Star Wars Roleplay: Chaos

Register a free account today to become a member! Once signed in, you'll be able to participate on this site by adding your own topics and posts, as well as connect with other members through your own private inbox!

Junction Paschendale | SO & DIA Junction for Stennaros & Yaga Minor

Sith-Logo.png


zLtFgvqi_o.png

Serenno
902 ABY

It had begun with a declaration.

The pro-Diarchy lobby, once a marginal voice among Serenno's sprawling noble houses, had publicly declared that the planet would formally align its future with the Diarchy. Trade routes, defense treaties, and political representation—all of it would now fall under Diarchic jurisdiction. What had once been murmurs in senate halls became law overnight.

But nothing on Serenno ever shifted so easily.

Behind closed doors, the Loyal Families—old blood aristocrats whose vaults had grown fat off Sith Order war contracts—had stirred this declaration into existence, hoping to ignite a conflict that would leave them the sole powerbrokers in the aftermath. With Sith credits in their pockets and whispers of Eternalism in their ears, they laid the trap. The Diarchy stepped into it willingly, eager to finally break the feudal system that had kept Serenno half-detached from modern galactic order.

The Sith Order responded within hours, denouncing the act as anathema—a betrayal of sovereignty and ancient pacts. Their fleets slipped out from hidden lanes, and a battle group descended upon Serenno's atmosphere like judgment rendered in iron and flame.

The Diarchy, prepared for such retaliation, deployed their own response: precision warships, drop units, and logistics teams surged to the surface to secure newly claimed administrative zones and fortify the capital.

What followed was not a clean invasion.

Serenno, with its deep canyons, towering citadels, and centuries-old blood feuds, became a crucible. Cities were divided street by street, estates became fortresses, and for weeks, proxy militias fought over passes, roads, and spaceports—each one more symbolic than strategic.

And now the battle threatens to boil over.

Sith boots pound the red rock of the Mystral Canyon, closing in on a Diarchy weapons convoy whose loss could shift the front entirely.

At the same time, Diarchic special forces prepare to assault the ancestral estate of House Verrinox—one of the Loyal Families whose sway over the planetary council is considered vital. The Sith Order cannot allow them to fall.

From diplomacy to bloodshed, Serenno teeters on the edge of total war.

Objective I — Echoes of War
Location: Mystral Canyon, Serenno
Objective: Intercept and destroy the Diarchy weapons convoy before it can reinforce front-line positions.​
The Mystral Canyon was a scar across the landscape—kilometers wide, dug deep by tectonic shearing and centuries of erosion. To the ancients, it was sacred ground. To the modern war machine, it was a bottleneck.​
Within its red-clay walls, a Diarchy weapons convoy made its cautious descent—an armored column of supply crawlers, walker-mounted turrets, and repulsor-hauled ammunition tanks. The cargo was critical: high-density munitions, portable shield projectors, and energy cells for the Diarchy's forward encampments along the Southern Ridge. Without it, their forces would be crippled, forced into retreat.​
But the Sith were waiting.​
From above, in the jagged overhangs and alcoves that honeycombed the canyon walls, black-armored figures crouched in silence. Sith Order shock troopers, enhanced through alchemy and bound in ritual, watched through HUD displays for the first signs of movement. With them were robed figures—Force-sensitives bred in secrecy for surgical war. And at their head, a commander whose presence felt like a wound in the Force: cold, immense, and silent.​
They would not engage in open battle. This was an execution.​
As the convoy moved deeper into the canyon, comms chatter turned to static. The rocks themselves hummed with quiet distortion. Sand shifted. Birds scattered.​
Then came the strike.​
From the canyon walls, thermal charges erupted—dust and flame consuming the lead vehicles. Rearguard tanks tried to reposition, but the path behind them collapsed in a chain-detonation of buried explosives. The convoy was trapped.​
Objective II — House of Ash and Blood
Location: Verrinox Estate, Central Serenno
Objective: Defend the estate of House Verrinox from an incoming Diarchy assault.​
High above the mist-choked lowlands of central Serenno stood the Verrinox Estate—a monument of stone and pride, older than the Republic itself. Its towers rose like black spears into the sky, jagged with weathering, wrapped in ivy and decay. The ancestral home of one of Serenno's most feared and respected families, its very name conjured whispers in the halls of power.​
It had seen wars. Duels. Assassinations. It had survived them all.​
Now, its walls braced for another siege.​
Inside the manor grounds, the mood was brittle. Noble banners swayed in the mountain wind—faded, but defiant. Courtyards once used for poetry and dance had become staging grounds. The tiled mosaic of the atrium floor was cracked beneath hurried bootsteps. And behind every shuttered window, shadows moved—retainers, advisors, and bloodline descendants gathering what dignity they could.​
The Diarchy had announced their approach two days prior—not as a courtesy, but as a statement: surrender, or be erased.​
They would not come with a fleet or artillery barrage. Not here. The estate was too historic, too politically charged. What was coming would be a precision strike—an execution hidden in the language of legitimacy. And every noble house on Serenno would be watching.​
A defeat here would not just end House Verrinox's influence. It would unravel the Loyal Families—fracturing the Sith Order's grip on the planet at its core.​
The wind howled through empty halls. Distant thunder rolled across the sky, but no storm followed. Servants had fled. A single bell tolled from the watchtower, low and slow, each ring echoing across the valley like a funeral march.​
Somewhere in the long halls of the estate, a member of the Verrinox bloodline stared into a family portrait—wondering if this was how legacy died.​
The enemy was coming. And there was no room left for diplomacy.​

 
Sith-Logo.png


Objective 2
Tag | Open

The Emperor stood amid silence, a noble house overcome by anxiety and fear. It was a ripe enviroment for the Dark Side, carefully drawn out by the small amplifications, the small doubts fed to the unimportant. They would not stop an attack should it come, they would only get in the way - so they were fed lies, small truths, anything to ensure they feared this day would come.

But the Emperor stood unseen, waiting for the enemy to come. His energy was dispersed - he looked no different than if a dozen Sith Lords were present, but that was to be his strength. Whoever came to this home, came to this world, would be killed. He did not care if this noble family lived when the dust settled...

He only cared that those who tread on ground destined to be against him, they would suffer the consequences. If it was to be children with guns, then the galaxy would lose a few more stories by the end of the day.

 

CS3FUG8.png

Mystral Canyon, Serenno, Objective I: Echoes of War

The canyon didn't tremble. Instead? Instead, it shrank. The red cliffs of Mystral, ancient scars long carved by time and tectonic fury, suddenly remembered fear. A stillness fell across the landscape, not silence, but the suffocation that precedes a scream. Even the wind recoiled. Dust froze midair. It was as if the force itself just...bent. It began with a sound. Low. Subterranean. Like the groan of something unholy stirring beneath the very crust of the world. The Diarchy Convoy was halfway through its descent into the canyon's depths, appeared halted not from orders, but instinct. Troops paused. Sensors flickered. A medic dropped her field kit without knowing why. Then the canyon split. Out from the cliffs above, a titanic bolt of black lightning screamed across the sky, lashing into the canyon's heart with an unnatural roar. The impact did not shatter rock, it unwrote it. The soil turned black. The stones hissed. The Force screamed as the impact struck with unkempt fury.

Out from that smoldering ruin, he rose. A shadow emerged from the smoke, not simple cloaked nor concealed. It was revealed. Darth Prazutis. The Shadow Hand. The Mortarch of the Kainate. Dominion Incarnate. He did not walk. He arrived. The ground beneath his feet blackened with every step, scorched not by heat, but by sheer presence alone. The towering warplate of Qâzjiin'vraal pulsed like a living monument, runes glowing with the fresh feast of fear. Shadows slithered around his frame, congealing in defiance of the light, they warped perception, making it impossible to focus on his true form, the colossus appeared like a ghastly, great shadow then, he was not merely armored. He was enshrined. The Dark Lord of the Sith's abyssal cloak trailed behind him like the tattered wings of a dead god, swallowing light and silence both. Then came the sword. Qâztharûn, The Abyss Unending was not drawn. It emerged, already gripped in a gauntleted hand. The runeblade breathed darkness. Whispers crawled from its edge, names forgotten, souls unmade, hope murdered. It sang with hunger as it drank the fear from the battlefield, each rune pulsing like a heart made of screams.

Its very presence stood in defiance of life itself, death given physical form, the erasure of reality itself. Situated at his chest, the cursed amulet Ka'ra'nazat pulsed in harmony, a shard of the abyss, magnifying every breath, every beat, every blink of dread. Diarchy soldiers froze in place. Their war machines faltered. Even their walkers, designed to withstand orbital bombardments, seemed to recoil, one shifting backwards on trembling gyros. And then he spoke. "You thought yourselves hidden." Prazutis said, not loud, yet not sharp. Instead it was deep. A funeral dirge sung through the throat of the world. "But even the dust beneath your boots told me where you'd crawl." The darkness congealed around him like the unending abyss, a living singularity pulsing like a beating heart drawing all things to his presence, and then the Dark Lord struck. Shock troopers emerged from cloaked alcoves above, precision fire raking the flanks.

