By Her Will

[Ysmir]

Tags: Rugs  CaptainBonkers  Zaza

---

Our planetary Governor has proven unfit to the task of bringing the Empire's Peace to the planet. You are dispatched to put an end to these traitors, once and for all.

Her Will had been laid bare for all to see. His first true undertaking as the Praetor Magnus of the Cult of Strife would be no small feat; it was exactly like he had imagined it.

Every day since his first steps were taken in the Order, Viren had longed to make his presence known to the Galaxy at large. It was not a desire manifested from some childish hope to be recognized, to be accepted. Such trivial matters were beneath a Darth of the Inner Sanctum. No, it was a desire to be relied upon to do what was necessary for the good of the Empire, and to do it correctly. In his mind, he knew better than most when it came to matters of conflict, and with his track record, seldom few would argue this merit. So when the torch had been passed to his cold hand, his face illuminated by the flames of Her Radiance, he knew he had finally achieved one of his most important goals. All that remained now was to carry out his duties with the utmost care.

If the Empress desired this traitorous filth washed from the surface of a planet that was rightfully theirs through conquest, then washed they shall be.

Viren wasted no time in exercising the rights that had come with his new position. Coordinating the with the head of Imperial Security, Havlen Torrik, Viren called upon the combined might of the Cult of Strife and the Imperial Fleet to make haste to Dantooine. Every moment the so called "Liberation Army" spent occupying their garrison was a moment wasted, a chance for them to further their hold on the backwater relic of the Jedi Order. Despite his disdain for the world and its connections, its importance as a world in the heart of their foothold off the Hydian Way could not be ignored. Admittedly, their grip on the outer reaches of their occupied space was hinging on the brink of complete dissolution following the Archeri Crisis. This information, for many reasons, was not known to many, and Viren was made wholly aware that the Empress intended to keep things this way. A show of defiance from an otherwise helpless planet showed the Galaxy that the Empire, that the Sith, could be made to look weak.

That would not stand on his watch.

The Harbinger exited hyperspace in orbit above the grassland world. Moments after the cruiser appeared, another ship popped in behind it. And another. And another. In moments, the battallion of grey carriers blotted out the twinkling starlight, standing prepped and ready to deploy the readied troops at a moment's notice. Viren stood at the bridge of the Harbinger, staring out through the viewport. They had exited hyperspace poised directly above New Usine, the Imperial city that served as the Empress' main diplomatic center through the Governor. Whether she still drew breath or not was of secondary concern, though the Darth imagined that the DLA were far too spineless to take a life so swiftly. In a way, he almost hoped that the Governor yet lived, so that she may be made an example of for the price of failure.

"Ready the shuttles, Admiral. We'll be departing the Harbinger as soon as I've coordinated with the Grand Moff," Viren stated, and the Rear Admiral stood at attention with his hands folded behind his waist.

"At once, My Lord," he replied obediently.

With that, Viren turned on his heel and walked from the bridge toward the security doors to the hallway, a myriad of technical officers and communications liasons working away on their consoles adjacent to the bridge, preparing the onslaught that was to come.

As Viren exited into the hallway, he stopped and looked to his apprentice. Karn Albrecht had signed off his own name on this operation, much to Viren's surprise, but it mattered little. The Darth had planned to take him along even had he not shown the determination to undertake this assignment. Still, the drive was not an unwelcome trait.

"Come, apprentice. We have one more step before we choke the life from these pitiful rebels," Viren's voice boomed out, his helm held beneath the crook of his elbow against his side. Without another word, the Darth strode off toward the conference room, his feet thudding along the polished black flooring.

The conference room was a short distance from the bridge. Viren and Karn passed by some rather uptight looking Imperial Officers and fully outfitted soldiers who hurried to their required locations. The entire ship, it seemed, was under great pressure to ensure that every small detail went off without a hitch during this operation. Viren's exacting standards and shrewd tactics seemed to have rubbed off greatly on those under his command. As they reached the room, the doors slid back to reveal a holo-table, which Viren wasted little time in interacting with. Within moments, he had brought up a connection with one of the nearby ships that arrived for the retaliation force.

"Grand Moff Torrik," Viren began with a respectful nod of his head, "preparations are almost complete. The Lords of Strife are currently discussing movement details with Imperial Command. What have you learned of the Rebels' foothold in New Usine?"

[Rugs]

Karn drummed his fingers on the metal table surface as he waited on the Sith officer opposite him to make a move. He sat with his back to the viewport, with the swirling blue and white of hyperspace behind him. They were deep into a game of Novacrown. It was a tradition of Karn’s from his time under Colubus’ tutelage. They’d play a game as they neared their destination; a way to help shake off the rust of days of travel through hyperspace.

Colubus was a daunting opponent; Karn lost considerably more than he won against her.

Darth Viren was busy preparing for the coming assault, and so Karn had roped some poor Sith officer into a game. The soldier was, to his amusement and slight disappointment, much easier picking.

Karn smiled casually as he leaned his head against his open palm, tap tap tapping away on the table lip behind the board with his other. He was aggressive in all things, and this game was no different. He’d let himself loose this round, his first against an unfamiliar opponent since the trip to Nar Shaddaa.

Low-end pieces were sacrificed as he laid a trap for his surprisingly-hapless foe, and the officer’s initial glee faded as the realization set it.

Now it was too late. Surrounded and with no winning moves, the officer’s hand hovered near the board, unsure which of his blue pieces to select.

“Take your time,” Karn said, feigning sympathy. “We’ve got all the time in the world.”

A shifting in the pit of his stomach, as much as the changing view through the windows, announced their arrival in the Dantooine system.

“Looks like you don’t have to make the move,” he said, standing with his hands pressed against the table. “I’ve got to be off.”

He winked as he turned and hurried off. His master would want to see him before they descended.

---

“Any new word today?”

Allistair knew the answer before he asked, but that didn’t stop him asking. It had to change eventually. Right?

“Sorry, Al, but still silence.” Si’bul frowned as he leaned over the comms panel. The Zabrak shook his horned head. “I don’t know what’s taking so long?”

“Who knows?” Al wanted to groan. Another day of waiting for word, for acknowledgment, for anything from the Republic, another day of silence.
A year of silence. Worry filled his dark brown eyes as he looked out of the Sith fortress’ command center over New Usine — Smog City, as the locals called it — sprawling out in all directions.

The Dantooine Liberation Army, after being forced underground, had worked out a deal with the Republic. They were smuggled in weapons and equipment, via trade that came in from neutral Adumar. For years, they quietly rebuilt their strength while the Sith Baroness Sienna Decou, apparently sure of her final victory after Sith pressure on the world forced the rebellion out of the open, grew lax.

Then the Archeri Crisis struck the far side of the Galaxy. The aid stopped coming. But the hard years of silent living taught the DLA patience; once the crisis passed, things might return to the way they had been.

But that never happened. With the Galaxy on the edge of war again, with the Republic’s aid dried up, it seemed as good an opportunity as any to strike. Announce their presence while the Empire reeled after the Battle of Nar Shaddaa. With all eyes watching, perhaps even the Republic would come to their aide or negotiate some sort of agreement with the Empire to leave Dantooine be.

They could wait no longer while, day after day, Dantooine’s people grew every more accustomed to, ever more comfortable with, Sith rule. Senator Kenten, at least, would fight for them, and he had many allies in the Senate.

“Do you think they’ll care, Al?” Si’bul seemed to sense Allistair’s mood. Allistair’s heart panged. Si’bul was a grown man now, well into his twenties, but it was hard not to see that 15-year-old boy he’d been when he joined the DLA, all those years ago.

It was hard to think of himself as the teenager he’d been when the Sith came. When the resistance was born.

“If the Senator has his way,” Al said. Kenten was a firebrand as ever, but statements of support only went so far. “Listen, all we can do is worry about our fight here. We’ll keep on fighting by like we always have, whether the Republic comes or not.”

Loud, blaring alarms suddenly sounded on the panel. Allistair frowned.

“Um... Al?” Si’bul’s sandy face began to pale. “A lot of ships just came out of hyperspace.” He looked at Allistair, dread scrawled across his face. “Sith ships.”

Allistair swore. “Put out an alarm. Go find Mo and Dutch.” Si’bul rose. “And hurry!”

As Si’bul hurried away, Allistair rubbed a hand through his thick brown hair. They had known this might happen when they made their resurgence. But risks were part of a rebellion. Even overrunning the Sith presence had been far from a sure thing.

He turned to leave the command room as his fellow insurgents scrambled. He stopped by the door to get a leather jacket, old and worn, with a crimson band around the upper arm.

Jacket on, he stepped out to go find the Baroness.

---

Karn waited patiently for the bridge doors to part. He wore a set of light armor with onyx plating, similar in color and sheen to that of his master’s heavy armor. A black armorweave kama hung from his waist around his backside and he had, for now, a black cloak around his shoulders with the bronze Cult of Strife emblem pinned to the front, near his neck. His long-hilted lightsaber hung from his belt, along with a small pouch of supplies.

“Master,” he said with a polite bow of his head as Viren exited the bridge. His own helmet was held under his arm, and he fell into step behind the Praetor Magnus down the hallway. “I’m eager to be on the surface.”

It was his first chance to prove himself under Darth Viren’s leadership. It was his first chance to prove himself after the disaster he’d gotten himself into at Nar Shaddaa. Today, they’d be killing people. Normal, ordinary people who thought they had the right to rise up against their betters.

People are easier to kill than those... things. Karn flexed his free hand, already longing to hold his lightsaber ablaze and cut through the rabble.

It was his first chance to work on a mission issued directly from Her Radiance. “I will see that your will, and Her Radiance's will, is carried out to the best of my ability.”

He remained silent for the rest of the way. As Viren entered the conference room and established a connection with Torrik — Karn might have smiled at that, if not for present company; there was no escaping the Torriks, it seemed — he watched in silence.

[Zaza]

[attr="class","trying"]

[attr="class","we1"]

[attr="class","avatar"]

[attr="class","lost1"]Where Shall The Force Lead Me?

[attr="class","rise"]

[attr="class","dying1"]

[attr="class","mouths1"]Zaza would awaken in another sweat-filled panic. He wouldn't awake screaming, though the thought clearly passed through his rem stated mind. Zaza would examine the interior he was currently in. Dark, simplistic and lacked any free space. The Force-sensitive male would attempt to get off his bed before noticing a pair of clothes on the desk near the door. There seemed to be a lamp as well, but there wasn't a shade for it. It was merely a light source, which Zaza didn't mind, he just wanted people that were going in charge of him to be a bit more stylistic. Zaza would change into these clothes, with them being a mix of robes and shirts underneath. Zaza would look towards the mirror to check himself out and after grimacing at his current attire, Zaza would take off the long coat and would instead put on his red jacket.

