Star Wars New Sith Trials III: The War of Three

The March... To War!



Enthralled by the quarreling factions of the insidious Sith Order, the unknown regions descend further into despotic violence with each passing day.



Shown above, Stormtroopers of the Fist establish an important outpost on a strategic forest world.

As the Twilight Sun touts its charitable works on impoverished worlds, the First Order continues to raid outlying systems and the Imperium of the Fist attempts to secure the political framework left behind by Grand Admiral Thrawn.

New Moraband finds itself at a strategic crossroads, and in the crosshairs of all three factions as the war gears up for its inevitable first pitched battle. Each side covets the system as a launching point for further campaigns - but will the denizens of this world be the ones to pay the price?

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GM UPDATE 2 OF 3

IC: Admiral Jerod & Darth Haretisch — New Moraband



The war machine springs to life.

It was six months to the day since the Luxury Elite. No less than two dozen ships of the Fist decanted at once from hyperspace above New Moraband, with a black Star Destroyer at the helm. The Intrepid, flagship of the Lord Imperator himself. Behind it, a pair of Imperial II-class capital ships of the same ilk, The Standardizer and The Repentance. A complement of Ardent-class frigates, Imperial support vessels, and various transports rounded out the flotilla.

Admiral Jerod had the bridge of The Repentance, and wasted no time in moving the fleet like pieces on a Dejarik board. TIE squadrons spat en masse from each destroyer, fighters clustering around the transports to offer protection, while bombers formed up for assault waves with interceptors as escorts.

“Eyes open 3rd Fleet, the First Order is already here,” Jerod’s voice was broadcast across the fleet, reaching every bridge. “Transports dip into low orbit and release drop ships. Frigates move up to protect rear of Intrepid, Standardizer, and Repentance. All ships move forward to engage. Cut off their angle on the transports. General Vexx, you are clear to proceed with the ground assault. Standby for further instruction from the Imperator.”

———————

From the bridge of The Intrepid, a veritable front row seat, Darth Haretisch watched the naval portion of the Battle of New Moraband unfold. Jerod would execute the battle plan to perfection, he had little doubt; cover the transports from above and establish superiority to protect the siege from orbital bombardment. The Imperium’s larger numbers would be invaluable in that respect, in terms of sheer mass and volume. Firepower-wise, the sides were a bit more even as Insipid had arrived with a heretofore unseen prototype Star Destroyer which scanners were measuring at 2,500 meters. That alone could prove a challenge.

The ground assault was something else entirely. Drop ships couldn’t safely land near the citadel, and so would need to set up at the outskirts and pelt the hostile militia-occupied inner city with artillery before marching to the gates of the Citadel itself. The siege in its early stages would be completely exposed if Jerod failed to secure the skies, at least until beneath cover of the city.

Fifty some odd drop ships were descending rapidly toward the surface. Speed was the key. The fifty first ship, however, was an outlier. A single Lambda-class shuttle - the personal transport of General Vexx, gifted to him by Darth Haretisch. The cyborg had shown his true nature on the Luxury Elite, and this stubborn loyalty even in the face of defeat had not gone unnoticed. The Night Herald come Emperor-General, Lord Imperator, had thusly taken Grievance under his wing. He had seen in Vexx a hunger for purpose, an uncontrolled blaze needing direction, and so for months he had personally tutored the Kaleesh in warfare. From study of operational art to the lower levels of the battlefield - small group tactics, skirmishing, flanking. Already a capable warrior before, he had been properly molded into a formidable commander, and trusted as ranking general of every ground-based force in the Imperium of the Fist, second in that regard only to Darth Haretisch himself.

General Vexx was not alone, however. Carried with him, Darth Odeke and Darth Francium - two recruits plucked from the æther of the unknown regions, capable force users in their own right who would now be groomed as generals themselves. Though trained force users had been all but exterminated from the galaxy proper, the same was not true of the unknown, though the former members of the now defunct Sith Triumvirate had approached the issue with a sort of gentlemen’s agreement; any known force users would choose a side or die. There was no neutrality to be had in this war.

“General,” the Imperator’s voice sounded from the ship’s console, “commence the bombardment straightaway once the guns are in place. Bellorum has bought the city and littered it with nuisances just as our intel stated. Reconnaissance fighters will scout enemy artillery continuously to transmit datar in real-time, wait for intel before beginning your march. Protect the guns at all cost and expect heavy resistance.”

With that, he cut the line. Darth Haretisch despised chaining calls together, but at the moment it was unavoidable. He nodded to the comms officer. “Patch me through to the Arae.”

——————-

It was late morning on New Moraband, and yet there was little sunlight. The sky was a dim and sickly green, the ground veiled in fog. The land was little more than marsh outside of the city, soft mud where it hadn’t been built up to suit foot traffic and building foundations like in the city. This was unbeaten path. A squad of stormtroopers stepped off of the unfurled ramp of their transport only to sink almost to the knee in the sticky muck. The ships too would appear to list as they settled.

Behind the stormtrooper lines, scores of SP.9s were setting up to bombard selective targets inside the city limits, supported by AT-STs at the rear.

From the outskirts of the city, a low rumble was escalating. Within only minutes the siege was under heavy fire from charging militia forces - and would face a miserable uphill slog through the mud to reach solid ground. The militiamen came in waves, some on foot, some in landspeeders strafing Imperial lines to take potshots with slugthrowers, some armed with cortosis-weave melee weapons and some with blasters. None, or very few, were heavily armored. In short they were underequipped and undertrained to face an Imperial force, but due to circumstances possessed a terrain advantage which would nearly level the playing field.

TAG: @Kaleesh-Cyborg, @MASTER Vo’Un’Var, @Quinlan Vos

OOC: Kaleesh go first, Var and Vos wait for his post and take his cues. Ask any questions in the group convo.

———————

Simultaneous to the battle, a larger flotilla was arriving above Nirauan. Half a dozen Star Destroyers, with as many frigates and support ships in tow. Enough firepower to wipe the capital city from the map, if it came to that. Darth Haretisch hoped it wouldn’t. He hoped the show of power would be enough. It would be such a terrible waste otherwise.

The planet was being governed by what remained of Thrawn’s council - nine elected officials, one from each of the most populous systems in his old Empire including Nirauan itself, representative of not only their own but the less populous worlds surrounding them. The result was a rudimentary collection of representative districts. The councilors’ control over their own worlds respectively was little more than name recognition, in truth they had no power beyond the capital. Not without a military to support them. Nirauan, however, was firmly under their influence. And with a strong hand, and some military heft, there was a chance Thrawn’s political framework could be salvaged and revitalized by his government’s successor state.

This was where Aryan Graul and his companion, Darth Syren, situated on the bridge of the Arae, became a valuable asset.

