Star Wars Roleplay: Chaos

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Public The Beginning of the End

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Outlander Station - Several Hours After Csilla Inscident

Thalia didn't need a holoscreen to tell her that billions had died on the far-off world of Csilla. She had felt it in the Force as it happened. Likely every Force Sensitive person in the Galaxy felt something. The sea, it was raging, crying. The waves of the Force were crashing down on her ship harder than a storm at the peak of the Weeping. It was breaking apart, the thing keeping her afloat, the force of the waves cracking the frame. Briney water rushed over her boots as her watercraft fell apart. A loud crack above her drew her attention as the winds finally snapped the mast. It crashed into the ocean, somehow the sound managed to overpower the roar of the storm around her. Suddenly she was in it. The deep, black. She couldn't see, hear, or breathe and her arms wouldn't move. She was sinking.

A tight squeeze on her shoulder from her Master snapped her back into reality. His rough, scaled hands were more comforting than they ought to have been. She looked up at him, and realized he hadn't done it for her benefit. Even the powerful Jedi Knight Khefiir Khefiir seemed to be doing everything he could from not doing...Something. The Trandoshan's jaw was set tight, the lines of his predatory skull visible as an outline against his scales. His thin lips were curled back in a snarl, the sharp teeth interlocked in what looked like rage or pain.

"Not ssssince Corellia hass," his sentence trailed off. It was only then that Thalia realized the two were surrounded by other Jedi looking on in horror. Some weren't as lucky as those standing and had doubled over or retched their lunch. Thalia swallowed hard and looked up at her Master.

"W-what now?" The Trandoshan uttered a growl as his comlink beeped. Jedi Knight business. The two separated and Thalia was left alone in the Jedi quarter of Outlander Station. She felt sick to her stomach. Did anyone have the answer to that? What about the Chiss? Where would they go? The Alliance would help right? If not the Alliance, she knew the Jedi would...Right?

OOC: The thread is open. React to the recent news of the Brotherhood's victory at Csilla anywhere in the Galaxy!
 
Bernard stood in line at the Gung Pao Wak on the corner of a major street on Coruscant. Fresh nuna meat sizzled, the savoury scent carrying onto the street. Kids ducked and weaved through the crowd chased by a Marshal. A couple was attempting to calm their child next to giant Neimoidian mascot. The chatter of the stream of people sounded just beyond the hip-length curtains cordoning the food parlour off from the street.

Absentmindedly, he glanced at the holoview as the line shuffled forward sluggishly. It showed shaky footage of battles fought against another galactic threat, dramatizied and exaggerated claims of looming threats advertised in bold letters. Bernard shrugged inwardly, but the screen kept his eyes despite himself like a magnet.

The display flickered and the image cut to a newscaster, the famed Halifax, was shakily holding a bundle of papers as he looked into the camera with an unreadable expression. Over the next minute he recounted the details of the battle at Csilla, told of the Brotherhood's assault and insidious machine, and finally concluded with the most devastating of the news.

Csilla was gone.

Bernard could scarecly process the thought.

The entire planet ... gone? Destroyed? All life snuffed out in an instant?

He stumbled sideways, suddenly enervated, and caught himself on the counter. The crowds had gone quiet, the entire street so silent even the sizzling seemed to fade out. The child's crying became the only sound that seemed to still exist.

"Force preserve us."
 

Vesta

Guest
V


Hot. Dry.

Maena was anything but paradise, always had - likely always would. Like an insect caught beneath a shard of broken glass and the unforgiving light of an oppressive star this had only magnified over the last several months as the dull ache of solitude finally began to sink in. "Alone." A twisted voice breathed, red eyes staring across an unlit, empty, room towards a sword that seemed to swallow whatever traces of it that it could find. A sword she'd made from a pint of her own blood, a sword she'd made to make herself more, to cut whatever came across her - only for it to remain unused since Bastion, its purpose gone with the spark that had kept the Sith lord burning so bright.

Anger, confusion.

A contempt of self.

Every day was a different cocktail of the chemicals running through her head urging her to give in to the call of the void, urges she defeated through the understanding of that futility - and the chains that kept her held in place by her father after she had tried. She was why he had remained on Maena, after all - not that he'd tell anyone how mad his daughter had become. How desperate, pitiful. Weak.

An entire life based around shared pain, around trust.

Dry eyes turned their gaze up towards the painted ceiling, copper from the rusting blood of the servants she had torn limb from limb in a fit of rage, and she wondered the point, the why. A lesson had been learned - the dagger she'd carried should have been plunged into that back in the moonlight, mercy had only turned that blade on herself - but what reason was there to be without a purpose? A mother that had disappeared from the very fabric of reality, a life of solitude and a father that seemed hellbent on trying to repair what she didn't even attempt to let him fix. How many days had it been now? Months?

Her head turned as the ripples through the force began, eyes widening in shock as they reached her.

Chains burned at her wrists, tools meant to confine those gifted with the force, but there was little they could do to contain the surge of strength she drew on from the immeasurable wave of screams and pain that rolled across the galaxy like a tsunami. A tug, a flex, and the metal bent and melted under the friction rubbing at their atoms through her force of will. The sword shone brightly now, a beacon for her - a purpose new.


"More." She coughed, as she rolled off of the bed she'd been confined to for so long. Blood still spattered her face, her clothes - she hadn't let anyone, even her doting father, near her since she had lost her mind. Her mind wandered, remembering the world between worlds - the space she'd brought her cousin in her bid to force him out before her own life had dashed her plans against the rocks. Remembered the left-handed god that had spoken in her ear, that had named her blade.

Warned her not to trust.

She knew not the source of this wailing in the force, but she thanked them - whoever they might be - and reached for her blade, the talon of Typhojem. Looking to it as she held it aloft at her front she scowled.
"Kark you." Vesta said as she plunged its tip through the door that led outside and stepped beyond, a very specific face in mind as she spoke, and prepared her return to the galactic stage not as Vesta the child, but as Darth Mori the Sith'ari.
 