After exiting the room, Zaza would see that the hallways would be busy with various people walking at fast speeds. They all wore darker clothes so Zaza appearing was out of the ordinary. So, of course, Zaza would receive some looks from onlookers. With a sigh, Zaza would head towards where most of the people in the hallway were headed. Zaza didn't know what he was going to be doing here, but he knows being bored wasn't one of them. While walking, Zaza would put his arm over the shoulder of a woman walking next to him. Zaza was going to use his charm to get a bit of information out of her. And with a charming smirk beginning to surface on his face, "Well hello there, beautiful. How's your day been so far?" Zaza couldn't really a good look at her face but he could see some movement, so hopefully, it was a smile. The woman would turn to reveal her 6 eyes and a gnarly set of teeth. Which surprised Zaza enough to cause him to jolt backward and almost collide with a machine that was passing through the crowd. "N-nevermind, I think I know the answer..."

Zaza would stop moving with the crowd and would, in fact, begin to go the other way. He had this feeling of curiosity coursing through his veins. It gave him this mental boost, fueling his nosey nature a bit too much. Zaza would find himself in an area he had no idea of. There weren't too many people but he saw a couple of weird-looking people. He saw them going into a room and without a second thought he would slowly follow in. Knocking on the door before it slid open. There Zaza stood in the doorway while the sight of someone operating on a holo-table. "Knock....knock?" Zaza was a bit intimidated by their appearance. They looked like some sort of super cops or something. Zaza wouldn't go into the room, for fear that he wouldn't walk out but he would begin to express himself outside the door.

"Uh....hey. I was just wondering where I am? Kinda got kidnapped by some people wearing similar clothes to you guys." Zaza would shrug "I mean, I'm not complaining, but a brochure would have been appreciated or like a complimentary dinner for joining? Do you guys do that sort of thing?" After a moment, Zaza would notice that he was doing just what he said he wasn't doing. "I mean, im fine without it...." He would whipser this part under his breath to hide his conjecture. "But it would of been a nice thing to do..." There would be a moment of awkward pause for him "Anyways, what are you guys doing? If you don't mind me askin' "

[attr="class","lying1"]✎ Rugs CaptainBonkers , the comic relief is here!

ulla

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[CaptainBonkers]

Despite of all the activity going on in the command centre aboard the Panopticon the mood inside was confident and alert. To an outside observer it might have appeared somewhat chaotic but every single analyst, specialist operator and technical specialist present knew exactly what they were doing. This was after all a practiced scenario; an insurgency ousting or defeating a planetary garrison had always been a distinct possibly and the Ministry had therefore devised protocols to deal with one. The fact that Daantoine had been the first planet to fall such an uprising had surprised no one in Havlen’s employ. Baroness Decou’s mismanagement of the planet was a well known fact within the Ministry and the only reasons she had been allowed to keep her position were her prior service to the Empire alongside the fact the local rebels had gone to ground. However, instead of thoroughly rooting them out, or at bare minimum adequately supporting the Ministry’s attempts to do so, the good lady had allowed her administration and security forces grow complacent. Thus had the weeds taken over the garden.

Havlen took one final sip of tea before handing the cup off to an aide. The communications officer had perked up, suggesting that they were being hailed. Another imperial ship most likely and quite certainly Darth Viren. The other ships in the fleet had little reason to contact Havlen after all and the rebels were unlikely to initiate communications this soon. His prediction was proved right a few seconds later when the officer stood up and coughed to gain Havlen’s attention.

“Grand Moff, Darth Viren is hailing us.”

Havlen nodded the lieutenant to patch the Darth through and few seconds later the image of Viren was projected into the air few feet away from Havlen’s chair.

“Grand Moff Torrik,” the Sith lord began with a nod which Havlen returned. “preparations are almost complete. The Lords of Strife are currently discussing movement details with Imperial Command. What have you learned of the Rebels' foothold in New Usine?"

“The situation in New Usie remains largely unchanged from the previous reports.” Havlen said, activating a second holoprojector. A depiction of New Usine and the surrounding countryside appeared next to the image of Viren. “Apart of few pockets of intermediate unrest and resistance, the insurgents have the city’s districts firmly under control. Major entry points have been barricaded and the surrounding buildings fortified against entry and direct blaster fire. However with proper air and artillery support our ground forces should be able to breach their outermost defenses without much trouble, no matter how well they have dug in.”

They had a fleet orbiting the planet with enough firepower to level the city if necessary, though only as a last resort. Destroying few fortified industrial or apartment complexes with precision turbolaser strikes would be child’s play to the navy. However, getting into New Usine would only be the start.

“Beyond that is where the problems begin. We move into an urban environment against an enemy employing asymmetrical methods. The casualties could mount up quickly which is likely what the insurgents desire; a glorious last stand. My personal suggestion is that we do everything in our power to deny them that satisfaction.”

With a practiced wave of his hand, Havlen focused map to a spot few clicks away from the city’s perimeter where there was a small area surrounded with bright green and labeled the words “SEDC 25”.

“Outside of the city’s limits the situation is more to our favor. The rebels cannot hope to meet us in an open battle and we have a secure landing zone outside of any anti-aircraft weaponry they might have received from their benefactors within the Republic or captured from the planetary garrison. Said zone should be sufficient to land our speartip.”

[Ysmir]

Viren's mood took a sharp turn for the worse once the loud one with the headband had foolishly interjected just before Torrik's appearance on the holotable. His head turned slowly toward the individual, eyes levelled downward as he stood head and shoulders above him. "Silence," Viren said plainly, electing to explain the situation after the fact.

Viren made a mental note to discover whoever had elected to bring along an Acolyte with no briefing of the mission at hand. It would be the last decision they ever made under his watch.

Returning his attentions to the holotable, Viren gazed expectantly toward the image of the Grand Moff which now appeared before him.

Viren hadn't yet exchanged words with the man, let alone met him; all he knew was what he had heard. He had heard Havlen was exceedingly cunning, deceptively observant, and an extremist when it came to the way things were done under his command. The latter trait was one which Viren admired greatly. In a way, it reminded him of his own exacting standards to which he held all members of the Cult of Strife. He had also heard that the Grand Moff was impossible to read and had extensive training against mental intrusion, all geared toward making him an uncrackable shell should the unthinkable ever happen. It pleased Viren to know not a single resource was wasted on an operation such as this. The retribution this "army" experienced at the hands of the Sith would be as swift as possible, a lesson to all who would stand against Her will.

“The situation in New Usine remains largely unchanged from the previous reports.”

Viren's yellowed eyes turned to look downward at the image of New Usine. The information Havlen relayed was unsurprising; despite the relative recency of this insurgency, it was territory that these rebels were quite familiar with, and such familiarity could provide a stark advantage. Their victory was of no concern; their forces would be squashed easily enough, but Viren could not deny the Grand Moff's suggestion. The sweetest victory would be the one that denied the Liberation Army a single iota of satisfaction. The Darth nodded along to Havlen's words.

"The Cult of Strife will personally lead the charge into the city limits," Viren assured as he crossed he lifted his hand to the image of New Usine. "They will learn soon enough that their actions have consequences. Dire ones."

Viren manipulated the holographic image with a wave. As it spun about, his eyes took in every detail of the exterior wall. Multiple entry points, as Havlen outlined. "We shall employ a bait and switch," Viren began, rotating the image to highlight some of the major gates that allowed access to the city, "place their eyes on one hand and strike with the other. My Knights will provide ample distraction and allow the invasion force to circle behind the city limits and punch through the border there. Once subjected to fighting a battle on multiple fronts, their infrastructure will collapse. And they along with it."

Viren ceased his manipulation of the image and crossed his arms behind his back in summary fashion. "I will leave command of the fleet and its armament to you, Grand Moff. We shall resume communication once our shuttles have landed at the designated point." With a nod, Viren sent away the image and returned to look to Havlen. "I look forward to seeing the fruits of our labour."

Without any more dallying, Viren turned from the table and looked to Zaza -- the one with the headband. "We are going to kill a rebellion. Nothing more needs to be said." The Darth strode from the conference room and into the hall, where he turned to begin moving toward the hangar bay.

In the hangar, the Admiral had already prepared the invasion force; a multitude of shuttles lined the bay doors which slid open to reveal the vast emptiness of space, impeded only by the grassland world that stood ready to be reclaimed. Soldiers marched across the polished black floor at the order of Imperial officers who rounded their legions into their designated shuttles. Viren walked with Karn toward a central shuttle, larger and more heavily outfitted than the rest. Once the duo were on board, the loading ramp hissed as it began to close. Zaza would be corralled by a Lord of Strife, brought in line with a batch of Acolytes and Knights who were loaded in single-file fashion into their own shuttle.

The engines whirred to life as they prepared to take off. Viren looked to his apprentice.

"Consider this a lesson," Viren said as he lifted his helmet, placing it down upon his head. The hardpoints sealed with a rush of air as the dull red backlighting caused the visor to glow. Once it locked into the place, he turned his body fully. The shuttle began to lift from the hangar floor. "I will be watching closely, apprentice."

Moments after Viren's shuttle had departed the hangar, the rest of them followed suit; the operation had begun as they made a b-line for the planet's surface and Havlen's designated landing zone.

[Rugs]

Karn watched in silence as his master and Moff Torrik made plans for the invasion. That wasn’t to say he didn’t listen; fiery though he was, Karn was an astute student and avid learner, and he could be neither without being a sharp listener.

His gaze fell to the projection of the table before them. The insurgents occupied the Sith citadel, built in the heart of New Usine, or Smogtown or whatever the hell passed for a city on this backwater nothing planet.

They were to land beyond the city’s defenses and attack. That was all well and good, and Karn was eager to prove himself again after his failures against the Archeri. Still, he could not help but wonder why the Empire didn’t just raze the place and call it a day. It wasn’t as if Dantooine’s fields would be damaged.

He supposed that wasn’t the message the Empire wanted to send, though from the forces assembled, this mission was as much a message as a military operation. Whatever the case, he wouldn’t complain; it’d been too long since he had the chance to kill, to throw himself into the fires of real life-or-death battle.

On the surface, he wouldn’t be bound by the same restrictions that stayed his most potent abilities against his peers in the sparring circles. On the surface, he could finally be free to use the full breadth of his power.

