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

[CT-312]

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

Taking potshots towards the direction of the droids, CT-312 observed the group of five droids descended from the Diarchy Weapon's Convoy. Her open line comms rang

“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,”

“Say less”, taking full aim on the droids. CT-312 continued her burst fire from up top of the canyon.

As Red walked up next to CT-312 who was laying belly down in the dirt. Yellow was launching a few mortars at the convoy.

“Five? They can’t be that bad.”, Red said nonchalantly. “They look small”

The droids were unmoving, appearing to be offline. Suddenly, without any indication, these mechanical beings came to. CT-312 and the Condiment Troopers watched from on top of the canyon as these droids made Byss Cheese out of the few lightsaber wielding Sith charging at them. Their attempts to clash with these mechanical beings ended with their bodies dropping as the 30-06 slug rounds connected. Underestimating the sheer power of these droids would be a mistake.

Stopping short of the burst fire with the DLT-19, CT-312 just angled her visor up to Red. The silence was speaking volumes. Red took a step back, “Oh.”. Focusing her attention back to the droids, CT-312 continued her burst fire.

“Yellow. You need to see this.” Red called out to his counterpart.

Yellow came to the ridge of the canyon, looking at where CT-312 was shooting at. It looked like one of the heavy bolts dinked the droid in the head. The head of the droid snapped towards the direction of where they were set up. Red glowing eyes staring. Alarming the three Troopers. Concerned. Yellow spoke, “Is it me or is that Droid looking at us?”. Its whole body turned facing towards their direction. Suddenly a sword appeared, following suit a shield was deployed on its hand. Slowly, marching. Making its way to them. Navigating through the corpses that riddled the ground. The Troopers noticed the droid was reloading the very weapon that just obliterated the few Sith earlier on.

“It’s looking at us alright”, CT-312 stated. Her attention shifted to the very Droid headed their way. Noticing the sword and shield, she wondered if it was designed for close range combat.

“That’s unsettling”
“That can’t be good”

Red and Yellow blurted out at the same time. Frozen in place.

“Yellow! Start recalibrating the mortar on the fly. There’s a new target to focus on!” Holding down the trigger of her heavy weapons rifle, CT-312 sent a flurry of heavy red bolt blaster shots at the Droid’s direction.

Both Red and Yellow scrambled back to the mortar. Red prepped the weapon with rounds to launch as Yellow recalibrated the aim. Waiting. CT-312 used her scouting helmet and started to list off a handful of coordinates that the droid’s path will hopefully take. Praying at least one of the rounds would hit its mark. If not, create some kind of small craters to slow the mechanical monstrosity down.

Her comms went off again.

"Met, Warrior-."

Lirka was a strange woman, to say the least. Soldiers did not have ranks to her, they all just fell under that all-encompassing descriptor of "warrior".

"-Keep point, and I shall cut you and your fellows a path! Exalt, share in the glorious bloodshed of this day!"

‘Oh, there’s going to be bloodshed alright.’, CT-312 mentally agreed. Refocusing back on the Droid headed their way. She shouted to her squad, “FULL SEND IT”. Red grabbed a handful of motors and dropped them in the barrel just as quickly as it exited. Yellow made minor adjustments to the aim as each one launched. In quick successions, mortar after mortar blasted out without skipping a beat. Sending a small barrage towards the direction of the Droid.

BOOM BOOM BOOM BOOM BOOM

“Hold.”, CT-312 held her fire. Eyes fixated on where the oncoming Droid was. Waiting for the clouds of dust and smoke to settle.

 

[Khal'vyssa]

Location: Verrinox Estate - Serenno
Objective: II - House of Ash and Blood
Mission Objective: Kill the Diarchy Command Structure and HVTs
Diarchy: Callista Sharde Varis Oakertain Diarch Reign
Sith Order: Serina Calis Darth Empyrean Commodore Helix

Khal’vyssa lurked within the shadows of the terrain as whistles sounded out across the landscape. Diarchy and militia soldier alike surged over the top of their defensive lines, covering their advance with equal parts fire and flesh as they made for the Sith lines. All the while, battle droids rained down fire from above, unleashing searing salvos of radiotoxic death into the Diarchy’s positions. The Shikkari noted that while the droids inflicted notable losses, the shock of the attack had not dissuaded the enemy’s charge.

Air power alone would not dissuade the Diarchy.

Nevertheless, leveraging the cover provided by the droids, the assassin moved from one shadow to the next. Before long, she came up behind her first target—a militia officer from Serenno who was among the most familiar of the Diarchy’s command staff with the local terrain. The briefing had given his name as Reilan Seeser, the features of the man in her mind manifesting a mix of boyish charm and hard-set resolve.

Khal’vyssa knew from the drone footage shown in the briefing how the officer moved. That was how the Shikkari picked him out of the crowd—the unique quirks of his body language revealing a man who moved with a disciplined swagger in spite of the extremely brief hitch in his step that hinted at an old knee injury. That, and the distinct, high-born Serennian manner in which he gave gestures, was enough verification for the assassin to be confident that he was her target.

Without warning, Khal’vyssa dropped her concealment and moved to engage. A salvo of neuranium discs raced from her lanvarok at hypersonic velocity, immediately striking a blaster cannon gunner and the assistant in their backs. The mono-molecular-edged discs ripped through armor and flesh in equal measure, turning the soldiers’ insides to pulp before mangled forms slumped over, listless in death.

The officer had only a moment to process the danger before activating his personal shield only a split-second before the next two discs would have struck him in turn. Instead, The energized barrier functioned to turn away the projectiles, partially vaporizing them in an explosion of sparks and light.

Khal’vyssa immediately changed her approach. A flat, energized disc sprang to life within the palm of her left hand, before being thrown towards her target just as he turned around. The hyper-ionized particles immediately overloaded the officer’s shield, causing him to stagger just before drawing his blaster pistol and unloading it in Khal’vyssa’s general direction.

However, with her form shifting in light and shadow, accuracy was a distant hope.

Nevertheless, Khal’vyssa whirled in motion, her form cartwheeling through the air to evade the incoming fire. Another disc formed in the palm of her hand, before being released in an arcing trajectory. The officer threw himself to the ground in order to evade it, but the maneuver made him vulnerable to the next that came. An energized disc struck his head and went off in an explosion of plasma, grease, and searing ash leaving only a decapitated body in its wake.