“Prime Minister, Lady Syren,” a technician turned from her console to address the pair. “Incoming transmission from the Lord Imperator?” it was phrased as a question, though presumed a foregone conclusion the call would be answered.

TAG: @HanSolo29, @QueenSabe7

 

IC: Soliloquy
In Transit

It was the best of times. It was the worst of times. These were the times that try men's and women's and whatever's souls and show absolutely nothing and everything in short order. That was what they were about these days, Order. After all they were the First Order, or rather their Supreme Leader was.

Now that was something to turn and tossle upon the back of one's mind. This one that they followed, their Emperor come Supreme Leader had gone through rather a many step and body process to come where he was today. That process having been deeply mired in titles and psychiatric conditions that were well on the way to becoming a litany of fiendish sorts best described by and only to the dead. It nearly saddened a facet that Deadwar or whatever his name was not here to see such things, and more so that the woman that had started it's journey by placing it in a library ontop of common table had no life yet to draw in this universe. Although it would always hold red twi'leks in a special part of it's crystalline heart because of her. In Spite of her. Due to her. Ah the effects we women can have, and those we men can as well.

It was all fantastical in a way, the ides and passing of these, these last few months. It wanted to think on them some but the present pressing of the moment was upon them. For once more they were valet and chauffeur to the Supreme Leader as they were heading out to fight once more in the skies of New Morraband. Only this time, hopefully, this new body of the Supreme Leader would not be swayed by tabloid articles or simple betrayals to act rashly.

The speech at least was a good start, and so they cheered at the appropriate time. The end.

TAG: @ First Order

 

IC: Darth Ravenous
Prison Block, Solitary confinement..

*Drip. Drip. Drip.*

The sounds of condensation from a leaky and broken ventilator were the only sound Ravenous heard in his confinement. Units of time that passed were non-existent as the dripping continued. He resided in the corner of his cell, crouched, meditating; mostly to keep his mind off the hunger. He had not fed since he arrived in this place. What was he to eat? Surely the guards wouldn't sneak him an arm or leg with a mind trick. He slobbed his hand across his mouth to clear off the froth as the thought passed. He knew why he was here but knew not how long. Had the Emperor forgotten him? To be locked away after his loyalties remained true to Insipid. As days continued to pass, different memories tickled his mind. Darth Kronos' treachery was foremost. He stewed on this often, mostly to keep his thoughts off Insipid's orders to lock him away. He knew he would eventually be let go after he proved himself an obedient weapon. Doubt rotted the optimistic thought every time, however. He would then return to thoughts of Darth Kronos the traitor.

*CLANG!*

The sound of the door of the solitary confinement block echoed off everything.

A new sound...

A pair of footsteps approached his cell and stopped right outside before the slider opened. His eyes burned from the light and his arm formed a shield to separate himself into darkness once more. A man's voice pinged against his ears,

"Let's have a look at this thing."

A snicker was heard from the other body.

"I can't see a kriffing thing in there, c'mon let's get out of here before they know where we are. The Supreme Leader would not hesitate to kill us if he found out."

"Idiots, he knows already. He knows all."

The deep voice of the Sith-Spawn haunted the second man and it was apparent in his voice; Now wavering.

"C'mon, let's go!" The first man piped up again. "SHUT UP IN THERE!"

Ravenous raised his hand to penetrate one of their minds to reach inside but no reaction happened. The one man laughed before pressing the shock treatment button. It debilitated Ravenous enough he fell forward, spitting as he coughed. He proceeded to punch the durasteel flooring of the cell and filled the cell block before the two men closed the shutter again; Their footsteps puttering away until the door was heard clanging closed again.

The Beast will be held in reserve... He may not even be deployed in the theatre...

He caught that bit and nearly choked. He must be close, he did the only thing he could at this point and let out a terrifying howl, loud enough to chill the soul of the bravest of warriors. He must be let out. He must...

Tag: @First Order

 

General Grievance Vexx
Aboard Lambda Class Shuttle Counterstrike

Much has changed in six months, especially for one Kaleesh cyborg finding himself a place among the Sith despite the Order being divided three ways. He still remembers it all very clearly; the feeling of being trapped without a choice; armed troopers closing in on him; his daring experiment with the powers of the Force alive and well at the seat of his soul. It had cost him his arm; more appropriately, his father's arm. It had been a hell of a struggle resigning himself to giving it up as it had been damaged beyond repair. He flexes the skeletal fingers of his upgraded appendage, still able to be split into two arms, but now equipped with reinforced conduit to handle his power without causing damage to himself.

As he sits in the shuttle gifted to him which he had christened "Counterstrike", his thoughts are reflective. He finds himself thinking about his old master, Lord Draconis, and wondering what had become of him in the destruction of the Luxury Elite. A twisted part of him misses the mysterious man who had broken his stubborn will against the Force, yet another part of him hates Draconis for awakening his power and prodding him to use it. It has been nothing but trouble ever since. Still, he wonders what happened to his master. Had he been killed? Captured? Had he escaped and simply vanished as Vexx had wanted to do himself? The cyborg feels a stab of envy if that is the case.

He is wary of Haretisch. But then, Grievance Vexx is wary of everybody, rarely affording anyone much in the way of trust. The Night Herald's training did have more appeal to him though, especially since his revolved more around the broad scope of warfare and strategizing and less around the intoxicating power of the Force. While Vexx has learned to accept that he is counted among those gifted with the Force, he still refrains from using it accept in times of desperation or when he finds that there is no other way to fight off an enemy. He had learned his lesson well from his encounter with Darth Alva and the hours that followed in which Draconis had held him captive and tormented his mind until his will had been broken. He would never allow such a thing to happen to him again if he could help it.

Drawing his mind back to the present, Vexx is not ignorant of the two aspiring generals accompanying him. While he is not one to enjoy the company, he doesn't mind being in a position to share knowledge and experience. This sort of thing is built into him because of his culture. While he does not personally care about Darth Odeke or Darth Francium as of yet, he will do his due diligence in helping them reach their goals. After all, it will only serve to help Haretisch reach his goal in the end. The cyborg knows they are all pawns and the words of Syren still echo in his mind: "We are all in this for ourselves!"

That statement alone is perhaps what has kept him grounded here among the Sith in spite of his desperately painful longing to go his own way. She had said it with such conviction, yet her protective actions over the girl called Leda had contradicted every word, leaving Vexx confused and trying to riddle this out all this time. The Sith are so different from his people and yet...they aren't as different as he had first perceived them to be. He shakes his head free of his musings as the Night Herald contacts him with specific instructions regarding the current ground assault mission and he inwardly scolds himself for letting his laser focus wander. The battlefield is no place for reflection.

