Dominion The Becoming | SO Dominion of Empty Hex (TSD Event Thread)

[Darth Empyrean]

The Galaxy feels as though it is groaning under unseen pressure, and its routes are warping in ways no one can explain. Whispers abound that the Blackwall, once the proud shield of Sith-claimed territories, now might be turning that protection inward—reshaping entire swaths of space, pushing some planets further away, and drawing new alignments where there were none before. The phenomenon has been christened the Sundering Dawn, a title both ominous and strangely poetic, as if the dawn has broken along fault lines never meant to be crossed.

Amid these shifts, rumors focus on the possibility that Empyrean himself could be the architect of this chaos—using arcane rituals to tear open or bend the veil between Realspace and the Nether. Worlds like Elrood and Pergitor already bear scars of this fracturing reality, and in hushed corridors, some even wonder if entire star systems have been displaced. The old ways of navigation are becoming unreliable, and no one knows where the next breach will occur.

Now, the Sith Order gathers in urgent councils and secret conclaves to debate the scope of these changes, wrestle with half-facts, and possibly exploit the chaos for their own gains. Suspicions rise, alliances falter, and the biggest question remains unanswered: Is this doomsday— or an opportunity to reshape the galaxy in the Sith's own image?

Objective I: Council of Fractures​

An emergency summit convenes within the Black Pyramid on Jutrand, where the ruling Sith Lords, strategists, and acolytes debate the reasons behind the Sundering Dawn. The once-revered Blackwall now stands accused of twisting reality, and each faction has its own theories. Some believe it has been sabotaged, others accuse Empyrean of deliberately using it to further his arcane ends, and a handful argue that the Blackwall is still their best defense against external threats.​

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Regardless of who is to blame, the discussion swiftly grows heated. Voices echo in the grand chamber, demanding answers and action—whether to dismantle the Blackwall entirely or strengthen it through new rituals and technology. With star maps becoming unreliable and fractures appearing across the Galaxy, the Sith are forced to ponder the unthinkable: if they cannot control the forces unleashed, they risk being devoured by the very shield they built.​

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Objective II: Echoes Beyond the Drift​

Beyond the known hyperlanes, a forward scouting fleet has been dispatched to locate and reestablish contact with the Aing-Tii, an enigmatic people whose spiritual insights have long interested the Sith. Unnervingly, all known routes to Aing-Tii space have gone silent, as though torn from the Galaxy or relocated entirely. Navigators report distortions and echoes in space, signals looping from points that should be hours behind them.​

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The scouting mission must adapt to new uncertainties: star map anomalies, gravitational distortions, and warnings of phantasmal illusions in the Force. Some vow to reclaim Ang-Tii knowledge and technology, while others simply hope to learn the truth of what happened to them. Yet the deeper this expedition ventures into uncharted territory, the stronger the unsettling sense that something or someone is shifting the Galaxy's shape for a dark purpose.​

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Objective III: Veil's Edge​

In regions near the Elrood and Pergitor systems—where the Veil between Realspace and the Nether has visibly thinned—Sith sorcerers and cult inquisitors gather to study these cosmic rifts firsthand. Strange anomalies swirl around them: localized storms of Force energy, worlds bled dry of their natural life force, and entire populations reporting nightmares of a universe flipped inside out.​

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Whether seeking to harness these breaches or close them, the Sith must carefully balance the pursuit of power against the mortal risk that the Nether could consume them. Ritual sites once hidden grow more unstable by the day, and the dark side resonates with opportunities too tempting for some to ignore. Each step closer to the Veil's edge unearths new secrets—and new dangers.​

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BYOO (Bring Your Own Objective)​

For those who prefer forging a personal path, the Sundering Dawn offers boundless possibilities. Investigate an unexplained tear in space, pursue hidden lore on the Blackwall's origins, or mount a covert mission to glean forbidden knowledge from the Nether's border. In a Galaxy increasingly unbound by old pathways, the only limit is your ambition—and the will of the Dark Side.​

 

[Darth Empyrean]

Objective 1
Tag | Open

Empyrean sat at the Assembly throne with a marked annoyance. He rarely sat in this throne, it served better as a means of intimidation than truly governing his Empire, but today was different. All Sith had been invited to contribute to a council to discuss what was happening - and Empyrean, for once, had no idea what exactly was going on.

He had, of course, heard the rumors it was him or his fault or even the fault of his Blackwall, but these were misplaced and idiotic. Empyrean had already done his due diligence and found the Blackwall was as subject to the Galactic changes as anything else, and anything implying otherwise was a bold faced ignorant lie. So the Emperor sat waiting for someone to give an opinion of substance.

Something to point him towards so he could kill - like he was best at. This playing around with mystery, with inevitability, did not sit well with the Emperor.

 

[Jacen Breska 'TK-710']

EQUIPMENT: DC-17m | Jacen’s Second Legion Armor
LOCATION: :: Eliminator-Class Cruiser- On Blackened Wings ::
TAG: @OPEN FOR OBJ3

A shimmer in the distance, a tear into hell itself. What am I supposed to do about that?!

On any normal day of the week, the Mess Hall of On Blackened Wings was dead at this time of day. On days like today, however, with a group of Sith ships looming dangerously close to, fundamentally a middle finger to the laws of nature itself? Seemed like everyone was thinking they might not get another chance to eat something. Jacen, however, wasn’t very hungry as he stared out one of the many viewports of the mess hall and sat at a table filled with his fellow troopers. Hand firmly cusped around his mouth, foot thumping wildly under the table. Everyone else in his team was eager to forget or, at least, not worry about something they couldn’t change. It was something about them that Jacen admired, even coveted. He could not help but worry, but think about it.

