Dominion Chains of Spice | SO Dominion of Sevarcos

[Adean Castor]

TAG: Alina Tremiru | Quinn Varanin

Adean paused, brought to a halt by Alina's speech to the masses. Did all of this amount to family drama? Really? She found herself unable to say she was well and truly surprised, not when her assumed identity was steeped in the assumed familial baggage of the Zambrano name. She'd been lucky so far to avoid having to truly act like a member of that notorious dynasty, outside of her forced induction into the academy. If she had her way, she would disappear - socially if not on other levels - before she could be pulled into any 'family' business beyond the academy.

The soft, dissonant chirp of her familiar in her head alerted her to the presence that joined them. Quinn Varanin ...she'd seen the academy instructor from afar, taking efforts as always to fly under the radar when it came to classes. Perhaps she was here to rescue the requisitioned acolyte? No, Adean doubted she would be that lucky.

As blasters were leveled in their direction, her hand snapped to the weapon resting at her side, refraining from drawing it as Quinn spoke. If calming the slaves worked, she wasn't about to ruin it by looking threatening. Her familiar pushed off her shoulder, wings flapping to carry it out of sight. The small creature would do little in a fight. Maybe it could drop a small rock or dagger on someone's head. What it was good for, however, was monitoring the crowd, giving them a warning, should any of the extremists resist the calming effect.

 

[Gavin Vel]

Objective 2: Second Chances
Tags: Vulgarion

Gavin sprinted toward the anti-air emplacement, his lightsaber igniting with a menacing snap-hiss as he moved. The cultists had fortified themselves behind makeshift defenses, sandbags and debris piled high around the turret. Blaster fire rained down on him as he closed the distance, his blade spinning to deflect incoming bolts. He snarled as a few slipped past, grazing his shoulder and forcing him to drop into a crouch behind a half-collapsed barricade.

“Damn it,” he growled, glancing up at the turret. Its operators were frantically working to bring it online. If they succeeded, the entire operation could be jeopardized.

Without hesitation, Gavin surged forward again, his saber carving through an outlying defender who had made the mistake of stepping out of cover. He pressed on, cutting a path toward the turret itself. Just as he reached the final barricade, a cultist emerged from cover with a rifle leveled at Gavin’s chest.

Before he could react, a sharp crack rang out, and the cultist crumpled, a smoking hole in his helmet. Gavin glanced back, spotting one of Vulgarion’s soldiers—a young man with a trembling blaster rifle—standing wide-eyed behind him.

“Good shot,” Gavin muttered, giving the soldier a curt nod before stepping over the fallen cultist. He charged the turret platform, leaping up with the Force, his saber slashing at the weapon’s power conduits. Sparks flew, and the operators scattered, but the turret remained operational.

The sound of blaster fire intensified behind him, and Gavin turned to see more cultists rushing into the fray. He deflected a volley of bolts, but their numbers were overwhelming. The situation was slipping out of control.

“Fall back to the trench!” he shouted, his voice cutting through the chaos. “We need a stronger position!”

The soldiers scrambled to retreat, laying down suppressing fire as they fell back. Gavin leapt from the turret platform, landing heavily beside the squad as they regrouped in the partial cover of the trench below. The air was thick with dust and the acrid stench of blaster residue.

Gavin turned to the woman who had been commanding the squad—her voice had been steady through the chaos, and now she seemed to be rallying the men. He didn’t know her name, but her confidence was clear.

“You’ve got guts, I’ll give you that,” he said, his voice rough but even. “We’re pinned down here, and that turret isn’t going to disable itself. So tell me, do we hit it again now, or do we wait for reinforcements to show up?”

He stepped closer, lowering his voice slightly so only she could hear. “Here’s the truth. If we wait, we might lose the edge we have now. But if we go forward and you’re not ready—if you’re scared—we’ll fail, and a lot of people will die for nothing.”

His gaze shifted briefly to the squad huddled nearby, their faces streaked with dust and fear. He straightened, his voice growing louder, addressing the group as a whole.

“This isn’t about orders, and it’s not about me. This is about you. I need you to decide, because this will only work if you believe it can. If you’re brave enough to move forward, I’ll lead the way. But if you’re too scared to act, then we’ll sit here and wait—and we’ll see if that fear kills us first.”

He looked back to the woman, his expression hard but not without a glimmer of understanding. “It’s your call. But make it quick. That turret won’t wait for us.”

 

[Alina Tremiru]

"They made him a martyr, but I suppose that could've been the plan."

