Populate When The Stars Go Dark [THR Populate of Surron]

[Pillar of Faith]

Theed Royal Palace, Naboo.
The High Republic Capital.

The opulent marble halls of the Theed Royal Palace felt uncomfortably small. Chandelier light blazed down on a gathering of the galaxy's most influential figures: powerful politicians, esteemed noble houses, and distinguished envoys from the far reaches of the High Republic. Representatives were all convened in this grand chamber, a gilded cage as a tempest brewed beyond its walls.

The crisis had begun subtly, as such disasters often do. A mere flicker on the holofeeds, then hushed rumors of an Imperial fleet assembling in the Core Worlds. Suddenly, all the screens came alive simultaneously, bathing the chamber in their cold, stark glow. Senators, ministers, and lords alike turned their eyes upward as the broadcasts shifted their focus to Atrisia.

And there it was. A silhouette so immense it obliterated the stars. A battle station of unfathomable size loomed over Atrisia's skies, hanging like a malevolent moon. Its superlaser ports gleamed with a predatory intensity, and its shadow engulfed the entire system.

The announcer's voice trembled as she delivered the grim news: "Project Stardust, codenamed Death Star III, has arrived above Atrisia. The Imperial Armada has been confirmed in support. Citizens are ordered to seek shelter. The Emperor himself has decreed your judgment."

Chaos erupted in the chamber. Nobles gasped, clutching their jewels and prayer beads. Ministers tried to restore order, while military advisors desperately called for fleets that were simply too distant to intervene. Even the most hardened governors shifted uneasily, their faces pale beneath their elaborate masks. Atrisia, the revered birthplace of the Lightsworn and a world steeped in ancient heroism, now faced the precipice of utter destruction.

On the holofeeds, the skies above Atrisia ignited with the fury of battle as the Armada unleashed its might. Yet, even more chilling were the fleeting glimpses of dark rituals: figures clad in crimson and black robes chanting in fire-lit chambers, seemingly fueling the battle station with something far more sinister than kyber crystals. The very fabric of the Force seemed to contort, bending like a reed against an overwhelming gale.

The nobles of Naboo felt it too. Even those with no sensitivity to the Jedi arts recognized, with a primal dread, that a terrible void was being torn open in the galaxy. A black wound bleeding across the stars.

Whispers of dread spread like a contagion through the hall:

"If Atrisia falls..."
"...Fondor is next..."
"...No, Naboo!"

The Royal Guards moved to secure the chamber doors as rising panic threatened to overwhelm them. Outside, alarms wailed across Theed. Nobles huddled closer to the screens, their prayers murmured, their hands clasped, their gazes fixed on the battle station that now seemed to direct its sightless stare towards them. Would Naboo be next?

The feeds displayed the battle station's colossal maw beginning to glow, the massive superlaser's focusing array sparking ominously to life. Though the devastating green energy had not yet been unleashed, its imminent threat seared itself into the soul of every observer. In that agonizing moment, Theed held its breath. And everyone understood: the Dark Times had returned.


Reference Threads:
New Bonds and Restoration
The Free Flow of Credits

Spoiler

This thread is intended to run concurrently with Wrath of God to give those who are not participating in it, the opportunity to react to the board wide event. We have set the scene in the palace but feel free to use whatever setting for your story.

 

[Cassian Abrantes]

Theed
Commando Citadel
Tags: Open​

The familiar weight of command felt heavier than he remembered.

Cassian stood upon the observation deck overlooking the Commando Citadel, a fortress of durasteel and discipline that rose like a blade from within Theed. Below, formations of soldiers ran precision drills under the blinding midday sun. Their armor, burnished white and marked by new insignia, gleamed like a promise. The cadence of shouted orders and synchronized footsteps rolled upward, a living heartbeat of the Republic's renewed strength.

He drew a slow breath. The scent of oil and ozone carried through the reinforced glass, maintenance crews tuning walkers, starfighters lifting in formation drills, medics tending to sparring injuries on the lower fields. Every detail told him the same thing, they were preparing to defend what could come.