“Jace, you haven’t eaten anything all day. Eat something,” a pat on the shoulder from one of his squad mates brought him back to reality. He blinked and looked away from the viewport, meeting the gaze of his comrades and forced a smile, “Sorry. Not that hungry I guess,” he answered, looking down at his food, then back up at the trooper, “I’m good, you have it.” He rotated his body, swinging his leg back over the bench and stood up, looking at his team that was now looking at him. “I’m going to go suit up,” he said with a sigh and left the mess hall behind.

His unit’s barracks wasn’t too far away from the mess, and within minutes he was at his locker strapping on his armor, chipped, scratched and damaged from his missions, and slinging his weapon around his shoulder. The promise of a stressful day always helped focus Jacen on a singular task. It was just when he didn’t have a task to focus on…

Satisfied that he was as ready as he could be, Jacen exitted the barracks, helmet nestled underneath his arm, and turned down the ship corridor, heading towards the central command tower turbolift. Entering the lift, he pressed a button to send the turbolift a few levels below the command bridge to one of the many briefing rooms.

No one was in there, thankfully, and likely no one would be. Not that that mattered to Jacen any, as he made his way to the back of the room, towards the large window that made up almost the entirety of the back wall. A holo-projector in the middle of the room showed images of planets affected by this catastrophe, but Jacen ignored them, choosing to stare into the abyss itself.
“They want us here because their powers’d cause problems,” he said under his breath, “And they wouldn’t send their little Freaksoldiers either because they’re all freaked out with rituals and crap. No, it’s us. Gotta be us,” Jacen shook his head and turned away from the window, finding a seat nearby. “Probably should head to the Hangar soon. Beeeet they’ll be calling for deployment soon.”

Jacen sighed, clicking his tongue as he resigned himself to going probably into actually literally hell, “Just another day,” he muttered, rising to his feet and staring down into the black visor of his helmet, before walking silently to stare back out the window.
​

 

[Darth Carnifex]

It was unprecedented.

Not the meeting, the Dark Lord's mind barely even registered the other Sith around Him. Not that many were in close proximity, He was sequestered in His own private seat surrounded by the leaders of His new Sepulchral along with the most loyal of the priesthood. Foetid liches swaddled in religious veneration, empty sockets smoldering with insidious devotion.

From the moment the disturbances began, they'd poured over the endless tomes searching for meaning and significance. They pontificated on premonitions and the crackling of bones, weaving a web of rationalization to better come to terms with everything.

But the Dark Lord was quiet, His mind transfixed. It had taken place in the deepest sanctum of the Oracles, dozens in communion with the Dark Side. Peering through the kaleidoscopic chaos of what could be, always searching on behalf of their Lord for the path forward. It all came to an end in screams and blood, each and every one of them seized by some unknown epilepsy before dying simultaneously. The Dark Lord had only just managed to save His Supreme Prophet, who now rested in a coma in His personal medical suite.

Darth Carnifex looked to where Darth Empyrean sat, both His erstwhile ally and adversary. Undoubtedly, the Dead God was afflicted with the same confusion and frustration. In that, they were wholly aligned. Wringing His hands, Carnifex growled in His throat as He began to tune back into the inane banter of the Sith congregation.

"It is not the Blackwall," muttered the Dark Lord under His breath, "It is something elsewhere, elusive."

Darth Empyrean ​

 

[Kaila Irons]

Wearing: Dress
Tag: Darth Empyrean Darth Carnifex | Open

It had been some time since Kaila gazed at the artistry of the black throne room's ceiling.

But the longer she stared at the swirling galaxy above, the more she felt as though there were fewer stars somehow. Fanged god, she thought, even I am going insane.

All around her was the din of politics as hooded and masked figures of all station and disposition argued. She had never seen such chaos take her home, having not arrived until after it's era of civil war and assassination. Instead it reminded her of the Mandalorians, so quick to blame one another and make threats, though it seemed The Emperor's presence prevented steel from being drawn, quieting their claims to whispers in shaded corners.

More unnerving than any rumor however, was the silence of he and Darth Carnifex .

In all her adult life Kaila had never seen her former master frustrated in such a way, nor without a plan. It was one of those rare moments in which she wished He had some guidance to share, even poisoned.

Finally, she had enough of the chaotic whispers.

With a deep breath the young knight stepped forward, golden eyes sweeping over the crowd with uncertainty, yet determination all the same.

"My lords and ladies," she swallowed.

"Perhaps if we solve the challenge of navigation in this new world first, we may have a means to explore it's origins?"

Some quieted, as she looked around, others did not.

"I have been to a place built by our predecessors, a thing of magick and technology both."

"It is called "The Warlock's gate" of Dathomir."

The very same Pom Stych Tivé had taken her through some time ago. Now it could be their salvation.

"It could transport a part of the world and those within it to the nether. If we could reverse engineer that technology, perhaps it could be used in an engine, an alternative to Hyperspace travel, allowing us to bypass these anomalous obstacles and find out what is happening out there."

"And take advantage of the chaos." she hummed, gloved hand sweeping over the crowd.

"Surely the rest of the galaxy is reeling as we are. If we could take the initiative with such technology, we can hit them while they're down, and even turn newly isolated worlds to our cause, as their only means of salvation."

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[Gerwald Lechner]

WEARING: This
WEAPONS: Ferrum Solus | Blodmåne | Strømafbryder
SHIP: Úlfs Reiði (Wolf's Fury)
TAG: Jacen Breska 'TK-710' | OPEN

He should have been in the council meeting, but the threat of a thinning veil between the Netherworld and Sith space was too urgent for the Dread Wolf to ignore. The usual posturing, subtle barbs, and power plays that filled those meetings, he hated them. Politics had always grated against something primal in him. The Wolf was made for war, not words, and the petty rivalries and maneuvering of the Sith council tried his patience every time he was summoned to a seat he’d never asked to hold.