Alina let out a chuckle before she nodded her head. Quinn's assistance was going to be better than many others, certainly. Alina herself could stop the hostilities, but simply freezing these people in place wasn't going to actually bring them to her side. It would only delay the inevitable. Guns stayed level, but at least they weren't being shot at as Quinn worked her magic on the crowd.

Burnt flesh, though, showed there were only so many to save.

The people above were going to slaughter many, all if they could. She hummed in thought. The Emperor's will was to eliminate the enemies of the Empire. Bringing any of the Wonosans under her wing would betray that order. Hence, faster was better. She popped her lips before glancing to the Acolyte she'd brought along. "Use that familiar of yours to find more pockets like this. Have it guide them out, if they're willing. Back this way. If they ignore or turn hostile, leave them. Only worry about the willing."

Quinn Varanin | Adean Castor | Gavin Vel | Vulgarion | Darth Malum of House Marr

 

[Dominic Calis]

Sevarcos
Equipment: Standard GADF Navy Officer Uniform, Holdout Blaster, Cape.
Tag: Serina Calis Reicher Vax [OPEN]

"The spice must flow..."

​

The blue glow of the holotable illuminated Dominic's face, his sharp features etched with focus as Reicher finished outlining the plan. The details were thorough, every contingency considered, every asset accounted for. It was a plan that demanded precision, coordination, and unyielding resolve—qualities Dominic had spent his life honing. As the weight of the moment settled over the tent, Dominic's gaze shifted to Serina.

His sister. For years, she had been a name, a distant figure in the galaxy. Now, here she was, standing before him with a presence that was both striking and formidable. Her confidence was undeniable, her aura resonating with a power that was difficult to ignore. It was clear that she was no ordinary Jedi, a fact that both intrigued and unsettled him. The dark undertones of her demeanor were not lost on him, though he made no comment on them—yet.

"Serina," Dominic said, his voice steady, measured. "This is the first time we've stood in the same room, and while I wish it were under different circumstances, I'm glad you're here. Your role in this mission is pivotal, and I have no doubt you'll rise to the occasion." He allowed a small pause, his piercing blue eyes meeting hers. "We have much to discuss—after we secure the spire."

"I love you, sister."

Turning his attention back to Reicher, Dominic nodded, a subtle gesture of approval. "Your plan is sound, Reicher. The division of forces is efficient, and the use of the Lancers under the cover of night is a clever adaptation to their limitations. I'll see to it that the Steadfast maintains constant communication and provides the coordination we need. The Wolf-X fighters will remain on standby to intercept any aerial threats. Should anything arise that demands a rapid response, the Steadfast will be ready."

Dominic's tone shifted, carrying the weight of command. "This operation is ours. The Calis name will be etched into the annals of Sevarcos before the night is through. The spice trade, the spire, the city—they will belong to us. Failure is not an option."

With a final glance at the holotable, Dominic stepped back, his coat flowing slightly with the movement. He turned to Serina again, offering her a faint but sincere nod. "I'll leave you to your preparations. If there's one thing I've learned in my years, it's that no plan survives contact with the enemy. Trust your instincts, and trust our forces. We'll speak again when the spire is ours."

Without another word, Dominic exited the tent, stepping into the cool desert night. The sounds of the camp greeted him—orders being shouted, the hum of droid systems, the mechanical clatter of walkers being prepared. He inhaled deeply, the chill air sharp in his lungs, a contrast to the controlled atmosphere aboard the Steadfast.

As he marched, the marines of the Galactic Alliance offered their salutes in respect, not because they needed to. The Sith Old Guard nearby joined in, clear understanding on both sides for the battle ahead.

As he made his way toward the corvette, his mind was already turning over the details of the plan, analyzing potential weak points and contingencies. The stakes were high, and every decision from this moment forward would carry consequences that rippled far beyond Sevarcos. Climbing the ramp, Dominic entered the familiar corridors of the Steadfast, its polished interior a stark contrast to the gritty chaos outside.

Dominic took his place on the command deck, the steady hum of the ship's systems a comforting presence. "All stations, report readiness," he ordered, his voice calm but firm. As the crew responded with efficiency and precision, Dominic leaned forward, hands resting on the edge of the console.

The operation was in motion, and the Calis family was poised to claim its destiny.