"Yes, my master," he replies calmly, "I specialize in dealing with nuisances and will be watching for the aforementioned intel. Resistance only makes a fight more...interesting."

Another waiting game. Vexx has extraordinary self control and patience, so waiting is no deterrence to him. He can wait for inexhaustible hours for an enemy to make a mistake in hand-to-hand combat. Likewise, he can wait for days to receive pertinent information to aid his cause. He would rather have all the facts before him prior to making a move, so logical is his electronically enhanced mind. He looks to the two underlings accompanying him.

"The two of you will stay close when we launch the attack for the purpose of hands-on experience," he tells them, his masked face expressionless, "By the way, you should know that this faction you have been taken into and this experience being given to you is a valuable gift not extended to just anyone. Yes, you chose to join us when you could have joined the other two just as easily, but you have been seen as worthy to be given the opportunity for growth without being put through seven layers of hell first. Consider yourselves very fortunate."

There is just the slightest hint of bitterness in the Kaleesh general's tone as he turns to look out the viewport again. Indeed, he has been through seven layers of hell and more just to find himself here. While it is not where the deepest recesses of his heart wants to be, it is not without its advantages. At least he gets to fight and gain experience and skill and he is presented with challenges that push him beyond what he thinks he is capable of.

"Odeke. Francium," his mechanically aided voice rumbles, "I will give you the challenge of setting up outer defenses for the guns. I will arrange my own defenses closer within yours. You are new and if the guns are taken, there will be punishment for the failure. In this way, should your defenses fail, you will have mine to fall back on to hopefully prevent any loss. That being said, if failure is the outcome, the failure will ultimately fall on me because, as the more experienced, there is no reason for the enemy to penetrate my fortifications."

Contrary to the methods of the Sith in which failure brings punishment upon the one with whom the failure starts, Vexx finds it further reaching to stake himself on their performance. In the end, they will all be punished, but the psychological element of placing his own fate in the hands of the less experienced often has a tendency to make them be more cautious than they would be if only their own necks were on the block. He had learned this from his old master as well and it is an element he will continue to utilize whenever the opportunity presents itself.

In matters of the bombardment, Vexx does not relish the idea of trying to maneuver his three-hundred-fifty pound durasteel body through knee-deep mud. He has a few choice words for Haretisch on the matter, but they are words he will never speak out loud thanks to his self-control. He will put up with it. After all, his medical droid will have the nasty job of flushing his joints later. He has legitimate concerns about the situation though. With the enemy attacking from an uphill position, they are in danger whether they are trained and armored or not. The enemy has that "high ground" advantage Vexx has heard tell of and he doesn't like it. Turning the tide quickly is definitely among his higher ranking priorities.

Tag: @Darth_wanderguard @Quinlan Vos @Master Vo'Un'Var

 

IC: Darth Anark

Moments from mayhem...


A towering figure, dressed in black plated armour with emerald green linings, glided along the walkway to the already primed TIE fighter.


Darth Anark was muttering to himself; some disjointed staccato of sentences about Hutt’s crafting opera songs.


The Sith Inquisitor climbed into the illuminated cockpit of his fighter and flipped the comms switch above his head. He keyed in a code to engage the thrusters and felt the ship come to life all around him.


“Shadow two,” as if toying with the words in his mind, “shadow two,” he whispered to himself, grinning.


The TIE began to hover and climb in altitude. Anark watched the stormtroopers below become smaller and smaller as it did.


Where once, months ago, his standing in the Sith Empire was shaken and uncertain – where his feelings towards Insipid, Haretisch, and Bellorum had turned to disgust and disillusion – especially towards the former, he now knew that now was the time to choose a side. This war would shape the galaxy, as Palpatine had, Dark Side rest him. As every war had before this. History is the history or war. Nothing else, he mused. And today the galaxy would hear the drums of victory on New Moraband. The victory of The First Order.


Anark focused his mind. His face adopting a look of calm determination as the TIE shot forward, that infamous scream emanating from it as it left the hangar.


The starscape greeted him. The battle had already begun. Laser fire criss-crossed everywhere. Frigates were being knocked off course and consumed by the firepower of larger frigates. Smaller fighters exploded and spun out of sight at every angle in the distance. Anark opened the channel between he and the five fighters under his command who had followed him into space in two rows of two and a lone fighter at the tail.

“Heed my every order,” he said, in an almost indifferent tone, “until further instruction, our goal is to keep the pathway on-world clear for our forces. Engage any enemy attempting to land and wipe them out. Stay in formation and remember, soldiers of The First Order, Today is ours!”


Anark had barely finished when a crimson bolt shot past his right wing. He couldn’t identify the attacker but this prompted him to activate the shields and ensure they were at one hundred percent. As Shadow Two darted further towards the planet’s atmosphere, the second TIE on the left exploded into a brilliant inferno before being immediately extinguished from existence by the vacuum of space. They had lost one already.


“Close the gap!” he bellowed.


Anark pushed his ship to full throttle and began targeting would-be landers.


“Here we go…”

TAG: @ First Order​

 

IC: Bo Etraa
Citadel, New Moraband...


Etraa has received the call.

He rushes into a glass turbo lift and hits the descent button, all the way to the grounds of the Citadel.

His garb is just as flamboyant and loud as ever; a pristine white doublet with trims of red-gold and a trailing over-cloak to match with the sigil of Twlight Sun upon it’s brooch, his combat bottoms conceal a defender-sporting blaster pistol, retractable combat staff, and his complete lack of manhood, after his crusade on the Luxury Elite.

Bo was given the opportunity to have a prosthetic appendage put in place but resolved that it would probably leave him even more depressed about the situation.

He stands, although sweating and stressed, straight-backed and composed as he watches New Moraband’s horizon disappear behind the mountains in the distance.

Part of him feels as though he’s bitten off more than he can chew.

But a bigger part of him knows that war is his arena.

He grasps the turbo lifts stability bar with one bejewelled hand and sucks in a deep breath before walking briskly out of the automatic doors.

---

In the hangar, Bo looks out at what he can see of the city beyond the citadel. He wonders how much of it will be left when the day is over.

Twilight Sun has the finances to test a variety of fighters and starships for its fleet. The choice is staggering in the hangar. Pristine fighters, Nubian to Corellian are on offer for the taking. The Dark Lady has given them free reign in this regard. Bo’s eyes settle almost immediately on a gleaming white Scimtar. He is confident - some might even say arrogant - about his dynamic skill set, but piloting is one he has some reservations about.

---

Up in space, chaos has already ensued. Bo pulls the top button of his doublet loose and grabs the weapon controls. He looks over at one of the worlds three moons as the scimtar accellerates towards the battle, he wonders for a moment how many citadels will be erected upon its soil, should they be victorious.