Spoiler: Loadout

• Moonlight Shadow
  
  • Arms
    
    • Lacera - Sith Lanvarok - L Gauntlet
      
      • Ammunition
        
        • 30 Disc Magazine (4)
          
          • Neuranium Disc - Void Stone Treatment
    • FAE/M-02 Energized Gauntlet Vibroblade - R Gauntlet
    • FAE/EMW-01 Plasma Chakram Projector - L Glove
      
      • Ammunition
        
        • FAE/AM-01-S2 Energy Weapon Cartridge (4)
          
          • Ethaerium Gas and CryoBan Coolant
    • Slicing Glove - R Glove
• Siqsa-S1 Semiautonomous Seeker Obscuration Canister (4)
• FAE/MDE-01-S1 Semiautonomous Seeker Concussion Explosive (2)

 

[Kivah]

Image
​

Objective: BYOO Devotion of War
Tags: Naamino Zuukamano | Tamsin Graves
Equipment: Infiltration-Suit, Tracker/Flash Goggles, Lightsabers, Bow, Auto Blaster, Gauntlet Comp

As far as she knew, her own loyalty wasn't in question. Not anymore than any other Sith's personal loyalties and self-interests were wont to wander at least. Kivah had carefully stayed out of the politics of the Empires, recognizing them as a wonderful opportunity to be crushed by something much larger than herself and barely understood. Still, the powers that be asked her here. An invitation that carried far more weight than the headstrong Cathar would think to decline. She had been allowed to keep her weapons, and she still wore her armored jumpsuit that made sections of her body disappear in the moody lighting and even sensor readings slithered around.

Now she sat in the mostly empty observer stands and understood. Naamino had been called out to face questioning by this slip of a girl she'd never heard of and her enforcers. Her upper lip curled back at the thought of it, this likosta wasn't one of them. She was an outsider and it rankled Kivah that the school's own were to be judged by others. Justice should have come from within if needed, by those betrayed.

She propped a foot up on the row of seating in front of her and leaned over her raised knee as Naamino calmly walked forward and took his own seat before the interrogator and her entourage. He had been her first pick, and now she had been sent here to see if that had been in error. She wouldn't help him, this was a test for her as much as it was him, simply from another direction. Kivah resolved herself to sacrifice him if necessary, not let emotions entangle herself with his fate. Her own hot emotions couldn't cloud her judgment simply because they were friends. So she leaned back again, let the murky light in the auditorium consume her as it bent around her hooded suit, and she again faded from sight in the sidelines.

 

[Lord Depravious]

// OBJECTIVE 3
// Tags Maldor Mecetti

Lord Depravious entered the grand chamber in silence, his dark robes whispering against polished stone. Without drawing undue attention, he made his way to the seat just behind Chancellor Nikoga. The murmurs of debate had not yet begun in earnest, and the High Chancellor still held the floor. Perfect.

Depravious leaned forward, close enough that only Nikoga could hear. His voice was a gentle tide, calm and smooth—measured, but rich with the cadence of suggestion.

"The council must hear reason, Chancellor," he said, quiet and composed. "Let your words carry the weight of a man thinking not of himself—but of his people, and their future."

He let that sink in before continuing, offering the lines like a playwright feeding a leading actor the script to sway an uncertain crowd.

"Begin here: 'This is not a war of necessity. It is a crusade—a holy war dressed in the colors of tradition and pride. And how many of our people, truly, are invested in such ideals? The vast majority do not hunger for conquest or ideology—they hunger for bread, for safety, for peace. They care not for the banners that fly, only that their children sleep soundly beneath them.'"

Depravious's words were steady—careful to avoid overreach, but sharp enough to cut.

"Then you remind them: 'The incursion into Sith space threatens to ignite a conflict of unprecedented scale. We do not face a scattered rabble. We face an Order—ancient, vast, and armed with strength beyond measure. And more dangerously still, memory. The Sith do not forget transgressions lightly.'"

He paused, a whisper of a smile at the corner of his lips.

"Let them feel the weight of consequence... but don't stop there. Offer the path forward. 'Rather than risk bloodshed, we must seize the opportunity for diplomacy. Sith loyalists must be treated not as remnants of an enemy—but as citizens, equals, partners. And with that foundation laid, we can begin building something greater.'"

Depravious's voice grew just a fraction more confident—more impassioned.

"'The Sith have resources. Power. Wealth. Their alliance could enrich our systems, strengthen our fleets, and secure our future. Not as subjects—but as equals. The Sith do not demand obedience—they respect strength. Let us be wise enough to offer our hand, not our blade.'"

Finally, he leaned in once more, barely above a breath.

"End with this: 'Let history remember us not as architects of war—but as visionaries who chose unity over ruin. Let the Diarchy be strong enough to know when peace is the greatest show of power.'"

Then he leaned back, folding his hands with quiet finality. The words were Nikoga's now.

All the Chancellor had to do was speak them.

 

[Serina Calis]

"War, war is coming."

(OBJECTIVE 2) Tag - Callista Sharde , Varis Oakertain , Diarch Reign , Darth Empyrean , Khal'vyssa , Commodore Helix



The battlefield was a crescendo of screams and fire, the presence of the Emperor himself a burden on all who fought. It was as if his eyes saw all.

The very first thing to come to mind was the familiar presence of Diarch Reign, one which she wholeheartedly expected, her voice boomed over the battlefield, amplified by the force.

"Good luck Diarch, you are going to need it!"

Serina Calis moved like a ghost cloaked in vengeance, a living curse cast across the estate grounds. Her once-sinful smile had vanished—wiped clean by the fury of war, replaced by the solemnity of a predator in her element. The seductive glint in her eye had burned away beneath the ash and blood of the fallen. Now only purpose remained.

She descended the stone staircase of the northern rampart with Ebon Requiem in hand, its blade whispering hunger. The mist had broken under the weight of the Emperor's eclipse. That void in the sky—black and devouring—drew every breath of courage from the Diarchy like poison from a wound. The estate, already steeped in centuries of cruelty, had become something worse.

A hell of her making.

Serina exhaled sharply, steadying herself as the wave of Diarchy soldiers emerged from the fog of war, their silhouettes flickering against the unnatural eclipse like specters. She could feel their weight on the threads of the Force—dozens of presences, each one a flickering candle soon to be extinguished. But before the flame and fury, she closed her eyes. The shift would need care. Reset. Recalibrate. Her mind, a temple of seduction and spite, dimmed its darker altars for just a moment. Into that stillness, she poured something sweeter—no less potent, but twisted through her lens of desire and control. The Light, in her hands, became a lover's breath laced with poison. She raised her arms, fingers curling with ritual grace, and whispered the incantation beneath her breath.