"General Abrantes," a voice called from behind. It still sounded strange, hearing the title again after so long. He turned slightly as the adjutant approached, datapad in hand. "Latest training report, sir. Phase Two Commandos have completed atmospheric drop simulations. The 212th are adapting planetary defense patterns to coordinate with Naboo's Royal Guard."

Cassian nodded slowly, his gaze falling once more to the parade grounds. "Good. They'll need to trust each other when the sky falls."

The officer hesitated. "How does it feel to be back?"

Cassian let out a small sigh, but a smile ghosted his face. "It's like I never left, I've fought through several wars, the hardest one was leaving this behind for a time. Not the rank, but them....you all."

Outside, the Citadel's main gates parted as a squadron of ARC troopers jogged through, their visors glinting under the light. Somewhere beyond Naboo's skies, part of the galaxy was starting to turn.

"Well, its good to have you back. We shoul-"

It then hit suddenly, some started talking quicker than normally, and others were starting to scramble to their desk to ensure they were getting the right information.

The Calm hum of the center suddenly shift what was once, steady, clinical, became a quick mess of chaos. Cassian Abrantes stood at the center of it all, the faint glow of holoscreens casting cold light across his face as data streams rolled in faster than any operator could process. Reports from Atrisia. Distress beacons, encrypted calls, fleet telemetry that told a story no words could soften.

"Sir, we're receiving feeds from the Outer Sectors—Atrisia is.....Civilian channels are—" The comms officer faltered as the screen shifted again, showing the unmistakable silhouette blotting out the stars. Gasps rippled through the room. Even the most seasoned agents froze at the sight of it.

 

[Sibylla Abrantes]

​

Theed Palace
Aurelian Veruna Dominique Vexx

​

The corridor gleamed with Naboo's quiet majesty, golden sconces casting soft pools of light across the polished marble. Sibylla walked in step beside Aurelian, Corde and Tona trailing just behind, their tablets already alive with the steady stream of notes and alerts that had dictated the pace of their entire day. This would be their sixth meeting, and she felt the weight of it settle already. Her calves ached faintly in her heels, though she would never allow it to show.

It was one thing to cover a single City-State like Dee'ja Peak during her brief tenure as Princess when her father had to depart for a time due to his Ambassador duties; another when now she had to assist in being the bridge between over a dozen city-states, their own Prince and Princess each wanting to be heard regarding their concerns or complaints. That wasn't even including the Royal Houses, vassal states, and commoners, much less the Gungan Ambassador and the mine and plasma refinery groups.

At least, Sibylla thought with a breath of relief, the next one was with Dominique. It would be good to see her again, and it should be a far more relaxed affair. A far easier task than the industrialists' earlier, whose voices still rattled through her mind, all tariffs and self-sufficiency, their proposals dressed as patriotism but tugging at Naboo's very soul. The green laws were not merely policy -- they were identity, inheritance, life. To soften them was to court ruin. And yet, somewhere in their noise had been a sliver of truth worth considering. A line so fine it felt more like walking a blade's edge than the floor beneath her feet.

However, a particular moment from the meeting they just departed made Sibylla's lips curve faintly, murmuring just low enough so only Aurelian would hear.

"You tried to foist Lord Sene on me when he began droning about percentages," she accused him with a mock affront while her eyes remained straight ahead, the glint of the sun's light catching over the Corseca Gems of her earrings.

"I caught that." The wry smile tugged deeper as her fingers brushed over the silk sash at her shoulder in a casual motion, but one that veiled her amusement. It was a private jab, a reminder that she saw more than Aurelian sometimes assumed she did.

They were just turning toward the next hall when the rhythm broke.

"Your Majesty," Tona's voice cut in, quiet yet edged with urgency. The timbre of it made Sibylla's pulse jump. She had stopped mid-scroll, gaze fixed on the tablet clutched in her hands.

