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Coruscant - Galactic Throne


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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)


  • 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




Hazard Criterion

Type: Undomesticated

Difficulty: Extreme (9)


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







 (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.

Edited by Exodus
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  • 2 weeks later...







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.  






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.)

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The hazy lights of Coruscant filled the expansive bubble of Delta'scockpit viewport, almost drowning out the bright greens of the forward projected HUD on the viewport itself. He rolled his clear dark eyes and let out a sigh that triggered the microphone inside his helmet. He reached up and without looking twisted a red knob to its brightest settings and the HUD flared back into focus. 


“Don’t blast us with static Delta, I’m just liable to just drop a Proton bomb if you blow my sensitive ears out again.” Laughter echoed through his headset in response to the Weapons officer behind him. A friendly enough clone from the fortieth pod in cycle from Delta’s own. Younger, with a different training protocol that stressed rapid preparation instead of disciplined soldiering. Jokes aside, corporal FC-2254-LL2 was likely to do just what he had promised. Delta had heard of it. Undisciplined soldiers were always trouble, and these new rapid breed clones were the most trouble of all. He grimaced under his helmet, thinking of how little they must have learned in the two years from embryo to grown man, At least Delta was only double aging, he was what? Twelve years old now? He suppressed the thoughts that came with that and glanced back down at his control board. Right in time for the ARC-170-AO to glide its nose into the thickening mesosphere. 


The control yoke shuddered under his black gloved palms, his eyes scanned his control panels as he depressed the yoke and brought the large modified starfighter towards ground. The thick currents of the Coruscanti atmosphere pulled at every trailing edge of the bulky airframe, buffeting the ship in a mayhem of directions. The harsh sound of static filled his headset as the last member of the crew, the young Jedi Apprentice chimed in her own laughter. Delta grinned in response, causing the other clone to moan his own response of laughter. 


It was time to dive.




There was no laughter this time. Delta looked around the command cabin of the dropship as the Hellkite emerged with the Sith Grand Imperial fleet.  This was a very different coruscant then the last he had visited. He stood and grabbed the handle above him. His voice was hoarse as he barked his order to his command over the comms embedded in every mask like helmet. 


“Buckle up, check your partner’s jump pack, check your blasters, weapons, we drop as soon as the fleet commander clears a way for us. You bastards ready?” 


The cheer strained his ears but he grinned from ear to ear as he checked his companion’s gear.







Special Operations Company Lima One “Cŵn Annwn” (Devil Hounds)

Attached to the Victory Star Destroyer Hellkite 


- Company Makeup -


Company Commander: Captain Delta73

Executive Officer: Lieutenant Gerald Frostwin (logistics specialty) 

Ex Black Sun logistics officer for the St. Cathryne


Strike Group 1: Specialty | Close Quarters 

Lieutenant Linebris Chambers 

Black Sun SOA (Special Operations Attachment) on the Marie


14 weapon specialists

3 medical specialists  

2 heavy weapon specialists

1 heavy gunnery specialist 


Strike Group 2: Specialty | Close Quarters 

Lieutenant Katharis Tr’nbek

Black Sun SOA (Special Operations Attachment) on the Marie


14 weapon specialists

3 medical specialists  

2 heavy weapon specialists

1 heavy gunnery specialist 


Strike Group 3: Specialty | Fire Support

Lieutenant Haylee Langraf 

Black Sun SOA (Special Operations Attachment) on the Holofernes


6 weapon specialists

4 medical specialists  

5 mortar specialists

5 heavy gunnery specialist 


Strike Group 4: Specialty | Anti Vehicle 

Lieutenant Sigrid Hensi

Black Sun SOA (Special Operations Attachment) on the Calpto


6 weapon specialists

4 medical specialists  

8 heavy weapon specialists

2 heavy gunnery specialist 


Strike Group 5: Specialty | Assault

Lieutenant Tares Blacktorin

Black Sun Knight (Special operations and command)  on the Marie


10 weapon specialists

4 medical specialists  

6 heavy weapon specialists

4 heavy gunnery specialist 


Attachment 1: Heavy Vehicle Attachment

Lieutenant David Senvys

Sith Command on the Hellkite


20 Zeus Strike Craft

10 ATPT walkers

4 Self Propelled Artillery 






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Shiro stood there in line, adorning his silver plastoid armor with helmet caressed in arm as the ship he was aboard exited hyperspace. Coruscant. It was a planet he had briefly known when hell broke loose upon his first time arriving. His mind reverted to the chaos he saw, remembering the durasteel beneath his feet shifting and rising as the moon collided with the cityscape that day. It seemed so long ago, yet it still rang fresh in his mind as he gazed upon the debris of ships and rock that now floated in its orbit. He remembered his escape, shackles binding his hands before as he escaped his captors. But now his hands were free, tightly grasping the E-11 Blaster Rifle he held as he realised what laid before him. The last time he was here, he was a captured fugitive. But this time he came as a liberator.


But there was a deep sense of fear shaking beneath his hardened exterior. Despite his time in the Arena of House Zibeti, standing here and now, he couldn't help but revert back to that scared child he once was as he gazes upon the destruction before him, his hands trembling and the rattle of his rifle echoing in the silent hanger. Sweat beads down his brow as he snaps to attention as his commanding Officer approaches and gauges the newest recruits, the smell of fear and doubt lingering in the air surrounding them.


Shiro, in his silence, dives deep within himself and searches for the courage to overcome the fear, the fear of emanent death, the fear from the lack of training and being thrust into open warfare, and most importantly, the fear of letting down Shaq'teel who had seen so much promise in the young Armegedon. Shifting his gaze from the view of Coruscant for a brief second, he gauged his comrades in arms, beings of all races, and he could see himself in each and everyone of them. He could feel their fear, he could taste their doubt in themselves as firmly as he could taste his own. But mostly, despite the fear, he felt their diligence to survive no matter what was thrown at them. And in that moment, he felt one with them. Shifting his gaze forward, he awaited the Officer's speech.

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The weapon was a classic choice, common amidst the basic infantries applied across the armed forces of the Sith-Imperial. A peculiar man with skin as white as snow, and a head of hair that seemed to inorganically blend with his own flesh, stepped into the hall with wild curiosity sunken into his features. An aristocratic collar covered his neck and further up onto his jawline, the piece of attire was so vividly rich with the color of crimson, contrasting his pale and powdered face. He too held an E-11 standard issue blaster rifle, although his was slung across his shoulder. He surveyed the soldiers that wandered these halls, eyeing a particularly nervous individual.


"...Standard issue for our Infantry, the E-11 can alternate between semiautomatic, fully automatic and pulse-fire settings, and is designed to use a variety of ammunition," The officer spoke loudly, clearly commanding the attention of the fresh batch of soldiers within his section. He worked his hands through the weapon, indicating what he spoke of. "An enhanced scope compensates for the most obscure of conditions, while this supplementary scope displays information specific to the weapon's current operating mode." Again, his hand motioned and tapped the two scopes. "You have a maximum range of three hundred meters and can nail anything with ease within a range of a hundred meters. This is crucial for your close-quarters firefights, especially the narrow confines of enemy installations and star-ship corridors you may find yourselves entrenched in."