The air shimmered around her, and then erupted into a corona of luminous corruption—lavender halos pulsing over magenta mist, as if divine energy had been stolen from heaven and soaked in perfume and sin. Her body surged with the Force's warped blessing—muscles taut, reflexes sharpened, her senses blooming like a bloodstained flower. She turned slightly, catching sight of a figure moving through the chaos—Khal'vyssa, a wraith cloaked in shadow, moving like a whisper between gunfire and flame. Serina didn't know her name. Didn't need to. An ally dances the blade's edge, and that was enough. She reached out—just a brush of power—and let the Valor spill into the assassin's path. Not Light, not Dark—just Serina's version of it. Empowering. Beautiful. Addictive. The violet-pink aura licked across Khal'vyssa's limbs, wrapping her in ephemeral fire, and Serina smirked.

She gave no rallying cry. No more licentious winks. There was no time now for charm or games.

The only thing that would dance was lightning.

Her eyes fluttered, and for a moment, she saw light—true light, pure and aching with potential. It made her sick. Too soft. Too patient. With a shuddering breath, she forced her mind through the crucible of her will, grinding compassion into ash. The switch was never clean. It was a lurching, painful recalibration—like snapping bone back into place. Her heart darkened, her breath slowed, and the warmth was ripped from her aura, replaced by a coiling hunger.

Serina's left hand lifted in one fluid gesture, her fingers forming a claw. The air sparked. Then—

CRACK-THOOM.

Forks of violet lightning tore through the mist and struck a squad of militia as they emerged from the treeline. Five bodies arched and twisted mid-stride, their screams shredded into the air as nerves shorted and lungs seized. Helmets exploded from the inside. Some twitched after they hit the ground. Others did not.

She walked forward, each step as graceful as it was inevitable. Her armor gleamed with wet blood, not her own, splashed across the ornate magenta like some chaotic rebuke to its beauty. The skirt-panels of her battle-dress clung to her legs from the dew and sweat of combat, but she carried herself as if parading through a ballroom.

Then the voice of Helix crackled through the Sith command channels, clinical and composed, and Serina paused only briefly amidst the carnage to respond. Her fingers, slick with blood—none of it hers—lifted to press the embedded comm crystal near her collar. Her voice, when it came through the channel, was a measured purr, absent her usual flirtation but no less captivating in its control. "Helix. Serina Calis. I acknowledge receipt. Be advised—my position is holding with precision. Diarchy infantry have broken upon the Calis line like surf against cliff-face. We are rotating fresh Guard and mercenary squads every four minutes and executing staggered counter-assaults. Casualties on our end are minimal. The enemy's advance has slowed to a crawl. I estimate our local containment is sustainable for the next hour, assuming no structural breach."

She lifted her gaze to the sky—blackened beneath the Emperor's domain—and narrowed her eyes against the howling wind that carried both ash and the screams of dying soldiers. "However," she continued, now pacing toward the next point of pressure on her flank, "My unit commander has detected patterns of field-level command coordination improving among their militia. I suspect a secondary leadership figure within proximity. I will investigate and neutralize as necessary. Maintain your mechanized momentum at the second line—should they penetrate further, divert assets toward my coordinates. I'll keep this front locked until the bones beneath the soil beg for peace." She clicked off without ceremony. The time for poetry had passed.

Another wave.
They came in clusters, soldiers and militia alike. Uniforms mottled and dirty, faces stretched with desperate conviction. Some didn't even aim. They just screamed and fired.

Serina lifted her right palm. The Force bent around her like a breath drawn from the throat of the world itself. And then—the draining began.

The men and women who reached within ten meters fell first. Their skin blackened around the eyes, lips cracked open as if gasping through ice. Their limbs seized. Their souls—fragile, untrained things—were torn from their frames in long, thin trails of silvery-blue mist. Serina inhaled deeply. Her eyes fluttered shut for a breathless instant.

"More…" she whispered.

And the Force obliged.

Their spirits tasted like desperation. Like fear clinging to duty. Bitter and raw. No refinement. No discipline. The kind of souls bred not for war, but for slaughter. Serina exhaled, her breath curling as fog in the frigid air.

Her hand fell, and she lifted Ebon Requiem again.

One of the Diarchy soldiers—a younger man, tall, bold—charged her with a vibro-pike and screamed something about justice. Serina caught the weapon mid-thrust with her gauntlet, twisted her body, and drove the halberd's crescent hook into the base of his jaw. His scream turned to a wet rattle as blood painted her side in arcs.

She did not even slow down.

Another soldier aimed—too slow. The halberd spun, the phrik-blade severing the rifle in half and cleaving into their chest. The armor sparked, then split, and the body folded over with a gurgle of agony.

It was not a battle. It was an execution.

Then, something pierced her haze of victory. A pattern in the chaos.

A Diarchy line was holding.

Advancing.

Militia surged forward from the trenches. She could see it—through the haze, across the shattered courtyard—Diarchy standards raised by stubborn fools. And at the front… a woman. Young. Breathless. Her form caked in sweat and mud. A bayonet, slick with black oil and red blood, jutted from her rifle like a fang.

Serina paused.

There was something about her. Not power—there was no Force signature of note. No great darkness or radiance to taste in her blood. She was a nobody. A pawn.

But she was winning.

Bayonet to droid. Rifle butt to head. Dodging shots like death hadn't remembered her name yet. And the woman had hope in her eyes. Hope, and pain. Too young to be this broken, too determined to accept that.

Serina's expression shifted.

From stillness came wrath.

Lightning again—but this time focused. Precise.

She raised both hands and hurled a fork of violet energy across the battlefield. It arced around shattered stone, kissed the corpses of droids as it passed, and screamed toward the charging soldiers in Callista's path.

A warning? Or a declaration?

The lightning struck the earth three meters to Callista's left, flinging two militia to the ground in howls of agony. One caught fire. The other didn't rise at all.

Serina's voice rang out at last—low, sonorous, and seething with dark elegance.

"Tell me, little girl… how much death will it take for you to realize this world belongs to me?"

She stepped forward into the open now, her halberd dragging behind her, singing as it scraped across broken durasteel. Her cape flared behind her, bloodstained, luminous beneath the eclipse.

Another step.

The Force crackled like a storm at her fingertips.

The House Calis Guard had vanished into their own battles, phalanxes breaking droids with cold precision, but Serina no longer fought as a commander. She fought as the embodiment of the war itself. The rot at the center of Serenno's heart, now made flesh.

Callista would die. Or kneel. Or become something less than human.

And as Serina closed the distance between them—one careful step at a time—the battlefield seemed to hold its breath once more.

The dragon had seen its prey.