Corde's reaction was sharper, her color draining as she read her own feed. Sibylla slowed, the echo of her steps faltering against the marble. A crease pulled at her brow as her chest tightened. Concern bled plain across her features as she turned slightly toward them.

"What is it?" she asked, just as she saw Corde swallow hard, then lift her gaze. "There are confirmed reports from Alliance space that Project Stardust... the Deathstar III, has arrived above Atrisia and is moving into position... with the Imperial Armada en route to support."

The words seemed to strip the corridor of its air, the warmth from the sconces paling into cold reflection on marble.

"What?" The soft exclamation fell from Sibylla's lips as her face blanched, color draining from her face as quickly as her eyes widened. She felt her stomach sink, a hollow chill blooming through her chest in its wake. For a moment, she could only hear her own heartbeat as it thundered unevenly at once, as though her body understood before her mind fully caught up. Her eyes panned up to land on Aurelian, and then she swallowed hard.

"The conference room with Dominique. There should be a holoarray there," she told them quietly, starting to move once more towards the Conference room.

 

[Ravion Corvalis]

​

Ravion Corvalis let the last steps of his entrance echo lazily across the Grand Gallery. Theed always smelled faintly of polished stone and river spray, an airiness that Malastare could never mimic. He breathed it in like a man reacquainting himself with civilization after too long among the provincial.

A cane, not needed but gifted by the Dugs on Malastare, tapped lightly in rhythm, a deliberate metronome against the hush of the marble hall. Myl, his assistant padded behind, one arm burdened with the usual stack of flimsis and rumour sheets Naboo seemed to breed as eagerly as its lake-fish. Ravion plucked the top sheet, unfolding it with a neat crackle as though it were the most important document in the Republic.

“Ah,” he murmured, voice dripping with amused disdain, “the Marquis of Ylvessa caught out again… I suspect the only ones scandalised are the printers.” His smile widened slightly, then faded as his eyes slid further down the column. “And there he is, our young Praxon...”

He folded the flimsi shut with a precise flick. The sound carried strangely in the vast hall, as though the air itself had stilled.

A prickling sensation climbed the back of his neck. He noticed, belatedly, that the chandeliers had dimmed. At first only a flicker, the brief sputter of a faulty connection, then all at once, the radiance bled from the room.

The great holoscreens recessed in the walls stuttered to life, drowning out the painted frescos with their sudden pall of static blue. The chatter of nobles faltered into silence. Even the guards at the doors shifted uneasily, helmets tilting toward the screens.

Ravion slowed his stride. His cane paused mid-tap.

The static thinned, resolved into the unmistakable outline of Atrisia’s skies. Gasps rippled outward in waves as though the chamber itself drew breath and held it. Above the world, blotting out the stars, hung a shape so colossal the mind resisted its proportions. A perfect curve that should have been a moon and yet was not.

The air in the hall grew close, heavy with the weight of recognition even before the announcer spoke. Ravion felt the silence crackling in his chest, each heartbeat louder than the last as the image widened, sharpened, dwarfed all else. A cold radiance lit the chamber as the station’s superlaser array glimmered, like an eye slowly opening.

The announcer’s voice broke against it, trembling. “Project Stardust…”

Around him, nobles muttered to each other, their jewels and gold rattling like windchimes. Prayers were whispered. One minister staggered backward, face chalk-white, as though struck by a physical blow.

Ravion did not move. He let the awe of it wash over him, as inevitable and immovable as the tide. For a single, unmeasured moment, all calculation stilled. It was not fear, not yet, only the overwhelming realisation that the galaxy had tilted, and nothing familiar would remain upright.

Only then did his hand tighten on the cane’s head, bone-white against the dark wood.

“Oh my it’s…” The only word that came to mind was not the one to be said here.

Beautiful.

 

[Dominique Vexx]

Conference Room, Naboo​

"Stardust is already in flight."

Dominique propped up on the conference table to obscure the lower half of her face from the holorecorder. Her other hand held a pad, which held her attention instead of the projected image of the Executive Board.