Sith hurled crimson spears of pure malice into engines and cockpits. Droids fell from above like great meteors, a descending tide of destruction. But none of it truly mattered. Not yet. Because he stood amongst them all, and he didn't flinch facing them down. The giant raised Qâztharûn high. The runes exploded with flame. Not fire, but annihilation. The kind of light that devours, and then the giant brought the blade down, not into a soldier. Not into a tank. Into the canyon floor. The earth screamed. A rupture tore across the battleground, a fracture in both stone and sanity. The abyss itself clawed upward, dragging all things into its hungering maw, and from that fissure rose a tide of black mist, thick, sentient, and laced with the torment of devoured souls and death to rip life itself away. No orders needed to be shouted. No tactics needed revision. This was not war. This was judgment, and the Mortarch stood at its center, his voice fell again, carrying through Xûl-Karzaan, it was nothing more than a whisper etched into every skull in the canyon: "Let them send convoys. Let them send kings. Let them send fire. I will return their screams."


 
OBJECTIVE 1
TAGS: Darth Prazutis Darth Prazutis
Open

Politics.

Such a messy thing they were, but when push came to shove - Lirka simply enjoyed the mess too much. This was war on its most delicious of scale, an enemy who she knew little about, on a world she cared even less about. And a trap well laid? This was simple, beautiful, carnage in the making. The warhost laid in waiting now, all of them eager for when the first charge would detonate and herald the killing to start.

Lirka's lenses gazed down into the canyon and the vast lines of siege equipment rumbling their way forward. Sharing a single soft chuckle with herself, Lirka was reminded why she so vastly preferred the bloody swiftness of aerial deployments. She was getting giddy now, the waiting was driving the Once-Sephi even more mad than normal. The killing fields would be a chance to prove herself once again after these many long years, while the primary force commander had risen as a hulking wound in the force, Lirka stood as a hulking void in the force. With a Dyarch in attendance, it seemed pertinent to remind the Kainate why she was still allowed to draw breath.

And with the dark bolt of lightning shattering the earth, bringing about chaos and confusion among their foes: Lirka knew that was the call to action. A herald to joyous, dishonorable, murder. Some may have given grand speeches, or merely joined the fray wordlessly. But the Once-Sephi was here to make good impressions, with her machete going alight with its crackling electro-plasma filament. Looking around at the gathered form of the troopers beside her, Lirka called out a simple cry, a decree of what was to come.

"Death!"

And with that, Lirka leapt down into the killing fields. Her blade slashing at anything that did not fall under the Sith's purview, her eyes already scanning the enemies assortments for a worthy foe. Let the brave among them follow her, and let the cowardly crumble away as fodder. But let them all bear witness to Lirka Ka, Lash of the Kainate. For today, she would leave her mark.
 




VVVDHjr.png


"War, war is coming."

(OBJECTIVE 2) Tag - OPEN



The bell tolled again, and with each resonant stroke, Serina Calis felt a piece of herself tremble.

Her gloved hands, delicate and precise, drew back from the great iron lever for a moment, only to push again—an ancient motion, rhythmic and ritualistic. The bell above her, cracked and ancient, let loose its mournful cry across the valley of Verrinox. Each echo was a herald, a confession, a dirge. A prelude to violence that would come not with ceremony or pageantry, but with blood and fire. She felt the vibrations in her bones.

The wind coiled through the high, crumbling stone of the tower, tugging at her magenta-lined cape, whispering secrets from below. It was not cold, not truly, but the air carried that before-the-storm weight. The sky had gone that strange color—the kind that made the world feel paused, as if holding its breath.

And so was she.

She stood there alone beneath the darkening dome of Serenno's sky, lit only by the glow of her armor's veins and the slow-burning embers of her inner torment. Her reflection shimmered faintly on the polished haft of Ebon Requiem, which leaned silently against the wall nearby, its inlaid etchings pulsing like the heartbeat she refused to let quicken.

She was ready for this. Wasn't she?


Serina had faced danger before—yes—but duels, trials, cunning little games played between monsters in the shadows. The affair on Woostri had been a dance. D'Qar, a stage with a single partner, where only pride bled. But this… this was war. She would not be a spectator. She would not offer cryptic instructions from a throne or deliver theatrical threats across a holoscreen. No—Serina would walk through the ash with soldiers, with blood crusting on her boots. And she was terrified.

She hated that truth.

Another toll of the bell rang out. She welcomed the thunder of it. It buried the sound of her thoughts for a moment.


I am not afraid of death, she told herself. I am afraid of insignificance.

This estate, this relic of stone and memory, was no longer a monument. It was a crucible. House Verrinox might fall, and with it, the entire loyalist structure the Sith Order propped up on Serenno. Their fall would be her victory. She had written that line a dozen times in her mind. But in the space between cause and consequence was blood. So much blood.

Her hand lifted again—pale, graceful, shaking just slightly beneath the smooth plate of her gauntlet. It curled into a fist.

Would they see her as she truly was, she wondered? Not the venomous witch of whispered rumor, not the seductress beneath the hood. But a girl—golden-haired, brilliant, and brittle—standing alone at the edge of a legacy not yet earned.

She could already feel the tension rising like a tide in her throat. There was no room left for subtlety. No time for the artful web of politics and manipulation she had so long mastered. Here, steel and screams would settle what centuries of senate dealings could not. And she was to lead in that—was she not?


Lead them. Show them the dark star that burns behind your smile.

Her expression twisted with the thought, something between a smirk and a sob. Her eyes closed, and she leaned forward, letting her forehead rest against the cool, rough edge of the tower's stone aperture. Below her, beyond the shrouded trees and outcrops, the lights of approaching drop ships flickered—blue flares of energy drifting across the dusk like fireflies at the end of the world.

The
Diarchy was coming.

With blades, with guns, with purpose. They came not for conquest, but for certainty. For the tearing down of ancient lineages and the birth of something stark, and clean, and sterile. Something that would never allow someone like
Serina to rise again. The old families would burn. And if the Verrinox estate burned with them? The galaxy would cheer.

But that could not be.

She would not let this victory be so simple for them. No, if the Verrinox were to fall, they would do so with screams beneath the moon and defiance written in blood across the courtyard mosaics. Every noble house watching would remember her—
Serina Calis, not a warrior, not a Sith—standing in armor like a song of temptation and wrath, wielding a halberd etched with starlight and death.

She was beautiful, yes. But what she needed now was to be terrifying.

Her gaze flicked to Ebon Requiem, resting silent like a serpent coiled in slumber. She crossed the stone floor with grace, though her limbs felt heavy with the weight of what was to come. As she wrapped her fingers around the weapon's haft, she felt it again—that pull. That dreadful, glorious thrum of something ancient and dark coursing through her spine.

It felt like love. It felt like possession. It felt like destiny.

"
I am not ready," she whispered to no one, to the bell, to the ghosts of Verrinox perhaps. "But I will make them believe I am."

She turned, the halberd now in hand, its blade glowing faintly with a seductive crimson hue. Her silhouette framed in the bell tower's jagged window—cloak flaring in the wind, hair kissed by twilight.

The next ring of the bell echoed not as mourning, but as judgment.

Let them come.

Let the
Diarchy burn in the embrace of a girl who had never wanted to lead a war—but would become a legend for how she ended it.



 
Last edited:

O B J 1: ECHOES OF WAR
KexQFEl.png

EQUIPMENT: DC-17m
LOCATION: Top of Canyon :: Bottom of Canyon
TAG: Darth Prazutis Darth Prazutis | @OPEN
Jacen never particularly cared for the alchemized troopers the Sith were fond of using. And they, of course, were none too fond of the Drop troopers either. About as far as any inter-regimental rivalry…or perhaps a little farther. The magicks and changes the Sith liked to add to their troopers robbed them of something. What it was, Jacen didn’t quite know. What was done to them wasn’t something they just ‘told’ people. All he knew for sure was they were unsettling. In the times you saw them with their helmets off, something just…felt wrong.

The Drop troopers tended to avoid them unless absolutely necessary. Unfortunately for Jacen and his team, today was one of those days it was absolutely necessary.
________________________________________________________________________

“No drop on this mission,” Jacen reported to his team, sitting on his bunk in their self-contained, some might have called it isolated, barracks.
“Then why are we going?” An excellent question from one of his troopers, a trooper called Marc.
“You want the feel good answer or the right one?” Jacen responded with a sigh as he laid back on the bunk.
“I dunno, I’m feelin’ extra. Give me both,” the trooper chuckled out,
“Well. We’re not worth as much as their walking nightmares, so having us there to take a blaster or two means one of their projects doesn’t.”
“Well that doesn’t make me feel too good,” Marc responded, shaking his head. Jacen chuckled, shrugging his shoulders,
“Feel good’s that we’re just in the area, so might as well lend a hand. We’re assisting with an ambush, we’re gonna fast rappel down the side of a canyon. It’s kinda like a drop? How’s that?” Jacen finished, looking up at his team.
“...That didn’t really make me feel good either.”

