Exodus

".. Yet pretending is a specialty of yours? You wound me with your distrust, Raven. You continue to believe, or rather insist, that you lack the slightest of reason to step onto Coruscant. You will not do it for the prisoners that fight for you and your allies on Onderon, nor will you move for the trillions dying on behalf of you and the enemies that you failed to stop. You have abandoned them to Mandalorian butchers, and now you hide from your duty even as I extend favor to your selfish circumstance." "You see, you are gravely mistaken, for I have never once claimed such juvenile notions as good or evil. Where I am from, such words are merely groomings for children that have been burned out from their family homes and thrown blindly into colonial holding camps, each of them counting the good and evils that passed them by the hour. All this is, is survival. You will make of it as you please, little Raven. For the lives of thousands, you would have been wise to have killed yourself on Dark Sun and been done with it. For the lives of many more, you would be brave to face the fire, but you will not show. You are not worthy to call yourself an adversary of mine, a youngling desperately void of dignity. But you are youthful, and perhaps we can make something of you yet. "We have summoned you, you have been weighed, and you have been found wanting. Your allies will not be released. They will die clinging to this hope you speak of, and they will face the inescapable judgment of the Dark Side. They will not be the last, for they are not the first. Just as you or I will face an end when our time comes, theirs will not be swift. The cowardice charged to you and the Jedi you serve ensures this." "Master Qaela. You have done well. She may leave if she chooses, But those that she came with, Kill them."

The onslaught continued deep into the northwesteern corridor, chaos rapidly dancing in the backdrop as he moved. These creatures had never seen such footwork in their lives, the way in which this speed demon murdered so liquidly. Allfather Exodus swept his feet as deftly as the shadows themselves, and with that, his sun-touched blade burned through his adversaries two at a time. The dangerous stalemate of the smaller airdock had not interested him, for he knew the two he had left behind were more than enough to quell the pathetic uprising. The King of the Sith desired answers, secrets that were confined within this ancient barge that had eluded him and the Sith intelligence for far too long. Windows of opportunity were now closing however, and closing fast as explosions tore through the Hexa. There was another strike team that extracted what he needed, operating under the distractions the other Imperials provided when they had boarded, trained to remain a mystery to even those that were considered allies. These four were marked in the armor of classic stormtroopers, but blackened in paint with small detailings of luminescent emerald. Their deployment always signified a critical extraction, but reaching them for answers was an impossible feat. Once their objectives were confirmed, a direct line of communication with their commander-in-chief would verify that their departure was permissible. Stealth technology was extremely prevalent in teams that conducted themselves under the emblem of the Spider, nurturing the air of mystique that surrounded them. He could feel the fires of this Dauntless spread like wildfire beneath these scorched layers of metal. Bolts and beams splitting apart as the infrastructure viciously separated, peeling undone before the atmospheric gravity of Coruscant suctioned them into an unforgiving heat. Exodus rounded the bend and made way for the airlock that had suspended his cloaked starfighter. The rummagings planetside had unfolded and the struggles of Coruscant would not be sorted without the Emperor-King leaving his imprint. (Going off grid.)

Dun Möch "You lead those that will oppose me? ..Silly Raven, that is the meaning of this. Your focus is half-witted. When will you lead your people to protect those that beg you for it? Coruscant weeps and burns, yet you ignore and choose instead to warmonger like the God Emperors of old that you speak of. I am but a simple man, one that the likes of you and your kind are ill-prepared for. This, I promise you." The Emperor-King smiled, but the strange static that hampered the holo-display from revealing a clearer picture, obscured his sharp toothy-white grin . Truths were spoken, ones that perhaps bit harder than she could expect, but these were the events as they unfolded. If blows were exchanged here and now, the startling of Dun Möch would set this child beside herself in the face of a Master. Exodus hadn't expected much more than this, for his enemies were all unlettered, and weaker than he could have hoped for. In the strangest of ways, it had become his responsibility to strengthen those that opposed him, for iron sharpened iron and the failings of his enemies would surely sour the truth of his ambitions. The Jedi were a crippled rendition of what they once represented, choosing to detonate the lives of innocent bystanders in a war for a fraudulent Empress, for no other reason than to make a statement. Several thousands sacrificed selfishly for her and her alone, to be rescued from an eclipsed Black Sun, while their home-worlds and loyal citizens were ravaged and undefended. Sickening, beautiful and truly a nature born of the dark side, whether they understood that or not. They served themselves, that was the tall truth of any Jedi past or present, and that was the tale of Raven the pretender. "These prisoners of war.. They invaded Onderon, unprovoked and herded by your Jedi. You must have known this, child. Their treason, their warmongering is why they faced impartial execution. Their blood is on your hands, Pretender. You are playing a game in which you have no understanding. What would you have me do to those that endanger the citizens of an innocent world?" The Spider dangled the choices of life in front of her, weaving the white braids of her consequences as bleak cobwebs of truth. There was no convincing this one of how dark she truly was, and no measure of lies needed to convince her that the ones she chose to align herself with were just as sick. She knew at least that much, for it was the dark side that had freed her from her chains. But perhaps here and now, she could learn and become more than what she was, perhaps one day she could bring his adversaries to a place of worthiness. Exodus was still smiling widely, the wild lengths of his dark hair sweeping his powerful features. Or perhaps, there was something far more sinister at stake, and not a soul could place their finger on it. "Would you trade your life for theirs?"

“Astonishing,” It even speaks as peasants do. “Your ignorance and blatant inexperience reveals itself in record timing, Raven. Like the child you have proven to be, you wave your finger about, trying desperately to blame another for your glaring shortcomings. You are wrong, and you have failed." Exodus considered for a moment, that this was the champion of the battle at the Third Death Star, an unexceptional woman that bonded the blood of foes and created false peace. A thing once called the Galactic Alliance, a thing she had a hand in creating, but now calls useless. Perhaps she was a witch, and had turned them all into fools, but the mystery was one he would likely never understand. His challenges in waters that were far more dangerous than these, had taken him into an undertow of struggle for a near decade before he could return to what was left here. And thus far, he was wholly unimpressed with the remainder of what common folk considered the Golden Age. The Dark King cleared his throat before he continued with his explanation. "Your provocation and betrayal on Carida, it was I that put that to a halt. Your failure to apprehend Faust on Iziz was costly, but it was I who crushed him and liberated the Capital. I shielded Onderon with might, reinforced her better than any have before, and you chose to answer with an invasion." Exodus broke an empty laugh, sarcasm more than obvious in his delivery, "you barely broke orbit." "Your forces crumbled like paper against the armor of our armada, yet you and your Jedi friends chose to bombard and defile the small colonies of Dxun for nothing more than jest. Even Lord Sheog would not think to stoop so pathetically low. If this was not yet embarrassing, you allowed one trite and tired criminal to devastate Coruscant by himself, and open the flood-gates for the Crusaders to rape and ruin the Galactic Throne. Where are the beloved peacemakers now? On Chandrila, did you send aid? Was it enough? But of course, the hundreds of thousands that ambushed the Station to rescue you was of most importance." Egregious selfishness was on display, sickening when the realization hit. No endangered civilizations were sent any amount of aid, but the full armed force of the their greedy alliance was sent to rescue just one woman of mild importance. It painted a bright picture for even the most ignorant to see. "Understand this, I weigh my kills with the blood of my enemies, while you and yours weigh it in the blood of the innocent and weak." "Little Raven. If you think this is what fear looks like, than you have been nursed at your mothers' teat for far too long. You are a suckling that has attributed your failures as a protector, to your fears of the great and powerful Sith. I am what you fear, and as the evils around you distract and take you apart, you continue to instead watch me with cowardly eyes and sacrifice your sheep against my wolves. I have handled your responsibilities for you while you skulk in my shadows, and have done what I have needed to do to see a true Empire rise. I am not here to school you on these histories, but if it is any voice that you would use to speak to me with, it should be one of reverence, for your sarcasm will have you killed where you stand." The conviction in his voice, explained that this was not the dealings of Black Sun. This was life or death. "Do we understand one another, Raven?" King Exodus was merciful, he would start again.

Scratching, brief moments of stubborn static, followed by a rough three seconds of deafening silence. The sonic frequency was erratic but when the connection settled, a much clearer rasp fell upon the uncomfortable board room. His breathing was harsh, heavier than usual, far too close, yet not close enough. And then it wasn't. .. C C R R R R R K K! A sharp and short crunch. Breaking? Delicate bone caving under pressure? What that sound was, could only be confirmed if they had visual. But they didn't. What sounded similar to a body gone slack, dropping with dead weight to the floor, was just conjecture. The labored breaths that once were, now fell quiet. Three-dimensional imagery sprouted from the centerpiece unevenly, the filaments of dry color shorting as the Dark King emerged. This was not the likeness of some hunched, over-cloaked, force-festered blight that stood before them. Here, the crude and able-bodied width of a young conqueror satiated the relay transmissions. The magnitude of his size and imperial stature seemed overwhelming, even by holo-display alone, magnified by the detailed tinctures of armor that covered him from his battle-worn greaves to his neckline. Loose cloth that was both unsparing and thronged, hung from his open cloaked breastplate, strengthening his exalted demeanor. Yet, the color of his battle raiment remained distilled by the simple grey-scale transmissions, so much so that his face was rendered into a distortion, leaving his facial features covered in an obscure mask of shifting shadows. ".. Aaah. And so it begins,"