"The Galactic Empire is moving. Before any other. They have the strength and the will to bring order. An order that will solidify our control over the markets ensuring an endless flow of credits! A purity of purpose that will require endless resources to build, to train, to reign!"

That the blowhard already had a speech prepared for this moment said all that needed saying. It infuriated Dominique to have their Intelligence report on this movement just before the moon-size monstrosity would emerge and begin its campaign of terror and conquest. What was the entire apparatus for if not to learn of these things when there was still time to stop it? To position spies and saboteurs to deter or destroy hostile powers' ability to shatter what little stability remain in the galaxy.

"It is our responsibility to align ourselves with the strongest movers and shakers of the galaxy. By their side will our influence become unrivaled. Denon should declare its support for the Galactic Empire!"

A roar filled the chamber as Directors began to shout over one another. Some salivated at the prospect. Others decried the risk. If any of them cared for the moral implications, their voices were drowned out well and truly amidst the rest. Self-interest ruled still.

"Senator Vexx," the booming voice of Director Balphor crashed over the din of voices, no doubt prepared to make an unreasonable demand of her.

"Director," she interjected at a normal volume.

"Excuse me?"

Dominique set aside the pad and lifted her chin just enough to peer up at the blowhard's enormous head. "Director Vexx, and Chief Executive Officer of Rachne Industries. I have other titles if you wish."

A sharp snort melded with a scoff. "Yes, Director, I'm sure you do. Republic stooge, perhaps?"

Slowly, Dominique rose to her feet, hand planted on the table before her. "We are money makers, the deal builders, and the star shapers, Ladies and Gentlemen. The Corporate Sector Authority does not bow. It does not scrape. It does not beg. If the Galactic Empire is so formidable and able, then it may come to us and declare its price; and then -- only then -- will we so much as consider them as a power to be reckon with."

"Director, there is no denying--"

"I deny it," Dominique snapped. "And I will deny anyone in this galaxy that dares to put itself above Denon and our interests. They can be a partner, or they can be our foe; but let those that stand against us know I happen to agree with our Mandalorian friends -- if there is to be war, let it be total war. Admiral Jhayla," a brief pause for him to acknowledge her call, "place the Fleet on alert for an incursion. Have our allies take all due precautions. The Imperial forces may be at Artisia now, but they are not the only fools to think to exploit an opportunity."

"If you will excuse me," another deliberate half-second pause, "while I gather more information to ensure Denon's future remains bright, strong, and everlasting." With the bat of an eye she had the channel terminated.

Only then did she let out a quiet sigh born of tension. They wouldn't take any conclusive action yet, but Dominique saw that there was still much work left to do with the Board itself. Her influence of them was not as absolute as she might like, and money talked. Fortunately, so did fear -- both for and against. She only hoped those opposing the Empire could show the rest of the galaxy resistance was not in fact futile.

Sibylla Abrantes | Aurelian Veruna​

 

[Aurelian Veruna]

Location: Conference Room
Tags: Sibylla Abrantes | Dominique Vexx

Sibylla's accusation, soft but pointed, slipped from her lips. Aurelian's amber eyes glinted, his own smirk answering hers instantly. His face seemed perpetually caught between courtly charm and private rebellion, fueled by the kind of mischief that now spread across his features.

"Oh, come now," he drawled, leaning slightly toward her. His silk cloak whispered across the marble. "Lord Sene was practically begging for your attention. I thought it cruel to deny him the honor of boring someone so radiant. Besides," his eyes flicked to hers sideways, a spark of warmth deepening his grin, "you wear mock outrage better than anyone I know."

Corde muffled a laugh behind them, and Tona rolled her eyes with good-natured exasperation. Aurelian noticed their quiet exchanges: Corde leaning in conspiratorially, Tona allowing the stiff edges of her posture to soften. He had a fleeting thought that they might be becoming quick allies... maybe even friends. The idea pleased him. For all the grandeur of the palace, he preferred laughter carrying through the halls over whispers.

