Invasion The Siege of Tion | SO Invasion of EOTL Held Tion

[Darth Empyrean]

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The War Council had come and passed, and the war efforts continued in spite of the counterassaults and infrastructural rushes to hold back the coming threat. In the end, it still came - and with it, a dread fleet carrying the great strength of the Kainites and the Holy World, alongside the dreaded and growingly infamous Mors Mon. Weeks passed, and the war began to escalate.​

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First, the sudden and violent assault of the unaligned Swokes Swokes world of Makem Te at the hand of Darth Empyrean. The Dead God had brought their world to ash and subjugation in the span of a day - leaving its atmosphere caked in dust and debris. Their infrastructure was turned to the war effort and prisoner camps and work teams were imported - creating a strong forward operating position from the Galactic East.​

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From the West and North, the Kainites pressed forward in a surge - led by the Malsheem and its forces, the Holy Worlds brought down a Black Crusade to the world of Felucia and beyond. In the span of another week, the worlds were pressed into conflict, and war began to spread across the Tion Cluster once more - as it had a hundred times before, and will a hundred times hence.​

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These two great behemoths moved on to the world of Tion, a system situated gracefully near the end of the Parlemian trade route, carrying the wealth of trade with the Core and its own triple-industrialized moons. Hour by hour, chaos began to spread through the System as terrifyingly powerful force users and their chariot armies brought them to the orbit of the great ocean world of Tion.​

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Lost to Static -​

A great storm begins to swirl on the world directly below the Mors Mon, twisting and shaking waves towards their target. In minutes, the unnatural cataclysm began to shake the Imperial Stronghold of IM-346, as alarm bells rose in unison. Starships had been deployed in cycles for hours, on and off for armaments to destroy what fleets and ships they could before they arrived - but the Mors Mons was a monster of a vessel, coming from the very aether to their atmosphere.​

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Now, as it hovered above as the eye of the storm, blocking out the sun in a great eclipse of man-made destruction, it began to deploy boarding craft and submersibles meant to infiltrate and take the station from the Imperials. In those close corridors below the surface was where the Sith would shine - red lightsabers in hand as they sloshed through water thick with the blood of their foes.​

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Take the station, or defend it from their assault.​

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Back in White -​

The factory moons of Tion had become a heavy necessity for the Empire in recent months - their factories churning out military parts for their fleets in excess wherever possible. Quotas on quotas, but their efficiency and capacity had made them a target - the Sith had come for them for their own war machines. It began with conventional assaults from drop pods, but slowly it had turned into something far more chaotic.​

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Over the years, Sith cults had begun to entrench themselves into the moons - and in this call to action, they began to rise. Ancient remnants of the Whiteguard nationalists, Sith cultists, and criminals began to riot - fires spreading across the moons in exponentially growing fury. Two of the moons were put into lockdown instantly as fortified stations from the assault, but it was the final one that had begun to fall.​

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The streets were overrun with the innocent and criminals alike, sprinting through streets for safety or loot. There was no sense of authority left as Sith marched through the streets, their jackboot steps echoing over their chants and cadences as they sought out anything left that didn't fight in their favor.​

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Sith, create chaos and ensure this moon can not become another bastion for the Empire. Imperials put the riots down and bring peace to your world - or you'll never drive off the fleets in orbit.​

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Storming In -​

Ships jumped from the Maekem Te forward operating base to support the Mors Mon in its assault of Tion. Slowly, they spread out and began to dominate various key strategic regions near Tion. It was in these first steps, the chaos of the space engagement began to become known.​

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The Storm Generators aboard the Mors Mon shrouded the ships nearest the worlds in a sensor-masking smoke screen of lightning and nebulous clouds. No matter the orbital shots fired into its depths, the massive storm seemed to continue to encroach - before it came unto the world in full effect. Now, entire fleets hide within it, orbitally bombarding cities and killing their citizens.​

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Sith, ensure these orbital bombardments can not be stopped - protect the Mors Mons and its generators so the chaos reigns. Imperials, put this assault down from where it began and drive off the Sith dogs from your planet's skyline.​

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Sith Order Allies​	Empire of the Lost Allies​
1.	1. Arla Rodarch
2.	2. Tamna Korvan
3.	3.
4.	4.
5.	5.

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[Darth Empyrean]

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Objective I: Lost to Static
Location: Port of Entry​

Tags: Open​

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The underwater base spanned for kilometers beneath the worlds surface, deep enough to avoid direct orbital bombardment by way of water insulation. Simple solution to a complex problem - the Emperor could not fault them for that, but he did fault them for the ease he had arrived. The Mors Mon had teleported, storm and all, above their world in a flash - sending all local garrisons sputtering to control themselves. The local cultists had seen it as a fitting mark for the Armageddon to approach their worlds, and in turn, began to riot across the sector. Chaos reigned as the Sith fleet began to bear down.​

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All of this served as the perfect cover for the Emperor to arrive on the planet's surface - at one of the hundred ports that led deep into the underwater bases networks. Within was to be the Imperial's coordination center for the entire system, and a critical point of communications infrastructure. He would kill any who stood in his way, take the array and blast the crimes of one Alicia Drey out to the entire Empire that threatened to stand against him.​

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Let their internal toil serve as the foundational crack in his invasion of their worlds.​

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"My Emperor.", a Praetorian said as Empyrean took steps off the Adonis transport.​

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"The landing area has been secured. Alpha through Echo have moved into the adjoining halls with heavy resistance."​

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"Let them hold until I arrive. I shall be their beacon in this trying time. All men fall behind me.", he said.​

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In that moment, two dozen men saluted in unison - creating a loud thud of their boots on the floor, and their fists against their chestplates. It was to be their finest hour, but to the Emperor, it would just be another day of conquest. So he moved, deeper into the facility to find his price and seize it.​

 

[Darth Carnifex]

Smoke swirled about His body, chest rising and falling in even, measured breaths. His skin was a tapestry of violence, a thousand scars where blade and blaster left their mark, a testament to the wars He'd waged and the battles He'd won. Interwoven amongst them were deliberate marks, scarification and inked tattoos exalting and glorifying the Dark Side of the Force. They wound about His body like serpents, sharp geometric lines painstakingly wrought by a master artisan. All His body was a temple to the darkness, to hate and to anger, of cruelty and brutality.

All that He was, and all that He did, was to personify the darkest aspects of sentient thought and primal instinct. He was both hunter and king, creator and destroyer, giver of gifts and depriver of lives. In His veins hummed the blood of peerless nobility and savage murderer. He reveled in the contradiction of being at once civil and bestial simultaneously, where with one hand He could bring salvation and with the other He could snatch it away. His will was immovable as the stars themselves, and His cruelty as boundless and black as the void between them.

Darth Carnifex raised His head, looking up into the eyes of the priestess who loomed over Him. Darth Isolda had been many things; peer, teacher, confidant, servant, lover. But today, she was His sanctifier. She held in her left hand a shallow cup of oil, with which she dipped the index and middle finger of her right hand into. She withdrew her digits, each slick and shiny with oil, and began to trace them across His face. As she did, she intoned the ancient rites of both Sith and Vahla. She spoke with two voices, both mirrored and layered atop the other. One spoke in the language of the ancient Sith, and the other in her own native tongue.

All around them, the smoke of incense swirled in concordance with her words. The very air seemed to bend to the very syllables that slipped past her lips, subdued by the power inherent therein. He could feel that very same power coursing through Him, the power to make His own will reality. He accepted it, let it waft over Him and permeate through Him. When her words ceased, the thrumming energy lost it's cohesion and dissipated back into the cool, recycled air. Isolda stepped away, her eyes burning with the power of portents and prophecy, and others moved to take her place.

They wore black and crimson garb, strips of fabric layered over the other. They too spoke in a blasphemous dialect, but their words were hushed and fearful; not powerful and confidant as Isolda's had been. These were Nightsisters, devotees of the Tivéan Coven of the Fanged God. They slicked their hands with the same oil, but instead of carefully applying it as the Vahla priestess had done, they rubbed their hands more liberally over every inch of the Dark Lord's muscular body. They made sure to coat every inch, not sparing any part of Him unsanctified.

Across the room, another was undoing the same rites. Normally, in the Epicanthix tradition, this ritual was to be performed in solitude with only the anointed priests aside as witness and sanctifiers. Nightsisters of the same coven applied the same oil to her skin as well, taking care of the large, black wings which protruded from her back. Teresa Pelles, Darth Pellax, was likewise stripped down to nothing, her body bearing similar markings to that the her lord, master, and lover. Thuribles of incense swung above her head, bathing her in the stench of smoldering herbs and charcoal.

Finally, a thin layer of ash was affixed to their wettened skin. It had been made from the cremated bodies of Jedi and other adversaries of the Sith, and had been collected in large clay pots for just this occasion. The application was slow and arduous, and gave both of their bodies an unearthly, ghastly hue. When it had been accomplished, the Nightsisters withdrew into the darkness, as mute and diminutive armorers emerged. They affixed the various pieces of clothing and armor of their respective panoplies, taking great care to anoint and bless each piece before dressing them. For Carnifex, a cloak of metal scales was draped over His broad shoulders, each one carrying the faded emblem of a Mandalorian Clan.