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Ziost - Local Time
Sorzus Academy, Chambers of the Lady of Secrets.

She felt it. Millions if not billions of lives crying out in fear, a tearing in the fabric of the Force. Images came to her... a superweapon, damaged, accelerating at a snowy planet. From another room in the chambers that were hers at the Sorzus Academy, she heard the small gasp as her daughter felt the reverberations in the Force.

Purple eyes opened from her meditations, a pained expression as she continued to feel the aftereffects and the cries of those that had just been silenced forever...

Csilla had been destroyed, just as Kaine said it would be.

She had not understood the targeting of the Chiss for such destruction, had argued fiercely with her ally against partaking in any such attack on them. The Chiss were a valuable people to have on your side, and attacking their space would not bring them closer to their final goal. It was a distraction, nothing more, when such efforts would be better spent on attacking a proven enemy world. And yet...

She slowly walked to the window, to look out upon the tundra that was this ancient world of the Sith. A smaller hand slid into hers, and she gave it a reassuring squeeze.

"Mom... did a lot of people just die?" came the expected question.

"Yes, Nerra... a lot of people just died," she said, scooping the girl into her arms to hold her close.

"It felt... terrible. Like..." the young girl couldn't find the words to describe what she was feeling, a rarity for the bright daughter she was holding. "Like something got torn."

"That was the Force, reacting to such an immediate loss," she explained softly. From behind the two, a red light starting blinking from an incoming message. Kaine trying to contact her no doubt, to let her know the operation was a success in his mind. She would let him go to read for awhile. This outcome was not something she had wanted to see, and she could feel the anger and irritation building.

"Is it going to happen again?" Nerralyn finally asked. Taeli remained silent, the moment stretching to the inevitable answer. The young girl might be training to be Sith, but one as Taeli believed they should be. Only kill and destroy when there was a reason, when it was an enemy pure and simple. Eventually, she broke the silence.

"Yes."
 
Location: H-2 Executive Shuttle, Coruscant High Orbit, Galactic Alliance

"Senator Taszzn..." a Nautolan staffer meekly spoke while holding out a datapad "Csilla, its gone." the words were said with a shaking tone. Sssar lifted his head from the top of his large coiled body and looked towards the comparatively small device's screen. What Sssar read and heard being announced from a myriad of news feeds from the holonet stunned him. There had been many losses in this galaxy embroiled by centuries of cataclysmic warfare but this? Destruction on this magnitude was the talk of theorists and historians - not broadcasters.

After many moments of silence, the long bifurcated tongue of the Filithar tasted the air then slipped back into the creature's maw "Pilot sssstop the sssshuttle." the pilot droid turned it's head 180 degrees and announced "Unable to comply. Upper orbit is transient only from this location." Sssar turned his eyes from the datapad to the droid then back to the datapad "Assss ssssoon assss posssssible." the Nautolan continued to hold the datapad for the Senator to witness though broke her silence "Sir, what are you planning to do?" Sssar looked towards her then "Addresssss the people of the Alliance. Thissss devesssstation needssss to be addresssssed. They musssst know that they are ssssafe. That the Alliance providessss ssssecurity. Insssspire ressssilence." Sssar turned back to the datapad which was now showing him the estimated death tolls by Alliance affiliated news networks "And prepare them for war."

When the shuttle was finally within a safe and allowable distance of High Orbit and out of any highly regulated space lanes, the staff aboard the shuttle readied their recording equipment. Several drones took to hovering within the spacious interior of the luxurious shuttle while the Nautolan directed her subordinates in proper angles. Sssar remained motionless, though he had posed himself in a more regal manner "We interrupt our live coverage of the destruction of Csilla to bring you a priority message from Senator Sssar Taszzn of Eclipse." announced several top anchors "Live in ... now." she pointed her hand towards Sssar who, without missing a beat, began his address "Citizenssss of the Alliance." the visage of the Filithar began to fill every home that was tuned into several major networks, achieved by the cooperation of broadcasting companies on short notice "We have all witnesssssed the annihilation of a world, home to a civilization as old assss any of our own with as much a sssstoried hisssstory. The death of billionsss. The sssspecter of thesssse weaponsss loomssss like a sssshadow at our door sssstep." the words he spoke were grave and he did so with a solemn tone "Ressst asssssured that thesssse creaturessss will not ssssuceed again in the indesssscribable cruelty dissssplayed today. Asss I sssspeak to you now the Alliance issss at itssss peak in martial prowesssss. With the New Jedi Order, GADF, Intelligence Agency, Law Enforcement, and the help of all of our brave peoplessss we sssshall overcome any challenge." Sssar briefly paused then spoke with a tone of confidence and resolve "Know that for every death ssssuffered on Cssssilla that the thissss so called Brotherhood will be held to account. None sssshall escape our ssssight, none sssshall be free from Judgement. Look to the sssstarssss my compatriotssss, and like they, we all burn asss one. United a beacon of righteoussssnesssss. Eternal." the holofeed faded and the holodroids hummed to a standby. Sssar looked to the Nautolan who gave him a stiff nod. No doubt he would be the first of many Alliance leaders to be making statements on the events.
 
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The calm was broken by a great ripple in the metaphysical pond, a sudden influx of the unexpectedly dead; the number itself was not much cause for concern, sentients and nonsentients beyond number perished every day across billions of star systems, but for so many deaths to be traced to the same place, the same time, the same act... it was not unprecedented, per se, but it was as rare as it was tragic.

Shadowy form going as still as a corpse, Kal simply hovered there for a moment, as the Netherwordly landscape that surrounded him recoiled then recovered. Elsewhere, a great many confused and frightened souls had joined the whole.