Shortly after his mind registers a colossal destroyer emerge from hyperspace, a group of fighters depart and head for the front lines in space.

That familiar jolt goes through him. His brother is there. Among their adversaries ranks. His heart sinks in his chest. They are bound by The Force as well as by blood.

He can feel that it’s him.

His first instinct is to try to patch through to his comm frequency, but he halts himself.

Bo lets off an accidental stray shot from the cannons in his fright that almost clips the wing of the ship he suspects of containing Kade.

What in the blazes am I doing?

He sees the Empress in his minds eye, and the glory he could reap. He adjusts his position and targets the TIE behind the leader. He doesn’t think twice before firing. It’s a sitting duck from this angle. It only takes three shots before the fighter explodes, and Bo hears its debris whack against his viewport in the wake of the attack.

For over a year he has sought out his brother, trekking across the galaxy, to every seedy cantina and hostile moon inbetween, and now, when he has a shot to focus on his own career, now, he decides to make an appearance.

He gathers himself, ceases pursuing the First Order TIE’s and retreats to assist the fighters above-world. The newly minted agent of the Twilight Sun engages potential attackers with intentions of bringing the citadel to the ground. He awaits orders from Her Highness, looking wide eyed upon the First Order and Imperiums substantial forces.

TAG: @ Twilight Sun ​

 

IC: Kwea Acantha

Six months had changed Kwea. Her usually long hair was now chopped at the collarbone. Her normally vibrant face bore dark circles under the eyes and faint frown lines on her forehead. The young woman was now twenty and had been kept fairly busy with the First Order's quest to rework the Navy and tighten up on redesigns for machinery. Her clothing had stayed mainly the same except for the black, leather, fingerless gloves that now covered her hands.

Now, as she stood in the hangar of a Star Destroyer, Kwea's eyes brightened at the idea of a new battle. The last time she had been on a mission like this, it had been years into the future on the same planet. It hadn't ended well...

“We are here, today, to reclaim our home. We were there too briefly before things went awry. Before loyalties were split apart. Now, we come not as refugees trying to rebuild our empire within another, but as masters of our own fate.”

Yes, the Sith had been here briefly. Kwea remembered a small child named Deathy who had been Haretisch's new apprentice. That child had pummeled her with pastries when trying to use the Force. There had been a glorious banquet where she had been given the holocron, Soliloquy by Lady Bellorum. That had also been the day she had become an Underlord. However, war had come to interrupt those few hours of bliss and one thing led to another. Now, Kwea was an enemy of Haretisch and a dedicated follower of Insipid, or rather, Supreme Leader Snoke.

Insipid gave them all their assignments. She was to escort Assault, which consisted of Mallace, Saadi, and Cocytus, to the surface.

First Shadow. She liked the sound of that. Kwea had five fighters under her command and she was rather excited to be flying the new, shiny TIE/FO fighters.

Grand Admiral Sloane’s voice announced, “We are three minutes to reversion, Supreme Leader," from a comm and Kwea started off for her fighter.

Time for action.

TAGS: @Sinrebirth @Darth Kronos, @Mitth_Fisto, @Dagobahsystem, @WookieeRage, @Snokers, @corinthia,

 

IC: Syren
Aboard The Arae, arriving above Nirauan

Syren absently paced in front of the sizeable viewport the bridge provided, her floor-length cloak ruffling about her body in response to her anxious movements. Her thoughts churned like a storm-addled sea, constantly running over everything from her lengthy and distant past right through to her current predicament; being one of the many faces at the forefront of this… war. The Sith civil war.

Even now, several months after its collapse, she flashed a sneer at the state of the fractured Empire. This was not how she pictured her part would be played, this was not what she had suffered for, searching endlessly, waiting thousands of years to find - the glorious Sith and all their might, fighting amongst themselves instead of dominating all else as one.

An idea she had been toying with, that this was not the destiny she was meant for, resurfaced with fervor and that nagging, ever-present urge to run from it all continued to pick away at her resolve to remain. However, as she considered it a viable option, it seemed impossible to know where she could go, where she could hope to escape her new reality. And without him? No, not even a question.

Perhaps they had simply missed their window, if they ever had one to begin with.

The assassin’s agitated steps came to a sudden halt and she took a deep, steadying breath, turning to face the hypnotic blur of hyperspace that consumed her view. She folded her arms across her chest and allowed the whirling tunnel of blue to dull her internal chaos, momentarily pulling her free and sinking her mind into a light trance-like state. As she gathered herself, she was able to muse over the fact that while this ship, her ship, had been in use for quite some time, she had never set foot aboard. Until now.

The Arae – a no-frills vessel of war gifted upon her ascension to High Lord, what seemed like a lifetime ago. She had thought the gesture to be absurd then, and still does at present. Syren was the opposite of what the massive ship represented and she had passed off the responsibility of its safety to the soldiers and officers assigned to its service, leaving her able to ignore its existence entirely. Of course, from where she now lingered upon the observation platform that lined the wall of transparisteel before her, she could no longer deny what was hers.

Hers.

At her back the bridge crew was busy at their respective positions, preparing for what may await them at their fast-approaching destination. She paid them no mind, only truly concerned for herself… and one other.

The redhead had sensed him easily enough, his confidence a welcome opposition to her doubts. Easing herself back to the here and now, she peered to her side to watch him standing a ways down the same stage she occupied. Aryan Graul, a man that had once been only infuriating and obnoxious – and still could be – but had since become something far more complex to her; a partner, companion, lover, someone she trusted. A rare combination to find in a single being, let alone one that she simultaneously wanted to scream at and not talk to at all, their mouths otherwise preoccupied. In return, she had no reason to doubt that he trusted her, the chancellor-turned-prime minister having made his feelings for her crystal clear after they had fled the Luxury Elite and assumedly chosen the side of the former Night Herald, together.

Three little words that rolled off the tongue so easily and yet, carried an incredible amount of weight; a threat even, an attachment.

While it was painfully obvious to her that she felt the same, Syren had not returned the sentiment and was not sure she ever should. She knew full well what it meant to speak those feelings aloud, how it suddenly made them real and how vulnerable you became as a result. It had nearly killed her the only time she had taken that risk, blinded to the true intentions of someone she had thought loved her as she had loved him. How wrong she had been then, and now? Her eyes narrowed as fragments of her past filled her mind and she scrutinized Aryan, wondering if he could ever betray her, if he was truly capable of that level of deceit. It would have been easy to know he would, to say she was sure of it. But a controlling part of her told her he would never, that his feelings were genuine, and that made this all the more complicated.

