work with. She would be offering slaves a choice; they could come with her, the Zygerrian slave masters would be paid, and they would be subjects in a scientific... study, or they could stay in bondage with their feline captors and the next person who might want to obtain them might not have such a... noble intention.
Objective III: Exploit the weak and elevate the strong. Post Number I Slavery. Once upon a time, the young Corellian had found the very concept appalling. Even as a Sith, it had made him uncomfortable, until he had come to a realisation. A realisation that the weak would always be abused, that they would always be made to serve their betters; in the end, it mattered little whether they served in blissful ignorance or under the chains of slavery. In the end, all that mattered was his desires, his goals, and to a lesser extent those of his friends and allies. That was the nature of the Dark Side, and the Force superseded any petty morality.
Still, one thing for which he could feel nothing but contempt was the weak ruling over the strong; not in terms of raw strength, but in terms of intellect, willpower, and potential. "Oh, that one looks like a delightful little treat." Pushing aside his musings, he gave a quick glance at his Zeltron companion before directing his attention towards the Zabrak she was pointing towards. He was athletic, but not overly so. Not bad in terms of appearance, but nothing too special. Not in a place like this. He suspected neither of those things had caught her attention, however. In his eyes burned a fire, unquenched by the horrors he had experienced. There was pain there, but overshadowing it all was a burning determination, an unconquerable spirit; it was no surprise, then, that he was heavily restrained.
"You want that one, do you? What, broke your current playthings?" While it may seem like a rejection, it was said with a smile. With a nod to a Zygerrian aide, he had the fiery man marked for purchase. "Thank you Adrian, you spoil me." Returning her cheerful grin, the pair moved off, the Zygerrian keeping to a respectful distance. A few months ago, he might have felt a twinge of guilt for the fate he had condemned the stubborn Zabrak to, but now? After Coruscant and Ession? Now, the only thing on his mind was a wry amusement at his own liberal spending; he probably shouldn't be making on-the-spur purchases like this, but he had never been able to deny his favourite torturer a thing.
Jantar followed the first guard into a small courtyard. Word had spread, as men lined the square, in various stages of dress – from tattooed torsos to full combat armour. Standing a good six inches taller than them all was a man that Jantar just had to believe was their leader.
As Jantar’s gaze travelled across the men, she removed her black cloak, revealing standard Sith issue clothing and her prized boots. She’d left her saber behind, so unclipped her blaster and dropped it gently on top of her cloak.
Jantar walked over to the leader, who stood two metres tall. Jantar tilted her head back, looked up into the man’s eyes, and said. “If you agree to the terms, make your move.”
There was a collective chuckle that died in the throats of the men. It was humorous to think she could take on their leader – but the sheer bravado of it puzzled them, and she could tell some were already a little nervous.
The leader shifted his feet and nodded. “I accept your challenge.” Jantar had counted on it. His ego and the loyalty of his men meant he had no choice. Jantar stood her ground and noted the men around her all stepped back, giving the maximum space for the fight.
The leader launched a sweeping kick that knocked Jantar off her feet, and then lashed out with one hard-muscled arm that connected with the Sith in midair. Jantar flew across the courtyard and crashed to the ground. Some of the fighters roared with laughter.
The leader leaped forward, but waited for Jantar to rise. She shook her head as if she were making sure nothing was loose as she slowly pushed herself up from the ground. Once she was on her feet, she turned to face the giant of a man again. She threw a jab at his left thigh, just above his knee.
If he felt the jab, he didn't show it. He pivoted on one foot and kicked out with the other, catching Jantar in the stomach. The sound of the impact made a few of the men visibly wince. This was a distinctly one0sided affair. Jantar was again lifted off her feet. Hitting the ground, her body rolled like a broken doll.
Jantar braced one palm against the ground. Her arm trembled as she pushed herself up. The leader stepped closer to Jantar, moving up behind her. She started to turn to face him, but then her legs buckled and she collapsed. The young Sith squeezed her eyes shut, then opened them. Jantar spoke through laboured breaths, “What is your name.”
The leader hesitated but finally replied, "Wampa." It was clearly a nickname – maybe even a moniker that dated back to his slave fighting days.