Most would find peace in death, he hoped - but he also knew all too well that there were beings out there that hungered for the souls of the departed, that preyed upon conflicts like this like the abominable leeches they were.

Vile, trecherous things beyond the comprehension of most mortals.
 
Cord was meditating taking in the sea air of Maramere as she sat on the deck of her sea ship. All her weapons and armor had been shed and she was in simple green robes. Her eyes closed she was traveling the lines of the force in her mind. The force took her to places unimaginable in her minds eye. She was at peace in the warm air and slight breeze that blew her free hair about. The Monster inside her was calm and docile as she soothed it with the lightside of the force.


Yet as relative peace flowed over her and all around her a shock wave of dark energy shot across the galaxy. A wound cut deep black blood pour out across the stars like a tsunami. Cords eyes shot open and turned fiery orange. She let out a low growl, as the monster awoke in her. It hadn’t felt such darkness in a long time, and it feed it. Made it stronger so it could burst from the cage it had been buried in for hundreds of years.


It growled and stared out at the endless sea before it. It looked for a weapons and something to kill and devour it wanted to feed even more be stronger. Cord fought back against the monster in her mentally trying to push it down but it’s sudden rush of strength made it hard. It wanted to kill and it wanted to escape, the only thing that was Cords saving grace from turning fully into the monster she once had been was she was nearly on the other end of the Galaxy from the disturbance.


The Monster growled as it took its feet and started stomping around the Yacht looking for anything that would give it more strength. Cord mentally tried to push it down as she fought it from taking full control. One minute she was walking one direction and then the next. She was slamming her head off walls trying to knock herself out so she could stop the monster in her. She hadn’t had to fight it like this in a long it had been starved for so long now.


There was a tog of war going on in her body and in her mind a fight for dominance. “Star by staaaar, I will devour til there is only endless voooooiid!” It hissed and growled.


“Shut up, shut up…” Her eyes burned with fury and her fist clenched so hard that her nails dug into her palms cause blood to flow. “You won’t get rid of me this time.”


“No you won’t get out again!” She screamed into the air. Anyone looking at her would see a clearly deranged woman talking to herself. Switching between her normal voice and a raspy deep guttural one. She turned from side to side as she spoke as each Cord and then the Rage monster with in. "You aren't strong enough to stop me, little girl!"
 
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Offices of the Ministry of Influence
The Presidium
Naboo
CIS Capital Sector


With travel around the Galaxy as easy as stepping onto a craft and sitting still for a short while, Hester felt like her body had to acclimatise to different climates, different time zones, and different qualities of air more often than she’d care to. It was almost draining to have to think about. When she could, she took great pleasure in sitting as still as possible in her own offices within the Ministry of Influence, not a singular pilot insight or adjutant to tell her that they were landing.

She looked down at her lap, a short haired cat gripping firmly onto her for comfort. She ran her hands along its back and found the little spot at the base of its neck where it enjoyed the most attention. The cat purred and raised its heads towards her, closing her eyes in wretched glee. It was almost unbearable.

The large desk that sat within her private suite within the Ministry of Influence was spartan. It had only a holo-pad, console for data access and a small model of a ship. Nobody had dared ask what it was for. She liked it that way; neat, clean, and precise without too much fuss.

Today, sat in a forest-green tunic with long flowing skirt attached, Hester flicked through the state missives without much joy. She was a Minister now but, as anybody who truly wielded power, that meant only more responsibility and accountability. Sure, she needn’t worry too much about a reservation at a private dining club but then again, her term as Viceroy of Scarif had ensured she had enjoyed a certain level of ‘celebrity’ when on Naboo.

A sullen tone rang from the desk. It meant an urgent communique from within the Presidium’s Administrative Office. She paused and opened it.

It was short.

“Csilla has been annihilated by the Brotherhood of the Maw and Sith Allies. Extinction level casualties sustained.”

She blinked a little dust from her eye and picked at it, the cat shifting its weight and letting out a cry of indignation. Hester’s department controlled the Confederate News Agency and ensured reporters and official observers were on the ground at most conflicts or galactic disasters. There was no doubt the missive had been truthful.

‘What even is the ‘truth’?’, she mused.

She spoke, the console dictating her response.

“The loss of an ancient planet such as Csilla is a hard one to come to terms with. The CIS is greatly saddened by this and will provide sanctuary to those who were able to flee the planet. The Charter of the Confederacy is to all a beacon in the dark, a refuge in the storm.”

She paused once again, looking down at the cat, who nose motioned towards her, eyes opening to take Hester’s face in fully.

Hester mused, plaintive and yet calm. She wondered how long it would have taken to travel to Csilla from Naboo. She sighed with some sadness and returned to the reports, still incoming from the scene.





 


Pulsating red light filled the shuttle accompanied by a long steady droning. The flashes of red illuminated the faces of those standing in the shuttle, particularly the scarred face of Darth Carnifex. He had just departed the battlefield at Csilla and had felt the resulting death of that world and all of its inhabitants not long after he left. The obelisks he had erected upon its surface were still in operation when the Mercy impacted Csilla's surface, and so the resulting death had been siphoned into those obelisks and through them into the great reservoir of souls he was accumulating.
Finally, one of the others surrounding Carnifex dared to speak after a long silence. "She is not responding, my Lord." Carnifex only responded by grunting, turning away from the machine as the connection was finally cut after multiple attempts. Taeli Raaf Taeli Raaf was letting his messages go unanswered, an act that he had come to know as the harbinger of her displeasure with him.
"She is angry with me, but that anger will pass. She could not comprehend the necessity of Csilla's destruction, but she will come to accept what has been done." Carnifex moved from the passenger cabin and into the cockpit, the cerulean spiral of hyperspace churning just beyond the glasteel viewports. Suddenly hyperspace bled away, and the shuttle jettisoned back into realspace. Ahead of them was a massive construct, many times larger in magnitude than the now destroyed Mercy; Malsheem.
Thousands of ships surrounded the Malsheem, the majority of them warships constructed within the gargantuan station itself though there were a great many maintenance and service vessels as well. The pilots of Carnifex's shuttle transmitted their special code clearance, granting them immediate access to the station and unrestricted movement around it.
"Soon, the galaxy will suffer. An individual may perish, but the Sith are eternal."