Their teasing rhythm, one of the few luxuries they allowed themselves between obligations, carried him easily forward until the shift came. Tona's voice, gentle but edged like glass, snapped the air taut. Corde's pale face and stiffened posture drove the truth home even before the datapad slid into his hand.

The smile dimmed, though it lingered faintly at the edges, the remnant of a mask Aurelian had worn since boyhood. The words on the screen burned away the last of it: Project Stardust. Death Star III. Atrisia. He had heard the whispers, naturally, but rumors were just fog. This was a blade drawn bare.

His jaw tightened. The sharp cut of his cheekbones seemed harsher beneath the sudden pallor shadowing his face. He glanced toward Sibylla, searching her expression. Her sudden whiteness mirrored the unease knotting in his stomach. The mischief in his eyes vanished, replaced by something harder, steadier. There was concern, and beneath it a flicker of anger that made his hand itch for a blade he wasn't carrying.

"Come," he said simply. His voice was quieter, but it carried a current that brooked no pause.

They pressed toward the conference chamber, their footsteps echoing with greater urgency. When the ornate doors parted, Dominique's poised figure was already there, haloed by the glow of the holoarray's dormant projectors. Aurelian wasn't surprised; Dominique was rarely caught unaware. He returned her greeting with a wry nod, masking the twist of dread in his chest with practiced elegance.

Crossing the room, he flicked the holoarray alive. The image flared into being: Atrisia's skies, split by fire and shadow. And there it was. The battle station's vast silhouette filled the screen, its superlaser array sparking to life. The sight pressed on his lungs like a weight, his instincts rebelling against the sheer, predatory enormity of it.

He exhaled slowly, forcing steadiness into his voice as he turned on Dominique.

"You already knew," he said. The tone wasn't accusing, but sharpened with intent. "What more do you have for us?"

His posture was easy, one hand loosely gripping the edge of the table, but his eyes betrayed him. They were steady, unblinking, and fierce. Beneath all his charm and jesting, Aurelian Veruna was a man raised on stories of Naboo's legacy. And legacy was never built by bowing to the dark.

​

 

[Fatine von Ascania]

OPEN​

Fatine hadn't been to Theed since she was a girl. It had been ten years, at least, perhaps more - and back then, she'd been captivated by the modern architecture and contemporary styles of Naboo's capital city.

Now, all the glittering jewels and polished sconces in the galaxy couldn't pull her from her worry.

Why did this trip have to coincide with a galactic cataclysm? Worst of all, at least two of her siblings had been pulled into the conflict.

Whatever was going on behind the grand doors of the conference room, Fatine did not want to be apart of, nor would she have been helpful to. Yet, she desperately wanted answers. Would the nobles and politicians have them? Were they simply going to look on in awe as the holofeeds fed them updates faster than most sentient eyes could read, or were they making contingency plans?

In one of the palace's guest lounges, Fatine tucked herself into the corner of a sofa. Glued to her datapad, she switched anxiously between three simultaneous newscasts. The image of the Death Star loomed over Atrisia, but she couldn't help but feel as though she too had been caught in its shadow.

Fatine was no soldier, no politician. She wasn't like her elder siblings, who'd developed skills of their own to engage this catastrophe. Would they even make it out? The notion had a violent chill sweeping through the heat of her frazzled nerves.

Normally, she exuded an unearned confidence. In the face of a crisis like this, she felt utterly useless.

 

[Servaine]

A group of young women sat in a corner of the servants' cafeteria, their identical gowns and hairstyles marking them as handmaidens. They chattered amongst themselves about the ominous announcement with wide eyes and stunned gasps.

"Have you heard the news?"

"Atrisia is under attack. They have a Death Star!"

"Oh, no!"

Servaine listened as she devoured her nuna sandwich. The handmaiden across from her looked appalled. "Servaine, how can you eat at a time like this?"

Servaine paused mid-bite. The other handmaidens' trays of food and drink lay untouched on the table before them, growing cold. Turning back to Lyssaine, she considered a biting response, but instead she shrugged. "I'm hungry."