"You understand, Private?"


The versatility of the blaster would be wasted if the creature that wielded it was not prepared for their lives to be weighed against another's on the field of battle. The field officer searched the rookie with a curious look, deliberating the nature of his arrival and assignment within his mind. The potential for him to be nothing more than a spy, was something to watch for. The influx of soldiers had been accelerated poorly with their transitioning from Kuat to Coruscant, fundamental operations keenly riddled with negligence. When the time came for pause, the prospects would suffer the malignant pressures of the Inquisition.  



"Have you ever seen Coruscant like this? Are you ready for what comes next?"

"Na-hah ur su ka-haat.

Su ka haru aat"

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With the large deployment of ships to Coruscant, Qaela was able, with the blessing and authority of the Spider, to take command of the Kyber Star Destroyer Herløv. As preparations were underway to detach from the main fleet, Qaela stared out of the main viewport at the ruined planet before her with a great deal of distaste and disdain. Part of her was saddened that the Emperor had decided to come here. Had it been her choice, she would have left this planet to the rightful destruction that was needed to sweep away the old and corrupt. Balance in nature sometimes called for culling, and she had never seen a planet more worthy of a culling than Coruscant. Still, it was not her choice to make. She knew of the symbolic significance, but felt it was a waste to try to put any resources here.


One of the things that they were waiting was the arrival of a prison transport from Kuat. Upon receiving her assignment to meet with rebel leadership, she had devised a plan to gain their attention. One thousand political prisoners from Kuat and the rest of the captured planets were being transported to the Herløv for her special use. These were mostly low to middle value officials who were still loyal to the Imperial Remnant and Galactic Alliance who, despite having little intelligence value, were still too annoying or inconvenient to allow loose in the general population.


She planned on using them as a bribe to show the rebels she was serious. The Dark One had given her significant latitude in accomplishing her mission, and so losing near a thousand generally useless nuisances was a price that she felt was quite meaningless. Even better, though, was the fact that she had also slipped in a few dozen Imperial Sith agents and spies into the thousand to serve as a poison pill. These agents would become deep sleepers who would one day prove useful to the Sith Empire.


She also waited for the readiness of an additional force of escorts for her ship. They were under the command of another Sith whom she had not yet met, but was interested in doing so. With many of her own people now on the Herløv, she didn't feel threatened by the newcomer. He hadn't been trained at her academy, so it would be interesting to see what mindset he had. If he was the standard, self centered and reckless variety of Sith, she just might have to find a way to get rid of him. If he threatened her plans for this mission, she would slaughter him outright and report the infraction to the Spider. But if he was more amiable, perhaps they would work well together. She never turned down allies where there was sufficient commonality.

Qaela Sig

Send PM's to Travis.

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"You understand, Private?"


Shiro had sat in silence, his attention upon the Officer before him as his explaination resounded throughout the hangar and fell heavily upon each of their ears, some more than others as Shiro noticed a Twilek beside him, his teeth gritting with each voiced note. His gaze shifted across the rifle that he too held within his arms, taking note of each element that was pointed out, from the different firing settings to the scope's readout abilities, and even noticing the fold out stock as well as the power cells.


"Yes sir." Shiro responded along with the others, his youth filled voice squeaking within the confines of lingering puberty, no longer a boy but neither a man as he felt the Officer's gaze and attention fall upon him.


"Have you ever seen Coruscant like this? Are you ready for what comes next?"


Unfortunately, Shiro could only nod his head in response to the first portion of his questions, the white hair and crimson eyes mirroring the visage of the Officer in a youthful manner outside the pale versus bronzed skin. He was present for Coruscant's initial blow, but was lucky enough, or unlucky of you prefer, to have managed escape. But if the Arena of House Zibeti had taught him anything, it was that luck played a part in everything, and until you ran out of it, it would continue to run the course of your life.


The only doubt in this moment was whether or not this would be the day it ran out on Shiro, especially with such high odds stacked against him as a mere recruit within the mighty Sith Imperial Forces. For in the Arena it was a free for all fight, everyone your enemy and no one your friend during the matches. But here, and now, it would be a testament to his ability of adaptation if he survived this day. For Shiro had never fought beside anyone, let alone beings he would have to learn to trust with his life as much as watching his back and theirs.


His hands finally settled, his throat parched from the unsettled nerves. Was he truly ready? "In all honesty, no. But who is ever truly ready to die?"

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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. 








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The corridor began to fill fast as formations scattered throughout the Sith Dreadnought to present themselves to their commanders. The shifting of armor, the shuffling of feet, and the ringing of alarms were loud enough to feed the rawest of adrenaline rushes. If the mind was not sharp, the sound of the body would become a distraction. Instructions were blared from each end of the hall, from the echoes of neighboring ones, with leadership commands droning out directives. One peak outside of a view-port would reveal pandemonium. Star-fighters were engaged, blasting into an enemy they were uncertain of. Perhaps the remnants of the Crusaders were really here, perhaps raiders had invited themselves to the chaos of Coruscant, and perhaps it was both. There was so much wreckage, that it was difficult to see what was truly out there from a glance. One could only image what the heart of Coruscant really looked like now. Time would soon reveal more. The major laugh maniacally nonetheless, the white of his skin unmatched by the white of his teeth, taunting the feverish soldiers before him. "Reports are that the enemy has a Heavy Cruiser roaming the debris field, a Dauntless. Our objective is to capture it. Boarding operations have began, and you all are late! Launch bay B47 awaits your arrival. Go now, and long live the Empire!" The Major saluted the many in attendance, the expression in his face a most determined one, wondering just how many of them would by alive to see another day. 

Edited by Exodus
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"Na-hah ur su ka-haat.

Su ka haru aat"

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The broken throne of the galaxy, Coruscant, rushed into view from the bridge of the Queen of Air and Darkness, one of the newly constructed Xian'tii war ships. The smell of salt water pervaded the air around Darth Nyrys, for most of the ship was, for lack of a better term, flooded to accommodate it's aquatic xeno crew. The crew in the command pool was excited for their first deployment, and somewhat relieved that it would be something less full scale than the battle at Dark Sun. The Queen and a Kuati task force of Ardent and Raider class ships took up position by the Dark Lord's ship, any threats would have to pass them before they could target the flagship. The Whispered Truth and the Brazen Verdict were further out, on the hunt for targets.


Upon reaching planet side, Nyrys looked forward to evaluating her troops as they cut their teeth for the first time under her command. What she had was excellent material and fine tools to sculpt with, potential but not necessarily results. In time she would know what her soldiers were truly capable of, but first they had to land. She had never been to Coruscant, her father considered it a deathtrap with the constant wars and terrorist attacks, and certainly no place for a child. Rumor had it that the rogue lunatic Faust had finally truly broken the planet though, and the Crusaders were picking the corpse. The rumors may have been right, at least about the damage. Chunks of planet and moon propelled so far by the impact that they made orbit drifted lazily in the void. Traffic lanes had been replaced with the pandemonium of mass ship graveyards from failed attempts to escape the violence on the planet. Crusader corsair ships sized up the approaching darkness as it cast a shadow over their former spoils.


