OZYMANDIAS
Objective 1: King of Kings
Objective 2: That Colossal Wreck
Heir of Ash, Part 1
Location: Arena of the Dark Prophets, Odavessa Ruins, one week ago
"
You ready, sir?"
Belt, fastened.
"
As much as I can be."
Boots, broken in and rugged.
Snug fit.
"
May the Force serve you well."
Cloak.
Pull it open, don't want to trip.
"
Thank you, Argus, and you too, Issan."
Gloves.
Good fit, glad I brought this pair.
"
... we will avenge you if-"
Mask.
Not yet, just need to hold it.
"
-you won't have to."
Lightsaber.
Clip it on open side, theatrics.
Dressed in his ceremonial Sith armour, Anthysius Soraysom-Calimondra strode down the vaulted passageway, the exit lit by alchemical light burning from ensconed torches along the wall, setting aglow the Sith runes inscribed on the walls.
As he reached the exit, the sound of the large crowd grew. Stepping into the dim sun of Odavessa, the humid air of the arena hit Anthysius like a wall. The Sith looked up and around and the full scale of the arena impressed itself on him. Spectator stands, hewn from rock by a thousand slaves a thousand years ago, capable of housing hundreds, ringed the arena. It was split in twain, Anthysius emerging from the vomitorium of one half, while his opponent emerged from the other on the other side of the blood-stained sand of the arena.
My honoured challenger, Anthysius growled silently.
The other Sith was clad in all-black, head-to-toe in the finest Sith armour yet wrought by mortal hands. Its edges filigreed in bright crimson, its armour surfaces honed to a reflective shine, and a jet-black cape, billowing in the haunted wind. The warrior carried his helmet in one arm, an artisanal masterpiece that married ancient design with modern engineering, its visage frightful and powerful.
What a spoiled braggart.
The two Sith walked towards each other, slowly. Anthysius had not had the
pleasure of meeting the third-rate upstart who had laid claim to all of his property and holdings in person yet, and he was surprised to see how young he looked. A polished, youthful face, a lip curled in aristocratic arrogance, artfully tousled hair waving in the wind. Every inch of his appearance befitted the son of the Kyja clan.
That clan was, indeed, out in full force to show support for their young relative. The sizable spectator stands were almost totally filled. An ecclectic mix of a brood of siblings, young and old; parents and uncles and aunts of a sprawling dynasty, some dressed in Sith robes, others in military uniform, some dressed as if it were a party. A veritable cross-section of the old Empire's ruling classes. Anthysius even spotted representatives of some Calimondra branches in the crowd, which he entirely expected.
After all, his young opponent had publicly challenged Anthysius' holdings on the basis of inheritance from some second cousin that apparently had a rival claim to Anthysius' own inheritance. Preposterous, of course. No, this was a thin veneer over an exercise to exploit a weakened family, and a graduation gift of sorts to the kid. Pouncing on easy prey to flaunt the family's power and inflate the young man's political position.
Anthysius had considered not entertaining the challenge when it reached him last month, but as much as hated it, he knew he had to head off this threat immediately. His position was already precarious, and with the upcoming reconquest, Anthysius knew he would be brushed aside by the competition between the powerful lords, cannibalised by bigger fish. Better to present himself as a poisonous shrimp now. He supposed it was a small mercy that the challenge was between two warriors, and not the whole-scale conflict that a Kaggath would entail.
And so here he was, on Odavessa, preparing for a duel to the death in front of a braying crowd.
Well, not entirely a crowd.
Anthysius glanced over his shoulder as he strode towards his opponent. On his side of the stands was almost nobody. There sat Issan and stood Argus at the front, pensively watching. Several lower-ranking small-fry, such as Issan and Argus' subordinates and Elevar Holdings flunkies were scattered about, not particularly excited. In truth, Anthysius had expected more, but even the few dynastic allies had decided to make themselves scarce in this combat challenge against the Kyja family. Only a single senile Sith, a grand-uncle on his father's side, sat with Anthysius' direct retainers and employees.
Anthysius halted several feet from the centre of the arena, at the edge of a circle drawn in the sand, its centre marked by a spear jammed into the sand, drapped with a flag. His opponent strode up to the spear and clasped it. While the challenge was accepted long ago, there were still rituals and actions to go through. If nothing else, some Sith still respected the old ways.
"
I, Quich Rann of House Kyja, declare, by right of blood and conquest, my challenge for ownership of the Holdings of House Soraysom-Calimondra[...]"
Anthysius shut out the noise and tightened his focus on his challenger, channeling his rage into a mental haze, sharpening his senses, noticing the smallest details. Overwrought shoulderplates. Central dead-zone in the Mask. Limited leg range.
"
[...] dost thou accept?" The words rang across the arena.
Anthysius took a breath.