Instinctively Syren reached out for him, searching the Force for their bond and the intimate connection they had once shared. Where there should have been a source of strength and reassurance, there was now… nothing. Just a void inside her, an empty piece of the Force that she instantly recoiled from, a saddened expression coating her face as she turned her attentions from Aryan and moved a few more paces in the opposite direction.

She knew their former link wouldn’t be there and she knew why, and yet she still found herself trying to find it as if it were just buried deep, waiting to be rediscovered. There would be no such uncovering, ever, as his sacrifice had been a final one and there could be nothing done to reverse it. Recalling the singular moment that it had happened, Aryan collapsing to the shuttle floor and the unusual ripple through the Force that had seized her heart with fear, she had thought his very life had been torn from him. In that instant she couldn’t breathe, thinking him dead, just as quickly realizing he wasn’t.

It had been a horrifying experience and she shuddered at the memory, willing herself to forget it entirely.

In tandem with her bodily shiver, the floor beneath her boots gave a telltale tremble, the stars stretching and then snapping back to the white pinpoints that filled the void of space to infinity. They had arrived, the planet of Nirauan hovering before them.

“Prime Minister, Lady Syren. Incoming transmission from the Lord Imperator,” a female voice questioned from somewhere behind her, Syren thankful for the distraction.

As if nothing was amiss, business as usual, she turned and strode towards the tech that had spoke, looking to Aryan to take the lead as she went.

“All yours, Prime Minister,” she teased casually enough, a smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth. It was genuine, the rapport between them almost effortless at this point, relaxed and easy. And exactly why it was dangerous.


TAGS: @HanSolo29 @Darth_wanderguard

 

IC: Darth Saadi
Aboard the Resurgent en route to New Moraband

It was a time of civil war for the Sith. The chaos and treachery aboard the Luxury Elite still fresh in his mind, the changeling known only as Saadi contemplated how it had come to this point. He quickly chastised himself for feeling surprised by these developments, as this was the way of the Sith. It would have been unexpected had things not turned out like this, he reasoned. Still, a part of his mind worried about the state of the Sith Order having been scattered into hostile factions. Former allies, now enemies. A sinister sense of foreboding penetrated the Clawdite's mind as he contemplated the repercussions of this violent schism. The feeling quickly left as he listened carefully to a familiar voice.

One thing remained certain. He was loyal to his master, Darth Insipid and the First Order. He would do what must be done. Saadi placed his concerns aside and took some comfort in the way the dark side of the Force was permeating every section of this massive Star Destroyer.

Observing his fellow Sith, those who had remained loyal to the Supreme Leader, Saadi maintained a clear head, determined and focused on the objectives at hand.

Darth Insipid had instructed him to team with Mallace and Cocytus aboard a new TIE/FO shuttle called the Assault, along with three, four man trooper squads. There was to be a great battle, no doubt. First Shadow Kwea would provide essential support as they headed for New Moraband and whatever fate awaited them all.

One thing was certain. The First Order must gain the advantage quickly before the Imperium and Twilight Sun were able to establish a permanent foothold on the planet. Saadi hoped this would be the case and felt confident that it would be, as Insipid's instructions to his remaining followers were clear, concise, and well planned.

Darth Saadi smiled slightly as he finished his preparations and began to head for the Assault. This battle would wait for no one.

Tags: @Sinrebirth @Darth Kronos @Darth Cocytus @Halle Dray @corinthia @WookieeRage @Mitth_Fisto @Snokers

 

Darth Hades
The Citadel

Hades sat in silence as he meditated. Over the last several months Hades had focused solely on Twilight Sun and its military.

He found an odd satisfaction in his new purpose. Odd because being a military man never was of any interest to Hades.

As he sat in silence, the alarms went off and his comm started relaying messages of imminent attack.

He rose and made his way to the command tower.

Hades opened his secure comm channels.

"Captain Finis, prepare your men for any ground assaults. Dedicate a group to searching downed fighters for allies and enemies alike."

Hades then turned his eyes to the skies.

"All fighters launch. Defend this Citadel. Focus your attacks on fighters only until ordered otherwise."
​

TAG: Folks at The Citadel.

 

IC: Darth Francium

The young Sith stood silently in the corner as he listened to General Vexx’s orders. He had respect for the man, certainly, but he didn’t have much emotional attachment to the robot. Francium hadn’t felt much emotion at all aside from anger ever since losing his mother in a dark alley on Kiffar. Nevertheless, he had learned to control the anger and only give in to it in short bursts. As he was given his task, he thought through every possible scenario quickly and methodically. He would be prepared for the engagement. He wouldn’t fail. After the briefing, he stalked back off to the back of the ship to meditate until the craft had landed and his services were needed.

Tag: @Kaleesh-Cyborg @Master Vo'Un'Var

 

IC: Astra
Luxury Elite, Briefing room.

As she was let into the briefing room she immediately scanned her surroundings. Counting. Always counting. Her mind was clearer since she had gotten off the spice but she was not the same. Her body language was stale, her face, a facade. She would rather be in a bed curled up in a blanket but here she was. In a room that was vulnerable to a well coordinated hit squad. Astra clenched her hand around one of her long barreled slug throwing pistol.

She loosened it again.

Inside she was broken, on the exterior; She was unmoved.

She stood fully erect now. Her thoughts swayed and for some reason thought of Bo...

Her arms crossed behind her back and she sunk in the Empress' demands. Going through the motions of an organized briefing which she had done countless times before, for much less money. She took the datapad in hand and took in the image of this filthy child Deward.

She chuckled at the name for some reason..

Her eyes rolled at the mention of a 'scrappy prisoner.' This girl had better not drag us down..

The briefing concluded and she returned to her quarters. She disassembled her rifle with record speed. A special acidic bath for the parts would clean the lenses, electrical and various mechanisms of her prized marksman rifle; a custom DL variant. She was preparing for war. She was made for war. She was the embodiment of war... But she also wanted spice.

@QueenSabe7 @SkywalkerShine @Lady Belligerent

 

IC: Darth Kronos - The Citadel

Six months had passed since the betrayals that destroyed the Sith Order.

Six long, agonizing months.

In that time, so much had changed. Each faction of the once powerful Sith Empire had grown in strength, each acquiring powerful members. Regular denizens of the galaxy lived in fear of the affects the impending Sith civil war would have on them. While the First Order and the Imperium of the Fist squabbled for supplies, the Twilight Sun lingered in the shadows, waiting for the perfect opportunity to strike. The Unknown Regions devolved into chaos as the Sith civil war raged on, and various newspaper companies were there to document every moment of it.

Kronos's relationship with Esme had not improved. He never even had the chance to make amends for his mistake. Before he could speak to her, he was informed that she had stayed behind on a Hapan world after attending a Royal family dinner. She never returned, and all of his attempts of contact were met with silence.