________________________________________________________________________
“Comms check, D1 to Dropsquad, check in,”

“...Kind of unnecessary calling us Dropsquad but whatever. D2, check,” Marc said
“D3, check,” “D4, check,” the other two troopers replied.
“Copy. Keep quiet, wait for Lord Prazutis to make his move.”
Three red lights blinked on his HUD.

It wasn’t much longer of a wait that the enemy convoy began to enter their area of operation and Jacen felt the look from his team, silently asking when the attack would begin. Almost as if answering his question, a feeling of dread permeated through the atmosphere, followed immediately by a black lightning bolt struck the ground. Out of the bolt, Jacen spotted a figure clad in black. He couldn’t make it out from this distance, but the appearance of crimson spears, and the sudden decloaking and attack of the Alchemized troopers told him it was Lord Prazutis.

“There’s your signal Droppers!” Jacen yelled out and pointed to the sudden, almost mystical appearance of Darth Prazutis before rising from his concealed position with his team, taking token shots down the cliff before they leapt off the top, cables pulling taut and keeping them from splatting on the ground below as they began to engage the Diarchy forces.

 
Last edited:

0NNDK7K.png



Mystral Canyon, Serenno, Objective I: Echoes of War
Masked in Lilaste order LO-48B armor and walking amongst the convoy - the Diarch eyes gleamed the peaks of the mountains. Watching and waiting for the silhouettes of enemies cresting over to launch an attack. A strange sense of familiarity washed over him. If it was something he had seen in a dream and was now relieving with Deja Vu or perhaps the years of battle and war now triggering his nerves to prepare.

Rellik was the first within the convoy to feel it. The Manipulation of the force on a level he had only felt in very rare instances. When his father took him to study the most malicious dark arts he had ever seen was one such time. Even than, this was deeper. There was no light of a father guiding him through, only the deepest reaches into the darkness that one could have.

Than the ground groaned as if it were being stretched. You would not need the force to notice it, a good fighter would feel the ground beneath their feet moving. Contorting their balance within them with as much malaise as a force user would feel in the medicholorians around them.

Using the Advanced situational awarness model on the Lilaste helmet he would stop for a moment. Calling over his communicator for the convoy to go on high alert. Then a nearly cosmic bolt of black lighting tore through the sky. - It was no natural storm, it was a tempest of a Sith. The streak crashing into the ground, creating a crater with an echo that sounded like the force itself screaming.

Having been near the center of the convoy Rellik slowly made his way to the crater site. As he did, he watched as a mist of black began to exude from it. From the depths arose a power that Rellik could only describe as pestilence to the force. A damnation or curse rising in shadow and now slowly walking towards his convoy with the confidence of absolute power. The only true form to this monstrosity was his large blade and gauntleted hand that it stemmed from.

Relliks soldiers froze, from the normal legionaries to the walkers themselves, the Diarch could feel them tremble in fear. Rellik himself stopped for a moment, a mischievous smile forming on his lips as he tilted his head to the ground. At every turn it appears I must meet the most powerful the galaxy has to offer. Watch the convoy they said - I doubt Reign is having to deal with anything like this. Lifting his head and doffing the Lilaste order helmet, he locked eyes with the darkness before him. The fear that it emanated had struck the hearts of those with him and they were immobilized.

So he stepped forward.

In full stride he began to give orders to the Cohort - around 500 Diarchy soldiers separated between war machines, fire support operators, and fire teams. The problem now, is that none of it is staged and prepared for battle. Especially not a battle like this... Rellik would grab the Signifer by the back of his neck as he moved forward. The banner of the Diarchy in his arms waving high among the convoy.

The first screams of pain rang out as a spear from above the mountains pierced a Miles (Legionary). Fear gripped soldiers hesitating to return fire at the now ambushing mad men of the Sith Order.

"RALLY BEHIND YOUR BANNERMAN. FOLLOW THE DIARCHY SIGIL INTO THE DARK AND FIGHT TO END THIS SCOURGE. FREE THE GALAXY FROM THE FEAR YOU FEEL TODAY, SO THAT THEY MAY NOT HAVE TO FEEL IT TOMORROW. PUT YOUR BROTHERS AT YOUR BACK AND FIGHT TOGETHER. YOUR DIARCH FIGHTS WITH YOU. OUR STRENGTH IS OUR BOND, FIGHT WITH YOUR DIARCH, FIGHT FOR THE ONE NEXT TO YOU." Rellik let out a War cry for his people. "HA-OOH!" that was met in kind with the metal clanging of armor, guns, and machinery beginning to move again. "HA-OOH!"

Rellik was doing his best to boost his soldiers morale with his own battle meditation but his focus was in one hundred places at once but its pinnacle was upon a glowing red gem within the center of the darkness. His target was in site and he moved towards it. Igniting his Golden bladed saber and raising it into the air next to the Diarchy banner.

Taking a small device out of his pocket with his off hand he pressed a small red button and activated a five droid group of RDB-01 Dra'khan Sentinel Droid's - Their programmed mission - Protect the Centurion (Leader of the Cohort) at all costs.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Tags: Kaila Irons Kaila Irons Darth Prazutis Darth Prazutis @OPEN

Equipment

OOC - The RDB's are to give some players a writing goal as we await more PVP'ers, the Basilisk is in case I need to bail on any conflict as I await my scheduled dance partners :)

 
Last edited:
Objective II: Siege of Verrinox
Current Task: Complete the Encirclement

It had been gruelling.

Unlike the highborn heroes to be found on all sides of every conflict. Those lightsaber-wielding, force-sensitive demigods that commanded powers unreachable by the lesser peons that made up the bulk of the armed forces. Those people bred, born and raised for war. Unlike the Sith, Jedi, Mandalorians or what have you. Unlike any of them, the true weight of war fell on far humbler shoulders. The machine of war was carried on the backs of soldiers, normal, everyday soldiers. And for them this battle had begun long before the true chaos arrived.

It had taken days to come to this already. History would spare these efforts only a footnote among its great stories, but it happened. The soldiers of the Diarchy, the ordinary men and women of the Army, had worked tirelessly to encircle the Estate. Digging Trenches, building bunkers, digging depots, establishing listening posts, constructing barracks, field hospitals, machine pits. All the while fighting tooth and nail for each inch of ground they needed to cover. The true test hadn't yet begun, but the foundation was now laid.

Callista leaned forward against the edge of her trench, chin resting on her forearms, gun leaning against the rampart. Her lazed posture concealing watchful eyes that were constantly scanning the area ahead of her. She had accompanied the forward engineers that were meant to build the trenchworks to surround the Estate, and now she was guarding one of it's outposts. A point in the trench that was closest to the first enemy fortifications. Just beyond the enemy's range, but just close enough to be threatened.

The anticipation built in her chest, especially as the knell sounded across the vast landscape surrounding the Estate. The belltower singing its mournful tune, and giving the whole place a very eerie feeling. It had been hell to get here, and now, for now, the fighting had ceased. Lapsed rather. And the silence was deafening. It terrified her. Any moment things could get very loud, very deadly. And the fact that it was taking this long for things to start was eating her alive.

"Old Geezer was right. War is easy." Callista chuckled grimly. "It's the waiting that will kill you. If only..."

She stopped. Old Man Green, he'd been the oldest in her unit. Nearly forty years old. Everyone called him "The Old Man" or "Greybush the Wise", he was hit by a machine gun a few days prior. She missed his old person energy, not giving a flying hekk about anything, swearing at their officer with no fear of retaliation, and with his own, cynical wisdom to help them out. It had become a comfort, he'd been something like the father of her unit. And now he wasn't here, he'd only left behind what he'd already told them. And just like he'd asked, they buried him facedown, so the world could kiss his ass.

She laughed to herself again remembering that particular request of his. He never failed to find humor in the worst of situations. Not that she'd know too well, she'd only known him a few months. And this was her first real deployment, she had no idea how much he'd seen, or how far he could go.

She shook her head clear. She needed to focus. This was only going to get harder from here. They'd secured an encirclement, but they now needed to be ready to make the assault. And that was going to be another beast altogether.

"Let's hope something happens soon." She said to herself, but still loud enough to hear. "the sooner begun the sooner done. And I'm ready for a real freaking cot to sleep on."