Had his experience with such metaphysical forces been different, Gerwald might have dismissed the warning signs entirely. But how could he?

The Confederacy had been gutted by an event just like this. Naboo which had once been a jewel among worlds had been left in ruin. The Knights Obsidian, guardians of the realm, were shattered, sacrificed. They had been slain to banish the otherworldly creature that had torn through reality and carved a wound into the galaxy’s heart. The power it wielded had been terrible, raw, and without precedent. Gerwald had not seen its equal since.

Was it fear that compelled him to investigate what might now attempt to slip through that weakened barrier between real and unreal?

He didn’t know.

But he was certain there were monsters in the dark that must never be allowed to escape.

His thoughts wandered inevitably, unavoidably, to Naedira Darcrath . His hand moved before he realized it, reaching out in search of the ring he used to wear out of instinct. She lived, yes, but the weight of being her tether had not lessened with her return. No one truly understood what she had become. There were no tomes, no scrolls, no ancient texts offering guidance.

Had Srina Talon twisted the Force into some echo of alchemy to create what now lived in Naedira’s place?

It was possible. The Echani had grown beyond powerful. She had transcended. Gerwald didn’t doubt his own potential, but he had always wondered whether he could ever pay the price that kind of power demanded.

The hangar thrummed with activity as his ship drifted toward the designated coordinates. The entirety of the Second Legion wasn’t needed—not yet—but several vessels under his command had already been dispatched. The rest would remain on standby. If this anomaly proved real, if the veil tore further, then every warmaster would be summoned.

Gerwald needed one last look at the map. He turned without a word and stepped into the turbolift.

The command chamber was still, quiet in the way rooms often are when burdened with heavy thoughts. Gerwald entered with a sigh, golden eyes dulled with exhaustion. He didn’t immediately register the silent figure standing toward the back, partially lost in the dim light.

His armor’s helmet echoed as it met the table’s surface with a soft thud.

Only then did he look up and see @Jacen Breska ‘TK-710’ stationed like a statue of war in the far corner, staring into some fixed point beyond the transparisteel window.

Gerwald’s boots made no effort to soften their approach. Echoes chased him across the room as he moved toward the trooper. They had worked together before, hunting down remnants of Confederacy tech that Gerwald believed could be repurposed. His Second Legion needed an edge, and this technology could give it to him.

Other Sith legions wouldn’t make use of it like his riders would.

That was the truth, or at least the excuse he told himself.

The deeper truth was less flattering: he needed the advantage. For all his hopes that the Revivalists might one day unify the scattered Sith under a single vision, Gerwald wasn’t naïve. That dream might never come to pass. And if the time came to stand alone, he would.

The Second Legion had to be his. Entirely. Absolutely. Without question.

He knew only one way to ensure that.

“It is beautiful,” he said softly, breaking the silence, “even if it is terrifying.”

The words were more human than most ever heard from him. A rare glimpse beneath the iron.

“‘Are you ready’ feels like a foolish question here. I don’t think anyone is ever ready for what waits beyond the veil.”

He stopped beside the trooper, gazing down with a faint but genuine smile. There was a hint of sadness in it, the kind that was carried by those who had seen too much.

“Who is your unit commander?” he asked. “I’m reassigning you.”

 

[Darth Strosius]

Objective: 2 Echoes Beyond the Drift
Equipment: Lightsaber - Sword - Dagger - Robes
Tags: Open!
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"The calculations have been run a hundred times before, there shouldn't be a nebula here!" The captain slammed his hands down on the holotable in frustration, drawing a grimace that quickly morphed into a glare from his navigation officer. "I am aware but the fact of the matter is quite evident, just look out of the viewport!" True to their word the vast gas clouds just outside of the bridge's transparisteel window were hard to ignore. Especially when they were supposed to be in an asteroid belt, not in the center of a nebula.

"This is the fifth hyperspace route that we've traveled! There's no reasonable-" The door to the bridge slid open and all the crew within tensed and fell silent at once as they turned to regard the looming figure that stood in the doorway. "Correct. There is no reasonable explanation." Heavy footsteps and dragging robes echoed in the quiet bridge as Darth Strosius slowly strode to the holotable and idly nodded to the captain and his officer as He rested His hands upon the console.

The projected map and routes had all been meant to lead to Aing-Tii but thus far none had proven successful, with the scouting party's ships somewhat split up across the various routes in order to try and find the path to the world. "Aing-Tii is not where it is meant to be." The distrubing realization had been curled in the back of the crew's minds for quite some time now but the Sith Lord was the first to say it aloud. The first to confirm what couldn't be possible despite all the evidence clearly pointing to it. "Send word to the rest of the fleet, the Gauntlet shall spearhead the path to Aing-Tii."

The captain and navigation officer shared a look as Darth Strosius switched the map off, leaving only the blips signifying the positions of the ships in the fleet being projected. "My lord we cannot reach Aing-Tii." The navigator clutched their datapad tighter as His head cocked in their direction. "We can and we will. I will guide our way through to the planet. Follow my directions when plotting jumps and leave buoys at each stop we make, we will chart a new course."

Despite the reluctance on both of their faces the officers set about their orders without hesitation, the navigator returning to their terminal while the captain sent out a message for the rest of the scouting fleet to link up on the Gauntlet's position and prepare for blind jumping. The masked man closed His eyes and allowed His senses to drift far beyond the bridge, searching across gas clouds and the vast spaces between stars. While not as easily detected as a world with a nexus, Aing-Tii was not unfamiliar nor unknown in its rather distinct presence in the Force.