Jantar appeared not to hear. Her eyes rolled up into their sockets before they shifted back to stare in the general direction of the leader. “Please…tell me your…name.”
The men now moved quietly closer to the pair, clearly keen to see the end. Challenges to the leader always ended in a death – their code allowed for no other outcome. But there was a collective disappointment that they’d been denied even the semblance of a contest. This was entirely one-way traffic.
Seeing that the young woman was thoroughly beaten, the leader knelt beside her, leaned over her face, and said, “Wampa. I just said…Wampa.” His hands were already coming forward – to end the fight in what would no doubt be a humane end for the young Sith.
Jantar grabbed the back of Wampa’s head, pulled his face up against her own, and sank her teeth into one of his ears. The startled leader screamed with shock. With her teeth and one arm, Jantar held tight to Wampa’s head while she moved her other hand to grab his throat.
The leader tried to roll away from Jantar, but she stayed on him, slamming and driving her knees into the nerve clusters in the leader’s shoulders. He was flat on his back as he convulsed, his arms flopping uselessly beside him. Then he passed out.
Jantar rose to stand beside the unconscious body. Turning slowly, she looked at every one of the men, letting them see the leader’s blood dripping down her chin and notice that she wasn’t even breathing hard.
“Custom says the bout ends in a death, and the new leader delivers the killing blow. Who volunteers?”
Every hand went up bar one.
Jantar walked over to that man – his armour, at least what he wore – was beskar. “You’ll do it.” Jantar needed the group to be loyal to her. Those that raised their hands were too desperate to lead – and too afraid to challenge Wampa. She suspected the Mandalorian would be easier to manage. And if not, she could kill him and replace him with someone more agreeable.
The Mandalorian stepped over to Wampa and with a swift move, the former leader’s neck was broken.
“The weapons? You can keep them.” Then she added, in a voice low enough that only the Mandalorian could hear. “In return, tell me what you know about the other slave fighting gangs.” As she spoke, she wandered across and picked up her cloak. “Oh, and I need to know your name, too.”
When the Shi'ido woman awoke, for what would be the last time before the encroaching doom, it was clear every thing was ready. The ancient symbols and rites had been tattooed across her body, which felt a deep, twisting sickness spread throughout the whole of her altered frame, which was clad in a strange, tight fitting, segmented off white suit. She was behind a force cage with a red, tinged field to it.
The Shi'ido woman, a whose form was that of a middle-aged woman with brown hair in a tight fitting bun and brown eyes, strange symbols tattooed over her face in purple ink stood up, unrestrained in the Force Cage. Everywhere around her was darkness.
"Excellent..." came a wispy, feminine, yet growling rasp. "You're awake."
The shapeshifter woman in the cage gave a cough. She knew, and had known for some time, that she would not leave this ship. In a way she was wrong. But only in the most horrible way.
"At least I won't have to look at your ugly hide anymore." The trapped woman spat.
She heard something slick thud across the floor ahead of her in the darkness. Her heartbeat went faster.
"Your defiance means nothing. You will go forgotten. Your husk shall further my glory." Came a calm rasp in response.
"Someone like you always gets whats coming to them. You will never have a place anywhere except the most accursed and distant shadows. Filth like you can never know true satisfaction. True happiness..."
"Wrong..." came a rasped response.
There was nothing for the next thirty seconds.
The slick thud sounds continued, and what staggered forward made the imprisoned shapeshifter's stomach drop in horror, not just because it was so against the laws of nature, not just because to look on it defiled one's sense of sight, but because at that moment, the prisoner knew what she faced was so much worse than simple death.
It was a staggering, muddy colored frame of bunched up, wrinkled flesh constantly loosening and flexing up unevenly across the misshapen skeleton. The jaw hung loosely, the connections between it and the rest of the head disintegrated. covered by stringy gray hair, the face sagging badly on the left side as necrosis had set in. The flesh was slick with sweat. Skin almost dripped from its fingers and arms.
"True happiness comes from working the will of the Dark Side..." it rasped somehow, despite its distended jaw. "You should be honored. You shall exist in a blessed madness beyond death. You shall dwell in the House of The Dark Side forever and ever. Amen."