@Open
 

Objective II: Siege of Verrinox
Current Task: Complete the Encirclement

Under direct command from Diarch Rellik Diarch Rellik weeks ago, Varis and a handful of Diarchy Armed forces troops were sent to Serenno to aid the proxy militias as they fought over passes, roads, and spaceports. What started as raids from nobles loyal to the Diarchy and Sith order alike has now turned into a full blown war for the planet. Cities were divided street by street, estates became fortresses and the forces of each militia had stalled out over time. The direct intervention of both the full might of the SO and Diarchy was at hand. With those who had been fighting the longest and hardest caught in the middle.

Varis was staged in the command bunker of the milita. Discussing the incoming reports and communications from Diarchy forces of an impending attack on the House Verrinox estate.

Varis: "We must wait. My lords would not lie about the attack and it seems the Sith know it as well. The communication came in two days ago, it is imminent now." Varis paused to gauge the room. The leaders were sick of this war and wanted to finish off the loyalists in House Verrinox. Cutting the head off of the snake that bowed to the Sith Order. They looked at him with contempt and distrust. Although the Diarchy had arrived, the amount of relief supplies they were able to receive was minimal. Relying on air dropped food and ammunition for now.

Militia Commander: "Your lord can not even get to us. We are lost! We must attack now or else we would starve, lose our strength and be condemned to death anyway. I would rather die here on my feet now."

Varis almost smacked the man. Wanting to shake the reality back into him with force. Yet he halted and tried to speak reason to him once more.

"Can you not feel the weight in the air? That is hate, hate unlike anything you have ever known that will give you suffering beyond imagination. If we go in there, Sith will hopefully annihilate us before we can even blink. Those who are unlucky might be tortured, mutilated or even have their mind altered to the point where damnation is a constant reality. Dying on your feet would be a blessing from the Whills you fool."


The leaders dipped their heads. It was undeniable. Even the crucible of brutal war did not bear the same weight as the darkness that now seeped from the estate itself. Even for Varis, he had never felt such so many Sith gathered in one space, although un-able to manipulate the force, they could all feel its burden.

"Have any of you even had the courage to go to the wire and look out at the estates walls since the Sith arrived?" None answered him. "You would send those under you to "Die on their feet" as you said. Giving yourself the glory and none of the scars. If you launch an attack before the Diarchy arrives, I will see to your execution personally." Varis moved to the doorway of the bunker, looking over his shoulder one last time before exiting. "Any who have the strength to live up to their words can meet me in the forward trench. Checking on the real warriors."

With those last words he left. Traveling through secured lines upon lines of makeshift fortifications as he arrived at the furthest line in the war. Its facing looking directly towards the estate itself. Its shadow casting over the entire army.

As he walked through he tried greeting as many of the troops personally that he could. Upon walking up to a woman, he noted she was one of the first that arrived with them weeks ago. Battered and worn by battle but still looking strong despite the logistical struggles. Varis walked up to her and offered her a small piece of bread and pouch of water he held within his belt.


"A little bread and some water? Cant have the Diarchys best losing their strength now." The grey haired man was partially emaciated himself. His cheeks hollowing and from his boots to his hair - he was roughed up. Yet he offered his goods with a smile on his face as if it were a sunny day and everything around them was alright.

Tags: Callista Sharde Callista Sharde

Equipement:
Hunter Cloak, Vest.
Bandolier
Utility Belt
Whipcord Launcher
F-11D Blaster Rifle
Comlink

Image

 



//: Jacen Breska 'TK-710' Jacen Breska 'TK-710' Darth Prazutis Darth Prazutis Lirka Ka Lirka Ka Diarch Rellik Diarch Rellik | OPEN | //:
//: Mystral Canyon, Serenno //:
//: Attire //:
//: Weapons: DLT-19 & Vibroblade Knife//:
//: OBJECTIVE 1 //:

AD_4nXfxRgcX_ZR8-kC0rqm7lvSG8EOJOSL940dsU7OVzeVmup3dGax4Cdo-X1Ai2HPzuUrh9Y6hDIM-xiR_v30pnSC7pOoluQWUtgV0MzONnAotvKrplxED5btOvA5RLfqXgxU4NZXdDA

Three.

CT-312 looked at her squad. There were only three, including herself. The empty seat in the drop ship was confusing. It was usually four? Slight turbulence was experienced. Looking at her squad, they sat in silence. The two Troopers that sat across from her, she inspected. The one on the left was mainly white with yellow bars and markings. Equipped with a mortar and backpack that was highly explosive. ‘Artillery?’. Sitting on the right had similar white armor and markings. It was almost identical, except instead of yellow, the right one was dark red. They were holding an oppressive flamethrower. ‘Ah.’ , realizing it was an Incinerator Trooper.

The ship’s speaker resonated in their drop pod bay.

“Listen up, there’s going to be a lot going on once you Troopers drop in. You’re obviously not the only ones going to be on the ground, nor the only Troopers. Who knows, you might even see Alchemized Troopers! Wonder which one is better, you or them HA! Try not to get mixed up!”

The Artillery Trooper leaned forward in their seat and spoke. "Yellow". Followed suit by the Incinerator Trooper, “Red". In sync, both pointed at the same time to CT-312.

“Dirt”
"Dirt"

CT-312 was doing her best not to strangle the mustard and ketchup Troopers in front of her. ‘Accidents’, she told herself. ‘I’ll do it. I swear to gods. I will.’. Her thoughts interrupted.

“It’s go time”

Without hesitation the three entered in their drop pod. CT-312 brought her hand, touching the mouth of her helmet, then bringing her hand to the drop pod. Banging on its outer frame before entering.

The ship was flying above following the canyon's curvy path. Explosions were seen. The Diarchy Weapons Convoy in its sights trapped, the ship dipped. Nose forward down. Dive bombing. Lined up on top of the trapped convoy. The pods were ejected out. Quick powerful strikes hit the ground around the Diarchy's Weapon Convoy. As quickly as the drop ship entered, it left. Leaving behind the three Troopers to complete their mission.

CT-312 could feel the atmosphere feel heavy and tense, just outside the metal pod’s walls. A familiar unknown feeling, that’s been too frequent with all these Empire Missions. Taking a deep breath, she pulled the ejection lever. The front door of the drop pod launched forward. CT-312 quickly moved out of the pod and jumped to the ground from where her pod landed. Scanning for any enemies, her HUD picked up familiar signatures. Signatures CT-312 recognized.

"Let them send convoys. Let them send kings. Let them send fire. I will return their screams."
“There’s your signal Droppers!”

Seeing Lirka and TK-710 with Troopers dropping into the canyon where she was at. There was someone she didn't recognized. A tall figure. He had a black aura around him that CT-312 couldn’t make out. She’s never seen anything like it. Not knowing if it was just an odor or some kind of weird effect. It was intense to look straight at.

Switching to open comms “TK-710. Lirka. This is CT-312. Followed by ‘Red’ and ‘Yellow’. We just dropped in. Over.”

In her peripherals, Red and Yellow made their way to her. Yellow said “Dirt. I need better positioning to set up this mortar”. Irritated. Both Red and CT-312 nodded. Moving back up to the top of the canyon from where their allies dove from. They got closer to this being that emitted this unknown dark aura. Heavy. Everything felt heavy. It was like peering into the Mors Mon at Woostri. This dark armor clad, 8’2 ft Sith Lord. Alarm bells screaming in her head. CT-312 silently hoped that she and the condiment Troopers remain undetected setting up the mortar.

CT-312 positioned herself on the top edge of the canyon aiming her sights down. Ready to fire on any incoming Diarchy forces. Mortars being launched, taking aim at the Convoy's armored hull. Red kept guard for any close attacks. She could hear someone just as intimidating as the Sith Lord near by shouting. Someone from the Diarchy, rallying their comrades.

"RALLY BEHIND YOUR BANNERMAN. FOLLOW THE DIARCHY SIGIL INTO THE DARK AND FIGHT TO END THIS SCOURGE. FREE THE GALAXY FROM THE FEAR YOU FEEL TODAY, SO THAT THEY MAY NOT HAVE TO FEEL IT TOMORROW. PUT YOUR BROTHERS AT YOUR BACK AND FIGHT TOGETHER. YOUR DIARCH FIGHTS WITH YOU. OUR STRENGTH IS OUR BOND, FIGHT WITH YOUR DIARCH, FIGHT FOR THE ONE NEXT TO YOU."

RDB-01 Dra'khan Sentinel Droid were deployed by the Weapons Convoy. Taking aim, CT-312 pulled the trigger on her heavy blaster rifle.

 
Last edited:
Objective II: Siege of Verrinox
Current Task: Complete the Encirclement

Callista couldn't take her eyes off of the estate that they were meant to assault any day now. She wasn't force sensitive, no she wasn't privileged enough to have that kind of power. But nonetheless she could feel the weight in the air, the oppressive atmosphere that seeped from that place like a fog. That place was evil. Plain and simple, it was evil. She didn't know how she knew, but the feeling of wrongness in her gut was ever-present. That Dark Manse, she didn't know if she wanted to storm in and try to kill everything inside, or find a deeper hole to hide in and hope whatever was inside there didn't find her.