Sensor feeds were constantly delivering new information, and one bit that surprised Nyrys was that while the Museum of Coruscant had been heavily damaged, the structure was still somewhat intact. While the suffering of the people on the surface was tragic, the museum housed objects of immeasurable cultural value that were irreplaceable. Nyrys's first objective was clear.


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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.


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War had began, its drums beating through the chests of men as much as the mechanics of machines, the throbbing effects of explosions matching the pace of the mortal hearts. Shiro could feel the durasteel beneath his feet shift and rattle as the ripples echoed within, sweat beading upon his brow as he and the rest of the company moved in fluid motion in their turn to exit, the sound of their shift and stomp briefly drowning out the outward noises.


The moment of truth was upon them as the relieved themself from their previous stature and headed toward a new destination, the unknowing weighing upon their minds as much as the determination to not fall this day ached within their hearts. Even Shiro refused to perish without taking as many as he could with him. As the monumental march of the company barreled down the hall way adjacent to the hangar bay past Launch Bays 44-46, Helms managed to find their ways upon their heads and HUDS were brought online as they prepared themselves for what surely awaited most of them, if not all, as silent prayers were mumbled beneath hidden breaths in numerous religions.


But for Shiro, his heart pounding so loudly that it resounded in his ears, found himself strangely calm. It was a normal occurrence for the young humanoid before battle that he displayed on numerous accounts in the Arena, an ability to grasp upon his fears and anxiety and use them to drive himself, evident in his knee bouncing as he sat within the shuttle during it's release into open space. He would pour all the doubt, all the fear, all the anxieties he felt into himself, using that energy to heighten his alertness and double down on his reactions, letting the rush of the adrenaline that was pumping throughout him to fuel his actions.


It was how he survived in the Arena, it was how he had survived most of his life, and hopefully, here today, it would be what caused him to survive once again and even into the future. Outside he could see and hear the ongoing conflict as the escort of fighters barreled down on enemy attackers as well as the shuttle brushed against and by lingering debris, some of the foregoers never having made their destination as bodies floated by the view ports signaling the roughness of the terrain and the Dauntless Class that was their target. It was only a matter of making it there before the real threat began. And in a twisted sense of irony, Shiro welcomed it to the thought of being shot down here and now.

Edited by The Last Armegedon
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((Sith NPCs))

Ensign Becker blinked. Then he squinted, watching his scopes closely. There it was again, faintly, but it was there. Becker hit a few buttons on his console, requisitioning additional power allocation from the Scarab's massive generators to his sensor suite momentarily. Finally, the signal lit up, very well hidden against the orbital debris field kicked up by the moon's impact. Becker cross checked it with information from another readout, and concern began to wash across the Ensign's face.


"Problem, Ensign?"

Becker didn't even look up at the bridge supervisor, Commander Hargrave, instead pointing out what he saw. "Sir, this is strange. It seems there's a Mandalorian ship hiding itself in the orbital rubble. It doesn't match up with any of the expected tactical locations the Crusader fleet has positioned themselves in. Apparently it was trying to...hide its position."


Hargrave studied the readouts, confirming the Ensign's findings, before reaching out and accessing the ship's comm suite, sending out a priority message to a nearby fighter wing.



The absolute carnage was unlike anything Tillerson had ever seen before. Worse, he had an orbital view to the impact, which showed how truly large the impact had been. Even the glancing blow had outright devastated nearly half the planet. "Alright wing, new orders. Reconnaissance mission." Wing Commander Cleaver's voice crackled across the comms in Tillerson's cockpit, shaking him from his trance with a slight jump. "Come around to my heading, one-eight-seven mark two-three-six point four. We're going to go check out a rogue Crusader ship." 

Tillerson maneuvered the control yoke of his TIE Interceptor, engaging the afterburners as he matched the rest of his fighter wing's course. He flipped several switches, warming up the blaster cannons slung beneath the cockpit. Time to go see what these mercs were up to...



"Sir! Our fighters were destroyed! They're using precision mass driver rounds!"

Hargrave turned abruptly at Ensign Becker's outburst on the otherwise relatively quiet bridge. This was a surprise that merited the input of higher command. Hargrave had been in interesting combat situations before, but this was a highly unorthodox tactic, even from the Mandalorians. He began working on a report on a datapad as he hastily walked towards the intelligence and operations workspace. Hargrave pulled up the relevant information for the intelligence officer, pointing out the ship still on the Scarab's sensors. "Lieutenant, I need a tactical analysis of this situation, and I need it yesterday." 




An encrypted tight band message pierced the cacophony of space battle through to the Lightbreaker's comm systems. It was incredibly unusual to bother the Dark Lord in such a manner, there was a reason Exodus had surrounded himself with competency. The Spider was known to prefer distancing himself from larger engagements until he decided to surgically strike his enemies or his presence on the battlefield became a necessity. Precision was a key tool in the Assassin's arsenal, and disrupting it by bothering the Dark Lord to make command decisions every five seconds was mostly a waste of his time. As such, many who had the rare honor of contacting the Dark Lord over such matters often found themselves punished in rather...interesting ways. Few deaths resulted, but there were several cases of disfigurements and varying levels of mental instability.


This report, however, carried intrigue with it. The only reason it needed to pass the Dark Lord's eyes was because of the request for a large number of trained Force Users...to help defend against falling debris in near geosynchronous orbit kicked up by Hesperidium's impact. "Moonfall" was the term the intelligence team had decided to call this phenomenon. Shields could not adequately defend against the hazard well, as either the sheer number of impacts or simply a few unlucky larger impacts would drain or overload the shield generators in short order.

A complete tactical situational brief was included demonstrating the potential importance of securing the area, though a summary of the scenario was presented up front for the Dark Lord to glance over in order to minimize the time he needed to take to make a decision. However, emphasis was placed on the potential for the importance of this scenario to become much greater pending further information on what specifically these Mandalorians were guarding...



Lord Emperor

Attached to this message is a developing tactical scenario, summarized as follows: a single Mandalorian ship has been observed holding an attempted hidden position over Coruscant, just inside the orbital lunar impact debris field. Intelligence has analyzed the situation and determined that the ground below them contains several locations that could be key in quickly re-establishing Coruscant's infrastructure if they can be captured. Unfortunately the debris field's orbit is degrading, leading to a phenomenon hereby dubbed "moonfall." This phenomenon, a hailstorm of rubble, will be next to impossible for conventional shields on our transports to effectively defend against. Your approval is needed for a significant number of Force-trained individuals to aid assault teams in anticipating, deflecting, and otherwise defending against moonfall impacts. 

Glory to the Sith Empire. May the Dark Lord reign eternal.

Attached file (encrypted): Coruscant_Tactical_Scenario_Beta_43



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Where do dreams find me?


At first, there is nothing more than a wordless tune, caught in the lullaby of years long past. The gentle, loving humming of my mute sister. Her ebony braids swaying in the dance of her unspoken demons, the pure contrast to her alabaster skin. The rhythm of choreatic movements wracking her body, brought by the dance of the song.


Sister. Peace.


The innocence of childhood was no match for the darkness of that rusting world. The Sith had come and all had died. Beloved sister defiled in the rust. Was she slain? Kyrie, what became of you? Did you guess my fate?