I M M E R S I O N Darker now, flashes of red blindly punching through the smoke. Blaster bolts. Exodus spread his stance thin, lowering himself nearly into a split. Weak lungs or not, a great many would slowly buckle into a wheeze if they were not wary, dropping below the smog was likely the best option here. The assassin closed his eyes to see what he could not with them open; as far as his natural sight could see, his unnatural mind had a vision that was nearly prophetic in efficiency. The hum of the warship drummed alive with echoes and sounds, senses that heightened him into an apex predator no matter the species he was up against. "I see every last one of them," His voice was charred with the Dark Side, but his answer met the curiosity of the Imperial Officer Bakra. Exodus tumbled forward into a clean roll, organizing enough momentum to torpedo his body like a bullet towards his enemies. It was absurd how his command of the force could accelerate his body the way it did. He spun through the air hard and fast, with the blade of his lightsaber in hand. With the red flare of Transcendence, it looked as if it were a ring of fire that surrounded him as he torpedoed into the fray. The first of his foes caught the brunt of his aerial speed, an aggressive Form IV punched into the Cabal with a force that would have ripped the Trandoshan into two. The assassin missed intentionally, spreading himself out again so that he could stick the landing just behind the stunned foe, driving the width of his red blade through the body of the creature that now stood within his kill zone. Execution of form was flawlessly delivered. The Trandoshan was dead before he could understand how quickly it had happened, his body slowly teetering apart at the seams from what was once whole. The Cabal stood dead, but managed slight movement from his pointed fingertips on his left hand. Exodus heaved upwards, and then diagonally with his weapon before kicking the upper half of his foe over. The left hand of the Trandoshan separated from the wrist, and his head fell clean off from where it just sat moments ago. Before the green-skin came entirely undone, the assassin was on the move again. The speed in which he moved was hard to trace, but he needed them to try. A loud whistle cracked the sound of the chaos all around them. The sound was so naked and powerful, lasting only one full breath, but the hearing of it was what left a gnawing impression. It became a white noise inside of the mind of their enemies, "What is that noise?! Focus, focus, find him! Kill the bastards now! ...What is this force magic? They have reinforcements, they are in the shadows you fools, shoot!" The language was Dosh, so it came across as loud hisses, growls and grunts. The frantic ramblings implied their confusion, and now their desperation. They were beginning to see things, many things, shapes and sounds shuffling their feet behind the veil of low visibility. They aimed high and low, an obvious disorientation scattered across the small airdock in frenzy. Perhaps the Spider was toying with his food. Durasteel screeched off of the flooring, already compromised from the crashing starfighters, but now the metal was being manipulated. Darth Awenydd and her ally Bakra had found a new confidence, now pushing their own offensives. The heaviness of a vibrosword slammed into his crush-gaunt, with an intention to mutilate the Spider, but the quality of the armor-piece was underestimated. Metal clashed with Mandalorian Iron, naturally forcing the Dark King to brace slightly from impact, but the physiology of an Anzati was far superior to most. He adjusted quicker than most could, and immediately seized the weapon with the same hand, holding the Trandoshan closer, close enough that he could smell the rank odor from the underpits of the creature. “Where is the Arkanian Prisoner?” The Cabal hissed in his native tongue, growling obscenities from under his mask that truly answered nothing. The green-skin was rebellious and yanked harder with both arms to free himself, but the cumbersome weight of the vibrosword added to the difficulty. “Pic’ would be ashamed of these rodents.” Exodus leveled the red blade to the face of the Cabal now, silencing the incessant yapping coming from the despicable beast, Dosh was never a pleasant language to listen too. “Cow-erd” The beast tried Basic, so much hate bleeding through those beady eyes. Exodus released the hold on the sword, dropping backwards by a step to avoid blaster fire. All youth and lean muscle came from the Trandoshan now, leaping forward into Exodus, waving the heavy blade in figure eights multiple times before crashing down onto the floor. The Dark King cracked a smile. This time, he ensured eye contact, the brilliant emerald of his eyes showing for the first time as his hood fell from his wolf-mane. For a brief moment, he could see real uncertainty in his opponent’s eyes, almost as if he was questioning his entire life to this point. But it was too late. Advancing. Forward again. The Cabal charged at him with the heavy-blade upheld, going to his foreswing and following it with a backswing. The Spider dodged the first and met the second with his crush-gaunt once more. This time with a force that sent his opponent reeling, but not enough to knock the blade free of his hands. A raving set into the Trandoshan, understanding that his every move was futile. A small storm kicked up in the airdock, circling what he could only describe as a witch, and this man in front of him who was impregnable from the jump. He could see the other Cabal fall from crack shots behind the broken TIE fighter, his attention now scattered. “Focus on me, Trandoshan. You must watch closely, or you will miss the moment that you pass from this life into the next.” The voice of the King was smooth, alluringly so, but the otherworldly pitch of it sounded like he spoke from the grave. Dun Möch. The Trandoshan could not believe the audacity, he stampeded forward now. Swing. Swing. Swing. The first two missed horribly, and the third, a back-swing that lacked strength because of the exhaustion in his muscles. Exodus slapped the heavy-blade from the hands of his opponent and punched into his chest with the same hand, finding flesh and bone. The forearm of the King ate through his opponent as easily as air. The Cabal dropped to a knee, tried to stand, and dropped again. “I will find what I am after, reptile. Now embrace death.” Exodus reached deeper and squeezed, crushing the insides of his opponent, feeling every bit of a warm surrender. The life released from his foe, and so did he, pulling his arm from the idle corpse. Exodus wasted no time and burrowed further, angling his attention now to the enemies that held their choke-point towards the north-western access. He was now the spear.

K I L L Z O N E. The eastern hall swam in an ocean of black, haunting in the way the narrow passageway yawned into nothingness, shadows crawling from the corridor like wisps of buttery smoke. Gunfire suddenly loosened with the drumbeat of a hailstorm, an explosion followed with a vicious eruption that rattled the steel framework all around them. The loud thermal detonation careened the smaller airdock with a crude rumble, devouring whatever stood within a six-meter radius. Blood, screaming, and the chiming of battle saturated the already oppressive air. Yet, from the eastern hollow, another had emerged to enter the fray. The well-heeled leather of his boot was the first to surface from the flush smoke. The obsidian complexion of the cured hide looked rich as it crossed the blood-moistened floorboards, one step before the other in a pair of unhurried steps. It would seem that an Imperial officer, and a familiar Lady of the Sith were hand in glove, two distinct seeds of his Empire. The likeness of a time that had long past, brought nostalgia to his cold heart. A symbolic affinity between the Dark side and the Imperial machine, a union restored by the many hands of the Spider. One he would nourish by the strength he had earned. And as a twist of fate, he wore upon himself a cunning interpretation of the uniform that belonged to the treasonous Imperial Knights, quantifying their insignificance the longer he remained as the head of the snake. He adjusted his gilded bracers, watching interestingly from under the brim of his black hood. "We need to bolt. Pick our fights until we can linkup with the proper ground troops and get real weapons." KING EXODUS HAD COME. The matte cloak that chain-linked into his armor piece whiplashed as he quickened his steps. His movement was unbelievable, a blur if the mind even tried to capture a tenth of the quickness he exercised. The distance between the eastern shadows, and the choke-hold between his kin and the Cabal, was covered in a matter of breaths. An inhale, and an exhale delivered him to the forefront of battle. The devilry of Transcendence activated and was already spinning wildly, the malformed hilt of his lightsaber burning a brilliant red, dancing in front of him as he brushed off the stream of fire headed their way. The archaic weapon was of legendary ilk, a tool of destruction that was synonymous with the All-father of Assassins, one of which would not be recognized from the sight alone of it alone. Whenever the lightsaber did scorch the atmosphere though, a distinct and otherworldly humming could be heard in the eeriest of tones, with every swing and every stir. Retreat was a fair choice by the two, for the vast number of adversaries imbalanced the scale. The appearance of heavy blaster rifles meant that open field combat was not advantageous to the duo, and it was more cunning to funnel them into the dark and take them apart piece by piece. He was sure that was indeed their strategy, for cowardice would have sealed their fate otherwise. "On me." His voice was clear despite the pandemonium, a dreadfully calming elixir, echoing in the minds of Bakra and Fieldgrey. The blowout had kicked up more obscurities on the battlefield, and circumstances had now taken a turn in their favor. The smaller air-dock brimmed with smoke banks that rose from the canisters, fell in pours from the impaired ventilation, steamed wildly from the fallen star-fighters, and now crested from the thermal detonator. Visibility suffered to say the least. Exodus moved forward into the thick of it nonetheless, his dancing blade masterfully rejecting the barrage of blaster-fire coming their way. Heedless of where the blaster munitions came from, Exodus brandished his blade with his dominant left, and re-oriented the bombardment to instead neutralize the Cabal that attempted to surround their position. With his right, he summoned a brawny heave of the Force and peeled the weapons from the enemies that continued to advance from the northwest. A pair of heavy blasters, a few pistols, and a massive vibro-sword slid behind him. If Lady Awenydd and Petty Officer Bakra wished to turn the tide, now was the moment to seize.