She was shaken from her musings when she was approached by someone. She glanced over, and immediately snapped to attention, butt of her rifle on the ground at her feet, left hand grasping the end of the barrel and held out to the side, her heels together, toes apart, back ramrod straight, and her right hand came up to her left breast in a clenched fist in salute. "Sir." She said, addressing him as a soldier was expected to address an officer.

But then the man offered her some bread and water. It wasn't much, but for the way things were now, it might as well have been a buffet. She hesitated, and didn't move to take it right away. "Sir... you really shouldn't be giving special treatment to me. If anyone needs that food it's you, the commanders, or perhaps the wounded. Me losing my strength won't make any difference in the coming assault. The people who need to be at full strength are those who can actually fight those monsters that are waiting for us."

She also didn't like getting extra rations when her companions were starving too. Among her many faults, altruism was one, if her platoon suffered, she suffered with them. She didn't like refusing an officer, but she liked being "special" even less.

Tags: Varis Oakertain Varis Oakertain , Open
 




VVVDHjr.png


"War, war is coming."

(OBJECTIVE 2) Tag - Darth Empyrean Darth Empyrean , Callista Sharde Callista Sharde , Diarch Reign Diarch Reign




The sound of the bell had stopped.

A moment later, a different kind of silence took its place.

The kind that came before an execution.

Serina Calis stood at the mouth of the inner courtyard, where crimson banners bearing the dragon sigil of House Calis fluttered in the mountain wind. The stone beneath her heels was slick with mist, and the air stank of ozone and ancient fear. It seeped from the walls, from the windows, from the crumbling bones of nobility long since turned to dust. Somewhere, unseen, an Emperor lingered like a shadow behind a veil. She had not yet met him. She had not yet felt him. But she would. If she survived the day.

And surviving meant turning fear into fire.

Before her stood the House Calis Guard—all of them. Forty-three of the most beautiful monsters the galaxy had ever refused to name. Every one of them clad in armor older than empires, red and yellow, kissed by the blood of ancestors. Their helms were off. She had demanded it. She wanted to see their eyes.

"
Helms lowered," she said with a smirk. "That's either bravery, or all of you want to watch me strut across the field in this ridiculous skirt and die dramatically."

There were chuckles—real ones. Familiar. Some even smiled, the hard kind of smiles that warriors wear when they know what comes next isn't survival. It's remembrance.

Her hand slipped from the haft of Ebon Requiem, letting the halberd rest against her shoulder. She stepped down the wide stone stairs, her crimson-magentas gleaming with every graceful move. The lights along her armor's bodice pulsed gently as if they, too, were listening.

Her voice turned molten.

"
You know… I had half a mind to stay up in the bell tower ring it like it's a sport every time you get score."

That got a roar of laughter.

"
But then I remembered—you're the ones who taught me how to kill."

She pointed, walking past them slowly, tapping her halberd's end lightly on the ground with each step. Her eyes flicked to each one. She knew them by name—every one. Jarrow, the old blade-master who once broke her fingers in training. Naela, the pistol-savant who taught Serina how to lie with her eyes. Varek, the man who tried to hit on her when she returned to the estate.

"
You remember Chandrila, don't you?" she asked softly, her tone like warm silk sliding down a knife. "Remember the fire? The silence after the explosion? When we dragged my father's body from that wreckage and said it was the mountain that killed him?"

A murmur of assent. Tension deepened. They remembered. Of course they did.

"
I lied. You knew that. And you helped anyway."

She paused—facing them now fully, arms spread wide, cloak flaring like the wings of some seducing wraith.

"
I slaughtered them. Both of them. My sweet, honorable father, who thought I was a jewel to be locked in a box—and my fragile, soft-faced mother, who would have rather I be a Jedi than rule the stars."

She stepped forward, slow and deliberate, her hips swaying just enough to keep the tension high. "
I killed them. Because no one—no one—puts a leash on a dragon."

She leaned close to Varek, her breath warm against his cheek, and whispered: "
Unless you like being told what to do... which I am glad you haven't shot your shot yet."

Another ripple of laughter.

She turned and raised Ebon Requiem high, the halberd catching the morning light like a blade of judgment. Her voice was thunder now.

"
They think I'm not ready. That I've never led you before. That I don't know what war smells like. That I'll falter."

She pointed the halberd toward the gates, where Diarchic troops would descend soon enough—like hounds chasing scent trails they didn't understand.

"
But they forget who taught me to fight. You did. My monsters. My blades. My breath-stealing, back-breaking, hard-working soldiers."

A beat.

"
And today—today, we break them beneath our might!"

Roars. Armor clashing. Gauntlets beating on breastplates.

"
Make them bleed. Burn their flags. Snap their pretty little spines and send them running back to the ruin they call a capital!"

The response was not laughter this time—but something more primal. A shiver through the ranks. These were not knights. These were her wolves. And she was letting them off the leash.

She raised her hand, glowing with faint violet energy. The wind seemed to respond.

"
You remember what comes next," she said, her voice low and full of power. "When they see the dragon rise, when they hear my voice over the flames, when they kneel because they cannot stand…"

She inhaled once. The wind carried her scent to them—perfumed with blood, ozone, and magenta spice. Her eyes burned with unnatural light now.

She spoke.

"
Hearken our words…"

And forty-three voices replied in unison, the sound shaking the stone beneath their feet:

"
…OR BEFELL TO OUR WHIM."

She lowered her hand.

"
Captain," she said, turning to the grizzled veteran who had once carried her out of a burning bunker when she was just two. "They're yours."

The man bowed without hesitation. "
It will be done, Lady Calis."

Serina stepped back. Not out of cowardice. But because her purpose was now singular.

She would not lead this battle like a general. She would walk into it like a god descending from myth.

Her halberd flared with light, and her cloak whispered secrets behind her. Above, the mist parted slightly as if the world itself wanted to witness what would come.

The battle was moments away.

And this time…

They would all remember her name.



 

0NNDK7K.png





Objective 2

Tags: Varis Oakertain Varis Oakertain Callista Sharde Callista Sharde Serina Calis Serina Calis OPEN

As the drop ships came screaming to a halt, Reign and the brotherhood forces he had brought with him came streaming out. This was to be one of the final pushes of a conflict that had stretched on for far too long. When word had first reached Bastion of Serenno's intent to ally with the Diarchy, spirits had been high.

Yet the news that soon followed turned joy to determination. War had broken out on the surface of the planet, those loyal to the Diarchy clashed with those who wished to see Serenno maintain its legacy of involvement with the Sith... And both powers had answered. What had begun as a proxy war; specialized training, arms and ammunition, and financial backing by both sides had now spilled over into open conflict.

It was hear that the talk of friendship and alliance had come crashing down, here that people who had once sat across from each other at dining halls would now lock eyes in the light of clashing lightsabers and the sound of blasterfire. The Diarchy's first clash against one of the force orders they had sworn to uproot.

And they would not fail.

It was this thought that spurred the Diarch to lead this final strike personally, he knew that there would be power within the walls of the Verrinox Estate, and when his boots touched the ground, he knew he had made the right decision. He could feel them there, the Dark Lords of the Sith, and he was glad. Not glad for the bloodshed that was soon to follow, but glad for the blow that could potentially be dealt to the Sith Order. If the Diarchy won here, it would not just be a victory of arms, but a symbolic one as well.

As he strode forward his eyes locked on Varis Oakertain Varis Oakertain , his brother's right hand. He had been sent to Serenno weeks before to help with the training of the militias, and it appeared they had done well.


"My brother was wise to send you Varis, look at what you have accomplished. Tell me my friend, where do you need..."

His words were cut off when he sensed a presence he was familiar with, a sense of corruption had permeated the estate, and he knew then that Serina Calis Serina Calis had come to battle.

"So we are to face each other again.. good"

He said softly to himself. But there was more, it felt as though the manse was crawling with Sith.. either that or there was a force there that he had never been faced with ( Darth Empyrean Darth Empyrean ) regardless, the Diarch himself would face the odds with his men, and by his strength hope they could pull through.

Stepping forward, he began directing troops in the assault, and turning to Varis once more he said


"So it begins"




 
7ofCIhy.png


Objective 3 (BYO) - Rules of Law
________________________________________________________




For the first time in a very long time, Maldor found himself back within a Forum of the People.

Over the past year, he'd been more a warrior than a politician. Trotting his fleet out to meet one enemy after another, trying to prove himself to the Imperial government which he served. He was convinced that it was only his continuing victories that had kept the Emperor and then the Empress from having him brutally executed in one of the tense meetings of the Moff council.

Now, the Empire he'd so striven to be worthy of was as ashes in the wind.