"
I, Anthysius Hexad of House Soraysom-Calimondra, Lord of Jubalene and Darkknell, Heritor of the Matrica, accept your challenge," and Anthysius clasped the spear too.
Quich gave a small nod and turned around, heading to the edge of the sand circle.
Anthysius released the spear and walked back to his side of the circle, finally putting on his ancestral helmet. Its mechanisms lit up as soon as he did, and breathed in the purified air that pumped into the helmet. From the outside, the vertical stripes on it would glow dimly, an integrated sensor package that gave some enhancement to his vision. Nothing that most helmets did not provide, but it was sufficient for an heirloom.
Anthysius stopped as he reached the circle. He looked up slightly and saw his pitiful entourage in the stands, silent. He could still hear the sounds from the other side, already beating a war-rhythm.
As if sensing his isolation, Anthysius saw Issan stand up from her seat. Raising her arms to the sky, she began to sing. A Force-enhanced tune, simultaneously sweet and painfully shrill, cut through the drumming rhythm of the other side. The Sith noble smiled inside his helmet as Argus joined in, almost imperceptibly at first, but increasingly loud as he projected his voice as a low, sonorous drone that Anthysius could feel in his bones even as he stood a hundred metres from them. The others, apprentices and barely trained adepts, drummed out their own rhythm, and Anthysius could almost see the sound holding firm against push the sonic tide of the Kyja crowd.
The old Sith, still sitting, seemed to laugh. Anthysius glanced over to him, a small figure in the distance, hunched over and leaning on his staff. The old man's gaze turned to Anthysius and despite the distance, he felt his eyes pierce into his black soul. Anthysius looked again at his entourage, and felt something new. Whatever else they were, they were here for him. A fire burned in the Knight's gut, and he felt his senses sharpen, his worries of the upcoming battle melting away onto the razor edge of focus.
Anthysius pivoted and faced his opponent. Quich had also donned his helmet, and the younger Sith raised his lit lightsaber in salute, before holding it in a guard position. Anthysius took a deep breath, drew his lightsaber, and ignited it. The moment he did, the crowds fell silent, and Quich bolted forward, seeming to dance on the wind. The Force seemed to propel him, and Anthysius felt a wall of air slam into him as Quich thrust his blade forward.
Anthysius brought his blade up and parried the mad thrust, stepping backwards out of Quich's range. The other Sith pressed forward, a rain of blows that were barely parried, finished off with a doublehanded strike. Anthysius dodged out of the way, the hostile blade slashing through his cloak. He cursed under his breath. He had underestimated his younger opponent. Quich was proficiently deploying Form VII, landing strikes from every angle, battering at Anthysius' defences. With every blow, the crowd roared in approval, and with every counterstroke from Anthysius they hissed.
Anthysius shifted his stance, aiming to get a good counter-blow as he warded off another attack towards his side. Pushing against the contact between the blades, Anthysius spotted a slight instability in Quich's footwork as he pressed the horizontal attack and leveraged it, letting the tip of his blade turn towards himself and pushing his elbow forward, smashing into Quich's mask. The other Sith let up his attack for a split second, and Anthysius went on the offensive, cutting under Quich's guard and slashing horizontally across. His blade scorched a line across the chest armour of Quich, who leaped backward out of Anthysius' range.
Anthysius felt a feral grin form on his face as he pressed the attack, reversing the momentum of the duel. He pushed the Force into his blows, battering Quich's blade aside and stepping further into Quich's guard, even as the other Sith tried to backstep away from him. Anthysius slashed down, reversed his attack and stabbed upward. His blade contacted, then cut into Quich's helmet. He felt the young Sith panic, pushing him away with the Force and separating the two. The blast of Force energy stirred up the sand, blanketing the space between them.
Anthysius reached out with the Force and saw Quich dash to his right, aiming to flank him. Before Anthysius could step into the sand, Quich was on him again. Anthysius was more prepared this time, but Quich had changed his approach, almost deploying a reserved form of Form VII, only slightly over-committing to attacks. A lucky blow struck Anthysius in the thigh and he almost buckled, almost losing his head for his trouble. Anthysius missed his counterstroke, but Quich failed to capitalise. He watched the young Sith's eyes through the hole in his mask, focussed and determined. This was no mere dandy: he was as much a deadly scion of the Sith as the Lord of Darkknell.
Anthysius knew he had to end this quick. The longer the fight went on, the longer the thigh wound would impact his performance, and the longer the Kyja might decide to 'intervene'. Anthysius reached out with the Force and shot a bolt of lightning aimed at Quich's exposed face. The younger man flinched and broke off his next attack, rotating his blade to catch the lightning. Anthysius seized the chance to return the thigh wound, but Quich saw the move coming and deflected.