PRESTIGE. A Story-Driven System of Reputation Used by the Faction Leader. (UNDER CONSTRUCTION / UNFINISHED) The Sith Empire uses a framework of prestige to determine the value and notoriety of a character within the faction. Prestige is accumulated in more ways than one, and is OOCly configured based on IC participation. Characters that are involved in conquests, raids, tournaments, faction-progressing plots / missions, developmental role-plays, and specific world-building pieces can achieve a cumulative level of prestige within the Sith Empire. Such achievements and involvements can be attributed to the viability in a characters’ succession of rank within their faction, as well as how they are perceived within the dominion of the faction. This framework is RP driven, not stat-based. "IRON" (ACOLYTE/Pre-Apprentice - GREENSKIN/Pre-Lieutenant) (Level I) "BRONZE" (APPRENTICE - LIEUTENANT) (LEVEL I & II) "SILVER" (LORD - GENERAL) (LEVEL I & II) "GOLD" (MASTER - SUPREME COMMANDER) (LEVEL I - III) "DIAMOND" (DARK LORD - EMPEROR) (I - IV) * LEGEND: "PRESTIGE TITLE" (APPROXIMATE RANK VALUE OF PRESTIGE) (PRESTIGE LEVEL) PRESTIGE LEVEL I, II, III, IV. & REPUTATION. Prestige levels and Reputation do not directly correlate. Levels are documented by the faction leader to better categorize the effectiveness of the PCs involved in his or her faction. Reputation is a culmination of involvements/accomplishments/contributions of a particular faction PC, as well as their continued activity in the RP. Prestige levels are used to theorize the overall capabilities and skill of an individual within their respective faction rank (used as an estimation, not as fact). Reputation will deal with how familiar they are within the faction due to their exploits, and what is generally available to them based on how they are perceived. This will make it easier, narratively speaking, for characters to have control over their creations, and make use of faction resources with a bit more diligence and regulation from the faction leader. Role-play is key, and coordination between characters will lead to a more authentic experience. PRESTIGE CAN RESET IF INACTIVE FOR 6 MONTHS REPUTATION RESETS IF INACTIVE FOR 6 MONTHS. ALL ELEMENTS OF PRESTIGE AND REPUTATION MUST BE APPROVED BY FACTION LEADER. First Prestige The narrative listed here generally governs what is possible for a character that has freshly acquired a new faction rank, inheriting a slight power spike from their previous faction rank. Although capable of holding their own in most combat situations against those of equivalent prestige, there are still limits to what they are capable of. Even though it is possible to operate with new abilities that are more suitable to this new equivalency of faction rank, first prestige generally lacks the experience to be masterful of the tools now inherited in their new rank. These individuals can represent the upper crust of the militants within the faction nonetheless, adepts who are able to quickly engage a target in front of them with sufficient speed and accuracy, they can overwhelm the average adversary or NPC without hesitation, but may be faced with lesser experience when engaged with multiple opponents at once, not displaying the same conviction in their new ranking. Second Prestige These are those who have commanded the reins of their rank and show that they are capable of impressive proficiency in combat and are able to manage their focus more accurately. After trials and tribulations geared towards honing body, mind, and soul (or lack thereof) these individuals have shown exemplary tenacity, and confidence in the capabilities that was previously reserved in the infancy of their distributed faction rank. This is the evolution of their role, and also the stepping stone to ascending them to a new level of prestige or a furtherance in the ranks of their faction. Third Prestige Some of the most powerful individuals in the galaxy, they are capable of manipulating the force or their bodies in the most masterful of ways. Dangerous in every sense of the word, these individuals are able to quickly engage with multiple opponents, even when surrounded, and are able to quickly turn on enemies in ways that seem to push the very limits of what is physically possible. Their reflexes have been attuned to the extreme and their speed and reactions develop accordingly. If it is the Force that they command, then their rule of it now wanders the realm of true mastery, ingenious in their applications of it. Force or not, these individuals can push the attack while brandishing a robust defense, even against numerous offensives. These are some of the most unparalleled wielders of their rank, vastly exceptional and sparsely found. Tread carefully around these, for the limits of what they can do are uncharted. Fourth Prestige La crème de la crème, these individuals are supremely beyond compare. Seldom do you see them anywhere in the galaxy, unless they are at the head of the most powerful of factions. They are crowned masters of their mandate, and have chronicled an unquestionable legacy etched into the stones of their faction. Whether or not they can command the force, their sensory organs have mushroomed into near-perfection. They are an army all on their own, and should be feared as such. Either by physical ability, mental acuity, or a consummation of both, these individuals are divine by their very nature. They can withstand immeasurable punishment, while reciprocating that tenfold. REPUTATION 1.1 Hated / Condemned 1.2 Hostile / Inhospitable 1.3 Unfriendly / Unfavorable 1.4 Neutral 1.5 Honored 1.6 Revered 1.7 Exalted 1.8 Legendary Neutral These characters are a dime a dozen, commonplace amidst the faction. The character is not a stand-out, no matter the narrative belief that they may have, or the regard in which they carry themselves. Their impact to the faction is smaller than minimal and it may be difficult for them to pool the necessary resources to accomplish personal quests of progression. This is where nearly every single character starts from within the faction, and as they continue to notch their accomplishments on their journey, they will notice that their influence and reputation will grow. Honored These characters and their name (or alias) is a little more known inside of their faction, and perhaps shared in their inner circles. They have found their mark, and may hold a particular leadership role of some sort. Their involvement in faction-based orientations are present, and continue in a constructive manner. The ability to command and acquire resources opens up a bit more, and this is required of them in order to generate a foothold/powerbase within the faction (task forces, NPCs, planetary bastions, etc). Coordination is key, and will loan to the potency of a characters’ rise within the faction. Revered These characters are quite well-known. Their name and exploits are familiar to those in all factions, even though they may not be a household name on the galactic scale just yet. These characters are typically placed high in their organization's power structure and wield tremendous power and influence. These characters can lead sub-factions, rule single planets, and typically have enough notoriety to win meetings with important galactic figures, such as other planetary leaders or the leaders of other organizations. They will also find their efforts to do such things significantly easier (and shorter) than their lower-leveled counterparts. Exalted These characters are famous. They are a household name throughout the galaxy and their exploits are known to just about everyone. Many are the leaders of their factions and are among the most powerful beings in the galaxy, either literally or through their political clout and wealth. These characters can lead entire factions, rule multiple worlds, and easily secure meetings with the galaxy's major players. Because of their notoriety, and often their power and influence, these characters also find it extraordinarily easy to complete most task and can do so much quicker than their lower-level counterparts. Legendary ... ______________________________________________

A R R I V A L. The stealth canvas of the vessel ricocheted with soft flutters as it settled onto the devastated air-dock, the matte black sheen of the Lightbreaker spreading an eerie sentience aboard the Dauntless as it spread itself open and touched down on the still-warm bodies of the enemies below. The sound of the smaller chain-railgun screeching in automation was haunting, eagerly searching out a target in all corners of the quiet hanger bay. Three rotational cycles, reeling with the metal clash of the rounds attached to the barrel, semi-targeting the last breaths from the corpses of those that would not be remembered. This place festered with desperate death. Exodus unfastened himself from the cockpit while his eyes quickly scanned the written font that rolled across his screen, and no surprise found his expression. He did not speak, nor did he wish too, and instead narrowed the stricture of his armored gauntlets. "Your authorization is required, your Grace." The articulation of the AI came off less enlightening, and more facetiously. The Dark King spent a cavalier sneer, ignoring the eccentric software and the peculiar jest that came from it. With his weapons checked, he made his move to exit the craft and reconnaissance the underbellies of this derelict Dauntless. "Relay the information to all assigned commanders. Delta-73 and his company will make landfall shortly, address them and familiarize them with reinforcements immediately. There are a significant number of task forces still available for deployment, do so quietly and eliminate their orbital intelligence. Nyrys, Telperien and the remaining Sith need to be drawn up to speed, they will know how to situate themselves from there. I shall seize command of the boarding forces here, and uncover what it is that these fools are keeping under wraps. The Galactic Throne will be mine." On cue, the ramp fell and the spectacle of ruin was strewn across the bracketed metal floors; smashed transports filled with focus-fire, butchered bodies from both sides overlapping one another, and all of the little details of war that could fit nicely into a painting of struggle. The distinctive image of E-11 rifles ungraciously emptied, metallic armor designs of fallen Sith troopers, and an arid blood bath. Exodus strolled passed them, wraith-like in his demeanor, an imposing march of a curious King. There were five transports of ours here, more that latched onto the forsaken Mandalorian cruiser in other places. As he laid his remarkable emerald gaze onto the battlefield, a mind so powerful could only visualize the events that came to be, drawing from a spreading darkness. There were those outside of the Dauntless that reached out by way of the mind and spirit, ancillary kindred Sith that were urged by the temptation of battle. Exodus would respond in kind. Unchaining the secrecy of his presence, the Dark King was heralded as one of the most powerful beings that this galaxy had ever seen, and the loosening of his darkened presence would pass through an extremely large reach, both soothing and terrifying simultaneously for all who would have no choice but to feel it. Emperor, and Dark King of the Sith Empire, slackened the Sith Sword in his palm, dragging the blade against the steel below him as he roamed.

From the mercurial husk of the Lightbreaker, the Dark King could see the undivided expanse of the Sith superstructure as it broadened for miles in each direction. Mighty turbolaser columns were stretched across the breadth of the Black Scarab, opening with a hailstorm of raw energy that imperiously choked congested space. Spotted enemy warships were harshly gored, detonating them into unrecognizable heaps of ruin once they chanced entry into specific firing lanes. It was suicide to rear your head against the Dreadnought, most understood that by now. The coordination of the Sith-Imperial Armada operated under prolific efficiency, while the armaments attached to each formation and each task force, began to breach inlets to the inner orbits of Coruscant. The battlefield was sickening, engorged by death and clutter, worsening as the power flotilla stampeded forward. "Lord Emperor, integrity of the starfighter will suffer full exposure if engaged." "Pull me through." The image of the artificial intelligence appeared before the Emperor, washed in a computerized backdrop of calculations that bleated as the Lightbreaker accelerated towards the uncertain intensity of the chaos ahead. Hurried breath briefly fogged the inside of his navigational helmet, obscuring the displays before him for a brief moment before the digital pane re-calibrated and cleared the condensation. A chronograph bickered with sound as time moved forward, and once the strike team punched through that Dauntless, the timer would see a final conclusion. A high-pitched whine cut through the riot of space, followed by the unrestrained blare of compound explosions ripping through the enemy Heavy Cruiser. It was time, at last. A phantasmal energy crawled to life, smothering a large portion of the Heavy Cruiser. Operational luminosity throughout the entire warship flickered and then eclipsed into black. Indiscernible electromagnetic energy drowned the light from around them, and the immobilized warship became ripe for harvest. When the Dauntless fell dark, task forces hidden beneath the shell of the powerful Scarab, readily equipped for boarding operations, jumped into the fray and streamlined themselves one destination. Undoubtedly, it would be easier to blast the Dauntless into smithereens, but the potential to catch a Crusader of merit would be more than lucrative. “Advancing now.” The black-stone luster of the daedalian Lightbreaker shifted into a fierce acceleration, coordinates locked for the mammoth Dauntless. Azurean streaks of burned fuel trailed behind the starfighter as it launched itself recklessly into anarchy. The intelligence network installed inside the prized starship absorbed full reign of navigational system, Exodus surrendering his control over them and himself to the inebriation of the Dark Side. The Lightbreaker drove with impunity through the debris field, performing extraordinary maneuvers, jockeying the full weight of the machine to sweep passed the invariable trajectories of rock, wreckage, and hostile shelling. The Dark King commanded an exhaustive palette of the force, exercising a transparency of the battlefield by way of his foresight, envisioning the way forward. One hangar, and the action would begin.

C U L L I N G. The harvest of the weak will be handled by the might of the powerful and no other; the old and the corrupt will be dismantled, the unjust and unworthy will be hung by the sharpened skin of the Reapers’ blades, and the Dark Side would have it's bountiful fill. Coruscant was enveloped in unquestionable devastation, and now the Sith had arrived to sweep through the planet and warrant the unchecked rot with masterful hands. Make no mistake, the Sith Empire would be cast as the truest deliverers of justice and freedom in the eyes of all who could see, while the noose around the neck of the galaxy tightened slowly and without notice. This was why, it was his choice to make. No sliver of opportunity was missed, and the yield of harvest for the Sith since his return, spoke without precedent in how dominant they had truly become. The King of the Sith was on the move. Colossal steel doors to his private quarters heaved open, and a smog of powerful incense unleashed into the wide vestibule. Primitive lamps with oils that burned with the ash of his violent ancestors, suffocated the chambers and imbued those that were within with the clarity of a God. Ancient power crawled the skin of the Spider, searching his flesh and finding the sacred stains of ink that were drawn across his body. He stepped from the obscure awning of his quarters slowly with vapor still dripping from his armor. The anatomical cuirass that covered his abdomen stood out as a solid black, burnished beautifully with the black of alchemy inside his chambers. It appeared as if he were an Imperial Knight, dressed similarly but with a perverse touch, mockingly interpreting the color of death and the emblems of his unruly Empire on their uniform. From his slim greaves, to his gauntlets, and to his neckline and pauldrons, the matte black shading of his armor seemed lacquered with real blood. There were bodies left in those chambers, bodies that were vampirically hollowed to the bones. Their blood maybe, but the trail was not hard to find. The charming natural hue resting in the eyes of the Dark Lord was utterly deceiving, his posture terrifyingly perfect as he stood beside the mysterious Keepers that kept watch of this corridor. It was not hard to hear what type of monster the Anzanti Sovereign was, and his efficiency was a matter they could only bow their head in respects too. "Gentlemen." His voice echoed deeply, the sound of the Other side duplicating his words. The doors behind him closed and sealed immediately, just after the Keepers stamped their staves knowingly. Exodus turned and made way for his personal starfighter Lightbreaker, his baronial cape flashing behind him, emblazoned with a large and infamous familial white crest.