I became a puppet of their sick perversion’s appetite…




The blaring of the hyperspace claxon shattered her dreams, dragging the Sith Lord back to the discomfort of reality. The glittering dance of hyperspace gave her reflection a corrupted distortion. Pale skin fallen to grey, hazel eyes to sulphuric yellow. She had seen that change on Sheog. It had taken the beautiful Vermandois and formed them into empty syphilitic husks.


…The fate of the weak.


Hyperspace fell away and the ruin of Coruscant took her breath away. The moon had given it a glancing blow. The wound in the force staggered her. It was not a recent effect, but the force was still raw with the pain and terror. 


…Was this what Malachor V felt like?


Darth Awenydd opened herself to the pain, letting it pass into her soul where it burned with her inner fire. Wrath moved inside of her, the deliberate hate that corrupted her soul and fed upon the pain around her. A callous dispassion for the violence, a hidden joy at the planet’s fall. It was an insidious thing, her Wrath, an infection she had to fight against for control. The power threatened to drown her and devour her mind. She channeled it into expanding her sphere of influence and her senses. 


The sleek figure of the Sith command ship caught her eye. She had not expected to find other Sith here, least of all an invasion. It was near a heavy cruiser that was not of Sith design, and the contrast of the two made her flip the A-wing’s command yoke into a steep dive. Excitement pulsed through her and she channeled the wound in the force towards the Command Ship in a crude salutation that only the Krath could manage. She toggled her commlink to scan for incoming transmissions and prepared herself to join in the violence of war. 


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Darkness, t'was like a bitter old friend, wrapping you up in its warm protective embrace while it searched for a moment to stab you in the back. Such was the environment of the Dauntless as the transports found their mark and drove themselves into its the belly of the beast as if piercing its thick hide like lethal injections, releasing its compounds with the aim of stopping its heart. The crimson glow of Shiro's helm was about the only initial light that presented its self upon entrance, his white locks dyed maroon by its illumination as his crimson gaze glowed beneath. With a tap of his hand aside his head, his helm lit up his field of view as the others did before him, a stocky Staff Sergeant at the head of their group.


"Alright men. Flank out." His voice echoed across the comms as each member loaded a magazine in their E-11s and twisted the fire rate to rapid. "If they dont know we're here yet, they soon will thanks to the Dark King."


For Shiro, it was the waiting game that drove his nerves the worst. He could feel his accelerated heart rate pulsing through his entire form, hear his hastened breathing within his helmet as his gaze darted about in expectations, his finger hanging closely to its trigger. Five transports had made landfall, and in combination with each other, filled the Dauntless' belly full of Imperials. It was only a matter of time before contact was finally made and blaster fire ripped about like hellfire. And as it lit the hanger up, in a single fluid motion, all Imperials aboard shifted toward its direction, Shiro included.


"Light em boys and girls" Shiro's CO let out shortly before the stocky man let his 11 loose into oncoming raiders, a sinister laughter erupting in the continuation that oddly gave Shiro a sense of ease as he followed in suite. "Give em hell or die trying!"


Shiro brought the E-11 up to his gaze, letting the HUD's enhancements connect with it's own as each target came into view, a slow tempered exhale releasing as his finger squeezed its trigger and let crimson bolts fire in small yet controlled rapid fire bursts. Beneath his HUD, he grimaced. He didnt like the feeling he held in the pit of his stomach. It felt too easy, felt too controlled, despite it being his mission and his inexperience as both a foot soldier and as working as a part of a group. He couldn't help but feel this way. His opponents were outmaneuvered, pinned down in a hall, incapable of given them their all. But this was the mission and as the words Shaq'teel echoed in his mind, he knew it would have to be this way.


As the gigantic wave pushed forward, swallowing up all that it encountered, the swarm of Imperial troops pushed farther in toward the Dauntless' core, Shiro included. But it soon found themselves facing the turning of the tides as the march of the Imperials became bottlenecked through a small hall that led from the beachhead into the engine room where more laid in wait. Before any of Shiro's company had a chance to advance into the open, blaster fire rang through the open comms channel and the rattling gasp of their Staff Sergeant echoed through their helms, the head of the snake cut off. 


Despite the numerous echoes of death that managed to ring through their comms, this was the first that caused Shiro to briefly second doubt himself. It was that of their leader's death that caused the group to seek refuge within the hall and hold back the wave that threatened to engulf the Dauntless into Imperial Control.

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It had been hard fighting so far. He'd already lost two in his squadron, replacements for the last two, who'd been replacements themselves. His squadron had a reputation for being a meatgrinder, but chances were if you survived your first few sorties you'd be fine. Right now, they were drifting on the edge of the fighting, picking off stragglers while looking for prime targets. These respites didn't last long, and he was just about to mark a target when he saw a peculiar sight. An A-Wing, a favorite of the Rebels and the Jedi, and yet it was flagging as a Sith.


"Hold steady, we have an unknown contact. Looks like they're itching to join the fight."


He switched to his long range communications, reaching out for the Sith. "This is Petty Officer Bakra of the Sith Empire. If you're looking to join the fight, I have a hole in my formation where a few rookies bit the dust. A fair warning, we're aggressive. If you can't keep up, you're on your own."

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Mordecai was in position to support his new commander, though he had yet to meet her or hear what she had in mind. He'd been given command of a small task force. He was being reserved for now, waiting for his chance to strike, and without coordination from the woman he was supposed to serve. He would wait for her to contact him, but in the mean time, he stood on the bridge of the cruiser he was commanding. He'd been taken aback, at first, that he'd been given command of so many ships so early, but he guessed that it was just the perks of aiding one so important.


His inaction was not to be mistaken for cowardice, however, as the officers and captains under his commander feared. He was watching. The Crusaders were on the defensive now, and he'd noted a certain... bloodlust among the practitioners of the dark side, himself included. They'd get aggressive, and leave themselves open to a sufficiently planned counter attack. He was waiting to see if their foes took that opportunity. And when they did, he'd be there with a fresh task force to stop them.




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Why do I walk this path? The choice of Nar Shaddaa was made for me by chaos. By disorder. By weakness. I can feel it now, it yearns for my life, hungers for it like a pack of Strills on the hunt. I can feel its teeth tearing my flesh. When will I have the strength to set it right?




Darth Awenydd could feel the pulse of chaos within the Force. It was fed by the wound in the force, consuming hope and drowning the world in fear and pain. The cold and cruel influence of disorder. Her teeth clenched with the stress of it all, she was still too weak to control it. She felt like a bandara trying to ward off a sandstorm with the beat of its wings.


“This is Petty Officer Bakra of the Sith Empire. If you're looking to join the fight, I have a hole in my formation where a few rookies bit the dust. A fair warning, we're aggressive. If you can't keep up, you're on your own.”


The voice of the Sith officer burst from the calming static of her commlink, making her start. With a flick of the control-yoke, Fieldgrey set the A-wing into motion, watching the readout on her control screen. Through the chaos, the Sith Lord settled her mind to her new squadron-mates. The cool determination of the Sith pilots were unmistakable in their tangible control of mind.


Calm. Predictable. Unified.