When they were done, the Dark Lord and Darth Pellax rose, cushioned pillows brought before them upon which their chosen weapons had been arrayed. Carnifex reached forward and wrapped His fingers around the hilt of His lightsaber, the dark, burnished cerakote seeming to absorb light rather than reflect it. He sheathed the lightsaber at His hip, slipping the weapon into a specially designed holster emblazoned with the emblem of the Sith Order.

Both master and apprentice locked eyes, but said not a word. They knew what was coming next, and had steeled themselves in preparation. Together, they withdrew from the ritual chambers and moved to join the others.

The colossal Malsheem surged through hyperspace, several dozen Eschaton-class Star Destroyers flanking it as it did. Rarely did the self-proclaimed Ark of the Sith travel with such an extensive entourage, but it was deemed necessary for the role it would play. They were to be a symbol of terror, a banner of the Sith's might. All that would look upon the gargantuan station would feel the power of the Dark Side rushing through them, as their minds reeled in madness and their insides turned to water.

At the highest point of the Imperius Spire, the Dark Lord and Darth Pellax emerged onto a large viewing platform encased in a reinforced globe of glasteel. The lift doors closed at their backs as they strode out, Crownguard flanking either side of them. Ahead stood Darth Prazutis, Shadow Hand and Mortarch of the Kainate. Beside him was Domina Prime, the Nether-born daughter of Darth Carnifex, and newly appointed Hand of the Dark Lord, a title which conferred the power to carry out the will of the Dyarchy and judicially enforce it through martial prowess. Though she was chaotic and naïve, she could be honed and refined through the crucible in which they would soon subject themselves to.

A uniformed attaché moved confidently forward, most of his cranium replaced with extensive cybernetics that rendered his appearance bizarre and inhuman. From it elucidated an artificial voice, stripped of everything but the most severe monotonous droning. -: We approach the hyperspace egress, Supreme Excellency. The whole fleet shall achieve hyperspace terminus within the hour. :- Portions of the officer's cranial implants chirped and whirred as new information passed through his processors. -: Your great and indomitable legions are assembled in prayer, Eternal Father. They are ready. :-

Below, hundreds of thousands of men and women, both brought into this world through natural and artificial means alike, sat upon their knees in prayer. Their heads were bowed, hands clasped tight about symbols of their Eternal Father and the Sith Order more broadly. Their words spoke silent hymns, yearning for a blessing by their immortal lord; their God made flesh. None would break such formation, even as the strain of kneeling upon their knees grew more and more unbearable.

It was only when the sky above them whirled and danced with lights that they then threw themselves forward, pressing their forehead against the cold, metal floor as the image of their God materialized above them. Some cried, others continued to whisper sacred words in rapid succession, but many were silent as Darth Carnifex's visage appeared before them.

"My children," His voice was like a tidal wave, cascading over them with a deathly chill. "The hour approaches, the anointed time with which you shall take up your blessed weapons to shepherd the unclean into oblivion. From the earth I made your body, with my breath did I fill your lungs, and in my wisdom did I gift you thought. The sacred spark of true life burns bright within you, my devoted chosen. Shun all others who do not share our immutable bond, for they lack the spark which I have bestowed onto you. Though they may speak with your same voice, though they may laugh and cry, love and hate, they are a falsity. Their minds are that of animals, their bodies that of imperfection. Know and remember this truth, my children, as you speed them forth towards the void."

A long, keening dirge sounded over the amplifiers. This spurred all in attendance to stand up, their eyes finally allowed to bare witness to the sight of their Lord above. As one, they thumped their right hand, curled tight into the a fist, against their chest in a repeated, rhythmic motion. This cascade of noise picked up in intensity, as they all began to beat harder and faster. From once voice arose the words, "Nyashjontû Wo! Nyashjontû Wo!" Others cried out in response, "Imperius! Imperius! Imperius Unitada!"

Again! "Nyashjontû Wo! Nyashjontû Wo!" "Imperius! Imperius! Imperius Unitada!"

Again! "Nyashjontû Wo! Nyashjontû Wo!" "Imperius! Imperius! Imperius Unitada!"

Again! "Nyashjontû Wo! Nyashjontû Wo!" "Imperius! Imperius! Imperius Unitada!"

The chants continued, becoming a chorus of many voices condensed into one.

Out of many, one Empire.

Empire united.

Above Tion, a massive object suddenly began to emerge from hyperspace. Following in it's wake were many dozens of two-kilometer long star destroyers, their sharp triangular shapes scything through the empty void. Starfighters screamed as they were shot out of launch bays, squadrons flying in synchronized formation streaming towards the planet below. Massive landers emerged from within the titanic station as it moved into geostationary orbit around the planet, carrying in their bloated bellies the innumerable legions of the Dark Side.

From the planet below, a sliver of darkness began to encroach upon the sun as it sat high in the sky. It grew and grew with unnatural speed, the light consumed by shadow as the Malsheem maneuvered into position between Tion and it's native star. Before long, all the world was bathed in darkness, even where it seemed impossible to be so. None would be spared the terror of the eclipse.

For it was His mission to eclipse the light, and bring all worlds into the deepest dark.

So it would be, His will writ across the stars.

Darth Prazutis | Teresa Zambrano | Darth Pellax | Domina Prime
Velran Kilran ​

 

[Maldor Mecetti]

House Mecetti Stormcrow Squadron
24 Tie Scout Craft
1 Tie Shuttle w Aftermarket Hyperdrive​

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It had finally happened.

Proximity meant it had been bound to occur. And Maldor's typical fortune meant that it would happen on his doorstep.

It was why Maldor's fleet was currently on patrol elsewhere, or stationed on Voss. He might have terrible luck, but he'd also always succeeded despite it. If there was any talent he'd learned from his father, it was the ability to feel what hell was coming and to plan to succeed despite it. It was why he had made inroads with Totan and the Empire of the Lost when he'd still been a Senator in the Galactic Alliance.

And it was why his fleet wasn't here, today.

He wasn't ceding Tion, of course. In fact, he believed that he had the only plan which could save it.

But he wasn't risking Capital ships on his gambit.

No worries.

There were plenty of Moffs anxious to drag massive fleets into the fray to gain favor with the Emperor. Let them send their Duranium behemoths to crash against Sith fire. Let them take Billions of credits in losses to preserve Maldor's freshly-granted territory. He'd accept the sacrifice and the gift, and bow out of any honor that destroyed destroyers might bring.

He had his own plans.

Maldor had long sat in his offices aboard the Obscurer, in orbit of Voss. He'd studied intelligence reports made to members of the GA Senate, along with the reports of the NISB and the House Mecetti Ministry of Inquiry. The construction of such a massive vessel could hardly be concealed. The use of such a vessel was a beacon, no matter how much shade you hid it within.

By now, it was plain what the Sith would do when they made their move.

It was practically a modern legend: A storm-cloud spread across the stars. A fleet ensconced within. No one could penetrate the miasma, lest they fall victim to wild lightning. It was an unassailable monster in the night.

And so, Maldor had made a plan.

One mercenary. Twenty-four scout ships. That was the lance he intended to use to kill the enemy.

Maldor was happy to find that he wasn't alone. At least one of his fellow Imperials had the same keen mind. Together, they would kill this dragon.

The Lord Moff Mecetti stood in the habitation pod of a VIP shuttle. An opening linked his glorified luxury tube to the business end of the shuttle. It was a modified model, festooned with features that would make it useful to the current task. A hyperdrive. An advanced com suite. Everything he would need to direct his forces.

In the adjacent cockpit, his hired hand worked the controls of the shuttle. The man had worked for DDSI, a scientific research and exploration company. He knew how to run scouting operations, and he'd trained Mecetti pilots and sensor operators on the best tactics and techniques for it.

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"Dropping out of hyperspace... now," the mercenary announced.

The entire squadron- nav linked for precision hyperspace flight- dropped out together.

The scene changed from beautiful blue to stark black, and the unfolding cloud of war was quite visible in the distance.

Maldor touched a holocom control.

"This is Lord Moff Mecetti of Stormcrow Squadron, to Thunderbird Squadron. We have arrived, and are ready to link up with your forces. Long live our Empire, and Death to this Sith trash."

Maldor knew the Emperor would be listening in. It was best to lay the patriotism on thickly.

He also knew that the NISB director was somewhere in the vast battlefield, either amidst the starscape, on a facility, or perhaps even on the planets or planetoids here. It would be ideal if she fell in battle, freeing Maldor from the web he'd found himself trapped within.

And yet... part of him wished her to live. Part of him craved to learn what she had to teach.

He activated the communications again, on a second channel, "This is Stormcrow Actual. Weather and Electromagnetic Sensors to full acuity. Let's get the measure of this storm. We have a job to do."