C A M P A I G N Chapter Two The illustrious Sith-Imperial Armada manifested from the scenic wealth of hyperspace, emerging into the Coruscanti System as a commanding incarnation of fear and might. Thousands of ships trailed from behind, burrowing into the black field of space before them, lining the pockets of this ruined system with extreme force. Hesperidium was in complete mar, Coruscant was feverishly ablaze and every level of orbit remained disastrous. The arrival of the Sith-Imperial warships swarmed over a kilometer in distance, jumping from the ringed shipyard of Kuat and into the destruction of Coruscant. Wreckage and Debris spun loosely out of control, tearing themselves apart in volumes that differed in the size of destroyers to spearheaded columns that threatened to impale whatever stood in their way. The formation of the Armada barely shied from the large scope and circumference of desolation that laid before them, but the danger, as they could all see now, was very real. Defensive screens began to immediately form up from the rear of the Black Scarab, which would now root itself as a staging point for their operations to begin from. Fighters were launched, and smaller ships diverted their heavy usage of power to forward shields as they ventured forward and braved the vollies of wreckage that would soon slam into the body of their vessels. The larger warships and made use of their weaponry to pound open gaps in the wreckage for advance forward. Maintenance crews unraveled from different task forces and began their laboring to manage the havoc all around them. Beams of energy erupted from the more offensive of task forces, scorching through the debris and slamming into the heaviest arrangements, impacting with tremendous force and displacing whatever was caught in their path. Transports and atmospheric gunships would need the opportunity to make it through this mess in order to make landfall, but there was another obstacle that appeared on the other end of the chaos; vestiges of the infamous Crusaders. TIER I / ORBITAL DOMINION Most planets endorsed by a major faction, whether currently or previously, will offer a bevy of orbital defenses for the conquerors to wade through. The first phase of a conquest is to deteriorate the defenses that present themselves, paying careful attention to the current state of the planet in question. Belts of asteroids and debris from a previous battle must be taken into account, dangers that were never once accounted for, can realistically present themselves if the conditions make sense for them to. Planetary shields, mine-fields, rogue task forces and many more options are ripe for exercising, these type of flavors should be engaged to supplement the intensity of a conquest. For the Sith Empire, it is quite simple; we must establish a staging point for our unwieldy offensive. This can be at a marked rendezvous point, a mock bastion setup on a nearby moon, or as simple as the Faction Flagship. This area will be noted as a Faction Checkpoint, and will be the cornerstone of our orbital operations. The faction leader will track the strategies employed by the members of the faction, as well as their performances before rendering the ability to progress further. If Hazard Zones are in effect, the faction must be able to adapt to the prompts as well as the realism of their forward progress. Faction members will be able to employ all resources accessible to them to achieve success, at the discretion of the faction leader. (Sith Empire, you have now arrived. React accordingly to the havoc that is just outside our formations, and the incredible ruin of Coruscant. Post any approved task forces in the appropriate forum and have them engaged here if you wish, understanding that the maximum to deploy is 3. Our objectives are to arrange ourselves for battle, and realize that the Scarab will be used as a preparation/operations vessel in order to move forward. Read the Hazards that are listed and be cognizant of them as we freeform this. Any questions, ask away within our channel.)

If not hundreds, thousands of naval warships swarmed with extraordinary life around the metal wreath of Kuat. A sparse few turned into a great many, and as laboring crews worked to prime the Armada, vessels from all abroad appeared in ever-increasing numbers. Dozens of warships drifted eeriely through the vesper gloom, sub-light thrusters burning colorfully against a backdrop of a dismal star-field. The largest among the flotilla were the capital ships of the Sith-Empire's upper crust, each one capable of fielding a powerful offensive all their own. For now, they simply listed lazily above a hoarded ringed world with a vaunted wheel-shaped dockyard. Cargo freighters moved about the stations expeditiously, stopping at one station before moving onto the next, and so on and so forth. The lush expression of the raw planet started to blot with the smear of black and crimson. Mammoth works-of-art spread across the high-orbiting ring, Sith-Empire encrusted battle-fleets haunting the mere spectacle of the celestial body. Commandants and Masters of the vast flotilla shared a common interest, one divine purpose delivered to them by their unyielding Emperor. "The rate of death is catastrophic! The sellswords attack with impartiality; there is no halt in their advance. The Alliance, the Jedi, they have abandoned us! Coruscant is dying, I beg of you——" The holo-matrix deactivated abruptly, and the small-scaled frame of the distressed public official, collapsed back into the home of the pocket-device. Such miserable whimpering slowly peeled at the patience of the Emperor, and he could stand it no more. A heavy yawn escaped both his manners, and his mouth. A creature nearby leaned, not of humanoid distinction and swamped in the usual blackened robes, lowering himself to where the Dark Lord sat among peers. “The Fleets are assembled, your Excellency. They are ready to move on your order.” It was time. The coy infiltration of the future repeated itself inside of his mind, churning a boiling anger within his blood until the air around him stifled. The neediness of the weak. The squealing of sentient life-forms that chose shame instead of glory, far too helpless to protect what it was that they most cherished. Their hands reached out, begging for an answer that they themselves could never provide. Exodus and the Sith sacrificed more than their share for this power, and now these panhandling worlds would seek them out for it, pleading to their new saviors. “Alert all commands, prepare the jump.” Soon after, the mighty armada converted their formations and began a powerful transference of energy, winking away one after another into the depth of hyperspace. Kuat had served a purpose, now battle was upon them. (Sith-Empire Armada Departs for Coruscant.)