Fieldgrey focused harder, making her mind a knife’s edge against the assaulting confusion that chaos threatened. Beyond the calmness of their minds was their personalities, burning bright in the darkness. Each unique and fully set apart from Sith training.


Nervousness about the odds, deathwishes, missed farewells.


One light soared above the others as he A-wing fell into formation; that of the commander. A veteran pilot. She could almost taste the cynicism and determination within him. This battle would not slake his thirst for war. She toggled her own commlink to answer


“Darth Awenydd at your command, Officer Bakra.”


With those words, she placed her mind solely upon his aggression. It smoldered there like a coal in a forge, begging for life. Fieldgrey breathed in a lungful of recycled air and with her exhalation, passed some of the energy of the war into it. It would be as though the bellows of the forge were finally set in motion. To his mind, she passed her blessing as through cascading thought


…Kill them all, commander…


Darth Awenydd passed the blessing to the rest of the squadron, letting the surge of strength pass through them all like an embrace. She would fly with them until The Dark Lord commanded her otherwise. The Sith Lord had no great love of pilots, but she needed control of the war, and they were conduit to power.


…They will be my shield against the onslaught of chaos.  


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Bakra's blood ran cold for a moment. A Darth. He was hoping to avoid getting involved with the proper Sith, but here they were. Regardless, it was better than if they'd picked up some straggling pilot. At least he knew she'd pull her weight. He pushed power to engines and turned the face the mass of fighters and corvettes. Point defense soared through the blackness of space in graceful arcs as gunners tried to shoot down hostile pilots, while dozens of pilots played cat and mouse in a vain attempt to rack up kills. Amateurs. His vision focused on one in particular, a wing of Delta-7s. 


He watched as a squadron of TIEs tried to engage and were chewed up in seconds. Poor bastards were in over their heads.


"Delta-7s, four of them. They're tearing up our ranks. Let's show them what real skill looks like."


He pushed the throttle, accelerating towards the battle. His vision narrowed and his blood started pumping. Something was off, but he couldn't quite place it. Regardless, he knew what he needed to do.


"Alright. Their leader is mine, they'll eat any of you alive except maybe the Darth. Storos, Ghillar, take the red one. Seems to be the second, I trust you two to get the job done. The rest of you divide and conquer the other two. Darth Awenydd, I know better than to try and order a Sith. Help where you see fit."


His comms exploded into an excited chatter as the other half dozen pilots divvied up the targets. This would be clean, precise. Violent. As he raced towards the fighters, he watched as one of the wingmen tilted towards Bakra's squadron, followed by the rest of the Delta-7s.


"We've been spotted. Keep the chatter down until it's over."

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The prow of the Victory II star destroyer Hellkite pushed through the thick atmosphere of the destroyed city world. Though the HellKite was made for atmospheric entry in order to cover mass landings of imperial troops, this push was to cover the insertion of special operations company Lima-One. The Cŵn Annwn, the Devil Hounds of the Spider. 


Nestled under the curving hull, the dropships of Lima-One detached. Heralded by a single bombardment to soften the defenses of the entrenched mandalorians, the dropships sped through the heady atmosphere like a hundred shooting stars. Delta maintained his breathing and glanced at the three other members of his command drop pod. Frostwin glanced back and grimaced, they both had been through enough and these drop pods were just the latest in the things that could go horribly wrong. Frostwin had come over to Delta’s attachment from the St Cathryne during the reconstruction of the Black Sun military, it had been voluntary. And Delta couldn’t help but regret the hell he was putting his men and women through. 


Once more into the line of fire. Once more into hell. 


The hull of the drop pod shuttered and a solid sound of something hitting the outside of the pod reverberated through the cramped quarters. The young woman to his left in the pod yelped at the sound and gripped her crash webbing in anticipation of what she thought would be impact groundside. The altimeter on Delta’s green HUD was still spinning towards zero but they were far from it, and now the impacts were becoming constant. Either they had run into a meteor fall from Hesperidium, or Hellkite had broken up overhead, or-


The impacts became a shriek and tearing of metal and a bright flare of light punctured from the centre of the pod to blast out of the roof. 


Mass Drivers! 


Delta screamed a curse and her could feel his adrenaline kick in. Battle awareness, long trained, moved his arms and hands without thought or instruction. He pulled the command lever beside him and the pod broke apart midair. He exhaled sharply as the crash webbing ripped away like paper and his hands connected to his belt, hitting the jump controls as he moved his head from left to right scanning for his podmates. 


Tares Blacktorin and Gerald Frostwin were tumbling about like so many discarded sheets of flimsi as they struggled to right themselves in the horrid fall from 30,000 feet. He let his breathing stabilize and he blinked three times rapidly for the HUD controls to come to life. He selected admin controls over his podmates and activated them with another blink. Thankful at least for their integrated suits. 


- Stabilize - 


His overarching command stopped their suits terrible spins and rapidly fired their repulsor jets, slowing their decent enough so that they could regain control. Their voices came through the comm static in bursts, mostly expletives until he switched to Sith Guard frequency to hear what was happening. Unexpected resistance. And a whole lot of it. He switched back to Lima One command comms. 


“Blacktorin, Frostwin, prepare for heavy resistance on the ground. Lima One’s been split up. Weapon drop is at least 8 hours out due to combat. We use what we drop with."


“Uh sir-” Came Blacktorin’s young voice, which did little to calm Delta’s nerves. “Our infantry weapons were in that damned pod.” 


That was true enough. And now Lima-One’s command unit was going to land far from allied reinforcement with naught but sidearms and survival packs. In a kriffing shitshow. 


“That’s true Tares, looks like from trajectory it's only two klicks to Group five. Over hostile territory. Easier than the kessel run at least.” 


Firing the last of their repulsor packs, they landed in a smoking crater near the main objective, a hole that led to a power generator. It was still some kilometers away, and it was time to get going. 




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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.




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Jax arrives in the Coruscant system a couple hours after leaving Mandalore. As he arrives he pulls up the credentials and info that he'd need to get through the armada currently stationed over Coruscant. As he flew towards it he thought about how nice it'd be if he had a modification to hide his ship from the armada's sensors to avoid all the monologue and procedures that would waste the time he could instead be spending hunting his targets.

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What good is darkness to me as a tool? It’s far too cliché now, ‘The Evil Sith’ that just wants terror and rot for the sake of masochism. Aimless destruction is useless. You have to expand your perception. Darkness, ‘the dark side’ as the Jedi call it is not the mindless evil of a psychopath. Darkness lies behind the light. It is patient. Darkness does not bargain, it is rot. It is the entropy that lingers beyond the stars. It will always win. Why not use it to set the galaxy right?




Darth Awenydd clicked an affirmative on her commlink to Bakra’s suggested course. She could feel the wariness her presence weighed on his mind. Sith were ruthless and uncaring to the weak, especially their own soldiers. The officer’s unspoken reservations saddened her. She gritted her teeth and pressed the A-wing into a steeper climb.


How long will a hydrospanner stay useful if you never maintain it? Why would I mistreat good soldiers?