---

Darth Empyrean Velran Kilran Darth Rasnuhl

 

[Darth Aion]

Silently he watched as the light of hyperspace streaked about the viewport of destroyer that carried him to Tion. Even as various crew came and went with orders, concerns and idle prattle he remained stone still, breathless and with hollow gaze, unfazed and disinterested in the machinations of those around him. For only one thing held affixed his attention, a deathly focus, and that the essence of any and all he might face amidst his exectuion of the Emperor's will; a provisionary means to curtail any hindrances that derision and deviation may incur upon him and his individual will.

Even those around him dressed and hooded in pitch black robes, individuals whose names went decidedly unknown to him, paid no heed to the gaunt and near lifeless members of the crew. Each of their bodies turned to face him as they either knelt or stood at his side or back, members of a cult that had begun to swell in numbers in the past weeks and months. It was only their silent mutterings and chatting that filled the empty air of the destroyer's bridge that answered the coming alarms and utterings of warning that they would soon arrive at their destination.

As a final gesture in lew of that outcome, he turned his hollow gaze to the commanding officer for but a moment before once again fixing it upon the streaking lights.

As the destroyer tore out of hyperspace, coming into real space in a relative proximity to the Malsheem and the already amassed Kainate fleet above the planet of Tion, it quickly moved to focus it's bow towards the moon that intel had informed was already rife with turmoil. A would be staging ground for the assault upon and potential collapse of the two remaining moons while the Emperor and the dreaded Mors Mon fastened their attention upon their host world and the imperial base beneath its waves.

No sooner had the streaking lights of hyperspace ebbed and vanished did he move himself. First a raise of his arm that dismissed the lesser of the cultists at his feet, moving almost as if they understood his very intention to stand aloft while he turned to face those that remained. While he had very little care for those that had amassed, many of them desperate devotees both with and without the Force, there were some he would acknowledge held enough merit as both siphons for his hunger and weapons for his action.

"Speak." He would rasp abruptly in a curt fashion, his empty gaze turning to the tallest of those that had hung behind him. An issuance of command that caused the lessers to stiffen instinctually while the one at the focal point of his attention remained calm.

"The Emperor's assault has begun and the Kainate bring their forces to bear under the shadow of the Malsheem." Came a feminine voice followed by a shift in posture that would usher his own gaze towards one of the side ports where he could finally lay empty gaze upon the unspeakable monstrosity that was the Kainate's worldcraft. A craft that, even in his selective issuance of his concerns, he could not deny the glory of as it wrapped itself with a fleet only such a craft could brandish itself with.

"The moon before us has been driven into chaos. While the facility on Tion is assaulted the streets of this moon burn under the imperial presence very supervision." A male voice came as one of the figures stepped forward and lifted a palm up hand towards the moon the destroyers bow now intently pointed towards. Though the fires could not be seen and the turmoil could not be heard, the Sith lord could feel it as the very essence ebbing and flowing prodded at the presence of the whispers within.

"Let it burn," the Sith uttered in his rasped cadence, his attention turning to fix itself upon the moon before them. It mattered little to him the condition of the world, or even the people that occupied it, for that was of little importance. The whispers urged, the gnawing swelled and it was only his own ambition and the hunger from within that drove him to pay mind to the Emperor's objective. Accomodation to war was the price he would choose to pay as means to receive provision of essence and infamy that would never truly go vocalized by fellow Sith.

In the silence that followed, his rasps echoing into the thin air of the bridge, the figures each receded away from him as they moved to join a good several dozen of their fellows; leaving behind a pair that had not moved despite the words that had been exchanged. For no sooner had they moved away did the Sith extend his hands over the two at his sides as a surge of red tendrils latched themselves onto them, their forms moving only slightly as their essence was drawn into him until with a rasp of his voice that went unintelligible they too moved away weakly.

The whispers sated, the gnaw summarily abated, the Sith affixed his gaze upon the moon and the death he would soon bring to it.

 

[Fiolette Yvarro]

Aboard the Warspite​

Fiolette supposed the difference between Tion, and every other single invasion she had ever participated in had been simple. Every other invasion she had to be concerned for the lives of the living, no longer did the Admiral command them. Fio's fleet now composed of those condemned souls, the ghosts, the entities who for the rest of eternity were bound to serve the Netherworld and by proxy, her. In the command center she gave out the orders to bring the fleet online, each one connected to the Warspite in a unique way. Tethered together by their very hellish nature, and as the fleet prepared to revert from hyperspace. Fiolette Yvarro reflected on her past and the reputation that each and every other invasion had garnered. Specifically though, the Admiral focused on tradition. A tradition that Taeli Raaf was intimately familiar with, and on that particular note. "Dansen alert me when we near Tion, I must... attend to her ladyship." She said hands behind her back, red hair flowing past her antiquated outfit, a flair of the theatrics as ever. Fiolette had chosen a outfit that put most of the Galidraani 'Age of Piracy' clothing to shame by opulence alone.

"Of course," obliged the droid.

The ruling Netherworld entities had their rules, but rules, Fiolette reckoned were always made to be broken. She descended the vessel through its lift and out onto its elegant flooring. Each part of the ship a reminder of the old Galidraan she knew. Fiolette made her way to the ship's meditation room, with a delicate touch she closed the doors. The redhead took care to arrange the meditation room to be as comfortable as could be for the endeavor. Fiolette made sure to use the bond that she and Taeli had established decades ago. Once the Galidraani was able to make a connection she made sure to use it, and use it well to project memories. Memories of a bygone era, but one no less sweet to the two of them. The whisper of Taeli's name from her lips, felt so sweet, if only in their dreams. Time passed differently in dreams, but it did pass and no matter how long it would was.

The time was never quite enough, but it would have to suffice.

The effect would do them well, it always had. Adjusting the pendant on her neck, she flipped her hair out of her jacket and headed up the grand staircase and back toward the lift. The advantage this time was that every single ship could simply return, although it would take time. The ships and the souls who manned them were forever, they were eternity unto itself. Every ship gone would not have the satisfying impact of implosion but would shimmer back to the Nether from whence it came. Back in the lift, Fiolette glanced at herself in the mirror only to see a skeletal reflection. Fiolette laughed, this particular glamour trick was perhaps a reminder of who she was to serve. "It is a good thing these vitality spells are incredibly strong," she waved off the mirror, "nice try." Netherworld entities would always seek to break Taeli's spells.

The lift opened back to the command center, Dansen turned, "there you are, I was just about to summon you. We'll be reverting to realspace soon, Admiral."

"Most excellent," she acknowledged. "Fleet status?"

"Online, all units reporting, we await the Sith Order's commands." Dansen began, and then Fiolette cut her look to him.

She narrowed her gaze, "Dansen, I will remind you we await no one's orders, when we arrive, we'll assess our situation and make due."

"Your Grace, are we not in service to the Sith Order?"

"They are fortunate to have our aid, not our service, Dansen."

The droid took a moment to process the information. "I see, well then, shall I activate the soul repositories?"

"Once we're on the field, you may. Would not due to serve the Netherworld's interest if we are not collecting souls." Fiolette told him plainly and knew that the more souls she collected the more corporeal she could become.

Michael Hightower | Charles Castex
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[Lissa]

Location: TIE Fighter Factory, Capital City - Third Moon of Tion
Objective: Back in White - Restore Order
Tag: Zoltidas Darth Strosius

They were outside agitators. Professional rioters, activists, and cultists trained and indoctrinated by the Sith with the specific objective of weakening the Empire. And perhaps in that regard, they had succeeded. The past few weeks had seen multiple factories on Tion’s industrial moons thrown into disarray as gangs of terrorists, cultists, and nationalists sprang up from their hidden cells to enact their extremist, corrupt agendas of anarchy and terror. While the first and second moons had been put on lockdown, the third moon was in active revolt, which was quickly escalating into open warfare.

Thus, Oola and Zoltidas, two Imperial Crusaders, had been deployed to fight the growing uprisings, before the situation devolved into something akin to a war.

As Captain Zoltidas tore through and rode down the ranks of the Whiteguard extremists, Oola struck from the upper gangways, her lightsaber flying in the manner of a boomerang as its fiery alabaster blade bisected a trio of hapless Whiteguards through their torsos, causing the bodies to unceremoniously collapse as steam and bubbling fluid spewed out from bifurcated abdominal cavities. Recalling her lightsaber, the Twi’lek quickly leapt down from the uppermost gangway and onto a lower platform, catching her weapon in mid-air as she descended onto a Whiteguard and drove her blade through the crown of his helmet-clad skull. Hissing steam marked the extraction of her weapon as the dead Whiteguard fell to the ground, cushioning Oola’s fall in the process.

From there, Oola continued her assault. Her lightsaber flew like a missile before impaling a fourth Whiteguard straight through his upper chest, immediately followed by a fifth as Oola willed her lightsaber to continue its trajectory through the steaming hole the blade had created, thereby killing the Whiteguard directly behind her initial target.