Code of Conduct JediRP.Net Foreword By playing in JediRP and engaging in the associated discord channels, you agree to abide by our Code of Conduct, detailed below. The goal of these rules, guidelines and principles is to foster a vibrant, collaborative, character-driven role-play environment with a welcoming and supportive community. The following is the first draft of a Code of Conduct for the growing community in the RP and OOC discord channels. Feedback is welcome, and encouraged. We will attempt to document major changes and maintain an effective record. Rules Observed and enforced. Characters & Setting Time period and technology. Our Stars Wars galaxy is highly influenced by Star Wars Legends. With regards to technology available to characters this is generally interpreted as anything derived from Canon/Legends besides Super-weapons. You may not play characters drawn from books, movies, TV or similar works to which you do not hold the copyright. You are allowed to play characters inspired by books, movies or TV or with comparable powers, but not characters directly lifted from those works or directly referencing specific elements of those copyrighted works. OOC Conduct Foster a pleasant environment. Treat others as you would expect to be treated. Snark and negativity lead to an unpleasant OOC environment, and such attitudes should be checked at the door. It is your responsibility as a member of the JediRP community to ensure that the channels of communication that are established remain a safe and welcoming atmosphere. If a newcomer has questions, do your best to provide a helpful answer or point them in the direction of someone who can. If they prove to be disruptive, offensive, or problematic, inform a moderator and try to remove yourself from the equation. Avoid being a keyboard vigilante. No OOC bigotry or discrimination. Expressly forbidden are sexism, racism, ableism, ageism, homophobia, transphobia. This list will be amended as other "-isms" are brought to our attention for inclusion. Those who make comments out of ignorance will be given an opportunity to pivot their conduct. Those who intentionally cross this line will be dealt with firmly. As we are playing a game which allows for taking on the roles of villains, bigotry may come up as a theme in some fictional characters. However, anyone found to be sheltering this kind of toxicity behind a veil of "roleplay" will be considered to be crossing the same line as listed above. Context is important. Do not assume anyone knows that you do not share the same opinions as your fictional characters. Be considerate. JediRP is home to a community of players with diverse backgrounds and sensibilities. If you are informed that an OOC conversation is making another player uncomfortable please respect their feelings and find something else to talk about. Racism, sexism, homophobia, stalking, harassment, or other abusive or discriminatory behavior will not be tolerated. Conflict resolution. The great majority of OOC conflict between players results from miscommunication rather than actual malice. Disagreements or differences of opinion between players should thus be addressed first with mutually respectful private conversation between the parties involved. Moderators can be called upon to provide neutral mediation if desired or it becomes necessary. Away for awhile? Let us know. Life always comes first. If something comes up which means you’re no longer able to participate in an ongoing story, let someone know! This allows the other players to work around your character’s absence rather than the story stalling and everyone being left in limbo. We're generally relieved to know we need to work around these situations instead of being left hanging, so never fear backlash over announcing your absence. IC Conduct Consent-based roleplay. Freeform roleplaying uses consensus between players to resolve conflict between characters, based on a single rule: The player generally has the final say on what happens to their character (except at the conclusion of a duel). Your character may attempt to perform actions upon another character, but it is up to the other player to decide what effect (if any) it might have. Likewise, other characters may attempt to perform actions upon your character, but the result is up to you. This doesn't mean you should disregard all attempted actions against your character or are allowed to god mode and break the roleplaying rules, rather you should never feel constantly pigeonholed into only one course of action that you're not keen on based on the controlling actions of someone else. If you have questions about this, reach out to a Moderator. Informed Consent is important. Perhaps the most important element to mutually satisfying experiences between roleplayers. Specific details do not always need to be discussed in advance of every interaction, but if everyone involved in a scene is on the same page as to what to expect for content and tone, then (theoretically) fewer issues with those narrative elements should arise. However, since risks are somewhat mitigated in a setting where we are each encouraged to collaborate intentions, informed consent is not necessarily a requirement to role-play interactions. After all, for some of us, the pleasure of a role-played scenario is not knowing in advance exactly what's going to take place, and having our character(s) react to it accordingly. To facilitate this, we recommend getting to know your audience before broaching a topic or subject matter which may be challenging. We all have different lived experiences and different levels of sensitivity and empathy. Some topics have very personal significance to some people, and their feelings as they pertain to those topics are important to consider. While one individual may have no limits to the fictional subject matter they are willing to participate in, it is important to remember that such limitlessness is not universal. Every complaint, concern, or issue expressed out-of-character related to in-character conduct should be given full due respect. Avoid OOC notations in IC forums. Please only make in-character posts in the IC forums unless necessary. All out-of-character comments or conversation should be directed to the appropriate forums or discord channels. Do not engage in any of the following behaviors: Godmodding (or GMing) is a term used to describe someone who consistently and flagrantly ignores, avoids, blocks or otherwise disregards actions taken against their character, often to the point of being effectively invulnerable. This makes things really boring. Power Gaming is a term used for someone who defines the outcome of an attack themselves without giving the other player an opportunity to react or evade. This is illegal per the roleplaying rules and will almost always result in a loss for any duel confrontations. Meta Gaming is a term used for the practice of basing IC actions on OOC knowledge. As a player you can access a lot of information there’s no way your character could know – board posts like character sheets, or conversations with other players. Having your character act on such privileged information is strongly frowned upon unless there is a plausible way they could have known about it. Moderators will review these cases carefully, and produce judgment case-by-case. “Mature” vs. “Explicit”. Roleplay in JediRP can and will touch upon mature themes. Characters are free to use adult language, engage in physical relationships, or commit acts of violence, but we expect our players to exercise restraint in how such subjects are portrayed. Graphic violence and sexually explicit content are not appropriate on any of our channels or forums. As a rule of thumb, aim for a PG-13 rating. When in doubt, fade to black and allude to something happening rather than use explicit detail. Guidelines The following is not strictly enforced, but review and adherence is strongly encouraged. Good RP Habits Turn order. Whoever posts first goes first, whoever posts second goes second and so on; once established this turn order is maintained for the rest of the scene unless otherwise agreed. An easy way to keep track is to remember who posted immediately before you – if they’re the last player to have posted then it’s your turn again. If there are a lot of characters active in the forum at once, it is usually decided beforehand and a turn order is pre-organized (definitely encouraged). Keep in mind: this turns into an enforced rule in any hostile scenario, e.g. duels. Post length. We do not impose strict limits on post length, but recommend that you try to keep IC posts in the general region of two to three paragraphs (that’s about 160-240 words or 800-1200 characters), with priority given to what your character does and says, since those are the main things to which other characters can react. If in doubt, ask. Is it my turn? Is this allowed? What’s going on IC? Where’s everyone standing? What does that character look like? If you find yourself uncertain or confused, the easiest solution is to ask for clarification. Communication is always key. Create opportunities for others. Roleplaying is above all a collaborative exercise, in which each player contributes not only to their own enjoyment but also that of their RP partners. The enjoyment you get from RP often directly relates to the amount of effort you make to include other players. A good principle to bear in mind is that every interaction should promote further interactions. Try to include hooks that will encourage both player and character interest and give them something to incorporate into their own roleplay. Give other players reasons and opportunities for their character to engage with yours. Pay attention to the mood. Different players have different tastes – some enjoy tense, emotionally-fraught drama; others prefer a lighter or more whimsical style of play. Just as grim menace might not suit a scene of playful banter, slapstick antics might not be appropriate when characters are engaged in deep soul-searching or bitter confrontation. Please be mindful of the tone of play when you join an ongoing scene – and if in doubt, ask the players involved. Respect the setting. While it may be exciting to wreak havoc, please refrain from constantly having your character casually murder NPCs or engage in wanton destruction of the setting just to demonstrate how dangerous they are. If you feel that incorporating such elements are necessary to develop a plot, please communicate these things with others that are involved and find compromise. Principles Things to bear in mind while playing. Actions have consequences. Player characters do not exist in a vacuum, and NPCs are not passive cardboard cutouts. If your character engages in egregious acts of violence or criminality the setting will push back against them. A character who consistently evades IC consequences to an implausible or unreasonable extent may be considered to be godmodding and will be dealt with accordingly by the Moderators. The Force is not always a solution. Conflict and the struggle against adversity are vital for interesting stories. While it can be tempting for a force-using character to apply their powers to every obstacle they face, blanket-fixing those problems with the same application (and no downsides) is boring. Instead, maybe the force fixes one problem but causes a different one; maybe it exacts a cost upon the practitioner; maybe it has unpredictable or unreliable results that provide opportunity for further role-play. Moderators have authority, but we are all human and subject to mistakes. Sometimes those mistakes may result in an unfair judgement. Please remain polite if you ever feel the need to discuss something which you feel was done in error by a moderator. If you don't feel comfortable contacting the specific moderator in question, please reach out to any of them. These Moderators are volunteers, so while it's important not to feel like you can't discuss something, please bear in mind that a moderator is not professionally obligated. Reminder This is a growing document, and subject to change. Civil, informed, and rational discussion is encouraged as to ensure the best possible standards are met. However, if you find yourself continuously at odds with the rest of this community, I strongly recommend you perform some introspection as to whether or not this is the appropriate community for you to be involved with. Our intention is to have a large and diverse group of people role-playing in as harmonious a gathering as possible, but we acknowledge such an intent is more dream than likely reality. Tempered expectations can do wonders for everyone.

Coruscant. Galactic Throne is burning Astrographical Information Region: Core Worlds Trade Routes: Corellian Run Koros Trunk Line Martial Cross Metellos Trade Route Perlemian Trade Route Shawken Spur Orbital Position: -- Grid Coordinates: -- Sun: Coruscant Prime Moons: 4 Natural Centax-1 Centax-2 Centax-3 Hesperidium Artificial Satellites Physical Information Class: Terrestrial Atmosphere: Type 1; Breathable Oxygen Mix Climate: Temperate & Irregular Primary Terrain: Ecumenopolis; Urban Cityscape, Mountains Major Cities: Galactic City Points of Interest: Coruscant Underworld Galactic Museum (Collapsing) Great Western Sea Imperial Palace (Converted to a Mercenary Encampment) Jedi Temple (Destroyed) Manarai Mountains Senate Building (Collapsed / Under Duress) University of Coruscant (Destroyed) Fauna: Cthon Duracrete Slug/Worm Gartro Hawk-bat Stratt Thrantcill Umrach Societal Information Indigenous Species: Humans (Zhell) Taung (Extinct) Coruscani Ogre Immigrated Species: Various Population: Trillion+ (Rapidly Declining) Primary Language(s): GBS; Thousands of others Faction Affiliation: Neutral ! WARNING ! Hazard Criterion Type: Undomesticated Difficulty: Extreme (9) Hazards: Devastating Climate, Collapsing Infrastructure, Societal Anarchy, Mercenary Contingents, Mandalorian Crusader Outposts, Lawlessness, Post-Apocalyptic Cityscape, Debris Belt, Wildfires, Highly Radioactive Zones, Scarce natural supply, low-functioning utilities CURRENT STATE: (Written by Chad G.) Once considered the heart of the galaxy, the planet spanning metropolis of Coruscant is now a savage ruin, bleeding out while the galaxy ignores its slow demise. Life persists on Coruscant, but it bears no resemblance to the lives people once led here. The rich and powerful who survived the attack have long since fled the planet, and with the planet crawling with Crusader zealots and raiders, there is little incentive for offworlders to attempt to stabilize or resupply the people abandoned on the surface, let alone any plans for rebuilding. The Total Loss Zone (TLZ) refers to the area that the moon impacted the planet’s surface, in what has deceptively been called a glancing impact. This area has been completely destroyed and will most likely remain uninhabitable for centuries. The adjacent regions are the red zones, extremely damaged and unstable areas that are routinely on fire, filled with toxins, highly radioactive, and often all three at the same time. Beyond that are the orange zones, where most of the non Crusader survivors settled or were forced to relocate to by more violent groups. Supplies are ever dwindling, collapsing buildings are a constant threat, and even basic utilities such as power and water are uncertain at best. The rest of the planet is considered a yellow zone, rife with crusaders and blanketed in a lethal cloud of particulates. The Crusaders that have remained planet-side have seized the most intact portions of the planet for themselves, ruling over largely lawless raider communes where might is the only true authority. They routinely launch slaving and supply raids on any survivor colonies that they find, in addition to often demanding tribute, and none have the power to resist them. Occasionally two warlords will skirmish with each other over raiding rights to specific territories, but none of them want to risk ruining what they have here. The lower levels of Coruscant have largely gone dark, but survivors desperate enough to try and look for supplies in the darkness have rarely returned, and those that do speak of cannibal cults and maniacs leading sacrificial rituals to appease dark spirits in the deepest places. Even the raiders avoid the lower levels if given the choice.

“.. Nothing is more frightening than a fear you cannot name.” Words left him flippantly, the shallow undertone of his tranquilizing voice still distinct enough to be heard. The significance of his thoughts aligned with the way in which his enemies conducted themselves, blindly swimming in the actions of the dark side, replenishing the tremendous appetite that such a force demanded. Little did they know, and even lesser did they understand that it was a fear that drove them. Someone and something they could not name. Perhaps his enemies assumed to understand the face of the Sith just as the others did, applying a haunting allusion of some Machiavellian Spider, or the sagas of brutality that the name Exodus provoked. These were the quiet attempts to place an identity to the dread that now stirred their misbehavior, the rationale for their blatant butchery. It was humorous at best, for even now their efforts failed them, and there would be no way to cover their shame. The shortcomings of the failed Galactic Alliance allowed the Sith to harvest more influence. And now, the Darkest Emperor now harnessed the incredible prominence of the Imperial Reign; more sweet nothings that chiseled a romance of narrative over who he was and how dangerous he could be. But deadlier was what he could be, although when and how, was the most frightening part of it all. For now, he allowed a slight and sinister smile, the softest hint that more was to come. "Your daughter is nearby, be sure to properly receive her before you leave here. She is much stronger now, and the child you knew is perishing." As the Lord of the Sith Empire sat in the midst of his kin surrounded by the favorable, his eyes searched abroad. Qaela was the first with sufficient rank to approach, and the floor was hers to speak if she so pleased. She kept company, as was unexpected, but perhaps there was reason to her stay. Others would come, and familiarity for knowledge sake was an underestimated commodity. Shortly, this small recess would adjourn, and the bells and whistles of the Scarab would requisition war. It was only a matter of time. For now, the high-handed assassin made himself accessible to his people, open to those that sought opportunity.