 

[Zanami]

Tag: Open

Gracefully, she landed atop the halted transport directly behind the turret operator, the two flanked on either side of her, striking with deadly efficiency. With the Force assisting her, she ripped the two with such ferocity to the ground, shaking them collectively into confusion whilst she drove her plasma blade upward, skewing the standing operator, his body slumping forward on the mounted weapon. Extending those bone-serrated claws from her left hand, she dug them into the man's face, dragging them expeditiously across the exposed flesh, shredding it to reveal the facial structure hidden from the now torn and ruined tissue.

Rising up, sinew dangling from her claws, she swung her lightsaber cutting the blaster rifle's barrel from the main body, effectively rendering the weapon obsolete as the cultist had attempted to scramble to a kneeling position to fire. Enraged fueled, those fracturing visions returning back to haunt her that were splintering mind beyond repair, she once again reached out through the Force, grabbing the head and with such violent force; slammed it repeatedly face first into the transport's metal surface, turning the once desirable features of the man into a mangled pulp. Briefly, she took in her handiwork, basking in the trio's death.

Jumping down, she charged toward the front of the transport, slamming into the door whilst the driver attempted to exit the vehicle, shoving him backwards. Stunned, the man tried to reassert himself for departure only to feel his right leg gripped by two powerful hands and dragged from the driver's side: landing hard on his back, the wind escaping his inflated lungs. He looked up through hazy eyes in time to see the pointed down tip of a plasma blade driving downward into his face. From inside the transport, she flipped a couple of switches to disengage the magnetic lock on the back, and from there she opened the doors, rescuing the slaves.

Over her shoulder, she heard the rumbling sounds of another transport, her lips turning int a snarl...

 

[Darth Malum of House Marr]

A general advance was ongoing, and by all accounts it was doing well, a bloody advance, but that seemed to be the pattern of Sith warfare, for all the advances they had made, for the mastery they had achieved, it was all in reminder of the fact that their foes were worthy of the skill, and blood which was spilt. Still, it was not going fast enough for Malum's tastes, unsurprising, most of the Tsis'Kaar were not upon the world, all away undertaking their own plots, their own schemes, their own missions, who knew, likely at least some of them held betrayal in their heart.

Yet, regardless of the distrust that he held for quite a many of his subordinates, he knew if they were here, they would crush this rebellion underfoot, and bring Sevarcos to heel.

Instead it was all up to him.

The first wave of the dropships had landed on the frontlines, the barest edge of the Wonosan anti-aircraft battery wall, his due assistance having been given to the Legionaires fighting on the frontlines. Yet, that was far, far, away from his objective. The operation had all the precepts of the ad hoc nature which Sith strategies were dealt with, especially when it came to the presence of Sith Lords who so often considered themselves the superiors to all, and the equal to none.

That Lady Tremiru, and Her Grace, Lady Varanin were down there was not surprise to him, he only wished he could have had the opportunity to convince them otherwise...

...Regardless, this would add lustre to his great enterprise.

Shells had been landing for hours now, yet, focused as they were in suppressing the enemy's own artillery as the advance continued, they were hardly doing what he required to cut the head off the enemy's operations, all the while, bringing the fleets guns to bare down upon his opponets was promising collaterial casualties that his honour could ill-afford.

Nor his bleeding heart.

His own guns began to sing, deployed earlier in the day, the space which those below had been made essential, in drawing attention away from the walking hulks, as they made themselves to position. Tsis'Kaar operatives were already down there, infiltration into the Wonosans having been a project that had begun so long ago.

Infilitration that had not reached their highest ranks, but enough that the positions of their anti-aircraft batteries had been transmitted.

Some unlucky batteres would be flattened, but most would avoid destruction, it mattered little, as long as the suppression held.

The second wave could be unleashed.

The wind harshly whistled as through the viewscreen of the shuttle, he was rapidly descending towards the ground, masked red eyes gazing lazily about him, he met the helmed heads of all those of his Guard, even now, his stomach turned, as they broke the clouds, and the destruction of the ground revealed itself.

No matter how many times, no matter how many worlds, he had taken this drop, his stomach still turned, the forces of gravity acting against him, or simply the fear, that he would be amongst the dropships which would be shot out of the sky.

Yet, it was as the ship reported their rapid descent, as the fire of anti-aircraft batteries whizzed past them, scraping along the durasteel hull, or otherwise caught upon the chaff released above them, that such petty concerns left him, left him for the feeling of impending battle. Hyperfixed focus, a serene calm, the calm before the storm, that only begged to be released.

He closed his eyes, as the ship shook upon crashlanding onto the earth.