By the time the two impaled Whiteguards fell to the ground, the rest had been cut down or driven off by Zoltidas . Watching the retreat from above, Oola recalled her lightsaber back into her grasp before leaping off of the gangway and allowing gravity to carry her down to the main floor, at which point she landed in graceful, acrobatic fashion.

“There are more in the next section of the factory, Captain.” Oola said. Just as she did, disharmonious notes of blaster fire rang out from the room directly ahead, confirming the intelligence that the two Crusaders had received during the briefing.

The Whiteguards had never held full control of the factory. There were Sith cultists fighting for it, as well.

“We drove them straight into the guns of the Sith.” Oola observed.

Spoiler: Loadout

• Oola Ven’s Bodysuit
  
  • Gauntlets
    
    • FAE/M-02 Energized Gauntlet Vibroblade (2) - L/R
  • Energy Shield
    
    • Phase III “Force Avenger” Energy Shield
  • B-11 “Gretis” Class Combat Boots
    
    • Netrunner Vibroshank (2) - Knife Sheaths
• Mirage Starlight
• IG-14 Blaster Pistol
  
  • Attachments
    
    • 1-5x FAE/S-08 Electro-Sight
  • Ammunition
    
    • Power Cell (5)

 

[Darth Malum of House Marr]

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"By order of His Imperial Majesty, Darth Empyrean , for the crimes of banditry, arson, desertion, murder, and treason against the subjects of the Sith Empire, this tribunal finds you guilty, and sentences you to be shot," Malum read out from the piece of paper that had been hastily prepared for him to read, masked red eyes gazed up to look at the backs of the heads of those that had been lined up against the wall.

While behind Malum, those of his Guard stood at the ready, blasters pointed towards those guilty.

This empty street, which contained all the evidence of all he had stated was far from the law courts of which such crimes would regularly be tried, yet, with this moon burning, and chaos rife across the rest of the settlements, there was little time for the ideal justice that he would have rather brought down upon these men.

It was odd enough truly that he was bringing justice upon these men and women at all.

Such was the quirk of the Tsis'Kaar's reintegration back into the Sith Empire, though most imagined accurately enough that it was his co-apprentice, Ali- Darth Strosius ' Inquisition which handled matters of justice, the Inquisition had once simply been an organ of the Tsis'Kaar, and though most... well most knew nothing of what the Tsis'Kaar was, by design, but those that did, imagined it to be an intelligence organisation, it too inherited the extralegal authority which his Mistress, Darth Ophidia , once held.

Yet that was far from answering why he was bringing justice to a moon that the Sith Empire was currently invading.

Well, that much was simple, as he raised his hand to the air, preparing to give the order.

All these worlds, Makem Te, Florrum, Felucia, Morlana One, and yes, even Tion, were planets which though they may have not realised yet, had been misled by traitors and thieves, yet they were as much subjects of the Sith Empire as Jutrand, as Korriban, as Dromund Kaas.

What was the Empire of the Lost but those sons of Imperial traitors?

And there was only a course for traitors that did not beget forgiveness.

His hand dropped.

In perfect synchronicity blasters fired, there was the thud of bodies as they fell, and the smoke of freshly burned concrete as the bolts met their mark.

It was the duty of the Sith Empire to protect their loyal and innocent subjects.

And whether their appearance had caused such a furore to cause these... abominable actors to undertake their willingness to give into their base desires, was of utter irrelevance.

His great and famous ancestor was famed, renowned, for his dedication to protect the subjects of the Sith Empire.

Malum would be no different.

The masked scion of Darth Marr turned to the camera which was streaming the entire exchange, "Let that be a warning to all those who break the laws and order of the Sith Empire, even if you deem yourselves our allies, any harm caused to the subjects or territory of the Sith Empire, shall be cracked down upon by the highest order of the Emperor," The stream shut off, a copy of the recording to be transmitted to the Mors Mon in orbit to do so as they wished, as the rest was transmitted across the moon, to be seen by any of who would listen.

The who would listen was a very key point.

There were quite a few groups operating in the area, the Tionese Whiteguard could perhaps be considered the most rational, and most disciplined, their exploitation of the chaos held some purpose.

Indeed of all the groups they were the ones he wished to ally with the most, highlighted by the fact that of those behind him, only one wore their armour. They likely would thank him for that, one particularly ill-disciplined, deserved the bolt. Yet, even in the face of death, he had remained silent.

They were oppositional to the Jedi, that much he knew if he could exploit that to bring them onside, the entire cluster would be far easier to bring into the fold.

And... if he could bring their loyalty to him.

Well, it would be good to finally fully restore the Tsis'Kaar's presence near the Old Sith worlds, and after all, it would be good to have the industry of the Tionese forges under his command.

Then there were the criminals.

Useful insofar as ways to infiltrate a system, the Tsis'Kaar used them for such purpose very commonly, and quite many, intelligent enough to stay out of trouble would retain their purpose. After all, Malum would not have been among the first to reach the moon, with advance warning of the rioting to take place without NISB and Tsis'Kaar contacts and agents within the criminal underworld.

Yet those bold enough to do this...

...Well they had no place in the new order to be created and cemented here.

Such that many of them, wearing their tussled and tarnished garb lay dead behind him.

And then finally... the last group.

The one which unsettled him so.

Cultists.

They made most of the corpses behind him, and they were certainly the strangest of those that had made merry across the streets. Those which cared nought for law or order, but simply destroyed and burned everything in their path, not for pure chaos... no... for loyalty to the Sith. That much as, odd as it was, he was very much willing to believe.

It took a truly... true sense of loyalty, to be gazing so lovingly up at the heavens towards the Mors Mon, that had heralded their annihilation, all while, behind them, they knew blasters were at the ready to end their existence upon mortal coils.

They took their deaths with strange dignity.

Some... even almost wished for death.

It disturbed him every moment he saw it, yet such was the deranged loyalty through faith that the Emperor was able to draw out.

And it was with knowing that, he knew he would need to rip it out of these moons, root and stem.

The sounds of distant screams alerted him to the fact that his work was not done, "Mark this location, these corpses will need to be disposed of, keep vigilant for Imperial forces, adjudicate justice for any individual who breaks our Imperial Majesty's order." Malum spoke, through his comms, the various detachments of the Guard doing as commanded, as those around him stood as still as statues, following their Imperator soon after as he marched off to what awaited, Malum himself looking about for his apprentice, Zachariah Conway .

Perhaps they would be lucky enough to counter Alicia Drey , would that not be an interesting conversation to have?

Revna Sicarius Hekate Shov Brald

 

[Alicia Drey]

​

Tags: Open.
Location: Tion's third industrial moon.
Equipment: Several groups of NISB Immortals, The Direct Surveillance of Domestic Threats, The Initium.

A cape bellowed and flowed behind Alicia Drey as she stood on the ramparts of Tion's third industrial moon. With a look of disdain the Staff Director watched from a vantage point that gave her a view of the entire system. Ahead, upon the blank ink canvas of space, Drey took her gaze to look upon the horrific Malsheem on one side, and the monstrous Mors Mon on the other. War had erupted across the entire system and as these monsters attacked the Empire of the Lost Alicia allowed herself to open up to the dark side of the Force.

It was as if she could see flames going out one-by-one. But they were not Imperial. They were all Sith. Hundreds of Force-sensitives- loyal to Darth Empyrean , and his legions, or to Darth Carnifex , and his Kainites- were being snuffed out as they fell against the indomitable defence of the Imperials that Darth Ayra had infiltrated for this exact purpose. Through the crucible of war Ayra would orchestrate it so that the diluted power of the dark side slowly recovered it's potency. For far too long it's power had been spread among the many, and now, as Ayra stood there in her disguise to watch this battle unfold, her enemies were churned out by the war machines of both sides.

But it was not enough. As she stood there- feeling it all with her powers in the Force- Darth Ayra did not feel any great seismic shift that adulated her scheme and the Work that she had put into motion alongside her apprentice, Darth Trigonus. The Sith that she felt being swallowed up by this battle were the lowest of the low. Barely members of the Force-strong whose abilities barely rivalled that of a lowly Acolyte or Initiate user of the Jedi Order. As she stood there- glimpsing every life being snuffed out as they attacked the Empire- Ayra knew that thousands would perish in this assault and it would barely be a tip in the ocean of Sith that now spanned the Galaxy.

Foot soldiers put into the meat grinder who held no status or name. No consequence to the fabric of the dark side, or it's potency.

Small.

Tiny.

Spent.

Inconsequential.

Yet, they all needed to perish for the maxim was absolute, and true: two there should be be. No more, no less.

Behind her the Immortals stood ready to purge the entire moon. The only thing stopping them from beginning their attack was the Director. She had held them in reserve until the fighting was at it's precipice. When these cultists, and vagabonds, and slaves were at their weakest. As for the other moons the NISB had secured them in the early rioting. After all it had been Drey herself who had prepared Tion for this invasion after infiltrating the War Council meeting aboard the Mors Mon some weeks ago.