It was a ludicrous series of chances which had brought him here, today. First, his rescue of Vyllia Santhe Vyllia Santhe from the riots of Lianna which had threatened to consume her. Then, their pledge to unite under a new House, facing uncertain times together. Followed by a race to the Diarchy, to present himself as a lamb for the slaughter... or an Ox to be harnessed. A risk, that. And one he'd not taken alone.


But the Diarchs had seen something in him. And Laphisto had vouched for him. And he'd labored well on a diplomatic assignment which had clearly been a test of his abilities.

And now... this. He'd been made the High Chancellor of the Diarchal Chancellorate. Presiding over the great Forum, where administrative, economic, and cultural Chancellors from a multitude of worlds gathered to debate issues of policy. He had gone from Senator, to Exile, to Moff, back to service in a Senate.

Of a kind.

He waited for the Chancellors to take their seats, watching fom his own, slightly grander seat. He sat across the room from the twin thrones that belonged to the Diarchs, on those occasions when they chose to attend these Forum meetings.

Today's topic was a contentious one, not least because of his own past.

Today, the Diarchy would decide the policy on the Sith and other potentially hostile Force sects.

What would the tolerance for Sith citizens be? For Jedi? To what extent could they practice their beliefs?

Given the Diarchy's expansion into Sith territories, it was a question that could not wait for an answer.


Diarch Reign Diarch Reign Diarch Rellik Diarch Rellik Vyllia Santhe Vyllia Santhe
 
Last edited:
High Commander of the Lilaste Order
[Pre-arrival. 5 minutes before/ During Convoy ambush]


The gunship's hull vibrated like a tension wire as it cut low over the tree line, the rhythmic hum of repulsorlifts echoing through the fuselage like a heartbeat. Mystral Canyon lay just under a klick out, hidden by the thick curtain of morning mist that clung to the forest like smoke. The jungle below shimmered with moisture, sunbeams slashing through the canopy in golden streaks, but the beauty was lost on the men crammed into the troop bay. The air was too hot, too still, too expectant.

Laphisto stood near the rear doors of the LAET/I MKIII, one hand gripping the ceiling rail as the dropship swayed and adjusted with the terrain. Across from him, Commander Tarian crouched low beside a few of his platoon leads, murmuring softly beneath the background drone of engine noise. Only one company had taken this route with them. The rest had broken off early, fanning out across different approach vectors to avoid clustering too many birds in the air—too many targets for a Sith missile lock. If something punched them out of the sky, the other three companies would still have a chance to make it to the front lines, walkers and all.

Their original orders had seemed simple enough: reinforce the trench line to the east, 800 meters from Mystral proper. Offload supplies. Show the flag. Establish a heavier military presence where a Diarchy arms convoy was expected to rendezvous. Nothing flashy. According to the brief, the convoy was mostly Diarchy regulars using Lilaste tech—modded weapons, composite armor, some logistics walkers, maybe even a tank or two, though no one was willing to put credits on that bet. Laphisto had his doubts there'd be anything more than repulsor-trucks with overwatch and prayers.

Still, they weren't coming in light. Four gunships in formation, supported by four LAET/C s flying at high altitude, each with magnetic docking arms clenched tight around one of the Order's newest war machines—the AT-AE MKIII. They looked like iron titans suspended beneath their carriers, legs folded in, heavy chassis swaying with the wind as though hungry for ground beneath them. The MKIII had barely rolled out of the factories after the discovery of Kov'dra on Kiev'ara, and already they were being thrown into the fire. The Lilaste Order hadn't wasted a breath after the Ando Mining Collective opened the tap—deals were struck, drills went deep, and the forges lit like suns. What came out was alloy, armor, and the kind of firepower meant to rewrite front lines.

The cabin lights flickered once, then the pilot's voice crackled through the cabin comms. "Commander, I'm patching you into something. You'll want to hear this." Laphisto frowned and tapped his vambrace. The comm-link hissed for a second before resolving into a shaky, stuttering holofeed. The projection flickered blue and distorted, but the image was unmistakable a Diarchy trooper, hunched and wide-eyed, broadcasting from the dirt beside a half-toppled walker. Explosions thundered in the background, distant but rising, and the man's voice was ragged with fear.

"We need reinforcements! I repeat the convoy's hit! The Diarch is with us! They they came outta nowhere! Sith!" The soldier flinched as blaster bolts screamed past offscreen. "Somebody get over here! Please, godsdamn it, we—" The feed cut to static mid-sentence, the last thing visible a flash of crimson and the soldier's body jerking violently before collapsing out of frame. There was no scream. Just silence.

Laphisto's ears twitched, eyes narrowing to slits. He stalked forward toward the cockpit, his voice low and hard. "Was that secure?" The pilot glanced back, grim-faced. "Negative, sir. That was open-channel. Broadcast across wideband. If the Sith didn't already know where the convoy was, they sure as hell do now."

Laphisto exhaled slowly through his nostrils, suppressing the snarl that threatened to rise. "No point setting up at the front if the convoy doesn't make it. Divert us take us to their last known position. Priority now is recovery and reinforcement. Contact the rest of the company. Everyone reroutes combat drop, full support." The pilot gave a tight nod. "Understood. Adjusting course."

The gunship banked hard, dipping lower as it swung southeast toward Mystral Canyon. The terrain outside shifted from dense jungle to jagged, rocky outcroppings with sheer ridgelines looming beyond the mist. The smoke on the horizon was no longer subtle. It rose in black pillars now, thick and oily, bleeding into the sky above the canyon. Back in the troop bay, the bay doors began to grind open, letting in the howl of wind and the sour scent of scorched foliage. The gunners swiveled their mounted LO-27Rs into position. One of them a lean corporal with ash-streaked armor looked over and gave Laphisto a small nod. The others were checking mags, tightening straps, saying little. All of them knew what was coming. The quiet before the slaughter.

Laphisto stepped into the open space and raised his voice just loud enough to carry over the wind. "Alright, listen up! Orders have changed. We're not setting up camp on the hill anymore we're going in hot. The convoy was ambushed in Mystral Canyon. The Diarch himself is down there with them. We're not going to let those bastards get picked apart." The troops straightened, rifles clenched tighter in their hands.

"I want weapons hot. Shields up. Eyes sharp. You know your drills. These aren't pirates or some backwater militia with daddy's blaster. These are Sith Order units brutes, Force-junkies, and worse. You hesitate, they'll gut you. And if you show fear, they'll make it slow." his eyes danced over the troops in the drop bay before eventually letting out a small chuckle and extending an open arm out towards the men.

"Hell, we've been waiting to answer this question since we first got shipped out: what wins in the end? Some Sith bastard jacked up on Force rage... or a thirty-aught-six slug moving at mock ferrik." A few of the troops chuckled. Someone thumped their rifle against the hull in rhythm. The nerves were still there but now they were wired, focused.

Laphisto looked to each face in turn, the wind whipping against his wings as the canyon came into full view. Black smoke. Gunfire. Flashes of red and blue streaking through the sky like angry comets. One of the walkers below limped across the canyon floor, its stabilizers blown out. Bodies littered the cliffs. The fight was already burning. "Let's show the Sith why the Order is still spoken of in whispers across the Rim," he growled. "Let's drop in like godsdamn thunder and drag 'em down into the mud with us."


20 Minutes after Ambush

The gunship banked hard over the canyon rim, and the instant the battlefield came into view, the LO-35R rotary cannons mounted under the nose began to scream. They lit up the ridgelines with a deafening whrrr-thud-thud-thud, spitting red-tipped slugs and bolt-fire in overlapping bursts. The first barrage caught a group of Sith troopers repositioning near a collapsed boulder. They didn't even make it to cover. Stone and flesh exploded together in a shower of sparks and shredded armor.

The other gunships in formation followed suit, strafing low. Their cannons ripped through the smoke, targeting anything marked hostile sniper nests, shield pylons, even the jagged outlines of droids rappelling down from the cliffs. Then came the walkers.

Above, the LAET/C transports released their payloads with mechanical hisses and hard, metallic clunks. One by one, the AT-AE MKIII walkers dropped through the smoke-choked sky. They weren't graceful they were monstrous. Each slammed into the canyon floor with bone-rattling force, six legs unfolding in perfect synchronicity, catching the immense armored hulls as they stomped into position.

Their silhouettes cut through the chaos like rolling bunkers—low-profile, heavily armored, with layered plating pocked by old carbon scoring and new camo netting draped over their flanks. Dorsal turrets rotated, locking into place with a click, while forward plasma cannons hissed as they charged. The first walker fired—a concussive lance of white-hot plasma slammed into a Sith anti-armor team, erasing the entire ridge they'd been crawling across. At the same time, the troop bay lights inside the LAET/I flashed green.

"GO! GO! GO!"

Lilaste Order soldiers began to leap from the open side doors, LO-ADS systems activating mid-fall. Repulsorlifts flared, slowing their descent, while directional thrusters and aero-fins kicked in, steering the troopers with surgical precision through the fog and fire. From a distance, it looked like a swarm of armored angels descending into war controlled, deliberate, lethal.

