Junction The Spoils | Sith Order/Mandalorian Empire Junction for Apoptosia and Empty Hex

[Aspect of Resolve]

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It had taken but a day for the carrion scent to waft through the Blackwall and across the Parlemian Trade Route. ​

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The initial probings by Sith forces for what was meant to be a counter-strike against the Imperial Confederation after their attack on Brosi found no grand armadas or stalwart bastions to greet them, rather just empty space and the trails of retreating vessels. When the Sith launched their assembled task forces anyway and spearheaded what was meant to be Imperial space, the reason soon became clear. Their foe had turned their vices and weapons inwards against one another.​

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A similar situation began to unfold within the Mandalorian bounds as well, reports of Imperial and Diarch forces withdrawing from known positions and lines all across the galaxy. Reports which seemed too good to be true even after the defeats that both factions had suffered recently. Incursions were sent out to investigate these apparent retreats and soon found themselves engaged in these outbreaks of conflict between the Imperial worlds.​

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When the Mandalorian and Sith forces finally met amidst the systems comprising and surrounding the Tion Cluster the suspicion and trepidation with which both had acted in investigating the Imperial space soon turned into a grim relief and even more bloodthirsty drive. The Imperial Confederation had evidently begun its death throes and they both wished to usher in the last breath.​

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Tion has become the main focus for the Sith advance, now joined by Mandalorians seeking to use their allies’ momentum to their advantage. The shipyards in orbit serve as the main line of defense and prize in equal measure, defended by a fleet of Imperial vessels which are still recovering from their previous losses.​

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Now though they are trapped between orbital reentry and the crushing weight of the combined forces bearing down upon them. With the last of the defending ships either beaten back into the shipyard’s ports and gantrys or now burning hulks, dozens of boarding vessels and pods now streak towards the stations to finish the Imperial forces aboard. There are ships and prizes to be claimed this day, and plenty of blood to be shed along the way.​

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Lianna, once the capital of the Imperial Confederation, now lies within the clutches of its worst foes. And they appear to be fresh out of mercy. Fleets of Mandalorian and Sith alike have begun decimating the planet shortly after leaving the stations and fleet that had been defending the orbit in ruins.​

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While taking the fight planetside on a large scale isn’t part of the plan, there are still valuable assets and information that can’t simply be glassed without losing the advantage that they would give. Corporate headquarters, military complexes, sophisticated industries and factories, all of which are being spared the bombardment so that small groups can venture down from orbit and retrieve whatever of value might remain within them.​

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Voss was a world of relative strategic interest yet decidedly little investment in terms of actual defense or resistance. In fact the Voss themselves actually welcomed the invading forces with open arms. Having apparently "foreseen" this day they have eschewed what would have been a costly and futile resistance in favor of greeting the Mandalorians and Sith as peers rather than conquerors.​

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A grand banquet has been arranged in Voss-Ka to celebrate their arrival, coinciding with calls for diplomats and authorities from both factions to discuss Voss’ neutrality and cooperation in the coming days following the Imperial withdrawal. The Voss Mystics have also tentatively opened their services to outsiders for this event, allowing for a glimpse into the future for the patrons of the banquet as well.​

 

[Barragh Nenn]

TION
The Eye of Helvede
Objective 1 - Assist the Remnants
Enemies: Mandalorians/Sith​

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Distress signals had emanated from Tion though they sounded more like pleas for assistance and cries of mercy.

Tion had been important to the Imperial Confederation, it boasted a shipyard, a spaceport and three industrial moons though the world itself was largely oceanic.

When the Imperial Confederation had collapsed in on itself and withdrawn to three key Fortress Worlds it was only natural that a remnant would want to stay and preserve the economic and industrial influence afforded to them.

It would appear that was particularly foolhardy.

A Fleet left hyperspace on the far side of one of Tion's industrial moons, using the celestial body to cover its entrance into the zone of engagement.

The Eye of Helvede, an immense amalgamation of Command Carrier and Battlecruiser lead an ensemble that was composed of a retrofitted Imperial I-class Star Destroyer, the Hammer, a Tyrant III Class Missile Cruiser, the Hounds Tooth, a pair of Celox-Class Frigates and a lone Lianna II-Class Corvette, the Prixar.