His milky eyes drifted to the other Sith that entered. Loud, impulsive and seemingly without any idea of who he spoke to or stood before. Karn watched his master from the side of his eye. He’d made the same mistake once, and suspected their company, in the Moff’s projection and urgency of the task at hand were the only things that spared his fellow Acolyte the same painful learning he’d been put through when he unknowingly challenged Viren.

Kidnapped? What did that mean? How was this Sith here without knowing what was going on?

Karn held his tongue as Viren and Torrik planned, but when the briefing was over, he lingered behind his master.

“You’d do well to quit with the games,” he warned Zaza. “No one will notice or miss a nobody left dead on the battlefield below.”

He left without further word and hurried to catch up to Darth Viren. They boarded their shuttle in silence and Karn took a spot near his master.

“Consider this a test,” Viren said as he donned his helmet. “I will be watching closely.”

“Of course, Master,” he said, eyeing his own helmet. It, like his armor, was sleek and streamlined; the suit was designed to maximize freedom of movement while providing as much protection as possible. His stomach clenched.

As much as he tried to follow Viren’s teaching, to leave Colubus behind him, he could not help but see flashes of Nar Shaddaa — of burning chaos and death pressing in from all angles — running through his mind.

The shuttle shuddered as they hit the outer reaches of Dantooine’s atmosphere. An orange glow crept across the small windows, coloring the dim interior.

“Failure is no option here,” he said, as much a response to Viren as a promise to himself. “Master, let me lead the search for the Baronness once we breach the city.” His helmet clicked softly as he slid it into place. A gentle hiss followed as it pressurized. Karn’s voice took on a slightly mechanical edge, but remained largely the same. “If these rebels are smart they will have killed her already. If they haven’t, she will wish she was dead before I drag her to you.”

[Zaza]

[attr="class","trying"]

[attr="class","we1"]

[attr="class","avatar"]

[attr="class","lost1"]Where Shall The Force Lead Me?

[attr="class","rise"]

[attr="class","dying1"]

[attr="class","mouths1"]"Kill a reb-" Before Zaza could finish his sentence he would be....threatened? Who was this person they seemed to know the man that cut him off earlier, maybe he was offended by the way he spoke to the man earlier? And what was this about a battlefield? What was Zaza getting he was being hauled off by black masked individual. He had strength that didn't really seem to match his build, or was Zaza that light?

His feet were dragging on the floor as Zaza attempted to regain his footing.He would be set in line with others somewhat dressed like him, minus the red jacket. Zaza seemed like he missed dress code as some of the others in line would peak back at him, grimace and face forward once more. Zaza didn't really want to be here either but with the current situation as is, he wouldn't be able to change much if not anything. His new boots would be firm on the ground as Zaza followed others into a ship, of course Zaza's nerves were somewhat hardened, with his races came peril and danger most people didn't experience. But something was off, Zaza couldn't point it out, there was a crawling sensation that would pierce through the young force sensitive.

It, wasn't like Zaza to sweat, but a droplet could be seen trailing down his face. Zaza slumped his head to weigh his options. He needed ideas to get out of here, but from where Zaza was seated he wouldn't be able to get a glance at the planet they were supposedly heading to. Stopping his train of thought for a moment, Zaza would look over the rest of the people inside of the spacecraft. Varying races, all different faces, none the wiser of the dangers ahead. They also had some sort of device near their hips. Not something Zaza was acquainted with nor something he had heard of. Maybe because of the planet he was on or maybe because of the conversations he was in, but he was drawing a blank on the matter. So he decided to cast it off for now, maybe he would get a better idea of what they were once they were being used. Zaza was a tech freak, always interested in the new gadgets whenever he could get his hands on them. Of course not by fair means, but all's fair in love and card games right?

Zaza would return to slumping his head drowning out the sounds of the ship and the mini conversations here and there. Until Zaza would hear a ping. Quickly lifting his head and looking around to the surprise of the people next to him who probably thought Zaza had lost his mind. But Zaza definitely heard that, what was it? And why did no one else here seem to have heard it either. Was Zaza truly beginning to fall apart, nahhhhh. Must be some sort of trick being played on him right? Someone here has an ability like his and is messing with him right? Right? Zaza would sigh as he wouldn't entertain the idea any longer, it served no other purpose than stressing him out further. Zaza wasn't the type of person to stress either but anyone in his situation would be.

[attr="class","lying1"]✎ Rugs CaptainBonkers Ysmir , I wonder if I look good in red?

ulla

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[CaptainBonkers]

So they were to storm the city then. The plan Viren had devised was certainly better than merely using superior numbers and firepower to overwhelm the rebels holed up there but it had equally good chance of becoming the meat-grinder the rebels were no doubt hoping for. After all, the area the enemy had to defend would be shrinking as the imperial forces pushed deeper into the city all the while the imperials would be advancing through enclosed environment that most likely was littered with mines, traps and carefully prepared ambush spots. Havlen truly hoped that the plan would work as designed but feared the worst. Unfortunately the most sensible line of approach likely would not have gone down well if suggested; placing New Usine under siege and starving the rats out while smaller forces reclaimed the other settlements on the planet. Alas, speed seemed to be the word of the day rather than prudence.

“Roger that. I’ll signal the garrison remnants and the SED company on ground to be ready for your arrival.” Hopefully they could counter some of the DLA’s home-field advantage with their knowledge of the city and surrounding area. Most of them had spent a number of years on the planet and as a result had local knowledge that was as close as they could get to the enemy’s. At least they would possess an understanding of New Usine’s layout that was based on personal experience rather than reading a bunch of maps before an operation.

As the feed from Viren’s ship dissolved into the air, Havlen centered the remaining map of the city before him and examined it some more, circling through various filters and overlays. A plan began to form that might the ground forces’ chances of success with acceptable casualty rates by approximately 12%.

“Captain.” Havlen began into his comm unit as he inserted coordinates to be sent to fire control into the system. “Inform section commander Drenner of Darth Viren’s arrival and then have the fleet open fire at the targets I have provided. Use minimum power necessary, they aren’t military targets.”

“We aren’t trying to soften the rebel hardpoints in anticipation of assault?” the Panoptikon’s captain inquired in response. Havlen liked the woman; while she was asking for clarification she proceeded to obey the order given to her. An inquisitive mind was an all too rare trait among the career officers of the military. Havlen sometimes suspected it was surgically removed during the basic training.

“We will, eventually, once the ground forces are in position. However, while our troops move into position I would rather confuse our enemies by acting as if we are planning a siege. Destroying known food stockpiles as well as power and water plants fits that plan perfectly.” hopefully behaving as if they were planning to siege the city rather than storming it would cause the defenders try to spread theory forces thin across the whole perimeter rather than focus solely on the most likely entry points.

“Should we target the residential districts then as well, sir? It is a common practice during sieges to demoralize the civilian population.”

“No. Terror bombardments generally have the opposite of desired effect. Rather than demoralizing an enemy and causing them to surrender they have a habit of galvanizing the resistance to endure any hardship levied against them.” Besides, the population of New Usine were needed post pacification. Project Blackboard needed participants after all and the whole of Daantoine would serve as an excellent test case.

“Understood. Commencing bombardment as soon as all batteries are ready to fire.” the captain replied curtly.

“Excellent, you may fire when ready. Keep me apprised of any new developments.”

With that Havlen turned his focus back to the map of New Usine, now displaying real time footage, and waited for the heat signatures from the bombardment to appear. He didn’t have to wait long.

---

Imperial LZ

“Roger that, I’ll let the rest of the bastards know.”

Drenner drew one last lungful from his cigar stub and flicked it on the ground outside the ad hoc command post. About time to strike back; he’d been itching to give those motherloving bastards holding New Usine a nice trashing for far too long now. If he hadn’t been stuck with practically no armoured vehicles, he probably would have tried to make headway into the city already. He wasn’t suicidal, however, and had thus sat around running reckon and occasionally skirmishing with the rebs when their patrols got too close to the LZ perimeter.

“Alright ya tosspots!” he began into the general channel. “The relief force is on its way down right now, so we finally get to smack the rebs around. However, while doing that you wankers better keep two things in mind. Firstly: The Panoptikon is in orbit, so the big chief himself will be observing from on high. Secondly: an honest to Force Darth is gonna be leading the ground forces personally. With this in mind, if any of you dipsticks fuck up anything, I’m personally gonna wring your necks and save his lordship the trouble. Now fall in and wait for further instructions!”

The LZ was filled with activity as the troops on ground hurried to make sure that everything was in order for the reinforcements to land unobstructed or to take up their positions. The things on ground would hardly pass an inspection but then again no unit actually ready for combat could and apart from maybe some of the civilian administrators Drenner had conscripted into fighting units, all of the lads on ground were as prepared as they could be considering their situation.

It did not take long for the shuttles appear in the sky, descending towards their target. Their arrival was accompanied by a familiar sound of turbolaser batteries hammering a soft target. A quick glance in the direction of New Usine showed smoke rising as green bolts rained from the sky. It was a sight that brought a smile on Drenner’s face, though he wiped it off of it quickly.

As the lead shuttle touched ground, Drenner hurried over to the landing ramp while the men of the 25th SEDC formed something of a welcoming guard next to the shuttle. As soon as Darth Viren emerged from the bowels of the shuttle, Drenner stroke a sharp salute.

“Welcome to Daantoine, m’lord. Hope the rebs didn’t give you any trouble on your way down. Section commander Aros Drenner of the 25th Special Enforcement Division Company and the acting commander for what's left of the planetary garrison, at your disposal."

[Ysmir]

The shuttles were small enough to avoid large radar detection and fast enough to get to the landing zone before any prying eyes were able to spot them out of the sky. This quick insertion followed by Havlen's obfuscating precision strikes on food stores and water plants was plenty to make the landing as easy as could be; which is good, because what would follow would be anything but.

Darth Viren was confident, pragmatic, and strategically-minded. Darth Viren was no fool. He did not expect this to be a walk in the park. New Usine held a strong defensive position, and the insurgents had been savvy enough to take control of it in the first place. If they wished to make this a swift and decisive victory, a showcasing of their combined powers, then it would need to be done right. So as the shuttle descended to the ground, Viren had spent the last few minutes in a meditative position, centering himself for the trials ahead.

As Karn made his request, Viren did not move a muscle from his spot, his voice echoing out from behind his helm. "If that is your wish, apprentice, then it shall be so," Viren assured, "but do not let her be used as leverage. If the rebels seek to threaten her death, accept it -- gladly. And then crush them."

That bit of strategic wisdom dispensed, it was not long before the shuttles had touched down.