They hit the ground hard, forming squads within seconds behind the advancing walkers, weapons raised and ready. Already, the return fire from Sith forces was thick. Crimson bolts lanced out from makeshift bunkers and jagged stone formations. Laphisto watched for a moment more then stepped forward.

hee looked down taloned hand holding onto the hand rail before his wings unfurled wide. The scene below was a fractured nightmare walker fire, blaster volleys, artillery plumes and smoke curling from craters. He locked eyes on a group of Sith troopers advancing on a cluster of Diarchy survivors, then launched himself into the air. He cut through the smoke like a phantom, using the rising heat from the wreckage below to slow his fall. Blaster fire licked past him as Sith forces tried to track his form a few shots hit his armor and bounced off which caused him to growl in frustation

As Laphisto hit the ground with a heavy crunch of earth and grit. His talons slid against dirt and stone,Wings flaring out behind him as he dropped into a low stance. The first blaster bolt was already screaming toward him. His saber ignited with a flash the Teal blue blade snapping into existence. with a plasmis crack-hiss. It caught the bolt mid-air, sizzling against the blade before whipping off toward the sky. A second came from the leftdeflected. The third, he redirected straight back into the shooter's chest. The Sith soldier dropped in a heap of smoking armor.

Without pause, Laphisto drew his LO-22S sidearm with his off-hand, the weapon sliding clean from its mag-locked holster. He rose fluidly, fired three times in fast succession. First shot was aimed for center mass. with a massive crack the 50AE round went flyinf through the air and the Sith went down clutching his gut, armor cracked and smoking.

Secondclean headshot. The body dropped before the man even registered the shot. Third missed shot missed causing laphisto to growl before lurching forwards, sweeping his blade low to intercept a fourth attacker trying to close the distance. The saber sliced through armor and muscle with a single, efficient arc, and the trooper fell without a sound.

Blaster fire continued to hiss overhead, now directed at the walkers and Lilaste squads establishing a forward line. One of the MKIIIs planted its front legs and opened up with its dorsal gun, pinning Sith units behind a half-collapsed bunker. The Lilaste soldiers were pressing hard, using the walkers as mobile cover while returning fire with calculated bursts.

Laphisto turned, sidearm still hot in his hand. "Second and Third squads, move! Push up behind Walker Two cover their advance and take that ridge!" he barked into the comms, voice sharp and commanding. A chorus of affirmatives came back. "Walker group mark grid fifty-one and sixty-two for overlapping fire. Burn them out of those caves." Turrets swiveled in unison, then fired. The canyon lit up in the artificial sunrise of plasma bursts and rocket trails. and the distant cracks of Slug throwers echoed within the canyon walls. grabbing at his vambrace Laphisto pulled up the status of his men. all one hundred and fourty four were still in the green, a few had already taken significant shield damage but so far, no one was dead. yet anyway

Darth Prazutis Darth Prazutis Jacen Breska 'TK-710' Jacen Breska 'TK-710' Lirka Ka Lirka Ka CT-312 CT-312 Diarch Rellik Diarch Rellik

Laphistos Loadout

Armor:LO-56A MKII
Weapons: Broad Saber, LO-22S


Standard Lilaste Squad Loadout

Squad leader
Primary: LO-18D
Secondary: LO-16D
Sidearm LO-22S
Tertiary: LO-9M
Equipment: LO-48B, LO-56E, A.A.S.H Thermal detonators

Radio/ Communications officer
Primary: LO-18D
Secondary: LO-16D
Sidearm LO-12S
Tertiary: LO-9M
Equipment:LO-48B, LO-56E, A.A.S.H,Various communications equipment, Thermal detonators

Standard rifleman x3
Primary: LO-18D
Secondary: LO-16D
Sidearm LO-12S/LO-22S
Tertiary: LO-9M
Equipment: LO-48B, LO-56E

Medic
Primary: LO-18D
Secondary: LO-16D
Sidearm LO-12S
Tertiary: LO-9M
Equipment:LO-48B, LO-56E, A.A.S.H, various Medical Supplies Thermal detonators

Explosives expert/ demolitions
Primary: LO-RPG20
Secondary: LO-16D
Sidearm LO-22S
Tertiary: LO-9M
Equipment: LO-48B, LO-56E, A.A.S.H various Explosives Thermal detonators

Heavy weapons
Primary: LO-27R
Secondary: LO-16D
Sidearm LO-12S
Tertiary: LO-9M
Equipment: LO-48B, LO-56E, A.A.S.H Various weapons repair kits, ammo boxes, Thermal detonators

Sniper/scout
Primary: LO-600S
Secondary: LO-18D
Sidearm LO-12S
Tertiary: LO-9M
Equipment: LO-48B, LO-56E, A.A.S.H Thermal detonators LO-PD1
 
Last edited:

O B J 1: ECHOES OF WAR
KexQFEl.png

EQUIPMENT: DC-17m
LOCATION: Bottom of the Canyon
TAG: Darth Prazutis Darth Prazutis Diarch Rellik Diarch Rellik Lirka Ka Lirka Ka CT-312 CT-312 Laphisto Laphisto | @Open for all on OBJ 1

Jacen looked up in surprise that quickly turned into frustration as the three drop pods broke through the cloud layer, careening down into the planet and impacting hard on the canyon above them. Three new designations appeared on his HUD, linking him up with the new team that landed. Who else, he thought, but 312?
Unlatching from their grapple lines, D squad immediately took cover down behind a small outcropping of red-clay against the canyon wall, taking the moment of surprise they still had to take a few easy shots at the Diarchy forces still scrambling for cover amidst the outbreak of the ambush.
Jacen felt the gaze of D2 upon him, and entertained the idea of just killing him. No one would know. Last he saw a Diarch was sitting on him.

“So,” the trooper started, returning his rifle to a firing position and letting loose a burst of crimson blaster fire, “no drop today, huh?”
“One more word and no court will convict me Marc I swear to god. Lord Prazutis might even give me a medal,” Jacen responded in between peeking out from cover to unleash a few blaster shots of his own. Satisfied with the answer he got, D2 chuckled and returned his attention completely to the battle at hand.

Banging his head against the red-clay wall that served as his cover, Jacen wondered why they specified no drop for him and his team, but allowed a drop for another team? Grumbling, he keyed his comm and opened a channel with 312.

“710 to 312, how was the lift down?” He joked, trying to hide his frustration, not with 312 but the situation, and continued, “You have troopers down the canyon wall. We’ll keep our distance from the enemy but mind you don’t cook us, yeah? 710 out.”

He pulled his hand away from his helmet and looked at his team, “Their arrival changes nothing in our plan, just means we can show the Ritual Rejects who the real soldiers of the Sith are, copy?”

Three red acknowledgment lights pinged on his HUD, and the team focused fire on the five droids as they activated and stared in unified confusion as the blaster bolts bounced off harmlessly.

“710 to 312, if you’re taking requests,” Jacen said, bringing his hand up to his comm, “I’ve got a good idea for your first target. Those droids, see ‘em? Harder nuts to crack then I’m used to,” he pulled away and looked at his troopers, “Those buckets decide to make their way over here we gotta be ready to get out quick. Meanwhile, pick different targets,” three red lights blinked in acknowledgement, and together the troopers shifted fire, hoping someone else would have the firepower to take care of them.

 
Last edited:

CS3FUG8.png

They rallied. They screamed their creed, like crusaders housing their chant, their noble lie-"HA-OOH!"-As if it could anchor them in reality, as if conviction alone could save them from the truth screaming silently beneath their very feet. None of it mattered. The moment the Diarch lifted that golden blade, as if to challenge divinity itself, to stare down the reaper and refuse to go quietly into the void, the Mortarch moved. He didn't merely run, nor did he charge, he descended. The ground fractured beneath each footfall. Not from weight. From pure will. Each step echoed like an execution bell, ringing clear across the canyon, it shook the marrow of every man who dared still hold a weapon in his presence. Qâztharûn's hunger flared, crimson runic fire screamed into existence all along its length as Prazutis raised the blade, and down came the first swing. It wasn't aimed at the distant Diarch, instead? Instead, it landed on the world.

A sweep of annihilation tore through the nearest flank of the Diarchy cohort to him. A dozen soldiers, all armed, armored, ready to fight and die in the name of their lords were unmade in a breath. Not cut. Not exploded. Unmade. Their bodies sundered in twain, collapsed into naught but ash, their souls flensed in a shockwave of devouring darkness. The runes on the blade drank deep. The ground shuddered. It was like the very canyon wept at the sight of such abhorrence. That wasn't all. Then came the second step. The power of the dark side pulsed from his armor like rot from a tomb, rolling waves of dread rolled forth rupturing bone, blackening eyes. Troopers collapsed without being touched. Some wept blood. Others screamed as their helmets sealed shut, visions of loved ones dying over and over again burned into their minds, gifted by the amulet's cursed glow.