Not the largest fleet that had ever been fielded but capable nonetheless.

They began to wheel around the moon, their weapons already charging and shields raised. Against the backdrop of the Eye of Helvede the other ships were diminuative, even the Hammer was less than half its size.

On board the Eye of Helvede the bridge crew reported scans and communications while sensors identified enemy vessels. The Captain of the vessel would have turned and said...

"Lord, we have reports that remnant forces have suffered heavy damage. Our scans show the wreckage of dozens of smaller vessels and several larger ones. It appears a combination of Mandalorian and Sith boarding vessels and pods are now breaching the shipyards."​

A Holo Emitter projected the image of the Umbaran onto the bridge raising the question as to whether or not he was somewhere deeper in the ship or on board at all.

The flickering projection of the Umbaran was true to form however, he was concealed beneath his Shadowcloak save for his head. Ochre glimmered in the corners of his eyes while he followed the situation...

"Assist the shipyards. The Hounds Tooth to begin its barrage. Relay orders throughout the fleet. Ready squadrons for launch. Prepare tactical assessments, weapons ready."

...the Captain would call out the orders across the bridge leading Officers and Crew into action.

The Umbaran waited for more information, particularly fleet placement and numbers of the enemy.

Orders were relayed throughout the fleet which prepared to open fire but had yet to engage. The Hounds Tooth, receiving its orders would launch a barrage of 'Cluster Missiles' from any of its sixty (60) launchers. It targeted dropships and pods launched towards the shipyards, the missiles intending to shred the smaller vessels to pieces and offer remnant forces some small amount of relief from their current predicament.

Notibly, the Prixar would be difficult to detect or target. It remained at the rear of the Eye of Helvede using the ships massive bulk as an enormous blind whereas the other vessels arrayed themselves around the Command Carrier.

Spoiler

The Eye of Helvede - Command Carrier/Battlecruiser
Shields - Undamaged
Armor - Undamaged
Superstructure - Undamaged
The Hammer - Imperial I-class Star Destroyer
Shields - Undamaged
Armor - Undamaged
Superstructure - Undamaged
The Hounds Tooth - Tyrant III Class Missile Cruiser
Shields - Undamaged
Armor - Undamaged
Superstructure - Undamaged
Celox-Class Frigate (1)
Shields - Undamaged
Armor - Undamaged
Superstructure - Undamaged
Celox-Class Frigate (2)
Shields - Undamaged
Armor - Undamaged
Superstructure - Undamaged
The Prizar - Lianna II-Class Corvette
Shields - Undamaged
Armor - Undamaged
Superstructure - Undamaged

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[Neryn Ka]

Objective II (Sorta): Delenda Est
Equipment: Lightsaber / Sidearm / Dagger
Tags: OPEN​

Perhaps unsurprisingly, Neryn had little patience for complex boarding actions or delicate diplomatic overtures. This was his first time riding to war with the Sith, and he'd wanted nothing more than to be loosed on the planet below.

At his core, the Sephi-Thing was a simple creature. The value of financial information, weapons schematics, or other valuable data was far less fun than simply putting the world to the torch. Neryn wasn't here for Lianna's resources.

He was here for its people.

The creature released his grip, letting his latest victim topple to the rubble-strewn street below. The withered, mummified remains appeared to have aged decades in mere seconds, but for his part, the winged spawn had never felt more alive. His crystal heart glowed fiercely in his chest, glutted on stolen life.

As always, Lirka Ka had been right. This was fun, far more so than anything else he'd yet experienced. Neryn had spent the past hour or so rampaging through Lianna's streets (and skies), wreaking petty terror on any who crossed his path.

Remnant Imperial soldiers, local law enforcement, and hapless civilians who'd failed to evacuate, all were all fair game. Just retribution, in his mind, for the plight of Brosi. The fact that Neryn hadn't been around for the Second Siege of Brosi mattered not at all; his creator had impressed upon him that Imperial scum deserved everything they got.