The Sith Lord reached into herself and opened herself to the Force, thriving on the fear and destruction that echoed in her soul. It gave her resolve in her own rebellion against the chaos. The battle would be set to order, and it would take all of her strength to do it. Echoes became a rhythm she could channel into her own strength. Wrath began to resound, a calm hate through which she would find power.


Fieldgrey could feel it now, the heartbeats of her wingmates, illuminated in light. Far away, another heartbeat, beating fast and eager, decisive in its malice. Its intent was clear.


The enemy.


The Sith smiled, issuing a challenge. To her wingmates, she pushed their concentration upon the other Delta-7s making their outlines more appealing. They were released to their fates and didn’t matter unless they got in her way. The force was moving, and no one would stand before her and destroying what she hated. The A-wing broke formation, spiraling as a tempting morsel for the hunter in the Delta-7.


Fieldgrey kept her control-yoke loose in her hand, looping the spirals lazily and focused her locus of control onto the pilot. Such a maneuver was entirely armature, and she felt his thrill of the hunt within her heartbeat. There was something else in his blood, a disappointment at the lack of challenge. She answered with a reverse pull of the command yoke, breaking the spiral and settling herself towards one of his wingmates.


The unexpected repositioning resulted in a change of his blood, and tactics began to form in his anticipation. She could feel his fingers toggle off his missile lock, mirrored in her own skin. A faint smile tugged at the Sith’s placid face. The Delta-7’s pilot had decided she didn’t deserve a missile.


…Got yo-


Her whole ship shook with the impact of a mass driver round. Alarm claxons began to deafen her, and the hinted smile dropped in shock. The Sith began to curse herself roundly for her stupidity. She had been so concentrated on her singular prey that she had deafened herself to anything else on the battlefield. Had she been paying attention; she would have noticed the Force’s warning. She had strayed too close to the point-defense of the enemy.


She increased speed, sending the afterburners into overdrive while the ship’s computers ran a diagnostic. The readouts showed the loss of her laser cannons, and minor maneuvering thruster damage to the port side. She was left with only concussion missiles.




Fieldgrey closed her hazel eyes against the burning starlight that streamed around the planet’s horizon. She had never seen Coruscant Prime so bright. She exhaled and placed the A-wing into another dive, this time setting her path to graze the atmosphere. It would warp her heat signature enough that it would make it harder for point defense systems to track. As the A-wing began to shake, the she set her concentration once more to the Delta-7 pilot.


He was still tracking her, setting up to intercept her eventual ascension, using the derelict cruiser to mask his approach. The Sith Lord toggled a single concussion missile to activate and waited for the touch of the force. There was no using a tracking system when stained in the heat aura of a planet. She kept her eyes shut against the light. She didn't need sight now. 


Wrath gave its reassurance and she released the unguided concussion missile. It ran the edge of the derelict cruiser, skimming its surface without variance or disturbance. As the missile reached the zenith of its inertial power, the Delta-7 appeared around the bow, highlighted by the lightbeams of Coruscant Prime. Triumph flared in the force as the pilot sprang his trap on the limping A-wing. Fieldgrey smiled.


The Delta-7 Aethersprite took the concussion missile down its gullet like a gluttonous Hutt, the missile tearing through the armored hull with reckless abandon. The ship swayed in space for a millisecond, the control flaps unable to automatically correct course, before blossoming into a starburst of flame and wreckage that impacted the hull of the cruiser. The Sith Lord exhaled slowly, savoring the pain and terror of the pilot’s final moment. The betrayal of his triumph was a narcotic. He was an agent of chaos, and he had set his path by standing against her designs. 


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((Sith NPCs))


A message was broadcast to the Dream Boat ((Jax)) on standard Sith frequencies, providing the bounty hunter with security protocols for a temporary encryption for secure communications with the Sith fleet. Once the protocols were in place, another comm message was received from the Mercenaries Contracting Liaison Officer, providing the Mandalorian with information regarding services needed on Coruscant.



Bounty hunter Jax Rymateer, the following assignments are available for pay:


Mission: Secure and protect
Parameters: One of our units has made planetfall in a very hazardous zone, and at present reinforcements are not available. The mission is to proceed to, secure, and further protect an underground power grid substation from enemy incursion until such a point that Sith reinforcements are available to secure the area. Due to falling orbital debris, you will not be able to land a ship nearby. Hangar space is available on the 
Scarab if you desire to utilize a Sith drop pod to reach the surface to rendezvous with forces already tasked. Additional pay will be awarded for proof of death for each hostile entity encountered and eliminated.

Mission: Assassination

Parameters: As the Sith fleet is primarily engaged with repelling the insurgent Mandalorian forces, several smaller targets of opportunity have presented themselves in the form of daring salvagers and pirate gangs that believe they can strip resources and supplies amid the chaos out from under us. This property rightfully belongs to the Sith, and we will not stand for this arrogant disregard to our supremacy. A group has been spotted enroute to the Museum of Coruscant, no doubt to pilfer valuable artifacts for resale on the black market. Eliminate their leader and drive them into disarray. Additional pay will be awarded for proof of death for each hostile entity encountered and eliminated, and for supplies recovered.

Final notes:
The Sith value the strong. We will allow salvage rights to any weapons and armor found on eliminated hostile entities, but relevant resources, supplies, and medical equipment remains property of the Sith Empire. Other specifics and pay scales are included in the attached document.

Attached document: MCLO_Bounty_Payscales.nfo



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Jax clicks on the assassination job, informing the Sith of which job he had decided to take and storing it on his data pad to inform any local law enforcement of what he was doing, after he'd decided on the job he landed as near to the Museum of Coruscant as he could get.


Once he landed he quickly grabbed his weapons and gear and started heading towards the museum. As he arrives a few guards stop him, "Halt! what is your purpose here?" Jax quickly brings up his data pad and shows them the contract at which point they let him in.


He takes a quick look around the building looking for a good spot to lay an ambush, he decides to go back out side and set up camera's so he can A prove he killed them and B keep an eye on what is going on outside. Once he finishes that he set's up a thermal detonator just far enough away not to hurt any of the guards too badly, but still likely to kill multiple of the pirates on their most likely route. As he finishes setting up outside he heads back inside and set's up an ion grenade tripwire in the door way so that when they come in it would momentarily disable all blasters and electronics  within 10ft in any direction of the entry way. 


Jax set's up with his blaster rifle about 35ft away up high with his blaster rifle, it wasn't completely sturdy and it was no perfect spot, but for the first couple of shots it should work before jumping down to fight cover to cover.

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((Sith NPCs))

A comm goes out to both Bakra and Darth Awenydd from a tactical officer aboard the Scarab, conveying new orders:



Honorable Lord, Petty Officer:

You and your forces are hereby re-tasked by authorization of Darth Eduj, tactical subcommander of the first fleet. Proceed to the cruiser designation 
Dauntless at the following coordinates to rendezvous with task force Epsilon Chi. You are now under direct command of the Dark Lord of the Sith should mission parameters change. Your orders are to take the ship by any means necessary. Glory to the Sith Empire.

Authorization codes were included, however it was doubtful they would even be checked, as an assignment like this was one many Sith troopers would jump at for the chance to prove themselves in battle alongside the Spider.