A Simple Man Such dissimilar species, confidently unified under the voice of one. The consideration had never crossed his mind, but it was incredible to watch such a wealth of culture assembled in complete union, for a purpose that the Sith had carved from stone. The xenophobia of old had been discarded, and somewhere on the other side, his mother would exude a level of pride that he was once familiar with. Such memories were small sparks inside the dead of his heart, striking flint, but igniting nothing inside. Her warmth had disappeared forever, and the sweet scent of every breath she took, was lost in the winds of her final day. There was no keepsake to hold dear, for the roaches and rats consumed more than their fill on his home-world. Natural selection became your only friend, and the mother and father to teach you the harsher lessons of this universe, was always sheathed in death. The black hood that rested on the brim of his nose-bone slid backwards when he shook himself from his muse. The depth of maroon that saturated his knotted hair, seemed both wearied and regally burnished, affixing the look of a barbaric conqueror. The skin that mapped the prominent bone structure of his face seemed ageless, a genetic constitution that most species would die for. Still, trace amounts of darkened ink outlined the smaller details of his face, clannish Anzati markings etched in and around his temples. The brilliant mane upon his head covered the tales of each symbol inked onto his skin, but was a clear sign indeed to who it was sitting unevenly, enjoying the show. Some noticed sooner than others, and the reactions were categorically different. There were those that harbored total fear and shifted further into the background, there were others that understood the power and leaned in to shower themselves selfishly, their faces and their fears were telling. The Dark King paid them little mind, and instead reviewed the way in which the Blood Prince drank himself with battle. The language that each soldier fought with, told a story that each of them held inside of their craven hearts, which story was it that this clone held closest was the question. Perhaps Exodus would see for himself. Clusters of men and women parted ways while a familiar face entered into his proximity. A dangerous place for people and things to crawl into. She bowed graciously, presenting a most sincere level of esteem. She wore herself in an attire that blended with the common people, neatly masking the command of who she was and the power she commanded. She was fair in the face, but the chronicles of her past was anything but. Humans were an uncertain flock, fleeting in life but supremely capable of a treachery beyond their means. His mother had worked to teach him this, and his Father learned him the ways to physically address such vermin. Lady Qaela held a mercy that Exodus granted few, and for her homage paid, he would always lend an ear. "Undo the formalities, Qaela. This is a celebration, have a drink." Although he wished for those that followed to unfetter for but a moment, the manner in which the cool in his voice never changed tone even slightly, was worrying. A decorated tray was soon placed frankly on the table from where Qaela stood, fine glasses bubbling to the brim in a neat arrangement. The drink was hers to have whether she decided to take part or not. Sheog would not have hesitated to devour the tray at first sight, there was something voraciously humorous about his appetite that was unsettling more often than not, but insanity was the price paid. Exodus was indifferent to the festivities, finding a small measure of joy in the physical contests that played themselves out before his very eyes. Once they understood it was the Spider who was in attendance, they fought harder. "Your work on Korriban bears fruit, whispers swear upon your efficiency. I will have to return to the land to see for myself. There is something I must ask of you though." Exodus turned his face from the pitched royale and looked the Headmaster into her eyes. "The room for mediation between our enemies and our Empire have been wanting. No words have been spoken, but their behaviors have proven to be irrational and emptied of the moral glass from which they've swallowed for generations. Dark Sun Station is a testament to this, they are embracing their true nature right before our very eyes. Darkfire spoke of a prophecy before he burned, and it seems the old fool might have been on to something." The ocean of our wills, the struggle between polar ends of the force. "... I wish to have words with the face of the Republic, there is something I must know, and something I demand. The difficulty of establishing such communications is of no concern to me, but my message must surely be received. They do not need to know who it is that calls upon them, but if they must, tell them I am but a simple man."

Triumph was what the Scarab celebrated, their arrival had aided their allies, and stemmed their extinction from the battlefield with odds. Minimal losses were tallied for the expedition, and a severe increase was wielded when the leadership of the Black Sun had decided to consolidate their fixed assets into the possession of the powerful Sith Empire. The advent of the Sith was a mere caution to the Jedi and Republic forces that had decided to assemble in vast numbers to isolate the infamous Delta-73 and demand surrender by means of violence. The ultimate outcome spoke volumes to the calculated efficiencies of the armada and the crew that manned each vessel. With success came an extreme level of prudence however, and with influx of allies and prisoners that made their presence known aboard, a swift knife would slice into the ship and carve the abscesses from the root. Members of the Sphere of Sith Philosophy would do the job. The Sphere of Sith Philosophy is led by Dark Councilman Darth Gw’rchod, an aged being of Cerean origin morphed and melted by years of dark side torture. A silent skeletal specter of a being who rarely speaks; when he does, however, it is in a chilling low growling undertone that sends shivers up the spines of his followers and his foes. Those who cross Darth Gw’rchod are known to vanish suddenly in the night. Most are never seen again; but those that are found again, are often found chattering twitching wrecks espousing dark side philosophies and little else as they look on in horror at unseen nightmares that plagues their every waking moment. The Knights of Red Truth spread themselves thin throughout the Sith Dreadnaught, operating on the whim of the mysterious Gw'rchod. These were the militant groups of Sith that have dedicated themselves to the preservation of pure Sith beliefs within the Sith Empire, black clad enforcers of the Pyramid of Sith Philosophy that swoop in to punish and reeducate any who espouse beliefs that conflict with Sith ideologies. Those that were eager to loan themselves to the Sith Empire from the remaining Black Sun, would be met with grace. Those that resisted the call, would disappear and find themselves whisked away on a transport to the nearest reclamation camp. Imperial officers of higher decree, found themselves on tasks of particular intent, seeking out individuals that were most accomplished post-battle, as well as predesignating the role and rank of the newest allies. Authorized and uniformed couriers found themselves inside of the mess hall, equipped with simple envelopes inside of their possession. Inside of these envelopes, simple letters of recognition for efforts distributed and accomplishments tallied, were drawn up with pride. Royal Sith-Imperial imprints were molded into the lettering, and those that carried promotions with them, also carried the weight of a rank-equivalent medal to sport upon their Imperial raiment. The Blood Prince would be approached by a man of the Truth, humbly interfering with where he and his crew were positioned, and bowing incredibly with honor to a man of such prestige. "Captain," he spoke the rank frankly, almost as if welcoming him, and then handed him the weighted envelope. He would leave the famous soldier to divulge the information, and then return to where he came from. Welcome to the Sith Empire, Delta-73; OOC: You begin with the rank of a Captain within the Sith-Imperial Army Under your command, is a Company worth 100-300 soldiers. Customize as you see fit, but must be approved. A personalized mission will be your first task, and will begin as soon as all assets have been re-fueled ICly, you can treat this as an official letter of promotional value, and have it written as you see fit.