Neryn flexed his arm, generating a rippling ball of liquid yellow flame in one hand. Seconds later, the projectile detonated spectacularly on the roof of a large apartment building, instantly moltenizing much of the top floor.

Several other structures had already gotten a similar treatment, but the night was very much still young, and Neryn was still plenty energetic.

He flexed his wings, flitting cheerfully from building to building and dousing each in sorcerous fire. Maybe if the fun wore off, he'd bother doing something useful, but for now, he was content to visit on Lianna a fraction of the ruin that Brosi had (supposedly) experienced.

At first, Neryn's predations had been limited by his frankly modest skill and training. Still, as he gorged himself on life energy, they were slowly growing in scale and intensity. This was his nature, of course. A living, chaotic wildfire, turning from a simple spark into something terrible, if left unchecked for long.

Fortunately, thanks to the Sith bombardment fleet in orbit, his new playthings weren't going anywhere. There was no escape from Lianna (at least not easily) so he had plenty of time to have his fun. So far, he'd been careful to stay away from actually important infrastructure; that was the domain of loftier heads than his own.

At least, it was for now. Neryn fell somewhere between "full of youthful rashness" and "aggressively stupid", and probably wouldn't be held back for long. After all, if he didn't destroy it, the fleets overhead eventually would.

What a shame that would be.

 

[Darth Prazutis]

Lianna burned.

It burned in continent-spanning arterial lines across the ecumenopolis, in ruptured transitways and collapsing hab-spires, in factory districts split open by orbital fire and the incandescent rain of shattered defense platforms falling back through the atmosphere. Once, it had been a throneworld of industry and arrogance, a nexus of trade, shipbuilding, military production, and corporate dominion. Once, it had been the capital of the Imperial Confederation, a proud engine of fleets and war. Now it was a sacrificial pyre visible from orbit, a world forced to watch its own importance become the instrument of its punishment.


Above that agony hung not a raiding fleet, nor some loose coalition of warships drunk on victory, but the ordered majesty of the Black Iron Host. The Kainate had come to Lianna in its fullness of purpose. Across the void, the Shadow Armada loomed in disciplined tiers of obsidian hulls and crimson-lit ruin, its warships suspended over the world like executioners' axes held just above the throat. Lance batteries flashed in measured intervals. Bombardment vessels ruined districts not marked for seizure. Interdiction screens and attack cordons strangled the orbitals. Assault carriers vomited forth black craft in precise waves. Every movement above the world reflected the merciless logic of the Kainate's supreme war machine. Not chaos, but annihilation rendered into doctrine.

Right beneath that canopy of iron and fire waited the next blade.

Deep within launch bays, troop wells, and armored assault cradles, the Immortal Legions stood ready in vast, disciplined formations, phalanxes of black-armored infantry, strand cast soldiery, breacher cohorts, mechanized support elements, enforcer cadres, and droid auxiliaries, all arranged for rapid insertion and decisive violence. They had come in accordance with the Host's oldest battlefield truth. Descend hard, break the objective, seize what matters, annihilate resistance, and withdraw only after the enemy's capacity to answer had been shattered. The Legions were the mailed fist of surface conquest, and on this day, they waited like a coiled verdict in the holds of Kainate assault barges.

The world below was being prepared for them, and at the center of it all stood the Shadow Hand of the Kainate Darth Prazutis. Upon the command dais of the Eternal Rule, the Dark Lord of the Sith watched Lianna struggle with the stillness of something far older and crueler than war. Qâzjiin'vraal sheathed His towering frame in abyssal majesty, each plate of the living war-armor drinking in the glow of the hololithic displays around Him and returning only dim suggestions of crimson life beneath black metal. The dread visage of Xûl-Karzaan made of His face an icon of dominion rather than a human countenance. Around Him, officers of the Armada, Legion overseers, Shadow Mind acquisition adepts, technicians, and adjutants of the Host maintained utter silence.