"Then I guess I'll see you in hell.." The prisoner barked defiantly, mortal fear entering her eyes.
Interestingly, this gave the creature pause, its diseased, decaying eyes of sulphur staring bemusedly.
"Well...you got me there..." it joked. And then there was no talk. They both knew the moment had arrived.
The decaying creature shuddered, concentrating and speaking the terrible intonations, the full power of the darkness coaxing further decay on its sweating shell before a glowing purple wisp escaped the shuddering, shaking, rotting vessel, before it ruptured, imploding in on itself in a pile of rotting meat and dead hair and spoiled fat curdling in the open air. The wisp shot through the force cage, entering the woman, starting the horrid process that would complete this body's suitability, even as it forced the old tenant out, who screamed and thrashed violently, features melting and twisting on her face, body size and shape altering as whatever was left of the individual on the inside who had previously owned this body was sent to chaos in tiny, screaming pieces, like the rest of her spirit had been.
The New Occupant finished the alteration process to the body, finally finishing seizing total control. The thrashing body now calmly stood up, the face and the body type shrinking, twisting. Black hair grew in a messy bangs that covered growing ears but stopped at the neck. The face finally configured to that of a stunning young woman with purple eyes, the body at last shrinking to its new occupants preferred measurements.
The Amalgam gave a small cold smirk, watching as her previous body caught fire, rapidly turning to a black pile of ash. She calmly shifted behind her, flicking the hidden switch behind her, and cutting power to the Force Cage. She stretched her new, alchemized body, having dressed it in her light armor beforehand the overwhelming wickedness of her act tainting the vessel. She got on her knees, and meditated in submission to the Dark Side in the darkness of her yacht's main hold. It would be an hour before she would clap her hands and light the area, heading to the cockpit.
She had come to Zygerria to negotiate for a rare find.
A Zygerrian slaver, either by skill or luck, had acquired a tome owned by her old master. The book had been lost many years before the Amalgam had successfully tracked to Zygerria. She had sweet talked him into thinking he would be rewarded. His soul was merely another thing to crush and devour.
But she would play along, right up to the point he led her to the book...
Later on...
The Corrupted Flesh, a metallic white, Vintage X-70B Phantom Yacht exited hyperspace. The Corrupted Flesh had served her for over a century, though repairs had been necessary after coming out of her twenty year hibernation. How many a death had she enjoyed within its walls, including that deliciously agonizing one she had just given to this new body's previous owner? The previous owner had begged for mercy in the end, but the Amalgam's spirit had mere smiled mentally and continued tearing.
Far, far too many a death to count, for certain.
She had acquired the vintage vessel by killing its previous owner...her own master. She'd hungered for the vessel ever since she first laid eyes on it. Her Master had never even allowed it to be taken out for a spin. Oh, how she had despised the hag, for certain. She'd relished killing her. But now she was just like her...she would not let ANYONE touch the Corrupted Flesh's controls, having at last understood what was so special about it...from her Masters own perspective...
The Corrupted Flesh was a fitting vessel for a Dark Evangelist. Pristine looking, like so many places, people and things, but all hiding corruption under the surface. Hiding the truth. The blessed truth:
Everyone is corrupt deep down, and it makes no sense to fight one's own selfish nature. Selfishness drives the wheels of society. When she had understood that truth, she had dedicated her life to making sure as many as possible understood that, even if they ended up dead at the end of it. To do so spread the Dark Gospel.
Society...people were better off when the Darkness reigned supreme. She maliciously enjoyed some of the actions she took to achieve this, but the actions themselves were very often never motivated by a childish banality and vendetta.
The Amalgam sincerely believed Society was better off, that people were ultimately better off, when the darkness triumphed, forcing them to adapt and become supreme, a test that never ended, even for the mightiest among the Darkest of Force Users. Those that were lost along the way were not only necessary, it was a triumphant assertion of dominance and cutting away the unusable. This was the lesson she had been forced to acknowledge during her own training, and one she had come to genuinely believe afterward.