Elsewhere the Direct Surveillance of Domestic Threats churned the incoming data of the battle and streamlined information to the Imperial forces across the moon. The Immortals were not the only security force that had been activated upon the initiation of this battle. In the event that all seemed lost, and Tion was set to fall, Drey had ordered the men manning the station to self-destruct so that their outpost would not fall into enemy hands which was ironic considering the layers of infiltration that Darth Malum of House Marr had orchestrated into the NISB after the events of Felucia.

"Director," spoke one of the Immortals behind her. "We stand ready to initiate purge protocols."

"Not yet, Commander," Alicia replied without looking. Her lips lifted into a pout as she continued to be the ever present observer. Just how many had to die here to fulfill the promise of the Sith?

"Let it all burn first."

 

[Gerwald Lechner]

WEARING: xxx
WEAPONS: Ferrum Solus | Blodmåne | Strømafbryder
SHIP: Úlfs Reiði
ALLIES: Naedira Darcrath | Darth Empyrean
ENEMIES: Tamna Korvan (eventually)

Úlfs Reiði dropped out of hyperspace only to be quickly enveloped with the unnatural storm which began to surround the Mors Mon. Where Darth Empyrean or Srina Talon ventured, the Dread Wolf was not far behind. His words to the emperor had been clear during the war council, they needed to strike the Empire of the Lost as retribution for Felucia. The Sith Order could not allow the battle to go unanswered. Gerwald had not expected the war council would provide them with further justification to declare war.

Alicia Drey had infiltrated the meeting. Whether the spies Darth Malum of House Marr controlled were inept, compromised, or complicit, would be a matter the wolf would look into. While he knew Darth Strosius was loyal to the Order, the Emperor’s Wrath did not trust the Sith Lord to be impartial when it came to the former. He did, however, have faith the pair would see to the task laid before them. Sith cultists were causing a stir, causing chaos, and they had been tasked with exploiting it in whatever way best served the Sith Order.

Manipulation was something the brothers were well versed in.

Darth Ophidia had taught them well.

A heavy sigh escaped the wolf’s nostrils as he watched the storm take shape. War was the one thing Gerwald had been made for, his kind created for. The irony of what he was, and whom his species had been created to serve was not lost on him in the moment. He was the product of evolved Sith Alchemy. Perhaps there would be those among the Order which would take that knowledge and see him as nothing more than Sith Spawn to be controlled. For now it was still his secret alone. He was now the guardian of the same truth which had been the cause of the lies his mother had fed him as a child.

Now he lied to his own kind by remaining silent.

Gerwald could not help the flashes of past wars from coming to his mind. He had many mistakes which carried consequences beyond his ability to recompense. In a way his service now was a feeble attempt to do the one thing he could not do. The Dread Wolf still labored to repay the kindness of his Exarch, the silver haired Echani.

“My Lord, the Mors Mon has hailed. They are in position.”

The words pulled him into the present. A single nod was all the response he gave at first. For some reason, Gerwald found his hand clutching at his chest as if the ring which Naedira Darcrath had once been bound to still hung there. The Wolf owed his mistress more than his life. He owed her for his mate’s as well.

“Maintain the same distance, and ready our forces. If the Emperor wants the facility below, then he shall have the facility below.”

Noise filled the bridge as the chorus of commands and station reports filled the command post as though it had been rehearsed to perfection. For a moment it brought a smile to the wolfish features of the Sith Lord’s face. They were prepared.

Good.

<< “It is time.” >>

His thoughts searched for the mind of his mate through their bond. The necklace around her neck would make her aware of his presence, a gift to help keep her beast from tearing her to pieces in his absence. Gerwald would be heading to the surface, and the invitation to join him was always present. There was no other that could fight alongside him with the ease, finesse, and precision, with which Naedira could. They were fluid, as though they were not two individuals working together, but rather the same, one soldier.

“Sir, the Emperor has landed.”

Another nod.

“BREECH!”

The order was given as Sith Troopers blew through the port entry which Gerwald had been ordered to take. They would force the facility's security forces to fight on so many fronts they would be overwhelmed. This was not about destruction, however. It was about control. The Wolf was not always privy to why Empyrean wanted what he did, just that he did. Gerwald often found he did not need to know either. His job in such matters was simple, and he intended on delivering. This was what he was born for.

“Take Corridors Kilo through Oscar. While our Emperor moves to control the facility, we will control all the security measures and make sure his path is as clear as it can be.”

All of those with the Wolf nodded at the order and poured into the facility. They were met with immediate blaster fire.

Blue eyes looked at the piece of airlock door which had been thrown to the floor. As though an invisible hand reached down to pick it, Gerwald raised it as a shield for the advancing soldiers. He moved with it, keeping it in place as he drew a majority of the blaster fire away long enough for the units to disperse where needed. With a flick of the wrist the heavy object was thrown, killing the front line of the guards and soldiers defending that port entry.

SNAP HISS​

The yellow blade of the wolf’s sun saber came to life as Ferrum Solus flew from Gerwalds place on his waist. Bolt by bolt was deflected or sent toward an enemy combatant until the beast was within striking range. It would not take long for the Sith Lord to dispatch the soldiers once he drew near. He would cut them down without prejudice or mercy.

 

[Arla Rodarch]

Tion
Battleship Journeyman
(Resolute-Class, 5000m)

​

Journeyman emerged from hyperspace above Tion into a nightmare made manifest. Sith fleets extended across space, the great dark orb of the Malsheem eclipsing the star from the planet, throwing a great dark shadow over the world. Captain Arhul Rodarch was in command, and the male Bith did not care for the mathematics of the situation. Surrounded, and outnumbered, his one ship was, however capable.

"Take us in close to the Malsheem, helm." He ordered. "How close, Sir?" The helm officer asked, a female Rodian from Clan Skirata. She sounded a little concerned to his experienced ear, but she hid it well enough. This wasn't going to be easy for any of them. "Point blank range." Said the Captain, with steel in his voice that he hoped was justified. He knew all too well that they would not last long against the Malsheem's escorting destroyers at that close range.

The Mandalorian battleship surged forward, making a direct course towards the Kainite Sith behemoth. Aboard with her forces was the Marshal of the Journeyman Protectors and her relatively insane plan. Arla intended to breach the worldcraft and remind the Kainites that Mandalore had not forgiven, nor forgotten.

A call came up from the officer operating Journeyman's sensors that the enemy escorts would soon have them within weapons range. The Captain took that revelation as expected. "Ignore the escorts. All weapons will bear on the Malsheem. Take us straight in, flank speed."

The enemy fleet protecting the massive dark orb of the Malsheem would not have failed to notice Journeyman's arrival and approach. They would be prepared to repel attackers. He hoped that his own ship's shields and armour were up to the task. They were in for a pounding.

The battleship's Captain kept his concentration on the myriad of ships protecting and escorting their primary target. The Malsheem. The object of their expedition. The experienced Bith fleeter knew that he had only to deliver Arla's strike team. He would do everything in his power to keep his command intact, but he and all his people were prepared to sell their lives dearly if it came down to it, just to strike a blow against the Sith.

Darth Empyrean Darth Carnifex Maldor Mecetti Darth Aion Fiolette Yvarro Lissa Darth Malum of House Marr Alicia Drey Gerwald Lechner

 

[Teresa Zambrano | Darth Pellax]

Objective: 2
Allies: Darth Carnifex , Darth Prazutis , Domina Prime
Enemies: Velran Kilran , Open!

Spoiler

Across the room, another was undoing the same rites. Normally, in the Epicanthix tradition, this ritual was to be performed in solitude with only the anointed priests aside as witness and sanctifiers. Nightsisters of the same coven applied the same oil to her skin as well, taking care of the large, black wings which protruded from her back. Teresa Pelles, Darth Pellax, was likewise stripped down to nothing, her body bearing similar markings to that the her lord, master, and lover. Thuribles of incense swung above her head, bathing her in the stench of smoldering herbs and charcoal.

Finally, a thin layer of ash was affixed to their wettened skin. It had been made from the cremated bodies of Jedi and other adversaries of the Sith, and had been collected in large clay pots for just this occasion. The application was slow and arduous, and gave both of their bodies an unearthly, ghastly hue. When it had been accomplished, the Nightsisters withdrew into the darkness, as mute and diminutive armorers emerged. They affixed the various pieces of clothing and armor of their respective panoplies, taking great care to anoint and bless each piece before dressing them. For Carnifex, a cloak of metal scales was draped over His broad shoulders, each one carrying the faded emblem of a Mandalorian Clan.

When they were done, the Dark Lord and Darth Pellax rose, cushioned pillows brought before them upon which their chosen weapons had been arrayed. Carnifex reached forward and wrapped His fingers around the hilt of His lightsaber, the dark, burnished cerakote seeming to absorb light rather than reflect it. He sheathed the lightsaber at His hip, slipping the weapon into a specially designed holster emblazoned with the emblem of the Sith Order.

Both master and apprentice locked eyes, but said not a word. They knew what was coming next, and had steeled themselves in preparation. Together, they withdrew from the ritual chambers and moved to join the others.

