Location: En Route to Krayiss II aboard The Rakosta
Allies: The Sith Empire
Enemies: The Dominion
"Execute jump now."
The words that rang out through the holocall ignited a flurry of activity across the bridge of The Rakosta. Orders were shouted by the commanding officers, directing the lower-ranked staff members to their stations and for them to begin their duties. Cries for seeking confirmation and those of confirmation joined the muddled chorus as it peaked and dipped and cut through any possible chance of silence like a heated blade, a cacophony of noise dedicated to the life of authoritarianism and controlled chaos. Each uniformed being - human to Zabrak to Twi'lek and more beside - was a singular piece of a much bigger operation and they all knew this fact, had had it ingrained within their minds from the first moment they had been brought aboard The Rakosta, and now that fact was being put to use in a display of efficiency as the hulking battlecruiser hurled itself forth, the pulsing blue wave of hyperspace consuming the beast.
A few levels bellow the command deck where the noisy chaos was ensuring that The Rakosta would arrive inside Dominion space at the same time as other ships within the Empire's fleet, silence reigned as the blue sheen of the holocall would cut out, allowing darkness and shadows to once more consume the room that had only seconds prior been cast in a light blue hue. Seconds later, a low hum would pierce the darkness and a dull light would once more lead to the room being illuminated once more. With the return of light to the room, the single figure that had been occupying it was cast in sharp relief.
Clad in a simple black robe with rudimentary armour - made of hardened leather and nothing else - barely visible beneath the river of dark cloth, they dropped heavily onto the only piece of furniture in the room - a metal chair that rose from the flooring like an obelisk or horn. Slumped over, their head resting in one hand, their ashen grey hair tumbled chaotically down their back in a mess of dreadlocks. Only the one eyelid was closed, but, that did not mean that they could see as where there should have been two eyelids there was one and where there should have been a right eye staring out at the barren room, there was nothing more than a gaping, deformed voice of shattered bone and scarred skin.
Ignoring the vibrations that could be felt beneath bared feet, the Zabrak would hold his pose for the follow minuets, his gaze hidden behind a closed eye but his sight cast out beyond his form and staring at the endless fabric of reality that was the Force. The ebb and flow of the Dark was a curious sensation to watch as the time for battle and bloodshed grew ever closer. Death, pain, rage and suffering. Each would serve to fuel the Dark to greater strength and - even though the events that would create and harvest this food had yet to come into action, even though the beginning few notes of the coming masterpiece were only now beginning to be hauntingly played - it seemed as if the Dark knew what banquet it would soon be feasting from as a joyous crescendo ran along insidious threads. The dance and song of the Dark grew and shrunk, soared and dipped, in a melody of dark anticipation, a performance that the Zabrak's sight would continue to watch with curiosity and fascination, a sense of study woven into the emotions.
However, eventually, the curtain would have to fall and even though the performance of the Dark would continue, no longer could it be observed. For preparations for the upcoming masterpiece needed to be made and no longer could they be put off, no matter how fascinating the writhing threads of Dark upon the ocean of the Force might be. As such, the closed eye lid would open, an amber iris bisected by a slitted pupil once more staring forth into the galaxy as Darth Lykos awoke from the trance he had placed himself in upon the resolution of the call between Sith Lords. Retribution was nearly present, and so he awoke. That was the current nature of his present.
Pushing himself to his feet, still ignoring the vibrations of engines that rumbled beneath his feet, Lykos strode out of the room without a backwards glance at the chair that had served as his resting place but hours before; the lights of the room shutting off as soon as the doors behind him slid closed, sealing in only shadows. Outside of the room the odd soldier or crew member hurried - the buzz of life absent from the room Lykos had just been in present and active - however, none would react to the presence of the Sith that controlled the vessel for as soon as he had left the room he had been occupying he had pulled the Force around him in a heavy cloak that his him from sight and hearing. He had no wish to deal with false prostration, no desire to listen to the hurried and fearful words that might be spoken. His focus was currently singular, direct. All that he pursued at the current moment was the objective presented before him, the assignment that he was to complete and succeed at. As such, what patience did he have for scared fools? None was the answer.
Stepping onto the command deck, his cold gaze set upon one figure stood on an elevated level, starring down at the rushing bodies and issuing orders at the commanders that should have been some of the highest powers in the hierarchy of The Rakosta - the simple truth was that they were not. The orders this figure, the masked and robed woman, gave were not shouted or barked as the commands would do so as to relay them to the common forces piloting the craft. Instead they were slowly and calmly spoken, ice and danger seemingly dripping from every syllable that escaped from behind the porcelain mask. A surety was behind each word, born from a sense of contentment that this woman held as she thought that she would not have to cry out her orders in an effort to be heard or to prove dominance. And, indeed, that surety was well founded as even with the loud havoc beneath the Officers they never asked for the woman to repeat herself, instead straining to catch anything she spoke - taking the burden of blame upon themselves should an order be misheard. So much was their fear for the woman.
The cloak that Lykos had twisted to occlude his presence would fall as he came to a stop next to the woman. A series of curses and exclamations escaped from the Officers due to his chosen action but, even as those that she had been barking at seconds ago lost their composure, the woman's body never flinched away from his sudden appearance. Instead, she continued to stand strong and to her full height, enunciated commands continuing to fall from hidden lips; causing the Officers to scramble to reclaim their composure and resume their previous relaying of instructions. This would continue for the next minuet - Lykos standing silent and the woman continuing her orders - how, she would eventually fall silent and a shattered quiet would form between the two cloaked figures. A quite broken once more by the woman.
"Our ETA is in five minuets and counting, my Lord."
A hum would be her only immediate response, their gazes still riveted on the swirling sight of hyperspace. However, Lykos would eventually utter a reply, the silence he had held since the conclusion of the holocall finally shattering to his growling voice. "Head to the Phasma, Gvibr. Prep for out descent to the planet."
Nodding silently, Gvibr turned and exited the command deck to do as her Master had ordered, leaving Lykos standing alone on the elevated level. The fact that the cloaked Sith remained, his body almost seemingly frozen in place with hands - one flesh and blood with the other of cold, black metal - wrapped around the railing before him, drew more than one concerned, scarred or worried glance from Officer and common grunt alike. However, the Iridonian paid them little to no mind, only paying enough attention to them to register that they were even there in the first place, his focus on something beyond the material world and upon the Force once more.
With careful, almost glacial-speed movement, he would reach down to one of the many pockets hidden within the inside of his robes and withdraw a communicator. Staring at it for a few moment, thoughts rushing through his mind as he analysed the potential paths laid out before him that all focused on whether or not, and how if so, he would activate one of his and the Empire's assets. However, he soon came to a conclusion as to what he should do, signified by a slight nod of his head. However, rather than acting there and then, the Force would twist and buckle around his form, tearing and ripping around him as he bullied his way through and soon found himself seated next to Gvibr about the Phasma stored in the hanger of The Rakosta amidst an array of troop carriers. Behind him, he left a not insignificant number of sighs of relief and a single command that lead to beads of sweat to bead atop one brow. A single sentence that set a weight upon unsuspecting shoulders. "Herl, you have control of the ship."
In soon measure, as The Rakosta would drop from hyperspace and join the rest of the Empire's forces above Krayiss II, a single message, a second command, would be sent out into void of space from the communicator that Lykos held. A message that would find its way to Eol Sha, to a woman who for all purposes should have been stood against Lykos and his fellows in the upcoming strike against the Dominion. A single message that spoke a single order, a single word, but one laden with much meaning and a sense of change: Now.