Coming to Zygerria was not just a social call...this was the first time she had entered Sith Space in over two decades. She had wanted to get a lay of the land.
The Flesh descended through the Atmosphere, landing at a small starport in the mesa city she was supposed to be in, She quickly hid her presence in the Force, heading to her black colored bedroom's armory and grabbing her black metaled double bladed lightsaber, the connected hilts encircled by purple gemstones.
She disconnected them, took off her gloves, and her new body's alchemized flesh went to work, the flesh on her forearms parted, and she concealed a disconnected hilt in each opening before the flesh sealed, and she put her gloves back on. She mostly preferred the Dark Side for her protection. Such was her faith in it.
Exiting the vessel, she headed off for the slaver markets, clad in her off-white Resistance Epidermis. Her great beauty, and the absolutely skin-tight nature of her gear turned more than a few heads. She had found beauty immensely useful in her line of work. Sculpture everything perfectly and you could win with a tongue what you could not with a sword. Or make a repellant choice or viewpoint far more seductive to make for one's intended target to make their own.
The Amalgam realized no Jedi were here. Not this far into the Empire. But it was old habit. Old habits die hard. Especially if they are useful.
She continued her pace, as always, conciously keeping aware of the time. This new body was degenerating already. The measures she had taken to inhabit this new body had allowed for stopgap measures...draining someone's lifeforce reversed the degeneration, but inevitably it would restart, and if she got unlucky and her current body was on the verge of failure then she would have to seek out some other unlucky Shi'ido to...evict from the apartment. Or already have one prepared before hand. That reminded her. She should stock up.
She soon arrived at the right market, place, saw a number of slaves. None of them Shi'ido unfortunately. But she spotted [member="Taeli Raaf"] in the distance, but because she was keeping her prescence hitting she could not sense the Woman's strong connection to the darkness until she dropped her own cloaking effect deciding that like was among like, and let her corrupt aura come seeping out like a bleeding wound into the Force, and a local dog near by chose to run away at the exact moment she did so as she sat down in an open air restuarant, which was supposed to be the meeting point with the slaver, ordering an ice cream cone. Chocolate, to be exact.
Just like the others, this insurrection would fall to its knees.
The barrage of mortars on the outer perimeter walls of the occupied settlement had no doubt done it's job to the letter. Many of the fortified and hardened positions that had established themselves to repel the oncoming assault had been laid to waste under the sheer volume of fire from all sides. Of course several remained, holdouts that were to try and hold the crumbling defensive line whilst their comrades in arms retreated into the belly of the beast but it wasn't enough to give any real successful counter to the now oncoming wave of Legion troopers that charged across the arid plains towards the towering bastion of civilization amid the dry dust that surrounded it. The mortars, having once rained fire upon the outer perimeter, adjusted and shifted their targets to deeper within the city itself; a plan to start from the outside and slowly creep deeper and deeper into the city with their barrage in order to bring chaos and destruction upon the insurrectionist's ranks.
The Legion had larger problems, however, namely the gates that once led into the city were now shut off and locked down. This obstacles had to be removed by force, quite an excessive amount of force at that.
Vestille had been watching from atop his temporary spire, his supporting staff relaying orders to the various elements that made up the 31st to ensure that the entire unit was working in cohesion and to the best operational efficiency that the unit could achieve. Maximum effect, minimal loses; that was the aim of every engagement, the ideal that made the Major such an effective tool within the Sith's arsenal. He was a snake but also a wolf; ready to slither through the cracks and grass and leap at his enemy to tear at their throat within a split second. As the Major spotted the AT-PAT Walkers moving in formation towards the city itself, he raised communications with the lead walker, presumably where the Pureblood was leading his element from. It wasn't a surprise that the Major appeared on the communications unit within the walker, his stance taking up the typical routine of addressing a Sith;
"My Lord, Major Thumahra reporting in." his voice came as he bowed for no more than a few moments before rising; "I humbly request the aid of your AT-PATs, my lord; specifically removing the final remnants of those defensive hardpoints on the outer perimeter. With those eliminated, my men can plant their charges uncontested. Thumahra out." it was perhaps swift but there was no time for long calls or requests amid the heat of battle. Perhaps ironically enough, his next call was to someone deep within the city itself, a joint-operation between Saaraishash agents and the Legion that now had their boots on the ground. Whilst the Legion was to remove the enemy from the outside, the agents that had wormed themselves into the city itself would be vital to removing the enemy from within. No doubt the agents had been busy but Vestille's call had been to one in particular, specifically Agent Thel.