 
[Location: ANV Solace(Samaritan-class Medical Cruiser) - Sick Bay]
[Teica Giraan, standing by]

"The angels are awaiting...On the other side. For you...for us," The commander's voice broke halfway through, before she forced out the rest of the lyrics, "For those whom we confide.."

She still couldn't believe it- that regardless of the sacrifices, losses, crimes, the Brotherhood still tore Csilla apart; that The Resolution, tens of her own crew and thousands on other vessels had died, only to have the very thing they were trying to prevent strike. Teica's head lowered, and collapsed in her hands. Thousands? Millions? She barely remembered the number.

The doctor came into view, datapad resting securely in his hands. For a brief moment, the Bothan glanced at bloodied covers, then moved forward to stand at the hospital bed's side.


"Multiple severe fractures in your right knee, several torn tendons. We'll have to run advanced surgery," The man set down the datapad beside her, and watched a slow, understanding nod.

"My chief engineer..." The commander inquired after less than a second of thought, "Ethemec?"

The Bothan's eyes told her everything she needed to know, and the silence made it all the more unbearable. Teica raised her head ever so slightly in response, before she waved the doctor off, "Alright, you have others who need your attention. Thanks doc..."

Csilla was gone. The Peacemaker was gone. The Resolution was gone. Ethemec was gone. Dara, once her first officer, became another casualty of the Brotherhood, her entire vessel alongside. Everyone and everything Teica knew seemed to have vanished or left her. And the worst part was that each loss could be traced to her own mistakes, her own failures. Csillia crumbled and burned because she couldn't stop Mercy. The Peacemaker had crashed on Ziost's surface because of her own failed 'heroism.' The Resolution, she led into destruction. Ethemec, and the others would be forever on the records as casualties of her downward spiral of a command.

"The angels, they're all waiting. Still on the other side. Yes, I know I'll see you there. The loss will all subside..."

The image was still fresh in memory, Csilla lit ablaze, slowly expanding a sea of fire from the point where Mercy collided. Thousands, unlucky enough to be trapped on the planet, gone in seconds while the remaining defenders were forced to watch. Teica remembered the stunned silence throughout the Solace, when the medical cruiser had jumped in to collect survivors, the shattered composures and awestruck expressions of the crew. She remembered the scarred husks that once made up Battlegroup Kenobi's vessels, mixed in with the remains of other fleets. Her hands still trembled at the thought, her head still ached from the sights, and her expression hid none of it. Teica once again covered her face, out of shame, out of regret, and out of horror.

"On the other side...On the other side..."
 

The atmosphere on the troop transport was electric. As the blue tunnel of hyperspace swallowed them, a secret Path whisking the surviving Mawite forces back to safety, one image remained burned into every marauder's eyes: the sight of Csilla breaking apart as the Mercy struck it, the planet splitting open like a rotten fruit. For a long moment, no one had spoken, too mesmerized by the magnitude of what they had done. In that moment of silence, they bore mute witness to something precious few had ever beheld in all the long annals of history: the death of an entire world. They knew war like an old friend, a brother even, but this was something else.

This was death itself made manifest.

"War!" The Mongrel chanted, his hoarse voice shattering the stillness. His chest heaved with the effort of forming the words; the injuries he had sustained among the snows were severe, even after battlefield treatment, and exhaustion was setting in now that the adrenaline of combat had worn off. But he was still strong, despite everything, and he endured. "Death!" The splint around his chest ached; he should not shout so with broken ribs. But this was a holy moment, and he would not let it pass without giving the Avatars the praise they were due. "Rebirth!" This had been proof of the power of their zeal, written for all time in the ashen corpse of a slain world.

Until the stars went out, Csilla would be a monument to their conquest.

Around him, the ragged survivors of the Brotherhood's ground army began to take up the chant. Most were too weak to stand; some spilled blood down their fronts with each word. But they slammed their weapons against the deck plating in rhythm with the chanting, or pounded fists against their breastplates if they could not. "War! Death! Rebirth! War! Death! Rebirth!" The sound filled the assault shuttle until the very bulkheads shook with the force of their faith. The words of their creed, the names of their gods, slowly devolved into a mass of triumphant howling as reality set in. They were the chosen few. They had killed a world and lived to tell the tale.

Falling silent as his raiders continued their cries of victory, The Mongrel caught his breath, embracing the pain that ran through each and every one of his countless wounds. All of them had suffered terrible injuries, gashes and breaks and burns... but those injuries would scar over, proof of all that they had been strong enough to survive. They had brought War and passed through Death. Now they would rest, heal, and rearm, and in so doing find Rebirth in time for the next great conflict. This was only the beginning for them. For those who could annihilate the capital of the greatest power in the Unknown Regions, there was no limit to what they could achieve.

The shuttle flew onward, soon to take them toward the great feast that awaited on Najra-Va. There would be a great and vile celebration, an explosion of debauchery in honor of those who had proven themselves among the mightiest warriors of their age. And then, The Mongrel knew, they would look outward once again. They had announced their presence and power to the galaxy, putting everyone on notice that the Final Dawn was coming. Soon they would begin their campaign coreward, burning out the rot of decadent civilization, toppling the rich and powerful, taking whatever they desired. They would reduce the galaxy to ashes, and something new would rise.