How strange it was to be included in this ritual. Usually her place was the otherside of those doors. Yet one could certainly grow desired towards this attention. Her eyes watched reaching hands applying oil to flesh in an even coat. The heavy scent that dropped down burnt the nose with each breath, a similar sting to when water rushed down backwards.

As hands came down her arms, liquid metal separated from its bracelet shape into many tiny balls away from the wrists. It really was strange this feeling, and all this sitting still was becoming harder to do by the minuet. As the nightsisters moved to the ash. That red tinted silver metal twisted into a shape of a siring. Both pressing into blackened veins and drawing that liquid out. The Valkyries hands moved in flowing gestures sending that metal encapsulating a little part of her while one stayed close.

Once the ash was applied finally that was when she began to add a final touch. Once more its shape changed to something like a brush that allowed to be blashish red blood be the ink. Simultaneously they'd press onto both Master and Apprentice's cheeks drawing the tattoo that she wore, then finally the mark that Kaine had on his forehead. Their facial marks combined of course made the corners of her mouth crawl upwards. By the time it was done, the nightsisters had disappeared into the dark recesses as next came armorers.

The immense figure was encased in a form-fitting bodyglove, meticulously laced at the back to ensure a snug fit. Layer upon layer, the garments were donned, each piece adding to the ritualistic preparation. Finally, the black plate armor emerged, its imposing presence adorned with intricate veins of gold. But it wasn't just the grandness of the armors craftsmanship that commanded attention.

Inscribed within the plates, hidden to all but the initiated eye, were ancient Sith runes. These glyphs, imbued with the dark power of the Sith, and each symbol hummed with suppressed energy, ready to unleash its protective might at the slightest hint of an incursion from the Light.

As each piece settled into place, there was a sense of comfort and familiarity, as if the weight of the armor brought with it a sense of purpose and strength. It was a sensation that Darth Pellax welcomed, a reminder of their connection to something greater, something beyond the realm of mere mortals.

When the Blackened Valkyrie rose, cushioned pillows brought before them upon which their chosen weapons had been arrayed. Only four could fit onto the pillow brought before her, as the other three sat in the creases of the servants arm, their Auxiliaries to long each one would become affixed to her belt till reaching the last and newest blade, Sekitangara. It stood out to the rest, and certainly drew the eye. Perhaps it was the over all length, or the attention to detail, but one look and anyone could say with certainty it fit the warrior perfectly.

Teresa's golden orange eyes wrapped in black snapped up meeting Kaine's. She did not say anything, but in her mind there was nothing but words of adoration and affection at seeing Him ready for battle. She withdrew from the chambers alongside Him.

Stepping out onto the large viewing platform Teresa walked standing tall. Strangely, she had heard the title of the man who stood ahead, Darth Prazuits. How annoying it was to not know a name and yet he was related to Kaine. It took a second to remember, faster than for most. It was His uncle. The other, was a mystery yet hand a certain allure. Normally the Valkyrie stood out with large wings, yet compared to this one who had blue armor for skin, how intriguing.

She wanted to learn about this creature, Teresa wanted to know its durability, how this xeno ticked. For a first battle back after months of idleness, the excitement and stage could not feel an more better. It was like a present no one gifted but the motions of the galaxy shifting in the Kainites direction. Hearing the artificial monotone voice anyone could feel the fluctuate of her power. It was becoming harder to contain herself.

While Kaine made his speech, Teresa remained at His side though a little back letting the man stand in the forefront for the gathered masses below. The grandiose nature of his words was lost on her, yet seeing and hearing the passion weaved into the words was not. To think, years ago, she was nothing more than a drifting speck, unnoticed and insignificant.

As Kaine delivered his speech, Teresa stood slightly behind him, allowing him to take center stage before the gathered masses below. While the grandiose nature of his words was lost on her, she couldn't overlook the passion woven into them. It was a fervor that stirred something deep within her. "So handsome," She softly muttered at nothing more than a near silent whisper.

Looking down onto the crowds chanting, she began to think, about years ago. When she was nothing but a speck drifting aimlessly through life's currents. Yet here she was now, standing beside a man whose words moved crowds and shaped destinies. It was a reminder of how much had changed, of the journey she had undertaken to reach this moment. Teresa had the connections that her life so desperately needed: from something as a lowly retainer, to those she liked enough to call friend in her own meaning of the word; from daughter to Love and Master that helps guide the path she does not just walk down but dance freely along.

​

As Malsheem now stood between Tion and its sun, their battlefield became bathed in the purest dark. Only artificial lights cast its glows for now, but soon fire would spread across this world in its warm violate embrace. Amongst the sea of star destroyers roaming close was The Drepane, launching its Krovos-class Rapid Assault Transports and escorting starfighterts. Though they were her units they'd be fighting elsewhere independently with more clear cut goals that required a certain tactical approach.

This suited the Epicanthix Valkyrie well. Her desire was nothing short of fun in the waves of pain given and taken that was soon to commence. "I cannot wait to be down there," Teresa said with a giddy tone towards Kaine. "Also you must be Prazutis, nice to meet Carnifex's Uncle. Masters family is so big, there are still many faces haven't met." Right now, she did not know anything about the man, but he was important enough to have his title be easily remembered.

"I'm Teresa," her eyes flicked across to Kaine for a moment before snapping back to Prazuitis. "Darth Pellax." It still felt embarrassing to say that coming from her own lips. Rather it was more preferable to combine both name and title as her current last name no longer held meaning to her any longer. Next the Valkyries attention turned to the Xeno. "I do not know you though." She said as a roundabout request to know the woman's name.

Spoiler: Lightsabers and equipment

Dark Valkyrie Armor
Iroai Amulet

Old Owners Lightsaber

Ancient Lightsaber

Trandoshan Jedi's Lightsaber

Fathers Lightsaber

Svikin hjörtu

Sekitangara

 

[Kivah]

Allies: The Sith Order
Enemies: The Lost Empire, Cerria Desyk
Objective: Fan the flames, Ambush Colonel Desyk
Unit: Mercenaries mostly equipped like herself with various generic weapons.

Spoiler: Gear

Armor (heavy variant), Gear Webbing, Tracker/Flash Goggles, Repeater, Launcher, Hand Cannon, Z-14 (leg holster), Thermal Detonators

Riding down to the moon had been surprisingly uneventful inside the Sith Vindican transport. Kivah had been given command of a platoon of other Order Mercenaries after her survival of the regime change on Krayiss and she'd taken the long minutes in the darkened troop bay to look out over them. They were chaff, meant to sow confusion and disrupt the enemy rather than given any real direction. Most of them would die for a chance at an armful of credits and a spot of recognition like the hastily daubed grey command stripe painted on the shoulder of her rust red armor. Their escorts had peeled off early to chase down a squad of fighters, leaving the transport group vulnerable to interceptors and ground fire, but many of them made it to the surface intact to disgorge the motley assemblage of mercenaries.

Kivah's love of fast firing weapons was on full display with the heavy repeater she carried as casually as some of her men carried their carbines and the light auto blaster she'd strapped to the outside of her boot as backup. And while the heavy disruptor pistol cocked out from her hip might not have matched them in volume of fire, it packed the kind of punch that'd make a girl weak around the knees. Finally she and a few others scattered across her unit were carrying a some of the new Astraeus missile launchers given that they were exposed out on the flank with other mercenary units and likely wouldn't get much other support from the fleet or regular army. A good thing too now as orders came in, a company of IFV's were making a run towards one of the Sith landing zones and they'd be passing through Kivah's position.

The bombed and burnt city naturally lent itself to ambushes and the Cathar quickly set about placing her squads in the ruined buildings and piles of rubble along the most likely avenue of their advance. The two-lane had only been lightly carpet bombed so far with the surrounding homes and businesses taking the worst of it. Little fires dotted the surroundings and gave Kivah hope that they might conceal the IR signatures of her own men as those on loo-out peaked from their hiding spots. She'd placed her squad of ten directly in the indicated path command had commed in, slinging her repeater in favor of the launcher she'd carried. That placed two of the missile systems in the advancing IFV's path. Her other three squads were spread out, one in the street to the left of her position and one to the right to catch flankers or stragglers to form a rough 'V' shape that'd hopefully collapse in on the advancing armor. Her fourth and last squad were tucked in behind the on on the left to reinforce where needed.

 

[Ivixa Nera'kas]

Location: Capital City - Third Moon of Tion
Objective: Back in White
Tag: Zachariah Conway

"Let it all burn first."

The words of the Staff Director burned in Ivixa’s mind as she monitored the ongoing situation in the city through the electronic feed in her rifle’s scope. While Ivixa did not like having to hold back, she would stay within the parameters of the Director’s orders, while also still doing what was necessary to complete her mission. The stealth systems in her armor would help with that, fortunately, as they would allow her to sneak past patrols, rather than engaging them and potentially violating the Director’s orders in the process.

For her part, Ivixa’s overseer had tasked her with gathering intel on the Sith cults which had infected the city. That meant going deep into Sith-controlled districts of the city, a prerequisite in which Ivixa had already made significant progress.