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Bakra watched as the Darth struggled to take out a single Delta-7 and frowned. So she wasn't a pilot. No matter. He retasked the retasked the rest of his squadron accordingly, and moved in for the kill. His target had seen him and marked him, and they began a dance of death that was a wonder to behold. Two aces spirralling through space, struggling to gain the upper hand through the PDCs and other fighters. As they flew, they drew nearer and nearer to the hulking monolith of the Dauntless. That was problematic, as he started recieving fire from the vessel. And seeing as how once again the ace had managed to get behind him, he had no plays but risky ones.


That didn't bother him in the least.


First he had to handle the PCDCs, and then the pilot. He flipped a switch and all microthrusters powered down. He stroked the yoke like a man strokes his lover, putting himself into a relatively gentle spin to face the other pilot. He fired off his downwards thrusters, propelling him at an awkward angle for the PDCs to track him, but it wouldn't last long. It was a matter of who lined up a shot first, him, the enemy pilot, or the PDCs.


This time, it was him. He could  tell it would be him. A moment of calm waashed over him. Years ago, when he'd first flown a starfighter, it had sparked something in him. He hadn't known what it was until much later, when he'd gotten his first kill. The spark had ignited into a fire, and he'd been hooked.For years he'd tried to quell the fire in any way he could. Theonly way he'd found was in this moment, right before the kill, when everything slowed to a crawl. He could feel his pulse, the texture of his gloves against the fighter's controls.


He lived for this, fought for it. And eventually, inevitably, killed for it.


One blast, then two. The Delta-7 was enveloped in fire, an explosion rocking across his shield, which weakened them enough for the PDCs to get a solid hit. A wing was clipped, and engines went down. He'd waited to long to get moving again. He fired on the mircothrusters, propelling himself towards the hanger. The fire was back.


"This is Petty Officer Bakra. I've taken serious damage and have routed to the hanger of the Dauntless. Any Sith forces on board, I'll need assisstance when I crash."


It was violent, and it was certainly a crash. He hit the deck with such force that if he hadn't been strapped into the cockpit, he'd have been pasted across the cold durasteel that coated the deck.He staggered out through the broken glass, drawing his blaster and firing on the nearest hostile. He came in loud, and he'd be overrun pretty fast.


Faintly through the comms panel, he heard his reassignment. He smiled grimly. Good thing he was already here.

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Name: The Emerald Cabal

Type: Bandits

Stock: Predominately Trandoshan

Motivation: Opportunists

Galactic Influence: Low

Reputation: Notorious

Age: Infancy

Leadership: ?

Size: 200+

Stability: Unstable


Enemies: Unknown

Allies: Conscripts

Allies Include: a handful of very powerful mercenaries, a handful of well-connected commoners, religious priests, expert thieves.



a decent amount of trade goods, valuable treasures, a decent amount of successfully completed bounty contracts, random artifacts,, leveraged blackmail material for equipment, a weapons deal,


Other: Racist vs Humanoids, highly involved in Coruscanti Underworld, rumored to often employ very dangerous criminals, under expired investigation.


Current Leaderships: 

Eldest Members

Bribes: Costly

Cooperation: Extremely Rare


Current Lair

Quality: Derelict

Location: Abandoned Dauntless-class Heavy Cruiser

Interior: Structurally compromised

Traps: To be expected



Identifiable By:  Green robes, Long Vibroswords, Sealed Masks, DLT-19 Heavy Blaster Rifles, SE-14C blaster pistols.

Common Trait: Highly Aggressive; Mute






They had been watching, furiously annoyed with the presence of this intrusive Sith Empire. Their trespassing becoming worse as time drew on. It was bad enough that the Crusaders came and ransacked as much as they could get their hands on, but the line stopped here, and the footman of the Sith would not ruin this for the Cabals. Small teams of raiders sourced the Dauntless vessel, nitpicking each of the quarters for any measure of valuables they could add to their keep. Nearly a hundred other Trandoshans arranged themselves into a loose horde, repealed of any type of formation, more reckless and hungry in nature. The masked Cabal scrambled towards the quiet hangar, threatening the surveillance team under knife and gun to assist their swift movement. One landed, one crashed, and alone were two men ripe for the picking (Bakra, Exodus). In no time, ungainly herds of bandits would burst onto the scene and unfetter a havoc that the dead in that hangar had felt not long before.





T - 120s







Hazard Zones: There are lots of great hazards to throw at characters when they are exploring and traveling through an environment as harsh as what some of the planets we’ve included in our universe are actually supposed to be. If used accurately, we can create some memorable ways to remind all players involved, just how deadly these environments can be.




Hazard Criterion

Type: Undomesticated

Difficulty: Extreme (9)


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






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What visions have the Force given me? Is it always the slow advancing rot, that terrible unyielding darkness? There are other dreams, beyond those gifted by the relentless corruption that lurks within me. Order from chaos. All I need is the strength to tame it. There is only one path that can give me that power. They say that the hardest battles are fought in the mind, in the conflict of ideals… but this choice is easy.




The Sith Lord’s breathing was slow and labored, sweat beaded upon her brow and trickled down her spine in tepid rivulets. She was no master, able to manipulate the Force without exertion. The control-yoke lay slack in her hands, pale hands trembling. The Krath smiled through the nausea that arose in her stomach, for behind the exhaustion was a deep euphoria that stirred in her heart.


Another flare of warning set itself in her mind, causing her to stir and attempt to refocus. The scanners on her A-wing were distorted from the dissipating heat she had used to mask herself and were of no use. She focused on the warning, and brought it into her hate, letting it become fuel for the destruction that was mounting within her.


Fieldgrey widened her locus of control beyond her ship and used the warning to guide her attention. Her hands moved on the control yoke on instinct alone, pulling the A-wing into a sharp redirection. Her own eyes caught the distant reflection of Coruscant Prime’s starlight off of solar arrays and command fins flying in tight formation.




She killed the sensory readout and scanning array, not willing to let her new prey detect her before an attack. The Sith Lord reached out with the Force, letting it guide her actions. Wrath flared in her blood, sending her mind into destructive, hateful intent. Her calm visage took on an enraged smile.


Battle Frenzy.


Tactics began to arise as she focused herself onto the opposing bomber pilots. They were flying modified Y-wings, configured for stealth operations, with sensor dampers. Ungainly and slow, a herd of Banthas caught unaware by a Kryat. The heartbeats of the pilots burned in her mind, infuriating her.


How dare they think they can attack us?


The Sith Lord placed the afterburner into overdrive, ignoring the warning claxon. All she could see now were her targets, the insolent fools that were bringing chaos to her victory. Rage seethed, burning away her exhaustion and showing her their plans. They meant to strike the landing party, destroy the Sith invasion by decapitating its leadership.


As Fieldgrey’s A-wing passed beyond the hull of the derelict Dauntless, green lines of laser fire stitched the darkness before her streaming from the gunnery teams onboard the Y-wings. She could feel their fear and it amplified her predatory senses. The Krath took away their fear, devouring it with her anger and returning it to them as distorted panic. Instead of one A-wing, they would see an entire squadron of strikers that would have made Pash Cracken jealous.