"Let the galaxy witness us!" The Mongrel cried, springing to his feet despite the agony that rippled through him. "We have come to release them from the chains of stagnation. All will be cast down and remade anew! Let the fires of Csilla ignite an age of ash and blood. We are its heralds, and we will become its kings!"

The echoing roar of zealous approval shook the starship.
 


BYSS , BESHQEK SYSTEM
Inside the Old Imperial Citadel...

Marlon Sularen sat in his office, examining a holographic image of a Shadow Stormtrooper part of a new Plan he had been working on lately dubbed Operation Failsafe. With news of the Alliance's Nationalization of Bilbringi and his position as Lord-Imperator still compromised with rising tensions between Byss and the GA , Sularen had begun working on a Contingency to ensure he could maintain influence on Byss even if the Alliance removed him from power thus ensuring that the Final Dawn's Operations in the Core Worlds would not be compromised.

As Sularen thought about his Project Failsafe, his Cousin suddenly entered the room interrupting his thoughts. "Marlon!" he said in an excited tone. "Have you heard of the news from Csilla." Sularen turned off the hologram and looked at his cousin. "What about Csilla?" Sularen asked , although he pretty much knew what his Cousin was referring too. "The Brotherhood...they...destroyed Csilla." Denzul said. "
Well i'll be dammed." Sularen said in a Semi-Surprised tone. "They actually did it despite the odds. They faced some of the most powerful nations in the Galaxy and yet still managed to destroy Csilla"

"Yes , but it's not all. While indeed the Brotherhood of the Maw destroyed Csilla , they suffered alot of losses as a result." Denzul said. "As expected. It was a very bold and risky move to strike at Csilla in the face of several great powers. Now we lost a considerable portion of the Mawite WarFleet and face potential opposition from nations such as the CIS and FO which we had never fought against before. It will only delay the Conquest of the Core and give the Alliance more time to eliminate my network of proxies in the Core Worlds."

"And how do you intend to deal with that." Denzul asked. "With Operation : Failsafe off-course. Maintaining my Influence on Byss and Militarizing the Politorate is now our newest priority as we must strengthen ourselves to prepare ourselves for the Alliance's next move against us. I will soon head to Erex Minora and Najra-Va to oversee the process of Operation Failsafe and introduce the plan to my associates within the Brotherhood of the Maw. In the meantime i'll leave everything to you during my absence" Sularen said.

"Very well then. Let's hope things work out will this time" Denzul said in a semi-worried tone. "Don't worry" Sularen said in response "Everything shall go according to plan. Byss will remain in my hands , and those who would dare to try and remove me from my rightful throne would face my Wrath in the form of my so-to-be create Shadow Legion. Once everything is set we will move swiftly and secure our position rapidly and incapacitate our enemies before they even know what hit them"

And with that Sularen left his Office heading towards an elevator on route towards his Shuttle. The Destruction of Csilla was just the beginning. Soon more worlds would join Csilla and more regions would be purified. The Brotherhood of the Maw would continue their onslaught soon enough subjugating Worlds one by one , slowly but effectively. No one could truly stand in the way of the BotM and the Brotherhood was far from completing it's objective. This was the beginning of a new Conflict one that might dwarf the Third Imperial Civil War. Begun the "War of Purification" had , and soon enough the entire Galaxy would be Purified and a new Pure Order would rise one that would make the Galaxy better then it ever was under the banner of the Final Dawn


 
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'One day we'll go see the world my father was born on. Csilla, home of the Chiss. Cold place, though. Not sure if you'll like it.' Eliz chuckled lightly as he ran his hand through the fur of his newest companion. Aubin just rumbled as always, lazily sprawling out onto the half Chiss's lap. Simpler times, little more than a distant memory now. An innocent promise where the thought of a planet being destroyed wasn't even in orbit around his mind. And yet, now.

Eliz stared at the holoscreen in front of him with wide, horrified eyes. The image of Csilla's shattered remains was everywhere. Every station. It's destruction played on repeat as if the newscasters knew people wouldn't believe it the first time seeing it. He didn't. How many times had he seen the detonation and it still didn't register? A warmth on his hand pulled his attention from the horrors. He looked down to his Ursod, staring blankly for a moment. Then he crouched, gently petting the beasts head.

"I guess we'll have to cancel that trip."
 

Jedi Temple, Coruscant

Mrurh'en'lase shut down her holochat with a swipe of her finger and set down the tablet onto the table resting in the center of the room. The sunlight of midday poured in through the window, giving the otherwise tense atmosphere an appreciable warmth. The hybrid leaned back in her chair, exhaling heavily against the throbbing pain of a migraine behind her eyes. It was stupid. The whole thing was stupid and loud and aggravating. Csilla - the homeworld of half of her heritage - was gone, everyone was confused, and the noises that came through the walls and door of her now-emptied dormitory room were cacophonous and frenzied. It was enough to drive anyone into irritation really.

She had told her friend - dearest Evo - that she would need to go away, that the temple was in a chaotic rush to figure out what the hell had just happened. Even if they did, she wasn't sure anyone would ever really believe it as it happened. Mrurh'en'lase certainly didn't.

The initial news traveled across civilized space like termites in a wood house, but immediately, the holonet was full of contention and theories, so much so that the truth would eventually - surely - get lost in the muck and mire. Hell, it probably was already the longer she thought on the matter. Of course, she knew how it worked. It always happened this way with the Hutts, with the mercs, with the pirates. One group would hit another, but another would be named the culprit, only for a third party to be revealed as the mastermind behind the whole event with the backing of a fourth party who held the strings of the former two.

Was it the Empire again? The Empire was there, fighting and adding to the chaos and destruction. Was it the Eternalists, who were reportedly doing the same? Pic-footage of the battle showed their forces, charging into the fray like true Sith warriors. Could it have been the Kainate, led by the enigmatic Carnifex himself if the reports from the ground were to be believed? Would anyone believe that it was just an army of unified, chaotic, evil raiders who so flippantly decided that...Csilla was the planet to go? Or was it all of them, banded together by some sick, twisted idea of domination? With what information Mrurh'en'lase had gained from the news before her conversation, she couldn't be sure. Wouldn't be sure until she heard the truth directly from the man or woman responsible for the atrocity.