​

 

[Tamsin Graves]

OBJ: BYOO Devotion of War
Theme: Aurora
Location: Korriban Academy Auditorium
Equipment: Twin Omens | DE-10 | Combat Knife | Multi-Tool | Circlet of Projection | Stars Enchained
Tags: Naamino Zuukamano | Kivah | OPEN to others of Korriban Academy

As the proud and sturdy Zabrak approached, Tamsin looked back towards the soldiers that accompanied her. She raised her right hand and with two finger index and middle she motioned to them. One of the soldiers moved back and behind him a small case which he opened and as he did an Interrogation droid hovered out and towards the Zabrak as he sat down.

Tamsin looked to small gathering and then to Naami. These droids were notorious with their torturing capabilities however most people didn't know their main use was a lie detector. They had biofeedback monitors on them that could read subtle changes in things like heart, perspiration, and other biological factors that could determine lies.

"Don't worry I am only using it as a monitoring device, not for torture." Tamsin said politely to Naami to reassure him if such a thing was even possible, they were sith after all.

"So, let's establish a base line." She nodded as the droid squeaked some binary code, confirming it was ready.

"Please state your full name, age, house in the academy, and what year student you are." All things Tamsin had information on in her data pad and info the droid had been given to help establish the base line.

"From there I will proceed to ask you some questions, answer to the best of your knowledge in best detail as you can. Do you understand?"

 

[Maldor Mecetti]

Objective 3 - Rules of Law
______________________________________

​

Maldor was surprised to see that the first to touch his 'Speaker' control was Nikoga Kosta, reputedly a soft-spoken cultural Chancellor from Kalee, who rarely spoke at all.

Of course, Maldor's intelligence on the multitude of Chancellors within the Diarchy's great Forum of the Chancellorate was likely to be incomplete. Not only was the Forum rather young, but it had experienced so much upheaval since its formation, 'normal' was a condition difficult to assess. So perhaps being surprised by anyone here was premature.

A computerized voice announced the speaker, whose face materialized in the center of the room.

"Chancellor Nikoga Kosta - Cultural Chancellor of Kalee."

Then, seeming somewhat uncertain, Nikoga began, "Our conflict is not one of necessity. It is a misguided crusade—a holy war dressed in the colors of tradition and pride. And how many of our people, truly, are invested in such ideals? The vast majority do not hunger for conquest or ideology—they hunger for bread, for safety, for peace. They care not for the banners that fly, only that their children sleep soundly beneath them.'

Maldor blinked. Chancellor Kosta had not been reputed to be particularly eloquent. He could only conclude that all of his intelligence about the Chancellors here was unreliable.

"The incursion into Sith space threatens to ignite a conflict of unprecedented scale. We do not face a scattered rabble. We face an Order—ancient, vast, and armed with strength beyond measure. And more dangerously still, memory. The Sith do not forget transgressions lightly.

Rather than risk bloodshed, we must seize the opportunity for diplomacy. Sith loyalists must be treated not as remnants of an enemy—but as citizens, equals, partners. And with that foundation laid, we can begin building something greater."

Maldor blinked. These were the words of a political firebrand, not anyone who could be mistaken for a meek Chancellor of Culture.

"The Sith have resources. Power. Wealth. Their alliance could enrich our systems, strengthen our fleets, and secure our future. Not as subjects—but as equals. The Sith do not demand obedience—they respect strength. Let us be wise enough to offer our hand, not our blade."

The Kaleesh man paused, then concluded:

"Let history remember us not as architects of war—but as visionaries who chose unity over ruin. Let the Diarchy be strong enough to know when peace is the greatest show of power."

Maldor blinked. Then he touched the control on his own chair, claiming the floor before anyone else could speak.

He needed to steer this back on course.

"Well-spoken, Chancellor Kosta. A stirring springboard for today's debate.

But your words- however well-intentioned- seem misguided to me. You speak of the Sith as entities to be feared. Strong, Dangerous, likely to Retaliate. Perhaps the Kaleesh have been so long under the boot of Sith influence, they can no longer conceive of a day when Sith power does not hold sway.

I assure you, that day has come.

The Sith have no power to lend us. Their power vanishes before us. The question is not whether we should fear their retaliation. Diarchal power is not to be sneered at, particularly not by the Sith. If anything, your words suggest that the Sith should be purged, if they are likely to have 'long memories' and a penchant for violent retaliation.

I hope the question of how we should treat those who still follow Sith ways is broader than your fear of them.

I invite you to make a careful consideration of the rights and privileges our citizens should enjoy. And also, a contemplation of what Sith culture can offer us.

You are a minister of Culture, Kosta. Can you tell us how the Sith might enrich the Diarchy? Not with coin, but with culture? Do you have an argument which is not born of fear of reprisal? Do the Sith have Great Art? Valuable Science? A Worthy Philosophy?"

Maldor released his control of the Floor Holoprojector, allowing the Chancellor to respond.




Lord Depravious

 

[Lord Depravious]

// OBJECTIVE 3
// Tag Maldor Mecetti

Lord Depravious allowed a wolfish smile to cross his face as the Prime Chancellor spoke. His gaze locked on the prime chancellor as he spoke.

Now this is a man who could be a political rival or partner if we didn't find ourselves currently opposed to each other.

Shaidin now leaned in to Nikoga, his voice low, nearly a whisper, and his mouth was covered with his hand as to obscure his lips from those who may try to read them.


"Ah, and now he speaks of strength, of purging, of supremacy... how quickly the language of peace turns to the rhetoric of conquest. You mustn't match his fire with fire, Nikoga—match it with ice. Make him the warmonger. You, the steward of lives. The minister of people."

He pauses, then continues in that calm, calculated cadence.

"Begin here: 'The Prime Chancellor speaks of a vanished Sith power. I speak of people who are still here. Not lords in dark citadels, but merchants in our markets. Engineers. Farmers. Neighbors. They live among us—not as conquerors, but as citizens. Do we now debate whether they are worth the rights we extend to all others? Or do we judge them by ancient sins they themselves did not commit?'"

A breath, then another suggestion—low, insistent:

"'It will not be you, Prime Chancellor, who buries a son when this war ignites. It will not be your kin made fodder to settle old scores. If our citizens must bleed for a cause, let it not be pride.'"

And then the pivot—cool, composed, utterly poised:

"'As for Sith culture—yes. Let us speak plainly. For a thousand years, Sith philosophers have wrestled with the nature of will, of passion, of legacy. Their archives are deep—sometimes dark, yes, but filled with revelations our academies have barely begun to grasp. Their artists wield contrast and discipline in ways that haunt the soul. Their sciences explore the edges of force manipulation, of medicine, of energy synthesis that our researchers could only dream of. Yes—they have much to offer. But only if we are wise enough to receive it.'"

He leans in one last time as quiet as falling dusk:

"End with this: 'We stand not at the end of history, but its hinge. Let us be remembered not as those who burned bridges—but as those who built empires of understanding.'"