A moment passed.

The doors opened, hissing, as they disgorged their armoured contents, they would only have moments before their enemy counterattacked, so focused on the battle occuring on the front.

Moments was all that Malum needed.

After all, there was an agent of the Tsis'Kaar he had yet to meet, that was part of the Princesses' company.

Blasterfire struck the hull of the ship, as it was replied in kind, Malum stepping forth, breathing the dusty air of which his attack had struck, knowing that now, across the planet, similar battles would be fought, drawing upon the Sith Steel that was his make, the beskar clutched around black gloved hands, as the red plasma reared into life, and fire was returned.

It is well war is so terrible; we would grow too fond of it.

He charged forward, only a barest moments of hesistation, as he saw the masks opposite that were so familiar.

He would certainly need to be making some apologies.

"The Emperor's ordinance shall be fulfilled!" He shouted through the comms, across dozens of different dropships, "Destroy the traitors! Free the slaves!"

Alina Tremiru Quinn Varanin Gavin Vel Vulgarion Adean Castor
Mentioned: Darth Strosius Darth Empyrean

 

[Vulgarion]

written by dea noctifer

OBJECTIVE 2: SECOND CHANCES
SITH-IMPERIAL ARMY

Gavin Vel Darth Malum of House Marr Gerwald Lechner Adean Castor Alina Tremiru
​

She was so tired.

She was tired of men of power pontificating at her. Dictating how she should fight, why she should fight, and who she should fight for. Commanders and slavedrivers - tyrants by any other name. They demanded respect that they had never earned from her. This Sith was no different. She had spent three years serving Khul and his hackflesh squadron. She was another body to him, more expendable than his troopers. If it wasn’t for her, the other conscripts would had perished long ago.. Three years for the Sith.

She spent her teen years holding a blaster and storming trenches for corporate interests. Bouncing between allies and foes following the Godhead of the Credit. She was spoken too in figures and bottom lines. There was a predictive algorithm attached to her that measured her will to survive in combat situations. This wasn’t a pedigree of skill, this was a test of desperation. Assets that fought against the dying of the night were more valuable. Unlike the employees, she was property. Nothing more, nothing less.

Corpo speak, practiced phrases, and motivational posters adorning her cairn of a room. A storage container with a mattress slapped upon the floor.

Internal trading sent her to different divisions. She was an artillery crewman, a grunt, a star fighter pilot, she tasted every poison that war could offer.

Only to be spoken down to like a she-hound by proud immortal men.

Scared? What would he know about fear. He walked the carnage as a God, empowered by the emotions that lesser beings drowned in. She knew, even now, that the bile of hate rising in the back of her throat would be pumping through his soul as magma through earth. She, with no more than a chestplate of betaplast and a battle weary rifle took charge of a broken squad, knew fear. Blaster hail, slaying your friends, but you press on.

That was fear. But she wasn’t a misbegotten wretch. She was a patriot of the Sith Empire.

Vulgarion looked down and flicked the setting on her BK-43, nodded as it hummed. Overclocked, she would melt the focusing crystals if she wasn’t careful.

<<Frag off, saber-jockey.>> She said, blunt as a fist.

<<Bounding overwatch! Over the top!>> She snapped her fingers at one of the troopers who sat his blaster rifle over the trench, letting it sing as she slung herself over the top of the trench. The blaster kept to her shoulder. Moving fire, slinging bolt after bolt downrange. Marksmanship was a lost art in the modern age of combat, combined arms fire is what mattered. She pushed up until she hit a corpse of a legionnaire, dropping prone she continued to keep rounds pounding into sandbags and barricades.

Keep their heads down.

<<Next man! Move up! Grenadier, call off when you’re in range!>>

Another leaped out of the trench, mud squishing under his boots as he followed the example set by the impromptu squad leader. Flicking his own shots, popping a rebel with a double-tap to the chest before kneeling behind the cover the hostile was behind.

This repeated, over and over as they inched closer and closer to the AA position once more.

<<Vulgarion, grenadier in position!>> Barked the comms.

<<Danger close, pop it!>>

Stepping partially into the killzone, a trooper with an underslung tube on his blaster dropped to a knee. Bracing the rifle against his hip, he fired with basic intuition. The THUMP sound of the ordinance broke through the blaster fire and screams of the dying.

And it broke into a scatter shell over the AA position.