Atrocity? They wanted you dead as a baby. You said that to her, didn't you? They forced you into exile, killed your father and your mother. What atrocity do you see? I see justice. They should all die. Cioral. Copero. Sposia.


Mrurh'en'lase ignored the voice as best she could - an effort that resulted in the evil thing chortling so faintly it sounded like wind in her ears. She refocused on what was to come, rising from her chair and moving to the plasteel window of her dormitory. She sat on its window seat, leaning back against the rounded wall and gazing out with solemn eyes at the glistening Galactic City. So much history here between uncountable people that...the mere thought of it being blipped out of existence was something she couldn't even comprehend. What she could comprehend, however, was that there was certainly going to be a discussion, orders, decrees, proclamations, tears, and logistics. So many logistics to come. Mrurh'en'lase knew that she would likely need to join up with recovery efforts for the soldiers stranded there or near there. She would maybe have to take up piloting, taking control of a rescue shuttle...the thought was worrisome. She wasn't the best of pilots.

Not the best of anything without me. Look what happened to them without me. They all died. Dead. Every single one. They deserved it too. You know they did. They are only worthy of destruction.


In some ways, Mrurh'en'lase truly felt this way. The Chiss viewed her as an abomination in several ways: a hybrid and a Force Sensitive, a mixed-blooded mutation. She was lucky enough to not die by their hands, but unlucky enough to make it this far. To live with that pain knowing that her own father had died because of that mindset...it was a struggle and a frequent cause of her many sleepless nights. Her father dead and glassy-eyed - a blaster round burning through his skull - in front of her eyes was a plague that no amount of Force Healing could cure. Maybe the Chiss did deserve it. Maybe they were worthy of -

- It was only when a knock sounded at the door did she realize that her hands had balled into fists and her nails had dug into her skin, drawing blood to the surface of her palms. The hybrid rose from her seat and walked to the door, opening it with the touchpad on the wall and meeting the furrowed brows of one of her dormmates. As she expected...a conversation was to be had. With a final exhale, Mrurh'en'lase left the solitude of the dormitory, forced to face the coming conflicts of this atro....event.

 
Father and daughter sat at a small table in a garden, playing dejarik. Nimdok watched Miri’s brow crease as she studied the board, eyes flicking from one holographic monster to the next, before his gaze flicked downward, stealing a glance at his datapad.

“If you don’t pay attention, I’m going to beat you,” Miri warned.

“I’m waiting for you to make a move,” he replied with a smirk, still without lifting his eyes from the screen.

A breeze picked up, rustling the branches of the tall wroshyr trees and setting off wind chimes hanging from a nearby roof. It carried with it the smell of fresh cut grass and pruned stems, and the scent of a dozen different flowering plants. Drifting into the alcove where they played, it tickled the tendrils of hair that framed the girl’s face, but wasn’t strong enough to lift the long thick braid that hung between her shoulder blades.

Abruptly the sounds of nature faded away. Even the wind chimes fell silent. The furrows in Miri’s brow smoothed, the game forgotten.

For a while they were quiet and still, lost in the feelings that radiated through the void of space. Then the sounds of the world around them came rushing back all at once, birds and bugs and wind and leaves. Nimdok felt the warmth of tree-dappled sunlight on his skin, reminding him that he was alive.

“What happened?” Miri asked, her voice no louder than a whisper. She cast a confused glance toward the flashing notifications scrolling across the datapad screen.

Nimdok watched as the reports flooded in, the news traveling faster than light. All of them with similar headlines, all of them mentioning Csilla.

“Somebody just blew up a planet,” he replied. “For the first time in centuries.”

“They blew up Alderaan one time,” Miri murmured. “But then they made a new one later.”

But this answer wasn’t reassuring. Planets, in their strange high-tech galaxy, might be technically disposable, but the massive loss of life resulting from the destruction of an entire world was not. That was what they had both felt—not the shockwaves of earthly crust cracking and pulverizing into dust. They had felt the abrupt deaths of billions.

Her father was distracted, trying to get a message through to Starlin. The boy had gone to fight at Csilla, yet Nimdok didn’t feel the sting of personal loss, a severed connection. Perhaps it had been swallowed up by all the other voices crying out in terror before they were suddenly silenced...
 


Deep in hyperspace, the Taskmaster sat wearily on his command throne. Damage reports were still coming in from all decks; he was having to put out literal and figurative fires in a constant stream, directing repair crews and sealing off bulkheads. The Fatalis had been terribly scarred by the battle, suffering mechanical wounds that would take tremendous time and resources to repair. Then again, Tu'teggacha had to admit that it was impressive that the dreadnought had managed to survive at all. The Maw SSD had charged directly into the heart of the Alliance navy, held position right in front of the enemy flagship, and been driven all the way back to the Mercy battle station under a withering hail of fire. Directly targeted by two fleets, it had somehow held together, if only barely.

It was more than could be said for the Mercy itself. The Ebruchi cursed darkly at the thought.

Under ordinary circumstances, the Taskmaster was no fleet commander; he had taken on the role solely out of necessity, to command the Maw's defensive screen and protect the Mercy until its superlaser was charged. But he had not been able to manage that; they had been too terribly outnumbered. Perhaps another commander, a legendary admiral or clever corsair, could have pulled it off... but it had been beyond his abilities given the resources he had available. And with the Dark Voice aboard, still injured from his confrontation with the Jedi Master he'd faced, Tu'teggacha had been forced to consider the Brotherhood's future. Determined to salvage whatever he could, he had ordered the surviving Maw ships to retreat to hyperspace as soon as the station began breaking apart.