However, she still had more distance to cover before arriving at her target.

And so, as Ivixa watched the ongoing executions through her rifle’s scope, she took note of the assembled black and red-armored Sith soldiers who were positioned to execute a group of condemned prisoners. For a moment, the sniper hovered her scope’s crosshairs over the head of the Sith ( Darth Malum of House Marr ) administering the executions, before thinking better of pulling the trigger. Instead, she placed her rifle over her back and turned to make her down the facade of the building, her armor’s camouflage coating concealing her form as she did. Before long, the tiny assassin touched down within the alleyway adjacent to the building, at which point she began to make her way towards the execution site.

If she was lucky, the bodies of the condemned would hold clues regarding the whereabouts and activities of the Sith cults within the city.

Spoiler: Loadout

• Ivixa’s Phase II “Glitter Ghost” Sniper Armor
  
  • Gauntlets
    
    • FAE/M-02 Energized Gauntlet Vibroblade (2) - R/L
    • LPD-49 Miniaturized Static Blaster (2) - R/L
      
      • Ammunition
        
        • Power Pack (5)
  • Droid
    
    • ASBF-X86p “Njósnari” Probe Droid
  • Energy Shield
    
    • Phase III “Force Avenger” Energy Shield
• Breshig War Forge Consolidated SR-2M Verpine Shatter Rifle
  
  • Attachments
    
    • 1-100x FAE/S-08 Electro-Scope
    • Reflec Coating
  • Ammunition
    
    • 20-Round SLAP-HE Magazine (2)
    • 20-Round AP Magazine (2)
• CP-01R CryoBan Pistol (2)
  
  • Ammunition
    
    • CryoBan Cell (5)
  • Attachments
    
    • 1-5x FAE/S-08 Electro-Sight
    • Reflec Coating

 

[Zoltidas]

Objective: Back in White
Location: TIE Fighter Factory, Capital City - Third Moon of Tion
Equipment:

• vibro-axe
• Adapted ICA-1 Imperial Crusader Armor
• Great lightsaber

Tags: Lissa | Darth Strosius

Even with the warning of Sith involvement in Imperial space Zoltidas viewed Crusaders being used to quell riots and guard factories as a misuse of assets. At least they were deployed to protect products of war. If the Crusaders were warding off rioters from some commercial holoprojector factory, Zoltidas would have probably joined the riot. Instead the Chironian Captain stomped his way through the TIE factory, his vibroaxe bashing and slicing the intruders as his lightsaber remained on his hip for the time being.

As he pushed forward into the crowd at a hurried pace to try to weed out the leaders of the riot and take the head off the snake so to speak, rioters were bouncing off of his body as well as being dispelled by his weapon. He gave a grim smirk under his helmet as he witnessed the Twi’lek squire’s lightsaber lashing out through the air and taking down several adversaries before returning to her waiting hands. It seemed a manner of fighting that fit Oola, but was a bit too dainty for the Chironian Juggernaut.

The immediate area was now completely devoid of living opposition, but when Oola called out there were more in adjoining sections Zoltidas stamped his hooves in angry disgust. He did manage a chuckle at the second observation of the Twi’lek squire however. ”Good. The Sith can do some of our work for us. But we’ll need to move on to the cultists now. They are the bigger threat. Factory and Lunar Security can take care of the fleeing rioters. Let’s go!” He waved his arms and waited for her to come down from the higher ground so they could move on.

 

[Brec Abrak]

Location: Imperial Holding Facility, Capital City - Third Moon of Tion
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If you worked as a criminal for a long enough period of time, you'd get caught.

Some legendary figures claimed to have gone their entire lives without getting pinched. Maybe it was true. But the odds were against it. There were innumerable variables in every situation, and even the very intelligent or the very wise could not foresee them all.

For Brec, it had been a random encounter with a guard of unlikely skill and intellect. The man had acted decisively and properly in a situation that should have never come up at all. And he'd incapacitated Brec before the Siniteen could get his considerable wits about him.

Only later did Brec learn that the 'guard' was actually with the NISB.

It brought new meaning to the old saying, 'I'd rather be lucky than smart.'

But maybe luck wasn't completely outside of his sphere, today. There were explosions in the distance. The muffled sound of Tie Fighters screaming over the building. The dulled noise of heavy blasters cutting loose on... someone.

Something had gone very, very wrong on this moon.

As he pondered that and what it might mean for him, the answer came. The energized barrier of his holding cell was cut off, and an NISB officer stood in the doorway.

No other guards. Just him.

Curious.

"You're the slicer." It was more a statement than a question.

Brec looked up at him.

"I've got a job for you," the officer continued, "If you do it, all charges will be dropped."

Another muted rumble came up through the floor plating.

"To what do I owe this uncharacteristic generosity?" Brec asked the question, but he already had an idea of the answer.

The NISB officer glowered at him. "The short version is, we're under attack. We need you to slice the factory computers."

That was what he'd come here to do. They now wanted him to perform the very crime he'd been arrested for. The universe clearly had a sense of irony.

"I'll need my things," Brec said. "All of my things."

The NISB officer regarded him coldly, but assented without hesitation.

"That can be arranged."

---

Kivah Zoltidas Ivixa Nera'kas Teresa Zambrano | Darth Pellax Arla Rodarch Alicia Drey Darth Malum of House Marr Lissa Darth Carnifex

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[Teckla Tane]

Objective 1: Lost to Static
Location: Imperial Stronghold of IM-346, Tion
Outfit: Black Field Armor w/Breathe Mask
Equipment: See Bio
Forces: Solo for the moment, Quarren and clone troops in reserve
Tags: Nouqai Veil

Teckla hated being on the defensive. Her entire career was based on her ambition and always moving forward. When the Moff Council was approached about the rising threat of the Sith Teckla wished with everything in her body to launch a preemptive attack against Drommund Kaas or Korriban. Punch the bastards where it really counted.

But her troops had been through many aquatic battles in the process of taking up power in the Calamari sector. And she had been pushing them hard in training on Minntooine. She would be damned if she was going to depend on the Quarren to defend her territory. Which meant that her troops needed to be very comfortable getting wet.

The invasion had begun. Between the massive super cruiser hovering over the station creating all sorts of havoc and the obvious presence of Sith infiltrators, Teckla decided to strengthen the resolve of her troops with her powers. From there however she suspected that her role in this battle would not be at the lead of her troops. She gave orders to Skyria and the Quarren commanders and made off to find her own battle.

Skyria would have the clones on the ready and respond quickly if Teckla needed them. The Quarren would do what they could to secure the base. For now Teckla was happy to be on the hunt again. Looking for the biggest Sith fish that she could take on to ease the pressure on the “normal” troops within the station.

 

[Darth Vindictus]

The storm rages relentlessly above the Imperial Stronghold of IM-346, casting an eerie darkness over the corridors within. From the shadows emerges Darth Vindictus, a towering figure clad in the menacing garb of a Sith Lord. His horned visage and glowing red eyes mark him as a formidable presence, radiating the aura of the Dark Side.

"I am Darth Vindictus," his voice resonates with authority, cutting through the tumultuous atmosphere. "The Dark Side's fury incarnate. I come to claim victory in this siege."

The air crackles as he ignites his custom-made double-bladed lightsaber, its crimson hue casting an ominous glow. The metallic hum fills the silence, a prelude to the impending clash of powers.

"The Sith shall reign supreme," his words carry an undeniable conviction, a testament to his unwavering belief in the supremacy of their cause.

With deliberate steps, he advances, each footfall echoing a declaration of his intent. The storm outside seems to respond, its fury intensifying as if in sync with Vindictus's own resolve.

"This stronghold will be ours," his voice cuts through the chaos, a command veiled in certainty. "Those who stand against us will fall, for the Dark Side empowers us beyond measure."

 

[Alicia Drey]

Tags: Darth Carnifex ~ Darth Aion ~ Fiolette Yvarro ~ Lissa ~ Darth Malum of House Marr ~ Arla Rodarch ~ Teresa Zambrano | Darth Pellax ~ Kivah ~ Ivixa Nera'kas ~ Zoltidas ~ Brec Abrak
Location: Tion's Third Industrial Moon
Equipment: Several squadrons of NISB Immortals, The Direct Surveillance of Domestic Threats, The Initium.

"Ella?"

Darth Ayra averted her gaze from the flashing lights of lit turbolasers and dying destroyers to the voice. An empty gaze lowered to a girl that she recognised. Ayra was stoic as she looked down at herself.

Emotionless.

Cold.

It was a fleeting moment. As soon as it came it went with a flash and the girl was gone. As Ayra continued to look at where she had been standing and as her emotionless eyes continued to stare she felt doubt beginning to fester in the place where her indomitable soul existed. If she had one. The familiar desire to do the right thing raised itself inside her with enough emotion to cripple her steely resolve. Willing her not to use the Immortals behind her for their intended purpose but rather put them to work in evacuating the moon. To save as many lives as she could before the moon fell completely. But Ayra did not do any of those things. She was a devout follower of the dark side of the Force. There was no room for mercy for the path she walked was one far more familiar now than that of the Jedi Knight that fell to the hands of Darth Carnifex .