 

[Jacen Breska 'TK-710']

O B J 1: ECHOES OF WAR​

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

The Droids, thankfully, seemed uninterested in them. Jacen didn’t consider that an insult, one (or five) less things wanting to kill him and his men? That was a win. He was a bit concerned they wanted to kill his comrades, but he placed full faith they’d make it through.

“Alright, new plan,” he said, finally, getting low to the ground and calling out to his men.
“Those droids? Not our problem. Callous as it is, fellas, you know the drill. 312 and their guys handle that so we can handle other things,” he pointed out towards the convoy, towards Lord Prazutis, “There’s what our thing to handle is.”

In the distance, Lord Prazutis continued to make a spectacle, an artform really, out of causing harm and mayhem.
“He’s doing such a good job, we don’t want to let anyone get in the way, right?” The three helmets of his men turned around to him and nodded.

“Right, so, you see anything looking sideways at him, you kill it. Not that he needs our help, but any distractions means less killin’. We like our Lords and Ladies killin’, copy?” Three red acknowledgement lights popped on his HUD.
“Right then. Clear the cave, go go go!” He yelled, leading the charge as he leapt out of the cover he was hiding behind, sprinting towards the convoy.
​

 

[Voice of the Diarchy]

CURRENT CHARACTER - RDB-01 Dra'khan Sentinel Droid
ROLE - PROTECT THE CENTURION
WEAPONRY - LO-18D ASSAULT RIFLE, LO-12S SIDE ARM, LO-9M[Melee weapon. Sword], LO-Va'karis Shield [Small]
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

:Hunt and Termination Program initiated:

The RDB droid moved through the piles of flesh along the convoy. Slashing and stabbing any survivors of the SO that dared come close to their centurion order. Unflinching machine dispatching the clinging remnants of life at its feet.

Arriving at the base of the mountain it came under heavy LMG blaster fire. A well trained bipod placed soldier was attempting to rip into its metallic frame. Its energy resistant metal resisting the bolts - for now.

As its hydraulics pitched its bi-pedal feet to begin its assent of the mountain an arching explosive had begun its crescendo to its location. The targets were accurate. Yet the machine continued forward. Its creator Laphisto had seen these tactics coming and made it to withstand Kinetic and Energy based damage.

That did not mean the RDB droid was not slowed down. Its chassis struggled to push forward as it was constantly under high pressure fire from team.

The pace was unrelenting. A signature of a highly functioning team that worked well together. The Centurion at the back watched and worried that the RDB would not make it.

Yet it advanced. Slowly and surely, the gears of its body churning and clanking heavily against the mountains rigid rock. Leaving a large pinging noise with each step, only muted by the heavy fire and mortars. Its Advanced Sensor Suite and Adaptive Combat Subroutines choosing a path with that would put its LO-18D Slug shooter within range to begin returning fire.

Its ascent had officially begun and so far. Nothing had done more than slow it down.

Tags: CT-312 Laphisto

 

[Maldor Mecetti]

Objective 3 - Rules of Law
______________________________________

​

Maldor listened with growing surprise and suspicion at the poetry that poured forth from Kosta's lips. Most Kaleeshi were scarcely this eloquent in their own language, never mind while using Galactic Basic. Some unseen fire was burning in this man- unprecedented in the short history of the Forum- and Maldor wondered who was stoking the flames.

Before he could seize back the floor, another Chancellor spoke up- this one from the small world of Hassis. Not big enough for a place on the galactic map, but no less a world of the Diarchy.

"Tohis Dacta, Chancellor of Culture for Hassis," a computerized voice confirmed to those in attendance.

"We should watch what precedents we set here," Chancellor Dacta intoned, "for the Sith are not the only people with a religion that could be purged. Today, it is the Sith. An easy target. But tomorrow it could be any of us. On my own world, there is a religion known as the Joderai, who are a variety of Light Force adherents. Some have called them a cult. If a policy of suppression and purges begins now, it may reach even such of my constituents as follow this splinter ideology. They have a culture as rich as the Sith. Should we set them up to be flattened into a pancake, demolishing the rich texture they might otherwise add to the Diarchy?"

Maldor reached out again to touch his button to retort, but once again he was beaten to the proverbial punch.

"Sterina Brassus, Chancellor of Culture for Thymeria," the computerized announcer blared.

Another small world with big concerns.

"On my world," she said, "we have a Dark Force Church known as the Church of Burning Blood. Cast with the aspersion 'Dark' by the galactic powers, though they have no dark intentions. Not unlike the Sith, they believe in passion. For them, Passionate joy. Passionate creative energy. Passionate dedication to the Diarchy. What of them, if we institute a practice of suppression?"

This time, Maldor stabbed the 'speaking' button with enough alacrity to pre-empt anyone else joining in on this stampede.

"Chancellors of the Diarchy," he said, "I hear your worthy concerns. This is why you are here: To show a way that might not otherwise be clear, so that we can formulate and present proposals to the noble Diarchs.

It is clear many of you feel that religious freedom must be respected in the Diarchy, else many will be adversely impacted.

If the majority agrees- which you can indicate by touching your voting buttons- I shall make this proposal for ratification: That religious groups- including the Sith, Light Side followers, Dark Side followers, those between, and those without any Force affiliation- that they all be allowed to persist in their worship and practices so long as they do not foment against the Diarchy, or act contrary to Diarchal values. Moreover, that staff from each office of our Chancellors of Culture should be dispatched to learn what we can from these groups: To find positive life lessons, arts, sciences, and even economic wisdom that can be shared for the benefit of all."

Not to mention keeping a keen eye on what these bastards are up to, Maldor thought to himself. He'd have to get the Network in on this. Religious freedom was a dangerous thing. Especially when some of these religions reveled in personal advancement and the accumulation of power. It was practically the Sith religion to serve one's self above one's fellow citizens.

"Please vote your Affirmation now if this is the recommendation I should take to the Diarchs."

Spherical holographic indicators began to appear above the chairs of the Chancellors assembled here. White for an Affirmation. Black spheres showing disagreement. The spheres popped into being soundlessly as the High Chancellor watched.

Over two-thirds of the spheres were white.

Religious freedom it would be, then.

That, and an increased intensity of government surveillance. He'd make sure of it.

"It is decided. The Diarchs shall know the will and wisdom of the people. Let this session of the Forum of the Chancellorate be adjourned."

Maldor supposed he should be pleased. He himself had reason to worry should the Sith religion fall under suppression. Not long ago he'd been a Darth. He supposed he still was, since there was no way for the title to be excised.

Yet he felt a twinge of worry in his guts.