Interspersed with the ground forces that had taken up a forward position came an armada of Imperial troops and members of the Cult of Strife, easily distinguishable by their glossy black armor and pins affixed to their collars of the Bronze Sword. Zaza was amongst those who were filed into position to await orders from officers -- in his case, one of a handful of the Lords of Strife who acted as an expy of a Commander on the field of battle. When it was noticed that he was out of uniform, the Lord pulled him aside and directed him to the armory to fix that issue.

The loading ramp fell open as Viren stood with Karn by his side, his feet thudding along the metal strip as he examined the guards spread out around the Commander. Viren stood before them all for a moment in silent reflection; the state of things here certainly left something to be desired, but none of it would truly matter when they had their hands at the Insurgent's throats. The slit of his helm levelled onto the Commander as Viren towered over the man.

"Very well, Commander," Viren began before walking toward the front of the outpost, expecting Drenner and Karn to follow as he continued speaking. "Then we shall waste no time with pleasantries. There is a job to be done, and I will see it done. Myself and the Cult of Strife will be initiating the assault at New Usine's northernmost gate. At this point, Grand Moff Torrik will have shifted his bombardment onto key military garrisons."

Once he stood at the forefront of the outpost, where he could see the city of New Usine just over the grassy hilltops, he crossed his hands behind his waist. "You shall be leading the secondary assault force which will begin their attack from the southernmost entry point, Commander Drenner. Use whatever means necessary at your disposal; extreme prejudice. Treasonous insurrectionists are not to be shown quarter." Viren then turned his head slightly toward Karn. "My apprentice shall be spearheading the search for the Baronness, and thus will be accompanying you and your men. He shall only take orders from you, and you alone."

He looked between Karn and Drenner, giving each a parting nod and leaving them to their devices as he stomped off to begin gathering the Cult of Strife for their moment of glory. He activated the built-in comms system in his helmet, patching directly to the Panoptikon.

"Grand Moff Torrik," he started, "begin your preparations. The invasion will commence within the hour."

[Rugs]

“As you wish, Master.” Karn fought to hide a malevolent smile as he tilted his head in deference to Viren. There was no reason to expect his master to deny his request. If the coming struggle was to be a test, as Viren said, there were few options better for seeing what the Acolyte could do. Even so, he felt a rush, a spike of adrenaline at the coming hunt.

He hungered. Not only to find and bring in or kill the failure of a Baronness — her role in this entire affair was now secondary — but to prove himself. To prove himself as capable, after Nar Shaddaa.

To prove himself worthy of his master’s faith.

Karn shut his eyes and drew on the Force as the shuttle screamed the rest of the way through the atmosphere toward the surface. He drifted to the edge of meditation, in a softer echo of Viren, and before he knew it, they were touching down.

Dantooine was a verdant world, warm and inviting. There was a certain beauty to the rolling fields that stretched on as far as the eye could see around New Usine. Beyond that, and the rebels clinging to the world like an infection left too long to fester, the world was entirely uninteresting.

It contributed nothing to the Galaxy. It fostered no great advancements, held no great importance beyond that which these upstart farmers had assigned to it. Even the Jedi enclave now lay silent and ruined after the Sith conquest.

Karn resisted a stretch as he emerged from the shuttle, his visor dimming to shield his eyes against the midday sun. The scream of turbolasers in the air drew his gaze to New Usine, spread across the plains just over a shallow rise. The blasts struck like green lightning from the sky, throwing up fountains of fire and dust and smoke.

Would that we could level the whole city, Karn mulled as he followed Viren. Burn the whole lot of them to ash. But their path was set, and the rebels’ judgment drew inexorably nearer regardless.

The staging area was a hive of organized chaos, in a way that reminded him of the gathering points on Nar Shaddaa. Of course, those had been planetside, in an active battlefield; the staging abord the Forebearance, at least, had been a neat affair. Karn didn’t know what was where, but Viren seemed to know exactly who he was looking for.

Commander Drenner awaited them at the bottom of the loading ramp. Karn nodded to the man as they approached, expression blank behind his mask. The commander, too, reminded him of some Sith officers he’d seen at Nar Shaddaa, but he supposed a degree of uniformity was to be expected in a military.

“Commander,” he began after Viren finished speaking and headed off to tend to other matters, “if you’ll allow it, I’d like to lead a small team in around the main fighting force once we reach the citadel, while the rebels are occupied. We will find the Baronness, if the rebels haven’t killed her, and bring take her into our custody.”

Karn looked the city, the citadel rising out of its center, and thought. “Though, I’m open to suggestions, if you know of any alternate ways into the citadel, or where the insurgents may be keeping her,” he added, earnestly, turning face the commander once more. The man had been on the ground before the Sith fleet even arrived; it’d be foolish not to draw on what he knew.

---

New Usine shook. A light, hanging by a slender cord from the undecorated duracrete ceiling swayed overhead. Fingers of dust drifted lazily downward as another distant rumbling made the city shudder.

He was in a small room, one of a small set deep underground in the heart of the Sith citadel. They were all duracrete and reinforced metal, hardened against outside assaults for a last line of defense. The Sith had taken the threat of a Republic assault on Dantooine seriously when building the fortress. Now the DLA would turn their own defenses against them.

“They will not spare you.”

Baronness Siena Decou was a tall, slender woman. An Epicanthix with a dangerous air about her, even though she seemed much accustomed to a finer life than the one she presently enjoyed, bound to a chair far below the stronghold she helped build.

“They will come, and they will kill you. If you make them fight for it, you may suffer before you die.”

Her voice was smooth, clipped with an Imperial accent despite her years ruling Dantooine away from the heart of Imperial power. Her tone was that of a teacher, lecturing an unruly child; the same she used whenever she spoke to the rebels.

“Sue for peace. You may find mercy for some of your friends, in the end. Though I am afraid it’s too late for you. Even if you survived the day, some Imperial prisons are worse than death...”

“If I wanted your counsel, Baroness, I would have asked for it,” Al cut in stiffly.

“Then what do you want, Alistair?” She sounded as if she were trying to lead him by the nose through an equation he was too dense to solve alone. “You keep me in a cell, only to come storming over and drag me down here when the Sith arrive? For what purpose, hm? Do you think hiding me will reduce the Empire’s fury?”

Al’s hand twitched near the pistol at his side, and not for the first time. He’d brought the woman down here, into the deepest part of the citadel, to contemplate killing her. Whatever the Baronness said, it was hard to believe he’d survive the coming battle.

He wanted — desperately, desperately wanted — to put a blaster bolt between her eyes. She’d personally done the same to some of his companions that were captured as the old fight turned against the DLA.

But now that he was here, he couldn’t bring himself to do it. It felt wrong. Why?

“Al, I found Mo!” Si’bul’s voice crackled across Al’s comm. He released a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding. “We need you in the command center. They’re bombing the city! We’re preparing to raise the citadel shield!”

Al’s jaw worked. The shield would protect the citadel from orbital assault, force the Sith to attack it on the ground. It would do nothing to defend the city.

“You may still be a bargaining chip,” he growled at the baroness. “But don’t think you’re safe in this.”

“Child,” Baronness Decou's laughter was full and rich, “we are, all of us, in great peril. If you think any of us are safe, you do not understand the Sith.” She smiled sweetly, pityingly. “A fatal mistake, after struggling against us for so long.”

Al scowled and turned on his heel. A heavy metal door swung shut behind him and locked into place. “I’m on the way, Si’bul,” he said into his comm. “Send some guards down to keep watch over the Baroness.”

[CaptainBonkers]

Havlen switched the overlay covering the holomap back to military targets. There was little reason to observe the bombardment of the targeted infrastructure, even if Viren had not requested him to direct the fleet to target the insurgent strong-points. New Ursine had few defenses against an orbital bombardment and none of them had been extended to cover civilian targets. The batteries would level the targets in seconds, if they hadn’t already done so. Havlen could, after all, hear the echoes of Panoptikon’s batteries joining in on the barrage even through the insulation of his command module.

The previous targets faded into the dull blue of non-indication while the located fortifications began glowing in bright red. The fortress complex at the center of the city glowed as the largest and brightest red spot, like a sun at a center of a solar system. The other fortifications, if they could be called such reinforced civilian buildings as they mostly were, formed irregular rings around it.

With another press of a button, Viren’s plans for the assault on the city were superimposed over the map. Tracking the expected paths of the different prongs of the assault, Havlen began marking targets for the batteries. Though he would have preferred to rely solely on pinpoint destruction in the eradication of this rebellion Havlen still found himself marking a whole city block to be leveled by the fleet’s cannons. Doing so created a shortcut some of the ground forces could hopefully use to bypass a number of tricky chokepoints too close to heavily populated civilian residential zones to safely bombard.

He finalized the target selection and forwarded the coordinates to fire-control. All he could do now was wait and observe.

---

Lead the secondary assault? Well, shit. Drenner had not expected that. Not that he doubted his ability to do so but he had expected to subordinated to some army tosser or a Sith instead of being given a job more significant than leading his company into the upcoming fight. It was an honor but also a chance to fuck up spectacularly. Well, at least he probably wouldn’t have to wring his own neck if he did so. Chances were that any fuck up spectacular enough to see him strangled by the Darth was one liable to kill him before that.

It took Drenner a second longer than he personally considered acceptable to realize that the Darth’s apprentice was talking to him, inquiring for any information on the citadel.

“Hmmm.” he began in response, mostly to give himself a few moments more to process the questions asked of him and to compose his thought. The little Siths always made him a little uncomfortable. Lords and Darths Drenner knew how to handle; shut up, kiss ass and do as you were told to when you were told to do so. Knights and lower however, well their position in the chain of command was so hazy that it could give man an ulcer for working with one on an ad-hoc arrangement. Did a knight outrank a captain? What about a colonel? Who could you complain to if they didn’t agree with your assumption and did your life insurance cover being asphyxiated by a Force user?

“There are a couple of old maintenance hatches in the sewers you might be able to use to slip in undetected. They were welded shut and bricked over on both sides but a lightsaber might be able to cut through them.” Drenner dug out his personal holopad and rummaged through some old reports on potential security risks and transferred the locations to the apprentice. If he recalled correctly, he had pointed the hatches posed a considerable risk if discovered by hostiles but that damn nob of witch hadn’t ever even bothered to read the report.

“I can also provide you with a SED commander override code that might be able to get you through some of the doors in the citadel. They’ve probably changed the codes but unless the bastards have also changed the bloody locks as well, the code ought to work still.” he continued, handing over a code cylinder.

“Anything else I can help you with?”