"Agent Thel, this is Major Thumahra." the voice stated firmly before continuing with a simple; "Requesting operations report."
Short, blunt and never shy away from the point, even to his Sith masters; the Imperial war machine marched ever onward.
The Magnus pulled in closer to the Orbit nearing the main docking station of the planet. As it flew Mythos and the command crew spared no time in splitting the building teams all the way from Orbit and directly supervising the Oversight. Mythos did not know specifically what were the laws of slavery in the Sith Empire, yet that did not matter, if the oversight could not be manned with slaves it could be manned with droids. Both equally dispensable in his eyes. The sheer manpower mobilized by Mythos' resources alone took almost every single ship he had in his disposal and every engineering regiment. Unsurprisingly, everything in the construction went swimmingly, except the massive durasteel support beam that snapped due to faulty leverage killing forty seven workers... Accidents happen.
Safety First. Bantha Podoo
The pounding of gravhammers began as soon as twilight hit the horizon. Now is when every plan came into action and Ultimatum had given Mythos a fun hobby to do, He enjoyed placing a recording of the start of the construction then play it on fast forward and see the progress made. Little was left to Mythos for enjoyment, the last time he slept seemed like weeks ago and it very possibly could have been.
If one were to go down into the colossal building site it would look like a meteorite's crater surrounded and flooded by a traffic of cranes, heavy machinery, building equipment, scores of builders and workers from across the galaxy here on official contracts with Mythos himself off his own pocket which put him in an interesting predicament. Due to the Sith Empire's natural disposition for thriving private ownership of means of production Mythos because of his already sizable fleet, funds of a former galactic power and now contracts found himself with a sizable capital and an opportunity to invest.
Massive empires would always have something to build and Mythos had built entire worlds dedicating the last year to doing just that, why not then profit from it? So the idea of Magnus Architecture was born. Just an infant idea in a table of world building. Surrounding Mythos was of course the Anubian experts in the field of architecture, flight and the power of the force. Mythos himself sat on a Throne made in the center of the command center viewing the screen on the ship as it showed in real time the progress of the oversight. His controls were three dimensional and holographic, his eyes set upon the crater like a hawk set upon his prey. A wave of his hand signaled the second phase of the initial building, the introduction of weapons. With such a massive overtaking with hundreds of thousands of people involved security and order needed to be maintained, for this Mythos employed his own personal security force of Anubians called the Hahalere.
Around him the Hahalere were adorned in gold with staves that could also serve as ranged weapons, helmets with blackened H.U.D.s and stared into the abyss of the stars like un-moving sentinels and extensions of his will . Artillery pieces, machine blasters, blaster rifles and pistols and of course the massive turbolazers and torpedo launchers were brought down in droves using freighters and the Cathedral ships themselves. Mythos utilized Shadow Ports that delved deep into territories such as former Silver Jedi Territory, CIS territory and F.O. Territory. He paid off small time officials and criminals to move small parts across the galaxy, these small parts and single freighters would then link up deeper into space and meet up with Mythos in the final bump into his territory. From there it was to wherever the mission lead them to, construct a fort in Kashykk, a Temple in Obredaan or a Bunker in Dagobah. His adventures across the galaxy granted him a logistic system envied by many but known by few.
He had done it all now He was just perfecting his craft and pulling from the coves, caves and holes he buried his treasures in so long ago.
"Contact Provost Imperial Marshall Verik, Inform him the weapons are passing. Code Baorek Verisn. 949. Mythos Magnus"
A nod from his telecomunications officer and The Sith conjoined in the most crucial part of the venture; establishing a weapons and ammunition cache, building fortified positions and designed fortifications and supervise the arming of the Oversight. This simple act made Zygerria a much more hostile target for anyone thinking of fighting the Sith here.