Panic flared in the force, the organized squadron falling into disorder. The gunners began to shoot in desperation at the phantoms within their minds, filling space with staccato blasts that were less concentrated, but a danger to the Sith nonetheless. Their panic fed into Darth Awenydd’s power and the cycle continued. All she needed to do was push upon the mind and their fright became horror.


Into their disjointed squadron, the Krath sewed her remaining concussion missiles. The horror of her enemy filled her to the breaking point, her wrath insatiable. She began to shatter them, one by one. The ones that did not die from her missiles began to shoot each other, phantoms masking friends as foes. Dark laughter filled her ship.


The control-yoke jerked violently in her hands as the port engine overloaded, the outdated craft pushed far beyond her limits. Fieldgrey breathed out a sigh, ripping the spinning ship towards the safety of the Dauntless-class Heavy Cruiser. She was ever an Icarus, once the power took hold of her, she became unable to think of her own safety. Still tasting the bomber squadron’s horror on her tongue, she cut the starboard engine and let the microthrusters calm the sharp spiral. It simply wouldn’t do to die smashing into a derelict ship.


The hanger bay yawned before The Krath, a gaping maw of destruction that reminded her of the Master of Gluttony. Eternally consuming but endlessly   ravenous. Disgust rose within her, but she let it pass, choosing to focus on the source of her strength, the rising tide of rage that continuously threatened to overtake her and drown her in power and lunacy. She reached into the decking that rose before her and pushed, fueling it with her hate.


The decking buckled and shattered causing a scar in the hanger that stretched from the shattered ship of Bakra to the far wall. It slowed the A-wing enough for her to jump from the cockpit, dark robes fluttering behind her like ebony wings. The A-wing smashed into the far wall in a cacophonous explosion of durasteel and fuel, turning the hanger-bay auburn. Fieldgrey could feel the radiant heat scorching her skin, bringing back memories of Tatooine as she landed beside the Sith pilot (Bakra).


The Sith girl was only three inches shorter than the man, but he carried himself with the poise of a veteran. She could feel his presence in the Force like a bonfire of stability fighting back the chaos of darkness. Fieldgrey whistled a greeting and flared her hate. Blasterbolts were an orchestra of light that adorned the hazy hanger in danger. The shattered glass and warped durasteel called to her, begging to be used in her ambitions.


Flicking her wrists, the shards of glass from Bakra’s leapt from the decking in a shower of glittering fragments. The Sith Lord bound them to her, imbuing them with wrathful intent. They stretched from her hands like laserwhips, reflecting the firelight that consumed her wrecked A-wing. She winked a hazel eye at Bakra and contorted her wrist sending a shard of shattered glass whipping over his head to disappear into the smoky haze. It whistled as it flew, its contortions causing it to vibrate with the airspeed before it sliced into the shoulder of a Trandoshan. The wicked snapping of scaled flesh and severed tendons made her shudder with passion. She focused on the enemy’s pain and let it fuel her.


“Come, petty officer, let us make them our prey.”


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Name: The Glory Bound

Type: Mercenaries

Stock: Mandalorian (Mostly Human)

Motivation: Cult

Galactic Influence: Low

Reputation: Unknown

Age: 7 Years

Leadership: Arkab Skon

Size: ~150

Stability: Battle focused


Enemies: Mandalorian Protectors

Allies: Conscripts, the easily manipulated

Allies Include: Several Gangs and Pirate groups Arkab has convinced to strike at various locations with promise of valuables.



A single Fane of Storms frigate in orbit, several Basilisk War Droids, various other smaller speeder type vehicles, heavy weapon emplacements, ray shielding array protecting the only entrance to their main compound.


Other: Fanatical devotion to Skon, despite his recent erratic behavior.


Current Leaderships: Arkab Skon

Bribes: Impossible

Cooperation: Unlikely


Current Lair

Quality: Cavern, ray shielded entrance

Location: Moonfall fields of Coruscant

Interior: Structurally compromised, stabilized for now

Traps: To be expected



Identifiable By: Mandalorian armor, distinctive emblem paint on helmets.

Common Trait: Deadly efficiency.






Name: Moonfall

Type: Natural Phenomenon

Stock: Varies from pebble size to roughly a frigate

Motivation: N/A

Galactic Influence: N/A

Reputation: N/A

Age: Days

Leadership: N/A

Size: Massive numbers

Stability: Constantly decaying orbit


Other: "Moonfall" was the name given to the debris kicked up by Hesperidium's glancing impact to Coruscant's surface. All manner of man made structures as well as large chunks of crust from both celestial objects broke into this debris field, which has mostly locked into an unstable geostationary orbit around the site of the impact. The orbits of all pieces of debris are decaying rapidly but at different rates, causing a deadly rain of meteors for any unfortunate enough or insane enough to venture into the primary impact area. The debris ranges in density from rock to durasteel, and continued meteoric hits on shielded vessels can quickly cause the shields to deplete or overload due to the sheer volume of some of the denser pockets of rubble.


Current Lair

Quality: Impact Area

Location: Coruscant red zone

Interior: Similar to a highly unstable asteroid field, but under constant gravimetric effect

Traps: N/A


((Delta's team))


Nolo held his arm up, gaining the attention of his squad. A silent alarm had been tripped, one of the proximity detectors near the cave entrance had detected movement. It was unlikely that it was an animal considering the kinetic rain out in the open. Even deep underground, Nolo's crew had still occasionally heard the larger booms from the bigger impacts. But while that might have unnerved most, to the ears of Mandalorians it was reminiscent of the glorious sounds of combat.

"Soon, brothers and sisters. Soon the fight comes to us. Remar, take Chun, Throgun, and Rina. Set up in the collapsed structures, they're more stable and will provide better cover. Eliminate as many as you can, fall back when needed. The rest of us will stay here and prepare."

Nolo held his fist to his chest, over his heart, and the rest of the squad did the same. In unison, their voices rang out, not powerful enough to reach through to the caves but enough to fill each with a strong sense of camaraderie and purpose. "WE ARE GLORY BOUND!"






The whine of speeders slowly grew louder outside the museum, finally coming to a halt near the entrance to the museum. There were a good number of men in total, thirty or so with two of the speeders equipped with manned turrets. One of the pirates still on a speeder bike slowly eyed the guards, then looked at one in the cockpit of a speeder who was much better dressed. Clearly they weren't expecting resistance, and didn't particularly want a fight if they didn't know what they were in for. Low enough that the guards couldn't hear, the pirate on the bike muttered to the other. "This was s'posed to be easy pickins." 


After a beat, the one inside the cockpit flashed a look of don't worry, I got this to his mate, and flipped on a loudspeaker, speaking to the guards from his cockpit. "This area was supposed to be evacuated. We have been...uh...deputized by Corsec to ensure all personnel are...escorted to safety. Please come with us and we'll take you to the nearest...uh...shelter." The leader gave the pirate on the speeder bike a wry grin, hoping the guards were dumb enough to take the bait. If enough of them came outside, they'd be easy fodder for the mounted turrets, and this job would once again be "easy pickins."


Still...something didn't seem quite right about all this. If it came down to it, they'd go in shooting. Nobody wanted to be here when the Sith arrived.

Edited by Glory Bound


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