The Kathol Rift was dangerous even when using well traveled hyperspace lanes but when those routes had evidently been made irrelevant it made the task of reaching the isolated planet even more daunting. Daunting, but not impossible. Darth Strosius stretched His senses across the Rift before they finally brushed against what He knew to be the world hidden deep within it, just enough to get a direction. Just enough to chart the first jump coordinate. A quick word to the navigation officer and a brand new jump target was set as the Gauntlet entered hyperspace.

 

[Jacen Breska 'TK-710']

EQUIPMENT: DC-17m | Jacen’s Second Legion Armor
LOCATION: BRIEFING ROOM
TAG: Gerwald Lechner | @OPEN FOR OBJ3

Jacen allowed himself to be lost in thought, unaware of his surroundings in their entirety as he continued to stare at the cosmic anomaly in the darkness. As always, before a mission, he thought about what was to come and what has passed. Units like his began to spread throughout Sith space. Where before, the first drop on Woostri started with thirty or so. Thirty soldiers, sole survivors, picked from across planetary defense forces. People who shouldn't have been alive. People who, if they died on a suicide mission...it was no real loss for the Sith. People who were dead already.
He wondered, how many of his walking dead comrades had fallen since? How many more? How many would touch that anomaly, never to return? How many would he be responsible for?

“It is beautiful,” he said softly, breaking the silence, “even if it is terrifying.”

The sudden break of the silence startled Jacen, knocking him out of his train of thought as he turned his head to see Lord Gerwald Lechner approaching. "My Lord, forgive me,” he bowed his head softly, before returning to gaze outside the window as the Sith Lord came to join him, looking back out at the anomaly.

"It's hard to appreciate the beauty of something so terrifying," he said, almost to himself, as he watched. What it meant for the men, that mortal element so oft forgotten by the powers that be. No glory to be won today for those who went into the dark never to return.
Jacen sighed, wondering to himself how anyone regardless of any level of personal power could possibly be ready for anything such as this. There were incredibly powerful people in the galaxy, sure. People who could do great and terrible things. But next to the...implication of the Nether? Lord Lechner’s question hung in the air as Jacen contemplated his response, it was the type of question, the type of answer, really, that he’d spend minutes talking about. But he tried to keep it brief, concise.
“I’ll do my best, my Lord. Expect a top performance out of me and my men and you won’t be disappointed,” he bowed his head again, forcing a smile to return to Lord Lechner’s. It was about all anyone could be expected to do, their best. Would that he could, Jacen'd go out there now and hold the rift closed by hand, but he doubted that would actually work. Or, if it would, he probably didn't have the muscles for it.

“Who is your unit commander?” he asked. “I’m reassigning you.”

Jacen paused, blinking quickly as he thought how best to answer that question. There was the Gamemaster, the enigmatic shadowed person or three that sent him and other units like his out on missions throughout Sith Space. But was he a ‘commander’? That much was never really explained. They were all kind of just…fire and forget soldiers that sometimes came back. It was an arrangement that...began to cause some manner of distress to Jacen.
Sometimes no one came back. How many still alive from Woostri? 6? 7? How many lost since?
“My Lord,” he started, holding a hand out and tilting his head, as if hoping the rest of the words would be summoned out, “I suppose it is fair to say you are my commander. Where you order, I obey.”
​

 

[Lirka Ka]

OBJECTIVE 2
TAGS Darth Strosius Christina Locke Odrin Rath

Aing-Tii. Ever enigmatic, the eve promising luster of knowledge and power that the Sith so desperately craved to extract from that violent lot. She had heard of them before, studied them briefly in the great many tomes and grimoires of the Empire in the quest for understanding.

She had written off the Aing-Tii rather quickly. There was power there, that was undeniable, but it was power Lirka scoffed at. The idea of the wider force was not unheard of, the “spectrums of light and dark” - not dissimilar to the Tund’s belief of the Unity, Lirka had noted. Both of which she deemed drivel. And more importantly, flow walking. Time manipulation, future sight, the work of oracles and soothsayers. Things that Lirka gave only scorn, weakness that the Sith coveted like gems.

Though, the scorn was shared ultimately. Lirka had made particular note of the Aing-Tii’s hatred for people of Lirka’s grim profession. It wasn’t an uncommon thought, plenty of people within the Order and beyond would have preferred to see all slavers put into the dirt - yet, she found some small comforts in knowing the ire between herself and the Aing-Tii would be mutual.

But alas, when she had been attached to the scouting fleet the Once-Sephi had little choice but to accept. Her long absence trapped in Wild Space had made her a perfect candidate for navigating this new chaos, albeit trapped in a vessel not her own: wisely, the Sith had considered that the Shackles of Ambition would have only angered the already quick to violence Aing-Tii, leaving Lirka unfortunately stuck at the mercy of other navigators. Yet, she was not entirely alone. For Lirka, learning from her foul master, had picked up a stray. Christina Locke

A few pulls of the bureaucratic strings and not an inconsiderable amount of threats of bodily harm and Lirka had dragged the newcomer along as her attaché. It seemed a decent enough test of capability, presuming things went as Lirka foresaw - bloody, and likely unproductive. With the presence of Darth Strosius couldn’t help but assume this would end bad for her in one way or another, but as they say: nothing ventured, nothing gained.

With the beckon of the Gauntlet leading the charge forward to Aing-Tii, Lirka had seen it fit to wait in an observatory port with the many of the other gathered assembly of scouting Legionnaires and Sith - almost a pitiful parody of the grand assembly of the grand lords, ladies, and governors happening on Jutrand. Clawed hands clasped behind her back as they so often were, lenses gazing out to the void around them as she tried to note any stars that seemed out of place compared to her usual contemplations. When the monstrous woman spoke, it was to no one in particular - she needed some sort of in house entertainment for what she presumed was going to be a long trip digging around for Aing-Tii.