[Ysmir]

---

The walled city of New Usine was a technological and strategic marvel, to be sure. The defensive barriers surrounding the dotted buildings inside stood several meters tall, and though they were impressive, they had failed to stand the trial of time against the Panoptikon's orbital assault. Joined by a chorus of cruisers, including Viren's own, the bombardment had reduced the majority of the outer walls to rubble. As planned by Torrik and Viren, their positioning outside of the Northern gate coincided with a sudden and swift shift in the orbital assault's targets. Where once the fire from the heavens had been directed at warehouses and storerooms, key military targets left undefended had been flattened in minutes. What remained standing posed no more threat to Viren and his Knights than a fly on the wall.

There they stood outside the gates as the dust settled. Viren maintained a position at the head of a battalion of Strife; flanking him on either side were Praetors Jaskar and Solas, acting Generals for the time being. Behind the trio of leaders followed equal, parallel lines of armored Knights, their sabers held unactivated by their sides. These rows extended back a fair distance, their numbers as much a strategic choice as they were a display of power. Still, they measured decidedly less than what your common invasion force would consider tactically sound.

But that didn't matter when the Force was your ally.

Viren reached upward as rebel forces began gathering at the gates. Weary, shell-shocked, and tattered from many hours defending against the orbital attack, Viren could sense the dread as the ragged forces locked their eyes on the Cult of Strife. A veritable sea of black against the scorched greenery of Dantooine's temperate landscape. He locked his fingers into the clamps of his helmet, air hissing outward as the hermetic seals tightened and his life support systems engaged fully. Downward his hand climbed until it wrapped around the familiar hilt of his weapon. He held it aloft and outward, pointing at the gathering force. Their guns raised as they prepared themselves in kind.

"For the Empire."

A heartbeat passed as Viren ignited his lightsaber, deflecting three blaster bolts in rapid succession as the rebel forces opposite to them unleashed a volley of fire. Each Praetor and Knight of Strife followed Viren's example, a dance of crimson flashing outward as the warriors began their charge. Few Knights fell victim to any sort of wound as the battalion closed the gap between the plains and the crumbling city gates. And from there, the true assault began.

Viren was the first to reach the threshold. Before yells of retreat could be sounded by the weary troops, four insurgents had fell to Viren's lightsaber. The Dark Lord entered a trance fuelled by the Dark Side as he fed on the fatigue of his adversaries. Whatever stray blaster bolts he did not deflect bounced harmlessly off of his armor as he grasped a rebel by the throat. His natural strength enhanced by the Force, the Darth squeezed until the man ceased kicking before tossing his limp body onto a pile of duracrete.

Their push was poetry in motion as the Cult's warriors drove further into the city. Despite the gate serving as a chokepoint, Torrik's assault ensured that Viren's subordinates had ample space to move about. The insurgents had been woefully unprepared for this turn of events, and were summarily routed by the sheer ferocity of the Sith's attacks. As the situation grew more and more unfavorable for the rebels, and as they pushed deeper into the city, Viren took a less direct role in the attack, falling behind his Generals and allowing them to lead the Knights further into the streets as he assessed the damage at the gate.

Viren deactivated his lightsaber as he stared upward toward the central spire of the Sith Citadel. The outer blast shields stood strong against the glancing blows of the orbital assault. The comm-link in his helmet crackled to life as he patched to the Panoptikon's bridge.

"Insertion complete, Grand Moff Torrik," Viren began as he trudged over rubble and scarred bodies toward the citadel. "Phase One success. Moving to Phase Two."

His helm crackled once more as he patched into Commander Drenner's comms.

"Carve a path to the Citadel at your leisure, Commander. You'll find little in the way of resistance," Viren stated. The primary assault had certainly garnered attention; exactly what Viren was hoping. When Drenner and the Imperial Military assaulted from the South, it would force whatever resistance remained to fall back to the Citadel as well. There, the two forces would meet and the bottleneck would be complete. Like rats in a cage.

Without hesitation, Viren disconnected from the communications and surged forward with preternatural speed to rejoin his Knights as they carved a bloody path toward the Citadel through growing resistance.

[Rugs]

Maintenance hatches. Running through sewers. Karn grimaced beneath his helmet. No one saw any glory in running through sewers and it definitely wasn’t the triumphant return to the battlefield he’d envisioned for himself.

But he’d told his Master he’d see the task done, and now he had to. Being that he wasn’t all that familiar with New Usine, he didn’t see much in the way of other options, short of splitting off from the main assault force at the last instant. No, it made sense to keep a low profile while the insurgents focused on fending off the Empire’s forces.

“Thanks.” Karn took the offered code override cylinder and tucked it into a protected pouch at his waist. He’d have to be careful with that; he couldn’t slice worth a damn and if the cylinder got lost or destroyed, he’d have to see how much durasteel his lightsaber could cut through. “I think that’s the way I’ll go.”

Green turbolaser fire screamed down from the heavens, smashing buildings and streets like the fist of an irate god.

Fingers of white energy lanced from an emitter atop the citadel. They climbed a few dozen meters through the air, woven together, and webbed out into a dome that rolled down around to the top of the citadel’s high walls like water flowing over glass. A defense shield. Karn’s eyes widened, slightly.

“So they’re ceding the city,” he muttered. It seemed the insurgents, rather than fight for every inch of the city, would make their stand at the citadel. More laser fire roared down from above, throwing great fountains of smoke and dust and fire into the air. One blast exploded atop the shield, which rippled but did not falter.

“If you could spare a handful of men,” Karn said, turning back to the commander as the Sith under Darth Viren began their assault under a smoke-darkened sky, “that will be all I need, Commander.”

---

The Command Center was a chaotic mess. The Sith assault was well underway by the time Al arrived from the citadel’s depths with the baroness. New Usine and miles of farmland around it stretched out around them on the center’s view feeds. Black smoke choked the sky, turned the day’s light red as the Sith pushed relentlessly into the city.

DLA fighters mounted some resistance around the city’s edge, to buy time for more of the rebellion’s forces to retreat to within the citadel’s defensive perimeter. They hadn’t bought much. They’d known an Imperial army might arrive. They’d known that it was sure to have some of the Empire’s Force users.

They had not expected so many.

“How’s it looking, Si’bul?”

“Bad, Al.” The Zabrak sighed, shoulders slumping. “We haven’t been able to stop their first assault, and now the second one is closing in on us from the south. It’s... unless some miracle happens, it’s looking real, real bad.”

Al wanted a smoke, but didn’t have any on him. His brother wouldn’t approve anyway. “How close are we to being set up here?”

“Just about. We were able to pull some of our forces back into the citadel, and almost everyone’s in position.”

“Hit ‘em with everything we’ve got then,” Al leaned forward, a hand on the command table as he peered into one of the feeds. “We took this place, might as well get some use out of it.”

“Right.” Si’bul began barking orders over the DLA’s comm channels.

A few seconds later the citadel shuddered as its defensive weapon placements — anti-personnel cannons built into the walls, turbolasters aligned beside or behind them — roared to life. None of it would stop the Sith onslaught; they were too many, too well-equipped. But they’d bleed them on the way in.

“Al! We got a situation!” The voice of one of the men he’d left below to watch the Baroness buzzed in his ear. “Someone’s breaking in!”

Al swore. “Get the Baroness and move. Make sure they can’t get her.” He ran back down below as the battle between the rebellion and Sith began in earnest.

---

Something thudded overhead. Karn paused, walking in a half-crouch to duck through a small gate in the sewers, as dust fell from the ceiling. If I came all this way to have the damn street fall in on me... He bit back a growl and kept moving, followed by a trio of Sith soldiers.

The fighting overhead was picking up if the rumblings were anything to go by. The Force too, was a mess, swirled and churned to chaos by the fighting above. Karn hated to miss it, but if he could see this task successfully through, it’d be more than worth it in the end.

“Gotta be close,” he muttered as he stepped through the small gate. His footsteps splashed through a thin layer of running water as he looked around. Ahead of him, the sewer stretched on and on to darkness, with an intersection a few dozen meters off. To his right sat a small square-ish recess, lined with brick.

Wait..

That brick didn’t match anything else in the sewer, and wasn’t near as dirty. “I think this is it,” he called to the men following him. A holographic map sprang to life in his helmet’s HUD. It lacked the details for the New Usine’s sewer system, but still showed him beneath the city. Right near the citadel’s western edge. Gotta be it.

Karn thrust a hand forward, fingers clawed and curling back as he willed the bricks to break loose. They crumbled toward him, spilling out into the sewer. A metal wall — a pair of doors with welded metal down the middle — awaited beneath them, and though it bent and bulged at his pulling, it was less willing to break to his will.

So he cut through it, leaving a hole lined with glowing metal, and pushed on.

Soon after, he broke through another sealed-shut door and found himself out of the sewers. The duracrete architecture around him was hard and utilitarian, with empty, dust-coated supply crates here and there. A peeling sign near the far door revealed that this was a maintenance storage area, though the Arkanian wondered how long it’d been since anyone had been down to do any actual maintenance.

More dust covered the floor, and he left footprints with each step to the heavy metal door. He shoved it, surprised to find it open, and emerged into a hall.

Staring at a pair of insurgent soldiers.

“Go!” one of them screamed as the other bolted for an exit. “Lock the door behind you I’ll hold them of-”

The man clutched at his throat, suddenly unable to breathe. Karn smiled darkly under his helmet as the rebel’s gun clattered uselessly to the ground. He stood, lightsaber silent in his right hand with his left out, fingers closed in a choking motion. “I’m sorry,” he said, taking slow, cocky steps toward the strangled terrorist. “You’ll do what?”

[That's So Wizard]

Dantooine. An insignificant little planet in an insignificant little part of the galaxy. Boring, grassy, flat, made up of ninety percent squabbling farmers and ten percent beasts. The only thing of note on the planet had been the Jedi Enclave, which had drawn it's last breath years ago.

To think she'd been sent here to rummage through the Jedi Order's leavings was frankly quite insulting when she had so many other more pressing projects. Still, maybe she would be in time to see Darth Viren choke the life out of some poor souls. That would make it very worth it; after all he was such an intriguing figure, seeing him in the heat of battle was sure to give her something to chew on for a while.

She crossed her legs in her chair on the deck of her personal Phantom, staring out the viewport as her pilot kept them level and steady through Hyperspace, streaks and swirls of light shooting past them. The countdown on her screen said only a few seconds until they dropped into the Dantooine system. A shame she was going to miss most of the fighting, especially with her new apprentice in tow. A large, burly Zabrak. Powerful, both in the Force and in physicality, though his true worth was yet to be tested. He stood himself next to her chair, staring out the viewport as well. Diligent little puppy, she thought.