They turned to run. They were too slow. Once more he moved. Another cleave. This time the flame turned black. Qâztharûn erupted with soulfire, a storm of jagged, shrieking embers tearing through the backline. Walkers buckled under their own weight as their power cores blinked out, one detonated, turning into a funeral pyre that lit the canyon. Still, he walked. Not toward them. Through them. It was a horrific massacre, painted in silence over all who crossed his path, all who dared to stand before him. The only sound was the tortured wail of the wind as it scraped past Qâzjiin'vraal, the living armor seethed with each fresh death, its runes howling like starving wolves finally fed, their roar carrying on the winds. Shadows clung to his body like undying worshippers, dragging the dying into their folds. The Diarchy had sent an army. None of it mattered to him. All through it all, those burning suns behind the helm never left the Lord of the Diarchy. Not once. Through fire, fear, and falling bodies, through destruction itself he walked straight for the Centurion, as if nothing else in the galaxy existed but that golden blade and the warbanner beside it.

"You want to see what your courage buys you, little king?" The Dark Lord's voice lanced across the battlefield like a curse. "
Come closer. Death comes for you now." The giant broke into a charge then, the simple act of mometum, of pounding boots on crumbling earth rang like thunderclaps as he moved with far greater speed, than anyone his size should be able to move at all. All along the forces of the Sith the malevolent darkness, the hunger for bloody violence would emanate from the Shadow Hand's display, it sent one clear message of what the objective was here. There would be no quarter given, no mercy shown, no respite, they would give them nothing. To them he would be the hammer, the spear driven into the fiercest of the fighting, to them he would show what true strength is.

Slaughter them all.


 
Sith-Logo.png


The Emperor stirred.​
A corpse of porcelain, cracked by the years of his death, floated inches above the ground in the middle of darkness. There was no room to be seen, no sky to behold, no distant battle to philophise on. The Emperor floated amidst nothing, for nothing existed on a world where fate ruled - and thus, he saw nothing, felt nothing, and heard nothing. Empty, the void whispered to him through the Worm.​
Insidious thing that it was. It spurred his anger now more than it ever had, but that was why he had come, wasn't it? To vent the pressure of a battle happening every second of every day, of every week and every month, just so he could sustain his identity against a torrent of abandonment. It wanted him to lose himself, but anger only honed his identity. The festering wound would gain no purchase, and the blood he spilled today would only expand his power.​
So when the ships of the Diarch Reign Diarch Reign landed, Empyrean could sense it. His perception in the Force moved like oil, a black ichor on the skin that felt like the cold embrace of death intermixed with sludge. Disgusting as it was, it washed over the Diarch and the others, then settled into nothing as the Emperor allowed his vision to truly expand.​
The sky eclipsed above the estate, like a solid thin sheet of the void where nothing existed. It was small, then expanded like a snap of lightning - to well over a dozen kilometers in each direction. Within that space, the Emperor could see all, know all, and it was to be his domain. His floating ceased, and the Emperor gripped on his staff as he took his first steps into the world of the Diarchy and Sith.​
The Force wretched at his arrival, shuttering in sickness as the Emperor strode forward atop metal plated boots. It made each step click with the snare like snap of metal on metal. It was the chorus that announced his arrival, and it would see fit to declare that what lay before them was not merely the loyal families of the Sith - but something all the much worse.​
The Emperor made his presence known, and what was many became one. Beneath a black sky, an artificial eclipse, the Emperor stood on a balcony and watched - waiting for the Diarchy to overcome themselves and attack. He alone waited atop that precipice, staff in hand, fist balled. To walk up those stairs was to accept death.​
For death himself waited for them.​

 
ᴅᴀʀᴛʜ ᴀɴᴀᴛʜᴇᴍᴏᴜꜱ

OBJECTIVE I
Wearing: Armor + XMSS + Mask
Tag: Diarch Reign Diarch Reign Gerwald Lechner Gerwald Lechner Indra Quin Indra Quin
Mentioned: Darth Prazutis Darth Prazutis Jacen Breska 'TK-710' Jacen Breska 'TK-710' Quinn Varanin Quinn Varanin
ncSqKVmX_o.png


Darth Anathemous did not fight for the empire.

She fought for what it could be, for it's future. Quinn Varanin Quinn Varanin was that future, she knew it deep in her laminanium bones. The Princess, could very well be crowned Empress of all the Sith one day, and it was for this reason that she risked it all battle after battle, knowing that everything she spied through her crimson visor would one day belong to
her.

And every Jedi, every Mandalorian and every false sith, was a risk to the stability of her
lover's empire.

And so The Valkyrie of the Second Legion had come here in the shadow of The Wolf to tear their enemies apart whilst the new dynasty remained in it's infancy.

"
I've spotted the Diarch, my lord." she called softly to Gerwald Lechner Gerwald Lechner .

" Darth Prazutis Darth Prazutis
is engaging him."

The former apprentice of Darth Carnifex would have recognized the dramatic flair of the Kainate anywhere, but here, crouched atop the canyon like some carrion bird watching men butcher men, she could see everything. Fear, fire, death, the dark side was potent here and it fed her own powers like a mynock feeding upon a live wire.

It was not enough to make noticeable impact the way it did for one so adept as Prazutis, she was not the most powerful sith here, but that was the terrifying thing about this order.

Even their weakest were conjured from nightmare.

When the call came down to charge the field, Anathemous dropped off the cliff's edge, her waist cape billowing behind her as wind rushed by. The young Darth did not flinch nor fear, as the force slowed her descent.

She stopped above their heads, a floating omen just out of reach, protected by a shimmering field of energy, thin and otherworldly. All around her, men from Lord Lechner's mighty second legion arrived, rappelling down into the fray beside masked Echnosian expeditionaries.

Anathemous lifted her hand, and above her formed a series of inky black spears pointed at the enemy soldiers.

She looked upon them with disgust, these heretics who did not know the truth of their Eternalist Church. The sith were chaos, rebels against fate and the Force, not peacekeepers and not heralds of order.

And in their faith, they were all Gods of this world.

"
Echnosians!" she called to her men, voice low and distorted by the ancient war-mask.

and with a flick of her wrist, the spears shot true as any bullets, dropping several men to their knees and to the floor, pierced by spectral pikes which inflicted them with the the dark side and blackened their veins, dealing wounds which refused to heal.

"
REND THEIR FALSE IDOLS."





Sith-blood.png
 
New-Project-3.png


Indra moved through the chaos of the battlefield with calculated precision, her red-bladed lightsaber slicing through the air in sharp arcs. The clash of metal, the crackle of blaster fire, and the screams of fallen soldiers were a dull backdrop to her focused mind. The Sith forces swarmed around her—too many to count, too many to matter.

Two Sith came charging at her, their red blades flashing. She was already moving before they even reached her. With a swift twist of her body, she flipped backward, her blade cutting through the air in a blur as one of them swung wide, missing entirely. She landed on the balls of her feet, low to the ground, ready for the next strike.

The second Sith lunged, his blade coming down in a wide arc aimed for her midsection. Indra reacted instantly, spinning in place to bring her saber up, catching his weapon mid-swing with a resounding clash. Without hesitation, she twisted her blade, locking it with his, then kicked his knee out from under him, sending him crashing to the ground. Before he could recover, she was already on top of him, her lightsaber piercing his chest in a clean, efficient thrust.

The first Sith, now recovering, came at her again with a flurry of strikes. She danced around him, each step calculated and smooth. She baited him with false openings, drawing him in, only to pivot and strike from an impossible angle. In a single motion, she brought her blade down on his exposed shoulder, severing his arm clean off, then spun to deliver a second slash that decapitated him before his body even had a chance to fall.

She didn't pause. She couldn't afford to. Indra's eyes scanned the battlefield, the Force guiding her movements as she moved from one skirmish to the next. Her body flowed through the violence like water, always two steps ahead of her enemies.

As the last of the low-level Sith fell, Indra's senses flared with an unmistakable presence. A powerful disturbance in the Force. She looked up and saw her—another Sith, descending from the cliffs above. The woman's confidence was palpable, her presence like a suffocating storm.

Indra's grip on her lightsaber tightened, and her eyes narrowed. Another Sith. Another opponent.

The woman landed with an unsettling grace, her energy shielding her from the chaos around her. She raised her hand, summoning dark spears of energy that crackled with destructive power. Indra stood her ground, raising her own saber in response, ready to face whatever came next.

With her Lord busy with another Sith upstart, it fell to Indra to defend his flank. The Lordsblade would not be denied her moment to thrive.


OUTFIT: Modified Optio Uniform | TAG: Diarch Rellik Diarch Rellik Gerwald Lechner Gerwald Lechner Kaila Irons Kaila Irons | EQUIPMENT: Indra's Lightsaber​

 

Users who are viewing this thread

Top Bottom