Below, Lianna's fate unfolded in layers. Not every district burned equally. That was deliberate. His crimson gaze rested not on the sectors already transformed into firestorms, but on those islands of relative darkness preserved amid the ruin, corporate headquarters, military redoubts, industrial vaults, command complexes, hardened research repositories, manufactories, datacenters, executive sanctums. The organs still useful within the corpse. Lianna had once armed, enriched, and symbolized a Confederation arrogant enough to strike against Sith holy worlds. Twice that wretched state had hurled itself toward sacred ground. Twice it had sought to wound what should have been beyond its reach. Twice it had failed.

Now its former capital would pay for that blasphemy in a language it could understand.

Not merely destruction. Violation. Extraction. Repurposing.

A slow gesture of Prazutis' gauntleted hand caused the hololithic display before Him to shift. Red markers unfurled across Lianna's surface in intricate layers. Bombardment exclusions, acquisition zones, designated insertion corridors, command nodes for surface suppression, breach points for Legion drop-columns, corporate archive centers, anti-orbital control bunkers, research vaults, and transport nexus clusters to be collapsed the moment their contents were seized. It was not a battlefield display.

It was an anatomical chart.

"Continue orbital judgment on all non-designated sectors." Prazutis said, and His voice passed through the bridge like a ritual blade drawn across old scars. "Break their transit grids. Ruin their commercial arteries. Burn out every relay tower, public grid, and civil coordination zone not already marked for seizure. Let the world choke on its own helplessness." Commands rippled outward through the Host at once. The hololith shifted again. "Shadow Armada elements maintain suppression over the upper districts and orbital approach lanes." He continued. "No unauthorized lift traffic leaves the atmosphere. No data vessel escapes. No evacuation convoy survives unless we have chosen to let it run."

Another gesture.

"Immortal Legion assault echelons are to begin selective descent on the marked sectors. Breach, isolate, and dominate. Mechanized elements secure landing perimeters and industrial ingress points. Strand-cast shock cohorts enter first where resistance remains organized. Allegiant-Commissars ensure pace and compliance. I want every objective taken with the speed of revelation."

Still another shift. The Dark Lord kept His gaze fixed on the hololith display "Shadow Mind retrieval cadres follow in the wake of the Legions. Archives, weapons research vaults, prototype assemblies, command data, factory schematics, encryption, and executive data to be seized intact where feasible. Priority personnel are to be taken alive." His tone somehow grew colder, like ice frosting over glass. "Make Lianna bleed for the transgressions of the Confederation. We repay Brosi tenfold."

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[Lur Kri'fula]

THE UNJUST GALAXY

HOLO-NET OPINION BROADCAST • SIGNAL UNSANCTIONED​

DELENDA EST — LIANNA BURNS

Broadcast Node: Low Orbit over Lianna • Cycle: Junction — The Spoils

"Across the stars, truth is filtered, edited… and sold."
"But some voices refuse to be quiet."

"From the shadows of the Core to the forgotten edges of the Outer Rim…"
"This is where the narrative breaks."

"You're watching THE UNJUST GALAXY."

"Hosted by Lur Kri'fula."
​

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Good evening. I'm Lur Kri'fula… and this is The Unjust Galaxy.

Lianna burns. Not metaphorically. Not rhetorically. Not as some distant policy failure wrapped in diplomatic language. It burns.

From orbit, the scars are visible even through the interference—defense platforms gutted, fleets reduced to drifting wreckage, and below… a world being carefully, deliberately broken. Not erased. Not entirely. Just enough left intact to be useful.

That distinction matters. Because this isn't destruction. It's acquisition. And if that feels familiar… it should.

I stood on New Alderaan not long ago, attending a carefully curated press conference where the Imperial Confederation spoke of stability, reconciliation—of amnesty. Amnesty for those who had orchestrated a coup against them. A gesture, we were told, of unity. Of strength through forgiveness.

It was… difficult to believe then. It is impossible to reconcile now. The Confederation did not fall slowly. It did not fracture over years of internal decay. It collapsed—swiftly, cleanly—leaving behind a vacuum so complete that others wasted no time stepping into it.

The Sith, most notably.

And here is where I will disappoint those hoping for outrage. This… is expected. When power withdraws, something else fills the space. The Sith do not pretend otherwise. They do not dress their intentions in softer language. Expansion, domination, control—these are not hidden behind committees or declarations.