Just then the visual white noise stopped, replaced with an armada of Sith ships bombarding the planet and a blaring of comm noise as the local military frequencies all cut in at once. "Goodness me! Shut that racket off! You would think Viren and Karn would have dealt with this little band of farmers by now, deary me. Get me in contact with Admiral... General... Captain... um..." Her handmaiden Miriam leaned over from her left. "Grand Moff Havlen Torrik, mistress." Viula gave her a smile of gratitude, patting her cheek affectionately. "Thank you, my dear. Yes, him! Bring me down towards the Sith battle lines and then return to orbit."

The ship banked in an approach vector for the surface, the whistling of the wings hitting air mixed with her humming and from behind her, Miriam placed that aurodium crown onto her head. Taking a deep breath and feeling a satisfied grin creep across her face as she watched the smoke and fire and corpses come into clearer and clearer view, she turned her head slightly to her right. "Are you ready for your first test, darling? Don't be nervous~" The Zabrak responded with a bestial grunt, taking his lightsaber from his belt and marching towards the exit ramp of the ship.

The comm channel finally opened as they came in to land at the outpost. "Ah, greetings Grand Moff Torrik, I must apologize for my sudden entrance, I must have given you quite the fright! I will be joining the battle on foot with my apprentice, I will leave my Phantom and it's wonderful crew at your command. Please try not to get them killed, my dear, this ship is rather expensive." She leaned back in her chair as her pilot commenced landing procedures. "I presume Darth Viren has already engaged the enemy?"

She allowed herself a little chuckle as she started out of the viewport, closing her eyes in an ecstatic feeling of mirth at the spires of acrid smoke billowing from the city in the distance. Technically she hadn't been sent her to fight and a Prophet like her probably had no jurisdiction commanding troops but how could she resist fighting when it was right in front of her? Butchering rebellious little farmhands waving torches and pitchforks? Seeing them scream and writhe in their death throes? Feeling their fear and pain and desperation as their last few moments were spent in agony? Viula couldn't help but bite her lip at the thought. How exhilarating! "I do hope he has left some fun for me~ Where would I be best used, dear? Feel free to patch me through to Darth Viren if need be, though I am sure he is... enjoying himself right now~"

The thought of seeing that big brute of a man cutting through rebels, swatting them aside as if they were the stalks of wheat and he the farmer... it filled her with all sorts of emotions. Hate. Jealousy. Fear. The need to feel that strength reach it's peak. The desire to watch him be finally toppled. Joy. Hope. Perhaps even lust. Such a beautiful little atrocity was unfolding on this planet and through the Force she could feel it in ways no normal person ever could.

This was beauty. Chaotic, ruinous beauty.

[CaptainBonkers]

Havlen had always found observing a battle, especially one waged on the ground, to be a rather dull affair. While he was certain that all manners of heroics and acts of daring and valour worth a shower of medals were being committed on the ground below, from his perspective the combat was nothing than an abstract situation map that updated every few seconds as new reports and sensor readings came in. It was hardly exiting, especially to a man whom had never taken much interest in military matters other than as an extension of population control. Had it not been terribly unprofessional and set a bad example, the Grand Moff might have considered taking a nap.

However, until Viren’s apprentice reported in with the baroness in custody or confirmed her demise, there was little he was needed for. The naval officers were more than capable coordinating the fleet’s batteries with the ground forces and Havlen intervening in their activities would have merely created an unnecessary layer of command for them to deal with.

“Sir, an unscheduled ship just dropped out of hyperspace. They are hailing us ….uh I think they wish to pass the blockade and join the ground forces?” the comm officer was clearly befuddled by the sudden appearance of the Phantom-class ship.

Havlen pulled up the approaching ship’s ID data. A Sith ship, how shocking. Only members of that order would assume to pull something like this off at a whim. A part of him considered briefly logging the codes the ship had transmitted as fake and having the fleet remove the ship from the combat zone. With extreme prejudice, if necessary. However, there would have been inquiries and investigations which were always so tiresome to bury. Hardly worth the small pleasure of becoming the consequences of arrogance for a lonely Sith lord that likely just wished to get their jollies from reveling in the carnage of battle.

“Their codes appear to be valid, let them pass and direct them to the nearest safe landing zone. They are Viren’s problem now.” the presence of additional Sith on the battlefield likely wasn’t going to make much of a difference in the situation. The insurgents were on the retreat, though whether or not that could be considered a success could only be determined once the final casualty lists came in. So far the numbers were tolerable though the battle was not over yet and the rebels still held the heavily fortified citadel. There was still plenty of time for the imperial casualties to mount up to a point where the rebels might derive some satisfaction for their ‘valiant’ defeat.

---

Commanding a unit larger than a company was utter banthashit. Drenner had long since promised to himself that the day he was promoted to a position that took him too far from action would be the day he’d retire or request a transfer to a training unit and leading this prong of assault did nothing but steel his resolve to do so.

He could just about see some of the action taking place in the distance but as the commander of this part of the whole operation Drenner couldn’t get any closer. The fact that he was the only one with a more wide picture of what was going on made him too valuable to risk his his life in combat. He hated it. Staying this far from action went against his basic nature and each time a report came in that one of his units was pinned down he had to fight the urge to charge in that direction and try and help them by mowing down some rebs. Instead of that, as soon as a report like that came in, all he could do was to cycle through all the comm channels to find a unit he could disengage from the fighting safely and move them to reinforce the unit in trouble. And nothing was worse than not finding one.

A one such call for support had just come in; a speeder platoon had gotten pinned down on Czarki Street. The lead speeder had ploughed straight into a mine, blowing it’s repulsors straight to hell and blocking the way forward. Then rearguard speeder had been destroyed by a lucky shot by a reb anti-tank weapon, locking the way backwards. If that missile hadn’t been a gift from the rebels’ Pub benefactors, Drenner was going to eat his own damn helmet.

“Marash one this is SEF-C one, what’s your situation, over?” he barked into his comm.

The reply was accompanied by a background noise of blasterfire, explosions and copious amounts of screaming. “We’re, uh, holding steady for now, sir, but we’d appreciate some support. The lead speeder’s shields are still holding but we don’t have the manpower or equipment to clear the rearguard’s wreck to pull out, over.”

“Do your best to keep yourself and your men alive. Amsal three is on its way to provide relief, ETA fifteen minutes. Meanwhile I managed to wrangle some air support for you. Just designate the targets and Speeder Corps will deliver the Rebs a nice little gift, over.”

“Speeder Corps? Fuck. It’s better than nothing but...fuck. I’ll designate the target and then tell the lads and lasses here to prepare to take cover when they hear speeders in case those tossers live up to their reputation, over.” came the exasperated response few moments later. Drenner didn’t blame the man; the Imperial Speeder Corps were generally regarded as folks who didn’t or couldn’t make it in the Starfighter Corps. He wasn’t sure if the reputation was entirely earned, but they had had a few spectacular cases of friendly fire during the War that had more or less sealed their reputation for good.

“Keep fighting, lieutenant, SEF-C one out.”

With that situation up to date and relatively stable, Drenner switched to the next unit on his list. “Serco one, this SEF-C one, do you copy? What’s your situation, over?”

[Ysmir]

Comm chatter was alight on both ends, Viren's helm patching into the Imperial command frequency, as well as that of the rebel insurgents. Their feed was far choppier, and whatever Viren could pick out was next to useless. He predicted that they would have installed some sort of jammer to prevent their messages from being intercepted. Clever.

But cleverness would not save them here.

With Drenner's men pushing from the south, the Cult of Strife with Viren at its head had now reached the Citadel. A massive white shield projected over the top of the sprawling compound, defending the central building from the rain of hellfire that poured down upon it. Many inconsequential buildings within New Usine lay in ruin, nothing but smouldering wrecks after the initial onslaught from the Sith fleet. Now, the only ones that stood were the ones Torrik and Viren planned to be standing. Viren crouched beneath a pulsating bolt from an anti-personnel emplacement along the battlements of the Citadel. With a grunt and stretch of his arm, he pointed his splayed hand toward it. He focused as he closed his fingers and ripped his arm back, and as though lassoing the emplacement from afar, the turret's metallic clamps creaked and moaned as the bolts gave way to the pressure. With one tremendous pull, the turret rotated on its axis yet continued firing, now aimed toward the back of the insurgent's defensive line.

To his right, a Knight of Strife shoulder-blocked an insurgent who cried out in surprise. The yell was cut short by the wave of a red saber, plunged through the rebel's armored chestpiece. Further down the line, Praetor Jaskar swung his dual sabers in a mesmerizing flurry of death around his person as blaster fire came toward him. Each bolt was deflected away before he extended both hands during a break in the suppressive fire, yanking the rebels' weapons free from their hands with the force. He grinned with delight as the unarmed insurgents were descended upon by his Knights.

Despite the intensity of their push and the holes they punched in the defensive line of the rebels, their retaliation was not without merit; many Knights of Strife fell victim to the powerful anti-personnel emplacements, and some were even dispatched by demolitions or well-placed shots from the insurgents. But it wouldn't matter in the end. Viren trudged across the rubble-strewn Citadel plaza, batting away a few blaster bolts with his staffsaber as he approached the grand staircase. Noting his advance, several rebels turned their attentions toward the Dark Lord.

One was felled by a rapid stroke of Viren's blade. A chorus of blaster fire deflected off his glossy black combat armor, now smeared by carbon scoring and soot from the wear and tear of battle. Viren turned toward the shooter, thrusting his free hand out; a telekinetic force violently pinned the rebel to the wall, flattening him out against it. Viren's saber flew from his hand and impaled the pinned rebel through the abdomen, before dragging itself horizontally, leaving nothing behind but half a man and molten duracrete. As Viren turned toward the rest of the small squad, the staffsaber flew back to his grasp as though returning to its home. A terrified trio of rebels froze as Viren went upon them, before one grew the courage to lift his blaster. Too little, too late; he looked on in horror as the weapon jammed in his hands due to Viren's subtle machinations. Without breaking stride, he swiped his saber across the man's neck and was past his standing body before his head hit the ground.

The other two rebels ran for their lives, but Viren was determined not to give them the luxury. His robes kicked behind his foot as he reached out, energy arcing between his fingertips. With a final grunt, lightning erupted in an arc from his hand and into the backs of the two insurgents, their bodies jerking and twisting involuntarily as they were burned from the inside-out. Viren ceased his attack and let their lifeless bodies drop as he turned to the Citadel door.

The sounds of battle carried on behind him, but the Cult of Strife was close to securing the exterior plaza. Several Knights went about forcibly disabling the anti-personnel emplacements and gathering surrendering rebels -- or what few remained. Viren's comms crackled to life, broadcasting across every Sith channel.