A seed was being planted here.

A seed that might bear the Diarchy a tree of poisoned fruits...




Lord Depravious

 

[Lord Depravious]

// OBJECTIVE 3
Tags: Maldor Mecetti

Lord Depravious had successfully dripped sweet, subtle venom into Nikoga's ear—carefully measured, deceptively calm. And for now, he had won.

At least on the surface.

But to Shaidin, it didn't feel like victory. Not yet.

He had hoped for more than just poetic rhetoric—he had angled for deeper concessions regarding the Diarchy's current course into Sith space. Yet, such is the nature of politics: rarely bold, rarely honest. Always crawling forward in small, deliberate steps.

Still, he had managed to lace Nikoga's speech with language that sowed quiet unease. Even the more sanctimonious, light-aligned religions had cause to wonder—if the Sith could be cast out... could they be next?

It was enough, for now.

As the forum of chancellors adjourned and began to file out of the chamber, Depravious leaned in one last time to the Minister of Culture.

"I'll be in touch," he said, voice low but resonant with certainty.

Then he turned and departed without ceremony.

He had considered introducing himself to the Prime Chancellor, but no—not yet. It would be premature to reveal too much. While the Diarchy now claimed members from both Jedi and Sith traditions, their direction was unmistakable. An incursion into Sith space loomed— the campaign draped in the colors of peace but sharpened with the edge of war.

Unraveling this path would require more than persuasion. It would take time. Influence. And deeper infiltration. For now, Nikoga Kosta had proven himself useful—a willing mouthpiece cloaked in the illusion of idealism.

Depravious moved through the crowded halls like a panther cloaked in silk, effortless and unseen. His hood rose over his head, casting his face into shadow as he slipped among the departing chancellors. None noticed him leave—none could.

Within minutes, he was back aboard his vessel, the oppressive aura of this wretched faction's space already beginning to fade behind him.

He brooded as the ship rose from the surface.

This war... it stank of Jedi influence. Their dogmatic fingerprints were all over it. A crusade not of justice, but of purity. He had plans for them—and for the Galactic Alliance as well. But those were pieces for later. Other moves must come first.

The Prime Chancellor would receive a visit from him, eventually.

Just... not yet.

 

[Darth Empyrean]

Tag | Callista Sharde // Varis Oakertain // Diarch Reign // Serina Calis // Commodore Helix // Khal'vyssa​

​

A surge of fear, contrasted by the pale light of courage. This was to be the final emotions of a thousand men, and a thousand more behind them. Let them all end with the realization of truth - this was all fate had in store for them. A Life of love and hate, punctuated by an encounter with un-fate, the end of being. Empyrean worked his way through the crowd not in a sprint, or a jog, or even a walk - as he ended the lives of dozens of men, he did so floating.​

​

His toes almost dragged on the ground, one hand holding out his staff as he carelessly moved about the battlefield. All that fell under his eclipse would die this day, and tomorrow a million more as the Mors Mon would find purchase on Diarch worlds across the galaxy. Let this simply be the prologue to a greater massacre.​

​

There was an oddity about Sith powers, in the way they manifested from the self. One such was the 'Hate Stare' so named for its personification of burning a hole into someone with your gaze. For Empyrean, and unfortunately for the Diarchy, the eclipse that stood above the estate was apart of Empyrean, following directly overhead. From it small streams of hate poured out over the battlefield under his omniscient watch, and a hundred men found their graves at the foot of his gaze.​

​

"Do not delay, Diarch. Your men need you.", he whispered into air filled with men's final breathes.​

​

It carried through every ear, every man, every woman - so that they could hear who's fault this was. Empyrean's wraith was never without reason, let the Diarchy soldiery know that their deaths were the fault of their masters and by their masters sacrifice could it stop. All he had to do was intrude on Empyrean's massacre.​

 

[Callista Sharde]

Objective II: Assault on Verrinox
Current Mission: Survive

It was utter chaos. People and droids falling to the earth left and right. The heavy battle droids finding it difficult to do their work with soldiers both shooting and stabbing at them. Being at distances so short that the worst marksmen on the world didn’t even need to aim.

Then came the Manglers, the roar of chainblades heralded their coming, and the screams of people cut down by their vicious weapons soon followed. Callista nearly fell prey to one herself. She saw one winding up to swing at her, and was lucky enough to be fast with her rifle, catching the buzzing blade on the underside of her barrel.

But this was a droid, it had hydraulics and servos, not muscle. And it was also much, much heavier than she was. She couldn’t stop the force of the blow entirely, and the downward stroke partially broke her block. Just enough to bite into her shoulder.

She let out a howling scream of her own as the teeth of the thing’s blade shredded her vulnerable flesh. But she didn’t relent, and instead of being cut in half all she got was a wound that would definitely scar.

She twisted to the right, throwing the blade over her head and off of her so she was on the outside of the droid. Then it twisted in turn to swing horizontally at her with
Its left arm, she ducked the swing and stepped in. Wrapping her left arm around its front, and stepping behind it so that her butt was physically touching its own, she threw all of her weight and strength into a twist. And the top-heavy droid went to the ground.

She wasted no time in executing the thing, pulling the trigger on her rifle, and putting a few bolts through the droid to make sure it was dead. Then after catching her breath for a moment she continued onward, she couldn’t stay still for long. They had a manor to take.

Thankfully the Mangoer droids were perhaps less effective at killing people themselves than the droids behind them. The manglers serving the same purpose as the militiamen under the Diarchy, cannon fodder to keep the actually valuable soldiers behind them from dying too quickly. That wasn’t to say that they were bad at their job, the ground was already a soft quagmire of blood and oil, the artillery pounding the earth only making it worse.

Then as she continued the charge a bolt of lighting eliminated two more of her fellows. She didn’t know them very well, the rest of her squad had been either killed or lost in the melee. But nonetheless they were her comrades, and it pained her to see them go. But that wasn’t the problem. The problem was they died to lightning, that meant Sith.

Her eyes turned to land on Serina Calis , the hope that she might survive immediately gone, replaced entirely with acceptance, and grim resolve. Serina didn’t even get to speak before Callista had resolved to sell her life dearly, and do whatever she could to bring this monster down with her. As unlikely as it was.

"Tell me, little girl… how much death will it take for you to realize this world belongs to me?"

The scraping of the halberd in the softened soil reached her ears. And she met Serina’s gaze not without fear, but with determination to see her job done. She knew what she was fighting against, and she knew she would lose.

A grim smile split her face. “As much death as we need to take it from you.”

Serina seemed to stalk forward. But Callista had no intention to simply wait for this demon. She would push her back. And Callista had one advantage that Serina likely didn’t have.