“So, what do you make of it all?”

A question better suited for those on Jutrand, but what place did a cudgel have among diplomats?

 

[Merion Oreno]

OBJECTIVE 2: ECHOES BEYOND THE DRIFT

Darth Strosius stretched His senses across the Rift before they finally brushed against what He knew to be the world hidden deep within it, just enough to get a direction. Just enough to chart the first jump coordinate. A quick word to the navigation officer and a brand new jump target was set as the Gauntlet entered hyperspace.

Which made Merion's main reason to be here not just redundant, but possibly dangerous. He'd been assigned to get out here and instinctively astrogate by virtue of a) the titanic privilege of being the grandson and nephew of notorious Sith Lords and, more importantly, b) the fact that, thanks to the Cult of the Central Isopter's skill of seeking out past, present, and future disasters, he was actually getting good at astrogation. Not a particularly traditional Sith ability, but one Prince Merion Oreno Varanin had, apparently — and one that had become much, much more valuable.

Because the stars had shifted, the hyperlanes snapped, and there were now disasters everywhere. Merion had already helped a couple of people re-chart a couple of praedia and earned a couple of favours. He'd liked it. Felt like a little Dark Side Coren Starchaser.

All this was moot right now. If Darth Strosius could do his own astrogation, the best Merion could do was lurk, learn, and confirm. The jump felt safe to him too so he said nothing. Back-seat driving, on this ship, with this driver, did not feel safe at all.

 

[Ashin Cardé Varanin]

OBJECTIVE ONE

strategists, and acolytes debate the reasons behind the Sundering Dawn. The once-revered Blackwall now stands accused of twisting reality, and each faction has its own theories.

For her part, Ashin had chosen a different kind of silence. She'd engaged in the what-ifs and thought experiments with old acquaintances, to be sure — a good fraction of these people had trained on the Pomojema at some point — but kept her true concerns behind her mask. Because the dream she'd faced had disturbed her in ways she couldn't yet explain, and left her furious without a target. She did not miss the silence of Darth Empyrean or Darth Carnifex . She assumed they were equally disturbed by these disturbing times.

"Surely the rest of the galaxy is reeling as we are. If we could take the initiative with such technology, we can hit them while they're down, and even turn newly isolated worlds to our cause, as their only means of salvation."

Mention of the Warlock's Gate snapped her head around and interrupted both the social speculation and the brooding behind it. She'd known the warlock in question, lives and lives ago, even taken shelter with his family once, fended off his son's interest, at a waterfall city on Ossus. Long before she or that warlock turned to the Dark Side.

It hadn't ended well. Not well at all. Her blood still itched with the Sith poison, still vibrated with his younger son's death-scream when that assassin came for her. The memory came back clearer than most did from that time almost a century back.

"The gate leads into Sinner's Rue," Ashin contributed. "It has clear skies and long sightlines. So far as anything of the Netherworld can be called practical, the idea's worth exploring. Every government is scrambling to re-chart starlanes and reconnect worlds. An unexpected means of travel, even just for advance forces, would let the Sith come at them sideways."

 

[Madrona A’Mia]

Jutrand
Black Pyramid
Throne Room
Objective One​

Clad in simple garments, a dark robe with a circle of faint red for Horuset embroidered on her back, A'Mia took up a few meters wide and thrice more meters tall of a space within the Black Pyramid. She tucked herself as demurely as a botanical of her stature could, very near the Eternal Father, Darth Carnifex , though of course his retinue buffered them. He was the only one of any power within these halls that she shared a previous connection with or had any firsthand context for.

A'Mia knew of the Emperor of course, had heard the grandiose tales and sordid whispers. It was far different though for one such as herself, a scientist and one with the Sight at that, to see Darth Empyrean in person. Her Lord Master need be absent for these matters, as he was grappling visions of his own. Given that Darth Caedes could not be present and with Elmindra Xitaar quite preoccupied finalizing the details of Korriban's fleet, the Lord Seer found herself on Jutrand for the very first time.

The neti took it all in with large, semi-luminescent eyes. For now, she didn't wish to draw attention to herself but she was intent on gathering as much information as she could. After much silence and a few murmured words from the Butcher King, Kaila Irons spoke up with a proposition and A'Mia listened intently. Her form remained largely bipedal and humanoid, her lovely nymph-like face impassive and framed by long bright green locs. The neti's interest was immensely piqued by talk of a Gate, but she held out from commenting so that others might speak.

 

[Serina Calis]

"The die is cast."

Spoiler

Objective 1 - Darth Empyrean Kaila Irons Ashin Cardé Varanin Darth Carnifex Madrona A’Mia



The air inside the Crimson Spire was unnaturally still.

Even at cruising velocity, even with a thousand engines purring through her hull, the mercenary flagship of Serina Calis felt more like a tomb than a warship. No chatter, no laughter, no barked commands. Just silence, broken only by the low rhythmic chimes of battle-readiness indicators and the distant, subtle grind of metallic joints—the breathing of machines not yet ordered to kill.

She stood alone on the observation deck, one gloved hand resting upon the curved rail, the other clasped behind her back. Her gaze did not move from the viewport, where the stars bled like wounds across the endless dark. They twisted strangely now—warped in slow spirals, the afterimage of each one lingering just a little longer than it should, as though reality itself were catching its breath.

Or dying.

Beyond the glass, her fleet moved like predators in orbit around her—silent, lean, and waiting. Ships. Mercenary contracts and black-market cruisers. Automated platforms armed with ion-disruption lances. Modified ancient hulls turned into siege ships. Dozens of personal promises, debts, favors, threats. This was not the elegant might of a Sith fleet backed by the Tsis'Kaar or the Kainite. This was the product of willpower. Manipulation. A force conjured from smoke and gold and threat.