"The Citadel plaza is secure," Viren announced as he stood before the door.

The gate to the Citadel proper was a marvelous sight. Constructed with the prevention of infiltration in mind, it was impregnable beyond all comprehension. Several feet thick like the walls surrounding it, every saber in the Cult of Strife would be incapable of breaking through it. They'd need a finer touch.

Viren deactivated his lightsaber as Empire assault units began intermingling with the Cult of Strife. From among them, a tech specialist came forward to Darth Viren. The young woman saluted.

"My Lord Viren, Specialist First Class Daara reporting for duty," she spoke with conviction.

Viren waved her salute away, pointing to the door. "Get us inside. Now."

The specialist blinked for a moment as she lowered her hand, but then nodded rapidly. "Yes, My Lord! At once!"

Daara slunk by the Dark Lord and knelt before the door. Producing a toolkit with a variety of hacking equipment and slicer's tools, she wet her thumb as she began working on the door's heavily encrypted locking mechanism. Occasionally, the spark of her plasma torch cutting through particularly pesky tumblers was seen flashing against the black of Viren's armor. Viren lifted his hand to his helm, standing atop the steps and looking out across the plaza as the Cult of Strife and 103rd Assault Division began assuming a defensive position within the Citadel's confines.

"Patching to the Panoptikon," Viren said as his comms device bounced a signal directly to Grand Moff Torrik's flagship.

"Torrik. The plaza is ours. We have begun preparations to storm the Citadel," Viren relayed as he scanned the courtyard from his elevated position, "casualties minimal. Expect an update within one hour."

Viren then patched into a closed, encrypted channel, linked directly to Karn's own device. The signal was a tad blurry due to the many meters of duracrete and soil between them, but it was clear enough to be understandable.

"Apprentice," Viren began as he paced the top of the steps, glancing over to Daara and her progress, "I trust your insertion is coming along?"

[Rugs]

In other circumstances, the insurgent might have endured a much more excruciating death than the one Karn granted him. But time was of the essence if his little infiltration plan was going to succeed, and it was readily apparent that the rebels were now aware of his squad’s presence. Alas, as eager as he was to painfully pry information from the doomed man’s lips, Karn settled for leaving him on the floor, torso cleanly separated from his legs. The soldiers trailing behind him stepped casually over the rebel’s bisected corpse — they knew well the Sith Order’s capacity for brutality.

The door the other rebels retreated through presented an obstacle, though a fleeting one at best. It was thick, as Karn would expect for a military fortress. Though his blade might melt open a path in time, he could almost hear the tick-ticking of the clock in his head, of the rebels ferreting the Baroness away or killing her before allowing him the chance.

The squad’s demolitions specialist made quick work of that problem.

Karn broke into the hallway, throwing the ruined door off its hinges in a swirl of dark smoke with a blast of the Force. The spartan corridor beyond lay empty, stretching on in one direction to a sharp T-intersection before him with a dead-end a few dozen meters behind. Despite the deceptive calm, Karn could feel the rebels swarming through the citadel — a hive of insects stirred to the defense of their stolen home. They’d be removed and dealt with, like the pests they were.

Karn motioned for his squad to move ahead toward the intersection. He moved quickly but cautiously, unignited lightsaber in hand. The citadel was of Sith design, and so he had a map of its layout, but that offered no answers for where the Baroness might be hiding.

So they pressed on through the suspiciously-empty lower corridors. Each intersection, each blind corner brought a chance for ambush, but none arrived. Karn felt at once emboldened and wary. With the Sith assault at the citadel’s doors, the insurgents would have to choose — divert their strained attention to deal with his secondary incursion, or commit in full to fighting off the main threat.

Eventually, they came to the large, heavy doors of another storage area, through which they could cut into the citadel’s upper levels. Despite searching every room, every nook and cranny they passed, they’d found no sign yet of the Baroness. But the citadel was large, and as much as Karn thirsted for glory, the task would take patience.

"Apprentice," Viren’s transmission was smooth and clear, despite the distance that separated them, "I trust your insertion is coming along.

“Yes, Master,” Karn said as he paused near the doors. “We are pressing deep into the citadel. No sign of the Baroness yet, but I will find her.”

The line clicked to silence. Karn took hold of the Force and strained his senses, tried to feel through the chaos and roar of battle to feel the room beyond. He could feel... something. Someone, or several someones, rather. Waiting.

“At last,” he said, smiling crookedly beneath his helmet. “Be ready,” he told his men. They readied their weapons, confirmed their preparation. Karn pushed the doors open.

The storage area had been turned into a repair bay of some sort. Stacks of equipment provided some immediate cover as Karn’s small group entered the dim space. He could still feel the rebels, but couldn’t see them, or hear anything over the thundering battle that raged above. He moved slowly, thumb resting on his lightsaber’s ignition switch. He stepped around to the side of a large shipping canister and peered forward. Nothing. Just more equipment. Some half-disassembled speeders pen with their parts on ground like the innards of wounded animals.

Karn licked his lips, took a deep breath and stepped forward.

Into hell.

Yells erupted as a bright spotlight ignited on his squad. His helmet’s visor darkened against the glare, throwing the rest of the dark room to near pitch black. Somewhere on a shadowed catwalk above, a heavy laser cannon opened a stream of red fire and cut down one, then another of his men before they had time to react.

Karn was in motion, lightsaber burning crimson in his hand before he had time to think. “A Sith!” he heard someone shout. “Get him!”

A rebel tried to tackle him from behind and ended up pressing him against the side of a heavy metal box instead of taking him to the ground. Karn elbowed the face behind him and heard a wet crunch as his suit’s metal plating met his assailant’s nose. A twirl and stab of the lightsaber freed him of his attacker as a []whoomph[/i] and blossom of orange flame lit the dark and silenced the laser cannon above.

Karn saw burning bodies fall from the catwalk. He did not care.

The fight dragged on. The demolitions specialist — the last surviving man of Karn’s squad — fought valiantly with him, but he too fell as more and more rebels crawled out of the woodwork.

“Where the fuck are you all coming from?” Karn yelled in frustration as he cut down yet another insurgent. He’d lost track of how many he killed in the frenzy, but the tide was against him. His armor was chipped and damaged, and he felt warm blood leaking down his right arm. The rebels, to their credit, fought relentlessly, employing explosives, ion weapons that fucked with his suit’s systems and — worst of all for him — sonic weapons.

Arcs of blue-white lightning lit the dark as Karn tore through a knot of insurgents before him. He had to get back, get out, but he was disoriented and outnumbered. He felt the heavy thud of more sonic rounds hitting his armor as his head swam and the Force began to slip from his grasp.

“Grenades!” A voice cut through the darkness.

Something clanked at his feet. Then another, and another. Karn looked down.

The whine, the noise, was overbearing. The last thing Karn heard was his suit beeping an emergency distress signal to Viren before the world went dark.

---

Karn’s eyes fluttered open slowly, painfully. He was... somewhere different. Well lit. Familiar Imperial stylings, but not a room he’d seen before. Not the dark repair bay. Is it over? Had he been out for the rest of the battle?

He sat in a chair, his hands bound behind him. As his focus slowly returned, Karn’s faze fell to a man standing in front of him. He was moderately tall, seemed to be well built, and wearing a leather jacket with a red armband. Karn’s eyes narrowed. His helmet was gone and he could feel dried blood under his nose. His head ached terribly.

The man was inspecting something. A woman sat on the far side of him, likewise bound. Her eyes widened when she saw him looking at her, then twinkled with silent amusement.

Back to the man. What was he looking at? “Who are you?” Something boomed in the distance. So the battle wasn’t over? “Where am I?”

“Ah, so you’re awake.” The man looked over his shoulder to observe Karn. His hair was dark, his skin tanned from long hours in the sun. His brown eyes were sharp, and burned with a hatred that echoed through his soul as he took in Karn. “I was wondering how long it’d take. You Sith,” the title nearly sounded a slur, the way he twisted it, “are hard to take down.”

Karn’s pale eyes were drawn to the item in the man’s hand. It was long, silver, beautiful crafted-

“That’s mine,” he hissed.He tried to stand, but his feet were likewise bound. He growled as he struggled against his restraints.

The man smiled as if watching something funny and shook his head. “Not anymore, Sith. This is mine, and you, like the Baroness over here, are my prisoner.”

Karn scowled. He could feel the Force, hard to grasp through his foggy head, but not out of reach. So they didn’t think to or lacked a way to block him from the Force. A minor blessing. “Who are you?” He growled again.

“Alistair Sampson, of the Dantooine Liberation Army,” the man said. “Not that it matters to you. Or probably will matter much longer. I’d be surprised if I live through the day to be honest. But there’s something I want to know, Sith.” He walked over to Karn, who glared at him with murder in his eyes. “Why shouldn’t I take both of you with me?”

[That's So Wizard]

The fact that she was not patched through to the Moff directly was... upsetting to Viula. She was a Sith Lord! One of the most powerful people in the Galaxy! If he would not show her respect, she would make him respect her, through fear. But now wasn't the time for that, there were rebels to butcher. They would feel the weight of her frustrations at the moment, luckily for that pathetic little man. The comm officer almost seemed to realize she was angry, though relayed the information she needed in a timely manner, even if a little timidly. The coordinates of Darth Viren's forces. Good that some people in that damnable fleet knew to fear her.

The forward base was typical for such military installations and typical of Viren. Dry, boring, function over form. Every facet of it reminded her of him, like he had his own distinct style; that of having no style whatsoever. The hive of support personnel scurrying about like rats answering comms, refueling speeder bikes and other vehicles, building up munitions deliveries... so important for the effort and yet so pathetic. To think there were people in the Galaxy like this, who would never reach her level of power was saddening. If this truly were a Sith Empire rivaling that of Naga Sadow or Exar Kun, where was their pride? Where were all the bright young faces of those happy to serve?

As she stepped down the ramp, an older gentleman scurried up to meet them, taking a knee and bowing low. She smiled at his reverence, after all, she did cast a truly magnificent silhouette. "My Lady, we were not informed of your arri-" Viula silenced him by placing a finger on his lips, casting a curious smile down at his face as she leaned in closer, turning his head up to look at her. She could almost feel his heartbeat quicken in fear and confusion, how lovely. "Get me a speeder, my dear. Two-person. Fast as you can~" He hesitated for a moment, processing her request. "Darling... you don't want to make me repeat myself, do you?~"

---

New Usine! She had heard many tales of this city, though the hammering it was getting from orbit was not exactly improving the place aesthetically. Fear and death pervaded every inch of this place like a bad smell... or perhaps that was just the smell of burning flesh. Either way, Viula wrinkled her nose in disgust as they drew close to the citadel, her apprentice driving the speeder onward as if trying to use his anger to make it go faster. His lust for battle was almost contagious; he wanted to tear some rebels limb from limb and quickly.