Pain shot through his leg and Anthysius almost fell, feebly parrying Quich's follow-up overhead attacks. The last stroke broke through his guard, and though Anthysius caught it mid-stroke, the crimson plasma blade inched closer, digging into his chest armour. Fear gripped him, but in his mind he knew this was his chance. Anthysius struggled to channel his fear into his free hand, directing it out and at the Kyja heir. He saw Quich's eyes widen as he began to choke, but he refused to stop pushing the blade into Anthysius' chest armour.
Anthysius obliged, suddenly leaning back and falling backward to the ground. Unbalanced, Quich fell over, and Anthysius landed a kick to his gut, launching him sideways. He heard enraged shouts from the crowd, but he blocked out the noise and used the Force to grab his Lightsaber, sending it whirling to Quich, splayed on the ground. The young Sith looked up in time to see Anthysius' blade, and while he avoided a decapitation, the blade dug deep into his master arm before falling out. Yelling in pain, Quich still struggled to his feet. Anthysius used the Force to pull his blade back to his hand before struggling to his feet as well, eyes shut at the swelling pain in his thigh.
When he opened his eyes again, he saw Quich's arms outstretched. Anthysius whirled around and saw the challenge spear, uprooted by the Force, cut through the air, aimed straight for his face. The Sith Knight reared back and slashed across his front, straining to shift his head out of the way. The lightsaber chopped through the spear, but the front half still flew true, and it slammed into Anthysius's helmet. The Force-imbued tip broke through his helmet and lodged itself inside, the tip grazing Anthysius's forehead and right temple. The pain shot through his nerves, and he grabbed hold of it. He turned his head, spotting Quich charging at him, blade brandished. Lifting his free hand, Anthysius willed his pain into the Force, telekinetically grabbing the broken haft of the spear and launching it at Quich. The other Sith was already charging Anthysius, dragging his wounded arm along. He raised that arm, pushing at the haft from the opposite side as Anthysius, but it was clear the pain was taking a toll on his ability to focus a Push using that arm. The haft splintered into long, thin shrapnel as the two opposite telekinetic forces worked along its length, sending shrapnel flying. Anthysius continued to pour his anger into the Force, and the Push was transferred to the cloud of shrapnel. Quich, likely stunned by the splintering of the spear, stopped for a single fatal moment.
Wood shrapnel flew into the gap in his mask, and the Kyja heir screamed in pain as one of his eyes was shredded by the attack. Anthysius charged forward slashing. Remarkably, Quich was able to parry the first swing, but the second took off his unwounded hand at the wrist, sending his severed hand and lightsaber flying.
Quich tore off his helmet and fell to the ground, his hand covering his wounded eye. He was still groaning in pain,but his one good eye stared up at Anthysius in hatred.
"
You fought well. Now die well," Anthysius proclaimed as he stabbed downwards, ending the life of Quich Rana Kyja.
A hush fell over the crowds as Anthysius turned to face House Kyja. Pulling his torn helmet off, he proclaimed:
"
By right of blood and conquest, I lay claim to the late Quich Rann Kyja's martial leadership and treasury holdings as recompense. What dost the House of Kyja say?"
One week later, now
Odavessa Orbital Docks
"Right away, my lord."
Anthysius turned his attention away from the naval administrator and back to the transparisteel window that formed the exterior wall of the inspection deck of the shipyard. It faced out at the Sith fleet moored in orbit of Odavessa, eerily still, their primary engines disabled. It had been a week since his victory, and House Kyja had, instead of gunning him down on the floor of the arena, begrudgingly transferred control of the line of ships that had been gifted to Quich (pending approval by the Admiralty and Lord Antilles), in addition to some trifling riches and property. The terms had actually already been hammered out before the duel but they had not expected to have to honour it.
It was, in Anthysius' mind, far from sufficient recompense for the insult, but it would do for now. At least the vultures would think twice before coming at him again.
And I will have a role to make my mark in the reconquest, he thought, turning his attention back over the edge of the inspection deck, looking out over the cavernous drydocks. He stretched his arms, working out the knots in his shoulders. He had sustained some damage in the duel, especially in his thigh, but this was Odavessa, and Sith medicine was at its finest here. He still had a slight headache, but that was not so much from the fight as the relatively modest celebration at his tower after he had been treated for his wounds. He had been planning on opening a mild Akivan Liquer for his retainers, but somehow Issan convinced him to slam a few too many plebeian Jet Juices.
Couldn't even remember what happened after midnight...
"
My lord, the captain of the Dour Predator has assembled his officer corps and awaiting inspection."
Issan approached, dressed in more comfortable military attire. She had happily stashed away her Sith robes once the duel had ended, and Anthysius noted she looked none the worse for wear.
He nodded and followed Issan away from the observation platform and into the bowels of the dock.
"
Let's not keep them waiting. What is the status of the other ships?"