It was hers.

And with it, she would ruin Saijo.

She did not smile.

The holoprojector beside her hummed to life, flickering into the image of the Council of Fractures now unfolding within the Black Pyramid of Jutrand. The scale of the throne room dwarfed its occupants, though none would ever admit to feeling small there. Even through holo, the chamber exuded gravitas—vaulted obsidian walls inscribed with old Sith writs, carved from stone that had never known sunlight. The flicker of red torches. The low chorus of scheming voices. The Emperor. Carnifex. A hundred minor lords and whispering snakes.

She watched in silence, arms still folded, her reflection faint in the transparisteel behind her.

Her own image sat among them—an illusion projected into the seat reserved for her, composed and poised, legs crossed and eyes glinting like daggers. She could have spoken. She had permission. The floor was open.

But what did she have to say?

That the Blackwall groaned like a cracked dam?

That the stars she had mapped the week before no longer led where they should?

That she had awoken screaming, hours before the council was called, drenched in sweat and clutching her bedsheets like they were the edge of sanity? That she had dreamt of a rose, turning to ash in her hand?

No.

She had no desire to confess that her power—her mind, her dominance—had been touched by something older. Something bigger. She refused to stand before gods and monsters alike and confess that even she, Serina Calis, architect of Polis Massa's resurrection, orchestrator of Operation Daggerfall, the venom behind the silk, the voice behind a thousand silent murders—did not know.

So she listened.

Kaila spoke first—brave, bright-eyed. Still believing that the galaxy could be charted. That reason could mend the rift.

The mention of the Warlock's Gate pulled at Serina's thoughts like a tide. She had read of it, once. Long ago. Its existence like myth wrapped in technology, something impossible made real by the ancient witches of Dathomir and the madmen who had loved them.

Serina's head tilted slightly, lips parting just so. She ran her tongue against her lower teeth in thought. A hyperspace alternative. A navigational triumph. Something unorthodox.

Something exploitable.

It was all very fascinating. Very hopeful.

But as Serina stood among the hum of her preparing fleet, among warriors oiling blades and inspecting munitions in sacred silence, she realized something else:

Hope was for people with time.

And Serina had run out of time.

Daggerfall was already in motion.

The battle would begin within hours.

She could already see the outline of Saijo on her distant star maps—a fortress world bristling with planetary defenses, its orbital grid humming with arrogant, overconfident security. It had never been conquered. Never even been threatened. Its governor, Darth Fury, had ruled it with the kind of cold, granite control that others mistook for strength.

But not Serina.

She saw him for what he was: a monument to stagnation. A slab of stone that needed to be shattered to show the galaxy what she was capable of.

This wasn't just ambition. This wasn't strategy.

This was revenge.

The Free Trade Council… the way they looked at her. The way they laughed.

She had been a joke to them. Young. Pretty. Bold. Loud. An upstart Sithling playing at power while the true masters chuckled behind gloved hands. They had seen her as a curiosity.

Saijo would be her reply.

Not with words. With fire.

A chime broke her thoughts. A subtle tone. Her second-in-command, Commander Yalthor, appeared in her peripheral vision and saluted.

"Governor Calis," he said. "Final check complete. Bombardment projections in place. Shock-trooper boarding parties await your word. We're two hours from optimal engagement range."

She turned her head slightly toward him, eyes like twin blades under glass.

"Execute contingency pre-loads. No broadcasting. No warnings. When we arrive, we hit first."

"Yes, ma'am."

"And Yalthor?"

"Yes?"

"If we win… no survivors. Not on the surface. Not in orbit. Not in the bunkers. Saijo must scream loud enough for every Sith in the galaxy to listen."

He nodded once, grim.

As he left, Serina finally moved—her hand lifting to her neck, fingers brushing across the obsidian pendant she wore just beneath her armor. A gift from no one. A reminder of the price of miscalculation.

Her eyes fell on the holoprojector again.

They were still debating. Still arguing.

Still hoping.

And across the stars, she was already making the first move.

In the Black Pyramid, her image sat silent.

But in truth, aboard her vessel, Serina Calis stared forward, the soft glint of fire dancing in her eyes, as if she could already see the planet aflame.

"Let them debate in marble halls," she whispered to no one. "Let them philosophize and scheme and shiver beneath the Emperor's gaze."

Her gloved hand reached out—past the holoprojector, past the flickering stars—to where Saijo's fate waited like a trembling pulse on the edge of a blade.

"I'll show them what it means to reshape the galaxy."

And with that, she turned away.

Back to the blood. Back to war.

 

[Odrin Rath]

OBJECTIVE 2: ECHOES BEYOND THE DRIFT

Equipment: Lightsaber & Armor
Assets: Starship
Tags: Darth Strosius Lirka Ka Christina Locke

The corvette lingered close by the Gauntlet, it's bridge staff also just as bewildered after yet another known hyperspace lane to their target was another bust. Aing-Tii was proving difficult to reach in the aftermath of this galaxy wide event. Absolute chaos.

Though this would be his final action in public for awhile before plans with his co-conspirator Serina Calis finally came to fruition.

Odrin gazed out through the transparisteel windows at the large gas cloud before their small fleet. His navigation officer was just as stumped as the rest of the fleets, even as the bridge crew argued amongst themselves for some sort of answer to please their Sith overseers.

This was frustrating and quickly becoming a bore. Odrin had tagged along in the hopes of smashing some religious zealots heads in when they no doubt refused to rejoin the Empire. Not to re-chart known space. Or what should be known space. Either way, Odrin was built for war. Not navigation.

"My Lord, the Gauntlet has sent word for the rest of the fleet to follow their nav beacon. Their Dark Lord apparently has found a way through."