Callista was expendable.

She spoke into her communicator. “Artillery focus fire on my position. Sith target in vicinity.”

Varis Oakertain , Diarch Reign , Serina Calis

 

[CT-312]

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

“Dirt?”
“Did we get it?”

“I am looking.”

“Do you see it now?”
“Dirt”

“Shut. Up. I am waiting.”

“Dirt”
“Dirt”

“So help me god, I will throw you both off this ledge. If you’re going to keep distracting me.” answering coldly.

Whoever assigned her to these two, clearly were having a laugh. CT-312 never felt so verbally expressive until now. These two Troopers really tested her patience. Focusing back in the direction of the droid. The Scout Trooper could see red glowing eyes amidst the cloud of smoke and dust. Emerging practically unscathed. “Negative. It’s fully intact.”

“Did we miss?”

“No, the shots were on point…” CT-312 answered, observing the Droid advancing. It seemed that its weapon was reloaded. But it hasn’t fired a single shot in their direction yet.

Alarmed. Yellow spoke, “You’re telling us that all those mortars hit and it did nothing!”

“It most likely made it pissed”, Red Responded back.

“Yellow, Red. Open your comms to public frequency. See if you can hear any chatter about this type of droid.” The Scout Trooper relayed.

The canyon below was hectic. Bolt blasters, high energy glowing sticks of some kind, some crazy effects with the ground shattering, and gods know what else is happening. Nothing made sense. CT-312 kept an eye on the droid. ‘If it’s that armored...’, thinking about her time in Woostri fighting the Force Light Infused golem. She had an idea. Focusing on a single part of the droid, hoping to wear down the armor. Taking aim at the left leg, CT-312 pulled the trigger, firing another set of the heavy bolt blasters on that area.

“Someone faintly mentioned RBD droids!”
“What does that even mean?”

“Really. BAD. Decisions.” CT-312 heavily expressed. Mentally burned into her mind, ‘I swear Jacen, if we live through this. I’m going to kill you.’.

“I mean RDB.”

“You mean, Really. Dumb. Battles!”, Yellow exasperatedly shouted. “Because clearly it would be stupid of us Troopers to be engaging with something like THAT!”. Throwing their hands in the air, the Artillery Trooper ran over to where CT-312 was and looked at the battlefield taking place below. Pointing. “Those Sith Lords should be fighting those things. Not us!” Running back to where Red and the mortar was at.

“That’s not helpful information at all you two!” Shouting back at the Troopers. CT-312 had to stop shooting and just look blankly back at her squad. “It doesn’t matter what it’s called. It’s a problem!” She couldn’t tell if it was going to be this killer RDB Droid or the ‘Mustketch’ that will be the end of her. The killer droid was starting to look like the better option.

Wondering why mortars weren’t being launched. CT-312, turned her head back to see the two bumble Troopers pacing circles around each other. Clearly indicating they were frightened. They were rambling, slowly spiraling. Faintly, she heard the Yellow Trooper mentioning about making a run for it and that both Red and Dirt should do the same too with the Sith and Diarchy distracted with each other.

That was the straw that broke the Tauntaun’s back.

Looking back down at the advancing droid. Calculating the RDB’s movements, ‘I have time’. CT-312, quickly got up and silently strode over to Red and Yellow. Without warning, she whipped out the butt end of her DLT-19. Ramming it forcefully into the Incinerator Trooper’s abdomen. He dropped to his knees, hunched over cradling his stomach. Coughing. Yellow was startled. Quickly pushing her right palm up and pulling hard with her left hand, CT-312 used the weapon like a short stick. A heavy metal short stick. Connecting the same butt end to the Artillery Trooper’s helmet. Knocking him down. Groaning. Slinging her weapon. CT-312 grabbed Yellow by the collar of his armored chest piece. Dragging his taller frame with her 5’5 ft of a self. To the ledge of the canyon where the RDB droid was slowly advancing. As the Yellow Trooper was forced to look down the canyon straight into the RDB’s red glowing eyes, panic was heard in his voice.

“..H-heyy…L-let me up..”

CT-312 held him down, both arms behind his back. Pushing him into the ground. She drove her knee into his back. Pinning him as he tried to squirm free. Her tone came out calm, with each word meant as a threat, “You thought I was joking?”

“ARE YOU INSANE! LET ME UP”

“That RDB Droid hasn’t shot at us yet. I wonder how close it needs to be to start shooting. I’d say somewhere between close to mid” callously pointing out an observation about the droid. “And it’s getting awfully close.”

Red got up and ran towards Yellow to help. Without taking her focus off the pinned Artillery Trooper, CT-312 pulled out a blaster pistol from the side of her boot. Aiming it at the advancing Incinerator Trooper. He abruptly stopped in his tracks.

“You two are cowards.” a statement. “Tell me. Are you a rot to this mission?” a low menacing guttural tone boomed out of CT-312 voice modulator. “If so, I’ll root you out myself.” spat through gritted teeth.

“Take it easy now…You need us to face that droid…”

“Do I?”, her helmet tilted a smidge to the side. Turning her attention to Red. Glaring through her helmet’s visor. Void of any attachments, CT-312 reminded them both of the harsh truth they all face.

“We’re dead already. So what’s to fear?”

There was a brief silence.

“...If we’re going to die…” Yellow took a deep breath. Steeling himself. “Might as well be trying to take this damn droid down.” as Yellow watched the RDB droid slowly making its way. Continuously slashing and stabbing to those who opposed it.
“Instead of being labeled as cowards and put down like dogs”, Red nodded.

CT-312 got up, releasing Yellow. Quickly he stood up. Moving back from the ledge, brushing himself off. “Mustard, start using every different type of rounds you got. One of them has got to work.” Looking at Red, “Ketchup. Think your flames can reach that distance?”

“Not yet. It’ll be a waste of ammo if I were to try.”

“Grab Yellow’s rifle. He’ll be busy with handling the mortar. Space ourselves. Just incase it gets into range with its weapon”

Both Troopers ran to the mortar, the Incinerator trooper holstered his flamethrower to the backpack tank he was carrying. Grabbing the assault rifle blaster that the Artillery Trooper handed. Running back to the ledge he was on the far opposite side of CT-312.

“Mustard eh?”
“And Ketchup?”

“Yeah, don’t forget Dirt. Now, Let’s try this again”

Mustard and Ketchup chuckled. A small smile appeared beneath Scout Trooper’s helmet. The three Troopers thought along the same lines, ‘Ah, we’re all going to die. Might as well have fun.’