The Strands “The House of Exiles” (Written by Frond, or Nok) “A strand alone breaks alone. A cord holds the weight of an empire.” - House Motto of the House of the Strands. The Strands officially exist within Sith society as one of the Houses under the Dark King. Unofficially, they are a hodge podge of failed orders, disgraced Sith, and minor organizations come together as a more powerful collective. Among their numbers, the strong and cunning rise through the ranks. The rest are used up. The Strands makes no secret of its desire to use and toss aside any person or resource that it finds convenient. They draw these recruits from the refuse of Sith society. The dishonored, powerless, and broken find the Strands knocking at their door or taking the bar stool next to them, always with the same offer: a second chance at power. The name itself is a well-known double meaning. Publicly, it represents the ideal that multiple groups working together are far stronger than a single group trying to stand alone. In reality, it is an open secret that the Strands refer to the threads of a spider’s nest, ensnaring all who touch it, either to be devoured or become so entangled they become another part of the web. When interacting with other houses, the Strands prefer to grease the wheels through favors and use information as a tool and a bargaining chip. Manipulation, bartering, and intrigue are their preferred methods, and only rarely do they move openly against other houses. Factions “All those Sith lords and fancy folk up there, they all live so high. Thing about living high though is that you’ve got a long way to fall, and nothing but cold rock to greet your skull at the end. Well, not around here. Here, between them folks and the ground are the Strands. Unlucky buggers better hope they hit the ground instead.” - Inebriated man in Onderon bar Over time, the Strands have absorbed a number of groups, giving them a home and support while only asking that they support the House in turn. Most of these groups aren’t around now, having been picked apart, wrung dry, or mysteriously vanished in the middle of the night. The few mainstays have managed to keep their position amongst the cutthroat politics of the house by providing continual, steady, profitable service while not making too much trouble for their betters. While members of the house certainly exist outside of these divisions, many gravitate towards these groups in the hope of protection and camaraderie. The Sable Weave “We have seen the Sith glorified in the annals of history. The conquering warlords, the mad alchemists, the hidden killers... All earned infamy in their day, and were examples of power we can admire. But the one Sith who managed to rule the galaxy did something different from the rest. He played politics.” - Unknown member of the Sable Weave It’s almost unfair to list this particular group amongst the other factions of the house, as the Sable Weave are the undisputed masters of the Strands. Originally a cult of assassins, betrayal within their ranks nearly wiped them out. Rumor and conjecture surround the night when the Weave unraveled, and for a time people thought they’d been destroyed altogether. They surprised everyone when they reappeared, founded the Strands, and began accumulating power. Originally the Sable Weave was known for a powerful mental link between all of its members, allowing them to act as a single entity within the Force. Indeed, that was where they got their name. After the traitor within presumably used that link to attack the rest, the technique was abandoned. Now, every member of the Weave is a tower unto themselves, keeping their own council, distrust and betrayal their new tools. The only law is that one cannot get caught in one’s treachery, or else face death at the unified sabers of the rest. Most Sith masters in the house who aren’t already commanding other factions find their way into this veiled council. Here they command, debate, plot, and make the decisions that bring fortune and glory to some while ending the ambitions (and lives) of others. To outsiders, they are among the elite info brokers within the Sith, trading secrets and manipulating the unsuspecting through careful interference. Evolving from their origins, the Sable Weave have since branched out from only including assassins in their ranks, and now welcome Sith from all paths. So long as you value power, ruthlessness, and pragmaticism, there is a place in the Sable Weave for you. The Whispering Augurs “The shadow veils the golden stars! Why have the dragons not come!?” - Prophecy screamed by Darth Arasani. Currently uninterpreted. An acquisition that no one thought would make it long in the House of the Strands, the Whispering Augurs have managed to forge themselves a place as the de facto authorities on matters of foretelling and divination within the house, though few outsiders trust their predictions. The Augurs’ peculiar method of divination involves using the Force, drugs, and torture implements to coax one of their members into a maddened, frenzied state of dark emotions to connect him or her fully to the Dark Side. They scream and rave until their voices are hoarse, and the Augurs interpret these manic diatribes as best they can. As a result, every Augur almost always speaks in a hoarse whisper, their throats recovering from their last divinations. Once an independent order of minor Force-users, the Augurs lost favor after several unpopular foretellings and misinterpreted prophecies. Seen as mad and unreliable, their star was on the decline until the Strands scooped them up. Since then, they’ve maintained a small, quiet presence within the house, serving to provide useful intel to house leaders. Their sanctuaries are of course sound-proof. Guarding the Augurs are the Silenced. Augurs whose minds have broken under the repeated strain of emotional turmoil, they are little better than animals, and are implanted with shock nodes to train them through pain and punishment. The Silenced have their vocal cords cut to quiet their near incessant screaming, and they are modified with cybernetics to give them claws, fangs, or whatever else strikes the Augers’ fancy. Once prepared and trained, they are left loitering around doors and halls in the Auger sanctuaries, husks of sith turned into cyborg attack dogs to pounce on any who pass and don’t belong. The Disgraced “Let me make something clear to you. You do well on the battle line, you don’t earn a place in my company. You earn a day. Tomorrow, you’ll earn another.” - Darth Zyntus, Commander of the 3rd Battalion of the Disgraced. Perhaps the longest standing faction within the house outside of the Sable Weave, and certainly the largest, the Disgraced are the public arm of the Strands. In truth, the Disgraced are not a singular faction, but rather a fractured military order with a high turnover rate. Comprised of failed apprentices, broken mercenary companies, crippled warriors, and any other student of war desperate enough to join the Strands, they form the muscle of the house. As the only faction of the Strands where a non-Force user can achieve rank, some see this as a way to improve their fortunes in Sith society where use of the Force is a mark of class and status. The Disgraced fight in war games and gladiatorial matches constantly to improve their standing in the house, the most extravagant of these contests turned into sporting events for public viewing. Those who fail to perform well enough to meet their masters’ standards find themselves “volunteered” for suicide missions, or broken up into separate companies they never arrive to. What the Strands do with the missing soldiers is anyone’s guess, but all agree it’s nothing good. The broken military orders and lone warriors are organized into a strict hierarchy, with the general overseeing the entire faction, and a series of colonels commanding battalions of 500 soldiers apiece. Five majors in each battalion commanded 100 troops, and captains commanded squads of 20, with various support officers appointed as needed. Perhaps the most well known aspect of the Disgraced are the Bladefield Triumphs. An elaborate war game played every three years on the Bladefield of Onderon, so called for the skyscraper built along it's edge nicknamed the Blade, the Triumphs is one of the largest war games in recorded history. The Blade acts as a spectator stand for the wealthy and influential of the Empire, as the entirety of the Disgraced engage in battle on the field below, a battalion free-for-all. Victory or defeat earns each battalion their ranking, with the 1st battalion title yielding preferential treatment, better quarters, and higher pay. The Carver Guild “They do what?!” - Strands retainer after being informed of the particulars of the Carver Guild. The latest acquisition by the house, the Carver Guild was originally a group of Sith Academy students seeking to increase their power by any means necessary. Seeking any hint of an advantage, they eventually stumbled onto a bit of esoteric lore that convinced them the power of the dark side saturated the blood, bones, and flesh of the Sith Masters. And so the Carver Guild began graverobbing. Not for trinkets. For corpses. It became a secret custom of the Academy for the students of the guild to attend “dinner parties” where scraps of old Sith were doled out and eaten in rituals of questionable effectiveness. Scholars and alchemists argue that any observable growth in power among those consuming the bodies of their masters could easily be attributed to their own fanatical belief pushing their abilities further. The Carvers however were convinced, and sought more. After finally being caught and reported by a cadre of necromancers, it seemed the Carvers would all meet with a saber to the throat. In a surprise move, the Strands appealed their case and took them in. The Carvers remain obsessed fanatics, but the Strands keep them in check...for now. Beyond their questionable methods, the Carvers provide knowledge both historical and arcane to the house, and a presence in the underground markets of relic trading, alchemy, and academia. Their alchemy and rituals can be potent, but it’s unlikely even they understand what they’re doing. Only time will tell how long this faction will last. The Starmasters of Varaka “All praise our lord Varaka the Eternal, Darth of Darths, King of Gods, Eye of the Void, Hand of Ages.” - Opening to the Hymn of Varaka the Unholy. When recited properly, the hymn requires an hour to complete. Ages ago, in the Sadow-era Sith Empire, a Sith master named Darth Varaka built himself a kingdom on a remote planet whose name has been lost to time. As legend has it, while there he became the perfected example of the Sith code, ascended to a form of being beyond mortal understanding, and set out to conquer the universe. He saw across time and space, and realized that the time for his conquest and ascendance to ultimate power was not yet here. Instead, he took his most loyal followers to the legendary planet of Iego, where they would wait immortal and plot for his Unholy Age. He left a holocron that those who found it might learn of his plan and prepare the way for him. Most scholars consider the legend a fanciful tale, nothing more. Certainly a few historical records of Varaka exist, but none corroborate the power and perfection the legend describes. His supposed holocron was never found. Until the Starmasters. The High Priests of Varaka supposedly found the holocron of Varaka and unlocked its secrets, spreading its teachings among the more impressionable Sith. They copied down his wisdom into scrolls, which every member of the religion was required to keep on them at all times. That way, even if they died in battle the victors would find the scriptures and learn of Varaka’s inevitable return. They called themselves the Starmasters of Varaka, and their service to the God-King attracted the attention and irritation of more powerful Sith. The Starmasters seemed on the brink of annihilation, until the Strands interfered. Taking the initiative, the Strands wiped out half of their following, then pressed the rest into service under a very public contract. Since one of Varaka’s principles was adherence to the letter of a contract on pain of damnation, the religious zealots acquiesced and quieted down, under the condition they be allowed to practice their religion so long as they obeyed their house masters in any way that didn’t damn their souls. The Starmasters believe that, upon their death, if they have served faithfully they are reincarnated at Varaka’s side to join his growing army on Iego, waiting for the right moment to descend upon the galaxy. If they are damned for some sin they have committed and not paid penance for, then they are cast aside and their souls thrown into the void to suffer. While their scriptures can be hard to decode for the layman, the base principle is that following the Code of the Sith while praising Varaka’s name earns you power and honor at Varaka’s side, while failing to do so earns you damnation. To a Starmaster, their sacred duty is to prepare the way for Varaka’s arrival. They do this mostly by mapping the universe and expanding Sith influence. Every Starmaster of Lord rank or higher is expected to captain a ship and make occasional forays into unknown space. Anything they find they report, and exploit if possible. This makes them the Strands’ primary naval force to contribute to Sith fleets, and they fight with zeal and fearlessness bordering on the insane. Their complex clerical hierarchy and byzantine scriptures make them difficult to understand, but any Sith may join. None may leave.

F E A S T. The mess hall was incredible, width and expanse stretched far and wide; a stretch of space that ministered to the thousands present. Vast banners magnificently pressed with the armorial bearings of the Sith Empire hung from mammoth pillars strewn across the monumental chamber, waving boldly in the face of all who looked up from below. Rows of steel seated all who were of proper rank or sanction, while the thralls of the Sith stewed and braised fresh provisions for them to consume. Drink and festive ceremonies ruled the coming hours with boisterous Imperial speakers honoring the fallen and glorifying those that still drew life. The conquerors extracted their fill as Vikings did, hoarding over their feast and addressing the adrenaline inside their blood with gladiatorial fight. Somewhere in the middle of the mess hall, tables had largely been turned over, creating improvised boundaries. Those of which dared to step inside of the broad circle, surrendered their peace, and offered themselves to a simple contest of might. Imperials, Agents of the Black Sun, and the hair-raising Sith all entered with their knuckles bare and their spirits running on a furious high. The brew and blend of blood and feed, flavors of exotic meats and drink, while battle and merrymaking roared without interruption. The power of the dark side was sublime, grand and distinguished by the powerful individuals that roamed nearby, feeding on the blind enthusiasm that spread like wildfire across the Scarab. Conversations spilled over when the glasses began to dry, fill, and then empty again. The boldness of Bakra the Brave was one of the many shared tales that barked from mouth to ear, Imperial crewmen of the victorious armada never shied from boasting. The sheer volume of kills now under his belt, upholstered by a thunderous skill in weaving death between the enemy formations was a thing of art. Parables of Nyrys the Red Devil, unflinchingly weightless in her dance of death, devouring those that stood before her and furthering the enigma of cannibalism that haunted those that spoke her name. The young Anzati King allowed the whispers to entertain him as he swept by the masses and settled himself quietly amidst the crowd. The bloat of his power was easily suppressed, for he had done it since he was first introduced to the force, disguising his presence in order to move with the highest of efficiency, the fleet and prowl of the blackest vornskr. The Emperor King sat cockeyed on the lip of the table closest to the impromptu arena, watching his soldiers break each other. Robes of black with a fabric that seemed braided with the translucency of shadows was what he wore, the tunic beneath was woven and knotted with shadowsilk and trimmings of the purest gold. Those around him understood he held the supremacy of a Sith, and the feral red locks that hung in bunches from his hood, was the only sign that he was indeed the Dark King.