His Fang Troopers - the soldiers he handpicked to be his elite squadron - were no where to be found. They never bothered to contact Kronos, and, with everything that was going on, he couldn't have cared less. The same could have been said regarding his personal Star Destroyer. No contact at all in six months.

In the three-way civil war, Kronos found himself with the Twilight Sun, lead by Bellorum. It was also something he regretted. It was the decision that caused the rift in his relationship with Esme.

He was appointed to the rank of commander. A quick promotion for a cause he wanted nothing to do with.

Presently, he found himself tasked with removing Draconis and Serapis from separate cells, before transferring them to the Atonement. The assault that Bellorum had been tirelessly preparing for had finally arrived.

He had been in his personal chambers when his comlink went off.

Hades had primarily occupied himself with strengthening the Twilight Sun's military. It seemed like a passion project for him. So, that meant he would focus on defending the Citadel from the front lines.

He made his way toward one of the detention centers.

He decided to get Serapis first. From his previous encounters with him, which felt like forever ago, he seemed fairly reasonable. The same certainly could not be said for Draconis. Kronos would get him last, once he had potential backup.

Reaching Serapis's cell, he used the Force to unlock the gate. "Come on," Kronos began to explain as he undid the chains. There was an obvious hint of sorrow in his tone of voice. "Bellorum wants you and Draconis on a shuttle out of here."

TAG: @Lady Belligerent @E. L.Knight @DarthIshyZ (@dragonsith13 - you're next)

-----

IC: Mallace - eh

Mallace was stressed.

In the previous six months, she had found herself siding with the man who resembled Typhojem, only because the only thing that qualified as a semblance of an ally - Soliloquy - did so. The newly dubbed Supreme Leader Insipid had occupied himself with strengthening their fleet by improving old Imperial designs. The First Order, like the Imperium, was focused on acquiring supplies from various planets. It was to be used to seize a vital planet: Zakuul. New Moraband.

And she had a part to play. From being mostly invisible to taking part in a vital mission in the different of the First Order. Although designated with two other Sith, she could finally prove herself to a Master. Finally be taken on as an Apprentice. Further her strength and abilities before dethroning her main superior and rise in rank and power. Finally be free from bowing to everyone feigning respect.

She could not run. She had accepted that a while ago. But rising through the ranks was a way to achieve her goals.

Their Supreme Leader had prepared a speech, and Mallace made sure to keep her head down. She still couldn't muster the mental strength to look him in the eyes.

Looking up, once he was finished, she turned around to face her fighter. She knew her job. She was to accompany First Shadow - Kwea - to the surface of the Citadel and help recapture it.

She entered her fighter and gave a quick glance to her temporary leader, Kwea. Thought to be dead, but revealed to be alive not long after. Maybe Insipid did to Kwea what Typhojem did to her...

She shuddered at the thought.

TAG: @Sinrebirth @Halle Dray @Mitth_Fisto @Dagobahsystem (@Darth Cocytus @Snokers @corinthia @WookieeRage)

 

IC: Lady Hesper
Resurgent

Time passes like sand sifted too quickly through one's fingers when it is spent as Sith. For six months that seemed to pass faster than she might like, Hesper had bade her time away from the looming Sith civil war, aboard her Star Destroyer Sibyl, until she deemed the time right and slipped out of the shadows as easily as she had slipped into them; Bellorum had pulled a distasteful stunt six months prior, Insipid and Haretisch had clashed, and Hesper, feeling suddenly turned against, chose to simply withdraw and wait and see who would win over what little trust she had left.

Insipid had won it.

Which is why she was now aboard a new class of Star Destroyer, a prototype called Resurgent-- and this particular one, being the first of its kind, was named for its class. But to stand amongst Sith again was a strange sensation. Gathered in the landing bay of the colossal Resurgent-class Destroyer, Hesper felt at odds with the others around her; there was Anark, whom she recognized mostly by the quavering mania radiating from the man in the force, and there was Kwea, whom Hesper had briefly hoped might slip away with her when all had come crashing down half a year earlier. There was her former apprentice, Cocytus, in the hangar as well, among others she knew. Hesper stood with one arm folded across her stomach and the other resting atop it, fingers placed lightly on her chin, thoughtful and a bit withdrawn. And she looked somewhat worse for the wear, too. Her skin was sallow and her hair had grown longer, and its ends had become split and frayed. Leaving it loose and tangled down her back, Hesper had simply thrown on the first things her hands had touched before she left on the shuttle to the Resurgent: dark fitted trousers, black leather boots, a long and loose black tunic, and deep red lip paint. Her lightsaber she carried in the hand folded tightly against her stomach, though it had a place on her belt beside a blaster she had taken from a crew member aboard Sibyl. She felt flighty, but for no apparent good reason. She had chosen Insipid to stand by-- it was time to be firm in her decision.

Then, Insipid spoke. "We are here, today, to reclaim our home. We were there too briefly before things went awry. Before loyalties were split apart. Now, we come not as refugees trying to rebuild our empire within another, but as masters of our own fate," he said, then shrugged. “Today we start that anew. We have Intelligence that not all the Sith who Bellorum tricked into allying with her have gone so willingly. Serapis, at very least, as well as perhaps Lord Draconis, were both noted as having been prisoners at various points in the last few months. We have sought to prevent Haretisch discovering this, and we have also wondered whether this is setup information.”

Hesper tuned out of Insipid's speech until she could feel his intense gaze on her form. “Victory will be deployed to hunt down and kill the main three targets of the Twilight Sun, who holds New Moraband.” Victory was her designation.

She knew who these targets were: this, she had been briefed on.

Bellorum, Ike, and Kronos.

Should any of these targets be present, Hesper's duty was to kill them. And she would do it-- for her Emperor. Bellorum, while she had been an ally once, was an ally no more, and Hesper could never agree with her and her covetous, jewel-grabbing ways. Ike, she might feel a little remorse over... but Insipid seemed to show no signs of woe over his death sentence. Kronos Hesper knew little of, so in a way he would perhaps be the easiest to pick off...

When a woman's voice chimed over the intercom and Insipid ended his speech with a sinister grin, Hesper knew it was time. She couldn't stop herself from returning the sick smile. She was back.

TAG: @Sinrebirth

 

IC: Leda
The Luxury Elite

Leda stirred, gently waking from a deep sleep with a smile. Rolling over onto her back, snug against the plush mattress and tucked under the burgundy sheets her bed was dressed with, she yawned and eagerly rubbed her eyes open as her smile turned into a wide grin.

The young woman was quite proud of herself lately. And rightfully so, she would think, knowing without a doubt that she fully deserved to stand as high as she was and hold the position she currently did.

Commander. Of the Twilight Sun. Under Empress Bellorum, Queen of the Twilight.