Issan informed him that the rest of the ships were as yet uncrewed. The
Dour Predator, a heavy cruiser, was the heart of the unit he had inherited. It, along with one of the cruisers and one of the corvettes, was in drydock for repairs, though those had already been completed. The rest of the line, consisting of one cruiser and two corvettes, were "on the float" with the rest of the orbiting fleet crewed by a skeleton maintenance unit.
Argus was talking to one of the officers when they reached the airlock.
"
I can smell your fear." He heard Argus declare, towering over the captain.
"
It is unneeded," Argus added, turning in Anthysius direction when he felt the Knight approach.
"
Our lord is in a most generous and benevolent mood after our victory." Finished, Argus turned fully and bowed.
"
No need to stand on formality today. I am just here to get a grip on commanding this line," Anthysius said, nodding at the captain.
"Y-yes sir, we understand. If you would follow me, we can begin-" the man was interrupted by Anthysius' holocomm sounding a priority signal.
Anthysius sighed and moved a few paces away to receive the message. To his surprise, Ruethane Jayan was on-screen.
"
Sir, apologies for the belated congratulations, but well done on-"
"
You actually made it here!" Anthysius interjected, simultaneously perplexed and amused that his premier civilian employee had actually arrived, albeit too late for the admittedly understated celebrations.
"
Of course, I will need to integrate your new... earnings into the company portfolio somehow."
Anthysius laughed.
"
Alright, you can wait at my tower. I'll be down in a few hours."
"
Oh, that's the other thing, sir. I believe one of the Ministries requires your physical presence on the planet immediately, and they contacted me the moment my ship signature showed up in-system."
Unusual.
"They have an encoded signature." Anthysius opened the file transmitted to his device. It was verifiably from the Powers That Be, so to speak. Very unusual.
A possible last-ditch play by the Kyja?
"
Thank you, looks like I'll be down there immediately." And the line went out.
Explaining the situation to the others, Anthysius ordered Argus to come with him. If this was some ploy to use Ministry resources against Anthysius... likely not, but Argus would be the man he wanted fending off such odds. Anthysius watched the captain sigh in relief as Issan took over the inspection and enter the ship.
Odavessa capital, Government District
Anthysius was marching down the boulevards of the central Government District, flanked by Argus and a squad of Legionaries sworn to his family, still pondering the implications when he Felt It. A chill in the air that cut into his soul. He stopped and prepared to draw his blade. An ambush?
Anthysius felt something ripple in the air. Looking up in the sky, he felt it spreading. Further, and further, from above, and then outwards, a sensation blanketing the planet.
Fear.
Then the fleet showed up in the sky.
"
By the Hoary Hosts..."
"
Master, we should get into shelter immediately." Argus intoned, a hint of worry in his voice.
Anthysius nodded. He looked around, spotting the Pyramid itself. Already guards along the roads were hurrying to it, along with other Sith.
"
If there's anywhere that's safe..."
As they broke into a run, the group came in behind another crowd of soldiers and Sith. Already the sounds of panic from the outer districts reached his ears.
Then ahead, he spotted someone familiar. It was Ali, flanked by a Sith Knight. No time for small talk or catching up after Korriban. Anthysius caught up to the pair. If anyone knew what the hell the plan was...
"Have either of you received word on the situation?"
Issan was being introduced to the CIC and battlemap consoles in the bridge of the
Dour Predator when They Arrived. First one, then a dozen anomalous contacts. Then a hundred, and more, and an explosion readily seen from the bridge's windows. Issan was almost too stunned to react, though she did manage to say:
"
Battle stations!" Just in time as X-Wings began bombing runs on the
Predator. No, not just the Predator. The entire fleet.
Marines launching to attack the Enemy Fleet yard. Touching down at various entry points all over the yards and releasing docking clamps of ships either “empty” or “still readying for launch”(i.e. Launch prematurely), 3rd objective is set explosives in and around armory)
Issan's eyes widened in shock as she realised the full extent of the assault. Overwhelmed by the contacts on-screen, she focussed in on the ships belonging to Anthysius' Line. Already one of the Corvettes was ripped open by proton torpedoes, while the "float" Cruiser of this Line was hammered by long-range batteries. Transports were easily breaking through the paltry defensive fire that the Fleet yard had managed to put up. With almost all of the fleet still mothballed, the
Dour Predator would do little to add to defensive firepower.
"Incoming boarders!" one of the control stations yelled. Up on her console she spotted several transports, marked as Cherub-class, heading directly for the section of the yard that the
Predator was docked in, on an intercept course with the
Predator.
"
Arm yourselves and prepare for boarders!" Issan ordered, and the crew dispersed, klaxons wailing. Grabbing a set of abandoned Marine armour, Issan rushed up to the CIC. There was no time to contact her master. From here on out, she would live or die on her own merits.
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