E X P A N S I O N The center for Kuat Traffic Control is a highly sophisticated system that both reduces the number of ships traveling in the Kuat System and tremendously increases security. The system is based on a traditional concept that utilizes staging areas. Three stations, each dozens of kilometers in size, that are positioned on the fringes of the Kuat system, far away from the valuable shipyards and orbital facilities. Each of the three ports is assigned a role. Kuat Passenger Port handles all civilian travel to and from Kuat. Kuat Freight Port managed the flow of goods and material into and out of the system. Finally, the Kuat Imperial Transfer Port was a staging area for all military operations in the system, as well as for the deliveries of warships. Each port is only accessible by four systems, two inbound and two out. Passengers entered from the Redrish and the Ulion systems and departed to the Drurish and the Kidir systems. Freight was imported from the Monadin and the Horthav systems, and exported to Venir and Renegg. All information on the staging systems for the Imperial Port remained classified, especially after the reclamation war. Once in the system, all traffic to and from the four ports is controlled by Kuat Central Authority, though during combat situations, Sith battleships defending the system can prioritize command of traffic control. Ships inside the system are sent to a number of nav points, and then routed to their final destination within the system, filtering matters of importance through command. The actual Kuat Drive Yards remained a collection of various facilities throughout the Kuat System. The primary shipyards made up a nearly solid ring, called the Orbital Array, that surrounded the planet Kuat itself. These stations were split into smaller units, designated as slipways, offices, machine shops, factories, drydocks, or apartments for workers. Most Kuati citizens lived within this ring, never setting foot on the surface of the planet below. The orbital array was sufficiently defended since the assumption of power, bolstering the poor defensive capabilities that were exhibited pre-Sith Empire. Blinking from the black of space, an overwhelming influx of warships, frigates, cruisers, and destroyers of vastly different sizes, flashed into clear-view. All of these war-torn ships wielded the embellishment of the Sith Empire and the Black Sun. Labor crafts were launched immediately, thousands of small nimble silhouettes taking to empty space with the urgency and vigor of a people tenacious in their duty and faith. In an effort to embellish their borders, and replenish their expenses from DSS, the Sith Empire arrived on KDY. Ahead of them, Kuati Imperials arranged a small trade fair to welcome the honored patrons, with a tremendous concert held below in the capital of the planet. The celebration was in order to foster healthier relations with the people and help the Sith Empire entertain a more permanent status within their system. Advisors and sensationalists aplenty, made their way from the war-machines of the Sith to facilitate such humanistic relations. All the while, members of both the Sith Empire and the absorbed assets of the Black Sun, were dispatched on a reconnaissance mission within the Core. Imperial detention centers were sanctioned immediately, to quarantine suspicious activities that would come from evaluations within their captured foes, local resistances, and acquisitions from Black Sun. While the Sith-Imperial presence hoarded over the Orbital Array, there was much wealth to be distributed. temptations, cantinas, and trade were all the rave with new blood on the scene. - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - The ardor between the space the two women shared was foreseeable, and perhaps competition, would create foe or friend faster than the enemies of the Sith could do for them. Lord Exodus turned heel from the conversation, understanding that time was not to be wasted on small talk. He knew that these two would be fundamental in the sculpting of this new chapter of Sith, their ambitions laid bare upon their faces, legible for all to see eternally. Inexperience would need to be weeded out from their vulnerable youth, and a discipline swifter than any they had ever faced would be pivotal in the quelling of their inflating ego. The most effective way for any under his command to understand the other, was through combat, and no amount of speech would ever triumph that. "Task forces for the pair of you are being organized as we speak, I suggest you clean yourselves and oversee the operation. We make leave as soon as repairs are complete." The composition of Sith troopers stamped their staves into the steel floorboard as Exodus moved, then worked their formation to follow loosely behind. The Dark King reviewed the bracer across his arm and examined the feed of information he was invariably alerted to. With the two women positioned to his rear, he stared up from the view-screen hitched to his armored sleeve and looked forward to the end of the corridor. "Once you are finished, you will find me in the public assembly hall. They say that it has been cleared completely, an improvised competition of sorts is now underway. It would seem that our infantry has pit themselves against the men and women of Black Sun in physical combat, and I would not miss another second of it." The thrill of combat was immeasurable, and Exodus would make way to the end of the passage and travel to see the action personally. (ALL SITH ARE WELCOME. TIME TO FAMILIARIZE)

His look remained nonetheless, indifferent and incisive, there was a way about it that offered no hint to true nature. Meanwhile he fed no response, behind the skin of his monarchical surface, an iron prudence considered the conviction in her words and her intention. He had far more depth on the subject than he needed, for the allurement of the late Master Alora, had been his broader influence in his earliest campaign as a Sith. Words and the emotions they were spoken with were meant to provoke a sense of interest, if done sufficiently. Malacoda Syn was a master of the tact and was rarely impressionable, unless it was his purpose to extend such bait. The shell he walked with had been calcified with the harsh realities of his species, and the experiences of loss that had learned him that these emotions were evanescent. Amusement was one of the last delicacies he afforded himself publicly, a smile and laugh was the last traces of his humanity. "Lady Anwnn." The bloodless. He spoke her name as a greeting, before she turned the corner. She had a way with blood, more ritualistic than most, and her Dathomiri ancestors were to blame. The smell of it suffocated the air, both ladies slovenly dripping in it. The art of a clean kill was apparently out the window with these two, voracity was their game and they wore it on their skin with pride. "Only himself, Anwnn. He has lost a great deal. His people, his confidence, his passion. The loss of the station pales in comparison, but he will breathe again before he breaks." Or else, felt like the next two words that would come from his mouth, but they never needed to be said. Not with the way he spoke as if pure venom was the saliva that rested beneath his tongue. Lady Nyrys meet Lady Anwnn.

".. Then it is settled." Her words bit deep into a perpendicular truth, a soldier at a loss for purpose and worth, a man unwound and broken before his people. The tension between the two individuals was personal, but these words were founded on a bit more than distaste, these were validations that the two of them had no choice but to swallow. The broken soldier now sang for absolution, whistling carelessly into the dark; He is but the remnant of a man, laurels of a prince, both maimed and half-blind, disturbingly unsure of what it was he truly asked for. "You, and those that follow behind, will submit to the full disposition of the Imperial Intelligence department before transition of power is reallocated within our ranks and crucial asset loss is indemnified. The toll will be heavy, but your lives will not be entirely forfeit. You will learn.. to exact your worth, Lieutenant." And perhaps, one day, screwing. The holotransmitter swept itself from the floor and cut communication. The assigned trooper reached out dutifully, and snatched the device from suspended air, before fastening it to his armored thigh. He bowed, curiously this time, to both Lady Nyrys and naturally the Dark Lord he served, and then reentered his quiet formation. Exodus reached up and shuffled the crimson silk from his face, long lengths of hair that ceremoniously held his facial mystique from plain-view. He sheepishly shelved the locks behind his ear and gazed with the most powerful sheen of color his eyes had ever reflected, judging Nyrys as she stood before him. "You may yet seat the throne that sat the old Wolf, you may even reshape it to be more than it ever was. Follow me first to our next destination righteous Devil, the ill-intentioned await." The realignment of the coalition had already begun, and the joint fleets centered their proximity. Star-fighters from the Sith Empire returned to their launch bays, while select squadrons continued reconnaissance for any friend or foe left to the black of space. The command ship reoriented itself, and the direction of the remaining assets to their nearest point of resupply, and would begin their jump when the mark was set.

And for a moment, he anchored himself. It was not for lack of understanding that she questioned the morality of things, but rather, a desire to express her freedom from such confines. And boy did she express it. Exodus led the pace as the words and emotions escaped her, orations that weaved a brilliant visualization of who she was and who she wished to be in this worn and wearied universe. Unavoidable was the consistent thrum of armored boots that echoed into steel from all around them, swarming troopers like the wolves that Nyrys spoke of, was menacing for the workforce of the Scarab that watched from afar. “You know, typical girl stuff.” Exodus could not readily discern her humor, but the anchor loosened as the rest of the guard held their breath, and Exodus sneered distractedly. He let out an amorous laugh, that was, for once, not mired in underlying tones of murder or devious machinations. He genuinely laughed. Such behavior from an Anzati Warlord, a King of the most Heinous, was not a common thing to be seen. Yet, the promising Sith before him unveiled a characteristic unseen from the masses he has ruled over, unashamed transparency. The toothy grin of the Sith Reaper widened as her truest ambitions, or at least the ones that she chose to reveal, had come to surface. "That is a high mountain that you're asking to climb, Lady Nyrys—" One of the twelve Sith Troopers stepped forward curiously on queue, and as if the timing could not be more precise, he placed a spherical transmitter between his King and the company he kept. An image immediately bloomed from the disposed object, and a familiar individual came to life. The ordained Blood Prince had reached out at last. The warmth drained from the face of the Dark King, and he listened intently to the appeal of the Black Sun Syndicate. The unsatisfactory management of their hostage situation, the risk that they took on and were ill-prepared for. The blanketed loss of their command structure, and operational integrity, and now the consolidation of their assets and clearance into the dominant Sith Empire. These were tall orders that the Spider knew in his mind would come, and had planned for long before the birth of this event. However, Lady Nyrys was present at a time that could not be believed as coincidental. Exodus did not break his study of the digitized accomplice, nor did he answer immediately. "I was beginning to think you had lost your voice, Prince." Forgiveness was of no value to the Spider, and sharing such compassion would never fall from his mouth. Gratitude held more weight here, for the mercy of the Sith Empire could be swift or forever absent henceforth. Be that as it may, these were small vanities in this war. The King of the Sith knew that his Empire had far more acquisitions behind the curtains, by being the hand of grace in this foolish campaign. "I assume the two of you are well acquainted." Exodus flashed a knowing look towards the two, "..What would be your judgment?" Nyrys would feel the eyes of Exodus on her, anticipating the revelry of her mind.

The men-at-arms had taken a disciplined step forward when the unkempt Lady had entered the kill circle of the Spider. Their swift shuffling of feet synchronized with the very moment that Lady Nyrys chose to bow her head with respect, ending prematurely when King Exodus opened his left palm to signal their halt. She was victoriously bathed in blood and still under the spell of a dangerous elation that ran through her body, an overwhelming wash of adrenaline that these Wardens would have the utmost trouble with. The gory life force that was wretched from her victim, soaking the entirety of her physical features, stirred a carnivorous genealogy that rested well within the frigid confines of the Anzati King. The allure of an unsweetened execution was a prevalent pleasure within his species. ".. An excellent subject. Rise Nyrys, walk with me." The data-core shifted as if moving of it’s own free will, and submitted itself by way of the force, into the majestic reach of that imperious obsidian cloak. Darth Truilliadh would be evaluated, and weighed for his importance in the future of the Empire. A small cadence from his wrist-communication seized his attention before he continued, a single footnote transmitted across the electronic interface. The correspondence revealed no reaction from the relaxed contours of his face, the King of all Sith sighing wearily as a squadron of Sith fighters scoured across a view-screen of the Scarab; raining wildfire into enemy star-fighters. Exodus looked to a particular commander hidden among the escort contingent, "Secure our position and eliminate any strays. Our allies are nearly in the clear." Having no other recourse but to heed his instruction, the commander affirmed compliance and saluted his Emperor before disappearing to the recesses of the bridge; undoubtedly to ensure that the command would be thoroughly transmitted. “You say the nature of monsters. Do you imply that is what you, or even I am described as for the things we’ve done or must do? Tell me more about this distance you feel, and I will share with you my vision of morality.” King Exodus walked alongside one of his brightest pupils, his head held imperially high, curious to the ruminations of a creature with an appetite that rivaled some of the most profound of his kind.