For that reason, he did not see Csilla fall... but he felt it.

All at once, eight billion slain souls streaked past him, sent screaming into the depths of the Netherworld. Their last moments were terror and pain, an overwhelming wave of dark energy that rippled through the galaxy. Tu'teggacha nearly fell from his command throne. His bulbous, glassy eyes rolled back in his head, and his knobby hands clenched so hard that he drew blood from his palms. This... was... ecstasy. He drank in the suffering, so much suffering, like a desert wanderer stumbling on an oasis. This was why he had joined the Brotherhood, to feed on the misery they inflicted, the fear they brought. He was no true believer; he did not think that mystical avatars guided them, or that a new age was coming. But he had guessed they would unleash hell wherever they went... and he'd been right.

Even among the infamously-revolting Ebruchi, who lived in clans of pirates and cannibals, Tu'teggacha had stood out in his appetite for causing misery. He craved control, always desiring to have power over the lives of others - and the ultimate exercise of that power was to make them suffer and die. He had been born wrong, feared even by his own kind... and he had turned on them for it, using them for sport, torturing and killing his own clan before they had the chance to cast him out. But such petty amusements could not possibly compare to what had been accomplished today: the death of an entire world, the shattering of hope for an entire species, and a ripple of grief and fear across the entire galaxy. If the Brotherhood could do this, their future as the galaxy's tormentors was assured.

They had taken a beating along the way; there was no denying that. It would take months to get their mighty fleet back to full strength, forcing them to be cautious, to lick their wounds within the safety of their own dark domain. The slaves they had taken would have to work overtime to prepare for what came next, until they dropped from exhaustion, never to rise again. But when it came... glorious visions danced through the Taskmaster's mind, visions of the Core Worlds burning, of untold billions falling under his scalpel and lash. The Chiss were broken now, irrelevant, swept away as a threat. Nothing in the Unknown Regions remained to challenge them. As soon as they had regained their strength, it would be time to begin their great invasion of known space. And when they did, no one would be safe.

"We have done it," he whispered, and his ghastly facial tendrils twisted into what the Ebruchi considered a smile. A dark future was on the way, one in which the whole galaxy burned and screamed and died... and the torch to set it aflame rested in his gnarled hand.
 

Roudac Gannan

ᴀʟʟᴇɢɪᴀɴᴛ ɢᴇɴᴇʀᴀʟ

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UNKNOWN REGIONS
NEAR SARVCHI SECTOR

The FIV Resurgent burst from hyperspace with a visible distress, and shower of hull plating and debris, as the engines of the mighty Super Star Destroyer flared and sputtered out. It hung there, in the void of space, surrounded by darkness and stars for a while, unmoving. The distant planetary bodies of the Sarvchi system floated millions of parsecs away, unaware and unaffected by the large vessels plight, and there was a dead calm after the sheer destruction that had permeated the entirety of the Csilla sector.

On the secondary bridge, deep inside the bowels of the near-ruined warship, the crew were pulling themselves back into some semblance of order and organization. Allegiant General Gannan slowly stood, the side of his head covered in blood, as he reached out a hand for a rail to stabilize himself. He took stock of the bridge, the personnel around, and noted that most appeared well - or relatively so - with perhaps a few that required immediate medical attention.

The status of the Resurgent and its people were obvious.


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"Bridge stations, begin vessel reports," Gannan said in a low voice, as he let out a slow exhale of exasperation. "Comms, call for any available medical teams. First responders, begin first aid treatment... and sensors, tell me what just happened."

There were confirmations, as the assortment of crew began to mobilize. Training began to take over for many, in the aftermath of a near-death experience, as the realization of having survived the collision against the superweapon dawned on them. Others were in a state of disbelief, unable to comprehend or function, but Gannan wouldn't blame them - he just needed the information from those who could.

"S-sir, sensors picked up on the fluctuation of path drives from the superweapon right before our own hyperdrives were activated," Said one of the younger sensor officers, his uniform torn and one arm clung to his stomach in pain. "From what I can tell... the superweapon - uh - warped around us? Or slipped past us? And... collided with Csilla..."

So Csilla had been hit.

"Status of the planet?" Gannan dared to hope, but he could tell from the other sentient's expression it wasn't good.

"Extinction event, sir." The sensor officer replied sadly. "We didn't manage to divert the impact."

It was like a punch to the gut. If the Allegiant General hadn't been holding the railing, he sure would have at that moment. There was a sick feeling deep inside, a coiled despair at the failings of an attempt to save millions - billions - of Chiss lives, all for naught. The only glimmer of hope was that some of the population had escaped. But even that paled in the realization of the event and what had befallen the Chiss as a people...

"Vessel status?" Gannan turned to the technical panel crew. "How bad are we?"

"We're dead in space until repairs, sir." Responded one of the techs. Her hands shook, as she pressed buttons on the console. "Vessel integrity is stable for now, but whole sections on our port side require immediate repairs. Assuming teams can begin reinforcement and repairs, we could be functional enough to enter hyperspace in a few days..."

Gannan nodded. Not ideal, but far from the worst case scenario. At least they were in a position to avoid the need for rescue efforts, and could handle the situation themselves, unless things got worse. The tech continued:

"Reactors were shutdown before overload, we avoided meltdown, shields are out for now, but central internal systems and assets are functional. We can begin synthesizing parts for repairs. The beltway is experiencing outages in areas, the main hangar has some starfighters off the racking and clean up is beginning throughout the vessel."

"Good, keep me updated if anything changes. For the worst." Gannan pushed off the railing and limped over to the comm area. He looked to the crew there. "Communications with the First Fleet? Updates on the division statuses?"