Floor lights began to slowly move from practically non-existent to just below full strength in response to the time, and Leda all but leapt from the bed. “Up we get,” she whispered to herself, already anxious to start the day and begin any adventures that may be waiting to be had.

~~~

A short time later she was showered and clothed in a rather boldly stated get-up involving something along the lines of ‘fashion-forward soldier’ meets ‘battle haute couture’ – she did love keeping up with galactic styles. Her white-blonde hair tied back in a loose braid and lightsaber already secured to her waist, the warrior snatched up her final accessory on her way out the door; a short sword with a gorgeous red blade and what appeared to be an ancient design. The curious weapon had previously belonged to a certain redheaded assassin but was so carelessly left behind in her flight from the Luxury Elite months prior, choosing the side of a traitor therefore branding herself one as well. Well, one’s trash is another’s treasure, right? Leda thought so, immediately coveting the weapon for herself after she had discovered it in its former owner’s quarters.

Besides, she would surely get much more use out of it than she did.

With a satisfied nod, she quickly strapped the sword across her back and marched off to her destination, predetermined via a message she had received the day before; Bellorum’s war room, a place Leda simply glowed at being privy to.

Upon her eventual arrival, she paused impatiently at the entrance, granted admittance only a moment later but a moment too long for her taste. Once the doors finally parted, she crossed the threshold with her chin up, a look that would most likely come off a bit arrogant to most. How she appeared to others never bothered her though, the only opinion of herself she considered worth her consideration would be that of the Dark Lord she served.

Her yellow-green eyes immediately found her as she entered, the Empress’ formidable strength within the Force pulling her focus in an almost hypnotic way. It was her power, yes, but it was also because it was what Leda continuously lusted after. She reveled in the dark rush her cravings created, offering a respectful curtsey and a small smile before taking up post directly across from the half-chiss, noting a pair of datapads sitting upon the surface before her. Her brow furrowed in confusion. Was there to be someone else? Was she not trusted to handle a new mission on her own?

There was a moment of silence, one in which Leda was about to let her sudden frustration disrupt with a question when a rather unexpected presence did indeed join them.

The spice girl? she questioned in surprise. The one from the casino… what was her name?

Her distaste for the new company would be plain as day though she said nothing aloud, giving the girl a once over before returning her gaze forward.

Astra.

What did Bellorum want with a drug-addled chick such as this? The obvious answer being that she was to be her partner, working with Leda on whatever assignment was about to be unveiled. Fan-kriffing-tastic, she thought with a slight shake of her head, wondering just how reliable a spice fiend could possibly be.

The datapads lit up before both women as Astra moved to her side, an image of a filthy-looking child displaying on the screens. A human boy.

Intrigued, Leda grazed over the accompanying bio and details of his location, a rather horrid sketch of some giant tree-like creature that was supposedly “dangerous” included. She chuckled under her breath, finding the idea of some massive disgruntled plant as a threat rather comical. Perhaps she could light it on fire, burn it to ash and then stomp down the embers on her way to their real target.

Or maybe… her new sword could chop it down like an axe would be used to make lumber.

The devious ideas already swimming through her mind, she completely ignored the strange protocol droid that made a random appearance but listened intently as Bellorum slightly dampened her growing excitement by mentioning yet another member of the growing search party. Alana, someone she had never even heard of before. In a holding cell. ‘Claims to be scrappy and resourceful’.

Suddenly she felt like a glorified babysitter, not only having to keep tabs on an unpredictable addict but also some random child that was currently locked up for an unknown reason.

No time like the present to figure out what she would be dealing with, she realized with a sigh. At the conclusion of the meeting Leda made a beeline for the designated cellblock, barking the cell number at the guard posted at the main entry. She was then lead down a narrow passage lined with unmarked doors, the young man halting at one a ways down and entering the access code in a small panel just to the right. With a hiss it slid open and she stepped forward, one hand on her hip and a scrutinizing gaze sweeping the interior.

“Alana, is it?” she asked, her tone even and somewhat authoritative, though there would be a hint of amusement underneath. “Let’s go. Your… resourcefulness is needed.”


TAGS: @SkywalkerShine @WookieeRage @Lady Belligerent

 

Grievance Vexx
Preparing to exit the shuttle Counterstrike

Vexx is still not favorable of the company he keeps, especially since the Force tells him things even when he doesn't want it to. However, what he senses in Francium is intriguing; self control over that signature anger every Sith is trained to feed upon. It's not every day he comes across this quality. It is one thing he had respected in his own master and something he has sought to maintain in himself. He rises to approach the brooding general-in-training, his immense shadow swallowing the form of the Kiffar. Though the younger Sith is of a good size and build, Vexx towers over him by nearly a foot. The cyborg stands at ease, hands clasped behind his back, yellow eyes glowing slightly in the inner gloom of this dark corner of the shuttle.

"I sense your struggle," he tells him, his voice carrying neither a tone of mockery nor pity, "It is admirable. If a general commanding armies is truly what you seek to do with your future, this struggle will help you prepare for that future. Impulsiveness often leads to self-sabotage and while every Sith out there will tell you anger is fuel for your efforts, it can just as easily lead you to ruin through impulsiveness. Keep that in the back of your mind as we begin this mission."

He paces away to sift through incoming data, still waiting on the arrival of the intel his commander Haretisch had told him to watch for. His eyes shift to the other aspiring general aboard his shuttle; Odeke. He isn't sensing anything from him yet and it's just as well. He hates it when the Force gets ahead of him and gives him more than he cares to think about. Right now he just wants to think about this ground assault and getting the job done properly. Snatching his custom lightsabers, his DT-57, and two lig swords from the small compartment reserved for his personal weapons, he prepares to land the shuttle.

"Take charge of your troops and get them assembled to form a perimeter around the guns," he instructs Francium and Odeke, "I will do the same and create the last line of defense. Data on ground conditions has been...less than desirable. Wear boots. High ones if you have them."

He growls inwardly at the thought of slogging around in mud. Definitely not his cup of tea. The chances of his gracious mood declining are fairly high. These young whelps had better not botch this mission. He lowers the ramp of the shuttle and marches down it, armor-weave cloak billowing behind him as his talons clank ominously against the metal under him. The clanking suddenly becomes something of a sickening sucking noise as he steps off the end of the ramp. He growls in annoyance as he fights the weight of the mud pulling him down.