Odrin's red eyes quickly locked onto the larger Indictable-class Frigate. It served as this little expeditions flagship by right of rank, not that Odrin had anything to argue against such decision. He was only here for the fun of it. Fun which he was growing tired of searching for.

"Very well. Wished they would have figured this out sooner but better late then never. Helm, locked onto the Gauntlet's signature and prepare to jump."

Odrin turned and gestured for the Captain of the ship to get the fuck out of his chair as the big man settled in. About fucking time something happened.

 

[Christina Locke]

//: Darth Strosius / Lirka Ka / Odrin Rath //:
Objective: 2 Echoes Beyond the Drift

“So, what do you make of it all?”

"This is... a karked up mess. And boring." Chris bothered to reply with a few slow blinks.

Staring out of the viewport as ships began to jump into the unknown at the orders of someone with a much fatter wallet than her no doubt.

Pulled from what she could call the humdrum of life to perform what amounted to a test. Still shaking the long sleep from her body with a large yawn as she stretched. Thankful that the majority of the wounds had healed on their own with only a little help in the form of direct injected applications of bacta. Her knee at least felt like it would splinter for putting pressure on her big toe anymore.

So she had that going for her.

"So. The Aing-Tii." Hand checking the holstered pistol on her ribs as her whole body turned to Lirka. "Think they'll attack first or talk?"

If she was gonna be stuck on the ship, she was at least going to have a little bit of fun wasting the air in it. Besides. Lirka had said something first. She was just building on that invitation. Idle hands checking over her weapons once more until the only thing she had left to adjust was the uniform atop her harness.

She hadn't been able to mess with ships like a certain Locke could. Not yet anyway.

Someday maybe. But today wasn't that someday. Instead today was the someday that she was stuck watching ships play an interesting version of follow the leader. Where straying from the path meant possibly ending up in a blackhole or a collapsing star. All done through a messed up hyperlane route to a place they had supposedly already been. If nothing else, it was going to be an interesting day.

So long as she stayed on everyone's good side and watched her mouth.

 

[Kivah]

Objective II: Echoes Beyond the Drift
Tags: Naamino Zuukamano | Darth Strosius | Odrin Rath | Lirka Ka | Christina Locke
Ship: Kivah's TIE Reaper

The heck did she know about the Aing-Tii? Well beyond everything in the books, maps, pictures, and every scrap of information about the reclusive aliens the archivists on Korriban could put in front of her and force her to cram study before shoving her aboard her little shuttle to rendezvous with one of the Indictable frigates heading to their little patch of space. It seemed like whatever was haunting the hyperlanes was really getting to some of the ranking Sith Lords in a way that she hoped didn't reflect on the Empire as a whole. In all this mess there were at least two bright spots. The first being that the night before setting out, she'd been able to sneak away with her racing swoop and some hard liquor and had managed to undo much of the forced learning that had been inflicted upon her. The second was the good luck at having Naamino along with her for the mission. She had been far too busy pretending not to have a hangover and killer headache to interact with the Indictable's crew beyond sitting in on a few meetings where everyone agreed that they had no idea what was going on (but would assuredly find out once they arrived) and that of course they'd arrive safely and as expected (unless they didn't, in which case it would be an excellent opportunity to study this phenomena and not at all a disaster or fault of the crew's).

Having the Zabrak along also meant that she was able to foist flying off on the boy rather than do it herself once they had launched to explore their part of the Kathol Rift. Kivah liked flying and normally wouldn't have trusted anyone else to touch her ship, but she'd taught Naamino some on their last trip in the Reaper and the stuff they were doing here with its long and boring legs between waypoints was the worst flying there was to her. Plus she had her integrated copilot watching him and could take back control at any time from her usual station. Following the nav beacons laid out by the Gauntlet along with the rest of the fleet would hopefully be rather dull. So for her part, she kept her eyes moving from the scanners to the generous view provided by the viewport of the brightly colored nebula beyond.

"You know, they say the nebula makes you hallucinate." She checked over the TIE's light panel and sensor readouts again with an easy boredom. "I wonder if it'll be anything like all these dreams people are having, or more like a trip. Some of these people could really lighten up." Deciding to take her own advice, she keyed on Livestock for the Machine's latest pirate album out of the corpo sec and let the fuzz-grunge guitar and speed drums bounce around the cockpit for the opening overture. It's lost some of its depth without the duracrete expanses of corpo architecture to bounce off of and echo about, but the metal of the ship does a close approximation before she turns it down to an almost background level of noise. A thought struck her, and rather than turning her chair, she twisted around to face Naamino. "So, have you been practicing flying since the last time? Myunnah got you that skyhopper thing."

 

[Lirka Ka]

OBJECTIVE 2
TAGS Darth Strosius Christina Locke Odrin Rath Merion Oreno Kivah

For a moment, Lirka stood there in contemplative silence. Then spoke with something that almost bordered on understanding, like unraveling some new discovery about an alien species.

"The Locke bloodline truly has such an eloquent way with words."

Though really, as much as Lirka liked to tout herself as some beckon of knowledge, philosophy, and art. At her core she was a murderous mercenary just as crude as the lot of them - she had just spent too much time around Moffs to cuss as much as they did. Or she was just old now. Lirka wasn't entirely sure which of the two had smacked her first. She gave the newest member of her entourage a quick look over, once, then twice. She seemed ready enough for a fight, and Lirka most certainly was expected one - she shared as much immediately with Christina Locke

"The calm before the storm, boring, if you don't know what to look for. The Aing-Tii, according to most records, are violently xenophobic and detest people of my...profession...rather intently. Assuming they have not been wiped out by stellar anomoly: yes, Warrior Locke, they will almost certainly attempt to murder us."