They are, at the very least… honest.

In a galaxy that so often lies about what it is, there is something almost refreshing about that.
It's a shame, really. Because in many ways, they are among the most… accepting institutions we have. Power is power, regardless of origin, species, or background. If not for the small detail that they are, more often than not, psychotic lunatics.

Which brings us to the Mandalorians. Ah, yes. Honor. A word they wear as comfortably as beskar. For cycles now, the Mandalorian Empire has positioned itself—and has been accepted by many—as a counterbalance to chaos. As a force of principle. Of warrior integrity. They have painted the Diarchy, the Imperial Confederation… as villains.

Convenient.

And now?

Now we find them here. Striking an independent system. Alongside the Sith.

So I have to ask—where, exactly, does honor fit into this equation? Is it found in orbital bombardment carefully measured to preserve assets? Is it found in aligning with those they themselves would have once condemned? Or is "honor" simply a word that sounds better than "opportunity"?

And perhaps the more uncomfortable question… Is not for the Mandalorians. But for the High Republic. Your alignment with the Mandalorian Empire has been, until now, presented as pragmatic. Necessary. A partnership grounded in shared stability.

So tell me—Are you being fooled?

Is this the result of centuries of Mandalorian myth, of stories about warriors with codes and convictions? Or do you understand exactly what they are… and simply find it useful?
Because from here, from orbit over a burning world, it looks less like a partnership…

…and more like outsourcing. Outsourcing the violence. The brutality. The necessary ugliness of maintaining order. So that the Republic can remain… what was it?

Squeaky clean.

After all, it's much easier to uphold ideals…when someone else is willing to get their hands dirty.

Lianna is not the beginning of this pattern. But it may be one of the clearest examples of it.
And if you're still telling yourself this is about justice…I would suggest looking a little closer at who is benefiting from the ashes. We'll answer these questions and more as we jump into the atrocities taking place today within the Tion Sector.​

KEY POINTS / TRANSMISSION NOTES

• Lianna, once the capital of the Empire of the Lost, is now under Sith and Mandalorian assault
• The defending fleet and orbital stations have already been left in ruins
• The planet is being decimated from orbit, though select targets are being spared
• Corporate headquarters, military complexes, factories, and other strategic assets remain intact for recovery teams
• Lur Kri'fula is present in orbit to observe the operation as it unfolds
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LUR KRIFULA • Bothan Advocate • Voice of the Oppressed
"If they control the narrative, they control your silence."
​

 

[Prisoner #36929]

Tags: Na Ri
Equipment: X​

The stench of a burning city hung heavy. Above, the sky was a bruised purple, scarred by the streaks of orbital batteries dismantling what remained of the Imperial capital. The Prisoner pressed his back against the cold durasteel of a corridor wall, his breath coming in ragged hitches. He was a foundling, barely seasoned, yet here he was trailing in the wake of Sith and Mandalorians as they tore the heart out of the Imperial Confederation.

He clutched his thigh where a blaster bolt had seared through the very basic and borrowed armor he had procured for this. The wound throbbed with a rhythmic, white-hot heat that made his vision swim.

"Stupid," he hissed, the word tasting like copper and smoke. He hadn't come for glory or the spoils of war. He came because the Imperials held the only record of who he was before the shackles, and the fire was consuming those records by the second.

The hallway ahead erupted in a chorus of screams and the hum of lightsabers. Mandalorian breach charges shook the floor, sending dust raining from the ceiling tiles. Every instinct screamed at him to crawl back to the extraction zone, but the central data hub was only two levels down. If the orbital bombardment didn't glass the building first, the Sith and Mandalorians would surely purge the servers. He had to get there first. He had to know who he was. Why he was kept in their custody.

He forced himself to stand, his leg buckling before he locked his knee. "I didn't survive their interrogations just to die in their hallway," he muttered, drawing his carbine closer to him. The weight of the weapon was a grim comfort. He began a slow, limping walk deeper into the complex, moving toward the flickering red lights of the security terminal while the world ended around him.