Betrayal is the way of the dark side, Darth Ayra reminded herself. The moment passed, and a new rigour revealed itself. Through doubt Ayra now possessed resolve to do what needed to be done.

To fulfil the promise of the Sith.

Two there should be. No more, no less.

"Commander," Alicia said as she turned her gaze away to look behind her. "Alert my men in the DSDT to initiate purge protocols. This moon has fallen."

"Yes ma'am."

~

NEW IMPERIAL SECURITY PROTOCOL 16-21-18-7-5
PURGE INITIATED
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Upon the viewing screens of Tion's Third Industrial Moon's spaceport through to the local devices of it's citizenry the emblem of the New Imperial Security Bureau appeared everywhere. An automated voice begun to speak as Darth Malum of House Marr and his men brought Darth Empyrean 's justice to the Empire of the Lost:

"Effective immediately all evacuation protocols have been abolished. Security measures are now no longer in effect. New Imperial Security protocol 16-21-18-7-5 is now in effect. All citizenry are to return to their homes and find somewhere safe to hide. All saboteurs, rioters or Sith loyalists are to surrender immediately. All Imperial forces are to initiate Purge orders. The moon has fallen."

Darth Ayra turned her gaze to the Immortals behind her and begun to speak: "Purge protocols are now in effect. Cyanogen will be distributed throughout the moon via the mainline sewer system. Secure exits and load the drums. Begin."

Upon the activation of the Purge the NISB Immortals- an elite unit designed for clandestine, and covert operations- begun filtering through the moon into the mainline sewage system. Their weapon was choice was Cyanogen: a toxic gas that when it came into contact with Humans (and most other species) would fall too it's toxic effects. In anticipation of the attack (with thanks to her infiltration of the War Council meeting on board the Mors Mon) Ayra had written up Protocol 16-21-18-7-5 and prepared for this eventuality: that the legions of the Sith Empire- brought to bear by the Corpse Emperor- would overwhelm the Imperial defensive line.

With the Malsheem looming above her Darth Ayra knew that the moon was lost the moment that the battle station appeared. But that did not mean that the Sith were set to keep what they were about to take. Indeed, for all pretence and purposes, this entire battle was somewhat of a trap set by Ayra with the help of the Tsis'Kaar. No doubt Darth Malum of House Marr was an unwitting participant in this plot to destroy as many Sith as possible. But he had, nevertheless, been a useful tool in this endeavour.

Through the Tsis'Kaar Ayra had been delivered the War Council meeting, and through exposure to the Worm, the Siege of Tion had been initiated. . .

. . . only for the Sith to walk into a cloud of Cyanogen set to engulf the entire moon. . .​

. . .If the Immortals were not stopped.​

 

[Darth Prazutis]

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Everything was in place.

It all began over a week before the invasion was slated to begin that the Mortarch would be locked within a hidden chamber on the Malsheem. In the umbral darkness the ebony maidens of pain came, their milky white skin covered in burial shrouds that reeked of decay. Only their pupilless eyes were visible, bleeding down their cheeks and staining the cloth. Each carried a barbed lash glowing orange with molten fury at the tip, they were spiked from end to end their material covered in designs depicting toothy maws. The entire chamber slanted towards the middle of the floor where a drain was supposed to exist. But it was buried beneath a thick layer of black sand like calcified bone, as sharp as razor blades and as hot as volcanic lava. The walls were covered in faces depicting horrified screams and grotesque scenes of terrible violence, while a hundred braziers burned a kaleidoscope of colors, braziers of varying design. Some were mere severed heads parted from their bodies, the eyes still twitching as if it was recently taken, their craniums cracked open while a noxious spice fume burned from the boiled brain. The thick acrid smoke was infused with enough narcotic of a hundred designs to kill a thousand addicts. ​

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In the epicenter of the room stood the living giant, the Shadow Hand of the Kainate. He was suspended into the air on a black column where the priestesses left him crucified, heavy nails holding his limbs in place. Then it all began. The sands whipped up into a horrific sandstorm then of such fury, its blasts gored the Lord of Lies body. Black blood poured from a thousand open wounds while the sands fury burned through his eyes, tearing open his throat. The maidens of pain began to lash his back then, each touch of the agonizing whip sent his body into involuntary convulsions, their mouths spoke horrific, blasphemous prayers of such vile origin the walls creaked and strained at their utterance. This continued without end for five days, and five nights they mercilessly whipped the Dark Lord. Upon the final days completion, the sandstorms ceased and by the time they did? A toothy grin was locked on the giants face from ear to ear, his head held high never wavering. It held the twisted sense of pleasure found in the eyes of the worst sadist, the most depraved of masochists.​

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Twelve Jedi were brought into the room, chained to black slabs that burned their very skin. Each were victims captured by the Kainate and tortured to near death by the Mortarch himself, until they hung on as little more than half dead, shambling corpses. Their throats had long since torn from screams that destroyed them. The giant tore himself free then, blood streaking from opened veins as he struck the floor in a kneeling position. Power flowed through him as he reached out to the assembled council of the damned and consumed their screaming souls. Down from the ceiling poured the blood of butchered Mandalorians like rain, each a traitor who threw in their lot with the Sith Order during the Mandalorian Genocide. They were the last group left that served House Zambrano, all others had been turned into golems. The blood of the betrayed seemed to soak through his skin, absorbing through the pale tattooed, naked flesh, all drawn into the storm that was the penultimate architect of death, the herald of oblivion. ​

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Their blood congealed into his battle oil, subsumed with the acrid smoke to coat his shin in a crimson tinged shine. Each of their bodies crumbled into the very ash that blew into his form, coating the slick flesh into a fine powder. Attendants covered him in a body glove then, and then placed around him a raiment of dark steel, crowned with spikes each holding the skull of a great foe, butchered by his thine hand. A pair of great sith lightsabers were already in place at his sides then, and the Reapers own Scythe appeared from the darkness before him, the horrible Daesumnor. The Mortarch emerged without a word mere moments before the Eternal Father and his Apprentice came, he made no acknowledgments as the procession began. No words needed to be spoken between the Dark Dyad, such was their connection they could move without communicating and still remain in sync. When the Eternal Father spoke to the Kainite Forces he did so with the Shadow Hand beside him. When the speech of the Eternal Father concluded, the Shadow Hand spoke.​

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"These Imperial dogs have dared to think they deserve the right to breathe in our world, in our kingdom. Our might spans from rim to rim. We are infinite. Enlighten them to the true masters of this universe. Show them they are mere victims beneath our heels. Burn it all my legions. Burn it all to ash and dust on the wind. Let the memory of our coming burn into the marrow of this world, and all others who dare fly the flags of our foes."​

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Again! "Nyashjontû Wo! Nyashjontû Wo!" "Imperius! Imperius! Imperius Unitada!"​

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Again! "Nyashjontû Wo! Nyashjontû Wo!" "Imperius! Imperius! Imperius Unitada!"​

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Again! "Nyashjontû Wo! Nyashjontû Wo!" "Imperius! Imperius! Imperius Unitada!"​

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As the entire world of Tion grew dark underneath the shadow of Malsheem, a hive of ships poured out of hyperspace in protective positions around the immense station. It was in the aftermath of such a rousing speech that the Dark Lord found himself beside his nephew, his nephew's apprentice, and the newly crowned Hand of the Dark Lord. An appointment that came with his blessing. The xeno child of his nephew was a capable, loyal, intelligent, and incredible killing machine. Many needed to die, and she would be the divine instrument to burn their souls out from across the stars. As Darth Pellax began to introduce herself, for a few moments it would appear as if the Shadow Hand wasn't acknowledging her. He spoke softly his gaze locked into the distance. In reality his attention shifted to the evolving battle plans, ensuring Malsheem's security and the unfolding invasion to come. Every detail flowed through his eyes in immense, rapidly flowing streams of information. Every scrap was taken in and absorbed, while he made minute changes. That was when his attention snapped back into reality.

"I know who you are Lady Pellax. Nothing escapes my notice here." The Dark Lord said once more pausing to take in new information before speaking. "All Kainite Forces proceed with phase two of the invasion. General Tiamat prepare your legion to repel borders, reinforce all internal positions. General Kastax prepare for the surface. AQUILA suspend all nonessential activities, systems. We are on a total war footing. If they dare to step foot on this station it will be at great cost. All defense efforts will be coordinated through the Warmaster. Send regular updates directly to me of Malsheem's condition." The Shadow Hand once more resumed focus to the conversation at hand, to a chorus of affirmations in his ear. "I have observed your teachings with great interest, my nephew has told me of your successes, there is little we do not share Lady Pellax, Domina, today we enlighten the Sith Order. Destroy everything. Show everyone the cost of doing war with the Kainate."

Darth Carnifex | Teresa Zambrano | Darth Pellax | Domina Prime​

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