Warrior. Lirka liked that word quite a bit. A quirk of speech from old age, and general lack of respect for rank. Everyone who fell even remotely under her umbrella became "warrior", a quaint little name considering it really hadn't been that long ago she had been trying to smash the young Locke's skull in for fun. Lirka's eyes soon turned to the void, watching as ship after ship took the leap of faith after the Gauntlet.

To some extent, she hoped their pathfinder exploded into a fiery mess so the mere concept of Darth Strosius would be nothing but an obnoxious memory of anti-Kainate agitators. They could only be so lucky.

Soon, Lirka felt their ship rumble as it prepared to join the fray. Making the jump into the maddening streaks of hyperspace, Lirka found comfort in them, if for nothing else they reminded her of the prospect of distant Otherspace...she couldn't help but ponder in that strange esoteric world had something to do with the mess happening before them. Yet, never one to stay silent for too long. She made another observation, ever so slightly goading as she so often did.

"You don't keep your hands still. Are you afraid?"

Lirka was still as a droid, though really, wearing a suit like hers was like cheating. What was there really to check?

 

[Elani Zambrano]

The Sith Order. So many warriors of the Dark Side gathered together for one purpose. Yet they could not be more divided. The shifting of worlds. They all called out their own theories and hypotheticals. They were all too blind to realize how wrong they all were.

Elani could see the truth.

Even when shrouded by her father's enormous presence, she could see what was happening. None would believe her. They'd call her barbaric. Infidel. Witch. All to put down the truth in her heart and before her very eyes. The Great Devourer, Erebos, was unleashing punishment across the Sith worlds in retribution for the sacrilege of the ways of Moross. Everything he was unleashing upon Sith space was both a punishment and a blessing.

Though, the Sith would rather convene in their eyesore of a pyramid and shout sequences of words that meant nothing at one another in an effort to stop the inevitable.

All so pointless.

Darth Empyrean | Darth Carnifex | Ashin Cardé Varanin | Serina Calis | Kaila Irons | Madrona A’Mia ​

 

[Ellissanthia]

Location: Bridge - Odrin Rath’s Corvette
Attire: White Outfit
Notable Personal Effects: Standard Lightsaber - Purple Blade
Objective: Echoes Beyond the Drift
Mission Objective: Locate the Aing-Tii
Tag: Odrin Rath Lirka Ka Christina Locke Kivah Darth Strosius

Standing on the bridge with her arms folded beneath her chest, Ellissanthia surveyed the gas clouds looming outside the viewport with a furrowed brow. Although she was not skilled in astrogation, the Undine was keenly aware of the fact that space was wrong. Her homeworld, Felucia, had seemingly disappeared from Sith territory, cast into the interstellar currents by a phenomena far beyond her understanding. Thus, even with her task to accompany the Sith Knight Odrin Rath on the scouting mission, her thoughts often deviated.

And now, confronted with the reality of the Sundering Dawn, Ellissanthia stood stock still, her eyes fluttering rapidly as she took in the vast nebula that the scouting mission had itself amidst.

It was only the booming voice of Odrin Rath that drew Ellissanthia from her momentary stupor, coaxing the Undine to shift her attention back towards the captain’s chair. The Sith Knight was a hulking brute of a man with a piercing, crimson-eyed gaze that demanded compliance from those who served under him. In that, the Undine watched the scene with a wide-eyed gaze as the captain scurried off from the chair before Rath took his place in it. Idly running her fingers through her hair, Ellissanthia shook her head before turning back towards the viewport.

Like Rath, Ellissanthia had been looking forward to a fight, if only so that it might serve as an outlet for her frustration and fear. The situation as it stood only made her more anxious and restless.

Nevertheless, Ellissanthia gave a deep breath, before taking out her spray bottle and spritzing herself down with it in order to hydrate her skin. Then, muttering a silent prayer under breath, the Undine closed her eyes as the swirling lights of hyperspace filled the viewport.

 

[Diodoros]

Location: Deep Space
Objective: 2
Tags: OPEN

​

It was a gamble, being a part of something like this. For a privateer time was money, and right now it seemed like they were wasting their time chasing a world that might not even exist anymore. How many countless worlds may have been demolished by the shifting currents of the galaxy? Planets and stars crashing into one another after their gravity wells merged together.

There were possibly many dead civilizations now. Much like what happened to his firrerreo ancestors. Which meant that the galaxy could be drowning now in treasures. One just needed to know the right place to look, and right now Diodoros was placing his bets on following along with the Sith’s expedition into rediscovering the Aing-Tii. I am interested in finding relics and treasures.

However, they were a bit lost at the moment. Having been separated from the Sith because Diodoros got impatient and believed he could uncover a shortcut separate from the fleet proper.

Currently the corellian gunship he was captaining, the ‘liberal harry’ was in orbit over a lousy brown dwarf out in deep space. Him and his crew were discussing what to do now. It seemed like a lost cause and that they should just get back to harassing Galactic Alliance trading lanes. To take advantage of the chaos of the galaxy shifting. Where once safe and established routes have fallen into disorder and danger. It was a great time for piracy and smuggling. But now they were seemingly wasting it on chasing after Aing-Tii treasures that may not even exist.

“C-Captain, Sir!” An irritating voice screeched out from within the bridge. Coming from a small and odd looking frog man who scampered away from their station reading comms. “Captain Dio, I got word of the Sith. The gauntlet is sending coordinates to meet with them.”

With this information they now had a way back to regroup with the Sith. Or they could disregard this whole mission and go with the safer option of harrying the messy hyperspace lanes.

“Set course for the Sith flagship. We ain’t leaving this place empty handed, that’s a promise from your captain, you hear!” With his orders understood the bridge crew got to work on planning a route back to the Sith.​