The sound of laser fire only got louder as they approached the battle, alongside the shouts of rage and screams of pain that were attributable to either side of the conflict. One could not tell Sith from rebel simply from their death throes, though she knew that the majority of them were rebels. She could say what she wanted about Viren but he was a talented, ruthless killer. Eventually they came to the path of destruction the Darth had left in his wake, the dead and dying moaning and groaning in fields of carbon scoring and rubble. Such a majestic sight! How beautiful their destruction was!

A lone rebel crawled towards them, muttering some sort of plea for mercy, which only made Viula smile. "Oh, look, still alive!" He reached out to her, throat parched and voice shot from the smoke and dry air. "Deary me, you've been through hell haven't you? How awful!" She feigned her best horrified face, which only melted back into that condescending smile a few moments later and in a flash of red light, his head rolled across the dust-covered ground. "You really must be less hasty, apprentice! Do you enjoy depriving me of my entertainment!?" The Zabrak shrunk into himself timidly, shaking a little from the admonishment, which only received a 'tut' from his master.

The fighting was fierce in the distance, bright lances of energy flying all over the place, some attached to people, others emitting from the barrel of guns, big and small. Participating in a battle was not exactly Viula's idea of fun most of the time; usually she was content to simply watch it but today... today she wasn't in the best of moods. With a deep breath she placed a hand on the helmet of one of the rebels, gasping as the Force flowed through her, showing her flashes of a vision, snippets of conversations... a briefing! Try as they might, they could not keep secrets from Lady Vecordia.

She brought her comlink up to her mouth, patching herself through to Viren's unit directly. "Sniper nests in the buildings overlooking the plaza, dear. Seven of them. I'll send you their coordinates. Might wish to flush them out, unless you enjoy watching your men drop." With that she closed the channel and stepped towards the plaza, drawing one of her sabers to her hands and igniting it with that familiar high-pitched snap. The fighting was all but done here, much to the frustration of her apprentice but he received her blessing to charge on forward with the rest of the group.

"Viren, dear, how are you today?~" She grinned wide, that snake-like charm ever-present in her visage. She could see the vast gate in front of them, an obstacle even a Darth couldn't get through on his own. With one fluid move like a dance she cut the throat of a retreating rebel. The fool had tried to escape through the very door the Sith were still pouring through in his panic. "I trust you are enjoying Dantooine's wonderful festivities?~" A short cackle followed, she was far too excited by the violence and death to be restrained right now.

Yet just as she spoke those last words, a loud shot rang out, a harsh blast. Something precise and powerful. A feeling within her caused her to look towards her apprentice, who stood there with a confused expression on his face, blinking.

There was a hole in his chest.

Now, normally if an apprentice were injured or killed one would be shocked, or angry, or enraged. All that escaped Viula's mouth was a short sigh of resignation. "That's two this week... I suppose I will have to go back to Korriban to pick up another." The look in the eyes of the apprentice was one of rage and helplessness both, reaching out to his master as the life drained from him, groaning and growling at her. "Oh do die quietly, beast. I am speaking to someone magnitudes more important than you ever were."

With a smile, she returned her gaze to Viren, keeping her lightsaber ignited in case there were any more unexpected threats. "I have a rough outline of the positions they've set up inside the base assuming they have not changed it since this morning's briefing. Shall I tell you or would you rather I not spoil the surprise?~"

[CaptainBonkers]

“Expect an update within on hour.”

“Very well. In the meantime, I will direct the fleet’s batteries to support the forces securing the rest of the city. They will be shifted to support your assault on the citadel once you are ready to commence.”

While Havlen did not necessary agree that the casualties the assaulting troops had suffered were low enough to be considered minimal, the preliminary reports suggested that the number of dead and wounded was lower than estimated for this point of the operation. Considering that most of the combat had taken place in an enclosed urban environment those numbers were fairly impressive. Of course, the final report wouldn’t be ready until few days from now so Havlen reserved the right of judgment until then.

However, the casualties at least appearing tolerable at this point of the operation was a welcome surprise. It suggested that the high risk approach that had been chosen was delivering the rewards so far, though the Imperial forces were yet to crack the citadel. While urban combat could be hell, assaulting a military installation one hoped to use afterwards was in an entirely another tier of misery and pain.

---

The citadel at the center of New Usine loomed beyond the perimeter the Sith ground forces had established around it. Drenner wasn’t looking forward to storming it, being as he was all too familiar with all the layout and defenses now controlled by the rebs. Even with the horde of Sith lords leading the charge, chances were this would turn into a more of a shitshow than it already was.

At least the casualties under his command hadn’t been too bad. Twenty three wounded and twelve dead. Not too shabby for an urban operation. Seven men were still MIA but since all of the cases were part of the same squad, Drenner was willing to chalk that up as faulty comms and the sergeant not being able to read a damn map. Most likely they’d turn up as soon as they made contact with a friendly unit mopping up the rebs in their sector.

All in all, a pretty good result. Even the boys from Speeder Corps hadn’t managed to uphold their reputation as piss poor bombers and had nailed the target they had been given. Hard. The house the rebs had been using to take potshots at the pinned down lads of the Marash company had gone up in flames and then come crumbling down, burying the bastards inside. Had the op ended here Drenner would have already broken out the victory cigar. Alas, it would have to wait for later. The rebs weren’t looking to surrender which meant that Drenner and his comrades would have to play ‘avoid getting stuck in a meat-grinder’ with them. That’s gonna be fucking hilarious, he thought grimly.

[Ysmir]

Progress on the vault-like door was frustratingly slow. By the time Daara had almost completed her assigned task, the Cult of Strife and supplementary infantry had established a strong presence in the courtyard. Viren knew what awaited inside; reaching out with his senses through the Force, he felt the life brimming behind the doors. Terrified, anguished, though some still held onto their resolve.

Resolve that was, of course, misplaced. It was a wonder how often defiance rose up to take the place of fear in the truly desperate. By day's end, Viren wished to teach them exactly fear meant.

A mighty spark shot off from the door as the slicer worked her magic, and she only briefly winced and lurched away from the heat and light. The security of the Empire was second to none, and this blasted door was proof. Still, Daara's proficiency with this exact tech was making the job far easier than it would be for anybody else.

"ETA," Viren demanded, less than asked.

The technician responded shakily. "Not much longer... My Lord. Just a few more firewalls to breach."

"Good," the Darth affirmed.

"Viren, dear, how are you today?~"

Viren had to fight the urge brimming within him; the urge to blow that familiar voice away with all the might the Force could muster. Instead, he swallowed that rage and turned toward Viula. "You will address me properly. Or you will be disposed of."

The Dark Lord's eyes didn't move a hair from Viula's visage even as her apprentice dropped dead from a sniper -- the shot alerted every able body in the plaza, who mobilized to find where the errant blaster bolt came from. At her explanation, Viren's eyes narrowed.

"Tell me. And then be gone."

---

A breath drawn was like breathing in icicles. The tension in the room was palpable; every man and woman who could still stand had taken a position in the foyer of the Sith Citadel, hoisting a weapon and preparing for the worst.

The door had held strong for hours, but even the mighty seal would have to break eventually. Emotions had alternated between fear, acceptance, and rage at the inevitability of what was coming. They were right. The Republic had gone soft, bending over backwards to accommodate an oppressive regime that didn't care for its people -- that was poisoning Dantooine. And what did they have to show for it now?

A spark, then silence. The main door to the foyer cracked open with a hiss.

Every breath hitched in the room. The silences was so strong, you could hear a credit chip drop. Every eye settled on the cracked door; watching, waiting, anticipating.

Then, it creaked. With a groan, metal scraped against metal. The doors began to slide open, letting in the hazy, smoky light from the warzone outside. Some of the rebellion steeled their nerves, sitting up more fully and casting a defiant glare to the growing entry.

In the middle of the smog that rolled in, backlit by the setting sun, stood a silhouetted figure.

"Fire! FIRE! EVERYONE, FIRE!", a defiant rebel shouted.

A chorus of shots rang out at the order, every one trained on the figure. Flashing red and blue lights filled the room, and the dust left behind from the volley obscured their vision of the doorway. After nearly twenty sustained seconds of shooting, it came to a halt. And it was silent again. The silhouette still stood.

From the shadowed doorway, it fell, flopping onto the floor lifelessly.

One of their own, riddled with carbon scoring. Likely already dead before they even fired. And before the confusion could set in, a dull red light shone through the smog and dust. Viren, towering in his black plate, charged into the room through the doorway, his double-bladed lightsaber brandished.

Behind him flooded the Cult of Strife; all of them. Barricaded as well as they were, most of the entrenched rebels spent a moment of looking on wordlessly in awe as the sea of red swarmed the foyer. Those that didn't fought valiantly, attempting in vain to take down as many of the Sith with them as they possibly could. Cries of fear -- and some of anger -- could be heard above the blaster fire and whirring of lightsabers. One Sith fell to the well-placed shot of a rebel who had little time to celebrate before the burning blade of Viren dragged itself through his midsection. Whatever blaster fire Viren didn't care to redirect or deflect bounced pathetically off of his personal armor. Viren's purpose here was not pure massacre. He was looking for leadership, though there were none to be found amidst the rabble before them.

The Dark Lord trudged across the bodies as more Sith and Imperial soldiers flooded in through the open doorway. Some Knights had fallen, and their bodies were tended to by the Cult that still stood. A small grouping of rebels had been huddled into a corner, disarmed and with nowhere to go.

Standing before what was once the reception desk of the Citadel, Viren turned his head upward to the grand skylight that carried all the way up to the tip of the Citadel's massive spire. He lifted a hand to his helm, patching his comms through to the Panoptikon.

"We have breached the foyer, Grand Moff. Prisoners are being held for interrogation by your hand," Viren noted as he glanced toward the captive rebels, "once my apprentice has secured the Baronness, we will update you on her condition. Her life matters little to me, but I assume you would have... questions. And perhaps judgement of your own."

The message dispensed, Viren then patched into Karn's channel once more.

"Update," he demanded. But he received no answer.

Before he had time to question further, a beeping signal appeared on the HUD of his helm. Karn's suit. Emergency distress.

Judgement would have to come later. Viren turned toward a small grouping of Knights.

"With me -- into the Citadel. Something is wrong," the Darth commanded, before turning toward the hall that led deeper into the Citadel's walls, his Knights in tow.