Despite the events on Csilla, there was no time for mourning, not yet. There were numerous Chiss in the crew, Gannan knew, and he looked toward those on the secondary bridge with a mixture of sympathy and determination. If it was one thing he knew about the species, it was they were less emotional and most, and pragmatic. Surely they would grieve, but for now the Chiss crew were focused, and it helped.

"First Fleet has reported heavy losses, but they managed to escape the destruction and have rerouted to the outer edges of the Csilla system, sir," Said the comm officer, her tone crisp, despite the blood on her cheek and nose. "They are requesting coordinates to regroup with us. Orders?"

"Negative, have them assist in any defensive efforts against remaining Maw forces in the sector," Gannan said, as he pressed a palm to his forehead at the pain there. He could use a stim, truth be told. He was exhausted. "Also assist with collection of refugee vessels, if they can be found..."

The comms officer nodded and relayed the orders. She looked back, eyebrows raised:

"Also, the Imperial Knights and infiltration forces managed to get out and land on First Order vessels... they escaped the superweapon. Further orders, sir?"

"Contact Dosuun." The Allegiant General said, as he lowered his hand and stood straight. News of his son's survival was a relief. Still, Gannan's dark eyes narrowed, as his lip curled into a snarl. "Put me through to the Supreme Leader...

"We're going to war."

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Natasi Fortan Natasi Fortan

Continued in Stygian Blue...

 

Bastian smith

Guest
B
Bastian Smith sat in a whole in the wall bar smoking a cigar and drinking rum when he felt the ripples and then the full force of Csila's fate hit him like a freight train he was used to empire's blowing up planets he didn't get the point the planet had resources WHY not use them instead of blowing it up he let his rage get the better of himself and destroyed the durasteel table the bartender looked frightened by this display. He put a credit chit on the bar "that should pay for my drink and the table he said part of him wanted to rip the head off of who ever gave the order to use superweapons it was the definition of stupidity.
 

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TRADE FEDERATION INDUSTROPOLIS // AARGAU

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"...as a result, all the major indexes called a halt on trading."

"And the, ahh, closing position?"

"31.7 billion credits."


Aerarii Tithe starred out over the New Escrow skyline. The safe, secure skyline of his homeworld. A planet that, while threatened numerous times during its history by countless empire, alliances and regimes, still stood to this day. A world of familiarity, of innumerable memories and innumerable formative experiences for the Vice Chancellor. A place when he could always retreat when he needed space to contemplate or carry out a delicate negotiation.

Aargau, a world which unlike Csilla, had not been wiped from the galactic map by the Brotherhood of the Maw and their terrifying superweapon.

"Commodities are overall down off the back of the news," continued his financier. "Coaxium is up 11 percentage points due to increased migration movements toward the core, rhydonium is up..."

"That will be all thanks,"
Tithe interjected. Realising that the conversation was over, the financier bowed before departing.

One deal, 31.7 billion credits. Not a bad day on the trading floor. So why wasn't Tithe happy?

Shorting the Csillan market ahead of the attack had been a bold move. It hadn't been hard to find an intergalactic banking clan foolish enough to accept the stock swap. It had been a generation since a weapon of planet-busting magnitude had been fielded, giving the less imaginative financial institutions a false sense of security. With a single hammer fall, the Brotherhood had cemented their position as the most dangerous threat to the galaxy. While others had tried to claim responsibility, Tithe had been in the trenches of Csilla and had seen the brutality of the Brotherhood and their legion with his own eyes.

The game had been irreparably changed.

Tithe now needed to figure out how and his credits fitted into the new paradigm.
 
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THE ENDANGERED DIRECTOR
CORUSCANT | SIA HEADQUARTERS
YOU WANT IT DARKER
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Each news source had a different angle of Csilla’s undoing. Some played the rupturing of the planet in slow motion. Others let it flash only briefly on the screen. Some were under. Some were far away. Some looked as though it was recorded from someone pressed within an airlock on an escaping ship. Some newscasts didn’t show images at all, only mournful reporters reading the news from the teleprompter...unable to complete their sentences.

Every inch of Csilla’s destruction played on repeat in the Director’s office. The brilliance was unfathomable. Flashes of the eruption filled the otherwise dark room with instances of luminescence before fading away again. Over and over and over and over.

Her inbox was starting to flood. Ex lovers were reaching out to see if she needed a shoulder (they didn’t know her very well), The Chancellor’s direct line was flashing incessantly, her agents were knocking at the door, those undercover within the MAW were concerned about being made and tiny klaxons from various devices were intermittently sounding off at random intervals.

Finally, she let out a breath. She felt it roll through her and pool into her belly, bloating and stretching up her throat before she exhaled heavily. Emotion had been growing since she'd first locked herself in her office, welling just at the precipice of dispassionate façade. All that she kept inside punished her physicality. Her ears were hot and her hands felt limp. Attached, operational, but not hers.

Despite her solitude, she did not quiver. Not break.

Task Force Xesh, the imbecile collection of Maijan Paisea Maijan Paisea , Kingsley Kingsley , Viribus, Kreg Jare Kreg Jare and Kirk Korrado had marginally succeeded. In reality though, they'd failed. Incomprehensibly -- despite parts of the plans had been downloaded before they’d been interrupted, and M turned her ruby gaze down from the screens to the skeletal blueprint they’d transferred to her terminal. The schematics were rough, messy...but more useful than watching her homeworld detonate on repeat.

With a hand that barely shook, she reached for her glass of (by now) room temperature blue milk and took a sip, peering at the layout projected in front of her. It took planning and resources to make this so successful. To completely destroy a proud civilization. To destroy her ho–––

M swallowed.

The Brotherhood of The Maw had succeeded in announcing their permanence on the galaxy, by showing how ephemeral everyone else could be.

With no authorization other than her own, she hop-skipped her endangered fingers over the dial pad, keying in an outbound message to one Jaeger Harrsk Jaeger Harrsk : We've been running interference for too long.



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