CT-312 started to call out the next set of coordinates to aim for. Instead of quick successions of mortars being launched out, it was slower than the norm. About a half a minute in between each shot. “Launching a fire incendiary, an ion, an explosive, and corrosive smoke round”. Yellow relayed in the comms.

...BOOM...BOOM...

She looked at Red. Nodding. “Want to live forever?”, both CT-312 and Red took aim. Simultaneously pulling the trigger, both shooting at the advancing droid from two different angles.

...BOOM...BOOM...

 

[Diarch Reign]

Objective II
​

Tags: Serina Calis Callista Sharde Varis Oakertain Darth Empyrean

---

Blood and Oil paved the way for the Diarch's advance, as it had in every war fought in which the Lord of the Diarchy lent his strength. The screams of the dead filled his ears, the scent of scorched metal stinging his nose. So far, par for the course. The Sith were strong but the grim determination of the Diarchy Armed Forces were gaining ground. Even under the unnatural eclipse that Reign now knew to be the power of some other being of immense strength upon the battlefield.

Determined himself to find the cause of this dread omen, the Diarch pushed forward, inch by inch through the mud and enemies. None could stand before him, he crushed a squadron of droids by barely moving his hand, cutting down foolish Sith looking for glory without so much as a second glance. He was on the hunt now.

However, a brief call from one he knew gave him pause, he had fought Serina before and while she was his enemy, the woman intrigued him.

"Good luck Diarch, you are going to need it!"

If a being such as Serina was wishing him luck, then he knew now that he would need to let go of his usual restraint that he showed upon the battlefield. This power would be his to face and his alone, it was beyond anyone else that fought and bled in the trenches about him.

Onward towards the building he pressed, each step a death knell within the force, the air seeming to shimmer around him with barely restrained power. Enemies crushed in the mere instant that the Diarch's gaze was cast upon them, for they were now seeing him in all his power, Reign truly unmasked.

Within the maelstrom of power that was the Diarch, a voice like death penetrated his mind

"Do not delay, Diarch. Your men need you.

At this spurring Reign moved, seeming almost a blur to those around him. If not for the death that laid in his wake, one would not think he had been there at all.

Then he saw him. A corpse of a man, floating, toes barely above the ground. And he knew then the being he faced. Long had whispers found him of the Emperor of the Sith, Longer still had Reign strove to rid the galaxy of his influence.

He ground to a halt before his grand opponent, the destruction of his path now finally settled. This was to be a clash of titanic proportions, any being caught in the vicinity was sure to be nothing but mist once these powers met in battle. One would only hope the planet would survive.

Meeting the Emperor's hateful eyes, the Diarch spoke with his usual confidence

"You summoned me, My Lord?"

 

[Darth Empyrean]

Tag | Diarch Reign​

​

Empyrean could see the Diarch approach from a mile away, and it did not startle him as it might others when the supreme speed of the being allowed him to be face to face with the Emperor in a split second. Empyrean's metal gaze only watched him, nearly apathetic to his arrival. Slowly, he fell from his floating position and square into step.​

​

"How interesting - they trained you well, dog. You even know how to address your betters."​

​

He mused on that for a moment, then glanced around at the dead nearby - each burned to death by Empyrean's purified hatred made manifest. Empyrean watched them for a moment, then turned back to the Diarch;​

​

"It seems you were too late for many of them. Shall you now try and avenge them? So be it. Come and see, Diarch.", he said, arms widening as he couched his staff in his armpit.​

​

"Come and see why I am the Dread Emperor of the Sith."​

 

[Diarch Reign]

Objective II
​

Tags: Darth Empyrean

---

Reign could not help but smirk in regards to the Emperor's jab. How typical of the Sith.

"A typical response from one so used to holding all the power"

Reign paused a moment looking at the men and women that had fallen before he arrived. Such loss would be remembered, avenged.
He knew the being in front of him would feed off any fear the Diarch may have, yet what was within him was not fear. Only Hatred, and Resolve.

"Before this day is out, you will remember their names, if I have to carve each of them in your putrid flesh."

As he approached, he deactivated his lightsaber, this was to be a battle of wills and of power, not of blades.

"Empires fall, and Emperors die, come, let me hasten you upon your journey"

With that, he lashed out in the force, utilizing the power of Force Destruction in the direction of his enemy, the concentrated energy field of force power vaporizing the vegetation that laid between the combatants.

 

[Darth Empyrean]

Tag | Diarch Reign

Fear. Hatred. Resolve.

It was a dire mistake to underestimate the Emperor - for he fed not just on fear, but all emotion. It was the negative ones that were just the more powerful. The resolve the Diarch held to kill him only made him stronger, such was the way of someone who had mastered the Dark Side in its full breadth. With that in mind, the Emperor watched and felt the Diarch build up Force Destruction in his hands and send it towards him.

A blast of power rarely seen in the galaxy, it sundered the very air as it snapped towards him like a disruptor. The Emperor had already seen it, seen the depth and width of the strike, he could even tell exactly where it stopped. So with a drop of his weight, he shot out to the left, pieces of his hair being destroyed by the destructive shockwave that narrowly missed him. For all the Diarch was, at least he was strong.

He was, however, wrong. Empyrean pointed his staff and its jaws towards the Diarch and let his power force its way through it. It was not a lightsaber, it was a Force Saber - and it embodied his spirit in the form of a black blade tinged in red. It did not sit statically at one length, but rather shot out at the Diarch like a rifle, but a rifle that left a blade in its wake. After the initial 'shot', the Emperor swung the blade down then brought it into a one handed spin as he walked the Diarch down.

"Many things die. I don't.", was all the response he offered the soon to be dead man himself.

 

[Naamino Zuukamano]

OBJ: BYOO Devotion of War
Interrogator: Tamsin Graves
Associations Being Questioned: Diarch Reign Diarch Rellik
Observer: Kivah

Outfit:
Belt of Strength, Field Com-Scan Link,
Well Worn Boots, Weal & Woe,
House Rakghoul Robes

​

"Don't worry I am only using it as a monitoring device, not for torture."

Reassuring, he thought dryly as he continued to control his breath.

"So, let's establish a base line." She nodded as the droid squeaked some binary code, confirming it was ready.

"Please state your full name, age, house in the academy, and what year student you are." All things Tamsin had information on in her data pad and info the droid had been given to help establish the base line.

"From there I will proceed to ask you some questions, answer to the best of your knowledge in best detail as you can. Do you understand?"

Naami merely nodded, horned head returning to the proud height that his stiff spine could offer while seated.

"Naamino Zuukamano, turned sixteen last month, House Rakghoul, and I just recently started taking second year courses with a few advanced placements in martial training."

The zabrak spoke in a calm, steady tone, all the while controlling his breath as if this were just another test of discipline and self control.