"Get to the guns," he commands his troops, "Close rank around them and watch out for penetration of the surrounding troops. The guns must be defended at all costs. If the outer bands of troops fall, we are the last line of defense. We need to decimate the enemy, but more important than that, we need to take ground from them and push them back. They have a high vantage point, so be on the alert, especially for snipers."

Tag: @Darth_wanderguard @Quinlan Vos @Master Vo'Un'Var

 

IC: Alana Geyser
The Luxury Elite

Loneliness. An unpleasant emotional response to isolation. No one deserved to be alone in a place like this. Especially when you're surrounded by jokers like these. This is how Alana Geyser felt: Alone and cornered like a mouse. Surrounded by a bunch of womp rats waiting to feed...

Then again, she always felt this way ever since her aunt Marsha died. Picturing that lonely, teenage girl on the streets brought back painful memories. If only she was there to keep her parents from dying by the hands of thugs. If only she had healing powers to heal her aunt's heart condition. Unfortunately, Alana didn't have the power to save any of them. And every day, she blamed herself for their deaths.

But there was one person in her life that was still alive. An older Wookie by the name of Twen taught her how to survive the lower levels of Corsucant, as well as thievery. When it came to stealing however, Alana would only steal from the rich. Never from those who were poor or struggling. Hey, even a thief can have a sense of honor.

She was on her way back to Coruscant with a Sith artifact (and was about to make lots of creds with it), but this blasted ship caught her ship in a tractor beam! Talk about a good day gone bad.

While she sat in the eerie cell of The Luxury Elite, Alana removed her necklace that contained six, medium-sized beads, three small beads, and three dulled sharp teeth. As she held the necklace in her right hand and gazed down at it, Alana quietly closed her eyes...

Two years ago...

In the lower levels of Coruscant, a twenty-year-old Alana was standing on the balcony of an dimly lit building. The building was abandoned of course, so paying the bills was nothing to worry about. As she quietly stood by the metallic rail and watched people pass by from below, Twen walked out into the balcony and stood beside her. Watching the view as well, the older Wookie smiled.

"Quiet night, huh?" Twen asked, keeping his hazel eyes on the scenery.

The blonde Human scoffed softly. "Isn't it always night down here?" Twen grinned and chuckled heartily. "Touché." Gazing at Alana, he thought about all the good times they had together. Stealing from pompous rich people from under their noses, teaching her how to be stealthy, and just hanging out from a long day of work. He was happy to be a mentor and friend to Alana.

Standing up straight, Twen began to look for an item in his tan strapped pouch. "Here. I've got a present for you." Alana's brown eyes lit up with excitement as she glanced up at her colleague. "A present? For little ol' me? Aww Twen..." Finally, the Wookie pulled out a beautifully decorated necklace. The young woman smiled softly as he gently placed the jewelry around her neck.

"I found this necklace from the market. I'd figured it would go nicely with your attire."

Alana sighed quietly as she placed a soft hand near her upper chest. "Aww Twen. It's beautiful."

"Hey, anything for you kiddo. See those teeth? Those came from the front teeth of an actual Nexu. The reason why I bought it was because this necklace has a special meaning. The beads represents your good spirit. The sharp teeth, however, represents your strength. So whenever you feel lost or alone, just keep that necklace and remember that you are strong and amazing. And that you're never alone in this galaxy."

After hearing this, Alana hugged her Wookie pal happily. "Thanks, big guy. I'll always cherish this necklace. And keep in mind what you said." In her heart, Alana had to stay strong for him and herself. The galaxy was a tough place. But she and Twen were tougher.

Present Day...

Alana sighed quietly and placed the necklace back around her neck. She did her best to hold back the tears and remain confident. There was only one goal in mind. One thing that she was sure to keep in mind:

Escape.

How she was going to pull it off was a different story. She'd have to figure that part out later. Right now, fate reared its ugly head. And that head was the form of a woman that entered Alana's cell.

“Alana, is it?” she asked, her tone even and somewhat authoritative, though there would be a hint of amusement underneath. “Let’s go. Your… resourcefulness is needed.”

For now, Alana was going to play along and keep her true fear from showing. The young thief stood up and raised her right eyebrow with a confident grin. "Cool. Lead the way."

TAG: @QueenSabe7 @WookieeRage @Lady Belligerent

 

Darth Cocytus: The Resurgent


Six months had passed since the treachery that tore the Sith apart aboard the Luxury Ship. A predictable occurrence, Cocytus thought, considering such backstabbing was the nature of the Sith. The kaminoan much disliked the way things were, with so many Sith to begin with. At the time of the treachery, plotted with Insipid to destroy the Sith and begin again as a New Rule of Two. Insipid seemingly agreed.

Yet, here Cocytus was, soon to board a ship an route to New Moraband with two other Sith lords. It would seem the destruction of the weak order would take time and great patience. The Civil War must be won first. What also made the kaminoan feel quite livid, however, was the fact that they were now on the side of the so-called “First Order”. Weren't these the ones who attacked the Sith months ago? At least they fully under command of Insipid, making it least likely to happen again. However, Cocytus in his inner thoughts, had some fears of their treachery. He would make himself ready in such case they turn on their masters.

All was not ill though for the young Kaminoan. Finally, after much patience, Cocytus was about to become a Sith Underlord and true inquisitor of the Sith Order. He vowed to fulfil his new duties to the letter. The new inquisitor would keep watch over his peers and look out for any treacherous thoughts. The Sith must remain pure and all doubt must be purged.

Cocytus remained typically silent as he listened to the Emperor’s speech. In his mind, the Kaminoan prepared himself both physically and mentally for the coming battle. Fueling his emotions with hatred for the traitors, anger of their existence and fear of defeat, he called upon the great power of the Dark Side.

I am one with the Dark Side and the Dark Side is with me.


@Sinrebirth, @Darth Kronos, @Dagobahsystem



Sent from my SM-J327V using Tapatalk

 

IC- Darth Odeke

Odeke stood on one-leg in the corner of the shuttle, humming a tune and observing the surroundings, nothing special, just a few Sith and that was the only thing that worth studying in Odeke's eyes. they were incredibly boring compared to his troupe, but not much exceeds the fascinating nature of his Troupe. the Kaleesh Cyborg had an intimidating look, perhaps he strives for this, but Odeke had never enjoyed a look which shows ones strength, acts were all that mattered to the Harlequin, and tricking your opponent into thinking they have the upper hand, and to then utterly annihilate them, that's why Odeke never tries to show off in costume. A grin spread across Odeke's face during the briefing, the Kaleesh did indeed look strong and deadly in his manner, but the only way he could gain Odeke's respect was to show his strength in battle, and luckily that opportunity would arise soon. Odeke watched as the ramp slowly descended, groaning under the weight, and chuckled quietly as Vexx stepped into the mud. Odeke looked around and pranced out of the shuttle, dancing into the mud and spitting a few orders here and there.
"I think I'm going to have a bit of fun"
Odeke cackled.
TAG- @Darth_wanderguard @Kaleesh-Cyborg @Quinlan Vos