 

[Nerralyn Raaf]

Darth Carnifex Vector Monk
​

Normally, when it came to spice worlds, they held little interest for the Raaf family and their extended power base. Sevarcos and the surrounding sector had little to offer besides two forms of spice, and she had looked thoroughly to see if there might be something more interesting hiding in the sector for Order of Arcane Syn or her mother's sphere within the Empire to expand to.

When nothing else had come up, she had decided to accompany her godfather in assisting with the pacification of the Wonosans on the world. The fighting itself held little interest for the First Daughter, but another project her mother wanted to revive could be useful here. Creeping Lignan had been a curiosity for the Lady of Secrets and the Iron Tyrant, something to experiment with or use on unsuspecting Mandalorians. But it could be improved and Nerralyn was interested in seeing if she could head up that project for her mother and their closest ally.

"Efficiently as always," she remarked, following Carnifex into the vault he had carved open with the archaeologist that was a cultist of her godfather. The forces with them weren't exclusively of Carnifex's power base, as even as the droids secured some of the containers, a few of her mother's Ravenscar Adepts followed along with a few Farrus Spheres containing Kraujas Dtirsina. "Mother thinks that Carsunum Spice will be far more useful for our experiments than Andris so we need to find vaults and containers with the black spice."

She paused for a moment as Vector mentioned the eels of the planet, her eyebrow rising in a similar vein to her mother's when intrigued.

"Exactly how large are these eels, Captain? And do we know anything else about their capabilities?"

 

[Serina Calis]

Sevarcos
Equipment: Lightsaber (Aqua), Traditional Jedi Robes (Black)
Tag: Dominic Calis Reicher Vax [OPEN]

"The spice must flow..."
​

The tension in the command tent was palpable, the air thick with anticipation as Reicher concluded his presentation. Serina's eyes lingered on the holotable, studying the glowing projection of the capital city. Every detail fascinated her—the intricate defensive perimeters, the towering spire, and the strategic movements they would employ to claim it. This was more than a battlefield; it was an opportunity to demonstrate her strength, her vision, and her place within the Calis family.

But her thoughts were not solely on the mission. Dominic's words still echoed in her mind. For years, her older brother had been an enigma—a name tied to the Galactic Alliance, a figure cloaked in duty and discipline. Now, here he was, standing mere feet away. His presence was commanding, his tone resolute, and yet, his acknowledgment of her carried a sincerity that caught her off guard.

She turned her focus to Dominic as he addressed her directly, his piercing blue eyes meeting hers with an intensity she found oddly comforting. For a moment, her confident veneer softened. "I'm glad we're finally able to meet, brother," she replied, her voice calm but laced with emotion. "I've wanted this for a long time."

Her gaze shifted to Reicher, her respect for him clear in her expression. "And you," she said with a faint smile, "I couldn't ask for a better guide into this new phase of our family's ambitions. Your plan is as precise as ever, and I'm ready to play my part."

Serina straightened, her excitement tempered by a measured confidence. "The spire is our prize, and I will lead the team to secure it. The data within those vaults will give us not only control but leverage. Once we have it, Sevarcos will be ours to shape as we see fit." Her tone darkened slightly, her ambition shining through. "And the Wonosans, or anyone else who might think to challenge us, will learn the price of their defiance."

As Dominic accepted Reicher's plan and exited the tent, Serina watched him leave, her emotions swirling. She felt a strange pride in her brother—a respect that was quickly building into a connection she hadn't expected. But there was no time to dwell on these thoughts. Her role was critical, and she had to focus.

Turning back to Reicher, her voice softened. "Reicher, I know you've fought countless battles. I'll take every precaution with the spire team, but I trust your wisdom if you have any final advice."

Reicher's response, brief and direct, was what she had expected: a reminder to remain focused and decisive. It was all she needed. With a respectful nod, Serina stepped out of the tent, her robes flowing around her as the cool desert air greeted her once more.

The camp buzzed with activity as soldiers and droids prepared for the night's operation. Serina's presence drew glances from both Sith veterans and Alliance marines—her reputation as a Jedi Padawan, combined with her unmistakable aura of power, made her a figure of intrigue and, perhaps, unease. She ignored the stares, her thoughts fixed on the mission ahead.

Making her way to the designated staging area for her Padawan strike team, Serina took a moment to close her eyes and reach out with the Force. The energy of Sevarcos was unlike anything she had felt before—raw, turbulent, and alive with possibility. The whispers of the dark side were stronger here, a seductive undercurrent that fed her ambition. She embraced it, allowing it to sharpen her senses and steel her resolve.